Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the North American Indians, Volume II by George Catlin

Author:George Catlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780486156798
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2012-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

238. Encampment of the Chippeways.

242. Ka-be-mub-be, He Who Sits Everywhere.

241. Ka-bes-kunk, He Who Travels Everywhere.

243. Snowahoe dance.

LETTER—No. 52.

CAMP DES MOINES.

SOON after the date of my last Letter, written at St. Peters, having placed my wife on board of the steamer, with a party of ladies, for Prairie du Chien, I embarked in a light bark canoe, on my homeward course, with only one companion, Corporal Allen, from the garrison ; a young man of considerable taste, who thought he could relish the transient scenes of a voyage in company with a painter, having gained the indulgence of Major Bliss, the commanding officer, with permission to accompany me.

With stores laid in for a ten days’ voyage, and armed for any emergency —with sketch-book and colours prepared, we shoved off and swiftly glided away with paddles nimbly plied, resolved to see and relish every thing curious or beautiful that fell in our way. We lingered along, among the scenes of grandeur which presented themselves amid the thousand bluffs, and arrived at Prairie du Chien in about ten days, in good plight, without accident or incident of a thrilling nature, with the exception of one instance which happened about thirty miles below St. Peters, and on the first day of our journey. In the after part of the day, we discovered three lodges of Sioux Indians encamped on the bank, all hallooing and waving their blankets for us to come in, to the shore. We had no business with them, and resolved to keep on our course, when one of them ran into his lodge, and coming out with his gun in his hand, levelled it at us, and gave us a charge of buck-shot about our ears. One of them struck in my canoe, passing through several folds of my cloak, which was folded, and lying just in front of my knee, and several others struck so near on each side as to spatter the water into our faces. There was no fun in this, and I then ran my canoe to the shore as fast as possible—they all ran, men, women, and children, to the water’s edge, meeting us with yells and laughter as we landed. As the canoe struck the shore, I rose violently from my seat, and throwing all the infuriated demon I could into my face—thrusting my pistols into my belt—a half dozen bullets into my mouth—and my double-barrelled gun in my hand —I leaped ashore and chased the lot of them from the beach, throwing myself, by a nearer route, between them and their wigwams, where I kept them for some time at a stand, with my barrels presented, and threats (corroborated with looks which they could not misunderstand) that I would annihilate the whole of them in a minute. As the gun had been returned to the lodge, and the man who fired it could not be identified, the rascal’s life was thereby probably prolonged. We stood for some time in this position, and no explanation

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