Rice River, where are a
trading-store, the cabin of the trader and a neat chapel of the
Protestant Episcopal mission. Our habitation for the night was a dark,
muddy, odorous storehouse, in whose nether apartment we munched a frugal
supper, then climbed a ladder to beds upon the bare floor between stacks
of snake-root, which had accumulated from barterings with the Indians.
During the night the rainstorm grew to a gale which rocked our night's
home like a ship at sea to the music of heaven's grand diapasons. Sunday
morning, impelled by the expense of our large retinue and the
cheerlessness of our refuge, we pushed on for the foot of Wild Rice
Lake, twenty miles distant over prairies and through forests. Two miles
out we were overtaken by another fierce storm, which drove us to the
shelter of the last human habitation, save two others near by, that we
should see for three weeks. The broad, sweeping bow of the black cloud,
the peculiar detonations of thunder in that clear atmosphere, the rush
of wind, rain and hail, unhindered by the treeless and trackless moor,
were lessons of God's majesty and power more impressive than cathedral
mass or prayer and song and psalm of men. Out of the storm's first onset
we rushed unasked into the hut of an Indian family, and surprised a pair
of squaws and a six-months' pappoose squatting on a dirty and
rain-pooled floor in almost total darkness. In an hour the storm had
gone its eastward way, the sun shone out, and we resumed our trail among
spruces, pines, oaks and elms to the foot of the lake, where we were to
dismiss our prairie-schooners. Monday, with the early sun, we left teams
and drivers, to push on by lakes, up rivers and through the pathless
wilderness beyond all roads and habitations. Our party was reduced to
the barest needs for the severe work before us. Besides our three
selves we had a corps of five Indians as guides and packers, each of
whom was a character, and all bore themselves through four days of
severe work honestly, cheerfully and helpfully. They were Henry St.
Clair, a half-breed, our interpreter, to whom we could only address
measured monosyllables with any hope of imparting ideas, but always
faithful, frank and wise; Kewashawkonce, the guide, a man of push and a
genuine wag; Kawaybawgo, a huge hunter, whose old long shot-gun has
banged over almost every acre of these wilds; Metagooe, a sleepy,
thick-headed fellow; and Waisonbekton, young and active, always ready