es. From these hills the sight is glorious. On one
hand rolls the mighty river, and on the other stretch vast prairies,
flower-carpeted, sun-flooded, a sea of vegetation, the home of the
prairie plover and countless nesters of the bright, warm air. It is a
park, whose extent is bounded by hundreds of miles.

Water-swept and beautiful lies Rock Island, where on a parapet of rock
was built Fort Armstrong in the days of the later Indian troubles.

The royal town and burying-ground was a place of remarkable fertility.
The grape-vine tangled the near woods, the wild honeysuckle perfumed the
air, and wild plums blossomed white in May and purpled with fruit in
summer. If ever an Indian race loved a town, it was this. The Indian
mind is poetic. Nature is the book of poetry to his instinct, and here
Nature was poetic in all her moods.

The Indians venerated the graves of their ancestors. Here they kept the
graves beautiful, and often carried food to them and left it for the
dead.

The chant at these graves was tender, and shows that the human heart
everywhere is the same. It was like this:

"Where are you, my father?
Oh, where are you now?
I'm longing to see thee;
I'm wailing for thee.
(Wail.)

"Are you happy, my father?
Are you happy now?
I'm longing to see thee;
I'm wailing for thee.
(Wail.)

"Spring comes to the river,
But where, then, art thou?
I'm longing to see thee;
I'm wailing for thee.
(Wail.)

"The flowers come forever;
I'll meet thee again;
I'm longing to see thee--
Time bears me to thee!"
(Wail.)

As Jasper ascended the high bluffs of the lodge where Black Hawk dwelt,
he was followed by a number of Indians who came out of their houses of
poles and bark, and greeted him in a kindly way. The dark chief met him
at the door of the lodge.

"You are welcome, my father. The new moon has bent her bow over the
waters, and you have come back. You have kept your promise. I have kept
mine. There is the boy."

An Indian boy of lithe and graceful form came out of the lodge, followed
by an old man, who was his uncle. The boy's name was Waubeno, and his
uncle's was Main-Pogue. The latter had been an Indian runner in Canada,
and an interpreter to the English there. He spoke English well. The boy
Waubeno had been his companion in