oes,
Pottowattamies, Chippewas, and Ottawas, together with such Sioux, Sacs
and Foxes, and Iowas, as have any point to gain in applying to me. By
the first-named tribe in virtue of my office, and by the others as a
matter of courtesy, I am always addressed as '_father_'--you, of course,
will be their '_mother_.'"

Wish-tay-yun and I were soon good friends, my husband interpreting to me
the Chippewa language in which he spoke. We were impatient to be off,
the morning being already far advanced, and, all things being in
readiness, the word was given:

"_Pousse au large, mes gens!_" (Push out, my men).

At this moment a boat was seen leaving the opposite bank of the river
and making towards us. It contained white men, and they showed by signs
that they wished to detain us until they came up. They drew near, and we
found them to be Mr. Marsh, a missionary among the Waubanakees, or the
New York Indians, lately brought into this country, and the Rev. Eleazar
Williams,[7] who was at that time living among his red brethren on the
right bank of the Fox River.

To persons so situated, even more emphatically than to those of the
settlements, the arrival of visitors from the "east countrie" was a
godsend indeed. We had to give all the news of various kinds that we had
brought--political, ecclesiastical, and social--as well as a tolerably
detailed account of what we proposed to do, or rather what we hoped to
be able to do, among our native children at the Portage.

I was obliged, for my part, to confess that, being almost entirely a
stranger to the Indian character and habits, I was going among them with
no settled plans of any kind--general good-will, and a hope of making
them my friends, being the only principles I could lay claim to at
present. I must leave it for time and a better acquaintance to show me
in what way the principle could be carried out for their greatest good.

Mr. Williams was a dark-complexioned, good-looking man. Having always
heard him spoken of, by his relations in Connecticut, as "our Indian
cousin," it never occurred to me to doubt his belonging to that race,
although I now think that if I had met him elsewhere I should have taken
him for a Spaniard or a Mexican. His complexion had decidedly more of
the olive than the copper hue, and his countenance was grave, almost
melancholy. He was very silent during this interview, asking few
questions, and offering no observations except in reply to some questio