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Updated: May 3, 2025
He was very silent during this interview, asking few questions, and offering no observations except in reply to some question addressed to him. It was a hard pull for the men up the rapids. Wish-tay-yun, whose clear, sonorous voice was the bugle of the party, shouted and whooped each one answered with a chorus, and a still more vigorous effort.
Then our position would suddenly change, and we would be scaling the opposite bank, at the imminent risk of falling backward into the ravine below. It was amusing to see Wish-tay-yun, as he scrambled on ahead, now and then turning partly round to see how I fared.
The country was rough and wild, much like that we had passed through the spring before, in going from Hamilton's diggings to Kellogg's Grove, but we were fortunate in having Wish-tay-yun, rather than "Uncle Billy," for our guide, so that we could make our way with some degree of moderation.
By land, then, it was decided to go; and as soon as our old Menomonee friend "Wish-tay-yun," who was as good a guide by land as by water, could be summoned, we set off, leaving our trunks to be forwarded by Hamilton whenever it should please him to carry out his intention of sending up his boat. We waited until a late hour on the morning of our departure for our fellow-travellers, Mr.
After crossing the river at what is now Depere, and entering the wild, unsettled country on the west of the river, we found a succession of wooded hills, separated by ravines so narrow and steep that it seemed impossible that any animals but mules or goats could make their way among them. Wish-tay-yun took the lead.
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.
But we got through at last, and, arriving at the head of the rapids, I found the boat lying there, all in readiness for our re-embarking. Our Menomonee guide, Wish-tay-yun, a fine, stalwart Indian, with an open, good-humored, one might almost say roguish countenance, came forward to be presented to me. "Bon-jour, bon-jour, maman," was his laughing salutation.
We were now fairly in the Winnebago country, and I soon learned that the odd-sounding name of the place was derived from the principal chief of the nation, whose residence it was. The inhabitants were absent, having, in all probability, departed to their wintering grounds. We here took leave of our friend Wish-tay-yun, at the borders of whose country we had now arrived. "Bon-jour, Chon!"
A messenger had also been sent to the Kakalin, or rapids, twenty-one miles above, to notify Wish-tay-yun, the most accomplished guide through the difficult passes of the river, to be in readiness for our service on a specified day. In the mean time, we had leisure for one more party, and it was to be a "real Western hop." Everybody will remember that dance at Mrs. Baird's.
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