Impostor.—­Among the books which I purchased for General Cass, at New York, was the narrative of one John Dunn Hunter.  I remember being introduced to the man, at one of my visits to New York, by Mr. Carter.  He appeared to be one of those anomalous persons, of easy good nature, without much energy or will, and little or no moral sense, who might be made a tool of.  It seems no one at New York was taken in by him, but having wandered over to London, the booksellers found him a good subject for a book, and some hack there, with considerable cleverness, made him a pack-horse for carrying a load of stuff about America’s treatment of the Indians.  It was called a “captivity,” and he was made to play the part of an adventurer among the Indians—­somewhat after the manner of John Tanner.  C. reviewed the book, on our route and at the Prairie, for the North American, in an article which created quite a sensation, and will be remembered for its force and eloquence.  He first read to me some of these glowing sentences, while on the portages of the Fox.  It was continued, during the leisure hours of the conferences, and finally the critique was finished, after his visiting the place and the person, in Missouri, to which Hunter had alluded as his sponsor in baptism.  The man denied all knowledge of him.  Hunter was utterly demolished, and his book shown to be as great a tissue of misrepresentation as that of Psalmanazar himself.

August 21st.  The party separates.  I had determined to return to the Sault by way of Lake Superior, through Chippewa River.  But, owing to the murder of Finley and his men at its mouth in 1824, I found it impossible to engage men at Prairie du Chien, to take that route.  I determined therefore to go up the Wisconsin, and by the way of Green Bay.  For this purpose, I purchased a light canoe, engaged men to paddle it, and laid in provisions and stores to last to Green Bay.  Having done so, I embarked about 3 o’clock P.M., descending the majestic Mississippi, with spirits enlivened by the hope of soon rejoining friends far away.  At the same time, Mr. Holliday left for the same destination in a separate canoe.  On reaching the mouth of the Wisconsin, we entered that broad tributary, and found the current strong.  We passed the point of rocks called Petite Gres, and encamped at Grand Gres.

Several hours previous to leaving the prairie, a friend handed me an enveloped packet, saying, “Read it when you get to the mouth of the Wisconsin.”  I had no conception what it related to, but felt great anxiety to reach the place mentioned.  I then opened it, and read as follows:  “I cannot separate from you without expressing my grateful acknowledgments for the honor you have done me, by connecting my name with your Narrative of Travels in the Central Portions of the Mississippi Valley, &c.” Nothing could have been more gratifying or unexpected.

22d.  A fog in the valley detained us till 5 o’clock A.M.  After traveling about two hours, Mr. Holliday’s canoe was crushed against a rock.  While detained in repairing it, I ordered my cook to prepare breakfast.  It was now 9 o’clock, when we again proceeded, till the heat of noon much affected the men.  We pushed our canoes under some overhanging trees, where we found fine clusters of ripe grapes.