A number of the Winnebagoes (for we had been among our own people since leaving Gros-pied Lake) set out for the appointed place by water, paddling their canoes, of which they had selected the largest and strongest.

Arrived at the spot indicated, we dismounted, and the men commenced the task of unsaddling and unloading.  We were soon placed in the canoes, and paddled across to the opposite bank.  Next, the horses were swum across—­after them was to come the carriage.  Two long wooden canoes were securely lashed together side by side, and being of sufficient width to admit of the carriage standing within them, the passage was commenced.  Again and again the tottering barks would sway from side to side, and a cry or a shout would arise from our party on shore, as the whole mass seemed about to plunge sideways into the water, but it would presently recover itself, and at length, after various deviations from the perpendicular, it reached the shore in safety.

We now hoped that our troubles were at an end, and that we had nothing to do but to mount and trot on as fast as possible to Fort Winnebago.  But no.  Half a mile farther on was a formidable swamp, of no great width it is true, but with a depth of from two to three feet of mud and water.  It was a question whether, with the carriage, we could get through it at all.  Several of the Indians accompanied us to this place, partly to give us their aid and counsel, and partly to enjoy the fun of the spectacle.

On reaching the swamp, we were disposed to laugh at the formidable representations which had been made to us.  We saw only a strip of what seemed rather low land, covered with tall, dry rushes.

It is true the ground looked a little wet, but there seemed nothing to justify all the apprehensions that had been excited.  Great was my surprise, then, to see my husband, who had been a few minutes absent, return to our circle attired in his duck trousers, and without shoes or stockings.

“What are you going to do?” inquired I.

“Carry you through the swamp on my shoulders.  Come, Petaille, you are the strongest—­you are to carry Madame Kinzie, and To-shun-nuck there (pointing to a tall, stout Winnebago), he will take Madame Helm.”

“Wait a moment,” said I, and, seating myself on the grass, I deliberately took off my own boots and stockings.

“What is that for?” they all asked.

“Because I do not wish to ride with wet feet all the rest of the day.”

“No danger of that,” said they, and no one followed my example.

By the time they were in the midst of the swamp, however, they found my precaution had been by no means useless.  The water through which our bearers had to pass was of such a depth that no efforts of the ladies were sufficient to keep their feet above the surface; and I had the satisfaction of feeling that my burden upon my husband’s shoulders was much less, from my being able to keep my first position instead of changing constantly to avoid a contact with the water.