I - By Samuel A. Storrow, 1817

At mid-day of the 22d of September [1817], I took leave of Maj. [Zachary] Taylor and the officers of the Third Regiment [then stationed at Green Bay], who had most kindly entertained me.  I likewise took a reluctant leave of my excellent companion, Mr. Pierce.  For the residue of the day, my course lay on the left bank [west side] of the [Fox] river, through good lands and a growth of oak.  I passed two springs strongly impregnated with sulphur, and at night stopped at a rapid of the river called Kakalin, being the last house and the last whites expected to see for the distance of 250 miles [to Fort Dearborn, now Chicago].

On the 23d, I entered the wilderness, attended by my Indian guide and a soldier of the Third Regiment, who led a pack-horse loaded with provisions and presents for the natives.  We forded the Fox River, and, losing sight of it, proceeded in a westwardly direction; at first through a small Indian path, and, this failing us, through a wilderness entirely trackless.

The journey this day was painful and interesting.  The thickness of the forest rendered marching difficult, and almost entirely impeded the horse; but for exertions in assisting him over crags and cutting away branches and saplings with our tomahawks, we should have been obliged to abandon him.  The land was broken with hillocks and masses of rock.  The growth of timber indicated a cold soil, notwithstanding which we occasionally saw the sugar maple.  At night we lay on the ground.  On the morning of the 24th, we resumed our march, extremely chilled.  The thickness of the forest prevented the rays of the sun from coming to the earth, and during the previous night the guide [supposed to be Tomah, a Menomonee chief] had obliged us to keep small fires, from fear of the Winnebagoes, who were about us, and from whom there is always cause for apprehension.

After a toilsome march of eight or nine hours, we arrived abruptly at the shores of a circular lake, which I found to be Lake Winnebago.  I never experienced a more grateful transition than from the damp and tangled wood to the sunny margin of this beautiful water.  It is nearly round, and apparently about sixty miles in circumference.  For a short time, we walked upon the beach, but, finding it too narrow, we were again obliged to resort to our uncomfortable way through the thicket.  While upon the beach, I remarked that the number of primitive rocks were unusual for this region.  Granite, micaceous schistus, quartz pebbles and trap were mixed with unequal proportions of secondary limestone.  On the upland, the formations were exclusively of limestone.
 

My intention was to reach an Indian village, said to be on the southern shore of the lake.  Having journeyed all day, and slept in the same manner as the previous night, we resumed our march on the morning of the 25th.  Amelioration of the grounds, a few foot-paths and traces of habitation denoted that we were near the object of our destination, and shortly afterward, in passing from a wood, we saw it [the Indian village] at a distance.  It was a village of Fals Avoines [Wild Oats (wild rice), that is Menomonees], situated on the edge of a prairie  which borders Lake Winnebago.  The lake lay before it on one side [that is, on the west side], and on the other the prairie, rising with a gentle acclivity from the margin of the water.  The spot was well chosen for beauty, warmth and fertility.  There was nothing about it that indicated a recent commencement.  The grounds bore marks of long cultivation, and the few trees that were left standing seemed as if distributed for ornament and shade.  The village has received the name of Calumet ["Pipe Village"]; it consists of about one hundred and fifty souls, and has rarely been visited by whites, except a few voyageurs on their way to the Ouisconsin [Wisconsin River].

At our approach, the villagers poured from their cabins, and gave a general shout from the unwonted sight (as I supposed) of a white man.  Tomay [believed to be Tomah], the guide, was received with kindness, and his introduction procured what I supposed to be the same for myself.  But as their unrelaxing features, coldness and taciturnity would indicate anything rather than courtesy, it required the fullest conviction both of his and their intentions to enable me to place such civility to its proper account.  I seated myself on the grass, and was surrounded by the whole population of Calumet, the men eyeing me with contemptuous indifference, the females and children with a restless and obtrusive curiosity.

The distribution of tobacco among the former, and vermilion, salt, thread and needles among the latter, led to a better understanding, and a reciprocity of good offices.  Tomay   was to leave me at this place, after furnishing me with another guide; a business which could not be performed before the accomplishment of all the ceremonies of introduction.  I was therefore ushered, between the arms of two dingy brethren, to a small lodge, where we formed a circle, smoked out of the same pipe, which went the rounds from mouth to mouth, and ate from a large kettle of wild rice placed in the midst of us.  Our repast was made without the utterance of a single word, and I know not how long the silence and uncomfortable posture in which I sat might have continued, had I not made signs to Tomay that I wished to make a general visit to the lodges and then depart.  In this visit, I found nothing more than I had seen among nations from whom I had expected less.  Sloth, filth and indifference as to the goods or ills of life, form the same characteristics of the remote Indians as of those nearer to us.  The similarity of traits is radical; disparity of situation makes but accidental shades.  Necessity gives to the foresters an energy which contact with the whites takes from the lower tribes.  They present fewer instances of helplessness, petty vices and premature decay from intemperance, but substitute in their stead the grosser and more unrelenting features of barbarism.
 In the different cabins, the right of proprietorship seems well understood, but in none were there more goods than were requisite for immediate use; and such food as did not serve for the day was generally trampled under foot.  They seemed affectionate to their children, who were, to a peculiar degree, sprightly and handsome.  The younger women possess good features, but wither at an early age from the smoke of the cabins and hard labor in the fields. 

While I had been feasting in the lodge, my man had received food in the field, where he sat an object of the wonder of all the children of the village.  Tomay had procured me two guides, no one being willing to undertake the task alone from fear of the Winnebagoes.  I prepared to depart, and endured the too affectionate embrace of Tomay and a large portion of his tribe; the black and red testimonials of which were left on my check.  After this operation, from which the sisterhood were excluded, I departed with my two guides and attendant, amidst the shouts of the village.

My course was now for Chicago.  The soldier who was with me had a trifling knowledge of some of the Indian languages, but not sufficient to procure an explanation of the sort of country we were to find, or the difficulties we had to encounter; we therefore looked to our Indian companions for nothing, relying solely on our own strength and perseverance to carry us through the unknown region.  The first direction was southwardly for about four miles, over a fertile prairie, occasionally shaded by a small growth of oak; passing this we inclined toward the west, and, after traversing a swamp, entered an extensive prairie, low and without trees, but bearing a luxuriant growth of grass of an average height of five feet.  On the north, it bordered Winnebago Lake, and on every other side was fringed with forests appearing on the edge of the horizon.  At a late hour we reached higher ground, where we slept.  Since leaving the village, we had passed several cabins, and many Indians of a singular and grotesque appearance, armed with bows and arrows.

On the 26th, having left the low prairie, we traversed a more elevated tract, distributed in gentle undulations, from the summit of which I could see grounds of the same character extending in every direction.  There were no forests nor any undergrowth more than low shrubbery.  The immense park, for it bore that appearance, was beautified by a growth of oak, occasionally single, and sometimes in groups, as if planted by art.  I could scarcely imagine that a distribution so consonant to the laws of taste could have been made without the agency of man.  [This "park" as every Wisconsin reader will readily see, was an "oak opening."]  At about midday, the face of the country changed to a lower and wet soil, which continued for the distance of four or five miles, when it gave place again to one higher and better watered, although inadequately, with small rivulets, and covered with white and red oak, and sometimes hickory.  The white oaks were of the largest size.  In the afternoon, I arrived at the bank of a shallow, sluggish stream [Milwaukee River] abut fifty yards in width, running toward the southeast.  The fine tract I had passed in the early part of the day was badly watered.  From 4 o’clock of the preceding day to 1 of the present, I met no signs of water, not even the smallest brook.

On the morning of the 27th, I found a severe frost.  There was no water where we lay.  The ground being swampy, we dug a large hole with our tomahawks, and it was soon filled; but although this spot was but one hundred yards distant from the fire, neither of the Indians would go to it alone.  They frequently, during the night, put their ears to the ground, as if to listen for noises.  At about 10 o’clock, after having passed grounds inferior to those of yesterday, we came to a small and handsome body of water about eight miles in circumference [Cedar Lake, in the present towns of West Bend and Polk and Polk in Washington County]; shortly after to a second [Silver Lake] of about three miles; and after that, to a third [Little Cedar Lake] of about five miles in circumference [the former in West Bend, and the latter in West Bend and Polk].  I remained for some time to admire the beauty of these sequestered waters.  Their still was disturbed only by the wild fowl, that were too little accustomed to the sight of man to heed my approach.  The lands shortly became better, and more abundantly wooded and watered than those of yesterday, the white oak being the largest I had ever seen.  The country may be said to be without rocks, the few I had seen during the last two days were detached, and of granite.  The march of the present day has been more interesting than that of the day preceding, being relieved from the sameness of the prairies by occasional forests.  In passing from the latter into the former, I realized the effect of what Denon describes on the plains of Egypt under the name of mirage.  The thickets do not cease gradually, but change abruptly from forest into glade, so as to present to the traveler the atmosphere above the distant meadow, in the certain shape and appearance of water.  The illusion was many times so perfect as to convince me that, on leaving the wood that was about me, I should be led to the margin of some great lake of which I had before received no account.  The Indians were equally deceived, and finding the error by seeing the wood skirted by land instead of water, cried out "Manitou" (devil) – imputing the optical illusion to the agency of a spirit. 

Throughout the day, the course had been southeast.  I supposed myself to be not far distant from the dividing ridge between the Mississippi and Lake Michigan [that is, between the streams flowing into Rock River and the Milwaukee]; knowing that the elevation was not very remote from the lake itself.  Some of the prairies bore the appearance of having become so by art.  At night, I slept in one which was a perfectly formed parallelogram of about 900 yards by 500.

 We commenced our march at sunrise of the 28th.  The [two Indians] guides, who, during part of the preceding day, had been sullen and silent, seemed now in entire ignorance of the way, and were leading toward the northeast.  I refused to follow the, and after a fruitless and vexatious attempt to understand each other, or know if they understood the way, I insisted on their leaving me; which they did after a long and unintelligible altercation.  I should not have resorted to this measure, which left me alone in the wilderness, had I not been convinced that a day’s march, properly directed, would bring me to the shores of Lake Michigan, or the River Millewackie [Milwaukee], where there are large settlements of Pottawatomies; but following them I might be led I knew not where.  Of their worthlessness I had already been convinced.  My attendant and myself, being now left alone, pursued an eastwardly direction by compass, to endeavor to reach the shores of the lake.  In the afternoon, we saw a track leading toward the southward; we followed it, and finding to our joy that it widened, continued in it until toward evening, when I caught from an eminence a distant view of a great water, which I supposed to be Lake Michigan.  On nearer approach, I perceived a river and an Indian village, the coincidence of which convinced me that I had reached the Millewackie at the confluence with the lake.