_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 Grès_, and encamped at _Grand Grès_.
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.
In going forward we passed two canoes of Menomonies, going out on their fall hunt, on the Chippewa River. These people have no hunting grounds of their own, and are obliged to the courtesy of neighboring nations for a subsistence. They are the most erratic of all our tribes, and may be said to be almost nomadic. We had already passed the canoes, when Mr. Lewis, the portrait painter, called out stoutly behind us, from an island in the river. "Oh! ho! I did not know but there was some other breaking of the canoe, or worse disaster, and directed the men to put back. See, see," said he, "that fellow's nose! Did you ever see such a protuberance?" It was one of the Menomonies from _Butte des Morts_, with a globular irregular lump on the end of his nose, half as big as a man's fist. Lewis's artistic risibles were at their height, and he set to work to draw him. I could think of nothing appropriate, but Sterne and Strasbourg.