very handsome, having clean even banks, and resembling a small river. It is about four miles in length.
{20} Through all these islands, and on the Missouri bottoms, there are great quantities of rushes, commonly called scrub grass.[1] They grow four or five feet high, and so close, as to render it very disagreeable, as well as difficult, to pass through the woods. The cattle feed upon them in the winter, answering the same purpose as the cane on the Mississippi.
At the upper end of the isle aux Boeufs, we were compelled about five o'clock in the evening to put to shore, on account of a violent storm, which continued until after dark. In the badly constructed cabin of our boat, we were wet to the skin: the men were better off in their tents, made by a blanket stretched over twigs.
We have been accompanied for these two days past, by a man and two lads; ascending in a canoe. This evening they encamped close by us, placing the canoe under cover of our boat. Unsheltered, except by the trees on the bank, and a ragged quilt drawn over a couple of forks, they abode the "pelting of the pitiless storm," with apparent indifference. These {21} people are well dressed in handsome home-made cotton cloth. The man seemed to possess no small share of pride and self importance, which, as I afterwards discovered, arose from his being a captain of militia. He borrowed a kettle from us, and gave it to one of his boys. When we were about to sit down to supper he retired, but returned when it was over; when asked, why he had not staid to do us the honor of supping with us; "I thank you gentlemen," said he, licking his lips with satisfaction, "I have just been eating an excellent supper." He had scarcely spoken, when the patron came to inform Mr. Lisa, the boys were begging him for a biscuit, as they had eaten
- ↑ This is the case for several hundred miles up the Missouri.—Brackenridge.
