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THE RED MEN OF IOWA.
scuffle a hatchet was kicked out from under the matting. This was seized in a moment by the savage who was the owner of the dog, and with a single stroke he cut the scalp open from the front part of the other's head. Then there was a furious and unearthly yell which brought the whole village together. Mr. Barrows and his companion who had been spectators of this savage scene, quietly found their way back to the wigwam of the chief. In a few moments the latter returned accompanied by nine other Indians. In the chief's lodge again a circle was formed and the bottle passed. Soon again the revelry became boisterous, and Chos-chun-ka would now and then caution his friends not to make too much noise, and disturb his distinguished visitors, the "big captain," who had come to make a picture of their country to show to the great father at Washington. While these things were going on the white men lay ensconsed in their bed of robes and blankets, but sleep came not to render them oblivious of the wild and savage orgies of the night. After a time, however, the frenzy of intoxication abated, and was succeeded by stupor. Noise and revelry, and bacchanalian songs ceased, and one after another of the Indians sank down to sleep away the fumes of whisky.
Next morning the sun rose in gorgeous splendor, shedding his mild autumnal light on wigwam, stream and forest. Perhaps a thousand such glorious autumn sun-risings have since come to the villages of white men which now flourish on the sites of those old wigwams, and we cannot deny that, with all our boasted civilization, debaucheries equally as brutal and debasing have been, and are being constantly enacted in our villages, towns and cities. Mr.
Barrows visited the wigwam of the wounded Indian, and on questioning him in regard to the affray, all he would say was "too much scuti-appo," (too much fire-water). As usual, all was charged to whisky, and no vindictive feelings remained to mar future relations of amity between the parties.
INDIAN RITES AT THE GRAVE OF COL. DAVENPORT.
Colonel George Davenport, who was murdered at his residence on Rock Island, July 4, 1845, had always been held in the highest esteem among the Sacs and Foxes, and the news of his death was received by them with sincere sorrow. A few days afterward a party of the Fox tribe visited his grave on the island and performed a strange and interesting ceremony. At the head of Colonel Davenport's grave had been planted a white cedar post. The Indians first seated themselves on the grass in a circle around the grave. After a few moments of profound silence, two braves arose and advanced to the post, upon which they inscribed with paint certain characters indicating the virtues of their deceased friend. A third brave drank water from a cup which had been placed at the base of the post. He then walked three times around the grave in the direction opposite to the course of the sun, holding in his hand at the same time an emblematic war-club. Then each of the other braves in succession received the war-club and passed once around the grave in the same direction. After this apparently pantomimic part of the ceremony, the head man pronounced an eulogy, in which he appealed to the Great Spirit in behalf of their white brother, and asking that he might be happy in the spirit
