Was this an allegory of
the destructive effects of the storm, mixed with my banquet to my Indian
friends, the Menomonies and Winnebagoes?
After descending the river more than twenty miles we landed at _la Butte
des Morts_ to cook breakfast. Immediately on landing my attention was
attracted by a small white flag hanging from a high pole. I went to It
and found a recent Indian grave, very neatly and carefully covered with
boards. The Indian had been struck dead by lightning a few days
previous. Is this the interpretation of my dream, or must I follow my
fears to St. Mary's, to witness some of our family suffering on the bed
of sickness. God, in his mercy, forbid!
This day was comparatively cool. On the previous days it was my custom
to sit in my shirt and sleeves. To-day, I kept on my surtout all day,
and my cloak over it until twelve. Such sudden changes in the
temperature of the seasons are the reproach of our climate. My health
has been better than for a few days back, owing, I believe, solely to my
abstinence both yesterday and the day before.
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