Lo A 
FAMILIAR SCENES ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 117 
boat stopped, some poor Indian was taken ashore and 
hastily buried. 
No one mourned over the corpse but the females, 
and they only when intimately related to the deceased. 
The father, son, or husband, as they saw their relatives 
fallmg around them, scarce turned their eyes upon the 
dead, and if they did, it was only to exclaim in guttural 
‘accents, ‘‘ Ugh!” and then turn away to sleep. 
Not an article belonging to the dead but was wrap- 
ped up with it, or placed in the coffin; the infant and 
its playthings, the young girl and her presents, the 
squaw with her domestic utensils, and the “ brave” with 
his gun and whatever property there was in his pos- 
session. A beautiful custom, indeed—and one that 
brings no crocodile tears to the eyes of the living heir, 
and gives the lawyer no chance for litigation. 
Among those who died, was one old veteran warrior 
who had particularly attracted our attention by his 
severe looks and. loneliness of habit, and we watched 
attentively his, exit from the world. He seemed, as 
near as we could judge, to have no relatives about him; 
no one noticed him but the doctor, who was markedly 
attentive. The old man was a chief, and the scars that 
covered his body told of many a dreadful encounter with 
man and beast. His huge skeleton, as he moved about 
in his ill-concealed agony, looked like the remains of a 
giant, exaggerated by its want of flesh. His hands 
were small, and of feminine delicacy—occasionally he 
