THE BIVOUAC. 91 
and even whilst blind from his fight, his voice could be heard 
with the richest brogue and merriest tone, as though nothing 
had happened. 
Such is the rakish, vagabond spirit of the Irishman, which 
suffering cannot depress, privation cannot subdue. The sol- 
dier and laborer of the world, in the words of the old song— 
* Och, for drinkin’, for fightin’ or handlin’ the flail, 
Whoop, the boys of ould Ireland will niver turn tail.” 
About nine o’clock we halted for the night near a small 
pond skirted with timber, and the weather being so warm, 
concluded to sleep “en bivouac.” It was not long before the 
insect world made us sensible of their presence, and after 
enduring their attacks for a brief season, I left my blanket 
under the trees, and started to see how the Indians managed. 
They always bivouaced some distance from camp, and upon my ~ 
approach I saw a sight which caused me to stop and admire. 
They had divested themselves of their scanty attire, and 
with their blankets spread under them, sat cross-legged, erect, 
and perfectly motionless, looking like two bronze statues in- 
the moonlight. It was a study for the sculptor, a moment to 
realize a preconceived idea of symmetry in ferm and grace in 
posture. 
At this season they always — in the open prairie, and 
away from trees or underbrush. Taking the hint, I moved 
my quarters also out into the moonlight and enjoyed my rest, — 
» whilst my companions were. meee and Se in the 
busiest manner all night. — Ee : 
