118 



Harmon's journal. 



often hear its voice distinctly, which resembles the 

 cry of a human being. The last night was so un- 

 pleasant to me, that I could not sleep, arising in 

 part from the constant fear which I was -in, of be- 

 ing torn in pieces before the morning, by wild 

 beasts. Despondency to a degree took possession 

 of my spirit. But the light of the morning dissi- 

 pated my fears, and restored to my mind, its usu- 

 al cheerfulness. As soon as the light of day ap- 

 peared, we left the place where we had lain, not 

 a little pleased, that the wild beasts had not fall- 

 en upon us. It has snowed and rained all day. — 

 here I find my interpreter, and eighty tents, or 

 nearly two hundred men, with their families. — 

 Along the banks of this rivulet, there is a little 

 timber, consisting principally of the inferiour spe- 

 cies of the maple ; but no where else, is there 

 even a shrub to be seen. The surrounding coun- 

 try is a barren plain, where nothing grows except- 

 ing grass, which rises from six to eight inches in 

 height, and furnishes food for the buffaloe. 



Here again, as usual, I meet with a kind re- 

 ception. These Indians seldom come thus far 

 into the plains, as the part of the country where 

 we now are, belongs to the Rapid Indians. A 

 white man was never before known, to penetrate 

 so far. 



Wednesday, 14. Last evening my people re- 



t 



