One evening long ago, when this wonderful century, now in a vigorous old age, had just passed its nineteenth birthday, in a bright, cheerful sitting-room in the good old city of Hartford, Conn., sat a fair young matron beside a cradle in which lay sleeping a beautiful boy a year and a half old. The gentle motion of her little slippered foot on the rocker, keeping time with the soft humming of a cradle hymn; the work-basket near by; and the dainty needle work in her hand; the table tastefully spread for two, and the clear wood fire in the old-fashioned fireplace, formed as restful a picture of domestic peace and content as one could wish to see.

But the expectant look in the bright blue eyes, uplifted at each sound, clearly indicated that some one was coming who should round out this little circle and make it complete.

And now the familiar footstep draws near and the husband and father enters; she rises joyfully to meet him, but seeing in his face a look of grief or pain, exclaims, "What is it, dear husband?" He holds her very close, but cannot find words to tell her that which will cross all their cherished plans of a year's quiet resting in her native city; and handing her an official document, with its ominous red seal newly broken, he watches her anxiously as she reads:

Twice she reads this order, and then, looking up with a smile, says, with a slight tremor in her voice: "Is this all, beloved? Why should it so distress you? You surely do not flinch from duty?" With a perceptible start at such a suggestion, the gallant young soldier replies: "No, no, my precious wife; but this means separation from you and our boy, for you cannot venture on so long and perilous a journey as that, and our separation is not for days and months, it may be for years; how can I endure it? And we were so happy here in our snug little cottage—you in the midst of early friends and beloved relatives, your childhood companions and associations all about you; and I with my duties as recruiting officer. We had reason to hope and expect at least a year longer of this life, and this sudden blasting of our hopes seems cruel. Oh, Charlotte! how can you bear the thought?" As he thus poured out his heart, her eyes regarded him with wonder, and when he ceased she drew him to his favorite chair, and, seating herself on a low stool beside him, took his hand in hers, and, looking up at him through her tears, said with ineffable tenderness: "My own dear husband; how could you for a moment imagine that this order means separation? Could you believe that I would remain here in comfort, and suffer you to go alone to that far-off region where, if ever, you will need me to cheer and aid you? If my marriage vows mean anything, they mean that I am not to forsake you at such a time as this. What would the comforts of this dear home, what the society of relatives and friends be to me, with you in a wild country, in the midst of a savage people, deprived of almost everything that makes life dear? No, no, my beloved; where thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people; entreat me not to leave thee, or to refrain from following after thee, for naught but death shall part thee and me."

The young soldier took his true, brave wife to his heart, and, holding her close, exclaimed: "How deep and sacred is the love of woman! who can comprehend its entire unselfishness?" and both found relief in blessed tears of love and thankfulness which cleared away all doubts and anxieties and filled them with hope and happiness. Over the evening meal future plans were cheerfully discussed, dangers and difficulties were looked bravely in the face, and feeling that, with undying love for each other and entire trust in God, they could meet and conquer whatever lay in their way, these young people rested peacefully during that night, which had shown them how firm was the bond which held them to each other, and were strengthened to meet the storm of opposition that broke upon them in the morning from the relatives and friends of the young wife and mother.

Preparations were rapidly made; household goods disposed of; all things necessary for a long, toilsome journey packed; heart-breaking "good-byes" were spoken, and the faces of the travelers were turned westward.

A wearisome stage journey of many days brought them to Buffalo, where, after resting a short time, they embarked in schooners for Detroit on the 1st of May, which city they reached in time to move forward with the regiment by water to Green Bay; thence in batteaux they ascended the Fox river to Lake Winnebago. Col. Leavenworth, then in command of the regiment, having received instructions to conciliate the Indians, and avoid everything which might arouse the opposition of these owners of the soil, determined to stop at this point to hold a council with them, and crave permission to proceed on their journey. This being announced to the chiefs of the tribe, they assembled to hear what the "white brother" had to say. The day was beautiful; the troops, all in full uniform, "with bayonets glancing in the sun," made an imposing display, and everything was done to render it a memorable and impressive occasion. The ladies of the party—Mrs. Leavenworth, Mrs. Gooding, with their young daughters, and Mrs. Clark, with her baby boy were seated on the turf enjoying the novelty and beauty of the scene, when some Indian women, attracted by the unusual sight, drew timidly near and gazed in wonder at what they saw. One of the officers, Major Marston, the wag of the party, learning that one of them was the head chief's wife, desired to show her some distinguishing mark of respect, and, leading her into the group of ladies, said, with due ceremony, "This is the Queen, ladies; make room for the Queen;" but as this specimen of royalty was almost too highly perfumed with a mingled odor of fish and musk-rat to suit the cultivated taste of her entertainers, they did not hail her advent with any marked enthusiasm.

When all was in order, Colonel Leavenworth stepped forth, and, through an interpreter, formally requested of the Chief permission to pass peaceably through their country. The Chief, a very handsome young brave, advanced, and, with his right arm uncovered, said, with most expressive gestures: "My brother, do you see the calm, blue sky above us? Do you see the lake that lies so peacefully at our feet? So calm, so peaceful are our hearts towards you. Pass on!" With this full permission so gracefully bestowed, after resting and refreshing themselves among their newly-made friends, the troops left among them a liberal supply of beads and trinkets and passed on to that point on the river, least distant from the Ouisconsin, where they made a portage, transporting their boats and supplies, by the aid of Indians hired for the purpose, a distance of a mile and a half. This was a tedious process, but was at last successfully accomplished, and the boats were again afloat on the stream, called by the Indians the "Nee-na-hoo-na-nink-a," (beautiful little river), and by the whites "Ouisconsin," the French orthography for what we now write "Wisconsin." The place of transit from one river to the other was known for years as the Portage. At the point where the troops made preparations for crossing it was afterwards built Fort Winnebago, and directly opposite the fort, on a pretty knoll, stood for many years the Indian agency occupied for a long time by John Kinzie, agent, afterwards better known as one of the first owners of Chicago, and Mrs. Kinzie's "Waubun," or early day, gives a very pleasant and reliable account of that locality and the surrounding country. The point on the Wisconsin where the re-embarkation of the troops took place has grown into Portage City.

In spite of heavy rains and other discouraging circumstances, the tedious descent of the Ouisconsin was at length successfully accomplished, and at its mouth stood old Fort Crawford and a settlement of French and half-breeds called "Prairie du Chien." This fort was simply a rude barracks, and far from comfortable. The two months' journey from Buffalo had been very trying, serious obstacles and hindrances had been encountered and barely overcome, but instead of reaching their final destination in June, as they confidently expected to do, the troops arrived at Fort Crawford on the morning of the first day of July, worn out and exhausted. It was therefore determined to remain at this point some weeks for rest and renewal of strength, before making the final plunge into the unknown wilderness, into the very midst of savages, who might resist their progress and cause them much trouble.

The transportation of their supplies had been attended with so much difficulty that, notwithstanding all possible care, the pork barrels leaked badly and the contents were rusty; the flour had been so exposed to dampness that for the depth of three inches or more it was solid blue mould, and there was no choice between this wretched fare and starvation, for the miserable country about the fort afforded no supplies.

Just at this juncture, scarcely an hour after her arrival, Mrs. Clark's second child was born, and named Charlotte, for her mother, to which was added by the officers "Ouisconsin." When one calls to mind all the care and comforts and luxuries demanded at the present time on such occasions, it is difficult to realize how my mother endured her hardships, and when I add that almost immediately both she and my brother were seized with fever and ague, which soon exhausted their strength and made them very helpless, it would seem almost beyond belief that she should survive.

The new-born infant was entirely deprived of the nourishment nature kindly provides for incipient humanity, thus complicating to a great degree the trials of that dreadful time. My dear father could never speak of that experience without a shudder, and has told me, with much emotion, how he scoured the whole country to find suitable nourishment for mother and children, with wretched success; adding that, but for the dear mother's unfailing courage, her wonderfully hopeful disposition and her firm trust in God, he could hardly have endured these heavy trials. The surgeon of the regiment at that time (I think his name was Burns) was a man of science and great skill in his profession, but an inveterate drunkard, and it was no uncommon occurrence, when his services were needed, to find him so stupefied with liquor that nothing but a liberal sousing in cold water would fit him for duty, and I imagine that "soaking the doctor" became a source of merriment which may have diverted their minds from heavier trials.

So long a time must have elapsed before the provisions could have been officially condemned and fresh supplies sent from St. Louis, the nearest base of supplies, for red tape was more perplexing and entangling then than now, when it is sent back and forth by lightning, that it was concluded to continue the journey with what they had, and so the troops moved on, and the feeble mother, the sick child and the little "Daughter of the Regiment" went with them.

By reference to "Neill's History of Minnesota," I see mention made there of the arrival of ordnance, provisions and recruits from St. Louis before the departure from Prairie du Chien, but am inclined to believe that the additions to the commissariat could not have been adequate to the needs, as there was much suffering for want of proper supplies.

When all was in readiness the expedition finally began the ascent of the Mississippi. The flotilla was made up of batteaux and keel-boats, the latter having been fitted up as comfortably as possible for the women and children, and my father has told me that, notwithstanding the inconveniences and annoyances of such a mode of traveling, the hope that the change might benefit all, and the fact that they were making the last stage of a very wearisome journey, inspired them with fresh courage, and a general cheerfulness prevailed throughout the command.