Early on the next morning we reached Kansas, about five hundred miles from the mouth of the Missouri.
We were soon free of the woods and bushes, and fairly upon the broad prairie.
Here society is reduced to its original elements, the whole fabric of art and conventionality is struck rudely to pieces, and men find themselves suddenly brought back to the wants and resources of their original natures.
It was a rich and gorgeous sunset – an American sunset; and the ruddy glow of the sky was reflected from some extensive pools of water among the shadowy copses in the meadow below.
The reader need not be told that John Bull never leaves home without encumbering himself with the greatest possible load of luggage. Our companions were no exception to the rule.
Crossing the Penobscot, one found a visible descent in the scale of humanity.
The fortified towns of the Hurons were all on the side exposed to Iroquois incursions.
Fort Leavenworth is in fact no fort, being without defensive works, except two block-houses.
A few hours’ ride brought us to the banks of the river Kansas.