The dress of the squaws is very similar. They are fond ofdogs and horses—owning many of the latter， of a small，tough breed—and are skillful riders. Their bridles， girthsand saddles were made of raw skins of animals； theirstirrups of a certain kind of wood. Mounted astride theirponies， men and women， I have seen them dash outinto the woods at the utmost of their speed， followingnarrow winding paths， and dodging trees， in a mannerthat eclipsed the most miraculous feats of civilizedequestrianism. Circling away in various directions， theforest echoing and re-echoing with their whoops， theywould presently return at the same dashing， headlongspeed with which they started. Their village was onIndian Creek， known as Indian Castle， but their rangeextended to the Sabine River. Occasionally a tribe fromTexas would come over on a visit， and then there wasindeed a carnival in the “Great Pine Woods.” Chief of thetribe was Cascalla； second in rank， John Baltese， his sonin-law； with both of whom， as with many others of thetribe， I became acquainted during my frequent voyagesdown the creek with rafts. Sam and myself would oftenvisit them when the day’s task w as done. They wereobedient to the chief； the word of Cascalla was their law. They were a rude but harmless people， and enjoyedtheir wild mode of life. They had little fancy for the opencountry， the cleared lands on the shores of the bayous，but preferred to hide themselves within the shadows ofthe forest. They worshiped the Great Spirit， loved whisky，and were happy.
On one occasion I was present at a dance， when aroving herd from Texas had encamped in their village.
The entire carcass of a deer was roasting before a largefire， which threw its light a long distance among the treesunder which they were assembled. When they had formedin a ring， men and squaws alternately， a sort of Indianfiddle set up an indescribable tune. It was a continuous，melancholy kind of wavy sound， with the slightestpossible variation. At the first note， if indeed there wasmore than one note in the whole tune， they circledaround， trotting after each other， and giving utterance toa guttural， sing-song noise， equally as nonde as themusic of the fiddle. At the end of the third circuit， theywould stop suddenly， whoop as if their lungs would crack，then break from the ring， forming in couples， man andsquaw， each jumping backwards as far as possible fromthe other， then forwards—which graceful feat having beentwice or thrice accomplished， they would form in a ring，and go trotting round again. The best dancer appearedto be considered the one who could whoop the loudest，jump the farthest， and utter the most excruciating noise.
At intervals， one or more would leave the dancing circle， and going to the fire， cut from the roasting carcass a sliceof venison.
In a hole， shaped like a mortar， cut in the trunk of afallen tree， they pounded corn with a wooden pestle， andof the meal made cake. Alternately they danced and ate.
Thus were the visitors from Texas entertained by thedusky sons and daughters of the Chicopees， and such isa deion， as I saw it， of an Indian ball in the PineWoods of Avoyelles.
In the autumn， I left the mills， and was employed atthe opening. One day the mistress was urging Ford toprocure a loom， in order that Sally might commenceweaving cloth for the winter garments of the slaves. Hecould not imagine where one was to be found， when Isuggested that the easiest way to get one would be tomake it， informing him at the same time， that I was asort of “Jack at all trades，” and would attempt it， withhis permission. It was granted very readily， and I wasallowed to go to a neighboring planter’s to inspect onebefore commencing the undertaking. At length it wasfinished and pronounced by Sally to be perfect. She couldeasily weave her task of fourteen yards， milk the cows，and have leisure time besides each day. It worked so well，I was continued in the employment of making looms，which were taken down to the plantation on the bayou.
At this time one John M. Tibeats， a capenter， came tothe opening to do some work on master’s house. I wasdirected to quit the looms and assist him. For two weeks I was in his company， planing and matching boards forceiling， a plastered room being a rare thing in the parishof Avoyelles.
John M. Tibeats was the opposite of Ford in allrespects. He was a small， crabbed， quick-tempered，spiteful man. He had no fixed residence that I ever heardof， but passed from one plantation to another， whereverhe could find employment. He was without standing inthe community， not esteemed by white men， nor evenrespected by slaves. He was ignorant， withal， and of arevengeful disposition. He left the parish long beforeI did， and I know not whether he is at present alive ordead. Certain it is， it was a most unlucky day for me thatbrought us together. During my residence with MasterFord I had seen only the bright side of slavery. His was noheavy hand crushing us to the earth. He pointed upwards，and with benign and cheering words addressed us as hisfellow-mortals， accountable， like himself， to the Makerof us all. I think of him with affection， and had my familybeen with me， could have borne his gentle servitude，without murmuring， all my days. But clouds weregathering in the horizon —forerunners of a pitiless stormthat was soon to break over me. I was doomed to enduresuch bitter trials as the poor slave only knows， and to leadno more the comparatively happy life which I had led inthe “Great Pine Woods.”
