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                                   A
                       SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS;
                               EMBRACING
                             A CANOE VOYAGE
              UP THE MISSISSIPPI AND AROUND LAKE SUPERIOR.

                                   BY
                            CHARLES LANMAN,
               AUTHOR OF "ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS," ETC.

                   And I was in the wilderness alone.
                                                                 Bryant.

                               NEW-YORK:
                  D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.
                             PHILADELPHIA:
                   GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST.
                              MDCCCXLVII.

        Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847,
                       By D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
                               New-York.

                                   TO
                         JAMES F. MELINE, ESQ.,
                                   OF
                           CINCINNATI, OHIO,
                              THIS VOLUME
                                  IS,
                 WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT,
                       AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
                             BY HIS FRIEND,
                                                             THE AUTHOR.

                               CONTENTS.

                               CHAPTER I.
                                                                    PAGE
  Saint Louis--a Western Artist--Twilight in a Cathedral,             13

                               CHAPTER II.
  The Lower Mississippi--Entrance to the Upper Mississippi--The
          Lower Rapids--Scenery--Rock Island,                         20

                               CHAPTER III.
  Starved Rock on the Illinois--Legend of the Illinois Indians,       26

                               CHAPTER IV.
  Nauvoo--Temple of Nauvoo--A Mormon, and his story--Superb
          Panorama,                                                   30

                                CHAPTER V.
  The Upper Rapids--Scenery--Prairie Du Chien--Battle of Bad
          Axe--The Winnebagoe Indians--Winneshic, Chief of the
          Winnebagoes--A Visit to his Wigwam,                         34

                               CHAPTER VI.
  The Lead Region--Anecdote of a noted Western Character,             41

                               CHAPTER VII.
  The Alpine Region of the Mississippi--Lake Pepin--Wabashaw, Chief
          of the Sioux--An Old Woman, and her story--Legend of
          Winona,                                                     45

                              CHAPTER VIII.
  Red-Wing Village--Lake Saint Croix--Little Crow, a Sioux
          Chief--Scenery,                                             51

                               CHAPTER IX.
  Mouth of the Saint Peter's--Dog Feast--Playing Ball--The Sioux
          Indians--The Soldier Artist--A Naturalist--Carver's
          Cave--Beautiful Waterfall--Falls of St. Anthony--Legend
          connected with them,                                        56

                                CHAPTER X.
  A Ride on Horseback--Grouse Shooting--A Wilderness Supper--A Race
          with a Pack of Wolves,                                      64

                               CHAPTER XI.
  Crow-Wing--Famous Battle fought here--Legend of the White
          Panther--Hole-in-the-Day, Chief of the Chippeway
          Indians--The Scalpless Indian--Indian Swimmers--Begging
          Dance--Torchlight Fishing,                                  68

                               CHAPTER XII.
  The Indian Trader--The Fur Trade,                                   75

                              CHAPTER XIII.
  Spirit Lake--Legends of the Mysterious Spirit--Story of
          White-Fisher--Story of Elder-Brother--Outside
          Feather--Legend of the Mole,                                80

                               CHAPTER XIV.
  The Mississippi--Lake Winnepeg--Bear Hunt--Bear Feast--A Dream,
          and its Fulfillment--Manner of Treating the Dead--A
          Wilderness Grave-Yard,                                      85

                               CHAPTER XV.
  Red Cedar Lake--The Chippeway Indians--Their Country--Their Idea
          of Creation--Their Religion--Their Heaven and Hell--Their
          Manner of Winning the Title of Brave--Their Manner of
          Life--Their Idea of Marriage, and Mode of Courtship--Their
          Hospitality,                                                91

                               CHAPTER XVI.
  Elk Lake and Surrounding Region--Legend of the Mammoth Elk--Four
          Wilderness Pictures,                                        98

                              CHAPTER XVII.
  Leech Lake--The Pillagers--The Medicine Dance--The Medicine
          Society--Virgin Dance--Red River Trappers--Legend of the
          Two Women--Legend of Pelican Island--Legend of a Battle
          between the Gods of the White and Red Men--Original Indian
          Corn--Game of this Region,                                 104

                              CHAPTER XVIII.
  Fish of the Mississippi--A Catfish Adventure--Spearing
          Muskalounge--A Trouting Adventure,                         110

                               CHAPTER XIX.
  Sandy Lake--A queer way of making a Portage,                       117

                               CHAPTER XX.
  The Saint Louis River--The Chippeway Falls--Fon du Lac--Scenery of
          the Lower Saint Louis, and Passage to Lake Superior,       121

                               CHAPTER XXI.
  General Description of Lake Superior,                              128

                              CHAPTER XXII.
  American Shore of Lake Superior--Picturesque Cliffs--Isle
          Royal--Apostle Islands--La Point--Indian Payment--Streams
          Emptying into the Lake,                                    132

                              CHAPTER XXIII.
  Canadian Shore of Lake Superior--Thunder Cape--Cariboo Point--The
          Island Wonder, with its Watch-Tower and Beautiful
          Lake--Menaboujou--His Death and Monument,                  136

                              CHAPTER XXIV.
  The Voyager--My Voyaging Companions--Our Mode of Travelling, with
          its Pleasures and Miseries--Making Portages--Passing
          Rapids--Narrow Escape--The Voyager's
          Cheerfulness--Canadian Songs--Voyaging on Superior--A
          Midnight Prospect,                                         141

                               CHAPTER XXV.
  The Copper Region--Rich Discoveries--Copper Companies--Point
          Keweenaw--Its Towns and People--Upstart Geologists--A
          Conglomerate Paragraph,                                    152

                              CHAPTER XXVI.
  Sault Saint Marie--Fish of Lake Superior--The Lake Trout--The
          Common Trout--The White Fish--A Run down the Sault,        157

                              CHAPTER XXVII.
  Mackinaw--Arched Rock--Robinson's Folly--The Cave of Skulls--The
          Needle--An Idler's Confession--Mackinaw in the Summer and
          in the Winter--Its Destiny,                                162

                             CHAPTER XXVIII.
  Recollections of Michigan,                                         167

                       SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS.

                               CHAPTER I.

                                                Saint Louis, June, 1846.

The River Queen, as Saint Louis is sometimes called, is looked upon as
the threshold leading to the wild and romantic region of the Upper
Mississippi. It was founded in the year seventeen hundred and
sixty-four, by two Frenchmen, named Laclade and Chouteau, who were
accompanied by about thirty Creoles. The first steamer which landed here
came from New Orleans in the year eighteen hundred and nineteen; but the
number now belonging here is rated at three hundred, many of which are
unsurpassed in speed and splendor of accommodations. The population of
this city amounts to forty thousand souls. It is elevated some eighty
feet above the low-water mark of the Mississippi, and from the river
presents a handsome appearance. The old part of the town is inhabited by
a French population, and is in a dilapidated condition; but the more
modern portion is distinguished for its handsome streets, and tastefully
built mansions and public buildings. Fronting the levee or landing are
several blocks of stone stores, which give one an idea of the extensive
business transacted here. On one occasion I saw this wharfing ground so
completely crowded with merchandise of every possible variety, that
travellers were actually compelled to walk from the steamboats to the
hotels. This city is the home market for all the natural productions of
a wilderness country extending in different directions for thousands of
miles, and watered by several of the largest rivers in the world. Its
growth, however, has been somewhat retarded by the peculiar character of
its original inhabitants. The acknowledged wealth of many of its leading
men can only be equalled by their illiberality and want of enterprise.
But time is committing sad ravages among these ancient citizens, for
they are, from age and infirmities, almost daily dropping into the place
of graves. Under the benign influence of true American enterprise, this
city is rapidly becoming distinguished for its New England character, in
spite of the retarding cause alluded to above, and the baneful
institution of Slavery. In fine, it possesses, to an uncommon degree,
all the worthy qualities which should belong to an enlightened and
eminently prosperous city.

There is one unique feature connected with the River Queen, which gives
it, at times, a most romantic appearance. It is the point whence must
start all distant expeditions to the North and West, and where the
treasures of the wilderness are prepared for re-shipment to the more
distant markets of our own and foreign countries. Here, during the
spring and summer months may often be seen caravans about to depart for
California, Santa Fe, the Rocky Mountains, and Oregon, while the
sprightly step and sparkling eye will speak to you of the hopes and
anticipations which animate the various adventurers. At one time,
perhaps, may be seen a company of toil-worn trappers entering the city,
after an absence of months, far away on the head waters of the
Mississippi and Missouri rivers, where they have hunted the beaver, the
buffalo, the otter, the bear, and the deer; and as they steal away to
their several homes, from the door of the Fur Company, where they have
just rendered their account, it does the heart good to ponder on the
joys which will be brought into existence by the happy return. And the
Indians, from different nations, who often visit this place, also add
greatly to the picturesque appearance of its streets. Summoned by
curiosity, they congregate here in large numbers, and while their gaudy
trappings and painted faces remind us of the strange wild life they
lead, their prowling propensities and downcast eyes inform us of the
melancholy fact, that they are the victims of a most heartless, though
lawful oppression. This remark, by the way, reminds me of a living
picture which I lately witnessed, and will briefly describe. It was the
sunset hour, and I was returning from a ride on the eastern bank of the
great river. The western sky was flooded with a saffron glow, in the
midst of which floated unnumbered cloud-islands, tinged with deepest
gold. Underneath lay the beautiful city, with its church-spires
up-pointing to the Christian's home; then passed the rushing tide of the
Mississippi ploughed by many a proud keel; and in the foreground was a
woody bluff, on the brow of which sat a solitary Indian, humming a
strangely solemn song, as his white locks and eagle plumes waved in the
evening breeze. I asked no question of the sorrowing dreamer, but
pursued my way, pondering on the cruel destiny which has power to make
man a stranger and an exile, on the very soil from which he sprang, and
where repose the ashes of his forgotten kindred.

Lover as I am of genuine art, it will not do for me to leave this city,
the sturdy child of a new and great empire, without alluding to its
treasures in this particular. The bright particular star, who uses the
pencil here, is Charles Deas. He is a young man who left New-York about
eight years ago, for the purpose of studying his art in the wilds west
of the Mississippi. He makes this city his head-quarters, but annually
spends a few months among the Indian tribes, familiarizing himself with
their manners and customs, and he is honorably identifying himself with
the history and scenery of a most interesting portion of the continent.
The great charm of his productions is found in the strongly marked
national character which they bear. His collection of sketches is
already very valuable. The following are a few of the pictures which I
saw in his studio, and which pleased me exceedingly. One, called the
Indian Guide, represents an aged Indian riding in the evening twilight
on a piebald horse, apparently musing upon the times of old. The
sentiment of such a painting is not to be described, and can only be
felt by the beholder who has a passion for the wilderness. Another, Long
Jake, is the literal portrait of a celebrated character of the Rocky
Mountains. He looks like an untamed hawk, figures in a flaming red
shirt, and is mounted on a black stallion. He is supposed to be on the
ridge of a hill, and as the sky is blue, the figure stands out in the
boldest relief. Artistically speaking, this is a most daring effort of
the pencil, but the artist has decidedly triumphed. In a picture called
Setting out for the Mountains, Mr. Deas has represented a species of
American Cockney, who has made up his mind to visit the Rocky Mountains.
He is mounted on a bob-tailed, saucy-looking pony, and completely loaded
down with clothing, pistols, guns, and ammunition. He is accompanied by
a few covered wagons, a jolly servant to be his right-hand man, and two
dogs, which are frolicking on the prairie ahead, and while the man
directs the attention of his master to some game, the latter shrugs his
feeble shoulders, seems to think this mode of travelling exceedingly
fatiguing, and personifies the latter end of a misspent life. You
imagine that a few months have elapsed, and, turning to another picture,
you behold our hero Returning from the Mountains. Exposure and hardships
have transformed him into a superb looking fellow, and he is now full of
life and buoyancy, and riding with the most perfect elegance and ease a
famous steed of the prairies. The wagons, servant and dogs, are now in
the rear of our adventurer, who, comically dressed with nothing but a
cap, a calico shirt, and pair of buckskin pantaloons, is dashing ahead,
fearless of every danger that may happen to cross his path. These
pictures completely epitomize a personal revolution which is constantly
taking place on the frontiers. One of our artist's more ambitious
productions, represents the daring feat of Captain Walker, during a
recent memorable battle in Mexico. The story is that the Captain, who
happened to be alone on a plain, had his horse killed from under him,
and was himself wounded in the leg. Supposing, as was the case, that the
Mexican savage would approach to take his scalp, he feigned himself
dead, as he lay upon his horse, and as his enemy was about to butcher
him, he fired and killed the rascal on the spot, and seizing the reins
of his enemy's horse, he mounted him and rode into his own camp. In the
picture Walker is in the act of firing. But the picture upon which Mr.
Deas's fame will probably rest, contains a large number of figures, and
represents the heroism of Captain James Clarke, who, when about to be
murdered by a council of Indians at North-Bend, threw the war-belt in
the midst of the savages, with a defying shout, and actually overwhelmed
them with astonishment, thereby saving his own life and those of his
companions. This picture is true to history in every particular, and
full of expression.

But enough about these productions of art. I am bound to the fountain
head of the Mississippi, and feel impatient to be with nature in the
wilderness. Before concluding this chapter, however, I will describe a
characteristic incident which I met with in Saint Louis.

I had been taking a lonely walk along the banks of the Mississippi, and,
in fancy, revelling amid the charms of this great western world, as it
existed centuries ago. My mind was in a dreamy mood, and as I re-entered
the city the hum of business fell like discord on my ear. It was the
hour of twilight and the last day of the week, and the citizens whom I
saw seemed anxious to bring their labors to a close that they might be
ready for the Sabbath.

While sauntering leisurely through a retired street, I was startled from
a waking dream, by the sound of a deep-toned bell, and, on lifting my
eyes, I found that I stood before the Catholic cathedral. I noticed a
dim light through one of the windows, and as the gates were open, I
remembered that it was the vesper hour, and entered the church. The
inner door noiselessly swung to, and I found myself alone, the spectator
of a most impressive scene. A single lamp, hanging before the altar,
threw out a feeble light, and so feeble was it, that a solemn gloom
brooded throughout the temple. While a dark shadow filled the aisles and
remote corners, the capitals of the massive pillars on either side were
lost in a still deeper shade. From the ceiling hung many a gorgeous
chandelier, which were now content to be eclipsed by the humble solitary
lamp. Scriptural paintings and pieces of statuary were on every side,
but I could discern that Christ was the centre of attraction in all.
Over, and around the altar too, were many works of art, together with a
multitudinous array of sacred symbols. Just in front of these, and in
the centre of the mystic throne, hung the lonely lamp, which seemed to
be endowed with a thinking principle, as its feeble rays shot out into
the surrounding darkness. That part of the cathedral where towered the
stupendous organ, was in deep shadow, but I knew it to be there by the
faint glistening of its golden pipes: as to the silence of the place, it
was perfectly death-like and holy. I chanced to heave a sigh, and that
very sigh was not without an echo. The distant hum of life, alone
convinced me that I was in a living world.

But softly! A footstep now breaks upon the silence! A priest in a
ghost-like robe, is passing from one chancel door to another. Another
footstep! and lo! a woman, clothed in black, with her face completely
hidden in a veil, passes up an aisle and falls upon her knees in prayer.
She has come here to find consolation in her widowhood. And now, slowly
tottering along, comes a white-haired man, and he, too, falls in the
attitude of prayer. With the pleasures of this world he is fully
satisfied, and his thoughts are now taken up with that strange
pilgrimage, whence travellers never return, and upon which he feels he
must soon enter.

Other life-sick mortals, have also entered the sanctuary, offered up
their evening prayer, and mingled with the tide of life once more. But
again the front door slowly opens, and a little negro boy, some seven
years of age, is standing by my side. What business has he here,--for
surely this offspring of a slave, and a slave himself, cannot be a
religious devotee? I take back that thought. I have wronged the child.
The Spirit of God must tabernacle in his heart, else he would not
approach the altar with such deep reverence. Behold him, like little
Samuel of old, calling upon the Invisible in prayer! What a picture!
Twilight in a superb cathedral, and the only worshipper a child and a
slave!

                              CHAPTER II.

                                                Rock Island, July, 1846.

I have sailed upon the Mississippi, from the point where it empties into
the Gulf of Mexico, all the way up to the little Lake which gives it
existence, and I now intend to record a description of its scenery and
prominent characteristics. The literal meaning of the Chippeway word
Meseeseepe is--water every where--and conveys the same idea which has
been translated--father of waters. When we remember the immense extent
of the valley watered by this stream and its hundred tributaries, this
name must be considered as singularly expressive.

That portion of the river known as the Lower Mississippi, extends from
New Orleans to the mouth of the Missouri, a distance of about twelve
hundred miles. As the highway for a multitudinous number of steam
vessels of every size and character, it is of incalculable importance,
not only to this country but to the world; but with regard to its
scenery, it affords little of an interesting character. Excepting a few
rocky bluffs found some distance below Saint Louis, and in the vicinity
of Natchez, both shores of the river are low, level, and covered with
dense forests of cotton-wood and cypress, where the panther and the wolf
roam in perfect freedom, and the eagle swoops upon its prey undisturbed
by the presence of man. The banks are of an alluvial character, and as
the current is exceedingly rapid, the course of the river is constantly
changing. You might travel a hundred miles without finding a place
sufficiently secure to land; and the water is always so very muddy that
a tumbler full will always yield half an inch of the virgin soil. The
surface of the stream is never placid, but for ever turbulent and full
of eddies and whirlpools, as if its channel were composed of a continued
succession of caverns. Snags and sawyers abound throughout its whole
extent. They are taken from the shore by the rushing tide and planted in
the channel quite as rapidly as the snag-vessels can extricate them from
their dangerous positions.

The Lower Mississippi (always excepting the still more frantic Missouri)
is probably the most dangerous and least interesting river in the world
to navigate. When not in actual danger, you are likely to be so far
removed from it, high and dry on a sand bar, that the annoyance, like a
certain period in our national history, has a tendency to try men's
souls. The following picture of an actual scene on this portion of the
great river, may be looked upon as characteristic of the whole. On your
right is a series of rocky bluffs, covered with a stunted growth of
trees, before you an expanse of water ten miles long and two wide, on
your left an array of sand bars and islands, where lie imbedded the
wrecks of some fifty steamboats, and in the more remote distance a belt
of thickly wooded bottom land. On the water, passing to and fro, are a
number of steamers, and immediately in the foreground a solitary sawyer
and the hull of a sunken steam-boat. This is the spot which has been
rightly named the Grave Yard, for hundreds of souls at different times
have passed from thence into eternity. When I left the turbid and unruly
bosom of the Lower Mississippi, I felt towards it as a person would
naturally feel towards an old tyrant who had vainly striven to destroy
him in his savage wrath. I should remark in passing that the bottom
lands of this river are not wholly without inhabitants; occasionally a
lonely log cabin meets the eye, which is the only home of a miserable
being who obtains his living by supplying the steamers with wood. Nailed
to a stump before one of these squatter residences, which stood in the
centre of a small clearing, I saw a board with the following
inscription,--"This _farm_ for sale--price $1 50." Though I could not
help laughing at the unintentional wit of that sentence, it told me a
melancholy tale of poverty, intemperance, and sickness, which are too
often identified with the dangers of this wilderness.

I would now speak of the Upper Mississippi, and I only regret that I
cannot strike the poet's lyre, and give to this "parent of perpetual
streams" an undying hymn of praise. The moment that you pass the mouth
of the Missouri on your way up the Father of Waters, you seem to be
entering an entirely new world, whose every feature is "beautiful
exceedingly." The shores now slope with their green verdure to the very
margin of the water, which is now of a deep green color, perfectly
clear, and placid as the slumber of a babe. My first view of this spot
was at the twilight hour, when the time was holy, and every object that
met my gaze seemed to have been baptized with an immortal loveliness.
Over the point where the sun had disappeared, floated a cavalcade of
golden clouds, and away to the eastward rolled on, along her clear, blue
pathway, the bright, full moon, and now and then a trembling star,--the
whole completely mirrored in the bosom of the softly flowing but ever
murmuring stream. On my right lay a somewhat cultivated shore; on my
left a flock of islands, whose heavy masses of foliage rested upon the
water; and in the distance was the pleasant and picturesque town of
Alton, with its church spires speaking of hope and heaven. No living
creatures met my gaze, save a wild duck and her brood gliding into their
shadowy home, and an occasional night-hawk as he shot through the upper
air after his living food; and no sound fell upon my ear, but the
jingling of a distant cow-bell and the splash of a leaping sturgeon.

Another picture which makes me remember with unalloyed pleasure this
portion of the Mississippi, was a scene that I witnessed early in the
morning. The sky was without a cloud, and the pleasant sunshine fell
upon my cheek, like the kiss of one whom we dearly love. On either side
of me was a row of heavily timbered islands, whose lofty columns, matted
vines, and luxuriant undergrowth of trees, told me of a soil that was
rich beyond compare but seldom trodden by the foot of man; and in the
distance was an open vista, beautified by other islands, and receding to
the sky. Now, unnumbered swallows were skimming over the water, uttering
a shrill chirp; then, the cry of a disappointed blue jay would grate
upon the ear; now, a boblink and black-bird held a noisy conversation,
and then the croak of a raven would descend from the top of some dead
tree; now the mocking-bird, the dove, the red and blue-bird, the robin
and the sparrow favored me with a chorus of their own, while the whistle
of the quail and the lark would occasionally break out to vary the
natural oratorio. And to cap the climax, an occasional flock of ducks
might be seen, startled away by our approach, also a crane feeding in a
cluster of trees, or a bold fish-hawk pursuing his prey, while the
senses were almost oppressed by the fragrance of blowing flowers, which
met the eye on every side.

By multiplying the above two scenes almost indefinitely, and tinging
them with the ever varying hues and features of the pleasant summer
time, and by fancying on either bank of the river an occasional thriving
village, "like sunshine in a shady place," you will have a very good
idea of the Mississippi scenery between the mouth of the Missouri and
the Lower Rapids. These are twelve miles long, and the first on the
river which impede its navigation. The water, during the dry season
varies from two to four feet in depth on these rapids, but the channel
is so very crooked that even the smaller steamers with difficulty find a
passage. Below this point the eye of the traveller is occasionally
delighted by a fine prairie landscape, but the following picture may be
looked upon as a pretty accurate epitome of the scenery between Nauvoo
at the head of the Rapids, and Rock Island. It was the noontide hour of
one of those heavenly days which occasionally make very happy the
universal human world. My own heart, which had been darkened by the
shadows of human life, was made joyous by its dazzling loveliness. The
sunshine slept upon the quiet landscape, as sweetly as if the world had
never known a deed of sin, while every object which composed the scene
performed its secret ministry of good. It was just such a day as William
Herbert has made immortal in the following words:

  "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
    The bridal of the earth and sky;
  The dew will weep thy fall to-night,
    For thou must die."

At my feet flowed the tranquil waters of the superb river, from whose
very margin receded a perfectly level prairie, which soon lost itself,
in a rolling country, whose motionless billows receded to the far
horizon. On my extreme left lay a range of wood-crowned and dreary
looking hills, and on my right a solitary bluff which was as smooth on
every side as the most highly cultivated lawn. The atmosphere was soft
and of a rosy hue, and made me long for the wings of a dove that I might
float away upon its bosom in a dream of bliss. Flowers of loveliest hue
and sweetest fragrance were on every side; and the only sound that fell
upon my ear was a hum of insect wings. On the bluffs already mentioned a
large herd of deer were quietly cropping their food; and in the air high
towards the zenith was floating in his pride of freedom, an immense
eagle, the seeming monarch of the western world.

Rock Island, whence I date this paper, and which lies in the river
midway between the villages of Davenport and Rock Island, is one of the
most picturesque points I have yet seen during my journey. It is
literally speaking a rocky island, and is surmounted by the dilapidated
walls of an ancient fortress, and was, in former days, the scene of many
a struggle between the red man and his _brotherly_ oppressor. But the
place is greatly changed. Where once the gayly dressed officer quaffed
his wine cup at the midnight hour, the lonely shriek of the owl is now
heard even until the break of day; and the rat, the toad, and the spider
have usurped the place where once the soldier hummed his thoughtless
song, or was heard the roar of his artillery.

                              CHAPTER III.

                                                Rock Island, July, 1846.

Starved Rock is the unpoetical name of a singular spot on the Illinois
river about sixty miles east of this place, and eight miles south of
Ottawa. It is a rocky bluff, rising from the margin of the stream to the
height of more than a hundred feet, and is only separated from the main
land by a narrow chasm. Its length might probably measure two hundred
and fifty feet. Its sides are perpendicular, and there is only one point
where it can be ascended, and that is by a narrow stair-like path. It is
covered with many a cone-like evergreen, and, in summer, encircled by
luxuriant grape and ivy vines, and clusters of richly colored flowers.
It is undoubtedly the most conspicuous and beautiful pictorial feature
of the sluggish and lonely Illinois, and is associated with the final
extinction of the Illinois tribe of Indians. The legend, which I
listened to from the lips of a venerable Indian trader, is as follows.

Many years ago, the whole region lying between Lake Michigan and the
Mississippi was the home and dominion of the Illinois Indians. For them
alone did the buffalo and antelope range over its broad prairies; for
them did the finest of rivers roll their waters into the lap of Mexico,
and bear upon their bosoms the birchen canoe, as they sought to capture
the wild water fowl; and for them alone did the dense forests, crowding
upon these streams, shelter their unnumbered denizens.

In every direction might be seen the smoke of Indian wigwams curling
upwards to mingle with the sunset clouds, which told them tales of the
spirit land.

Years passed on, and they continued to be at ease in their possessions.
But the white man from the far east, with the miseries which have ever
accompanied him in his march of usurpation, began to wander into the
wilderness, and trouble to the poor red man was the inevitable
consequence. The baneful "fire water," which was the gift of
civilization, created dissensions among the savage tribes, until in
process of time, and on account of purely imaginary evils, the
Pottowattomies from Michigan determined to make war upon the Indians of
Illinois. Fortune, or rather destiny, smiled upon the oppressors, and
the identical rock in question was the spot that witnessed the
extinction of an aboriginal race.

It was the close of a long siege of cruel warfare, and the afternoon of
a day in the delightful Indian summer. The sunshine threw a mellow haze
upon the prairies, and tinged the multitudinous flowers with deepest
gold; while, in the shadow of the forest islands, the doe and her fawn
reposed in perfect quietness, lulled into a temporary slumber by the hum
of the grasshopper and wild bee. The wilderness world wore the aspect of
a perfect sabbath. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, the delightful
solitude was broken by the shrill whoop and dreadful struggle of bloody
conflict upon the prairies and in the woods. All over the country were
seen the dead bodies of the ill-fated Illinois, when it was ordered by
Providence that the concluding skirmish between the hostile parties
should take place in the vicinity of Starved Rock.

The Pottowattomies numbered near three hundred warriors, while the
Illinois tribe was reduced to about one hundred, who were mostly aged
chiefs and youthful heroes--the more desperate fighters having already
perished, and the women and children of the tribe having already been
massacred and consumed in their wigwams. The battle was most desperate
between the unequal parties.

The Illinois were about to give up all for lost, when, in their frenzy,
they gave a defying shout, and retreated to the rocky bluff. From this,
it was an easy matter to keep back their enemies, but alas! from that
moment they were to endure unthought-of suffering, to the delight of
their baffled, yet victorious enemies.

And now to describe in words the scene that followed and was prolonged
for several days, were utterly impossible. Those stout-hearted Indians,
in whom a nation was about to become extinct, chose to die upon their
strange fortress, by starvation and thirst, rather than surrender
themselves to the scalping-knife of their exterminators. And, with a few
exceptions, this was the manner in which they did perish. Now and then,
indeed, a desperate man would lower himself, hoping thereby to escape,
but a tomahawk would cleave his brain before he touched the ground or
water.

Day followed day, and those helpless captives sat in silence, and gazed
imploringly upon their broad beautiful lands, while hunger was gnawing
into their very vitals. Night followed night, and they looked upon the
silent stars, and beyond, to the home of the Great Spirit, but they
murmured not at his decree. And if they slept, in their dreams they once
more played with their little children, or held converse with their
wives, and roamed the woods and prairies in perfect freedom. When
morning dawned it was but the harbinger of another day of agony; but
when the evening hour came, a smile would sometimes brighten up a
haggard countenance, for the poor, unhappy soul, through the eye of an
obscure faith, had caught a glimpse of the spirit land. Day followed
day, and the last lingering hope was utterly abandoned. Their destiny
was sealed, and no change for good could possibly take place, for the
human blood-hounds who watched their prey, were utterly without mercy.
The feeble, white-haired chief crept into a thicket and there breathed
his last. The recently strong-bodied warrior, uttering a protracted but
feeble yell of exultation, hurled his tomahawk upon some fiend below,
and then yielded himself up to the pains of his condition. The lithe
form of the soft-eyed youth parted with its strength, and was compelled
to totter, fall upon the earth and die. Ten weary, weary days passed on,
and the strongest man and last of his race was numbered with the
dead:--and a glorious banquet was presented to the eagle and the raven.

                              CHAPTER IV.

                                                Rock Island, July, 1846.

On my way up the Mississippi, I tarried a few hours at the far-famed
city of Nauvoo: and when I resumed my course, I felt like one just
awakened from an incomprehensible dream. Surely, surely Fanaticism is a
most foul fiend, and we ought to rejoice with exceeding joy that He who
ruleth the armies of heaven, is yet the protector of earth, and its
inhabitants, and will not leave all mankind alone to the mercy of their
idols.

The Mormon City occupies an elevated position, and, as approached from
the south, appears capable of containing a hundred thousand souls. But
its gloomy streets bring a most melancholy disappointment. Where lately
resided no less than twenty-five thousand people, there are not to be
seen more than about five hundred; and these, in mind, body and purse,
seem to be perfectly wretched. In a walk of about ten minutes, I counted
several hundred chimneys, which were all at least that number of
families had left behind them, as memorials of their folly, and the
wickedness of their persecutors. When this city was in its glory, every
dwelling was surrounded with a garden, so that the corporation limits
were uncommonly extensive; but now all the fences are in ruin, and the
lately crowded streets actually rank with vegetation. Of the houses left
standing, not more than one out of every ten is occupied, excepting by
the spider and the toad. Hardly a window retained a whole pane of glass,
and the doors were broken, and open, and hingeless. Not a single
laughing voice did I hear in the whole place, and the lines of suffering
and care seemed to be imprinted on the faces of the very children who
met me in the way. I saw not a single one of those numerous domestic
animals, which add so much to the comforts of human life; and I heard
not a single song even from the robin and the wren, which are always so
sure to build their nests about the habitations of man. Aye, the very
sunshine, and the pleasant passing breeze, seemed both to speak of sin,
sorrow, and utter desolation.

Yet, in the centre of this scene of ruins, stands the Temple of Nauvoo,
which is unquestionably one of the finest buildings in this country. It
is built of limestone, quarried within the limits of the city, in the
bed of a dry stream, and the architect, named Weeks, and every
individual who labored upon the building were Mormons. It is one hundred
and twenty-eight feet in length, eighty feet wide, and from the ground
to the extreme summit it measures two hundred and ninety-two feet. It is
principally after the Roman style of architecture, somewhat intermixed
with Grecian and Egyptian. It has a portico, with three Roman archways.
It is surrounded with pilasters; at the base of each is carved a new
moon, inverted, while the capital of each is formed of an uncouth head,
supported by two hands holding a trumpet. Directly under the tower in
front is this inscription, in golden letters: "_The House of the Lord.
Built by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Commenced
April 6th, 1841. Holiness to the Lord._" In the basement room, which is
paved with brick, and converges to the centre, is a Baptismal Font,
supported by twelve oxen, large as life, the whole executed in solid
stone. Two stairways lead into it, from opposite directions, while on
either side are two rooms for the recording clerks, and, all around, no
less than twelve preparation rooms besides. On the first floor are three
pulpits, and a place for the choir; and on either side eight Roman
windows. Over the prophet's pulpit, or throne, is this inscription:
"_The Lord has beheld our sacrifice: come after us._" Between the first
and second floors are two long rooms, appropriated to the patriarchs,
which are lighted with eight circular windows each. The room of the
second floor, in every particular, is precisely like that of the first.
Around the hall of a spacious attic are twelve small rooms, with
circular windows and a massive lock on each door. At the two front
corners of the edifice are two winding stairways, which meet at the base
of the tower and lead to the summit,--while the roof of the main
building is arranged for a place of promenade; and the walls of the
noble edifice vary from four to six feet in thickness.

Estimating the manual labor at the usual prices of the day, it is said
that the cost of this Temple was about $800,000. The owners now offer to
sell it for $200,000, but it will be a long time, I fancy, before a
purchaser is found.

The Mormon, who took me over the Temple, and gave me the above
information, was nearly broken hearted. Like the majority of his
brethren, remaining in the city, he was without money, and without
friends, and yet, it was to be his destiny, in a few days, to push his
way into the wilderness, with a large family depending upon him for
support. It was in a most melancholy tone, indeed, that he spoke to me
the following words: "Mine, sir, is a hard, hard lot. What if my
religion is a false one, if I am sincere, is it not cruel, in the
extreme, for those, who call themselves the only true church, to oppress
me and my people as they have done? My property has been stolen from me,
and my dwelling been consumed; and now, while my family is dependent
upon a more fortunate brother for support, my little children cannot go
into the streets without being pelted with stones, and my daughters
cannot go to the well after a pail of water, without being insulted by
the young and _noble_ among our persecutors. I do not deserve this
treatment. I am not a scoundrel or a foreigner;--far, far from the truth
is this supposition. My grandfather, sir, was killed at the battle of
Yorktown, as an officer of the glorious Revolution; my own father, too,
was also an American army officer during the last war; and all my
kindred have ever been faithful to the upright laws of the government.
Knowing, therefore, these things to be true, and knowing, too, that I am
an honest man, it is very hard to be treated by my fellow countrymen as
a 'vagabond.' O, I love this sacred Temple, dearly, and it makes me weep
to think that I must so soon leave it to the tender mercies of the
_Christian_ world."

Thus far had this poor man proceeded, when his utterance was actually
choked with tears,--and I was glad of it, for my own heart was affected
by his piteous tale. I gave him a dollar for his trouble, when he was
called to attend a new arrival of visitors, and I was left alone in the
belfry of the Temple.

Then it was that I had an opportunity to muse upon the superb panorama
which met my gaze upon every side. I was in a truly splendid
temple,--that temple in the centre of a desolate city,--and that city in
the centre of an apparently boundless wilderness. To the east lay in
perfect beauty the grand Prairie of Illinois, reaching to the waters of
Michigan; to the north and south faded away the winding Mississippi; and
on the west, far as the eye could reach, was spread out a perfect sea of
forest land, entering which, I could just distinguish a caravan of
exiled Mormons, on their line of march to Oregon and California. As
before remarked, when I went forth from out the massy porches of the
Mormon Temple, to journey deeper into the wilderness, I felt like one
awakened from a dream.

                               CHAPTER V.

                                           Prairie Du Chien, July, 1846.

Just above Rock Island are the Upper Rapids of the Mississippi, which
extend some fifteen miles and have a fall of twenty-seven feet. They
made a deep impression upon my mind, because it was there that our
steamboat swung upon a rock for some thirty hours, and where, soon as we
were clear, we ran into a downward-bound steamer, and settled her to the
bottom;--but fortunately no lives were lost. I noticed on these and the
Lower Rapids a certain fly or miller, which is found at the evening hour
flying about in immense numbers. They are called the Mormon fly, and I
was told were found on these rapids alone, and that wherever they
alight, there they remain, if not disturbed, until they _die_.

Soon after we had passed these rapids I enjoyed another prairie scene,
which was even more superb than the one I have already attempted to
describe. On this occasion the bank in the foreground was covered with
grass that must have been at least six feet high, and the only living
creatures that I saw were a beautiful doe and her fawn--quenching their
thirst in the limpid stream.

The Illinois side of the Mississippi, between the Upper Rapids and the
Lefevre river which leads you to Galena, is characterized by an
extensive range of fantastic bluffs and isolated rocks. Covered as they
are with vines and mosses, they present the appearance of ancient ruins,
and it requires no great stretch of the imagination to discover towers
and turrets of ancient castles, fortress walls that have been partly
battered down, and solitary pillars rising in gloomy grandeur, as if to
preach a salutary lesson to the passing traveller, upon the ravages of
time. This same kind of singular scenery ornaments the river in the
vicinity of Dubuque (which like Galena is some distance from the
Mississippi), and extends as far as Prairie Du Chien, only, as you
ascend, the bluffs become more lofty and imposing. On the summit of one
of the most beautiful of these bluffs is a small cabin and a large
wooden cross, where the French trader and miner Dubuque was
buried--according to his own request, and in a coffin made of solid
lead.

Prairie Du Chien is undoubtedly one of the most interesting and
beautiful places on the Mississippi. It takes its name from the fact
that it was once the camping place of a Fox Indian Chief, whose name
was--_The Dog_. The prairie extends along the river for about ten miles;
on the one hand it slopes gently down to the river, and on the other is
bounded by a range of bluffs, which are some five hundred feet high, and
exceedingly picturesque. The houses that shelter the inhabitants of this
place are planted without any order, but as it is one of our more
ancient trading posts, there is a rude and romantic appearance about
them which is quite refreshing. Here, in the form of an isolated square,
lie the barracks of Fort Crawford, where the discordant sounds of the
drum and the shrill whistle of the fife are often heard; while in
another part of the plain are the ruins of an old fortress almost level
with the ground. Now a lonely Catholic church is seen holding forth its
gilded cross; and now, the store of the Indian trader is surrounded with
a herd of Winnebagoe Indians, who resort here for the purposes of trade.
The territory of this tribe lies directly on the opposite side of the
Mississippi, where the eye is again gratified by a range of wood-covered
bluffs, rising directly from the margin of the stream. From the regular
lines of naked strata which extend along the sides of all the bluffs in
this vicinity, it is evident that the spot called Prairie Du Chien was
formerly the bed of the Mississippi, but how many centuries ago this was
the case, it is impossible to imagine. And yet if this conclusion is
correct, and we remember that there are hundreds of similar prairies as
well as bottom lands on the Mississippi, we must also conclude that this
stream is now a mere rivulet to what it was in the times of old.

On the bluffs, in the immediate vicinity of Prairie Du Chien, are some
of the most remarkable of those strange memorials of a forgotten race
which have yet been discovered in our country. Like those of Ohio,
Kentucky, Missouri, and Illinois, those of the more northern wilderness
will long continue to puzzle the antiquarian, and furnish food for the
poet and the moralist. Here the mounds, trenches, and parapets are found
connected in one series of works, which seem to have been used for
military purposes. Deep under the surface of the ground, tomahawks of
brass (differing materially from those now in use) have been found; and
stories are told of gigantic skeletons having been disinterred in the
neighbourhood. The only things which throw any light upon these singular
ruins, are the uncouth and unsatisfactory legends of the Indians, who
tell us that a race of white giants were once the possessors of the soil
which they have inherited from their warlike and victorious ancestors.
These vestiges of an extinct race, "lie in their sunless chambers like
the spirits of the past, as if in mockery of an age which arrogates to
itself the term of an age of light. They will probably remain for ever a
signal rebuke upon the learning of modern times, assuming, as it does,
the pride of universal knowledge."

At this place I met and had a long conversation with an Indian trader,
who had lived in the wilderness for more than half a century. He gave me
an interesting account of the battle of Bad Axe, at which he was
present. This spot lies some distance below Prairie Du Chien, and
received its name from an Indian, who was killed and buried there at an
early day. The trader told me that the word _battle_ was not the right
one to use in speaking of that conclusion of the Black Hawk War;--it was
a cruel _massacre_. The poor Indians were crossing the river (as they
had been for days) with all possible despatch, when they were overtaken
by a force of three thousand of our well-armed soldiers. The surprise
caused great consternation among the Indians; all who could, made their
escape, and the leader of _this crowd_ was Black Hawk himself. Six of
our people alone were killed: and _nine-tenths_ of the two hundred
red-skins slain, were _women_ and _children_. The famished condition of
the _enemy_ on that occasion must have been melancholy indeed. My old
friend told me, that among the scenes which he witnessed on the ground
after this massacre, was a dead child, with the meatless bone of a young
colt's leg, grasped firmly in its little hand;--it had died of
starvation while clinging to the body of its murdered mother. And this
is a portion of the payment that our Government has ever been in the
habit of awarding to the poor Indian, for the splendid territories which
were his only inheritance.

The Winnebagoes are about the only Indians who visit Prairie Du Chien
for purposes of traffic; formerly however, it was the congregating place
for the nations which lived upon the Fox and Wisconsin rivers, as well
as those upon the head waters of the Mississippi. The Winnebagoes were
once almost as numerous as the leaves upon the trees, but the nation has
been so far reduced that only about three thousand now remain. And a
more unhappy people do not exist upon the continent,--warriors, women
and children are all apparently broken hearted. In olden times they were
a race of brave men and beautiful women, but now they prowl among their
native hills a brotherhood of vagabonds, exceedingly poor and
universally despised. And yet the white man who was the author of all
this misery counts his gold, and congratulates himself with the idea
that he is a Christian.

But I am wandering from what I was about to record, viz., the history of
a visit to the lodge of Winneshic, head chief of the Winnebagoes. The
business which had brought the old man to the Prairie, was, to exchange
the skin of a recently captured bear, for a small bag of flour and some
ammunition. I had made him a present of tobacco, (which is about the
only currency that a traveller can make use of in the wilderness,) and
when it was intimated to him that I should be pleased to visit his
lodge, he immediately pressed me to become his guest, which invitation
was duly accepted. He had come to the Prairie alone, in a small wooden
canoe, in which, at the appointed hour, I seated myself and away we
started up the Mississippi. With the language of my old friend I was
partially acquainted, and this, with my knowledge of the Indian
character, enabled me to carry on a respectable conversation. The old
man told me that I must keep very quiet in my seat, as he thought me a
novice in canoe navigation; whereupon I seized a paddle and feathered it
a few moments in a style worthy of the chief himself, which not only
surprised, but actually delighted him. After a quiet sail of about an
hour, during which time I enjoyed some of the finest scenery in the
world, and one of the balmiest sunsets I ever beheld, the canoe suddenly
turned into the mouth of a little creek, and I was landed at the
threshold of my companion's lodge. It was made of buffalo skins and
shaped like a sugar loaf. It stood upon a plot of level ground, in the
centre of a brotherhood of elms, and at the foot of an abrupt hill. It
was so far elevated as to command a southern view of the Mississippi,
extending at least a dozen miles,--the river meanwhile making two or
three magnificent sweeps as if in honor of the beautiful islands which
rested like jewels on its peaceful bosom.

The extent of Winneshic's family I was unable to learn, but the only
individuals whom I saw at his lodge were his wife, a couple of fine
looking boys and a little girl. They were all glad to see me, and
treated me with marked politeness. I was invited to a seat upon the
handsomest mat in the lodge, and while the chief sat by my side smoking
his pipe and entertaining me with the strange wild stories of his life,
the wife busied herself in finishing a pair of moccasons, while the
children were cooking a wilderness supper. That supper consisted of
boiled fish, a roasted duck, and a piece of dough about half baked, all
of which we ate with our fingers, and without a particle of salt.

After the repast was ended I thought it my turn to entertain my friends,
and for this purpose had brought my portfolio of sketches, which were
carefully examined by the light of a blazing fire. Some of the scenes I
had sketched were recognized by the whole family, and caused them to
look with perfect wonder upon my supposed talent and upon the lead
pencil which I also exhibited to them. Their astonishment amused me
exceedingly, and I greatly increased it by sketching a profile of the
chief and his better-half. It so happened that I was successful in my
attempt, and when I presented the sketches to the individuals
represented, they ransacked every nook and corner of their lodge for
something to give me in return. The chief handed me a beautiful pipe
from the red stone quarry, while the wife presented me with the most
fantastic pair of moccasons in her possession; the little girl gave me a
cake of maple sugar, and one of the boys presented me with an eagle's
plume, and the other with a bow and arrows.

It was near midnight before I was suffered to lie down to rest, but
before taking this step I emerged from the wigwam for the purpose of
looking upon the Mississippi at that hour. And a lovely sight indeed was
it my privilege to behold. The moon was sweeping across her cloudless
field of blue, a beautiful but impatient queen, while an occasional star
gazed upward from its watchtower, as if in admiration of the heaven-born
spectacle. All the hills and islands were in deep shadow, and before me,
far as the eye could reach, lay exposed the windings of the stream,
which was brighter than a shield of burnished steel. So very still was
the air around, that you might now hear the shrill note of some
frightened deer far away upon the hillside, and now the scream of a
lonely loon, the splashing of a leaping fish, and the rippling of the
rivulet at my feet, which glided into the bosom of its parent stream
through a cluster of tall reeds. With this picture and its manifold
associations deeply fixed in my mind, I re-entered the lodge, threw
myself upon a mat in the midst of my Indian friends, and was soon in a
deep sleep.

I arose, on the following morning, at an early hour, and after partaking
of a breakfast of boiled fish, I entered, with the chief, into his
canoe, and in forty minutes was at my quarters in Prairie Du Chien.

                              CHAPTER VI.

                                           Prairie Du Chien, July, 1846.

The lead region of the Mississippi occupies not far from one hundred
square miles. The two principal towns are Galena and Dubuque, which are
both handsome and flourishing. The original possessors of this land were
the Sac Fox Indians, who used to sell to the white settlers on the
frontier the ore which they often found upon the surface of their soil.
The first white man who went into the mining business, (which was on a
small scale,) was Dubuque. He was supposed to possess a cure for the
bite of the rattlesnake. He became a great favorite with the Indians,
and for a long time was the only man, not of their blood, whom they
would suffer to live upon their soil. After his death, as already
mentioned, they placed him in a leaden coffin of their own manufacture,
and buried him on the picturesque bluff which bears his name; and after
this, they destroyed every vestige of his property.

In process of time, extravagant mineral stories were circulated
throughout the country, and the general government purchased the Indian
El Dorado of its possessors. The first man who went into the mining
business at Galena, after the country had become our own, was Col.
Richard M. Johnson. Since that time, thousands of people, on various
occasions, have made and lost money in this peculiar business, which,
from its very nature, is in reality a perfect lottery. Lead, lead, is
the burden of every body's song, and the quantities weekly shipped to
St. Louis are truly immense. But a man may dig until doomsday without
finding a _lead_, and consequently die a beggar--while another, in a few
months will realize a fortune, upon which he is too apt to retire, and
then squander at the gaming table, so that you also soon find him an
idler, and in want. One individual I have myself known, who came to
Galena with $500, and having labored with unceasing industry for about
three years, and expended his little fortune, when I saw him, had not
the means of purchasing a loaf of bread, and was utterly without
employment. Notwithstanding the liberal mining regulations of the
government, the fates were against him, and he was compelled to give up
his mineral dreams in despair. Another individual, whom I saw at Galena,
was remarkably fortunate in his operations. A little more than a year
ago he commenced digging a certain hillside, and the first thing he
knew, his spade struck against a solid mass of ore. He was encouraged,
and proceeded in his excavations, and, in the course of a single year,
sold a sufficient quantity of 80 per cent. ore to amount to the sum of
$23,000. His mine is still yielding quite abundantly, and as it is
probably the best in this region, I will describe it in a few words.

After descending a shaft of some eighty feet in depth, you find yourself
in the centre of an immense cave, with chambers leading in various
directions. The walls and ceilings are mostly of pure sand, excepting
where an occasional solid mass of native lead glistens like silver or
gold, in the torch-light. Square blocks of the ore, weighing from half a
pound to one hundred, all lie as accurately dovetailed together, as if
placed there by the hands of a master-mason. While looking upon these
singular masses, I could hardly banish the thought from my mind, that we
were in view of treasures which had been hidden here in those days when
giants inhabited the world. When my curiosity was fully satisfied, I
seized the rope, and with a palpitating heart passed upward out of the
bowels of the earth into the pleasant sunshine.

Major Campton is the name of a noted character, who once resided at
Galena. He is a powerfully built man, who has spent his whole life among
the wildest of mortals, and whose various occupations have caused him to
be well known from the banks of the Ohio to the shores of Lake Superior,
where he is now figuring in the copper line, having made and lost a
fortune at Galena. A natural consequence of his peculiar experience is,
that he perfectly understands the art of fighting: though he is so much
of a gentleman, that he could not be called a bully.

It so happened that, while travelling in his own conveyance, and
accompanied by his wife, during a pleasant day last summer he came to a
halt on the margin of a certain river, and shouted for the ferryman. In
due time the indispensable gentleman was ready, and while inquiring the
news of the day, he was suddenly smitten by a new thought, and dropping
the painter of the old scow, looked inquiringly into the Major's face,
when the following dialogue ensued:--

"Stranger, isn't your name Major Campton?"

"Yes, sir, it is. What business have you to transact with me?"

"You are the very man I have long been wanting to see, for you must know
that I am the Bully of the north."

"Indeed! What do I care for that?"

"I've hearn tell that you are a famous fighter, and I should like to
have you give me a thrashing if you can."

"Why, man, I have nothing against you, and do not want to make a fool of
myself."

"But you shall, though, my honey; and you don't cross this ferry until
it is decided who is cock of the walk."

Remonstrance on the part of the Major was all in vain, the ferryman was
determined to fight. The Major held a short consultation with his lady,
who was of course in great trouble, but taking off his coat and
unbuttoning his straps, he stept out upon a grassy spot and waited for
the ferryman's attack. To shorten a long story, the fight was a tedious
one, and ended in the total defeat of the challenger, who presented in
himself, after the struggle, an admirable picture of a misspent life. He
had strength enough left, however, to ferry the Champion over the river;
and when the Major offered to pay the accustomed fare, the latter held
not out his hand, but making a rude bow, he exclaimed;--"_Not a dime,
sir: good afternoon._"

                              CHAPTER VII.

                                                 Lake Pepin, July, 1846.

That portion of the Mississippi which extends from Prairie Du Chien to
Lake Pepin is the most mountainous and truly beautiful on the whole
river, and may with strict propriety be called the Alpine Region. The
river here varies from a quarter to a full mile in width, and on either
side throughout the whole distance is a range of mountains which
sometimes actually bend over the river, and sometimes recede into the
interior for several miles. The Mississippi here is rather sluggish, but
perfectly translucent, and completely filled with islands which are
covered with every variety of forest trees found between Kentucky and
the Great Lakes. But the willow and the elm are pre-eminently beautiful.
Well do I remember with what perfect delight I mused upon the changing
landscape, as our vessel glided onward and onward into the wild and
silent wilderness. The mountains of this region are not quite so lofty
as the Highlands of the Hudson, (to which they have been compared,) but
they are far more picturesque, fantastic, and extensive. At one moment
may be seen a cone-shaped mountain rising to the height of some eight
hundred feet, and completely covered, to the extreme summit, with a
carpet of grass; now the eye will linger on a perpendicular bluff,
pictured against the sky, like a fortress of the Mound Builders, and
actually frowning upon the softly flowing stream that laves its
foliage-hidden base; now, you sail in the shadow of a pillared temple
that seems to prop the sky; and now, along a continued succession of
peaks and points that fade away, until lost in the rosy atmosphere of
evening. During all this time, your vessel will be gliding around and
between the most charming of green islands, some of them containing a
solitary grave, others a little brotherhood of Indians, lounging upon
the grassy opening before their wigwams; while some happy bird will
favor you with an occasional song, or the leap of a trout take the fancy
captive, to revel in the cool chambers of the stream. Here it is, too,
that the famous Island Mountain rises to the height of five hundred
feet, completely covered with trees, and capped by a cluster of broken
rocks. It is several miles long and about one in width, and is the
largest island in the Mississippi. From time immemorial it has been
celebrated for the number of its rattlesnakes, and on a grassy plot at
its base stands a cluster of graves, where repose the ashes of stranger
Indians who died upon the island from wounds inflicted by these
reptiles.

The next object that I would attempt to describe on my way up the
Mississippi, is Lake Pepin. It lives in my memory as the Horicon of the
wilderness. It is an extended portion of the Mississippi,--twenty-three
miles long, and from three to four wide. It is surrounded with hills,
which abound in almost every variety of game; its shores are gravelly
and covered with the most valuable of agates and cornelians; the water
is clear, and very deep; and it yields the very best of fish in great
abundance. My first view of Lake Pepin (I wish I knew how it came by
that name!) was on one of the most charming evenings that I ever
witnessed. The cloudless sky was studded with stars, and the moon sailed
upward and onward with an uncommon beauty, as if proud of the wilderness
world she was then flooding with her beams. For hours did I sit musing
upon the eastern shore, near the outlet, whence I could discern no less
than sixteen peaks or bluffs, looming in perfect solitude against the
horizon. "The holy time was quiet as a nun, breathless with adoration."
The water was without a ripple, and reflected in its pure bosom every
star, while the moon, as if determined that it should so remain for
ever, spanned it with a bar of gold. The only sounds that trembled in
the air were the hoot of an owl, the wail of a loon, and a hum from the
insect world. I looked and wondered, until the night was far spent, and
the dew upon my brow was heavy and cold.

It was while tarrying at this lake that the Captain of our steamer was
honored by a visit from Wabashaw, the head chief of the Sioux nation. He
was attended by several of his counsellors, and in all his movements had
the bearing of a proud prince. He is a young man, and said to be a brave
and eminently successful warrior. Our captain treated him to wine, and I
gave him a present of tobacco. The Captain was so pleased with the
natural curiosity, as he called the chief, that he summoned all his lady
passengers to obtain a glimpse. The ladies soon made their appearance,
and while staring at the chief, now laughing, and now laying their hands
upon his ornaments, a most ferocious glance all at once shot from his
eye, and uttering a scornful speech, he bolted from the ring of impudent
spectators. The cause of this singular movement was, that it is
considered disgraceful for a Sioux chief to be seen in the company of
women, or to be spoken to and stared upon by them. The only person whose
hand he would take on going ashore was mine; and when I happened to meet
this chief on a subsequent occasion, he treated me with marked
attention, and presented me with a handsome pipe.

At the time that I visited Lake Pepin there were quite a number of Sioux
Indians encamped upon its shores. Among the lodges which I visited was
that of a woman, ninety years of age and a widow. She looked exceedingly
wretched, but was so intelligent and amiable that I almost fell in love
with the old antediluvian. I cannot give the whole of her long story,
but an idea of its character may be obtained from the following episode,
which I listened to, seated by her side, and that of her only
descendant--a handsome boy. Her attention had been directed to our
steamer which lay moored a short distance off, when she suddenly broke
out with the following:--"How rapidly does time fly! A short time ago
the light canoe was the only thing that glided upon this lake; but now
we often hear the groaning of the great fire-vessel, as it sweeps along
like an angry stag. The white man's conduct appears strange. I can not
understand its purpose. O, I am an old woman and a fool!

"Many, very many, have been my trials. Thirty years has my husband been
dead. Eight brave sons have I had, but they were all killed in battles
with the Chippeways. I also had two daughters, who were like the does of
the prairie, but the Great Spirit has long since taken them to the happy
land. My only relative, now living, is this boy. O, I am an old woman,
and have no business to live!

"But I will not despair. The Great Spirit is at my fireside, and has
given me a helper in the dark evening of my days. This boy-hunter
supplies me with food. His arrow never fails, and the winds always tell
him where to find the sweet fish. He paddles my canoe, he brings me wood
for my fire, and he sleeps sweetly by my side in my comfortable lodge.
O, I am an old woman!--but what is there in the world that I need, and
cannot obtain?"

May the smiles of Providence for ever rest upon this mother of a great
nation, whose glory is personified in her feeble and decrepit form.

The most romantic legend, however, associated with the Mississippi
Horicon is the story of Winona. She was the daughter of a chief, and
lived about one hundred years ago. She was exceedingly beautiful and
universally beloved. Her father had promised her hand to a favorite
warrior, but her heart had been pledged to another, not less brave, but
more noble and youthful. For many months she would not listen to the
wishes of her father;--but his sterner nature was roused, and he vowed
that she _must_ marry the object of _his_ choice. Weeks passed on, and
she knew that she must yield. Nightly did she meet her accepted lover,
but always talked to him of the Spirit Land, as if she had been a queen
of that fantastic realm. The marriage night had been appointed, and the
chief had proclaimed a feast. To all outward appearance a change
suddenly came over the daughter's mind, and she smiled and talked, like
one about to be made a happy bride. Among the delicacies that were to be
eaten on the occasion, was a certain berry that was found in great
perfection upon a certain hill or bluff. It was a pleasant summer
afternoon, and all the female friends of Winona, accompanied by herself,
were picking the desired berries.

Carelessly did they all wander up the hillside, while an occasional
laugh would ring upon the air; but Winona was only seen to smile, for
(though those loving friends knew it not) her heart was darkened by many
a strange shadow. Carelessly did the berry-gatherers wander on; when all
at once a low melancholy song fell upon their ears, and lo! upon the
very edge of a beetling precipice stood the form of the much loved
Winona.

Her song was death-like, and when her companions were intuitively
convinced of the contemplated deed, they were stupified with horror.
Winona motioned them to keep back, while her song increased until it
became a perfect wail. The burthen of it was,

  "Farewell, sisters:--
  I am going to the Spirit Land;
  My warrior will come after me,
  And we shall be blessed."

One moment more, and Winona, the pride of all the Indian villages on
Lake Pepin, was deeply buried in its clear cold bosom. And this is the
story that hallows the loftiest peak of this lake. I obtained it, as
here related, from one of her kindred, and I believe it to be true. As
to Winona's warrior, it is said that he lived for many years a hermit,
and finally died a madman. So runneth many a song of life.

                             CHAPTER VIII.

                                 Mouth of the Saint Peter's, July, 1846.

The scenery between Lake Pepin and the Saint Croix is not as lofty nor
as picturesque as that we have already passed, but its interest is
greatly enhanced by the greater number of Indians that we here meet. The
Red Wing village is nearly midway between the two lakes mentioned, and
contains about six hundred souls. A short distance from this village are
two isolated mountains, whence may be seen a most magnificent panorama
of the wilderness, and when viewed at sunset presents more the
appearance of dream land than reality. These mountains from time
immemorial have been used as the altars where Indian war parties have
offered up their sacrifices, previous to going to battle. At the present
time, however, their only inhabitants are rattlesnakes, which slumber on
their sunny slopes or in the clefts of the rocks during the long summer.
And thus is it throughout the world, in the wilderness as well as the
city, death and the beautiful are ever linked together in an unbroken
brotherhood.

I only remained at the Red Wing village one night, but such a night I
hope never to pass again. A perfect outcast of a trader had furnished
the Indians with "fire-water," and the whole posse of them were
perfectly mad, for spirituous liquor always makes the poor Indian
miserably crazy. For want of a better place, I had to sleep in the cabin
of this very trader. My bed was on the floor, while my host and his
family occupied a couple of beds in opposite corners of the only room in
the house. And such horrible yelling and screaming as I heard during the
first half of that night, I can never forget. The noises were perfectly
unearthly and devilish. Now, you might hear the clashing of knives, as
some of the more desperate spirits came together in a fight; and now you
might hear the sobbings and moanings of a miserable woman, as she
exposed and mutilated her body, to perpetuate the memory of a dead
husband or child.

But there was one incident which actually made my hair stand out like
the quills of the porcupine. I should premise that the few white people
of the wilderness never think of locking their doors at night; and also
that the Indians of this region claim it as a privilege to enter and
depart from your cabin whenever they please, and their intrusions are
always looked upon as matters of course. It was somewhat after midnight,
and the yelling of the savages had partly subsided. I had just fallen
into a doze, when I was startled by the stealthy opening of our cabin
door and the tread of a muffled footstep. It was intensely dark, but I
_knew_ it was an Indian, and thought that somebody was about to be
murdered. The object in the room made just noise enough to rack my
brain, and then was perfectly still. I listened, and with hardly a
particle of breath in my body,--I still kept listening,--until I
actually fainted upon my pillow with excess of fear. Finally I slept,
and my dreams were of blood, and blood only. The first peep of day,
however, awakened me, when lo! directly at my side, flat on the floor,
was a huge black Indian, breathing in his deep slumber like a porpoise.
The first intelligence that I heard on going out of the door was, that
one Indian had been killed during the night, and that another was at
that moment in the agonies of death. As may be supposed, I left the Red
Wing village with pleasure.

Lake Saint Croix empties into the Mississippi, and its principal inlet
is a river of the same name which rises in the vicinity of Lake
Superior. This is the valley through which the traders and Indians have
been in the habit of passing, for a century past, on their way from the
western prairies to Lake Superior, and from the lake back again to the
prairies. The river is only distinguished for one waterfall of uncommon
beauty. The lake is about twenty-five miles long, from two to five wide,
and surrounded with charming scenery. The water is clear but of a rich
brown color, and well supplied with fish, of which the trout is the most
abundant.

At the outlet of this lake, I visited another encampment of Sioux
Indians, where I saw a noted chief, named Little Crow. He was a handsome
man, but both of his arms had recently been broken by a rifle ball,
which was shot by one of his own brothers,--who was envious of his
station as chief. As a punishment for his wickedness Little Crow had
ordered four bullets to be fired at his brother, which of course
numbered him with the dead. I saw his new-made grave, and his youthful
wife wailing over it, like one that was sorrowing without hope.

From Saint Croix to Saint Peter's, the banks of the Mississippi are
steep, but only about one hundred and fifty feet in height. The river is
here studded with islands whose shadowy recesses are cool during the
hottest weather;--and a more delightful region for the botanist to
ramble cannot be found elsewhere on the face of the earth. The water is
clear as crystal, and its bosom is generally covered with water-fowl,
from the graceful snow-white swan to the mallard and wood-duck. Isolated
Indian wigwams are frequently seen here, pitched on the margin of the
stream, and at the foot of vine-covered precipices.

But there are three landscape views connected with this portion of the
Mississippi, which I thought perfectly magnificent. I witnessed them all
during a single afternoon, and in the light of a mellow sunshine. The
first was of a rolling prairie that faded away to the western sky, until
its outline was actually lost in the hazy atmosphere. Not a solitary
tree did I behold, but a perfect sea of grass, that was delightfully
relieved with flowers of every variety of shape and color. Occasionally
a breeze would pass across the scene, causing unnumbered tiny billows to
quiver over the surface of mightier ones, which seemed to be careering
onward to some unknown shore. Covering the foreground of this picture
might be seen an immense flock of grouse, feeding, or chasing each other
in sport; and then, an occasional prairie squirrel as it sat at the
entrance of its hole; while in the middle distance a robber wolf glided
over one of the ridges of the prairie, with his form pictured against
the sky. The lone lost feeling which possessed my heart, when I thought
of the great prairie-world, then lying before me, I cannot describe; it
was composed of delight and melancholy, of perfect confidence and
tormenting fear.

Another picture which I witnessed from a commanding hill top, was of an
untrodden wilderness of woods, reaching to the extreme horizon on the
north. Owing to my elevated position the forest-world appeared perfectly
level, and, excepting one barren ledge, was without a single object to
mar the monotony of the scene. On that ledge, however, with the aid of
my glass I could just discern the dead body of a deer, with a black bear
reclining at its side, as if sated with his feast; while in his
neighborhood were standing some thirty vultures in a state of delightful
anticipation.

The other scene which I mentioned, was witnessed from the lofty bluff
that fronts the mouth of the Saint Peter's river. Far beneath my feet
glided the majestic Mississippi;--on my right stood the handsome and
commanding barracks of Fort Snelling, surmounted by the stars and
stripes; on my left, the naked peak of the Pilot's Nob, with a cluster
of trading-houses at its base; directly before me, winding away like a
mighty serpent between a multitude of islands, lay the deep and turbid
Saint Peter's river; and far beyond,--far as the eye could reach--the
prairie land, whose western boundary is the Rocky Mountains.

The landscape was indeed glorious, and there was something to gratify my
national pride in the flag that fluttered in the breeze; but when I
thought of the _business_ of that Fort and the _end_ for which the
people of the hamlet were living in the wilderness, the poetry of the
scene was marred, and I longed to dive still deeper in the wild world
which reposed so peacefully before me.

                              CHAPTER IX.

                                 Mouth of the Saint Peter's, July, 1846.

The hamlet of Saint Peter is at the mouth of the Saint Peter's river,
and at the head of steamboat navigation on the Mississippi. My sojourn
here has been interesting from many circumstances. I feel that I am on
the extreme verge of the civilized world, and that all beyond, to the
ordinary traveller, is a mysterious wilderness; and every object which
attracts my attention is made doubly entertaining by the polite
attentions I receive from several gentlemen connected with Fort Snelling
and the Fur Company.

Here it was that I first saw an extensive encampment of Sioux or Dacotah
Indians, who had, within six miles of the Fort, no less than three large
villages. This, as is well known, is one of the most peculiar and savage
tribes of the northwest, and as I happen to be here during their gala
season, I have had an opportunity of being present at some of their
feasts and games.

On one occasion it was announced throughout the village that the Indians
were to have a Dog Feast, in which none but the bravest and most
distinguished of the warriors are allowed to participate. The idea that
lies at the bottom of this rite is, that by eating of a dog's liver the
heart is made strong. The feast took place on the open prairie, in the
afternoon, and was attended by about one hundred men, while there must
have been a thousand spectators. The first step in the ceremony was for
the Indians to seat themselves in a circle around a large pole, and
devote a few moments to smoking. Their only article of clothing was the
clout, and their only weapon a long knife, while their heads were
decorated with death-trophies, and their bodies encircled by a belt from
which hung all the scalps the wearers had taken. Suddenly a whoop was
given, and the whole party commenced dancing to the monotonous music of
a drum. Then broke upon the ear the howl, and in a moment more the dying
groan of a dog from without the circle of dancers. The carcass was
thrown into their midst by a woman. A chorus of deafening yells
resounded through the air, the dog was immediately opened, his liver
taken out, suspended to the pole by a string, and the dance resumed. A
moment had hardly elapsed, however, before the dancers, one after
another, stepped up and took a bite of the yet warm and quivering liver.
Soon as this was all eaten, another dog was thrown into the ring, and
the same horrible ceremony repeated; and so they continued until the
carcasses of ten dogs were lying at the foot of the pole in the centre
of the dancing crowd. Another human howl ascended to the sky, and the
feast was ended. All the while the river flowed peacefully onward, and
the mellow sunlight bathed in its own gorgeous hues the illimitable
prairie.

I have also had an opportunity of witnessing in this place the Indian
mode of playing Ball. There is nothing exclusive in this game, and every
male Indian who is sufficiently active may take a part therein. It
sometimes lasts for several days, and when I witnessed it, was played by
two companies or bands, of about one hundred and fifty individuals each.
The balls used are formed of a deer-skin bag, stuffed with the hair of
that animal and sewed with its sinews. The clubs are generally three
feet long, and have at the lower end a sinewy netting, sufficiently
large to hold the ball, and each player is furnished with one of these
clubs. With these they catch and throw the ball, and though they are not
allowed to touch it with their hands, it is sometimes kept from once
touching the ground for a whole afternoon. The station of each party is
marked by a pole, on a line with which the players stand, just before
beginning the game. The poles are usually about five hundred yards
apart. The ball first makes its appearance midway between the parties,
to which point a most furious rush is made, and the object to be
attained and which talleys, is, for the player to throw the ball
_outside_ of his own line of standing.

The Olympic beauty of this game is beyond all praise. It calls into
active exercise every muscle of the human frame, and brings into bold
relief the supple and athletic forms of the best-built people in the
world. The only _ornaments_ worn are of paint and marked all over the
body, which, with the usual exception, is perfectly naked. At one time a
figure will rivet your attention similar to the Apollo Belvidere, and at
another, you will actually be startled by the surpassing elegance of a
Mercury. The only music that accompanies the game is a chorus of wild
clear laughter. The only drawback connected with it is the danger of
getting your legs broken, or the breath knocked out of your body, which
are calamities that frequently happen.

There are not many particulars with regard to manners and habits wherein
the Sioux Indians differ from their surrounding brethren. Living, as
they mostly do, in a vast prairie region, their favorite and principal
mode of travelling is on horseback, and away from the larger rivers, you
will find them possessed of the finest horses, which they love and
protect with true Arabian affection. They are of course admirable
horsemen, and very expert in hunting the buffalo. They are most cruel
and vindictive towards their enemies, and have, from time immemorial,
been at war with their neighbors of the north and west; and their hatred
of the white man seems to be a cherished emotion of their nature.
Physically speaking, they are a noble race of men and women, but
universally considered as the Ishmaelites of the wilderness. Speaking of
these Indians, reminds me of their pictorial historian, Capt. Seth
Eastman. This gentleman is an officer in the army, and an artist of
ability. He is a native of Maine, has been in the service about eighteen
years, and stationed at Fort Snelling for the last five. All his leisure
time has been devoted to the study of Indian character, and the
portraying upon canvass of their manners and customs, and the more
important fragments of their history. The Sioux tribes have attracted
the most of his attention, although he has not neglected the Chippeways,
and he has done much to make us acquainted with the Seminoles of
Florida, where he was once stationed for several years. Excepting a few,
which he has occasionally presented to his friends, all that he ever
painted are now in his possession, and it was my good fortune to spend
many agreeable hours admiring their beauties. The collection now numbers
about four hundred pieces, comprising every variety of scenes, from the
grand Medicine Dance to the singular and affecting Indian Grave. When
the extent and character of this Indian Gallery are considered, it must
be acknowledged the most valuable in the country, not even excepting
that of George Catlin. But what adds greatly to the interest called
forth by these pictures is the use to which they are to be applied.
Instead of being used as a travelling exhibition to accumulate gold,
this gallery is to be presented to a distinguished college, from which
the artist will only demand the education of his children. There is
something in this movement so foreign to the sordid passion of our age,
and so characteristic of the true spirit of art, that the heart is
thrilled with pleasure as we remember the American soldier-artist of the
wilderness.

I have also had the pleasure of meeting at St. Peter's M. Lamarre Piquo,
the distinguished French naturalist from Paris. He has been in the
Indian country upwards of a year, and is to remain some months longer.
He is on a professional tour, collecting specimens in every department
of natural history, and for that purpose is constantly wandering along
the rivers, through the woods, and over the prairies of the northwest,
with no companions but Half-Breeds or Indians. He seems to be a most
passionate lover of his science, and the appearance of his temporary
store-room or museum is unique and interesting. Here, an immense buffalo
stares at you with its glassy eyes, while just above it, pinned to the
wall, may be seen a collection of curious beetles, butterflies, and
other insects; then an elk and a deer will display their graceful forms,
while at their feet will be coiled up the rattlesnake, the adder, and
other frightful serpents; here the otter, the beaver, the fox, the wolf,
the bear, and other native animals; there a complete flock of web-footed
creatures, from the wild swan and pelican to the common duck; here an
eagle and hawk, a partridge and scarlet-bird; and there, embalmed in
spirit, a vast variety of curious reptiles. M. Lamarre Piquo belongs to
that honorable class of scholars whose labors tend to develope the
glorious resources of our country, and among whom we find such men as
Wilson, Audubon, Silliman, and Houghton.

Among the natural beauties associated with St. Peter's ought not to be
forgotten Carver's Cave, the Cascade Waterfall, the Lakes, and the
Pilot's Nob. The Cave is about four miles below, and was named after
Carver, who was the first white man that explored it thoroughly; its
Indian name however was Wahon-teebe, which means Dwelling of the Great
Spirit. The entrance to it is on the brink of the river, five feet high
and about twice as wide; and the arch within is not far from fifteen
feet high and twenty broad. The bottom is covered with sand, which
slopes down to a lake of pure water, the opposite boundary of which has
never been visited. On one of the inner sides, not far from the
entrance, are quite a number of Indian hieroglyphics, partly covered
with the moss of by-gone centuries.

About two miles north of St. Peter's there empties into the Mississippi
a small river, without a name, the parent of a most beautiful waterfall.
The stream is perhaps fifty feet wide, and after a wayward passage
across the green prairie, it finally comes to a precipice of more than
one hundred feet deep, and in an unbroken sheet discharges its
translucent treasure into the pool below. So completely hidden by a mass
of foliage is this fall, that you would pass it by unnoticed, were it
not for its ever-murmuring song. The array of luxuriant trees that
surround it, seem to be acquainted with its sorrow, for they all bend
gracefully over it in sympathy and love; while the spray which ascends
from the abyss seems like the incense of a mysterious sacrifice. But
before a thought of poetic melancholy can glide into the heart, the eye
is delighted with the form and colors of a rainbow, and the
contradictory and unaccountable influences of nature make us happy.

The Lakes in the neighborhood of St. Peter's, on the bosom of the
prairie, number some four or five, the most conspicuous of which are
Harriet and Calhoun. They are not deep, but perfectly clear, abound in
fish, and encircled with sand. The Pilot's Nob is a grass-covered peak,
commanding a most magnificent series of views. To the west lies a
boundless prairie; to the north and south the fantastic valley of the
Mississippi; and to the east a wilderness of forests and prairie,
apparently reaching to the shores of Michigan. But let us to the Falls
of St. Anthony, which are a few miles above St. Peter's.

These Falls are more famous than remarkable. They were first visited by
Father Hennepin in 1689, who gave them their present name, out of
respect to his patron saint. Their original name, in the Sioux language,
was Owah-Menah, meaning falling water. They owe their reputation
principally to the fact that they "veto" the navigation of the Upper
Mississippi. They are surrounded with prairie, and therefore easily
approached from every direction. The river here is perhaps half a mile
wide, and the entire height of the Falls, including the upper and lower
rapids, is said to measure some twenty-five or thirty feet, and they are
consequently without an imposing feature. The line of the Falls is
nearly straight, but broken near the centre by a large island, and just
below this are no less than seven smaller but more picturesque islands,
which are looked down upon by steep bluffs on either side of the river.
For half a mile before the waters make their plunge, they glide swiftly
across a slanting, but perfectly flat bed of rock; and after they have
reached the lower level, they create a perfect sheet of foam, as if
venting their wrath upon the rocks which impede their progress; but in a
few moments they murmur themselves to sleep, and then glide onward
towards the far distant ocean in perfect peace.

These Falls seem to be the grand head-quarters for the eagles of the
wilderness, which congregate here in great numbers. At one moment a
hungry individual might be seen, struggling with a bass or trout,
directly in the pure foam; and then another, with well-filled crop, high
up in heaven, would be floating on his tireless pinions. At another
time, too, you might see a perfect crowd of them hovering over the body
of some floating animal which had lost its life while attempting to
cross the upper rapids, and fearful indeed was the shriek of conflict
between those warriors of the air.

Associated with the Falls of St. Anthony is the following Indian legend.
A Chippeway woman, the daughter of a chief, and the wife of a warrior,
had been cruelly treated by her faithless husband. She was not
beautiful, but young and proud, and the mother of a lovely
daughter-child. Goaded to the quick by repeated wrongs, she finally
resolved to release herself from every trouble, and her child from evil
friends, by departing for the Spirit Land, and the Falls were to be the
gateway to that promised heaven. It was an Indian summer evening, and
nature was hushed into a deep repose. The mother and her child were
alone in their wigwam, within sight and hearing of the Falls, and the
father was absent on a hunting expedition. The mother kissed and
caressed her darling, and then dressed it with all the ornaments in her
possession, while from her own person she rejected every article of
clothing which she had received from her husband, and arrayed herself in
richer garments which she had made with her own hands. She then obtained
a full-blown lily, and crushing its petals and breaking its stem, she
placed it on a mat in the centre of her lodge, as a memorial of her
wrongs. All things being ready, she seized the child, hastened to the
river, launched her frail canoe, and in a moment more was floating on
the treacherous stream. According to a universal Indian custom, she sang
a wild death-song,--for a moment her canoe trembled on the brow of the
watery precipice, and in an instant more the mother and child were for
ever lost in the foam below.

                               CHAPTER X.

                                                  Crow-Wing, July, 1846.

My mode of travelling, from the Falls of St. Anthony to Crow-Wing river,
was on horseback. I obtained my animal of a Frenchman, who accompanied
me as a guide. There was no regular road to follow, but only a well
beaten trail, which ran, for the most part, along the eastern bank of
the Mississippi, where lies a continued succession of prairies and
oak-openings. We were each furnished with a blanket, a small stock of
bread and pork, ammunition and a gun. Our horses were young and fleet,
and mine was particularly easy and graceful in his movements. The day
was scorchingly hot, but I was so anxious to proceed that I ventured
out, and by ten o'clock we were on our winding way.

A few hours had elapsed without meeting with a single adventure, when I
fixed my eyes upon my gun, (which then seemed to be about six times as
heavy as when we started,) and began to wonder whether I was not in a
fair way of illustrating Dr. Franklin's story of the whistle. But before
I had a chance even to cast a look behind, I was startled by the report
of my companion's gun, when lo! just in the shadow of a neighboring
thicket, I saw a large buck make two frightful leaps and then drop to
the earth quite dead. In a very few moments the two hind quarters of the
animal were enveloped in his hide, and strapped to my friend's saddle;
the tune of my intentions was changed, and after taking a lunch of bread
we continued on our journey.

Our route, during the afternoon, lay over a portion of the prairie that
was perfectly alive with grouse. My guide considered them unworthy game
for his gun and skill, and left me to enjoy the sport alone. I had no
dog to point them, but my horse was so well trained to shoot from, that
he answered very well as a substitute. I only had to ride into the midst
of a flock, frighten them, bang away, and dismount to pick them up. And
this was the manner in which I spent the "lucid intervals" of our
frequent "halts," by way of _resting myself_ and _keeping cool_. I do
not desire to tell an unreasonable story, but I must say that at sunset
I had, fastened to my saddle, upwards of fifty prairie birds.

We were now on the margin of a handsome stream, in a natural meadow, and
as we found it necessary to feed and rest our horses, we gave them some
water, hoppled them, and turned them at large. In the mean time we
amused ourselves by cooking and enjoying a portion of our game, and that
was my first supper in the wilderness. We roasted our meat on one stick,
while just above it with another stick we melted a slice of pork, for
the sake of its salty drippings. We dispatched a comfortable quantity of
venison, with an occasional mouthful of pork and bread, and used the
brains, legs and breast of a grouse, for dessert. Our beverage consisted
of the purest water, which we quaffed in a position approaching to the
horizontal, though our heels were somewhat nearer heaven than our heads.
We concluded our repast with an hour's snooze, and by the light of a
thousand stars, saddled our horses once more, and resumed our journey.

It was a cool, calm, cloudless night, and we were the only human beings
on a prairie which appeared to be illimitable. I was informed, however,
that a little speck that caught my eye far to the westward, was the
cabin of an Indian trader, whose nearest neighbor was one hundred miles
off; also that the place was on the Mississippi (which we had left for a
time) and was known as Little Rock. As I was a good deal fatigued, the
poetry of that unique ride did not make much of an impression upon me. I
tried to muster a little sentiment on the occasion, but just as it was
about to manifest itself in words, my head would suddenly drop upon my
shoulder heavier than a clod; and like a feeble, flickering lamp, my
senses would revive, only to be lulled again into a doze and nod. But
this sleepy state of things was not to last for ever. It so happened
that we discovered directly in our pathway a solitary wolf, which was
snuffing the ground as if on the scent of some feeble creature that
would afford him a hearty feast. He was an ugly looking rascal, and
called forth from my companion a bitter curse. At his suggestion we
dismounted, and with our guns cocked, approached the wolf, using our
horses as a kind of shield. We had approached within a reasonable shot
of the animal, when it suddenly started, but seeing nothing but two
horses, it paused, pricked up its ears, and seemed to be whetting its
appetite for a supper of horse-flesh. In a moment, however, the signal
was given, and the two heavy charges of our guns were lodged in the body
of the wolf, which was at that instant supposed to be in a precarious
condition; and having seen him die, and taken off his hide, we once more
mounted our faithful steeds.

Our excitement having subsided, we gradually fell into a drowsy state
that was "heavier, deadlier than before." But from this were we also
roused, and by the tramp or pattering of feet in our rear. We looked,
and behold! a herd of wolves were coming towards us on the keen run. Our
horses took fright and became unmanageable. The prairie devils were now
almost upon us, when our horses actually broke loose and away they ran,
swifter than the breeze that suddenly burst upon the plain. It was not
long, however, before we left our enemies far out of sight, and at the
very moment the day was breaking we reached the mouth of Crow-Wing
river. My companion managed to retain his venison, but when I came to
count my birds, I found only five remaining, the balance having
unintentionally been left upon the prairie as food for the _beastly_
robbers of the wilderness.

                              CHAPTER XI.

                                                  Crow-Wing, July, 1846.

The spot thus designated is beautifully situated on the east side of the
Mississippi, directly at the mouth of the river known by that name. It
is here that the trader Morrison resides, whose reputation as an
upright, intelligent, and noble-hearted man, is coextensive with the
entire wilderness of the northwest. He is a Scotchman by birth, somewhat
advanced in life, and has resided in the Indian country for thirty-five
years. He possesses all the virtues of the trader and none of his vices.
He is the worthy husband of a worthy Indian woman, the affectionate
father of a number of bright children, and the patriarch of all the
Chippeway Indians, who reside on the Mississippi. Around his cabin and
two rude store-houses, at the present time are encamped about three
hundred Indians, who are _visiting_ him, and I am informed that his
guests, during the summer, seldom amounted to less than one hundred. And
this is the place where I have passed ten of the most truly delightful
days that I ever experienced. It is at this point that I am to embark in
a canoe, during my summer tour with Morrison, (accompanied by his unique
suite,) who is to be my guide, counsellor and friend, while I wander,
according to my own free will, over the lake region of the extreme Upper
Mississippi.

Crow-Wing is not only one of the most delightfully located nooks in the
world, but it is rich in historical and legendary associations. A famous
battle was once fought here, between the Chippeways and Sioux. A party
of the latter had gone up Crow-Wing river for the purpose of destroying
a certain Chippeway village. They found it inhabited only by women and
children, every one of whom they murdered in cold blood, and consumed
their wigwams. It so happened that the Chippeway warriors had been
expecting an attack, and had consequently stationed themselves in deep
holes on a high bank of the river at Crow-Wing, intending to fall upon
the Sioux party on their way _up_ the river. But they were most sadly
disappointed. While watching for their enemies, they were suddenly
startled by a triumphant shout that floated _down_ the stream. In
perfect agony they looked, when lo! the very party that they were after,
came into full view, shouting with delight and tossing up the scalps
which they had taken. Many a Chippeway brave recognized the glossy locks
of his wife or child, and knew his gloomiest anticipations to be true.
They remained in ambush for a few minutes longer, and when the enemy
came within reach of their arrows, every single one of them was killed,
while their canoes, plunder and bodies were suffered to float down the
stream unmolested; and the pall of night rested upon the hills, the
glens, the waveless river, and the Chippeway camp.

Among the many legends associated with Crow-Wing is one about a white
Panther, whose home was here when the world was young. That Panther was
the Prophet of a certain Chippeway tribe, and had power to speak the
Chippeway language. A young brave was anxious to revenge the death of a
brother, and had sought the oracle to learn the success of his intended
expedition. The Panther told him that he must _not_ go, but wait until a
more propitious season. But the young man headed his party, and
_went_;--and every one of his followers was killed,--himself escaping by
the merest chance. Thinking that the Panther had caused this calamity,
he stole upon this creature and slaughtered it, in the darkness of
midnight. The dying words of the oracle were,--"Cruel and unhappy
warrior, I doom thee to walk the earth for ever, a starving and undying
skeleton." And it is said that this spectre man, whenever the moon is
tinged with red, or the aurora borealis floods the sky with purple, may
be seen flitting in perfect solitude along the banks of the Mississippi.

Crow-Wing is the Windsor of the wilderness, for it is the nominal home
of the head Chief of the Chippeway nation. His name is Hole-in-the-day,
and I had frequent opportunities of visiting him in his lodge. He is
about sixty years of age, and a remarkably handsome man. He is stern and
brave, but mean, vain, treacherous and cruel. He was in the habit of
resorting to the most contemptible tricks, for the purpose of obtaining
whisky, with which he always made a beast of himself. He was constantly
in the habit of talking about himself, and exhibiting the official
papers which he had received from the Government in making treaties. The
following was the most famous of his deeds, and one that he had the
hardihood to boast of as something creditable. He and some six warriors,
while on a hunting tour, were hospitably entertained in a Sioux lodge,
where resided a family of seventeen persons. The two nations were at
peace, and for a time their intercourse had been perfectly friendly. On
leaving his host, Hole-in-the-day shook him cordially by the hand, with
a smile upon his countenance, and departed. At midnight, when the Sioux
family were revelling in their peaceful dreams, Hole-in-the-day and his
men retraced their steps, and without a reasonable provocation fell upon
the unprotected family and cruelly murdered every member, even to the
lisping babe. And it was in the lodge of this titled leader, that I
spent whole hours in conversation, and from whom I received a present,
in the shape of a handsome red-stone pipe. It is indeed a singular fact,
that the most interesting and intelligent nation of the West should be
ruled by such an unworthy chief as Hole-in-the-day.

A word now about his household. He is the husband of two wives, who
pursued, while I was present, their various avocations in perfect
silence. Each of them presented me with a pair of moccasons, and placed
before me whole mocucks of maple sugar. In passing I might remark, that
when the Indians are hard pushed for flour or game, they will resort to
their sugar, upon which they can live for days, and which they consider
the most wholesome of food. The children that swarmed about the chief's
lodge, I was unable to number. His eldest son and successor I frequently
met, and found him to be a perfect Brummel of the woods. The following
story gave me a glimpse of his character. Some months ago, the idea had
entered his head that his father was jealous of his increasing
popularity among the _people_. He was seriously affected by it, and in a
fit of anger resolved to starve himself to death. His friends laughed at
him, but to no purpose. He left his home, marched into the woods and
ascended a certain hill, (called Look-Out hill, and used from time
immemorial, by the Indians, as a point from which to watch the movements
of their enemies ascending or descending the Mississippi,) where he
remained four days without a particle of food. He was only rescued from
death by the timely discovery of his friends, who took him away by
force, and actually crammed some nourishment down his throat.

But my Crow-Wing stories are not all related yet. I here saw, _alive_
and _quite happy_, a warrior who was once _scalped_ in a skirmish on the
northern shore of Red Lake. His enemies left him on the ground as dead,
but wonderful to relate, he gradually recovered, and is now as well as
any body, but perfectly hairless, of course, and wears upon his head a
black silk handkerchief. The summer after this event he was hunting
buffalo in the Sioux country, when he had another fight with two
Indians, both of whom he succeeded in butchering, and one of those very
men was the identical Sioux who had taken his scalp a few months before.

During my sojourn here, I have had frequent opportunities of witnessing
the Indian mode of swimming. To speak within bounds, there must be some
sixty boys at Crow-Wing, who enjoy a swim about every hour. When not in
the water, they are hard _at work_ playing ball, and all in the
sweltering sunshine, with their ragged looking heads entirely uncovered,
and their bodies almost naked. Just as soon as the child is loosened
from its prison cradle, it is looked upon as a fit candidate for any
number of duckings, which are about its only inheritance. These children
are just as much at home in the water as a full-fledged duck. They swim
with great rapidity, always extending one arm forward, like a bowsprit,
and holding the other closely at the side. They are so expert in diving
that when a number are pursuing a particular individual, and that one
happens to dive, the whole of them will follow after, and finally all
come up a hundred yards off. To bring up a pebble from a hole twenty
feet deep is looked upon as a very common feat. This art seems to be
inherent in their nature, and is the gift of a wise Providence;--for all
their journeys are performed on the water, and their canoes are as frail
as frailty itself. It is very seldom that we hear of an Indian being
drowned.

The only Indian ceremony I have witnessed at this place, is called the
Begging Dance. A large party of _brave_ warriors had come to pay their
white father (Mr. Morrison) a _disinterested_ visit, but as they were
nearly starved, they said not a word, but immediately prepared
themselves for the dance, that is universally practised throughout the
nation. It was night, and all the people of Crow-Wing were stationed in
a large circle before Morrison's door; while one swarthy form held aloft
a birchen torch, which completed such a picture as was never equalled
upon canvass. The everlasting drum, and rattling of "dry bones,"
commenced their monotonous music; when the most ridiculously dressed man
that I ever beheld, stepped out from the crowd and commenced dancing,
keeping time with a guttural hum. Upon his head was a peaked woollen
hat, and his flowing hair was filled and entangled with burs. On his
back he wore the remnant of an ancient military coat, and on one leg the
half of a pair of breeches, while his other propelling member was
besmeared with mud. In one hand he held the empty skin of a skunk, and
in the other the gaunt body of a dead crane. Immediately after this rare
specimen, appeared in regular succession about twenty more dressed in
the same manner, and when all out, their dancing capers were even more
uncouth and laughable than their personal appearance. The object of all
this was to exhibit their abject poverty, and create an atmosphere of
good nature; and it was their method of asking Mr. Morrison for food.
Soon as he had supplied them with flour and pork, they ceased dancing,
seized the booty, and departed for their wigwams to enjoy a feast. On
the following day, this band of gentlemen made their appearance,
painted, and decked out in most splendid style, with the feathers,
ribbons, scarlet leggins, and other ornaments which they had kept hidden
until after the dance and feast were ended.

I have as yet accomplished but little in the way of hunting; that is,
but little for this region. On one occasion I killed seven fine
_looking_ ducks, which turned out, however, to be unfit to eat, as they
were of the dipper species, and a little too fishy even for my taste; at
one time I killed twenty-five pigeons; at another about a dozen grouse;
and last of all a couple of young coons. This latter game, I would
remark, afforded me one of the most delectable of feasts.

But in the way of fishing, the waters about Crow-Wing have treated me to
some of the rarest of sport. The Mississippi at this point contains a
great variety of fish of the mullet and sucker genus, but the only two
desirable kinds are the muskanounge and a very large pike. I tried some
of these with a fine hook hidden in the breast of a frog, (the disciples
of Byron will please not take the hint, and accuse me of inhuman
cruelty,) but I could not tempt them in that way. The _fashionable_ mode
for taking them is with a spear, by torchlight, and during half the
hours of one night I performed the part of a devotee to fashion. My
pilot was an Indian, and we went in a birchen canoe, using birch-bark
for a torch. There were quite a number of canoes out that night, and the
gliding about of the various torches, the wild shores, the ever-varying
bed of the river, and my own occasional struggle with an immense
fish,--conspired to throw me into a nervous state of excitement which
has not entirely left me at the present moment. I did think of
mentioning the number of prizes that were taken on that memorable night,
but my modesty forbids; I will only say that I saw extended on the shore
a muskanounge that weighed fifty-seven pounds, and a pike that almost
weighed twenty-four.

Two miles east of Morrison's house is a little lake, some four miles in
circumference, which is said to contain no other fish than black bass.
My own experience tells me that this report is true. I angled along its
sandy shores a number of times, and could take nothing but bass. They
were small, weighing about a pound, of a dark green color on the back,
sides a brilliant yellow, and belly perfectly white. I took them with a
fly, and to the palate found them perfectly delicious.

                              CHAPTER XII.

                                                  Crow-Wing, July, 1846.

The Indian trader belongs to the aristocracy of the wilderness. His
business is to barter with the Indians for their furs, as the agent of
some established fur company. He is generally a Frenchman, whose
ancestors were traders before him, and of course a native of the wild
region he inhabits. Such are the facts with regard to the individual I
am about to portray, and I purpose, by this specimen, to give my reader
a faithful idea of the class to which he belongs.

The residence of my friend is on the Saint Peter's, near the brow of a
picturesque point formed by a bend of the river, and his nearest white
neighbor is _only_ two hundred miles off. The dwelling that he lives in
is built of logs, and contains one large room and a garret. Adjoining
this cabin is another of the same character, where he keeps his
merchandise; which consists chiefly of pork, flour, blankets, blue and
scarlet cloths, and various kinds of trinkets. His household is composed
of an Indian wife and a full assortment of half-breed children, who are
generally possessed of a good deal of natural shrewdness, but of course
utterly ignorant of books and the ways of the civilized world. Adjoining
the trader's residence is about one acre of ploughed ground, where he
cultivates a few common vegetables; and he keeps a solitary cow, which
yields him the only luxury that he enjoys. His live stock is very
extensive, but not of that character which is profitable,--it is
peculiar to the wilderness, and in our section of country would be
called a menagerie. The following is a correct list of my friend's
treasures in this particular, viz.:--one grisly bear, two black bears,
two fawns, one fox, one coon, one eagle, one crow, one cormorant, a
flock of wild geese, two swans, and one owl. In addition to these I
ought to mention a herd of Indian dogs, and a brotherhood of Indians,
who are nearly always encamped in the vicinity of the trader's dwelling.

Now, as to the manner of the trader's life. Though I did not intend to
make a hero of my friend, I must say that the life he leads is heroic to
an uncommon degree. His resting time is during the summer months, when
his principal business is to obtain his merchandise and attend the
various Indian payments that may happen to be made. But during the
winter, which is long and very severe in this region, he visits, with
one or two companions, the hunting-grounds of the Indians,--leaving his
home heavily loaded with goods and provisions, and returning, still more
heavily laden with packs of furs and peltries. The hardships and
privations that he then endures, would, in a single month, utterly
destroy a common constitution; but they are treated by him as matters of
very little consequence, for his constitution seems to be of an iron
nature. Several days does he sometimes spend without a particle of
food;--now, snowbound in the pathless woods, and now surrounded,
perhaps, by a band of hostile Indians, who may succeed in robbing him of
his furs. Now it is his fortune to struggle for life with some
half-famished beast; and now he has to endure the frightful dangers of
fording angry and partly frozen rivers. Cold, fatigue, and hunger are at
the foundation of almost every scene that he passes through during the
cheerless winter months of every year, in the Indian Territory of the
northwest.

The intellectual and moral character of our Indian trader is what would
be expected from a man in his condition. He knows not how to read or
write, and is consequently dependent upon a clerk for the prosecution of
his epistolary business and the keeping of his memorandum books. In
politics he is nothing, as he has not, from his location, the privilege
of voting; but his sympathies are invariably with those officers of the
Government who project and carry out measures nominally for the benefit
of the poor Indians, but more particularly for his own. In religion, he
is a blind adherent to the Pope of Rome. The glittering dollar seems to
be the star of his ambition. Having been for many years an agent for the
famous but most outrageous American Fur Company, he has become hardened,
and, like his _teacher_ in the science of oppressive monopoly, seldom
hesitates at any course of conduct that will prove lucrative. He avows
himself the best and only friend of the Indian, and yet his every act of
kindness is accompanied by a moral stab. He buys a pack of furs and
allows the hunter the current price, but then he pays him in flour at
_fifty_ dollars per barrel, and blankets at ten dollars apiece;--but far
worse, he sells to the benighted savage the baneful fire water, which
makes him a perfect devil.

But the trader has some redeeming qualities, and I know not that I am
disposed to write him down as more ignorant or wicked than his
_civilized_ fellow-men in the same sphere of life. At the same time that
he imposes upon the poor Indian, in more ways than one, it is also true
that he is his friend when cold and hungry. The Indian is such a
thoughtless and improvident creature, that it is absolutely necessary he
should have some one to watch over him and keep him from starving. And
often is the trader's duty, in this particular, faithfully performed;
with all his faults he would sooner die than see an Indian suffer. Take
the trader away from the cares of business, as you sometimes may employ
him as your guide in a hunting expedition, and you will find him a most
interesting companion. Strange as it will seem, he is a devoted lover of
nature, and being superstitious, he has a legend in his head for every
picturesque nook of the woods and prairies, and for every beast or bird
which may happen to cross your path. He is well acquainted with the
geography of the northwest, and makes an occasional rude map upon birch
bark, which are of great value to those who execute them on a large
scale for our Government. That portion of Nicolet's map, representing
the extreme head of the Mississippi, was made upon bark, by Francis
Brunet, who is to be my guide for hundreds of miles. He is also well
acquainted with the traditionary history of the Indian tribes, and knows
well the character of every chief and remarkable personage now living.
He has a kindly nature, and his whole conduct is agreeably softened by
an innate politeness. He is, to sum up all, a most romantic, but very
useful and influential character, and in intellect the aristocrat of the
wilderness.

I may append with propriety to this sketch, a few words about the fur
trade generally, as it now exists beyond the Mississippi. A division
took place in the American Fur Company a few years ago, and while one
party was headed by Piere Choteau, and traded on the Missouri, the other
remained under the guiding hand of Ramsey Crook, and confined its
operations to the region of the Great Lakes. The principal men in this
fur trade, before and since the family division, succeeded in
accumulating large fortunes, but both of the companies, which retain the
original name, are supposed to be, at any rate, no better off than they
should be. For my part I am not surprised at this result, when I know
the overbearing and monopolizing character of these companies, and when
I believe in the theory that iniquity has its reward even in this world.
Many of the deeds that have been, and are still, sanctioned by the
so-called American Fur Company, are of such a character as to be worthy
of the severest condemnation; out of its many iniquities I will mention
only one. This company has located its agents in every eligible corner
of the wilderness, for the ultimate purpose of accumulating gold; and
when the poor missionary of the cross has crept along through untold
hardships to plant the banner of a pure religion, for the benefit of the
red man, he has been insulted and driven away. But I like not this
theme, and will let it pass into forgetfulness. When I am told that the
beaver and the otter and other valuable animals are rapidly becoming
extinct, and that the glory of the American Fur Company is for ever
departed, I cannot but believe that there is a wise and just Providence,
who holdeth the world in the hollow of his hands.

                             CHAPTER XIII.

                                                Spirit Lake, July, 1846.

This Lake, which the French have named Mill Lac, and certain ignorant
Yankees, Rum Lake, was originally called by the Chippeways,
Minsisagaigoming, which signifies the dwelling place of the Mysterious
Spirit. In form it is almost round, and about twenty miles across in the
widest part. The shores are rather low, but covered with a luxuriant
growth of oak, hard maple, and tamarack. It is shallow, but clear and
cold; has a sandy bottom, and yields a variety of fish; and contains
only three islands, which are small and rocky.

The Mysterious Spirit alluded to above has acquired a great notoriety on
account of his frequently taking away into the spirit land certain
people whom he loved. Sometimes he would take them for a few days, and
sometimes he would not return with them at all. The following stories
were given to me as facts, and I know were actually believed. An Indian,
with his family, had encamped upon the lake for one night, and just as
he was about to depart on the following morning, he could not find his
only child, a little girl. At one moment she was seen picking up some
pebbles near her father's canoe, and the very next was gone. For six
days did they seek the child, but in vain. On the seventh day, however,
as they were about to depart once more, (having given up all hope of
recovering the lost one), they looked, and behold! she was again picking
up pebbles beside the canoe, as unconcerned as if nothing had happened.
When questioned, she answered that she had only been taken away by a
beautiful lady to a beautiful land, where she had been happy in seeing
many beautiful things.

Once when there was a party of Indians encamped here, a favorite young
girl was discovered to be missing, and her friends, supposing that she
had been drowned, were mourning bitterly at her departure; one day she
made her appearance in her father's lodge, as if nothing had happened,
and was accompanied by two dogs. Her story was, that an old woman had
taken her to an island, presented her with the animals, and bade her
prepare for a long journey. She was absent for three weeks, but on the
day of her return was numbered with the dead.

A little boy was also once lost on the margin of this lake. The only
trace of him that ever could be discovered, was one of his arrows found
lodged in a tree. And the Indians believe too that the aged mother of
Hole-in-the-day (the great chief) was also carried away by this
Mysterious Spirit. One thing is certain, say they, she disappeared in
the twinkling of an eye from the party with whom she was travelling many
years ago. These are indeed idle legends, but give us an insight into
the Indian mind.

The following is an historical fact, which only proves the obstinacy of
their principal actor. Many years ago, a chief named White Fisher, with
his family and a party of braves, were encamped in one large lodge on
the north side of Spirit Lake. A friendly Indian entered the cabin at
sunset, and told the chief that he had seen a war-party of three Sioux
on his trail. The chief scorned to believe the story, because his dreams
had told him nothing about an enemy. In a short time his eldest son
returned from his evening hunt, and said that he had also seen three
Sioux in the woods about a mile off;--but the father continued to
disbelieve. Finally the chief's own brother told him a similar story,
which was also treated with contempt. It was now morning, and the chief
made his appearance outside of his lodge, and was about to go upon a
hunt;--but in the twinkling of an eye three balls passed through his
body, and he died. Every single member of his household was killed,
excepting his youngest son, who was taken prisoner, lived in the Sioux
country for twenty years, but finally returned to his own people, and he
was the identical individual from whose lips I obtained the above facts.
He is now a chief, and universally known by his father's name, Wabogike,
or White Fisher.

On the west bank of Spirit River, where it leaves the lake, is the rude
grave of Kitcheoseyin, or Elder Brother, who was one of the most famous
orators of his nation. He was a noted chief, and on one occasion had
given up into the hands of the white men a certain Chippeway murderer.
His people were very angry at him, and it was currently reported that he
was about to be assassinated. He heard of this interesting movement, and
immediately summoned a council. The warriors were all assembled, and
when the pipe had been passed entirely round, the chief stepped forward
and addressed the council in the following words, which were repeated to
me by one who heard them.

"Friends, relatives, and brothers. My object in calling you together in
council is this. I hear that you desire to take away my life because I
have given up to the white men a Chippeway Indian, who had murdered one
of their people. I have done so, brave men, and I think I have done
right. That man who committed the murder was a _bad dog_,--he was not a
true Chippeway Indian, and for his wicked deed he deserves to die. Had
we been at war with the white nation, it would have been well,--but we
are at peace.

"But, brothers, I understand that you accuse me of siding with the pale
faces, and that you think such conduct wrong. I do love the white men,
and I do not think my conduct wrong. Who is it, I would ask you, that
supplies us with food when game is scarce, and who gives the warm
blanket to protect us from the winter cold? Who is it that gives us the
guns that we so much need, and the tobacco that we so much love? You
know that it is the white man, and you know too that you act like fools
to blame me for my conduct, and seek to kill me because I would be an
honest Chippeway.

"I tell you, warriors, that I do love the white man, and I am ready to
die for his sake. You cannot compel me to change my opinion. Make a hole