JULY 2, 1840.

_Dear E._--Rocked by the tempest we slept soundly, but arose in time to

witness a glorious sunrise scene upon lake Erie. We were in the centre

of the lake--no land was visible on either side, save two lonely

islands, one of which was just vanishing upon the distant horizon, while

the other one was only a short distance from our vessel. Suddenly a

dazzling radiance shot up from the east, and in a few moments the sun

came rushing from out the water as if in eager haste to greet his

favorite lake. A flood of glory lighted up the green depths of Erie;

tinging the foam with a thousand prismatic hues, and tipping with gold

the white plumage of the birds which were soaring over our heads. The

dark alleys of beech, maple, and hickory which covered the island, and

its pebbly shore covered with diamond spray, were illumined with the

morning rays, receiving new beauty from every touch. We were stretching

from Sandusky bay upon the Ohio shore to the Detroit river; many islands

were passed, some of them quite large. Cuningham island contains 2,000

acres. They are of limestone rock covered with forest trees. Here was

the scene of the famous naval battle upon lake Erie, and these peaceful

glades once echoed with the cannon’s roar. I regretted not seeing

Sandusky, a large and pretty town, situated upon a river and bay of the

same name. Here also is the mouth of the Maumee river, or the Miami of

the lakes, northern termination of the great canal which commences at

Cincinnati, and is connected with the canals of Indiana.

Land began to appear upon our western quarter, and soon the State of

Michigan became visible. The mouth of Detroit river was soon after seen

here, five miles wide from the Canadian shore to Michigan. At

Amherstburg, a small Canadian town, we stopped about seven o’clock, for

the purpose of taking in wood. The flashing of bayonets and the red

uniform, as the sentinel walked up and down the wharf, told us we were

in a land belonging to another nation. Fort Malden is passed soon after.

Upon a platform, in front of the fortress, a file of soldiers were going

through their exercises, their brilliant scarlet dresses and arms,

prettily flashing back the morning sun. A boat, filled with red-coated

soldiers, was passing over to an island to relieve the guard which stood

upon a romantic point, near his little sentry box. A large ship came

rapidly down the river, with all its sails out, looking like a huge bird

of prey winging his flight to the shore, adding to the variety of the

scene. Detroit is a beautiful river, connecting lakes St. Clair and

Erie. Its width is generally about a mile--opposite Detroit city

three-fourths of a mile. The shores are very beautiful, cultivated upon

each side, with several pretty islands in the centre. Upon the Canadian

side we observed several French settlements, their windmills upon every

point giving a novel and unique effect to the scene. We did not reach

Detroit until ten o’clock, although it is only 19 miles from the mouth

of the river, owing to our delay in taking in wood. The city appeared

well, covering a plateau of ground elevated 40 feet above the river.

Three steamboats were in sight as we approached, one being a ferry boat

to the town of Sandwich, opposite. As we were to remain here some time

we landed and walked about the city. The city stands upon a plain which

commands an extensive view of the river and surrounding country. A broad

street runs through the centre called Jefferson avenue, lined on each

side with shops and hotels. At the upper end are several handsome

dwellings surrounded with gardens. The churches are common in their

appearance, except the catholic, which I must say was uncommon. It is a

large building of unpainted wood, having two odd looking steeples

exactly alike, in the centre of the front; at the back is a dome having

on each side a belfrey. Adjoining this is the residence of the Bishop, a

large brick building. I was disappointed in the appearance of this city.

It was built by the French, you know, in 1670, and being so much older

than Rochester or Buffalo, we naturally supposed it would be larger than

it is. But the same causes do not operate here which influence the

prosperity of the other cities. It has not the old and settled state of

New York behind it, nor the great canal. Michigan, of which Detroit is

the capital, has been recently settled, and that only in the southern

parts. The fur trade was for years its main dependence, and that has of

late fallen off very much. As man invades the recesses of the forest,

the animals retreat before him. Detroit has, however, felt the wind in

her sails, and is rapidly following after her southern sisters. Of this,

the increase of population is one proof--2,222 being their number in

1830, and 1839, 9,278. Several railroads are planned out, which, when

the river and lakes are filled with ice, will be of much service. Of

these, the Detroit and St. Joseph are the principal--leading from this

city across the State to lake Michigan, a distance of 194 miles; 33

miles are completed. Many persons take this route to Chicago, in

preference to the more extensive one around the lakes. Besides these,

there are in contemplation the Detroit and Pontiac; Shelby and Detroit,

&c. Michigan will soon fill up, as its population has increased since

1830, seven hundred per cent.; then it was 28,600, and now, in 1840,

they count 211,205. Detroit will then be the great depot of the lakes,

and bids fair to rival the neighboring cities. Here we landed our German

emigrants, who were bound to the rich plains of Michigan. Upon the wharf

were men busily engaged packing white fish salted, with barrels, fifty

of which we took on board. The white fish is a delicious fish, something

the form of our shad, averaging from 4 to 10 lbs. and sometimes weigh 14

lbs. There is a great trade of this fish upon the lakes. 30,000 barrels

were exported from Cleveland this season. While passing the city, when

we had resumed our voyage, we observed several rows of handsome ware

houses, many of which seemed as if newly erected. We also noticed a

large brick building erected for the hydraulic works which supply the

city with water, it being in these lakes fit for cooking, washing and

drinking. This city is the scene of one of Pontiac exploits. He was one

of those brave and haughty spirits who cannot accustom themselves to the

yoke of the white men. Of these, a few have appeared in latter years;

Black Hawk being the last. The French he had become accustomed to, and

suffered their presence in his realms, but when another nation appeared

he determined to root them out the land. They were at peace apparently,

but a deceitful peace, for Pontiac was organizing a confederacy against

the English, who then occupied Detroit. ‘There was no sounding of the

tocsin, no alarm of war given, no motion of the waves were felt,’ to

quote the words of McKenney--‘In this moment of stillness, a scout

returned bringing the intelligence that a large body of Indians were

crossing lake St. Clair in canoes, and coming in the direction of

Detroit, while numerous bands were appearing at every point.’ Pontiac

appeared in the neighborhood with 3,000 warriors, who, in a friendly

manner approached the fort, erected their wigwams, and commenced their

Indian games, to lull all suspicion. That very band, unknown to the

English, had just returned from the bloody massacre of Fort

Michilimackinack, which they had surprised in the manner they now

intended. Major Gladwin, however, suspected them, and admitted only six

Indians at a time in the fort. The wily Pontiac at length succeeded in

having a council held at the fort, and was permitted to attend with

thirty-six chiefs. Their rifles were cut short and hid under their

robes, with which they were to shoot down the officers and seize the

fort. Were it not for the fidelity of a squaw to her master in the

fort, the plan would have succeeded. As it was, they suffered severely

from famine, and many were cut off who came to reinforce them, before

the Indians finally retreated. Ten miles from Detroit the river

gradually expands into lake St. Clair. A pretty lake--a most sweet

lake--appearing small among its larger sisters, and yet it is 90 miles

in circumference. The waters are cool and transparent, fringed with the

graceful ash, the linden, ‘tasseled gentle,’ the beech, and the stately

lioriodendron, and many other varieties. We felt reluctant to enter and

ruffle the glassy surface, and disturb the profound repose which reigned

around. The shores are low and there are no houses in sight. A wood

cutter’s hut, and at its extremity, a light-house, were the only signs

of life we saw. The trees were throwing their flickering shadows upon

the placid water, or leaning over, as if to admire their own reflection

so perfectly painted upon the mirrored surface,--

In which the massy forest grew,

As if in upper air;

More perfect both in shape and hue,

Than any waving there.

If you do not choose to emigrate to any of those charming spots I have

mentioned along the road; if Auburn, or Rochester, or Cleveland do not

lure you, perhaps you would like to come to the picturesque shores of

St. Clair, and weave you a bower ‘in some sweet solitary nook’ under

those trees of ‘ancient beauty;’ or erect a picturesque hermitage with a

pet skull, and moralize and spiritualize your hours away. I have heard

many declare they could better worship their Creator in the fields and

woods than in temples made with hands, and can ‘look from nature up to

nature’s God.’ I fear such are greatly deceived in the nature of their

feelings, and many a lonely anchorite has thus mistaken adoration of the

beauties of creation for worship of its Creator. His heart may be filled

with the most elevated emotions while contemplating the glory and

grandeur of God’s works, and he may be subdued to tears of tenderness

while reflecting upon that kindness and mercy which has adorned the

residence of man with such exquisite loveliness; but will that

regenerate his heart? will it give him a knowledge of his Savior; shew

him the mysteries of faith and redemption, and subject his will to that

of Christ? If so, let him live upon a mountain top, and gaze at will;

but I much fear these sentiments are but the ‘semblance of sacredness.’

The shores of St. Clair, being low, display the rise which has taken

place in these northern lakes. That there is a rise and fall in this

singular mass of fresh water has been observed for many years; and many

opinions have been hazarded as to its cause. Some of the Indians declare

there is a regular rise and fall every seven years; while the scientific

traveller, Darby, tells us there is a rise once in fifty years. A

person, upon whose knowledge we could rely, told us at Buffalo, one

year, while he resided upon the banks of the St. Lawrence, the current

ran out of lake Ontario at the rate of ten miles, and the next year the

lake had unaccountably risen, and ran thirteen miles an hour. It must

have been one of those extraordinary floods, of course much higher,

which caused the lakes to overflow, as I have mentioned above--that is,

if it were not a diluvial torrent. The captain of our steamboat, who

had navigated these lakes for several years, a man of intelligence and

integrity, agreed with the Indians in the belief of a gradual rise and

fall in seven years. During these last two years the water has risen to

the height of five or six feet. Our captain pointed to many spots, upon

the shore, where the water had overflowed the land. Upon one pretty

place a farm house had been abandoned, and a fine apple orchard,

standing two years in the water, had been destroyed; and now, while all

around was green, their limbs were bare and leafless. A very intelligent

man, a settler upon the river St. Clair, pointed to several noble maple

and beech trees, as we passed the Michigan shore, whose gradual decay he

had watched, while making his spring and fall trips in order to purchase

goods in New York. It was pitiable, he said, to behold such goodly

trees, ‘green robed senators of ancient woods,’ sinking beneath the

subtle destroyer, as some noble heart withering away at the touch of

affliction! He watched them with an interest he would a friend consuming

under a slow decay--their glorious beauty dimmed and faded, until a

lifeless skeleton alone remained.

“a huge oak dry and dead,

Still clad with relics of its trophies old,

Lifting to heaven its aged hoary head,

Whose foot on earth hath got but feeble hold.”

This man’s history interested us much, and I will relate it for your

edification. He was a native of our city of New York, one of a large

family straightened for means. While quite young he had married, and

struggled for years to support his family respectably, but sickness and

‘bad times’ rendered his lot a gloomy one. Hearing so often of the

happiness and prosperity of ‘the west,’ he resolved to remove thither,

and accordingly bought a tract of land upon St. Clair river, then

farther west than it now is. He came here twenty years since, with a

wife and several young children, and a mere trifle in money. A little

village has now risen around him, of which he is the owner. He has built

a good tavern for travellers, which he rents out; has erected a

saw-mill; a few shops and houses, and a little church. His children are

married and settled around him; and he is, as he expressed himself,

‘independent of the world.’ Once a year he goes to New York or Buffalo,

to purchase goods for his shop. How much better is this state of things

than to remain, struggling for a morsel, among the hungry crowd of a

large city. I asked him if he never repented renouncing a city life.

‘No, indeed!’ he answered--‘I go there once or twice a year to transact

business, but hurry away, for I feel as if in prison. I want elbow room,

and never breathe free until threading my green lakes and vast forests

again. I am glad to leave such fictitious existence, where each man

models his conduct upon that of his neighbor, and dare not act as his

spirit prompts him.’ We had passed into St. Clair river, and about

sun-down dropped this man and his goods at his little village, which was

seated upon a green slope, cut out of the forest, upon the Michigan

shore. The houses were surrounded by little gardens and seemed

comfortable.

The sign of the village inn was swinging in the summer breeze; a

traveller had just alighted from his horse in front of the piazza, and

the steam from his mill was rising high above the trees tinted purple in

the evening light. From a shop door a young man, probably his son,

accompanied by a neighbor, stepped forth to greet him; while, from the

honeysuckle-covered porch of a neat cottage a woman, whom I fancied his

wife, was looking eagerly out to watch his approach. Every thing denoted

industry, cheerfulness, and independence.

Soon after leaving the village of Clay, we observed a ship at anchor

near the shore, quite a picturesque object. It proved to be the

Milwaukie, a ship of three hundred tons burthen, bound from Buffalo to

Chicago. It was waiting for wind, or steam, to enable it to enter lake

Huron, as this lake pours into the river St. Clair with so strong a

current, that vessels can seldom stem it without a strong wind. She was

soon attached to our steamboat, and we both passed swiftly along. What a

superb western sky! The sun has long left us, and yet we scarcely miss

its light, so golden and so brilliant is the mantle he has left behind

him. It is nearly nine o’clock, and yet I can see to write this, but

fatigue drives me to my cabin, and forces me to say adieu until

to-morrow.

* * * * *

_July 3d._--Still in the river St. Clair. We stopped some hours in the

night at Newport, to take in a supply of wood. The captain purchased

eighty cords at $1,50 a cord. He told us it was his opinion the

steamboats upon these waters would soon be obliged to burn coal,

although surrounded by such a world of trees, as there is so much time

wasted in stopping for it. I did not regret our detention, as I was

anxious to lose no part of a scenery to me so novel and pleasing. This

is a beautiful river about sixty miles long, and half a mile broad,

having several little towns upon it. Cotrelville and Palmer we had also

passed in the night; the latter a thriving place, from which a rail road

is contemplated to Romeo, twenty-six miles, there to meet the Shelby and

Detroit rail road. A communication will thus be continued with Detroit

through the winter. The country upon the Canadian shore is wild and

uninhabited, while the Michigan side of the river is frequently adorned

with fields of grass or wheat, or thrifty orchards. The houses are

plain, but seemed surrounded by every comfort. Our course ran quite near

this shore, so close, that I might fancy myself transported into the

midst of a farm yard, with all its morning business going on. A pretty

white wood house is before me now, surrounded by fields and barns,

having a row of cherry trees in front whose fruit is glistening red in

the morning sun. In the barn yard a man is chopping wood, to cook the

breakfast, I suppose--another is busy hoeing in a potatoe field--a boy

is leading a horse down to the river for water, while numerous other

children are arrested in their play and stand open mouthed gazing at

us--ducks are dabbling in the wavelets--pigs are rooting up the turf--a

flock of geese are running down the bank at us with beaks and wings

extended in a warlike attitude--while a sober cow chews her cud under a

large hickory nut tree. The next moment all is gone, to give place to

the silent groves of oak, maple and ash. Upon a long narrow island near

the Canadian shore, my eyes were attracted by what seemed a row of

haystacks. I enquired the meaning, and was told I was looking upon an

Indian village, and these were wigwams. I was delighted to behold a

veritable Indian lodge, and to see _real_ Indians, instead of those

half civilized beings I had met at Niagara. They are a body of

Chippeway Indians who reside upon Warpole Island under the care of a

Missionary of the Methodist church. Their wigwams consisted of poles

meeting at top, around which, coarse matting, formed of reeds is

fastened. From the apex of these cones smoke was rising, telling of

culinary operations going on within. Around each lodge was a small patch

of potatoes or corn. A small church, with the missionary cottage and a

few log cabins, were in the midst. Groups of Indians were lounging upon

the bank gazing at us, while others unconcernedly pursued their usual

occupations of fishing or hoeing. How much more graceful were those wild

sons of the forest, than the civilized men I had observed upon the

shores I had passed. Their mantles of cloth or blanket stuff, trimmed

with gay colors, were gracefully thrown around them, and their

ornamented leggins or moccasins glittered as they walked. How dignified

is the tread of an Indian! we remarked as we passed the island, many in

various occupations and attitudes, yet they never moved awkwardly, nor

sprang, nor jumped in a clumsy manner. The missionary cottage was an

object of great interest to us. I had often read of these self-denying

disciples of Jesus, but never before looked upon the scene of their

labors. Here in this lonely shore, away from all they love--their

friends and home--and almost shut out from the face of civilized man,

they spend their days in laboring to ameliorate the lot of these unhappy

children of the forest. In bringing them to the feet of their master,

they are indeed conferring a blessing upon them past all return. As a

recompense for the bright land their fathers have taken from the

bereaved Indian, they are leading them to another, brighter and more

lasting. There is no change, nor shadow of turning--there, no enemy can

destroy their homes--there, the tears are wiped from their eyes, and all

their sorrows soothed. Noble missionary, who can appreciate thy

sacrifice? None but those who have come from a civilized land, where

thou hast passed thy early days, and who now sees thee among the endless

forests with no associates save those wretched savages, can understand

the greatness of thy disinterestedness. During the short summer, a

residence may be tolerable, but when the rivers and lakes are choaked up

by ice, the short glimpse he has obtained of his fellow man, while

whirled past in a steamboat, will be denied him. The roar of the winter

wind will shake his cottage, and the wolf will scare him from his

slumbers. But what are earthly joys or sorrows to a child of Christ? His

meat and drink is to do the will of him that sent him, and in return for

the comforts and pleasures of civilized life, he receives a peace ‘the

world cannot give’--a joy, David in all the glory of his kingly life

sighed for, when he prayed ‘Give me the joy of thy salvation.’ A small

settlement is formed at the mouth of Black river, called Port Huron,

which is to be the termination of another canal across the state.

Here we found another vessel waiting for wind. It was the brig Rocky

Mountain, bound to Green Bay, being attached to our other side we passed

‘doubly armed.’ Near the point where the river leaves lake Huron stands

fort Gratiot, an United States military station whose white walls and

buildings, over which the American flag was waving, looked out brightly

from among the dark forest of the Michigan shore. A line of blue coats

were going through their morning drill; and a few cannons looked out

fiercely upon us. A small white Gothic church, and a cottage stood near;

the whole making a pretty cabinet picture. The river now narrowed to a

quarter of a mile, upon each side a point--the American side crowned by

a light-house, and the Canadian by a cluster of Indian cabins. A bark

canoe, paddled by five Indians, pushed off the shore and came after us

with the greatest rapidity, their long black hair flying wildly behind

them. Our two vessels retarded our motion a little, so that the Indians

overtook us, and kept at our side for some distance. They used their

paddles with astonishing quickness, and we were surprised to see them in

their ‘light canoe,’ keep pace with our large steamboat. It was however

for a short distance only--they were soon fatigued with such great

exertion, and turned towards the point, and sprang out, or rather

stepped out with the greatest dignity, drew the canoe to the shore, and

then _squatted_ down upon the bank evidently enjoying their race. I use

the above inelegant word, as being very expressive of their posture. The

Indian never sits down as we do--with his feet close beside each other,

and his body erect, he sinks slowly down--his blanket is then thrown

over his head and around his feet, so that nothing is seen except his

dark glaring eyes. Through the narrow pass before mentioned, between the

two points, the waters of Huron run with a swift current. Here we were

furnished with another evidence of the rise of these waters.

An officer of the army and his wife were our fellow voyagers, very

intelligent and agreeable persons. They had been stationed at fort

Gratiot a few years since, and had frequently roved over the beach

around the light-house in search of the pretty silecious pebbles, agate,

camelian, and calcedony, which are often found upon these shores. To

their surprise, they now found their favorite point, ‘curtailed of its

fair proportions’ by a rise of nearly five feet of water. Our steamboat

and its two ‘tenders,’ passed between the points out of St. Clair river,

and we found ourselves at once in a large and shoreless lake, with

nothing in front, between us and the bright blue sky, which touched the

green waters in the far horizon beyond. The transition is so sudden from

the narrow opening, to the boundless lake as to produce a grand and

exciting effect. Once out upon the calm waters of Huron, our two guests

were loosened from their tackles, and spreading their huge wings, they

passed one to each shore, and we soon left them far behind. About an

hour after, the bell of our steamboat startled the still lake with its

clamors, denoting the approach of some vessel. We looked out in time to

see the noble steamboat Great Western rush past us as if upon the wings

of a whirlwind. She was on her way from Chicago to Buffalo. Her bell

answered ours, and the deck was crowded with passengers. One of these

standing alone by himself, and taking his hat off attracted our notice

and we discovered in him an old acquaintance from New York. These

meetings in a distant land are very interesting, carrying our feelings

at once to the home we had left. This steamboat is one of the largest

upon the lakes, is finished in a style of great elegance, and is said

to be as long as the English steamship of the same name.

This whole day since ten o’clock--we have been passing through Huron

under a cloudless sky. The lake is two hundred and fifty-five miles

long, and its waters are of a deeper tint than those we have passed,

owing to its great depth, as we are sailing over nine hundred feet of

water, while in some places it is said to be unfathomable. The color is

a dark olive almost black, and it is only when the sun shines through

the waves that we can perceive they are green. The cause of the various

colors of water has produced many a hypothesis. Sir Humphry Davy tells

us the primitive color of water is like the sky, a delicate azure.[13]

He says ‘the finest water is that which falls from the atmosphere--this

we can rarely obtain in its pure state, as all artificial contact gives

more or less of contamination; but, in _snow melted by the sunbeams_

that has fallen upon glaciers, themselves formed from frozen snow, may

be regarded as in its state of greatest purity. Congelation expels both

salt and air from water whether existing below, or formed in the

atmosphere; and in the high and uninhabited region of glaciers, there

can scarcely be any substances to contaminate. Removed from animal and

vegetable life, they are even above the mineral kingdom.’ Water from

melted snow, then considered as the purest, Sir Humphrey goes on to

describe its color. ‘When a mass is seen through, it is a bright blue,

and according to its greater or less depth of substance, it has more or

less of this color.’ ‘In general when examining lakes and masses of

water in high mountains, their color is the same bright azure. Capt.

Parry states that water in the Polar ice has the like beautiful tint.’

The brown, green, and other colors of rivers he imputes to substances

over which they flow, as peat bogs, vegetable and mineral substances. He

allows the sea cannot be colored from any thing upon the bottom, but

imputes the tint to the infusion of iodine, and brome which he has

detected in sea water, the result of decayed marine vegetables. Of this

primitive water are our lakes formed, originating as they do in regions

of snow and ice. Lake Superior, from whence they flow, is a vast basin

of trap rock, of volcanic origin.[14] It is the most magnificent body of

water in the world, five hundred miles long, and nine hundred deep, and

perfectly pellucid. Into this pure, and originally, azure primitive

water, there flow forty rivers, upon the south side alone, according to

Mr. McKenney of the Indian department, who counted this number from St.

Mary’s to the river St. Louis. These rivers he tells us are all _amber

colored_. Why then may not these yellow rivers flowing into blue water,

produce _green_. You see I like to hazard a hypothesis as well as

others. I hope you will not call this absurd. Col. McKenney himself,

imputes the green color to reflection of the ‘rays of light passing

through the foliage of the shores, conveying their own green hue unto

the surface of the water from which they are reflected.’ This might be

the case in small rivers or lakes, but it cannot thus tint such a vast

extent of water. A writer in the American Journal of Science, is of

opinion the color of water is reflected from the sky, and is blue, dull,

black, or golden, as the sky may be--and that ‘green is produced in

water, by the yellow light of the sun mixed with the cerulean blue

through which it shines.’ On the contrary the Count Xavier de

Maistre,[15] does not impute the color of water to any infused

substance, nor to reflection from above, but reflection from the surface

below, ‘as the blue color of the sky is owing to reflection from the

earth beneath.’ ‘Limpid waters, when they have sufficient depth,’ says

the Count, reflect like air, a blue color from below,--and this arises

from a mixture of air, which water always contains to a greater or

lesser amount. This blue color, being the primitive hue of water is

sometimes clouded or lost by earthy infusion, or reflections from a

colored sky. The green tinge which he sometimes observed in water, he

tells us, is occasioned by reflection from a _white_ surface below. This

he proves by his experiment of a sheet of tin painted white let down

beneath the water--and his description of the water in the beautiful

limestone grotto, on the shore of the Mediteranian at Capri. The green

tint observed in the ocean is only seen when it is so shallow, as to

reflect the sun’s rays from the earth beneath it.

As the States surrounding these lakes are more or less underlaid by

limestone, we may suppose the bottoms of the waters are in some places

paved with it; and from this, or the shores under the water and around

it, may be reflected, according to the Count’s theory, the light which

gives the water a green appearance. But I will not trouble you with any

more speculations; they come with an ill grace from me who only pretend

to describe all that passes before my eyes.

In the afternoon we were off Saginaw bay, an indentation in the coast of

Michigan running seventy or eighty miles deep and forty wide, making the

lake here very broad; in one spot we were out of sight of the land. A

river of the same name flows into the bay, upon which, about

twenty-three miles from its mouth, is a small town. A canal is proposed

from this bay, across the state to lake Michigan, at Grand or Washtenog

river. How shall I convey to you an idea of the loveliness which sat

upon earth, air, and water this afternoon! Certainly that sunset upon

lake Huron is the most beautiful I have ever beheld. The vast and

fathomless lake, bounded by the heavens alone, presented an immense

circle, ‘calm as a molten looking-glass,’--to quote from my favorite

Job--surrounded by a band of fleecy clouds, making a frame work of

chased silver. Slowly and gracefully sank the orb, the white clouds

gently dispersing at his approach, and leaving their monarch a free and

glorious path. As he drew near that chrystal floor, all brilliancy faded

from the face of the lake, save one bright pathway from the sun to

us--like the bridge of Giamschid leading from earth to heaven. The sun

which I had always been accustomed to see above, was now below me, near

the water, on the water, under the water! A veil of purple is thrown

over it, and now the sun sleeps on lake Huron. The gold and rose which

painted the western sky have gone. Darkness has stolen over the world

below, and we turn our eyes above. What a high and noble dome of

loveliest blue! Upon one side there hangs a crescent of the purest

pearly white, while at its side steals forth one silver star, soon

followed, as, saith Ezekiel, by ‘all the bright lights of heaven,’ until

night’s star-embroidered drapery is canopied around us. What bosom is

insensible to this gorgeous firmament? Who hath not felt the ‘sweet

influence of the Pleiades’ while gazing at this starry roof above? I

wish I could make you a piece of poetry upon this subject, but as there

is enough already composed upon the stars, I will send you a bit of

Byron and tell you--

Blue roll the waters--blue the sky

Spreads like an ocean hung on high,

Bespangled with those isles of light,

So wildly spiritually bright,

Whoever gazed upon them shining,

And turned to earth without repining.

Do you remember that little hymn our old nurse used to teach us in our

childhood:

Twinkle, twinkle, pretty star

Can’t you tell us what you are,

Up above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky.

Yes, from childhood to manhood, we wish to penetrate into the mysteries

of those golden regions, and ever ask them to tell us ‘what you are.’ We

see them gem the night with their lustrous beauty; we watch them as they

pace their azure courts, and lose ourselves in high imaginings, too vast

for us, while earth still keeps our souls its prisoner. How much deeper

must be the interest with which the astrologer of old followed them in

their ‘golden tracks.’ In them he read his destiny, and thought to see

the scenes of earth reflected in their light. How must he have gazed

upon them, as their rays paled or brightened, while reading in them ‘the

fate of man and empires.’ Man’s efforts to penetrate the mysteries of

these glorious creations have not been all in vain. The Almighty

architect, from time to time, graciously bestows upon him, knowledge of

‘parts of his ways.’ How much more has been vouchsafed to us than to the

early nations. Looking back through the vista of the past, we shall see

great men appear, as ‘stars to rule the night’ of our darkness and tell

us of creation’s mysteries. Solomon, Ptolemy, Gallileo, Copernicus,

Tycho Brahe, Paschal, Newton, Herschel, with a host of satellites, have

been graciously shown the book of knowledge, to light man’s pathway

through the earth, and enlarge his ideas of the magnificence and the

benevolence of his Creator. ‘In the beginning,’ it did not enter into

God’s purpose to tell mankind more of the starry host, than that they

were ‘lights to rule the night,’ and for ‘signs and for seasons;’ now

see what amazing things have been shown to us. We know they are worlds

like our own, filled with mountains and seas; having night and day,

summer and winter. We see their fields, now white with snow, now dark

with returning vegetation. How our hearts bound with hopes of future

knowledge; and imagine the time will come, when we can gaze upon their

landscapes, and ‘listen to the hum of their mighty population.’[16] We

have seen nature in all its power and grandeur, while tossed on Erie’s

waves, or listening to the thunder of Niagara; but here she is at rest

in all her quiet loveliness; and would her worshippers behold her in her

fairest mood, let them come and gaze at evening on lake Huron.

* * * * *

_July 4th._--The sun and I arose at the same time. When I left my

state-room, as if waiting to greet me, it arose majestically from the

bosom of the water, flooding the lake with light. No land was descried

upon the east, but we were near the Michigan shore off Thunder bay. The

Shanewaging islands which stretch across it were distinctly visible, and

presented various beauties of shape and tint. All trace of man has now

disappeared, for the northern part of Michigan has never been settled

owing to the intense cold of the winters. We have passed a long line of

coast without any inhabitant (except a forlorn woodman’s hut in one

spot) stretching for two hundred and fifty miles, covered with boundless

forests, in whose green recesses there are paths ‘which no fowl knoweth,

and which the vultures eye hath not seen.’ Here is the home of the bear,

the elk, and the moose-deer--and upon the aspen, oak, and maple trees,

sport the blue bird, the robin, and yellow hammer, undisturbed by the

foot of man. We have now past the bounds of civilization, and our vessel

is the only spot of life in this vast region of forest and water.

From the entrance of Lake Huron to Mackinac, there were but two places

where man was visible. At the mouth of the Zappa river soon after

entering the lake, there is a cabin where a woodman resides in the

summer season to supply the steamboats; and at Presque Isle where we

stopped in the afternoon there is another cluster of cabins, and

woodpiles. Our Captain did not stop at this latter place, as he did not

like their wood, it being chiefly swamp ash. The shore is low, covered

with trees, having below, a beach of yellow sand, until just before

coming in sight of Michilimackinac when the land becomes a little

elevated. Ten miles this side of the last mentioned place, we passed

Boisblanc, a large wooded island, taking its name of ‘_white wood_’ from

the silver barked birch tree. This island belongs to government, and its

only inhabitants, save a few straggling Ottowas are the family of the

light-house keeper whose pretty tenement, and stately light-house,

appear upon a projecting point. There is also a farm upon the island

given by government to the Missionaries of Michilimackinac, who

sometimes maintain a farmer upon it. O Mackinaw, thou lonely island, how

shall I describe thy various beauties! certainly for situation, history,

and native loveliness, it is the most interesting island in our States.

We approach it through an avenue of islands, Drummond and Manitoulin,

dimly seen on our east, and Boisblanc, and Round, in our western side.

Stretching across our path, far away in front of us, is Mackinaw,

painted against the clear blue sky. The island of Michilimackinac, or

Mackinaw, or Mackinac as it is commonly spelt and pronounced, is a high

and bold bluff of limestone about three hundred feet above the water,

covered with verdure. Its name signifies in the Indian tongue great

turtle, as it is something of the figure of this animal. At the foot of

the bluff are strewed the buildings of the town. Among the most

conspicuous of these are, the agency house and gardens, residence of Mr.

Schoolcraft, Indian Agent--and the church and mission house. Along the

beach were several Indian wigwams, while numerous pretty bark canoes

were going and coming, as this is the Indian stopping place. A very

beautiful, and conspicuous object was the United States fort, presenting

at a distance the appearance of a long white line of buildings

inserted, into the top of the island high above the town. As we

approached, its picturesque block-houses and the pretty balconied

residences of the officers, came out to view, having the banner of the

‘stripes and stars’ waving over them. While gazing at this fair picture,

suddenly a brilliant flame, and volumes of white smoke arose above the

fort, while a booming sound told us they were firing their mid-day

salute in honor of the day. This added much to the beauty and grandeur

of the scene. As our boat was to remain there for some hours, we

disembarked and ascended to the fort to visit our friends the commanding

officer and his family. We found them sitting upon their balcony,

looking down upon the newly arrived steamboat. After the first greetings

and mutual enquiries were over, we were shown all it was thought would

interest us.

The view from our friend’s balcony was beautiful in the extreme. The bay

in front, the lovely islands around covered with a luxurious

vegetation--the town spread out at our feet--the Indian lodges, and the

canoes skimming the bright waters, each called forth our expressions of

admiration. Passing into the interior of the fort, and through the fine

parade ground and a large gateway, we found ourselves upon the summit of

the island. Our path lay through copses of white birch, maple, and

various other trees, and over green sward covered with strawberries and

a variety of wild flowers. Our friends kindly gathered for me a variety

of these, among which was a fine scarlet lilium superbum, blue bells,

and kinni kanic, or Indian tobacco, and a pretty plant called Indian

strawberry. Suddenly the silver tones of woman’s voice, sounded near,

and in a fairy dell we came upon a tent, surrounded by a party of ladies

and gentlemen, busily engaged preparing for a fete in honor of the day.

Among them was the daughter of our host, and some of the celebrated

family of S----t. We were presented to the party, and were quite

chagrined our limited time would not permit us to accept their

invitation to remain and partake of their festivities. The grace and

beauty of Mrs. S----t made great impression upon us. To me she was

peculiarly interesting from the fact of her being descended from the

native lords of the forest; for you know I have always taken the

greatest interest in the fate of our Indian tribes. From the accent, the

deep brunette of her smooth skin, and her dark hair and eyes, I should

have taken her for a Spanish lady. From the tent we wound our way up to

a high peak of the island. When near the summit, we left a grove, and

saw before us one of the most picturesque and singular objects

imaginable. It was a high arched rock of white limestone, stretching

across a chasm before us, making a pretty natural bridge, through which

we gazed far down into the waves of Huron, at least two hundred feet

below. The surprise, the beauty and novelty of this striking object,

brought forth expressions of admiration from us. The white arch was

adorned with tufts of wild flowers, and shrubbery. Ascending the arch,

we gazed down upon the white beach below, whose pebbles could be here

distinctly seen under the limpid water although many feet deep--and out

upon the fair waters, and the pretty islands, which

“----Like rich and various gems inlay

The unadorned bosom of the deep.”

We were obliged to be satisfied with a hasty view of this charming

scene, as our time was limited; and we turned reluctantly towards our

boat, without visiting the ruins of fort Holmes, upon the high summit of

the island. While passing through the town we observed several antique

houses which had been erected by the French, who first settled this

place in sixteen hundred and seventy three.

These are frail delapidated buildings, covered with roofs of bark. Upon

the beach a party of Indians had just landed, and we stood while they

took down their blanket sail, and hauled their birch bark canoe about

twenty feet long, upon the shore. These are the Menominies or wild rice

eaters, the ugliest Indians I had ever seen--also Winebagoes, with dark

skin, low foreheads and shaggy hair, and having no pretentions to dress.

I saw a chief however afterwards who was gaily bedizened with tinsel,

beads, and paint, having one side of his face a light pea green, and the

other cheek scarlet. We watched them erect their lodges which was done

very soon--a few poles were placed in a circle, one end of each stood in

the earth, while the others met at the top--coarse matting was folded

around these, leaving an opening for a door, over which a blanket was

hung. Some matting being spread upon the floor inside, the children and

moveables were placed inside, and the canoe drawn up near it. We visited

some of the shops and laid up a store of Indian articles, which are made

by these poor people and sold here. Among them were small baskets called

Mococks, made of birch bark embroidered with porcupine quills, stained

different colors--this was filled with maple sugar. It is pleasant to

meet friends so far from home, but I think the pleasure is almost

counterbalanced by the pain of parting. This we felt keenly, when the

planks had withdrawn, and our friends had been forced to leave us, as we

gazed after them winding their way up to the fort, the shores, and

waters around seemed more desolate, more lonely than before.

Just before the steamboat started we had an opportunity of judging of

the boasted transparency of this water, its depth having prevented this

on our voyage. I looked down into it from the boat, where it was twenty

feet deep, and could scarcely believe there was anything but air between

us and those shining pebbles below. We had also an opportunity of

hearing some Indian music. Upon the shore sat a group of unearthly

beings, one of whom struck several taps upon a sort of drum, accompanied

by the others, in what sounded like a wolf recitative--at the end of

this all united in a yell which dyed away over the lake, much in the

style of a howling blast accompanied by the shrieks of a drowning

traveller. Our fishing party left us here to go up the Sault St. Mary,

into lake Superior, spending their summer days among the picturesque

scenery of that magnificent lake. We bade adieu with much regret to this

pretty island, whose green terraces, fort and picturesque town, Indian

lodges, and light canoes, made a beautiful scene--but the most

interesting point in the view, was that white handkerchief waving

farewell from the fortress balcony.

This island is 615 miles from Buffalo; 319 from Detroit. There are water

marks upon the rocks 200 feet above the lake, proving the water had

once stood so high. The scenery here has been prettily described by an

author of talent, Mrs. Jameson; but, as much pleased as I was with her

book, I must regret she came here under such circumstances. It is with

reluctance I censure one so gifted, but it is with a view of warning

you, and my young friends to whom I know you will show my letters,

against errors to which the very witchery of her genius would blind you.

However passionate a desire you may entertain for the picturesque, I

hope you may never leave the protection of your friends and wander in

search of it alone. May your curiosity to see great men never lead you

to invade the retreat of a world hating bachelor; and may you never

stray in wild forests, through storms and tempests, with no companion

save a rude Indian, or a ‘bronzed, brawney, unshaven, back-woodsman,’

‘very much like a bear upon his hind legs,’ and you ‘a poor, lonely,

shivering woman.’ I quote her words. You had better be a ‘tarry at home

traveller,’ or write ‘voyages around my own room.’ If you do thus, you

must expect the ladies where you visit will look ‘formal and alarmed,’

as she tells us the ladies of Toronto looked upon her. But now I have

done scolding and will pursue my journey. Upon a green slope of the

Michigan shore, a pile of ruins were pointed out as the site of old fort

Mackinac, which was taken by Pontiac with a stratagem and afterwards

every one within were massacred. How must those unfortunates have felt,

upon this desolate shore, hundreds of miles away from their country, and

at the mercy of savages. A band of Chippewa’s or Ojibwa’s were just

passing in canoes thirty feet in length. This tribe stands higher in

rank than the others, and their language, like the French, is the

polite tongue among the Indian tribes. They have a ruler whose office

has been hereditary for ages. He is called Mudjikiwis, and they pride

themselves much upon his and their own rank and lineage. There is an

anecdote, related by Schoolcraft, of one of this tribe, which, if you

have never seen, will amuse you. Chi Waishki, alias the Buffalo, was

presented by the commissioners of the treaty of Fond du Lac, with a

medal as a badge of distinction. ‘What need have I of this?’ he said

haughtily. ‘It is known whence I am descended!’ These canoes are the

prettiest and lightest things imaginable. They are formed of the bark of

the birch tree, sewn together with a thread made from fine roots of

cedar split. The bark is soaked to make it more pliable. Sometimes they

are very gaily painted and ornamented. The paddles are of light wood.

Our Captain placed before us at dinner a very fine lake trout, which he

had purchased at Mackinaw. It was two feet long, and very delicious.

Fine salmon are also taken in these lakes. We were now upon the great

lake Michigan, which stretches from here three hundred and twenty miles,

to the Illinois shore, and is nine hundred feet deep. Our course lay

near the Michigan shore, which presented high bluffs and points of

limestone, with banks of pebbles, and high jagged hills, or _dunes_ of

sand. These pebbles and sand are said to be thrown up by the

north-western winds, but I should rather imagine them left up by the

floods which have swept over the land. Upon our right were Fox and

Beaver isles, beyond which, Green bay runs into Wisconsin, one hundred

and three miles. This northern shore of Michigan is uninhabited, and

covered with dense forests. The ledges and masses of white limestone

upon some of these islands looked like fortresses or other buildings.

* * * * *

_July 5th._--Sunday upon the lake. When I left my cabin, I found the

morning was misty, and the sun looking like the yolk of an egg, was

bobbing up and down upon the water. It had just peeped above the waves,

which, dashing about, sometimes obscured it from our view. We were lying

at one of the Manitou islands, taking in wood. This is a pretty crescent

shape islet, covered with trees. In the centre we were told is a lake

which is unfathomable, and supposed to be connected with lake Michigan.

It is filled with the large trout, salmon and white fish of the lakes.

There is a woodman’s hut, and several large piles of wood upon the

shore. ‘Oh that the woodman would spare those trees.’ Soon the pretty

island will be denuded and forlorn. It is a sacred island--the Indians

imagining it to be the residence of their Manitou, never dare to land

there, as they believe such an intrusion would be followed by the anger

of their Deity. One Indian, who despised such superstition ventured upon

the shore, and was never heard of since. The forests and lake in the

interior, they imagine is the abode of the blessed after death, whose

hours will there pass in hunting and fishing. The Manitoulin islands in

lake Huron, are also sacred; but they are much larger than these, one of

them being fifty-five miles in length. I secured a handful of pebbles

from the shore, which, like those of other lakes, are agate, chalcedony

and other sileceous minerals. Upon the shores of lake Superior these

are found very fine, mixed with trachte, lava, and other volcanic rocks,

and with masses of native copper. I had brought with me a package of

well selected tracks, which I opened this morning, and laid a few upon

the table of the ladies saloon. Soon after, a pretty little girl knocked

at my state-room door, saying her mother wished to know if I had any

more tracts, as she should like to read one. I asked her where were

those I laid upon the table? those, she replied, some ladies were

reading. I gave her several. The chambermaid next appeared begging for

some; and then the cabin boy came with the same request. While I was

selecting one which I thought might suit him, I observed a brawny dusky

figure, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his person begrimed with

soot and smoke, gazing earnestly towards us. ‘That’s Tom, one of the

fire-men,’ said the cabin boy with a snigger; ‘he heard you had books to

lend and wants one dreadfully.’ I beckoned to him, and he came forward

with alacrity, while behind him I discerned several other ‘grim visaged’

beings peeping out from their compartment towards us. I gave him a

package to distribute among his fellows; and during the day had the

pleasure of observing the greater part of the crew and passengers busily

engaged with my books. During our long voyage, those who had books had

read them out, and those who had none, were getting very weary, so that

they eagerly received any thing in the shape of reading. But some of

them, I trust, read them for the sake of the benefit they hoped to

receive from their contents. It was a source of great satisfaction to

behold so many persons engaged in themes of high import to their soul’s

best interest. These seeds were sown with a prayer for their success;

and who can tell what immortal plants may spring up in some of their

hearts, growing to a tree of life, and bearing fruit to flourish in the

garden of paradise. Let me urge you never to travel without these, or

other useful books to distribute on your way--like the girl in the fairy

tale of our youth, shedding gems and treasures in your path. There is no

library in this boat as upon our Hudson and Eastern steamboats, and we

were often amused with the alacrity with which our books were snatched

up when we laid them down for a strole, or to look at some object upon

the shores. When we returned we were always sure to receive them again,

and felt no vexation, as we knew they meant no impoliteness, and would

be willing to lend us their own in return. My companion had never been

used to such _socialisms_ in his country, and was quite amused at this

free and easy sort of thing. Our books were some of them French, and

upon one occasion we found them in the hands of a simple hearted son of

the forest, to whom books were so rare a treasure he could not resist

examining them. He returned it with a smile, and said, shaking his head,

‘how you can make any sense out of that I can’t see, for I cannot read a

word of it.’

We lost sight of the Michigan shore at ten o’clock, and stretched across

the lake towards the Wisconsin coast, which we first saw at four o’clock

P. M., thus being nearly all day out of the sight of land. This may give

you an idea of the vastness of these lakes. Wisconsin, or Ouisconsin, or

Wiskonsan, here presents a high bank, called ‘red banks,’ from the

color of the soil, covered with forests, and showing no trace of man,

except at the mouth of the river Sheboygan, two hundred and twenty miles

from Mackinaw, where is a small settlement called by the name of the

river.

Fifty miles from Sheboygan we stopped at the town of Milwaukie, towards

which the tide of emigration has been rapidly flowing. As the bay is

crossed by a bar, our large boat could not enter, and a small steamboat

took from us much of our merchandise and most of our emigrants. We did

not go on shore, but contented ourselves with seeing the town from the

boat. It looked neat, with some comfortable dwellings, several shops,

hotel, court house, &c. It stands upon the Milwaukie river. Its

population is 1,000. Several rail-roads and canals are in contemplation

from this place across the territory, as rail-roads to Winnebago lake;

from Belmont to Dubuque; from Belmont to Dodgeville in the mine

district; a canal from Milwaukie to the Black river, and another through

the Fox and Wisconsin to the Mississippi. Wisconsin will be soon covered

with a dense population, as it is now a favorite point for emigration.

The soil is very rich, from one to ten feet deep, the surface undulating

prairie and woodland, consisting of 100,000 square miles of fertile

land. The grassy plains make fine pasture lands, and the lakes and

rivers produce abundance of fish, and give great manufacturing power.

Lakes Superior and Michigan, and the river Mississippi surround three

sides, thus enabling them to send their produce to market. Flour, rye,

corn, barley, white-fish, and many other articles have been exported

this year. Their lead mines are very rich, and their valuable forests of

pine trees will be another source of wealth. These growing to the

height of one hundred and eighty or two hundred feet, crown the heights

of the northern region of the country, which is mountainous, containing

several waterfalls, one of which is two hundred and fifty feet in

height. The scenery is very picturesque. Madison, the capital, is a

pretty, thriving town, surrounded by four transparent lakes, upon the

shore of one of which it is situated; it sometimes goes by the poetical

appellation of ‘city of the four lakes.’ When the roads and canals are

formed, Wisconsin will soon become a thoroughfare to the Mississippi and

the vast regions beyond; and those who have ‘the world before them,’

cannot make a better choice than this. Here we left our Buffalo hunters.

Racine is a town twenty-two miles below Milwaukie. The houses looked

new, and were arranged in rows upon the high green bank. The court-house

was quite showy, having a portico in front, with pillars reaching to the

roof, which was painted red, surmounted by a tin cupola. It stands at

the mouth of Root river. We were now again in sight of Michigan, as the

lake grows narrower towards the end. We have passed completely around

this state, it being in the shape of a triangle. It is destined to be a

great and flourishing State, surrounded as it is by the lakes, crossed

by rivers, canals, and railroads, and covered by a rich soil. It is two

hundred and eighty miles long by one hundred and eighty, and covers

40,000 square miles. It has only been admitted into the Union as a State

in 1837, and now possesses a population of 211,705. The country is

level, except a table land in the center from which the rivers flow into

lakes St. Clair, Huron, and Michigan. The remainder is covered with

grassy prairie land, with transparent lakes, and tracts of woodland.

Here grows the valuable maple from which they obtain their sugar; the

white birch, whose bark is used for making canoes, roofing houses, or

even when split fine, in writing letters by the early settlers; the oak,

the beech, the hickory, sassafras, and various other valuable trees. Its

energetic inhabitants are busily engaged laying out canals and

rail-roads to intersect it in every direction, as means of conveying

their produce to its market. One hundred and thirty-one miles of

rail-road has been contracted for, but only forty-four miles finished,

from Detroit to Ann Arbor. Over this 41,896 barrels of flour were

conveyed this year to Detroit. Three years since the inhabitants of this

state sent to Ohio for their flour, and now they export 125,000 barrels

of flour this year. Education is not neglected; the legislature have

appropriated 1,200,000 acres of land as a school fund, which, as the

land is rapidly rising, will be of great value. The celebrated

Schoolcraft tells us, it was deemed so inaccessible from swamps, that in

1818, it was not thought fit for the soldiers bounty lands. This was,

however, soon discovered to be a mistake. He further informs us, the

soil is an argillaceous soil, mellowed with sands and pebbles, underlaid

with schistose and calcareous rocks, clothed with an open growth of oaks

and hickories, the ridges covered with walnut, ash, beech, and maple,

while the valleys are first rate corn land, diversified with limpid

lakes, grassy prairies and pebbly bottomed brooks.

* * * * *

_July 6th._--When approaching Chicago, the ‘haven where we would be,’ I

did not so much watch for the appearance of that famed town, as look

back with regret at the beautiful lake I was leaving, for I was well

assured ‘I ne’er should look upon its like again.’ Two days and two

nights I had been sailing over it, never tired of gazing at its varied

shores, or beauteous waters. Those who have never beheld these masses of

pellucid, brilliant, green waters, can never imagine the extraordinary

loveliness of the scene. They cover a surface of 150,000 square miles,

and contain nearly half the fresh water upon the surface of the globe.

That the water is fresh, is of great importance to those who dwell upon

their shores, as it can be of more use for household purposes, and

machinery. The valley in which the lakes repose, is said to have been

hewed out by the deluge, leaving the deep chasms in which the waters

lie; this is called the valley of the St. Lawrence, and very properly;

but I must object to this immense chain of lakes, four and five hundred

miles long, and nine hundred deep, being called the ‘river St.

Lawrence,’ as some fashionable tourists have of late. The St. Lawrence

river is an outlet, but is no more entitled to this designation, than is

Niagara or St. Clair river. These lakes all lie in a valley which

interposes between the primitive and secondary formations. The northern

shores are granite rocks, sterile, and scarcely inhabited; while the

southern is rich alluvion, covering sandstone and limestone.

The bustle of arrival aroused me from these reflections, and we were

soon seated in the parlor of the Lake Hotel, in the famous state of

Illinois, and town of Chicago. The rapid growth of this place you have

heard of: in 1833 it could only count three frame dwellings and two

hundred and fifty inhabitants; and now enumerates six churches, one

hundred shops, several hotels, dwelling houses, and ware-houses, and

between six and seven thousand inhabitants. Chicago, or Tshicawgo, as

the inhabitants and Indians call it, is divided by a river of the same

name into two parts, between which is a free ferry and a bridge. The

shops are upon one side, and the dwellings upon the other. These last

are in the style of country residences, enclosed with white palings,

surrounded by piazzas and gardens; some of brick, but many of wood and

neatly painted. Every thing looks quite new, as indeed it might; for

where now the town stands, was, as late as 1833, a fort, before which

was encamped seven thousand Indians. Fort Dearborn was erected for the

purpose of protecting the frontier. It was attacked in 1812 by the

Indian tribes, and their allies, and those who escaped massacre, sought

protection in fort Wayne. Another fort was built in 1818, but is now

deserted and let out for tenements. There are houses of worship here for

several denominations; among them the Presbyterian church is most

conspicuous. It is of brick and neatly finished. Part of the money

required for its erection, was acquired by the ladies in a Fair. The

Lake House is a very good hotel, situated among the dwelling houses. It

is built of brick, painted white, which, with its green blinds, gives it

a pleasant appearance; every thing within was comfortable and good of

its kind. According to our usual practice, we ascended to the cupola of

the hotel, where is a lovely view of the cottages and gardens at our

feet, the broad prairies beyond, and the bright waters of Michigan

behind us. This town is beautifully situated upon the borders of the

lake, through which it holds constant communication with Buffalo and the

east. The other route I mentioned, from Detroit continues over the

rail-road at that city, and by cross roads to St. Joseph’s upon the

lake, from which place steamboats are continually plying to Chicago. It

is a shorter road, and gives the traveller a view of the interior of

Michigan. The Illinois and Michigan canal commences here, which is to be

carried to Peru on the Illinois river, a distance of one hundred miles,

thus opening a communication with the Mississippi and the Gulf of

Mexico. It is six feet deep and sixty feet wide, and is nearly finished.

The climate here is variable. In the summer the wind will one day blow

over the surface of the prairies, and the weather will become very hot;

but the next day, perhaps, it will come from the lake and cool it again.

In consequence of the vicinity of the lake there is not much snow, and

it is not very cold.

We spent here one day only, but were able to see every thing in and

about the town, and in conversation with those friends residing here,

obtained every information. We intended making a longer stay, but

learned that the regular line of stages left town that evening, which

obliged us to go on or to stay longer than our time would admit. Before

reaching here, it was our intention to go to Michigan City, which is in

Indiana, upon the shores of the lake, and from thence cross Indiana to

Madison, upon the Ohio, through a fine succession of rail and

Macadamized roads. Our friends here, however, seemed to think it so

monstrous a thing to return without beholding the celebrated

Mississippi, when within a few hundred miles only, that we determined

to alter our course and go down the Illinois river.

At nine o’clock at night we entered a commodious stage drawn by four

good horses, which was to take us to Peoria, upon the Illinois, one

hundred and fifty-seven miles distant, for which we were to pay

twenty-two dollars, eleven each, bed and board included. Beside us were

two other passengers. Crossing the bridge, we took up the mail at the

post office, and then drove through a long range of cheerfully lighted

shops until we found ourselves out of town. Here the road crossed the

_wet prairie_, as it is called, which, in some seasons, when the lake is

high, is overflown. Through this wet land we went splash, splash, nearly

half the night. A rail-road is proposed here, which will render

travelling more pleasant. Hour after hour passed away, my companions all

dozing while I sought sleep in vain. The vast plain over which we were

moving, seen through the dusk of a cloudy night, seemed a fitting place

for dark deeds--a fine Hounslow heath, or Indian lurking place. But

there are no bandits here, and the Indians were all over the

Mississippi, and I was bidding such idle fears avaunt, when suddenly a

low plaintive wail sounded over the waste, startling my companions from

their slumbers. ‘What was that unearthly cry?’ I asked. ‘Only a prairie

wolf madam.’ ‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the other passenger, a youth. ‘I hope

there are not many of them, for sometimes wolves attack horses.’ ‘Not in

these prairies, sir,’ replied the other passenger, ‘they are rather shy,

and afraid of us.’ ‘I am glad, at least, to see a light,’ returned the

youth, ‘there must be a house yonder.’ ‘Yes, a bower in the rushes,

nothing else,’ replied the other man. ‘If you follow that light it will

lead you a pretty chase through the marshes; it is a jack-o’lantern.’

The hour, seen by the light of the coach lamp, proved to be twelve, and

each settled in his corner for another doze. A sudden halt of the stage

awakened us. The coachman took down a lamp and began to search for

something on the ground. ‘Halo, driver, what have you lost?’ asked the

youth. ‘Only my road sir,’ he replied. ‘Lost your road!’ exclaimed the

youth in dismay; ‘Lost in these lonely moors among wolverines and

jack-o’lanterns! Here’s a pretty fix!’ ‘Driver you ought to keep the

skin off your eyes in such a dark night, I guess,’ said the other

passenger. I only wondered he could ever keep his road, as there was no

house or tree to mark his course even in the day, and one might easily

pass over the worn pathway in these grassy plains. The driver soon

resumed his seat, having discovered his path; and gave us the agreeable

intelligence, he had gone three miles out of his way. A few hours after

this, a huge body suddenly appeared before the window--it turned out to

be a tree, a sign we were approaching a river. Soon after we found

ourselves before the door of a small house, upon the banks of a narrow

but deep and placid stream fringed with trees. This was the Des Plaines,

a river which rises so near lake Michigan, that in times of its

overflow, boats have passed from one to another. This interlocking of

waters which flow different ways, Darby considers ‘an astonishing

hydrographical anomaly.’ All the waters we had passed, have fallen into

the Atlantic, while those we were now following find their way into the

gulf of Mexico. The Des Plaines is called a branch of the Illinois,

which joins with the Kankakee, and afterwards the Fox, and the united

streams take the name of the Illinois. Many modern writers consider this

as the Illinois, and drop the name of Des Plaines, which I should judge

a proper arrangement. We awakened the drowsy owner of the house,

procured some refreshment, and with fresh horses resumed our journey.

* * * * *

_July 7th._--I fell asleep, and when I was awakened at dawn this

morning, by my companion, that I might not lose the scene, I started

with surprise and delight. I was in the midst of a prairie! A world of

grass and flowers stretched around me, rising and falling in gentle

undulations, as if an enchanter had struck the ocean swell, and it was

at rest forever. Acres of wild flowers of every hue glowed around me,

and the sun arising from the earth where it touched the horizon, was

‘kissing with golden face the meadows green.’ What a new and wonderous

world of beauty! What a magnificent sight! Those glorious ranks of

flowers! Oh that you could have ‘one glance at their array!’ How shall I

convey to you an idea of a prairie. I despair, for never yet hath pen

brought the scene before my mind. Imagine yourself in the centre of an

immense circle of velvet herbage, the sky for its boundary upon every

side; the whole clothed with a radiant efflorescence of every brilliant

hue. We rode thus through a perfect wilderness of sweets, sending forth

perfume, and animated with myriads of glittering birds and

butterflies:--

“A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy formed, and many colored things.”

It was, in fact, a vast garden, over whose perfumed paths, covered with

soil as hard as gravel, our carriage rolled through the whole of that

summer day. You will scarcely credit the profusion of flowers upon these

prairies. We passed whole acres of blossoms all bearing one hue, as

purple, perhaps, or masses of yellow or rose; and then again a carpet of

every color intermixed, or narrow bands, as if a rainbow had fallen upon

the verdant slopes. When the sun flooded this Mosaic floor with light,

and the summer breeze stirred among their leaves, the irredescent glow

was beautiful and wonderous beyond any thing I had ever conceived. I

think this must have been the place where Armida planted her garden, for

she surely could not have chosen a fairer spot. Here are

‘Gorgeous flowrets in the sun light shining,

Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day;

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining

Buds that open only to decay.’

The gentle undulating surface of these prairies, prevent sameness, and

add variety to its lights and shades. Occasionally, when a swell is

rather higher than the rest, it gives you an extended view over the

country, and you may mark a dark green waving line of trees near the

distant horizon, which are shading some gentle stream from the sun’s

absorbing rays, and thus, ‘Betraying the secret of their silent course.’

Oak openings also occur, green groves, arranged with the regularity of

art, making shady alleys, for the heated traveller. What a tender

benevolent Father have we, to form for us so bright a world! How filled

with glory and beauty must that mind have been, who conceived so much

loveliness! If for his erring children he has created so fair a dwelling

place, how well adorned with every goodly show, must be the celestial

home reserved for his obedient people. Eye hath not seen it--ear hath

not heard it--nor can it enter into our hearts to conceive it.

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,

God hath written in those stars above--

But not less in the bright flowrets under us,

Stands the revelation of his love.

I observe in all fashionable tours, what is eaten and drank seems to be

matter of immense importance, and perhaps you will be disappointed if I

do not touch upon themes of such high import. We had been warned our

fare upon these ‘lonesome prairies’ would be poor, and of course we did

not expect the tables of a New York hotel. The scarcity of stone, and of

wood--as there are no pine and cedar except in the northern parts of

Wisconsin--forbids much elegance in the few houses scattered along the

road, and the first post house at which we stopped for breakfast was a

rude log cabin. Our detention during the night had prevented our

arriving at the usual breakfast hour, and it was supposed we had taken

our meal elsewhere, and of course we were obliged to wait. ‘Breakfast!

Breakfast!’ was the cry of driver and passengers, as we alighted. ‘Aye,

aye!’ returned the landlord--‘I will scare you up as good a feed as you

could find in Chicago.’ The room we entered was plainly furnished, but I

remarked a pile of books upon a bureau, among which were the life of

Gen. Harrison--Rollins Ancient History--Vicar of Wakefield, and several

religious works. I regretted I could only place a few tracts among them.

When I travel again in such lonely parts, I will endeavor to find a

corner in my trunks for a few good books to leave among this reading

people. The mistress and her daughter were very busy scaring up our

breakfast, of which, I should think the chickens were the most scared.

They soon placed upon the table cloth, some fine smoking potatoes from

their garden--nice indian meal cakes, eggs, milk, cheese, cucumbers,

butter, bread, and ‘chicken fixens.’ Every thing, being native produce,

was very nice, but the coffee being a foreign article, was not as good

as I have seen before, I must confess. The landlady’s method of

preparing it was so novel, that I will write off the recipe for your

edification. I had retreated to the kitchen fire, as I _slept rather

cold_ last night, it being misty, and there observed her process. She

placed some coffee grains in an iron pot, which, being _scared_ about a

little until somewhat brownish, were laid upon the kitchen table, and

pounded with a rolling pin. Boiling water being poured upon it, the

coffee was dished up. Every one drank it contentedly, and I, being

thirsty drank it also. The driver who sat next to me, having lived much

in Chicago and other refined places rather turned up his nose, saying it

was not half as good as he got at the Lake House. My companion contented

himself with milk. While waiting at the door for the stage, our hosts’,

son galloped up, dismounted and tied his horse to the fence. The animal

looked as untamed as if just caught, his wild bright eyes flashed from

beneath his shaggy uncut mane, and he pawed the ground, snorted and

struggled, as if determined to break away and scour the free plains

again. ‘Your horse loves not restraint,’ said I, ‘he wishes to be free.’

‘Aye, aye! the critter snuffs a wolf and wants to be after him.’ ‘A

wolf!’ ‘Yes--he is my wolf hunter, and dearly does he love a chase

after them. When he sees them, nothing can stop him from chasing

them--but they give him a pretty tough run sometimes. I have seen him

follow one for a mile ere he overtook him, and then, with one stroke of

his foot, the wolf is dead.’ I am sure the horse understood his

master--his eye was fixed upon us while he spoke, and when he ended,

tost his mane with a triumphant expression and stamped fiercely upon the

ground, as if his enemy were beneath his foot.

‘All aboard!’ cries the driver, and we were again upon our course, our

horses prancing gaily as if refreshed by their breakfast. A tree

appeared against the horizon, looking exactly like a sail in the

distance--others followed it, and soon beautiful groups of forest trees

were sprinkled over the prairie in front. This was a token of the

vicinity of water, and in a short time we found ourselves upon an

elevated bank from which we looked down upon a verdant valley through

the centre of which, ran a silver stream. This was the valley of the Des

Plaines--having every appearance of being the bed of a broad and deep

river. Many geologists, among them, Prof. Sheppard, thinks this and the

valley of the Illinois, have been scooped out, by a vast torrent pouring

from lake Michigan. Upon the opposite shore of the river and in this

vale, at the foot of the ancient bank, stands the pretty town of Joliet,

improperly spelt Juliet. The whole scene, was one of great beauty. We

descended the bank, which is nearly one hundred feet high, and is

composed of yellow water-worn pebbles. Winding down the road, upon the

high bank opposite, was a long train of covered waggons, filled with a

household upon its way to ‘a new home’ upon the prairies. After fording

the stream, now rendered shallow by the summer heats, passing over the

green sward we found ourselves before the door of the principal hotel in

the town. Joliet takes its name from the old French traveller, father

Joliet, who came here as a missionary in 1673, and stands at the mouth

of a little stream of the same name. This is growing into a place of

some importance, as the Michigan canal crosses the river here, and all

travellers to the Illinois pass through it. It has a fine water power,

for the descent of this river to the rapids at Ottowa, is great--the

lockage of the canal being 142 feet. The population is over 600. There

is here a court house, houses of worship, mills, taverns, and several

shops. We remained here only long enough to change horses. While

standing upon the steps, the covered waggons arrived, from which, looked

forth men, women, children, dogs and cats, while pots, and kettles, and

chairs, were dangling below. A group of sturdy looking men stood around

the door. After our American fashion of asking questions, I addressed

one of them who stood near me, and asked from what country he had

travelled. ‘From St. Thomas, in Canada ma’am,’ he replied. ‘We are sixty

families,’ said another, ‘and have left there because we want more

freedom. We would live where we can say what we choose, and do what we

choose. There our tongues are fettered!’ I learnt they were going to

Rock river, a very fashionable place of emigration now. This is a

beautiful stream, running through the north west part of Illinois into

the Mississippi. The land is prairie upon its borders, which will well

repay the agriculturist’s labors, while its rapids place a great amount

of manufacturing power at the disposal of the settlers. The lead region

is also in its vicinity. At the mouth of Rock river, in the Mississippi,

is a pretty island of limestone, three miles long, which is occupied by

fort Armstrong, garrisoned by United States troops. Dixonville on this

river is a growing town. This I learned from my emigrants, and

afterwards saw confirmed in a Gazetteer. So you see what a nice plan it

is while travelling to extract information from all you meet. I am never

bashful at asking. I bade adieu to the emigrants, hoping they would have

their full of chat from which it seems they were debarred, and let the

prairies ‘prate of their whereabouts.’ We re-crossed the river where we

found the newer part of Joliet built in a solid manner, of the yellow

limestone which is quarried here. The sides of the canal, and viaduct

were also formed of this pretty stone, which gives quite a gay look to

the place. It is said by Professor Shephard to be magnesian limestone,

which occurs also at Chicago, abounding in orthrocera, turbo,

terebratula, caryophillia, &c., and extends he thinks through the lakes.

It is taken out here in stratified layers; and at Chicago, where it has

a slaty structure, it is used for flagging. A few miles from Joliet, we

passed an object, to me of the greatest interest--it was an Indian

mound. This was a perfect gem--as regular, as smooth, and as green as if

cut out of an emerald--being an oblong of fifty rods high, and seventy

or eighty long. Although centuries have passed since it was formed, it

is as perfect in shape, as if just moulded. A beautiful, solitary thing

it is, telling of nations and events now lost in the mists of time. We

saw afterwards, several others, bearing upon their summits ancient oaks,

plain indication of their great antiquity. Flowers again in untold

numbers, were covering the prairies, and here are many of our garden

flowers growing wild, as blue bells, flox, bouncing bet, sweet william,

roses, cocoris, beliotrope, astre, &c., beside wild flowers as fringed

gentean, solidago, orchis, yellow golden rod, scarlet lilly, wild

indigo, superb pink moccasin flower, and scarlet lobelia. There were

many I had never seen--among them was a species of teazle, having a tall

stem, purple head, surrounded by a fringe of long pink leaves--I called

it the Indian fairy, for as its dark head bobbed about, and its pink

mantle flowed around it, it looked like a tiny Indian. In fact, flowers

‘rich as morning sunrise hue,

And gorgeous as the gemmed midnight,’

were smiling and blooming in every direction. What a nice place for some

hortuculturist to transport himself and cottage. Rural Howett would

enjoy the scene--and Miller who loves to ‘babble o’ green fields’ and

flowers, would find fitting subject here for his blossoming pen.

I welcome every flower I see with tender pleasure as if the gift of a

friend--for I know they were planted among us to add to our enjoyment.

Their culture has soothed many a mourning heart, and their blossoming is

as eagerly looked for in the spring, as if their own loved one was

returning from the earth. There is nothing that can so soon transport us

to scenes and friends long gone, and awaken buried memories of former

joy as these brilliant creations. Earth would look dim without them--the

bride would want a grace--the bier would seem more gloomy--while the

sculptor, the artist, and the embroiderer, would lose their prettiest

model of adornment.

A line of trees proclaimed a river near, and we soon dashed through the

Au Sable, the horses dancing with joy, as the clear cool waters curled

about their feet. The sight of a house upon the opposite bank, seemed

quite a novelty, as we had not seen one since leaving Joliet, at nine

o’clock, and it was now one. The house was of boards painted white, and

a hanging sign proclaimed it one of entertainment. Here we dined and

changed horses. The meats were very good, the pies and custards

tolerable, but the vegetables were the finest we had ever tasted. Peas,

beans, potatoes all were very excellent. Every thing we saw was from the

landlords farm, which extended over the prairie some distance from his

house. He and his men, came in from the corn fields when the conch,

sounded for dinner, and without their coats--their shirt sleeves rolled

up, they placed themselves beside us--one does not dress for dinner upon

the prairies. While travelling in unsettled countries one must leave all

one’s nicities at home. It took us some little time to shut our eyes

against soiled table covers, iron knives and forks, &c.,--but once

resolved to overlook it, we succeeded, and ceased to notice it. When we

consider what a life these early settlers have led, we should only

wonder things are as decent as they are. The man comes out here in his

youth, with an axe, upon his shoulder--hews him a space in the forest

and erects a log hut--here upon the floor, spread with the skin of a

beast perhaps, he sleeps, his only companions, his dog, or an Indian--he

gradually acquires furniture of his own making, and when he came to

eating from a table instead of a stone or a stump, he thinks himself

very comfortable. A table cloth is such a luxury that he scarcely

remarks when it gets soiled, as even then it is cleaner than his log

table, and knives of the coarsest description are treasures to him. Our

landlord spoke of his prairie land with the greatest enthusiasm. The

ground is very hard to break, generally requiring several yoke of oxen,

while beneath that the mould is several feet in thickness without

stones, requiring no manuring and apparently inexhaustible. Some of the

old settlements, where farms had been worked for twelve years, it was

still as fertile as ever--giving the tiller very little trouble, and

yielding rich crops. The oasis, or ‘oak openings,’ upon the prairies are

very beautiful. We passed through one this morning. It presented the

appearance of a lawn, or park around some gentleman’s seat. The trees

are generally oak, arranged in pretty clumps or clusters upon the smooth

grass--or in long avenues, as if planted thus by man. From their limbs

hang pretty vines, as the pea vine--lonicera flava, honey-suckle--and

white convolvulus. While our carriage wound among these clumps, or

through the avenues, it was almost impossible to dispel the illusion

that we were not driving through the domain of some rich proprietor, and

we almost expected to draw up before the door of some lordly mansion.

Our afternoon drive from the Au Sable to Ottowa was through a treeless

prairie, looking very much like a vast lake or ocean. So much is this

appearance acknowledged by the country people that they call the stage

coach, a prairie schooner. When the sun shines brightly over the

landscape, its yellow light gives the prairie an azure hue, so that one

can scarcely see where the earth ends, and the sky begins. The

undulations are a very singular feature in the landscape. This is best

seen at early morning or sunset light--the summit of every little swell

is illumined, while the hollow between lies in shadow, thus making the

ground a curious chequer work. We saw many prairie hens, or species of

grouse this afternoon, but no wolves or deer, much to my regret. The

road is so much travelled that they avoid it and retire to more

sequestered places. Birds innumerable, were sporting in the sun’s light

among the flowers, and butterflies clad like Miltons angels, in ‘purple

beams, and azure wings, that up they fly so drest.’

And now you ask, to what is the prairie land owing; fire or water? Many

are the theories upon this subject. The Indian name for prairie, is

scutay, (fire;) and they are in the custom of burning off the grass

every fall. Some will tell you, to this must be traced the dearth of

trees. As the mould is so deep--in some places twenty feet, and there

are in it, except in one or two places, no trace of trees or the huge

stumps they leave, this does not seem probable, at least the trees must

have been burnt from ages. Others will tell you it is the sediment of an

ocean which is spread over the land--or in some places large lakes. In

Illinois it is said there was once as large a lake as Michigan, which,

burst its barrier at the grand tower rocks upon the Mississippi. A chain

of lakes it is said have once stood upon the western land which have

left these basins of deep alluvion covered with herbage. These water

theorists, one of whom is Schoolcraft, point to the bowlder’s of

granite and gneiss which are scattered over the country from the

northern ocean to the gulf of Mexico, lost rocks, as they are called, as

traces of this flood. Why not join the two theories? The land has no

doubt been covered with water; this is proved by the ‘lost rocks,’ by

the hard packed soil like the bottom of a lake; by its inky blackness,

when wet, as we see in marshes, and, by the marsh grasses, and water

plants which are seen growing upon it. This land, when dry was occupied

by the Indians, who kindled a fire at the edges of a circle, among the

rushes, which drove the animals in the centre where they were caught.

The roots of the prairie grass is not destroyed by fire, and it

therefore could not so completely eradicate the roots of those enormous

trees which grow upon the western land. There is nothing in a prairie

land to prevent the growth of trees, as wherever the fire is checked

they immediately spring up. The rivers also protect their trees from

fire.

Prairie land occupies two thirds of the State of Illinois; the dearth of

water, and wood, and stone, will prevent them from being settled very

thickly, except in the vicinity of the rivers; so that these beautiful

plains will long remain undisturbed to gratify the traveller’s eye. The

prairies would of course be underlain with coal, as this great mass of

vegetation which has been destroyed by the floods which have stood upon

them, pressed beneath the incumbent strata and exposed to heat,

moisture, and pressure, will produce fermentation, and afterwards

hardened strata; accordingly it is found that coal is universal every

where in the west. Why should we stop at second causes in considering

the origin of prairies; why speak of Indian fires, or rushing floods?

The Almighty mind who hath conceived this admirable globe, and who, with

such infinite taste, hath formed and beautified it, decking it with

flowers and every other delight, has spread out this fair western world

with lakes immense, and stately forests, wondrous cataracts, smiling

prairies, and broad rolling rivers, to decorate the abode of His loved,

although erring sons. He, in his wisdom, foresaw the time would come,

when the exhausted soil, and crumbling institutions, and crowded homes

of the old world, would require a new field for its overgrown

population, and held this world perdu beneath the ocean caves until the

fitting moment. When the hour had come, it arose fresh and blossoming

from the sea, adorned with a goodly variety of mountain, lake, fair

plain, and noble river, to compensate the lonely wanderer for the home

he has been forced to leave. Now is not that a pretty theory? That this

continent was much longer submerged beneath the diluvial flood, and is

indeed a new world, is, I believe, generally conceded by geologists.

There is something delightful to look upon the earth, as we do here, in

its pristine glory and virgin freshness. The waters may have lingered

longer upon the broad valley which lies between the Alleghany and Rocky

mountains, depositing that rich alluvion which lies so deep upon the

land, and when departing, ploughed its way through those great valleys

where now the western rivers flow. It was then, perhaps before the

deluge, the abode of that monstrous saurian race, some sixty feet in

length, whose bones are now dug up in Texas, and must be under the

soil. When their ‘days were fulfilled,’ they were destroyed and sank

beneath the floods to harden in the limestone; and when the land had

become dry, the mastodon arose and stalked over the western plains; for

since he has been discovered buried in the soil of Missouri, with Indian

arrows sticking in his flesh, he is proved not to be antediluvial. When

his career was over, the Indian tribes were admitted into the new born

world; and whatever interest we may take in their fate--however we may

pity them, we must all agree they have misused their gift. Their _talent

was hid_, the fields were untilled, the stores of marbles and metals,

and materials choice and rare, which were placed there that man might

rear him a comfortable habitation, and lordly temples for his God,

remained unknown in their secret deposites. The Indian was doomed to

share the fate of the mammoth: the barrier which concealed this world

from the older part was loosed, and the waves of human population that

rolled over it, has pushed back the Indians, step by step, and thinned

their ranks, and will thin them, until their race also lies under the

soil whose riches they knew not how to use.

It is a singular and interesting thing to stand, as I do now, upon the

confines of the earth, as it were, ‘at the green earth’s end,’ and gaze

back through the vista of time, over Europe, and Africa, and Asia, upon

the nations that have risen and flourished, and become extinct, each in

its turn, like those animal races, whose story is sculptured, geologists

tell us, upon the ribs and arches of the earth beneath us. There we look

upon the decline and fall of nations--here upon their blossoming

spring-time. And it is a curious thing to look on here and see the

machinery of _world making_ at work--to behold the progress of society

going on under your eyes, from its infancy to its maturity. As in a

panorama we behold the wigwam of the savage pass away to give place to a

log hut; that disappears and a goodly farm appears; then a settlement, a

village, a town in succession, until at last, an imposing city filled

with institutions for all arts and sciences; with temples, academies,

and all appliances of society in its state of culture and maturity.

While thus watching nations rising and setting; moved and transported

upon the earth’s surface as the pieces of a chess-board, a guiding hand

is as distinctly visible, as upon the walls of Beltshazzer’s palace. To

the poor Indian the hand-writing again appears: ‘thou art weighed in the

balance and found wanting!’ Beware ye, who have inherited his land, that

the sentence be not written up against you also!

A _ground swell_, rather higher than the rest, placed us upon an

elevation, from whence we looked down upon the enchanting vale of

Ottowa. A verdant plain lay below us, over which two bright rivers were

winding, the Fox and the Des Plaines, which meeting, formed a broad and

noble stream, which runs 220 miles from this spot to the Mississippi.

The Illinois, first takes that name here. The plain was bounded in the

distance by groves of stately trees, and by the bluffs of the Illinois.

In the centre of this fair valley, just where the ‘bright waters meet,’

is the little town of Ottowa. It is youngling, just come out, and

contains only 1,006 inhabitants, but is rapidly increasing. A gentle

descent of about a mile, brought us to the banks of the Fox, beneath the

shadow of the shrubbery which fringed its shores we drove some time

following its windings and gazing at the bright sheen of its waters

glittering through the foliage. We forded it twice while crossing the

valley, and so pure and transparent was the stream, that the pebbles

which lay upon the sandstone floor, could be seen as distinctly as in

the hand. The canal passes here, and the workmen were building a

handsome viaduct, across the stream. The Fox river is here about 100

yards wide, but is low at this season. It rises in Wisconsin, and is

navigable to within fifteen miles of lake Michigan near Milwaukie. Many

parts of its shore are richly wooded. The rapids upon the stream afford

a great amount of water power, serviceable for machinery. A short drive,

after again crossing the Fox, brought us before the door of the

principal hotel, called the Mansion House. The site of Ottowa only

having been laid out in 1830, ten years since, you cannot expect many

details of its fine streets and churches; I leave that for the next

year’s tourist. The buildings principally consist of shops, arranged in

a square, upon one side of which is our hotel, and upon another side, a

large brick court-house is in progress--this being a county town. The

Ottawans are much disappointed that the canal did not terminate at their

town, instead of Peru, fifteen miles lower down the Illinois.

Notwithstanding this, the town must increase, and enjoys considerable

trade, as it is surrounded by a good farming country, prairie and

woodland, with abundance of limestone and sandstone in its vicinity. Its

water power will in time render it another Rochester for the Genessee

farmers, who will soon be raising their grain in the plains around.

Beside this it is the centre of an extensive coal basin, which crops

out in various places in the neighborhood. Chicago now receives supplies

of that article here, which she once obtained from Ohio. When the

Illinois is high, steamboats from St. Louis reach here, but at present

they ascend no higher than Peru. They gave us a very nice supper here,

which we partook in company with the boarders, travellers, and our

driver. This last attacked the ham and broiled chickens right manfully,

declaring he was as hungry as a prairie wolf. Pray do not expect a bill

of fare at every place--suffice every thing was as good as could be

expected--nay better, for who would look for such city dainties as

orange sweetmeats and iced cakes in this young wilderness settlement.

Every thing desirable can be obtained, by the steamboats here, except

good cooking, and style at table--these will come in time, and their

absence affords _variety_ in our wanderings.

A peep at the ‘Ottowa Republican,’ and several neighboring papers,

amused us until the stage horn sounded--we entered our stage--the

leaders were touched, and we bade adieu to Ottowa I fear forever. I

shall not soon forget that lovely purple evening, which threw such a

charm over the scenery as we drove from Ottowa to Peru, a distance of

fifteen miles. Our road lay beside the bright Illinois, upon prairie or

bottom land, which lines each side of the river throughout its whole

length, making a valley from one to five miles broad, skirted with high

limestone and sandstone bluffs. The ground was gay with flowers, and as

the twilight threw its purple haze over the opposite shore, it became

alive with hundreds of brilliant fire flies, larger and more luminous

than any I had ever seen. Many a time have you and I sat in our early

days upon the banks of the Passaic, watching these brilliant creatures

as they starred the black robe of night, but we never beheld them so

large, and dazzling as these western lights. The river was as smooth as

a mirror, upon which was reflected the trees and rocks with perfect

distinctness, but it had a darker hue than those bright waters we had

passed, being tinted with a brownish topaz. I remarked this to my

companion, who attributed its dark shade to the alluvion and black mould

through which it flowed. ‘It cannot be wholesome,’ I said, ‘I should not

like to drink it.’ ‘I guess if you had been on top of that rock three

hundred years ago,’ said an old man who sat opposite me, peering out the

stage at the opposite bluffs, ‘you’d been glad to drink it ever so muddy

or unhealthy.’ I opened my eyes and stared enquiringly at him. ‘That’s

the rock where the Ingins were starved to death,’ he said in answer to

my look. ‘Indeed!’ I exclaimed, ‘Is that _starved rock_?’ Our heads were

out the window, and we looked with much interest upon the scene of that

Indian tragedy. A high cliff of alternate sandstone and limestone

layers, stands out like a turret from the rocky bluffs one hundred and

forty feet above the river--it was spotted with moss, and fringed with

trees, which the sun’s last rays had tinged with gold, and amber, and

rose. ‘Yes, ma’am, that’s the rock,’ continued our fellow traveller.

‘Down to the river they sunk their kettles with bark ropes, in hopes of

getting water, but the cruel Pottawattamies cut the strings, and so they

died.’ And _so they died_! What images of anguish, sorrow, rage and

despair, does that short sentence convey to our minds!

The fate of the unhappy band of Illini, who dwelt in the fair land which

has taken their name, has been related by Schoolcraft and Flint; but as

I think you have not seen their works, I will tell it you. The Illini

were defeated in battle by the Pottowattamies, and retreated to the top

of this rock, which by a narrow ledge joins the land. This spot they

defended some time, but at length their provisions and water failed.

They scorned to surrender, but one by one lay down in dignified

composure, and, like Cæsar, drawing their mantles over them, died in

silence. The last one who had defended the rock at length expired, and

the enemy seeing no one appear, entered the strong-hold to find them all

at rest. Their bones repose there now. The rock is passed, and upon the

prairie at our right we behold the brazen glare of a fire lighting up a

dozen dark figures which are flitting around it. This is an emigrant

bivouac. Some of their wagons taken from their wheels shelter the center

where the men repose; the women and children remain in the other

vehicles. A fire in the midst keeps off the moschetoes, and perhaps a

prairie wolf, thus affording under the mild sky a comfortable place of

repose without the expense of a hotel. The prairie grass forms a soft

bed for the men, and food for the cattle.

‘I reckon the Ottowa folks are pretty considerably nettled,’ said our

old traveller, in a voice which rendered ‘night hideous’ with its

harshness. ‘They thought the canal would end there, and they would git

all the trade.’ ‘The Ottowa folks don’t depend on no canals, I guess,’

replied another passenger, apparently a neighboring farmer, taking up

the cudgels for his favorite town. ‘Ottawa’s a great and increasing

place, which will beat _Chicorgo_ yet. Wait a while and you’ll see rows

of factories and mills upon the Fox, and you’ll see the rapids scooped

out below, so that the steamboats can come up at all times, and then I

wouldn’t give a cent for your Peru. Ottawa folks keep their eyes skinned

I tell you!’ ‘Oh! you prairie chickens crow loud; you are always laying

out for mills to grind the grain what you mean to raise. You’d better

come and open a shop now, or a bank, at Peru; things will rise when old

Tippecanoe comes to the white house.’ ‘Tip me none of your old ginerals,

if you please,’ said his opponent. ‘Van’s the man for me. Give me Van

Buren for President and things will rise enough.’ The gurgling of water,

as we forded the Little Vermillion, drowned the noise of these village

politicians much to my comfort. Soon after we found ourselves in the

midst of a group of Irish shantees, occupied by the canal laborers,

flanked by a row of low wooden tenements, upon the bank of the

moon-illumined Illinois. ‘This, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the farmer,

in a tone of derision, ‘is the grand town of Peru!’ ‘Yes, and bigger

than Ottawa was, when it was as newly settled as Peru,’ answered the

Peruvian disdainfully. As I looked around me, I thought of Tinkerville

and its public square in the forest; but every thing must have a

beginning. The steamboat frontier was waiting to receive us, and we were

soon, with our luggage, translated to her deck. Fatigued as we were we

could not leave the deck for some time, for the _night sun_, as the

Indians call the moon, was shining brightly down upon the smooth surface

of the Illinois, lighting up her forest glades as we passed, and

throwing fantastic shadows over the silver water. However, a night and a

day in a stage coach has beaten all romance out of us, and we at length

retreated to our snug state-room. The mosquitoe nets were drawn over us,

and we soon bid to nature and to you a fair good-night.