Rock Island, July, 1846.
I have sailed upon the Mississippi, from the point where it empties into
the Gulf of Mexico, all the way up to the little Lake which gives it
existence, and I now intend to record a description of its scenery and
prominent characteristics. The literal meaning of the Chippeway word
Meseeseepe is—water every where—and conveys the same idea which has been
translated—father of waters. When we remember the immense extent of the
valley watered by this stream and its hundred tributaries, this name
must be considered as singularly expressive.
That portion of the river known as the Lower Mississippi, extends from
New Orleans to the mouth of the Missouri, a distance of about twelve
hundred miles. As the highway for a multitudinous number of steam
vessels of every size and character, it is of incalculable importance,
not only to this country but to the world; but with regard to its
scenery, it affords little of an interesting character. Excepting a few
rocky bluffs found some distance below Saint Louis, and in the vicinity
of Natchez, both shores of the river are low, level, and covered with
dense forests of cotton-wood and cypress, where the panther and the wolf
roam in perfect freedom, and the eagle swoops upon its prey undisturbed
by the presence of man. The banks are of an alluvial character, and as
the current is exceedingly rapid, the course of the river is constantly
changing. You might travel a hundred miles without finding a place
sufficiently secure to land; and the water is always so very muddy that
a tumbler full will always yield half an inch of the virgin soil. The
surface of the stream is never placid, but for ever turbulent and full
of eddies and whirlpools, as if its channel were composed of a continued
succession of caverns. Snags and sawyers abound throughout its whole
extent. They are taken from the shore by the rushing tide and planted in
the channel quite as rapidly as the snag-vessels can extricate them from
their dangerous positions.
The Lower Mississippi (always excepting the still more frantic Missouri)
is probably the most dangerous and least interesting river in the world
to navigate. When not in actual danger, you are likely to be so far
removed from it, high and dry on a sand bar, that the annoyance, like a
certain period in our national history, has a tendency to try men’s
souls. The following picture of an actual scene on this portion of the
great river, may be looked upon as characteristic of the whole. On your
right is a series of rocky bluffs, covered with a stunted growth of
trees, before you an expanse of water ten miles long and two wide, on
your left an array of sand bars and islands, where lie imbedded the
wrecks of some fifty steamboats, and in the more remote distance a belt
of thickly wooded bottom land. On the water, passing to and fro, are a
number of steamers, and immediately in the foreground a solitary sawyer
and the hull of a sunken steam-boat. This is the spot which has been
rightly named the Grave Yard, for hundreds of souls at different times
have passed from thence into eternity. When I left the turbid and unruly
bosom of the Lower Mississippi, I felt towards it as a person would
naturally feel towards an old tyrant who had vainly striven to destroy
him in his savage wrath. I should remark in passing that the bottom
lands of this river are not wholly without inhabitants; occasionally a
lonely log cabin meets the eye, which is the only home of a miserable
being who obtains his living by supplying the steamers with wood. Nailed
to a stump before one of these squatter residences, which stood in the
centre of a small clearing, I saw a board with the following
inscription,—“This _farm_ for sale—price $1 50.” Though I could not help
laughing at the unintentional wit of that sentence, it told me a
melancholy tale of poverty, intemperance, and sickness, which are too
often identified with the dangers of this wilderness.
I would now speak of the Upper Mississippi, and I only regret that I
cannot strike the poet’s lyre, and give to this “parent of perpetual
streams” an undying hymn of praise. The moment that you pass the mouth
of the Missouri on your way up the Father of Waters, you seem to be
entering an entirely new world, whose every feature is “beautiful
exceedingly.” The shores now slope with their green verdure to the very
margin of the water, which is now of a deep green color, perfectly
clear, and placid as the slumber of a babe. My first view of this spot
was at the twilight hour, when the time was holy, and every object that
met my gaze seemed to have been baptized with an immortal loveliness.
Over the point where the sun had disappeared, floated a cavalcade of
golden clouds, and away to the eastward rolled on, along her clear, blue
pathway, the bright, full moon, and now and then a trembling star,—the
whole completely mirrored in the bosom of the softly flowing but ever
murmuring stream. On my right lay a somewhat cultivated shore; on my
left a flock of islands, whose heavy masses of foliage rested upon the
water; and in the distance was the pleasant and picturesque town of
Alton, with its church spires speaking of hope and heaven. No living
creatures met my gaze, save a wild duck and her brood gliding into their
shadowy home, and an occasional night-hawk as he shot through the upper
air after his living food; and no sound fell upon my ear, but the
jingling of a distant cow-bell and the splash of a leaping sturgeon.
Another picture which makes me remember with unalloyed pleasure this
portion of the Mississippi, was a scene that I witnessed early in the
morning. The sky was without a cloud, and the pleasant sunshine fell
upon my cheek, like the kiss of one whom we dearly love. On either side
of me was a row of heavily timbered islands, whose lofty columns, matted
vines, and luxuriant undergrowth of trees, told me of a soil that was
rich beyond compare but seldom trodden by the foot of man; and in the
distance was an open vista, beautified by other islands, and receding to
the sky. Now, unnumbered swallows were skimming over the water, uttering
a shrill chirp; then, the cry of a disappointed blue jay would grate
upon the ear; now, a boblink and black-bird held a noisy conversation,
and then the croak of a raven would descend from the top of some dead
tree; now the mocking-bird, the dove, the red and blue-bird, the robin
and the sparrow favored me with a chorus of their own, while the whistle
of the quail and the lark would occasionally break out to vary the
natural oratorio. And to cap the climax, an occasional flock of ducks
might be seen, startled away by our approach, also a crane feeding in a
cluster of trees, or a bold fish-hawk pursuing his prey, while the
senses were almost oppressed by the fragrance of blowing flowers, which
met the eye on every side.
By multiplying the above two scenes almost indefinitely, and tinging
them with the ever varying hues and features of the pleasant summer
time, and by fancying on either bank of the river an occasional thriving
village, “like sunshine in a shady place,” you will have a very good
idea of the Mississippi scenery between the mouth of the Missouri and
the Lower Rapids. These are twelve miles long, and the first on the
river which impede its navigation. The water, during the dry season
varies from two to four feet in depth on these rapids, but the channel
is so very crooked that even the smaller steamers with difficulty find a
passage. Below this point the eye of the traveller is occasionally
delighted by a fine prairie landscape, but the following picture may be
looked upon as a pretty accurate epitome of the scenery between Nauvoo
at the head of the Rapids, and Rock Island. It was the noontide hour of
one of those heavenly days which occasionally make very happy the
universal human world. My own heart, which had been darkened by the
shadows of human life, was made joyous by its dazzling loveliness. The
sunshine slept upon the quiet landscape, as sweetly as if the world had
never known a deed of sin, while every object which composed the scene
performed its secret ministry of good. It was just such a day as William
Herbert has made immortal in the following words:
“Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew will weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.”
At my feet flowed the tranquil waters of the superb river, from whose
very margin receded a perfectly level prairie, which soon lost itself,
in a rolling country, whose motionless billows receded to the far
horizon. On my extreme left lay a range of wood-crowned and dreary
looking hills, and on my right a solitary bluff which was as smooth on
every side as the most highly cultivated lawn. The atmosphere was soft
and of a rosy hue, and made me long for the wings of a dove that I might
float away upon its bosom in a dream of bliss. Flowers of loveliest hue
and sweetest fragrance were on every side; and the only sound that fell
upon my ear was a hum of insect wings. On the bluffs already mentioned a
large herd of deer were quietly cropping their food; and in the air high
towards the zenith was floating in his pride of freedom, an immense
eagle, the seeming monarch of the western world.
Rock Island, whence I date this paper, and which lies in the river
midway between the villages of Davenport and Rock Island, is one of the
most picturesque points I have yet seen during my journey. It is
literally speaking a rocky island, and is surmounted by the dilapidated
walls of an ancient fortress, and was, in former days, the scene of many
a struggle between the red man and his _brotherly_ oppressor. But the
place is greatly changed. Where once the gayly dressed officer quaffed
his wine cup at the midnight hour, the lonely shriek of the owl is now
heard even until the break of day; and the rat, the toad, and the spider
have usurped the place where once the soldier hummed his thoughtless
song, or was heard the roar of his artillery.