Prairie Du Chien, July, 1846.
Just above Rock Island are the Upper Rapids of the Mississippi, which
extend some fifteen miles and have a fall of twenty-seven feet. They
made a deep impression upon my mind, because it was there that our
steamboat swung upon a rock for some thirty hours, and where, soon as we
were clear, we ran into a downward-bound steamer, and settled her to the
bottom;—but fortunately no lives were lost. I noticed on these and the
Lower Rapids a certain fly or miller, which is found at the evening hour
flying about in immense numbers. They are called the Mormon fly, and I
was told were found on these rapids alone, and that wherever they
alight, there they remain, if not disturbed, until they _die_.
Soon after we had passed these rapids I enjoyed another prairie scene,
which was even more superb than the one I have already attempted to
describe. On this occasion the bank in the foreground was covered with
grass that must have been at least six feet high, and the only living
creatures that I saw were a beautiful doe and her fawn—quenching their
thirst in the limpid stream.
The Illinois side of the Mississippi, between the Upper Rapids and the
Lefevre river which leads you to Galena, is characterized by an
extensive range of fantastic bluffs and isolated rocks. Covered as they
are with vines and mosses, they present the appearance of ancient ruins,
and it requires no great stretch of the imagination to discover towers
and turrets of ancient castles, fortress walls that have been partly
battered down, and solitary pillars rising in gloomy grandeur, as if to
preach a salutary lesson to the passing traveller, upon the ravages of
time. This same kind of singular scenery ornaments the river in the
vicinity of Dubuque (which like Galena is some distance from the
Mississippi), and extends as far as Prairie Du Chien, only, as you
ascend, the bluffs become more lofty and imposing. On the summit of one
of the most beautiful of these bluffs is a small cabin and a large
wooden cross, where the French trader and miner Dubuque was
buried—according to his own request, and in a coffin made of solid lead.
Prairie Du Chien is undoubtedly one of the most interesting and
beautiful places on the Mississippi. It takes its name from the fact
that it was once the camping place of a Fox Indian Chief, whose name
was—_The Dog_. The prairie extends along the river for about ten miles;
on the one hand it slopes gently down to the river, and on the other is
bounded by a range of bluffs, which are some five hundred feet high, and
exceedingly picturesque. The houses that shelter the inhabitants of this
place are planted without any order, but as it is one of our more
ancient trading posts, there is a rude and romantic appearance about
them which is quite refreshing. Here, in the form of an isolated square,
lie the barracks of Fort Crawford, where the discordant sounds of the
drum and the shrill whistle of the fife are often heard; while in
another part of the plain are the ruins of an old fortress almost level
with the ground. Now a lonely Catholic church is seen holding forth its
gilded cross; and now, the store of the Indian trader is surrounded with
a herd of Winnebagoe Indians, who resort here for the purposes of trade.
The territory of this tribe lies directly on the opposite side of the
Mississippi, where the eye is again gratified by a range of wood-covered
bluffs, rising directly from the margin of the stream. From the regular
lines of naked strata which extend along the sides of all the bluffs in
this vicinity, it is evident that the spot called Prairie Du Chien was
formerly the bed of the Mississippi, but how many centuries ago this was
the case, it is impossible to imagine. And yet if this conclusion is
correct, and we remember that there are hundreds of similar prairies as
well as bottom lands on the Mississippi, we must also conclude that this
stream is now a mere rivulet to what it was in the times of old.
On the bluffs, in the immediate vicinity of Prairie Du Chien, are some
of the most remarkable of those strange memorials of a forgotten race
which have yet been discovered in our country. Like those of Ohio,
Kentucky, Missouri, and Illinois, those of the more northern wilderness
will long continue to puzzle the antiquarian, and furnish food for the
poet and the moralist. Here the mounds, trenches, and parapets are found
connected in one series of works, which seem to have been used for
military purposes. Deep under the surface of the ground, tomahawks of
brass (differing materially from those now in use) have been found; and
stories are told of gigantic skeletons having been disinterred in the
neighbourhood. The only things which throw any light upon these singular
ruins, are the uncouth and unsatisfactory legends of the Indians, who
tell us that a race of white giants were once the possessors of the soil
which they have inherited from their warlike and victorious ancestors.
These vestiges of an extinct race, “lie in their sunless chambers like
the spirits of the past, as if in mockery of an age which arrogates to
itself the term of an age of light. They will probably remain for ever a
signal rebuke upon the learning of modern times, assuming, as it does,
the pride of universal knowledge.”
At this place I met and had a long conversation with an Indian trader,
who had lived in the wilderness for more than half a century. He gave me
an interesting account of the battle of Bad Axe, at which he was
present. This spot lies some distance below Prairie Du Chien, and
received its name from an Indian, who was killed and buried there at an
early day. The trader told me that the word _battle_ was not the right
one to use in speaking of that conclusion of the Black Hawk War;—it was
a cruel _massacre_. The poor Indians were crossing the river (as they
had been for days) with all possible despatch, when they were overtaken
by a force of three thousand of our well-armed soldiers. The surprise
caused great consternation among the Indians; all who could, made their
escape, and the leader of _this crowd_ was Black Hawk himself. Six of
our people alone were killed: and _nine-tenths_ of the two hundred
red-skins slain, were _women_ and _children_. The famished condition of
the _enemy_ on that occasion must have been melancholy indeed. My old
friend told me, that among the scenes which he witnessed on the ground
after this massacre, was a dead child, with the meatless bone of a young
colt’s leg, grasped firmly in its little hand;—it had died of starvation
while clinging to the body of its murdered mother. And this is a portion
of the payment that our Government has ever been in the habit of
awarding to the poor Indian, for the splendid territories which were his
only inheritance.
The Winnebagoes are about the only Indians who visit Prairie Du Chien
for purposes of traffic; formerly however, it was the congregating place
for the nations which lived upon the Fox and Wisconsin rivers, as well
as those upon the head waters of the Mississippi. The Winnebagoes were
once almost as numerous as the leaves upon the trees, but the nation has
been so far reduced that only about three thousand now remain. And a
more unhappy people do not exist upon the continent,—warriors, women and
children are all apparently broken hearted. In olden times they were a
race of brave men and beautiful women, but now they prowl among their
native hills a brotherhood of vagabonds, exceedingly poor and
universally despised. And yet the white man who was the author of all
this misery counts his gold, and congratulates himself with the idea
that he is a Christian.
But I am wandering from what I was about to record, viz., the history of
a visit to the lodge of Winneshic, head chief of the Winnebagoes. The
business which had brought the old man to the Prairie, was, to exchange
the skin of a recently captured bear, for a small bag of flour and some
ammunition. I had made him a present of tobacco, (which is about the
only currency that a traveller can make use of in the wilderness,) and
when it was intimated to him that I should be pleased to visit his
lodge, he immediately pressed me to become his guest, which invitation
was duly accepted. He had come to the Prairie alone, in a small wooden
canoe, in which, at the appointed hour, I seated myself and away we
started up the Mississippi. With the language of my old friend I was
partially acquainted, and this, with my knowledge of the Indian
character, enabled me to carry on a respectable conversation. The old
man told me that I must keep very quiet in my seat, as he thought me a
novice in canoe navigation; whereupon I seized a paddle and feathered it
a few moments in a style worthy of the chief himself, which not only
surprised, but actually delighted him. After a quiet sail of about an
hour, during which time I enjoyed some of the finest scenery in the
world, and one of the balmiest sunsets I ever beheld, the canoe suddenly
turned into the mouth of a little creek, and I was landed at the
threshold of my companion’s lodge. It was made of buffalo skins and
shaped like a sugar loaf. It stood upon a plot of level ground, in the
centre of a brotherhood of elms, and at the foot of an abrupt hill. It
was so far elevated as to command a southern view of the Mississippi,
extending at least a dozen miles,—the river meanwhile making two or
three magnificent sweeps as if in honor of the beautiful islands which
rested like jewels on its peaceful bosom.
The extent of Winneshic’s family I was unable to learn, but the only
individuals whom I saw at his lodge were his wife, a couple of fine
looking boys and a little girl. They were all glad to see me, and
treated me with marked politeness. I was invited to a seat upon the
handsomest mat in the lodge, and while the chief sat by my side smoking
his pipe and entertaining me with the strange wild stories of his life,
the wife busied herself in finishing a pair of moccasons, while the
children were cooking a wilderness supper. That supper consisted of
boiled fish, a roasted duck, and a piece of dough about half baked, all
of which we ate with our fingers, and without a particle of salt.
After the repast was ended I thought it my turn to entertain my friends,
and for this purpose had brought my portfolio of sketches, which were
carefully examined by the light of a blazing fire. Some of the scenes I
had sketched were recognized by the whole family, and caused them to
look with perfect wonder upon my supposed talent and upon the lead
pencil which I also exhibited to them. Their astonishment amused me
exceedingly, and I greatly increased it by sketching a profile of the
chief and his better-half. It so happened that I was successful in my
attempt, and when I presented the sketches to the individuals
represented, they ransacked every nook and corner of their lodge for
something to give me in return. The chief handed me a beautiful pipe
from the red stone quarry, while the wife presented me with the most
fantastic pair of moccasons in her possession; the little girl gave me a
cake of maple sugar, and one of the boys presented me with an eagle’s
plume, and the other with a bow and arrows.
It was near midnight before I was suffered to lie down to rest, but
before taking this step I emerged from the wigwam for the purpose of
looking upon the Mississippi at that hour. And a lovely sight indeed was
it my privilege to behold. The moon was sweeping across her cloudless
field of blue, a beautiful but impatient queen, while an occasional star
gazed upward from its watchtower, as if in admiration of the heaven-born
spectacle. All the hills and islands were in deep shadow, and before me,
far as the eye could reach, lay exposed the windings of the stream,
which was brighter than a shield of burnished steel. So very still was
the air around, that you might now hear the shrill note of some
frightened deer far away upon the hillside, and now the scream of a
lonely loon, the splashing of a leaping fish, and the rippling of the
rivulet at my feet, which glided into the bosom of its parent stream
through a cluster of tall reeds. With this picture and its manifold
associations deeply fixed in my mind, I re-entered the lodge, threw
myself upon a mat in the midst of my Indian friends, and was soon in a
deep sleep.
I arose, on the following morning, at an early hour, and after partaking
of a breakfast of boiled fish, I entered, with the chief, into his
canoe, and in forty minutes was at my quarters in Prairie Du Chien.