In my Canoe, July, 1846.
Elk or Itasca Lake is the fountain head of the Mississippi. It is
thought to be almost three thousand miles from the Gulf of Mexico and
two thousand feet above the level of the Atlantic. It is a small sheet
of water, about five miles long, one to two miles wide, and contains
only one island, which lies directly in the centre. The first traveller
who visited the lake was Henry R. Schoolcraft, after whom the island has
been justly named. On the south side is a ridge of wood-crowned hills,
which give birth to tiny streams, that eventually empty their waters
into the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. The whole region on the north is
woody, low and marshy. The water is clear, deep, and full of fish; the
bottom gravelly; and the entire shore covered with reeds and rushes. The
trees which abound here are the pine, oak, elm, maple, birch, and
poplar; and the fish are principally the trout, pike, and black bass.
The Mississippi when it leaves this lake is only about twenty feet wide,
but after passing through a great number of lakes it spreads itself out
to the width of one hundred and fifty feet, and empties into Red Cedar
Lake. This portion of the Great River might well be likened to the
infant Hercules, for it is the master of every thing around it, and
rambles onward as if conscious of its dawning power. Upon the whole,
however, it is through a cheerless wilderness.
The region of Elk Lake was once famous for the number of its animals,
and derives its name from the following legend of a mammoth Elk. This
creature is said to have measured the length of two large canoes, and
with his horns had power to split a pine tree. His lair was in a valley
among the neighboring hills, where he reigned supreme; and it was
customary for all the animals of the north, which were of giant size in
those days, to make him an annual visit. As they were so numerous, they
were compelled to occupy the country for many miles around, which
accounts for its excessive flatness. The object of this “world’s
convention” was to consult the king of beasts as to the forests and
plains they were to occupy during the following year; and to partake of
the water of the small lake, which had power to protect them from every
disease or accident, and such was the state of things, when an enemy
made its appearance, and the reign of the Emperor Elk was ended.
Those were the days when giants inhabited the earth, and the region
where most they congregated was in the far South. It so happened that a
hunting party of these people wandered to the North, and finally pitched
their tents in the vicinity of this lake. Among the animals they
succeeded in killing was the Mammoth Elk, which they found asleep, and
pierced with a poisoned arrow. The heavens were immediately filled with
clouds, a heavy rain deluged the earth, and with their booty, in
melancholy mood, the hunters started on their return. The rain was so
abundant that the lake overflowed its banks, forming a little stream,
which finally widened into a broad river, and emptied into an unknown
sea; and on the bosom of this river did the hunters float in their newly
made canoes, until they found themselves in their own country. The
conclusion of the whole matter was, that from that year all the animals
of the earth began to dwindle in size, and the men of that time were
reduced in stature to the height of their younger children.
A more suggestive legend than the above I have seldom heard. To my mind,
it illustrates the poetical genius of the Indian, and throws much light
upon the history of the Mound Builders. I obtained it from the lips of
an old Indian hermit, as I sat in his solitary lodge, at the foot of one
of the hills which look down upon Elk Lake.
On the summits of those hills I spent a number of days, pondering upon
the strange wild scenery which surrounded me. At one time I revelled
over a morning landscape. The sun had just risen above an ocean of
forests, and the sky was echoing with a thousand strains of melody.
Earth was awake, and clothed in her fresh green garment. The mists had
left the long low valleys, and revealed to the open sky winding rivers
and lakes of surpassing loveliness. Every thing was laughing with joy
under the glorious influence of the summer sun.
The elk and the deer were cropping their morning repast, with the
dew-showers trickling from their sides. Gracefully did the smoke curl
upward from an Indian village. The hunters were preparing for the chase.
I saw them enter their canoes, silently glide down a river, and finally
lose themselves among the islands of a vast swamp. None were left in
that village but women and children. While the former busied themselves
in their rude occupations, the latter were sporting in the sunshine,
some shooting at a target, some leaping, some swimming, and others
dancing.
A rushing sound now fell upon my ear from a neighboring thicket. It was
a wounded moose that had sought refuge from a hunter. The arrow had
pierced his heart, and, like an exiled monarch, he had come here to die.
He writhed and bounded in agony. One effort more, and all was still. The
noisy raven was now to feed upon those delicately formed limbs, and
pluck from their sockets those eyes, which were of late so brilliant and
full of fire. But after all, lovely, lovely indeed, was that morning
landscape of the pathless wilderness.
At one time I gazed upon a noontide panorama. Not a breath of air was
stirring, and the atmosphere was hot and sultry. The leaves and the
green waves of the distant prairie were motionless. The birds were tired
of singing, and had sought the shadowy recesses of the wood. The deer
was quenching his thirst in some nameless stream, or panting with heat
in some secluded dell. On an old dry tree, whose giant arms stretched
upward as if to grasp the clouds, a solitary bald eagle had perched
himself. It was too hot even for him to enjoy a bath in the upper air;
but presently, as if smitten with a new thought, he spread out his broad
pinions, and slowly ascended to the zenith,—whence I fancied that the
glance of his keen eyes could rest upon the Atlantic and Pacific. The
butterfly and wild bee were resting on the full-blown flowers; and
perfect silence was in the Indian village. The children, exhausted with
heat and play, had gone to lie down, some in their cabins, and some in
the cool shadow of the trees. Earth and air were so tranquil, that it
seemed as if nature was offering up a prayer. Winding far away to the
south was the Mississippi, fading away to the bending sky.
In a few moments a little cloud had obscured the sky. The wind was
rising, and was followed by a roaring sound,—and now the storm was
spending its fury upon forest and prairie. The dreadful thunder echoed
through the chambers of the firmament, and the fiercest lightnings
flashed forth their fire. The forests were bending as if every tree
would break. An old oak, which stood in its grandeur upon the plain, now
lay prostrate,—even as God will sometimes dash to the earth some proud
and insolent man. The parched soil was deluged with rain. But finally
the storm had spent its fury, and the clouds, like a routed army, were
passing away in dire confusion. A rainbow then arched the heavens, and a
fresh but gentle breeze was fanning my cheek, and thrilling my whole
being with rapture.
I also looked upon this wilderness landscape at the evening hour. As the
sun descended, the clouds came out to meet him, decked in their most
gorgeous robes, while the evening star smiled at his approach. He had
left the valleys in twilight, and I knew that his last beams were
gilding with gold the Rocky Mountains. The moon ascended to her throne;
and the whippoorwill had commenced her evening hymn. On heavy wings a
swan flew past me; she was going perhaps to her home on the margin of
Hudson’s Bay. A stir was in the Indian village, for they had returned
with their canoes loaded with game. The customary festival had
commenced, and most strangely did their wild music sound, as it broke on
the surrounding solitude. The doe had gone to her grassy couch, the
feathered multitudes were sleeping, and the mantle of perfect silence
had fallen upon the world.
It was now midnight, and I stood in the centre of an apparently
boundless wilderness of forests and prairies;—while far away to the
northwest reposed a range of hills, which seemed to me like a vast
caravan of the antediluvian Mound Builders. The moon had compassed the
heavens, and was near her setting. A thousand stars were by her side.
She flooded with her silver beams the leaves, the waves, and distant
hills. Every voice within the Indian village was hushed. The warrior,
asleep upon his mat, was dreaming of a new victory lost or won; the
youth was dreaming of the dark-eyed maiden whom he loved; and the child
was dreaming of the toys of yesterday. The pale face had not yet
trespassed upon their rights; and as they were at peace with the Great
Spirit, they were contented and happy. Holy and impressive was the hour.
The wind was up, and wailed an awful anthem as it swept through the dark
pines. It came to my ear like the death-wailings of a world. The owl was
noiselessly flying from tree to tree, and the beautiful whippoorwill was
sleeping. The splash of a leaping trout, or the howl of a wolf, were the
only sounds which fell upon my ear. I looked, and looked,—wondering,
wondering. And when I retraced my journey from the summit of the Elk
Hills and the margin of Elk Lake, few and brief were the words that
escaped my lips, for my heart was oppressed with the majesty of God.