INDIAN STORIES.
Home of the Indian’s wild-born race,
The stalwart and the brave;
Alike their camp and hunting-place,
Their battle-field and grave;
Where late gigantic warriors stood,
As thick as pine-trees in the wood,
Or snipes on Jersey shore;
“Tecumseh,” “Beaver,” and “Split Log,”
And “Keokuk,” and “Horned Frog,”
And “Blackhawk,” “Wolf,” and “Yelping Dog,”
And “Possum Tail,” and “Pollywog,”
And many hundred more.—F. G. H.
Again in the cars for a journey to St. Anthony’s Falls, and again the
fertile rolling prairie met the eye on every side. The view was somewhat
marred by the high board fences of the railroad, that in some places hid
those broad flowery fields. Some curious mounds, round, smooth, and
green, extended like a chain from east to west, and looked as if they
were artificial formations, lying as they do on the bosom of the
prairie; perhaps the burial-place of a departed race.
Soon the high lands on the Mississippi were seen. A portly gentleman of
Galena, just returning from a convention at Springfield, pointed them
out to Mrs. Lester, and said, “Ma’am, there is no such river in the
world; you never saw such scenery; you would not look at the Hudson
after it.”
“That would be unfortunate,” replied Mrs. Lester, “as my home is on the
Hudson. Is the scenery finer than the Highlands and the Catskills?”
“Well, ma’am, I can’t exactly say as to that; I have not been below
Albany.”
“Ah, then, you have not seen our beautiful river, as it cannot boast of
much grandeur above Albany.”
Galena is a curious town, built on the side of a very steep hill; the
houses rising one above another, and in a picturesque, romantic region.
The road lay for some time along the bank of the Fever River, and Norman
looked in vain for the lead mines, for which this part of the country is
so famous. A very fine specimen of the lead ore was afterward given him.
“Ah! look, mother!” he exclaimed, as the descending sun that had been
partially vailed, shone through a rift in the clouds, and was brightly
mirrored in the placid waters of the river. Low wooded banks and islands
were also mirrored there as well as the shining orb and the large dark
masses of clouds. It was the great sight of the afternoon.
At Dunleith, on the line between Illinois and Wisconsin, the terminus of
the Illinois Central road, they went on board the Grey Eagle, the best
boat on the Upper Mississippi.
A sunset on the _Missi-sepe_, the Great River! It was radiant and
golden, but without any pomp of crimson clouds, of long-trailing glory.
Norman had a fine view of Dubuque, built on a natural terrace on the
opposite shore, and creeping up four of five ravines between the great
bluffs which rise directly behind the town. After tea, as the boat was
not to leave till morning, he watched the lights gleaming out from the
city below, and the scattered dwellings above, and then went to bed in
his state-room.
His mother had not met the friends whom she had expected to join at
Dunleith for this excursion, and she felt somewhat disappointed. The
morning came in clouds and drizzling rain. The hills were vailed; but as
the boat went very near the western shore, the passengers could admire
the wealth of foliage, and the rich greens of those primeval forests. A
road ran along the river bank, and some men were quarrying stone; near
this was a deserted log-house.
On passing a very high red bluff, that stood in the forest, like an
Egyptian idol, so curiously was it fashioned, Mrs. Lester ran to the
east side of the boat to call Norman to look at it. He came, but after a
hasty glance returned to his play, which for the time wholly absorbed
him. He was engaged in some merry games with Helen and Frank Lisle, and
he had no thought for anything else. Mrs. Lisle found that Norman was
the son of a minister who had been an intimate friend of her sister’s.
“My sister has very frequently spoken to me of him,” she said; “I almost
think I had known him. My sister named her eldest son after your father,
Norman, and I have been strangely reminded of Lester at your age all the
morning.”
Norman remained a while to look at a large raft which his mother had
called him to see. There were twenty men upon it; some of them with red
shirts, and another wrapping a white blanket around him. There was a
shed where one man was cooking the dinner, and a board table in front
for their meals. A gentleman said that a raft of that size was worth
about seven thousand dollars. There were a number of rafts floating by
this western shore. One misses the white sails of the Hudson on the
Mississippi, where rafts, and steamboats, and an occasional sail-boat,
are the only craft on its waters.
There were ravines running up among the hills, and near the shore were
layers of white stone piled regularly as if laid in mortar. Castellated
bluffs peeped out from the encircling verdure, and low islands, covered
with willows, were emerging from the recent floods. From behind one of
these the steamer Northern Light appeared, her bright golden star on a
back ground of green.
After dinner the aspect of things brightened. The clouds rolled away,
and the clear blue sky appeared in its soft beauty. The eastern now
became the most interesting side; noble bluffs were seen far above the
lofty oaks and maples, like some ancient towers, the strongholds of the
former lords of the soil. The town of Guttenbay is on a table land at
the foot of one of these bluffs, and beyond it a range of rounded hills,
softly rising above wooded islands. “O look!” said Helen Lisle, “at that
beautiful rainbow in the spray.” It was no fleeting vision, but all the
afternoon the radiant bow, with its hues of blended brightness, afforded
them a beautiful object for contemplation.
“See those trees,” cried Norman; “they look as if they were running a
race down hill.”
In crossing from the east to the west side they passed an island shaped
like a bowl, the center filled with water, and a broad green brim.
M’Gregor’s landing is a small busy town of one long street, there being
no place for another in the narrow ravine. The street was filled with
wagons, and many passengers landed to go out on the rich prairies of
Iowa, to which this ravine leads.
There is a noble view of the broad river and its wooded islands, in
crossing to _Prairie du Chien_ on the east side. Norman was amused at
seeing three dogs on this prairie, the first he had seen on the shores
of the river. The town derives its name from a family of Fox Indians,
who formerly lived there, and were known by the name of Dogs.
The fort, though now deserted, looked very finely with its white walls,
and its pleasant site, commanding the far reaches of the Mississippi,
and the prairie opening into the interior.
[Illustration:
No. 666.
PRAIRIE DU CHIEN.]
“Keokuk used to live here, Norman; do you remember the story you were
reading about him?”
“O yes, mother, he was such a brave man. He was chief of the Sacs and
Foxes, and yet he was such a firm friend to the whites that he exerted
all his influence to prevent his tribe from going to war with them. At
one time when the nation had determined upon a war with the United
States, he told them to burn their wigwams, kill their squaws, and then
to go into the enemy’s country to conquer or to die. This speech
convinced them of the folly of engaging in a war that could only
terminate in their ruin, and they followed his peaceful counsels.”
“And then,” asked Mrs. Lester, “how did he show his magnanimity when the
people were wearied with his goodness, as the Athenians of old were at
hearing Aristides called the Just?”
“O yes, that was at Prairie du Chien too. They chose a young man for
chief instead of the noble chief who so long had led them. He quietly
took the lower place, and introduced his youthful successor to the
United States agent, asking him to treat him as kindly as he had treated
Keokuk. This noble conduct showed the tribe their folly, and Keokuk was
soon restored to his place as their chief.”
“Poor Red Bird,” said Mrs. Lester, “this spot was a fatal one to him. He
was a real Indian hero; tall, lithe, and beautiful, graceful in
movement, skilled in feats of agility, daring and brave.”
“Why was this spot fatal to him?” asked Helen.
“He was a great friend to the whites,” replied Mrs. Lester, and dealt
kindly and truly with them. An Indian had been killed by a white man,
and his tribe demanded scalps to atone for this murder. Red Bird was
sent to obtain the scalp of the white man, but he returned, saying he
could find none.
Then came the cruel taunts of the revengeful savages; “Red Bird was no
brave;” “he feared the pale-faces;” “he cared not to avenge the blood of
one of their tribe.” “Red Bird must go again,” and this time not alone,
but accompanied by cruel Indians, to watch his movements. Poor Red Bird
had never met the pale-faces but with truth and kindness, and now a
hundred voices clamored for their destruction; and these voices
overpowered the still small voice within him.
Red Bird and his two companions entered a cabin, a little below Prairie
du Chien, at noon-day. It was a peaceful family group, fearing no evil.
The woman was washing near the window that looked toward the river; her
husband was seated by the cradle of his sleeping child, while an old
soldier sat near the door. The Indians asked for something to eat, and
as the woman gave them some bread and milk, she saw an expression in
their faces that led her to fly from the cabin to call for help. No help
could reach the ill-fated occupants of the cabin. The tomahawk of the
Indians rapidly descended; Red Bird scalped the husband and father, the
second Indian the soldier, while the fair hair of the infant was
dangling at the belt of the third savage, as he left the cabin.
“And what became of Red Bird?” asked Helen.
“He was taken by the United States officers, and brought to trial. Red
Bird, sad and stately, drew himself up to his full height, and said that
he had always been a friend of the white man, that he had never before
injured them, and that he had been forced to this act of retaliation by
the taunts of his tribe; that he thought they ought not to condemn him
for a single offense.”
[Illustration:
No. 666.
INDIANS KILLING A WHITE FAMILY.]
“He was put in irons, an indignity that so wrought upon his lofty
spirit, that he pined to death.”
“Look at that log-cabin on the bank,” said Norman; “perhaps that is the
one Keokuk slept in one night.”
“Why did he go there?” asked Helen.
“He came in and asked for a night’s lodging. The settler’s family, who
had seen many Indians about in the afternoon, were afraid; but the noble
countenance of their guest reassured them, and they gave him permission
to stay. In the morning he told them that his tribe were returning up
the river, after having received their money from the United States, and
that as some of them had drunk the firewater, he feared they might alarm
the pale-faces in the cabin, and therefore he had come to project them.”
Painted Rock, so called because there are Indian paintings upon it, was
on the opposite side of the river, in deep shadow, while the green hill
sloping toward the south, lay in broad sunshine.
Dwellings nestled in a pretty ravine were frowned upon by four lofty
cliffs, whose rugged rocks resembled fortifications. One rock looked
precisely like the fragment of a massive wall. Just beyond, a valley,
branching in three directions, ran up among the hills. Over one of
these, to the south, the dark shadow of the bluff was thrown, while the
soft rounded hills to the north were covered with scattered trees,
resembling orchards on the hillside, giving a cultivated look to the
scene.
No docks are needed, as the steamer, that only draws about eighteen
inches of water, runs up anywhere close to the shore. As it was
approaching the bank they saw a log-cabin, in the door of which stood a
man, and a little child in red frock and white pantalets, making a
pretty picture.
On the jutting point where the boat touched was a white house, and a
young girl, with an earthen pitcher, was walking down the stone steps
leading to the water.
A great yellow Egyptian-looking cliff threw a shadow over this peaceful
scene.
“There are the nine passengers who are to land at this place,” exclaimed
Norman, as a man walked up the road followed by eight sheep. “He has
been surrounded by that family ever since we left Dunleith.”
“He looks very well satisfied now to have them all safely landed,” said
Helen Lisle; “how pleased his children will be at the grand arrival.”
The bluffs were now magnificent. The limestone strata extended in
straight lines, looking like streets; then a bold red bluff towered up
like a great cathedral; then a building resembling the New York Free
Academy, while lofty masses of rock, crowned and encircled with verdure,
continually remind one of the feudal castles of the Rhine. It was with
reluctance they obeyed the summons to tea, which withdrew them from the
ruddy cliffs of Wisconsin; but on returning to the deck they saw them
still, glowing in the light of the setting sun:
“Each rosy peak, each flinting spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire;
Their rocky summits, split and rent,
Form’d turret, dome, or battlement;
Or seem’d fantastically set,
With cupola or minaret.”
There is the mouth of the Upper Iowa River, on the boundary line of Iowa
and Minnesota. “Good-by, Iowa,” said Norman, taking off his hat and
waving it to the receding state.
“Crossing the river again,” said Mrs. Lester. “We will soon be at the
mouth of the Bad Axe River, but the light is fading so rapidly that we
will not be able to see the spot of the decisive conflict between the
Indian and white man.”
“I never heard of that battle mother, will you tell me something about
it?”
“It was at the close of the Black Hawk war, in 1832. The Indians were
entirely defeated by the United States troops at this place. A number of
squaws were slain in the wild confusion of battle, not being
distinguished from the Indians in the long grass into which they had
fled for refuge. One poor woman, as she received her mortal wound,
clasped her child close to her bosom, and fell over upon it, thus
pinioning it to the ground. The poor little thing was found the next day
under the lifeless body of its mother. Its arm was broken, and the child
was so starved that, even during the painful operation of setting the
broken bone, it eagerly devoured some meat given to it by the
compassionate soldier who had rescued it from the arms now powerless for
its protection. The love of another mother bore her safely over the deep
waters. She placed her papoose in her blanket, and holding it between
her teeth, she swam across the broad river, and reached the opposite
shore in safety.”