SECOND DAY UPON THE MISSISSIPPI.
“It seems to float ever, forever,
Upon that many winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses.”
“It must have been a proud moment for De Soto when he first looked upon
the lower waters of this magnificent river,” said Mrs. Lester, as she
sat with Norman on the guards of the boat the next morning; “what a
scene it must have been; the canoes of the Indians floating on the
waters, while on the banks hundreds of the red men, with white feathers
waving o’er their brows, were gazing with wonder at their new visitors.
“And when he and his followers had crossed the bank, and the Indians
knelt to the white chief, whom they thought was one of the children of
the sun, to ask him for life for the dying, he told them to pray to God,
who alone could help them.
“Soon in this dreary western wilderness the princely De Soto breathed
his last. His people, fearing to let the Indians know of his death,
wrapped up his body, and buried it beneath the waters of the great river
he had discovered; while, for the first time, a Christian requiem,
softly chanted in the darkness, mingled with the music of its winds and
waves.”[1]
Footnote 1:
De Soto never saw the Upper Mississippi. He ascended the Lower
Mississippi as far as the Missouri. He died and was buried somewhere
near the mouth of the Arkansas River.—ED.
“And so,” said Norman, “the mighty river is a memorial of him. How much
I would like to have seen birch-canoes floating on the river. And I do
believe there is one made fast to the shore just by that ‘dug-out.’”
“What an ugly word ‘dug-out’ is; so different from the birch canoe,”
said Mrs. Lester.
“But, mother, it just tells what it is; a trunk of a tree, hollowed or
dug out in the shape of a boat. But see how pretty that bark canoe is!
Don’t you remember we were reading about it in Hiawatha; how he girdled
the birch-tree just above its roots, and just below its lower branches,
then cut it from top to bottom, and stripped it, unbroken, from the tree
with a wooden wedge?”
“Well, what did he do then?”
“He made a framework of cedar-boughs, like two bended bows, and then he
sewed the bark together with the roots of the larch-tree; bound it to
the framework, and stopped up all the seams and crevices with resin from
the fir-tree. And then he embroidered it with porcupine quills.”
“You remember pretty well how the canoe was made, Norman. I wish you
could recall some of those lines about the birch canoe you were so fond
of repeating.”
“I think I can, mother,” said Norman; “at any rate I will repeat what I
remember:”
“Thus the birch canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest’s life was in it,
All its mystery, and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch’s supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.”
“I am very glad that I have seen a birch canoe; but I would like to see
some Indians in it; not an Indian have I seen on the banks of this
river. Now we are going to take in wood. I wish I could go on shore.”
It did, indeed, look most inviting, that piece of woodland, with its
high umbrageous roof, and deep dark recesses; and many of the gentlemen
went on shore to gather flowers and cut sticks for canes; one of these
was handed to Norman as a remembrance of the woods of Minnesota.
The bank was bordered with two long wood-piles; and one of the officers
of the boat measured the height and length of a section; and, at a word,
twelve stout Irishmen sprung on shore, and seizing each his half dozen
sticks, trotted on board. Rapid as were their movements, it was a long
time before the great wood-pile was transferred to the deck of the
steamer, but it was pleasant to enjoy the fragrance of the forest and
the sweet songs of its birds.
About mid-day they entered Lake Pepin, an expansion of the river
twenty-four miles long, and from two to four miles wide. It is a
beautiful sheet of water, with high rocky bluffs on the eastern, and
rounded wooded hills on the western bank, while it is bordered with a
broad beach of white gravel. A fresh breeze crossed its waters, almost
rising into a stiff gale. Sudden gales of wind are not uncommon on this
lake, often obliging steamers to lay to until their violence is over.
On the western shore is the celebrated Maiden’s Rock, a bold,
precipitous bluff, rising four hundred feet above the lake. All eyes
were turned toward its towering height. Its story is one of great
beauty.
A maiden of the Sioux had given her heart to a chief of her own tribe,
who had sought her love. The parents, however, would not consent to her
alliance with the young brave, but insisted on her marrying an old
chief, of great wisdom and influence in the nation. The marriage-day was
fixed, and Oola-Ita, with other Indian maidens, was gathering berries on
the brow of this cliff for the wedding-feast. Suddenly a plaintive song
rose on the sea, and they saw the beautiful Oola-Ita poised gracefully
on the very edge of the precipice, her head upraised, and her long hair
floating in the wind, as she warbled her parting song. In a moment,
before a friendly hand could arrest her, she leaped from the precipice,
and was dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
[Illustration:
No. 666.
MAIDEN’S ROCK.]
Six miles above Lake Pepin is the town of Red Wing, finely situated on
the river bank, beneath the shadow of a towering bluff. There was
formerly the village of Talangamane, or the Red Wing, esteemed the first
chief of his nation. The university which bears Bishop Hamline’s name,
and which has been founded by his liberal gift, may be seen from the
water, and near it is a large Methodist church.
Two weeks after a terrible accident happened at this town. The steamer
Galena took fire. The pilot manfully kept his place at the wheel; amid
the scorching flames he brought the boat to the shore, and kept her
there till the passengers had escaped. A mother and three children were
lost, but the rest stood in their night-clothes on the shore; some of
them stripped of the means which were to provide them with a home in the
new country to which they were going, but thankful for lives saved from
flood and flame.
The presiding elder of the district came on board at Red Wing. He was
introduced to Mrs. Lester by a Baptist minister, who was returning to
St. Paul with his bride. He had been in the country for twelve years,
and his varied knowledge made him a most agreeable companion. He had
been brought in familiar contact with the Indians and with the settlers;
he could tell of the wigwam, and the log cabin, and the thriving towns
now replacing them; he knew the character of the strata of the river
bank and the names of the trees in the forest. He had visited an Indian
mission four hundred miles above the Falls of St. Anthony; had ascended
part of it in a canoe carried over the portage past the rapids, by
half-breeds. A most quiet, domestic river it is above St. Anthony,
flowing through beautiful prairies covered with grapes and wild flowers,
diversified with gentle hills and groves of oak. These prairies were
formerly the resort of herds of buffaloes and deer; wolves, too, roamed
over them, and just before dawn might be heard the hideous cry of the
great white owl. Abundance of water-fowl used to be seen here; ducks,
geese, pelicans, swans, and snipe; while the hawk, buzzard, and eagle
sailed on lofty wing in the regions of upper air.
The waters of the St. Croix River looked blue and beautiful as they
flowed from the lovely lake at its mouth into the more turbid waters of
the Mississippi, with which they refuse for some time to mingle, the
currents of different hues running side by side. Magnificent forests,
huge trees (primeval) of stately trunk and deep rich foliage, adorn the
shores of the river, or the large islands in its broad bosom.
Norman saw three wigwams on one of these islands, and two Indian boys
seated on the shore. Not very far from this was formerly a Sioux village
of _Le Petit Corbeau_, or the Little Raven. An anecdote is told of this
Indian chief, which very finely illustrates the Saviour’s precept: “If
any man take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.”
The Little Raven, going one morning to examine his beaver-trap, found a
_sauteur_ in the act of stealing it. The thief, looking up, saw the
chief of a nation with which his own was at war, standing looking at him
with a loaded rifle in his hands. The culprit expected instant death.
How great then was his astonishment when the Sioux chief, approaching
him, said: “Be not alarmed, I come to present you the trap, of which I
see you stand in need. You are entirely welcome to it. Take my gun also,
as I perceive you have none of your own, and depart with it to the land
of your countrymen; but linger not here, lest some of my young men, who
are panting for the blood of their enemies, should discover your
footsteps in our country, and should fall upon you.” So saying, he gave
him his gun and his accoutrements, and returned unarmed to his village.
One would think that this Indian chief must have heard and received the
sublime words of the apostle:
“Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto
wrath: for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay,’ saith the
Lord; therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him
drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not
overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”