FOURTH DAY UPON THE MISSISSIPPI.
Safely led and guided by pilots who could tell
The pulses of the river, its windings, and its swell;
Who knew its closest secrets, by dark as well as light,
Each bluff and ringing forest, each swamp or looming height.
MACKAY.
Early in the morning Winona appeared, surrounded by its protecting
hills, reposing, as do most of those pretty towns, in the shadow of the
great bluffs, “like peace in the bosom of strength.”
The boat stopped for some time at La Crosse, a very nourishing town.
Here Mrs. Lester saw two Indians in blankets and leggings, a sight
Norman missed, to his great disappointment. He was at the other end of
the boat, too far off to be summoned in time.
The pilot, having just left his watch of six hours, came and invited
them to come up to the pilot-house in the afternoon. It was a welcome
invitation, for the day was very warm, and the pilot-house, with its
cool breeze, and its commanding view of the scenery, was a most
desirable place. Norman admired the handsome pilot as, with steadfast
eye and erect figure, he stood at the wheel, scanning the waters, and
guiding the vessel in the channel, winding round the islands, and from
one shore to the other of the great river. Turning the wheel, first to
the right, and then to the left, it seems very easy work, a very simple
operation; and yet what destinies depend upon those movements; fortune,
happiness, life, all involved! Hundreds of human beings pass days of
enjoyment and nights of quiet rest because they have faith in their
pilot.
And there are men who, as they guide the pen, or utter calm, truthful
words, or pray in the deep of their hearts, seem to be doing very
little, and yet those pen traces, those simple words, those earnest
prayers, may guide hundreds in the perilous voyage of life, may direct
their course away from the shoals and snags that threaten destruction,
and float them safely to their desired haven.
Norman was greatly mortified at the disabled state of the Grey Eagle,
one wing broken, how could she maintain her triumphant flight? Others
accustomed to yield the palm, now passed her with ease.
“I hope they know that her paddle-wheel is broken,” said Norman; “just
look at those boats; what efforts they are making to pass us!”
Norman watched the boats with great interest, as they put on more steam,
and darted past the Grey Eagle, making the landings before her, and
carrying off the waiting passengers.
The view, crossing the river from Prairie du Chien, overlooking the
islands as they now could from their elevated position, was extremely
fine.
The Northern Light and the Grey Eagle met at M’Gregor’s Landing, and the
captain of the latter was telling the captain of the former about his
broken paddle-wheel and his consequently tardy progress.
“There is a lady trying to speak to you,” said the pilot. On the
Northern Light was Mrs. Ralston, with whom Mrs. Lester had intended to
journey to St. Paul. Handkerchiefs were waved and mute signals
attempted, but the few desired words of explanation were wanting. Near
and yet afar off. The boats soon parted for their opposite points of
destination, and Mr. and Mrs. Ralston, from the hurricane deck, waved
their good-by. Nearly opposite M’Gregor’s landing is the mouth of the
Wisconsin River.
“There was a memorable voyage on that river nearly two hundred years
ago,” said Mrs. Lester. “Two canoes, containing seven men, floated down
these waters, ‘entering happily this great river with a joy that could
not be expressed.’”
“Who were they, mother?”
“Father Marquette, the gentle, good missionary; Joliet, a citizen of
Quebec, and five Frenchmen, their companions. They had left the Fox
River, which flows into Green Bay, and carrying their canoes, they
crossed the narrow portage that divides it from the Wisconsin on the
10th of June, 1673. Down the river for seven days, floating in those
majestic solitudes, seeing neither man nor beast, passing beautiful
prairies, and green hillsides, the discoverers at length reached the
great river which they were seeking to find.
“And where did they go then?” asked Norman. “Over these waters the light
birch bark canoes floated for about sixty leagues. Then they landed on
the western bank of the river, where they saw foot-prints on the shore.
They followed them till they came in sight of an Indian village.
“They commended themselves to God, and cried aloud. Four old men
advanced to meet them, bearing the calumet, the peace-pipe, adorned with
brilliant feathers, and saying, “We are Illinois,” which means, “We are
men.” The Indians invited the strangers to their village, prepared a
feast in their honor, and entertained them for six days. Several hundred
warriors then escorted them to their canoes, hanging around the neck of
Marquette, on parting, the calumet, with its plumage of various hues, a
pledge of safety for the wanderers among savage tribes.”
“Do go on, mother, and tell me something more about Marquette. I think
his adventures are very interesting.”
“I know little more about him, except that he sailed down the river past
the Missouri and the Ohio, and that some warlike Indians, armed with
clubs, axes, bows and arrows, came out to meet them with the fearful
war-whoop. Marquette stood up, holding the sacred peace-pipe, and God
touched the hearts of the Indians, so that at the sight of this symbol
they threw their bows and arrows into the canoes, and welcomed the
strangers.
“On their return they sailed up the river Illinois, through the
beautiful prairies. The tribe of Illinois that live on its banks wanted
the good missionary to remain with them, and one of their chiefs, with
his young men, led the party to Lake Michigan, by way of Chicago. Here
Marquette remained to preach to the Miamis north of Chicago, and Joliet
returned to Quebec, to announce the discovery of the upper Mississippi.
“And what became of the good Marquette?”
“Two years afterward, as he was going to Mackinaw, he entered a little
river in Michigan, which, for a long time afterward, was called by his
name. He requested the men who paddled his canoe to carry him ashore.
They did so; and there, with no shelter but the little bark cabin which
his men hastily erected, he endured great agony. But he seems to have
had faith in Christ, and died in great peace. In the gloom of the vast
forests he slept to wake again in the green solitudes of the New World.
His companions dug his grave on a rising ground near the river, and
buried his body, which was afterward taken up by the Indians, and
carried with great respect to old Mackinaw, and placed in a little vault
of a Catholic church, which has long since disappeared.”
The scenery that on their upward course was vailed in mist and drizzling
rain, was now seen in its “fairest, happiest attitude.” Nothing was
wanting to “the gentle grace” of that parting day. Purple, crimson, and
gold painted the western sky, as the sun sank slowly below the horizon,
lighting up a fairy scene on the placid waters of the river. Then, as
the onward motion of the boat rudely disturbed the sleeping glory, new
combinations of beauty sought to make amends for the loss of the serene
picture of the radiant heavens. Golden ripples, a honeycomb of black and
gold, lay between them and the wooded banks toward which, as the
gorgeous tints now faded on earth and sky, Norman directed his
attention.
Rocks, decayed trees and branches covered with moss and lichen, were
faithfully mirrored in the waters, giving a kaleidescopic effect to
every object. Norman saw, simultaneously with his mother, exquisitely
tinted butterflies, insects of green and gray, stone altars, rustic
letters, and many other objects. Exclamations of wonder and admiration
were echoed from one to the other at some of these marvelous
combinations; and it was with reluctance they turned, as the twilight
deepened, from the margin of the woodland to the clear outline of the
trees against the western sky. There was still room for fancy to sketch
her pictures, and call up birds and beasts in that varied outline.
“This is the pleasantest afternoon of all,” cried Norman; “it is so nice
for us to be by ourselves.”
“And yet you forsook me first, Norman, and, absorbed in your play, lost
the first views of the Mississippi. You said there was a want with
children which children alone could supply—a demand of the social
nature.”
“I know it, mother; I know that I said so, and I enjoyed those merry
games very much; but after all this has been the happiest time.”