barbarous, there is observable among them a social kindness, free from
almost all the imperfections which so often disturb the peace of society
among us. They appear to be without passion; but they do that in cold
blood, and sometimes through principle, which the most violent and
unbridled passion produces in those who give no ear to reason. They seem
to lead the most wretched life in the world; and they were, perhaps, the
only happy people on earth, before the knowledge of the objects which so
much work upon and seduce us, had excited in them desires which
ignorance kept in supineness, and which have not, as yet, made any great
ravages among them. We discover in them a mixture of the fiercest and
the most gentle manners; the imperfections of wild beasts, united with
virtues and qualities of the mind and heart which do the greatest honor
to human nature. One would think at first they had no form of
government; that they acknowledge neither laws nor subordination; and
that living in an entire independence, they suffer themselves to be
solely guided by chance, and the wildest caprice. Nevertheless, they
enjoy almost all the advantages that a well regulated authority can
secure to the best governed nations. Born free and independent, they
look with horror on the very shadow of despotic power; but they seldom
depart from certain principles and customs founded on good sense, which
are to them instead of laws, and which in some measure supply the place
of a lawful authority. They will not bear the least restraint; but
reason alone keeps them in a kind of subordination, which, from being
voluntary, it not less effectual to obtain the end intended.”[1]
The Illinois has the same peculiarity I observed in all the rivers of
the Mississippi valley. With the exception of here and there a solitary
plantation, or a little embryo town, few traces of man appear on its
borders until you arrive at the great prairie, above the head of steam
navigation, which extends all the way to the lakes. At long distances we
came upon one of those evidences of the busy body, man, in the shape of
a little village, a clearing, or an establishment for putting up pork
for exportation, where I was told, notwithstanding the “hard times,”
they throw the ears, feet, and often heads of the swine into the river,
to feed the eels and catfish. Indeed, from what I observed throughout
the whole extent of my journey, in this suffering region, there is
almost as much wasted there as would serve to feed the starving
manufacturers of England.
Most of the towns on the river, below the Rapids, have little worthy of
attention, and all their glories are prospective; but there is one it
would be unpardonable to pass by without a tribute to its surpassing
beauties. I refer to Peoria, whose aspect is as soft and gentle as its
name. Father Charleroix, I think, calls it Pimitavery, and it lies on
the left bank of the Illinois, where it expands into a lake from one to
three miles wide, and ten in length. Ascending the bank, you come upon a
fine prairie, forming a crescent, of some twelve or fifteen miles,
judging by the eye, whose arch is bounded by a bluff, as it is here
usually called, but which represents a natural terrace of wonderful
regularity, clothed with luxuriant grass, and crowned with open woods,
affording as beautiful sites for country residences as can be imagined
in dreams. It was Sunday, and in the afternoon, when the sun was low, I
took a walk from the town to the terrace, about a mile distant, which is
reached by a private road, leading among wheat and corn fields of the
greatest luxuriance.
Nothing could be more soft, calm, and alluring than the weather and the
scene. The smooth glassy lake lay directly before me, bordered on the
farther side by a vast green meadow receding far away, and fringed in
the vague distance by a dark barrier of forest, beyond which was nothing
but the skies. Between the lake and the terrace on which I stood, lay
the thrifty, gay-looking town; to the left, the crescent gracefully
curved till it met the lake, while to the right it made a noble sweep,
enclosing a level prairie, whose extent I did not pretend to determine;
and which, though it had never been sowed or reaped, looked as smooth as
a shaven lawn, as green as the most luxuriant meadow. Neither fence nor
inclosure of any kind was seen in that quarter, and the cattle dispersed
about in all directions, strayed wherever they pleased. While
contemplating the scene, the setting sun gradually retired behind the
wooded terrace, and the glowing, golden lustre gave place to those
transitions of the summer twilight which are so exquisitely touching and
beautiful. There was a silence, a repose and loveliness all around, in
the earth, in the heavens above, and on the waters, whose effect, if I
could only communicate it to my readers, they would thank me for; and
never did the sun set on a more holy Sabbath, or one better calculated
to call forth grateful homage to the Creator of such an enchanting
world.
This little paradise was until recently possessed by the Peoria Indians,
a small tribe, which has since receded; and tradition says there was
once a considerable settlement of the French on the spot. I was informed
there is an extensive old burial-place, not of Indian origin, somewhere
on or near the terrace, and noticed that not a few of the names and
physiognomies in this quarter were evidently French. There seems a chasm
in the forest history of this region, between the relation of
Charleroix, which refers to no later period than 1720, and the final
cession of the French North American possessions to the English. A
series of obscure and unrecorded incidents which have escaped the
historian, led to results which for this reason appear unaccountable;
and there is, I think, every reason to believe all those discoveries of
iron and copper implements, and other evidences of mechanical skill,
from which some ingenious writers have inferred that the Indians once
possessed arts they have now lost, may be traced to this period, and to
adventurous white men, long since forgotten.
Some eight or ten miles above Peoria, just at the point where this
charming lake again becomes metamorphosed into its parent river, and in
the midst of a solitude which requires only the presence and labors of
man to make it one of the gayest as well as most fruitful districts in
the world, are the ruins, or rather remains of the modern city of Rome,
founded, not built, in the palmy days of speculation wild. These remains
consist of the skeleton of a single house, which puts the passing
traveler in mind of the voice of one crying in the wilderness of rich,
waving prairie, blooming with flowers of every hue and odor. If there is
not a city here now, there certainly will be in time; and the
long-sighted speculator, whoever he was, only anticipated a generation
or two in the march of population. This beautiful region only wants
inhabitants, which, whatever people may say, are necessary to the
prosperity of cities; and I think it by no means improbable that some
hundreds, or perhaps thousands of years hence—which, after all, is
nothing compared to eternity—when all the past, present and future
glories of the ancient mistress of the world are buried in the
bottomless pit of oblivion, the founder of this legitimate successor,
though not suckled by a wolf, may take rank with Romulus and Remus, and
be immortalized as the parent of a new and more illustrious Rome.
Sailing up the river, among the green meadows, and willows kissing the
surface of the waters, amid a silence broken only by the puffing of the
steam-pipe, the next object which attracted my attention was a pretty
little village pleasantly situated on the right bank, whose name
commemorates the residence of old Father Hennepin, who, tradition says,
once established a mission here. These early pioneers of the wilderness
deserved and attained a great influence over the jealous, independent,
impracticable red-man of the new world, and justly claim the respect of
those who might never be incited to follow their example. They were
unquestionably actuated by the purest, most elevated piety, in thus
encountering and overcoming the dangers and privations of the untracked
wilderness, and deserve to be respectfully remembered, if not for the
success of their endeavors at least for the courage, zeal and
perseverance with which they were prosecuted.
Among the earliest and most distinguished of these were Father Louis
Hennepin and Joseph Marquette, the former of whom visited Canada
somewhere about the year 1676. He remained some time at fort Frontenac,
where he constructed a portable chapel, and whence he accompanied the
celebrated Louis de La Salle, in a voyage of discovery on the Upper
Mississippi, which had been discovered by Father Marquette, six years
before. They visited the Falls of Niagara, of which he gives the
earliest description on record. It is extremely accurate, as I
ascertained by comparison on the spot, and shows what little change the
incessant action of these mighty waters has produced in the lapse of
almost two centuries. After establishing a post at Niagara, La Salle
built the first schooner that ever sailed on the great lakes, and
passing through Erie, St. Clair and Huron, entered Michigan, where he
erected a fort at the mouth of the river St. Joseph. From thence they
proceeded to explore the Mississippi, and it was probably on his return,
that Father Hennepin erected his chapel on the spot where now stands the
town bearing his name. According to his own account he first descended
the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico, and returning, ascended that
river as high as the Falls of St. Anthony, which are indebted to him for
their name. He returned to France, published a relation of his
discoveries, came back to this country, and I have not chanced to meet
with any further account of him. Whether he ever visited France again,
or whether he ended his days on the banks of the Illinois, I cannot say.
I went on shore and visited the town, which stands on a high gravel
bank—a great rarity in this region—and endeavored to ascertain the
spot of the good father’s residence. But there are no aged persons, no
depositories of traditionary lore to be found here; and our people are
too much taken up with anticipations of the future, to pay much
attention to the past. I found no one who could give any precise
information, though all were familiar with his name. Hennepin is the
county-seat of Putnam; and as it does not, I believe, aspire to the
dignity of a great city, like most of its neighbors, will probably
flourish long and happily, a memorial of the good father whose name it
bears.
Father Joseph Marquette, whose name is also intimately associated with
the early discoveries in this region, was a kindred spirit. According to
Charleroix, who belonged to the same order of missionary knights errant,
“he was a native of Laon, in Picardy, where his family still holds a
distinguished rank. He was one of the most illustrious missionaries of
new France; he traveled over almost all parts of it, and made many
discoveries, the last of which was the Mississippi, which he entered
with the Sieur Joliet, in 1673. Two years after this discovery, of which
he published an account, as he was going from Chicagou, which is at the
bottom of Lake Michigan, to Michilimackinac, he entered the river I am
now speaking of, the mouth of which was at the extremity of the low land
which, as I have said, we leave to the right in entering. He set up an
altar here and said mass. After this he went a little distance to return
thanks, and prayed the two men who managed his canoe, to leave him alone
for half an hour. This time being expired, they went to seek him, and
were greatly surprised to find him dead; but they recollected he said he
should finish his journey there. As it was too far from thence to
Michilimackinac to carry his body thither, they buried him pretty near
the side of the river, which from that time has retired, as if out of
respect, to the cape, at the foot of which it now runs, and where it has
made a new passage. The year following, one of the men who had performed
the last duties to this servant of God, returned to the place where he
had buried him, took up his remains, and carried them to
Michilimackinac. I could not learn, or else I have forgot, what name
this river had before, but at present the savages always call it the
river of the Black Gown. The French have given it the name of Father
Marquette, and never fail to invoke him when they find themselves in any
danger on Lake Michigan.”[2] The little river still bears the name, and
the spot where he was buried is designated on the maps as Marquette’s
grave.
About the head of steam-navigation on the Illinois, and especially near
the junction of the canal which will connect the lakes with the
Mississippi, cities multiply prodigiously, and are called by the most
prodigious names. Most assuredly my countrymen are great at christening
places; but still I wish they would consult Tristram Shandy, where they
will find a most edifying discussion on the subject. The race of
antiquaries who grope their way backward through the obscure labyrinth
of time by the clue of names, will assuredly be not a little puzzled, as
children are wont to be, to find out who was the father of Zebedee’s
children. If they should follow the etymology of names, they will
probably come to the conclusion that we derived our parentage from all
the nations of the earth, ancient and modern, and had more fathers than
children.
Nevertheless I have nothing to say against any of the thriving brood of
young cities that multiplied so wonderfully in those happy days when
swallows built in young men’s whiskers, and the little hatchet became a
great hammer before the iron grew cold. Those especially that have
either houses or inhabitants, I wish all possible prosperity, and hope
they will one day rival the great cities after which they are
christened. But those which have nothing but a name and a lithographic
map to demonstrate their existence, cannot expect to be recognized by
any traveler of ordinary pretensions to veracity. The commencement of
the canal to which allusion has just been made, was the signal for
speculation in its immediate vicinity, and six cities were forthwith
founded on the prairie between La Salle and Ottawa, a distance of some
fourteen miles. As they may possibly perish in embryo before their
birth, and thus dodge the antiquary who will be looking for them some
centuries hence, I feel it a duty to do all I can to assist his
inquiries, lest he should lose his wits in searching for them, as did
the pedagogue in Le Sage, in looking for the _paulo post futurum_ of a
Greek verb.
The first of these, whose name I don’t choose to remember, is very
advantageously situated on a barren rock, at the head of the navigation
of a stream which can neither be spelt nor pronounced, and which had no
water in it when I passed over. But not to wrong the river, or the
long-headed, long-sighted founder of the city, I acknowledge I was
informed that sometimes during the melting of the snows on the Rocky
Mountains, or after a heavy shower of rain, there was an ample
sufficiency of water to float a chip—not a ship, gentle reader—of
considerable burthen, into the Illinois. It was therefore the opinion of
the unknown and illustrious founder, that nothing could prevent this
place from becoming in good time a great commercial emporium; and I was
told, but will not vouch for the fact, that he had actually organized a
whaling company, and seriously talked of opening a direct trade with
China. In short, he looked forward with all the faith of a speculator,
which exceeds that of a martyr ten times over, to seeing his city, in a
few years, smothered by a corporation, blessed with half a dozen broken
banks, and loaded with debts and taxes, in humble emulation of its
betters.
In the books of English tenures, there are some whimsical conditions of
ownership and occupancy; but I recollect none similar to the city I am
commemorating, which denounces a forfeiture of property on all those
convicted of either drinking or bringing spirituous liquors therein. No
one will question the morality of this regulation, though its prudence
may not be so obvious, as many people might suppose that any future
purchasers of lots, some of which I was told had been originally sold
for two or three hundred dollars each, would require some powerful
stimulant in addition to the excitement of speculation. It is doubtful
whether any sober man would give such a price at this time. I had almost
forgot to mention that this city has neither houses nor inhabitants.
The next _brevet_ city we passed, is just at the foot of the lower
rapids of the Illinois, and directly on the margin of the river. It
promises rather better than the other, having one house actually built,
and another in anticipation. It is really a delightful spot, on a strip
of prairie looking like an immense shaven lawn, backed by a high terrace
of grassy knobs and precipitous rocks, whose sides and summits are
clothed with foliage, along which the gentle river meanders lazily until
it comes to the rapids, which, having passed, it pursues its way
rejoicing. It might have destroyed the balance of this portion of the
new world, had these two great marts been placed on the same side of the
river, and accordingly they are prudently located on the opposite
shores, in order to preserve the equilibrium. I was told there was a
desperate rivalry between them, and great apprehensions are entertained
from their competition when they come to be inhabited.
Just above this last-mentioned metropolis, and on the same side of the
river, is the Starvation Rock, so called from a tradition, not very
ancient, I believe, which tells that a large party of Illinois having
sought refuge from the pursuit of a superior force of hostile Indians,
were blockaded, and all, save one, perished by famine. This place was
visited by Charleroix, in 1720, who ascended the rock, where he found
the remains of old palisades, originally created for defence, and the
bodies of two Indians, half consumed by fire. He says nothing, however,
of the incident from which the place derives its present name. It is one
of the most beautiful rocks I ever saw, exhibiting a succession of
ledges, displayed horizontally with wonderful regularity, but of an
infinite variety of shades and colors, such as is generally observed in
cliffs of limestone. At a little distance, beheld through the soft hazy
atmosphere of the prairie, it resembles the ruins of a great castle,
towering to the height of perhaps two hundred feet, garnished with
trees, shrubs, flowers and clambering vines. The whole of this vast
fruitful region, from the delta of the Mississippi to the Niagara Ridge,
terminating at Lewistown, is, so far as I observed, based on a limestone
formation, and the waters every where impregnated with lime. They are
said to be wholesome when one is accustomed to their use; but,
unfortunately, I never could get used to them, and finally came to the
conclusion, that—to vary the old proverb a little to suit the
occasion—though Heaven had created the land, the D—l had furnished the
water.
The last city I shall commemorate is called after a famous stronghold in
Europe, being seated on a ledge of rocks extending from the Illinois
into the prairie, and apparently inaccessible on all sides. It is
certainly a capital position in a military point of view, and would be
invaluable on a frontier. People might live there in great security if
they could find any thing to eat. At present the only enemy they would
have to fear is famine. Luckily, however, there are no inhabitants, and
one need be under no apprehensions on that score. It is a most
picturesque spot, the mossy rocks every where interspersed with flowers
and verdure, and the summit crowned with an open wood of lofty trees,
under which the grass is as green and luxuriant as a lowland meadow.
There are several other cities, lying dormant, between this and the town
of Ottawa, and no one can predict their future destinies. When the canal
connecting the Mississippi and the lakes comes to be finished, as I hope
it soon will be, for it is a great national undertaking, and will form
the last link to the most extensive inland navigation in the world,
there can be little doubt, I think, that this will become a very busy
and populous region. Towns will rise up as a matter of course; and,
provided they do not ruin each other by their numbers and their rivalry,
will flourish to a considerable extent. Those, therefore, who have the
wealth of Crœsus, and the patience of Job, may, if they please,
speculate in town-lots in these embryo cities, for the benefit of their
posterity.
The gallant adventurer La Salle is worthily commemorated in this
quarter, by a town and a county called after his name. Among all the
hardy and daring pioneers, of the Mississippi valley and the lakes, he
stands foremost, and best merits the remembrance and gratitude of the
millions who are now enjoying the fruits of his enterprise and
sufferings. He built the first vessel that ever floated on the lakes; he
explored the Upper and Lower Mississippi, and perished at last by the
hands of his companions, who finally shrunk from the perils and
privations which he bore without flinching. Mr. Adams, when Secretary of
State, in a correspondence with Don Leviz de Onis, the Spanish minister,
on the subject of boundaries, pays a most eloquent, well deserved
tribute to the genius, hardihood, courage and enterprise of Louis La
Salle, but with this exception he has not met with that attention he so
justly merits from my countrymen.
The little town of La Salle lies close to the junction of the canal with
the Illinois, and was founded by a colony of the sons of old Erin, who
were employed in that undertaking. It is a genuine, unadulterated Irish
town; the cabins many of them of turf, and all thatched with straw. The
number of pigs is only to be matched by that of children, and both are
in a most flourishing condition, to judge from the portly dimensions of
one and the rosy cheeks of the other. There is no place in the universe
where the jolly, hard-working, warm-hearted Irishman can so gloriously
luxuriate in the paradise of potatoes. The reader will please to
understand that notwithstanding the number of great cities hereabouts,
the entire prairie from Peru to Chicago, with here and there an
occasional exception, is in a state of nature, although one of the
fairest and richest portions of the earth. They began at the wrong end,
or rather, they put the cart before the horse, and laid out towns
instead of cultivating land. This is one of the prominent foibles of
that sanguine, enterprising, anticipating and gallant race which is
daily adventuring into the boundless region of the West. They are not
content with land of inexhaustible fertility, but almost every tenth man
aspires to be the founder of a city. Instead, therefore, of laying out
his farm into fields, he lays it out into a town, which he calls after
his own name, with a ville at the end of it; or he dams up the river,
builds a mill, and lays the foundation of a series of bilious
complaints, that descend to his posterity to the second or third
generation. Hence the number of towns is out of all proportion to the
number of inhabitants. With very many of them, their generation is a
mere spasmodic effort of speculation. They consequently exhibit an
appearance of prosperity for a few years; are then suddenly arrested,
and either never grow any more, or dwindle away to nothing. A despotic
monarch like Peter the Great may create a city where he will, but with
all his power he cannot perpetuate its existence beyond his own, unless
it possesses natural advantages to attract voluntary settlers. Private
persons should beware how they undertake to found cities. They may build
houses, but they cannot fill them with people.