The river Mississippi, which imparts a name and character to the
great valley of the West, deserves something more than a mere passing
notice.--When the fertility and extent of the region through which it
passes, are taken into consideration, together with the magnitude of
itself and its numerous branches, it way well be pronounced the noblest
river on the face of the globe.
Contrary to the general analogy of other large rivers, it directs its
course from north to south. It rises in about the forty-eighth degree
of north latitude, in a region having the aspect of a vast marshy
valley. Its commencement is in many streams, issuing principally from
wild rice lakes, and proceeds but a short distance before it becomes
a large river. Sometimes, it moves silently and imperceptibly along,
over a wide and muddy channel--at others, it glides briskly onward,
over a sandy bottom, its waters almost as transparent as air--and again
it becomes compressed to a narrow channel between high and hoary
limestone cliffs, and it foams and roars, as it violently lashes the
projecting rocks, and struggles through.
The falls of St. Anthony, following the meanders of the stream, are
three hundred miles from its source. At this place, the river is about
half a mile wide, and falls in a perpendicular and unbroken sheet,
between seventeen and eighteen feet.--Above the mouth of the Missouri,
it receives many large tributaries, the most considerable of which are
the Ouisconsin and Illinois from the east, and the Des Moines, from the
west.
A little below thirty nine degrees, comes in the mighty Missouri
from the west, which is a longer stream, and carries more water than
the Mississippi itself. This is the largest tributary stream in the
world; and from the facts, that it has a longer course, carries more
water than the Mississippi, and gives its own peculiar character to
the stream below their junction, many have supposed it ought to have
given its name to the united stream and to the valley. In opposition
to this claim, it may be stated, that the valley of the Missouri, in
the grand scale of conformation, appears to be secondary to that of the
Mississippi--it has not the general direction of that river, but joins
it nearly at right angles--the Mississippi valley is wider than that
of the Missouri, and the river is broader, and the direction of the
valley and river is the same above and below the junction. From these
considerations, it appears to me, that the Mississippi rightfully
gives its name to the united stream, and to the great valley, from its
source to the sea.
The Missouri rises in the Rocky Mountains, nearly in the same parallel
with the Mississippi. It is formed by three branches, which unite near
the base of the principal ranges of mountains, which severally bear the
names of Jefferson, Gallatin and Madison. The head waters of some of
these, are so near to those of the Columbia on the other side of the
mountains, that a person may drink of the waters of each, in travelling
not more than a mile. After the junction of these three streams, the
river continues on a foaming mountain torrent. It then spreads into a
broader stream, and comparatively of a gentler current, and is full of
islands.
The river, then, passes through what are called "The Gates of the
Rocky Mountains." The river appears to have torn for itself a passage
through the mountain. For the distance of six miles, perpendicular
cliffs of dark colored rock, rise twelve hundred feet above the stream
which washes their base! The chasm is not more than three hundred feet
wide, and the deep, foaming waters rush through, with the speed of a
race-horse. In no situation in life, does man so keenly feel his own
imbecility and nothingness, as when viewing such terrible results of
a war between the elements of nature. This is the most imposing and
grand spectacle of the kind, to be found on the globe; and in the
deep solitude of the wilderness, its aspect is peculiarly awful and
terrific. The mountain scenery on the Hudson near West Point; and
the passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, sink into utter
insignificance, when compared to the rush of the Missouri, through "The
Gates of the Rocky Mountains."--The mountains here, have an aspect of
inexpressible loneliness and grandeur. Their summits are covered with
a stinted growth of pines and cedars, among which, are seen mountain
sheep, bounding along at heights apparently inaccessible.
For the distance of seventeen miles, the stream then becomes almost a
continued cataract. The whole perpendicular descent in this distance,
is three hundred and sixty-two feet. The first fall is ninety-eight
feet--the second, nineteen--the third, forty-seven--and the fourth,
twenty-six. The river continues rapid, a number of miles below; it then
assumes its distinctive character--sweeps briskly along in regular
curves, by limestone bluffs, boundless prairies and dense forests,
to its junction with the Mississippi. It has a current of four miles
an hour; but is navigable for steamboats the distance of twenty-five
hundred miles.
The tributaries of Missouri are many important and large rivers; but
our space will not permit a particular description of them. The most
considerable of them, are the Yellow Stone, La Platte and the Osage.
The Yellow Stone rises in the same range of mountains with the main
river, to which it has many points of resemblance. It enters the
Missouri from the south, eighteen hundred miles above its mouth, and is
eight hundred and fifty yards wide. It is a broad deep river, sixteen
hundred miles in length, boatable, one thousand; and at the junction,
appears to be the larger stream. Its shores are heavily timbered,
its bottoms are wide, and of the richest soil. Its entrance has been
selected by the government, as a suitable spot for a military post, and
an extensive settlement.
The La Platte also rises in the Rocky mountains, enters from the south,
and, measured by its meanders, has a course of two thousand miles. It
is nearly a mile wide at its mouth; but, as its name imports, is a
shallow stream, and not navigable, except at the high floods.
The Osage enters from the south and is a large and important stream of
the Missouri. It is boatable for six hundred miles, and its head waters
interlock with those of the Arkansas.
The Gasconade enters from the south also, is not a large river, but
is boatable for sixty miles, and is important for having on its banks
extensive pine forests, from which St. Louis and St. Charles are
supplied with lumber.
The Missouri is a longer river than the Mississippi, measured from its
highest source to the Gulf of Mexico; and although it carries less than
half the breadth of that stream, it brings down a larger quantity of
water. It is at all times turbid; and its prodigious length of course,
impetuous current, the singular and wild character of the country
through which it runs, impart to it a natural grandeur, truly sublime.
In latitude thirty-six and a half degrees, the Mississippi receives
from the east, the celebrated and beautiful Ohio. This is, by far, the
largest eastern tributary of the Mississippi; and at the junction,
and a hundred miles above, it is as wide as the parent stream. If
the Mississippi rolls along its sweeping and angry waters, in more
majesty--the Ohio far exceeds it in beauty, and in its calm, unbroken
course. No river in the world moves along the same distance, in such
an uniform, smooth and peaceful current. The river is formed by the
junction of the Alleghany and Monongahela at Pittsburgh. The Ohio,
at this place, is about six hundred yards wide, and it immediately
assumes a broad and beautiful aspect which continues in its whole
course, to the Mississippi. Beautiful and romantic streams come in, at
nearly equal distances--its bottoms are of an extraordinary depth and
fertility--and the configuration on its banks, has all that softness,
grandeur and variety, still changing and recurring in such endless
combinations, as to render a voyage down it, at all times pleasant and
delightful. From Pittsburgh to the Mississippi, the distance is eleven
hundred and fifty miles; and between these points, are more than a
hundred islands; some of which, are of exquisite beauty, and afford
most pleasant situations for cottages and farms.
The valley of the Ohio is deep, varying from two to ten miles; and is
bounded in the whole distance by bluffs, sometimes towering sublimely
from the river bank; at others, receding two or three miles from them.
Beyond these, are a singular line of hills, more or less precipitous,
which are familiarly called the "Ohio hills." The bottoms of the Ohio
are heavily timbered, and there are no where on its banks the slightest
indications of prairie.
It would be difficult to decide at what season of the year, the Ohio
has the most interesting and beautiful appearance--in the spring,
when its high floods sweep along with irresistible power, and the
red-bud and other early blossoms enliven its banks--or in autumn,
when it passes quietly along, showing its broad and clean sand bars,
and its pebbly bottom, through waters transparent as air--and when
the withering leaves of the forest are painted in golden and scarlet
colors along its shores. It is at all times, an interesting river, and
probably, no other stream in the world can vie with it, both in utility
and beauty.
Below the Ohio, the most important tributaries of the Mississippi, are
White river, Arkansas and Red Rivers--all entering the stream from the
west. White river rises in the Black mountains, which separate its
waters from those of the Arkansas; and after traversing a distance of
twelve hundred miles, enters the Mississippi by a mouth, nearly four
hundred yards wide. The Arkansas next to the Missouri, the largest
tributary from the west, is twenty-five hundred miles in length, and
is five hundred yards wide at its mouth. Its waters are at all times
turbid, and when the river is full, are of a dark flame color.
Eighty miles below Natchez, comes in Red River; and although it is not
generally so wide as the Arkansas, yet it has as long a course, and
probably, carries as much water. Its waters are always turbid, and of
a deeper red than those of the Arkansas. After receiving Red River,
the Mississippi carries its greatest volume of water. This, however,
continues but for a short distance. Three or four miles below the
mouth of Red River, and on the same side, is the first outlet of the
Mississippi. This is called Atchafalaya; and probably it carries off
as much water as the Red River brings in.--But one small river enters
the Mississippi below its first outlet. This is on the east side, and
is called the Bayou Sarah. The only eastern outlet is a short distance
below Baton Rouge. This is called Ibberville, and it passes off the
waters of the Mississippi into lake Maurepas. On the west side are
two more considerable outlets, called Bayou Plaquemine, and Bayou La
Fourche. The Mississippi, then, passes on by New-Orleans, between
unbroken banks, and discharges the remainder of its waters, through
four mouths, into the Gulf of Mexico.
The Mississippi is navigable for steamboats to the falls of St.
Anthony--a distance of twenty-two hundred miles. These falls, although
they have not the slightest claim to be compared with the celebrated
Niagara, in sublimity and grandeur; yet they are interesting and
impressive in the solitude and loneliness of the wilderness. As the
traveller gazes at the romantic scenery around him, and listens to the
solemn roar of the falls, as it echoes along the shores of the river,
and dies away in the distant forest; a thrilling story is told him
of the love and tragical end of a young Dacota Indian woman, whose
husband had deserted her, and taken another squaw for his wife. Being a
woman of keen sensibility and unconquerable attachment, in a moment of
anguish and despair, she took her little children with her in a canoe,
and chanted her song of love and broken vows, until they were swept
over the falls, and engulfed in the waters below.--The Indians are too
fond of romance, not to make the most of such an affecting incident as
this.--They believe her spirit still hovers round the spot, and that
her fair form is seen on bright sunny mornings, pressing her babes to
her bosom, and that her voice is heard, mourning the inconstancy of her
husband, amid the roaring of the waters!
Below these falls, the river swells to half a mile in width and becomes
a placid, gentle and clear stream, with clean sand bars, and wide and
fertile bottoms. There is a rapid of nine miles, commencing just below
the entrance of the river Des Moines. This impedes the progress of
large steamboats, during low stages of the water. Below this rapid, the
Mississippi obtains its full width, being a mile from bank to bank; and
it carries this width to the mouth of the Missouri.
The Mississippi, above the junction, is a more beautiful stream even
than the Ohio, somewhat more gentle in its current and a third wider.
At every little distance, the traveller finds a beautiful island; and
sometimes two or three, parallel to each other. Altogether, in its
alternate bluffs and prairies--the calmness and transparency of its
waters--the vigor and grandeur of the vegetation on its banks--it has
an aspect of amenity and magnificence, which does not belong in the
same extent to any other stream.
The Missouri enters by a mouth not more than half a mile wide; and the
medial width of the united stream to the entrance of the Ohio, is about
three quarters of a mile, from thence to the sea the medial width is a
mile. This mighty tributary, rather diminishes than adds to its width;
but it perceptibly increases its depth; and what is to be regretted,
wholly changes its character. The Mississippi is the gentle, clear and
beautiful stream no more. It borders more on the terrible and sublime,
than the serene and beautiful, from the junction to its mouth. The
Mississippi flows gently onward, at the rate of not more than two miles
an hour--the turbid Missouri pours down upon it its angry flood, at
the rate of four miles an hour, and adds its own speed and peculiar
character to the united stream. The Mississippi then becomes a turbid
and furious mass of sweeping waters; having a boiling current, sliding
banks and jagged shores.
A person, who merely takes a cursory view of the river, hardly forms
an adequate idea of the amount of water it carries. Were he to descend
from the falls of St. Anthony, and behold the Mississippi swallowing up
the mighty Missouri, the broad Ohio, the St. Francis, White, Arkansas,
and Red River, together with a hundred other large rivers of great
length of course and depth of waters, without apparently increasing
its size, he begins to estimate rightly the increased depth, and vast
volume of water, that must roll on, in its deep channel to the sea.
In the spring floods, the usual rise of the river above the mouth of
the Missouri, is fifteen feet; from that point to the mouth of the
Ohio, it is twenty-five feet; below the Ohio, it is fifty feet; and,
sometimes, even sixty. In the region of Natchez, the flood begins
to subside. At Baton Rouge, it seldom exceeds thirty feet; and at
New-Orleans it is only twelve. This declination of the flood, towards
the mouth of the river, is caused by the many outlets which take off
much of its surplus water, and conduct it in separate channels to the
sea. Were it not for this free egress of the Mississippi floods, the
whole country below Baton Rouge, would become too much inundated to be
habitable.
Respecting the face of the country through which the river passes, it
may be remarked, that, from its source to the falls of St. Anthony, it
moves on through wild rice lakes, limestone bluffs and craggy hills;
and occasionally, through deep pine forests and beautiful prairies. For
more than a hundred miles above the mouth of the Missouri, it would be
difficult to convey a just idea of the beauty of the prairies which
skirt the stream. They strike the eye as a perfect level; covered, in
summer, with a luxuriant growth of tall grass, interwoven with a great
variety of beautiful flowers; without a tree or shrub in their whole
extent. When this deep prairie comes in to the river, on one side,
a heavy timbered bottom bounds it on the other.--From the smallest
elevation, the sweep of the bluffs, generally corresponding to the
curves of the river, are seen in the distance, mixing with the blue
arch of the sky.
The medial width of the river bottoms, above the mouth of the Missouri,
is six miles; thence, to the entrance of the Ohio, it is about eight
miles; and from this point to New-Orleans, the Mississippi swamp varies
from thirty to fifty miles. The last stone bluffs, seen in descending
the river, are thirty miles above the mouth of the Ohio.
Below the Ohio, the high banks are generally composed of a reddish
clay. The river almost invariably, keeps the nearest to the eastern
shore, leaving much the largest portion of its swamp on its west side;
but, sometimes, on the east, the river is about twenty miles from the
high bank on that side. It continually moves in a circle; alternately
sweeping to the right, and then to the left. These sections of
circles, measured from point to point, vary from six to twelve miles;
but it sometimes makes almost a complete circle. In one instance, it
sweeps round the distance of thirty miles, and comes within a mile of
completing the circle, and meeting its own channel again. Although the
stream hurries on with the speed of a giant, yet it does not seem to
be really in earnest to "go ahead." It appears to be more disposed to
gambol about, and display its power in its own ample bottom, than to
pass directly on, to its destined port. Like an overgrown and froward
child, its sportiveness is dangerous and destructive. It makes terrible
havoc with every thing with which it comes in contact. It tears up
large quantities of earth in one place, and deposites it in another.
It undermines its own bank, and lets acres of stately forest trees
slide into its deep channel--it wears away its deep bends, so as to
make its course still more and more circuitous--and again, as if it
were tired of its own sportiveness in harrassing the forest, it cuts
through the small segment of a circle remaining, leaves a long bend of
still water, and its jaded shores at rest. The river, in its serpentine
course, hits the high bank at twelve different places, on the eastern
shore. These are, at the Iron banks, Chalk banks, the three Chickasaw
bluffs, Memphis, Walnut hills, Grand and Petit gulf, Natchez, Loftus
heights, and Baton Rouge. At only one place, it comes in contact with
the high bluff on the western side; and this is at the St. Francis
hills.
Although the river is a mile in width, yet it is so serpentine in its
course, that a person travelling upon it, can see but a few miles
ahead. The strongest current is next the concave shore; and here also
is the deepest water. A third part of the river measured in a direct
line across it, would average eighty feet in depth, from thence it
grows more and more shoal to the other shore.
In the spring flood, the Mississippi overflows the whole bottom, so
that then, it becomes a stream fifty miles in width. It shows a breadth
of a mile only, and the remainder is concealed from the eye, by the
dense forest which broods over it. The mud and sand, brought down by
the flood, deposites itself the most freely, near the river; so that
the highest part of the bottom will be next the stream. In the time of
the flood, the water barely covers the immediate shore of the river;
from thence the water becomes deeper and deeper towards the bluff
which bounds the bottom. The depth of the flood, then, may be thus
stated--the channel, one hundred and thirty feet--its immediate bank
barely covered with water, and next to the bluffs, which may be twenty
miles from the channel, from twelve to twenty feet in depth. When
the flood in a measure subsides, the sad havoc its waters have made
begins to appear. Huge piles of flood wood, wrecks of flat boats, and
occasionally, of animals, are thrown together in one promiscuous mass.
The stream is filled with snags and sawyers. And the destruction of its
immediate banks is still going on. The deep and solemn sound of land
slips are often heard. Acres of the stately forest are precipitated
into the river, new channels are made, many islands are formed; and
the steamboat pilot, who had become a complete master of the intricate
mazes of the channel, finds, that he must learn his lesson over again.
All of the hundred rivers that form the Mississippi, at the time of
high water, are more or less turbid; but at low water some of them are
clear.--The Upper Mississippi is quite transparent, but its waters are
slightly of a blackish color. The Missouri is at all times turbid. It
is of a whitish color, resembling water mixed with fresh ashes; and it
gives its own color to the stream below its mouth. The Ohio is clear,
but its waters have the appearance of being slightly tinged with green.
The Arkansas and Red River are at all times as turbid as the Missouri,
but their waters are of a bright redish color. After the Mississippi
has received these two rivers, it loses something of its whiteness,
and becomes slightly tinged with red.
The Mississippi, in show of surface, will hardly compare with the St.
Lawrence; but, undoubtedly, it carries the greatest mass of water,
according to its width, of any river on the face of the globe.--From
the large quantity of earth it holds in suspension, and continually
deposites along its banks, it will always be confined within a narrow
and deep channel. Were it a clear stream, it would soon scoop out for
itself a wide channel, from bluff to bluff. In common with most of its
great tributaries, it widens as it ascends; being wider above the mouth
of the Missouri, with a tenth part of its water, than it is in the
region of New-Orleans. In the same manner, Arkansas and Red River are
wider, a thousand miles up their streams, than they are at their mouths.
No thinking mind can view with indifference, the mighty Mississippi,
as it sweeps round its bends from point to point, and rolls on its
resistless wave, through dark forests, in lonely grandeur to the
sea. The hundred shores laved by its waters--the long course of its
tributaries; some of which are already the abodes of cultivation,
and others pursuing an immense course without a solitary dwelling of
civilized man--the numerous tribes of savages that now roam on their
borders--the affecting and imperishable traces of generations that are
gone, leaving no other memorials of their existence, but their stately
mounds, which rise at frequent intervals along the valley--the dim,
but glorious anticipations of the future--these are subjects of deep
thought and contemplation, inseparably connected with a view of this
wonderful river.