Physical traits of the Mississippi--The elevation of its sources--Its
velocity and mean descent--Etymology of the name
Mississippi--Descent of the river to Sandy Lake, and thence to the
Falls of St. Anthony--Recross the great Bitobi Savanna--Pakagama
formation--Description of the voyage from Sandy Lake to Pine
River--Brief notices of the natural history.
The third geographical division in which it is proposed to consider the
Mississippi, begins at the Falls of St. Anthony. Within half a day's
march, before reaching this point from its sources, the primitive and
crystallized, and the altered and basaltic rocks are succeeded by the
great limestone and sandstone horizontal series of the carboniferous,
magnesian, and metalliferous rocks, which constitute by themselves so
extraordinary a body of geological phenomena. Entering on the level of
the white sandstone stratum, which is fundamental in this column, about
the inlet of Rum River, the Mississippi urges its way over a gently
inclining bed of this rock, to the brink of this cataract, where it
drops perpendicularly about sixteen feet; but the whole descent of its
level from the head to the foot of the portage path, cannot be less than
double that height.
The river, at this point, enters a valley which is defined by rocky
cliffs, which attain various elevations from one to three hundred feet,
presenting a succession of picturesque or sublime views. In some places
these cliffs present a precipitous and abrupt façade, washed by the
current. In far the greatest number of cases, the eminence has lost its
sharp angles through the effects of frosts, rains, and elemental action,
leaving a slope of debris at the foot. As the river descends, it
increases in volume and in the extent of its alluvions. These form, in
an especial manner, its characteristic features from St. Anthony's Falls
to the junction of the Missouri, a distance of not less than eight
hundred miles. The principal tributaries which it receives in this
distance, are, on the right, the St. Peter's, Upper and Lower Iowa,
Turkey River, Desmoines, and Salt Rivers; and, on the left, the St.
Croix, Chippewa, Wisconsin, Rock River, and the Illinois. One hundred
miles below St. Anthony, it expands for a distance of twenty-four miles
into the sylvan sheet of Lake Pepin, at the foot of which it receives
the large volume of the Chippewa River, which originates on the sandy
tracts at the sources of the Wisconsin, Montreal, and Ontonagon; and it
is from this point that its continually widening channel exhibits those
innumerable and changing sand-bars, which so embarrass the navigation.
But in all this distance, it is only at the Desmoines and Rock River
rapids that any permanent serious impediment is found in its navigation,
with the larger craft.
The fourth change in the physical aspect of this river, is at the
junction of the Missouri, and this is an almost total and complete one;
for this river brings down such a vast and turbid flood of commingled
earths and floating matter, that it characterizes this stream to its
entrance into the Gulf of Mexico. If its length of channel, velocity,
and other leading phenomena had been accurately known at an early day,
it should also have carried its name from this point to the ocean. Down
to this point, the Mississippi, at its summer phases, carries the
character of a comparatively clear stream. But the Missouri, which, from
its great length and remote latitude, has a summer freshet, flows in
with a flood so turbid and opaque, that it immediately communicates its
qualities and hue to the milder Mississippi. At certain seasons, the
struggle between the clear and turbid waters of the two streams can be
seen, at opposite sides of the river, at the distance of twenty or
thirty miles. Entire trees, sometimes ninety feet long, with their giant
arms, are swept down the current; and it is not unusual, at its highest
flood, to observe large, spongy masses of a species of pseudo pumice
carried into its channel, from some of its higher western tributaries.
To such a moving, overpowering liquid mass, there are still, below the
Missouri, rocky banks, and occasionally isolated cliffs, to stand up and
resist its sweep; but its alluvions become wider and deeper opposite to
these rocky barriers. Its bends stretch over greater distances, and its
channel grows deeper at every accession of a tributary. The chief of
these, after passing the Missouri, are from the Rocky Mountains and
Ozark slopes, the St. Francis, White, Arkansas, and Red Rivers; and from
the other bank the Kaskaskia, the Ohio, Wolf, and Yazoo. It is estimated
to flow twelve hundred miles below the Missouri. Its width is about one
mile opposite St. Louis. It is narrower but more than twice the depth at
New Orleans, and yet narrower, because more divided, at its embouchure
at the Balize, where a bar prevents ships drawing over eighteen feet of
water from entering.
No attempt has heretofore been made to determine the elevation of that
part of the American continent which gives rise to the Mississippi
River. From the observations made on the expedition, the elevation is
confessedly less than would _à priori_ be supposed. If it is not, like
the Nile, cradled among mountains, whose very altitude and position are
unknown, there is enough of the unknown about its origin to wish for
more information. Originating on a vast continental plateau, or
watershed, the superabundance of its waters are drained off by the three
greatest rivers of North America, namely, the St. Lawrence, the Nelson's
rivers of Hudson's Bay, and the Mississippi. Yet the apex of this height
of land is moderate, although its distance from the sea at either point
is immense. From the best data at command, I have endeavored to come at
the probable altitude of this plateau, availing myself at the same time
of the judgment of the several members of the expedition. Taking the
elevation of Lake Erie above tide-water, as instrumentally determined,
in the New York surveys, as a basis, we find Lake Superior lying at an
altitude of six hundred and forty-one feet above the Atlantic. From
thence, through the valley of the St. Louis, and across the Savanna
summit, to the Mississippi, at the confluence of the Sandy Lake River,
estimates noted on the route, indicate an aggregate rise of four hundred
and ninety feet. The ascent of the river, from this point to Cass Lake,
is estimated to be one hundred and sixty-two feet; giving this lake an
aggregate elevation of thirteen hundred and ninety-three feet above the
Atlantic. Barometrical admeasurements made in 1836, by Mr. Nicollet, in
the service of the United States Topographical Bureau, place the
elevation of this lake at fourteen hundred and two feet above the Gulf
of Mexico,[79] being just twelve feet above these early estimates. The
same authority estimates its length from the Balize, at twenty-seven
hundred and fifty miles. Its velocity below Cass Lake may be estimated
to result from a mean descent of a fraction over five inches per mile.
[79] Senate Document No. 237, 26 Con. 2d Session, A. D. 1843.
The name of the Mississippi River is derived from the Algonquin
language, through the medium of the French. The term appears first in
the early missionary letters from the west end of Lake Superior about
1660. Sippi, agreeably to the early French annotation of the word,
signifies a river. The prefixed word Missi is an adjective denoting all,
and, when applied to various waters, means the collected or assembled
mass of them. The compound term is then, properly speaking, an adverb.
Thus, Missi-gago, means all things; Missi-gago-gidjetod, He who has made
all things--the Creator. It is a superlative expression, of which great
river simply would be a most lean, impracticable, and inadequate
expression. It is only symbolically that it can be called the father of
American rivers, unless such sense occurs in the other Indian tongues.
Finding it impracticable to proceed higher in the search of the remote
sources of the river at this time, a return from this point was
determined on. The vicinity had been carefully scanned for its drift
specimens, and fresh-water conchology. Wishing to carry along some
further memorial of the visit, members of the party cut walking-canes in
the adjoining thickets, and tied them carefully together; and at five
o'clock in the afternoon (21st July) we embarked on our descent. An
hour's voyage over the surface of this wide lake, with its refreshing
views of northern scenery, brought us to the point where the Mississippi
issues from it. Never did men ply their paddles with greater animation;
and having the descent now in their favor, they proceeded eighteen miles
before they sought for a spot to encamp. Twilight still served, with
almost the clearness of daylight, while we spread our tents on a
handsome eminence on the right-hand shore. Daylight had not yet dawned
the next morning, when we resumed the descent. It was eight o'clock A.
M. when we reached the border of Lake Winnipek. This name, by the way,
is derived from a term heretofore given, which, having the Chippewa
inflection of nouns in _ish_, graphically describes that peculiarity of
its waters created by the disturbance of a clay bottom.
The winds were high and adverse, which caused the canoemen to toil two
hours in crossing. After reaching the river again, we passed its sedgy
borders, to, and through Rush Lake, or the Little Winnipek; then by the
inlet of Leech Lake River, and through the contortions of its channel,
to within a few miles of the spot of our encampment at Deer River, on
the 20th.
The great savannas, through which the Mississippi winds itself above the
Pakagama, are called collectively, the Gatchi Betobeeg, Great Morasses,
or bog meadows.
While descending the river, we encountered nine canoes filled with
Chippewa Indians and their families. They were freighted with heavy
rolls of birch-bark, such as their canoes are made from; together with
bundles of rushes designed for mats. The annoyance suffered from
mosquitos on this great plateau, was almost past endurance. We embarked
again at a quarter past four, and reached the Falls of Pakagama at five
o'clock. Just forty minutes were spent in making the portage. The rock
at this spot is quartzite. The day was cloudy, with some rain. As night
approached an animal, judged to be the wolverine, was seen swimming
across the stream. The efforts of the men to overtake it were
unavailing; it nimbly eluded pursuit, and dashed away into the thickets.
In some queries sent to me by the New York Lyceum, this animal is
alluded to as a species of the glutton. The Indians said there was no
animal in their country deserving this name; the only animal they knew
deserving of it, was the horse; which was eating all the time. We
encamped on an abrupt sandy bank, where, however, sleep was impossible.
Between the humidity of the atmosphere and the denseness of the foliage
around us, the insect world seemed to have been wakened into unusual
activity. Besides, we encamped so late, and were so jaded by a long
day's travel, that the mosquito-nets were neglected. To get up and stand
before a camp-fire at midnight and switch off the mosquitos, requires as
much philosophy as to write a book; and at any rate, ours completely
failed. We were again in our canoes (24th), at an early hour. Daylight
apprised us of the clearing up of the atmosphere, and brought us one of
the most delightful days. Animated by these circumstances, we descended
the stream with rapidity. Soon after midday, we entered and ascended
the short channel of the Sandy Lake River, and, by two o'clock in the
afternoon, we rejoined our camp at the Fur Company's Fort, having been
three days in descending a distance which had consumed four and a half
in the ascent.
We were received with joy and acclamation by the Sandy Lake party, and
felicitated ourselves on the accomplishment of what had all along
appeared as the most arduous part of our route. Nor had we indeed,
overrated its difficulties; the incessant motion of travelling depriving
us of mature opportunities of observation, and also rest at night, the
stings of the mosquitos whenever we attempted to land, and the cravings
of an often unsatisfied appetite, had made this visit one of peculiar
privation and fatigue. Without such an effort, however, it is doubtful
whether the principal objects of the expedition could have been
accomplished. Nothing untoward had happened at the camp, no difficulty
had occurred with the Indians, and all the party were in good health.
Having left my thermometer with Mr. Doty, during my absence, the
observations made by him are denoted in the appendix.
The following day was fixed on for our departure for the Falls of St.
Anthony. The distance to these falls is generally put by the traders at
from five to six hundred miles. These estimates denote, however, rather
the difficulties and time employed by days' journeys in the trade than
any other measurements.[80] Pike states the latitude some thirteen
minutes too far north. It is found to be 46° 47´ 10´´. It appears from
Lieut. Pike (_Expt._ p. 60), that the stockade at this place was erected
in 1794. Its elevation above the Gulf of Mexico is 1,253 feet. The soil
of the environs yields excellent potatoes, and such culinary vegetables
as have been tried. The mean temperature of July is denoted to be 73°.
The post is one of importance in the fur trade. It yields the deer,
moose, bear, beaver, otter, martin, muskrat, and some other species,
whose skins or pelts are valuable.
[80] Nicollet, in his report to the Top. Bureau, in 1836, states the
direct distance from St. Peter's to Sandy Lake, at but 334 miles.
It was twelve o'clock on the morning of the 25th, before we were ready
to embark. Our flotilla now consisted of three canoes, of the kind
called _Canoe-allege_ in the trade, and a barge occupied by the
military. To this array, the chief Babesakundiba, or the Curly Head,
added a canoe filled with Chippewa delegates, who accompanied him on a
mission of peace to the Sioux. This chief is the same individual who met
Lieut. Pike in this quarter, in 1806, and he appears to be a man of much
energy and decision of character. His reputation also gives him the
character of great skill, policy, and bravery in conducting the war
against the Sioux. Indian wars are not conducted as with us, by opposing
armies. It is altogether a guerilla affair. War parties are raised,
marched, fight, and disperse in a few days. The war is carried on
altogether by stealth and stratagem. Each one furnishes himself with
food and weapons. In such a warfare, there is great scope for individual
exploits and daring. In these wars the Curly Head had greatly
distinguished himself, and he was, therefore, an ambassador of no mean
power. In every view, the mission assumed an interesting character; and
we kept an eye on the chief's movements, on our journey down the river,
chiefly that we might notice the caution which is observed by the
Indians in entering an enemy's country.
After entering the Mississippi, below Sandy Lake, the stream presents
very much the character it has above. It was below this point that we
first observed the juglans nigra in the forest. Its banks are diluvial
or alluvial formations, elevated from six to ten feet. The elm, maple,
and pine are common. There are some small grassy islands, with tufts of
willows, and driftwood lodged. No rock strata appear. The river winds
its way through vast diluvial beds, exhibiting at its rapids granitical,
quartz, and trappose boulders. It appears to glide wholly over the
primitive or crystalline rocks, which rise in some places through the
soil, or show themselves at rapids. The expedition descended the stream
twenty-eight miles, and encamped on a sandy elevation on the west shore,
near Alder River, which seemed to promise an exemption from the
annoyance of insects; but in this we were mistaken. In the hurry of a
late encampment, it had been omitted to pitch the tents. The first ill
effect of this was felt on being awakened at night by rain. A humid
atmosphere is ever the signal for awakening hordes of insects, and the
mosquitos became so troublesome that it was impossible to sleep at all
after the shower. We got up and whiled away the time as best we could
around the camp-fire.
We embarked a few minutes before 5 A. M., the morning being lowering and
overcast, which eventuated in rain within an hour. The atmosphere
resumed its serenity, and the sun shone out at noon. The river, as on
the preceding day, has its course between alluvial and diluvial banks,
sweeping its way over the smooth orbicular beds of the granitical age.
The influx of rivers, the occurrence of islands, which bear witness of
their entire submersion during the freshets, and the succession of
bends, points, and rapids--these changes, with notices of the wild fowl,
forest birds, and sometimes a quadruped, or a mass of boulders, absorbed
my notices, which it seems unimportant, at this time, to refer to. No
fixed stratification of rocks was encountered this day.
We encamped at about eight o'clock, on the east bank, on an open
eminence, just below the rapids which mark the confluence of Pine River,
having been in our canoes, with very brief and infrequent landings,
fifteen hours. At the points of landing, I observed the rosa parviflora,
and ipomea nil. As night approached, we heard the monotonous notes of
the caprimulgus virginianus. We had also observed during the day, the
bald eagle, king-fisher, turdus polyglottis, teal, plover, robin, and
pigeon. The nimble sciuris vulgaris was also observed on shore. Boulders
of sienite, hornblende rock, silicious slate, sandstone, and quartz,
served as so many monuments to testify that heavy oceanic currents had
heretofore disrupted the northern stratification, and poured down over
these long and gradual geological slopes.
High and open as our position was on this eminence, our old friends the
mosquitos did not forget us. Even the Indians could not endure their
continued attacks. A fine fellow of our original auxiliaries, called
Iaba Waddik, or the Buck, took this occasion to give us a specimen of
his English, exclaiming, as he came to the camp-fire, "Tia![81] no
sneep!" putting the usual interchangeable _n_ of the tribe for the _l_
in the noun.
[81] An exclamation.