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                                   A
                       SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS;
                               EMBRACING
                             A CANOE VOYAGE
              UP THE MISSISSIPPI AND AROUND LAKE SUPERIOR.


                                   BY
                            CHARLES LANMAN,
               AUTHOR OF “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS,” ETC.


                   And I was in the wilderness alone.
                                                                 Bryant.


                               NEW-YORK:
                  D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.
                             PHILADELPHIA:
                   GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST.
                              MDCCCXLVII.


        Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847,
                       By D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
                               New-York.


                                   TO
                         JAMES F. MELINE, ESQ.,
                                   OF
                           CINCINNATI, OHIO,
                              THIS VOLUME
                                  IS,
                 WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT,
                       AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
                             BY HIS FRIEND,
                                                             THE AUTHOR.




                               CONTENTS.


                               CHAPTER I.
                                                                    PAGE
  Saint Louis—a Western Artist—Twilight in a Cathedral,               13

                               CHAPTER II.
  The Lower Mississippi—Entrance to the Upper Mississippi—The Lower
          Rapids—Scenery—Rock Island,                                 20

                               CHAPTER III.
  Starved Rock on the Illinois—Legend of the Illinois Indians,        26

                               CHAPTER IV.
  Nauvoo—Temple of Nauvoo—A Mormon, and his story—Superb Panorama,    30

                                CHAPTER V.
  The Upper Rapids—Scenery—Prairie Du Chien—Battle of Bad Axe—The
          Winnebagoe Indians—Winneshic, Chief of the Winnebagoes—A
          Visit to his Wigwam,                                        34

                               CHAPTER VI.
  The Lead Region—Anecdote of a noted Western Character,              41

                               CHAPTER VII.
  The Alpine Region of the Mississippi—Lake Pepin—Wabashaw, Chief of
          the Sioux—An Old Woman, and her story—Legend of Winona,     45

                              CHAPTER VIII.
  Red-Wing Village—Lake Saint Croix—Little Crow, a Sioux
          Chief—Scenery,                                              51

                               CHAPTER IX.
  Mouth of the Saint Peter’s—Dog Feast—Playing Ball—The Sioux
          Indians—The Soldier Artist—A Naturalist—Carver’s
          Cave—Beautiful Waterfall—Falls of St. Anthony—Legend
          connected with them,                                        56

                                CHAPTER X.
  A Ride on Horseback—Grouse Shooting—A Wilderness Supper—A Race
          with a Pack of Wolves,                                      64

                               CHAPTER XI.
  Crow-Wing—Famous Battle fought here—Legend of the White
          Panther—Hole-in-the-Day, Chief of the Chippeway
          Indians—The Scalpless Indian—Indian Swimmers—Begging
          Dance—Torchlight Fishing,                                   68

                               CHAPTER XII.
  The Indian Trader—The Fur Trade,                                    75

                              CHAPTER XIII.
  Spirit Lake—Legends of the Mysterious Spirit—Story of
          White-Fisher—Story of Elder-Brother—Outside Feather—Legend
          of the Mole,                                                80

                               CHAPTER XIV.
  The Mississippi—Lake Winnepeg—Bear Hunt—Bear Feast—A Dream, and
          its Fulfillment—Manner of Treating the Dead—A Wilderness
          Grave-Yard,                                                 85

                               CHAPTER XV.
  Red Cedar Lake—The Chippeway Indians—Their Country—Their Idea of
          Creation—Their Religion—Their Heaven and Hell—Their Manner
          of Winning the Title of Brave—Their Manner of Life—Their
          Idea of Marriage, and Mode of Courtship—Their Hospitality,  91

                               CHAPTER XVI.
  Elk Lake and Surrounding Region—Legend of the Mammoth Elk—Four
          Wilderness Pictures,                                        98

                              CHAPTER XVII.
  Leech Lake—The Pillagers—The Medicine Dance—The Medicine
          Society—Virgin Dance—Red River Trappers—Legend of the Two
          Women—Legend of Pelican Island—Legend of a Battle between
          the Gods of the White and Red Men—Original Indian
          Corn—Game of this Region,                                  104

                              CHAPTER XVIII.
  Fish of the Mississippi—A Catfish Adventure—Spearing Muskalounge—A
          Trouting Adventure,                                        110

                               CHAPTER XIX.
  Sandy Lake—A queer way of making a Portage,                        117

                               CHAPTER XX.
  The Saint Louis River—The Chippeway Falls—Fon du Lac—Scenery of
          the Lower Saint Louis, and Passage to Lake Superior,       121

                               CHAPTER XXI.
  General Description of Lake Superior,                              128

                              CHAPTER XXII.
  American Shore of Lake Superior—Picturesque Cliffs—Isle
          Royal—Apostle Islands—La Point—Indian Payment—Streams
          Emptying into the Lake,                                    132

                              CHAPTER XXIII.
  Canadian Shore of Lake Superior—Thunder Cape—Cariboo Point—The
          Island Wonder, with its Watch-Tower and Beautiful
          Lake—Menaboujou—His Death and Monument,                    136

                              CHAPTER XXIV.
  The Voyager—My Voyaging Companions—Our Mode of Travelling, with
          its Pleasures and Miseries—Making Portages—Passing
          Rapids—Narrow Escape—The Voyager’s Cheerfulness—Canadian
          Songs—Voyaging on Superior—A Midnight Prospect,            141

                               CHAPTER XXV.
  The Copper Region—Rich Discoveries—Copper Companies—Point
          Keweenaw—Its Towns and People—Upstart Geologists—A
          Conglomerate Paragraph,                                    152

                              CHAPTER XXVI.
  Sault Saint Marie—Fish of Lake Superior—The Lake Trout—The Common
          Trout—The White Fish—A Run down the Sault,                 157

                              CHAPTER XXVII.
  Mackinaw—Arched Rock—Robinson’s Folly—The Cave of Skulls—The
          Needle—An Idler’s Confession—Mackinaw in the Summer and in
          the Winter—Its Destiny,                                    162

                             CHAPTER XXVIII.
  Recollections of Michigan,                                         167




                       SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS.




                               CHAPTER I.


                                                Saint Louis, June, 1846.

The River Queen, as Saint Louis is sometimes called, is looked upon as
the threshold leading to the wild and romantic region of the Upper
Mississippi. It was founded in the year seventeen hundred and
sixty-four, by two Frenchmen, named Laclade and Chouteau, who were
accompanied by about thirty Creoles. The first steamer which landed here
came from New Orleans in the year eighteen hundred and nineteen; but the
number now belonging here is rated at three hundred, many of which are
unsurpassed in speed and splendor of accommodations. The population of
this city amounts to forty thousand souls. It is elevated some eighty
feet above the low-water mark of the Mississippi, and from the river
presents a handsome appearance. The old part of the town is inhabited by
a French population, and is in a dilapidated condition; but the more
modern portion is distinguished for its handsome streets, and tastefully
built mansions and public buildings. Fronting the levee or landing are
several blocks of stone stores, which give one an idea of the extensive
business transacted here. On one occasion I saw this wharfing ground so
completely crowded with merchandise of every possible variety, that
travellers were actually compelled to walk from the steamboats to the
hotels. This city is the home market for all the natural productions of
a wilderness country extending in different directions for thousands of
miles, and watered by several of the largest rivers in the world. Its
growth, however, has been somewhat retarded by the peculiar character of
its original inhabitants. The acknowledged wealth of many of its leading
men can only be equalled by their illiberality and want of enterprise.
But time is committing sad ravages among these ancient citizens, for
they are, from age and infirmities, almost daily dropping into the place
of graves. Under the benign influence of true American enterprise, this
city is rapidly becoming distinguished for its New England character, in
spite of the retarding cause alluded to above, and the baneful
institution of Slavery. In fine, it possesses, to an uncommon degree,
all the worthy qualities which should belong to an enlightened and
eminently prosperous city.

There is one unique feature connected with the River Queen, which gives
it, at times, a most romantic appearance. It is the point whence must
start all distant expeditions to the North and West, and where the
treasures of the wilderness are prepared for re-shipment to the more
distant markets of our own and foreign countries. Here, during the
spring and summer months may often be seen caravans about to depart for
California, Santa Fe, the Rocky Mountains, and Oregon, while the
sprightly step and sparkling eye will speak to you of the hopes and
anticipations which animate the various adventurers. At one time,
perhaps, may be seen a company of toil-worn trappers entering the city,
after an absence of months, far away on the head waters of the
Mississippi and Missouri rivers, where they have hunted the beaver, the
buffalo, the otter, the bear, and the deer; and as they steal away to
their several homes, from the door of the Fur Company, where they have
just rendered their account, it does the heart good to ponder on the
joys which will be brought into existence by the happy return. And the
Indians, from different nations, who often visit this place, also add
greatly to the picturesque appearance of its streets. Summoned by
curiosity, they congregate here in large numbers, and while their gaudy
trappings and painted faces remind us of the strange wild life they
lead, their prowling propensities and downcast eyes inform us of the
melancholy fact, that they are the victims of a most heartless, though
lawful oppression. This remark, by the way, reminds me of a living
picture which I lately witnessed, and will briefly describe. It was the
sunset hour, and I was returning from a ride on the eastern bank of the
great river. The western sky was flooded with a saffron glow, in the
midst of which floated unnumbered cloud-islands, tinged with deepest
gold. Underneath lay the beautiful city, with its church-spires
up-pointing to the Christian’s home; then passed the rushing tide of the
Mississippi ploughed by many a proud keel; and in the foreground was a
woody bluff, on the brow of which sat a solitary Indian, humming a
strangely solemn song, as his white locks and eagle plumes waved in the
evening breeze. I asked no question of the sorrowing dreamer, but
pursued my way, pondering on the cruel destiny which has power to make
man a stranger and an exile, on the very soil from which he sprang, and
where repose the ashes of his forgotten kindred.

Lover as I am of genuine art, it will not do for me to leave this city,
the sturdy child of a new and great empire, without alluding to its
treasures in this particular. The bright particular star, who uses the
pencil here, is Charles Deas. He is a young man who left New-York about
eight years ago, for the purpose of studying his art in the wilds west
of the Mississippi. He makes this city his head-quarters, but annually
spends a few months among the Indian tribes, familiarizing himself with
their manners and customs, and he is honorably identifying himself with
the history and scenery of a most interesting portion of the continent.
The great charm of his productions is found in the strongly marked
national character which they bear. His collection of sketches is
already very valuable. The following are a few of the pictures which I
saw in his studio, and which pleased me exceedingly. One, called the
Indian Guide, represents an aged Indian riding in the evening twilight
on a piebald horse, apparently musing upon the times of old. The
sentiment of such a painting is not to be described, and can only be
felt by the beholder who has a passion for the wilderness. Another, Long
Jake, is the literal portrait of a celebrated character of the Rocky
Mountains. He looks like an untamed hawk, figures in a flaming red
shirt, and is mounted on a black stallion. He is supposed to be on the
ridge of a hill, and as the sky is blue, the figure stands out in the
boldest relief. Artistically speaking, this is a most daring effort of
the pencil, but the artist has decidedly triumphed. In a picture called
Setting out for the Mountains, Mr. Deas has represented a species of
American Cockney, who has made up his mind to visit the Rocky Mountains.
He is mounted on a bob-tailed, saucy-looking pony, and completely loaded
down with clothing, pistols, guns, and ammunition. He is accompanied by
a few covered wagons, a jolly servant to be his right-hand man, and two
dogs, which are frolicking on the prairie ahead, and while the man
directs the attention of his master to some game, the latter shrugs his
feeble shoulders, seems to think this mode of travelling exceedingly
fatiguing, and personifies the latter end of a misspent life. You
imagine that a few months have elapsed, and, turning to another picture,
you behold our hero Returning from the Mountains. Exposure and hardships
have transformed him into a superb looking fellow, and he is now full of
life and buoyancy, and riding with the most perfect elegance and ease a
famous steed of the prairies. The wagons, servant and dogs, are now in
the rear of our adventurer, who, comically dressed with nothing but a
cap, a calico shirt, and pair of buckskin pantaloons, is dashing ahead,
fearless of every danger that may happen to cross his path. These
pictures completely epitomize a personal revolution which is constantly
taking place on the frontiers. One of our artist’s more ambitious
productions, represents the daring feat of Captain Walker, during a
recent memorable battle in Mexico. The story is that the Captain, who
happened to be alone on a plain, had his horse killed from under him,
and was himself wounded in the leg. Supposing, as was the case, that the
Mexican savage would approach to take his scalp, he feigned himself
dead, as he lay upon his horse, and as his enemy was about to butcher
him, he fired and killed the rascal on the spot, and seizing the reins
of his enemy’s horse, he mounted him and rode into his own camp. In the
picture Walker is in the act of firing. But the picture upon which Mr.
Deas’s fame will probably rest, contains a large number of figures, and
represents the heroism of Captain James Clarke, who, when about to be
murdered by a council of Indians at North-Bend, threw the war-belt in
the midst of the savages, with a defying shout, and actually overwhelmed
them with astonishment, thereby saving his own life and those of his
companions. This picture is true to history in every particular, and
full of expression.

But enough about these productions of art. I am bound to the fountain
head of the Mississippi, and feel impatient to be with nature in the
wilderness. Before concluding this chapter, however, I will describe a
characteristic incident which I met with in Saint Louis.

I had been taking a lonely walk along the banks of the Mississippi, and,
in fancy, revelling amid the charms of this great western world, as it
existed centuries ago. My mind was in a dreamy mood, and as I re-entered
the city the hum of business fell like discord on my ear. It was the
hour of twilight and the last day of the week, and the citizens whom I
saw seemed anxious to bring their labors to a close that they might be
ready for the Sabbath.

While sauntering leisurely through a retired street, I was startled from
a waking dream, by the sound of a deep-toned bell, and, on lifting my
eyes, I found that I stood before the Catholic cathedral. I noticed a
dim light through one of the windows, and as the gates were open, I
remembered that it was the vesper hour, and entered the church. The
inner door noiselessly swung to, and I found myself alone, the spectator
of a most impressive scene. A single lamp, hanging before the altar,
threw out a feeble light, and so feeble was it, that a solemn gloom
brooded throughout the temple. While a dark shadow filled the aisles and
remote corners, the capitals of the massive pillars on either side were
lost in a still deeper shade. From the ceiling hung many a gorgeous
chandelier, which were now content to be eclipsed by the humble solitary
lamp. Scriptural paintings and pieces of statuary were on every side,
but I could discern that Christ was the centre of attraction in all.
Over, and around the altar too, were many works of art, together with a
multitudinous array of sacred symbols. Just in front of these, and in
the centre of the mystic throne, hung the lonely lamp, which seemed to
be endowed with a thinking principle, as its feeble rays shot out into
the surrounding darkness. That part of the cathedral where towered the
stupendous organ, was in deep shadow, but I knew it to be there by the
faint glistening of its golden pipes: as to the silence of the place, it
was perfectly death-like and holy. I chanced to heave a sigh, and that
very sigh was not without an echo. The distant hum of life, alone
convinced me that I was in a living world.

But softly! A footstep now breaks upon the silence! A priest in a
ghost-like robe, is passing from one chancel door to another. Another
footstep! and lo! a woman, clothed in black, with her face completely
hidden in a veil, passes up an aisle and falls upon her knees in prayer.
She has come here to find consolation in her widowhood. And now, slowly
tottering along, comes a white-haired man, and he, too, falls in the
attitude of prayer. With the pleasures of this world he is fully
satisfied, and his thoughts are now taken up with that strange
pilgrimage, whence travellers never return, and upon which he feels he
must soon enter.

Other life-sick mortals, have also entered the sanctuary, offered up
their evening prayer, and mingled with the tide of life once more. But
again the front door slowly opens, and a little <DW64> boy, some seven
years of age, is standing by my side. What business has he here,—for
surely this offspring of a slave, and a slave himself, cannot be a
religious devotee? I take back that thought. I have wronged the child.
The Spirit of God must tabernacle in his heart, else he would not
approach the altar with such deep reverence. Behold him, like little
Samuel of old, calling upon the Invisible in prayer! What a picture!
Twilight in a superb cathedral, and the only worshipper a child and a
slave!




                              CHAPTER II.


                                                Rock Island, July, 1846.

I have sailed upon the Mississippi, from the point where it empties into
the Gulf of Mexico, all the way up to the little Lake which gives it
existence, and I now intend to record a description of its scenery and
prominent characteristics. The literal meaning of the Chippeway word
Meseeseepe is—water every where—and conveys the same idea which has been
translated—father of waters. When we remember the immense extent of the
valley watered by this stream and its hundred tributaries, this name
must be considered as singularly expressive.

That portion of the river known as the Lower Mississippi, extends from
New Orleans to the mouth of the Missouri, a distance of about twelve
hundred miles. As the highway for a multitudinous number of steam
vessels of every size and character, it is of incalculable importance,
not only to this country but to the world; but with regard to its
scenery, it affords little of an interesting character. Excepting a few
rocky bluffs found some distance below Saint Louis, and in the vicinity
of Natchez, both shores of the river are low, level, and covered with
dense forests of cotton-wood and cypress, where the panther and the wolf
roam in perfect freedom, and the eagle swoops upon its prey undisturbed
by the presence of man. The banks are of an alluvial character, and as
the current is exceedingly rapid, the course of the river is constantly
changing. You might travel a hundred miles without finding a place
sufficiently secure to land; and the water is always so very muddy that
a tumbler full will always yield half an inch of the virgin soil. The
surface of the stream is never placid, but for ever turbulent and full
of eddies and whirlpools, as if its channel were composed of a continued
succession of caverns. Snags and sawyers abound throughout its whole
extent. They are taken from the shore by the rushing tide and planted in
the channel quite as rapidly as the snag-vessels can extricate them from
their dangerous positions.

The Lower Mississippi (always excepting the still more frantic Missouri)
is probably the most dangerous and least interesting river in the world
to navigate. When not in actual danger, you are likely to be so far
removed from it, high and dry on a sand bar, that the annoyance, like a
certain period in our national history, has a tendency to try men’s
souls. The following picture of an actual scene on this portion of the
great river, may be looked upon as characteristic of the whole. On your
right is a series of rocky bluffs, covered with a stunted growth of
trees, before you an expanse of water ten miles long and two wide, on
your left an array of sand bars and islands, where lie imbedded the
wrecks of some fifty steamboats, and in the more remote distance a belt
of thickly wooded bottom land. On the water, passing to and fro, are a
number of steamers, and immediately in the foreground a solitary sawyer
and the hull of a sunken steam-boat. This is the spot which has been
rightly named the Grave Yard, for hundreds of souls at different times
have passed from thence into eternity. When I left the turbid and unruly
bosom of the Lower Mississippi, I felt towards it as a person would
naturally feel towards an old tyrant who had vainly striven to destroy
him in his savage wrath. I should remark in passing that the bottom
lands of this river are not wholly without inhabitants; occasionally a
lonely log cabin meets the eye, which is the only home of a miserable
being who obtains his living by supplying the steamers with wood. Nailed
to a stump before one of these squatter residences, which stood in the
centre of a small clearing, I saw a board with the following
inscription,—“This _farm_ for sale—price $1 50.” Though I could not help
laughing at the unintentional wit of that sentence, it told me a
melancholy tale of poverty, intemperance, and sickness, which are too
often identified with the dangers of this wilderness.

I would now speak of the Upper Mississippi, and I only regret that I
cannot strike the poet’s lyre, and give to this “parent of perpetual
streams” an undying hymn of praise. The moment that you pass the mouth
of the Missouri on your way up the Father of Waters, you seem to be
entering an entirely new world, whose every feature is “beautiful
exceedingly.” The shores now <DW72> with their green verdure to the very
margin of the water, which is now of a deep green color, perfectly
clear, and placid as the slumber of a babe. My first view of this spot
was at the twilight hour, when the time was holy, and every object that
met my gaze seemed to have been baptized with an immortal loveliness.
Over the point where the sun had disappeared, floated a cavalcade of
golden clouds, and away to the eastward rolled on, along her clear, blue
pathway, the bright, full moon, and now and then a trembling star,—the
whole completely mirrored in the bosom of the softly flowing but ever
murmuring stream. On my right lay a somewhat cultivated shore; on my
left a flock of islands, whose heavy masses of foliage rested upon the
water; and in the distance was the pleasant and picturesque town of
Alton, with its church spires speaking of hope and heaven. No living
creatures met my gaze, save a wild duck and her brood gliding into their
shadowy home, and an occasional night-hawk as he shot through the upper
air after his living food; and no sound fell upon my ear, but the
jingling of a distant cow-bell and the splash of a leaping sturgeon.

Another picture which makes me remember with unalloyed pleasure this
portion of the Mississippi, was a scene that I witnessed early in the
morning. The sky was without a cloud, and the pleasant sunshine fell
upon my cheek, like the kiss of one whom we dearly love. On either side
of me was a row of heavily timbered islands, whose lofty columns, matted
vines, and luxuriant undergrowth of trees, told me of a soil that was
rich beyond compare but seldom trodden by the foot of man; and in the
distance was an open vista, beautified by other islands, and receding to
the sky. Now, unnumbered swallows were skimming over the water, uttering
a shrill chirp; then, the cry of a disappointed blue jay would grate
upon the ear; now, a boblink and black-bird held a noisy conversation,
and then the croak of a raven would descend from the top of some dead
tree; now the mocking-bird, the dove, the red and blue-bird, the robin
and the sparrow favored me with a chorus of their own, while the whistle
of the quail and the lark would occasionally break out to vary the
natural oratorio. And to cap the climax, an occasional flock of ducks
might be seen, startled away by our approach, also a crane feeding in a
cluster of trees, or a bold fish-hawk pursuing his prey, while the
senses were almost oppressed by the fragrance of blowing flowers, which
met the eye on every side.

By multiplying the above two scenes almost indefinitely, and tinging
them with the ever varying hues and features of the pleasant summer
time, and by fancying on either bank of the river an occasional thriving
village, “like sunshine in a shady place,” you will have a very good
idea of the Mississippi scenery between the mouth of the Missouri and
the Lower Rapids. These are twelve miles long, and the first on the
river which impede its navigation. The water, during the dry season
varies from two to four feet in depth on these rapids, but the channel
is so very crooked that even the smaller steamers with difficulty find a
passage. Below this point the eye of the traveller is occasionally
delighted by a fine prairie landscape, but the following picture may be
looked upon as a pretty accurate epitome of the scenery between Nauvoo
at the head of the Rapids, and Rock Island. It was the noontide hour of
one of those heavenly days which occasionally make very happy the
universal human world. My own heart, which had been darkened by the
shadows of human life, was made joyous by its dazzling loveliness. The
sunshine slept upon the quiet landscape, as sweetly as if the world had
never known a deed of sin, while every object which composed the scene
performed its secret ministry of good. It was just such a day as William
Herbert has made immortal in the following words:

  “Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
    The bridal of the earth and sky;
  The dew will weep thy fall to-night,
    For thou must die.”

At my feet flowed the tranquil waters of the superb river, from whose
very margin receded a perfectly level prairie, which soon lost itself,
in a rolling country, whose motionless billows receded to the far
horizon. On my extreme left lay a range of wood-crowned and dreary
looking hills, and on my right a solitary bluff which was as smooth on
every side as the most highly cultivated lawn. The atmosphere was soft
and of a rosy hue, and made me long for the wings of a dove that I might
float away upon its bosom in a dream of bliss. Flowers of loveliest hue
and sweetest fragrance were on every side; and the only sound that fell
upon my ear was a hum of insect wings. On the bluffs already mentioned a
large herd of deer were quietly cropping their food; and in the air high
towards the zenith was floating in his pride of freedom, an immense
eagle, the seeming monarch of the western world.

Rock Island, whence I date this paper, and which lies in the river
midway between the villages of Davenport and Rock Island, is one of the
most picturesque points I have yet seen during my journey. It is
literally speaking a rocky island, and is surmounted by the dilapidated
walls of an ancient fortress, and was, in former days, the scene of many
a struggle between the red man and his _brotherly_ oppressor. But the
place is greatly changed. Where once the gayly dressed officer quaffed
his wine cup at the midnight hour, the lonely shriek of the owl is now
heard even until the break of day; and the rat, the toad, and the spider
have usurped the place where once the soldier hummed his thoughtless
song, or was heard the roar of his artillery.




                              CHAPTER III.


                                                Rock Island, July, 1846.

Starved Rock is the unpoetical name of a singular spot on the Illinois
river about sixty miles east of this place, and eight miles south of
Ottawa. It is a rocky bluff, rising from the margin of the stream to the
height of more than a hundred feet, and is only separated from the main
land by a narrow chasm. Its length might probably measure two hundred
and fifty feet. Its sides are perpendicular, and there is only one point
where it can be ascended, and that is by a narrow stair-like path. It is
covered with many a cone-like evergreen, and, in summer, encircled by
luxuriant grape and ivy vines, and clusters of richly  flowers.
It is undoubtedly the most conspicuous and beautiful pictorial feature
of the sluggish and lonely Illinois, and is associated with the final
extinction of the Illinois tribe of Indians. The legend, which I
listened to from the lips of a venerable Indian trader, is as follows.

Many years ago, the whole region lying between Lake Michigan and the
Mississippi was the home and dominion of the Illinois Indians. For them
alone did the buffalo and antelope range over its broad prairies; for
them did the finest of rivers roll their waters into the lap of Mexico,
and bear upon their bosoms the birchen canoe, as they sought to capture
the wild water fowl; and for them alone did the dense forests, crowding
upon these streams, shelter their unnumbered denizens.

In every direction might be seen the smoke of Indian wigwams curling
upwards to mingle with the sunset clouds, which told them tales of the
spirit land.

Years passed on, and they continued to be at ease in their possessions.
But the white man from the far east, with the miseries which have ever
accompanied him in his march of usurpation, began to wander into the
wilderness, and trouble to the poor red man was the inevitable
consequence. The baneful “fire water,” which was the gift of
civilization, created dissensions among the savage tribes, until in
process of time, and on account of purely imaginary evils, the
Pottowattomies from Michigan determined to make war upon the Indians of
Illinois. Fortune, or rather destiny, smiled upon the oppressors, and
the identical rock in question was the spot that witnessed the
extinction of an aboriginal race.

It was the close of a long siege of cruel warfare, and the afternoon of
a day in the delightful Indian summer. The sunshine threw a mellow haze
upon the prairies, and tinged the multitudinous flowers with deepest
gold; while, in the shadow of the forest islands, the doe and her fawn
reposed in perfect quietness, lulled into a temporary slumber by the hum
of the grasshopper and wild bee. The wilderness world wore the aspect of
a perfect sabbath. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, the delightful
solitude was broken by the shrill whoop and dreadful struggle of bloody
conflict upon the prairies and in the woods. All over the country were
seen