CHAPTER XXIV.
Journey from Chicago to Springfield—Oak Plains—Travellers—Crowded House—DuPage—Benighted—Clatterman’s—Ottawa—Family from New England—Travellers—Gouging—Sleeping Accommodation—Peoria—Pekin Storekeeper—Saltcreek—Hospitality of Inhabitants—Springfield—Prairies—Notices of Nature—Face of the Country—Soil—Agricultural Notices.
I left Chicago at ten in the morning of the 19th September: rain having fallen, rendered the prairie difficult to walk on, especially when the soil was wet. A number of Indians were travelling in different directions, and also heavy waggons, some of the attendants of which carried guns for the purpose of shooting on the journey.
I dined twelve miles from Chicago, at a hotel on the river Oak Plains, a stream on which people were engaged in erecting a mill, and the waters of which were competent to propel machinery of moderate power. On asking the workmen if the stream flowed into Lake Michigan, they answered, “It joined the Illinois, although in time of high freshets it sometimes crossed the plains to the Chicago concern.” This is evidence of the level surface of this part of America; the river Oak Plains, after running in a southerly direction for half a degree of latitude, takes a westerly course at a point twelve miles from Chicago, and only a few feet above the level of Lake Michigan, and its waters join the sea at New Orleans, while those of the lake flow into the Gulf of St Lawrence.
When crossing the Oak Plains, five or six geese alighted in the stream, and I stood and saw a young man shoot one of them, who pointed out the proper road across the prairie, which had become doubtful by two or three diverging in different directions. While in the middle of the prairie, two Indian men and a boy, the former with guns over their shoulders, and the latter with a bow, perfectly naked, with exception of a piece of blue cloth round their loins, and a few quills twisted into their hair, approached me, and whom I saluted with a nod of the head. They spoke in a language which I did not comprehend; they seemed equally unsuccessful with me; and we parted, smiling at the fruitlessness of our attempts. When nearly across the prairie, after passing the river, a waggon overtook me, in which were two young men, who offered me a seat, which I readily accepted. On learning the route I had travelled, they particularly enquired about the waggons I had passed between Detroit and Chicago, as they expected their parents to be then moving from New England to join them in Illinois, and were anxiously looking for their arrival. After riding about a mile we came to a tavern called the Doctor’s, inhabited by a practitioner of medicine, getting the appellation of Doctor, although in all probability not holding a diploma.
The Doctor, on our arrival, was drawing water from a well built with stones, which is uncommon in this part of the country, few people taking so much pains to keep their water free of mud. The travellers acted as their own ostler. On entering the house, which was a small log hut of one apartment, I found a wife, four or five children of different ages, and two travellers, one of whom was called squire, which is, I believe, synonymous with judge, and corresponds with justice of the peace in Britain. For some time I was puzzled to conceive where we were all to sleep, and at length four of us were shown up a ladder into a garret, or cock-loft, in which there were two beds. I took possession of one in partnership with the squire, who told me, before going to sleep, that he had lately suffered much from fever, and finding himself unwell, he had stopt here for the night, instead of proceeding to Chicago. On rising at daybreak, I found two travellers sleeping on the floor at the foot of the ladder. The Doctor, his wife, and two children, lying in bed in the ordinary way, and other two children lying across their feet. After seeing the exertions made by this family to accommodate strangers, and the consequent uncomfortableness of their own situation, I felt thankful for the poor half bed allotted me, and in course of my travels duly appreciated the most homely fare and accommodation, when it was the best my entertainers could supply.
The inhabitants in this part of the country reside on the skirts of the prairie, for the convenience of obtaining fire and fencing timber, and I felt hungry before getting across a large one, after setting out from the Doctor’s. Here, as in some parts of Canada, there are few taverns, but almost every inhabitant entertains travellers for payment. On entering the first house I reached, two well-dressed, genteel-looking women were sewing at a window, one of whom said she could not furnish breakfast without some inconvenience, and on apologizing for mistaking her house for a tavern, she directed me to one about a mile distant, near the banks of the river Du Page. After partaking of breakfast, I examined a mill on the river, and again faced a prairie, the limits of which were beyond the reach of vision. The day was extremely warm, and I sauntered slowly along, collecting seeds of the various plants, and washing my feet in the different streams I had to wade without my stockings and shoes, by way of excusing myself from exertion under so hot a sun. At length I met two travellers in a vehicle, who asked me how far they were from the next house. After replying, I put the same question, and was told twenty-five miles. At this time the sun was sinking towards the horizon. I had no alternative but to push on, and as evening approached, got into my best pace. Night, however, set in before I could discern the forest at the termination of the prairie, and while ruminating on the still seclusion which surrounded me, I was cheered by the faint barking of a dog. The road diverged into two lines, and darkness prevented me selecting the most beaten path, when the appearance of a light in the distance decided the choice. I was now in high spirits at the near prospect of terminating my walk, and disregarded getting off the tract I had chosen, still keeping straight on the light, which recalled to memory the song of “the Beacon light” I had often heard sung by my youngest sister. Whatever may have been the degree of interest excited by scenes and occurrences in a foreign land, the associations connected with my birthplace never failed to impart the most grateful and soothing emotions, and I had seldom been placed in circumstances so favourable to such enjoyment. “The Beacon light” suggested a thousand recollections which thrilled upon my soul; and as they flitted across my memory, I proceeded with an elastic step, whistling the air to which the words of the song are set, when I suddenly found myself up to the middle in water. There was sufficient light to enable me to see my situation was not attended with danger; and after wading for a hundred yards or two, and scrambling over a rail fence, I found myself on dry land. On applying at the house, the light of which had long attracted my notice, I was received for the night, and found three or four waggoners sitting down to supper, of which I partook without much solicitation. The travellers slept in a different house from the family, and each had the luxury of a single bed.
Next morning I breakfasted before setting out, and assisted my host, of the name of Clatterman, to brand some oxen, of which he had nearly forty, with a proportionate share of other agricultural wealth. In the middle of the prairie I met about a dozen of horses, in charge of three individuals, one of whom was particular in his enquiries regarding Chicago, to which he was journeying to dispose of his horses. Like most traffickers, he lost no opportunity of attaining his end, and asked me to purchase one. Having walked upwards of forty miles the previous day, under unfavourable circumstances, and not feeling in the least degree fatigued, I determined to persevere walking for some time longer. Coming in contact with the river Illinois, about half a mile above its junction with the Fox river, I waded across a channel of freestone, where there was a considerable sized island of the same rock, covered with wood. On reaching the south side of the river, I walked down the banks, and dined at Ottawa, a place of three or four houses, a little way below the mouth of Fox river, and likely to grow into a city, from being at the head of the navigation of the Illinois. Pursuing my journey until nightfall, I made application for a bed at a house which was filled with travellers and fever patients, and the owner recommended me to proceed four miles further on. By the light of the moon I was enabled to cross the river Vermilion by a sort of embankment for changing the direction of the stream for mill purposes, and got under the roof of a New Englander, who had lately come to this part of the country. The family consisted of the old pair, two handsome young women, and a male visitor, whose bed in the garret I shared. Every thing in the house was particularly clean and neat. The manners of the inmates were calm and dignified, a smile never playing on their countenances, or an emphatic sound proceeding from their lips. For tea, bed, and breakfast, the charge of 1s. ½d. sterling, was made.
Next day I applied for dinner at a house where a poor man was suffering much from sickness, and medical assistance had been called in. The family were about to sit down to a good dinner, of which I partook, paying 6¼d. sterling. Night closed on me while in the middle of a prairie, and I felt some apprehension of passing the cottages, which are not easily discovered in a faint light, being almost invariably situated a few yards in the forest, and of the same dark shade. A breeze, highly tainted with the scent of fried pork, led me to expect a house, and to which a light, proceeding from a half-opened door, served to guide me. I found four travellers, the landlord, and his wife, assembled in a poor habitation, lighted by what they termed a string, or piece of twine, dipt in tallow, and which gave a glimmering light, so that we could scarcely distinguish objects. There seemed to be only three tea-cups in the house; the party had, consequently, to feed by turns, and, being a stranger, I was requested by all to seat myself at the first table, an honour to which my appetite led me to make no serious objection.
One of the travellers was descended from the original French, a little merry fellow, speaking indifferent English, and two others consisted of an old man and his son, originally from Kentucky. Both of these individuals differed in their language and manners from most of the people I had come in contact with since leaving Canada. The old man spoke a good many words according to negro pronunciation, and both were addicted to swearing. The son, about thirty-five years of age, was one of the best-looking and finest formed men I met in America. I soon discovered he was slightly intoxicated, and a most profligate character. Being anxious to shun conversation with him, I was annoyed at his placing his chair beside mine; and as there was neither another house nor apartment to retire to, I endeavoured to make the most of my situation. Having replied to his enquiry what countryman I was, by asking him to guess, he successively said, Dutchman, German, Englishman, and Irishman, and fearing he might lose patience, I at last told him a Scotchman. He had never heard of Scotchmen before, and insisted I must be one of the Scotch-Irish, which I afterwards learnt means, in this part of the world, the inhabitants of the north of Ireland. The discussion about Scotch-Irish suggested the proudest feat of his life. He said Jim Partridge was an Irishman, able to whip any man in America, and who must have been heard of in my country. He had a whipping-match with Jim, who fell, and was in act of being gouged, when the bystanders lifted him off Jim, who, seizing a stick, cut his head with it in a dreadful manner. Gouging is performed by twisting the fingers into the hair of the victim, and with the thumb forcing the eye out of its socket. This savage act has long been known in Kentucky and some of the western states, and was often resorted to when parties quarrelled. It is now, however, confined to the lowest blackguards, and of rare occurrence. The eyes of the wretch sparkled with delight when relating the prostrate situation of Jim, and the prospect of gouging him, and he explained his brutal attempt by placing his fingers in my hair and on my face, when I could scarcely trust his intentions. He also insisted that I should feel the indention made by Jim’s stick, and I thought his skull must have been as hard as his heart to have withstood such a blow.
The house was in all respects a mean one, containing little furniture, and two beds, from one of which rose an emaciated person, labouring under aberration of mind, and to whom the house and lands adjoining belonged. I began to feel uneasy about the sleeping accommodation, as both beds would be required for the family, and there was no garret apartment. The landlord at length drew forth from the corner of the room a dirty tick and covering, which were placed in the middle of the floor, and formed the sleeping place of five individuals, who arranged themselves latitudinally on the pallet. I was anxious for an outside berth, in order to have sea-room in case of accident, but the complaisance of the gouger deprived me of this position, and I found myself placed for the night between the old man and his son. None of the travellers thought of unrobing; and after putting off my shoes, I laid my head on my knapsack, which was the only thing in shape of a pillow to be had. My situation was far from enviable; fumes of whisky and squirts of tobacco juice assailing me on every side, and I considered the partner of my bed more savage than the wolf of the forest. Speedily falling into a profound sleep, from which I was awoke at daybreak by the Frenchman searching for his saddle, the horrors of my situation flashed on my mind, and I stealthily crawled from the bed, my movements being accelerated by the gouger muttering an ugly oath.
On gaining the outside of the door, the freshness of the air was delightful. The sky was cloudless, and in walking through the trees, the paroquets fluttered from their resting-places with a shrill cry. On reaching the opposite side of the wood, herds of cattle were seen streaming from the forest, and the smoke of the morning fires ascending in graceful columns, undisturbed by the serene atmosphere. The prairie-hen rose from the pathway with a purring noise, and the little gophers stood on end, and seemed to regard me as an intruder. The sun peered above the prairie, as if rising from the ocean, and gilded the nodding sunflower, whose brilliancy was heightened by dewdrops sparkling on the blossom leaves, and with which I washed my face. Nature was decked in a winning garb, and the events of the previous evening were forgotten in wooing her beauties.
On entering a house at the end of the prairie, I found every thing neat and clean, and two well-dressed females cheerfully provided breakfast. One of them was in delicate health, and had lately come from the Du Page, where she left a coloured man in charge of her establishment, about whose health she felt anxiety, as almost every one on the river had been afflicted with fever. It so happened that I had called at this lady’s house for the purpose of enquiring the way, which was pointed out by the coloured man, who was then in good health.
When about to partake of breakfast, I was joined by a traveller in a light car, who passed me on the previous evening, and he expressed surprise to find me before him, having gone a mile off the direct road to escape passing the night in the house in which I lodged. He resided at Pekin, and had come direct from Chicago, which he left about six hours after me, and had travelled at what he considered a good pace. He asked me to take a seat in his car, and we travelled together twelve or fourteen miles on the wooded banks of the Illinois till opposite Peoria, when we crossed the river in a ferry-boat, leaving the horse attached to a tree.
Peoria takes its name perhaps from the tribe of Indians called Peorias, and which is now almost extinct. It is situated on a lake, or an expansion of the river, two miles wide, and four or five in length, at some elevation above the water, and commanding a view of the lake and fine wooded banks on the opposite side.
The village exhibits marks of considerable age, but none of prosperity. I found the dinner hour past, and fared indifferently. There being nothing to attract attention at Peoria, I recrossed the ferry, where the horse was still standing, and bent my way to Pekin, which I reached a little before sunset.
Pekin, sometimes called Pekin-on-the-hill, is situated on the Illinois, and is progressing rapidly. The hotel was filled with permanent boarders, who seemed to be engaged in the different mechanical arts. The landlord was crawling about the house in a debilitated state, and evidently a fever patient. The people assembled at table addressed me by the name of stranger, and showed considerable attention; a female, as usual, filling out tea.
For three days past I had been without shoe-ties, both having broken after leaving Chicago, the bark of trees having since then been substituted. I made application for a supply at different stores in Pekin, without success. In one instance I found the storekeeper stretched at full length, with his back on the counter, and his feet touching the roof. At first I did not observe him, as the light from a candle was faint, and I was surprised at hearing human sounds proceeding from such an unseemly thing. He answered my enquiries regarding shoe-ties dryly, without altering his position. On retiring I purposely left the door of the store open, with the view of rousing him from his unelegant posture. My stratagem did not, however, succeed, and I began to think the individual might be a philosopher engaged in study, instead of a demi-savage, which his behaviour at first led me to suppose.
On retiring to bed, I was deposited in a pretty huge apartment, containing seven or eight beds, some of which were occupied by sick people, and others were passing to and fro, at all hours of the night. I rose early in the morning, and bent my course towards Springfield, in Sangamon county, leaving the river Illinois to the westward. I applied for breakfast, at an early hour, at a solitary house, which an overgrown young woman readily supplied, baking bread and stewing a fowl in a very short space of time, for which she charged well. In course of conversation, I learned her husband was from the State of New York, and had lived sometime in Indiana. Her children were evidently unhealthy, and she said sickness was no great misfortune, as it was so easy to get a living in the country. After breakfast I passed several small prairies and the river Mackinaw, when I entered on a large and uninhabited one, sixteen miles across. The day being very warm, I felt a good deal fatigued, and was anxious to obtain dinner and shelter from the sun, but on gaining the only house on the road, I was told the whole family were sick, and it was impossible for me to obtain dinner. I proceeded to a hotel on Salt creek, which I reached with scarcely sufficient light remaining to distinguish the house.
The landlord of the hotel, Mr Music, was from home, and two daughters and a son did the honours of the house. These people seemed in good circumstances, having a well-stocked farm and abundance of Indian corn. On my arrival, I was asked whether I would have bread of Indian corn or wheat, and all seemed surprised to hear I had never tasted the former. Two other travellers on horseback arrived, and bread of both kinds was presented at table.
One of the travellers was on his way to Galena, for the purpose of getting payment of horses he had sold some time before. He was originally from Kentucky, and now resided in the neighbourhood of Jacksonville. His manners were somewhat rough, and with this individual I had much conversation. At first he was most anxious to engage me as a farming-help, admitting that he himself had become too lazy to work hard, and pressed me again and again to name my terms. To him and others who wished my assistance as farming-help, I uniformly expressed thankfulness for their kindness, and assured them that circumstances did not admit me to reside in the country. Before separating, he offered me a letter to his wife, who would give me free board at his house till he returned, and his sons would drive me over the adjoining country. I took down his address and left him, with a promise to visit Mrs Taylor if time permitted me.
The travellers breakfasted at Salt creek before setting out on their journey, which is good policy in thinly settled districts. The day was excessively warm, and I suffered considerably from thirst. On passing a cottage, before reaching Sangamon river, a girl was drawing water, from whom I asked a drink; she went into the house and brought a tumbler, which she filled with indifferent water, and handed over the rails. When about to depart, a woman of prepossessing appearance came to the door, and asked me to enter the house and shelter myself from the sun. I thanked her, and in return, said I was anxious to reach Springfield in time for dinner. She told me her husband, who was sick, liked above all things to converse with travellers, and hoped for his sake I would enter the house. There was something so earnest in the woman’s manner that I would have found difficulty in resisting her entreaties at any time, and on the present occasion my inclination yielded a willing assent.
The husband was stretched on a clean uncurtained bed, and appeared in a most debilitated state. He brightened up by degrees, and showed he possessed a good deal of information. He was particular in his enquiries about Ottawa, on the river Illinois, to which he had some thoughts of removing, as he had resolved to leave his present situation, where he had resided for six years, on account of the scarcity of water. His health and that of all his family had been good until the present time, when he was seized with fever, which he thought the doctor had broken. He regretted that his weakness could not stand cooking meat in the house, but if I could partake of other food, his wife would place it before me. A snow-white cloth was spread on the table, followed by bread, milk, butter, and preserved fruits of excellent quality, and to which I did justice. On departing, I received an invitation to call at the house if ever I passed in the direction. Soon afterwards, crossing the Sangamon river in a boat, although the stream was not more than eighteen inches deep, I reached Springfield about two o’clock.
Dinner was readily promised at the hotel, although past the regular hour, and in the meantime I prepared to wash and shave. On asking for a bedroom, the landlord personally brought water, and on a second application, soap and a mirror. I had now discovered that I also wanted a towel, and at last, conscious of the impropriety of keeping the master of the house running up and down stairs on my account, I moved off to the pump-room and apologized for my past conduct, on the score of being a stranger in the country, and unacquainted with its customs. I had no cause to regret this proceeding, the landlord being remarkably attentive during my stay, pointing out what was worthy of notice, and offering his horse to visit them.
In the evening I passed two individuals conversing on the prairie, to whom I nodded, a practice universal in all country places of the States I visited. After proceeding a short distance, one of the persons overtook me, and commenced conversation. “Sir, you are a European?”—“Yes.”—“And an Englishman?”—“No; I am a Scotchman.”—“You are at a great distance from your own country?”—“I am, but the sight of this beautiful one has repaid me for the journey.”—“You are a mechanic?”—“No; I have been a farmer from my youth upwards.”—“What induced you to come here?”—“We farmers in Scotland, finding ourselves uncomfortably situated, desire to emigrate to this country, the accounts of which being contradictory, I resolved to see it personally.” The old gentleman descended from his horse, with sparkling eyes, shook me by the hand, saying, “In me you have found a friend.” There was something in the man’s expression and warmth of manner so unexpected in this part of the world, that I asked if he was from Scotland. He said his name was Humphries, originally from Pennsylvania, his parents being of Welsh extraction. I was pressed to pass the night at his house, and on declining to do so, agreed to breakfast with him next morning.
I found the old gentleman, and what I supposed two daughters, expecting my arrival. The house contained several apartments, in one of which were some dozens of books on a shelf. Mr Humphries appeared verging on seventy. We walked over the farm, and after partaking of excellent melons, I took leave about noon, much gratified with my visit, and with the kindest invitations to visit him or his family at a future period.
On arriving at the hotel, I learned that two Scotchmen had called for me, Mr D—— and Mr B——, and I rode across a prairie, after dinner, to see Mr D——, at his steam saw-mill on the Sangamon river. On my return to Springfield, I spent the evening in company with two ladies from New England, and one from Scotland. They agreed in thinking Illinois a hard country for women and cattle, as helps could not always be had. My countrywoman smiled at my objections to the slave states, and maintained the coloured population were not human beings, but inferior animals created for slavery. It was painful to hear a lady advance such opinions, who in youth must have imbibed very different sentiments and principles, and I attributed the change she had undergone to her residence in a slave state, and affording in herself an instance of the evils of slavery. Her observations required from me a reply; and the subject dropt, on my remarking there were many white slaves in the world, some being slaves to their passions, and others to their prejudices.
Springfield is an irregular village of wooden houses, containing about 1200 souls. It is three miles from Sangamon river, which is only navigable for small boats at the melting of the snow in spring. There are good stores of all descriptions in the village.
The word prairie is derived from the French, and signifies meadow. In America it means grass-land naturally free from timber, and is used in this sense by me. Prairies have not been found in the eastern parts of North America, and many conjectures exist regarding their origin in the west. The general opinion is, they originated from, and owe their continuance to, the agency of fire. It is quite certain fire sweeps over them, at present almost every autumn, destroying the entire vegetation on the surface; but whether proceeding from human or natural agency remains unsolved, and it probably arises occasionally from both. The burning must destroy seedling-trees, which would otherwise perhaps occupy the whole surface by the wafting of seeds; and the continuance of prairies may be, in many instances, owing to fire, but after having seen them in all situations, it does not seem to account satisfactorily for their origin. Prairies of a few yards’ extent are found in the midst of dense and extensive forests, and rows of trees jutting miles into the open country, without visible agency to account for their preservation. Fire cannot be supposed to have originated the first case, nor the absence of it the last, as it is seldom so partial in its effects. I have no theory to offer instead of fire for the origin of prairies, which seem productions of nature. The localities of plants are often found to be partial, and Britain exhibits furze, heath, grasses, and different species of trees, exclusively occupying the surface of certain parts as natural productions. In America, trees vary in number on a given space, from the dense forest to the oak opening, with half-a-dozen of trees to an acre. Unless it be maintained that nature has allotted a certain number of trees to a given extent of surface, it will be idle to deny her handiwork in having formed oak openings and prairies, which are met with in all situations, and which often seem to merge into each other.
My friends in the Canadas used every argument to dissuade me from journeying to the junction of the rivers Mississippi and Missouri. They represented the country through which I intended passing as a pestilential swamp, inhabited by demi-savages and dangerous animals. If, perchance, I escaped disease and enemies, I would become low-spirited in the wilderness, and to proceed alone and unarmed, would be little short of insanity. But how different was the result! With the companionship of nature, and the God of nature as my protector, want of company and fear were unfelt, and I regard my wanderings on the prairie as the most pleasing and instructive period of my existence.
Having reached Chicago with an unsocial party of travellers, and gradually passing from the forests and oak openings of Michigan, it was not until after crossing the river Des Plaines that I became fully sensible of the beauty and sublimity of the prairies. They embrace every texture of soil and outline of surface, and are sufficiently undulating to prevent the stagnation of water. The herbage consists of tall grass, interspersed with flowering plants of every hue, which succeed each other as the season advances. The blossoming period was nearly over at the time of my journey. Sunflowers were particularly numerous, and almost all the plants had yellow blossoms. Every day brought me in contact with species formerly unobserved, while others with which I had become familiar, disappeared. Occasionally, clumps of trees stood on the surface, like islands in the ocean. The bounding forest projected and receded in pleasing forms, and the distant outlines appeared graceful. I had no time for searching out and studying scenery, and perhaps conceptions of beauty and grouping of trees, formed in the artificial school of Britain, are inapplicable to the magnificent scale on which nature hath adorned the country between Chicago and Springfield. The works of man are mere distortions compared with those of nature, and I have no doubt many prairies, containing hundreds of square miles, exceed the finest English parks in beauty as much as they do in extent. Sometimes I found myself in the midst of the area without a tree or object of any kind within the range of vision, the surface, clothed with interesting vegetation around me, appearing like a sea, suggested ideas which I had not then the means of recording, and which cannot be recalled. The wide expanse appeared the gift of God to man for the exercise of his industry; and there being no obstacle to immediate cultivation, nature seemed inviting the husbandman to till the soil, and partake of her bounty. Mr Malthus’s doctrine, that population increases faster than the means of subsistence, appeared more than doubtful, and involving the unhallowed thought of a Being of infinite goodness and power leaving man, a favoured object of creation, without the means of subsistence. If a considerable portion of mankind ever are in want of food, the cause will be found to arise from human agency, and not from nature refusing to do her part. I felt grateful at beholding a field so well fitted to relieve the depressed and starving population of Great Britain and Ireland, while the conduct of their land-owning and tithe-eating legislators, in restricting the circulation of nature’s bounty, appeared sinful.
It has already been observed, that fire passes annually over the prairies, which may perhaps account for the absence of clovers and fibrous-rooted grasses, the herbage consisting chiefly of three or four tall growing species, the creeping roots of which escape destruction, and continue to exist without renewal from seed. At this advanced period of the season, the coarse withered grass seemed unpalatable to animals, and the cattle were, generally, browsing on parts which had been burned, with a view of affording a succession of nutritious food. I collected the seeds of many plants without knowing any thing of their usefulness or beauty. On the banks of Meadowcrow creek, a small tributary of the river Illinois, I first met the indigenous hop, apparently identical with that of England, and from the Sangamon brought the leguminous and earth seeds of Glycine Monica, a species of hazel exceeding four feet in height, and indigenous to the whole extent of country through which I travelled on the American continent, and which commonly fringed the prairie, and graduated the change from forest to open plain. They were loaded with small nuts, which sometimes satisfied my hunger.
The most numerous of birds were the ruffed grouse, or prairie-hen already described. They frequent roads, particularly in the morning, perhaps to escape from the effects of dew, and with the aid of a gun, I might have shot many hundreds of them without leaving the pathway. On the skirts of the forest around Springfield, quails, or partridges as they are called in the language of the country, are abundant, and so tame, that they might have been killed with stones. Notwithstanding the number of such birds, Illinois cannot boast of gamekeepers, and I only observed one individual shooting grouse. Many cranes, swans, ducks, and wild-geese, were seen hovering above the prairies, and on different occasions I disturbed owls reposing amongst withered grass. The forests abounded with green coloured paroquets, which fluttered about with a disagreeable noise, in flocks of six or seven.
Deer were frequently seen bounding across the plain, and prairie wolves skulking amongst the tall grass. The prairie wolf is a small animal, not much larger than the fox of Britain, and whose habits are not widely different. In forests on the banks of the river Illinois, grey coloured squirrels were extremely numerous, and seemed actively engaged in collecting nuts, with which the ground was strewed. Near Pekin I walked a mile or two with a person returning from shooting squirrels, and who bestowed four or five on a woman who asked them for a sick boy. In Canada, the colour of the squirrel is red; in Michigan, black; and in Illinois, grey. The gopher is a red-coloured quadruped, in size and shape resembling the weasel of Britain. It burrows in the prairies, forming passages, and throwing up earth like the mole. It subsists on vegetables, and is sometimes a source of annoyance to the farmer. I was told it is furnished with pouches for carrying earth from its excavations.
The wild bee was the most numerous of insects, and crowded the few remaining blossoms of the sunflower. They live in the hollows of decaying trees, and a considerable quantity of their honey is collected by the inhabitants. In the Canadas, the maple-tree supplies saccharine matter, and in Illinois, where this species of plant is rare or unknown, the bee forms the chief source of this commodity. Thus, the maple, bee, and cane, contribute the same ingredient to man, and are illustrative of the economy and diversity of nature.
The country from Chicago to Springfield, through which I passed, may be termed prairie, the portion of forest land being quite inconsiderable. In the immediate neighbourhood of these villages, the surface is nearly level, and in the intermediate space, sufficiently undulating for usefulness and beauty. The forest trees on the margins of the prairie are of small size, and chiefly oak; those on bottom, or interval, land, on the banks of rivers, are of immense size. Forests generally clothe the banks of streams, but sometimes prairies descend to the water’s edge, on both sides, and no general rule can be laid down for the prevalence or want of timber. After crossing the river Des Plaines, there was no indication of marsh or wetness of soil, and I only observed one lake, of very small extent. Rocks were not seen protruding above the surface, although stones of considerable size were observed on the wayside. The beds of the rivers Des Plaines, Du Page, and Vermillion, at the places where I crossed, were strewed with stones. The freestone rock, seen in crossing the Illinois, and of which a considerable sized island was composed, was observed for several miles below in the channels of tributary streamlets. I examined seams of coal on the banks of the river Sangamon, in the vicinity of Springfield. My view was imperfect, as the seams had never been worked. They appeared about two feet in thickness, of bituminous quality, and fifteen feet above the level of the river. A contract was entered into at the time of my visit, to furnish coal, by removing the incumbent earth, at three cents per bushel.
The soil of this district embraces almost every description, from poor sand to rich clay of strong texture. It is of all colours, and generally of superior quality. The poorest soil was on the banks of the Sangamon, the richest on those of the Illinois. The black sand, of which the prairies are partly composed, seems of a penetrating nature, and adheres to the skin like soot. Before being aware of this circumstance, I marvelled at the filthy appearance of some of the inhabitants, who did not wear stockings, and at evening I sometimes found my feet and ankles coated with black dust, after having been washed half a dozen times, in course of the day, in wading streams. The burning of the herbage prevents the accumulation of vegetable matter on the soil, and the creepingrooted grasses, with which it is occupied, perhaps exhaust rather than enrich it. First crops are seldom too luxuriant, and land is said to improve after the breaking up of the prairie.
Agriculture embraces the growth of wheat and Indian corn and the rearing of live stock; but, from the limited number of inhabitants, the cultivated fields form a mere speck on the surface of the prairie. The wheat stubbles in the neighbourhood of Springfield betokened luxuriant crops, and the height and thickness of Indian corn filled me with amazement. At the date of my visit, 23d September, most of this crop had been severed from the earth, and was standing in conical piles on the field, where it remains during winter, or until such time as it is wanted. There are many kinds of Indian corn, differing widely in habits of growth, and I was unable to determine whether the uncommon luxuriance of that in this district was owing to a particular variety, or congeniality of soil and climate, but I supposed the latter.
The herbage of the prairie, consisting of strong-rooted grasses, is difficult to plough for the first time, and is commonly accomplished with the aid of six oxen. The first ploughing is sometimes performed by contract at $2 per acre. The plough for breaking up the prairie is furnished with a broad share, and cuts a turf seventeen or eighteen inches broad, by two or three in depth. Indian corn is dropped into every third furrow, a bushel being sufficient for ten acres, and covered with the next cut turf. This crop receives no farther cultivation of any kind, is termed sod corn, and said to yield fifty bushels per acre. A wheat crop follows without a second ploughing, the soil being simply harrowed, receiving half-a-bushel of seed, and yielding twenty-five bushels per acre. When Indian corn is grown on land not newly broken up, it is commonly planted on hills four feet square, and four seeds are allowed to each hill. The grasses do not appear amongst sod corn, and annual weeds are not often troublesome, until after four or five years’ cultivation.
I witnessed the process of seeding land with wheat, during my visit to Mr Humphries. Four oxen were dragging a small harrow, driven by his son, who left them standing while he sowed ridge by ridge, and he was the only individual engaged in the operation. The previous crop had been Indian corn, and the land had not been ploughed since its removal. Dung is not applied to the fields, though sometimes to the gardens, in which melons and potatoes are chiefly cultivated. At Springfield, the potato of Britain is not of fine quality, and passes by the name of Irish potato, to distinguish it from the sweet potato, a species of convolvolus. These potatoes seem not to be suited to the same climate. Here, and farther to the south, the sweet potato was of large size, and more palatable than the Irish one, although not equal to this root when grown in a colder region. I observed a few plants of Guinea corn, which its cultivators said answered as a substitute for coffee, but none of them seemed to have given it a trial.
Clovers, or any description of herbage plant, did not come under my notice. The prairie grasses, when closely depastured for a series of years, fall off, and are said ultimately to disappear. This circumstance was a source of uneasiness to some settlers, who looked forward to the time when there would be a scarcity of food for cattle, and which seemed to me as irrational as the Canadian farmers’ fears of wanting firewood.
I did not see breeding-horses or sheep in any part of my journey, although I have no doubt there are plenty of both in the country. The cattle were not numerous, but of good size, and in tolerable condition. The prairie herbage was so completely withered, that I could not form an opinion of its feeding qualities in spring. What had been burned to afford a fresh supply, was so closely cropt by the cattle, that its reproductive properties could not be estimated. In some situations near Springfield, where stock is pretty numerous, and the prairie has been cropt by them for years, the herbage appeared thin and unnutritious. Pigs were frequently seen running about the forest, and were, like all others seen at large in course of my tour, perfect starvelings. The acorn season had arrived, and I was amused at the pigs scrambling for this fruit. They ran grunting from tree to tree, and the noise of a falling acorn was the prelude to a race and fight.
The inhabitants are thinly scattered over the country, and chiefly settled on the skirts of the forest, the middle of prairies being altogether unoccupied, and I was told untaken-up land, or such as had not been bought from government, existed within a mile of Springfield. Proximity to forest is chosen for the facility of obtaining building, fencing, and fuel timber; and a settler regards the distance of half a mile from forest an intolerable burden. The dwelling-places are log-houses, larger than those of Canada, and somewhat better finished. Frequently a nail or piece of iron is not used in the whole erection, the door is without lock or latch, and the beds in the cock-loft lighted by chinks in the walls. In such places, the owners of hundreds of acres and scores of cattle reside. How powerful is habit and fashion in all things! Labour is scarce and highly remunerated. A good farming help obtains $120, and an indifferent one $100 a-year, with bed and board. A female help receives in private families a dollar a-week. The hotel-keeper at Springfield pays two female helps each $2 weekly in cash, and told me if it were not for a desire young girls have for fine clothes, he could not get one on any terms. Board, at the hotel, with bed, is $3 for short periods, and for long periods $2½ per week.
In the Springfield market, butter is worth eight cents per pound, and eggs six cents per dozen. Beef, in small quantities, is worth three, and pork two cents per pound, respectively, and much cheaper by the carcass. Wheat sells for thirty-seven and a-half, oats eighteen, and Indian corn ten cents per bushel. Good muscovado sugar costs ten, and coffee twenty cents per pound.
CHAPTER XXV.
Journey from Springfield to St Louis—Jacksonville—Emigrant from Edinburgh—Beds—Face of the Country—Alton—Mississippi—Luxuriant vegetation—Bottoms—Mamelle Prairie—Mr Flint—St Charles—River Missouri—Notices of Nature—Indian Antiquities—St Louis.
During my excursion from Chicago, I was fortunate in weather, which was dry and moderately warm. The temperature increased on the day of my arrival at Springfield, and became so hot on the following day, that I resolved to wait for a mail stage to convey me to the Mississippi; I accordingly left Springfield, about nine o’clock in the morning, in a small stage, which reached Jacksonville about sunset. A very heavy shower of rain fell soon after setting out, and covered the roads four or five inches deep with water, the level surface and want of ditches preventing its escape. The passengers dined by the way, and chiefly consisted of clerical students, on their way to Jacksonville college. From their conversation with each other, I learned they had lately been engaged in teaching in different parts of the country, and felt much anxiety about speeches they were soon to make, and which were already written, and had been revised by friends. They were plain in dress and in manner, bordering on what is called homespun in Britain; and they sung most beautifully while in the coach.
Jacksonville contains about the same number of souls as Springfield, but is superior in buildings, arrangement, and situation. Many of the houses consist of brick, and the hotels are large and commodious. The country in the neighbourhood is considered populous in this part of the world, and has been settled for a considerable length of time. I was anxious to see the farm of some Englishmen, whose skill I had heard extolled, but want of time and light denied me this gratification.
I had been intrusted with a letter to a gentleman in the vicinity of Jacksonville, who formerly resided near Edinburgh, and which I would have delivered personally, had I not been informed, when approaching Springfield, that he had lately moved from his first situation into the territory of Arkansas. On this intelligence, I put the letter into the post-office, and a few minutes afterwards learned, from unquestionable authority, that my first intelligence was incorrect. Finding the stage did not leave Jacksonville until two o’clock in the morning, I resolved to visit the gentleman, who resided about three miles from the village. The moon being nearly full, I had little difficulty in reaching his dwelling. It was late before Mr L—— made his appearance, who happened to be dining with Mr K——, but the interim passed pleasantly in the company of Mrs L——, whom I had seen in East Lothian, and a sensible Irishman, who had settled himself about a hundred miles higher up the Mississippi. The house was a log erection of two apartments, and the family seemed to possess every necessary of life. Want of light prevented me seeing the farm, and forming an opinion of the prospects and circumstances of this emigrant.
On returning to Jacksonville, I found some of the stage-passengers partaking of coffee before setting out on the journey. The vehicle was well filled, and contained a young married woman labouring under ague. Some of the passengers were agreeable and communicative. We passed through Carlton, dined at a solitary log-house, and reached Alton sometime after nightfall. The hotel being crowded, there was difficulty in accommodating the passengers, and I was asked to take half a bed. I assented to this arrangement, but added I was a foreigner, and not likely to make the most agreeable companion to a native, on which account I would feel obliged to have, were it possible, a bed for myself; the landlord indulged me. By following this policy, I invariably obtained a whole bed in hotels, and it was only in the huts of the remote parts of the country, where beds could not be obtained, that I did not sleep alone.
The misrepresentations of American character, in connexion with beds, are frequently met with in Britain, and of which the following anecdote, related by one of my friends, may serve as an illustration. Two Englishmen, travelling in a hired carriage, reached a lonely inn at a late hour, to which they got admittance, and, after much solicitation, at length each took possession of a bed. In a short time afterwards, the driver wished to share one of the beds; an altercation ensued with the first possessor, who reluctantly yielded, in preference to maintaining his position by animal strength. However much the brutality of the driver may appear to be set forth in this anecdote, the traveller was the more culpable of the two. In such a climate as that of the United States, where people can move from place to place in carriages of any description, every body will prefer the whole of a bed to a part, and the circumstance of the driver wishing to lie down beside the Englishman, is evidence that a third bed could not be obtained. In all probability, the customs of the district and sentiments of the driver, placed both individuals on a footing of equality, and it was unreasonable to attempt to exclude him from a share of comfort, and more especially if the family put themselves to inconvenience in furnishing the beds. If the Englishman disliked nestling with the driver, he might have crept in beside his friend, or quietly betaken himself to the floor. I remember arriving at a large and well-conducted inn at Melrose, Scotland, on the evening preceding an annual lamb market, and learned that on such occasions travellers could only have half a bed. In course of the evening, the waiter whispered that my companion wished to retire for the night, and pointed him out on the opposite side of the table. He was a profligate and well-known character, and nearly intoxicated to insensibility. To have shared his bed was an idea revolting to my feelings, and, after requesting that he might be shown to a room, I stretched myself on chairs for the night.
The two foreign gentlemen, in whose company I travelled from Detroit to Chicago, carried along with them a bed tick of air-tight cloth, which was occasionally filled, and reposed on by one of them. This is a very portable bed, and will be found agreeable to travellers frequenting the wilds of America, who do not dislike being encumbered with luggage. A robust person who dreads such accommodation as the country affords, will do very well with the aid of a cloak to wrap himself in during the night.
The country from Springfield to Alton, by way of Jacksonville, is a succession of prairies of a different character from those formerly seen, their surface being almost perfectly level, and in many parts indicating wetness. The soil did not always appear rich, more especially towards the conclusion of the journey. Darkness prevented me seeing much of the country around Jacksonville, but I saw a small patch of clover, which was the only instance I observed this plant in Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri.
Alton stands on the east bank of the Mississippi, about one mile above the junction of the Missouri, and sixteen below that of the Illinois. It consists of two irregular villages, called Upper and Lower Alton; the population is stated at about 700 souls. This place is likely to become the chief port of Illinois on the Mississippi, and is already the seat of considerable trade.
On leaving my bedroom, on the morning after arriving at Alton, the Mississippi was seen flowing before me at a few yards’ distance, and my first proceeding was to fetch part of its water in a jug for morning ablution, the number of travellers in the house rendering some exertion necessary to get washed and shaved in time for breakfast. On leaving the hotel, I walked down to the junction of the Missouri, and returned to Alton, where I crossed the Mississippi in a horse ferry-boat. The stream is more than a mile in breadth, flows at the rate of one or two miles an hour, and is slightly turbid. The situation of Alton, from the opposite side of the ferry, is beautiful. An island divides the river, which, being land-locked above and below, has the appearance of a lake. The western bank is low, the eastern high and rocky, terminated by wood on the summits of the bluffs, as the projecting knolls or hills on the banks of some American rivers are called. The rocks are partly sand and partly limestone.
Here I observed a steam grist-mill; the under part of the building was composed of stone, as high as the water of the river would reach in floods, the upper part being of wood. The building was founded on rock, and stones might have been had for the upper stories, by laying a plank from the building to the rock on the rising bank.
The purpose of my present excursion was to view the prairie in the neighbourhood of St Charles, at the foot of the Mamelles, so beautifully described by Mr Flint, whose account is given as a quotation in Mr Stuart’s “Three Years’ Residence in America.” The description excited my imagination at the time of first reading it, and was imprinted on my memory till effaced by seeing the object before me. St Charles is about twenty-six miles from Alton, and as there was no regular conveyance between the places, I did not regret the necessity of walking, which would afford me an opportunity of traversing the narrow neck of land, separating two of the largest rivers before their junction in the most fertile and extensive valley on earth, as well as of examining the modern paradise of my imagination.
The road from Alton to St Charles passes up the west bank of the Mississippi for above a mile, and for ten or twelve through its densely wooded bottoms, at no great distance from the river before the prairie is reached. On attaining the opposite side of the ferry, the exuberant and varied vegetation excited my admiration, and far surpassed every thing I had seen on the banks of the Illinois and its tributaries. The height and circumference of the trees are immense, and such was the rankness of vegetation, that I culled several leaves from young shoots of the button-wood two feet in length. The climbing plants were in proportion to the rest of the vegetable family, reaching the summits of the most gigantic trees; sometimes three species were clinging to the same trunk, and seemed vying with each other in richness and beauty. The vines particularly attracted my notice. This plant is common in most parts of North America, and its foliage is beautiful in the neighbourhood of Montreal. Here the stem of the vine was occasionally seen nearly a foot in diameter, issuing from the earth twenty or thirty feet from the root of the tree which supported its branches, and stretching seventy or eighty feet before coming in contact with the trunk, forming, together with its supporter, a striking representation of a massy flag-staff. I had difficulty in accounting for the form which the vine presented. Both plants may be considered coeval, and their boughs to have extended in unison. Some tender twigs of a vine were observed climbing and twining around its aged stems, leading to the supporting tree, which seemed to me illustrative of maternal affection, and of the hackneyed phrase, “teaching the young idea how to shoot.” There were some trees of diminutive growth overhanging the river, from the tops of which the tendrils of the vine hung in graceful festoons, as if wooing the water. From such I collected fruit, and discriminated several varieties by the form and flavour of the grape.
At first the clear and wide-spreading prairies delighted me from their novelty, and the contrast with the dense and interminable forests of Upper Canada, and I now enjoyed the umbrageous vegetation of the Mississippi bottom, after having become familiar with the nakedness of the prairie. All the rivers of magnitude in the valley of the Mississippi seem to have occupied, at a remote period, higher elevations and wider channels than they now do, called first and second banks, and the flat space on the margins of their present channels passes by the name of bottom, which generally consists of alluvial depositions, annually augmented by the overflowing of the waters at the melting of the snow. This bottom of the Mississippi was undescribably rich, and I was so engrossed by the wonders of its shadowy vegetation, as to be insensible of the approach of rain and thunder, until torrents fell around me. Shelter was obtained from the inclining trunk of a large tree, and the foliage of many of the climbing plants formed vegetable umbrellas.
The soil of the bottom is of considerable tenacity, and the rain rendered it unpleasant and fatiguing to walk on. The road diverged from the river at an uninhabited brick house, and I did not see a human being for eight or ten miles. Some of the houses seemed to have been deserted, and no recent settlement made. In one situation there was a large and well-grown orchard, from which I gathered most excellent apples. There were few traces of cultivation, and Indian corn was the only agricultural production on the soil. Weeds, which in other situations were observed of diminutive size, here attained magnitude, and I estimated the height of some Indian corn at twenty feet; amongst this crop purple coloured convolvuluses were twining, the seeds of which were added to my collection. On examining some wheat ricks, I found the straw covered with mildew, and the grain shrivelled skins. Fertile as the Mississippi bottom appeared, it bore no traces of human enjoyment.
On entering the prairie, which is elevated a little above the bottom land, two lines of road diverge, and I was directed on that leading to St Charles, by two men of colour chopping firewood in front of a house, who, in all probability, were the first slaves I had ever seen, Missouri being a state in which slavery is tolerated, and in which I had travelled since crossing the Mississippi. My way, for a considerable distance, was over a waxy soil covered with water, the road being bounded with tall grass, over which I could not see. On attaining a higher elevation, the rank grass disappeared, the soil became dry, and for miles was of poorer quality than any I had seen since leaving the shores of Lake Michigan. The soil, which was worn into inequalities by the action of wind and travellers, was repeatedly examined, and the opinion which I formed was corroborated by the thriftless and stunted vegetation on its surface. On leaving the bottom there were some spots covered with clover, and the finer descriptions of grass, closely cropped by cattle, which formed the only verdant pasturage I had met with since leaving Amherstburgh in Canada. My progress over the wet roads had been slow, and I felt fatigued and hungry. On applying for bread at a log-house, the inmates cheerfully offered to prepare some for me, but I departed after quaffing a glass of water. The soil improved, without becoming very rich. Some people were engaged in sowing wheat, and several herds of cattle were observed. On the left-hand side of the road there was a narrow and extensive sheet of water, covered with weeds and waterfowl, and seemingly connected with the Missouri. Light disappeared before I reached St Charles, and several miles were traversed in darkness.
I did ample justice to the viands set before me at St Charles, sitting at table with the landlord and his wife, and tended by a female slave, who was addressed by all in terms of civility. The landlord was a Virginian, and had lately commenced hotel-keeping at St Charles, in consequence of having been unfortunate in another calling in the place of his birth. I found him kind and gentlemanly in manner, and communicative and intelligent on a variety of subjects. He presented me with a glass of wine, as made from the grape of the country, and which I considered good.
In course of conversation I learned the landlord intended going to St Louis next day, immediately after breakfast, and he agreed to give me a seat in his waggon on the same terms as the regular conveyances carried passengers. Before going to bed, it was arranged that I should visit the Mamelles in the morning, and at daybreak I found a horse waiting for me, which proceeded over the ground at a rapid pace. The road leading from St Charles to the prairie passes through a rich and beautiful country, something like a narrow valley, with swelling heights to the west, the opposite side forming good farms. I followed a diverging pathway leading up the ascent, and soon found myself on the brow of an eminence, commanding an extensive view of the prairie, over which I had travelled the preceding evening. The scene was so different from the conceptions I had formed of it, that I fancied myself occupying a wrong position, and seeing a cottage on the plain below, I descended to ascertain the point. On asking for the Mamelles, a person pointed to a bluff a few hundred yards distant, forming the termination of the ridge I had just left, and considerably more to the east than the spot where I had been. Leaving my horse attached to a railing in front of the cottage, into which I was invited, I ascended the Mamelle on foot, from the top of which the scene was unvaried from that I had seen before, with exception of the addition of part of the small valley running towards St Charles, and which seemed the most interesting part of the landscape. Strong indications exist of the Missouri and Mississippi having once united their waters at this spot; and if such was the case, the prairie must then have formed the bottom of a lake, and become dry when the rivers assumed a lower level. The prairie is bounded to the west by the ridge of bluffs, of which the Mamelles form a part; and to the east by the forest on the Missouri and Mississippi bottoms. On the north the Mississippi curves gracefully round the margin, and its bold eastern bank forms a beautiful outline. The centre is monotonously flat; and at no great distance from where I stood were two insignificant clumps of stunted trees, which afforded no relief to the eye, and excited ideas of sterility. Excluding the pretty valley stretching towards St Charles, and which cannot with propriety be considered as forming part of the prairie, half-a-dozen of hamlets could not be numbered, and there was a total absence of animated life. The rich blossoms of the various plants which impart delight to a lover of nature, had yielded to the influence of the season, and autumn had seared vegetation. The long narrow stripe of stagnant water which I had skirted the night before was a conspicuous feature, and suggested ague and pestilence. The view from the Mamelle was found to be extensive, but not pleasing; and, hurrying from my elevated position, I scampered off for St Charles.
Mr Flint, in speaking of this prairie, says, “It yields generally forty bushels of wheat, and seventy of corn, to the acre. The vegetable soil has a depth of forty feet, and earth thrown from the bottom of the wells is as fertile as that on the surface. Here are 100,000 acres of land of this description fit for the plough.”
I am of opinion there is not a square inch of such soil as Mr Flint describes. But in differing with him on the merits of this prairie, I must not forget that the impressions of a scene are always affected by the circumstances under which it is viewed, both with regard to nature and the individual himself. The weather was unfavourable at the time of my visit, which was on the 1st of October. Thick clouds obscured the sky, and were scudding before a cold and tempestuous west wind. The ground was drenched by rain which had fallen in course of the evening, and strewed with leaves and branches torn from the trees by the violence of the storm. Personal circumstances were more favourable than those of the weather for forming a just estimate. Having already traversed part of Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois, the novelty and excitement at my first introduction to prairie scenery had subsided. I enjoyed the highest degree of mental and bodily vigour, was at peace with the world, and favourably predisposed towards the object. Mr Flint was differently situated. But perhaps an American poet and a Scottish clodpole will ever view things through a different medium. The means which I had of forming an estimate of this prairie were ample, and the simple fact of it being still almost uninhabited, while thousands of settlers have passed over it to more distant locations, may be taken as proof that my estimate is substantially just. Having spoken of Mr Flint as a poet, it is but justice for me to say I have alone formed my opinion of his endowments from the account he has given of this prairie, which seems to have been written with poetic license. “The prairie itself,” he says, “was a most glorious spectacle,—such a sea of verdure, in one direction, extending beyond the reach of the eye, and presenting millions of flowers of every scent and hue, seemed an immense flower-garden.” This is a description of a prairie, in lat. 39, in the month of September, when the luxuriance and brilliancy of vegetation is past. But it was “the first prairie of any great size or beauty” he had seen. To me, who had already become acquainted with the fertility of such places, and formed opinions of their utility in relation to civilized man, the scene was associated with the disease and destruction of the human race, and not their enjoyment and support.
Had the season of the year and state of the weather been more favourable for viewing this prairie, I might have admired its beautiful outlines; but under no circumstances would it have possessed the interest of the landscape seen from the heights above Ottawa on the river Illinois. Here extensive prairies are seen stretching on every hand, with beautiful undulating surfaces, and adorned with masses of forest of every shape and size. The junction of the Fox River with the Illinois is in the foreground, and their banks are either forest or prairie, in keeping with the surrounding surface. Both rivers are of moderate size, and the flowing of their limpid waters imparts life to the landscape, which combines all the soft beauties of prairie scenery, and excites associations connected with human happiness. Settlers are yearly taking up their residence in this quarter, and the junction of the Illinois with Lake Michigan, by means of a railway or canal, which the state has undertaken to construct, will insure its early settlement.
St Charles is one of the many places in the Western States, founded by the French, which they partially explored in the early part of the eighteenth century; and the descendants of the first settlers are still met with throughout the course of the St Lawrence and the valley of the Mississippi, possessing the language, manners, and customs of their forefathers. The population is stated to be above 1200, and to consist of nearly equal numbers of Americans and descendants of the French. It is washed by the Missouri, and has increased considerably in wealth and population of late years.
Immediately after breakfast the landlord of the hotel, whose name has escaped my memory, conducted me over the rocky banks of the river to the horse ferry-boat, on board of which was his waggon and handsome pair of horses. The boat proceeded up the north bank for nearly a mile before crossing the stream, and the horses by which it was propelled were considerably distressed, and generally blind and in low condition. The Missouri possesses a different character from any river I had seen before. Here its breadth is about half a mile, the waters running impetuously between wooded banks, and so turbid as to exceed in muddiness the water of British streams after the most copious rains. The islands and banks seem to be constantly changing, and strewed with fallen trees, having their tops in the stream, and their roots on land. The water of the Missouri is said to undergo little change in consistency or colour, which is whitish, except during severe frost, when it contains less mud. The state of the waters of the Missouri is thought to be owing to the washing away of the banks, and it is difficult to account for it on other grounds. The course of the river before reaching St Charles is not much short of 3000 miles, and I have not been able to learn the state of the waters towards its source, or that of its tributaries at the places of junction.
On reaching the opposite side of the Missouri, we travelled over two miles of bottom resembling that of the Mississippi opposite to Alton, but not quite equalling it in vegetable luxuriance. The surface was wet from the rain that had fallen, and the only inhabitant seen was so feeble and emaciated, that his life was likely to be of short duration. On passing the bottom, we had about twelve miles of highly-undulating surface, consisting of red-coloured clay, of fertile quality, thinly wooded, and partially settled. For nearly six miles, before reaching St Louis, the road passes through a prairie country of undulating red clay, and apparently speedily getting into forest. The landlord told me he had visited this district many years before, which was then without a tree. There is a race-course within three miles of St Louis, which appears well frequented.
I had hitherto observed the vine growing chiefly by the sides of lakes and rivers, but here it was growing on the highest and most elevated situations, loaded with fruit. The prevailing tree on the partially wooded part of the road was oak. I first observed the catalpa-tree in the streets of St Charles, and the persimon, in travelling to St Louis. This fruit was disagreeable to my palate, and did not improve on a second trial some days afterwards.
Throughout my tour in the States of New England and Upper Canada, I had found the soil of all districts where the surface was considerably undulating, uniformly of inferior quality. Michigan presented the same appearance, and on a few of the prairies I fancied I could trace the same feature. I had considered the subject on different occasions, and began to draw a general conclusion, which this day’s experience completely upset. Here the surface was one of the most undulating I had travelled over, and uniformly of fertile clay. I afterwards found some of the swelling grounds of Ohio of this character.
We met and conversed with the members of several families moving into Missouri, with the view of settling in the remote parts of the state; and I met one before crossing the Mississippi, on his return from it, in consequence, he said, of its unhealthiness. Local attachments seem to be the sheetanchor of man, and when they are once broken, or exist weakly, he becomes restless, and unhesitatingly follows any ignis fatuus that may dance before his imagination. From this source the erratic habits of the American population may perhaps arise, as well as many of their peculiarities of manners and customs. But without pursuing this subject into its various ramifications, I may remark that the temporary houses, fences, and generally uncomfortable nature of a Western American farmer’s establishment, may be the result of constantly looking forward to departing from his residence, and seeking to have little property but what can be easily transported.
On reaching St Louis, I found the hotels crowded; my first two applications for accommodation being unsuccessful, I at last gained admittance into a secondary hotel, to which I was recommended by the landlord from St Charles. I slept in an apartment containing two beds, which were occupied, and the arrangements and customs of the hotel were similar to those I had hitherto frequented. Two days were spent in St Louis and its neighbourhood, on both of which I examined some mounds, or tumuli, of a former race of people, some of which are on the north skirts of St Louis, and many more on the opposite side of the river.
These mounds are found over the whole of the valley of the Mississippi, and many conjectures exist regarding their origin. They are found of all sizes and shapes, from the finished pyramid to the perpendicular square, a few feet in height. Soon after my arrival at St Louis, I found one in the town, of an oblong shape, fifty yards in length, and finished with a regular pitch of about forty feet in perpendicular height, while another, at a short distance, with sloping sides, had an unfinished top thirty-four by forty-four yards. Some tumuli have been examined, and found to contain immense quantities of human bones and broken pottery, which has given rise to a general opinion that they were the burying-places of former ages. Besides tumuli there are other antiquities of forts, camps, or towns, the best specimens of which are in Ohio; and a fort in the neighbourhood of Newark, in that state, contains forty acres within its walls, which are about ten feet high. The Indians of the present day in the northern and middle parts of the valley of the Mississippi, are neither sufficiently numerous nor skilful to erect such works, from which some people argue the antiquities belonged to a different race, which preceded the Indians. It is of no consequence to the existing portion of the human race by what beings these remains were erected; and the grounds for believing the Indians to have decreased in numbers, and retrograded in civilisation, are much stronger than those for conjecturing them to have been preceded by a distinct and more skilful people.
St Louis stands on the west bank of the Mississippi, 1200 miles above its junction with the sea, 200 above the confluence of the river Ohio, and 18 miles below that of the Missouri. Its situation is sufficiently elevated above the river, the banks of which are limestone. There is a row of stores fronting the river, built of stone, and the town consists chiefly of two streets of brick-houses, running parallel to the river, the outskirts being mean wooden houses. This is a place of extensive trade, being the chief depôt of lead, which is furnished in vast quantities by the states of Illinois and Missouri. Grist-mills and other machinery are propelled by steam. I counted sixteen steam-boats on the river, exclusive of one plying as a ferry-boat.
The city was founded by the French in 1764, and about one-third of the inhabitants are their descendants. The American population now preponderates, but there are numbers of all nations, including many Spaniards. It is the chief place of wealth and trade on the Mississippi, with exception of New Orleans, and may justly be considered the metropolis of the valley of the Mississippi.
I visited the market night and morning, which was abundantly supplied with every necessary, brought forward by farmers from all parts of the country, and not retailed by stall-keepers. Many well-dressed white ladies, and blacks of both sexes, carried baskets over their arms, and were making purchases, but I did not observe a white gentleman. Here I first saw the egg-plant. For hen eggs 9½d. a-dozen, and for skinned squirrels 1½d. each, sterling money, was asked.