What Norman Saw in the West

The gentleman whom Mrs. Lester had called to see, and who was out driving at the time, came to the boat to see her, and promised her many lovely drives if she would prolong her visit. There were many things to say of old friends and scenes, and he sat talking in the saloon till Norman ran in to say that the boat had left the wharf. Good-by was hurriedly said, and Mr. —— hastened to the captain to ask him to put him ashore, as he was not prepared for a voyage down the Mississippi.

“That is the way,” said the captain; “people do not mind their own business, and then I have to attend to it.”

He good-humoredly, however, gave the order to arrest the course of the proud steamer, and direct its prow to the opposite shore. It was the work of some minutes, for they are obliged, in stopping at a landing going down stream, to turn the bow up the current.

“Well, captain,” said Mr. ——, as he sprang on shore, “I promise you to go down twice in the Grey Eagle for this.”

There were some curious caves on the eastern bank of the river, walled up and with windows in them. In one of these the owner keeps his vegetables, as it is perfectly protected from the frost.

Going down the river was the going up reversed, and yet the same scenery became new, seen under different aspects. The broad sunlight that now lay on land and water was not so favorable to artistic effect as the softened light and the lengthening shadows of the previous evening.

After dinner the Rev. Mr. Maynard asked Mrs. Lester to go into the bow of the boat, where there was a cool breeze, most welcome in that sultry summer day, and a fine view of the scenery. Norman would not go; he was tired, and preferred reading in the saloon, where his mother left him. Nearly an hour passed away, and as they were, approaching the St. Croix River, Mrs. Lester said: “I must show Norman this beautiful sheet of water; he did not see it when we went up.”

Through the long saloon she went, opened her state-room door, he was not there; out on the guards, not there. She asked the stewardess, who had not seen him since dinner. Breathless with agitation, Mrs. Lester rushed upstairs to the hurricane-deck, meeting Mr. Maynard, who had come up the opposite side to look in the pilot-house; the boy was not there! where could he be?

Mr. Maynard had looked in the steerage, the barber’s shop; there was no corner of the boat unvisited, and the terrible dread that he had fallen overboard was settling down on his mother’s heart as she sank down on a chair in the saloon, when the stewardess exclaimed, as she opened the door of the state-room, “Here he is, asleep in the upper berth!” And there he was, fast asleep, with two life-preservers, which he had tied around him, and which his mother had mistaken for a gray comforter.

Norman, awakened, looked down with some wonder at the group at the door. It was very hot; the sun’s fervent rays were shining upon the state-room, and the life-preservers rather added to the heat, so that Norman had had a pretty warm time. But he had made up by a sound sleep for the late sitting up of the night before, and the early rising at St. Anthony, and he was now quite ready to enjoy the afternoon.

Mr. Maynard, greatly relieved that Norman was found, pointed out his house on the high bank of the river at Prescott, and then said good-by, as he was going home.

Lake Pepin looked finely, with the “wavy curvature of its guardian hills;” and again the Maiden’s Rock attracted all eyes. Lake City is prettily situated beneath the bluffs on the western bank. A young girl, who there came on the boat, told a sad story.

A few days before, a party of merry young people got into a boat, to sail over to Maiden’s Rock. The party was planned to celebrate the birthday of a young girl who, with her sister, and two friends, sisters, on a visit to them, had just returned from school for their vacation. Two young gentlemen and another young lady completed the party. The morning was bright, and the sail charming. There was no cloud in the sky, no shadow on that youthful group. They climbed the Maiden’s Rock, gathered berries like those Indian maidens, and talked of the sad fate of the chief’s daughter; little dreaming that in a few short hours the fate of Oola-Ita was to be theirs, that they, too, were looking for the last time on the waters of Lake Pepin!

On their return a sudden flaw of wind upset their boat in the middle of the lake. The young men charged the young girls to hold fast to the boat as it floated, upturned, in the water. They did so till, one by one, their hands becoming numb and powerless, and their strength exhausted, they sunk to rise no more! The long hair of one of the girls became entangled around the button of the coat of one of the young men, and he succeeded in lifting her up, and reaching the shore with her. The four sisters were gone, and as the three survivors entered the town with their heavy tidings, the friends of the two sisters visiting Lake City drove in to take them home. Alas, they were already beyond the reach of earthly help or love!

In a few days the bodies of these four young girls were found, two of them far down at the other end of the lake. Every heart sympathized with the bereaved parents, and while their house was left to them desolate, the shadow of grief rested on the whole town.

A clear sunset and fading twilight gave place to the rising glories of the queen of night.

About ten o’clock the boat stopped by the side of a forest to take in wood. Pine fagots, lighted on the shore, cast a ruddy glow on the men, who ran rapidly to and fro with their burden.

The moonlight slept peacefully on the waters, while from out of the shadowy recesses of the grove a whippowill charmed the night into silence. Rapid, clear, and distinct were those sweet sounds, as if he wished to sing his song for the listening ears soon to be far away. He seemed to have all the wood to himself, as he warbled his delicious notes. In harmony were they with the still beauty of that summer night, with the mystery of that woodland scene, and the quiet ripple of the moonlit waters.

“Loud, and sudden, and near, the note of the whippowill sounded, like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets. Further and further away it floated, and dropped into silence.”

Later in the night there was alarm and confusion on board. The steamer Itasca, at a landing, ran into the Grey Eagle, breaking her paddle-wheel. There was a crash, and for some time none knew the extent of the injury received. The engines were stopped. The emigrants sleeping on the deck, near the broken wheel, roused by the collision, were transferred, with their sleeping children, to the other side, and fruitless attempts were made to repair the injury. After a delay of two hours the machinery was again set in motion, and the one paddle-wheel had to do all the work. Happily Norman and his mother, who were on the quiet side of the boat, slept through all the noise and confusion.