July 5th.—Sunday upon the lake. When I left my cabin, I found the morning was misty, and the sun looking like the yolk of an egg, was bobbing up and down upon the water. It had just peeped above the waves, which, dashing about, sometimes obscured it from our view. We were lying at one of the Manitou islands, taking in wood. This is a pretty crescent shape islet, covered with trees. In the centre we were told is a lake which is unfathomable, and supposed to be connected with lake Michigan. It is filled with the large trout, salmon and white fish of the lakes. There is a woodman’s hut, and several large piles of wood upon the shore. ‘Oh that the woodman would spare those trees.’ Soon the pretty island will be denuded and forlorn. It is a sacred island—the Indians imagining it to be the residence of their Manitou, never dare to land there, as they believe such an intrusion would be followed by the anger of their Deity. One Indian, who despised such superstition ventured upon the shore, and was never heard of since. The forests and lake in the interior, they imagine is the abode of the blessed after death, whose hours will there pass in hunting and fishing. The Manitoulin islands in lake Huron, are also sacred; but they are much larger than these, one of them being fifty-five miles in length. I secured a handful of pebbles from the shore, which, like those of other lakes, are agate, chalcedony and other sileceous minerals. Upon the shores of lake Superior these are found very fine, mixed with trachte, lava, and other volcanic rocks, and with masses of native copper. I had brought with me a package of well selected tracks, which I opened this morning, and laid a few upon the table of the ladies saloon. Soon after, a pretty little girl knocked at my state-room door, saying her mother wished to know if I had any more tracts, as she should like to read one. I asked her where were those I laid upon the table? those, she replied, some ladies were reading. I gave her several. The chambermaid next appeared begging for some; and then the cabin boy came with the same request. While I was selecting one which I thought might suit him, I observed a brawny dusky figure, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his person begrimed with soot and smoke, gazing earnestly towards us. ‘That’s Tom, one of the fire-men,’ said the cabin boy with a snigger; ‘he heard you had books to lend and wants one dreadfully.’ I beckoned to him, and he came forward with alacrity, while behind him I discerned several other ‘grim visaged’ beings peeping out from their compartment towards us. I gave him a package to distribute among his fellows; and during the day had the pleasure of observing the greater part of the crew and passengers busily engaged with my books. During our long voyage, those who had books had read them out, and those who had none, were getting very weary, so that they eagerly received any thing in the shape of reading. But some of them, I trust, read them for the sake of the benefit they hoped to receive from their contents. It was a source of great satisfaction to behold so many persons engaged in themes of high import to their soul’s best interest. These seeds were sown with a prayer for their success; and who can tell what immortal plants may spring up in some of their hearts, growing to a tree of life, and bearing fruit to flourish in the garden of paradise. Let me urge you never to travel without these, or other useful books to distribute on your way—like the girl in the fairy tale of our youth, shedding gems and treasures in your path. There is no library in this boat as upon our Hudson and Eastern steamboats, and we were often amused with the alacrity with which our books were snatched up when we laid them down for a strole, or to look at some object upon the shores. When we returned we were always sure to receive them again, and felt no vexation, as we knew they meant no impoliteness, and would be willing to lend us their own in return. My companion had never been used to such socialisms in his country, and was quite amused at this free and easy sort of thing. Our books were some of them French, and upon one occasion we found them in the hands of a simple hearted son of the forest, to whom books were so rare a treasure he could not resist examining them. He returned it with a smile, and said, shaking his head, ‘how you can make any sense out of that I can’t see, for I cannot read a word of it.’
We lost sight of the Michigan shore at ten o’clock, and stretched across the lake towards the Wisconsin coast, which we first saw at four o’clock P. M., thus being nearly all day out of the sight of land. This may give you an idea of the vastness of these lakes. Wisconsin, or Ouisconsin, or Wiskonsan, here presents a high bank, called ‘red banks,’ from the color of the soil, covered with forests, and showing no trace of man, except at the mouth of the river Sheboygan, two hundred and twenty miles from Mackinaw, where is a small settlement called by the name of the river.
Fifty miles from Sheboygan we stopped at the town of Milwaukie, towards which the tide of emigration has been rapidly flowing. As the bay is crossed by a bar, our large boat could not enter, and a small steamboat took from us much of our merchandise and most of our emigrants. We did not go on shore, but contented ourselves with seeing the town from the boat. It looked neat, with some comfortable dwellings, several shops, hotel, court house, &c. It stands upon the Milwaukie river. Its population is 1,000. Several rail-roads and canals are in contemplation from this place across the territory, as rail-roads to Winnebago lake; from Belmont to Dubuque; from Belmont to Dodgeville in the mine district; a canal from Milwaukie to the Black river, and another through the Fox and Wisconsin to the Mississippi. Wisconsin will be soon covered with a dense population, as it is now a favorite point for emigration. The soil is very rich, from one to ten feet deep, the surface undulating prairie and woodland, consisting of 100,000 square miles of fertile land. The grassy plains make fine pasture lands, and the lakes and rivers produce abundance of fish, and give great manufacturing power. Lakes Superior and Michigan, and the river Mississippi surround three sides, thus enabling them to send their produce to market. Flour, rye, corn, barley, white-fish, and many other articles have been exported this year. Their lead mines are very rich, and their valuable forests of pine trees will be another source of wealth. These growing to the height of one hundred and eighty or two hundred feet, crown the heights of the northern region of the country, which is mountainous, containing several waterfalls, one of which is two hundred and fifty feet in height. The scenery is very picturesque. Madison, the capital, is a pretty, thriving town, surrounded by four transparent lakes, upon the shore of one of which it is situated; it sometimes goes by the poetical appellation of ‘city of the four lakes.’ When the roads and canals are formed, Wisconsin will soon become a thoroughfare to the Mississippi and the vast regions beyond; and those who have ‘the world before them,’ cannot make a better choice than this. Here we left our Buffalo hunters. Racine is a town twenty-two miles below Milwaukie. The houses looked new, and were arranged in rows upon the high green bank. The court-house was quite showy, having a portico in front, with pillars reaching to the roof, which was painted red, surmounted by a tin cupola. It stands at the mouth of Root river. We were now again in sight of Michigan, as the lake grows narrower towards the end. We have passed completely around this state, it being in the shape of a triangle. It is destined to be a great and flourishing State, surrounded as it is by the lakes, crossed by rivers, canals, and railroads, and covered by a rich soil. It is two hundred and eighty miles long by one hundred and eighty, and covers 40,000 square miles. It has only been admitted into the Union as a State in 1837, and now possesses a population of 211,705. The country is level, except a table land in the center from which the rivers flow into lakes St. Clair, Huron, and Michigan. The remainder is covered with grassy prairie land, with transparent lakes, and tracts of woodland. Here grows the valuable maple from which they obtain their sugar; the white birch, whose bark is used for making canoes, roofing houses, or even when split fine, in writing letters by the early settlers; the oak, the beech, the hickory, sassafras, and various other valuable trees. Its energetic inhabitants are busily engaged laying out canals and rail-roads to intersect it in every direction, as means of conveying their produce to its market. One hundred and thirty-one miles of rail-road has been contracted for, but only forty-four miles finished, from Detroit to Ann Arbor. Over this 41,896 barrels of flour were conveyed this year to Detroit. Three years since the inhabitants of this state sent to Ohio for their flour, and now they export 125,000 barrels of flour this year. Education is not neglected; the legislature have appropriated 1,200,000 acres of land as a school fund, which, as the land is rapidly rising, will be of great value. The celebrated Schoolcraft tells us, it was deemed so inaccessible from swamps, that in 1818, it was not thought fit for the soldiers bounty lands. This was, however, soon discovered to be a mistake. He further informs us, the soil is an argillaceous soil, mellowed with sands and pebbles, underlaid with schistose and calcareous rocks, clothed with an open growth of oaks and hickories, the ridges covered with walnut, ash, beech, and maple, while the valleys are first rate corn land, diversified with limpid lakes, grassy prairies and pebbly bottomed brooks.
July 6th.—When approaching Chicago, the ‘haven where we would be,’ I did not so much watch for the appearance of that famed town, as look back with regret at the beautiful lake I was leaving, for I was well assured ‘I ne’er should look upon its like again.’ Two days and two nights I had been sailing over it, never tired of gazing at its varied shores, or beauteous waters. Those who have never beheld these masses of pellucid, brilliant, green waters, can never imagine the extraordinary loveliness of the scene. They cover a surface of 150,000 square miles, and contain nearly half the fresh water upon the surface of the globe. That the water is fresh, is of great importance to those who dwell upon their shores, as it can be of more use for household purposes, and machinery. The valley in which the lakes repose, is said to have been hewed out by the deluge, leaving the deep chasms in which the waters lie; this is called the valley of the St. Lawrence, and very properly; but I must object to this immense chain of lakes, four and five hundred miles long, and nine hundred deep, being called the ‘river St. Lawrence,’ as some fashionable tourists have of late. The St. Lawrence river is an outlet, but is no more entitled to this designation, than is Niagara or St. Clair river. These lakes all lie in a valley which interposes between the primitive and secondary formations. The northern shores are granite rocks, sterile, and scarcely inhabited; while the southern is rich alluvion, covering sandstone and limestone.
The bustle of arrival aroused me from these reflections, and we were soon seated in the parlor of the Lake Hotel, in the famous state of Illinois, and town of Chicago. The rapid growth of this place you have heard of: in 1833 it could only count three frame dwellings and two hundred and fifty inhabitants; and now enumerates six churches, one hundred shops, several hotels, dwelling houses, and ware-houses, and between six and seven thousand inhabitants. Chicago, or Tshicawgo, as the inhabitants and Indians call it, is divided by a river of the same name into two parts, between which is a free ferry and a bridge. The shops are upon one side, and the dwellings upon the other. These last are in the style of country residences, enclosed with white palings, surrounded by piazzas and gardens; some of brick, but many of wood and neatly painted. Every thing looks quite new, as indeed it might; for where now the town stands, was, as late as 1833, a fort, before which was encamped seven thousand Indians. Fort Dearborn was erected for the purpose of protecting the frontier. It was attacked in 1812 by the Indian tribes, and their allies, and those who escaped massacre, sought protection in fort Wayne. Another fort was built in 1818, but is now deserted and let out for tenements. There are houses of worship here for several denominations; among them the Presbyterian church is most conspicuous. It is of brick and neatly finished. Part of the money required for its erection, was acquired by the ladies in a Fair. The Lake House is a very good hotel, situated among the dwelling houses. It is built of brick, painted white, which, with its green blinds, gives it a pleasant appearance; every thing within was comfortable and good of its kind. According to our usual practice, we ascended to the cupola of the hotel, where is a lovely view of the cottages and gardens at our feet, the broad prairies beyond, and the bright waters of Michigan behind us. This town is beautifully situated upon the borders of the lake, through which it holds constant communication with Buffalo and the east. The other route I mentioned, from Detroit continues over the rail-road at that city, and by cross roads to St. Joseph’s upon the lake, from which place steamboats are continually plying to Chicago. It is a shorter road, and gives the traveller a view of the interior of Michigan. The Illinois and Michigan canal commences here, which is to be carried to Peru on the Illinois river, a distance of one hundred miles, thus opening a communication with the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico. It is six feet deep and sixty feet wide, and is nearly finished. The climate here is variable. In the summer the wind will one day blow over the surface of the prairies, and the weather will become very hot; but the next day, perhaps, it will come from the lake and cool it again. In consequence of the vicinity of the lake there is not much snow, and it is not very cold.
We spent here one day only, but were able to see every thing in and about the town, and in conversation with those friends residing here, obtained every information. We intended making a longer stay, but learned that the regular line of stages left town that evening, which obliged us to go on or to stay longer than our time would admit. Before reaching here, it was our intention to go to Michigan City, which is in Indiana, upon the shores of the lake, and from thence cross Indiana to Madison, upon the Ohio, through a fine succession of rail and Macadamized roads. Our friends here, however, seemed to think it so monstrous a thing to return without beholding the celebrated Mississippi, when within a few hundred miles only, that we determined to alter our course and go down the Illinois river.
At nine o’clock at night we entered a commodious stage drawn by four good horses, which was to take us to Peoria, upon the Illinois, one hundred and fifty-seven miles distant, for which we were to pay twenty-two dollars, eleven each, bed and board included. Beside us were two other passengers. Crossing the bridge, we took up the mail at the post office, and then drove through a long range of cheerfully lighted shops until we found ourselves out of town. Here the road crossed the wet prairie, as it is called, which, in some seasons, when the lake is high, is overflown. Through this wet land we went splash, splash, nearly half the night. A rail-road is proposed here, which will render travelling more pleasant. Hour after hour passed away, my companions all dozing while I sought sleep in vain. The vast plain over which we were moving, seen through the dusk of a cloudy night, seemed a fitting place for dark deeds—a fine Hounslow heath, or Indian lurking place. But there are no bandits here, and the Indians were all over the Mississippi, and I was bidding such idle fears avaunt, when suddenly a low plaintive wail sounded over the waste, startling my companions from their slumbers. ‘What was that unearthly cry?’ I asked. ‘Only a prairie wolf madam.’ ‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the other passenger, a youth. ‘I hope there are not many of them, for sometimes wolves attack horses.’ ‘Not in these prairies, sir,’ replied the other passenger, ‘they are rather shy, and afraid of us.’ ‘I am glad, at least, to see a light,’ returned the youth, ‘there must be a house yonder.’ ‘Yes, a bower in the rushes, nothing else,’ replied the other man. ‘If you follow that light it will lead you a pretty chase through the marshes; it is a jack-o’lantern.’ The hour, seen by the light of the coach lamp, proved to be twelve, and each settled in his corner for another doze. A sudden halt of the stage awakened us. The coachman took down a lamp and began to search for something on the ground. ‘Halo, driver, what have you lost?’ asked the youth. ‘Only my road sir,’ he replied. ‘Lost your road!’ exclaimed the youth in dismay; ‘Lost in these lonely moors among wolverines and jack-o’lanterns! Here’s a pretty fix!’ ‘Driver you ought to keep the skin off your eyes in such a dark night, I guess,’ said the other passenger. I only wondered he could ever keep his road, as there was no house or tree to mark his course even in the day, and one might easily pass over the worn pathway in these grassy plains. The driver soon resumed his seat, having discovered his path; and gave us the agreeable intelligence, he had gone three miles out of his way. A few hours after this, a huge body suddenly appeared before the window—it turned out to be a tree, a sign we were approaching a river. Soon after we found ourselves before the door of a small house, upon the banks of a narrow but deep and placid stream fringed with trees. This was the Des Plaines, a river which rises so near lake Michigan, that in times of its overflow, boats have passed from one to another. This interlocking of waters which flow different ways, Darby considers ‘an astonishing hydrographical anomaly.’ All the waters we had passed, have fallen into the Atlantic, while those we were now following find their way into the gulf of Mexico. The Des Plaines is called a branch of the Illinois, which joins with the Kankakee, and afterwards the Fox, and the united streams take the name of the Illinois. Many modern writers consider this as the Illinois, and drop the name of Des Plaines, which I should judge a proper arrangement. We awakened the drowsy owner of the house, procured some refreshment, and with fresh horses resumed our journey.