Fifty yards' walk brought us and our canoe and baggage to the banks of Queen Anne's Lake, a small sylvan lake through which the whole channel of the Mississippi passed. A few miles above its termination we entered another lake of limited size, which the Indians called Pemetascodiac. The river winds about in this portion of it--through savannas, bordered by sandhills, and pines in the distance--for about fifteen miles. At this distance, rapids commence, and the bed of the river exhibited greenstone and gneissoid boulders. We counted ten of these rapids, which our guide called the Metoswa, or Ten Rapids. They extend about twenty miles, during which there is a gradual ascent of about forty feet. The men got out at each of these rapids, and lifted or drew the canoes up by their gunwales. We ascended slowly and with toil. At the computed distance of forty-five miles, we entered a very handsome sheet of water, lying transverse to our course, which the Indians called Pamidjegumag, which means crosswater, and which the French call Lac Traverse. It is about twelve miles long from east to west, and five or six wide. It is surrounded with hardwood forest, presenting a picturesque appearance.
We stopped a few moments to observe a rude idol on its shores; it consisted of a granitic boulder, of an extraordinary shape, with some rings and spots of paint, designed to give it a resemblance to a human statue. We observed the passenger-pigeon and some small fresh-water shells of the species of unios and anadontas.
A short channel, with a strong current, connects this lake with another of less than a third of its dimensions, to which I gave the name of Washington Irving. Not more than three or four miles above the latter, the Mississippi exhibits the junction of its ultimate forks. The right hand, or Itasca branch, was represented as by far the longest, the most circuitous, and most difficult of ascent. It brings down much the largest volume of water. I availed myself of the geographical knowledge of my Indian guide by taking the left hand, or what I had occasion soon to call the Plantagenian branch. It expanded, in the course of a few miles, into a lake, which I called Marquette, and, a little further, into another, which I named La Salle. About four miles above the latter, we entered into a more considerable sheet of water, which I named Plantagenet, being the site of an old Indian encampment called Kubbakunna, or the Rest in the Path.
We encamped a short distance above the upper end of this lake at the close of the day, on a point of low land covered with a small growth of gray pine, fringed with alder, tamarisk, spruce, and willow. A bed of moss covered the soil, into which the foot sank at every step. Long moss hung from every branch. Everything indicated a cold frigid soil. In the act of encamping, it commenced raining, which gave a double gloom to the place. Several species of duck were brought from the different canoes as the result of the day's hunt.
Early the next morning we resumed the ascent. The river became narrow and tortuous. Clumps of willow and alder lined the shore. Wherever larger species were seen they were gray pines or tamarack. One of the Indians killed a deer, of the species C. Virginea, during the morning. Ducks were frequently disturbed as we pushed up the winding channel. The shores were often too sedgy and wet to permit our landing, and we went on till twelve o'clock before finding a suitable spot to breakfast.
About five o'clock we came to a high diluvial ridge of gravel and sand, mixed with boulders of syenite, trap-rock, quartz, and sandstone. Ozawandib, our guide, said we were near the junction of the Naiwa, or Copper-snake River, the principal tributary of this branch of the Mississippi, and that it was necessary to make a passage over this ridge to avoid a formidable series of rapids. Our track lay across a peninsula. This occupied the remainder of the day, and we encamped on the banks of the stream above the rapids and pitched our tent, before daylight had finally departed. The position of the sun, in this latitude, it must be recollected, is protracted, very perceptibly, above the horizon. We ascended to the summit in a series of geological steps or plateaux. There is but little perceptible rise from the Cross-water level to this point--called Agate Rapids and Portage, from the occurrence of this mineral in the drift. The descent of water at this place cannot be less than seventy feet. On resuming the journey the next morning (13th) we found the water above these rapids had almost the appearance of a dead level. The current is very gentle; and, by its diminished volume, denotes clearly the absence of the contributions from the Naiwa. About seven miles above the Agate Portage we entered Lake Assawa, which our Indian guide informed us was the source of this branch. We were precisely twenty minutes in passing through it, with the full force of paddles. It receives two small inlets, the most southerly of which we entered, and the canoes soon stuck fast, amidst aquatic plants, on a boggy shore. I did not know, for a moment, the cause of our having grounded, till Ozawandib exclaimed, "O-um-a, mikun-na!" here is the portage! We were at the Southern flanks of the diluvial hills, called HAUTEUR DES TERRES--a geological formation of drift materials, which form one of the continental water-sheds, dividing the streams tributary to the Gulf of Mexico, from those of Hudson's Bay. He described the portage as consisting of twelve pug-gi-de-nun, or resting places, where the men are temporarily eased of their burdens. This was indefinite, depending on the measure of a man's strength to carry. Not only our baggage, but the canoes were to be carried. After taking breakfast, on the nearest dry ground, the different back-loads for the men were prepared. Ozawandib threw my canoe over his shoulders and led the way. The rest followed, with their appointed loads. I charged myself with a spy-glass, strapped, and portfolio. Dr. Houghton carried a plant press. Each one had something, and the men toiled with five canoes, Our provisions, beds, tent, &c. The path was one of the most intricate and tangled that I ever knew. Tornadoes appeared to have cast down the trees in every direction. A soft spongy mass, that gave way under the tread, covered the interstices between the fallen timber. The toil and fatigue were incessant. At length we ascended the first height. It was an arid eminence of the pebble and erratic block era, bearing small gray pines and shrubbery. This constituted our first pause, or puggidenun. On descending it, we were again plunged among bramble. Path, there was none, or trail that any mortal eye, but an Indian's, could trace. We ascended another eminence. We descended it, and entered a thicket of bramble, every twig of which seemed placed there to bear some token of our wardrobe, as we passed. To avoid this, the guide passed through a lengthened shallow pond, beyond which the walking was easier. Hill succeeded hill. It was a hot day in July, and the sun shone out brightly. Although we were evidently passing an alpine height, where a long winter reigned, and the vegetation bore every indication of being imperfectly developed. We observed the passenger pigeon, and one or two species of the falco family. There were indications of the common deer. Moss hung abundantly from the trees. The gray pine predominated in the forest growth.
At length, the glittering of water appeared, at a distance below, as viewed from the summit of one of these eminences. It was declared by our Indian guide to be Itasca Lake--the source of the main, or South fork of the Mississippi. I passed him, as we descended a long winding slope, and was the first man to reach its banks. A little grassy opening served as the terminus of our trail, and proved that the Indians had been in the practice of crossing this eminence in their hunts. As one after another of the party came, we exulted in the accomplishment of our search. A fire was quickly kindled, and the canoes gummed, preparatory to embarkation.
We had struck within a mile of the southern extremity of the lake, and could plainly see its terminus from the place of our embarking. The view was quite enchanting. The waters were of the most limpid character. The shores were overhung with hard wood foliage, mixed with species of spruce, larch, and aspen. We judged it to be about seven miles in length, by an average of one to two broad. A bay, near its eastern-end, gave it somewhat the shape of the letter y. We observed a deer standing in the water. Wild fowl appeared to be abundant. We landed at the only island it contains--a beautiful spot for encampment, covered with the elm, cherry, larch, maple, and birch, and giving evidence, by the remains of old camp-fires, and scattered bones of species killed in the chase, of its having been much resorted to by the aborigines.
This picturesque island the party honored me by calling after my name--in which they have been sanctioned by Nicollet and other geographers. I caused some trees to be felled, pitched my tent, and raised the American flag on a high staff, the Indians firing a salute as it rose.
This flag, as the evidence of the government having extended its jurisdiction to this quarter, I left flying, on quitting the island--and presume the band of Ozawandib, at Cass Lake, afterwards appropriated it to themselves.