At Dunleith, on the line between Illinois and Wisconsin, the terminus of the Illinois Central road, they went on board the Grey Eagle, the best boat on the Upper Mississippi.
A sunset on the Missi-sepe, the Great River! It was radiant and golden, but without any pomp of crimson clouds, of long-trailing glory.
Norman had a fine view of Dubuque, built on a natural terrace on the opposite shore, and creeping up four of five ravines between the great bluffs which rise directly behind the town. After tea, as the boat was not to leave till morning, he watched the lights gleaming out from the city below, and the scattered dwellings above, and then went to bed in his state-room.
His mother had not met the friends whom she had expected to join at Dunleith for this excursion, and she felt somewhat disappointed. The morning came in clouds and drizzling rain. The hills were vailed; but as the boat went very near the western shore, the passengers could admire the wealth of foliage, and the rich greens of those primeval forests. A road ran along the river bank, and some men were quarrying stone; near this was a deserted log-house.
On passing a very high red bluff, that stood in the forest, like an Egyptian idol, so curiously was it fashioned, Mrs. Lester ran to the east side of the boat to call Norman to look at it. He came, but after a hasty glance returned to his play, which for the time wholly absorbed him. He was engaged in some merry games with Helen and Frank Lisle, and he had no thought for anything else. Mrs. Lisle found that Norman was the son of a minister who had been an intimate friend of her sister’s. “My sister has very frequently spoken to me of him,” she said; “I almost think I had known him. My sister named her eldest son after your father, Norman, and I have been strangely reminded of Lester at your age all the morning.”
Norman remained a while to look at a large raft which his mother had called him to see. There were twenty men upon it; some of them with red shirts, and another wrapping a white blanket around him. There was a shed where one man was cooking the dinner, and a board table in front for their meals. A gentleman said that a raft of that size was worth about seven thousand dollars. There were a number of rafts floating by this western shore. One misses the white sails of the Hudson on the Mississippi, where rafts, and steamboats, and an occasional sail-boat, are the only craft on its waters.
There were ravines running up among the hills, and near the shore were layers of white stone piled regularly as if laid in mortar. Castellated bluffs peeped out from the encircling verdure, and low islands, covered with willows, were emerging from the recent floods. From behind one of these the steamer Northern Light appeared, her bright golden star on a back ground of green.
After dinner the aspect of things brightened. The clouds rolled away, and the clear blue sky appeared in its soft beauty. The eastern now became the most interesting side; noble bluffs were seen far above the lofty oaks and maples, like some ancient towers, the strongholds of the former lords of the soil. The town of Guttenbay is on a table land at the foot of one of these bluffs, and beyond it a range of rounded hills, softly rising above wooded islands. “O look!” said Helen Lisle, “at that beautiful rainbow in the spray.” It was no fleeting vision, but all the afternoon the radiant bow, with its hues of blended brightness, afforded them a beautiful object for contemplation.
“See those trees,” cried Norman; “they look as if they were running a race down hill.”
In crossing from the east to the west side they passed an island shaped like a bowl, the center filled with water, and a broad green brim. M’Gregor’s landing is a small busy town of one long street, there being no place for another in the narrow ravine. The street was filled with wagons, and many passengers landed to go out on the rich prairies of Iowa, to which this ravine leads.