 The big towns drop in thick and fast now, and between stretch processions of thrifty farms not desolate solitude. Hour by hour the boat plows deeper and deeper into the great and populous northwest, and with each successive section of it which is revealed one's surprise and respect gather emphasis and increase. Such a people, and such achievements as theirs compel homage. This is an independent race, who think for themselves, and who are competent to do it, because they are educated and enlightened. They read, they keep abreast of the best and newest thought, they fortify every weak place in their land with a school, a college, a library, and a newspaper, and they live under law. Solitude for the future of a race like this is not in order. This region is new, so new that it may be said to be still in its babyhood. By what it has accomplished, while still teething, one may forecast what marvels it will do in the strength of its maturity. It is so new that the foreign tourist has not heard of it yet, and has not visited it. For sixty years the foreign tourist has steamed up and down the river between St. Louis and New Orleans, and then gone home and written his book, believing he had seen all of the river that was worth seeing, or that had anything to see. In not six of all these books is there mention of these upper river towns, for the reason that the five or six tourists who penetrated this region did it before these towns were projected. The latest tourist of them all, 1878, made the same old regulation trip. He had not heard that there was anything north of St. Louis. Yet there was. There was this amazing region bristling with great towns projected day before yesterday, so to speak, and built next morning. A score of them number from fifteen hundred to five thousand people. Then we have Muscatine ten thousand, Winona ten thousand, Maline ten thousand, Rock Island twelve thousand, La Crosse twelve thousand, Burlington twenty five thousand, Dubuque twenty five thousand, Davenport thirty thousand, St. Paul fifty eight thousand, Minneapolis sixty thousand, and upward. The foreign tourist has never heard of these. There is no note of them in his books. They have sprung up in the night while he slept. So new in this region that I, who am comparatively young, am yet older than it is. When I was born St. Paul had a population of three persons. Minneapolis had just a third as many. The then population of Minneapolis died two years ago, and when he died he had seen himself undergo an increase in forty years of fifty nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine persons. He had a frog's fertility. I must explain that the figures set down above as the population of St. Paul and Minneapolis are several months old. These towns are far larger now. In fact I have just seen a newspaper estimate which gives the former seventy one thousand and the latter seventy eight thousand. This book will not reach the public for six or seven months yet. None of the figures will be worth much then. We had a glimpse of Davenport, which is another beautiful city, crowning a hill, a phrase which applies to all these towns, for they are all comely, all well built, clean, orderly, pleasant to the eye, and cheering to the spirit. And they are all situated upon hills. Therefore we will give that phrase a rest. The Indians have a tradition that Marquette and Juliet camped where Davenport now stands, in sixteen seventy three. The next white man who camped there did it about a hundred and seventy years later in eighteen thirty four. Davenport has gathered its thirty thousand people within the past thirty years. She sends more children to her schools now than her whole population numbered twenty three years ago. She has the usual upper river quota of factories, newspapers, and institutions of learning. She has telephones, local telegraphs, an electric alarm, and an admirable paid fire department consisting of six hook and ladder companies, four steam fire engines. And thirty churches. Davenport is the official residence of two bishops, Episcopal and Catholic. Davenport is the flourishing town of Rock Island, which lies at the foot of the upper rapids. A great railroad bridge connects the two towns, one of the thirteen which fret the Mississippi and the pilots between St. Louis and St. Paul. The charming island of Rock Island, three miles long and half a mile wide, belongs to the United States. And the government has turned it into a wonderful park, enhancing its natural attractions by art, and threading its fine forests with many miles of drives. Near the center of the island one catches glimpses through the trees of ten vast stone four-story buildings, each of which covers an acre of ground. These are the government workshops, for the Rock Island establishment is a national armory and arsenal. We move up the river, always through enchanting scenery, there being no other kind on the upper Mississippi, and Pass Moline, a center of vast manufacturing industries, and Clinton and Lyons, great lumber centers, and presently reach Dubuque, which is situated in a rich mineral region. The lead mines are very productive and of wide extent. Dubuque has a great number of manufacturing establishments, among them a plow factory which has for customers all Christendom in general, at least so I was told by an agent of the concern who was on the boat. He said, You show me any country under the sun where they really know how to plow, and if I don't show you our mark on the plow they use I'll eat that plow, and I won't ask for any Worcestershire sauce to flavor it up with either. All this part of the river is rich in Indian history and traditions. Blackhawks was once a pucent name here abouts, as was Keokuk's, further down. A few miles below Dubuque is the Tent-D'Amour, Death's Head Rock, or Bluff, to the top of which the French drove a band of Indians in early times, and cooped them up there, with death for a certainty, and only the manner of it matter of choice, to starve or jump off and kill themselves. Blackhawk adopted the ways of the white people toward the end of his life, and when he died he was buried near Des Moines in Christian fashion, modified by Indian custom. That is to say, closed in a Christian military uniform, and with a Christian cane in his hand, but deposited in the grave in a sitting posture. Formerly a horse had always been buried with a chief. The substitution of the cane shows that Blackhawk's haughty nature was really humbled, and he expected to walk when he got over. We notice that above Dubuque the water of the Mississippi was olive green, rich and beautiful and semi-transparent with a sun on it. Of course the water was nowhere as clear, or of as fine a complexion as it is in some other seasons of the year, for now it was at flood stage, and therefore dimmed and blurred by the mud manufactured from caving banks. The majestic bluffs that overlook the river, along through this region, charm one with the grace and variety of their forms, and the soft beauty of their adornment. The steep verdant slope, whose base is at the water's edge, is topped by a lofty rampart of broken, turreted rocks which are exquisitely rich and mellow in color, mainly dark browns and dull greens, but splashed with other tints. And then you have the shining river, winding here and there in yonder, its sweep interrupted at intervals by clusters of wooded islands threaded by silver channels. And you have glimpses of distant villages asleep upon capes, and of stealthy rafts slipping along in the shade of the forest walls, and of white steamers vanishing around remote points, and it is all as tranquil and reposeful as dreamland, and has nothing this worldly about it, nothing to hang a fret or a worry upon. Until the unholy train comes tearing along, which it presently does, ripping the sacred solitude to rags and tatters with its devil's war-woop and the roar and thunder of its rushing wheels, and straight away you are back in this world, and with one of its frets ready to hand for your entertainment. For you remember that this is the very road whose stock always goes down after you buy it, and always goes up again as soon as you sell it. It makes me shudder to this day to remember that I once came near not getting rid of my stock at all. It must be an awful thing to have a railroad left on your hands. The locomotive is in sight from the deck of the steamboat almost the whole way from St. Louis to St. Paul, eight hundred miles. These railroads have made havoc with the steamboat commerce. The clerk of our boat was a steamboat clerk before these roads were built. In that day the influx of population was so great, and the freight business so heavy, that the boats were not able to keep up with the demands made upon their carrying capacity. Consequently the captains were very independent and airy, pretty bigotty as Uncle Remus would say. The clerk nutshelled the contrast between the former time and the present, thus. Boat used to land, Captain on Hurricane Roof, mighty stiff and straight, iron ramrod for a spine, kid gloves, plug-tile, hair parted behind, man on shore takes off hat and says, Got twenty-eight tons a week, Captain! Be great favor if you can take them! Captain says, I'll take two of them, and don't even condescend to look at him. But nowadays the captain takes off his old slouch and smiles all the way round to the back of his ears, and gets off a bow which he hasn't got any ramrod to interfere with, and says, Glad to see you, Smith! Glad to see you! You're looking well! Haven't seen you looking so well for years! What have you got for us? Nothing, says Smith, and keeps his hat on, just turns his back and goes to talking with somebody else. Oh, yes, eight years ago the captain was on top, but it's Smith's turn now. Eight years ago a boat used to go up the river with every stateroom full, and people piled five and six deep on the cabin floor, and a solid deck load of immigrants and harvesters down below into the bargain. To get a first-class stateroom you got to prove sixteen quarterings of nobility and four hundred years of descent, or be personally acquainted with the nigger that blacked the captain's boots. But it's all changed now. Plenty staterooms above, no harvesters below. There's a patent self-binder now, and they don't have harvesters any more. They've gone where the wood-bind twineth, and they didn't go by steamboat either. Went by train. Up in this region we met massed acres of lumber rafts coming down, but not floating leisurely along in the old-fashioned way, manned with joyous and reckless crews of fiddling, song-singing, whisky drinking, breakdown-dancing rapscallions. No, the whole thing was shoved swiftly along by a powerful stern-wheeler, modern fashion, and the small crews were quiet, orderly men of a sedate business aspect with not a suggestion of romance about them anywhere. Along here somewhere on a black night we ran some exceedingly narrow and intricate island shoots by aid of the electric light. Behind was solid blackness, a crackless bank of it. Ahead a narrow elbow of water curving between dense walls of foliage that almost touched our bows on both sides. And here every individual leaf and every individual ripple stood out in its natural color and flooded with a glare as of noonday intensified. The effect was strange and fine, and very striking. We passed Praide Sheen, another of Father Marquette's camping places, and after some hours of progress through varied and beautiful scenery reached lacrosse. Here is a town of twelve or thirteen thousand population with electric lighted streets and with blocks of buildings which are stately enough, and also architecturally fine enough, to command respect in any city. It is a choice-town, and we made satisfactory use of the hour allowed us in roaming it over, though the weather was rainier than necessary. CHAPTER 59 Legends and Scenery We added several passengers to our list at Lacrosse. Among others an old gentleman who had come to this north-western region with the early settlers, and was familiar with every part of it. Pardonably proud of it, too. He said, You'll find scenery between here and St. Paul that can give the Hudson points. You'll have the Queen's Bluff, seven hundred feet high, and just as imposing of spectacle as you can find anywheres. And Trempelo Island, which isn't like any other island in America, I believe, for it is a gigantic mountain with precipitous sides and is full of Indian traditions, and used to be full of rattlesnakes. If you catch the sun just right there you will have a picture that will stay with you. And above Winona you'll have lovely prairies, and then come the Thousand Islands, too beautiful for anything. Green? Why, you never saw foliage so green, nor packed so thick. It's like a thousand plush cushions afloat on a looking-glass, when the water's still. And then the monstrous bluffs on both sides of the river, ragged, rugged, dark, complexed, just the frame that's wanted. You always want a strong frame, you know, to throw up the nice points of a delicate picture and make them stand out. The old gentleman also told us a touching Indian legend or two, but not very powerful ones. After this excursion into history he came back to the scenery and described it, detail by detail, from the Thousand Islands to St. Paul, naming its names with such facility, tripping along his theme with such nimble and confident ease, slamming in a three-ton word here and there with such a complacent air of, tisn't anything I can do at any time I want to, and letting off fine surprises of lurid eloquence at such judicious intervals that I presently began to suspect, but no matter what I began to suspect, hear him. Ten miles above Winona we come to Fountain City, nestling sweetly at the feet of cliffs that lift their awful fronts, jove-like, toward the blue depths of heaven, bathing them in virgin atmospheres that have known no other contact save that of angels' wings. And next we glide through silver waters, amid lovely and stupendous aspects of nature that attune our hearts to adoring admiration, about twelve miles, and strike Mount Vernon, six hundred feet high, with romantic ruins of a once first-class hotel perched far among the cloud shadows that mottle its dizzy heights, so remnant of once flourishing Mount Vernon, town of early days, now desolate and utterly deserted. And so we move on. Past chimney-rock we fly, noble shaft of six hundred feet. Then just before landing at Mineska our attention is attracted by a most striking promontory rising over five hundred feet, the ideal mountain pyramid. Its conic shape, thickly wooded surface girding its sides, and its apex like that of a cone, cause the spectator to wonder at nature's workings. From its dizzy heights superb views of the forests, streams, bluffs, hills and dales below, and beyond for miles are brought within its focus. What grander river scenery can be conceived as we gaze upon this enchanting landscape from the uppermost point of these bluffs upon the valleys below? The primeval wildness and awful loneliness of these sublime creations of nature and nature's God, excite feelings of unbounded admiration and the recollection of which can never be effaced from the memory as we view them in any direction. Next we have the lion's head and the lioness's head, carved by nature's hand, to adorn and dominate the beautyous stream. And then and on the river widens, and a most charming and magnificent view of the valley before us suddenly bursts upon our vision. Rugged hills clad with verdant forests from summit to base, level prairie lands, holding in their lap the beautiful Wabashaw, city of the healing waters, pucent foe of Bright's disease, and that grandest conception of nature's works, incomparable Lake Pippin, these constitute a picture whereon the tourists I may gaze uncounted hours with rapture unappeased and unappeasable. And so we glide along, in due time encountering those majestic domes, the mighty Sugarloaf and the sublime Maiden's Rock, which latter romantic superstition has invested with a voice, and off times as the birch canoe glides near, at twilight, the dusky paddler fancies he hears the soft, sweet music of the long-departed Winona, darling of Indian song and story. Then frontenac looms upon our vision, delightful resort of jaded summer tourists, then progressive red-wing, and diamond-bluff, impressive and preponderous in its lone sublimity, then Prescott and the St. Croix. And anon we see bursting upon us the domes and steeples of St. Paul, giant young chief of the North, marching with seven-league stride in the van of progress, banner-bearer of the highest and newest civilization, carving his beneficent way with the Tomahawk of commercial enterprise, sounding the war-woop of Christian culture tearing off the wreaking scalp of sloth and superstition to plant there the steam-plow and the school-house, ever in his front stretch arid lawlessness, ignorance, crime, despair, ever in his wake bloom the jail, the gallows, and the pulpit, and ever have you ever traveled with a panorama? I have formerly served in that capacity. My suspicion was confirmed. Do you still travel with it? No. She is laid up till the fall season opens. I am helping now to work up the materials for a tourist guide which the St. Louis and St. Paul Packet Company are going to issue this summer for the benefit of travellers who go by that line. When you were talking of Maiden's Rock, you spoke of the long-departed Winona, darling of Indian song and story. Is she the Maiden of the Rock, and are the two connected by legend? Yes, and a very tragic and painful one, perhaps the most celebrated as well as the most pathetic of all the legends of the Mississippi. We asked him to tell it. He dropped out of his conversational vein and back into his lecture-gate without an effort and rolled on as follows. A little distance above Lake City is a famous point known as Maiden's Rock, which is not only a picturesque spot, but is full of romantic interest from the event which gave it its name. Not many years ago this locality was a favourite resort for the Sioux Indians on account of the fine fishing and hunting to be had there, and large numbers of them were always to be found in this locality. Among the families which used to resort here was one belonging to the tribe of Wabashaw. Winona, first born, was the name of a Maiden who had plighted her troth to a lover belonging to the same band, but her stern parents had promised her hand to another, a famous warrior, and insisted on her wedding him. The day was fixed by her parents to her great grief. She appeared to accede to the proposal and accompany them to the Rock for the purpose of gathering flowers for the feast. On reaching the Rock, Winona ran to its summit and standing on its edge, upbraided her parents who were below for their cruelty, and then, singing a death dirge, threw herself from the precipice, and dashed them in pieces on the Rock below. Dashed who in pieces, her parents? Yes. Well, it certainly was a tragic business, as you say, and, moreover, there is a startling kind of dramatic surprise about it which I was not looking for. It is a distinct improvement upon the thread-bear form of Indian legend. There are fifty lovers' leaps along the Mississippi from whose summit disappointed Indian girls have jumped, but this is the only jump in the lot that turned out in the right and satisfactory way. What became of Winona? She was a good deal jarred up and jolted, but she got herself together and disappeared before the coroner reached the fatal spot, and, to said, she sought and married her true love, and wandered with him to some distant climb where she lived happy ever after. Her gentle spirit mellowed and chastened by the romantic incident which had so early deprived her of the sweet guidance of a mother's love and a father's protecting hand, and thrown her all unfriended upon the cold charity of a sensorious world. I was glad to hear the lecture's description of the scenery, for it assisted my appreciation of what I saw of it, and enabled me to imagine such of it as we lost by the intrusion of night. As the lecturer remarked, this whole region is blanketed with Indian tales and traditions, but I reminded him that people usually merely mentioned this fact, doing it in a way to make a body's mouth water and judiciously stop there. Why? Because the impression left was that these tales were full of incident and imagination, a pleasant impression which would be promptly dissipated if the tales were told. I showed him a lot of this sort of literature which I had been collecting, and he confessed that it was poor stuff, exceedingly sorry rubbish, and I ventured to add that the legends which he had himself told us were of this character, with a single exception of the admirable story of Winona. He granted these facts, but said that if I would hunt up Mr. Schoolcraft's book, published near fifty years ago, and now doubtless out of print, I would find some Indian inventions in it that were very far from being barren of incident and imagination, that the tales in Hayawatha were of this sort, and they came from Schoolcraft's book, and that there were others in the same book which Mr. Longfellow could have turned into verse with good effect. For instance, there was the legend of the Undying Head. He could not tell it, for many of the details had grown dim in his memory, but he would recommend me to find it, and enlarge my respect for the Indian imagination. He said that this tale, and most of the others in the book, were current among the Indians along this part of the Mississippi when he first came here, and that the contributors to Schoolcraft's book had got them directly from Indian lips, and had written them down with strict exactness and without embellishments of their own. I have found the book, the lecturer was right. There are several legends in it which confirm what he said. I will offer two of them. The Undying Head, and Pibbon, and Sigwan, an allegory of the seasons. The latter is used in Hayawatha, but it is worth reading in the original form if only that one may see how effective a genuine poem can be without the helps and graces of poetic measure and rhythm. Pibbon and Sigwan. An old man was sitting alone in his lodge by the side of a frozen stream. It was the close of winter and his fire was almost out. He appeared very old and very desolate. His locks were white with age and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed in solitude and he heard nothing but the sound of the tempest sweeping before it the new fallen snow. One day, as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man approached and entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with the blood of youth, his eyes sparkled with animation and a smile played upon his lips. He walked with a light and quick step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet grass in place of a warrior's frontlet, and he carried a bunch of flowers in his hand. Ah, my son, said the old man, I am happy to see you. Come in. Come and tell me of your adventures and what strange lands you have been to see. Let us pass the night together. I will tell you of my prowess and exploits and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse ourselves." He then drew from his sack a curiously wrought antique pipe, and having filled it with tobacco, rendered mild by a mixture of certain leaves handed it to his guest. When this ceremony was concluded they began to speak. I blow my breath, said the old man, and the stream stands still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear as stone. I breathe, said the young man, and flowers spring up over the plain. I shake my locks, retorted the old man, and snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my breath blows them away. The birds get up from the water and fly to a distant land. The animals hide themselves from my breath, and the very ground becomes as hard as flint. I shake my ringlets, rejoined the young man, and warm showers of soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their heads out of the earth, like the eyes of children glistening with delight. My voice recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath unlocks the streams. Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all nature rejoices. At length the sun began to rise, a gentle warmth came over the place, the tongue of the old man became silent, the robin and bluebird began to sing on top of the lodge, the stream began to murmur by the door, and the fragrance of growing herbs and flowers came softly on the vernal breeze. Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his entertainer. When he looked upon him he had the icy visage of Piboan, footnote, winter. Streams began to flow from his eyes. As the sun increased he grew less and less in stature, and anon had melted completely away. Nothing remained on the place of his lodge fire but the miscudied, footnote, the trailing Arbitus, a small white flower with a pink border which is one of the earliest species of northern plants. The undying head is a rather long tail, but it makes up in weird conceits fairy-tale prodigies, variety of incident, and energy of movement for what it lacks in brevity. Footnote C. Appendix D. Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain Chapter Sixty Speculations and Conclusions We reached St. Paul at the head of navigation of the Mississippi, and there our voyage of two thousand miles from New Orleans ended. It is about a ten-day trip by steamer. It can probably be done quicker by rail. I judge so because I know that one may go by rail from St. Louis to Hannibal a distance of at least a hundred and twenty miles in seven hours. This is better than walking unless one is in a hurry. The season being far advanced when we were in New Orleans the roses and magnolia blossoms were falling, but here in St. Paul it was the snow. In New Orleans we had caught an occasional withering breath from over a crater, apparently. Here in St. Paul we caught a frequent benumbing one from over a glacier, apparently. But I wander from my theme. St. Paul is a wonderful town. It is put together in solid blocks of honest brick and stone and has the air of intending to stay. Its post office was established thirty-six years ago, and by and by when the postmaster received a letter he carried it to Washington horseback to inquire what was to be done with it. Such is the legend. Two frame houses were built that year, and several persons were added to the population. A recent number of the leading St. Paul paper, the Pioneer Press, gives some statistics which furnaces a vivid contrast to that old state of things, to it. Population autumn of the present year, 1882, seventy-one thousand. Number of letters handled first half of the year, one million two hundred and nine thousand three hundred and eighty-seven. Number of houses built during three quarters of the year, nine hundred and eighty-nine. There cost three million one hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars. The increase of letters over the corresponding six months of last year was fifty percent. Last year the new buildings added to the city cost above four million five hundred thousand dollars. St. Paul's strength lies in her commerce. I mean his commerce. He is a manufacturing city, of course. All the cities of that region are. But he is peculiarly strong in the matter of commerce. Last year his jobbing trade amounted to upwards of fifty two million dollars. He has a custom house and is building a costly capital to replace the one recently burned, for he is the capital of the state. He has churches without end, and not the cheap poor kind, but the kind that the rich Protestant puts up, the kind that the poor Irish hired girl delights to erect. What a passion for building majestic churches the Irish hired girl has. It is a fine thing for our architecture, but too often we enjoy her stately feigns without giving her a grateful thought. In fact, instead of reflecting that every brick and every stone in this beautiful edifice represents an ache or a pain, and a handful of sweat, and hours of heavy fatigue contributed by the back and forehead and bones of poverty. It is our habit to forget these things entirely, and merely glorify the mighty temple itself, without vouchsafing one praiseful thought to its humble builder, whose rich heart and withered purse it symbolizes. This is a land of libraries and schools. St. Paul has three public libraries, and they contain, in the aggregate, some forty thousand books. He has one hundred and sixteen schoolhouses, and pays out more than seventy thousand dollars a year in teacher's salaries. There is an unusually fine railway station, so large is it in fact that it seemed somewhat overdone in the matter of size at first, but at the end of a few months it was perceived that the mistake was distinctly the other way. The air is to be corrected. The town stands on high ground. It is about seven hundred feet above the sea level. It is so high that a wide view of river and lowland is offered from the streets. It is a very wonderful town indeed, and is not finished yet. All the streets are obstructed with building material, and this is being compacted into houses as fast as possible to make room for more, for other people are anxious to build as soon as they can get the use of the streets to pile up their bricks and stuff in. How solemn and beautiful is the thought that the earliest pioneer of civilization, the van leader of civilization, is never the steamboat, never the railroad, never the newspaper, never the Sabbath-day school, never the missionary, but always whiskey. Such is the case. Look history over, you will see. The missionary comes after the whiskey. I mean he arrives after the whiskey has arrived. Next comes the poor immigrant with ax and hoe and rifle. Next the trader. Next the miscellaneous rush. Next the gambler, the desperado, the highwayman, and all their kindred in sin of both sexes. And next the smart chap who has brought up an old grant that covers all the land. This brings the lawyer tribe. The vigilance committee brings the undertaker. All these interests bring the newspaper. The newspaper starts up politics and a railroad. All hands turn to and build a church and a jail. And behold, civilization is established forever in the land. But whiskey, you see, was the van leader in this beneficent work. It always is. It was like a foreigner, and excusable in a foreigner, to be ignorant of this great truth and wander off into astronomy, to borrow a symbol. But if he had been conversant with the facts, he would have said, Westward, the jug of empire takes its way. This great van leader arrived upon the ground which St. Paul now occupies in June 1837. Yes, at that date Pierre Parron, a Canadian, built the first cabin, uncorked his jug, and began to sell whiskey to the Indians. The result is before us. All that I have said of the newness, briskness, swift progress, wealth, intelligence, fine and substantial architecture, and general slash-and-go and energy of St. Paul will apply to his near-neighbor of Minneapolis, with the addition that the latter is the bigger of the two cities. These extraordinary towns were ten miles apart a few months ago, but were growing so fast that they may possibly be joined now and getting along under a single mayor. At any rate, within five years from now there will be at least such a substantial ligament of buildings stretching between them and uniting them that a stranger will not be able to tell where the one Siamese twin leaves off and the other begins. Combined they will then number a population of two hundred and fifty thousand if they continue to grow as they are now growing. Thus this center of population at the head of Mississippi Navigation will then begin a rivalry as to numbers with that center of population at the foot of it, New Orleans. Minneapolis is situated at the falls of St. Anthony, which stretch across the river fifteen hundred feet and have a fall of eighty-two feet. A water-power which by art has been made of inestimable value business-wise, though somewhat to the damage of the falls as a spectacle or as a background against which to get your photograph taken. Thirty flowering mills turn out two million barrels of the very choices to flower every year. Twenty saw mills produce two hundred million feet of lumber annually. Then there are woollen mills, cotton mills, paper and oil mills, and sash, nail, furniture, barrel, and other factories without number, so to speak. The great flowering mills here and at St. Paul use the new process and mash the wheat by rolling instead of grinding it. Sixteen railroads meet in Minneapolis, and sixty-five passenger trains arrive and depart daily. In this place, as in St. Paul, journalism thrives. Here there are three great dailies, ten weeklies, and three monthlies. There is a university with four hundred students, and better still, its good efforts are not confined to enlightening the one sex. There are sixteen public schools with buildings which cost five hundred thousand dollars. There are six thousand pupils and one hundred and twenty-eight teachers. There are also seventy churches existing, and a lot more projected. The banks aggregate a capital of three million dollars, and the wholesale jobbing trade of the town amounts to fifty million dollars a year. Near St. Paul and Minneapolis are several points of interest. Fort Snelling, a fortress occupying a river bluff a hundred feet high, the Falls of Minnehaha, White Bear Lake, and so forth. The beautiful Falls of Minnehaha are sufficiently celebrated. They do not need a lift from me in that direction. The White Bear Lake is less known. It is a lovely sheet of water, and is being utilized as a summer resort by the wealth and fashion of the state. It has its clubhouse and its hotel, with the modern improvements and conveniences. It finds summer residences, and plenty of fishing, hunting, and pleasant drives. There are a dozen minor summer resorts around about St. Paul and Minneapolis, but the White Bear Lake is the resort. Connected with White Bear Lake is a most idiotic Indian legend. I would resist the temptation to print it here, if I could, but the task is beyond my strength. The guidebook names the preserver of the legend and complements his Fassel Pen. Without further comment or delay, then let us turn the said Fassel Pen loose upon the reader. A Legend of White Bear Lake. Every spring, for perhaps a century, or as long as there has been a nation of red men, an island in the middle of White Bear Lake has been visited by a band of Indians for the purpose of making maple sugar. Tradition says that many springs ago, while upon this island, a young warrior loved and wooed the daughter of his chief, and it is said also the maiden loved the warrior. He had again and again been refused her hand by her parents, the old chief alleging that he was no brave, and his old consort called him a woman. The sun had again sat upon the sugar-bush, and the bright moon rose high in the bright blue heavens when the young warrior took down his flute and went out alone once more to sing the story of his love. The mild breeze gently moved the two gay feathers in his headdress, and as he mounted on the trunk of a leaning tree the damp snow fell from his feet heavily. As he raised his flute to his lips his blanket slipped from his well-formed shoulders and lay partly on the snow beneath. He began his weird, wild love-song, but soon felt that he was cold, and as he reached back for his blanket some unseen hand laid it gently on his shoulders. It was the hand of his love, his guardian angel. She took her place beside him, and for the present they were happy. For the Indian has a heart to love, and in this pride he is as noble as in his own freedom, which makes him the child of the forest. As the legend runs a large white bear thinking perhaps that polar snows and dismal winter weather extended everywhere took up his journey southward. He at length approached the northern shore of the lake which now bears his name, walked down the bank and made his way noiselessly through the deep heavy snow toward the island. It was the same spring ensuing that the lovers met. They had left their first retreat and were now seated among the branches of a large elm which hung far over the lake. The same tree is still standing and excites universal curiosity and interest. For fear of being detected they talked almost in a whisper, and now that they might get back to camp in good time and thereby avoid suspicion they were just rising to return, when the maiden uttered a shriek which was heard at the camp, and bounding toward the young brave she caught his blanket but missed the direction of her foot and fell bearing the blanket with her into the great arms of the ferocious monster. Instantly every man, woman, and child of the band were upon the bank but all unarmed. Cries and wailings went up from every mouth. What was to be done? In the meantime this white and savage beast held the breathless maiden in his huge grasp and fondled with his precious prey as if he were used to scenes like this. One deafening yell from the lover warrior is heard above the cries of hundreds of his tribe and dashing away to his wigwam he grasps his faithful knife, returns almost at a single bound to the scene of fear and fright, rushes out along the leaning tree to the spot where his treasure fell, and springing with the fury of a mad panther pounced upon his prey. The animal turned, and with one stroke of his huge paw brought the lover's heart to heart. But the next moment the warrior with one plunge of the blade of his knife opened the crimson sluices of death and the dying bear relaxed his hold. That night there was no more sleep for the band or the lover's, and as the young and the old danced about the carcass of the dead monster, the gallant warrior was presented with another plume, and ere another moon had set he had living treasure added to his heart. Their children, for many years, played upon the skin of the white bear from which the lake derives its name, and the maiden and the brave remembered long the fearful scene and rescue that made them one, for Kisemi Pa and Kago Ka could never forget their fearful encounter with the huge monster that came so near to sending them to the happy hunting-ground. It is a perplexing business. First she fell down out of the tree, she and the blanket, and the bear caught her and fondled her, her and the blanket. Then she fell up into the tree again, leaving the blanket. Meantime the lover goes war-whooping home and comes back healed, climbs the tree, jumps down on the bear, the girl jumps down after him, apparently, for she was up the tree, resumes her place in the bear's arms along with the blanket, the lover rams his knife into the bear and saves—whom? The blanket? No, nothing of the sort. You get yourself all worked up and excited about that blanket, and then all of a sudden, just when a happy climax seems imminent, you are let down flat. Nothing saved but the girl, whereas one is not interested in the girl, she is not the prominent feature of the legend. Nevertheless, there you are left, and there you must remain, for if you live a thousand years you will never know who got the blanket. A dead man could get up a better legend than this one. I don't mean a fresh dead man either. I mean a man that's been dead weeks and weeks. We struck the home trail now, and in a few hours we're in that astonishing Chicago, a city where they are always rubbing the lamp, and fetching up the genii, and contriving and achieving new impossibilities. It is hopeless for the occasional visitor to try to keep up with Chicago. She outgrows his prophecies faster than he can make them. She is always a novelty, for she is never the Chicago you saw when you passed through the last time. The Pennsylvania Road rushed us to New York without missing schedule time ten minutes anywhere on the route, and there ended one of the most enjoyable five thousand mile journeys I have ever had the good fortune to make. CHAPTER XXXVIII VOYAGE OF THE TIMES DEMOCRATES RELIEF BOAT THROUGH THE INUNDATED REGIONS It was nine o'clock Thursday morning when the Susie left the Mississippi and entered Old River, or what is now called the Mouth of the Red. Ascending on the left, a flood was pouring in through and over the levees on the Chandler Plantation, and the most northern point in Point Coupie Parish. The water completely covered the place, although the levees had given way but a short time before. The clock had been gathered in a large flat boat, where, without food as we passed, the animals were huddled together waiting for a boat to tow them off. On the right-hand side of the river is Turnbulls Island, and on it is a large plantation which formerly was pronounced one of the most fertile in the state. The water has hitherto allowed it to go scot-free in usual floods, but now broad sheets of water told only where fields were. The top of the protecting levee could be seen here and there, but nearly all of it was submerged. The trees have put on a greener foliage since the water has poured in, and the woods look bright and fresh, but this pleasant aspect to the eye is neutralized by the interminable waste of water. We pass mile after mile, and it is nothing but trees standing up to their branches in water. A water-turkey, now and again, rises and flies ahead into the long avenue of silence. A pyrogue sometimes flits from the bushes and crosses the Red River on its way out to the Mississippi, but the sad-faced paddlers never turn their heads to look at our boat. The puffing of the boat is music in this gloom, but affects one most curiously. It is not the gloom of deep forests or dark caverns, but a peculiar kind of solemn silence and impressive awe that holds one per force to its recognition. We pass two negro families on a raft tied up in the willows this morning. They were evidently of the well-to-do class, as they had a supply of meal and three or four hogs with them. Their rafts were about twenty feet square, and in front of an improvised shelter-earth had been placed on which they built their fire. The current running down the Achafulia was very swift, the Mississippi showing a predilection in that direction, which needs only to be seen to enforce the opinion of that river's desperate endeavors to find a short way to the gulf. Small boats, skiffs, pierogues, etc. are in great demand, and many have been stolen by piratical negroes who take them where they will bring the greatest price. From what was told me by Mr. C. P. Ferguson, a planter near Red River Landing, whose place has just gone under, there is much suffering in the rear of that place. The negroes had given up all thoughts of a crevasse there as the upper levee had stood so long, and when it did come they were at its mercy. On Thursday a number were taken out of trees and off of cabin roofs and brought in many yet remaining. One does not appreciate the sight of earth until he has traveled through a flood. At sea one does not expect or look for it, but here with fluttering leaves, shadowy forest aisles, housetops barely visible. It is expected. In fact a graveyard, if the mounds were above water, would be appreciated. The river here is known only because there is an opening in the trees, and that is all. It is in width from Fort Adams on the left bank of the Mississippi to the bank of Rapids Parish, a distance of about sixty miles. A large portion of this was under cultivation, particularly along the Mississippi and back of the Red. When Red River proper was entered a strong current was running directly across it, pursuing the same direction as that of the Mississippi. After a run of some hours Black River was reached. Hardly was it entered before signs of suffering became visible. All the willows along the banks were stripped of their leaves. One man, whom your correspondent spoke to, said that he had had one hundred and fifty head of cattle and one hundred head of hogs. At the first appearance of water he had started to drive them to the highlands of a voles, thirty-five miles off, but he lost fifty head of the beef cattle and sixty hogs. Black River is quite picturesque, even if its shores are under water. A dense growth of ash, oak, gum, and hickory make the shores almost impenetrable, and where one can get a view down some avenue in the trees, only the dim outlines of distant trunks can be barely distinguished in the gloom. A few miles up this river the depth of water on the banks was fully eight feet, and on all sides could be seen still holding against the strong current the tops of cabins. Here and there one overturned was surrounded by driftwood, forming the nucleus of possibly some future island. In order to save coal, as it was impossible to get that fuel at any point to be touched during the expedition, a lookout was kept for a woodpile. On rounding a point a pierogue skillfully paddled by a youth shot out, and in its bow was a girl of fifteen, a fair face, beautiful black eyes, and demure manners. The boy asked for a paper, which was thrown to him, and the couple pushed their tiny craft out into the swell of the boat. Presently a little girl, not certainly over twelve years, paddled out in the smallest little canoe, and handled it with all the deafness of an old voyageur. The little one looked more like an Indian than a white girl, and laughed when asked if she were afraid. She had been raised in a pierogue, and could go anywhere. She was bound out to pick willow leaves for the stock, and she pointed to a house nearby, with water three inches deep on the floors. At its back door was moored a raft about thirty feet square, with a sort of fence built upon it, and inside of this some sixteen cows and twenty hogs were standing. The family did not complain, except on account of losing their stock, and promptly brought a supply of wood in a flat. From this point to the Mississippi River, fifteen miles, there is not a spot of earth above water, and to the westward for thirty-five miles there is nothing but the river's flood. Black River had risen during Thursday the twenty-third, one three-quarters inches, and was going up at night still. As we progress up the river, habitations become more frequent, but are yet still miles apart. Nearly all of them are deserted, and the outhouses floated off. To add to the gloom, almost every living thing seems to have departed, and not a whistle of a bird, nor the bark of the squirrel can be heard in this solitude. Sometimes a morose gar will throw his tail aloft and disappear in the river, but beyond this everything is quiet, the quiet of dissolution. Down the river floats now a neatly whitewashed hen-house, then a cluster of neatly split fence rails, or a door, and a bloated carcass, solemnly guarded by a pair of buzzards, the only bird to be seen, which feast on the carcass as it bears them along. A picture frame in which there was a cheap lithograph of a soldier on horseback as it floated on, told of some hearth invaded by the water and despoiled of this ornament. At dark, as it was not prudent to run, a place alongside the woods was hunted, and to a tall gum-tree the boat was made fast for the night. A pretty quarter of the moon threw a pleasant light over forest and river, making a picture that would be a delightful piece of landscape study could an artist only hold it down to his canvas. The motion of the engines had ceased, the puffing of the escaping steam was stilled, and the enveloping silence closed upon us, and such silence it was. Usually in a forest at night one can hear the pipping of frogs, the hum of insects, or the dropping of limbs, but here nature was dumb. The dark recesses, those aisles into this cathedral, gave forth no sound, and even the ripplings of the current die away. At daylight Friday morning all hands were up and up the black we started. The morning was a beautiful one, and the river, which is remarkably straight, put on its loveliest garb. The blossoms of the hall perfumed the air deliciously, and a few birds whistled blithely along the banks. The trees were larger, and the forest seemed of older growth than below. More fields were passed than nearer the mouth, but the same scene presented itself, smoke houses drifting out in the pastures. Negro quarters anchored in confusion against some oak, and the modest residents just showing its eaves above water. The sun came up in a glory of Carmen, and the trees were brilliant in their varied shades of green. Not a foot of soil is to be seen anywhere, and the water is apparently growing deeper and deeper, for it reaches up to the branches of the largest trees. All along the bordering willows have been denuded of leaves, showing how long the people have been at work gathering this fodder for their animals. An old man in a parogue was asked how the willow leaves agreed with his cattle. He stopped in his work, and with an ominous shake of his head replied, "'Well, sir, it's enough to keep warmth in their bodies, and that's all we expect, but it's hard on the hogs, particularly the small ones. They is dropping off powerful fast. But what can you do? It's all we've got.'" At thirty miles above the mouth of Black River the water extends from Natchez on the Mississippi across to the pine hills of Louisiana, a distance of seventy-three miles, and there is hardly a spot that is not ten feet under it. The tendency of the current up the Black is toward the West. In fact, so much is this the case. The waters of Red River have been driven down from toward the Kalkeshoe country, and the waters of the Black enter the Red some fifteen miles above the mouth of the former, a thing never before seen by even the oldest steamboatmen. The water now inside of us is entirely from the Mississippi. Up to Trinity, or rather Troy, which is but a short distance below, the people have nearly all moved out. Those remaining have enough for their present personal needs. Their cattle, though, are suffering and dying off quite fast, as the confinement on rafts and the food they get breeds disease. After a short stop we started, and soon came to a section where there were many open fields and cabins thickly scattered about. Here were seen more pictures of distress. On the inside of the houses the inmates had built on boxes a scaffold on which they placed the furniture. The bed-posts were sawed off on top, as the ceiling was not more than four feet from the improvised floor. The buildings looked very insecure and threatened every moment to float off. Near the houses were cattle standing breast high in the water, perfectly impassive. They did not move their places, but stood patiently waiting for help to come. The sight was a distressing one, and the poor creatures will be sure to die unless speedily rescued. Cattle differ from horses in this peculiar quality. A horse, after finding no relief comes, will swim off in search of food, whereas a beef will stand in its tracks until, with exhaustion, it drops in the water and drowns. At half-past twelve o'clock a hail was given from a flatboat inside the line of the bank. Rounding two we ran alongside, and General York stepped aboard. He was just then engaged in getting off stock and welcomed the Times Democrat boat heartily as he said there was much need for her. He said that the distress was not exaggerated in the least. People were in a condition it was difficult even for one to imagine. The water was so high there was great danger of their houses being swept away. It had already risen so high that it was approaching the eaves. And when it reaches this point there is always imminent risk of their being swept away. If this occurs there will be great loss of life. The general spoke of the gallant work of many of the people in their attempts to save their stock, but thought that fully twenty-five percent had perished. Already twenty-five hundred people had received rations from Troy on Black River, and he had towed out a great many cattle, but a very great quantity remained and were in dire need. The water was now eighteen inches higher than in eighteen seventy-four, and there was no land between Vidalia and the hills of Catahoula. At two o'clock the Susy reached Troy sixty-five miles above the mouth of the Black River. Here on the left comes in Little River. Just beyond that the Wachita and on the right the Tensis. These three rivers form the Black River. Troy, or a portion of it, is situated on an around three large Indian mounds circular in shape which rise above the present water about twelve feet. They are about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter and are about two hundred yards apart. The houses are all built between these mounds and hence are all flooded to a depth of eighteen inches on their floors. These elevations, built by the Aborigines hundreds of years ago, are the only points of refuge for miles. When we arrived we found them crowded with stock, all of which was thin and hardly able to stand up. They were mixed together, sheep, hogs, horses, mules, and cattle. One of these mounds has been used for many years as the graveyard, and today we saw attenuated cows lying against the marble tombstones chewing their cut in contentment after a meal of corn furnished by General York. Here, as below, the remarkable skill of the women and girls in the management of the smaller pirogues was noticed. Children were paddling about in these most ticklish crafts with all the nonchalance of adepts. General York has put into operation a perfect system in regard to furnishing relief. He makes a personal inspection of the place where it is asked, sees what is necessary to be done, and then, having two boats chartered with flats, sends them promptly to the place, when the cattle are loaded and towed to the pine hills and uplands of Cataula. He has made Troy his headquarters, and to this end boats come for their supply of feed for cattle. On the opposite side of Little River, which branches to the left out of Black, and between it and the Wachita, is situated the town of Trinity, which is hourly threatened with destruction. It is much lower than Troy, and the water is eight and nine feet deep in the houses. A strong current sweeps through it, and it is remarkable that all of its houses have not gone before. The residents of both Troy and Trinity have been cared for, yet some of their stock have to be furnished with food. As soon as the Susie reached Troy, she was turned over to General York, and placed at his disposition to carry out the work of relief more rapidly. Nearly all her supplies were landed on one of the mounds to lighten her, and she was headed downstream to relieve those below. At Tom Hooper's place, a few miles from Troy, a large flat with about fifty head of stock on board was taken in tow. The animals were fed, and soon regained some strength. Today we go on Little River, where the suffering is greatest. Down Black River Saturday Evening, March 25. We started down Black River quite early, under the direction of General York, to bring out what stock could be reached. Going down river, a flat in tow was left in a central locality, and from there men pulled her back in the rear of plantations, picking up the animals were ever found. In the loft of a gin-house there were seventeen head found, and after a gangway was built they were led down into the flat without difficulty. Taking a skiff with the General, your reporter was pulled up to a little house of two rooms in which the water was standing two feet on the floors. In one of the large rooms were huddled the horses and cows of the place, while in the other the widow Taylor and her son were seated on a scaffold raised on the floor. One or two dugouts were drifting about in the room, ready to be put in service at any time. When the flat was brought up the side of the house was cut away as the only means of getting the animals out, and the cattle were driven on board the boat. General York, in this, as in every case, inquired if the family desired to leave informing them that Major Burke, of the Times Democrat, has sent the Susie up for that purpose. Mrs. Taylor said she thanked Major Burke, but she would try and hold out. The remarkable tenacity of the people here, to their homes, is beyond all comprehension. Just below, at a point sixteen miles from Troy, information was received that the house of Mr. Tom Ellis was in danger and his family were all in it. We steamed there immediately and a sad picture was presented. Looking out of the half of the window left above water was Mrs. Ellis, who is in feeble health, whilst at the door were her seven children, the oldest not fourteen years. One side of the house was given up to the work animals, some twelve head, besides hogs. In the next room the family lived, the water coming within two inches of the bed rail. The stove was below water and the cooking was done on a fire on top of it. The house threatened to give way at any moment. One end of it was sinking, and in fact the building looked to mere shell. As the boat rounded to, Mr. Ellis came out in a dugout and General York told him that he had come to his relief, that the Times Democrat boat was at his service and would remove his family at once to the hills, and on Monday a flat would take out his stock, as, until that time, they would be busy. Notwithstanding the deplorable situation himself and family were in, Mr. Ellis did not want to leave. He said he thought he would wait until Monday and take the risk of his house falling. The children around the door looked perfectly contented, seeming to care little for the danger they were in. These are but two instances of the many. After weeks of privation and suffering, people still cling to their houses and leave only when there is not room between the water and the ceiling to build a scaffold on which to stand. It seemed to be incomprehensible, yet the love for the old place was stronger than that for safety. After leaving the Ellis Place, the next spot touched at was the Oswald Place. Here the flat was towed alongside the gin-house, where there were fifteen heads standing in the water, and yet as they stood on scaffolds their heads were above the top of the entrance. It was found impossible to get them out without cutting away a portion of the front. And so axes were brought into requisition and a gap made. After much labour the horses and mules were securely placed on the flat. At each place we stopped there are always three, four, or more dugouts arriving bringing information of stock in other places in need. Notwithstanding the fact that a great many had driven a part of their stock to the hills some time ago, there yet remains a large quantity which General York, who is working with indomitable energy, will get landed in the Pine Hills by Tuesday. All along Black River the Susie has been visited by scores of planters whose tales are the repetition of those already heard of suffering and loss. An old planter who has lived on the river since 1844 said there never was such a rise and he was satisfied more than one quarter of the stock has been lost. Luckily the people cared first for their work-stock and when they could find it horses and mules were housed in a place of safety. The rise which still continues, and was two inches last night, compels them to get them out to the hills, hence it is that the work of General York is of such a great value. From daylight to late at night he is going this way and that, cheering by his kindly words and directing with calm judgment what is to be done. One unpleasant story of a certain merchant in New Orleans is told all along the river. It appears for some years past the planters have been dealing with this individual and many of them had balances in his hands. When the overflow came they wrote for coffee, for meal, and in fact for such little necessities as were required. No response to these letters came, and others were written, and yet these old customers with plantations under water were refused even what was necessary to sustain life. It is needless to say he is not popular now on Black River. The hills, spoken of as the place of refuge for the people and stock on Black River, are in Catahoula Parish, twenty-four miles from Black River. After filling the flat with cattle we took on board the family of T. S. Hooper, seven in number, who could not longer remain in their dwelling, and we are now taking them up Little River to the hills. The flood still rising. Troy, March 27, 1882, noon. The flood here is rising about three-and-a-half inches every twenty-four hours, and rains have set in which will increase this. General York feels now that our efforts ought to be directed toward saving life as the increase of the water has jeopardized many houses. We intend to go up the Tensis in a few minutes, and then we will return and go down Black River to take off families. There is a lack of steam transportation here to meet the emergency. The general has three boats chartered, with flats and tow, but the demand for these to tow out stock is greater than they can meet with promptness. All are working night and day, and the Susie hardly stops for more than an hour anywhere. The rise has placed Trinity in a dangerous plight, and momentarily it is expected that some of the houses will float off. Troy is a little higher, yet all are in the water. Reports have come in that a woman and child have been washed away below here, and two cabins floated off. Their occupants are the same who refused to come off day before yesterday. One would not believe the utter passiveness of the people. As yet no news has been received of the steamer Delia, which is supposed to be the one sunk in yesterday's storm on Lake Catajula. She is due here now, but has not arrived. In the mail here is most uncertain, and this I send by skiff to natches to get it to you. It is impossible to get accurate data as to pass crops, etc., as those who know much about the matter have gone, and those who remain are not well versed in the production of this section. General York desires me to say that the amount of rations formerly sent should be duplicated and sent at once. It is impossible to make any estimate, for the people are fleeing to the hills so rapid as the rise. The residents here are in a state of commotion that can only be appreciated when seen, and complete demoralization has set in. If rations are drawn for any particular section here abouts, they would not be certain to be distributed, so everything should be sent to Troy as a center, and the general will have it properly disposed of. He has sent for one hundred tenths, and, if all go to the hills who are in motion now, two hundred will be required. End of Appendix A This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain Appendix B The Mississippi River Commission The condition of this rich valley of the lower Mississippi, immediately after and since the war, it had one of the disastrous effects of war most to be deplored. Fictitious property, in slaves, was not only righteously destroyed, but very much of the work which had depended upon the slave labor was also destroyed or greatly impaired, especially the levee system. It might have been expected by those who have not investigated the subject that such important improvements as the construction and maintenance of the levees would have been assumed at once by the several states, but what can the state do, where the people are under subjection to rates of interest ranging from eighteen to thirty percent, and are also under the necessity of pledging their crops in advance even of planting at these rates for the privilege of purchasing all of their supplies at one hundred percent profit. It has needed but little attention to make it perfectly obvious that the control of the Mississippi River, if undertaken at all, must be undertaken by the national government and cannot be compassed by states. The river must be treated as a unit. Its control cannot be compassed under a divided or separate system of administration. Neither are the states especially interested, competent, to combine among themselves for the necessary operations. The work must begin far up the river, at least as far as Cairo, if not beyond, and must be conducted upon a consistent general plan throughout the course of the river. It does not need technical or scientific knowledge to comprehend the elements of the case if one will give a little time and attention to the subject, and when a Mississippi River commission has been constituted, as the existing commission is, of thoroughly able men of different walks in life, may it not be suggested that their verdict in the case should be accepted as conclusive, so far as any a priori theory of construction or control can be considered conclusive? It should be remembered that upon this board are General Gilmore, General Comstock, and General Sutter of the United States Engineers, Professor Henry Mitchell, the most competent authority on the question of hydrography, of the United States Coast Survey, B. B. Harrod, the State Engineer of Louisiana, James B. Eads, whose success with the Jetties at New Orleans is a warrant of his competency, and Judge Taylor of Indiana. It would be presumption on the part of any single man, however skilled, to contest the judgment of such a board as this. The method of improvement proposed by the commission is at once in accord with the results of engineering experience and with observations of nature where meeting are once. As in nature the growth of trees and their prwnness, where undermined to fall across the slope and support the bank, secures at some points a fair depth of channel and some degree of permanence, so in the project of the engineer the use of timber and brush and the encouragement of forest growth are the main features. It is proposed to reduce the width, where excessive by brush wood dikes, at first low, but raised higher and higher as the mud of the river settles under their shelter, and finally slope them back at the angle upon which willows will grow freely. In this work there are many details connected with the forms of these sheltered dikes, their arrangements so as to present a series of settling basins, etc., a description of which would only complicate the conception. Through the larger part of the river works of contraction will not be required, but nearly all the banks on the concave side of the beds must be held against the wear of the stream, and much of the opposite banks defended at critical points. The works, having in view this conservative object, may be generally designated works of revetment, and these also will be largely of brush wood woven in continuous carpets or twined into wire netting. This veneering process has been successfully employed on the Missouri River, and in some cases they have so covered themselves with sediments and have become so overgrown with willows that they may be regarded as permanent. In securing these mats, rubber stone is to be used in small quantities, and in some instances the dressed slope between high and low river will have to be more or less paved with stone. Anyone who has been on the Rhine will have observed operations not unlike those to which we have just referred, and indeed most of the rivers of Europe flowing among their own alluvia have required similar treatment in the interest of navigation and agriculture. The levee is the crowning work of bank revetment, although not necessarily an immediate connection. It may be set back a short distance from the reveted bank, but it is in effect the requisite parapet. The flood river and the low river cannot be brought into register and compelled to unite in the excavation of a single permanent channel without a complete control of all the stages, and even the abnormal rise must be provided against because this would endanger the levee and once in force behind the works of revetment would tear them also away. Under the general principle that the local slope of a river is the result and measure of the resistance of its bed, it is evident that a narrow and deep stream should have less slope because it has less frictional surface in proportion to capacity, i.e. less perimeter in proportion to area of cross-section. The ultimate effect of levees and revetments confining the floods and bringing all the stages of the river into register is to deepen the channel and let down the slope. The first effect of the levees is to raise the surface, but this, by inducing greater velocity of flow, inevitably causes an enlargement of section, and if this enlargement is prevented from being made at the expense of the banks, the bottom must give way and the form of the waterway be so improved as to admit this flow with less rise. The actual experience with levees upon the Mississippi River, with no attempt to hold the banks, has been favourable, and no one can doubt upon the evidence furnished in the reports of the Commission that if the earliest levees had been accompanied by revetment of banks and made complete, we should have today a river navigable at low water and an adjacent country safe from inundation. Of course it would be illogical to conclude that the constrained river can ever lower its flood slope so as to make levees unnecessary, but it is believed that by this lateral constraint the river as a conduit may be so improved in form that even those rare floods which result from the coincident rising of many tributaries will find vent without destroying levees of ordinary height. That the actual capacity of a channel through a luvium depends upon its service during floods has been often shown, but this capacity does not include anomalous but recurrent floods. It is hardly worthwhile to consider the projects for relieving the Mississippi River floods by creating new outlets since these sensational propositions have commended themselves only to unthinking minds and have no support among engineers. Were the river-bed cast iron a resort to openings for surplus waters might be a necessity, but as the bottom is yielding, and as the best form of outlet is a single deep channel, as realizing the least ratio of perimeter to area of cross-section, there could not well be a more unphilosophical method of treatment than the multiplication of avenues of escape. In the foregoing statement the attempt has been made to condense, in as limited space as the importance of the subject would merit, the general elements of the problem and the general features of the proposed method of improvement which has been adopted by the Mississippi River Commission. The writer cannot help feeling that it is somewhat presumptuous on his part to attempt to present the facts relating to an enterprise which calls for the highest scientific skill, but it is a matter which interests every citizen of the United States and is one of the methods of reconstruction which ought to be approved. It is a war claim which implies no private gain and no compensation except for one of the cases of destruction incident to war which may well be repaired by the people of the whole country. Edward Atkinson, Boston, April 14, 1882. Having now arrived nearly at the end of our travels, I am induced here, I conclude, again to mention what I consider as one of the most remarkable traits in the national character of the Americans, namely their exquisite sensitiveness and soreness respecting everything said or written concerning them. Of this perhaps the most remarkable example I can give is the effect produced on nearly every class of readers by the appearance of Captain Basil Hall's Travels in North America. In fact, it was a sort of moral earthquake and the vibration it occasioned through the nerves of the Republic from one corner of the Union to the other was by no means over when I left the country in July 1831 a couple of years after the shock. I was in Cincinnati when these volumes came out, but it was not till July 1830 that I procured a copy of them. One bookseller to whom I applied told me that he had had a few copies before he understood the nature of the work, but that after becoming acquainted with it nothing should induce him to sell another. Other persons of his profession must, however, have been less scrupulous, for the book was read in city, town, village, and hamlet, steamboat, and stagecoach, and a sort of war-woop was sent forth, perfectly unprecedented in my recollection upon any occasion whatever. An ardent desire for approbation and a delicate sensitiveness under censure have always, I believe, been considered as amiable traits of character, but the condition into which the appearance of Captain Hall's work through the Republic shows plainly that these feelings, if carried to excess, produce a weakness which amounts to imbecility. It was perfectly astonishing to hear men who, on other subjects, were of some judgment utter their opinions upon this. I never heard of any instance in which the common sense generally found in national criticism was so overthrown by passion. I do not speak of the want of justice and a fair and liberal interpretation. These, perhaps, were hardly to be expected. Other nations have been called thin-skinned, but the citizens of the Union have, apparently, no skins at all. They wince if a breeze blows over them, unless it be tempered with adulation. It was not, therefore, very surprising that the acute and forcible observations of a traveller they knew would be listened to, should be received testily. The extraordinary features of the business were, first, the excess of the rage into which they lashed themselves, and secondly, the plurality of the inventions by which they attempted to account for the severity with which they fancied they had been treated. Not content with declaring that the volumes contained no word of truth from beginning to end, which is an assertion I heard made very nearly as often as they were mentioned, the whole country set to work to discover the causes why Captain Hall had visited the United States and why he had published his book. I have heard it said, with as much precision and gravity as if the statement had been conveyed by an official report, that Captain Hall had been sent out by the British government expressly for the purpose of checking the growing admiration of England for the government of the United States, that it was by a commission from the Treasury he had come and that it was only in obedience to orders that he had found anything to object to. I do not give this as the gossip of a coterie. I am persuaded that it is the belief of a very considerable portion of the country. So deep is the conviction of this singular people that they cannot be seen without being admired, that they will not admit the possibility that anyone should honestly and sincerely find ought to disapprove in them or their country. The American reviews are many of them, I believe, well known in England. I need not, therefore, quote them here, but I sometimes wonder that they, none of them, ever thought of translating Obadiah's curse into classic American. If they had done so on placing he in Basil Hall between brackets instead of he Obadiah, it would have saved them a world of trouble. I can hardly describe the curiosity with which I sat down at length to peruse these tremendous volumes. Still less can I do justice to my surprise at their contents. To say that I found not one exaggerated statement throughout the work is by no means saying enough. It is impossible for anyone who knows the country not to see that Captain Hall earnestly sought out things to admire and commend. When he praises, it is with evident pleasure, and when he finds fault, it is with evident reluctance and restraint, accepting where motives purely patriotic urge him to state roundly what it is for the benefit of his country should be known. In fact, Captain Hall saw the country to the greatest possible advantage, furnished of course with letters of introduction to the most distinguished individuals and with the still more influential recommendation of his own reputation, he was received in full drawing-room style and state from one end of the union to the other. He saw the country in full dress, and had little or no opportunity of judging of it unhousled, unanointed, unannealed, with all its imperfections on its head, as I and my family too often had. Captain Hall had certainly excellent opportunities of making himself acquainted with the form of the government and the laws, and of receiving, moreover, the best oral commentary upon them in conversation with the most distinguished citizens. Of these opportunities he made excellent use. Nothing important met his eye which did not receive that sort of analytical attention which an experienced and philosophical traveller alone can give. This has made his volumes highly interesting and valuable, but I am deeply persuaded that we're a man of equal penetration to visit the United States with no other means of becoming acquainted with the national character than the ordinary working-day intercourse of life, he would conceive an infinitely lower idea of the moral atmosphere of the country than Captain Hall appears to have done. And the internal conviction on my mind is strong that if Captain Hall had not placed a firm restraint on himself he must have given expression to far deeper indignation than any he has uttered against many points in the American character with which he shows from other circumstances that he was well acquainted. His rule appears to have been to state just so much of the truth as would leave on the mind of his readers a correct impression, at least the cost of pain to the sensitive folks he was writing about. He states his own opinions and feelings, and leaves it to be inferred that he has good grounds for adopting them. But he spares the Americans the bitterness which a detail of the circumstances would have produced. If any one chooses to say that some wicked antipathy to twelve millions of strangers is the origin of my opinion I must bear it, and were the question one of mere idle speculation I certainly would not court the abuse I must meet for stating it. But it is not so. The candor which he expresses and evidently feels they mistake for irony, or totally distrust. His unwillingness to give pain to persons from whom he has received kindness they scornfully reject as affectation, and although they must know right well in their own secret hearts how infinitely more they lay at his mercy than he has chosen to betray, they pretend even to themselves that he has exaggerated the bad points of their character and institutions, whereas the truth is that he has let them off with a degree of tenderness which may be quite suitable for him to exercise, however little merited, while at the same time he has most industriously magnified their merits, whenever he could possibly find anything favourable. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org. LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPE By Mark Twain. Appendix D. THE UNDIING HEAD In a remote part of the North lived a man and his sister who had never seen a human being. seldom, if ever, had the man any cause to go from home, for as his wants demanded food he had only to go a little distance from the lodge, and there, in some particular spot, places arrows, with their barbs in the ground, telling his sister where they had been placed every morning she would go in search and never fail of finding each stuck through the heart of a deer. She had then only to drag them into the lodge and prepare their food. Thus she lived till she attained womanhood, when one day her brother, whose name was Yamil, said to her, Sister, the time is at hand when you will be ill. Listen to my advice. If you do not, it will probably be the cause of my death. Take the implements with which we kindle our fires. Go some distance from our lodge and build a separate fire. When you are in want of food I will tell you where to find it. You must cook for yourself, and I will for myself. When you are ill do not attempt to come near the lodge or bring any of the utensils you use. Be sure all was to fasten to your belt the implements you need, for you do not know when the time will come. As for myself I must do the best I can. His sister promised to obey him in all he had said. Shortly after, her brother had caused to go from home. She was alone in her lodge, combing her hair. She had just untied the belt to which the implements were fastened when suddenly the event to which her brother had eluded occurred. She ran out of the lodge, but in her haste forgot the belt. Afraid to return she stood for some time thinking. Finally she decided to enter the lodge and get it. For, thought she, my brother is not at home, and I will stay but a moment to catch hold of it. She went back, running in suddenly. She caught hold of it, and was coming out when her brother came in sight. He knew what was the matter. Oh, he said, did I not tell you to take care? But now you have killed me. She was going on her way, but her brother said to her, What can you do there now? The accident has happened. Go in and stay where you have always stayed, and what will become of you? You have killed me. He then laid aside his hunting-dress and accouterments, and soon after both his feet began to turn black, so that he could not move. Still he directed his sister where to place the arrows that she might always have food. The inflammation continued to increase and had now reached his first rib, and he said, Sister, my end is near. You must do as I tell you. You see my medicine sack, and my war-club tied to it. It contains all my medicines, and my war-plumes, and my paints of all colors. As soon as the inflammation reaches my breast, you will take my war-club. It has a sharp point, and you will cut off my head. When it is free from my body, take it, place its neck in the sack, which you must open at one end. Then hang it up in its former place. Do not forget my bow and arrows. One of the last you will take to procure food. The remainder tie in my sack, and then hang it up, so that I can look towards the door. Now and then I will speak to you, but not often." His sister again promised to obey. In a little time his breast was affected. Now, said he, take the club and strike off my head. She was afraid, but he told her to muster courage. Strike, said he, and a smile was on his face. Mustering all her courage she gave the blow and cut off the head. Now, said the head, place me where I told you. And fearfully she obeyed it in all its commands. Retaining its animation it looked around the lodge as usual, and it would command its sister to go in such places as it thought would procure for her the flesh of different animals she needed. One day the head said, The time is not distant when I shall be freed from this situation, and I shall have to undergo many sore evils. So the superior Manito decrees, and I must bear all patiently. In this situation we must leave the head. In a certain part of the country was a village inhabited by a numerous and warlike band of Indians. In this village was a family of ten young men, brothers. It was in the spring of the year that the youngest of these blackened his face and fasted. His dreams were propitious. Having ended his fast he went secretly for his brothers at night so that none in the village could overhear or find out the direction they intended to go. Though their drum was heard, yet that was a common occurrence. Having ended the usual formalities he told how favourable his dreams were, and that he had called them together to know if they would accompany him in a war excursion. They all answered they would. The third brother from the eldest noted for his oddities, coming up with his war-club when his brother had ceased speaking, jumped up, Yes, said he, I will go, this will be the way I will treat those I am going to fight, and he struck the post in the centre of the lodge and gave a yell. The others spoke to him, saying, Slow, slow, Mujiquis, when you are in other people's lodges. So he sat down. Then in turn they took the drum and sang their songs and closed with a feast. The youngest told them not to whisper their intention to their wives, but secretly to prepare for their journey. They all promised obedience, and Mujiquis was the first to say so. The time for their departure drew near. Word was given to assemble on a certain night when they would depart immediately. Mujiquis was loud in his demands for his moccasins. Several times his wife asked him the reason. Besides, said she, you have a good pair on. Quick, quick, said he, since you must know we are going on a war excursion, so be quick. He thus revealed the secret. That night they met and gathered. The snow was on the ground, and they travelled all night, lest others should follow them. When it was daylight the leader took snow and made a ball of it, then tossing it into the air he said, It was in this way I saw snow fall in a dream, so that I could not be tracked. And he told them to keep close to each other for fear of losing themselves, as the snow began to fall in very large flakes. Near as they walked it was with difficulty they could see each other. The snow continued falling all that day and the following night, so it was impossible to track them. They had now walked for several days, and Mujiquis was always in the rear. One day, running suddenly forward, he gave the Sao Sao Quang, footnote, war-woop, and struck a tree with his war-club, and it broke into pieces as if struck with lightning. Brothers said he, this will be the way I will serve those we are going to fight. The leader answered, Slow, slow Mujiquis, the one I lead you to is not to be thought of so lightly. Again he fell back and thought to himself, What? What? Who can this be he is leading us to? He felt fearful and was silent. Day after day they travelled on till they came to an extensive plain on the borders of which human bones were bleaching in the sun. The leader spoke, They are the bones of those who have gone before us. None has ever yet returned to tell the sad tale of their fate. Again Mujiquis became restless and running forward gave the accustomed yell. Advancing to a large rock which stood above the ground he struck it and it fell to pieces. See, brothers, said he, thus will I treat those whom we are going to fight. Still, still, once more said the leader, he to whom I am leading you is not to be compared to the rock. Mujiquis fell back thoughtful, saying to himself, I wonder who this can be that he is going to attack? And he was afraid. Still they continued to see the remains of former warriors who had been to the place where they were now going, some of whom had retreated as far back as the place where they first saw the bones, beyond which no one had ever escaped. At last they came to a piece of rising ground, from which they plainly distinguished, sleeping on a distant mountain, a mammoth bear. The distance between them was very great, but the size of the animal caused him to be plainly seen. There, said the leader, it is he to whom I am leading you. Here our troubles will commence, for he is a Mishimokwa and a Manitol. It is he who has that we prize so dearly, i.e. to obtain which the warriors whose bones we saw sacrificed their lives. You must not be fearful, be manly. We shall find him asleep. Then the leader went forward and touched the belt around the animal's neck. This, said he, is what we must get. It contains the wampum. Then they requested the elders to try and slip the belt over the bear's head, who appeared to be fast asleep, as he was not in the least disturbed by the attempt to obtain the belt. All their efforts were in vain, till it came to the one next to the youngest. He tried, and the belt moved nearly over the monster's head, but he could get it no farther. Then the youngest one, and the leader, made his attempt and succeeded. Placing it on the back of the oldest, he said, Now we must run! And off they started. When one became fatigued with its weight another would relieve him. Thus they ran till they had passed the bones of all former warriors, and were some distance beyond when, looking back, they saw the monster slowly rising. He stood some time before he missed his wampum. Soon they heard his tremendous howl, like distant thunder, slowly filling all the sky. And then they heard him speak and say, Who can it be that has dared to steal my wampum? Earth is not so large, but I can find them. And he descended from the hill in pursuit, as if convulsed the earth shook with every jump he made. Very soon he approached the party. They, however, kept the belt, exchanging it from one to another, and encouraging each other. But he gained on them fast. Brothers, said the leader, Has never any one of you when fasting dreamed of some friendly spirit who would aid you as a guardian? A dead silence followed. Well, said he, Fasting, I dreamed of being in danger of instant death when I saw a small lodge with smoke curling from its top. An old man lived in it, and I dreamed he helped me. And may it be verified soon, he said, running forward and giving the peculiar yell and a howl as if the sounds came from the depths of his stomach and what is called Checaodum. Getting upon a piece of rising ground, behold, a lodge with smoke curling from its top appeared. This gave them all new strength, and they ran forward and entered it. The leaders spoke to the old man who sat in the lodge, saying, Nimishaw, help us. We claim your protection, for the great bear will kill us. Sit down and eat, my grandchildren, said the old man. Who is a great Manito? said he. There is none but me. But let me look. And he opened the door of the lodge. When Lo, at a little distance he saw the enraged animal coming on with slow but powerful leaps. He closed the door. Yes, said he. He is indeed a great Manito. My grandchildren, you will be the cause of my losing my life. You asked my protection, and I granted it. So now come what may I will protect you? When the bear arrives at the door, you must run out of the other door of the lodge. Then putting his hand to the side of the lodge where he sat, he brought out a bag which he opened. Taking out two small black dogs he placed them before him. These are the ones I use when I fight, said he. And he commenced patting with both hands the sides of one of them, and he began to swell out. So that he soon filled the lodge by his bulk. And he had great strong teeth. When he attained his full size he growled, and from that moment, as from instinct he jumped out the door and met the bear, who in another leap would have reached the lodge. A terrible combat ensued. The skies rang with the howls of the fierce monsters. The remaining dogs soon took the field. The brothers, at the outset, took the advice of the old man and escaped through the opposite side of the lodge. They had not proceeded far before they heard the dying cry of one of the dogs, and soon after of the other. Well, said the leader, the old man will share their fate, so run, he will soon be after us. They started with fresh vigor for they had received food from the old man, but very soon the bear came in sight and again was fast gaining upon them. Again the leader asked the brothers if they could do nothing for their safety. All were silent. The leader, running forward, did as before. I dreamed he cried that, being in great trouble, an old man helped me who was a manateau. We shall soon see his lodge. Taking courage they still went on. After going a short distance they saw the lodge of the old manateau. They entered immediately and claimed his protection, telling him a manateau was after them. The old man, setting meat before them, said, eat. Who is a manateau? There is no manateau but me. There is none whom I fear. And the earth trembled as the monster advanced. The old man opened the door and saw him coming. He shut it slowly and said, Yes, my grandchildren, you have brought trouble upon me. Procuring his medicine sack he took out his small war-clubs of Blackstone and told the young men to run through the other side of the lodge. As he handled the clubs they became very large and the old man stepped out just as the bear reached the door. Then striking him with one of the clubs it broke in pieces. The bear stumbled, renewing the attempt with the other war-clubs that also was broken, but the bear fell senseless. Each blow the old man gave him sounded like a clap of thunder, and the howls of the bear ran along till they filled the heavens. The young men had now run some distance when they looked back. They could see that the bear was recovering from the blows. First he moved his paws, and soon they saw him rise on his feet. The old man shared the fate of the first, for they now heard his cries as he was torn in pieces. Again the monster was in pursuit and fast overtaking them. Not yet discouraged the young men kept on their way, but the bear was now so close that the leader once more applied to his brothers, but they could do nothing. Well, said he, my dreams will soon be exhausted. After this I have but one more. He advanced, invoking his guardian spirit to aid him. Once, said he, I dreamed that, being sorely pressed, I came to a large lake, on the shore of which was a canoe, partly out of water, having ten paddles, all in readiness. Do not fear, he cried, we shall soon get it. And so it was, even as he had said. Coming to the lake they saw the canoe with ten paddles and immediately they embarked. Scarcely had they reached the center of the lake, when they saw the bear arrive at its borders. Lifting himself on his hind legs he looked all around. Then he waded into the water. Then losing his footing he turned back, and commenced making the circuit of the lake. Meantime the party remained stationary in the center to watch his movements. He traveled all around till at last he came to the place from whence he started. Then he commenced drinking up the water, and they saw the current fast setting in towards his open mouth. The leader encouraged them to paddle hard for the opposite shore, when only a short distance from land the current had increased so much that they were drawn back by it, and all their efforts to reach it were in vain. Then the leader again spoke, telling them to meet their fates manfully. Now is the time, Majiquis, said he, to show your prowess. Take courage, and sit at the bow of the canoe. And when it approaches his mouth try what effect your club will have on his head. He obeyed, and stood ready to give the blow, while the leaders who steered directed the canoe for the open mouth of the monster. Rapidly advancing they were just about to enter his mouth when Majiquis struck him a tremendous blow on the head, and gave the saw-saw clown. The bear's limbs doubled under him, and he fell, stunned by the blow. But before Majiquis could renew it, the monster disgorged all the water he had drank, with a force which sent the canoe with great velocity to the opposite shore. Instantly leaving the canoe, again they fled, and on they went till they were completely exhausted. The earth again shook, and soon they saw the monster hard after them. Their spirits drooped, and they felt discouraged. The leader exerted himself by actions and words to cheer them up, and once more he asked them if they thought of nothing, or could do nothing for their rescue. And as before, all were silent. Then he said, this is the last time I can apply to my guardian spirit. Now, if we do not succeed, our fates are decided. He ran forward, invoking his spirit with great earnestness, and gave the yell. We shall soon arrive, said he to his brothers, at the place where my last guardian spirit dwells. In him I place great confidence. Do not. Do not be afraid, or your limbs will be fear-bound. We shall soon reach his lodge. Run! Run! he cried. Returning now to Yamo, he had passed all the time in the same condition we had left him. The head directing his sister in order to procure food, where to place the magic arrows, and speaking at long intervals. One day the sister saw the eyes of the head brightened, as if with pleasure. At last it spoke. Oh, sister! said, in what a pitiful situation you have been the cause of placing me. Soon, very soon a party of young men will arrive and apply to me for aid. But alas, how can I give what I would have done with so much pleasure? Nevertheless, take two arrows and place them where you have been in the habit of placing the others, and have meat prepared and cooked before they arrive. When you hear them coming and calling on my name, go out and say, alas, it is long ago that an accident befell him. I was the cause of it. If they still come near, ask them in and set meat before them, and now you must follow my direction strictly. When the bear is near, go out and meet him. You will take my medicine sack, bows and arrows, and my head. You must then untie the sack, and spread out before you my paints of all colors, my war-eagle feathers, my tufts of dried hair, and whatever else it contains. As the bear approaches you will take all these articles one by one and say to him, this is my deceased brother's paint, and so on with all the other articles, throwing each of them as far as you can. The virtues contained in them will cause him to totter, and to complete his destruction. You will take my head, and that too you will cast as far off as you can, crying aloud, See, this is my deceased brother's head. He will then fall senseless. By this time the young men will have eaten, and you will call them to your assistance. You must then cut the carcass into pieces, yes, into small pieces, and scatter them to the four winds, for unless you do this he will again revive. She promised that all should be done, as he said. She had only time to prepare the meat, when the voice of the leader was heard calling upon Yamo for aid. The woman went out and said as her brother had directed, but the war-party, being closely pursued, came up to the lodge. She invited them in and placed the meat before them. While they were eating, they heard the bear approaching. Untieing the medicine sack and taking the head, she had all in readiness for his approach. When he came up she did as she had been told, and before she had expended the paints and feathers the bear began to totter, but still advancing, came close to the woman. Saying as she was commanded, she then took the head and cast it as far from her as she could. As it rolled along the ground, the blood, excited by the feelings of the head in this terrible scene, gushed from the nose and mouth. The bear, tottering, soon fell with a tremendous noise. Then she cried for help, and the young men came rushing out having partially regained their strength and spirits. Mujikowis, stepping up, gave a yell and struck him with a blow upon the head. This he repeated, till it seemed like a mass of brains, while the others, as quick as possible, cut him into very small pieces, which they then scattered in every direction. While thus employed, happening to look around where they had thrown the meat, wonderful to behold, they saw starting up and turning off in every direction small black bears, such as are seen at the present day. The country was soon overspread with these black animals, and it was from this monster that the present race of bears derived their origin. Having thus overcome their pursuer, they returned to the lodge. In the meantime the woman, gathering the implements she had used, and the head placed them again in the sack. But the head did not speak again, probably from its great exertion to overcome the monster. Having spent so much time and traversed so vast a country in their flight, the young men gave up the idea of ever returning to their own country, and gain being plenty they determined to remain where they now were. One day they moved off some distance from the lodge for the purpose of hunting, having left the wampum with the woman. They were very successful and amused themselves as all young men do when alone, by talking and jesting with each other. One of them spoke and said, We have all this sport to ourselves, let us go and ask our sister if she will not let us bring the head to this place, as it is still alive. It may be pleased to hear us talk and be in our company. In the meantime take food to our sister. They went and requested the head. She told them to take it, and they took it to their hunting grounds, and tried to amuse it. But only at times did they see its eyes beam with pleasure. One day, while busy in their encampment, they were unexpectedly attacked by unknown Indians. The skirmish was long contested and bloody. Many of their foes were slain, but they still were thirty to one. The young men fought desperately till they were all killed. The attacking party then retreated to a height of ground to muster their men and to count the number of missing and slain. One of their young men had stayed away, and in endeavouring to overtake them came to the place where the head was hung up. Seeing that alone retain animation he eyed it for some time with fear and surprise. However he took it down and opened the sack, and was much pleased to see the beautiful feathers, one of which he placed on his head. Starting off it waved gracefully over him till he reached his party. When he threw down the head and sack and told them how he had found it, and that the sack was full of paints and feathers, they all looked at the head and made sport of it. Numbers of the young men took the paint and painted themselves, and one of the party took the head by the hair, and said, Look, you ugly thing, and see your paints on the faces of warriors. But the feathers were so beautiful that numbers of them also placed them on their heads. Then again they used all kinds of indignity to the head, for which they were in turn repaid by the death of those who had used the feathers. Then the chief commanded them to throw away all except the head. We will see, said he, when we get home, what we can do with it. We will try to make it shut its eyes. When they reached their homes, they took it to the council lodge and hung it up before the fire, fastening it with raw hides soaked, which would shrink and become tightened by the action of the fire. We will then see, they said, if we cannot make it shut its eyes. Meantime for several days the sister had been waiting for the young men to bring back the head. Till at last getting impatient she went in search of it. The young men she found lying within short distances of each other, dead, and covered with wounds. Various other bodies lay scattered in different directions around them. She searched for the head and sack, but they were nowhere to be found. She raised her voice and wept and blackened her face. Then she walked in different directions till she came to the place from whence the head had been taken. Then she found the magic bow and arrows, where the young men, ignorant of their qualities, had left them. She thought to herself that she would find her brother's head and came to a piece of rising ground and there saw some of his paints and feathers. These she carefully put up and hung upon the branch of a tree till her return. At dusk she arrived at the first lodge at a very extensive village. Here she used a charm, common among Indians, when they wished to meet with a kind reception. On applying to the old man and woman of the lodge she was kindly received. She made known her errand. The old man promised to aid her and told her the head was hung up before the council fire and that the chiefs of the village with their young men kept watch over it continually. The former are considered as manateaus. She said she only wished to see it and would be satisfied if she could only get to the door of the lodge. She knew she had not sufficient power to take it by force. Come with me, said the Indian, I will take you there. They went and they took their seats near the door. The council lodge was filled with warriors amusing themselves with games and constantly keeping up a fire to smoke the head, as they said, to make dry meat. They saw the head move and, not knowing what to make of it, one spoke and said, Ha! it is beginning to feel the effects of the smoke! The sister looked up from the door and her eyes met those of her brother and tears rolled down the cheeks of the head. Well, said the chief, I thought we would make you do something at last. Look! Look at it! Shedding tears! said he to those around him, and they all laughed and passed their jokes upon it. The chief, looking around and observing the woman, after some time said to the man who came with her, Who have you got there? I have never seen that woman before in our village. Yes, replied the man, You have seen her. She is a relation of mine, and seldom goes out. She stays at my lodge, and asked me to allow her to come with me to this place. In the center of the lodge sat one of those young men who are always forward and fond of boasting and displaying themselves before others. Why, said he, I have seen her often, and it is to this lodge I go almost every night to court her. All the others laughed and continued their games. The young man did not know he was telling a lie to the woman's advantage, who by that means escaped. She returned to the man's lodge, and immediately set out for her own country. Coming to the spot where the bodies of her adopted brothers lay, she placed them together, their feet towards the east. Then, taking an axe which she had, she cast it up into the air, crying out, Brothers, get up from under it, or it will fall on you. This she repeated three times, and the third time the brothers all rose and stood on their feet. Mojikovis commenced rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. Why, said he, I have overslept myself. No indeed, said one of the others, do you not know we were all killed, and that it is our sister who has brought us to life? The young men took the bodies of their enemies and burned them. Soon after the woman went to procure wives for them in a distant country. They knew not where, but she returned with ten young women which she gave to the ten young men, beginning with the eldest. Mojikovis stepped to and fro uneasy lest he should not get the one he liked, but he was not disappointed, for she fell to his lot, and they were well matched, for she was a female magician. They then all moved into a very large lodge, and their sister told them that the women must now take turns in going to her brother's head every night trying to untie it. They all said they would do so with pleasure. The eldest made the first attempt, and with a rushing noise she fled through the air. Toward daylight she returned. She had been unsuccessful, as she succeeded in untieing only one of the knots. All took their turns regularly, and each one succeeded in untieing only one knot each time. But when the youngest went she commenced the work as soon as she reached the lodge. Although it had always been occupied, still the Indians never could see any one. For ten nights now the smoke had not ascended, but filled the lodge and drove them out. This last night they were all driven out, and the young woman carried off the head. The young people and the sister heard the young woman coming high through the air, and they heard her saying, Prepare the body of our brother! And as soon as they heard it, they went to a small lodge where the black body of Yamole. His sister commenced cutting the neck part from which the neck had been severed. She cut so deep as to cause it to bleed, and the others who were present, by rubbing the body and applying medicines, expelled the blackness. In the meantime the one who brought it, by cutting the neck of the head, caused that also to bleed. As soon as she arrived they placed that close to the body, and by aid of medicines and various other means succeeded in restoring Yamole to all his former beauty and manliness. All rejoiced in the happy termination of their troubles, and they had spent some time joyfully together when Yamole said, Now I will divide the wampum, and getting the belt which contained it he commenced with the eldest, giving it in equal portions. But the youngest got the most splendid and beautiful as the bottom of the belt held the richest and rarest. They were told that, since they had all once died and were restored to life, they were no longer mortal but spirits, and they were assigned different stations in the invisible world. Only Majika was his place was, however, named. He was to direct the West Wind, hence generally called Kebeyun, there to remain forever. They were commanded, as they had it in their power, to do good to the inhabitants of the earth, and, forgetting their sufferings in procuring the wampum, to give all things with a liberal hand. And they were also commanded that it should also be held by them sacred. Those grains or shells of the pale hue to be emblematic of peace, while those of the darker hue would lead to evil and war. The spirits then, amid songs and shouts, took their flight to their respective abodes on high, while a Yamo, with his sister Yamokwa, descended into the depths below. End of Appendix D. And the end of life on the misc-