LETTER VI. (continued 2)

A ground swell, rather higher than the rest, placed us upon an elevation, from whence we looked down upon the enchanting vale of Ottowa. A verdant plain lay below us, over which two bright rivers were winding, the Fox and the Des Plaines, which meeting, formed a broad and noble stream, which runs 220 miles from this spot to the Mississippi. The Illinois, first takes that name here. The plain was bounded in the distance by groves of stately trees, and by the bluffs of the Illinois. In the centre of this fair valley, just where the ‘bright waters meet,’ is the little town of Ottowa. It is youngling, just come out, and contains only 1,006 inhabitants, but is rapidly increasing. A gentle descent of about a mile, brought us to the banks of the Fox, beneath the shadow of the shrubbery which fringed its shores we drove some time following its windings and gazing at the bright sheen of its waters glittering through the foliage. We forded it twice while crossing the valley, and so pure and transparent was the stream, that the pebbles which lay upon the sandstone floor, could be seen as distinctly as in the hand. The canal passes here, and the workmen were building a handsome viaduct, across the stream. The Fox river is here about 100 yards wide, but is low at this season. It rises in Wisconsin, and is navigable to within fifteen miles of lake Michigan near Milwaukie. Many parts of its shore are richly wooded. The rapids upon the stream afford a great amount of water power, serviceable for machinery. A short drive, after again crossing the Fox, brought us before the door of the principal hotel, called the Mansion House. The site of Ottowa only having been laid out in 1830, ten years since, you cannot expect many details of its fine streets and churches; I leave that for the next year’s tourist. The buildings principally consist of shops, arranged in a square, upon one side of which is our hotel, and upon another side, a large brick court-house is in progress—this being a county town. The Ottawans are much disappointed that the canal did not terminate at their town, instead of Peru, fifteen miles lower down the Illinois. Notwithstanding this, the town must increase, and enjoys considerable trade, as it is surrounded by a good farming country, prairie and woodland, with abundance of limestone and sandstone in its vicinity. Its water power will in time render it another Rochester for the Genessee farmers, who will soon be raising their grain in the plains around. Beside this it is the centre of an extensive coal basin, which crops out in various places in the neighborhood. Chicago now receives supplies of that article here, which she once obtained from Ohio. When the Illinois is high, steamboats from St. Louis reach here, but at present they ascend no higher than Peru. They gave us a very nice supper here, which we partook in company with the boarders, travellers, and our driver. This last attacked the ham and broiled chickens right manfully, declaring he was as hungry as a prairie wolf. Pray do not expect a bill of fare at every place—suffice every thing was as good as could be expected—nay better, for who would look for such city dainties as orange sweetmeats and iced cakes in this young wilderness settlement. Every thing desirable can be obtained, by the steamboats here, except good cooking, and style at table—these will come in time, and their absence affords variety in our wanderings.

A peep at the ‘Ottowa Republican,’ and several neighboring papers, amused us until the stage horn sounded—we entered our stage—the leaders were touched, and we bade adieu to Ottowa I fear forever. I shall not soon forget that lovely purple evening, which threw such a charm over the scenery as we drove from Ottowa to Peru, a distance of fifteen miles. Our road lay beside the bright Illinois, upon prairie or bottom land, which lines each side of the river throughout its whole length, making a valley from one to five miles broad, skirted with high limestone and sandstone bluffs. The ground was gay with flowers, and as the twilight threw its purple haze over the opposite shore, it became alive with hundreds of brilliant fire flies, larger and more luminous than any I had ever seen. Many a time have you and I sat in our early days upon the banks of the Passaic, watching these brilliant creatures as they starred the black robe of night, but we never beheld them so large, and dazzling as these western lights. The river was as smooth as a mirror, upon which was reflected the trees and rocks with perfect distinctness, but it had a darker hue than those bright waters we had passed, being tinted with a brownish topaz. I remarked this to my companion, who attributed its dark shade to the alluvion and black mould through which it flowed. ‘It cannot be wholesome,’ I said, ‘I should not like to drink it.’ ‘I guess if you had been on top of that rock three hundred years ago,’ said an old man who sat opposite me, peering out the stage at the opposite bluffs, ‘you’d been glad to drink it ever so muddy or unhealthy.’ I opened my eyes and stared enquiringly at him. ‘That’s the rock where the Ingins were starved to death,’ he said in answer to my look. ‘Indeed!’ I exclaimed, ‘Is that starved rock?’ Our heads were out the window, and we looked with much interest upon the scene of that Indian tragedy. A high cliff of alternate sandstone and limestone layers, stands out like a turret from the rocky bluffs one hundred and forty feet above the river—it was spotted with moss, and fringed with trees, which the sun’s last rays had tinged with gold, and amber, and rose. ‘Yes, ma’am, that’s the rock,’ continued our fellow traveller. ‘Down to the river they sunk their kettles with bark ropes, in hopes of getting water, but the cruel Pottawattamies cut the strings, and so they died.’ And so they died! What images of anguish, sorrow, rage and despair, does that short sentence convey to our minds!

The fate of the unhappy band of Illini, who dwelt in the fair land which has taken their name, has been related by Schoolcraft and Flint; but as I think you have not seen their works, I will tell it you. The Illini were defeated in battle by the Pottowattamies, and retreated to the top of this rock, which by a narrow ledge joins the land. This spot they defended some time, but at length their provisions and water failed. They scorned to surrender, but one by one lay down in dignified composure, and, like Cæsar, drawing their mantles over them, died in silence. The last one who had defended the rock at length expired, and the enemy seeing no one appear, entered the strong-hold to find them all at rest. Their bones repose there now. The rock is passed, and upon the prairie at our right we behold the brazen glare of a fire lighting up a dozen dark figures which are flitting around it. This is an emigrant bivouac. Some of their wagons taken from their wheels shelter the center where the men repose; the women and children remain in the other vehicles. A fire in the midst keeps off the moschetoes, and perhaps a prairie wolf, thus affording under the mild sky a comfortable place of repose without the expense of a hotel. The prairie grass forms a soft bed for the men, and food for the cattle.

‘I reckon the Ottowa folks are pretty considerably nettled,’ said our old traveller, in a voice which rendered ‘night hideous’ with its harshness. ‘They thought the canal would end there, and they would git all the trade.’ ‘The Ottowa folks don’t depend on no canals, I guess,’ replied another passenger, apparently a neighboring farmer, taking up the cudgels for his favorite town. ‘Ottawa’s a great and increasing place, which will beat Chicorgo yet. Wait a while and you’ll see rows of factories and mills upon the Fox, and you’ll see the rapids scooped out below, so that the steamboats can come up at all times, and then I wouldn’t give a cent for your Peru. Ottawa folks keep their eyes skinned I tell you!’ ‘Oh! you prairie chickens crow loud; you are always laying out for mills to grind the grain what you mean to raise. You’d better come and open a shop now, or a bank, at Peru; things will rise when old Tippecanoe comes to the white house.’ ‘Tip me none of your old ginerals, if you please,’ said his opponent. ‘Van’s the man for me. Give me Van Buren for President and things will rise enough.’ The gurgling of water, as we forded the Little Vermillion, drowned the noise of these village politicians much to my comfort. Soon after we found ourselves in the midst of a group of Irish shantees, occupied by the canal laborers, flanked by a row of low wooden tenements, upon the bank of the moon-illumined Illinois. ‘This, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the farmer, in a tone of derision, ‘is the grand town of Peru!’ ‘Yes, and bigger than Ottawa was, when it was as newly settled as Peru,’ answered the Peruvian disdainfully. As I looked around me, I thought of Tinkerville and its public square in the forest; but every thing must have a beginning. The steamboat frontier was waiting to receive us, and we were soon, with our luggage, translated to her deck. Fatigued as we were we could not leave the deck for some time, for the night sun, as the Indians call the moon, was shining brightly down upon the smooth surface of the Illinois, lighting up her forest glades as we passed, and throwing fantastic shadows over the silver water. However, a night and a day in a stage coach has beaten all romance out of us, and we at length retreated to our snug state-room. The mosquitoe nets were drawn over us, and we soon bid to nature and to you a fair good-night.