A Book of the United States. Various
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Lewis termed it the Crooked Fall.
Above this fall, the Missouri bends suddenly to the northward, where, four hundred and seventy-three yards wide, it is suddenly stopped by one shelving rock, which without a single niche, and with an edge as straight and regular as if it had been formed by art, stretches itself across from one side of the river to the other. Over this the Missouri precipitates itself in one even, uninterrupted sheet, of four hundred and seventy-three yards broad to the perpendicular depth of forty-seven feet eight inches; whence, dashing against the rocky bottom, it rushes rapidly down, leaving behind it a spray of the purest foam across the river. At the distance of less than half a mile, another of a similar kind is presented. Here a cascade stretches across the whole river, for a quarter of a mile, with a descent of fourteen feet seven inches, though the perpendicular pitch is only six feet seven inches. For the space of one thousand one hundred and seventy-seven yards above this cascade the river descends fifteen feet. Immediately above this, one of the largest springs in America falls into the river. Its water is cold, of the most perfect clearness, and of a bluish color, which it preserves, even for half a mile after falling into the Missouri, notwithstanding its rapidity. This fountain rises in the plain, twenty-five yards from the river, on the south side. In its course to the river, it falls over some steep, irregular rocks, with a sudden descent of eight feet perpendicular, in one part of its progress. The water boils up from among the rocks, and with such force near the centre that the surface seems higher than the earth on the sides of the fountain, which is a handsome turf of green grass. The water is pleasant to the taste, not being impregnated with lime or any adventitious substance. For the space of a mile and one thousand one hundred and sixty-six yards above the mouth of this spring, the descent of the river is thirteen feet six inches.
During the upper part of its course, this river is remarkable for a succession of rapids, cascades, and cataracts, and in a course of about three miles it has a descent of no less than three hundred and fifty-two feet.
On the Mississippi River are several sets of rapids. One called Les Rapides des Moines, is eleven miles long, and consists of successive ledges and shoals, extending from shore to shore across the bed of the river. One hundred miles higher up is another, about eighteen miles in length, and consisting of a continued chain of rocks, over which the water flows with turbulent rapidity.
About thirty miles from its source, the Mississippi, after winding through a dismal country, covered with high grass meadows, with pine swamps in the distance, which appear to cast a deeper gloom on its borders, is suddenly pent up in a channel about eighty feet wide, where it has a descent of twenty feet in three hundred yards. This fall is called Peckagama. Immediately at the head of the falls is the first island noticed in the river. It is small, rocky, covered with spruce and cedar, and divides the channel nearly in its centre.
St. Anthony’s Falls are situated on the Mississippi river, more than two thousand miles above its mouth. Above the falls, the river has a width of five or six hundred yards. Immediately below, it contracts to a width of two hundred yards; and there is a strong rapid for a considerable distance below. This beautiful spot in the Mississippi is not without a tale to hallow its scenery, and heighten the interest, which, of itself, it is calculated to produce. In the narrative of Long’s Second Expedition, we find the following romantic story, related by an old Indian, whose mother was an eye-witness to the transaction:
St. Anthony’s Falls.
‘An Indian of the Dacota nation had united himself early in life to a youthful female, whose name was Ampota Sapa, which signifies the Dark Day; with her he lived happily for several years, apparently enjoying every comfort which the savage life can afford. Their union had been blessed with two children, on whom both parents doated with that depth of feeling which is unknown to such as have other treasures besides those that spring from nature. The man had acquired a reputation as a hunter, which drew around him many families, who were happy to place themselves under his protection, and avail themselves of such part of his chase as he needed not for the maintenance of his family. Desirous of strengthening their interest with him, some of them invited him to form a connection with their family, observing, at the same time, that a man of his talent and importance required more than one woman to wait upon the numerous guests whom his reputation would induce to visit his lodge. They assured him that he would soon be acknowledged as a chief, and that, in this case, a second wife was indispensable.
‘Fired with the ambition of obtaining high honors, he resolved to increase his importance by an union with the daughter of an influential man of his tribe. He had accordingly taken a second wife without ever having mentioned the subject to his former companion; being desirous to introduce his bride into his lodge in the manner which should be least offensive to the mother of his children, for whom he still retained much regard, he introduced the subject in these words: “You know,” said he, “that I can love no woman so fondly as I doat upon you. With regret have I seen you of late subjected to toils which must be oppressive to you, and from which I would gladly relieve you, yet I know no other way of doing so, than by associating with you in the household duties, one who shall relieve you from the trouble of entertaining the numerous guests, whom my growing importance in the nation collects around me. I have, therefore, resolved upon taking another wife, but she shall always be subject to your control, as she will always rank in my affections second to you.”
‘With the utmost anxiety, and the deepest concern, did his companion listen to this unexpected proposal. She expostulated in the kindest terms, entreated him with all the arguments which undisguised love and the purest conjugal affections could suggest. She replied to all the objections which his duplicity led him to raise. Desirous of winning her from her opposition, the Indian still concealed the secret of his union with another, while she redoubled all her care to convince him that she was equal to the task imposed upon her. When he again spoke on the subject, she pleaded all the endearments of their past life; she spoke of his former fondness for her, of his regard for her happiness and that of their mutual offspring; she bade him beware of the consequences of this fatal purpose of his. Finding her bent upon withholding her consent to this plan, he informed her that all opposition on her part was unnecessary, as he had already selected another partner, and that if she could not receive his new wife as a friend, she must receive her as a necessary incumbrance, for he had resolved that she should be an inmate in his house.
‘Distressed at this information, she watched her opportunity, stole away from the cabin with her infants, and fled to a distance where her father was. With him she remained until a party of Indians with whom he lived, went up the Mississippi on a winter hunt. In the spring, as they were returning with their canoes loaded with peltries, they encamped near the Falls. In the morning as they left it, she lingered near the spot, then launched her light canoe, entered into it with her children, and paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. Too late did her friends perceive it; their attempts to prevent her from proceeding were of no avail; she was heard to sing in a doleful voice the past pleasures which she had enjoyed, while she was the undivided object of her husband’s affection; finally her voice was drowned in the sound of the cataract; the current carried down her frail bark with an inconceivable rapidity; it came to the edge of the precipice, was seen for a moment enveloped in spray, but never afterwards was a trace of the canoe or its passengers seen. Yet it is stated by the Indians, that often in the morning a voice has been heard to sing a doleful ditty along the edge of the fall, and that it dwells ever on the inconstancy of her husband. Nay, some assert that her spirit has been seen wandering near the spot with her children wrapped to her bosom. Such are the tales or traditions which the Indians treasure up, and which they relate to the voyager, forcing a tear from the eyes of the most unrelenting.’
There are many other falls in the United States, which have been the subject of no extended descriptions, but which would excite admiration in any quarter of the world. In New York, the Great Falls of the Genesee, about half a mile below Rochester, are ninety feet perpendicular, and a few rods above is another of five feet, surmounted by a rapid. On the same river are several other falls. Trenton Falls are on West Canada Creek, a tributary of the Mohawk, fourteen miles north of Utica; they consist of several grand and beautiful cascades, some of them forty feet in descent. The