The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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on solitudes
That only hear the torrent, and the wind,
And eagle's shriek."
Here, through the bygone centuries, the Indians have set their nets and hooks without ever dreaming of laying their hands upon the wealth that Nature has ever in store for those who will labor for it.
A few of the original lords of the forests are here, and they are the only idlers of this region. They lounge in the streets, squat in groups under the lee of buildings, and pick animated somethings from their hair!
Their chief appears in an old army coat with three stars on each shoulder, indicating that he ranks as a lieutenant-general among his people. He walks with dignity, although his old black stove-pipe hat is badly squashed. The warriors follow him, wrapped in blankets, with eagle feathers stuck into their long black hair, and are as dignified as the chief. Labor! not they. Pale-faces and squaws may work, they never. Squaw-power is their highest conception of a labor-saving machine. They have fished in the leaping torrent, but never thought of its being a giant that might be put to work for their benefit.
It is evident that a great manufacturing industry must spring up in this region. At Minneapolis, St. Cloud, and here on the St. Louis, we find the three principal water-powers of the Northwest. The town of Thompson, named in honor of one of the proprietors, Mr. Edgar A. Thompson of Philadelphia, has been laid out at the falls, and being situated on the line of the railroad, and so convenient to the lake, will probably have a rapid growth. The St. Paul and Mississippi Railroad, which winds up the northern bank of the river, crosses the stream at that point, and strikes southward through the forests to St. Paul.
The road, in addition to its grant of land, has received from the city of St. Paul $200,000 in city bonds, and this county of St. Louis at the head of the lake has given $150,000 in county bonds.
The lands of this company are generally heavily timbered, — with pine, maple, ash, oak, and other woods.
The white pines of this region are almost as magnificent as those that formerly were the glory of Maine and New Hampshire. Norway pines abound. Besides transporting the lumber from its own extensive tracts and the lands of the government adjoining, it will be the thoroughfare for an immense territory drained by the Snake, Kettle, St. Louis, and St. Croix Rivers.
The lands that bear such magnificent forest-trees are excellent for agriculture. Nowhere in the East have I ever seen ranker timothy and clover than we saw on our journey from St. Paul.
The company offers favorable terms to all settlers. Men from Maine and New Hampshire are already locating along the line, and setting up saw-mills. They were lumbermen in the East, and they prefer to follow the same business in the West, rather than to speed the plough for a living. I doubt not that the chances for making money are quite as good in the timbered region as on the prairies, for the lumber will pay for the land several times over, which, when put into grain or grass, yields enormously.
CHAPTER IX
THE MINING REGION
The sun was throwing his morning beams upon the tree-tops of the Apostle Islands, as our little steamer, chartered for the occasion at Superior, rounded the promontory of the main-land, turned its prow southward, and glided into the harbor of Bayfield, on the southern shore of the lake.
We had made the passage from Superior City during the night, and were on deck at daybreak to see the beauties of the islands, of which so much has been written by explorers and tourists. The scenery is not bold, but beautiful. Perhaps there is no place on the lake where more charming vistas open to the eye, or where there is such a succession of entrancing views.
The islands, eighteen in number, lie north of the promontory. They would appear as high hills, with rounded summits, crowned with a dense forest growth, if the waters were drained off; for all around, between the islands and the mainland, are deep soundings. There is no harbor on the Atlantic coast, none in the world, more accessible than Bayfield, or more securely land-locked. It may be approached during the wildest storm, no matter which way the wind is blowing. When the northeasters raise a sea as terrible as that which sometimes breaks upon Nahant, the captains of steamers and schooners on Lake Superior run for the Apostle Islands.
Bayfield is about sixty miles from Superior City, and is the first harbor where vessels can find shelter east of the head of the lake. The Apostle Islands seem to have been dumped into the lake for the benefit of the mighty tide of commerce which in the coming years is to float upon this inland sea.
"It is," said our captain, "the only first-class harbor on the lake. It can be approached in all weathers; the shores are bold, the water deep, the anchorage excellent, and the ice leaves it almost two weeks earlier in spring than the other harbors at the head of the lake."
The town of Bayfield is named for an officer of the Royal Engineers, who was employed years ago in surveying the lake. His work was well done, and till recently his charts have been relied on by the sailing-masters; but the surveys of the United States Engineers, now approaching completion, are more minute and accurate.
The few houses that make up the town are beautifully located, on the western side of the bay. Madeline Island, the largest of the group, lies immediately in front, and shelters the harbor and town from the northeast storms.
The scream of the steamer's whistle rings sharply on the morning air, — while main-land and island, harbor and forest, repeat its echoes. It wakes up all the braves, squaws, and pappooses in the wigwams and log-houses of the Chippewa reservation, and all the inhabitants of Bayfield. The sun is just making his appearance when we run alongside the pier. It is an early hour for a dozen strangers, with sharp-set appetites, to make a morning call, — more than that, to drop in thus unceremoniously upon a private citizen for breakfast.
There being no hotel in the place, we are put to this strait. Possibly old Nokomis, who is cooking breakfast in a little iron pot with a big piece knocked out of its rim, who squats on the ground and picks out the most savory morsels with her fingers, would share her meal with us, but she does not invite us to breakfast, nor do we care to make ourselves at home in the wigwam.
But there is rare hospitality awaiting us. A gentleman who lives in a large white house in the centre of the town, Captain Vaughn, though not through with his morning nap when we steam up the harbor, is wide awake in an instant.
I wonder if there is another housewife in the United States who would provide such an ample repast as that which, in an incredibly short space of time, appeared on the table, prepared by Mrs. Vaughn, — such a tender steak, mealy potatoes, nice biscuit, delicious coffee, berries and sweet milk; a table-cloth as white as the driven snow; and the hostess the picture of health, presiding at the table with charming ease and grace, not at all disturbed by such an avalanche of company at such an hour!
Where the breakfast came from, or who cooked it so quickly, is an unexplained mystery; and then there was a basketful of lunch put up by somebody for us to devour while coasting about the bay, and the hostess the while found time to talk with us, to sit down to the parlor organ and charm us with music. So much for a Bayfield lady, born in Ohio, of stanch Yankee stock.
Embarking on Captain Vaughn's little steam-yacht, we go dancing along the shores, now running near the bluffs to examine the sandstone formation like that of the Hudson, or looking up to the tall pines waving their dark green plumes, or beholding the lumbermen felling the old monarchs and dragging them with stout teams to the Bayfield saw-mills. A run of about fifteen miles brings us to the city of Ashland, situated at the head of the bay. It makes quite an imposing appearance when you are several miles distant, and upon landing you find that you have been imposed upon. Somebody came here years ago, laid out a town, surveyed the lots, cut out magnificent avenues through the forest, found men who believed that Ashland was to be a great city, who bought lots and built houses; but the crowd did not come; the few who came soon turned their backs upon the place, leaving all their improvements. One German family remains. Two pigs were in possession of a parlor