WAS about to give you some interesting information about rivers last month, when the terrible calamity which swept away the whole of Szegedin, a town of seventy or eighty thousand people, in Hungary, diverted my thoughts to the destructive power of water, and some of the dreadful disasters which floods have occasioned. That calamity has called forth much sympathy, and many nations have contributed large sums of money for the relief of the sufferers. But in this world of ruin and sorrow, so rapidly do catastrophes follow each other, that already Szegedin's overthrow seems completely forgotten. The terrible massacres in the Zulu War, and the bold attempt to assassinate the Emperor of Russia, and fears of more warlike troubles in Turkey and Burmah, have crowded out of mind even such a calamity as the sweeping away of so great a city.
But now to our subject. How different are the beginnings of rivers; some a tiny spring hidden by pebbles and moss. Such is the Duddon, one of the most beautiful of English rivers, near the top of Wrynose Fell, a desolate solitude; others, like the Sorgues, burst in an imposing manner out of a cavern, and form at once a copious torrent. The Seamander is one of the most remarkable rivers for the grandeur of its source—a yawning chasm in Mount Garguras, shaded with enormous palm-trees, and surrounded with high cliffs, from which the river impetuously dashes in all the impetuosity of majestic greatness.
To discover the origin of great rivers has ever-been a point of much interest. What efforts have been made for more than three thousand years to discover the source of that wonderful river, the Nile. We can readily enter into the feelings of Bruce, the great English traveler, when he thought he stood at its fountain head. “Kings," he says, "had attempted this discovery at the head of armies, and each expedition was distinguished from the last, only by the difference of the numbers which had perished, and agreed alone in the disappointment which had without exception followed them all. Fame, riches, and honor, had been held out for ages to every one of those myriads these princes commanded, without having produced one man capable of gratifying the curiosity of his sovereign." Alone, with little help, and through innumerable perils, he thought he had triumphed, but more recent discoveries have proved he had reached the head of the smaller of the two great streams that form this celebrated river.
Most interesting and exciting, too, are the narratives of the tracing of rivers from the sea to their beginnings. In Mexico by the early Spaniards; in the Southern States of North America, the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio, the Illinois by the early French settlers; and, the great rivers stretching far west through the plains, and draining the whole country from the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains, the Platte, the Arkansas, and the Red River, by many daring adventurers. Dr. Livingstone was the great explorer of the mighty African rivers, and more recently Stanley, his great admirer and follower, has made startling discoveries in the rivers of that great division of the globe.
Rivers have a thousand points in which they are alike, and a thousand points in which they are unlike. Some flow on in one unbroken stream to the ocean; others, like the Susqueanna; the Mississippi, and especially the St. Lawrence, the great American rivers, are studded with innumerable and beautiful islands. It has been ascertained that the St. Lawrence, the great Canadian river, has no fewer than 1,692. Nothing can be conceived more fairy-like and picturesque than these islands. As you glide along in their beautiful steamers, the scene varies at every turn; sometimes you are in a narrow channel, then you discover a number of openings, like so many noble rivers, and soon you find yourself in the center of an expansive lake.
The Amazon is the greatest river in the world; it rises in the Andes, and is discharged into the Atlantic Ocean. It is not the longest, being only 3,200 miles in length, but the volume of its waters is beyond all comparison. It receives the waters of five rivers, each over 1,000 miles in length; the upper parts of it are from one to two miles in width, and as it approaches the ocean it widens to over one hundred miles. For two thousand miles in a direct line from the ocean its waters are navigable by ships of the largest burden, for many miles its depth is known to be over 200 feet. The tide rushes up its channel with immense violence, at the periods of the full moon, in two, three, and sometimes four successive waves, each presenting a perpendicular front of from ten to fifteen feet. When the tide subsides in the rainy season, the liberated waters rush out of their channel with tremendous force, and create a current in the ocean which is seen five hundred miles from its mouth.
As to length, however, the Mississippi stands at the head of rivers, including the Missouri branch, which ought to be the name of the united stream, not only on account of its longer course, but because it brings down a greater body of water.
Mississippi is an Indian word, meaning "Father of waters," and well indeed does it deserve the name, for a great number of truly great rivers flow into it. Amongst them Missouri, 3,300 miles long, the Arkansas 2,500, the Red River, 2,000, the Tennessee, 1,500, the Platte, 1,200, and Yellowstone, 1,000.
About thirty years ago, it fell to my lot to steam up a large portion of this mighty river, and after that, along some of its important tributaries, and I assure my young friends it would be difficult to describe to them the exquisite, the wonderful, and, the ever varying beauty of the scenes. It was spring; the sun shone brightly; from the melting snows of winter in the far north, and the copious downfall of the spring rains, everywhere the banks were full, and ever and anon they overflowed, and the appearance was more like that of an inland sea than a river. We steamed through dense forests, the trees often dipping their branches laden with the richest verdure, into the very water. Then we would sail under massive perpendicular rocks shooting up into towers and pinnacles, at a distance looking like the battlements and turrets of some ancient city. It is impossible for an Englishman, who has never witnessed the verdure of a hot climate to conceive the richness of the scene when passing through the Southern States. The cottonwood tree is most magnificent, among which those brilliant birds of the the country, the black and red bird, and the blue jay, flit to and fro, or wheel their flight over them, forming a scene which has all the grandeur and beauty that nature can furnish to soothe or enrapture the beholder.
Then the winding character of the river is most remarkable. It is truly serpentine. The source of the Mississippi is only 1,200 miles in a straight line from the ocean, yet it travels over 3,200 miles before it reaches that point; it winds about so much that after sailing 20 miles you are surprised to find yourself within a few yards of where you have touched before; not only so, but it meanders in uniform bends, which in many instances, are described with a precision equal to that obtained by the point of a compass.
The waters of the Mississippi proper, that is above the point where the Missouri joins it, are of the most beautiful blue; those that descend the Missouri are one mass of light-colored mud, and so immensely great is this body of water that it rushes completely across the Mississippi, and at once completely changes the appearance of that river, and presents perhaps one of the most remarkable sights in the world. On rushes this muddy stream, increasing rather than diminishing the turbulence of its water, till in a wide turbulent stream it reaches the mouth. As we approach the mouth of the river, but many miles from it, in the Gulf of Mexico, all on board were greatly astonished to see far out in the gulf a muddy, almost white stream rushing through the beautiful green waters of the ocean, and forming for many miles from the mouth of the river a perfectly distinct line.
The Mississippi boats are the most beautiful in the world, and also are so constructed as to afford the greatest amount of convenience and comfort for their numerous passengers. They are of great length. First, there is a low deck, not more than a foot or two from the water. This is reserved for cattle, merchandise, and machinery, and the poor foreign emigrant, who at the time of my voyage crowded every boat. Sorrowful indeed were many of these scenes. They had traveled many thousands of miles to seek a new home. Friends and relatives were left behind, often their little all was gone, and dark and gloomy was their future. Well, above this deck, on posts about eight feet high, there was built a magnificent saloon, running nearly the whole length of the boat, and surrounded by elegantly fitted up private rooms, for sleeping purposes. Then on the top of this suite of apartments about ten or twelve feet high was a promenade, protected from the sun by canvass awnings. From the top of this, often a view of the whole country along the bank of the river was to be had, and my young readers may easily imagine how beautiful that must have been.
Every few miles we came to some thriving village or town, most of which, however, boasted the name of some ancient or modern city. There was always something fresh and exciting at these points. Some had reached the end of a long journey; there was the landing or taking in of fresh cattle or goods, and wood for the furnaces. At that time, there was nothing in all the old world that could be compared to such scenes. Europe was sending out thousands upon thousands of her populations to seek new homes, and, as it were, to start life afresh. Alas! how many found only bitter disappointment, suffering, and early death. How many I met with who had gone forth just to better their condition in the world. They knew not God, they sought not His guidance or blessing, and most cast off even what little outward reverence they had once had for the name of Christ, and a formal religious profession.