Bishop Baraga Crosses Lake Superior
February 18, 2025
Collected & edited by Amorin Mello
Bishop Irenaeus Frederic Baraga
~ Madeline Island Museum
This post features oral legends recorded about two of Bishop Irenaeus Frederick Baraga’s traverses from La Pointe across Lake Superior:
A) to Minnesota’s Cross River by canoe.
B) to Michigan’s Ontonagon River by ice.
In chronological order of publication, the first record was from a German traveloguer, the next two were from Catholic missionaries, and the last two were from Bad River tribal members.
- Kitchi-Gami, by Johann Georg Kohl, 1859/1860.
- Life and Labors of Bishop Baraga, by Rev. Chrysostom Verwyst, 1896.
- Life and Labors of Rt. Rev. Frederick Baraga, by Rev. Verwyst, 1900.
- Chippewa Indian Historical Project, by United States WPA, 1936-1942.
- Chippewa Indian Historical Project, by United States WPA, 1936-1942.
Originally published in German as
Kitschi-Gami; Oder, Erzählungen Vom Obern See
by Johann Georg Kohl, 1859.
Translated and republished in English as
Kitch-Gami: Wanderings Round Lake Superior,
By Johann Georg Kohl, 1860,
Pages 180-183.
German traveloguer
Johann Georg Kohl
Du Roy: “Do you known the summer voyage our most reverend friend, your companion, once made in a birch-bark canoe right across Lake Superior? Ah! that is a celebrated voyage, which everybody round the lake is acquainted with. Indeed, there is hardly a locality on the lake which is not connected with the history of his life, either because he built a chapel there, or wrote a pious book, or founded an Indian parish, or else underwent danger and adventures there, in which he felt that Heaven was protecting him.
“The aforesaid summer voyage, which I will tell you here as companion to his winter journey, was as follows:
“He was staying at that time on one of the Islands of the Apostles, and heard that his immediate presence was required at one of the little Indian missions or stations on the northern shore of the lake. As he is always ready to start at a moment, he walked with his breviary in his hand, dressed in his black robe, and with his gold cross fastened on his breast – he always travels in this solemn garb, on foot or on horseback, on show-shoes or in a canoe – he walked, I say, with his breviary in his hand and his three-corned hat on his head, into the hut of my cousin a well-known Voyageur, and said to him: ‘Dubois, I must cross the lake, direct from here to the northern shore. Hast thou a boat ready?’
” ‘My boat is here,’ said my cousin, ‘but how can I venture to go with you straight across the lake? It is seventy miles, and the weather does not look very promising. No one ever yet attempted this “traverse” in small boats. Our passage to the north shore is made along the coast, and we usually employ eight days in it.’
” ‘Dubois, that is too long; it cannot be. I repeat it to thee. I am called. I must go straight across the lake. Take thy paddle and “couverte,” and come!’ And our reverend friend took his seat in the canoe, and waited patiently till my obedient cousin (who, I grant, opened his eyes very wide, and shook his head at times) packed up his traps, sprang after him and pushed the canoe on the lake.
“Now you are aware, monsieur, that we Indians and Voyageurs rarely make greater traverses across the lake than fifteen miles from cape to cape, so that we may be easily able to pull our boats ashore in the annoying caprices of our weather and water. A passage of twenty-five or thirty miles we call a ‘grand traverse,’ and one of seventy miles is a impossibility. Such a traverse was never made before, and only performed this once. My cousin, however, worked away obediently and cheerfully, and they were soon floating in their nutshell in the middle of the lake like a loon, without compass and out of sight of land. Very soon, too, they had bad weather.
“It began to grow stormy, and the water rose in high waves. My cousin remarked that he had prophesied this, but his pious, earnest passenger read on in his breviary quietly, and only now and then addressed a kind word of encouragement to my cousin, saying that he had not doubted his prophecy about the weather, but he replied to it that he was called across the lake, and God would guide them both to land.
“They toiled all night through the storm and waves, and, as the wind was fortunately with them, they moved along very rapidly, although their little bark danced like a feather on the waters. The next morning they sighted the opposite shore. But how? With a threatening front. Long rows of dark rocks on either side, and at their base a white stripe, the dashing surf of the terribly excited waves. There was no opening in there, no haven, no salvation.
” ‘We are lost, your reverence,’ my cousin said, ‘for it is impossible for me to keep the canoe balanced in those double and triple breakers; and a return is equally impossible, owing to the wind blowing so stiffly against us.’
” ‘Paddle on, dear Dubois – straight on. We must get through, and a way will offer itself.’
“My cousin shrugged his shoulder, made his last prayers, and paddled straight on, he hardly knew how. Already they heard the surf dashing near them; they could no longer understand what they said to each other, owing to the deafening noise, and my cousin slipped his couverte from his shoulders, so as to be ready for a swim, when, all at once, a dark spot opened out in the white edge of the surf, which soon widened. At the same time the violent heaving of the canoe relaxed, it glided on more tranquilly, and entered in perfect safety the broad mouth of a stream, which they had not seen in the distance, owing to the rocks that concealed it.
” ‘Did I not say, Dubois, that I was called across, that I must go, and that thou wouldst be saved with me? Let us pray!’ So the man of God spoke to the Voyageur after they had stepped ashore, and drawn their canoe comfortably on the beach. They then went into the forest, cut down a couple of trees, and erected a cross on the spot where they landed, as a sign of their gratitude.
“Then they went on their way to perform their other duties. Later, however, a rich merchant, a fur trader, came along the same road, and hearing of this traverse, which had become celebrated, he set his men to work, and erected at his own expense, on the same spot, but on a higher rock, a larger and more substantial cross, which now can be seen a long distance on the lake, and which the people call ‘the Cross of —–‘s Traverse.’”
Historical Collections and Researches of Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society: Vol. XXVI,
by Michigan State Historical Society, 1896,
pages 541-542.
LIFE AND LABORS OF BISHOP BARAGA
A short sketch of the life and labors of Bishop Baraga
The Great Indian Apostle of the Northwest.
By Rev. Chrysostom Verwyst O.S.F. of Ashland, Wis.
Father John Chebul arrived on Lake Superior at the Sault in October 1859 to assist his fellow Slovanian Bishop Baraga. Chebul spent the winter at Ontonagon with miners before arriving at La Pointe in May 1860.
On another occasion Father Baraga went to Ontonagon from La Pointe. We will relate the incident as told to the writer by Rev. John Cebul, of Newberry, Mich. He was well acquainted with Bishop Baraga, being a fellow countryman who had been sent to La Pointe in 1860, where he labored amongst the Chippewas of that island and Bayfield, Bad River Reserve, Superior and other places, for about thirteen years, being universally loved and esteemed by all. He says:
Bishop Baraga was intending to go on the ice to Ontonagon. He was accompanied by a man from the island. The reason they took to the ice was because it was much nearer and the walking a great deal better than on the main land. During March and April the ice on Lake Superior becomes honey-combed and rotten. If a strong wind blows, it cracks and moves from the shore if the wind blows from the land. Such fields of ice does not notice that he is in danger till he comes to the edge of the ice and then to his horror discovers a large expanse of open water between him and the mainland. Should the ice float out towards the middle of the lake or break up, he is lost. Father Baraga and his companion had traveled on the ice for some time, thinking all was right. All at once they came to the edge of the ice and saw it was impossible to reach land, as the wind had driven the ice from the shore out into the Lake. His companion became greatly alarmed. Father Baraga remained calm, praying, no doubt, fervently to Him who alone could save them. Finally the wind changed and drove the cake of ice on which they were floating to the shore. They landed at Cadotte point, about 20 or 30 miles from Ontonagon, having been carried by the wind on their ice raft about sixty miles. “See,” said the good priest to his companion, “we have traveled a great distance and yet have not labored.” It seems the good God wanted to save the saintly missionary a long and painful walk, by giving him a ride of sixty miles on a cake of ice.
Life and labors of Rt. Rev. Frederic Baraga
by P. Chrysostomus Verwyst, 1900,
pages 219-222.
“Louis Gaudin“ was one of several legendary children born to Jean Baptiste Gaudin, Sr. and Awenishen (a sister of Hole-in-the-day):
– Antoine Gordon
– Elizabeth (Gordon) Belanger
– Louison Gordon, Sr.
– Harriet (Gordon) Lemon
– John Baptiste Gordon, Jr.
– Angelique Gordon
– Joseph GordonLouison Gordon, Sr. (1814-1899) married Julia Brebant, whose sisters were married to Henry Bresette and Judge John W. Bell.Wizon is an objibwecized form of the francophone name Louison.
Undated photo from the Gordon Museum thought to be a brother of Antoine Gordon:
possibly Louis Gordon?
Chippewa Entrepreneur
Antoine Gordon
~ Noble Lives of a Noble Race (pg. 207) published by the St. Mary’s Industrial School in Odanah, 1909.
We learn from F. Baraga’s letter, written in October, 1845, that he intended to go to Grand Portage, Minn., the next fall to build a church there. It is, therefore, highly probable that he made that trip in the fall of 1846. He first went to La Pointe, where, no doubt, he spent some time attending to the spiritual wants of the good people. He then engaged a half-breed Indian, named Louis Gaudin, to go with him to Grand Portage. They had but a small fishing boat with a mast and sail, without keel or centre-board. Such a boat might do on a river or small lake, but would be very unsafe on a large lake, where it would easily founder or be driven lake a cork before the wind. The boat was but eighteen feet long. When they started from La Pointe, the people laughed at them for attempting to make the journey. They said it would take them a month to make the voyage, as they would have to keep close to the shore all the way, going first west some seventy miles to the end of the lake and then, doubling, turn northward, coasting along the northern shore of Lake Superior. this would make the distance about two hundred miles, perhaps even more.
However, Father Baraga and his guide set out on their perilous journey. At Sand Island they awaited a favorable wind to cross the lake, which is about forty miles wide at that place. By so doing they would save from eight to one hundred miles, but would expose themselves to great danger, as a high wind might arise, whilst they were out on the open lake, and engulf their frail bark.
They set sail on an unusually calm day. Father Baraga steered and Louis rowed the boat. Before they got midway a heavy west wind arose and the lake grew very rough. They were constantly driven leeward and when they finally reached the north shore they were at least thirty miles east of their intended landing place, having made a very perilous sail of seventy miles during that day.
While in the height of the storm, in mid-ocean, it might be said, Louis became frightened and exclaimed in Chippewa to the Father, who was lying on his back in the boat, reciting his office in an unconcerned manner: “Nosse, ki ga-nibomin, gananbatch” – Father, perhaps we are going to perish!” The Father answered quietly: “Kego segisiken, Wizon” (Chippewa for Louis) – “Don’t be afraid, Wizon; the priest will not die in the water. If he died here in the water the people on the other shore, whither we are going, would be unfortunate.”
When nearing the north shore the danger was even greater than out on the open water, for there were huge breakers ahead. Louis asked the Father whither to steer, and, as if following a certain inspiration, F. Baraga told him to steer straight ahead for the land. Through a special disposition of Divine Providence watching over the precious life of the saintly missionary, they passed through the breakers unharmed and ran their boat into the mouth of a small river, heretofore unnamed, but now called Cross River.
1859 PLSS detail of trees at the mouth of “Cross River”.
Full of gratitude for their miraculous escape, they at once proceeded to erect a cross. Hewing a tree in a rough manner, they cut off the top as far up as they could reach, and taking a shorter piece, they nailed it cross-wise to the tree. “Wizon,” said the Father, “let us make a cross here that the Christian Indians may know that the priest coming from La Pointe landed here.” The cross was, it is true, unartistic, but it was emblem of their holy faith and it gave the name, Tchibaiatigo-Sibi, “Cross River,” to the little stream where they landed.
They arrived none too soon. Ascending an eminence and looking out on the immense lake they saw that the storm was increasing every moment; high waves with white caps, which would surely have engulfed their little bark. They landed about six o’clock in the evening. Having spent the night there, they continued their journey next day, and in two days arrived at Grand Portage, having made the whole journey in three days. May we not think with Louis Gaudin that their safe passage across the stormy lake, and their deliverance from a watery grave, was due to a special intervention of Divine Providence in favor of the saintly missionary?
Missionary Labors of Fathers Marquette, Menard and Allouez, in the Lake Superior Region by Rev. Chrysostom Verwyst of Bayfield, 1886.
In 1667 Father Claude Allouez, S. J., then stationed at the mission of the Holy Ghost at the head of Chequamegon Bay, made the voyage across the lake from Sand Island. He made the voyage in a birch-canoe with three Indians. He remarks that they paddled their canoe all day as hard as they could without intermission, for fear of losing any of the beautiful calm weather they had. It took them twelve hours to make the trip across. The Father was then on his way to visit some Christian Indians residing at Lake Nipigon – “Animibigong” in Chippewa. For the particulars of this journey we refer the reader to “Missionary Labors of Fathers Marquette, Allouez, and Menard in the Lake Superior Region.”
The following narrative is not to be found in any of Baraga’s published letters, but the writers has it from the mouth of trustworthy persons, among whom is Father Chebul, a countryman of F. Baraga, who was stationed at Bayfield for many years. We will give the account, as we have it from Rev. F. Chebul.
Francois Newago, Sr. is the “man named Newagon” from Madeline Island, as his children were still young teenagers then.One time F. Baraga was going to Ontonagon in company with an Indian half-breed in the month of March or April. At that season of the year the ice, though thick, becomes honey-combed and rotten. Some say that Baraga’s companion was a man named Newagon. They went on the ice at La Pointe Island. As the walking on the sandy beach would have been very fatiguing and long, they determined to make straight for Ontonagon over the ice. By so doing they would not only have better walking, but also shorten their way a great deal.
A strong southwest wind was blowing at the time, and the ice, becoming detached from the shore, began drifting lakeward. After they had traveled for some time, they became aware of what hat happened, for they could see the blue waters between them and the shore. Newagon became greatly alarmed, for almost certain death stared them in the face. Had the wind continued blowing in the same direction, the ice would have been driven far out into the lake and broken up into small fragments. They would surely have perished.
To encourage the drooping spirit of his companion, F. Baraga kept telling him that they would escape all right and that they must trust in God, their loving Father and Protector. He also sang Chippewa hymns to divert Newagon’s attention and calm his excitement. Finally the wind shifted and blew the field of ice back towards the shore.
1847 PLSS detail of brownstone points, village, cross, and trailhead at the mouth of Iron River.
“Cadotte Point, near Union Bay“
appears to be located at what is now Silver City at the mouth of Iron River and eastern trailhead to the Porcupine Mountains.Michel Cadotte, Sr. ran a trading post by the Old French Fort on Madeline Island around 1800 and smaller stations scattered along the Wisconsin / Michigan shoreline of Lake Superior. Cadotte first worked for the British North West Company and later the American Fur Company after The War of 1812.They landed near Cadotte Point, near Union Bay, a short distance from Ontonagon, which they reached that same day. “See,” said the missionary to his companion, “we have traveled a great distance and have worked little.” The distance from La Pointe to Ontonagon is about sixty or seventy miles by an air line. Had they been obliged to walk the whole distance around the bend of the lake, it would probably have taken them two or three days of very hard and fatiguing traveling. So what at first seemed to threaten certain death was used by God’s fatherly providence to shorten and facilitate the saintly priest’s journey.
United States. Works Progress Administration:
Chippewa Indian Historical Project Records 1936-1942
(Northland Micro 5; Micro 532)
Reel 1, Envelop 3, Item 5
BISHOP BARAGA’S TRIP TO ONTONAGON
As related by William Obern to John Teeple.
Francois Belanger, Sr.
and Elizabeth (Gordon) Belanger. The Belanger Settlement was founded by their son Frank Belanger, Jr. and Elizabeth (Morrow) Belanger.
The journey I am about to describe is taken from the many experiences of Bishop Baraga, which were related to me by my grandfather. It deals with a journey made at an almost impossible time for ice travel on any of the Great Lakes, and portrays the important part the elements can play in a man’s life, for good or bad, for weal or for woe, as well as Bishop Baraga’s unfaltering confidence in Divine Providence.
The season of the year in which this incident took place was in the spring – along in April. Bishop Baraga and his faithful guide, Louis Gordon, started from LaPointe enroute to Ontonagon, Michigan, a distance of some eighty or ninety miles from LaPointe, straight across as the crow flies over the frozen water of Lake Superior. Dogs were used to a very large extent in those days for the purpose of transportation.
On account of the prevailing soft weather, the ice on the lake was not very solid, and with the right kind of wind, a general break-up was apt to occur at any time. In this instance, when the Bishop and his guide were about ten miles from LaPointe a south-west wind began to blow, increasing in velocity with each passing hour. The ice broke away from the shore, and began drifting outward into the open waters of Lake Superior, carrying its passengers with it. The guide, seeing the danger, suggested to the Bishop that they land on one of the islands, but the Bishop told him not to worry and to keep going in the direction of Ontonagon; that with the help of God they would reach their destination in safety.
With the coming of night the wind increased, and the two travelers were drifting out into the open waters with considerable speed. Soon the mainland was lost to view, and the guide knew that to remain on the ice mean ultimate death by freezing or drowning, but it was too late to do anything now. They had passed up the opportunity of getting off.
The missionary told Louis to look out for the dogs, and after taking a lunch, he wrapped himself up and went to sleep. He advised the guide to do likewise. The guide wrapped himself up, but he did not sleep. He kept constant vigil; about midnight the wind changed, coming from the opposite direction.
Detail of Porcupine Mountains, Iron River and Ontonagon River on the Map of the Mineral Lands Upon Lake Superior Ceded to the United States by the Treaty of 1842 With the Chippeway Indians, 1845.
The guide woke Bishop Baraga, telling him that the wind had changed. The priest asked his guide from what direction it was blowing, and upon being told that it was coming from the north-east remarked, “It is just what I hoped for and suspected.” He again told his guide to lie down and go to sleep, but the guide fearing that the plate of ice they were on might break up, would not sleep. They began to drift back almost in the same direction they had come, and when daylight came the outline of the Porcupine Mountains could be plainly seen in the distance. They were traveling at a very high rate of speed, and about mid afternoon they landed on the south shore of Lake Superior, one mile from Ontonagon, their destination.
“There,” said the bishop after they got off the ice and stepped on to the mainland, “this is just what I expected.”
At the time of this narrative, Ontonagon was a small settlement of Indians with but a few white men, who were engaged in the fur trade with the Indians and represented the American Fur Company.
* According to the description furnished by the guide, the piece of ice they were on was about one hundred by two hundred feet.
United States. Works Progress Administration:
Chippewa Indian Historical Project Records 1936-1942
(Northland Micro 5; Micro 532)
Reel 1, Envelop 3, Item 6
Cross River
ORIGIN OF THE NAME
Related by William Obern
To John Teeple.
Ojibwe, Activist, Priest
The Life of Father Philip Bergin Gordon, Tibishkogijik
by Tadeusz Lewandowski, 2019.
The story I am about to relate deals with an incident of one of the many experiences of Bishop Baraga. The narrative was related to me by my grandmother, Elizabeth Bellanger, who before her marriage was Elizabeth Gordon. She was a blood relative of Father Philip Gordon. The Gordon family consisted of the parents; sons, John, Louis and Antoine, and daughters My grandmother (Elizabeth) and Angelique.
Louis Gordon acted as the guide and all-around servant of Bishop Baraga, the missionary priest. The latter had a very large territory to cover; the northern and southern shores of Lake Superior, thence to the Dakotas and down to the waters known as Chippewa River, which emptied into the Mississippi below St. Paul.
Louis Gordon, the guide, (my grand-uncle) told of many of the experiences he had on these trips with Bishop Baraga. In speaking of my grand-uncle, Louis Gordon, I wish to state first, upon my honor as a gentleman, that he was a Christian in every sense of the word; he never took a drink of intoxicating liquor in his life; and never used profane language.
The stories related to me by my grandmother I well remember, and coming from a man like my grand-uncle, I believe them.
One day Bishop Baraga and his guide, Louis Gordon, started from LaPointe, on the western end of Lake Superior, near the place now known as Bayfield, on the shore of the lake, and about twenty-five miles from the present city of Ashland. At the time of this incident there were no white settlements to speak of at the western end of Lake Superior and the “head of the lakes” region. Bayfield, Washburn, Ashland, Superior and Duluth did not exist in those days. There were few white men among the Indians, and those few represented the American Fur Company. A few, mostly Frenchmen, had in former years settled in Minnesota and Wisconsin.
As formerly stated the trip started from LaPointe. It was to be made by water, and the boat used by the missionary and his guide, from the description given, could not have been more than 16 or 18 feet long. It was just large enough to accommodate the Bishop and his guide and to take care of their camping equipment, and although small, it came out the victor in many storms, proving itself quite seaworthy. These voyagers had a make-shift sail, which furnished them power when the wind was fair, probably a blanket which was raised on a pole; but in calm weather, or when the seas became too rough, the craft was usually propelled with oars. Wind and weather conditions in those days controlled lake travel largely, and when the lake became too rough and the seas too choppy, the voyageurs usually made a landing in some bay or stream outlet.
In this instance, the missionary and his guide were headed for Grand Marias, on the north shore of Lake Superior, a distance of fifty or fifty-five miles from the group of islands known as “Apostle Islands.” Leaving LaPointe, it was necessary for them to cross Lake Superior, traveling directly North. In the event of a severe storm, there is, of course, no place for shelter in the open waters of Lake Superior, and when once started it was necessary for them to continue their voyage until they reached Grand Marias, the point of their destination.
When the Bishop and his guide were about to leave the Apostle Islands, Louis Gordon, the guide, said to Bishop Baraga: “No-say,” (meaning father in Chippewa), “it would not be safe for us to cross the lake in this small boat today. The wind is from the south-west, and it is getting stronger. The lake will become very rough, the seas high, and I am afraid we may perish if we venture out in this wind. We had better not leave this island today, or else follow the south shore around to the end of the lake, so we can find a place to land should the seas become too rough.”
Bishop Baraga replied, “My son, have faith in God. Across that lake my Indians are waiting they must be expecting me, and it is my duty to get there as soon as possible. It would be a waste of time for us to go along the south shore, then along the north shore from the St. Louis River to Grand Marias, when we can cross here and save many miles of hard rowing and precious time. We will trust in God and make the crossing in safety.”
So, Louis Gordon, having unbounded faith in the Bishop, obeyed him, and they began their voyage across the lake, notwithstanding the fact that the wind was increasing in fury and the seas becoming higher and rougher with each passing moment. After they got into the open waters, the guide had considerable difficulty in manning the boat and keeping it from being swamped by the breaking seas. He stood up, and turning to Bishop Baraga said, “No-say, we will never reach the shore.” The Bishop was sitting at the stern of the boat, reciting his breviary. “Louis,” he said, “do not lose faith in God; fear not, He is with us.” The guide was kept busy in keeping the boat in its course, and bailing it out, to prevent it from being filled as the white caps would break over it. He headed it to a point west of Grand Marias in order that he might be better able to ride the crest of the seas, praying and hoping that when they reached the shore, which he hoped would be before dark, they would find a place to land in safety.
I wish to state here that I have seen the north shore of Lake Superior. After leaving Duluth, going east along the north shore, one will find a very rugged shore, ledges of rock from 20 to 200 feet in height standing perpendicularly along the shore line. In these rock ledges are great caves that have been fashioned by angry waves of Lake Superior during centuries. To fully appreciate this story it is well for the reader to know a little concerning the dangers of Lake Superior. Salt-water sailors who have been on the five oceans prefer to be on the ocean in a storm rather than on Lake Superior. The fact that Lake Superior is more dangerous than the oceans is conceded by sailors generally, particularly in the fall of the year. In the ocean, the billows are longer with great spaces between them; while on Lake Superior they are short, choppy, and heavy; and create much more hazard.
Night overtook the missionary and the guide before they reached the north shore; the wind became stronger and the billows higher. The only light they had to guide them was the distant glimmer of the stars, and the guide was able to keep his course by keeping his craft nosed in the direction of the North Star.
After many hours of hard pulling on the oars, the guide knew that they were reaching the shore because he was familiar with the shoreline, and knew that the noise which was all but deafening was created by the breakers dashing against the rock-bound shore.
The guide said to his companion, “No-say, we are nearing the shore, but I am sure we are many miles from Grand Marias. There is no river known in this region and on account of the precipitous formation of the shore line, we have no place to land in safety in this storm.” Bishop Baraga answered, “My son, do as I say, and we will make a landing in safety.” The guide obeyed. His hand were blistered; his strength was leaving his body, but he managed to keep up his struggle against the angry seas. The back-wash created by the billows dashing against the perpendicular rocks of the shore-line made conditions more perilous. The guide said, “Father, there is nothing but certain death ahead of us. We cannot survive this storm.” The noise was so great that it was impossible for the two voyagers to hear each other without shouting, though they were only fifteen or sixteen feet apart; but the Bishop simply said, “Louis, keep going straight ahead.”
Much water had entered their little boat, and it was coming in faster now that they were nearing the ledges of rocks, and the seas, augmented by the back-wash, were becoming rougher, so that destruction seemed imminent. Then amid the tumult and tossing of the boat upon the choppy seas, the boat was suddenly driven from the rough sea into tranquil waters, seemingly guided by some supernatural power. The guide knew that the craft was not being directed by his efforts, and that they were nearing the shore with each sweep of the waves. To his amazement, the boat grounded, and by feeling the depth of the water with his oar he knew that they were in shallow water, but he was unable to determine whether they were in a cave or at the mouth of some stream.
“Father,” Louis cried delightedly, “it seems to me that we are in a cave or at the mouth of some stream, because by feeling around with my oar I can feel a current coming from the land direction.” The missionary then told him to take out their bundle, and light the lantern so that they could see where they were and explore their surroundings.
After lighting the lantern, they made a survey of their surroundings and found that they were at the mouth of a large stream. They climbed out of the river and to higher ground, and there made their camp for the night.
Cross River Historical Marker
Photo by Brian Finstad, 2024.
The following morning, Bishop Baraga told his guide that they would stay there that day, that they would construct and erect a cross in token of thanksgiving to God for his help and guidance to safety. So, all that day they worked. They cut down some large cedar trees and erected a large cedar cross, which they set up on the shore at the mouth of the stream. The next morning Bishop Baraga and his guide went down to the site of the cross they had erected, and again offered thanks to God for their safe deliverance. The missionary told his guide: “Hereafter this stream shall be known as “Cross River”. It has been thus known from that time on.
About twenty or twenty-five years ago, a large number of people from Duluth, Superior, and other towns and cities in the Lake Superior region, regardless of creed, made a trip to Cross River and erected a substantial cross there in place of the old cedar cross set up by Bishop Baraga and his guide, Louis Gordon, in thanksgiving to God for the wonderful guidance and loving care of his servants who landed safely at the mouth of this stream after such a perilous voyage.
Bishop Baraga stopped at Superior on their way back from the North Shore. They did not venture another lake-crossing. This zealous Lake Superior Chippewa Indian Missionary died at Marquette, Michigan, on January 19, 1868.
Cross River Historical Marker
Photo by Brian Finstad, 2024.
Among The Otchipwees: III
July 20, 2016
By Amorin Mello
… continued from Among The Otchipwees: II
Magazine of Western History Illustrated
No. 4 February 1885
as republished in
Magazine of Western History: Volume I, pages 335-342.
AMONG THE OTCHIPWEES.
III.
The Northern tribes have nothing deserving the name of historical records. Their hieroglyphics or pictorial writings on trees, bark, rocks and sheltered banks of clay relate to personal or transient events. Such representations by symbols are very numerous but do not attain to a system.
Their history prior to their contact with the white man has been transmitted verbally from generation to generation with more accuracy than a civilized people would do. Story-telling constitutes their literature. In their lodges they are anything but a silent people. When their villages are approached unawares, the noise of voices is much the same as in the camps of parties on pic-nic excursions. As a voyageur the pure blood is seldom a success, and one of the objections to him is a disposition to set around the camp-fire and relate his tales of war or of the hunt, late into the night. This he does with great spirit, “suiting the action to the word” with a varied intonation and with excellent powers of description. Such tales have come down orally from old to young many generations, but are more mystical than historical. The faculty is cultivated in the wigwam during long winter nights, where the same story is repeated by the patriarchs to impress it on the memory of the coming generation. With the wild man memory is sharp, and therefore tradition has in some cases a semblance to history. In substance, however, their stories lack dates, the subjects are frivolous or merely romantic, and the narrator is generally given to embellishment. He sees spirits everywhere, the reality of which is accepted by the child, who listens with wonder to a well-told tale, in which he not only believes, but is preparing to be a professional story-teller himself.
Indian picture-writings and inscriptions, in their hieroglyphics, are seen everywhere on trees, rocks and pieces of bark, blankets and flat pieces of wood. Above Odanah, on Bad River, is a vertical bank of clay, shielded from storms by a dense group of evergreens. On this smooth surface are the records of many generations, over and across each other, regardless of the rights of previous parties. Like most of their writings, they relate to trifling events of the present, such as the route which is being traveled; the game killed; or the results of a fight. To each message the totem or dodem of the writer is attached, by which he is at once recognized. But there are records of some consequence, though not strictly historical.
Charles Whittlesey also reproduced Okandikan’s autobiography in Western Reserve Historical Society Tract 41.
Before a young man can be considered a warrior, he must undergo an ordeal of exposure and starvation. He retires to a mountain, a swamp, or a rock, and there remains day and night without food, fire or blankets, as long as his constitution is able to endure the exposure. Three or four days is not unusual, but a strong Indian, destined to be a great warrior, should fast at least a week. One of the figures on this clay bank is a tree with nine branches and a hand pointing upward. This represents the vision of an Indian known to one of my voyagers, which he saw during his seclusion. He had fasted nine days, which naturally gave him an insight of the future, and constituted his motto, or chart of life. In tract No. 41 (1877), of the Western Reserve Historical Society, I have represented some of the effigies in this group; and also the personal history of Kundickan, a Chippewa, whom I saw in 1845, at Ontonagon. This record was made by himself with a knife, on a flat piece of wood, and is in the form of an autobiography. In hundreds of places in the United States such inscriptions are seen, of the meaning of which very little is known. Schoolcraft reproduced several of them from widely separated localities, such as the Dighton Boulder, Rhode Island; a rock on Kelley’s Island, Lake Erie, and from pieces of birch bark, conveying messages or memoranda to aid an orator in his speeches.
~ New Sources of Indian History, 1850-1891: The Ghost Dance and the Prairie Sioux, A Miscellany by Stanley Vestal, 2015, page 269.
The “Indian rock” in the Susquehanna River, near Columbia, Pennsylvania; the God Rock, on the Allegheny, near Brady’s Bend; inscriptions on the Ohio River Rocks, near Wellsville, Ohio, and near the mouth of the Guyandotte, have a common style, but the particular characters are not the same. Three miles west of Barnsville, in Belmont County, Ohio, is a remarkable group of sculptured figures, principally of human feet of various dimensions and uncouth proportions. Sitting Bull gave a history of his exploits on sheets of paper, which he explained to Dr. Kimball, a surgeon in the army, published in fascimile in Harper’s Weekly, July 1876. Such hieroglyphics have been found on rocky faces in Arizona, and on boulders in Georgia.
Pointe De Froid is the northwestern extremity of La Pointe on Madeline Island. Map detail from 1852 PLSS survey.
~ Report of a geological survey of Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota: and incidentally of a portion of Nebraska Territory, by David Dale Owen, 1852, page 420.
~ Geology of Wisconsin: Paleontology by R. P. Whitfield, 1880, page 58.
While pandemonium was let loose at La Pointe towards the close of the payment we made a bivouac on the beach, between the dock and the mission house. The voyageurs were all at the great finale which constitutes the paradise of a Chippewa. One of my local assistants was playing the part of a detective on the watch for whisky dealers. We had seen one of them on the head waters of Brunscilus River, who came through the woods up the Chippewa River. Beyond the village of La Pointe, on a sandy promontory called Pointe au Froid, abbreviated to Pointe au Fret or Cold Point, were about twenty-five lodges, and probably one hundred and fifty Indians excited by liquor. For this, diluted with more than half water, they paid a dollar for each pint, and the measure was none too large – neither pressed down nor running over. Their savage yells rose on the quiet moon-lit atmosphere like a thousand demons. A very little weak whisky is sufficient to work wonders in the stomach of a backwoods Indian, to whom it is a comparative stranger. About midnight the detective perceived our traveler from the Chippewa River quietly approaching the dock, to which he tied his canoe and went among the lodges. To the stern there were several kegs of fire-water attached, but weighted down below the surface of the water. It required but a few minutes to haul them in and stave the heads of all of them. Before morning there appeared to be more than a thousand savage throats giving full play to their powerful lungs. Two of them were staggering along the beach toward where I lay, with one man by my side. he said we had better be quiet, which, undoubtedly, was good advice. They were nearly naked, locked arm in arm, their long hair spread out in every direction, and as they swayed to and fro between the water line and the bushes, no imagination could paint a more complete representation of the demon. There was a yell to every step – apparently a bacchanalian song. They were within two yards before they saw us, and by one leap cleared everything, as though they were as much surprised as we were. The song, or howl, did not cease. It was kept up until they turned away from the beach into the mission road, and went on howling over the hill toward the old fort. It required three days for half-breed and full-blood alike to recover from the general debauch sufficiently to resume the oar and pack. As we were about to return to the Penoka Mountains, a Chippewa buck, with a new calico shirt and a clean blanket, wished to know if the Chemokoman would take him to the south shore. He would work a paddle or an oar. Before reaching the head of the Chegoimegon Bay there was a storm of rain. He pulled off his shirt, folded it and sat down upon it, to keep it dry. The falling rain on his bare back he did not notice.
Portrait of Stephen Bonga
~ Wisconsin Historical Society
We had made the grand portage of nine miles from the foot of the cataract of the St. Louis, above Fond du Lac, and encamped on the river where the trail came to it below the knife portage. In the evening Stephen Bungo, a brother of Charles Bungo, the half-breed negro and Chippewa, came into our tent. He said he had a message from Naugaunup, second chief of the Fond du Lac band, whose home as at Ash-ke-bwau-ka, on the river above. His chief wished to know by what authority we came through the country without consulting him. After much diplomatic parley Stephen was given some pequashigon and went to his bivouac.
Joseph Granville Norwood
~ Wikipedia.org
Portrait of Naagaanab
~ Minnesota Historical Society
The next morning he intimated that we must call at Naugaunup’s lodge on the way up, where probably permission might be had, by paying a reasonable sum, to proceed. We found him in a neat wigwam with two wives, on a pleasant rise of the river bluff, clear of timber, where there had been a village of the same name. His countenance was a pleasant one, very closely resembling that of Governor Corwin, of Ohio, but his features were smaller and also his stature. Dr. Norwood informed him that we had orders from the Great Father to go up the St. Louis to its source, thence to the waters running the other way to the Canada line. Nothing but force would prevent us from doing this, and if he was displeased he should make a complaint to the Indian agent at La Pointe, and he would forward it to Washington. We heard no more of the invasion of his territory, and he proceeded to do what very few Chippewas will do, offered to show us valuable minerals. In the stream was a pinnacle of black sale, about sixty feet high. Naugaunup soon appeared from behind it, near the top, in a position that appeared to be inaccessible, a very picturesque object pointing triumphantly to some veins of white quartz, which are very common in metamorphic slate.
Those who have heard him, say that he was a fine orator, having influence over his band, a respectable Indian, and a good negotiator. If he imagined there was value in those seams of quartz it is quite remarkable and contrary to universal practice among Chippewas that he should show them to white men. They claim that all minerals belong to the tribe. An Indian who received a price for showing them, and did not give every one his share, would be in danger of his life. They had also a superstitious dread of some great evil if they disclosed anything of the kind. Some times they promise to do so, but when they arrive at the spot, with some verdant white man, expecting to become suddenly rich, the Great Spirit or the Bad Manitou has carried it away. I have known more than one such instance, where persons have been sustained by hopeful expectation after many days of weary travel into the depths of the forest. The editor of the Ontonagon Miner gives one of the instances in his experience:
“Many years ago when Iron River was one of the fur stations, of John Jacob Astor and the American Fur Company, the Indians were known to have silver in its native state in considerable quantities.”
Men are now living who have seen them with chunks of the size of a man’s fist, but no one ever succeeded in inducing them to tell or show where the hidden treasure lay. A mortal dread clung to them, that if they showed white men a deposit of mineral the Great Manitou would punish them with death.
Several years since a half-breed brought in very fine specimens of vein rock, carrying considerable quantities of native silver. His report was that his wife had found it on the South Range, where they were trapping. To test his story he was sent back for more. In a few days he returned bringing with him quite a chunk from which was obtained eleven and one-half ounces of native silver. He returned home, went among the Flambeaux Indians and was killed. His wife refused to listen to any proposals or temptation from friend or foe to show the location of this vein, clinging with religious tenacity to the superstitious fears of her tribe.
When the British had a fort on St. Joseph’s Island in the St. Mary’s River, in the War of 1812, an Indian brought in a rich piece of copper pyrites. The usual mode of getting on good terms with him, by means of whisky, failed to get from him the location of the mineral. Goods were offered him; first a bundle, then a pile, afterwards a canoe-load, and finally enough to load a Mackinaw boat. No promise to disclose the place, no description or hint could be extorted. It was probably a specimen from the veins on the Bruce or Wellington mining property, only about twenty miles distant on the Canadian shore.
Detail of John Beargrease the Younger from stereograph “Lake Superior winter mail line” by B. F. Childs, circa 1870s-1880s.
~ Commons.Wikimedia.org
Crossing over the portage from the St. Louis River to Vermillion River, one of the voyageurs heard the report of a distant shot. They had expected to meet Bear’s Grease, with his large family, and fired a gun as a signal to them. The ashes of their fire were still warm. After much shouting and firing, it was evident that we should have no Indian society at that time. That evening, around an ample camp fire, we heard the history of the old patriarch. His former wives had borne him twenty-four children; more boys than girls. Our half-breed guide had often been importuned to take one of the girls. The old father recommended her as a good worker, and if she did not work he must whip her. Even a moderate beating always brought her to a sense of her duties. All he expected was a blanket and a gun as an offset. He would give a great feast on the occasion of the nuptials. Over the summit to Vermillion, through Vermillion Lake, passing down the outlet among many cataracts to the Crane Lake portage, there were encamped a few families, most of them too drunk to stand alone. There were two traders, from the Canada side, with plenty of rum. We wanted a guide through the intricacies of Rainy Lake. A very good-looking savage presented himself with a very unsteady gait, his countenance expressing the maudlin good nature of Tam O’Shanter as he mounted Meg. Withal, he appeared to be honest. “Yes, I know that way, but, you see, I’m drunk; can’t you wait till to-morrow.” A young squaw who apparently had not imbibed fire-water, had succeeded in acquiring a pewter ring. Her dress was a blanket of rabbit skins, made of strips woven like a rag carpet. It was bound around her waist with a girdle of deer’s hide, answering the purpose of stroud and blanket. No city belle could exhibit a ring of diamonds more conspicuously and with more self-satisfaction than this young squaw did her ring of pewter.
As we were all silently sitting in the canoes, dripping with rain, a sudden halloo announced the approach of living men. It was no other than Wau-nun-nee, the chief of the Grand Fourche bands, who was hunting for ducks among the rice. More delicious morsels never gladdened the palate than these plump, fat, rice-fed ducks. Old Wau-nun-nee is a gentleman among Indian chiefs. His band had never consented to sell their land, and consequently had no annuities. He even refused to receive a present from the Government as one of the head men of the tribe, preferring to remain wholly independent. We soon came to his village on Ash-ab-ash-kaw Lake. No band of Indians in our travels appeared as comfortable or behaved as well as this. Their country is well supplied with rice and tolerably good hunting ground. The American fur dealers (I mean the licensed ones) do not sell liquor to the Indians, and use their influence to aid Government in keeping it from them. Wau-nun-nee’s baliwick was seldom disturbed by drunken brawls. His Indians had more pleasant countenances than any we had seen, with less of the wild and haggard look than the annuity Indians. It was seldom they left their grounds, for they seldom suffered from hunger. They were comfortably clothed, made no importunities for kokoosh or pequashigon, and in gratifying their savage curiosity about our equipments they were respectful and pleasant. In his lodge the chief had teacups and saucers, with tea and sugar for his white guests, which he pressed us to enjoy. But we had no time for ceremonials, and had tea and sugar of our own. Our men recognized numerous acquaintances among the women, and as we encamped near a second village at Round Lake they came to make a draft on our provision chest. We here laid in a supply of wild rice in exchange for flour. Among this band we saw bows and arrows used to kill game. They have so little trade with the whites, and are so remote from the depots of Indian goods, that powder and lead are scarce, and guns also. For ducks and geese the bow and arrow is about as effectual as powder and shot. In truth, the community of which Wau-nun-nee was the patriarch came nearer to the pictures of Indians which poets are fond of drawing than any we saw. The squaws were more neatly clad, and their hair more often combed and braided and tied with a piece of ribbon or red flannel, with which their pappooses delighted to sport. There were among them fewer of those distinguished smoke-dried, sore-eyed creatures who present themselves at other villages.
By my estimate the channel, as we followed it to the head of the Round Lake branch, is two hundred and two mile in length, and the rise of the stream one hundred and eight feet. The portage to a stream leading into the Mississippi is one mile.
At Round Lake we engaged two young Indians to help over the portage in Jack’s place. Both of them were decided dandies, and one, who did not overtake us till late the next morning, gave an excuse that he had spent the night in courting an Indian damsel. This business is managed with them a little differently than with us. They deal largely in charms, which the medicine men furnish. This fellow had some pieces of mica, which he pulverized, and was managing to cause his inamorata to swallow. If this was effected his cause was sure to succeed. He had also some ochery, iron ore and an herb to mix with the mica. Another charm, and one very effectual, is composed of a hair from the damsel’s head placed between two wooden images. Our Lothario had prepared himself externally so as to produce a most killing effect. His hair was adorned with broad yellow ribbons, and also soaked in grease. On his cheeks were some broad jet black stripes that pointed, on both sides, toward his mouth; in his ears and nose, some beads four inches long. For a pouch and medicine bag he had the skin of a swan suspended from his girdle by the neck. His blanket was clean, and his leggings wrought with great care, so that he exhibited a most striking collection of colors.
At Round Lake we overtook the Cass Lake band on their return from the rice lakes. This meeting produced a great clatter of tongues between our men and the squaws, who came waddling down a slippery bank where they were encamped. There was a marked difference between these people and those at Ash-ab-ash-kaw. They were more ragged, more greasy, and more intrusive.
Chequamegon History 