The Lure of the Mississippi — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Young Readers Enchanted Adventures

Authors: Lange, D. (Dietrich), 1863-1940, Howes, William L. [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2013 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Vicksburg (Miss.) -- History -- Siege, 1863 -- Juvenile fiction; Minnesota -- Juvenile fiction; Dakota Indians -- Wars -- 1862-1865 -- Juvenile fiction; Mississippi River Valley -- Juvenile fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 55,272

Reading time 241 min

Text sections 27

This digital edition of The Lure of the Mississippi — A Reader’s Guide is described by source-level measurements including 55,272 words, 4 hr 1 min estimated reading time, and 27 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 16.8 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Vicksburg (Miss.) -- History -- Siege, 1863 -- Juvenile fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #41877

This editorial note examines how D. Lange's 1917 novel uses the Mississippi River's changing geography and the movement between Minnesota and Vicksburg to structure a story of adventure and displacement. Observations focus on the river as a character, the contrast between northern and southern settings, and the use of natural details to mark transitions.

Editorial Edition Score 4.9/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg41877

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were scattered through the brush. Had it not been for the trees and brush, men, mules and wagon would have rolled straight into the swollen river.

“He’s sure a goner,” remarked one of the men, as he cut the traces of Old Harmony, the biggest mule of the battery. The neck of the mule was caught between two trees and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth full length. However, no sooner was he released, than he got up, shook himself, scrambled up the bluff and did not stop until he reached the corral, where he uttered one of those bugle-calls which had earned him the name of Old Harmony. But soldiers are accustomed to accidents of this kind, and within half an hour, Old Harmony’s Six were once more hitched to the big army-wagon. Both drivers and mules were a little more careful to keep the road and, by the light of glaring and smoking torches and blazing bonfires, the loading of the boat was rapidly finished.

When reveille sounded at daybreak, the men marched into the mess-hall at Fort Ridgely for their last breakfast in Minnesota.

There had been little sleep at the post during the night. Had a painter like Catlin been present, he could have left us some fine dramatic canvases.

Opposite the side of the fort which faced the open prairie away from the river, some six or seven hundred Sioux Indians were encamped. Only the squaws and the little children rolled up in their blankets in the tepees that night. Some of the men sat smoking around their camp-fires, but most of them sat on the river bank watching the boatmen and the soldiers working in the red glare of the torches and bonfires. They had heard that the white people were having a war amongst themselves. Now they knew that the story was true. The soldiers were going away on the steamer, and with the soldiers were going most of the big guns, against whose terrible thunder, balls, and canister no Indian braves have ever been able to keep up their courage.

“If the soldiers go away and take the big guns, we can get back the land along our river. We have been cheated out of it, and the Whites have never paid us for it,” a middle-aged warrior remarked.

“We can do more,” added a fierce-looking young man, known as the Boaster; “we can drive all the Whites out of Minnesota. But we shall keep their horses and their squaws and we shall make big feasts of their oxen. The Winnebagoes will help us. We shall make peace with the Chippewas and they will help us.

“We shall have our villages again at Kaposia and at Wabasha, on the Great River, and the Whites will have to stay on the other side of the Great River. This is our country and Manitou will send back the buffalo and the elk, and the deer will become numerous again. We shall have plenty of meat and skins as in the days of our fathers before the Whites had poisoned the land with their plows, for the black soil which the plows turn up is bad medicine for buffalo and elk and deer.”

When the shadows of the trees began to be reflected on the grayish current, the last morning blast of the _Fanny Harris_ echoed over the flooded valley. The three howitzers left at the fort fired a salute, the few remaining men cheered their departing comrades and the soldiers on board replied with a ringing hurrah for Abe Lincoln and Fort Ridgely. Then the pilot rang a bell, the hawsers were drawn on board, the big stern-wheel churned the water to a white foam, the heavily-laden steamer backed into the current, turned around slowly, and headed down stream for Fort Snelling near St. Paul.

On board, besides the soldiers, were Bill and Tim Ferguson, Sam Baker, a trapper, and Black Buffalo, an Indian scout.

The Ferguson brothers were Southern boys from Vicksburg, who had come North with a man they called Cousin Hicks, and with whom they lived in a squatter’s cabin a few miles below Fort Ridgely. Hicks, about whose business in the Indian country there were many conflicting rumors afloat, had been away for a week visiting the Indians on the upper Minnesota, and in his absence Baker and Black Buffalo had invited the Ferguson boys to go with them to Fort Snelling and St. Paul.

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From its opening pages, The Lure of the Mississippi establishes the river as both a physical route and a narrative spine. The story begins on the steamer Fanny Harris at Fort Ridgely on the Minnesota River, a tributary that immediately signals the importance of waterways. The foreword maps the historical terrain: the Civil War has begun, and the departure of troops leaves the Minnesota valley vulnerable to the Dakota War of 1862. Lange then shifts the action southward, following the Mississippi to the siege of Vicksburg in 1863. This double movement—north to south, from river to river—gives the novel its structure.

The River as a Living Corridor

The Mississippi is not merely a backdrop but an active presence that shapes the characters' journey. In chapter XV, Tatanka the Sioux scout gazes at the river from Inspiration Point and sees “a broad glassy channel out of the blue hazy distance.” The description emphasizes depth and distance: the river is “half a mile wide,” with a “deep dark channel” distinct from “light brown sandbars.” Barker, the old trapper, contrasts the Mississippi with smaller rivers he once knew: “the Wabash and the Illinois are great rivers, but they are just little crawling creeks compared with the Mississippi.” This comparison reinforces the scale of the setting. The river also dictates the pace of travel—by steamboat, by log, by foot along its banks—and provides both danger and sustenance, as when the boys hunt bees, drive fish, or catch a monster.

Movement Between Two Worlds

The novel’s structure depends on a clear geographical and historical pivot: from the Minnesota River valley to the Mississippi at Vicksburg. The foreword states that within a year of the soldiers’ departure, “a furious Indian war sweeps over the young State of Minnesota,” while on the Mississippi “Federal and Confederate fleets and armies battle for the control of the Great River.” The characters move through this divided landscape. Tatanka’s lament at Inspiration Point—“My people once lived here… The big game is gone now”—ties the loss of land to the arrival of white settlers. Later, at Vicksburg, the same characters encounter a different war, one between North and South. The movement is not just physical but thematic: the novel connects two conflicts through the river’s course.

Recurring Natural Details and Sensory Markers

Lange uses specific natural details to anchor scenes and signal transitions. At the cliffside camp, the sound of a “drumming of a grouse” and a woodpecker’s “peculiar rattle” mark the edge of the woods. The boys drop stones over a hundred-foot cliff and count seconds until they strike trees below. At Inspiration Point, the view includes “dark groves of elms,” “cottonwood in light gray,” and “great dashes of a dark ruddy red” from budding maples. These observations are precise and grounded. Barker’s wish to build a house on the point—to watch “the snow-storms rush down the valley” and “the lightning play between the hills”—ties human desire to the river’s seasonal rhythms. The natural world is not decorative; it is the medium through which the characters measure time and distance.

The Role of the Illustrations and Visual Structure

The five illustrations by William L. Howes, listed in the contents, offer visual anchors that mirror the novel’s key scenes. The frontispiece shows a defiant figure: “Come out, you white men, and fight!” Another image depicts a man raising a head above the current, suggesting a rescue or struggle in the water. A third shows two men buying a boat from a trader, emphasizing the importance of river transport. Tatanka’s murmured line, “It is a forest of ghost trees,” appears as a caption, pointing to a moment of eerie stillness. These images are not merely decorative; they highlight the novel’s reliance on physical action and the river’s dual nature as a lifeline and a threat. The visual structure reinforces the movement between scenes of travel, conflict, and observation.

Readers approaching The Lure of the Mississippi will find a story that moves deliberately between two distinct historical moments, held together by the river’s constant presence. Pay attention to the way Lange describes the landscape—the colors, sounds, and distances—as these details often carry more weight than dialogue. The novel rewards those who read with an eye for geography and a willingness to follow the current from one war to another.

Reading about the river’s shifting banks in The Lure of the Mississippi brought back a quiet afternoon by the old levee, how distant barges seemed like disappearing lines. That same ache of movement without arrival returned while reading Stories of a Governess — Text and Context, where rooms change but the feeling of waiting lingers, much like water that never quite stays put. Some stories simply hold that restlessness gently.