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vii
Foreword xxiii
Preface xxv
I FOUNDATIONS 3
1 Introduction 5
1.1 The Art of Language Design 7
1.2 The Programming Language Spectrum 11
1.3 Why Study Programming Languages? 14
1.4 Compilation and Interpretation 17
1.5 Programming Environments 24
1.6 An Overview of Compilation 26
1.6.1 Lexical and Syntax Analysis 28
1.6.2 Semantic Analysis and Intermediate Code Generation 32
1.6.3 Target Code Generation 34
1.6.4 Code Improvement 36
1.7 Summary and Concluding Remarks 37
1.8 Exercises 38
1.9 Explorations 39
1.10 Bibliographic Notes 40
2.2 Scanning 54
2.2.1 Generating a Finite Automaton 56
2.2.2 Scanner Code 61
2.2.3 Table-Driven Scanning 65
2.2.4 Lexical Errors 65
2.2.5 Pragmas 67
2.3 Parsing 69
2.3.1 Recursive Descent 73
2.3.2 Writing an LL(1) Grammar 79
2.3.3 Table-Driven Top-Down Parsing 82
2.3.4 Bottom-Up Parsing 89
2.3.5 Syntax Errors C 1 . 102
2.4 Theoretical Foundations C 13 . 103
2.4.1 Finite Automata C 13
2.4.2 Push-Down Automata C 18
2.4.3 Grammar and Language Classes C 19
13 Concurrency 623
13.1 Background and Motivation 624
13.1.1 The Case for Multithreaded Programs 627
13.1.2 Multiprocessor Architecture 631
13.2 Concurrent Programming Fundamentals 635
xviii Contents
Bibliography 891
Index 911
This page intentionally left blank
Foreword
Programming languages are universally accepted as one of the core subjects that
every computer scientist must master. The reason is clear: these languages are
the main notation we use for developing products and for communicating new
ideas. They have influenced the field by enabling the development of those
multimillion-line programs that shaped the information age. Their success is
owed to the long-standing effort of the computer science community in the cre-
ation of new languages and in the development of strategies for their implemen-
tation. The large number of computer scientists mentioned in the footnotes and
bibliographic notes in this book by Michael Scott is a clear manifestation of the
magnitude of this effort as is the sheer number and diversity of topics it contains.
Over 75 programming languages are discussed. They represent the best and
most influential contributions in language design across time, paradigms, and ap-
plication domains. They are the outcome of decades of work that led initially to
Fortran and Lisp in the 1950s, to numerous languages in the years that followed,
and, in our times, to the popular dynamic languages used to program the Web.
The 75 plus languages span numerous paradigms including imperative, func-
tional, logic, static, dynamic, sequential, shared-memory parallel, distributed-
memory parallel, dataflow, high-level, and intermediate languages. They include
languages for scientific computing, for symbolic manipulations, and for accessing
databases. This rich diversity of languages is crucial for programmer productivity
and is one of the great assets of the discipline of computing.
Cutting across languages, this book presents a detailed discussion of control
flow, types, and abstraction mechanisms. These are the representations needed
to develop programs that are well organized, modular, easy to understand, and
easy to maintain. Knowledge of these core features and of their incarnation in to-
day’s languages is a basic foundation to be an effective programmer and to better
understand computer science today.
Strategies to implement programming languages must be studied together
with the design paradigms. A reason is that success of a language depends on
the quality of its implementation. Also, the capabilities of these strategies some-
times constraint the design of languages. The implementation of a language starts
with parsing and lexical scanning needed to compute the syntactic structure of
programs. Today’s parsing techniques, described in Part I, are among the most
beautiful algorithms ever developed and are a great example of the use of mathe-
matical objects to create practical instruments. They are worthwhile studying just
xxiii
xxiv Foreword
David Padua
Siebel Center for Computer Science
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
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Scribd Without Any Related Topics
contributed so largely to build up the Eastern States—the
manufacturing and industrial—will here aid in building up one of the
strongest communities of our future republic.
Clearings here and there, cabins by the roadside, bark wigwams
which have sheltered wandering Ojibwas, and a reach of magnificent
forest, are the features of the country through which we ride this
glorious afternoon, with the sunlight glimmering among the trees, till
suddenly we come upon Chengwatona.
It is a small village on Snake River, with a hotel, half a dozen
houses, and a saw-mill where pine logs are going up an incline from
the pond at one end, and coming out in the shape of bright new
lumber at the other.
The dam at Chengwatona has flooded an immense area, and
looking toward the descending sun we behold a forest in decay. The
trees are leafless, and the dead trunks rising from the water, robbed
of all their beauty, present an indescribable scene of desolation when
contrasted with the luxuriance of the living forest through which we
have passed.
With a fresh team we move on, finding mud "spots" now and then.
We remember the remarks of the fellows at the railroad. We dive into
holes, the forward wheels going down kerchug, sending bucketsful of
muddy water upward to the roof of the wagon and forward upon the
horses; jounce over corduroy which sets our teeth to chattering; then
come upon a series of hollows through which we ride as in a jolly-
boat on the waves of the sea. The wagon is ballasted by two
members of Congress on the back seat, and by our rotund physician
and the Vice-President of the Northern Pacific on the middle seat.
The President is outside with the driver, on the lookout for breakers,
while the rest of us, like passengers on shipboard, stowed beneath
the hatches, must take whatever comes. The members of Congress
bob up and down like electric pith-balls between the negative and
positive poles of a galvanic battery,—only that the positive is the
prevailing force! When the forward wheels go down to the hub, they
go up; and then, as they descend, the seat, by some unaccountable
process, comes up, meets them half-way,—and with such a bump!
Then we who are shaking our sides with laughter on the front
seat, congratulating ourselves, like the Pharisees, that we are not as
they are, suddenly find ourselves sprawling on the floor. When we
regain our places, the M. D. and Vice-President come forward with a
rush and embrace us fraternally. We get our legs so mixed up with
our neighbors' that we can hardly tell whether our feet belong to
ourselves or to somebody else! The light weights of the party are
knocked about like shuttlecocks, while the solid ones roll like those
ridiculous, round-bottomed, grinning images that we see in the toy-
shops! I find myself going up and down after the manner of Sancho
Panza when tossed in a blanket.
Our dinners are well settled when we reach Grindstone,—our
stopping-place for the night. The town is located on Grindstone
Creek, and consists of a log-house and stable, surrounded by burnt
timber.
Half a dozen men who have footed it from Duluth are nursing their
sore feet in one of the three rooms on the ground-floor. The furniture
of the apartment consists of a cast-iron stove in the centre and three
rough benches against the walls, which are papered with pictorial
newspapers.
The occupants are discussing the future prospects of Duluth.
"It is a right smart chance of a place," says a tall, thin-faced, long-
nosed man stretched in one corner. We know by the utterance of that
one sentence that he is from southern Illinois.
"They have got their i-deas pretty well up though, on real estate,
for a town that is only a yearlin'," says another, who, by his accent of
the i, has shown that he too is a Western man.
An Amazon in stature, with a round red face, hurries up a supper
of pork and fried eggs; and then we who are going northward, and
they who are travelling southward,—sixteen of us, all told,—creep up
the narrow stairway to the unfinished garret, and go to bed, with our
noses close to the rafters and long shingles, through the crevices of
which we look out and behold the stars marching in grand procession
across the midnight sky.
It is glorious to lie there and feel the tire and weariness go out of
us; to look into the "eternities of space," as Carlyle says of the vault
of heaven. But our profound thoughts upon the measureless
empyrean are brought down to sublunary things by four of the
sleepers who engage in a snoring contest. The race is so close, neck
and neck, or rather nose and nose, that it is impossible to decide
whether the deep sonorous—not to say snorous?—bass of the big
fellow by the window, or the sharp, piercing, energetic snorts of the
thin-faced, lantern-jawed, long-nosed man from southern Illinois, is
entitled to the trumpet or horn, or whatever may be appropriate to
signalize such championship. Either of them would have been a
power in the grand chorus of the Coliseum Jubilee, and both together
would be equal to the big organ!
We are off early in the morning, feeling a little sore in spots. The
first thump extorts a sudden oh! from a member of Congress, but we
are philosophic, and accommodate ourselves to circumstances, tell
stories between the bumpings, and make the grand old forest ring
with our laughter. It is glorious to get away from the town, and out
into the woods, where you can shout and sing and let yourself out
without regard to what folks will say! The fountain of perennial youth
is in the forest,—never in the city. Its healing, beautifying, and
restoring waters do not run through aqueducts; they are never
pumped up; but you must lie down upon the mossy bank beneath old
trees and drink from the crystal stream to obtain them.
We quench our thirst from gurgling brooks, pick berries by the
roadside, walk ahead of the lumbering stage, and enjoy the solitude
of the interminable forest.
Eighteen miles of travel brings us to Kettle River Crossing, where
we sit down to a dinner of blackberries and milk, bread and butter,
and blackberry-pie, in a clean little cottage, with pictures on the
walls, books on a shelf, a snow-white cloth on the table, and a trim
little woman waiting upon us.
"May I ask where you are from?"
"Manchester, New Hampshire."
It was Lord Morpeth or the Duke of Argyle, I have forgotten which,
who said that New England looked as if it had just been taken out of
a bandbox; so with this one-storied log-house and everything around
it. We had sour-krout at Grindstone, but have blackberries here; and
that is just the difference between Dutchland and New England,
whether you seek for them on the Atlantic slope or in the heart of the
continent.
Space is wanting to tell of all the incidents of a three days' forest
ride,—how we trolled for pickerel on a little lake, seated in a birch-
bark canoe, and hauled them in hand over hand,—bouncing fellows
that furnished us a delicious breakfast; how we laughed and told
stories, never minding the bumping and thumping of the wagon, and
came out strong, like Mark Tapley, every one of us; how we gazed
upon the towering pines and sturdy oaks, and beheld the gloom
settling over nature when the great eclipse occurred; and how, just
as night was coming on, we entered Superior, and saw a horned owl
sitting on the ridge-pole of a deserted house in the outskirts of the
town, surveying the desolate scene in the twilight,—looking out upon
the cemetery, the tenantless houses, and the blinking lights in the
windows.
Superior has been, and still is, a city of the Future, rather than of
the Present. It was laid out before the war on a magnificent scale by
a party of Southerners, among whom was John C. Breckenridge, who
is still a large owner in corner lots.
It has a fine situation at the southwestern corner of the lake, on a
broad, level plateau, with a densely timbered country behind it. The
St. Louis River, which rises in northern Minnesota, and which comes
tumbling over a series of cascades formed by the high land between
Lake Superior and the Mississippi, spreads itself out into a shallow
bay in front of the town, and reaches the lake over a sand-bar.
Government has been erecting breakwaters to control the current
of the river, with the expectation of deepening the channel, which has
about nine feet of water; but thus far the improvements have not
accomplished the desired end. The bar is a great impediment to
navigation, and its existence has had a blighting effect on the once
fair prospects of Superior City. Dredges are employed to deepen the
channel, but those thus far used are small, and not much has been
accomplished. The citizens of Superior are confident that with a
liberal appropriation from government the channel can be deepened,
and that, when once cleared out, it can be kept clear at a small
expense.
Superior has suffered severely from the reaction which followed
the flush times in 1857. A large amount of money was expended in
improvements,—grading streets, opening roads, building piers, and
erecting houses. Then the war came on, and all industry was
paralyzed. The Southern proprietors were in rebellion. The growth of
the place, which had been considerable, came to a sudden stand-still.
The situation of the town, while it is fortunate in some respects, is
unfortunate in others. It is in Wisconsin, while the point which
reaches across the head of the lake is in Minnesota. The last-named
State wanted a port on the lake in its own dominion, and so Duluth
has sprung into existence as the rival of its older neighbor.
The St. Paul and Superior Railroad, having its terminus at Duluth,
lies wholly within the State of Minnesota, and comes just near
enough to Superior to tantalize and vex the good people of that
place.
But the citizens of that town have good pluck. I do not know what
motto they have adopted for their great corporate seal, but Nil
Desperandum would best set forth their hopefulness and
determination. They are confident that Superior is yet to be the
queen city of the lake, and are determined to have railway
communication with the Mississippi by building a branch line to the
St. Paul and Superior Road.
Our party is kindly and hospitably entertained by the people of the
place, and to those who think of the town as being so far northwest
that it is beyond civilization, I have only to say that there are few
drawing-rooms in the East where more agreeable company can be
found than that which we find in one of the parlors of Superior; few
places where the sonatas of Beethoven and Mendelssohn can be
more exquisitely rendered upon the pianoforte, by a lady who bakes
her own bread and cares for her family without the aid of a servant.
It is the glory of our civilization that it adapts itself to all the
circumstances of life. I have no doubt that if Minnie, or Winnie, or
Georgiana, or almost any of the pale, attenuated young ladies who
are now frittering away their time in studying the last style of paniers,
or thrumming the piano, or reading the last vapid novel, were to have
their lot cast in the West,—on the frontiers of civilization,—where
they would be compelled to do something for themselves or those
around them, that they would manfully and womanfully accept the
situation, be far happier than they now are, and worth more to
themselves and to the world.
I dare say that nine out of every ten young men selling dry-goods
in retail stores in Boston and elsewhere have high hopes for the
future. They are going to do something by and by. When they get on
a little farther they will show us what they can accomplish. But the
chances are that they will never get that little farther on. The tide is
against them. One thing we are liable to forget; we measure
ourselves by what we are going to do, whereas the world estimates
us by what we have already done. How any young man of spirit can
settle himself down to earning a bare existence, when all this vast
region of the Northwest, with its boundless undeveloped resources
before him, is inviting him on, is one of the unexplained mysteries of
life. They will be Nobodies where they are; they can be Somebodies
in building up a new society. The young man who has measured off
ribbon several years, as thousands have who are doing no better to-
day than they did five years ago, in all probability will be no farther
along, except in years, five years hence than he is now.
CHAPTER VIII.
DULUTH.
MBARKING
E
at a pier, and steering northwest, we pass up
the bay, with the long, narrow, natural breakwater, Minnesota
Point, on our right hand, and the level plateau of the main-land,
with a heavy forest growth, on our left. Before us, on the
sloping hillside of the northern shore, lies the rapidly rising town of
Duluth, unheard of twelve months ago, but now, to use a Western
term, "a right smart chance of a place."
One hundred and ninety years ago Duluth, a French explorer, was
coasting along these shores, and sailing up this bay over which we
are gliding. He was the first European to reach the head of the lake.
He crossed the country to the Upper Mississippi, descended it to St.
Paul, where he met Father Hennipen, who had been held in captivity
by the Indians.
It is suitable that so intrepid an explorer should be held in
remembrance, and the founders of the new town have done wisely in
naming it for him, instead of calling it Washington or Jackson, or
adding another "ville" to the thousands now so perplexing to post-
office clerks.
The new city of the Northwest is sheltered from northerly winds by
the high lands behind it. The St. Louis River, a stream as large as the
Merrimac, after its turbulent course down the rocky rapids, with a
descent altogether of five hundred feet, flows peacefully past the
town into the Bay of Superior. The river and lake together have
thrown up the long and narrow strip of land called Minnesota Point,
reaching nearly across the head of the lake, and behind which lies
the bay. It is as if the Titans had thrown up a wide railway
embankment, or had tried their hand at filling up the lake. The bay is
shallow, but the men who projected the city of Duluth are in no wise
daunted by that fact. They have planned to make a harbor by
building a mole out into the lake fifteen hundred or two thousand
feet. It is to extend from the northern shore far enough to give good
anchorage and protection to vessels and steamers.
The work to be done is in many respects similar to what has been
accomplished at both ends of the Suez Canal. When M. Lesseps set
about the construction of that magnificent enterprise, he found no
harbor on the Mediterranean side, but only a low sandy shore,
against which the waves, driven by the prevailing western winds,
were always breaking.
The shore was a narrow strip of sand, behind which lay a shallow
lagoon called Lake Menzaleh. There was no granite or solid material
of any description at hand for the construction of a breakwater.
Undaunted by the difficulties, he commenced the manufacture of
blocks of stone on the beach, mixing hydraulic lime brought from
France with the sand of the shore, and moistening it with salt water.
He erected powerful hydraulic presses and worked them by steam.
After the blocks, which weighed twenty tons each, had dried three
months, they were taken out on barges and tumbled into the ocean
in the line of the moles, one of which was 8,178 feet, nearly a mile
and a half, in length; the other 5,000 feet, enclosing an area of about
five hundred acres. More than 100,000 blocks of manufactured stone
were required to complete these two walls. They were not laid in
cement, for it has been found that a rubble wall is better than
finished masonry to resist the action of the waves. Having completed
the walls, dredges were set to work, and the area has been
deepened enough to enable the largest vessels navigating the
Mediterranean to find safe anchorage.
These breakwaters were required for the outer harbor, but an
inner basin was needed. To obtain it, M. Lesseps cut a channel
through the low ridge of sand to Lake Menzaleh, where the water
upon an average was four feet deep. A large area has been dredged
in the lake, and docks constructed, and now the commerce of the
world between the Orient and the Occident passes through the basin
of Port Said.
The Suez Canal, the construction of a large harbor on the sand-
beach of the Mediterranean, and another of equal capacity on the
Red Sea, is one of the wonders of modern times,—a triumph of
engineering skill and of the indomitable will of one energetic man.
The people of Duluth will not be under the necessity of
manufacturing the material for the breakwater, for along the northern
shore there is an abundant supply of granite which can be easily
quarried. It is proposed to make an inner harbor by digging a canal
across Minnesota Point and excavating the shallows.
The difficulties to be overcome at Duluth bear slight comparison
with those already surmounted on the Mediterranean. The
commercial men of Chicago contemplate the fencing in of a few
hundred acres of Lake Michigan; and there is no reason to doubt that
a like thing can be done at the western end of Lake Superior.
Two years ago Duluth was a forest; but in this month of May,
1870, it has two thousand inhabitants, with the prospect of doubling
its population within a twelvemonth. The woodman's axe is ringing
on the hills, and the trees are falling beneath his sturdy strokes. From
morning till night we hear the joiner's plane and the click of the
mason's trowel. You may find excellent accommodation in a large
hotel, erected at a cost of forty thousand dollars. We may purchase
the products of all climes in the stores,—sugar from the West Indies,
coffee from Java, tea from China, or silks from the looms of France.
The printing-press is here issuing the Duluth Minnesotian, a
sprightly sheet that looks sharply after the interests of this growing
town.
Musical as the ripples upon the pebbly shore of the lake are the
voices of the children reciting their lessons in yonder school-house. I
am borne back to boyhood days,—to the old school-house, with its
hard benches, where I studied, played, caught flies, was cheated
swapping jack-knives, and got a licking besides! Glorious days they
were for all that!
Presbyterian and Episcopal churches are already organized, also
an Historical Society. During the last winter a course of lectures was
sustained.
The stumps are yet to be seen in the streets, but such is the
beginning of a town which may yet become one of the great
commercial cities of the interior.
A meteorological record kept at Superior since 1855 shows that
the average period of navigation has been two hundred and sixteen
days, which is fully as long as the season at Chicago.
Steaming up the river several miles to the foot of the first rapids,
and landing on the northern shore, climbing up a wet and slippery
bank of red clay we are on the line of the railroad, upon which
several hundred men are employed.
Grades of fifty feet to the mile are necessary from the lake up to
the falls of the St. Louis, but the tonnage of the road will be largely
eastward, down the grade, instead of westward.
The road will be about a hundred and forty miles in length,
connecting the lake with the network of railroads centring at St. Paul.
It is liberally endowed, having in all 1,630,000 acres of land heavily
timbered with pine, butternut, white oak, sugar-maple, ash, and
other woods.
There is no doubt that this line of road will do an immense amount
of business. Such is the estimation in which it is held by the moneyed
men of Philadelphia, that Mr. Jay Cooke obtained the entire amount
of money necessary to construct it in four days! The bonds, I believe,
were not put upon the market in the usual manner, by advertising,
but were taken at once by men who wanted them for investment.
A single glance at the map must be sufficient to convince any
intelligent observer of the value of such a franchise. The wheat of
Minnesota, to reach Chicago now, must be taken by steamers to La
Crosse or Prairie du Chien, and thence transported by rail across
Wisconsin, but when this road is put in operation, the products of
Minnesota, gathered at St. Paul or Minneapolis, will seek this new
outlet.
Think of the scene of activity there will be along the line, not only
of this road, but of the Northern Pacific, when the two are completed
to the lake, of an almost continuous train of cars, of elevators
pouring grain from cars to ships and steamers. Think of the fleet that
will soon whiten this great inland sea, bearing the products of the
immense wheat-field eastward to the Atlantic cities, and bringing
back the industries of the Eastern States!
It is only when I sit down to think of the future, to measure it by
the advancement already made, that I can comprehend anything of
the coming greatness of the Northwest,—20,000,000 bushels of
wheat this year; 500,000 inhabitants in the State, yet scarcely a
hundredth part of the area under cultivation. What will be the
product ten years hence, when the population will reach 1,500,000?
What will it be twenty years hence? How shall we obtain any
conception of the business to be done on these railways when
Dakota, Montana, Washington, and Oregon, and all the vast region of
the Assinniboine and the Saskatchawan, pour their products to the
nearest water-carriage eastward? We are already beyond our depth,
and are utterly unable to comprehend the probable development.
The men who are building this railroad from St. Paul to Duluth
have not failed to recognize this one fact, that by water Duluth is as
near as Chicago to the Atlantic cities. Wheat and flour can be
transported as cheaply from Duluth to Buffalo or Ogdensburg as from
the southern end of Lake Michigan, while the distance from St. Paul
to Lake Superior is only one hundred and forty miles against four
hundred and eighty to Chicago. We may conclude that the wheat of
Minnesota can be carried fifteen or twenty cents a bushel cheaper by
Duluth than by Lake Michigan,—a saving to the Eastern consumer of
almost a dollar on each barrel of flour. Twenty cents on a bushel
saved will add at least four dollars to the yearly product of an acre of
land.
The difference in freight on articles manufactured in the East and
shipped to Minnesota will be still more marked, for grain in bulk is
taken at low rates, while manufactured goods pay first-class. The
completion of this railway will be a great blessing to the people of
New England and of all the East, as well as to those of the
Northwest. Anything that abridges distance and cheapens carriage is
so much absolute gain. I do not think that there is any public
enterprise in the country that promises to produce more important
results than the opening of this railway.
An elevator company has been organized by several gentlemen in
Boston and Philadelphia, and the necessary buildings are now going
up. The wheat will be taken directly from the cars into the elevator,
and discharged into the fleet of propellers running to Cleveland,
Buffalo, and Ogdensburg, already arranged for this Lake Superior
trade.
The region around the western end of the Lake has resources for
the development of a varied industry. The wooded section extends
from Central Wisconsin westward to the Leaf Hills beyond the
Mississippi, and northward to Lake Winnipeg. This is to be the
lumbering region of the Northwest, for the manufacture of all
agricultural implements,—reapers, mowers, harvesters, ploughs,
drills, seed-sowers, wagons, carriages, carts, and furniture,—besides
furnishing lumber for fencing, for railroad and building purposes.
Upon the St. Louis River there is exhaustless water-power,—a
descent of five hundred feet, with a stream always pouring an
abundant flood. Its source is among the lakes of northern Minnesota,
which, being filled to overflowing by the rains of spring and early
summer, become great reservoirs. With such a supply of water there
is no locality more favorably situated for the manufacture of every
variety of domestic articles. Undoubtedly the water-power will be
largely employed for flouring-mills. The climate is admirably adapted
to the grinding of grain. The falls being so near the lake, there will be
cheap transportation eastward to Buffalo, Cleveland, Philadelphia,
New York, and Boston, while westward are the prairies, easily
reached by the railroads.
The geological formation on the north side of Lake Superior is
granite, but as we follow up the St. Louis River we come upon a ridge
of slate. It forms the backbone of the divide between the lake and
the Mississippi River.
A quarry has been opened from which slates of a quality not
inferior to those of Vermont are obtained, and so far as we know it is
the only quarry in the Northwest. It is almost invaluable, for
Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, western Minnesota, and Dakota have very
little wood. Shingles are costly, but here is abundant material to cover
the roofs of the millions of houses that are yet to rise upon the
prairies.
This slate formation is thus referred to by Thomas Clark, State
Geologist, in his Report to the Governor of Minnesota, dated
December, 1864 (pp. 29, 30):—
"These slates are found in all degrees of character, from the
common indurated argillaceous fissile to the highly metamorphosed
and even trappous type. The working of these slates demands the
attention of builders; their real value is economically of more
importance to the prairie and sparsely timbered valley of the
Mississippi than any other deposit in the State's possession on the
lake. The annual draught of hundreds of millions of lumber upon the
pine forests of the St. Croix and Upper Mississippi and tributaries will
exhaust those regions before the close of this century. The trustees
of our young Commonwealth are emphatically admonished to
encourage and foster the working of these slates, and to bring them
into use at the earliest time possible. A hundred square feet of
dressed slates at the quarries of Vermont, New York, and Canada are
worth from one and a half to two dollars; the weight ranges from
four to six hundred pounds, or about four squares to the ton. A ton
of this roofing may be transported from the St. Louis quarry to the
Mississippi, by railway, at three dollars, and thence by river to the
landings as far down as St. Louis or Cairo; but the article may be at
all points in this State accessible by boats or railway, at an average
cost of fifteen dollars per ton, or, at most, four dollars per square,—
little, if any, more than pine shingles; the former as good for a
century as the latter is for a decade. The supply of these cliffs is
literally inexhaustible; if one fourth of this slate area in the St. Louis
Valley proves available,—and doubtless one half will,—it will yield one
thousand millions of tons.
"The demand for this slate at ten roofs to the square mile, and for
forty thousand square miles, would be one million of tons, or one
thousandth part of the material. The annual demand for slates in the
Mississippi Valley may be reasonably estimated at one hundred
thousand tons, an exportable product of two hundred thousand
dollars, besides the element of a permanent income to the railways
and water-craft of the State of a half-million of dollars annually."
To-day the country along the St. Louis is a wilderness. Climb the
hills, and look upon the scene, and think of the coming years.
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 increase over the previous year is between forty and fifty
thousand tons. The yield for 1869 was about 650,000 tons. The
entire production of all the mines up to the close of 1868 is
2,300,000 tons.
Iron mining in this region is in its infancy; and yet the value of the
metal produced last year amounts to eighteen million dollars.
The cause for this rapid development is found in the fact that the
Lake Superior ore makes the best iron in the world. Persistent efforts
were made to cry it down, but those who were engaged in its
production invited rigid tests.
Its tenacity, in comparison with other qualities, will be seen by the
following tabular statement:—
Swedish, 59
English Cable bolt, 59
Russian, 76
Lake Superior, 89½
When this fact was made known, railroad companies began to use
Lake Superior iron for the construction of locomotives, car-wheels,
and axles. Boiler builders wanted it. Those who tried it were eager to
obtain more, and the result is seen in the rapidly increasing demand.
The average cost of mining and delivering the ore in cars at the
mines is estimated at about $2 per ton. It is shipped to Cleveland at
a cost of $4.35, making $6.35 when laid on the dock in that city,
where it is readily sold for $8, leaving a profit of about $1.65 per ton
for the shipper. Perhaps, including insurance and incidentals, the
profit may be reduced to about $1.25 per ton. It will be seen that this
is a very remunerative operation.
About one hundred furnaces in Ohio and Pennsylvania use Lake
Superior ore almost exclusively, while others mix it with the ores of
those regions.
A large amount is smelted at Lake Superior, where charcoal is
used. The forests in the vicinity of the mines are rapidly disappearing.
The wide-spreading sugar-maple, the hardy yellow birch, the feathery
hackmatack and evergreen hemlock are alike tumbled into the coal-
pit to supply fuel for the demands of commerce.
The charcoal consumed per ton in smelting costs about eleven
cents per bushel. For reducing a ton of the best ore about a hundred
and ten bushels are required; for a ton of the poorest about a
hundred and forty bushels, giving an average of $13 per ton. The
cost of mining is, as has already been stated, about $2 per ton. To
this must be added furnace-labor, interest on capital employed,
insurance, freight, commission, making the total cost about $35 a
ton. As the iron commands the highest price in the market, it will be
seen that the iron companies of Lake Superior are having an
enormous income.
Some men who purchased land at government price are on the
high road to fortune. One man entered eighty acres of land, which
now nets him twenty-four thousand dollars per annum!
A railroad runs due west from Marquette, gaining by steep
gradients the general level of the ridge between Superior and
Michigan. It is called the Marquette and Ontonagon Railroad, and will
soon form an important link in the great iron highway across the
continent. It is about twenty miles from Marquette to the principal
mines, which are also reached by rail from Escanaba, on Green Bay, a
distance of about seventy miles.
The ore is generally found in hills ranging from one to five hundred
feet above the level of the surrounding country. The elevations can
hardly be called mountains; they are knolls rather. They are iron
warts on Dame Nature's face. They are partially covered with earth,—
the slow-forming deposits of the alluvial period.
There are five varieties of ore. The most valuable is what is called
the specular hematite, which chemically is known as a pure
anhydrous sesquioxide. This ore yields about sixty-five per cent of
pure iron. It is sometimes found in conjunction with red quartz, and
is then known as mixed ore.
The next in importance is a soft hematite, resembling the ores of
Pennsylvania and Connecticut. It is quite porous, is more easily
reduced than any other variety, and yields about fifty per cent of pure
iron.
The magnetic ores are found farther west than those already
described. The Michigan, Washington, Champion, and Edwards mines
are all magnetic. Sometimes the magnetic and specular lie side by
side, and it is a puzzle to geologists and chemists alike to account for
the difference between them. As yet we are not able to understand
by what subtle alchemy the change has been produced.
Another variety is called the silicious hematite, which is more
difficult of reduction than the others. It varies in richness, and there
is an unlimited supply.
The fifth variety is a silicious hematite found with manganese,
which, when mixed with other ores, produces an excellent quality of
iron. Very little of this ore has been mined as yet, and its relative
value is not ascertained.
The best iron cannot be manufactured from one variety, but by
mixing ores strength and ductility both are obtained. England sends
to Russia and Sweden for magnetic ores to mix with those produced
in Lancashire, for the manufacture of steel. The fires of Sheffield
would soon go out if the manufactures in that town were dependent
on English ore alone. The iron-masters there could not make steel
good enough for a blacksmith's use, to say nothing of that needed for
cutlery, if they were cut off from foreign magnetic ores.
Here, at Lake Superior, those necessary for the production of the
best of steel lie side by side. A mixture of the hematite and magnetic
gives a metal superior, in every respect, to any that England can
produce.
This one fact settles the question of the future of this region. It is
to become one of the great iron-marts of the world. It is to give, by
and by, the supremacy to America in the production of steel.
It is already settled, by trial, that every grade of iron now in use in
arts and manufactures can be produced here at Lake Superior by
mixing the various ores.
The miners are a hardy set of men, rough, uncouth, but
enterprising. They live in small cottages, make excellent wages, drink
whiskey, and rear large families. How happens it that in all new
communities there is such an abundance of children? They throng
every doorway, and by every house we see them tumbling in the dirt.
Nearly every woman has a child in her arms.
We cannot expect to see the refinements and luxuries of old
communities in a country where the stumps have not yet been
cleared from the streets, and where the spruces and hemlocks are
still waving above the cottages of the settlers, but here are the
elements of society. These hard-handed men are developing this
region, earning a livelihood for themselves and enriching those who
employ them. Towns are springing into existence. We find Ishpeming
rising out of a swamp. Imagine a spruce forest standing in a bog
where the trees are so thick that there is hardly room enough for the
lumbermen to swing their axes, the swamp being a stagnant pool of
dark-colored water covered with green slime!
An enterprising town-builder purchased this bog for a song, and
has laid out a city. Here it is,—dwelling-houses and stores standing
on posts driven into the mud, or resting on the stumps. He has filled
up the streets with the débris from the mines. Frogs croak beneath
the dwellings, or sun themselves on the sills. The town is not thus
growing from the swamp because there is no solid land, but because
the upland has exhaustless beds of iron ore beneath, too valuable to
be devoted to building purposes.
I have seen few localities so full of promise for the future, not this
one little spot in the vicinity of Marquette, but the entire metallic
region between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan.
Look at the locality! It is half-way across the continent. Lake
Michigan laves the southern, Superior the northern shore, while the
St. Lawrence furnishes water-carriage to the Atlantic. A hundred and
fifty miles of rail from Bayfield will give connection with the navigable
waters of the Mississippi. Through this peninsula will yet lie the
shortest route between the Atlantic and Pacific. Westward are the
wheat-fields of the continent, to be peopled by an industrious and
thriving community. There is no point more central than this for easy
transportation.
Here, just where the future millions can be easiest served,
exhaustless deposits of the best ore in the world have been placed by
a Divine hand for the use and welfare of the mighty race now
beginning to put forth its energies on this western hemisphere.
Towns, cities, and villages are to arise amid these hills; the forests
and the hills themselves are to disappear. The product, now worth
seventeen millions of dollars per annum, erelong will be valued at a
hundred millions.
I think of the coming years when this place will be musical with
the hum of machinery; when the stillness of the summer day and the
crisp air of winter will be broken by the songs of men at work amid
flaming forges, or at the ringing anvil. From Marquette, and Bayfield,
and Ontonagon, and Escanaba, from every harbor on these inland
seas, steamers and schooners, brigs and ships, will depart freighted
with ore; hither they will come, bringing the products of the farm and
workshop. Heavily loaded trains will thunder over railroads, carrying
to every quarter of our vast domain the metals manufactured from
the mines of Lake Superior.
We have but to think of the capabilities of this region, its extent
and area, the increase of population, the development of resources,
the construction of railways, the growth of cities and towns; we have
only to grasp the probabilities of the future, to discern the dawning
commercial greatness of this section of our country.
CHAPTER X.
A FAMILIAR TALK.
HAVE called to have a little talk about the West, and think
“I that I should like a farm in Minnesota or in the Red River
country," said a gentleman not long since, who introduced
himself as Mr. Blotter, and who said he was "clerking it."
"I want to go out West and raise stock," said another gentleman
who stopped me on the street.
"Where would you advise a fellow to go who hasn't much money,
but who isn't afraid to work?" said a stout young man from Maine.
"I am a machinist, and want to try my luck out West," said another
young man hailing from a manufacturing town in Massachusetts.
"I am manufacturing chairs, and want to know if there is a place
out West where I can build up a good business," said another.
Many other gentlemen, either in person or by letter, have asked for
specific information.
It is not to be expected that I can point out the exact locality
suited to each individual, or with which they would be suited, but for
the benefit of all concerned I give the substance of an evening's talk
with Mr. Blotter.
"I want a farm, I am tired of the city," said he.
Well, sir, you can be accommodated. The United States
government has several million acres of land,—at least 30,000,000 in
Minnesota, to say nothing of Dakota and the region beyond,—and
you can help yourself to a farm out of any unoccupied territory. The
Homestead Law of 1862 gives a hundred and sixty acres, free of cost,
to actual settlers, whether foreign or native, male or female, over
twenty-one years old, or to minors having served fourteen days in the
army. Foreigners must declare their intention to become citizens.
Under the present Pre-emption Law settlers often live on their claims
many years before they are called on to pay the $1.25 per acre,—the
land in the mean time having risen to $10 or $12 per acre. A recent
decision gives single women the right to pre-empt. Five years'
residence on the land is required by the Homestead Law, and it is not
liable to any debts contracted before the issuing of the patent.
The State of Minnesota has a liberal law relative to the exemption
of real estate from execution. A homestead of eighty acres, or one lot
and house, is exempt; also, five hundred dollars' worth of furniture,
besides tools, bed and bedding, sewing-machine, three cows, ten
hogs, twenty sheep, a span of horses, or one horse and one yoke of
oxen, twelve months' provisions for family and stock, one wagon, two
ploughs, tools of a mechanic, library of a professional man, five
hundred dollars' worth of stock if a trader, and various other articles.
You will find several railroad companies ready to sell you eighty, or
a hundred and sixty, or six hundred and forty acres in a body, at
reasonable rates, giving you accommodating terms.
"Would you take a homestead from government, or would you buy
lands along the line of a railroad?"
That is for you to say. If you take a homestead it will necessarily
be beyond the ten-mile limit of the land granted to the road, where
the advance in value will not keep pace with lands nearer the line.
You will find government lands near some of the railroads, which you
can purchase for $2.50 per acre, cash down. The railroad companies
will charge you from $2 to $10, according to location, but will give
you time for payment.
"What are their terms?"
The St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, the main line of which is to be
completed to the Red River this year, and which owns the branch line
running from St. Paul up the east bank of the Mississippi to St. Cloud,
have a million acres of prairie, meadow, and timber lands which they
will sell in tracts of forty acres or more, and make the terms easy.
Suppose you were to buy eighty acres at $8 per acre, that would give
you a snug farm for $640. If you can pay cash down, they will make
it $7 per acre,—$80 saved at the outset; but if you have only a few
dollars in your pocket they will let you pay a year's interest at seven
per cent to begin with, and the principal and interest in ten annual
payments. The figures would then run in this way:—
Eighty acres at $8 per acre, $640
"The second year will be the hardest," said Mr. Blotter, "for I shall
have to fence my farm, build a cabin, and purchase stock and tools.
Is there fencing material near?"
That depends upon where you locate. If you are near the line of
the railway, you can have it brought by cars. If you locate near the
"Big Woods" on the main line west of Minneapolis, you will have
timber near at hand. Numerous saw-mills are being erected, some
driven by water and others by steam. The timbered lands of the
company are already held at high rates,—from $7 to $10 per acre.
The country beyond the "Big Woods" is all prairie, with no timber
except a few trees along the streams. It is filling up so rapidly with
settlers that wood-lands are in great demand, for when cleared they
are just as valuable as the prairie for farming purposes.
Many settlers who took up homesteads before the railroad was
surveyed now find themselves in good circumstances, especially if
they are near a station. In many places near towns, land which a
year ago could have been had for $2.50 per acre is worth $20 to-day.
"Is the land in the Mississippi Valley above St. Paul any better than
that of the prairies?"
Perhaps you have a mistaken idea in regard to the Mississippi
Valley. There are no bottom-lands on the Upper Mississippi. The
prairie borders upon the river. You will find the land on the east side
better adapted to grazing than for raising wheat. The company do
not hold their lands along the branch at so high a figure as on the
main line. Some of my Minnesota friends say that stock-growing on
the light lands east of the Mississippi is quite as profitable as raising
wheat. Cattle, sheep, and horses transport themselves to market, but
you must draw your grain.
If you are going into stock-raising, you can afford to be at a
greater distance from a railroad station than the man who raises
wheat. It would undoubtedly be for the interest of the company to
sell you their outlying lands along the branch line at a low figure, for
it would enhance the value of those nearer the road. You will find St.
Cloud and Anoka thriving places, which, with St. Paul and
Minneapolis, will give a good home demand for beef and mutton, to
say nothing of the facilities for reaching Eastern markets by the
railroads and lakes.
"Do the people of Minnesota use fertilizers?"
No; they allow the manure to accumulate around their stables, or
else dump it into the river to get rid of it!
They sow wheat on the same field year after year, and return
nothing to the ground. They even burn the straw, and there can be
but one result coming from such a process,—exhaustion of the soil,—
poor, worn-out farms by and by.
The farmers of the West are cruel towards Mother Earth. She
freely bestows her riches, and then, not satisfied with her gifts, they
plunder her. Men everywhere are shouting for an eight-hour law; they
must have rest, time for recreation and improvement of body and
mind; but they give the soil no time for recuperation. Men expect to
be paid for their labors, but they make no payment to the kind
mother who feeds them; they make her work and live on nothing.
Farming, as now carried on in the West and Northwest, is downright
robbery and plunder, and nothing else. If the present exhaustive
system is kept up, the time will come when the wheat-fields of
Minnesota, instead of producing twenty-five bushels to the acre upon
an average throughout the State, will not yield ten, which is the
product in Ohio; and yet, with a systematic rotation of crops and
application of fertilizers, the present marvellous richness of the soil
can be maintained forever.
"Do the tame grasses flourish?"
Splendidly; I never saw finer fields of timothy than along the line
of the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, west of Minneapolis. White clover
seems to spring up of its own accord. I remember that I saw it
growing luxuriantly along a pathway in the Red River Valley, and by
the side of the military road leading through the woods to Lake
Superior. Hay is very abundant, and exceedingly cheap in Minnesota.
I doubt if there is a State in the Union that has a greater breadth of
first-class grass-lands. Hon. Thomas Clarke, Assistant State Geologist,
estimates the area of meadow-lands between the St. Croix and the
Mississippi, and south of Sandy Lake, at a million acres. He says:
"Some of these are very extensive, and bear a luxuriant growth of
grass, often five or six feet in height. It is coarse, but sweet, and is
said to make excellent hay."
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