one summer day came down on the English at Oswego unawares with his
gunboats and Indians and gendarmes. Of the twenty-five thousand people
in yonder city I don't suppose there are a dozen who know what his plans
were. They were grand ones. In no country on the face of the globe has
nature traced outlines of internal navigation on so grand a scale as
upon our American continent. Entering the mouth of the St. Lawrence we
are carried by that river through the Great Lakes to the head of Lake
Superior, a distance of more than two thousand miles. On the south we
find the Mississippi pouring its waters into the Gulf of Mexico, within
a few degrees of the tropics after a course of three thousand miles.
'The Great Water,' as its name signifies, and its numerous branches
drain the surface of about one million one hundred thousand square
miles, or an area twenty times greater than England and Wales. The
tributaries of the Mississippi equal the largest rivers of Europe. The
course of the Missouri is probably not less than twenty-five hundred
miles. The Ohio winds above a thousand miles through fertile countries.
The tributaries of _these_ tributaries are great rivers. The Wabash, a
feeder of the Ohio, has a course of above five hundred miles, four
hundred of which are navigable. If the contemplated canal is ever
completed which will unite Lake Michigan with the head of navigation on
the Illinois River, it will be possible to proceed by lines of inland
navigation from Quebec to New Orleans. There is space within the regions
enjoying these advantages of water communication, and already peopled by
the Anglo-Saxon race, for four hundred millions of the human race, or
more than double the population of Europe at the present time.
Imagination cannot conceive the new influences which will be exercised
on the affairs of the world when the great valley of the Mississippi,
and the continent from Lake Superior to New Orleans, is thronged with
population. In the valley of the Mississippi alone there is abundant
room for a population of a hundred million.
"In Montcalm's day all this territory belonged to France. It was that
soldier's dream, and he was no less a statesman than a soldier, to make
here a great nation. Toward that end a great chain of forts was to be
built along the line from Ontario to New Orleans. Sandusky, Mackinaw,
Detroit, Oswego, Du Quesne, were but a few links in the contemplated
chain that was to bind the continent forever to French interests. It was
for this he battled through all those bloody, brilliant campaigns of the
old French war. But the English were too strong for him. Montcalm
perished, and the power of France was at an end in the New World. But it
almost overwhelms me at the thought of what a mighty empire was lost
when the English huzza rose above the French clarion on the Plains of
Abraham."
"Better for the continent and the world that England won," said Vincent.
"Perhaps so," allowed Hugh. "Though we cannot tell what might have been.
But that does not concern this Ulysses and his crew. Onward, voyagers
and voyageresses."
"Your simile is an unfortunate one. Ulysses was wrecked off Circe's
island and at other places. Rather let us be the Argonauts in search of
the Golden Fleece."
"Mercenary wretch!" exclaimed Hugh. "My taste is different. I am going
in search of a dinner."
Hugh Warren's ability for discovering anything of that sort was
proverbially good, so we, having the same disposition, followed him
below to the dining-saloon.
We arrived at Toronto, one hundred and sixty miles from Oswego, a little
before dusk. This city, the capital of the province of Ontario, is
situated on an arm of the lake. Its bay is a beautiful inlet about four
miles long and two miles wide, forming a capacious and well-protected
harbor. The site of the town is low, but rises gently from the water's
edge. The streets are regular and wide, crossing each other generally at
right angles. There is an esplanade fronting the bay which extends for a
distance of two miles. The population of the city has increased from
twelve hundred in 1817 to nearly sixty thousand at present. In the
morning we took a hurried survey of its chief buildings, visited Queen's
Park in the centre of the city, and got round in season to take the
afternoon steamer for Buffalo.
The district situated between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, as it has been
longest settled, so also is it the best-cultivated part of Western
Canada. The vicinity to the two Great Lakes renders the climate more
agreeable, by diminishing the severity of the winters and tempering the
summers' heats. Fruits of various kind arrive at great perfection,
cargoes of which are exported to Montreal, Quebec, and other places
situated in the less genial parts of the eastern province. Mrs. Jameson
speaks of this district as "superlatively beautiful." The only place
approaching a town in size and the number of inhabitants, from the Falls
along the shores of Lake Erie for a great distance, beyond even Grand
River, is Chippewa, situated on the river Welland, or Chippewa, which
empties itself into Niagara Strait, just where the rapids commence and
navigation terminates. One or more steamers run between Chippewa and
Buffalo. Chippewa is still but a small village, but, as it lies directly
on the great route from the Western States of the Union to the Falls of
Niagara and the Eastern States, it will probably rise into importance.
Its greatest celebrity at present arises from the fact of there having
been a great battle fought near by between the British and Americans in
the war of 1812.
The line of navigation by the St. Lawrence did not extend beyond Lake
Ontario until the Welland Canal was constructed. This important work is
thirty-two miles long, and admits ships of one hundred and twenty-five
guns, which is about the average tonnage of the trading-vessels on the
lakes. The Niagara Strait is nearly parallel to the Welland Canal, and
more than one third of it is not navigable. The canal, by opening this
communication between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, has conferred an
immense benefit on all the districts west of Ontario. The great Erie
Canal has been still more beneficial, by connecting the lakes with New
York and the Atlantic by the Hudson River, which the canal joins after a
course of three hundred and sixty miles. The effect of these two canals
was quickly perceptible in the increased activity of commerce on Lake
Erie, and the Erie Canal has rendered this lake the great line of
transit from New York to the Western States.
Lake Erie is the most shallow of all the lakes, its average depth being
only sixty or seventy feet. Owing to this shallowness the lake is
readily disturbed by the wind; and for this reason, and for its paucity
of good harbors, it has the reputation of being the most dangerous
to navigate of any of the Great Lakes. Neither are its shores as
picturesquely beautiful as those of Ontario, Huron, and Superior. Still
it is a lovely and romantic body of water, and its historic memories are
interesting and important. In this last respect all the Great Lakes are
remarkable. Some of the most picturesque and interesting chapters of our
colonial and military history have for their scenes the shores and the
waters of these vast inland seas. A host of great names--Champlain,
Frontenac, La Salle, Marquette, Perry, Tecumseh, and Harrison--has
wreathed the lakes with glory. The scene of the stirring events in which
Pontiac was the conspicuous figure is now marked on the map by such
names as Detroit, Sandusky, Green Bay, and Mackinaw. The thunder of the
battles of Lundy's Lane and the Thames was heard not far off, and the
very waters of Lake Erie were once canopied with the sulphur smoke from
the cannon of Perry's conquering fleet.
We spent two days in Buffalo, and they were days well spent. This city
is the second in size of the five Great Lake ports, being outranked only
by Chicago. Founded in 1801, it now boasts of a population of one
hundred and sixty thousand souls. The site is a plain, which, from a
point about two miles distant from the lake, slopes gently to the
water's edge. The city has a water front of two and a half miles on the
lake and of about the same extent on Niagara River. It has one of the
finest harbors on the lake. The public buildings are costly and imposing
edifices, and many of the private residences are elegant. The pride of
the city is its public park of five hundred and thirty acres, laid out
by Frederick Law Olmstead in 1870. It has the reputation of being the
healthiest city of the United States.
Buffalo was the home of Millard Fillmore, the thirteenth President of
the United States. Here the great man spent the larger part of his life.
He went there a poor youth of twenty, with four dollars in his pocket.
He died there more than fifty years afterward worth one hundred and
fifty thousand dollars, and after having filled the highest offices his
country could bestow upon him. He owned a beautiful and elegant
residence in the city, situated on one of the avenues, with a frontage
toward the lake, of which a fine view is obtained. It is a modern
mansion, three stories in height, with large stately rooms. It looks
very little different externally from some of its neighbors, but the
fact that it was for thirty years the home of one of our Presidents
gives it importance and invests it with historic charm.
On board a steamer bound for Detroit we again plowed the waves. The day
was a delightful one; the morning had been cloudy and some rain had
fallen, but by ten o'clock the sky was clear, and the sunbeams went
dancing over the laughing waters. Hugh was on his high-horse, and full
of historic reminiscences.
"Do you know that this year is the two hundredth anniversary of a
remarkable event for this lake?" he began. "Well, it is. It was in 1681,
in the summer of the year, that the keel of the first vessel launched in
Western waters was laid at a point six miles this side of the Niagara
Falls. She was built by Count Frontenac who named her the Griffen. I
should like to have sailed in it."
"Its speed could hardly equal that of the Detroit," observed Vincent,
complacently.
"You hard, cold utilitarian!" exclaimed the Historian; "who cares
anything about that? It is the romance of the thing that would charm
me."
"And the romance consists in its being distant. We always talk of the
good old times as though they were really any better than our own age!
It is a beautiful delusion. Don't you know how in walking the shady
places are always behind us?"
The Historian's only answer to this banter was to shrug his shoulders
scornfully and to light a fresh cigar.
Lake Erie is about two hundred and forty miles in length and has a mean
breadth of forty miles. Its surface is three hundred and thirty feet
above Lake Ontario, and five hundred and sixty-five above the level of
the sea. It receives the waters of the upper lakes by means of the
Detroit River, and discharges them again by the Niagara into Lake
Ontario. Lake Erie has a shallow depth, but Ontario, which is five
hundred and two feet deep, is two hundred and thirty feet below the tide
level of the ocean, or as low as most parts of the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
and the bottoms of Lakes Huron, Michigan, and Superior, although their
surface is much higher, are all, from their vast depths, on a level with
the bottom of Ontario. Now, as the discharge through Detroit River,
after allowing all the probable portion carried off by evaporation, does
not appear by any means equal to the quantity of water which the other
three lakes receive, it has been conjectured that a subterranean river
may run from Lake Ontario. This conjecture is not improbable, and
accounts for the singular fact that salmon and herring are caught in all
the lakes communicating with the St. Lawrence, but no others. As the
Falls of Niagara must always have existed, it would puzzle the
naturalists to say how those fish got into the upper lakes unless there
is a subterranean river; moreover, any periodical obstruction of the
river would furnish a not improbable solution of the mysterious flux and
influx of the lakes.
Some after noon we steamed past a small city on the southern coast which
had a large natural harbor.
"Erie and Presque Isle Bay," announced the Historian. "A famous place.
From it sailed Oliver Hazard Perry with his fleet of nine sail to most
unmercifully drub the British lion on that tenth day of September, 1813.
The battle took place some distance from here over against Sandusky. I
will tell you all about it when we get there. My grandfather was one of
the actors."
He said no more, and for a long time the conversation was sustained by
Vincent and myself. The steamer put in at Cleveland just at dusk. The
stop was brief, however, and we left the beautiful and thriving city
looking like a queen on the Ohio shore under the bridal veil of night.
The evening was brilliant with moonlight. The lake was like a mirror or
an enchanted sea. Hour after hour passed, and we still sat on deck
gazing on the scene. Far to the south we saw the many lights of a city
shining. It was Sandusky.
"How delightful it is!" murmured Vincent.
"Beautiful," I replied. "If it were only the Ionian Sea, now, or the
clear Ægean"--
"Those classic waters cannot match this lake," interrupted Hugh.
"The battle of Erie will outlive Salamis or Actium. The laurels of
Themistokles and Augustus fade even now before those of Perry. He was
a hero worth talking about, something more human altogether than any
of Plutarch's men. I feel it to be so now at least. It was right here
somewhere that the battle raged."
"He was quite a young man, I believe," said I, glad to show that I knew
something of the hero. I had seen his house at Newport many times, one
of the old colonial kind, and his picture, that of a tall, slim man,
with dash and bravery in his face, was not unfamiliar to me.
"Yes; only twenty-seven, and just married," continued the Historian,
settling down to work. "Before the battle he read over his wife's
letters for the last time, and then tore them up, so that the enemy
should not see those records of the heart, if victorious. 'This is the
most important day of my life,' he said to his officers, as the first
shot from the British came crashing among the sails of the Lawrence;
'but we know how to beat those fellows,' he added, with a laugh. He had
nine vessels, with fifty-four guns and four hundred and ninety officers
and men. The British had six ships mounting sixty-three guns, with five
hundred and two officers and men.
"In the beginning of the battle the British had the advantage. Their
guns were of longer range, and Perry was exposed to their fire half an
hour before he got in position where he could do execution. When he had
succeeded in this the British concentrated their fire on his flag-ship.
Enveloped in flame and smoke, Perry strove desperately to maintain his
ground till the rest of his ships could get into action. For more than
two hours he sustained the unequal conflict without flinching. It was
his first battle, and, moreover, he was enfeebled by a fever from which
he had just risen; but he never lost his ease and confidence. When most
of his men had fallen, when his ship lay an unmanageable wreck on the
water, 'every brace and bowline shot away,' and all his guns were
rendered ineffective, he still remained calm and unmoved.
"Eighteen men out of one hundred stood alive on his deck; many of those
were wounded. Lieutenant. Yarnell, with a red handkerchief tied round
his head and another round his neck to stanch the blood flowing from two
wounds, stood bravely by his commander. But all seemed lost when,
through the smoke, Perry saw the Niagara approaching uncrippled.
"'If a victory is to be won I will win it,' he said to the lieutenant.
He tore down his flag with its glorious motto,--'Don't give up the
ship,'--and leaping into a boat with half a dozen others, told the
sailors to give way with a will. The Niagara was half a mile distant to
the windward, and the enemy, as soon as they observed his movement,
directed their fire upon his boat. Oars were splintered in the rowers'
hands by musket-balls, and the men themselves covered with spray from
the roundshot and grape that smote the water on every side. But they
passed safely through the iron storm, and at last reached the deck of
the Niagara, where they were welcomed with thundering cheers. Lieutenant
Elliot of the Niagara, leaving his own ship, took command of the Somers,
and brought up the smaller vessels of the fleet, which had as yet been
little in the action. Perry ran up his signal for close action, and from
vessel to vessel the answering signals went up in the sunlight and the
cheers rang over the water. All together now bore down upon the enemy
and, passing through his line, opened a raking crossfire. So close and
terrible was that fire that the crew of the Lady Prevost ran below,
leaving the wounded and stunned commander alone on the deck. Shrieks and
groans rose from every side. In fifteen minutes from the time the signal
was made Captain Barclay, the British commander, flung out the white
flag. The firing then ceased; the smoke slowly cleared away, revealing
the two fleets commingled, shattered, and torn, and the decks strewn
with dead. The loss on each side was the same, one hundred and
thirty-five killed and wounded. The combat had lasted about three hours.
When Perry saw that victory was secure he wrote with a pencil on the
back of an old letter, resting it on his navy cap, the despatch to
General Harrison: 'We have met the enemy, and they are ours: two ships,
two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop.'
"It was a great victory," concluded the eloquent narrator. "The young
conqueror did not sleep a wink that night. Until the morning light he
was on the quarter-deck of the Lawrence, doing what he could to relieve
his suffering comrades, while the stifled groans of the wounded men
echoed from ship to ship. The next day the dead, both the British and
the American, were buried in a wild and solitary spot on the shore. And
there they sleep the sleep of the brave, with the sullen waves to sing
their perpetual requiem."
We sat in silence a long time after; no one was disposed to speak. It
came to us with power there on the moonlit lake, a realization of the
hard-fought battle, the gallant bearing of the young commander, his
daring passage in an open boat through the enemy's fire to the Niagara,
the motto on his flag, the manner in which he carried his vessel alone
through the enemy's line, and then closed in half pistol-shot, his
laconic account of the victory to his superior officer, the ships
stripped of their spars and canvas, the groans of the wounded, and the
mournful spectacle of the burial on the lake shore.
Our next stopping-place was at Detroit, the metropolis of Michigan, on
the river of the same name, the colony of the old Frenchman De la Mothe
Cadillac, the colonial Pontchartrain, the scene of Pontiac's defeat and
of Hull's treachery, cowardice, or incapacity, grandly seated on the
green Michigan shore, overlooking the best harbor on the Great Lakes,
and with a population of more than one hundred thousand. Two stormy days
kept us within doors most of the time. The third day we were again "on
board," steaming up Detroit River into Lake St. Clair. On and on we
kept, till the green waters of Huron sparkled beneath the keel of our
steamer. All the way over the lake we kept the shores of Michigan in
sight, beaches of white sand alternating with others of limestone
shingle, and the forests behind, a tangled growth of cedar, fir, and
spruce in impenetrable swamps, or a scanty, scrubby growth upon a sandy
soil. Two hours were spent at Thunder Bay, where the steamer stopped for
a supply of wood, and we went steaming on toward Mackinaw, a hundred
miles away. At sunset of that day the shores of the green rocky island
dawned upon us. The steamer swept up to an excellent dock, as the
sinking sun was pouring a stream of molten gold across the flood, out of
the amber gates of the west.
"At last Mackinaw, great in history and story," announced the Historian
leaning on the taffrail and gazing at the clear pebbly bottom and
through forty feet of water.
"My history consists of a series of statues and tableaux--statues of the
great men, tableaux of the great events," said Vincent. "Were there any
such at Mackinaw?"
"Yes," answered Hugh, "two statues and one tableau--the former Marquette
and Mae-che-ne-mock-qua, the latter the massacre at Fort
Michilimakinack."
"The event happened during Pontiac's war, I believe," I hastened to
observe. "The Indians took the place by stratagem, did they not?"
"They did. It was on the fourth of July, 1763. The fort contained a
hundred soldiers under the command of Major Etherington. In the
neighborhood were four hundred Indians apparently friendly. On the day
specified the savages played a great game of ball or baggatiway on the
parade before the fort. Many of the soldiers went out to witness it and
the gate was left open. During the game the ball was many times pitched
over the pickets of the fort. Instantly it was followed by the whole
body of players, in the unrestrained pursuit of a rude athletic
exercise. The garrison feared nothing; but suddenly the Indians drawing
their concealed weapons began the massacre. No resistance was offered,
so sudden and unexpected was the surprise. Seventy of the soldiers were
murdered, the remainder were sold for slaves. Only one Englishman
escaped. He was a trader named Henry. He was in his own house writing a
letter to his Montreal friends by the canoe which was just on the eve of
departure, when the massacre began. Only a low board fence separated his
grounds from those of M. Longlade, a Frenchman, who had great influence
with the savages. He obtained entrance into the house, where he was
concealed by one of the women, and though the savages made vigorous
search for him, he remained undiscovered. You can imagine the horrible
sight the fort presented when the sun went down, the soldiers in their
red uniforms lying there scalped and mangled, a ghastly heap under the
summer sky. And to just think it was only a short time ago, a little
more than a hundred years."
We could hardly realize it as we gazed up the rocky eminence at the
United States fort, one hundred and fifty feet high, overlooking the
little village. And yet Mackinaw's history is very little different from
that of most Western settlements and military Stations. Dark,
sanguinary, and bloody tragedies were constantly enacted upon the
frontiers for generations. As every one acquainted with our history must
know, the war on the border has been an almost interminable one. As the
tide of emigration has rolled westward it has ever met that fiery
counter-surge, and only overcome it by incessant battling and effort.
And even now, as the distant shores of the Pacific are wellnigh reached,
that resisting wave still gives forth its lurid flashes of conflict.
Mackinaw Island is only about three miles long and two in breadth, with
a circuit of nine miles in all. It rises out of the lake to an average
height of three hundred feet, and is heavily wooded with cedar, beech,
maple, and yew. Three of its sides are bold and rocky, the fourth slopes
down gradually toward the north to meet the blue waters of the lake. The
island is intersected in all directions with carriage-roads and paths,
and in the bay are always to be seen the row and sail boats belonging to
pleasure-seekers. From four to seven steamers call at the wharf daily,
while fleets of sailing-vessels may at any time be descried from old
Fort Holmes, creeping noiselessly on to the commercial marts of those
great inland seas.