July 18.
This evening the Thomas Jefferson arrived in the river from Buffalo, and
starts early to-morrow morning for Chicago. I hastened to secure a
passage as far as the island of Mackinaw: when once there, I must trust
to Providence for some opportunity of going up Lake Huron to the Sault
Ste. Marie to visits my friends the MacMurrays; or down the lake to the
Great Manitoolin Island, where the annual distribution of presents to
the Indians is to take place under the auspices of the governor. If both
these plans--wild plans they are, I am told--should fail, I have only to
retrace my way and come down the lake, as I went up, in a steamer; but
this were horridly tedious and prosaic, and I _hope_ better things. So
_evviva la speranza!_ and Westward Ho!
* * * * *
On board the Jefferson, River St. Clair, July 19.
This morning I came down early to the steam-boat, attended by a
_cortege_ of amiable people, who had heard of my sojourn at Detroit too
late to be of any solace or service to me, but had seized this last and
only opportunity of showing politeness and good-will. The sister of the
governor, two other ladies, and a gentleman, came on board with me at
that early hour, and remained on deck till the paddles were in motion.
The talk was so pleasant, I could not but regret that I had not seen
some of these kind people earlier, or might hope to see more of them;
but it was too late. Time and steam wait neither for man nor woman: all
expressions of hope and regret on both sides were cut short by the
parting signal, which the great bell swung out from on high; all
compliments and questions "fumbled up into a loose adieu;" and these
new friendly faces--seen but for a moment, then to be lost, yet not
quite forgotten--were soon left far behind.
The morning was most lovely and auspicious; blazing hot though, and
scarce a breath of air; and the magnificent machine, admirably appointed
in all respects, gaily painted and gilt, with flags waving, glided over
the dazzling waters with an easy, stately motion.
I had suffered so much at Detroit, that as it disappeared and melted
away in the bright southern haze like a vision, I turned from it with a
sense of relief, put the past out of my mind, and resigned myself to the
present--like a wise woman--or wiser child.
The captain told me that last season he had never gone up the lakes with
less than four or five hundred passengers. This year, fortunately for my
individual comfort, the case is greatly altered: we have not more than
one hundred and eighty passengers, consequently an abundance of
accommodation, and air, and space--inestimable blessings in this sultry
weather, and in the enjoyment of which I did not sympathise in the
lamentations of the good-natured captain as much as I ought to have
done.