At seven this morning, when I went on deck, we had advanced about one
hundred miles into Lake Huron. We were coasting along the south shore,
about four miles from the land, while, on the other side, we had about
two hundred miles of open _sea_, and the same expanse before us. Soon
after, we had to pass the entrance of Sagginaw Bay. Here we lost sight
of land for the first time. Sagginaw Bay, I should suppose, is as large
as the Gulf of Genoa; it runs seventy or eighty miles up into the land,
and is as famous for storms as the Bay of Biscay. Here, if there be a
capful of wind, or a cupful of sea, one is sure to have the benefit of
it; for even in the finest weather there is a considerable swell. We
were about three hours crossing from the Pointe Aux Barques to Cape
Thunder; and during this time a number of my companions were put _hors
de combat_.
All this part of Michigan is unsettled, and is said to be sandy and
barren. Along the whole horizon was nothing visible but the dark
omnipresent pine-forest. The Sagginaw Indians, whose hunting-grounds
extend along the shore, are, I believe, a tribe of Ottawas. I should
add, that the Americans have built a lighthouse on a little island near
Thunder Bay. A situation more terrific in its solitude you cannot
imagine than that of the keeper of this lonely tower, among rocks,
tempests, and savages. All their provisions come from a distance of at
least one hundred miles, and a long course of stormy weather, which
sometimes occurs, would place them in danger of starvation.