Here, at the foot of the rapids, the celebrated white-fish of the lakes
is caught in its highest perfection. The people down below[37], who
boast of the excellence of the white-fish, really know nothing of the
matter. There is no more comparison between the white-fish of the lower
lakes and the white-fish of St. Mary's than between plaice and turbot,
or between a clam and a Sandwich oyster. I ought to be a judge, who have
eaten them fresh out of the river four times a day, and I declare to you
that I never tasted anything of the fish kind half so exquisite. If the
Roman Apicius had lived in these latter days, he would certainly have
made a voyage up Lake Huron to breakfast on the white-fish of St. Mary's
river, and would _not_ have returned in dudgeon, as he did, from the
coast of Africa. But the epicures of our degenerate times have nothing
of that gastronomical enthusiasm which inspired their ancient models,
else we should have them all coming here to eat white-fish at the Sault,
and scorning cockney white-bait. Henry declares that the flavour of the
white-fish is "beyond any comparison whatever," and I add my testimony
thereto--_probatum est!_
I have eaten tunny in the gulf of Genoa, anchovies fresh out of the bay
of Naples, and trout of the Salz-kammergut, and divers other fishy
dainties rich and rare,--but the exquisite, the refined white-fish
exceeds them all; concerning those cannibal fish (mullets were they, or
lampreys?) which Lucullus fed in his fish-ponds, I cannot speak, never
having tasted them; but even if _they_ could be resuscitated, I would
not degrade the refined, the delicate white-fish by a comparison with
any such barbarian luxury.
But seriously, and badinage apart, it is really the most luxurious
delicacy that swims the waters. It is said that people never tire of
them. Mr. MacMurray tells me that he has eaten them every day of his
life for seven years, and that his relish for them is undiminished. The
enormous quantities caught here, and in the bays and creeks round Lake
Superior, remind me of herrings in the lochs of Scotland; besides
subsisting the inhabitants, whites and Indians, during great part of the
year, vast quantities are cured and barrelled every fall, and sent down
to the eastern states. Not less than eight thousand barrels were shipped
last year.
[Footnote 36: The first British commandant of the fort was that
miserable Lieutenant Jemette, who was scalped at the massacre at
Michilimackinac.]
[Footnote 37: That is, in the neighbourhood of Lake Ontario and Lake
Erie.]