If it finds you with fifty dollars and a fortnight at your command, you
cannot do better than spend both on the Great Lakes.
You don't care for water? But the Great Lakes are not water. You follow
closely the most interesting and wonderful shore, and seven different
times stop for several hours at places on the coast.
Or perhaps you do care for water, and would not like hugging the shore?
One day, at least, on Lake Huron, you would be out of sight of land; and
if you should have a lake storm, you would have all the ocean "fun" you
would care for.
Or you were thinking of the Thousand Isles? There are a thousand isles in
the northern part of Lake Huron, just before you turn into the little
winding river that leads to the "Soo."
Or you had planned to see Lake George this year? You will see a beautiful
copy of Lake George as you leave the little town of Hancock and pass from
the narrow river into a broad expanse dotted with islands, just before
entering the canal that leads to the upper part of Lake Superior.
But you had rather go West, among the mines? What mines can you find, more
interesting than the great copper-mines of Calumet and Hecla and
Quincy?--the only place in the United States, indeed, where you can see
the curious man-engine, with its arrangement of changing-platforms for
carrying the miners up and down.
Well, you meant to go "canoeing." Some very choice canoeing and shooting
of rapids you can have during the hours at the Sault Ste. Marie, popularly
known as the "Soo," and during the two days that the steamer waits at
Duluth before the return-trip Lake Superior will prove not an unattractive
spot to paddle about in.
Add to this the interest of the magnificent new locks at the "Soo," the
historical and romantic associations with Marquette and Mackinac (for you
will not forget that Miss Woolson's "Anne" lived on the Great Lakes), and
the creature comforts of big state-rooms, with large, comfortable beds,
and running water in the basins, on admirable steamers that set an
excellent hotel-table, and you will wonder, as we did, that so few
tourists seem to know about, or care for, one of the most enjoyable
excursions in the country,--I am quite sure I can say the most enjoyable
for the little money it costs.
We took it ourselves quite by accident,--willing to go out of our way a
little on the journey to Colorado in the heat of summer for the sake of a
little trip by water to compensate for the sea-shore cottage we were
leaving behind us for the season. We did not, indeed, begin the trip, as
the steamers do, at Buffalo; for, although time and tide wait for no man
at the East, at the West there are no tides, and time was willing to make
an appointment for us to overtake the steamer at Detroit. We were glad of
an excuse for lingering at the House Beautiful in Buffalo, where we would
rather spend Sunday any time than on any lake in the world. Fortunately,
we had "been to the Falls" many times before, and had seen Niagara in
winter splendor and summer loveliness: so we were at liberty to idle away
the fleeting hours in the shades of Delaware Avenue, on charming piazzas,
till the time came when we must start on the flying trip through Canada if
we would overtake the steamer Japan.
She was just gliding into her dock at Detroit as we stepped from the cars,
and we still had three or four hours' leisure before she would start again
in which to drive about the pretty city and call on friends. Just before
midnight we embarked, and our first experience of the Great Lakes was a
night of peaceful and serene slumber.
Peaceful and serene, too, was the following day,--a patient waiting for
the scenery to begin, sitting with novels on what was facetiously known as
"the back piazza" of the Japan, out of sight of land, but gliding over a
sea so smooth that the hanging flower-baskets on the deck scarcely
stirred. If you scorn such tame delights when apparently at sea, remember
that it might have been rough as only lakes are rough in a great storm. It
was very warm. The captain's assurance that the next morning we should
want to borrow his overcoat and mittens had no effect in disguising the
fact that it was warm. The ladies dressed for dinner, many of them in
white; and the only excitement of the afternoon was the "sighting" of the
Michigan, United States man-of-war, cruising in lake-waters. A little knot
of officers on deck waved their handkerchiefs; a little knot of pretty
girls on the Japan were responding eagerly, when a severe and elderly
voice was heard to say, with distinctness, "The officers' wives are on
board the Japan. They are waving to _them_."
And in fact, as we glided past, a little child was seen at a port-hole of
the Michigan, waving a handkerchief to mamma on the Japan. It had been
seriously ill, and the mother, forbidden by the United States government
to remain with her sick child on the Michigan, preferred to leave him
there with his father, where he could have the care of the special surgeon
who understood the case, while she followed as closely as she could in one
of the lake-steamers. Ah, how interested we all were! It is recorded in
history that certain enemies of the Egyptians used to go into battle with
them with each man holding a cat in his arms. Suppose in our next war we
try the effect upon our enemies of letting each of our soldiers carry a
white-robed baby? One thing is certain, the Michigan captured the Japan
with all on board that day simply by exhibiting that little white figure
at its port-hole. The next day at the "Soo" not a murmur of dissent was
heard when the good-natured captain, who had no European mails on board,
said he would wait an extra hour for the Michigan to come up, that the
anxious mother might have twenty-four hours' later news.
On the second morning there was an entire change of weather and landscape.
The sun still shone gloriously (the thermometer that day in Chicago stood
at 94), but rugs, seal-skins, and hoods were in demand. We were no longer
out of sight of land, but were threading our way in and out among a
thousand isles, with hills that seemed almost mountains threatening to bar
our course before long if we did not turn back the way we came. No one,
the captain said, had ever been known to guess the channel correctly; but
before long we had made a sharp turn to the left at the only spot that
offered an outlet, and found the Great Lakes narrowed suddenly to a
beautiful winding river which led us in the course of another hour or two
to the "Soo." Here the steamer would wait three hours, and we could
explore the queer little town,--quite a popular resort in summer,--or
inspect the splendid locks of the great canal, or shoot the rapids. To me
it was a genuine pleasure to find at last some rapids that were visible to
the naked eye. The famous rapids of the St. Lawrence had been a severe
disappointment, but here were rapids worthy of the name. Lake Superior was
visibly above us, Lake Huron visibly below, and between ran the turbulent
little stream which of course must be flowing into Lake Huron, though we
could not have told merely by looking at it which way the current ran.
"Would we go up the rapids?" We had heard of going down the rapids, but in
reality the most wonderful part of the performance is going up. Not only
is the current fearfully swift, even close to the shore as it is necessary
to keep, but the water seems to be only a few inches deep, and the rocks
are as thick as plums in a Christmas pudding. Yet two Indians, standing
erect, one in the bow and one in the stern of the canoe, pole you up the
stream against these terrible odds as easily and surely as a Harvard
oarsman might row you across Seneca Lake. Then they pause for a moment.
"How will you have it going down? Rough?" they ask.
"Rough," we answer, wondering what in the world they can mean by speaking
as if they were the autocrats of wind and current.
But it seems there are two channels,--one near shore for the timid, and
one in mid-stream. We were not to be betrayed into any exhibition of
timidity after that first hesitating question, "Do you know the rapids
well? How many times have you taken people down?" To which the quiet reply
had been, "Three times a day, lady, for twenty years." Twenty thousand
times, by rough calculation!
So we went over in mid-stream, and were not sorry,--receiving as we
stepped ashore what is probably a part of every programme, the compliment
of being "the bravest lady that ever went over the falls."
Many a pleasant day, or week, one might undoubtedly spend at the Sault
Ste. Marie, or at Mackinac; but if you have only turned through the
straits and gone southward again to Chicago through Lake Michigan, do not
think of saying that you have taken the trip on the Great Lakes. To me the
Great Lakes will always mean Lake Superior. It is something unique in the
geography of the world, and you have the consciousness of your actual
height above the level of the sea as you rarely have on any elevated land
that is not actually a mountain. Ruskin says that for him the flowers lose
their light, the river its music, when he tries to divest any given
landscape of its associations with human struggle and endeavor. Our New
World scenery, of course, has little of that wonderful charm of
association; but there is something singularly impressive in the mere
silence and vastness of our great Northern solitudes.
We entered Lake Superior late in the afternoon, and the only event of the
evening was a magnificent aurora. Toward midnight the gorgeous tints
changed to a thin wedge of perfectly white light, against which in a
duskier white the sails of passing vessels were distinctly outlined,
though no hulls were visible.
At Marquette, in the morning, a party of Finnish emigrants on board left
the ship. Half a dozen Americanized Finns, who had evidently been the
inspiring cause of this influx of new citizens, had come to the wharf to
greet the new arrivals. They had the same short stature, the same stolid
features, as their relatives on board; but there was a difference. The
white shirt, the clean collar, the smart straw hat and vivid necktie, with
a vigorous step, alert manner, decisive tones, and a certain tendency to
help the women with their heavy boxes, distinctly individualized those who
had been awhile under American influence.
All day we basked in the sunshine on the captain's bridge. Think of being
glad to bask in the sunshine on a 4th of August! Between Marquette and
Portage River we passed but one house,--one solitary, lonely house, set on
the very edge of the "unsalted sea;" before it a vast expanse of limitless
waters, behind it an unbroken, limitless forest; no fields, no crops, no
roads, only space enough cleared for the tiny cabin and tinier shed. What
had lured people there? What kept them alive? No neighbors, no mail, no
farm, no apparent object in life, and only one small rowboat to get away
in.
Yet they had put a curtain up at the window! No human being could by any
possibility look in at that window. Even the curtain could only be
detected with an opera-glass from the steamer that passed twice a week.
But the sweet instinct of privacy and home had had its way, and every
night the little curtain that never shut out anything but the incurious
moonlight or the innocent stars was drawn as regularly as the shades of a
Fifth Avenue mansion. Later we learned that it was the Life-Saving Station
of Lake Superior.
"No nap this afternoon, ladies," said the captain as he left the
luncheon-table. "You must be on the lookout for Portage River."
All the afternoon we watched for the little river, eked out by a canal,
that enables us to cut off one hundred and twenty miles of what would be
the course around Keweena Point, besides giving what is perhaps the most
interesting part of the whole trip. So narrow is the opening of the river
that no trace of it is to be seen till we are close upon it; yet swift as
the dove from far Palmyra flying, unerring as an arrow from the bow, the
great ship sweeps across the lake to exactly the right spot. The river is
hardly the width of a canal, yet curves as no canal would ever curve, so
that the captain in giving orders has to watch both ends of the vessel to
see that neither runs aground. It would be impossible for two steamers to
pass each other in the river, and the contingency of their meeting is
guarded against by the fact that returning steamers have to go round the
Point, being too heavily laden with flour from Duluth. As it was, there
were but thirteen feet of water in the river, and the Japan drew twelve.
Once in the river, we experienced a most extraordinary transformation.
Every one knows what it is to pass in a day or two from northern snow to
southern roses, or in a few hours from valley roses to mountain snow; but
here, _in five minutes_, and remaining on precisely the same level, we
passed from October to July. The cold lake-breeze died away, and on the
little inland river the sun was actually oppressive. Seal-skins were cast
aside, and we sent hastily below for sun-umbrellas. The speed of the
steamer was slackened to four miles an hour. You heard no click of
machinery or swash of water against the sides: we were gliding on through
a green and lovely marsh, with water-lilies all about us and wild roses in
the distance. Cattle stood knee-deep in pleasant brooks, locusts hummed
and buzzed in the warm air, all sweet summer sounds and scents encompassed
us. There was even a little settlement of scattered houses; but the
expected steamer had evidently created no excitement in the inmates. It
would not stop; it brought them neither mail nor summer boarder: why
should they care just to see it pass? One man, painting the window-sashes
of his house with his back to the steamer, never even turned or paused
from his work, though we were so near that he might have heard what was
said about him on the deck. It is not the dweller in the wilderness, but
the denizen of cities, that longs for something to happen.
At Hancock the steamer waits several hours, giving an opportunity to visit
the wonderful copper-mines. We chanced to be there just at the hour to see
one of the unique sights of America,--the working of the man-engine that
brings the miners up from their work. Even by machinery it takes them half
an hour to reach daylight. The mine is worked to the depth of fifteen
hundred feet, and for five hundred we could gaze down into the dark and
awful shaft, lit for us by the candles burning in the miners' caps. Two
long beams, to which are attached at right angles little platforms at
intervals of eight feet, each platform holding one man, work up and down.
As each man reaches the level of the platform above on the opposite beam
the engine stops just long enough for him to step from one to the other.
The long, silent, spectral procession, moving with such shadowy precision
and constant motion, with the glimmering lights changing, not fitfully,
but with the regularity of well-trained will-o'-the-wisps, made a panorama
not easily forgotten. Every minute or two, as the engine paused, the miner
whose platform had reached the top sprang suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box,
out of the opening into which we were gazing, touched his hat, and
disappeared into the town. Long as we waited, the procession was not yet
ended when we had to go back to the Japan.
It is just beyond Hancock that the river broadens into the beautiful
expanse so like Lake George. As we glided away from the wharf in the light
of a splendid sunset, it was curious to look back at the simple little
town, so remote from luxury, even from civilization, so humble in its own
wants and pleasures, yet pouring such vast sources of supply into the
great world of which it knew nothing and asked nothing, save the privilege
of enriching it.
At twilight we entered the canal. I have been up the Saguenay, I have been
over the Marshall Pass and through the Royal Gorge of the Arkansas, and I
have seen many noble scenes in Europe, but no scenery has ever impressed
me with such solemnity as the landscape on that canal in the twilight of
an August afternoon. Nor was it merely a personal impression. There were
two hundred souls on board, with the usual proportion of giddy young girls
and talkative youths; the negro waiters as we entered the canal were
singing and playing their violins; but in an instant, as the speed of the
steamer was again checked to four miles an hour, every sound was hushed on
board. During the hour that was occupied in going through the canal, it is
a literal fact that not a sound was heard on the great steamer but the low
impressive orders of the captain and--if you chanced to be on the
captain's bridge--_the ticking of the clock in the wheel-house._ People
spoke in whispers, if they spoke at all, quite unconscious of it till they
remembered it afterward. What made it so impressive? I am sure I do not
know. Certainly there was nothing awful in the scenery, and we never were
in less danger in our lives. We were moving peacefully through a long,
narrow sheet of perfectly calm water, stretching straight as a die from
the river to the upper lake. If anything had happened, we could have
jumped ashore on either side, and another steamer from Buffalo would have
come through in a day or two and picked us up. The only thing possible to
fear was that we might ground in the shallow water, an emergency from
which we could only be relieved, as there are no tides in the lakes, by
the tedious process of lightening the cargo. It was a perfectly clear
evening after a most beautiful day. But on either side of us, far as the
eye could reach, stretched an apparently unbroken forest. Through the
narrow vista cleared for our silvery pathway a slow and stately twilight
came solemnly to fold us in its embrace, as we advanced solemnly and
slowly from vast and awful solitudes to solitudes more vast and awful
still. As we drew near the lake again, a little light-house gleamed, and,
as we swept past it out into the broad expanse of limitless waters, the
cheerful throb of the machinery quickened again upon the sea, the pleasant
swish of the water against the ship greeted us once more, life, movement,
and gayety sprang out again on board, and in an instant the entire steamer
had burst into laughter and chat and song. We were really in far more
danger, from storm or collision or fire, out on the great lake; but the
sense of awe had been lifted from us.
We were due at Duluth at four o'clock of the following afternoon. What
would she be like, this "zenith city of the unsalted seas," with such a
stately avenue of approach? At three o'clock we began to see in the
distance what seemed to be her cloud-capped towers and domes and palaces;
at half-past three a beautiful little humming-bird, blown from the shore,
lit on my scarlet necktie and pecked at this strange flower from the East;
at four we were at the wharf.
"I think," said my companion slowly, gazing sorrowfully at the shanties
that had made such splendid domes in the distance, "I think I should have
called it Delusion, instead of Duluth. It looks like a town in Dickens's
'American Notes' illustrated by Dor?
Surely never was there a more forlorn little town, trying to scramble up a
hillside covered with the tall trunks of dead trees and blackened stumps,
shut out from one world by the waste of waters before it, shut in from
another by dreary, verdureless hills. Surely nobody _lived_ there; those
could not be _homes,_ those desolate frame houses where people were
"staying" awhile. It seemed as if the whole town, like "Poor Joe," would
soon be told by a vigilant policeman to "move on."
And we, who were looking forward to Colorado, needed no policeman to urge
us to "move on" by the earliest train to St. Paul.