ON THE LAKES.
“On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
Westward by the Big-Sea Water.
* * * * *
Can it be the sun descending,
Sinking down into the water?
All the sky is stain’d with purple,
All the water flush’d with crimson!”
Lake Superior, the mighty lake, fed by two hundred rivers and streams,
plunging down falls and rapids to mingle their waters with those of this
inland ocean; with its stern rocky walls, and overhanging crags; with
its rich mines of copper, silver, and iron; with its abundant fisheries
of trout, pickerel, pike, carp, black fish, and white fish; and with its
grand pictured rocks, presenting columns, towers, arches, and ruins, and
hollowed out into vast caverns, echoing with tremendous roar to the dash
of the waves. An excursion proposed to this lake offered great
attractions, and Mrs. Lester was tempted to go on the fine steamer that
was to take a party thither.
Norman supplied himself with trolling-hook and fishing tackle, as the
steamer was to stop frequently to allow the passengers to fish in those
cold, clear, transparent waters. Charley Percy and his friend, Alfred
Scarborough, somewhat older than himself, were going in the steamer to
Collingwood, on their way to Niagara; so in the evening they went to the
boat, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Percy, and Alfred’s father and mother.
The saloon was gayly lighted up, the band playing; the state-rooms were
very comfortable, and the beginning of the voyage at least was very
promising.
Good-by was said to their kind friends, and the steamer moved slowly
down the river, past the warehouses, and through the bridges, in the
darkness, amid the gleaming lights here and there, and to the sound of
music, and it all seemed very dream-like. At length they reached the
lake, and the regular lines of light on Michigan Avenue sparkled as they
sailed away. It was very late, near eleven o’clock, and the travelers
soon sought the repose of their berths. Mrs. Lester only wakened in the
morning in time to see the graceful spires of Racine, sleeping in the
early morning light.
About ten o’clock they sailed into the harbor of Milwaukee, built on
both sides of the Milwaukee River, on a high bluff overlooking the lake.
Most of the town is built of the Milwaukee brick, which is of a light
straw-color; and though this brick is a very fine building material, yet
it harmonizes too much with the color of the sandy streets and sandy
bluff to give a fine effect to the town. A stronger contrast would be
better. There are some very fine buildings; a hotel of beautiful and
elaborate design, and a custom-house of fine architecture, built of
white stone.
Until one o’clock “The Planet” remained at Milwaukee, awaiting the
arrival of a party who wished to go on the excursion, and who had
telegraphed them from Chicago, and this delay enabled the passengers to
ride and walk about the town.
A sad sight met the eyes of those who remained on the boat. The
steamboat Traveler was just passing them, on its way out of the harbor,
when the mate, who had given some orders not followed to his
satisfaction, let himself down from the upper deck, by catching hold of
the middle rail of the balustrade. The rail broke, and the man was
thrown into the water, probably receiving some mortal blow on the way,
as he never rose. Truly there is but a step between us and death. In
that calm water, on that still, sunny day, the hardy seaman who had
braved death in the darkness and tempest, found a grave.
It was very warm, and all were glad when the steamer was once more in
motion, and the fresh breezes of the lake came with their cooling for
heated brows. It was rather too fresh after a while, and there was more
motion than was consistent with the enjoyment of some of the passengers.
There was a shower, too, dimpling the lake, and driving most of the
people into the saloon.
Norman had his first experience of seasickness, and retiring to his
berth at five o’clock, he slept there till the morning. His mother was
very sorry to have him miss that magnificent sunset on Lake Michigan.
The rain had passed away, and a light breeze crisped the waters. The
boat had made its last landing, and the little town they were leaving
was glorified by its back ground of amber, deepening into a brilliant
orange. Every house and tree came out with marvelous distinctness, as
the sun dipped behind the western horizon, and painted, after he had
passed from view, a gorgeous picture as his parting gift—a gift not to
be lost with the fleeting hour, or to be confounded with other gifts
from the same source. It was marvelous in its beauty. Clouds of rich
crimson, fading into brown, were festooned on the serene radiance of the
clear sky. A wealth of celestial drapery seemed drawn aside to reveal
the far-off glory. As these kindling hues faded away, a cloud nearer the
horizon assumed the aspect of a woodland scene receding from the shore
of the lake. There were the headlands jutting into the water, the
nodding groves, the bays running into the land. It was difficult to make
all this extensive country only cloud-land, and the little company at
the stern of the boat gazed upon it till the gathering darkness hid it
from view.
It was a night of glorious shows; about ten o’clock the northern lights
threw up their quivering brilliant scintillations far up into the
heavens, glorifying the north with a bow of flickering beauty, even as
the west had been glorified with masses of magnificent clouds. The lake,
however, was almost too rough to allow many spectators to enjoy this
glimpse of northern splendors, and most of the passengers sought the
safe security of their berths.
Early in the morning Norman was called by his mother to come out on deck
and see the Manitou Islands, with their sandy bluffs and crown of green
trees. Norman looked at them a long time in silence by himself. When he
came to his mother he said: “I feel almost as if I had been looking at
the Holy Land; those islands were the holy land to the Indians, the
dwelling-place of the Great Spirit, not to be approached by mortals.”
“It made me very fanciful to look at them,” continued Norman. “The great
cloud of smoke that our steamer is sending toward the island, and that
now hovers over it, seemed to me an oblation to the great Manitou of the
Indians.”
There was a visitor from those islands; a pretty little bird that
lighted on the ropes, and jumped about the deck till frightened away.
They passed Beaver Island, once inhabited by the Mormons, who, the
captain said, seemed a very quiet, inoffensive people when they lived
there. He said they had been very kind in assisting him once when he ran
ashore near their island.
After breakfast Norman, his mother, and Alfred Scarborough went to the
hurricane deck. Soon a gentleman came up, and walked vigorously up and
down, giving at each turn some good advice to Norman. He was an English
clergyman, hale and fresh complexioned, with a bright eye, and firm,
quick step, though he was seventy years of age. “I have come out,” he
said, “to get some fresh air before breakfast. There are not many young
men that can run up a mountain like me. Many young men only smoke, and
sleep, and eat; they never think of taking vigorous exercise. They will
never be able to walk as I do at my age.
“Walk, my boy,” said he, putting his hand on Norman’s shoulder “run,
leap, and you will grow strong. Those are the Fox Islands, are they?
Well, I must go down to my breakfast, they will not make much on me; I
can eat a pound more than I could have when I came up.” And thus ending
his walk and sentences together, he went down stairs.
It was a lovely morning; the cool breeze was exhilarating, and the
morning passed quickly away as they glided through the straits that
connect Lake Michigan and Lake Huron; the straits so long known under
the formidable name of the Straits of Michilimackinac, now abridged to
Mackinaw.