MACKINAW AND LAKE HURON.
In our wake there follow’d, white as flakes of snow,
Seven adventurous sea-gulls, floating to and fro;
Diving for the bounty of the bread we threw,
Dipping, curving, swerving—fishing as they flew.
MACKAY.
Just after dinner they reached Mackinaw, where a number of the
excursionists were to remain until the boat returned from Collingwood.
The captain said they would remain at Mackinaw time enough to visit the
fort.
Ready at the gangway as the boat touched the shore, Mrs. Lester, Norman,
with a number of others, rushed on shore, scarcely pausing to look
through the clear, transparent water at the white pebbles of the beach.
Up the hill to the fort, the sun shining down on them with fervent heat,
while his rays were reflected from the white walls. It was, however, a
short, direct road, and the lovely view fully repaid them for the
momentary heat. A peaceful scene lay beneath them; the quiet little
village of Mackinaw, with its humble dwellings; the beach, sweeping
round in the form of a crescent, and the placid waters of Lake Huron
beyond, made a pretty picture; the sentinel walking to and fro on his
post; the heavy pieces of artillery, and piles of shot and shell.
Soldiers, grouped here and there, greatly interested Norman. The descent
was very steep, and Norman in one minute found himself at the foot of
the walled-in road which they had ascended. On arriving at the boat they
found the men engaged in putting on shore sheep and cattle for the
support of the soldiers, whose provision is thus brought to them. Taking
advantage of the delay, Norman rushed on shore to buy some birch bark
boxes, filled with maple sugar, and embroidered in porcupine quills. As
he showed them to his mother on his return, she ventured up the street
to buy some Indian work, emboldened by the sight of the captain walking
before her.
A group of Indian women, in their own dress, with blue cloth blankets
and leggings, attracted their attention as they entered the shop. They
were Ottawas, and one of them had a face of great beauty. It was oval:
her features were fine, and there was a pensive expression, a look of
sadness on her face, that made her very interesting. Mrs. Lester wanted
to look at that face of sorrowful meaning, and learn something of her
history; but the sight of the captain, on his return to the boat,
hastened her movements, and hastily selecting some fans and boxes of
maple sugar, with an embroidered canoe of birch bark, she hurried away.
Nine more sheep to land; there would have been a few moments to spare
for a longer perusal of the face of that Ottawa maiden, but it was safe
to come when they did, and not run the risk of being left. And so they
were once more in motion, with hastily gathered memories of Mackinaw,
its town and fort.
“Norman,” said Mrs. Lester, “did you ever hear of a famous game of ball
at Mackinaw?”
“No, mother; please tell me about it.”
“It was in June. A number of Indians had arrived near the fort,
apparently to trade, and a day was appointed for a game of ball, of
which they are very fond. Stakes were planted, and the game, in playing
which the great object is to keep the ball beyond the adversary’s goal,
began. The Indians uttered loud cries in the wild excitement of the
game, and the commandant of the fort and his lieutenant stood outside of
the gate to watch them. The ball was tossed nearer and nearer the fort,
and the excited crowd of Indians ran and leaped after it, when suddenly
they rushed upon the two officers at the gate, and imprisoned them. At
once they joined some Indians who had come into the fort under pretense
of trading, and imprisoned the whole garrison, seventeen of whom they
put to death.
“This was the beginning of Pontiac’s war.”
“I never heard of this game of ball,” said Norman; “but I can tell as
good a story of a pair of moccasins. May I?”
“Certainly,” said his mother. “I would like to hear it.”
“Well, mother, I believe this was at the beginning of Pontiac’s war too.
An Indian woman had made some moccasins for Major Gladstone, who
commanded the fort at Detroit. They were made of a curious elk-skin that
he valued very much. He paid her for them, and gave her the rest of the
skin, asking her to make another pair for a friend of his. The squaw
seemed unwilling to go home, and the major sent for her, and asked her
what she was waiting for. She said she did not like to take the elk-skin
that he thought so much of, as she could not make another pair of
moccasins. He asked her why she could not make them. At first she would
not tell; but then she said he had been very good to her, and she would
tell him the secret, that she might save his life.
“The Indians, who had asked permission to visit the fort the next day,
that they might present the calumet to Major Gladstone, were coming with
their guns cut off, that they might hide them under their blankets;
then, when Pontiac presented the calumet in some peculiar way, they were
to fire upon the officers.
“The soldiers were stationed outside of the room where the council was
to be held; the officers were armed, and when Pontiac was about to
present the calumet, the officers partially drew their swords from their
scabbards, and the clank of the soldiers’ arms was heard outside.
Pontiac turned pale, and presented the calumet without the preconcerted
signal.
“Major Gladstone then stepped up to one of the Indians, pulled aside his
blanket, and revealed the gun cut short, just as the squaw had said. He
accused Pontiac of treachery, but said that as he had promised them a
safe audience, they might go out of the town unharmed.”
“Perhaps if he had kept them prisoners,” said Mrs. Lester, “he might
have prevented the war that ensued.”
How beautiful the island looked in its commanding position! The high
land in the center, with its lofty forests rising like a curve. How much
they would have enjoyed the day that had been promised them at Mackinaw
to visit the old fort on its central heights, the arched rock, and the
wild solitudes of this picturesque region. The bold rock known as the
Lover’s Leap stood out finely from the greenwood behind, and Norman
listened to its story told him by Mr. Bard. An Indian maiden, who had
refused to marry a brave who loved her very much, was one day seated on
this lofty rock, looking out on the grand view beneath her, when she
heard a stealthy step, and her rejected lover stood by her side. The
hour, the scene were propitious to his suit, and again it was urged with
all the warmth of earnest affection. The maiden listened, hesitated, and
at length told him that if he would leap off that cliff she would marry
him. The Indian raised his tall form to its utmost height, looked at the
sea, the sky, and then at the beautiful face for which he periled the
sight of both, and leaped from the giddy verge. Strange to say, without
loss of life or limb, with the agility and skill of a well-trained
Indian, he took the fearful leap, which was broken by the branches of
trees and shrubbery beneath. And thus he won his Indian bride.
Mr. Bard, who had come to the country when there were but two houses in
Chicago out of the fort, had been familiar with it when the Indian
tribes roved at will over the vast prairies of Illinois. He spoke four
of their languages, and could sing their songs. He had been twice cast
away on the shores of Lake Michigan, and he could tell many a tale of
wild adventure. More wonderful than any fairy tale was the aspect of the
cultivated farms, the neat farm-houses, the numerous villages and towns,
with their spires pointing skyward, the great city that had all grown up
in a few years beneath his eye. And those red men, with whom he had been
so familiarly associated, where had they gone? How rapidly those western
regions are losing the element of the picturesque that the Indian with
his bark canoe and his wigwam give to their lakes and rivers, with their
wooded shores.
He told Norman of a most curious scene he had once witnessed. An Indian
had a very handsome pony, which another Indian was anxious to purchase,
but which he resolutely refused to sell. They were both drinking, when
the owner of the pony, finding his stock of whisky exhausted, asked the
other to give or sell him a mouthful from his remaining bottle. He at
first declined, but, on being entreated, said that he would give him a
mouthful of whisky for the pony. The Indian at once consented to give up
his favorite horse for the momentary gratification, and putting his lips
to those which had recently imbibed the whisky, he received the
stipulated mouthful.
It was a repetition, in these western wilds, of the old Hebrew story,
the sacrifice of a birthright by the hungry hunter for the mess of
pottage given him by the plain man dwelling in tents. Well, were this
the solitary repetition! but, alas! Esaus are found in all our borders,
giving up, for the indulgence of present clamorous desires, an
inheritance more glorious than any to which the first-born of earth
could ever lay claim.
The captain asked Norman if he had seen the northern lights the evening
before. Norman said that he was asleep, and asked the captain if he
frequently saw them.
“O yes,” he replied, “they are very brilliant in these high latitudes.
The Indians think they are the dance of the dead. One evening I came on
deck, and looking up at that pole I saw a bird just resting on the gilt
ball that surmounts it. I seemed to hear the soft flutter of her wings.
I watched it for some time, and then went in and called the engineer to
look at it. He too saw it, and when I turned to look at the boat every
line and point seemed luminous. He was showing it to some ladies, and
pointing toward it a light blue flame streamed from his finger.
Everything was highly charged with electricity, which produced the
semblance of the bird on the flagstaff on the bow. I never saw anything
like it.”
“How long did it last?” asked Norman.
“About two hours.”
Norman then asked him about Lake Superior, and he told him of the
wonderful beauty of the pictured rocks, of the castles and temples
jutting out of their bold front, of their arched caverns; that those
majestic rocks, three hundred feet high, extend ten miles, and the
Indians passed them with awful reverence, thinking that they were the
dwelling-place of the great Manitou.
The captain spoke of the sudden storms so violent in this “Big Sea
Water” in the autumn, and showed Norman a very beautiful gold watch that
had been presented to him by the citizens of Superior City, in honor of
his courage, skill, and fidelity when his vessel was exposed to a severe
storm, and he brought her safely through the snow, and ice, and tempest.
On the case was engraved a picture of the “Lady Elgin,” and on the heavy
gold chain, secured by an anchor to his buttonhole, were his initials,
in massive gold letters.
The captain showed Norman the straits that led up into Lake Superior,
and he regretted his mother had given up the excursion around the lake.
She concluded that as they had been gone two months from home, it would
not be well to set out on an excursion that would detain them ten or
twelve days longer, and expose them, moreover, to traveling on the
Sabbath. The home prospect looked so bright, however, that they did not
regret very much the loss of the sight of the prairies and rocks, and
all the desolate glories of this great lake.
“Norman,” said his mother, “just think of the courage it must have
required when, more than two hundred years ago, two French missionaries
sailed over these lonely lakes. They were seventeen days in a light bark
canoe. They sailed past the pretty islands we shall soon see in Georgian
Bay, and over the clear waters upon which we are now sailing, up the
river St. Mary, which the captain showed you, which leads to Lake
Superior, and there, at the Sault St. Marie, they told the Indians about
Jesus:
“‘A birch canoe with, paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine,
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabrun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the black-robe chief, the prophet,
He the priest of prayer; the pale-face
With his guides and his companions.’”
A lady showed Norman a picture of the rapids at the Sault St. Marie,
with a number of Indians in their canoes; and the captain said they
would paddle their canoes up the rapids, and then throwing their nets in
the water as they came down, would catch the fish going up the stream.
After tea they seated themselves in the stern of the vessel, and looked
at her track far over the lake. The air was cool and exhilarating, and
it was with devout gratitude to God for the wonderful display of his
mighty works, and for his abundant blessings, that some of the company
gazed upon the serene glory of the sunsetting. It was not gorgeous, as
was the sunset on Lake Michigan, with clouds of purple and crimson, but
slowly, slowly the shining orb dipped behind the waters. The evening
star hung trembling in the sky, faintly shining out from that region of
pale gold; while the moon, high in the western heavens, promised for
many hours her silvery light.
Norman brought out his trolling-hook, that he might have the pleasure of
throwing it into Lake Huron, as he was denied that of fishing in Lake
Superior. He let it out at the end of a long and strong fishing line,
and amused himself watching it bounce out of the water, and feeling the
twitches it gave his hand as the boat moved rapidly onward. A lady, who
sat near, was very much amused at the stout resistance of the waves. At
length Norman drew in his line, and lo! and behold the hook was gone.
The action of the waves had worn away the stout cord, made still
stronger by being wound around with thread.
“There,” said Norman, “I have lost the hook which cost me twenty-five
cents.”
“I think it has given us twenty-five cents’ worth of pleasure,” said the
lady, who had been watching the dancing line.
“And you have the honor of having lost your hook in the clear waters of
Lake Huron,” added his mother. Norman was meanwhile tying to the end of
his line the little board on which the line had been wound, and he threw
that in the water in place of the hook. This was a more stirring
pastime. The board offered so much stronger resistance to the waves,
that Norman had to wind the line several times around his hand to retain
his hold. At one moment the jerk was so violent, that the cord drew the
boy toward the low balustrade, over which he might have easily gone, but
for the interposing arms of the lady and his mother, at once thrown
round him. There was a start among the little company as they perceived
the boy’s danger, and Mrs. Lester told Norman he had now better draw in
his line.
A new entertainment succeeded. Norman had been watching a sea-gull that
had been following directly in the track of their vessel for many miles
long before sunset; those untiring wings of snowy white had borne the
graceful bird onward, and ever and anon she made a circling sweep, and
rested a while on the bosom of the water.
“Norman,” said Mrs. Bard, “you go to the pantry, and ask for some pieces
of bread, and throw them in the water, and you will soon have a flock of
sea-gulls following you.”
Norman waited not a second bidding, and soon came back with some rolls
and pieces of bread. He threw some in, and the gull did not see them. He
then waited till the bird came quite near the vessel, and threw it up
toward her. Then he had the satisfaction of seeing the gull slowly
circle round and round, till it picked up the morsel of bread. In a few
minutes another gull came, and then another, and then another, till six
white birds, on rapid wing, were hovering over the vessel’s track, and
picking up the bread cast upon the waters.
Norman’s delight knew no bounds. It is pleasant to feed chickens in a
barn-yard; but what is that compared to feeding gulls on Lake Huron, and
seeing them wing their flight at your call through the trackless
solitudes of air. He was sorry when the darkness prevented the sea-gulls
from seeing the pieces of bread, and they
“Wing’d their way to far-off islands,
To their nests among the rushes.”
The evening star soon set, and the moon was left pale empress of the
sky. How glorious was the path of silvery light she threw across the
water. Sweet strains of music sounded from the band, and the eye,
following that radiant pathway, would see in it now a silvery cascade,
and now a shining road to a niche, in which hung the moon, the crescent
lamp of night. It was a sweet conclusion to a day rich in enjoyment.
Sea, sky, and air had brought their tribute; and the heart of man had
rejoiced, as the eye took in this wealth of beauty. What suitable
expression those feelings found in the language of the nineteenth Psalm!
[Illustration:
No. 666.
COMMON GULL.]
“The heavens declare the glory of God,
And the firmament showeth his handy work.
Day unto day uttereth speech,
And night unto night showeth knowledge.
There is no speech nor language
Where their voice is not heard.
Their line is gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.”