UP THE SAINT MARY’S RIVER
As the Admiral passed from Lake St. Clair through the St. Clair flats,
the boys beheld with interest and wonder the colony of cottages and
hotels built on the very water’s edge of the American side, with the
scores of launches scudding hither and thither, carrying merry
vacationists on visits to friends or to fishing grounds. On the Canadian
side, however, they could see nothing but a vast expanse of reeds and
water-grass, splendid for duck shooting but otherwise useless.
“How do the people get here? Aren’t there any roads?” asked Ted, as he
looked in vain for some means of connection with the mainland.
“To be sure,” replied the skipper, whose customary geniality had been
restored by the receipt of a wireless message ordering him to set the
unwelcome guards ashore at the Soo, as the Sault St. Claire is
nicknamed.
“Where are they? I can’t see any,” returned the boy.
“You notice those lanes of water, don’t you?” and Captain Perkins
pointed to a series of courses, some twelve feet wide, which traversed
the flats at intervals of two or three hundred feet.
“Yes.”
“Well, those are the streets.”
“Oh, I mean regular dirt streets,” protested Ted.
“There aren’t any. Unless you come by launch or some of the big
passenger boats that ply between the summer settlements and Detroit, you
can’t get within ten miles of the colony here.”
At this statement the young homesteaders looked with increased interest
at the novel settlement, and Ted began:
“Why, it’s a regular—”
“Don’t say it,” interrupted the skipper; “there’s a fine of five
dollars, if you do.”
“Say what?” demanded the boy. “How do you know what I was going to say?”
“Because they all do. We sailors have become so tired of hearing guests
call this colony ‘an American Venice’ that we have established a fine
against the expression.”
“Much obliged for saving me the money,” smiled Ted. “But it is a
wonderful sight for a person who has never seen it”
“I suppose so. It’s the bane of all ore carriers, however. The people in
the launches persist in crossing our bows and darting in and out, until
it gives our wheelsmen a nervous fit trying to avoid running them down.”
The Admiral, however, passed the colony without accident and was soon in
the St. Clair River, whence she passed into Lake Huron, where it was
again plain sailing till the St. Mary’s River was reached.
“M’m, what a delicious odour! Smell it, Ted?” exclaimed Phil, as he
sniffed the twilight air, while the big carrier checked speed and passed
between the lights marking the channel.
“That is from the pine forests,” explained Captain Perkins. “You are
fortunate to get the pure fragrance. Later in the season there are
usually fires raging, either in Michigan or Canadian forests, making the
air stifling with smoke. I’ve seen it so dense that we were obliged to
barely creep along, and blow our whistles just as in a fog.”
The handling of the six-hundred-foot vessel as she steamed up the
Detroit River had filled the boys with wonder, but as she made the sharp
turns in the St. Mary’s, now being obliged to clear a government dredge
at work in the channel, now running so close to the shore that it seemed
they could jump from the bridge to land, they were amazed at the ease
and skill with which the big carrier was navigated.
“Mr. Adams, Mr. Adams!” shouted the skipper. And as the mate hurried
from the pilot house, he added: “See if you can pick up a spar-buoy, off
the port bow.”
Intently the officer peered through the fast-increasing darkness for a
sight of the red light. “Can’t see it, sir,” he replied.
“Then heave the lead, quick! If the light is out of commission, we may
ground before we can make this turn.”
Ere the last words were uttered, the mate had stepped onto a plank
projecting from the bridge, picked up a long line to which bits of red
and white bunting were alternately attached at regular intervals, with a
slug of lead at the end, and, with a preliminary swing, shot it into the
water well toward the bow of the boat, then hauled it aboard rapidly as
the vessel came abreast of him.
“Three fathoms and a foot!” he cried. “Starboard your helm, hard over!”
roared the captain, springing toward the opening which communicated with
the wheelsman in the pilot house below.
“Starboard your helm, hard over!” repeated the wheelsman, in accordance
with ship’s custom.
Again the first mate heaved the lead.
“Three fathoms, lacking two inches!” he called.
“Hold your helm hard over!” snapped the skipper, and, as the repetition
came to him, he pressed a button for full speed astern.
As the electricity carried the command to the indicator in the engine
room, the terrific churning of the water as the propellers whirled in
reversed motion broke the stillness of the evening air, the boat
quivered, then began to back.
“Three fathoms and seven inches,” announced the mate.
“Close work,” muttered Captain Perkins to himself, as he pressed another
button for quarter speed ahead.
Farther and farther the Admiral’s bow swung to starboard as the
wheelsman held the wheel over hard, and the mate’s next announcement of
three fathoms and a half told them that the boat was once again in the
channel.
“Stern will go over a buoy,” warned Mr. Adams, as he glanced back before
returning to the bridge.
“Hard aport!” commanded the skipper, stepping to a spot whence he could
watch the light on the spar-buoy aft.
“Hard aport!” came the confirmation.
“Three fathoms, lacking an inch!” called the mate, who, in view of the
danger of grounding astern, was again heaving the lead.
“Starboard, three points!” yelled the captain, adding to himself,
“Plague take that current, it’s liable to drive me on yet.”
With a quickness that was remarkable, considering her size, the Admiral
responded to her tiller, and again her nose swung away from the shore of
the channel.
As he noted the fact, the skipper once more called for full speed, but
this time ahead.
“They can fine me for exceeding the speed limit for this river if they
want to, but I’m not going to run the danger of swinging across the
channel, bow and stern on, just for lack of a little speed,” he
declared.
No further manœuvring was necessary, however, to negotiate the
surprisingly sharp turn, and when he was clear, the skipper checked his
speed.
“What are those things along the Michigan side, Captain? They look like
cabins. I’ve noticed several of them,” said Phil, pointing to dark
masses that stood out from the rest of the shore line.
“Indian shacks.”
“Indians here? What do they do?” exclaimed Ted.
“Pick blueberries, fish and sell them and the things they weave to the
tourists at the Soo.”
“I wish it was daylight so that we could see them. Just think, real
Indians, Phil!”
“Oh, you’ll have a chance to see enough of them at the canal,” smiled
the skipper.
“But they don’t go into the town, do they? I should think they would
scare the women and children to death.”
“They not only go into the Soo, but they bother the life out of people
trying to sell their wares. The quickest way to get rid of them is to
buy something. Children don’t even notice them, unless to make fun of
them. But you mustn’t expect to see story-book Indians, in war paint,
feathers, and blankets. They have taken to trousers and shirts.”
The disappointment which settled on Ted’s face at this shattering of his
mental picture of the redmen caused the skipper to add with a smile:
“You can still get a thrill from them, though, if we are held up at the
canal, by getting one to shoot the St. Mary’s rapids with you.”
“Provided you can find one sober enough,” supplemented the first mate.
“Oh, I hope so,” declared the younger boy. “Do they shoot the rapids in
canoes or boats?”
“In canoes. You can’t get an Indian into a boat without a derrick, too
much work to row one.”
The guidance of the big carrier again claiming the captain’s attention,
the boys, their minds filled with redskins, descended to the deck, where
they sought out some of the crew, who regaled them with experiences,
some very fanciful, they had had with the redmen.
“Get to your posts, you huskies! Watchman, call the other watch!”
snapped Hansen, coming up to the group. “You boys better go to the
bridge if you want to see how we lock a ship through the canal—and
you’ll be out of the way there,” he added to himself, as the sailors
obeyed. For when an ore carrier docks or goes through the canal, all the
crew are called on duty, regardless of whether it is their watch on or
off.
“Are we at the Soo now?” asked Phil.
“Will be in about ten minutes. See those lights ahead? The ones on the
right are in the Canadian town. Some difference between that glim and
the one on our side, to the left, what?”
“I should say so, but what are all those red, green, and white lights
just ahead of us?” asked Ted, as they mounted to the bridge.
“Boats waiting to lock through,” replied the first mate.
“Which means you will get your chance to shoot the rapids all right,”
observed the captain. “We shall be lucky if we get through before noon,
there are so many ahead of us. Mr. Adams, when you find a good berth,
let the anchors go.”