My father had now finished his contract with Mr. Frankle at the mill.
Hearing that there were many people settling on "Beaver Island," several
families that we knew from York State, Ohio and Canada, he made up his
mind to go there. Our goods were put on board the staunch little ship
"Eliza Caroline," the vessel my father had built the year before. The
Chief and his daughter Mary came to say good-by. Good-bys were said to
our good neighbors across the river in the big house. We had all become
very dear friends to each other. There were many kind wishes and
God-speeds for us when the Captain said "all aboard." White sails were
set and we glided from the river out onto Lake Michigan just as the sun
was sinking in the west. Darkness soon shut out the forms of our friends
that stood waving to us from the shore. We knew we were once more out on
the water on God's great rolling cradle of the sea. We children, with
mother and grandpa, said our prayers in the little cabin and were soon
fast asleep with the sound of the rippling waves singing to us a sweet
lullaby of peace and rest.
_PART II._