By Water to the Columbian Exposition

by Johanna Sara Wisthaler

CHAPTER III.

VOYAGE ON THREE GREAT LAKES, FROM AUGUST 2ND, 7 A.M., TO AUGUST 22ND, 9 A.M.

As the warm rays of the morning sun were lighting up the scene with a radiance, glorious to behold, we bade farewell to Buffalo which, being already in some distance, soon became entirely invisible.

Indescribable was our amazement when we viewed once more the waters of Lake Erie, whose raging billows had betrayed to us, only a few days ago, the unruly nature of a boisterous inland-sea.

Now, as we were gliding on its surface, the lake presented an appearance quite novel to us; being almost motionless, a true emblem of tranquillity and peacefulness. Only now and then a gentle zephyr rippled its level which, reflected in the sunbeams, appeared like an undulating mass of silver. The cloudless heavens, clad in their brightest hue of azure blue, and illumined by the golden sun, painted a great variety of fine images of light and shade on the limpid waters beneath. The sky seemed to reflect the water and the water the sky, both gleaming in the sunshine.

On our right, the lake made the impression of stretching into endless, unlimited space; on our left, however, we could distinguish romantic hills, decorated by massive groves, with crossing and intersecting promontories, and fair valleys tenanted by numerous flocks and herds, that seemed to wander unrestrained through the rich pastures. The luxuriant landscape was intercepted here and there by undulating slopes, covered with sand, whose light color contrasted with the verdure of vales and hillocks.

Speeding along, we came abreast of Dunkirk, a lake-port town in Chautauqua County, N.Y., situated on a small bay in Lake Erie, forty miles southwest of Buffalo. The town, which has a population of over 5,000, occupies an elevated and favorable position on the lake. Its industries comprise oil refineries, and the manufacture of flour and iron-work.

After proceeding on our voyage for some hours, we viewed—located in a natural bay—the harbor of Erie, the capital of Erie County, Penn. The port is protected by a breakwater three and one-half miles long.

The principal shipments that leave this harbor, are coal, iron, and petroleum; an important trade being carried on with the Canadian lake-ports.

The streets of the city are spacious and laid out with great regularity. To its prominent buildings belong the postoffice, the opera house, the city hospital, the court house, and the orphan asylum. Erie contains nearly 20,000 inhabitants, many of whom are engaged in iron manufacture. The large supply of water required for the factories is obtained from the lake by powerful engines, which force it to a tower 200 feet high, whence it is distributed through the mains. The chief industries developed here, are petroleum refineries and leather factories.

It was at Erie, that Commodore Perry equipped the vessels which in 1813 defeated the British fleet on Lake Erie. In the year 1795 the town was laid out, and in 1851 it received a city charter.

Still fascinated by the attractions of the everchanging landscape along the southern coast, we had forgotten that fugit hora; for we were greatly surprised to perceive the approaching twilight, indicating the parting day, and the white beams of the young crescent just beginning to steal over the lately flushed and empurpled scene.

Therefore, the "Marguerite" was cabled to the dock, about two miles from the village of Conneaut.

A fresh and palpitating evening air invited us to a walk along the coast of the beautiful inland-sea. Adopting an unfrequented path through a vast plain of sand, we found the charming scenery enhanced by a solemn stillness. All nature slumbered.

Here, witnessing a magnificent prospect in this lovely solitude, we experienced one of those seasons when the atmosphere is so surcharged with luxury, that every pore of the body becomes an ample gate for sensation to flow in; and one has simply to sit still and to be filled.

Seated near the shore, we delivered ourselves up to the exquisite loveliness around us; and when returning on board the yacht, the impression of the superb panorama tarried with me, even into the realm of Morpheus; so that I rose on the following morning with the remembrance of delicious dreams.

When I came on deck, the air seemed to be sweet with perfumes; the water sparkled brightly, and the blue sky hung cloudless over the placid mirror of Lake Erie.

Thus, favored by the weather, the majestic steam-yacht resumed her voyage.

After the lapse of two hours the harbor of Ashtabula came in sight, and at about 10 o'clock we approached Fair Point. The noon-tide of the summer day was past, as we were made acquainted with the fact, that the rising towers and pinnacles, to be discerned in the distance on our left, pertained to the beautiful "Forest City," next to Cincinnati the largest and most important city in the State of Ohio.

Cleveland is built on both sides of the Cuyahoga River, which is here crossed by several bridges. It is located chiefly on a plain from fifty to 100 feet above the lake, of which a magnificent view is thus obtained.

Leaving East River Street, where our floating home was destined to remain, I undertook an excursion through the greater portion of the city; not solely for the purpose of viewing the regular streets, generally from eighty to 100 feet wide, and lined with maple trees, but with the design to see a friend—Miss Lina Uhl—a teacher in one of the thirty public schools; holding a prominent position as the president of a teachers' association in Cleveland. She is the niece of Mr. C.F. Hild, from Schenectady, N.Y.

Having previously informed her of my intention to visit her native city, I was already expected, and very cordially received at her hospitable home.

After I had spent some very pleasant hours there, my friend accompanied me on my return to the dock. En route she made me acquainted with many points of interest, which are so numerous in the "Forest City." Thus, she called my attention to the charming Euclid Avenue, a street several miles long, considered to be one of the most extensive and picturesque within the limits of the United States. Here Cleveland's aristocracy built their substantial mansions and luxurious villas, encircled by tasty, park-like gardens. Of special interest to the visitor is the monument erected in memory of James Abram Garfield, the twentieth president of the Republic, born in Orange, Ohio, in 1831. Being in office but a short time, he was shot by a disappointed office-seeker, Charles J. Guiteau, in 1881. This sad event, which forms a thrilling incidence in the history of the Union, is comparable with the recent death of Carter Harrison, mayor of Chicago, whose assassination by Prendergast, under similar circumstances, on Saturday, 8.30 P.M., October 28, 1893, created a profound sensation and great excitement.

Monumental Park, near the center of the city, contains ten acres, divided into four squares by the extension of Ontario and Superior Streets. Besides a fountain, and other attractive objects, the park is adorned by a statue of Commodore Perry, erected in 1860 in commemoration of his victory on Lake Erie in 1813. It is of Italian marble, eight feet high, and stands upon a granite pedestal twelve feet in altitude. The most noteworthy buildings are the postoffice, the city hall, the county court house, and the Cleveland medical college. The Union Railway depot, an immense structure of stone near the lake shore, is one of the largest of the kind in the United States.

Cleveland was founded in 1796, and named in honor of General Moses Cleveland of Connecticut, who then had charge of the surveying of this region. It was an important point in the war of 1812, incorporated as a village in 1814, and as a city in 1836. The number of its inhabitants is estimated to be more than 200,000. The "Forest City" has an extensive trade in copper and iron ore, shipped from the Lake Superior mining regions, as well as in coal, petroleum, wool, and lumber, received by railroad, canal, and lake transportation. A sojourn of at least one week is requisite in order to acquaint one's self with all the attractions of Cleveland, with its unrivaled position and manifold beauties of scenery.

In fact, our honorable President can be proud to share his name with this delightful place; and, in return, the "Forest City" may consider it an honor to be the namesake of Grover Cleveland, the present leader of the powerful Republic.

On Friday morning, as soon as the dawning day dispatched its first rays over Cleveland, we resumed our voyage on Lake Erie. The flakes of light were falling every moment faster and broader among the spires and towers of the city of which we gradually lost sight. They were only discernible as long, gray shadows on the elevated lake shore. The mists were couched in quiet masses, iridescent with the morning light, upon the breasts of the remote hills, over whose leagues of massy undulations, they melted into the robe of material light, fading, lost in the increasing lustre, again to reappear in the higher heavens, while their bases vanished into the unsubstantial and mocking blue of the lake below. The dispersing wreaths of white clouds gradually gave place to the pale azure of the horizon. The level of the beautiful inland-sea was bathed in the glorious sunlight and the whole heaven—one scarlet canopy—colored the limpid waters with an exquisite, roseate tint; thus giving a redoubled splendor to this fine panorama.

While the midday sun was sending forth his warm rays, we came abreast of
Marblehead, and speeding along we reached Green Island at 1 o'clock.

Having passed Barr Point Lighthouse we chose our halting place on the Canadian shore near Amherstburg, a small village pleasantly situated on the Detroit River.

As the yacht was fastened to the dock, the heavens were yet illumined by the parting day; which gave us opportunity to admire the superb spectacle on the opposite shore. Its southwestern extremity was adorned with numerous verdant islands of various size and form; some stretching for miles in length—the largest containing a circumference of fourteen miles; several so small that they seemed destined for a race of fairies; others in clusters; and some like beautiful vestals, in single loveliness, whose holy vows ordained them forever to live alone.

The last streak of light had faded from the west, and a pale lustre kindling in the eastern portions of the sky, became brighter and brighter till the white falcated moon was lifted up above the horizon; while uncountable stars appeared to reflect their brilliancy in the waters below. This delightful scene around us, so perfectly filled and satisfied our sense of beauty that we reluctantly gave up our comfortable seats on the stern-deck, notwithstanding an advanced time of night.

On the following morning the sun rose in his clearest splendor. As soon as that flood of luminous rays which constitutes day, was flowing on the crystalline sea, we departed from this romantic country scene in Canada.

Sailing along, we approached the terminus of our voyage on Lake Erie, which is considered the most dangerous of all the Great Lakes as to navigation, owing to its comparative shallowness—its mean depth, being about ninety feet—and the consequent liability to a heavy ground swell. The peculiar features of this body of water are its inferior depth and the clayey nature of its shores, which are generally low; on the south, however, bordered by an elevated plateau, through which the rivers have cut deep channels.

Though the lake possesses but a small number of good harbors, the amount of traffic on its waters, and on the connecting railways is enormous.

This inland-sea, presenting us only sights of utmost quietude and peace, has been the scene of a naval engagement between the British and Americans, September 10, 1813, in which the latter were victorious. The view we enjoyed was not in the least adequate to remind us of warfare; on the contrary

"The sun in heaven shone so gay:
All things were joyful on that day."

It was yet early in the morning when we neared the city of Detroit, having almost reached the head of Detroit River which separates the United States from Canada. Being about one-half to three-quarters of a mile wide, and five and one-half fathoms deep, the river flows with a pretty swift current.

Detroit is the most important city of Michigan, opposite the Canadian town Windsor.

Eighteen miles north of Lake Erie, it stretches with its suburbs about five miles along the river, and the central part extends for about two miles back from the shore. Approaching the city, we were more and more delighted with its attractive appearance. The streets, from fifty to 100 feet wide, are for the most part ornamented with rows of trees. A number of avenues, having an unusual width, diverge from the Grand Circus, a spacious park semi-circular in form, which is divided into two quadrants by Woodward Avenue. Connected with the former is the Campus Martius, a public place about 600 feet long and 250 feet wide. Detroit comprises many magnificent structures. One of the chief public buildings is the city hall, facing the Campus Martius, with fronts on four streets. It counts among the finest edifices of the kind in the west. Built of sandstone, it is designed after the Italian style of architecture, surmounted by a tower 180 feet high. Its cost amounted to $600,000. Other prominent structures are the opera house, the office of the Board of Trade, the custom house, and the Roman Catholic cathedral.

The commercial facilities of the city are very extensive. The Detroit River is a connecting link in the great chain of lake navigation, and affords the best harbor on the inland-seas. Detroit is not only the center of a great railroad system; more than 350 vessels are owned here, and numerous daily lines of steamers run to various points of the lakes. Its manufacturing industries are very important and consist of iron, flour, tobacco, cigars, lumber, and bricks. The extensive Pullman Car Works are situated here; also one of the seven pin factories in the United States.

Settled by the French, early in the eighteenth century, Detroit passed into the hands of the English in 1763. It was then besieged for eleven months by the Indian chief Pontiac; ceded to the Americans in 1783, but not occupied by them till 1796. As a city, it was incorporated in 1824; and its present population is estimated to be 235,000. It was the capital of Michigan from 1837 till 1847, when that honor was transferred to Lansing.

Having traversed Detroit River, we entered Lake St. Clair, a sheet of water eighteen miles long and twenty-two miles wide. This small lake has many extensive sand-banks covered with a depth of water varying from six to ten feet. Previous to 1858, much inconvenience was experienced in navigating it, owing to the insufficient depth, but the governments of the United States and Canada have dredged a canal through the bed of the lake, comprising a width of 300 feet. Since then, this channel has been deepened so as to enable vessels drawing fifteen feet to pass with safety from lake to lake in stormy weather.

After the expiration of a few hours we reached River St. Clair, whose luxuriant border exhibited a magnificent panorama.

Afar off westward, the uplands wore a tinge of tenderest blue; and in the nearer distance, on the low shores of the river, superb summer residences, tasty villas, and elegant hotels, built in every style of architecture, lay interspersed between romantic hills and tufted groves. The horizon was of a fine, golden tint, changing gradually into the deep blue of the mid-heaven.

None of us ventured to leave the deck fearing to miss some of those unrivaled sights constantly offering new attractions.

This trip on River St. Clair—though having an extent of thirty-three miles—seemed but short to us; and the fine spectacle displayed on the charming western bank may be reckoned among the most delightful scenes we beheld on our long, enjoyable voyage.

As we approached the terminus of the river, a sudden rush of the awakened wind was heard; and out of the blue horizon a troop of narrow, dark, and pointed clouds were advancing, covering the sky, inch by inch, with their gray masses gradually blotting the light out of the landscape. Horizontal bars of black shadow were forming under them, and lurid wreaths wrapped themselves about the crests of the hills. The wind had grown more violent as Port Huron came in view. Waving curtains of opaque rain, swinging from the overburdened clouds, dropped down upon the surface of the river. The black swaying fringes, sweeping irresistibly along the water, churned the surface into foam.

The sudden and unfavorable change of the weather determined our commodore to abide at Port Huron, a prosperous city in Michigan. It commands a very advantageous situation, located on the west bank of River St. Clair, and at the southern extremity of Lake Huron.

Being the county seat of St. Clair County, it is also a point of great importance in the railway system, and the terminus of several lines of lake steamers.

The city, with a population of nearly 14,000, has a large lumber trade, ship-yards, dry-docks, saw and flour mills.

Founded in 1819, Port Huron was incorporated as a village in 1835, and as a city in 1857.

Since the yacht lingered here until Monday, August 7th, we were enabled to become familiar with its broad streets, regularly laid out and well shaded; some adorned by beautiful private residences. The heavy, black clouds that had shrouded the whole sky ever since we made our entry in Port Huron, were yet concealing the golden disk of the summer sun. The atmosphere, however, which had previously a disagreeable, wet chilliness in it, gradually grew clearer and warmer so that we left the dock with the intention to undertake our voyage on Lake Huron, but when nearing the place where this sheet of water, covering an area of 23,000 square miles, communicates with River St. Clair, we discovered that the swell on the lake level was yet quite considerable, whereas the wind which had blown a gale all the preceding day, was gradually dying away.

Still, we found it advisable to wait until the foaming waves of the enraged element had been appeased. In consequence of this decision we concluded to moor the yacht as near the entrance of Lake Huron, as we conveniently could, ready for an early departure; for which we considered the town of Sarnia, opposite Port Huron, the most favorable locality.

Romantically situated on the Canadian shore, Sarnia affords a splendid north and west view. Its handsome streets and neat structures are quite attractive to the stranger; and not these alone but also the residents who are generous and hospitable. We observed this fact, even during our short stay, when receiving the visit of Mr. Clark and his amiable lady, who presented us with a bouquet of fragrant flowers, a kind gift that we highly appreciated.

Long ere the east became purple with the morning light and the pinnacles of Sarnia were bathed, one by one, in the glory of its burning, we departed from the pleasant city, and the white sea-bird "Marguerite" spread her light wings over the surface of Lake Huron, whose waves—although the wind was quite fresh—did not run as high as I anticipated; for I had been informed that on the previous day the tide from the lake into Detroit River amounted to eight miles an hour.

As I was pacing up and down the deck, I viewed an inland-sea 270 miles long, and 105 miles broad, with a picturesque coast line on our left. The purity of its waters was discernible by its limpid appearance and savory taste. The fine deposits of sand and clay extending at different places along the shore to a distance of twenty miles inland, by their contrasts added to the scenic beauty, exhibiting a variety of magnificent views.

The luxuriant coast bordering on the southern extremity of the lake and skirting the peninsula of Michigan and southwestern Ontario—though comparatively flat—is not void of charming features; being lined with numerous pretty villages imbosomed among gentle slopes that were covered with the richest verdure. These hamlets, situated in the quiet valleys and shaded glens, alternated with extensive fields and orchards exuberant with fertility.

Speeding along on the wavy surface of the lake, we gained sight of the breakwater of Sand Beach when the noon-tide of the day had not yet arrived.

We first visited the village of Sand Beach, and returned at nightfall to the breakwater, which is five miles distant from the former; here the yacht was cabled to the dock. Near our halting place there stood a lofty tower, whose illuminating apparatus threw a radiant, vari-colored light on the dark surface of Lake Huron.

Upon expressing a desire to visit the Light Tower, Mr. James, who never left any of our wishes unfulfilled, immediately made arrangements with the keeper; and, accordingly, we were invited to intrust ourselves to his guidance.

He informed us that the structure rested on a foundation consisting of a concrete mass, nine feet below the water line. Having ascended four flights of iron-wrought winding stairs, we reached the top of the circular structure; it having a diameter of twenty-four feet at its base, and rising to an elevation of fifty-seven feet.

With great interest we inspected the revolving lights, exhibiting an ingenious piece of machinery, the invention of Finisterre and Barren in Paris, and representing a value of $1,800. This apparatus for rotating lamps is far superior to that for a fixed light.

The characteristic of the latter is to constantly illuminate the whole horizon, requiring all the rays to fall simultaneously on the navigable track, whereas the demands made of a revolving light, are not nearly so great; only each point of the horizon being lighted at successive periods.

When the dark intervals occur, the rays from the flame which are then pointing toward the obscure spaces, have their direction so altered laterally as to pass into the adjoining bright places; and so increase the power of the luminous flashes. A revolving light, though supplied by a flame of the same strength as a fixed, will thus necessarily be raised to a higher degree; for it does not lose its power by diffusing the rays constantly over the whole horizon, but gathers them up into a number of separate beams of greater intensity.

The lights made to revolve by means of clockwork, were fed with mineral oil, a refined kerosine; and the refraction was caused by highly polished metallic reflectors.

This visit to the Sand Beach Beacon was quite instructive; since we viewed there a practical application of an important principle in optics, based on the reflection of light.

On Wednesday morning, the first beams of the new-born day had just appeared, when the yacht continued her voyage on Lake Huron. After a course of nearly twenty-two miles, we approached Saginaw Bay—the largest indentation on the western lake shore—comprising a width of thirty miles and a length of sixty miles.

The passage across this bay, feared by many experienced navigators on account of the heavy ground swell, did not give us any cause for anxiety at first. Gradually, however, the sea became quite rough, and the enraged waves dashed their spray pearls even upon the deck of our sailing home.

"The soft, wild waves, that rush and leap,
Sing one song from the hoary deep:
The south wind knows its own refrain,
As it speeds the cloud o'er heaven's blue main."

The strong breeze springing up in the forenoon, increased at midday. A line of low waves, first creeping sinuously into the bay, and tossing their snowy crests like troops of wild steeds, rolled higher and higher with the noise of many waters; and to escape the wrath of the angry sea, we stopped at the harbor of Tawas City, located near the northern extremity of Saginaw Bay. It is a thriving country town, with about 1,000 inhabitants, largely engaged in lumber trade.

The wind continued to lash the fierce billows during the day until evening; so we decided to remain in Tawas City until the dawn of the next morning.

Guided by the pale light of another aurora, we resumed our voyage, finding the surface of Lake Huron still in uproar.

During this forenoon, we had occasion to witness a prospect quite novel to us. Glancing to our left, on Michigan's sylvan shore, we saw the bickering flames of a ravaging forest fire; dyeing all the surrounding air and landscape crimson, while dense clouds of smoke hung over the burning land like a pall upon which the sun-rays were reflected with weird effect. It was, indeed, an unusual sight, exhibiting strange beauty and splendor.

In a short time we experienced the disagreeable consequences of this conflagration in the woodlands, caused by the extreme dryness prevailing in these regions for several weeks. For, as we reached Alpena in Michigan, at about noonday, we found the atmosphere completely saturated with smoke, and intermixed with particles of burnt material.

The reader can easily imagine that this impure air had a very unpleasant effect upon our eyes, irritating them so as to materially interfere with our comfort. This was the reason why we did not duly appreciate the attractions of Alpena, a town with about 12,500 inhabitants, regularly laid out with nice, broad streets, containing many handsome buildings and large stores.

We had an ardent desire to bid farewell to the city as quick as possible; wherefore our captain received the order from Mr. James to guide the yacht forward on her course, even before the dawning of the next day, if such an early departure could be effected with safety.

In compliance with these commands, we were on our way long ere the blush of day tinged the eastern sky. At first, disregarding the smoke and mist which became denser every minute, our navigator was soon aware that

"So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
He cannot see the sun on high:
On deck the captain takes his stand,
So dull it is, he sees no land.
'Dear me,' he says, 'I know no more
How far away we are from shore.'"

The fact is—that on account of the dense pall of smoke and mist, overshadowing everything—our pilot lost his reckoning, and only kept the yacht slowly moving through the water until we could find our way, when suddenly—we ran aground upon a rocky ledge, causing us all great consternation.

"No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she might be.
Her shaft and screw received no shock.
Her keel was steady on a rock."

Having lost all presence of mind, our pilot, without any meditation, abandoned the yacht in one of the small boats, for the purpose of obtaining assistance from the unknown shore. Before we were conscious of his proceedings, he had disappeared through fume and haze. Almost instantaneously we detected that the mariner's compass had vanished with him.

Thus, we were destitute of the most important instrument for navigation. Wishing to give our deserter opportunity to find his way back to us, we caused the whistle to resound at short intervals.

This interesting adventure was, of course, thoroughly discussed. We were all convinced that the unforeseen event might turn into a perilous one, should a wind arise to roughen the surface of the water.

Our conversation was interrupted by an involuntary cry of pleasure which burst from the lips of Miss Campbell, whose keen eyes had revealed to her quite an uncommon spectacle in the hazy distance. Following her direction, we spied, through the fluctuating light of the foggy morning, the outlines of a steadfast boat speeding along on the calm sea. Eight oars, managed with the accuracy of clockwork by eight strong and skillful hands, were hurrying toward our rock-bound craft.

As the shape and dimensions of the capable boat became discernible, it was evident she belonged to the United States Life-Saving Service, coming to our rescue. This conjecture was correct, for the robust crew soon lay alongside of us; which was a matter of intense relief to the whole party.

With their assistance, the yacht was soon afloat again; and, guided by the Thunder Bay crew, we sailed to a favorable place of anchorage between Sugar and Gull Islands. Here the yacht remained to await our fugitive pilot, who was restored to us by the kind services of the life-saving crew, a few hours afterwards.

We were informed that we had been aground two miles from the shore, in the vicinity of Thunder Bay Lights on Gull Island Ledge.

During a heavy shower in the afternoon, we received a visit from several very pleasant ladies, relatives to the captain of the Thunder Bay life-saving service.

When expressing our regret that their excursion was not favored by pleasanter weather, they assured us they were only too glad to view the tremulous skeins of rain refresh the languishing earth. In fact, this rainfall was a duplicated blessing, as it not only cleared the atmosphere from its smoky shroud but helped to check the ravages of the extensive forest conflagration, then threatening the city of Alpena with destruction.

An awakened breeze, which had freshened since the violent shower, caused our floating home to roll considerably.

Not desirous of being rudely tossed by the wanton billows, we weighed anchor and returned to Alpena, the only safe harbor within reach before sunset.

Early the next day we continued our voyage on Lake Huron, entering its northern portion, which differs greatly from the nature of its southern shore.

The northern and northeastern coasts are mostly composed of sand- and limestones. Where metamorphic rocks are found, the surface is broken and hilly, rising to elevations of 600 feet or more above the lake; in this respect unlike the southern shore, which is low and flat. Of the many islands—whose number amounts to about 3,000—we could admire the beauties of but few; for most of them dot the Canadian coast line.

As the wind increased rapidly, it was deemed advisable to take harbor at False Presqu'ile, where we arrived at 9 A.M. Although this small body of land appeared very insignificant, inhabited by only twelve families, we decided to remain there, until wind and waves would prove more favorable.

We had no motive to regret that resolution; for we experienced that this solitary tract not only afforded us enchanting views of lovely scenery; it was also the abode of noble-hearted mortals. Immediately after our arrival a very amiable gentleman, introducing himself as Mr. W.A. French, a wealthy lumber merchant of this place, visited us on board; giving us a cordial welcome. Not satisfied with a kind reception, he and his pretty wife presented us with all sorts of provisions, indigenous to this locality; thus evincing the abundant supply of delicacies at their disposal, notwithstanding their residing in such solitude.

The time passed with marvelous rapidity in the pleasant company of our new friends. When the gloom of the growing twilight reminded us of the fading day, we could hardly realize this fact. We wished to stay there another day; but when the following morning rose fair and beautiful in the clear heavens, the wind had changed to the southeast, which was disadvantageous for our mooring place; and it might have been dangerous for us to remain in that harbor, should the breeze become violent.

Leaving False Presqu'ile, we pursued our voyage under the most favorable auspices.

After a course of several hours, we reached Cheboygan, a town situated on the northern shore of the Michigan Peninsula, thirteen miles from the Straits of Mackinaw. Lumber trade is carried on especially in this place, which contains about 7,500 inhabitants.

Resuming our trip the next forenoon, a short course brought us to the terminus of our voyage on Lake Huron; when reaching the Straits of Mackinaw, whose blue green waves divide the State of Michigan.

Extending nearly nine miles in circumference, and rising at its highest point over 300 feet above the waves, we beheld the famous Mackinaw Island, which has filled an important place in the history of exploration. Here was the meeting place of the daring French voyageurs and aventuriers, before the pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. Many wild and thrilling incidents in the lives of Marquette, Hennepin, and La Salle occurred on this island; and over at Point St. Ignace, in plain view, Marquette was escorted to his burial place by a hundred canoes of plumed and painted Ottawa and Huron warriors in 1677.

Just across, on the most northern point of the Lower Peninsula, stood old
Fort Mackinaw, the scene of the terrible massacre of the whites by the
Indians under Pontiac in 1763.

On this island were fought two battles in the war of 1812. It was here that Schoolcraft wrote his celebrated History of the North American Indians, and the Legend of Hiawatha, which Longfellow, visiting him here, afterward expanded into a poem.

The island's varied scenery, and its history and traditions, have been portrayed in vivid word pictures by Marion Harland in a book, bearing the title "With the Best Intentions," by which she has recently added to her wide fame.

Having crossed the strait at its narrowest part four miles in width, we caught sight of the beautiful waters of Lake Michigan, the only one in the group of the North American great lakes which extends entirely within the territory of the United States, having a maximum breadth of eighty four miles, and a depth varying from 700 to 1,000 feet. Its length amounts to 345 miles from the northwestern corner of Indiana and the northern part of Illinois to the Straits of Mackinaw.

We followed the same route which more than two centuries ago was taken by Jacques Marquette who, in the spring of 1673, with Joliet for his chieftain, and five other Frenchmen, embarked at Mackinaw in two frail bark canoes.

The disposition to pause for an instant, and to reflect upon the character and circumstance of our luxurious voyage as contrasted with that of these few adventurers in their fragile birch canoes—a little over 220 years ago—is almost irresistible.

On that occasion it was a journey of extreme peril—with no friendly populous havens at which the necessary commodities could be obtained. Those densely wooded shores afforded no hospitable refuge to these hardy men, and their destination or return was a question of great uncertainty.

We pushed along with the marvelous propeller and, surrounded with every comfort, had the assurance of each evening anchoring in some safe harbor—encountering cheerful voices, and seeing glad faces—with the possibility of daily finding everything we wanted, in profusion. There was the postoffice, with its rapid service at our disposal, or the electric telegraph, by means of which we could communicate with every part of civilization, ever within our reach—and the climax of modern genius in the magnificent structures of the Columbian Exposition awaiting us—the marvel of the nineteenth century, with its unparalleled aggregation. The thought is overwhelming! And could these explorers have seen in a dream—what we witnessed in reality—it would have seemed to them an impossibility that so short a time could have brought about such great events.

The eastern lake shore was richly garlanded with forests displaying a vast multitude of verdant hues, varying through all the shades of green. Over the whole the azure of the sky cast a deep, misty blue; blending toward the rocks of lime- and sandstone, seemingly embracing every possible tint and shade of color.

Having achieved a course of sixty miles, the yacht cast anchor in the excellent harbor of St. James on Beaver Island, a large tract of land covering an area of 3,700 acres. Vessels of various kinds and shapes lay moored in this spacious inlet. Being wind-bound, we tarried for two days, which gave us opportunity to become acquainted with the features of the island. We were informed that it is identified with the history of Mormonism; since it was first settled by adherents of that sect, who robbed the ships entering this port, and who led the lives of pirates. After their leader was killed in one of the numerous combats which ensued with the attacked sailors, they abandoned the place; but the habitation of the Mormon chief is still existing, probably the only vestige left here of the followers of Joseph Smith.

At 1 o'clock A.M., on Wednesday, August 16th, we departed from Beaver Island. The pilot had guided the "Marguerite" on a course of about forty-five miles southward, when we approached Northport, Michigan, a place noteworthy for having not a single of those maleficient institutions, commonly styled beer-saloons.

We lingered two hours at the dock of this town. The white fields of blinding mist floated along the winding valleys of the low lake shore; and from the dark clouds curtaining the sun, the rain fell continuously. Thus the landscape on our left bore a gray and dim tincture.

Before the darkness of evening had gathered about us, the yacht was made fast to the dock of Frankfort, on the Michigan coast, a small place with a population of about 1,000, romantically situated. Taking our departure from the town on the following morning, we observed that the fog, covering the surrounding landscape with a thick, impenetrable veil, increased in density until it seemed as if from moment to moment additional tints of sombre gray were united to the haze. In fact, after a while we were unable to discern the outline of the coast, having to pursue our way with great caution.

After the lapse of four anxious hours, we had the great satisfaction to hear the welcome sound of the fog-horn of Manistee, the county seat of Manistee County, in Michigan. It is situated at the mouth of the same-named river, which is navigable for vessels, drawing ten to twelve feet of water, for the distance of one and one-half miles to Manistee Lake. Largely engaged in lumber trade, the city has a score of saw-mills and about as many shingle-mills, the latter of which produce annually 450,000,000 shingles, the largest number made at any one place in the world. In consequence of the discovery in 1881 of a bed of solid salt, thirty feet thick, extensive salt factories are being built. The population of the city has rapidly increased in later years, comprising about 14,000 residents at present. The surrounding district is especially adapted for fruit-growing; and sportsmen are attracted to the Manistee River and its tributaries by the abundance of the otherwise rarely found grayling.

Since we expected company on board the "Marguerite" in the evening—Mr. Wilkinson, a citizen of Milwaukee, who intended to make us acquainted with his wife, we went on shore immediately after dinner to view the city, so as to return in time to meet our visitors.

Manistee made the impression of a flourishing business town. The comparatively long trading thoroughfare is a broad street nicely laid out, and adorned with numerous stately buildings and spacious stores.

Not long after our departure from Manistee, which occurred early on the following morning, a sudden squall threatened us; and a few minutes later, a terrific flash and peal broke almost simultaneously upon us, followed by a violent shower. Fortunately, it lasted but a short time. The tempest gradually ceased; the irregular and blinding flashes became fewer and the thunder rolled less loudly. Gradually the scene changed to one of peaceful beauty so that the rose light of the radiant sun-ball appeared in the heavens; casting a new glory on the picturesque scenery of water and shore.

The surface of the lake had become calm; and speeding along, we enjoyed the lovely weather which was not destined to continue. For, toward midday a fresh breeze rippled the waters that by degrees were transformed into towering waves, shaking their foamy crests, and tossing us angrily from side to side; and we were not sorry when we reached the harbor of Muskegon, about six miles from Muskegon City, situated on the same-named river which here, four miles from its mouth, widens into Muskegon Lake. It is the best harbor on the east side of the great lake. The city has daily steamboat navigation with Chicago; and saws and ships enormous quantities of lumber. Its principal manufactories are a number of foundries, machine shops, and boiler works. The present population is estimated to comprise about 24,000.

While admiring the lovely scenery enhanced by an enchanting sunset, from the deck of the yacht, our attention was distracted by approaching footsteps. In the uncertain, fading daylight, we perceived a gentleman accompanied by a lady—curiously regarding us—whom we invited on board the "Marguerite."

Mrs. and Mr. Wickham were the names by which this fair couple was introduced. That they spent the evening in our company, was very acceptable to us—as we but rarely had visitors on our pilgrimage. They greatly admired our floating home, and as the moon arose to bathe us with his silvery light, they took their departure.

The young archer—morn—broke his arrows on the remote hills, walking golden-sandaled down the lake, when we continued our voyage.

The still waters were soon lashed into fury again by an unfavorable wind, increasing toward midday to such a degree that we were glad to take refuge in the harbor of South Haven, where we lingered until the dawn of another day.

Opposite the mooring-place of the "Marguerite" stood an edifice whose interior we all longed to view. Having so unexpectedly become acquainted with the Life-Saving Service on the occasion of our adventure near Thunder Bay, we were anxious to learn more about that noble institution. In the afternoon we set out for the South Haven Life-Saving Station whose captain, an obliging gentleman, gave us very satisfactory explanations. He first called our attention to the splendid qualities of the life-boat: such as its power to right itself if upset; the capability of immediate self-discharge when filled with water; its strength; resistance to overturning; speed against a heavy sea; buoyancy; and facility in launching and taking the shore.

We then inspected the diverse apparatuses utilized for rescuing the shipwrecked.

A very clever contrivance, especially appropriate for saving invalids, children, and aged persons is the metallic car, a small covered boat, which can hold three or four persons who, entering by a comparatively small aperture, are shut in and drawn ashore, safely protected from injury even though overturned by the surf.

For projecting a line over a stranded vessel a howitzer is used; and in this way a communication is secured to the shore. The cork life-belts worn by the men, are of the plan first designed by Admiral Ward.

It is safe to say that the United States Life-Saving Service is chief among the life-boat societies of other nations, both as regards the extent of coast embraced, and the amount of work done. The whole support of this service is provided for by annual grants from Congress. Besides its vast coast line, it guards the shores of its great lakes. Since the sea-bordering portions of America in many places are destitute of human habitations, the constant employment of surfmen is required for the express purpose of looking out for vessels in distress and manning the surf-boats. It also necessitates the erection of houses of refuge provisioned so as to afford shelter and food to shipwrecked sailors for a considerable time at places, where without such provisions those who escape the sea, would probably perish from hunger and exposure.

The shores of the United States lakes and sea comprise over 10,000 miles, embracing almost every variety of climate and formation of land. This great extent of sea-board is divided into twelve districts with in all 244 stations. Of these 182 are on the Atlantic, forty-nine on the lakes, and twelve on the Pacific. Many of the stations are closed during the fine months of the year; their crews being disbanded till the winter gales again summon them to their heroic and dangerous work. That they render noble service in this way, may be gathered from the annual reports.

The official statement of 1893 shows that the disasters to shipping in that year amounted to 427 cases; that on board of vessels thus endangered there were 3,565 persons of whom 3,542 were saved.

After we had thus enriched our knowledge referring to this humane institution with its present effective system, we proceeded to the neighboring shore of Lake Michigan, here forming a beautiful beach. The polished and print-less sand studded with small, shining pepples spread before us in vast expanse; and the magnificent waters of the lake glittered in the sun-beams as though they were sown with diamonds. When the surf came in, and the white fringe of the sliding wave shot up the beach, the light color of the sand was deepened to a silvery gray. As much as we marred and defaced its fine-grained, bright surface, it was ever beaten down anew by the advancing and retreating waves. We had hardly deserted this lovely spot, when our foot prints were washed away by the ever returning sea.

On Monday at an advanced hour in the evening we departed from South Haven.
Since the glories of the sunset, with its witchery of rose and gold,
promised a fine night, we decided to continue our voyage as far as
Michigan City.

The panorama we witnessed during that nocturnal trip was as magnificent as can be imagined. The full-orbed moon on the wave was beautiful; and so was the landscape bathed in its light.

Toward 10 o'clock we arrived at our destination, a town in La Porte Co.,
Indiana.

Michigan City is the largest lumber-market in the State, and has numerous manufacturing establishments. As a lake-port, it is a place of considerable prosperity comprising a population of about 11,000.

It was in the early morning, Tuesday, August 22nd, that we left Michigan City. Having sailed along the coast of the lake for about three hours, we discerned in the misty distance the site of the "Queen of the West."

At twenty minutes to 9 o'clock, it became plainly cognizable. In transports of delight we glanced at a vast, verdant tract of land adorned with magnificent structures appearing to be of the purest marble; in their matchless beauty imparting to the mind some grand allegorical tableau, intending to convey the poet's idea of the New Jerusalem.

It was the famous White City, the site of the World's Columbian Exposition, that charmed our eyes and gratified our taste so much. No one can adequately describe that sight as seen from the clear waters of the lake.—I imagine that our illustrious Columbus must have been equally affected as he beheld Guanahani, that fruitful island in its wild luxuriance, on his first landing in the New World.