I will never forget my first evening on board the St. Louis. We were steering N. N. E., the western shore had just faded from view, and the sun was sinking into his rosy couch. A few light clouds hung over the horizon, like crimson and purple curtains, as the god of day sunk into his luxuriant bed of rest, reminding one of McDonald Clark’s beautiful lines:
“Now twilight lets her curtain down
And pins it with a star.”
The lake was nearly smooth, and the red light, making its lengthy paths over the wide waters, from west to east, looked like myriads of playful little flames chasing each other over the crests of the waves.
The sun rose next morning and smiled on us over the north-western shore of the State of Michigan, and we found ourselves approaching Mackinaw Straits. That afternoon the vessel laid for a couple of hours at an island in the Straits, and the passengers all went ashore. We discovered the earth to be about as nearly barren as any soil could be. Late as it was in the season, September, we found a few stunted raspberries, that were just making a feeble effort to ripen.
While the propeller lay there, half-a-dozen of the male passengers, I among them, hired a sail boat, and, accompanied by three or four of the lady passengers, took a pleasant sail of an hour. I think I never saw such clear water anywhere as I saw there. A pin could have been distinctly seen at the depth of twenty feet. I was so charmed with the limpid water, and the white sand and pebbles at the bottom, that I fancied it would have been almost a luxury to be drowned there.
That night we stopped for an hour at Fort Mackinaw.
Next morning—Sunday morning—we found ourselves in Lake Huron. Another beautiful day passed away in perfect harmony and happiness on board the St. Louis, and another night came. All this time the propeller glided along so smoothly that one could scarcely believe, at times, that she moved at all, till he should go out, look over the side, and see the green waters rushing by, and the waves receding from the prow on either side. I never slept anywhere more tranquilly than on board the St. Louis.
Next morning, we found ourselves in the St. Clair river, which runs north and south, and connects Lake Huron with Lake St. Clair. On its eastern shore is Canada, and on its western the State of Michigan.
About nine o’clock, we landed at the town of Newport, Michigan, the home of the captain. Being assured by him that she would lie there several hours, another passenger and myself went ashore and walked up into the town, with the view of hunting a billiard-table and playing a game or two. Some others also went ashore for a stroll.