But this was not all. When the other canoe came in our wake, and hung behind us on the tow-line, this young lady being our interpreter—my attention was forcibly arrested during these interviews, at the moral power of the Indian language, and of the conversations of Indians with each other; which I have often had occasion since to remark in other circumstances. The dependent condition of the American Aborigines on each other for comfort and happiness, and as they religiously suppose, on the high Providence above, whom they call the Great Spirit, for the supply of their necessities—(for themselves are always improvident and frequently in want)—has imparted to their language, or manner of speaking, an indescribable softness and tenderness. It is a sweet and perfect melody. As they never think, or talk abstrusely, nor task their minds with concatenations of logic, but speak for present convenience and gratification;—and as they need and love kindness, their language is the very expression of kindness. Their dependent, child-like feelings, a moral cause, have produced a physical effect in the structure and use of the common medium of communication between man and man. The entire character of the Indian’s voice, in conversation, is altogether peculiar—and that character is always of an affectionate, tender, and dependent cast. It proceeds from tender feeling—and challenges and awakens the like affections. It has that power, and will produce that effect, when not one word of the language is understood. And it is especially remarkable, that when Indians have acquired an European language, and while conversing in it, they use a voice characteristically and entirely different from that, which they employ in their own tongue. Neither are they themselves aware of the fact. I once called the attention of a circle of Indian chiefs to this circumstance, most of whom could speak English. At the moment, we were all speaking English. Soon after, for their own convenience, they broke into their own language. “There,” said I—“do you see?”—they proceeded, with their attention thus challenged and directed—and the next moment, all of them burst into a loud laugh, expressive of their own astonishment at the discovery. They never knew it before.
So when this canoe came under our stern, the first salutation between this young lady and the crew, struck me with this remarkable fact; and the protracted conversation between the parties, was very music itself. On the announcement of every piece of news, or the starting of a new thought, the listener, in Indian dialogue, receives it with an—Eh? (Is it so?)—partly nasal, and partly ringing so mellifluously in the chambers of the mouth, by an ascending and circumflex intonation, falling at last into a sweet and expiring cadence—that the stranger hangs upon it, as upon the dying notes of the sweetest melodies—and holds his own breath in the suspense of regret, and almost involuntarily sighs, when the last palpable sound has died upon the ear. It cannot be imitated—it cannot be described. One must have heard it, to know it; and to have heard it with attention, is never to forget it. It is altogether of a moral character. It expresses politeness, in all its scope; a thorough reciprocation of the sentiment; thankfulness for the news, or suggestion; entire confidence in the person speaking; and a complete and unreserved repose of all the tender feelings on the second person of the dialogue: “Eh? Eh. Is it so? It is so. Indeed? Indeed.” And I have only been confirmed in these peculiar attributes of Indian languages, by subsequent observation. The women, indeed, have softer and more melodious voices, than the men, as among all nations—and they give far better effect to these peculiarities. But the voices of the men, in their own tongue, are no less characteristically diverse in this particular.
An Indian dialogue, (and among themselves there is no people more sociable) in connexion with the melody of their voice, and the tenderness of the intonations and inflexions of their speech, is one of the finest scenes of the kind in the world. And the specimens, now under review, were peculiarly attractive and greatly eloquent, in consideration of the circumstances, and of the dramatis personæ. The canoes, which came along side of the steamer, while lying on sand bars and at anchor, before her arrival at the Saut, were numerous;—and this young lady was the interpreter, and the only colloquist on one side. She, cultivated and accomplished, and well dressed,—bending over the side of the vessel, to welcome and receive the welcomes of this simple and untaught people;—and they, manifesting the most evident satisfaction, on her return among them; and thus demonstrating, how much she had made herself, by her winning condescensions, the idol of a people, whom she was not ashamed to call her own. They seemed delighted, and overjoyed to hear the sound of her voice. They literally opened their mouths and swallowed her words; and the muscles of their countenance might be seen working with the workings of their thoughts, as they hung upon her lips. And she in turn listened to their communications with reciprocal satisfaction—each party, as they were alternate listeners, responding to every thought, in the utterance of their own indescribable:—Eh? And the effect of this expression is not unlike the second to an air in a piece of music:—it is an exquisite and harmonious accompaniment. It sets and keeps the affections of all the parties in tune.
CHAPTER XI.
VOYAGE FROM THE SAUT DE ST. MARIE TO GREEN BAY, &c.
The next day was occupied in the disembarcation of a second[5] detachment of the troops, at the garrison of the Saut, and in the transaction of other business appertaining to the vessel; while a small party went up to take a peep at the opening bosom of Lake Superior, a few miles above; and another was entertained at dinner in the hospitable mansion, which made the home of the young lady above-mentioned. To sit down at a table, spread with furniture, and burdened with viands and wines, not unbefitting the metropolis of a civilized community, with a pure Indian woman, acting as mistress of ceremonies, who did not venture to speak a word of the vernacular tongue of her guests, that office being supplied by her son-in-law, at the other end, and by her children around her:—and the scene laid in that remote region—was an interesting occasion, as may well be supposed. The dinner was necessarily early and hasty, as the vessel was to leave in the afternoon to retrace her path, as far as the northern border of Huron, to clear the islands, if possible, before night, on her way to Mackinaw;—which was accomplished, with no remarkable incident, except, that, while passing rapidly down a current, in the midst of a granite region, and under the full power of steam, the packet rubbed fearfully on the point of a rock. If the vessel had drawn six inches more, she must inevitably have been stove and lost, though not probably with the peril of life, as the shore was within the toss of a stone, and the packet furnished with boats. But it would at least have been unpleasant for such a host of passengers to be left, shipwrecked, in such a wild region.
It was on the passage from the Saut to Mackinaw, that the question of the thirty-two thousand islands, on the northern and eastern margin of Lake Huron, was agitated. It was stated by one of the passengers, that Mr. ——, who ought to know, had affirmed it. Indeed several witnesses testified to the fact. And if so, incredible as it might seem, the reputation of that gentleman for accurate knowledge, and his opportunities of information, were entitled to settle the question. I, however, observed, that, in my own opinion, thirty-two hundred was quite enough; and that there must be a mistake. Indeed I observed, that I could hardly believe there were thirty-two thousand islands, in all the waters of the continent of America. From an independent and unquestionable source of evidence, however, I was afterwards obliged to admit the fact. The record, as was affirmed, was attested from the surveys, made by the joint Board of Commissioners of Great Britain and the United States, appointed to settle the boundary line of their contiguous jurisdictions.[6] And the region, through which the common charts have drawn the channel of St. Mary’s river, forms a portion of these islands—reducing that strait to twenty-five miles in length—ten miles below and fifteen miles above the rapids, or falls. The falls, it may be observed, are run with safety by canoes, and have been run by a small vessel.
The St. Mary’s river forms three channels a little below the falls, and consequently two considerable islands, besides many smaller ones, for the distance of fifteen to twenty miles;—and thence to Lake Huron, especially towards the east, are parts of the immense group. It is impossible for any thing, but actual observation, to estimate the unnumbered beauties, created by these sports of nature. I regretted exceedingly not to have been indulged with a stay at the Saut, long enough to have made an excursion by a canoe into Lake Superior. Some half dozen of our passengers, by a bold and determined push, and at the hazard of being left behind, ran up and cast a coup d’œil upon the face of those interesting waters. They saw the Queen of Lakes, which, indeed, was worth the effort. The rest of us contented ourselves with proving, that the Lake commences at the head of the rapids, and having been there, that we saw it too.
At break of day, on Sunday morning, the 8th of August, after sailing all night upon the bosom of Lake Huron, and from the entrance of the straits of St. Mary, the island of Mackinaw, the snow-white fort upon its rocky summit, and the beautiful town below, adorned with a Christian church, lifting up its steeple, opened upon us with a fine and most welcome display;—and at sunrise we lay still in the clear waters of its crescent harbour, directly under the guns of the fort.
If Quebec is the Gibraltar of North America, Mackinaw is only second in its physical character, and in its susceptibilities of improvement, as a military post. It is also a most important position for the facilities it affords, in the fur-trade, between New York and the North-West. From this point, the bateaux of the traders, boats of fifteen tons, go annually in the autumn to the most distant shores of Lake Superior, in one direction; and to the upper regions of the Mississippi in another, laden with provisions, blankets and ammunition, and other articles of merchandize, to give the Indians in exchange for furs;—and return to Mackinaw in the spring, where these furs are shipped for New York, by way of Buffalo. Mackinaw is used merely, as a frontier garrison, and a trading post; and has a population of 600 to 700. It is a beautiful island, or great rock, planted in the strait of the same name, which forms the connexion between Lakes Huron and Michigan. The meaning of the Indian name—Michillimackinack—is a great turtle. The island is crowned with a cap 300 feet above the surrounding waters, on the top of which is a fortification, but not in keeping. The principal fort, and the one kept in order and garrisoned, rests upon the brow of the rocky summit, 150 feet below the crown, or cap, and the same number of feet above the water; and in such relation to the semicircular harbour, as to command it perfectly, together with the opposite strait. The harbour forms an exact crescent, the tips of its horns being about one mile asunder. The town itself, for the most part, lies immediately on the crescent, near the water’s edge, and under the towering rock, which sustains the fort above. The harbour, town, and fort look with open and cheerful aspect towards the Huron waters, south-east, inviting or frowning, according as they are approached by friend or foe. The island of Mackinaw is nearly all covered with forests of slender growth. The shores and beach are composed of small pebbles and gravel, without a single particle of pulverized substance to cloud the transparent waters, which dash upon them. So clear are the waters of these Lakes, that a white napkin, tied to a lead, and sunk thirty fathoms beneath a smooth surface, may be seen as distinctly, as when immersed three feet. The fish may be seen, playing in the waters, over the sides of the various craft, lying in the harbours.
There are two objects of natural curiosity at Mackinaw, worthy of notice: the arched rock and sugar-loaf. The latter is a cone of solid rock (and when seen from one direction, it has the exact form of the loaf, after which it is named) lifting itself about 100 feet above the plain, in the heart, and on the summit of the island, with a base of fifty feet. Some trees and shrubbery shoot out from its sides and crevices, in defiance of the lack of soil.