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.