And there are men who, as they guide the pen, or utter calm, truthful words, or pray in the deep of their hearts, seem to be doing very little, and yet those pen traces, those simple words, those earnest prayers, may guide hundreds in the perilous voyage of life, may direct their course away from the shoals and snags that threaten destruction, and float them safely to their desired haven.
Norman was greatly mortified at the disabled state of the Grey Eagle, one wing broken, how could she maintain her triumphant flight? Others accustomed to yield the palm, now passed her with ease.
“I hope they know that her paddle-wheel is broken,” said Norman; “just look at those boats; what efforts they are making to pass us!”
Norman watched the boats with great interest, as they put on more steam, and darted past the Grey Eagle, making the landings before her, and carrying off the waiting passengers.
The view, crossing the river from Prairie du Chien, overlooking the islands as they now could from their elevated position, was extremely fine.
The Northern Light and the Grey Eagle met at M’Gregor’s Landing, and the captain of the latter was telling the captain of the former about his broken paddle-wheel and his consequently tardy progress.
“There is a lady trying to speak to you,” said the pilot. On the Northern Light was Mrs. Ralston, with whom Mrs. Lester had intended to journey to St. Paul. Handkerchiefs were waved and mute signals attempted, but the few desired words of explanation were wanting. Near and yet afar off. The boats soon parted for their opposite points of destination, and Mr. and Mrs. Ralston, from the hurricane deck, waved their good-by. Nearly opposite M’Gregor’s landing is the mouth of the Wisconsin River.
“There was a memorable voyage on that river nearly two hundred years ago,” said Mrs. Lester. “Two canoes, containing seven men, floated down these waters, ‘entering happily this great river with a joy that could not be expressed.’”
“Who were they, mother?”
“Father Marquette, the gentle, good missionary; Joliet, a citizen of Quebec, and five Frenchmen, their companions. They had left the Fox River, which flows into Green Bay, and carrying their canoes, they crossed the narrow portage that divides it from the Wisconsin on the 10th of June, 1673. Down the river for seven days, floating in those majestic solitudes, seeing neither man nor beast, passing beautiful prairies, and green hillsides, the discoverers at length reached the great river which they were seeking to find.