Beyond Lake St. Clair the land on both sides of the river is low, and, especially on the Canadian side, adorned with cultivated farms and dotted with picturesque country houses. A half mile barely separates the two nations; and, in case of war, with our present improved artillery, the intervening river would hardly form an obstacle to mutual destruction, till the once smiling fields and happy homes would be one vast scene of desolation.
Emerging into Lake Huron we began to perceive the effects of the cool water and consequent condensation of the warmer atmosphere; a heavy fog lay upon the surface, at first not higher than our upper deck, but creeping up as the night advanced. On one side a beautiful fog-bow with faint and delicate colors, spanned the sky, while on the other a brilliant ring of sparkling silver surrounded the moon. The water that was an opaque, milky white at Cleveland, had been growing darker, greener, and clearer, attaining perfect purity ere we reached Lake Superior, and exposing to view objects many feet below its surface.
Having reached Detour, which is a growing place and will soon have the finest street in the world, at eight o’clock at night, and the channel through Lake George being intricate, the captain announced we could proceed no further that evening, and the passengers generally went ashore to explore the country. The land is low around Detour, though there are clusters of pretty islands, and here for the first did we see the rocky northern formation and the evergreen trees.
Lake George, which is at the head of Lake Huron, or more properly a part of it, is shallow and muddy. A channel, narrow and of but twelve feet in depth, has been dredged and marked out with stakes; it is crooked, and will scarcely admit of two vessels passing abreast. The shoal mud-flats were visible in every direction, and our wheels stirred up the bottom as we passed.
It was with a feeling of relief that we escaped from this lake into the deeper and rapid waters of the river Ste. Marie, whose eddying current and bold shores were a pleasant sight, to our eyes wearied with the sameness of lake travel. We had been three nights and almost three days caged in our floating home, and were delighted at the near approach to our destination. We had not heard the band mentioned in the advertisements, but supplied its place with a crazy piano strummed by amateur performers; we had not partaken of all the luxuries of the season, but had appreciated with sharpened appetites the substantials that were furnished; we had not enjoyed the company of fair excursionists from Cleveland or Detroit, but had formed the acquaintance of one or two kind beings in crinoline; we had not had an exciting trip, but had been transported safely and slowly, and at eight o’clock that morning we reached the Sault Ste. Marie.
A weary waste of waters lay behind; our track lengthening into the dim distance, stretched out to many thousand miles; we had crossed deep streams, had burrowed through high mountains, had darted along broad meadows, had swept across majestic lakes, had ascended mighty rivers; less than a hundred years ago many months would have been expended in completing this same journey; serious difficulties would have had to be overcome and dangers encountered; we had condensed a year of our grandfathers’ lives into three days; we had spanned one-half our great continent, fled from the metropolis of civilization to the native haunts of the savage; in fact, gone back from the nineteenth into the eighteenth century. We had been carried by steam upon the track of iron or in the moving palace; in future we were to embark in the voyageur’s bateau, and be propelled by oars or sail. Heretofore the unnatural wants of civilized life had been indulged and gratified; hereafter, the commonest home, the simplest covering, the plainest food, was to be our lot; hitherto we had been in the land where gold was the talisman that commanded ten thousand slaves; henceforth we were to trust ourselves to kindly nature and our own capabilities. Glorious were our anticipations from the change. Our vessel, the unromantic City of Cleveland, which, from the beginning, had been lumbering along at the moderate rate of ten miles an hour without ever being betrayed into the slightest evidence of enthusiasm, seemed overjoyed at her approaching arrival, and dressed herself in her gala costume of variegated bunting. She whistled merrily to announce to the inhabitants that once more she was to bless their sight, and tried to get up a little extra steam for a final burst. The travellers crowded her decks, the natives collected along shore; the former waved their handkerchiefs, the latter, probably having no handkerchiefs, swung their hats; and amid all this excitement we came merrily up to the dock.
The Sault, or Soo, as the name of the village is always pronounced, is not a large place, but proved to be larger than I expected; our dull plodding eastern people can hardly imagine how rapidly the west is growing in wealth and population; already our little western brother is claiming to be a man, and if we are not careful will be too much for us some day. This newly planted village, almost at the extreme northwest of American civilization, included an excellent hotel, a dozen stores, and at least a hundred houses and workshops. Already the belles of Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota were congregating at it to enjoy its cool temperature and invigorating atmosphere, and ere many years are passed it will be a fashionable watering-place, thronged with the élite of western society. Its principal hotel, the Chippewa House, is admirably kept, and doubtless is the pioneer of an infinitely more gorgeous affair.
Don, however, who is rather particular and not much accustomed to the free and easy mode of country life, was somewhat disappointed with our room. It had the great desideratum of plenty of fresh air, for it was of the whole width of the house and had windows back and front, but Don was surprised that people who kept hotels did not acquaint themselves with the other important requisites.
“There, for instance, you observe the water pitcher has a cracked handle. Some time you will undertake to lift it and it will give way, and then there is no telling what it may ruin; the trunk, even, may receive the entire contents.”
“But, Don, that is an old crack; it has evidently stood several years, and will doubtless last the few days we are here.”