We spent two days at Gros Cap, having fine sport and killing some large fish. Don broke his tackle several times, and the lively, bright-colored, vigorous trout, luxuriating in their appropriate element, the cold spring water of the lake, gave us excellent play. Wandering from rock to rock, and casting out into the limitless lake, every rise was sudden and unexpected, every step changed the distance of our cast and the character of the fishing-ground.
The submerged rocks were visible through the limpid water, and from beside them or from their deep, dark fissures a trout might rise with a furious, impetuous plunge at any moment. The fish were numerous, breaking in the placid evenings in myriads, and the sport was entrancing. During the warm mid-days, when the sun was too brilliant or the lake too calm for fishing, we would wander about the island, hunting specimens, inspecting natural peculiarities, and chasing the ephemeræ that had supplied the place of the brown phryganidæ.
There was a surprising similarity of color in all the natural flies of that region; they were mostly of modified shades of brownish yellow or gray. The yellowish variety had two long whisks, one inch and three-quarters long, banded with gray, eyes round, white, and protuberant, with a black speck, and eight sections to the body. They were quite active and numerous, while other varieties resembled them in general appearance and characteristics.
The rocks were seamed with veins of copper, the oxide of which had discolored the adjoining stone, and occasionally we could obtain pretty and apparently rich specimens. Unfortunately, neither Don nor myself, though well enough read in the classics and other equally useful sciences, had ever studied mineralogy, and were as good judges of minerals as a savage would be of a watch. Our ignorant conclusions, however, were that if the north shore of Lake Superior were properly explored, under Yankee supervision, mines might be discovered equalling those of the south coast. With this sage conclusion we were forced to be satisfied.
Charley had a passion for prospecting; was ready at a moment’s notice to dig out with the axe any strange-looking deposit, fully convinced that some day he should make his fortune, if he only could learn to distinguish the valuable from the worthless.
At last a strong westerly wind came out, and a heavy fog settled down upon us, wrapping the hills in its graceful shroud, hanging pendant from the distant rocks and trees, shutting out the lake from view, covering the bushes with glittering gems, and wetting our thin clothes uncomfortably. As there was too much sea running to fish, we wrapped ourselves up in the water-proofs, and embarking the remnants of our property, set sail for the Sault.
This was to be our last day on the lake, our last day in the open woods, the last time we were to stand face to face with nature’s solitude—and our spirits felt depressed at the prospect. No more sleeping beneath the cool canvas, no more looking out upon the limitless Big-Sea-Water, no more peering up into the silent night, and no more of those thronging thoughts and grateful inspirations that feed the soul in the wilderness. The freedom from rules and restraint was to be laid aside, the easy dress must be replaced by the methodical cut, the manners and acts must be shaped to those of others, and we were to conduct ourselves henceforward according to the received and established pattern. We were approaching civilization, where stiff and stately houses were to limit our views, and man’s works shut out those of God.
The wind soon hauled ahead, and driving back the fog, let down a flood of sunlight on the sparkling water; but the current being quite strong in our favor as we approached the outlet, we made good headway, passing in our course a yacht crowded with sportsmen, and under full sail going wing and wing for the Neepigon, encountering other sailing vessels, and meeting with occasional evidences of man’s presence.
At six o’clock that evening we shot the rapids, and discharging our load at the wharf, ensconced ourselves once more beneath the hospitable roof of the Chippewa House. Three glorious weeks had come and gone since we were last there—three weeks of unalloyed happiness, three weeks of invigorating life and exercise, worth all the medicines in the world—three weeks of intelligent and sensible enjoyment. In that time impressions had been made and lessons had been learned never to be forgotten; health had been acquired that would last for years, joy tasted that would leave its flavor during life. And now farewell to the staunch old barge; farewell to our canvas home, to the merry camp-fire, to the woodsman’s life; farewell to the deep forests, the sombre pines, the waving elms, to the dancing streams, and the open water; farewell to our faithful guides; farewell to the graceful trout, the elegant namægoose, the fierce black bass; a long farewell to Gitche-Gume, Big-Sea-Water, the greatest of the great lakes of our great country!