In the best of humour because he had been locked through the canal without waiting for the passage of the entire down-bound fleet that had been anchored at the Superior mouth of the canal, Captain Perkins told the boys to bring their chairs to the bridge and pointed out the points of interest on the fast-receding shores.
“Where going?” he asked, as Phil arose and started to leave the bridge.
“To the galley, to get a drink of ice water.”
“Just step into the pilot house, take the pail and line, and heave her over.”
“But I want ice water, sir.”
“And you’ll get it. On the hottest day of summer the water in Superior is always cold, practically ice-cold.”
Skeptical, Phil obeyed, but when he raised the water to his lips, he found that the captain was right.
“What makes it so cold?”
“That is the question no one has yet answered satisfactorily. Superior is a queer lake. There is less known about it and it is more feared than any of the Great Lakes, even than Erie, where terrific storms come up in a twinkling. You’ve found how cold the water is, and if you’ll look over the side, you will notice that it is green, while the water in the other lakes is blue. They say that no body which was drowned in Superior has ever come to the surface, and, you know, in ordinary water a dead body will rise in time.”
“Is that the reason the lake is so feared?” inquired Ted.