The lecture last evening was well attended and proved a financial success. It was therefore gratifying to give the entire proceeds to the treasurer, Judge T. E. Wing, although he generously offered to divide. Parting with Mr. Bulkley, I continued on my route, my mind filled with the events of the three preceding days. Just beyond the town I halted to look back, and then, determined to prevent any sombre thoughts, which might follow, put spurs to Paul, who very soon covered the thirteen miles between Monroe and this place. As we neared the village, I caught sight of Huron River, the Wrockumiteogoe of the Indians, meaning, "clear water." On its banks are found those mysterious legacies of the Mound Builders—whether dwellings or tombs, remains for the antiquarian to determine.
Seventy-ninth Day.
Farmers' Hotel,
Ecorse, Michigan,
July Twenty-ninth.
Moved from Rockwood at ten A. M., halting for a few minutes at Trenton, a small village seven miles north of Rockwood; and from there, riding on to Wyandotte, which I reached about one o'clock, and stopped only a moment at the Biddle House, finding that dinner was awaiting me at a private residence. I was ready to answer the hospitable summons promptly. Between two and five o'clock, I occupied part of the time in looking about the village, which is chiefly noted for its iron industries. Farm implements, iron ships, iron rails, and in fact everything that can be made out of iron, is produced here. After dinner I rode on to Ecorse, which is three miles beyond, and there found letters and papers telling me that I was expected at the Russell House, Detroit, on the evening of the coming Monday. Once within my hotel, I found the heat almost unbearable, but following a certain method which I had found by experience to be a successful one, I was enabled in a measure to improve my surroundings. To those who might think my modus operandi somewhat unbecoming, I would only suggest that they try my mode of travel through the same region of country, and at the same season of the year. Personal experience might change their opinion.
Having been shown to my apartment by the landlord or one of his assistants, I quietly entered and secured the door, betraying no surprise upon seeing the inevitable "feather bed." Taking off my coat, I began by removing the layers of mattresses, which had in them a wonderful reserve force of July heat. I then took my lamp and held it so that its lambent flame could warm the cockles of every mosquito's heart clinging to the ceiling. The mosquitoes, quite averse to the intense heat, quietly dropped into the little purgatory which I had prepared for them, and troubled me no more.
So did I secure my repose at the Farmers' Hotel, and in the morning was in the humor to give the good-natured proprietor, Louis Cicotte—a typical French Canadian—a very hearty greeting, and an assurance of my refreshment.