'Beautiful?' echoed the captain, who had himself taken charge of the steering when the steamer entered the labyrinth,--'I don't see anything beautiful in it!--Port your helm up there; port!' 'Port it is, sir,' came back from the pilot-house above. 'These Flats give us more trouble than any other spot on the lakes; vessels are all the time getting aground and blocking up the way, which is narrow enough at best. There's some talk of Uncle Sam's cutting a canal right through,--a straight canal; but he's so slow, Uncle Sam is, and I'm afraid I'll be off the waters before the job is done.' 'A straight canal!' I repeated, thinking with dismay of an ugly utilitarian ditch invading this beautiful winding waste of green. 'Yes, you can see for yourself what a saving it would be,' replied the captain. 'We could run right through in no time, day or night; whereas, now, we have to turn and twist and watch every inch of the whole everlasting marsh.' Such was the captain's opinion. But we, albeit neither romantic nor artistic, were captivated with his 'everlasting marsh,' and eager to penetrate far within its green fastnesses. 'I suppose there are other families living about here, besides the family at the lighthouse?' I said. 'Never heard of any; they'd have to live on a raft if they did.' 'But there must be some solid ground.' 'Don't believe it; it's nothing but one great sponge for miles.--Steady up there; steady!' 'Very well,' said Raymond, 'so be it. If there is only the lighthouse, at the lighthouse we'll get off, and take our chances.' 'You're surveyors, I suppose?' said the captain. Surveyors are the pioneers of the lake-country, understood by the people to be a set of harmless monomaniacs, given to building little observatories along-shore, where there is nothing to observe; mild madmen, whose vagaries and instruments are equally singular. As surveyors, therefore, the captain saw nothing surprising in our determination to get off at the lighthouse; if we had proposed going ashore on a plank in the middle of Lake Huron, he would have made no objection. At length the lighthouse came into view, a little fortress perched on spiles, with a ladder for entrance; as usual in small houses, much time seemed devoted to washing, for a large crane, swung to and fro by a rope, extended out over the water, covered with fluttering garments hung out to dry. The steamer lay to, our row-boat was launched, our traps handed out, Captain Kidd took his place in the bow, and we pushed off into the shallows; then the great paddle-wheels revolved again, and the steamer sailed away, leaving us astern, rocking on her waves, and watched listlessly by the passengers until a turn hid us from their view. In the mean time numerous flaxen-haired children had appeared at the little windows of the lighthouse,--too many of them, indeed, for our hopes of comfort. 'Ten,' said Raymond, counting heads.