The Bay State Monthly — Volume 2, No. 1, October, 1884Various
History
The Bay State Monthly — Volume 2, No. 1, October, 1884
Various
Massachusetts -- Periodicals; New England -- Periodicals
So it was concluded. A week from that time found us at Oswego. Our
proposed route was an elaborate one. It was to start at Oswego, take a
beeline across Lake Ontario to Toronto, hence up the lake and through
the Welland Canal into Lake Erie, along the shores of that historical
inland sea, touching at Erie, Cleveland, Sandusky, and Toledo, up
Detroit River, through the Lake and River of St. Clair, then gliding
over the waters of Lake Huron, dash down along the shores of Lake
Michigan to Chicago, and back past Milwaukee, through the Straits of
Mackinaw and the ship-canal into the placid waves of Superior, making
Duluth the terminus of our journey. Our return would be leisurely,
stopping here and there, at out-of-the-way places, camping-out whenever
the fancy seized us and the opportunity offered, to hunt, to fish, to
rest, being for the time knight-errants of pleasure, or, as the
Historian dubbed us, peripatetic philosophers, in search, not of the
touchstone to make gold, but the touchstone to make health. Our trip was
to occupy two months.
It was well toward the latter part of June in 1881, on one of the
brightest of summer mornings, that our steamer, belonging to the regular
daily line to Toronto, steamed slowly out from the harbor of Oswego. So
we were at last on the "beautiful water," for that is the meaning of
Ontario in the Indian tongue. Here, two hundred years before us, the
war-canoes of De Champlain and his Huron allies had spurned the foaming
tide. Here, a hundred years later the batteaux of that great soldier,
Montcalm, had swept round the bluff to win the fortress on its height,
then in English hands. Historic memories haunted it. The very waves
sparkling in the morning sunshine whispered of romantic tales.
Seated at the stern of the boat we looked back upon the fading city.
Hugh Warren was smoking, and his slow-moving blue eyes were fixed
dreamily upon the shore. He did not seem to be gazing at anything, and
yet we knew he saw more than any of us.
"A centime for your thoughts, Hugh!" cried Vincent, rising and
stretching his limbs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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