Read Ebook: A Child of the Sea; and Life Among the Mormons by Williams Elizabeth Whitney

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Sailors were superstitious about moving cats from place to place, so father concluded to take the family in our own little boat, the "Abbigal". We had cats, dogs, rabbits and sea gulls for pets, and father would not leave any of them behind us. Our goods were all loaded on the "Nancy" and "Abbigal." I remember our neighbors coming to the beach to see us off. Aunt Abbie took me in her arms; the tears fell fast on my face. I thought it was raining and held out my hand, as I had seen father do to catch the drops, but no, it was not raining, it was tears falling from our dear friend's eyes. When father called out "all aboard", I was clasped in another tight pressure of her arms. Then father took me and placed me in the boat, where brother Charley and I were wrapped up in warm blankets. Our boat was pushed off by the men with a "God bless you, Whitney," and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs and with our sails spread to the breeze we sailed away from the shore out upon the blue waters of Lake Michigan.

As our little boat glided along we could see the forms growing dimmer until the Island itself looked like a small speck upon the water. Off the south-east of us were other islands looming up out of the sea. Father told us afterward how afraid the two older brothers were, thinking it was whales coming after us, as they had heard about whales in the ocean. Little Charley and I were fast asleep in our warm little nest of bedding. Life for us had no cares or sorrows. Our baby eyes saw nothing but beauty in all things. All I remember of our landing was seeing many strange faces of men, women and children. Mother said afterward I looked everywhere calling "Aunt Abbie", and cried when I could not find her and Baby Margarette. There were two sweet little babies among the people, which satisfied me as I was so very fond of them. While on our way we had landed at Mentopayma, where we ate our lunch and fed our pets. Father climbed to the tops of the high hills and could see vessels and many steamboats passing up and down the straits. While there we found a large cat which we took with us, he being quite content to be taken with our other pets. Father gave us animals as pets to care for and we were taught to be kind to them.

The time had now come when the people of this little settlement were to pack and go to their winter homes. They were to leave all their fishing outfits locked in their buildings until they came again another year. The vessel "Nancy", which made her weekly trips along the north shore to Mackinac Island and St. Helena, lay at anchor waiting for her precious human freight. The women and children were taken first, then the men with their dogs were put on board. Our family, with one more, stood upon the shore to wave them adieu; white sails were spread to the breeze and they sailed away to their far-away homes for the winter.

DEATH OF MR. MCWILLIAMS.

The family that remained were an old couple with a young son of seventeen years. The old couple felt the journey too long for them to take so preferred to remain all winter. Father and mother tried hard to persuade them not to remain, but go home, but they would not go so they prepared to pass the winter at a place called Birch Point, a cold, bleak shore, where the foot of a white man seldom ever came in winter at that time and very seldom the Indian hunters except on their hunting expeditions. Our goods had been sent on to Manistique and we were to follow in a few days in our boat. Just before we left father took us all down the shore to see the old couple that were to remain all winter and try to persuade them to come with us to Manistique. The name of this family was McWilliams. We found the old gentleman very sick. Mother told me afterwards we were with them two weeks. The old man died. Father made the casket. We buried him on that lonely shore in a quiet little nook where he loved so much to sit and watch the waves roll in upon the white sandy beach. Buried him where the blue sea waves might chant a requiem to his grave.

Sing on, sad waves, your sound shall toll A solemn requiem to the soul Who sleeps so peaceful on that shore Till time shall wake to sleep no more.

My people tried hard to have the mother and son go with us but nothing could induce them to leave the lonely grave of their loved one. Time was passing, father was anxious to reach Manistique at once. They told me it was a great sorrow to leave the mother and son alone, and to make it more lonely the wolves and bears were so numerous we could hear the howl of the wolves and growls of the bears just as soon as it became dark every night. They would sit at our doors and snap and growl at each other. They were so hungry we could hear their teeth snap together. John McWilliams picked brush and wood, keeping a fire around his father's grave until he could build a strong fence of logs around it.

AGAIN IN OUR BOAT ON LAKE MICHIGAN.

One still, cold morning in November our boat was prepared and we started to Manistique, ten miles distant. Charley and I were again placed in among warm blankets. Our little puppies of the springtime had grown to be great, large dogs and watched over little brother and me like two faithful sentinels. The day was cold and still. Father and the boys rowed while mother steered. We kept close to the shore. Little brother and I were half asleep most of the time. I can hear my father even now singing his old hymns, "Rock of Ages" and the "Evergreen Shore". Many times I imagine I can hear the sweet music of his voice. Mother, too, sang her French glee songs, the boys joining with her. French was our mother's language. Father could not speak it, but understood nearly everything. French and Indian were the languages spoken by almost everybody in those days around the western islands and shores. The men that came from eastern homes soon learned to speak the language of both French and Indian as it was necessary to carry on their trade.

ARRIVING AT MANISTIQUE.

As we neared the shore Mr. Frankle and his men stood ready to meet us and catching hold of our boat we were landed safely out on the dry land. Our house was all warmed with a nice fire burning in the great stone fireplace. Lights were lighted and supper was soon ready for us all. Beds were put up and soon we felt we were at home.

Mr. Frankle had some friends visiting him from York State who had delayed their going home until they had seen my mother in regard to preparing some sturgeon for them. Sturgeon were so plentiful in the river they could be pulled out with a gaff hook. Mother contracted with them for several tons of smoked sturgeon. The Indians from their village, three miles distant, agreeing to catch the sturgeon, the fish were prepared and smoked, but the season closed too early to ship them that fall, so they had to be packed and kept over until the following spring for shipment to New York.

The river was so full of suckers that the mill had to shut down many times while the men scooped the fish out with a large scoop-net and loaded wagons with them, which were hauled a distance down the beach and piled upon the sand.

At night the bears, wolves and foxes would come to that pile of fish, making night hideous with their barks and growls. None of us dared go out doors after night came. We lived on the opposite side of the river from Mr. Frankle's mill. Father had to cross the river every morning many times. Bears were swimming across the river and we children used to watch them from our windows. The wolves would come to our large smokehouse at night and take the smoked sturgeon, growling and snarling around our windows. Our boys were busy days and got their lessons in the evening.

THE OLD GRANDPA AND BOB COMING TO LIVE WITH US.

Mother had a cousin who was an old man of eighty. He had worked for the Hudson Bay and Great American Fur Companies of John Jacob Astor, carrying great loads of provisions to the trappers all through the Lake Superior country, then taking the loads of fur back to market from the trappers' camps. He being now too old to work, and without a home, my father feeling sorry gave him a home with us. He was so grateful and happy he could scarcely express his gratitude, speaking very little English and that very broken. French, Spanish and Indian he spoke fluently. He was born in Canada of French and Spanish parents. His mother and my mother's mother were sisters. His name was Bertemau Mazoka. The trappers called him Magazau, meaning "store" in English, as with his two dogs, Bob and Maje, he carried a regular store for the trappers. One dog, Maje, had died. Bob, the other, was eighteen years old, and inseparable from the old grandpa, as we children were taught to call him. He loved to have us call him grandpa. He was very kind and patient with us, never tiring of doing something for our comfort.

OLD DOG BOB.

But Bob, how can I describe him, the old, patient, faithful dog! He was large and powerful, dark brown with darker stripes in color, part bull in breed, but just as gentle and kind in disposition as possible. He had pulled the heavy loads so long he was almost blind, teeth almost gone and rheumatism so bad it was hard for him to get upon his feet when he laid down. When grandpa came bringing Bob he had said in his broken English, "Mr. Whitney you take me, you take Bob too. Me can't stay if Bob no stay." The old dog seemed to know what his master was saying, for he came close to him and looked straight into father's face. Then father said, "Yes, Bob can stay too." He tried to show his delight with his master by jumping about. It would be hard to tell which of us Bob loved the best. I can see him now sitting in some out-of-the-way corner watching us with his great, almost human eyes. He had not always been kindly treated. He seemed to be so afraid to be in anybody's way, and when he saw us petting the other two dogs he would slink away with head down and look so dejected. The young dogs, too, knew he was a stranger and growled at him and bossed him about. Then poor old Bob would go back of the house and cry and whine so pitifully. At last father could stand it no longer and gave the order Bob must not be annoyed any more and must have a bed and lay behind the stove in the big corner, and that no one was ever to speak a cross word or strike Bob. Grandpa cried with delight.

BOB'S NEW MASTER.

Sometimes Bob could not get up alone, then father would lift him up and rub his neck where the collar had worn it sore on his long pulls. He would lick father's hand and look into his face so pitiful it made us all feel sorry to see him suffer. Very soon Bob began not to notice his master very much, but would try to go fast to meet father when he came into the house, and when he could not get up father would go to him, talk and rub him. The dog seemed to understand the kindness. When grandpa saw Bob cared more for father than for himself he cried like a little child. After awhile he said, "No wonder Bob love you, you so good to him, you so good to me, me love you too. Me now give you Bob. You keep Bob for yourself till he die." Then the tears fell fast for a time. After that Bob seemed to know he had a new master and seemed content. With care Bob improved and got about so much smarter. Father had to be away all day to his work. At night when he came home Charley, Bob and I were always at the door to meet him. Sometimes in the winter evenings when grandpa would be telling us his stories and singing to us his songs Charley and I would fall fast asleep curled up on the rug with Bob.

DEATH OF MRS. MCWILLIAMS.

One day mother was very sick in bed with neuralgia. How gloomy and lonely the house seemed to us children, we missed her so. Grandpa was caring for us children and doing the house work as best he could. Then mother was better and able to sit up trying to sew, saying she could not afford to be idle. Not long after this one day, I know it was Sunday, we were dressed in our Sunday suits, father was reading to us, a knock came on the door, the latch was lifted, the door opened and John McWilliams almost fell into the room, saying, "Come both of you, my mother is dead." Then he sank into a chair and cried as if his heart would break. Mother arose from her easy chair saying "Come Walter, we must go." Father tried to have her not go, telling her she was not able to go, she ought to be in bed as her face was still badly swollen. The snow being deep and it was very cold. Neither father, grandpa, nor we crying children could stop her going. She was dressed in a short time and tried to have poor John eat. He could not eat, saying he must go right back to his dead mother. He left us and all was now commotion. Father and mother were now both going away into the cold, deep snow and leave us children with grandpa.

STARTING ON THEIR PERILOUS TRIP.

I remember hearing father tell him over and over again to be careful, which he promised by crossing himself; being a Catholic he took that way to express himself and let father know he meant to be faithful. Bob was also told to watch over us children, which he understood. At last they were ready to start, all bundled up in heavy, warm clothing. We two smaller children were crying and hanging on to them when mother said, "Now listen children, be good and mind all that grandpa tells you. Don't you know poor John has no one with him, his mother is dead?" We were quiet, but sorrowful. Oh, how little we children could realize or understand the awful, dangerous trip our father and mother were about to undertake! Grandpa realized it and tried so hard to keep them from going. The snow was very deep, weather extremely cold, with bears and wolves to be encountered at every step as soon as darkness came on.

THEIR STORY OF THEIR JOURNEY AS THEY TOLD IT TO ME IN AFTER YEARS.

"We traveled along the beach inside the ice banks, as snow was not quite so deep there and we felt safer from wolves. It was noon when we left home. We had about fifteen miles to go, I think, to reach Birch Point. The wind was keen and cut like a knife in our faces. I made your mother walk right behind me, knowing she could never stand the sharp wind. About two o'clock it began to snow so hard it was blinding in our faces. We kept on, and after awhile I saw your mother began to lag and could not keep up even when I walked slowly. It was already getting dark, as the days were so short. At last she said. 'Walter, I am afraid I can't keep up any longer.' I said to her, 'Yes, you must keep up, we will sit and rest a little while, then you can walk better.' While we sat there we heard the bark of a wolf not far off, and well we knew what that sound meant. I knew then that our only hope was to reach a small shanty about a mile and a half further on. I said, 'Come mother, we must get to the little shanty, there we'll stay till morning.' This gave her new courage, and we pressed on through the blinding storm, snow being deeper at every step. I took her arm and we got on quite fast for a time. We still had over a half mile to go before we reached the shanty and I saw it was now a great effort for her to walk. She now began to worry about the children. I told her grandpa would be faithful and take good care of them and that we must hurry and try to reach the little shanty. I did not tell her of my fears, there being a possibility that it might be gone, taken away for its lumber by some fishermen along the shore in the fall. The snow became so deep it was hard to travel, and I could see she was getting weaker all the time. All at once the barking of wolves began first here then there, in every direction except on the lake side. We kept very close to the ice banks. I saw your mother could keep up no longer. The wolves were gathering from all sides and I realized our only hope was the little shanty, which I prayed might be left standing and that we might reach it in time. I threw down my little bag of tools, hammer, saw and gun. I took your mother on my back and staggered along through the storm. It was almost dark and I feared we might miss the shanty even if it was still there. The howls and barks of the wolves were very near us now and it was terrible. I knew my own strength could not hold much longer. I said, 'now keep a sharp lookout for the shanty.' I heard the growls and snarls of the wolves and could almost feel their hot breath upon us. I thought of you, my children, and that thought kept me up. At last your mother said, 'Oh, thank God, here is the shanty!' I felt her grow heavier and limp and knew that she had fainted. I made one last effort and reached the door none too soon, the wolves were right at our heels. I pushed the door open and closed it as soon as possible, letting your mother drop down upon the floor until I could get the door safely barred. The snow had drifted in some beside the door. I took some snow in my hand and rubbed her face with it. After awhile she said, 'Walter, are we safe?' I said, 'yes, mother, thank God we are safe for awhile.' I left her and began to look for a place to make a fire. I found a pretty good cook stove with a good pile of wood near which the fishermen had left for anyone who might be in need and we were the first that had need of it. I used my flint and soon had a warm fire. I also found a small tin lamp full of fish oil. I said, 'now mother we are all right. With the provisions I have we will soon have some supper and warm tea.' I took up some of the clean snow in a basin and put it to heat on the stove, where it was soon boiling. I found a bench for your mother to sit on. I took off most of her wraps and soon we were warm and comfortable eating our lunch with hot tea. Oh, the howling and tearing of the wolves was terrible to hear. They would scratch on the door and try to climb upon the roof. There was one small window near the door. I was afraid the wolves would break it in their jumping about, and how I did wish for my gun that I had to throw down with the tools as we came. There were two large bunks filled with balsam boughs, and I took some of our wraps and made a bed for your mother. She was soon fast asleep. I kept a good fire, and about midnight laid down beside her, and in spite of the howling and barking of the wolves I was soon fast asleep. At break of day all was quiet, the wolves had gone to the woods. We had some breakfast and mother felt better. I left her and went to find my gun and other things I had left in the snow. The wolves had trampled the snow all down about the door and we could see the marks of their claws on the door. We were soon started on our way and reached the little deserted settlement, where I took two boards to carry, as John had also done, as we needed the lumber to make a coffin. From here we found better walking, a straighter beach. We reached John's about 11 o'clock. We found him sitting beside his dead mother."

BROTHER ANTHONY LOST IN THE WOODS.

With us children at home we too had our troubles. I cried all night with earache and poor old grandpa had his hands full to take care of us all. He was up all night, and he worried about father and mother. He was sure they were frozen to death or eaten up by the wolves. And to make it still harder for him brother Toney went out alone up the river to find the rabbit traps he had set and lost his way home. When he did not come back at dinner time grandpa was almost crazy, but would not let brother Lewis go to look for him, fearing he too would be lost. He left us two little ones with Lewis while he ran down to the river and called to the men at work in the mill. At first he could not make them hear him. He swung his arms and ran up and down, and at last they saw him and two men came over on a raft, our boat, the only one there, being on our side of the river. They thought something terrible must have happened to grandpa. In his imperfect English he could not make them understand. They came to the house and Lewis made them understand Toney was lost in the woods and told them where father and mother had gone. We were all crying, as we two younger ones only wanted papa and mamma. I remember seeing the men run to the boat, cross the river, and soon come back with all the men, Mr. Frankle, with the rest, all starting to the woods. Lewis was gathering up limbs of trees and brush wood to make a big fire at night to guide the men home. Grandpa cried and wrung his hands, praying and crossing himself continually. We two little ones were frightened, not knowing just what had happened. We had our playthings and sat in our corner behind the stove crying to ourselves. The men had taken the two young dogs with them. After awhile Mr. Frankle came back and talked with grandpa, then he took Bob away with him. Then we began to cry so hard, seeing Bob going off. He heard us and ran back to us children, licking our faces and hands. They put a rope on Bob's neck and led him away. Grandpa did all he could to comfort us, made the tops spin and rocked my dolly to sleep in her cradle, and ever so many things to please us, but we would not be comforted. Our Bob was gone, and we wanted him to come back. At last Lewis came in telling us Bob was coming soon with brother Toney. Charley understood and was quiet. I was put into my cradle, where grandpa rocked me to sleep, singing to me one of his French songs I loved so well to hear.

I have a confused memory of hearing dogs barking and of being carried to the window and seeing a big fire shining far out over the snow and river and the men coming in all covered with snow, and dear old Bob bounding to greet me and kissing my face; then I remembered no more. But when I was older mother told me all about the hunting and finding of brother Anthony.

MOTHER'S STORY.

"The men hunted and found the tracks, but he had turned and circled so often in all directions they became confused. The young dogs were more intent on chasing rabbits and other small game, so nothing could be done with the young dogs. The men knew that if the child was not found that night he would be eaten by wolves. At last one of the men said to Mr. Frankle, 'I wonder if Bob could find him,' Mr. Frankle came at once and took Bob. As soon as they could make the dog understand what they wanted him to do he started on the hunt. They let him smell of brother's clothes and shoes. At first Bob began to whine and tremble, and lay down at their feet in the snow. They could not speak to him in French, which was the language Bob knew best, his master always speaking to him in French. At last he looked up in their faces after smelling of the shoes and began to bark. He started with his nose to the ground. At first the young dogs worried him by bounding and jumping over him. They wanted him to play with them. But Bob had something more important for him to do--a human life to save. He circled and seemed confused, then threw his head up in the air, gave several loud, sharp barks and looked at the men as much as to say follow me. He left them far behind, though they went as fast as they could go. It was growing dark, they were uneasy. Soon Bob's deep voice was heard barking furiously. He never stopped till the men reached him. He was standing directly over brother, who was lying in the snow. Bob had scratched the snow away and partly dragged him out. At first the men thought Toney was dead. He was just exhausted from walking so far and so afraid of the dark and the wolves. The men carried him home, reaching there at ten o'clock that night amid the howling of the wolves that followed them at a distance." Brother was sick in bed when father and mother came home. They were gone four days.

FATHER AND MOTHER COMING HOME.

Father had made the casket and mother made the shroud. They buried the dear old lady beside the husband she loved so well. Two Indian hunters came that way on their return from hunting. They helped to dig the grave and stayed to bring mother home on their sleds. Mother baked and cooked for John, as they could not persuade him to come home with them to remain until spring. Mr. Frankle sent two men to see if father and mother were safe and they met them coming with the Indians. What happy children we all were to see them again. Bob was wild with delight to see father and mother, and when they learned how Bob had saved brother's life there was nothing too good for him. Old grandpa was so glad when they came home, for his trials were great with us four children. He said to father one day in broken English, "Oh. Mr. Whitney, I so scare. I fraid you keel me when boy lost in wood. Bob one good dog, he fine heme quick. Bob worth ten thousand dollar. Me most crazy all time you gone. Baby she cry all night. Earache. Charley she cut he finger. Lewis he burn she's hand. Oh, I fraid we all go die sure!"

My mother was worried about John McWilliams being left alone so far from any neighbors. The Indian Chief Ossawinamakee sent two of his Indians with their wives and papooses to live near John until spring came. They built warm wigwams covered with fur pelts of bear skins. John was very sick and they took care of him. When John came to see us in the spring he told us his story how it came they were here so far from their old home. In after years mother told it to me, and I tell it now, as near as possible, as John told it to her.

JOHN'S STORY.

"My people were well-to-do people with a comfortable home in Canada near the City of Toronto. My brother, being seven years older than I, had a good education, went to the city, became a clerk in a bank, got into bad company, forged a check on the bank and was arrested for forgery. Our farm and the old home went to clear him. He promised father to do better. We heard about these western islands and shores, and thinking this a good place to come with my brother where no one knew of our disgrace, we came, bringing fish nets and a boat. We fished all summer, doing well, but as fall came my brother became restless and discontented. He took the fish nets and boat and sold them all, leaving us nothing, then went we knew not where. This broke my old father's heart and mother soon followed him to the grave. Now I am left alone to battle with the world, but I shall never forget your kindness to me and mine."

After working all summer for some fishermen John went home to Toronto to live with an uncle who offered him a home, and John accepted with a grateful heart.

FIRST VISIT TO THE BIG WHITE HOUSE.

Since coming to Manistique mother and we two small children had never crossed over the river nor been inside the big white house, as we called Mr. Frankle's home. One morning I woke and found myself in a strange bed and a strange room. I called and mother came to me, telling me we were in the big white house where I had watched the lights so many times in the windows. She took me into another room. A lady was sitting in a low chair with a little wee baby rolled up in white flannel in her lap. A little baby had been born that night in the rich man's home. I went up to the lady asking to see the dolly baby. She said, "Oh, no, it is not a dolly, it's a baby," but to me it was a dolly. I had my own rag doll in my arms hugged tight, and every little while I would toss and sing to her in French. The beauty of the room was something new to me; soft carpets and rugs on the floor that gave no sound of the patter of my feet as I walked about. The walls were covered with soft tinted paper and beautiful pictures hanging everywhere, curtains of finest lace and silk at the windows. I gazed about almost holding my breath. Everything seemed so still.

Soon a door opened without noise and a little child came into the room. She looked to me like a little angel I had seen the picture of, blue eyes and golden hair. She seemed such a sweet little flower almost too frail to be alive. When she saw me she came to me, holding out her doll for me to take. I drew back, as her doll was wax and opened and shut its eyes. It was almost like the one I had at home put away in its box which had been given me at St. Helena by Cousin Mitchell. I had not got over being afraid of it yet because it moved its eyes. Mother had to come and explain to them about it. The little girl took me by the hand and led me into a large bedroom where her mamma lay among white pillows. The lady reached out her hand to me, smiling, and drew me up to her. At first I could say nothing. Then as her sister came in with the baby in her arms I said, "Me want to go home and see Charley." Mother came to explain I wanted to go home to see my little brother. The lady said, "you shall see them this evening, I shall send and have them come." Then I told her I wanted to see Bob too. She said, "Yes, Bob shall come." I was more content, and while mother held the wee baby in her arms I sat in a little chair and rocked my doll, singing to it, and when I was given my bread and milk for supper I fed my doll some, and when she choked I patted her on the back just like Aunt Abby did to Baby Margarette.

REMINDERS OF HOME FAR AWAY.

Soon the lamps were lighted and the men came in to supper. The young lady, Mr. Frankle's sister, had gotten the supper with mother's help. I remember the long table and white table cloth. The men were all seated at the table when Mr. Frankle came in the room with the little wee baby in his arms. He took the baby to the men and some of them took it in their arms and kissed it, tears rolling down their faces. Father told me later it made them think of home and their own little ones, for most of them had families in their far away homes. Mother took the baby to its mother. I was put into a high chair and sat near the head of the table, heads were bowed and Mr. Frankle asked a blessing. As soon as it was ended I said "Amen" and made the sign of the cross, just as grandpa always did. When I saw them smile I looked serious and got down, telling mother I wanted to go home. I could not eat, but fed my doll, after which mother took me in her arms and rocked me to sleep, singing one of her sweet old songs.

A LONGING FOR HOME.

Next morning I could not eat any breakfast, but kept calling for brother Charley, Bob and grandpa. Everything was so still and silent here in the big house. Oh the longing in a child's heart for the old familiar faces and home! Child that I was it seemed to me all that made life sweet had gone out of my life. I grew sick, I could not eat, and for several days lay on my little bed. Little Lilly tried to amuse me with her dolls and music box, but my heart was longing for grandpa, Charley and Bob. One morning father came and took me up and carried me into another room. There was Charley and Bob. It was a happy meeting with us all, but I felt too weak to play. At night father took Bob home and left Charley with us, but Charley, too, was not happy, he could not whittle his sticks or spin his top like he could at home. Mother, too, missed her home. Here everything was silent, and still all were very kind to us. But mother missed our noise and singing. Little Charley, too, began to droop. At night he went to look out of the window, and when he saw the lights in our windows at home across the river he began to cry, saying to mother, "I want to go home to grandpa." Next day we were both sent home, and grandpa and Bob were so happy. Lewis and Toney, too, were anxious for us all to be home again. At night we were taken again to the big house, as mother wanted us with her. We three children played to amuse ourselves, but all seemed so quiet to Charley and me. Charley was more at home now. Miss Harriet let him spin his top and whittle in the kitchen. After about two weeks mother was ready to go home and we were a happy family.

HAPPY HOME LIFE.

Life went on very happy with us children, our home was comfortable. After all the years that have passed so rapidly, methinks I can see us all as we were then around our pleasant fireside on many of those winter evenings. Little mittens had to be made for our hands. Little jackets and caps for the boys, in which all took an interest, and grandpa, too, did his share. He made little fur suits for the boys, caps and all. Father would read to us from the big family Bible and explain to us as he read. Then he would sing the hymns he loved so well, mother joining in. Then grandpa would sing with mother their French glee songs, while us children would join in. Then grandpa would rock me in the low cradle and the boys grew impatient because it kept the fur suits from being made so fast. Then old grandpa would tell us stories of his travels, and when he told us about them we forgot all about fur suits, for we loved to listen to his old French and Spanish songs and stories. He would tell us of his travels and hardships.

BOB'S SYMPATHY.

Bob seemed almost to understand, as he would always come close to us and listen, looking at us with his great, kind eyes. Many times grandpa would cry as he related some of his most sorrowful experiences, of how some of his comrades had perished from cold and hunger, or of being drowned in crossing the great rivers. Then he would cover his face with his hands as if to shut out the sight of some loved one's suffering. Old Bob would whine and lick his old master's face and hands as if trying to comfort him, then run to father and whine. Father would go over to grandpa and say, "Now don't cry any more, all that is past. You have not any more such trials to pass through. Now be happy with us." It always cheered him and soon he would be at work again. We children always sympathized with him, often shedding tears when he told his sorrowful tales and laughing with glee at some of his jolly ones. Sometimes mother would say, "I do wish you would not tell the children so many sorrowful stories. It makes them sad to hear them." Then he would say, "Me can't help it. Me sad too sometimes." The fur suits were finished and taken over to the big house for Mrs. Frankle to see them, grandpa being a great favorite with her.

INDIAN VILLAGE AND CHIEF OSSAWINAMAKEE.

The Indian village was about three miles distant back from the shore or river's mouth. There the Indians had a large settlement of about seven hundred people in all at that time. At one time their village had contained nearly three thousand. Since all tribes had been at peace many of their Braves had gone among other tribes to visit and hunt. This tribe was of the Ottawas, mixed with the Ojibewas or Chippewas. In times of war each had been a powerful nation. Most of these had lived in the Lake Superior region. After peace was declared part of the tribe wandered away to the southward seeking new hunting grounds. The present Chief's father had been a great warrior as well as his father before him. Chief Ossawinamakee , was a peaceful man, ruling his people with great kindness. He was a noble looking man of fine personal appearance.

THE LAKE OF ENCHANTMENT.

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