Solomon Part 8

In September, 1855, I first saw the St. Clair Flats. Owing to Raymond's determination, we stopped there.

'Why go on?' he asked. 'Why cross another long, rough lake, when here is all we want?'

'But no one ever stops here,' I said.

'So much the better; we shall have it all to ourselves.'

'But we must at least have a roof over our heads.'

'I presume we can find one.'

The captain of the steamer, however, knew of no roof save that covering a little lighthouse set on spiles, which the boat would pa.s.s within the half hour; we decided to get off there, and throw ourselves upon the charity of the lighthouse-man. In the meantime, we sat on the bow with Captain Kidd, our four-legged companion, who had often accompanied us on hunt-expeditions, but never so far westward. It had been rough on Lake Erie,--very rough. We, who had sailed the ocean with composure, found ourselves most inhumanly tossed on the short chopping waves of this fresh water sea; we, who alone of all the cabin-list had eaten our four courses every day on the ocean-steamer, found ourselves here reduced to the depressing diet of a herring and pilot-bread. Captain Kidd, too, had suffered dumbly; even now he could not find comfort, but tried every plank in the deck, one after the other, circling round and round after his tail dog-fas.h.i.+on, before lying down, and no sooner down than up again, for another choice of planks, another circling, and another failure. We were sailing across a small lake whose smooth waters were like clear green oil; as we drew near the outlet, the low, green sh.o.r.es curved inward and came together, and the steamer entered a narrow, green river.

'Here we are,' said Raymond. 'Now we can soon land.'

'But there isn't any land,' I answered.

'What is that, then?' asked my near-sighted companion, pointing toward what seemed a sh.o.r.e.

'Reeds.'

'And what do they run back to?'

'Nothing.'

'But there must be solid ground beyond?'

'Nothing but reeds, flags, lily-pads, gra.s.s, and water, as far as I can see.'

'A marsh?'

'Yes, a marsh.'

The word 'marsh' does not bring up a beautiful picture to the mind, and yet the reality was as beautiful as anything I have ever seen,--an enchanted land, whose memory haunts me as an idea unwritten, a melody unsung, a picture unpainted, haunts the artist, and will not away. On each side and in front, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the low green land which was yet no land, intersected by hundreds of channels, narrow and broad, whose waters were green as their sh.o.r.es. In and out, now running into each other for a moment, now setting off each for himself again, these many channels flowed along with a rippling current; zigzag as they were, they never seemed to loiter, but, as if knowing just where they were going and what they had to do, they found time to take their own pleasant roundabout way, visiting the secluded households of their friends the flags, who, poor souls, must always stay at home.

These currents were as clear as crystal, and green as the water-gra.s.ses that fringed their miniature sh.o.r.es. The bristling reeds, like companies of free-lances, rode boldly out here and there into the deeps, trying to conquer more territory for the gra.s.ses, but the currents were hard to conquer; they dismounted the free-lances, and flowed over their submerged heads; they beat them down with a.s.saulting ripples; they broke their backs so effectually that the bravest had no spirit left, but trailed along, limp and bedraggled. And, if by chance the lances succeeded in stretching their forces across from one little sh.o.r.e to another, then the unconquered currents forced their way between the closely serried ranks of the enemy, and flowed on as gayly as ever, leaving the gra.s.ses sitting hopeless on the bank; for they needed solid ground for their delicate feet, these graceful ladies in green.

You might call it a marsh; but there was no mud, no dark slimy water, no stagnant sc.u.m; there were no rank yellow lilies, no gormandizing frogs, no swinish mud-turtles. The clear waters of the channels ran over golden sands, and hurtled among the stiff reeds so swiftly that only in a bay, or where protected by a crescent point, could the fair white lilies float in the quiet their serene beauty requires. The flags, who brandished their swords proudly, were martinets down to their very heels, keeping themselves as clean under the water as above, and harboring not a speck of mud on their bright green uniforms. For inhabitants, there were small fish roving about here and there in the clear tide, keeping an eye out for the herons, who, watery as to legs, but venerable and wise of aspect, stood on promontories musing, apparently, on the secrets of the ages.

The steamer's route was a constant curve; through the larger channels of the archipelago she wound, as if following the clew of a labyrinth. By turns she headed toward all the points of the compa.s.s, finding a channel where, to our uninitiated eyes, there was no channel, doubling upon her own track, going broadside foremost, floundering and backing, like a whale caught in a shallow. Here, landlocked, she would choose what seemed the narrowest channel of all, and dash recklessly through, with the reeds almost brus.h.i.+ng her sides; there she crept gingerly along a broad expanse of water, her paddle-wheels scarcely revolving, in the excess of her caution. Saplings, with their heads of foliage on, and branches adorned with fluttering rags, served as finger-posts to show the way through the watery defiles, and there were many other hieroglyphics legible only to the pilot. 'This time, surely, we shall run ash.o.r.e,' we thought again and again, as the steamer glided, head-on, toward an islet; but at the last there was always a quick turn into some unseen strait opening like a secret pa.s.sage in a castle-wall, and we found ourselves in a new lakelet, heading in the opposite direction.

Once we met another steamer, and the two great hulls floated slowly past each other, with engines motionless, so near that the pa.s.sengers could have shaken hands with each other had they been so disposed. Not that they were so disposed, however; far from it. They gathered on their respective decks and gazed at each other gravely; not a smile was seen, not a word spoken, not the shadow of a salutation given. It was not pride, it was not suspicion; it was the universal listlessness of the travelling American bereft of his business, Oth.e.l.lo with his occupation gone. What can such a man do on a steamer? Generally, nothing. Certainly he would never think of any such light-hearted nonsense as a smile or pa.s.sing bow.

But the s.h.i.+ps were, _par excellence_, the bewitched craft, the Flying Dutchmen of the Flats. A brig, with lofty, sky-sc.r.a.ping sails, bound south, came into view of our steamer, bound north, and pa.s.sed, we hugging the sh.o.r.e to give her room: five minutes afterward the sky-sc.r.a.ping sails we had left behind veered around in front of us again; another five minutes, and there they were far distant on the right; another, and there they were again close by us on the left. For half an hour those sails circled around us, and yet all the time we were pus.h.i.+ng steadily forward; this seemed witching work indeed. Again, the numerous schooners thought nothing of sailing over-land; we saw them on all sides gliding before the wind, or beating up against it over the windows as easily as over the water; sailing on gra.s.s was a mere trifle to these spirit-barks. All this we saw, as I said before, apparently.

But in that adverb is hidden the magic of the St. Clair Flats.

'It is beautiful,--beautiful,' I said, looking off over the vivid green expanse.

'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 ca.n.a.l right through,--a straight ca.n.a.l; 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 ca.n.a.l!' 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-sh.o.r.e, 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 ash.o.r.e 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 was.h.i.+ng, 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 pa.s.sengers 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.

The ten, moved by curiosity as we approached, hung out of the windows so far that they held on merely by their ankles.

'We cannot possibly save them all,' I remarked, looking up at the dangling gazers.

'O, they're amphibious,' said Raymond; 'web-footed, I presume.'

We rowed up under the fortress, and demanded parley with the keeper in the following language:--

'Is your father here?'

'No; but ma is,' answered the chorus.--'Ma! ma!'

Ma appeared, a portly female, who held converse with us from the top of the ladder. The sum and substance of the dialogue was that she had not a corner to give us, and recommended us to find Liakim, and have him show us the way to Waiting Samuel's.

'Waiting Samuel's?' we repeated.

'Yes; he's a kind of crazy man living away over there in the Flats. But there's no harm in him, and his wife is a tidy housekeeper. You be surveyors, I suppose?'

We accepted the imputation in order to avoid a broadside of questions, and asked the whereabouts of Liakim.

'O, he's round the point, somewhere there, fis.h.i.+ng!'

We rowed on and found him, a little, round-shouldered man, in an old flat-bottomed boat, who had not taken a fish, and looked as though he never would. We explained our errand.