In our wake there follow’d, white as flakes of snow,
Seven adventurous sea-gulls, floating to and fro;
Diving for the bounty of the bread we threw,
Dipping, curving, swerving—fishing as they flew.
Mackay.

Just after dinner they reached Mackinaw, where a number of the excursionists were to remain until the boat returned from Collingwood. The captain said they would remain at Mackinaw time enough to visit the fort.

Ready at the gangway as the boat touched the shore, Mrs. Lester, Norman, with a number of others, rushed on shore, scarcely pausing to look through the clear, transparent water at the white pebbles of the beach. Up the hill to the fort, the sun shining down on them with fervent 219heat, while his rays were reflected from the white walls. It was, however, a short, direct road, and the lovely view fully repaid them for the momentary heat. A peaceful scene lay beneath them; the quiet little village of Mackinaw, with its humble dwellings; the beach, sweeping round in the form of a crescent, and the placid waters of Lake Huron beyond, made a pretty picture; the sentinel walking to and fro on his post; the heavy pieces of artillery, and piles of shot and shell. Soldiers, grouped here and there, greatly interested Norman. The descent was very steep, and Norman in one minute found himself at the foot of the walled-in road which they had ascended. On arriving at the boat they found the men engaged in putting on shore sheep and cattle for the support of the soldiers, whose provision is thus brought to them. Taking advantage of the delay, Norman rushed on shore to buy 220some birch bark boxes, filled with maple sugar, and embroidered in porcupine quills. As he showed them to his mother on his return, she ventured up the street to buy some Indian work, emboldened by the sight of the captain walking before her.

A group of Indian women, in their own dress, with blue cloth blankets and leggings, attracted their attention as they entered the shop. They were Ottawas, and one of them had a face of great beauty. It was oval: her features were fine, and there was a pensive expression, a look of sadness on her face, that made her very interesting. Mrs. Lester wanted to look at that face of sorrowful meaning, and learn something of her history; but the sight of the captain, on his return to the boat, hastened her movements, and hastily selecting some fans and boxes of maple sugar, with an embroidered canoe of birch bark, she hurried away.

221Nine more sheep to land; there would have been a few moments to spare for a longer perusal of the face of that Ottawa maiden, but it was safe to come when they did, and not run the risk of being left. And so they were once more in motion, with hastily gathered memories of Mackinaw, its town and fort.

“Norman,” said Mrs. Lester, “did you ever hear of a famous game of ball at Mackinaw?”

“No, mother; please tell me about it.”

“It was in June. A number of Indians had arrived near the fort, apparently to trade, and a day was appointed for a game of ball, of which they are very fond. Stakes were planted, and the game, in playing which the great object is to keep the ball beyond the adversary’s goal, began. The Indians uttered loud cries in the wild excitement of the game, and the commandant of the fort and his lieutenant stood outside of the gate to watch 222them. The ball was tossed nearer and nearer the fort, and the excited crowd of Indians ran and leaped after it, when suddenly they rushed upon the two officers at the gate, and imprisoned them. At once they joined some Indians who had come into the fort under pretense of trading, and imprisoned the whole garrison, seventeen of whom they put to death.

“This was the beginning of Pontiac’s war.”

“I never heard of this game of ball,” said Norman; “but I can tell as good a story of a pair of moccasins. May I?”

“Certainly,” said his mother. “I would like to hear it.”

“Well, mother, I believe this was at the beginning of Pontiac’s war too. An Indian woman had made some moccasins for Major Gladstone, who commanded the fort at Detroit. They were made of a curious elk-skin that he valued very much. He paid her for them, and gave her the 223rest of the skin, asking her to make another pair for a friend of his. The squaw seemed unwilling to go home, and the major sent for her, and asked her what she was waiting for. She said she did not like to take the elk-skin that he thought so much of, as she could not make another pair of moccasins. He asked her why she could not make them. At first she would not tell; but then she said he had been very good to her, and she would tell him the secret, that she might save his life.

“The Indians, who had asked permission to visit the fort the next day, that they might present the calumet to Major Gladstone, were coming with their guns cut off, that they might hide them under their blankets; then, when Pontiac presented the calumet in some peculiar way, they were to fire upon the officers.

“The soldiers were stationed outside of the room where the council was to be held; the officers were armed, and when 224Pontiac was about to present the calumet, the officers partially drew their swords from their scabbards, and the clank of the soldiers’ arms was heard outside. Pontiac turned pale, and presented the calumet without the preconcerted signal.

“Major Gladstone then stepped up to one of the Indians, pulled aside his blanket, and revealed the gun cut short, just as the squaw had said. He accused Pontiac of treachery, but said that as he had promised them a safe audience, they might go out of the town unharmed.”

“Perhaps if he had kept them prisoners,” said Mrs. Lester, “he might have prevented the war that ensued.”

How beautiful the island looked in its commanding position! The high land in the center, with its lofty forests rising like a curve. How much they would have enjoyed the day that had been promised them at Mackinaw to visit the old fort on its central heights, the arched rock, and 225the wild solitudes of this picturesque region. The bold rock known as the Lover’s Leap stood out finely from the greenwood behind, and Norman listened to its story told him by Mr. Bard. An Indian maiden, who had refused to marry a brave who loved her very much, was one day seated on this lofty rock, looking out on the grand view beneath her, when she heard a stealthy step, and her rejected lover stood by her side. The hour, the scene were propitious to his suit, and again it was urged with all the warmth of earnest affection. The maiden listened, hesitated, and at length told him that if he would leap off that cliff she would marry him. The Indian raised his tall form to its utmost height, looked at the sea, the sky, and then at the beautiful face for which he periled the sight of both, and leaped from the giddy verge. Strange to say, without loss of life or limb, with the agility and skill of a well-trained Indian, 226he took the fearful leap, which was broken by the branches of trees and shrubbery beneath. And thus he won his Indian bride.

Mr. Bard, who had come to the country when there were but two houses in Chicago out of the fort, had been familiar with it when the Indian tribes roved at will over the vast prairies of Illinois. He spoke four of their languages, and could sing their songs. He had been twice cast away on the shores of Lake Michigan, and he could tell many a tale of wild adventure. More wonderful than any fairy tale was the aspect of the cultivated farms, the neat farm-houses, the numerous villages and towns, with their spires pointing skyward, the great city that had all grown up in a few years beneath his eye. And those red men, with whom he had been so familiarly associated, where had they gone? How rapidly those western regions are losing the element of the picturesque 227that the Indian with his bark canoe and his wigwam give to their lakes and rivers, with their wooded shores.

He told Norman of a most curious scene he had once witnessed. An Indian had a very handsome pony, which another Indian was anxious to purchase, but which he resolutely refused to sell. They were both drinking, when the owner of the pony, finding his stock of whisky exhausted, asked the other to give or sell him a mouthful from his remaining bottle. He at first declined, but, on being entreated, said that he would give him a mouthful of whisky for the pony. The Indian at once consented to give up his favorite horse for the momentary gratification, and putting his lips to those which had recently imbibed the whisky, he received the stipulated mouthful.

It was a repetition, in these western wilds, of the old Hebrew story, the sacrifice of a bir............