8th.  The frowning mistress, Lake Huron, still has the pouts.  About seven o’clock I walked, or scrambled my way through close-matted spruce and brambles to get a view of the open lake.  The force of the waves was not, perhaps, much different from the day before, but they were directly from the west, and blowing directly down the lake.  Could I get out from the nook of a bay where I was encamped, and get directly before them, it appeared possible, with a close-reefed sail, to go on my way.  My engagees thought it too hazardous to try, but their habitual sense of obedience to a bourgeoise led them to put the canoe in the water, and at 10 o’clock we left our encampment on Outard Point, got out into the lake, not without imminent hazard, and began our career “like a racehorse” for the Capes of the St. Mary’s.  The wind blew as if “’twad blawn its last.”  We had reefed our sail to less than four feet, and I put an extra man with the steersman.  We literally went “on the wings of the wind.”  I do not think myself ever to have run such hazards.  I was tossed up and down the waves like Sancho Panza on the blanket.  Three hours and twenty minutes brought me to Isle St. Vital, behind which we got shelter.  The good saint who presides over the island of gravel and sand permitted me to take a glass of cordial from my basket, and to refresh myself with a slice of cold tongue and a biscuit.  Who this St. Vital may have been, I know not, having been brought up a Protestant; but I suppose the Catholic calendar would tell.  If his saintship was as fond of good living as some of his friends are said to be, I make no doubt but he will freely forgive this trespass upon his territory.  Taking courage by this refreshment, we again put out before the gale, and got in to the De Tour, and by seven o’clock, P.M., were safely encamped on an island in St. Mary’s Straits, opposite St. Joseph’s.  The wind was here ahead.

On entering the straits, I found a vessel at anchor.  On coming alongside it proved to be the schooner Harriet, Capt.  Allen, of Mont Clemens, on her way from the Sault.  A passenger on board says that he was at Mr. Johnston’s house two days ago, and all are well.  He says the Chippewa chiefs arrived yesterday.  Regret that I had not forwarded by them the letter which I had prepared at the Prairie to transmit by Mr. Holliday, when I supposed I should return by way of Chippewa River and Lake Superior.

I procured from the Harriet a whitefish, of which I have just partaken a supper.  This delicious fish is always a treat to me, but was never more so than on the present occasion.  I landed here fatigued, wet, and cold, but, from the effects of a cheerful fire, good news from home, and bright anticipations for to-morrow, I feel quite re-invigorated.  “Tired nature’s sweet restorer” must complete what tea and whitefish have so successfully begun.

9th.  My journal has no entry for this day, but it brought me safely (some 40 miles) to my own domicil at “Elmwood.”  The excitement of getting back and finding all well drove away almost all other thoughts.