Michilimackinac.

Michilimackinac! that gem of the Lakes!  How bright and beautiful it looked as we walked abroad on the following morning!  The rain had passed away, but had left all things glittering in the light of the sun as it rose up over the waters of Lake Huron, far away to the east.  Before us was the lovely bay, scarcely yet tranquil after the storm, but dotted with canoes and the boats of the fishermen already getting out their nets for the trout and whitefish, those treasures of the deep.  Along the beach were scattered the wigwams or lodges of the Ottawas who had come to the island to trade.  The inmates came forth to gaze upon us.  A shout of welcome was sent forth, as they recognized Shaw-nee-aw-kee, who, from a seven years’ residence among them, was well known to each individual.

A shake of the hand, and an emphatic “Bon-jour—­bon-jour,” is the customary salutation between the Indian and the white man.

“Do the Indians speak French?” I inquired of my husband.

“No; this is a fashion they have learned of the French traders during many years of intercourse.”

Not less hearty was the greeting of each Canadian engage, as he trotted forward to pay his respects to “Monsieur John,” and to utter a long string of felicitations, in a most incomprehensible patois.  I was forced to take for granted all the good wishes showered upon “Madame John,” of which I could comprehend nothing but the hope that I should be happy and contented in my “vie sauvage.”

The object of our early walk was to visit the Mission-house and school which had been some few years previously established at this place by the Presbyterian Board of Missions.  It was an object of especial interest to Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, and its flourishing condition at this period, and the prospects of extensive future usefulness it held out, might well gladden their philanthropic hearts.  They had lived many years on the island, and had witnessed its transformation, through God’s blessing on Christian efforts, from a worldly, dissipated community to one of which it might almost be said, “Religion was every man’s business.”  This mission establishment was the beloved child and the common centre of interest of the few Protestant families clustered around it.  Through the zeal and good management of Mr. and Mrs. Ferry, and the fostering encouragement of the congregation, the school was in great repute, and it was pleasant to observe the effect of mental and religious culture in subduing the mischievous, tricky propensities of the half-breed, and rousing the stolid apathy of the genuine Indian.

These were the palmy days of Mackinac.  As the head-quarters of the American Fur Company, and the entrepot of the whole Northwest, all the trade in supplies and goods on the one hand, and in furs and products of the Indian country on the other, was in the hands of the parent establishment or its numerous outposts scattered along Lakes Superior and Michigan, the Mississippi, or through still more distant regions.