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This edition of "A Child of the Sea" is being printed under the auspices of the Beaver Island Historical Society, to give our friends some of the history and legend of the Island. The story begins in the early 1800's, discussing particularly the occupancy by the Mormons, over a century ago, and continuing through the resettlement of the Island by the Irish, whose descendants still live there.

A CHILD
OF THE
SEA; AND
LIFE AMONG
THE MORMONS

BY

Elizabeth Whitney Williams.

Copyrighted 1905.

Elizabeth Whitney Williams.

Having lived all my life beside the water, with my brothers and many dear friends sailing on the lakes, and with the loss of many of my people by drowning, connected with the many years of my life as a Light Keeper, I affectionately dedicate this little book, with fragments of my life history, to the sailor men in whose welfare I have always felt a deep interest.

Elizabeth Whitney Williams.

Introductory.

At the earnest request of many friends I have written this book with some incidents of my early life before coming to Beaver Island.

What I have written about the Mormons are my own personal experiences and what I knew about them by living constantly near them for four years of my life; our leaving the island and settling at Charlevoix for safety then our being driven from there. After the fight then my life in Traverse City and finally returning to Beaver Island again. After the Mormons were expelled my twenty-seven years' residence at that time with the four first years gives thirty-one years of Beaver Island life with as much knowledge of Mormon life as any one outside of their teachings could possibly have. In this little history I have only touched lightly upon the reality, writing what my memory contained that might be interesting, telling the stories as near as possible as they were told to me by the people themselves that had lived and suffered by the Mormon doctrine; some things my parents told me when I was too young to remember, during the first part of my residence on "Beaver Island."

Biography.

My father, Walter Whitney, was born in Genesee County, New York State. At the breaking out of the Blackhawk and Florida war, enlisted, served his time, was honorably discharged, came to Fort Brady, Sault Ste. Marie, from there to Mackinac Island, there married my mother, who was a widow with three sons, myself being the only child born of that marriage.

My mother was born on Mackinac Island of British parents, left an orphan young, was adopted by Captain Michael Dousman and wife, residing in their family almost thirty years. She married Mr. Lewis Gebeau of Montreal, Canada. Four sons were born Mr. Gebeau and one son dying. My mother married Walter Whitney, my father, residing part of the time at Mackinac Island, going to Grand Haven with the ferrys returning again to Mackinac Island until my father took the contract to build the Newton Brothers' vessel "Eliza Caroline," on the little island St. Helena, then our winter in Manistique, then our coming to Beaver Island. I was born at Mackinac Island. My mother lived to the grand age of one hundred years, passing away since my residence at Little Traverse Light House on Harbor Point, Michigan, U. S. A.

Illustrations.

A CHILD OF THE SEA,
AND
LIFE AMONG THE MORMONS.

PART I.

EARLY MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD DAYS.

Among my earliest recollections is my love of watching the water. I remember standing with my arms outstretched as if to welcome and catch the white topped waves as they came rolling in upon the white, pebbly shore at my feet. I was not quite three years old, my mother had left me asleep in the low, old-fashioned cradle and leaving the door ajar had stepped over to a neighbor's house just a few rods away; returning almost immediately, she found I was not in the cradle as she had left me a short time before. She began to search for me at once and fearing I had gone to the shore she ran down to the beach where the rolling waves were coming in with a booming sound, and the wind blowing a gale. She found me standing in the water laughing and reaching out my little arms as the great waves broke and dashed at my feet. Had she not come just in time I would have been carried out with the receding waves.

I had always lived near the water, but until this time had never seemed to realize or distinguish it from other things. Our house stood just a few steps back from the shore, sheltered in a little grove of evergreen trees. The sun shining on the water in the early morning caused it to sparkle like myriads of diamonds, and the soft glimmer which shone through the green trees even now reminds me of some half-remembered dream. All seemed so peaceful and quiet. I remember at other times when no wind was near and water was calm at night when I lay in my cradle I could hear the soft splash of the water in low murmurs as it came softly upon the gravelly beach so near to us. To me it seemed like some sweet lullaby lulling me to sleep while listening to its low, moaning sound. My mother said it always made her weep, for to her it was the sad whispering voices of departed friends.

ISLAND OF ST. HELENA.

The little island of St. Helena is situated about fifteen miles from Mackinac Island, in Lake Michigan. Two brothers, named Archie and Carl Newton had located at this little island; they bought the land around the little harbor and put out a good dock, built a large store and house and prepared to establish a business with the fishermen of lower Lake Michigan. They needed a good vessel for their trading purposes and concluded to have one built for themselves. My father being a ship carpenter, signed a contract to build their ship, which was to be named "Eliza Caroline," in honor of both brothers' wives, who were sisters. And long the "Eliza Caroline" sailed on Lake Michigan, carrying thousands of dollars worth of merchandise and fish, doing her work nobly and well. The building of the ship brought our family to the dear little island of St. Helena.

COMING OF COUSIN MITCHELL

When we went to live on the island there were about twenty-five families there. Much help was needed to build the ship so several families came for that purpose. One bright morning in June, not long after my going to watch the waves, I was sitting on the floor beside my cradle playing with my dolls and my little white kitten, when a man came in the door; a beautiful woman stood beside him. Mother was at work; she looked and gave a cry of delight when she saw them. They clasped hands and kissed each other. The man took me in his arms, kissing me and putting me in the woman's lap, where she was sitting in mother's rocking chair. The woman kissed me and smoothed my hair while mother went out to call father. He soon came in and all talked for some time. At last the gentleman and lady left, with father and mother following, taking me with them. We went to the dock, where a vessel was with many people on board, men, women and children, all were laughing and talking so happily together. Soon the vessel was under way with white sails spread to the breeze.

Our people waved handkerchiefs to those on board and hands were waved back to us with handkerchiefs fluttering as far as we could see them. The tears ran down my mother's face for her heart had been set on going with those people when they went to Green Bay, the Mecca of the west at that time. The man and woman were Mr. and Mrs. William Mitchell. Mr. Mitchell was my mother's cousin; they had disposed of their property on Mackinac Island and with other families were about to make new homes in Green Bay. Mr. and Mrs. Baird were among the rest. This had all been talked over before my father had left Mackinac Island and our people had intended to go with the rest, yet not knowing when they would be ready to start, my father had taken the contract to build the ship and could not possibly go at this time but promised to go in the near future, should all things prove favorable. Mr. Mitchell was a man of very fine appearance, courtly in his manners, kind and genial in disposition, loved by all that knew him. His wife was gentle in manner, a sweet-voiced and sweet-faced lady.

One of mother's friends had sent a package to us from Mackinac Island. When opened we found it contained a beautiful white, hand-embroidered French Merino shoulder blanket, a red Merino dress, ready made, little red morocco shoes and a gold ring for my finger. All was sent as a present to Baby Elizabeth. Mrs. Mitchell had brought me a large wax doll that opened and shut its eyes and had real hair. I was afraid of the doll when it opened and shut its eyes. Being fond of bright colors, the red dress and shoes were a delight to me.

PROMISES TO GO THE NEXT YEAR TO GREEN BAY.

My brothers were not at home when the Mitchells came, they being over to St. Ignace on a visit to some friends. When they returned and learned Cousin Mitchell had been at our home they could not be consoled as they had expected to go to Green Bay and go to school. Their father's brother, their Uncle John Gebeau, was living in Green Bay, so this was a great disappointment to them. Father said if all went well and good news came from Cousin Mitchell we would move to Green Bay the next year, so the boys felt content and father would not break his contract made with the Newton Brothers to build their vessel. Of course I was too young to realize all this at the time but was told it when old enough to understand.

A LETTER FROM COUSIN MITCHELL, WITH PRESENTS.

I remember a big letter came to father and was told later it was from Cousin Mitchell, telling father if he was doing well to remain where he was for the present. And on the return of the little schooner which took the people to Green Bay father received a large barrel of presents for all our family from Cousin Mitchell and his wife. Dress and shoes for mother, pretty little red top boots for all our boys, with little blue jackets and caps for them and many other things which brought joy to their hearts to be remembered by those so far away. Our boys were great favorites with the Mitchells and used to be with them so much at Mackinac Island. My father also had an uncle living in Green Bay, Daniel Whitney, among the first white settlers of the place. His descendants are still living there. Cousin William Mitchell lived there many years. Before passing from this life he was head keeper of Tailpoint Light House, twenty-two years at Green Bay.

I remember one very nice neighbor we had at this time. Slocomb was his name. Mother dressed the boys up in their new clothes, sent to them from Green Bay, and I was also dressed in my little red dress and shoes, then we were all taken over to see Mrs. Slocomb and from there my brothers took me over to see the vessel being built. I can remember how large it looked, it seemed so high up over us. The ship was to be finished and launched some time in September, then the Slocomb family were to move away to Milwaukee to make their future home. They had only one son, a boy about seven. When he reached the age of sixteen he was drowned at Milwaukee, which was a sad blow to those fond parents.

While more people were coming as more help was needed to finish the ship, all was busy bustle among the neighbors for there was to be a great gathering to watch the launching of the ship. Soon another family came, old friends of my mother's, a Mr. and Mrs. Courchane. The man had come from Montreal, Canada, to Mackinac Island a few years before and there met and married pretty Miss Abbie Williams. Aunt Abbie we children always called her. Mother was so happy to have her friend with her. They had three little girls. Mr. Courchane was a ship carpenter by trade and came to help finish the vessel. They were very kind neighbors to us. Their little girls' names were Lucy, Emmeline and Margarette. They lived just a few steps from our house; we children were all very happy together. My eldest brother Lewis was thirteen, the next, Anthony, or Toney, was ten; the next, Charles, was seven. I remember their little red top boots; I would put them on and walk about the floor, which pleased them so much to see the little sister in her cute baby ways.

THE OLD RED CRADLE.

They would put me into the old-fashioned, low, red cradle which father made large enough for us all to crowd into. There they would rock and sing the old French ballads mother had taught them, sometimes rocking so hard we would all be spilled out on the floor; and that floor! I remember it now, so white and clean with mother sitting near in her sewing chair, sewing and joining in the singing. Then pretty Aunt Abbie coming in; she always looked to me like a picture, with her great dark eyes and black hair braided so smoothly and pretty red cheeks with white teeth just showing between red lips. She, too, would join in the singing, which is pleasant to remember.

SAVED BY MY BROTHER FROM DROWNING.

I remember distinctly of falling into the water. At the noon hour father sent my three brothers out in our little boat, just a few rods from shore, to bring a jug of fresh water for the dinner. They took me with them and in some way I fell overboard. Father and mother, with other neighbors, stood on the shore and saw it all. They had no boat to come to us and our boys were so frightened they knew not what to do. Father shouted for one of them to dive after me, which brother Toney did. I could hear little brother Charley crying as I lay at the bottom of the lake. I remember coming to the top, struggling, and going down again. At last I lay quiet on the bottom. I could see the sun shining through the water as the great bubbles of air went from my mouth to the top. Brother Toney being an excellent swimmer and diver, dove down into the deep water, grasping me in his strong arms, bringing me to the surface, where we both were taken into the boat and soon rowed to shore. There my mother took me in her arms and ran to the house, with others following, doing all they could to restore me. After a little time I was able to sit up. Brother Toney was praised by all for his brave act, but the praise was nothing to him in comparison to the joy he felt in knowing that he had saved his little sister's life. Then I remember crying to have on my little red flannel dress. Mother said to me, "If you stop crying I will dry the dress and put it on you." I was sick, I remember, father walking the floor with me in his arms, singing, "When I can read my title clear to mansions in the skies," that being one of his favorite hymns. I was rocked in the cradle several days; when able to play again mother made me a little raspberry pie in a little tin, which made me a happy child. Mother often said she could recall many pleasures as well as sadness in that summer on the little "Isle of St. Helena."

St. Helena—dear little drop in the sea. How can I describe it as I saw it in after years? I called there on a trip down the lakes, on the steamer "Galena," with Captain Steele as master. We steamed into a pretty little basin of a harbor almost surrounded by green trees. The sun was just rising out from the water in the far distance, the sky was purple orange and pink. As I looked out of my stateroom window and saw before me the beautiful little Isle of St. Helena, I cannot describe my feelings; a few of the memories of my childhood days came back to me. My little brothers, with myself, playing along the shore, but now all was quiet and still. I had heard father and mother speak about it so many times, it seemed as though I saw it all through their eyes. It now looked to me like a lovely little toy. The water so clear and sparkling in the morning sunlight. The dock was in good repair, everything seemed clean, quiet and still. Mr. Newton's house I recognized at once, it being the largest. The little harbor seemed almost a perfect horseshoe in shape, the shore all around was covered with clean white gravel, the trees were mixed with birch, balsam, cedar, pine and poplar. The island is much greater in length than breadth. At the extreme eastern point a lighthouse is now erected. The red beams from its tower shine far out to guide the mariner on his way.

Sweet, dear, little Isle of the sea!
The grand old waves shall dash upon thy shore,
When we who once have trod thy lovely beach
Shall be known to earth no more.

LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP ELIZA CAROLINE.

Time was drawing near to the finishing of the good ship Eliza Caroline. The hammers could be heard from early dawn till dark. Seams were being calked, there was painting and oiling going on from day to day. Many were gathering from near and far to watch the process of launching the ship. The little village was bustling with people. Every home was full, for friends had come to stay a week. My parents told me afterwards the launching was a grand success. The sails and all ropes and rigging had come from Buffalo, N. Y. The trial trip was to Mackinac Island and return and nearly all the people in the little town took passage.

The time had come for partings and sad farewells of old neighbors, for now nearly all must scatter to other parts. My father was sent for from Manistique. A Mr. Frankle had settled there and put in a mill. He was an old friend of my father's, coming from Chegrin Falls, Ohio. Offering good pay, father concluded to accept, and we prepared to move at once. The schooner Nancy, also owned by the Newton Brothers, was to take us to our destination.

FAREWELL TO ST. HELENA.

Cousin David Corps was anxious to do some fall fishing at a place called Scott's Point, where many families had come from Canada, Lake Huron and other parts. Fish were very near the shore in the fall of the year and a high price was paid for fish, so we were to tarry at this place until time to go to Manistique.

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."

THE LIGHT HOUSE AND LIFE SAVING STATION AT BEAVER ISLAND HARBOR, MICHIGAN.

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 (Big Thunder), was a peaceful man, ruling his people with great kindness. He was a noble looking man of fine personal appearance.

THE LAKE OF ENCHANTMENT.

The beautiful lake where the village was situated the chief's father had claimed to have found in his younger days when out on a hunting tour. The tribe claimed the lake was enchanted. Its fish and wild fowl, ducks and geese and other game were not to be disturbed by the hunters, but left for "the Indian Maiden" who strolled by its shores, and for her lover that was to come back and take her to the happy hunting grounds. The village was situated beside this beautiful lake, called by the tribe "The Lake of Enchantment," or where "The Spirit of Peace Always Lived." And, truly, when seen in its quiet and wild beauty it was not hard to believe. The legend runs that on moonlight nights the form of an Indian maiden could be seen wandering along its quiet shores waiting for her lover to come from the happy hunting grounds to meet her. In times of war among the different tribes, it was told, a beautiful Indian maiden of the Ottawas had a lover of the Huron tribe. The tribes were at war. The lover was taken prisoner and condemned to die, to burn at the stake. When the awful deed was taking place the Indian maiden was seen to take her flight southward. Braves were sent to bring her back. She forever eluded them and at last disappeared from their sight. When this lake was discovered many years afterwards it was believed the shadowy maiden seen was the same that had disappeared so long ago, and wandered beside this beautiful water waiting for her lover to join her. Wild deer came to drink of its waters, animals and fowls had no fear of the red man. It was indeed an enchanted place.

THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER, "STAR OF THE MORNING."

The Chief's daughter was a beautiful Indian maiden. She was an only child. Her mother died when she was quite young. Her aunt, her mother's sister, had taken the place of a mother to her. The Chief, her father, was very proud of her and greatly attached to her. She was of medium height, oval face and clear olive skin with red cheeks and lips, her eyes were large and dark with nearly always a sad look in them. Her teeth were like two rows of small white pearls, small hands and feet, she was a royal princess dearly loved by the whole tribe. Her Indian name was Wa-bun-an-nung (the Morning Star.) We always called her Mary. She was gentle in her manner and could sew very nicely, being always busy with her bead work and quills, making many pretty little boxes from the birch bark and ornamenting them with bright colored porcupine quills which the Indian women colored in bright, gay colors. Her father had always taken her with him on his long trips to Canada and the Sault, also to Green Bay on many of his hunting expeditions. She could paddle her canoe as swift as any of the braves in her tribe.

THE CHIEF AND HIS DAUGHTER VISITING US.

To me Mary seemed like some bright being from another world. Her voice was soft and sweet. She always came to our home with her father, the chief. Then she would take me in her arms, calling me her little white "papoose." She would put me in my cradle, rocking and singing me to sleep with her quiet, soft voice. Many were the strings of beads and deer skin moccasins she gave me. She made me some dolls and put pretty dresses on them. She was always doing something nice for us children and was very fond of us. One day she asked little brother if he would give her little sister, meaning me, for one of her pretty pet fawns. He said, "Yes." When she started with me in her arms toward the door he screamed and cried so hard before she could make him know she was only in fun. He said, "Don't take my little sister. Go over the river to the big house and take that 'papoose' because it cries so much." When the older brothers came they said, "Why didn't you trade little sister for the fawn and two cub bears?" Mary told her father. When he came again he brought the fawn and two cubs to see if the boys would trade me away for them. As soon as the boys saw the fawn and the cubs they began to cry and beg mother not to let me go. They did not want to trade little sister off for any thing. All the time the chief remained they watched me, fearing he might take me. He was greatly amused at the joke. I was delighted to play with the fawn and the cubs were like kittens to play. The fawn was inseparable from Mary, it loved her so.

The days were longer now and the snow all gone. Grass was beginning to show in many places. The sun shone warm and bright. Mother said, "Spring is here, now don't you hear the birds sing?" Grandpa took us for little walks, but not far, as the wolves were always near almost every morning. Sometimes two or three deer would come tearing past our door, jumping into the river to save themselves from the packs of wolves chasing them, and the bears would swim across the mouth of the river. Indian hunters were always coming home from the hunt loaded with game. Their deer meat was dried and smoked for future use. The wolves would come close to our house and little brother and I would often try to call them to come and get some bread and butter, we thinking them dogs. Grandpa and Bob were always near us or we would have been eaten alive by the wolves.

THE CHIEF'S DEPARTURE.

I remember one day soon after breakfast Mary and her father came with a number of other Indians, Mary's aunt with the rest. A large canoe was packed and fitted out with all things necessary for a long voyage. The chief and Mary's aunt were going to Canada on a visit and Mary was to stay with us till her father returned. Her father took four men and Mary's aunt with him. Soon all was ready. They shook hands and away sped the bark canoe over the waves. Mary at first was sad to have her father go, but soon was cheerful again. She helped mother with her sewing and worked two pretty pairs of moccasins and made leggings and pretty garters. Some of the work was for her father. Time passed and it began to be time for the Chief's return. Mary grew restless as many storms came. She would look out over the waters for hours. Mother tried hard to comfort her and tell her all would be well. But Mary must see to believe. Her faith could not reach out very far into unseen things. Grandpa tried to comfort her. He would kneel down and pray for her father's return.

One day a young Indian came to our house to see and talk to Mary. Mother told me afterward he was Mary's lover and had promised her father not to visit Mary in his absence. Hearing how worried she was he had broken his promise. Mary seemed very sad, talked very little to him, and only when mother was present. She had also promised her father not to meet him while he was gone. The Chief had not given his full consent to their marriage. Another Chief's son had asked for Mary to be given him in marriage, which was now Mary's father's business away in Canada. She worried not so much for her father's absence as she feared her father and the Canadian chief would come to a satisfactory understanding and that she might be compelled to marry the Canadian lover whose father had much land and stock. She felt worried because her lover had broken his word to her father and she feared his displeasure. Indians are very strict about their laws and customs.

RETURN OF THE CHIEF OSSAWINAMAKEE.

One day soon after this I saw the Chief coming up the path to the house. He was not alone. Mary was lying in the swinging hammock. She gave a bound like a deer and reached the door just as her father came in. She threw her arms about his neck and fainted away. Mother put water on her face. She soon opened her eyes and smiled at her father. He took her hand and talked long to her. She looked past him and saw the strange young Indian standing beside the door. She gave a cry and put her hands to her face. Her father called him to come to them, speaking to them both. At last Mary gave him her hand and spoke the Indian greeting, "Bou shou" (how do you do.) In turn we all greeted him with the same term. The Chief talked a long time to Mary and mother, telling about his trip. Father came home to supper.

The Chief had brought a large pack of beautiful silks, beads, scarfs and cloth for Mary to make some new gowns. He also brought some pretty shells from Lake Simcoe for mother, which she prized very highly as her mother was born there, and many more goods of furs and rugs. The young Indian also brought some furs and rugs, one handsome white one with black spots upon it which he laid down at Mary's feet. She did not seem to be very well pleased with the present, but her father was loud in his praise and thanks. At last Mary thanked him in a low voice. As it was growing dark the Chief and the young Indian left for the village, Mary remaining with us for the night. Brother Charley and I lay down on the white rug with Bob beside us and were soon fast asleep.

Oh childhood's happy hours,
Would that they could come again!
If only we might taste their joys once more
Our hearts would sing a glad refrain.

INVITED TO THE FEAST.

Next morning the Chief came to take his daughter home, thanking mother for taking care of her during his absence. We were all invited to attend the great feast with the other Chemokamon's (white men) from the other side of the river. It had been told to the tribe that morning of the coming marriage of the Chief's daughter to the Canadian Chief's son, who had much land and stock to give his bride. When he talked with mother about it she asked him about the other young man and if he had not promised Mary to him. He answered, "We come of a proud and haughty race. This young man has much land and riches while the other has nothing to give my daughter. No lands, no moneys." Mother said to him, "You will miss Mary from your wigwam." At this he softened, then saying, "I have power to extend the time of Mary's marriage."

On the day of the feast the sun shone clear and bright. Our boys were up early and all seemed to be in a hurry. Grandpa had made a little cart for Bob to draw me in, so Bob's harness was all trimmed with gay colored ribbons. Mother put on my little red dress and pretty beaded moccasins which Mary had made for me. Then I was put into the cart and old Bob trotted off so proudly, thinking perhaps of his younger days when he had brought the great loads of furs from the Lake Superior trapping grounds to the Sault and Mackinac Islands to be sold to the traders there. Those were proud days for the voyagers when all the village came out to meet them from their long trips. After crossing the river we were joined by the people on that side, who were a happy lot. This was a holiday for them all. An Indian feast which none had ever before attended. Something to write about to their far away homes. All went along singing. Old grandpa singing his French and Spanish glee songs with the boys joining, which made the woods ring. We soon came to the lake, and the village of many wigwams was close beside the water.

THE BEAUTIFUL LAKE AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE.

On that morning the lake was like a great mirror or a sea of glass, not a ripple stirred its surface and the beautiful trees were reflected on every side, hanging branches everywhere full of song birds, and swimming about near the shore were broods of ducks with their little ones among them. None seemed to be afraid of us. There were many young fawns wandering about and drinking from the lake. Mossy banks and many flowers. No one was allowed to harm the birds, fawns or ducks. The place seemed rightly named "The Lake of Enchantment." I remember being carried into a wigwam and laid on a bed of skins and furs. I was so sleepy after my ride. When I awoke I found myself alone and being frightened began to cry. Very soon Bob came bounding in. I took him by the collar and when we were out of doors I saw a lot of Indian children with brother Lewis and Toney running and jumping with them. I saw mother and grandpa, with little brother, going into a large wigwam. I ran over to them. In the middle of this lodge was a great fire with many kettles hanging in which the dinner was being cooked for the feast. The lodge had been made on purpose for the (chemokamon) white man's cooking to be done. Grandpa and mother had full charge of this part. Father soon came and took little brother and me where many young Indians and the white men were playing a game of ball. There were many squaws and children all gaily dressed with many colored ribbons. Dogs were running about everywhere, and young pet cub bears which the children seemed to be taking care of. The squaws had been to our house and knew us children. They came to us, giving us little cakes of maple sugar.

THE INDIAN MAIDEN IN HER WIGWAM.

After a time little brother and I wanted to see Mary, so father took us to her wigwam, which was covered with black bear skins. There we found Mrs. Frankle with her sister and the children. Mary was sitting on a bear skin rug with her hands folded and her eyes almost shut. I wish I could describe her as she looked sitting there in her dark beauty. I could not take my eyes off her. She raised her eyes and looked at me as if to know what I wanted or what did I see. Then she smiled and sprang to her feet, coming towards me. I backed away and gave a great sob just as I have felt since when looking at some beautiful picture. It seemed to thrill me through and through. She seemed almost to know my thoughts. She seemed almost afraid to move. At last she took me in her arms and, sitting down near Mrs. Frankle, the great tears rolled down her face. Mrs. Frankle put her face near Mary's and kissed her. Then the great sobs came. The Indian maiden may sob but never cry aloud like her white skinned sisters. I wondered why Mary should sob and the tears fall on my face when she was so beautiful and had such beautiful clothes. I felt of her dress and arms, passing my hands over her face, which made her smile. She then gave us some pretty shells to play with. Soon Mary's father came to see if she were ready to appear before the crowd. When his eyes rested on her a pleased look came over his face. He seemed to be satisfied, for he gave a shrug, saying "ugh ni-chi-chin" (good), meaning he was satisfied with her appearance. Little Charley and I had found the pretty leggings and moccasins Mary had made for her father and lover and ran to the Chief with them, holding them up for him to see, telling him Mary made them. He took them in his hand and smiled. He seemed pleased, but Mary came as if to take them. He kept them in his hand, talking long and earnestly to her. She stood with her head bowed and sad. He showed Miss Harriet and Mrs. Frankle the pretty work, which they admired, but Mary seemed so sad they wondered.

THE SOUNDING OF THE DRUM.

We now heard a big drum and the barking of dogs. Then all the men with Mr. Frankle came and the Chief took Mary's hand. Father took me in his arms and we all went out where there were a great many Indians standing in a large circle. The Chief and his daughter went into the circle and all the white people followed. There were great skins of bear and other furs spread about for the chemokamon (white man) to sit upon, but all the Indians must stand while the Chief made his speech and gave the announcement of his daughter's marriage with the Canadian Chief's son, who was now his guest.

CHIEF OSSAWINAMAKEE'S SPEECH.

The chief walked into the circle with a proud and haughty tread, waving his hand for all to be silent. I knew nothing of what he said, but my father told me when I was old enough to understand. I remember his form. He was tall and stately, with a fine appearance, and was dressed as became the chief of the proud Ottawa tribe. Many silver ornaments were on his breast. He talked a long time, while all listened in stately silence.

After a time he was silent and two more forms appeared within the circle. The first to enter was the Canadian Indian. His step was firm, his head high, his look bold; he was dressed in bright red, with beaded leggings and many feathers around his head. The other one came in with a soft and silent step. His form was slight and willowy. He was dressed in a deer skin suit, with beaded leggings, silver ornaments on his breast, and a band about his head filled with eagle feathers. He came close to the Chief, his eyes were looking down, his face seemed sad. He was Mary's true lover, the son of a chief of the Chippewas, whose father had died, leaving him in the care of Mary's father. His father had been a great warrior and owned much land, but had lost it all in long wars with other nations. The name of this young chief was Sha-wan-nib-in-asse (southern bird). Mary and he had been raised together with the understanding they would be joined in marriage sometime, but in one of the chief's trips to Canada with his young daughter, the chief of a tribe there had asked for Mary for his son. Being rich, Chief Ossawinamakee thought it best to give his daughter to the rich chiefs son. Very soon the chief presented the Canadian Indian with a pair of leggings and moccasins, saying they were a present from his daughter. The young Indian expressed his thanks with many bows casting many looks of triumph at Mary's lover. When Mary saw these presents given she almost gave a scream. She stepped forward as if to take them from his hands.

ALL ENJOYMENT.

As soon as the speeches were ended all sat in circles. The Chief's circle was filled with his own family, his sisters and their families and his Canadian guest. The Chemokamons were by themselves. The Indians with their squaws and children had corn soup served with dried venison and fish. The soup was put in large pans with only one large wooden spoon or ladle. When one took a spoonful it was passed to the next and so on around the circle of about twelve or fifteen persons. The white people also had corn soup or maize, as it was called, corn pounded in a wooden mortar, with dried smoked venison and broiled white fish, baked potatoes and many other things which mother had prepared herself. There was much talking and laughing among the Indians as well as white people. The dogs ran round the outside of the circle and every time the drum was beaten they would yelp and bark while Bob would howl. The fawns and deer came near to us as if enjoying the sport, while the little cub bears scampered away to a cute little wigwam where they slept at night. All was mirth and gaiety. When the eating was over the Chief arose, raised his head high, giving thanks to the Great Spirit, and buried a small piece of silver to entreat good crops and full hunting grounds for that year. There was jumping and canoe paddling among the Indians, which ended the day's sport. There had been a white dog killed, as was the custom at their feasts. We saw the pelt stretched up to dry. Father told me many times that all went home at sunset much pleased with their day of pleasure and sport. The white people were delighted with Indian feasts and declared that no White Dog had been served to them in their Corn Soup, knowing my mother had charge of their cooking.

ENDING OF THE FEAST AND SAD ENDING OF A YOUNG LIFE.

Early next morning all was excitement at the Indian Village, for Mary's lover, Sha-wan-nib-in-asse, was dead. All suspicion pointed to the Canadian Indian poisoning him through jealousy. The Indian women told my mother at the feast that all the week they had feared the two young men would fight, as they hated each other with a deadly hatred. Now the whole village was ready to kill the Canadian Indian, as none had ever liked him for the reason that he was British. The old hatred had not died out from their hearts, even though peace had been declared so long among the tribes. The Canadian Indian hurried from the Village and stopped at our house on his way down the shore, where he soon reached a small trading vessel and made his way home to Canada. Mary was very sorrowful with grief at the death of her lover, and her father was sure the Great Spirit was displeased with him for favoring the Canadian Indian. We were all afraid it might cause a war, as all the Indians at the Village wanted their Chief to go to Canada and get satisfaction from the father in Canada. The white people advised the Chief Ossawinamakee not to go to war, as his whole tribe would be killed, having no warriors to be a match for the Canadian Indians. The tribe had lived in peace so long war was only history to them. The Chief took the advice.

BURIAL OF SHA-WAN-NIB-IN-ASSE.

They buried the young lover with great honor, buried him with the sound of the muffled drum. Father made the casket and mother was there to help them. They dressed him in the pretty leggings and moccasins Mary had made for him, putting the other pair with bows and arrows, silver breastplates, with a small kettle and wooden ladle and gun, into the casket as was their custom when burying their dead. They buried him beside the peaceful little lake where the branches of the trees were filled with singing birds. Though a child of the forest he had loved Mary with a pure and holy love.

ON BOARD THE ELIZA CAROLINE.

My father had now finished his contract with Mr. Frankle at the mill. Hearing that there were many people settling on "Beaver Island," several families that we knew from York State, Ohio and Canada, he made up his mind to go there. Our goods were put on board the staunch little ship "Eliza Caroline," the vessel my father had built the year before. The Chief and his daughter Mary came to say good-by. Good-bys were said to our good neighbors across the river in the big house. We had all become very dear friends to each other. There were many kind wishes and God-speeds for us when the Captain said "all aboard." White sails were set and we glided from the river out onto Lake Michigan just as the sun was sinking in the west. Darkness soon shut out the forms of our friends that stood waving to us from the shore. We knew we were once more out on the water on God's great rolling cradle of the sea. We children, with mother and grandpa, said our prayers in the little cabin and were soon fast asleep with the sound of the rippling waves singing to us a sweet lullaby of peace and rest.

PART II.

BEAVER ISLAND.

Beaver Island was once the home of the Mormons. This island is the largest in the group of islands in lake Michigan, containing about fifteen thousand acres of land.

To many who may read these pages it may seem like a fairy tale to know that a kingdom ever existed within the borders of the United States. A kingdom has existed, and that little kingdom was on Beaver Island, now commonly known as St. James, being named in honor of him who made himself a king. James Jesse Strang was born and educated in New York State, graduated from the Fredonia Academy of the same state. He studied law and was classed among the brilliant lawyers of his day. In his eight years rule on Beaver Island he was twice elected to the State Legislature of Michigan. His speeches were considered among the most brilliant delivered in the halls of Lansing, the State Capitol. He spoke with ease, his manner was winning, he aimed to be a leader. Strang was living at Voree, Wis., at the time of Joseph Smith's death at Nauvoo, Ill. Having joined the Mormon Church he now claimed to have "Divine Revelations" from God that he was chosen to fill Joseph Smith's place to lead the people left without a leader. After a hard struggle which he made for the leadership, Brigham Young was chosen as Smith's successor.

BEAVER ISLAND CHOSEN AS A KINGDOM.

Strang felt his defeat very keenly and withdrew with a few of his followers who had entire belief in his revelations. He now went to Kirtland, Ohio, where a Mormon temple had been built as a place of worship for the Latter Day Saints, as they are now commonly known. Strang soon became restless. Brigham Young had already gone with a large number of Smith's followers to Salt Lake City, Utah. Strang wanted more territory, more privileges, which he knew he could not have in Kirtland, so he began to look about for a place where he could establish a kingdom over which he could rule with undisputed sway. Being a lawyer and understanding the law so perfectly he knew he could not carry out his plans unless he found some secluded place where the law of the land could not easily reach him, and where could he find a place better suited to carry out his plans than Beaver Island? In 1846, two years prior to Strang's coming to Beaver Island to establish his kingdom he was on his way west to Wisconsin. The steamer he took passage on was driven into Beaver Harbor to seek shelter from a storm. When Strang was telling all this to my father he said, "When my eyes first rested on Beaver Island I thought it the most beautiful place on earth."

At the time Strang was there, a Mr. Alva Cable from Fairport, Ohio, had located at the Point and was establishing a business. He had built a dock, a store and a fine large dwelling and was already buying fish from the fishermen and shipping them to outside markets.

STRANG'S FIRST COMING TO THE ISLAND WITH HIS PEOPLE.

Strang had already settled in his mind to locate at Cheboygan, Mich., having looked over the location. Mackinac Island being just near enough for him to get their supplies. At that time Mackinac Island was the largest fish market in northern Michigan, furnishing supplies to the whole north shore and fishermen among the great number of islands, its several stores furnishing everything necessary to the people around and being in close touch with the outside world, having a postoffice and mails coming there from Detroit.

But when Strang saw Beaver Island, its beautiful harbor, fine timber and natural beauty of scenery, the thought came to him like an inspiration, and he said, "This is where I will come to build up my kingdom." And when he saw all the improvements being done he had no doubt but he could soon have all the people about the shore as his followers. But there was much to hinder before he could persuade many of his followers to come and locate on a lonely island, as it seemed to them, in the middle of Lake Michigan. Also Strang's wife was not a believer in the Mormon doctrine, having no faith in the revelations he claimed to have: but Strang had a great command of language and possessed a strong will power. He at last persuaded a few of his followers to come with him to Beaver Island, where they landed from a steamer in the early part of June, 1848, two years after he had first seen the island. About twenty-five people came with him, and before navigation closed over a hundred more had landed, most of them being all unprepared for a long, cold winter on an island where the snows were extremely deep in winter.

PAYMENT TIME FOR THE INDIANS.

The whole surrounding country at that time was a wilderness. White settlers were few in number. There were many different tribes of Indians wandering about from place to place on their hunting and fishing tours. They were all peaceably inclined, many remained long enough to plant small gardens near the shores, but never clearing the land at any distance back from the shore. The woods were filled with abundance of game to satisfy all their wants and needs. The red men of the forest were best satisfied in their own native wilds. They were nature's children. The trees, flowers, buds, leaves and waves on the shore all whispered their mystery of the great and good Spirit that ruled all things. In those days the Indians were receiving payments from the government. An agent was employed with a clerk to make these annual payments. Sometimes the money would be paid out at Sault Ste. Marie, sometimes Green Bay was the place of gathering, other times Mackinac Island. Then the tribes would gather from far and near, bringing their whole families to receive their money. That was a happy time for the red man and his family to know the "Great Father" at Washington was such a friend. Payment time, as it was called, also made trade for the white man.

THE INDIANS AND THEIR ISLANDS.

There was a large band of Indians living on Garden Island, three miles distant north from Beaver Island. This island had been deeded to them by the government as their own. Also another island about six miles west of Beaver Island, called High Island. Both these Islands were fertile, covered with heavy timber, and both afforded good fishing opportunities with good harbors at each island. Strang's people never having seen Indians before were naturally very timid, especially when the Indians gathered at Beaver Harbor to sell their fish and being friendly often called at the Chemokamon's house. The Indian being of an inquisitive nature, wanted to see how the white brothers lived in their homes. Strang himself said he felt none too sure of his own life when he saw so many coming to his home, but the Indians and their squaws with their papooses on their backs, that being the fashion of carrying their young children, were always smiling and good natured, which very soon reassured Strang and his people that they were friendly and meant them no harm. At first the Mormons always kept their doors locked and barred. Strang soon preached to them to leave their doors open to their Indian friends, which they did with the faith that their King knew best.

JAMES JESSE STRANG, THE MORMON KING.

STRANG CALLING ON US.

About the time my people came to Beaver Island the property at the Point in Beaver Harbor was just changing hands, Mr. Alva Cable having sold his dock and buildings to a Mr. Peter McKinley from Painesville, Ohio, who came with his family and took possession at once, putting in a supply of provisions for the fall trade with the fishermen.

Strang soon called on our people, and was anxious to have my father build our home near the Mormon settlement at the harbor, promising there would be plenty of work, as more of his people were constantly coming. Strang was so friendly and sent many of his people to call on us. His wife also called on us. She was a bright, sensible, noble woman, and we found her friendship was true. My mother being a nurse, Strang told her he would always be glad of her assistance when any of his people were sick. Our people had never heard about Mormons before and knew nothing about their belief or doctrine. Mother told me many times afterward it seemed very strange to her seeing the Mormon women dressed in short dresses with hair cut short and keeping Saturday for their Sunday. When mother spoke to them about it they told her that King Strang had all these revelations from God and that, he being their leader, they must obey what he said.

FIRST SETTLERS.

Our house was soon finished. Father had built it near to a Gentile family, an elderly couple from Toronto, Canada. They had bought a small piece of land from the government, making themselves a home the year previous to the coming of the Mormons. They were an Irish family with considerable means. They first came to Mackinac Island to visit a nephew, Mr. P. Kilty. They took a little trip to Beaver Island with others, and were so pleased with it, thinking it would soon be settled and make a desirable place to live. Their name was Loaney, and the place where they located has always borne the name of Loaney's Point. It was on the south side of Beaver Harbor, distant about two miles from the village. On the end of Loaney's Point rests a large boulder which has always been a land mark, sometimes looming up looking like a great black steamer near the shore. Mr. Loaney's nephew, P. Kilty, also located at the Island and was driven away with the rest of the Gentiles, returning again after the Mormons were sent away from the Island, residing many years there and being a successful fisherman and farmer. His son, Mr. Peter Kilty, is now, and has been for several years, a captain on one of the large steamboats on lake Michigan. The old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Loaney, had some sad experience with their Mormon neighbors, losing their home and all they had by their persecutions. After the Mormons were driven off the Island Mr. Loaney returned and was appointed keeper of the Beaver Island lighthouse at the head of the Island, holding the position several years, he being the second keeper having charge of that station, a Mr. Van Allen being the first keeper when the light was first erected.

PREPARING FOR WINTER.

The winter of 1849 was an extremely cold winter, with heavy ice and deep snows. Our summer boarders had all packed and gone to their homes. Father had brought our provisions home and packed it away for winter use. Many of our Mormon neighbors with their children came often to see us, and we children played with them. Mr. Loaney had some cows and Auntie Loaney was always bringing us milk as well as to her Mormon neighbors. Our boys and father and mother were very busy making a large fishing seine for a man in Ohio who was coming the next spring.

GOING OVER TO THE POINT TO DINNER WITH THE MCKINLEYS.

Before the ice came in the fall father took us all in our boat across to the Point so mother could do some shopping. Mr. McKinley was a very kind and pleasant man and would have us go to his house for dinner. He wanted us to get acquainted with his family. Father took us over to their nice, large and comfortable home. Mrs. McKinley was very kind and seemed pleased to see us. She was a pretty, bright-faced woman, slender, with dark hair and eyes. She had three little girls, Sarah the eldest, Effie and Mary. We children were soon acquainted, playing with the dolls and having tea with the children's little dishes. Mr. McKinley had a sister living with him whom the children called "Aunt Ann." She was very kind to us, giving us many slices of bread and butter with cups of milk.

I remember the children had such beautiful hair, which I admired so much. Mother helped to set the table and get the dinner on the table, as they boarded several of their help. Our boys were out exploring the Point with some Mormon boys. When we were ready to go home Mrs. McKinley filled a great basket with large red apples for us to take home. Father thanked her, saying he ought not to take them, as he had two barrels at the store for winter use. She said, "Do take these apples, they came from home in Ohio and are better than the apples at the store. Now I want you to have them." We children played together until the last moment. The little girls gave me large packages of candy. Kissing them I promised to come again sometime. Mrs. McKinley was very kind, wanting us all to come again. Father told me afterward when I was older how lonely she was, missing her Ohio home so much. She asked father what he thought about our Mormon neighbors. He said he knew very little about them, so far they had been very kind and pleasant. She told him her fears, saying. "I have no faith in Strang at all. I fear he is misleading those people and I am afraid they will cause us all lots of trouble before long, but my husband thinks they are a well-meaning people. We have invested considerable money, which I feel quite sure we shall regret." Father tried to encourage her to feel more hopeful, but she said she could not feel they were true. She liked Mrs. Strang, as everybody did who knew her.

Soon after this the cold snows of winter were upon us, ice made very fast. We heard no more the whistle of the boats, and saw no more the white sails of the vessels and fish boats that sailed in and out of the pretty harbor. I was young, yet I remembered and missed all these things.

KIND NEIGHBORS.

I was never tired going over to see Uncle and Auntie Loaney, as they taught us children to call them. They were a dear old couple and loved us the same as if we were their own. I remember the pretty large cat with the little white kittens. When she gave me bread and milk I would sit on her clean white floor, and it was hard to know which ate most of that bread and milk, myself or the cats. I used to take my dolls over and stay days at a time with Auntie, and when mother came after me she would say, "Oh don't take her away home. Sure you have four and I have none at all, at all. Now you must leave me one." Then little brother Charley would go and stay a while with them until he got lonely for the rest of us. In that way we took turns being with our kind, good neighbors all the time we lived near them. Some of us were always with them. They had a son married and doing business in Toronto. The next year he came to visit them for a month. Then how pleased she was to tell Michael how good we little children were to her. We children all loved them dearly.

Winter was advancing. There was much sickness among the Mormon people. Food was scarce with no means to buy, and clothing thin for a northern winter. Mother was called away from home to care for them, and we children were often left at home with grandpa and father. Auntie and Uncle Loaney were always coming to see how we were. I staid with them most of the time, getting lonesome often for Charley and Bob. Poor old Bob was more feeble than ever now, the cold winter bringing on rheumatism.

BOB'S NEW FRIEND.

I remember one day Uncle Loaney coming in and saying to father, "Sure Mr. Whitney, why don't you kill that old dog? He is good for nothing and can't stand up any more." That was enough, little brother and I began to cry and then poor old grandpa, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and when he could speak he said in his broken English, "Oh don't keel Bob, you keel Bob me die too. Me and Bob good friends good many year. Oh no keel Bob." Then father explained what a long time Bob had lived and been with grandpa and how he had saved brother Toney's life the winter before. Then how sorry Uncle Loaney was, saying. "Yes let poor Bob live as long as he can." After that many were the little pails of milk sent to Bob.

SUFFERING OF THE PEOPLE.

I remember a man came to our house one morning and two little boys were with him. Father had gone with Toney and Lewis out to chop wood a short distance from the house. The man came in with the children and asked to see father. Grandpa was so afraid to be alone with the Mormon he said, "Me no want you keel me. Me give you everything in the house you no keel me." The man said, "No, I don't want to hurt you. My children are hungry." Charley ran out to tell father to come, then the man explained how hungry his family were, having no bread and no money to buy. Father gave them something to eat, and soon the children were sitting with Charley and me eating bread and butter. Father gave flour and other things for the man to carry home.

CARING FOR THE SICK AND DYING.

Mother soon came home, telling of the want and suffering among the people. The King had gone from the Island on the last boat, leaving them to fare as best they could. They had come to the Island too late to plant anything that season and none of them knew how to fish or help themselves. They suffered cold, hunger and death that winter without complaint of their King. Their whole cry was "Oh, if our King were only here." There was some one every day to our house and Aunt Loaney's. The Mormons were in a starving condition. Father gave to them until he feared we should be left with nothing. Grandpa was afraid we children would be left hungry, so he buried many things for us. Mother and Auntie were always busy cooking and carrying food to the sick and dying. Mrs. McKinley was just as busy at the Point helping the suffering people all she could. There were several deaths in the winter and spring. After awhile father, grandpa and the boys put some nets through the ice, catching many fish for the hungry people. Our boys set hooks, showing the Mormon boys how to catch the fish to keep themselves from starving. Father and mother were so much among them they began to learn something about their strange belief, which was peculiar, their faith being all placed on their leader, "King James," as they often called Strang, always calling upon him to help them in their trouble. Mother said to them, "Why do you call upon man to help you? Why don't you call upon God and pray to him for help?" They would not listen, saying, "Has not our King the revelations revealed to him?"

RETURN OF SPRING AND COMING OF STRANG.

Spring had come. Our good old steamboat "Michigan" had come to our harbor once more. Strang also came. He was just as calm and serene as usual, nothing seemed to disturb him. His wife did not return until later in the season. He soon came to our house and seemed very grateful to our people for their kindness to his suffering people during his absence. When mother told him how much they had suffered he laughed, saying, "Oh, they must get used to Island life and expect to have some hardships." Soon the boats came and brought more Mormons. Those that came now were more comfortable and seemed to have more means to help themselves with. Very soon they were at work clearing the land and making ready to put in crops of potatoes, corn and other vegetables. There were several families who came from Texas, bringing their horses with them, with wagons and a few cows. Of course those who had plenty had to share with those who had little and give their every tenth part to the King's treasury, and very often giving more to help out extra expenses. Strang seemed in excellent spirits and went about from house to house, talking and encouraging his people, and father said no one would think they had passed through such trouble so recently. Soon it was planned to give a feast in honor of the King's return, and great were the preparations going on among the Mormons.

JAMES CABLE SETTLING AT THE HEAD OF BEAVER ISLAND.

With the springtime also came many fishermen to all of the islands, and many settled along the east shore of Beaver Island as far up as the light house at the head of the Island. A Mr. James Cable, nephew of Mr. Alva Cable, had now come to locate at the head of Beaver Island, three miles north of the light-house point. James Cable came from York State. He was a bright, smart, enterprising young man, recently married to a most estimable young lady of the same city where he lived. They came with their little son Claude, a child of about two years old. Here Mr. Cable invested considerable money; put out a good dock, built a large dwelling and store, carrying on the wood business for many years, as well as having a fish market, employing several men getting out cord wood to supply the steamboats, as well as buying fish and furnishing provisions and all fishing supplies to fishermen. Mr. C. R. Wright, also another man from New York State, settled at Cable's dock and carried on a large cooper shop to supply the barrels for the fishermen, which became a great industry. Mr. Cable, with all the rest of the Gentiles, was compelled to leave Beaver Island in 1852, not feeling safe to remain longer. After the death of King Strang he returned, taking possession again of his property, carrying on the business with success for several years. Feeling his need of rest he closed out his business and bought the property at Mackinac Island known as the "Astor House."

Several of the men who had been with us the year before now returned again and were boarding with us. There were two brothers that came. Their names were Thomas and Samuel Bennett. Thomas was married when he came and they soon took some land, built a house and put in some crops. They also were in the fishing business. They never were very friendly with the Mormons.

STRANG'S REVELATIONS.

Soon after Strang's coming after that terrible winter of cold and suffering among his people, he claimed to have had several new revelations which must be told to his people. They all prepared for a great feast showing their joy at their King's safe return among them again. It would seem in his talk to them about his new revelations that he told them God was sending many Gentiles to be a help and a support to God's people, meaning themselves, the Latter Day Saints, and that it was right for his people to take whatever was necessary for them to have. That it was their privilege to take from the Gentiles. This was the first time that the King had openly given any orders of that nature to his people. Whether any Gentile had ever been admitted within the council room was never known, or whether some of his own people told what had been said, which many of us thought might be the case, but the news soon spread, and from that time no Gentile felt secure about his property. My father once asked Strang if he had ever preached to his people and given such orders. He answered he had not, but their actions soon told what their instructions had been.

ROBBING THE GENTILES.

His people soon began to take from the Gentiles whatever they could get. Up to this time the feeling between the Mormons and Gentiles had been very friendly, the fishermen being glad to have the Island settled with a good peaceful people as they had until now seemed to be. Mr. Peter McKinley at the Point was now suffering considerable losses by the Mormons taking his cattle and butchering them, also other goods which they were taking. A young man, or boy, Wheelock by name, told or gave information about the butchering of the cattle. He being a Mormon boy employed by Mr. McKinley, had to suffer the penalty by receiving fifty stripes with the "blue beaches," that being one kind of their punishments. We had never heard before of the Mormons doing anything of this kind to their people. The boy had told the truth and had to suffer the cruel whipping.

WHIPPING OF THOMAS BEDFORD.

A man by the name of Thomas Bedford was employed by Mr. Peter McKinley. He also gave some information about the stealing of property by the Mormons, and he also received seventy-five of the cruel stripes with the "blue beaches." For this awful treatment Mr. Bedford swore revenge. The Mormons never proved that Mr. Bedford had given any information about their stealing goods from Mr. McKinley, but just concluded he had and gave him the awful punishment. So Bedford bided his time for revenge.

Strang had now a great number around him who sought his favor and were ever ready to do his bidding and many times did things he did not sanction. There were some good, kind, peaceable people that knew nothing about the working of the inner circle that surrounded the king. There was one apostle that aimed to take the King's place and be ruler himself. He was a cruel and crafty man. He took charge of all things among the people in Strang's absence.

BUILDING TEMPLE AND PRINTING OFFICE.

The Mormons were now building a temple after the pattern of the one at Kirtland, Ohio, and I believe of the same size. They had already built a saw mill so they could manufacture their own lumber. They had built a large building made of logs hewn on both sides. This was fitted up as a printing office and Strang edited a paper called the "Northern Islander." The printing office still remains and was turned into a hotel and is known as the Gibson House of St. James. The Mormons were a very busy people. Those that were improving their farms and building their homes had nothing to do, as a rule, with the making of Strang's laws. He had his council men, his twelve apostles, besides elders under the apostles, members of the households of twelve. They did the voting and had all to do with making the laws, that is the laws that governed the conduct of their people. Strang had the revelations and the council of twelve voted it a law. And they had the power to enforce the law and punish any who disobeyed. So far the King had preached against polygamy and said that it should not be allowed, although there were a number of Mormons that had a number of wives apiece. Strang allowed it to be so, as he said they had practiced the law according to Joseph Smith's doctrine, and having several wives apiece he told them they might keep them, but that no more should be taken. So the men who had more than one wife kept them. Strang had many people now to control, every boat during the summer season brought more converts, as he had several apostles traveling constantly about the country making new converts to their faith. Strang instructed them to make all things to appear at its best, so the people were made to believe the Island was truly the "promised land."

STRANG'S REVELATION OF POLYGAMY.

Now the King had a new revelation that polygamy must be practiced. When he made it known to his people it gave them a great shock, as their minds had been made up that this was not to be. Strang very soon obeyed the "Divine Command" by taking a spiritual wife, or as the Mormons called it, "being sealed." Mrs. Strang, his wife, packed her clothing and taking her three children with her, left the Island, never coming back to live with him again. Strang was absent when she left, so she met with no opposition. She came back to the Island twice during his absence, gathering the people together in the temple, talking and pointing out to them the error of practicing such a doctrine, and both times she came she burned the robes which the King wore when preaching in the temple. Mrs. Mary Strang was greatly loved by all his people that knew her. Of course the King was not pleased with the interference of Mrs. Strang.

"CHARLES DOUGLAS."

The King now took one of his young wives, had her dressed in man's apparel and travel about with him seeking after more converts. The name he gave her was "Charles Douglas." He made a great joke of this, and boasted "Charles" was the best worker he ever had. If Strang was magnetic "Charles Douglas" was irresistible. She was a beautiful woman and extremely fine looking when dressed as "Charles Douglas." I saw Strang and "Douglas" once together. One of the Mormon apostles was living neighbor to us. Mother had sent me on an errand to their house. Strang and his companion came there to dinner. Both were dressed in plain black suits, wearing high silk hats, which was the fashion. Both were smiling and talking very pleasantly together. Of course I supposed it was a young man with Strang, but the apostle's wife told mother about it later.

A MAN WITH SEVERAL WIVES.

There was one family living at the harbor settlement who kept a boarding house. This man had four wives. Gentiles as well as Mormons boarded with him, and many were the jokes the man had about his wives, saying he had no need of hired girls, as he had wives enough to do his work. My father was often there to take his meals, and once I remember mother was with him and took me. One of the wives was a French woman. Mother talked with her in her own language and she said she was tired of that life. She not being a favorite wife had too much work to do. She had four small children. When the other women saw her talking to mother in French they seemed not to like it, thinking perhaps she was talking about them. As soon as they came into the room the French woman began to sing as though she was very happy. At another time, when she was sick and my mother was taking care of her, she said, "Only for the love I have for my children I would take poison." Many women that we met were very cheerful and pleasant, while there were many more with very sad faces and manner. When our people first lived neighbors to the Mormons they were very friendly and talked about their work. As soon as they began to take things from us they became silent and did not appear to care to meet us any more. There were a few who never changed toward us and proved friends to the last, although they had to appear sometimes to be our enemies.

BOB'S DEATH.

One morning I missed Bob. I always ran to see him when I first got up. Sometimes it was very hard for Bob to walk, and when the warm spring sunshine came our boys and grandpa would put Bob in a nice place to lay. Now I could not find him, and when I saw mother I saw that she had been weeping and was now silent when I asked her about Bob. I ran over to Auntie Loaney's. There was grandpa. He was sobbing as if his heart would break and our boys were trying to comfort him by telling him Bob had not suffered a moment. Then I realized. Bob, my old friend, was dead, and I sobbed, "Oh, boys, what made you kill Bob?" Then they tried to explain. I could not listen, I could not understand why it should be done. Then Auntie and Uncle Loaney said, "Now dear children do not grieve, poor old Bob was too old to live any longer. It is best his sufferings are over." We were all sad over the faithful dog's death. It was several weeks before grandpa and I could feel it was for the best. We buried him where the birds sang first in the spring.

KING STRANG'S RESIDENCE, BUILT IN 1850.

Father now thought it best to move to the head of the island, his work being there with Mr. Cable. We were beginning to fear the Mormons, as they had greatly changed toward us. In their travels up and down the island they most always stopped at our house. And sometimes there would be five or six, and very often they would ask for a meal, which we never refused to give them. Very often they remained all night, and then they were always sure to let us see the big knives they carried hanging to the belt they wore. Towards the last of our stay they carried a gun with them as well. When they came to our doors they never rapped, but simply walked in and helped themselves to a chair. We were told by some of their own people who were disgusted with Strang's doctrine that these men were just obeying the King's commands. He was trying to make all the Gentile people know the Mormons were to have their own way on the island. Just as fast as the Gentiles moved away from the Mormon settlement the Mormons followed and built their homes near to them. The Bennett brothers had already left their home at the harbor and gone to the Gentile settlement.

THE COUNTY SEAT OF SAINT JAMES.

Strang had now got the county organized, being attached to Mackinac county; later it was changed to Manitou county. The county seat and post office was at the harbor, named in honor of the King "Saint James." The island was divided into three districts and townships. The town at the harbor was named in honor of the Indian Chief at Garden Island, town of "Peain." The district at the head of the Island was called Gallilee, the center, Troy, the lower, Enoch. Strang was always very kind to the Indians, trying hard to have the Chief "Peain" give him one of his handsome daughters for a wife, which the Chief refused to do. Strang now established a school for the Indians at his own expense, sent a young Mormon over to Garden Island, where he taught school for three years. At a later date the government appointed teachers and gave many years of schools to the Indians, my husband being one of the teachers appointed. Chief "Peain" ruled his tribe with great kindness and firmness. He was a man of noble appearance. Their tribe was the Ottawas. Myself and husband remained on their island as teachers two years, from '62 to '64. Chief "Peain" was always the friend of the Chemokamon (white man.)

MOUNT PISGAH AND INLAND LAKES.

On Beaver Island there are six beautiful little lakes. Lakes Genessarett, Fox Lake, Green Lake. These lakes are near the head of the Island, while the other three, Font, Long and Round Lakes, are near the harbor. Font Lake is where the Mormons baptized their people, and also held their yearly feasts. It is a pretty spot with a long narrow point reaching out into the Lake. This lovely lake is about half a mile distant from the harbor. Long Lake is just a short distance beyond. That, too, is a beautiful spot. Its high land on one side is covered with heavy hardwood timber and great quantities of fish are in Long Lake. Just a short distance from Long Lake is "Mount Pisgah," a high sand mountain. One can look down into the harbor from its top. That, too, has beautiful scenery all about it.

The group of islands near Beaver Island can be seen from "Mount Pisgah." High Island, Trout Island, Squaw Island, which now has a fine lighthouse erected upon it. Rabbit Island and Garden Island, with Hog Island off nine miles to the east. All these Islands show from this mountain, and on a clear day it is a beautiful sight to look upon. Lake Michigan, with its dark blue waters, with so many pretty islands covered with green trees, and the white pebbly and sandy beaches, where the white sea gulls are constantly soaring about or resting upon the water. The island was very beautiful when the Mormons first went there. At that time no timber had been cut off. One can appreciate its beauty only by going out into its center and among its pretty lakes. When my people first came there to live there were still traces left of the "Beaver dams" where the busy beavers had made their homes about the little lakes. This is why the island was named "Beaver Island," and sometimes the whole group comes under the one name of the "Beaver Islands."

WILD ANIMALS AND BIRDS.

At one time while I lived on the island there were several deer supposed to have come across the ice from the north shore. There was an abundance of wild duck, pigeons, partridges and wild birds of many different kinds. Foxes were plentiful, both grey and red, and once and a while a black fox. Lynx and wild cats were seen, and one old hunter declared he heard a "panther." These wild animals traveled many times across the ice in winter time from the north shore, and very often the foxes crossed from one island to another in the winter. At this date there are no wild animals, unless there might be some wild cats. I saw a wild cat that was shot there in 1882. One great reason that made the island so desirable a place to live at that time was its splendid fishing grounds. No one need to be without money in those days. Fish always brought a good price, and at the time of our Civil war brought a very high price. There were many large cooper shops run. These furnished barrels to the fishermen to pack and salt their fish in. The cooper trade was followed by a great many men. They came to the island from the cities to work through the summer season, then going home again for the winter. The climate being so pure many recovered their health that had lost it. At the present time the barrel trade is a thing of the past. Fish are packed in ice and shipped to the market fresh. Changes have come to Beaver Island as well as everywhere else. Still it will always be "Beaver Island."

MRS. BENNETT STARTING TO CROSS THE LAKE.

Thomas Bennett was living near to Cable's dock. There were several families at the little settlement. Some came from Canada, others were summer people going home in the fall. Mrs. Bennett and her three children were going on a visit across the lake. Her people lived at Cross Village. Her father and mother came with their own boat to take her with them. I remember so well the morning she left us. We all felt sorry to see her go. Mr. Bennett was a fond father and kind husband. His wife and children were everything to him. There were three little girls, the eldest five, the next three years, and the baby six months. Preparations were made the evening before for an early start. Father, mother and I went to the beach to see them off. It was hard for Mr. Bennett to let them go. He kissed his children many times, then his wife, and he said, "Isabel, how can I let you go. Come back to the house, you must not go." She felt very sad, saying, "Yes, Thomas, I know you will miss us, and I will not stay so long as I was going to. I will come back in a week." Good-bys were said, little hands waved and the boat went sailing out over the rippling waves. Mrs. Bennett held the baby high in her arms for her papa to see, little white handkerchiefs were fluttered as far as we could see them. Somehow we all felt sad. Mr. Bennett walked on the shore saying, "Oh, my wife, my children. Why did I let them go? I shall never see them more." We tried to comfort him, but we could not. As the darkness came on and the wind blew fiercer our hearts grew heavy. Mr. Bennett walked all night on the shore and my father with him. I lay in my bed listening to the sound of the sullen roar of the sea as the breakers dashed high on the beach. At times it seemed the waves would never stop their rolling until they swept us away. They came so near our door once or twice I went to the window to look out, and nothing but a sheet of white foam could be seen. At times it was like the sound of distant thunder as the waves broke and washed about us. All the next day the sky was dark, the waves had a moaning, sobbing sound that was very sad to hear. We waited two days, then the messengers came over from Cross Village. Two Indians were sent with a letter from the Catholic priest telling all he could of the sad accident.

Early the next morning after the storm some Indians at Cross Village went to the beach to see if their canoes were all secure. The first object they saw was the boat of their neighbor drifting along the shore. No one was to be seen in the boat. They waited until the boat came in reach so they could pull it out from the breakers that still ran high. The boat was almost full of water. They took the water out as soon as possible, and in among the quilts lay little three-year-old Rebecca. She still breathed, her body was warm. The Indians in their excitement delayed taking the child to the house, thinking there might be more bodies washed upon the shore. They carried the child to the good priest's house and everything that human power could do was done to save the child, but it was too late, "Baby Rebecca had gone to join the angels."

Oh the sadness, it was hard. It seemed sometimes Mr. Bennett could not survive the shock. None of the other bodies were ever recovered. Mrs. Bennett was a very beautiful woman with a sweet, loving disposition.

THE KING'S RESIDENCE.

About this time King Strang decided to build a residence for himself. He made the plans and called it the "King's Cottage." The King came to our house asking my father to go to the harbor and help build his house. He wanted him to do the framing, and father, not being very busy, and not liking to refuse the King, went. Father was gone about six weeks, coming home often to see how we were at home. He boarded at the house where there were four wives. The King's Cottage was built very strong. A story and a half high with a porch across the front. The wide hall went right through the center, with massive strong doors at front and back, and with an open stairway. On each side of the hall was a large room, two bedrooms, hall and closets upstairs. A white picket fence about the yard with a nice garden spot on the hillside. It was a pleasant, cosey home, and the location was most beautiful, looking out on the harbor and Lake Michigan. The house was in the midst of a lovely grove of forest trees, maple, beach, oak and scattering evergreens. The cottage was built under the small hill or terrace on a level flat and just a short distance from the docks and stores. When we arrived after the Mormons had left the island the house was in good repair. My father and mother occupied it two years, being the first ones to live in it after Strang's death. Strang had started a large addition to the cottage before he died, which was much larger than the cottage itself. The addition was put at the back of the main building, made of logs hewed on both sides, containing eight rooms. But like the cottage itself, it has gone to decay. Strang remarked, "I am getting so many wives I have to enlarge my house."

While father was there Strang invited him to dinner one day in his own home, as he said he wanted him to see how a man could get along with several wives. My father went and had a fine dinner, and Strang was very gay, entertained with many jokes and stories. The four wives had very little to say, but were smiling and pleasant and seemed very anxious to please the King.

THE KING'S JOKES.

Strang joked about soon adding some more wives and soon starting a school for his own children, at which they all laughed. He talked continually, trying to have them all know that he was the king and having authority to rule his subjects as he pleased. When dinner was ended they went to the new cottage, Strang and the favorite wife, the other three women remained at home. Father said none of the other women ever came with Strang to see how the work progressed, only this one that he most always called "Charles." Father said this young woman was very pleasant and greatly pleased with the house. Strang seemed very affectionate to this wife. Every pleasant day they were walking about together. When father came home he said he was glad to be home again. They were all very kind to him, but it seemed terrible to see people live in that way. He told mother the women had sad faces when people saw them at their work. When Strang came again he said to mother, "I am going to make a Mormon of your husband and what will you do when he brings home more wives?" Mother said "I hope that will never happen, and if it should the women that come into my home will not have a happy time." Strang looked at her saying, "We could find a way to make everything agreeable in a very short time." Then he laughed, saying, "If you were a Mormon, Mrs. Whitney, you would think differently about these things. We believe in this doctrine and that is why we are happy." Mother said to him, "Now you can't make me believe you are as happy as you want us to think you are." He said no more and appeared thoughtful. After he was gone mother said to father. "Do take us away from this island. I am afraid of that man. No one knows what he may do yet."

THE KING'S LAWS.

The King was very particular about the appearance of his peoples' homes. The houses were built of logs hewed on both sides and all were whitewashed outside as well as in. Their yards were all laid out with care and taste, with flowers and shrubs, and nice vegetable gardens at the back, which gave all a homelike appearance. No liquor, tea, coffee or tobacco were to be used. There were men sent out every day to see that all refuse of fish was buried deep in the ground. He exacted a tax from the fishermen all along the shore of ten dollars for each boat, and as there were always a large number of boats, this added quite a little income to the King's treasury. All paid without hard feelings, as money was plenty and no one cared to have trouble with the King. The Bennetts would not pay the tax. Thomas Bennett felt he had been greatly wronged about his home, having to leave his land as his Mormon neighbors had made it so unpleasant for them, besides he felt Strang had no right to collect the tax from the fishermen. At any rate he refused to pay when Strang sent his men to collect it and the feelings between them were not very friendly.

OUR MORMON NEIGHBORS.

The winter of 1851 my brother Lewis went to Ohio to school; my father was very sick that winter. We had two Mormon neighbors that were very kind to us. One was a good doctor, and he took care of father almost constantly with help from others. The other Mormon friend was an apostle in the church. He and his wife lived near us. He had charge of the people that lived near the Gentile settlement. They were very nice people. Both these neighbors were very much worried about the things Strang was preaching. The people were getting restless and divided. Many wanted to leave the island but had no means to go with, and feared to be punished if found trying to get away. A great many were opposed to polygamy. Strang tried to keep his people in harmony together, but the strife was growing every day. In the early spring Strang came to see my father. He was very sympathetic about his being so sick. Mother told him how kind Mr. Bower and Mr. Sinclair had been to us. He seemed greatly pleased and asked to know if he could do anything to help.

STRANG AND HIS FAVORITE WIFE.

When he was leaving he said to mother, "Come over to Sinclair's. My wife is there. We have a nice baby. Come and see our baby boy." Mother took me with her to the apostle's home. There we saw the King and his favorite wife, Charles Douglas, and their baby. I, being fond of babies, wanted to hold him. I sat in a little chair and the mother put the child in my arms. The King was afraid I would let the baby fall. He never let go the child's dress. He seemed very fond of the child, and it was plain to be seen that this was his favorite wife. Most of the time he called her "Charles" and sometimes Elvira. She was very sweet and seemed very fond of her baby, yet her face seemed sad when not smiling. Her manner was quiet and her voice low. Before we left Strang took me on his lap, asking if I did not want to go to school. I stammered "Yes," but mother said she is too young yet to go to school. When we came home mother said to father, "Don't you ever consent to send Elizabeth to the Mormon school." Strang had remained on the island that winter.

Very soon after our visit to the apostle, we were startled one morning to hear several boats and nets had been taken by the Mormons, with many barrels of fish from the store houses near the light-house point at the head of the island. Some Ohio fishermen had stored their fish and other property expecting to come back in the spring, leaving a man to look after the property. The ice was just breaking up in the lake. The Mormons took everything to the harbor. Our people saw them passing very early in the morning. All were well armed and ready to resist any interference from the Gentiles. We Gentiles were very frightened, fearing they would take our provisions from us, as there were all sorts of rumors. Mr. Cable had a store with a stock of all kinds of merchandise for their spring trade. He feared they would demand the keys and take possession of his goods. There was very little sleep for several nights among us. Our Mormon friends who were true to us advised us all to keep very quiet and not be seen talking with them. They kept us posted as much as possible. The Gentiles made preparations to defend themselves. The Mormons took the boats and nets to the north shore, concealing them in the woods, making it appear the north shore fishermen did the plundering. The owners of the property recovered the boats and part of the nets, but never recovered any of the fish. They were sold by the Mormons.

At the harbor all was gaiety. Their theater was kept going to amuse the people with dancing parties every week. The King made it a point to entertain the sailors when vessels were detained by rough weather, and they began to think Beaver Harbor was not a bad place to be weather-bound. They found King Strang a charming entertainer. With opening of navigation the summer people came, and our house was again full of boarders. We had built a comfortable house, which was almost complete. Our regular boats were calling, business had started up and we all felt more secure from the Mormons as so many people were coming. Fishing was good, money plenty and everybody was busy. Strang had gone with his wife and child to attend outside affairs. The head apostle was in charge of everything and there was much dissatisfaction among many of his people. Several felt fear for their life, if they disobeyed the King's command. Among these was the Apostle Sinclair.

THE KILLING OF BENNETT.

The Bennetts were living not a great distance from us. Sam, as the younger brother was called, had married a young lady from Detroit, a Miss Sullivan. Thomas now boarded at his brother's home, and was still very sad over the loss of his wife and children. I had been visiting a week with Mrs. Bennett and returned home in the morning. In the afternoon a message came to our house saying that Thomas Bennett was dead. The Mormons had shot him. It was hard to believe, yet it was true. The Gentiles were very much excited and sorrowful, too, as Bennett had been a favorite with us all. Could it be possible they had killed our friend and neighbor?

My three brothers were dressed in their Sunday suits and walked to the harbor, grandpa going with them, fearing something might happen to the boys. Bennett had always been very fond of my brothers and they loved him. Now, they must see him buried. It was long after dark before they reached the harbor. A Mormon family, who had some boys about their age, kept them all night. The next morning they went to where the body was. It had been put in a blacksmith's shop. Dr. McCulloch opened the body to see which of the seven bullets had proved fatal. One had pierced the heart. The body was put in a plain pine coffin and buried without prayer or ceremony of any kind. The grave was near the water in a little grove of cedar trees where the sound of the waves never ceased their solemn murmurings. When my brothers visited the grave soon after it was piled high with great rocks, meaning that every Gentile would be served the same unless they obeyed the king's commands.

TO BE BROUGHT DEAD OR ALIVE.

The killing of Bennett was a threat shock to all our people, as no one believed the Mormons would carry things so far. The Bennetts had gone early on the lake, returning before noon. While attending to their work in their workhouse two Mormon men stepped in, demanding the tax money. Bennett answered, "I want to see the king before I pay it." The men went away. The Bennetts stepped out to go to their dwelling, when seven bullets were fired at once into the body of Thomas Bennett. He dropped dead instantly. The brother ran toward his house with his hand up to his head. Bullets came thick and fast around him. He was shot through the hand, shattering all his fingers on one hand. There were many shots entered the windows. Mrs. Bennett to save her life had to go into the cellar.

The body of Bennett was put into his own boat with all the fish there was in the fish house, which amounted to considerable money, and taking the wounded brother with them to the harbor. There the doctor dressed his wound. Strang always declared he never gave orders to have Bennett killed or to be brought "dead or alive." Until the killing of Bennett we could not believe the Mormons meant to do us bodily harm. Now all was changed. There was no more open friendship between Mormons and Gentiles as before. They avoided us, passing us without speaking with their heads bent and eyes looking to the ground. They seemed a sad and silent people.

Not long after Bennett's death I saw the king coming to our house. The very name of Strang struck a terror to my heart. I felt so afraid of them all now. He was almost to the door, dressed in his black suit and high hat, I always recognized him from the rest. I said to mother, "Oh, where shall I go, I am so afraid of Strang?" Mother's bedstead was a high, old-fashioned one with white curtains about it. I ran and had just time to seat myself under it, and tried hard to pull the curtains around me, but my feet were left sticking out from under the curtain.

STRANG HAVING DINNER WITH US.

Strang walked in, seating himself in a chair, saying: "Good morning, Mrs. Whitney." Mother greeted him very coolly, as she had not seen him since Bennett's death. How my heart did beat when he asked where my father was. Then I was sure he wanted to take me away to the harbor to school. Mother told him father would soon be in to dinner, which she was then preparing. Strang said: "I guess I will stay to dinner, Mrs. Whitney, and have some of your nice baked whitefish, which I see you have." He saw her putting it into the oven. He talked about many things and after a little while he said, "Where is your little girl?" Then I was sure he would take me away. I wanted to scream, but kept quiet. Mother told him, "The child is afraid of you since you had Bennett killed." He came over to the bed, getting down on his knees, saying, "Come out, child; I will not hurt you. Come and sit on my lap." I drew back. He pulled me out by the hand, taking me in his arms and sitting in the chair he stroked my hair, saying: "I will not hurt you, child. Do not be afraid of me." His voice was low and his face looked sad. I looked at him a long time, then said: "I see blood on your head. I am afraid of you." He put his hand to his head, passing it over his forehead, and looking at his hand, he said: "I see no blood." He was very pale and his face was serious. Mother explained to him that I had heard the people say that the blood of Bennett was resting on Strang's head. I got down from his lap and took my little chair as far as I could from him, and holding my doll. I watched the king, fearing him so much. He told mother he was absent when Bennett was killed. She asked him why he was always absent when his people did the most disagreeable things. He said: "Do not judge me too harshly. I am not responsible for the killing of Bennett." Father and our boys soon came in with our friend, John Goeing. Strang staid to dinner and praised our boys for being so brave in going on the lake. He said: "My people will never learn to be good sailors; they are too timid." Then he asked about the schooling. Father told him John Goeing, our boarder, was teaching us.

THE MORMON FEAST GROUND AT FONT LAKE, BEAVER ISLAND.

Father told me in after years he had a very serious talk with Strang that day, and the king admitted it was not right that Bennett was killed, but said where there were people that were opposite in their beliefs there was always trouble. Mother told him some sorrows would come to him if he persisted to live as he was living. He smiled, saying: "Oh, we aren't such a bad people, after all, Mrs. Whitney, and when you become one of us you will think just as we do." He shook hands and was gone. Mother said to father: "I do believe we shall have to leave here soon or we shall be forced to become Mormons." Father assured her that would never be.

JOHN GOEING AND HIS DEAR OLD IRISH HOME.

John Goeing came to the island and had been with us two years. He was an educated and refined gentleman from Ireland. His father was a rich Irish lord. John had been disappointed in love and left his "dear old Irish home" to come to America. From a visit to friends in Canada he had wandered to Beaver Island, and had been with us ever since. He was a great reader, having a box full of books. He did not work, and being very fond of us children he took it upon himself to teach us. He received money from home often, with the finest of broadcloth suits of clothes with silk underwear. Every evening after the lessons were heard John would read to us or tell us about his "old home in Erin." What brother Charley and I loved most was to have John tell about the chase with hounds. I liked it all except where the fox was killed by the dogs, then I would say, "John, can't you tell some stories where the fox gets away from the hounds?" Then he smiled, saying, "I won't have the foxes killed any more. It makes Elizabeth feel too sorry." Then he would get his books, saying, "Now, children, where shall we go tonight? England, Ireland or Scotland?" Sometimes we all wanted different stories. Then he would say, "I will take you to Ireland, my own native home." To me it was fairyland to listen to John telling of the home he had left, with its lovely green parks, graveled walks, shady bowers where his father and mother often strolled about with their children. We could almost see it all as he told it to us, and so often when he finished the tears would be falling through his fingers as his head rested on his hands. And the books, how wonderful were the places he took us to in them! He had traveled almost everywhere and we loved best to hear about his travels. We could understand it all better. John was like a brother to us younger ones, and like a kind son to father and mother.

MY BROTHER CHARLEY GOING TO OHIO.

Summer was fast slipping away. Our summer boarders were talking of home. One of our boarders, Mr. William Hill, was anxious to take my brother Charley home with him, put him to school and teach him the engineer's trade. It was all talked over and settled that Charley was to go. We children could not realize much about what it meant. My eldest brother had been one winter with the same man. Charley was to remain with Mr. Hill until he was twenty-one, he being past ten now. Papers were made out and signed. Mother prepared all the clothes for her boy that was going away to another home. I remember so well seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sewed and stitched far into the night, making the little jackets that Charley was to wear in his far away new home. She sacrificed her own feeling that her boy might have an education, and a good trade when he became a man. The time had now come for Charley to go. Father and mother had grown thin and pale. The packing began. Mother could not finish and neighbors had to come in and finish it for her.

BROTHER LEWIS AND I WERE GOING TO OHIO WITH MR. CRANE.

Mr. Hill told her Charley could come back to see us every summer. But somehow it seemed it never would be the same. Charley would never be ours again. It was terrible to think about when the time came for them to go. A letter came to Mr. Hill from his sister in Painesville, Ohio, asking if he could not bring the little sister, meaning me, that she would like to have a little girl to be with her two small children. She would send me to school and I would be near my brother. Then I could come home in the spring and go back another winter if all was agreeable. It was at last decided that I, too, should go the last trip of the steamer Michigan, in December.

BROTHER CHARLEY GONE.

The steamer was at the dock. Good-byes were said. Charley was gone. The boat steamed away, taking the first one from the home nest. It was hard for mother to give up her boy, but she felt it was best for him. Oh, how long the time seemed to me! No more could we wander about together. Our little canoe lay idle upon the beach. There was no little brother to help row the boat, or swing in the old swing from the big maple tree, or chase the plovers along the shore. Our little pet dog was always searching about for Charley. His bows and arrows were put away out of sight. The house seemed still; it was as if some one lay dead. John felt just as sad as any of us. Our neighbors came to cheer us, telling us we should meet again when the spring time came.

Mother still was busy getting the rest of us ready to go. Mr. Crane was our neighbor. He came from the headlands near Fairport, Ohio. His daughter Elizabeth came with him and her brother to be their housekeeper. They owned a farm in Ohio. They were a large family and money could be earned easily at the island as the fish were so plenty. They came with several other Ohio families. Mr. Crane was coming back next season and I could return with them. Nearly all our summer people were gone. We had just two left and they were going on the last boat.

The Mormons were now taking boats and nets every chance they got and the Gentiles felt very unsafe. Our two Mormon friends told our people there was great trouble among them in the Church, as Strang's laws were becoming unbearable.

The weather had changed and snow and ice were now with us, and brother Anthony had gone to Green Bay to his uncle John Gebeau. In another week brother Lewis and I would be gone. How often I said to John, "Now you will be good to father and mother, won't you? for they will have no one but you, and you will read to them and tell them about Ireland and your old home."

John promised all and mother told me afterward she never could have lived through the winter only that John was so kind. He read them stories, and being a good singer, he sang his old native songs of Ireland. All was ready. Our trunks were packed. Mr. Crane's goods were on the dock. Fishing had been good and those who had not had their nets stolen were going home with money. There were about twenty families of the Gentiles to remain all winter at the settlement at Cable's dock. The rest went to their winter homes.

I was busy bidding my little playmates farewell, as the boat was expected every hour. At last the steamer was beside the dock. Elizabeth Crane had packed my trunk, as mother could not do it. I had my dolls packed and then took them out, saying to mother, "I will leave my dolls so you can see them and you won't be so lonesome." When she could speak she said, "Yes, leave the dolls. When I look at them I shall think you are near." So the dolls were left in their little beds covered up with their sheets and quilts just as I always put them to sleep. We all ate our dinner together. It was a sad, silent meal. Mr. Crane and Elizabeth were charged over and over again to take good care of me if I should be sick. They promised to do all they could for me. Mr. Crane said. "I shall take care of your child as if she were my own." I said to John. "Now who will go to England, Ireland and Scotland with you these long winter evenings?" He said, "I guess I will have to take your father and mother with me as you children will all be gone." "Well John, be sure you take little dog Prince and all the dolls. Don't leave them here alone." The whistle blew, good-byes were said, mother caught me in her arms with one last long kiss and "God bless you, my child." Mr. Crane and Elizabeth with brother hurried to the boat, John and father coming as the captain shouted "all aboard." Father kissed me, saying, "Be a good girl, come home in the spring and God bless you."

ON BOARD STEAMER MICHIGAN.

My hand slipped from his into Elizabeth's. She led me over the gang-plank. My little dog had followed me. He put his paws upon my shoulder and was licking the tears off my face. Father called to him, but he would not leave me. The men carried him to father, the plank was pulled in, the paddles turned and we steamed away with those on the dock waving us good-by. Elizabeth took me up on deck where brother and I stood waving as long as we could see the old home where we had all been so happy together. We soon reached the harbor, we landed at the Point dock to take freight. Mr. McKinley had taken his family the trip before and gone to Ohio for the winter, his clerk taking charge of the business in his absence. His father, grandpa McKinley as we called him, came on board to go away for the winter. He was always so kind to us children and we all loved him. It was Sunday, but I noticed the Mormon women had their washing on the line, Saturday being their Sunday.

We steamed away and soon could see nothing about us, as it was snowing and the sea was heavy. Our boat rolled and pitched about so no one could stand upon their feet. Jane, the cabin maid, took me to her private cabin and let me lie on her couch. As I lay there I began to realize I was leaving my home. It was dark, the lamps were lighted and I said, "Oh I must go home. I can't leave father and mother." Elizabeth took me to her room, putting me in her berth. There I sobbed myself to sleep.

AT MACKINAC ISLAND.

When I awakened we were at the dock at Mackinac Island. Everything was white with snow. The whole island looked like white marble. The damp snow had covered the trees. The fort on the hill looked so pretty where the snow was on the tops of the houses and chimneys. A flag waved over the fort. There were soldiers in their blue clothes walking up and down the fort hill. Dogs and ponies hitched to sleds with people dressed in fur coats, caps and mittens riding along the front street that reached round the pretty bay. The dock was full of people. Men, women and children nearly all speaking in French. There were a number of families going away on the last boat to their winter homes. Elizabeth took me ashore. We went into several stores and there I met old grandpa. I told him I was going to see Charley. He was so pleased to see me and cautioned me to be careful not to fall overboard and to be sure and tell Charley grandpa had not forgotten him. Then he gave me packages of candy, apples and raisins. I met several that knew me, as they were so often with us at home. We walked down to the Mission House, as mother had told me so much about the Mission. When Mr. Ferry was there mother had attended the Mission school for a time. We saw Robinson's Folly with the white snow covering the rocks and trees. We then came back to the old Mission Church, and going inside I told Elizabeth my mother had often taken me there when I was a baby. I showed her the Dousman pew in front where the family used to sit, my mother being adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Dousman. We then came to the "Old Agency House" with its quaint old chimney outside at the end, its little dormer windows in the roof. It was now all covered with the pure white snow and every shrub around its doors was draped in white. We passed on, going toward the Grand, many little houses covered with cedar bark and some had cedar bark put all around the outside, with narrow strips of wood tacked on to hold it. Some had little square windows with four and six panes of glass with white muslin curtains. They looked like little toy houses, but were warm and comfortable. It was a quaint little village full of jolly, kind hearted people whose hearts were tender and true to their neighbors.

It being cold we soon went back to the boat. Our boat looked like a huge snow bank beside the dock. The freight was being rolled over the plank and all was confusion. There were handshakes and good-byes as the people hurried over the plank. The "all aboard" was shouted, the plank was pulled in, the paddles turned and we were moving away amid the waving of caps and fluttering of handkerchiefs. Our whistle was saluting, and many of the people on the dock joined in one of the old French-Canadian glee or boat songs, their voices sounding far out over the waters as we passed Round Island.

ON LAKE HURON.

For a short time we watched the white island covered with snow. It soon set in thick again and the snow came down in blinding sheets with a cold wind. Our boat rocked and tumbled about. We were now out on Lake Huron in a heavy snow storm. Our captain and sailors were dressed in their warm fur coats. Every turn of the paddies was taking me farther from home, and soon such a longing came over me which I could not shake off. I wanted to go home. Elizabeth and my brother tried their best to comfort me, telling me I was going to see brother Charley; but nothing could make me feel better. Brother tried to have me eat something, but I could not. My chin quivered, I tried so hard not to cry, I ran to my room, throwing myself on my bed, trying hard to keep the tears back. Soon Mr. Crane came with a big doll he bought for me at Mackinac Island and grandpa McKinley came to see me, taking me in his arms and rocking me in one of Jane's chairs. I was very glad to see him. He was a dear white haired old man. He told me some droll stories that made me laugh. Then I told him I was going to see my brother Charley and that I was homesick, and if I didn't get better soon I was going to ask the captain to turn the boat and take me back to Beaver Island.

The storm grew worse, the seas ran higher, the snow was blinding and all things had to be made secure on the boat. No one but the sailors could walk about. Any that tried would be thrown down. The only way they could move about was to creep on their hands and knees. Sometimes our boat was high on the waves, when it seemed every timber in her would be broken. She trembled and then sank way down, where it seemed we would be buried in the foaming waters.

CROSSING SAGINAW BAY.

We were now crossing Saginaw Bay in a blinding snow storm. The whistle was blowing almost constantly, and once we heard another quite close to us. Women and children were crying in their state-rooms, others were groaning in fear and sickness. Our boat was creaking and tossing, sometimes on her side, when it seemed she would never rise again. Sailors were running on the deck and orders were shouted by the captain. Water was splashing into the cabins, glass was broken from the windows, and cabin boys were hurrying about nailing up blankets. Dishes were smashing as they fell from the lockers. Cabin doors could not be shut, our boat was twisted, and it seemed she could not last much longer she settled and trembled so at times, and then the great waves dashed all over her.

PRAYING FOR THE STORM TO CEASE.

Our blankets were wet by water coming in upon us as Elizabeth and I lay in our berth with our hands tightly clasped in each others. She had been telling me about her home, mother, sisters and brothers. How they were waiting and watching for them to come home, saying, "I know my mother is praying for us." Then I said, "And we must pray, pray awful hard, because my father, mother and John said if I was in trouble God would hear me and help me, and I guess I will pray for our boat to be saved." Elizabeth said, "Yes child, pray for us all." And I am sure God heard the feeble prayer I made as I told him how sorry everybody would be if our dear old Michigan steamboat went down. I felt no fear through all the storm. I said to Elizabeth, "Now we must go to sleep." She kissed me, saying, "Dear child, what a comfort you are to me." We were cold and wet in our berths and now the boat seemed pitching and tossing another way. Her head would go down so far it seemed she would pitch over head first. Many were screaming in the cabins. Mr. Crane with my brother and William were on the cabin floor near our door. Our door had to be tied back to keep from slamming. My brother had the life preservers ready and some had already put them on. Oh the praying and the screaming was terrible; but in the midst of all I went sound to sleep. When I awoke our boat was still. We had weathered the gale.

AT PRESQUE ISLE DOCK.

There was tramping of feet and scraping of shovels. I was sure we had run aground. Brother soon told us we were safe at Presque Isle dock. Oh how glad we felt! Brother said hurry and dress so you can get out on deck and look at our boat. She is a sight to look at. We were soon on the dock looking at our boat covered with snow and ice. One could never have imagined it was a boat that lay there. It was like a big ice berg. Her spar was so covered with ice it looked like a great tree. Our boat was a side wheel steamer with a walking beam. Capt. Newberry was owner and master. He said to his mates, "Boys, when this old steamer of ours can weather such a gale she can go through anything." People came running down to the dock to see the steamer as the news spread. We laid there two days and nights to clear the snow and ice off and make some repairs so she could go to Buffalo to lay up for the winter. Brother Lewis said he could not tell how many barrels of salt were used on that trip to keep the boat from sinking with ice. Our ears were tired hearing the shovels scraping the snow and ice for the rest of the trip.

AT DETROIT AND CLEVELAND.

Our passengers began to feel better that the great storm was over and again we were moving. Many were to leave the boat at Detroit, as some were to cross over to the Canada side. At Detroit we remained for some time, our Captain's home being there. Mr. Crane, Elizabeth, William, Lewis and I went ashore. Mr. Crane bought me some red morocco shoes and a pretty red silk hood to match my red cloak. We had not many passengers after we left Detroit, and again the sea was rough with a heavy rain storm. When we reached Cleveland we again went ashore, walking about the city all morning, and in the afternoon Mr. Crane took a carriage and we drove about the city, seeing many handsome residences, but they could not get me to say anything I saw was nicer to me than my island home. That night there was a gale on Lake Erie so our boat laid in port. I was still homesick and the tears would come often, though I tried to keep them back. My brother Lewis was to leave us here at Cleveland, as this was where he was going to school. After he left us I was very lonely.

TRYING TO BE HAPPY.

Elizabeth said. "Now my dear child you must have patience. Spring will soon be here and we will take you home again. So now, have patience." All day long after she talked to me I kept repeating every little while. "Patience, patience; have patience." I did not know its meaning. At last I asked her what it meant. She tried to explain to me it meant not to worry, not to fret, to be quiet and wait, try to be happy, sing when I wanted to cry, and be cheerful and not give up to sadness. I repeated many times what she said to me and promised to do the best I could. How much I needed that lesson before my face was again turned homeward! I did not cry any more. I told Elizabeth my heart was getting too big and I was sure it would burst. When I felt so bad and it was hard to keep the tears back I took my doll Jane (I had named her after the dear, kind cabin maid) in my arms, rocking and singing some of my old French songs my mother had taught me. When Elizabeth looked at me I said, "Now I am getting patience." Soon the captain came in, saying, "Is this the little girl that is homesick?" I said, "Oh no, I'm not homesick any more. I have got patience." He laughed heartily. Elizabeth explained to him what I meant. He said, "No don't you get homesick any more. I will take you home next April on this old steamboat of mine. So get all the patience you can."

ON THE HEADLANDS.

At nine o'clock that evening we reached Fairport. It had been raining hard and the night was dark. We were ready to leave the boat. Jane, the cabin maid kissed me many times, saying, "Now my dear child try not to be homesick and we hope to meet you in the spring and take you home with us." We stepped ashore, it seemed to me the dock was moving from under us, we had been over a week on the boat. Elizabeth was soon with her brothers and sisters who had come to meet her. She took my hand saying, "This is my little friend, Elizabeth Whitney." They gave me a hearty welcome and I knew I was among friends. We hurried to the hotel kept by Mrs. Root in Fairport, where we remained all night. Next morning after breakfast we crossed over the river on the scow ferry, where we were met by Mr. Crane's carriage and we drove to their home on the Headlands. There Mrs. Crane was standing in her door to meet her husband and children. After all had greeted their father and mother, Mrs. Crane with the rest of the family gave me a kind welcome and I felt quite happy with them. Their nearest neighbor was Mr. Alexander Snell. He had been to Beaver Island and knew my parents. Mrs. Snell and everybody was very kind to the little "Island Girl," as I was called. Her sister, Mrs. Wright, was our neighbor at home. Mr. Crane's youngest child was a girl of five years, and a boy named Charley eight, so we children had great fun hunting hen's eggs in the big barn.

After one week one bright morning Mr. Crane took me in the carriage to Painesville to my new home. We crossed the Grand river at Fairport, then took the old plank road to Painesville. How the horses' hoofs did clatter as we drove on a fast trot! We stopped at the turn of the road, where Mr. Crane had two sisters living. Their house was on a pretty knoll on the right as we drove into Painesville. We had dinner with Mrs. Matthews. The other sister was a maiden lady called by the children "Aunt Margaret." They were all very kind to me.

IN MY NEW HOME.

After dinner we drove into Painesville up to the cottage door to my new home. The lady came to the door and knew at once I was the little girl she expected and said, "Come in." We stepped inside, Mr. Crane saying, "I have brought you this child as you directed me in your letter. Her father has put her in my care and I am responsible for her. If you do not like to keep her this winter I shall take her home with me. If you do take her and at any time don't want her, let me know. I shall come once every week to see her until I go back to the island, and of course you know she is to go back to her home with me unless she wants to stay and you want to keep her." The lady said, "Yes you have said just as my letter to her father reads." She looked at me, then turning to Mr. Crane she said, "She is so small she won't be able to help me much." Mr. Crane said, "Why you said in your letter you wanted her for company and to do little errands and chores for you and be with your children." "Yes," the lady said, "But I shall expect her to help me some." Mr. Crane told her, "You promised to send the child to school and I have money from her father to buy her books." The lady said, "Oh I know we shall like her." Then Mr. Crane handed her the money for my books, saying, "She has clothes enough. If there is anything more needed let me know." He gave her his address and went out to bring my trunk. He said, "Now my dear child, I hope you will be happy in your new home. I will come every week to see you." Turning to Mrs. Shepard, he said, "If this child gets sick let me know." He bent down and kissed me, the tears falling fast from his eyes, he bowed to Mrs. Shepard and hurried away.

The last link that reminded me of my island home was gone. Oh it was terrible! I tried to run after him to call him back. I wanted to say come back, come back and take me to your home. I could not speak, I could not move, never while life lasts can I forget how I felt when I saw Mr. Crane driving away in the carriage. I was among entire strangers in a strange land. A child of seven and a half years of age. The lady said, "Come to the fire you must be cold." She then took my cloak and hood. I sat down in a little chair. She went about the house at her work, never speaking to me. All was silent and quiet. In a little while the two little children, one a boy of three, the other a year old, just walking, came to me. The oldest brought me some toys and put in my hands, never speaking. Then the youngest came and put his little face up to mine. I kissed him, which seemed to please him, and soon I took him on my lap, where he soon fell asleep, while the other child was sitting quietly beside me on the floor playing with his toys. The lady took the child and laid him on the bed saying. "Do you like children?" I answered. "Yes Ma'm." It was the first word I had spoken since I entered the house. She took her sewing and never spoke. Oh how long the time seemed! I cannot tell how I felt. No tears would come to give me relief. At last she put her sewing away and began the supper. Then the lights were lit; the baby had wakened and I again took him in my arms. The other child stood close beside me.

MR. MILTON A. SHEPARD.

Soon the door opened and a man came in. The children cried, "Papa." He kissed the children saying, "Who is this little girl?" His wife told him, "This is the little island girl we expected." He took my hand, saying. "I am glad to see you. But wife what a little midget she is." He was a kind looking man with black hair and eyes. Supper was on the table. I was placed near the children. I tried to eat, but I could not swallow. The food stuck in my throat. Mr. Shepard noticed I did not eat, so he asked me if I would like some milk. I answered, "Yes, sir." Mrs. Shepard told him there was none only what the children had. I said, "Never mind," but little Henry gave me his cup full. I managed to drink it. When the meal was over I asked if I should do the dishes. "Not tonight, but tomorrow," she said. Mr. Shepard asked me a few questions about my island home, which was the only time in all my stay that my home or my parents were ever mentioned to me.

HOMESICK.

I was put to bed upstairs alone in a room. The first time in my life I was ever alone at night, but I was not afraid, only homesick. I took my doll Jane in my arms, saying my prayers I went to bed, but not to sleep. My thoughts went back to my home on the island. I could see my pets, father, mother and John sitting around the table, mother sewing, John reading, and the tears would come in spite of all my efforts to keep them back. Then I thought about what Elizabeth said to me that I must have patience, yes I must not cry and I would soon see brother Charley. I would ask Mr. Shepard in the morning about my brother. Then I whispered so low to Jane, telling her it was naughty to cry and complain, and that we must pray God to help us, asking her if she had forgotten the big storm when we were on the lake. In talking to my doll I fell asleep and only awoke when Mr. Shepard was building the fire in the morning. I was soon dressed and was down stairs, where I began dressing the children, and always after that I took care of them. The dear children, how they loved me and I loved them! Never once were they cross to me, and I hope I never was to them. Of course I could not comb my hair. It was long and heavy. Mrs. Shepard did it for me. I helped her with the dishes and soon learned how she did her work. She was very neat and her home was always in order. By standing on a little stool I could reach the dishes on the pantry shelves and soon could do the dishes alone and help about the other work.

GOING TO SCHOOL IN THE LITTLE RED SCHOOL HOUSE.

The next week I was sent to school in the little red school house. Miss Elizabeth Crawford was my teacher. She and her mother lived near the school house in a little vine covered cottage. I was very happy in school. Mr. Shepard heard my lessons in the evenings so he could see what progress I made. Mr. and Mrs. Shepard had both been teachers. The Christmas time was saddest for me, for then I missed my home the most.

MEETING BROTHER CHARLEY.

I was in Painesville over a month before I saw my brother Charley. He came one day and staid to dinner. I could scarcely believe it was he, he had grown so tall and seemed such a little man. After dinner we took the children on the sled and went to Mr. Shepard's shop where he made the wagons. Then we went down the bank to the river. At four o'clock he must start for home. I wanted him to stay all night, but he said he could not. The time came all too soon for him to go and with many promises to come again we bade good-by and he was gone. For days afterward I wondered "had I dreamed he was there or was it a reality." I never saw him again while I remained.

One morning soon after when Mrs. Shepard was combing my hair she took the shears and cut it off short. My heart was broken. She said, "I can't be troubled with your long hair every morning." Mr. Shepard was sorry, but said, "Never mind, it will grow again," which comforted me because I feared it would always be short like the Mormon women's hair. Mrs. Shepard had a niece boarding with her. She liked to tease me, telling me it would never grow again.

Every Sabbath I went to church and always had my verse learned for my Sabbath school teacher. One morning on my way to school I met Mr. Peter McKinley. He lived in a large house near our school. He was very glad to see me. To me it seemed like seeing some one from home. Mr. Crane came every week to see me, but I never saw him. Sometimes I was at school, twice I was in the house upstairs with the children but never knew he was there until he was gone. Spring was drawing near and I wondered if I ever would see Mr. Crane and go home.

One day Mr. and Mrs. Shepard left home and went to Willoughby. Her niece kept house and I helped her take care of the children. They were gone two days. The front door was always locked and I was told not to go to the door if anyone came. Once when I was on the street I saw Elizabeth Crane and her sister driving. They knew me and I knew them, but they were out of sight so quick I had not time to speak to them. Mr. and Mrs. Shepard came home. They began to pack their goods. Once I said, "Are you going away?" She said, "Yes, we are going to move to Willoughby."

A CHILD'S PRAYER.

All that night I lay awake. I knew then they intended to move and take me with them, and then I would never see my father and mother again. My heart was heavy, and all night I kept praying that God would help me to go to my own home. Mrs. Shepard had a sister living near, and next day I went to her, telling her I had not seen Mr. Crane and I feared I was to be taken away to another place and would never see my people again. She was a dear, kind lady, and she said, "I will see my sister about this," and she came right home with me. She talked with her sister for a long time. I did not hear their conversation, only I saw Mrs. Shepard was displeased. When Mrs. Robinson left she kissed me. I saw tears in her eyes. She had been so kind to me all winter. It was the one bright spot in that winter's life for me. The next morning we were to start for Willoughby. As I went to my room my heart was heavy with trouble. I took my doll Jane, telling her my sorrows and fears, but somehow Jane could not comfort me. I said to her, "It is because you don't know anything about my people. You have never been to Beaver Island." The moon was shining bright into my room. I lay a long time thinking and saying, "Oh, what shall I do!" I got out of bed and knelt beside it praying as I had never prayed before. I told God all about my sorrows, saying, "Oh won't you help me and take me home to my father?" My heart felt lighter. With Jane in my arms I lay me down to sleep and never wakened until Mr. Shepard called. We hurried our breakfast. Mrs. Shepard appeared nervous. My heart felt lighter than it had for many a day and I kept listening for carriage wheels which I felt sure would come. One load of goods had gone to the depot, the dray had just left the door with another and there were just a few things left for the last load. Our wraps lay on a chair.

A CHILD'S PRAYER ANSWERED.

Mr. Shepard had gone to the postoffice. A carriage drove up and stopped before our door. A lady came quickly in. I looked and saw it was Aunt Margaret, Mr. Crane's sister. I threw my arms about her, saying, "I am so glad to see you. Will you take me home?" She said, "Do you want to go?" "Yes, I want to go." She turned to Mrs. Shepard saying, "I see you are moving. I am Mr. Crane's sister. He was not able to see this child this winter. He sent me as the time is drawing near when my brother returns to the Island. He promised this child's father to bring her back if she wants to go." Mrs. Shepard told her she would have no interference and would keep me. "No," said Aunt Margaret, "Your letter reads the child could go home and come again if all was agreeable. And she says she wants to go and I shall take her. Elizabeth get your things on." I just flew I got my trunk, the lady putting it into the carriage. I was following her when Mrs. Shepard said, "Child aren't you going to kiss me and the children?" I put my arms about her neck, kissing her and caught the children in my arms with a hug and a kiss, then ran to the carriage.

Aunt Margaret lifted me to the seat, took the lines, and our horse just flew down the plank road till we arrived at Mrs. Matthews, where Mr. Crane was waiting for us. He came, saying, "Dear child how I have worried about you. When I saw I could never get to see you I sent sister Margaret and now you can go home on the steamboat Michigan." Oh what a happy child I was! All the sad, gloomy, lonesome days were forgotten. I was going home. Home to my father and mother. Going to my island home.