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A Child of the Sea; and Life Among the Mormons

by Elizabeth Whitney Williams · English · Gutenberg #34769 · 346,646 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Child of the Sea; and Life Among the Mormons

Author: Elizabeth Whitney Williams


        
Release date: December 28, 2010 [eBook #34769]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34769

Credits: Produced by Heiko Evermann, Patrick Hopkins and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD OF THE SEA; AND LIFE AMONG THE MORMONS ***




Produced by Heiko Evermann, Patrick Hopkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from scans of public domain works at the
University of Michigan\'s Making of America collection.)









Transcriber's Note

- The position of some illustrations has been changed to facilitate
reading flow.

- The frontispiece featuring a picture of Elizabeth Whitney Williams
(noted in the table of illustrations at the beginning of the text) is
missing from the original scanned book.

- In general, geographical references, spelling, hyphenation, and
capitalization have been retained as in the original publication.

- Minor typographical errors--usually periods, commas and hyphens--have
been corrected without note.

- Significant typographical errors have been corrected. A full list of
these corrections is available in the Transcriber's Corrections section
at the end of the book.

       *       *       *       *       *




  A CHILD
   OF THE
      SEA




_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.


  Elizabeth Whitney Williams.                     _Frontispiece._

  The Light House and Life Saving Station at Beaver
      Island Harbor, Michigan.

  James Jesse Strang, the Mormon King.

  King Strang's Residence. Built in 1850.

  The Mormon Feast Ground at Font Lake, Beaver Island.

  The King's Highway, Beaver Island.

  The old Mormon Printing Office, now the Gibson House,
      at Saint James, Beaver Island, Michigan.

  Font Lake, Beaver Island, where King Strang baptized his
      people.

  Little Traverse Light House, at Harbor Point, Michigan.




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."

  [Illustration: 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.

  [Illustration: 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.

  [Illustration: 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.

  [Illustration: 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.

We soon started for the Headlands once again. The horses' hoofs
clattered over the road to Fairport. We crossed the river, and in a
short time were at Mr. Crane's house, where all the family met me with
greetings of love. I entered school; Miss Marion Brooks was my teacher.
I was at the Headlands three weeks when a letter came from the Captain
of the steamboat Michigan to be ready at a certain date to meet the boat
at Fairport. Mr. Crane made preparations, and on the date mentioned in
the letter we were all in Fairport to take the steamboat. My brother had
come from Cleveland.


HOMEWARD BOUND ON STEAMBOAT MICHIGAN.

How my heart swelled with joy when I heard the Michigan's whistle and
saw the steamer nearing the dock. Mr. Crane's people were sad to have
them go, but all was ready, good-byes were said and again the old
familiar sound of "all aboard" was heard. We stepped upon the
gang-plank. Jane met us with her pleasant greetings, lines were cast
off, our boat was moving, we steamed out upon the waters of Lake Erie
with many blocks of floating ice about us, and the sea gulls were again
soaring high above us, uttering their shrill cries, as if they, too,
were glad to have the spring time come. We reached Cleveland, where
several families took passage for the island, some of whom were our
boarders of the year before. At Detroit more came on board. Among the
rest Mr. and Mrs. Loaney. They had been to Toronto, Canada, for the
winter. There were many fishermen returning to the island on this first
trip. More would follow later. The weather was fair. Our steamer had
been repaired since that terrible trip in December.

The Captain said to me, "Little girl did you get lots of patience this
winter?" At first I could not remember what he meant. Then it flashed
through my mind and I answered, "Yes sir." He said, "Well child, I told
you this old steamboat would carry you home and now you will soon be
there." Jane was glad to see us all again, the tears ran down her face
when I told her how homesick I was and what a comfort my Jane had been
to me. It was pleasant enough for us to be on deck after we left
Detroit. We stopped at almost every port. Lake Huron was calm and quiet
this time with just a ripple on Saginaw Bay, but we could feel the
motion of big swells, which sent many to their state rooms.


AT MACKINAC ISLAND.

We passed Bois Blanc, and were soon at the dock at Mackinac Island. This
time green trees greeted our view, but the white fort on the hill with
the flag waving over it looked just the same. The people were all out to
greet the first steamboat of the season, it being sometime about the
middle of April, 1852, old grandpa being among the rest. He was glad to
see us, but sorry Charley was not among us. Again we walked the streets
and climbed to the fort. The grass was springing up in the yards, and
all nature told us spring had come. There were happy, cheerful smiles on
people's faces, children were playing in the sunshine.

We had now left the dock and again there was waving and singing on the
dock to cheer us on our way. Our boat moved out past Round Island. There
were great blocks of drifting ice on every side. Near the little island
of St. Helena we almost stopped to keep clear of the ice. We steamed
past Hog Island, with little Hat Island looking white with ice packed
about it. Over to the northward was all ice, which had not yet broken to
drift. We soon were at the McKinley dock at the harbor; freight was
taken on for Green Bay, again the "all aboard" was called and we steamed
along past Big Sand Bay. We could see all the little homes that would
soon be occupied by summer people.


HOME AGAIN.

Brother and I saw our home, with father, mother and John standing in the
door. We waved to them; they saw and answered. Our boat was landed;
father and John were there to meet us with other friends. I could
scarcely wait for the gang plank to be put out. Ah well, the home
coming was almost worth the waiting for. As soon as I had greeted father
and John I ran up the dock for home, my little dog chasing after me. I
met Mr. Cable hurrying down. As I ran past without stopping, he said,
"Aren't you going to shake hands?" "Oh yes, but I am in such a hurry to
get home," I answered. Oh the joy to be once more at home! I took both
hands and dashed the water up into my face as I ran along the shore to
our house. The sound of the waves seemed welcoming me home. I looked
back once toward the boat and saw father with Elizabeth and the rest
coming. I ran almost breathless into the house saying, "Mother I have
come home." She hurried toward me saying. "Charley." Then she caught at
the back of a chair. Her face was so pale I thought she would fall, and
I gave her water to drink. She kissed me with her eyes full of tears. I
whispered, "No, Charley has not come."

The rest came in. Mr. Crane's people were to stay with us until their
house was ready. We were a happy family around our table at supper time.

I was now home and yet there was a sadness about it. We were not all
together as we once had been. Father and mother had grown thin and pale.
John said he could never tell how much we children had been missed. He
had read his books, sung his songs and told his stories to pass away the
winter evenings, and they had all worried much about the Michigan,
knowing that we were out in that terrible storm when we left in the
fall. I was busy for a few days visiting our neighbors and telling them
about my trip and where I had been. My little friend Rose and her mother
were glad to see me, as I could tell them about their people on the
Headlands. Their Aunt Mary Snell and Cousins Andrus, Alva and the rest.
There was a sweet little babe at Cable's. They called her Cora, and I
was so glad, because now I could help take care of her. Somehow life had
changed. Before going away the world did not seem to reach out very far
beyond our island home, now it began to seem like a great big world to
me, and many were the questions I asked John, which he was always glad
to answer. Once I said, "John were you ever homesick?" After a minute he
answered, "Yes, sometimes." I said, "I know what homesick means now."


A MOTHER'S LONGING TO SEE HER BOY.

Though life was busy with us, we missed Charley. Brother Anthony had
returned from Green Bay, being delighted with his school, his uncle and
aunt were so kind to him. One evening I went to the beach to sit beside
the water. I wanted to hear its soft low whisperings again. I was not
there long before I heard some one sobbing. I turned and mother was
beside me. She said, "I came to look for you and I was thinking that
perhaps Charley may never come home." She sat beside me silent for a
time and then said, "Now we must not spend our time in sorrow. Sometime
Charley may come." And she told me how anxious she was about a sick
neighbor she was caring for, saying, "I shall depend on you, Elizabeth,
to help me, and I want you to be careful never to repeat anything we
talk about. There is much trouble among the Mormons themselves. Strang
has been gone all winter, and some of the apostles refuse to obey the
laws of polygamy. There are spies all about us and the Mormons are not
our friends any more." I promised her I would be careful. She said, "Mr.
Sinclair is afraid of his life, as he knows he may be made an example of
for refusing to obey Strang's laws. I have many things to think about
and do for this sick woman. And I want to tell you something else.
Elizabeth Crane is going to be married in June. Charles Angel will come
after her. Then her home will be in Saginaw and her sister Jennie will
come in her place to keep house for her father. So now do not worry
Elizabeth about anything, for she has lots of sewing and we must help
her all we can."

Life was busy; our summer people were with us. Elizabeth Crane had left
us never to return. Mr. Angel and she were married at Mackinac Island.
When the boat came back her sister Jennie, a beautiful girl of nineteen,
came to remain until fall, when she, too, married Mr. James Corlette of
the Headlands. Mr. Crane, with others, left the island early in
September, as the Mormons had taken every boat along the shore below
Cable's dock, with the nets from the lake and fish from their fish
houses. They left the island, never coming back again, just a few
months before we, too, were obliged to leave or become Mormons.


MENOMINEE INDIAN FAMILY.

Sometime in June there came a canoe of Indians to our shore. They made
their camp near us. Mother went to see them. When she came home she told
us they were Menominee Indians come to fish for a time. They had been
over to Cross Village visiting some friends. Their home was in Green Bay
county. There were two small children, the Indian and his wife. The
Indian woman was a pretty woman with jet black hair cut straight across
the forehead, this being the fashion with Menominee squaws. Their wigwam
was always nice and clean. She was a nice sewer, piecing pretty bed
quilts, which always looked clean. Often when mother got in a hurry with
her work she hired the Indian woman to scrub and wash, and other times
to do some sewing. She was always smiling, showing her pretty white
teeth.

One morning when I awoke I found father and Mr. Dora, a neighbor, had
gone to Mackinac Island. They were gone about three days. When they came
home father had clothing for mother which Mr. Cable did not keep in his
store. Among the rest was a great quantity of bright colored glass beads
and many yards of colored ribbon, which she put away in her trunk,
saying to me, "Do not speak about what I have put away." Mother and the
Indian woman were often together speaking softly, so I never knew what
they said. Mother seemed anxious, and the Indian woman also seemed
quiet and thoughtful.

Soon after father's return mother said to me, "Elizabeth I want you to
let all your other work alone and string beads for me." I was delighted,
for if there was anything I loved to do it was to string the pretty
colored beads. So I began at once, each color on a strong thread. After
stringing a great quantity in this way, then I made many strings in
different colors, mixing the beads. As much as I enjoyed it I got very
tired, and whenever I went to the camp the little Indian children were
stringing beads and their mother was sewing, making deerskin moccasins,
on which she sewed the beads, which were so pretty when finished. She
made many pairs of them. Sometimes the Indian woman came to our house,
helping mother and me to string the beads, which she did so fast, and
talked so pleasantly in her own language, mother speaking her language
as well as the other tribes' that lived around us. There were several
camps of Chippewa Indians that lived along the shore that helped the
fishermen clean their fish, and the women made oil from the fish refuse
which sold for one dollar a gallon or more, according to quality. Most
of these Indians came from Garden Island.


THE ROBBERS' DEN.

Our Mormon friends who used to come to our house did not come any more.
There were two who sometimes came in a few minutes, but never
remained long. Everybody was anxious to know what the king would do
about his people when he came back. Many of the Mormons believed Strang
would take no notice of the refusal of some of his elders to practice
polygamy, while others thought that the man who hoped to have Strang's
place would influence him to make them suffer the penalty, which the
Mormons themselves told us was death, this elder contending severe
measures was the only way to enforce obedience to the law.

  [Illustration: THE KING'S HIGHWAY. BEAVER ISLAND.]

Having already organized a band of forty thieves, these men were being
trained to go out and do all the robbing from the Gentiles they saw fit
to do. The two men who headed the band were brothers and were large and
powerful men, Isaac and John Pierce. They were well suited to do such
work. The place they chose to secrete their stolen goods was a long
point at the lower end of Beaver Island, distant about three miles from
the harbor. This place was called by them "Rocky Mountain Point." Being
an out-of-the-way place they would not be seen secreting much of their
plunder.


WAKING AND SEEING INDIANS IN MY ROOM.

One night I was awakened out of a sound sleep by hearing footsteps in
the room. I opened my eyes and saw mother with the Indian woman and
another woman going up stairs. I waited sometime for them to come down,
but fell asleep before they came. I was awakened again. There was a very
dim light in the room. I saw a tall Indian who seemed to walk about
very feeble as if sick. His black hair was pulled over his eyes and he
held his hand up as if to shade his eyes from any light. There were two
Indian women in the room, one the Menominee woman, the other was a
stranger but she wore her hair cut across the forehead. She seemed young
and was dressed very beautifully. Her moccasins were trimmed with pretty
beads, and many strings of bright colored beads were about her neck, and
I thought she must be a princess, the daughter of a chief. She and the
Indian walked about the room several times, while mother and the
Menominee woman spoke to them in their language, they answering in the
same. I saw father nod and smile, at which they all took up parcels and
small bundles from the table and walked out in single file.


DEPARTURE OF THE INDIANS.

I waited some little time, and hearing nothing I got frightened,
thinking father and mother had gone away and left me, I got up, ran out
of doors and met mother. She took a blanket from my bed, saying, "Come
Elizabeth and see the Menominee Indians, they are going away. They must
go home and see to their crops and cannot stay here any longer." I said,
"Where did the other two come from?" She made a quick motion, putting
her hand over her mouth, which I understood was to be silent and ask no
questions. We were both speaking in French. I followed her to the beach,
where a large birch bark canoe was packed. I saw four little children
packed away Indian fashion, each had a little black puppy dog in his
arms. The tall sick Indian got in first, seating himself and smoking his
pipe, then the young Indian woman followed, then the Indian and his
wife. There were many "bou shou's" (good-byes) spoken in subdued tones.
The Indian and his wife took the paddles, father gave one hard push and
away sped the bark canoe over the blue water. The sky was just getting
red in the east, little birds were twittering in the branches of the
trees, we all stood watching the fast receding canoe, which soon looked
a speck upon the water. I ran to the house and crept into bed, and when
I awakened the sun was high. I asked mother where the Indians were now;
she answered. "They are far away." All day she seemed cheerful, and I
heard her sing for the first time since I came home from Ohio. I
wandered down to the Indian camp and all I saw was just a few marks
where the wigwams had stood. No rubbish was lying about. They had
vanished as if they had never been. Surely "They had folded their tents
like the Arabs and as silently stole away."


THE APOSTLE AND HIS FAMILY AMONG THE INDIANS.

It was eight years afterward when I learned just who it was that stole
away on that quiet morning in the bark canoe. I was living for a short
time in the Green Bay country. I was invited out one afternoon to a
quilting party. The men were to come for supper and a lady was to play
for us on the violin, she being an accomplished musician. She had come
there from Baltimore for her health. As we sat at our quilting in the
afternoon, one of the women asked the lady of the house why it was they
had settled there near the Menominee Indian reservation, and if they
were not afraid to be killed sometime by the Indians. Then the lady of
the house explained and told her story of how her husband, herself and
children had been saved by one family of these Indians with the help of
a white family, and this was why her husband was devoting his time to
preaching among the Indians. I, being a stranger in the place, had not
met this family before, but had been invited to their home with others.
Before she had finished I seemed to understand it all. I knew now what
all the beads and bright colored ribbons were used for and I knew who
the tall sick Indian was with the pretty young Indian woman and the two
little children with the others in the canoe. When I made myself known
to the lady and her family they were overjoyed to see me. I met them
several times afterward, and she told me how they crossed over to the
north shore and kept along close to the shore, camping many times where
the Indian and his wife set their net and caught all the fish they
needed to eat, all the time teaching them to speak their language. They
did not go direct to the Indian settlement until fall, then her husband
concluded to settle among them and act as a missionary to them. Never
very strong in health he had grown stronger in the open air life. Their
children were educated at Green Bay.

I will try to tell just a little of this woman's story. Of how they came
to Beaver Island with many others, and how they got away from the Island
after much sorrow.


THE APOSTLE'S WIFE'S STORY.

Our home was in a small town in New Jersey. We had a little farm and
were very comfortable. It was spring time, our crops were planted and
growing. It was told us one day two men had asked for our little church
to hold a meeting in for a couple of evenings and the whole neighborhood
was invited to attend. My husband being an elder in our little church
we, with many other neighbors went to hear the men speak. They were both
good talkers and we were all greatly interested. They continued the
meetings a week and we all became so interested they were invited to
remain longer. One claimed to be a minister, the other an elder. They
told a great deal about the Land of Promise they had found. My husband's
two brothers were ready to join and prevailed upon my husband to come
with them. About thirty were ready to follow the new preaching. They
left us to go to other parts and told us to be ready at a certain time,
when they would come back and take us with them. We sold our little farm
and stock at a great sacrifice, keeping only our bedding and clothing,
as they told us it was a long journey. We waited for them to come until
November and had almost given up in despair, when one day they came.
When we started there were twenty-five grown people with their children.
We had two small children, twins, a boy and a girl. Our hopes were high,
we were going westward they told us. We took a steamboat at Buffalo, as
they told us no railroad had yet been built to reach there. The trip was
hard, cold and tedious. Not one of us had ever been on the water before.
We were afraid and we were all sick, but we stood it as bravely as
possible and hoped for better times.

It was a dark, stormy night when we landed. Snow was falling. We were a
cold, shivering company as we stumbled along up the dock. We were taken
into a house, where we soon had a warm supper and were told we could
sleep on the floor if we had bedding of our own, as their beds were all
full. We made our beds and found it very cold, as doors were opening and
shutting until almost morning. We were all put into one large room which
was very bare of furniture. Children cried and there was not very much
sleep. At the first peep of day most of us were up to take our first
look at the Promised Land. At first we tried to look out of the windows,
but they were steamed and frosty and we could not see. We then went out
of doors. Our first glance was out on the cold, rough water of a little
harbor, as they called it, and never shall I forget the lonely feeling
that came over me. All was silent but the sound of the waves that washed
upon the shore. What little ground was visible where the snow had
drifted was all bare white sand. There were many pretty evergreen trees
back a short distance from the water. There being few houses visible we
were told the houses and farms were farther back in the country. We were
called to breakfast, and when it was finished we were told we could go
to the King's house, which was pointed out to us, and he would direct us
what to do next. "The King's House." What did they mean? We had never
heard of any king. They said, "You will soon know. We are ruled by a
king who has revelations direct from God. There are twelve apostles to
rule with him, and out of this company of people he will choose four
more which are needed." Our surprise was great. We were anxious to know
all, so were taken to the King's house. He met us very kindly and
explained many things to us. He talked considerable about his
revelations and what he hoped to do for his people. His manner was very
captivating, and we all felt much encouraged after he had talked with
us. We were all divided up among the other families on the island until
we could build our homes. We were there over a week before we knew for
certain we were on an island. To me it was a terrible shock but we had
no time to think much about it only what we should do to provide shelter
for the long winter. The King soon left to go travelling for the winter
to bring more converts in the spring.

It so happened the home we went to live in the people kept a boarding
house and I soon found to my horror the man had four wives, had had six
but two were dead. We soon found them a peculiar people with great
faith in Strang and of his building up of Zion calling themselves Latter
Day Saints, or Mormons. We had not known or heard of this but had been
led to think we could worship as we liked. We soon found it was best not
to exchange much thought with our neighbors on the subject and we were
so scattered about we seldom met only at meetings. There was being a
temple built to worship in and my husband being a carpenter he was most
of his time working on it. We soon learned every tenth of our income
belonged to the King and many extras to help the expenses. It took quite
a large sum to build this temple. They had a small saw mill and there
the lumber was cut. Everybody was busy. We were ruled by a man who had
no pity for any one. That winter was too terrible to remember. We were
all glad to have the King come back in the springtime. He brought more
people who seemed to have more means, for those who had, had to share
with those who had little. My husband and his two brothers were made
apostles soon after Strang came. I saw very little of my husband after
he was made an apostle. There was always something to be talked over and
explained, so the King had to have most of their time.

Our funds were getting low and I felt very low spirited, but my husband
told me he thought that everything would be satisfactory in time. I
longed to be free. I wanted to feel I could talk to my husband for it
soon dawned upon me we must not discuss the subject of the doctrine
only with a true belief in all of Strang's revelations. The most of the
people were gay. The winter time was their time for gaiety. The
following spring after we came, when my husband was made an apostle,
there was a great feast and we were all baptized in the waters of Little
Font Lake. The King was dressed in a robe of white and purple. He gave a
short brilliant discourse. To most of them the ceremony was impressive.
His wife, Mrs Strang, did not attend as she was not a believer in the
doctrine. To me it all seemed a sham. Just before my husband was made an
apostle I asked Strang about polygamy and why some had more than one
wife. He answered that they had practiced it to some extent in Joseph
Smith's time but he would have no such practice but had allowed those
who had several to keep them. On the next Sabbath he preached a powerful
sermon against polygamy. I felt more secure because I hoped he would
keep his word. Very soon after this it came like a thunderbolt to us.
The king had a revelation. He must take more wives, and very soon took
some more.

In his absence his wife took her three children and left. Before going
we managed to meet, as we were fast friends from the first. She advised
me to persuade my husband to get away as soon as possible, as she was
sure there was great sorrow in store for me. She then told me any
disobedience to the oath of allegiance of the apostles, to the king,
would be punished with death, saying she knew this to be true, having
overheard the apostle that ruled in her husband's absence, talking about
it. But they never knew she heard, and now I must be watchful. It was
terrible to know all this, yet I knew she told me the truth. She said,
"Make a confidant of no one." We had talked many times before this, but
now she told me more, saying, "I would stay here and fight it to the
bitter end but I know it would do no good. My life would soon be ended.
They have already said, 'Dead people tell no tales.'" "I feel sure
Strang's own life is in danger by the plotting of his head apostle." She
ended by saying, "I never expect to come back unless I can help some
poor soul to be happier. If you ever need a friend's help send a letter
to me. You can always trust the Indians." She said, "I have warned
Strang of his danger and begged him to put away that bad man, but he
will not heed me." She left. I was very sad, but not yet realizing how
soon I would need her help.

After awhile a law was made by the King that all officers of the church
must have a plurality of wives. Then we women banded ourselves together,
I being at the head, we met the king in the temple and took votes,
coming out victorious each time. The whole island was in a state of
agitation. Every woman interested took her Bible and talked and read
God's laws faster than the king could tell us about his revelations. One
little woman spoke, saying, "Take all our earnings, but leave us our
husbands. We want to live an honest life." He said he did not propose
to be ruled by a lot of weak, whining women. This roused me. I jumped to
my feet and I talked two hours. He answered sarcastically and I answered
him in the same way. I recounted everything to him. How we had been
deceived. He ordered me from the room, and when his guards attempted to
obey his orders the other women interfered and Strang was obliged to let
me have my say. Often the women applauded me. At last I could speak no
more. I was exhausted, but I managed to tell him I hoped he would
consider all we had asked of him and grant our request. After a few
moments of silence he looked me in the face, saying, "Madam, you have
shown such great ability in discussing this matter I think I had better
put my temple robe upon you." I answered in the same sarcastic tone,
"Yes, and I think your robe would be far more becoming to me than it is
to you and I could rule the people and make them happier than you have
so far." Never can I forget the look of hatred he gave me. The men
hurried me from the room and appeared very much excited. After I left
other women made an appeal to him, but left without gaining any promise
from him, saying he would give them an answer the next morning. I heard
nothing more. Next morning I was sent home in a lumber wagon. My two
children and husband were not allowed to come with me. My home was very
near to the Gentile settlement. My heart was heavy. I went to some of my
Mormon neighbors. Their doors were shut in my face and none spoke to me
when I met them. After a week I was very sick in bed. I became
unconscious. When I realized anything I recognized a Gentile neighbor.
She was preparing some food for me to eat. I asked her many questions
about my children and husband, but she could give me no information. She
told me I had many friends among the Mormons, as it was a Mormon woman
who had directed her to come to me. She told me to be quiet and have
courage and all would be well and that I must get well as fast as
possible.

Strang had gone for the winter and she feared there might be trouble
between the Gentiles and Mormons, as the fishermen felt they could not
endure much more robbery. I felt more courage because I knew this woman
had an influence with the Indians, as she could speak their language and
was always the Indian's friend. This woman's children were away for the
winter and her heart was sad. We could sympathize with each other. One
dark night in March I heard a gentle tap at my window. I opened the
door. It was my husband. He had been handed a note that morning saying,
"Go home. You are safe for awhile." He had walked all the distance after
dark. Next day the neighbor woman came and told me my children were both
well and cared for. Oh joy! I could get well now, and gained my strength
fast.

Navigation opened; Strang came home, remaining only a few days. He was
becoming greatly troubled over the discontent of his people and thought
best to be away for a time. The fishermen began to come, and several
Indian families came also to fish and make oil. Myself and husband were
left to ourselves. One night a letter came to my husband saying, "When
the king comes home Mr. Sinclair must be prepared to obey the law or
suffer the consequences." It was signed by the head apostle. My husband
was greatly worried, knowing the laws so well. In my heart I asked God
to help me in my sore distress. I recalled the words of Mrs. Strang that
if ever I needed a friend to call on her and she would come if possible.
I wrote her to come. I gave the letter to my faithful friend.

The letter was taken to Mackinac Island and from there it was taken to
Mrs. Strang. She came, she got my children and brought them to the
Indian camp. Myself and husband were disguised as Indians, our children
the same, and all were taken away from the island in a birch bark canoe.


CHOLERA AT THE ISLAND.

The summer was passing, it was late in August. Cholera was raging at
Mackinac Island. Fifty-two deaths had occurred there and three deaths
occurred at Beaver Island. A lady was boarding with us from Mount
Clemens. Her two youngest children died from cholera in our house. My
father and I both had it but recovered. Also a captain of a small vessel
died. After the deaths our clothing was all washed and the Mormons came,
taking everything they could find. They took several boats and all the
fish from the fish houses between Cable's dock and the harbor. It was
now becoming serious between the Gentiles and the Mormons. Peter
McKinley had moved his family to Mackinac Island, not considering it
safe to carry on business any longer. Mr. Cable had also left and gone
to Indiana. His uncle, Mr. Alva Cable, came with his vessel, taking C.
R. Wright and family, with several others, to Charlevoix, then called
"Pine River." All the Ohio, Canada and Detroit fishermen had gone home.
My two brothers had gone to Detroit to school for the winter. Our
family, and seven others, were the only Gentiles left on the island, and
we were preparing to leave as soon as possible. One morning about the
first of November a messenger came to every Gentile family with a letter
from the king, saying every Gentile family must come to the harbor and
be baptized into the Church of Zion or leave the island within ten days
after receiving the notice signed by the King, James J. Strang. Within
twenty-four hours after receiving the notice every Gentile family had
gone but ours. They had taken what they could in their fish boats. Our
boat being small, father thought best to wait for a vessel to come and
take us away. The fourth day no vessel had come. Father feared the
message to the captain of the vessel had not been delivered, which had
been sent by an Indian family going home to the Old Mission. Winds were
ahead, the weather rough. Our goods were packed, and every day some
Mormon men could be seen walking along the beach, each carrying a gun,
but none ever spoke to us. These were anxious days to us, watching and
waiting for a sail. Father had made up his mind if the vessel did not
come we would take what we could in our small boat and go to the Indians
for protection until we could get to the main land. The evening of the
ninth day had come and no welcome sail

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