It was thought that
our poor little craft must go to the bottom; it seemed like a chip on
the ocean contending against the powers of the Almighty. It seemed as
if, agreeably to Indian fable, Ishkwondameka himself was raising a
tempest mountain high for some sinister purposes of his own. But, owing
to the skill of the old lake mariner, we eventually triumphed. He never
faltered in the darkest exigency. For a day and night he struggled
against the elements, and finally entered the straits at Fort Gratiot,
and he brought us safely into the port of our destination.
On reaching Detroit, the lateness of the season admonished me to lose no
time in making my way over the stormy Erie to Buffalo, whence I pursued
my journey to New York. I reached the latter city the day prior to the
great fire, in December. I took lodgings at the Atlantic Hotel, which is
near the foot of Broadway, and immediately west of the great scene of
conflagration. The cold was so bitter while the fire raged that I could
not long endure the open air, which seemed to be surcharged with oxygen.
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