CHAPTER XXII

The Way to the Coast

JULY 17, '95. Sailed from Cleveland in the Northland.
Fine and swift; her length must be as much as 350 feet.
Spacious decks for promenading. Just as luxurious and
comfortable as a great ocean liner or a Fall River boat.
I have seen no boat in Europe that wasn't a garbage
barge by comparison. Think of those European tubs!
Sunny, balmy, perfectly delicious voyage—I know nothing
anywhere to compare with it. Been away four years and
have dropped back into the dark ages in some—many—
respects.

Evening. It is an ideal summer trip. The long approach
to Port Huron through narrow ways, with flat grass and
wooded land on both sides, and on the left a continuous
row of summer cottages with small-boat accommodations
for visiting across the little canals from family to family,
the groups of summer-dressed young people all along,
waving flags and handkerchiefs, and firing cannon—our
boat replying with four toots of the whistle and now and
then a cannon and meeting steamers in the narrow way,
and once the stately sister-ship of the line crowded with
summer-dressed people waving—the rich browns and
greens of the rush-grown far-reaching flat lands, with
little glimpses of water away on the further edges, the
sinking sun throwing a crinkled broad carpet of gold on
the water—well, it is the perfection of voyaging. Boat is a
split between Fall River and ocean liner. With this dif-
ference—carried no freight—passengers only.

244