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KEWEENAW 
 
Of this book three hun- 
 dred copies were printed 
 and the types di^ributed. 
 Of the three hundred 
 this is Number ^00 
 
KEWEENAW 
 
 BY WILLIAM C GRAY 
 
 I aat 
 
 1^ 
 
 mm 
 
 A STORY FROM TH' 
 NORTH WOODS 
 
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 This edition of Keweenaw was 
 made by William Gray Purcell 
 and Frederick Folger Thomas, Jr. 
 during the summer evenings of 
 Nineteen Hundred and Five at the 
 Acorn Press, Berkeley, California. 
 
 fTHE L!"8K*»,riY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 Out. OOJ»v RtOE.vEU 
 
 I COPY A. I 
 
 Cc^yright 1893 
 
 by W. C. Gray. 
 
 ACORN JfPR£55 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 5 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Keweenaw was written by Dr. Gray on 
 one of his firsl fishing trips in the North 
 and appeared in "The Interior** Augu^ 
 1 885 as a part of his "Editorial Corres- 
 pondence** which was sent to the paper 
 weekly while on his vacations and event- 
 ually took definite form in the "Camp Fire 
 Musings** of Island Lake. A seledion of 
 these writings was given book form in 1 894 
 and this ^ory found a place in it. 
 
 The desire to give to the friends of Dr. 
 Gray his be^ work in a worthy form and 
 to introduce others to his writings has heen 
 happily met with an intereft in the crafts- 
 manship of printing and this edition of 
 Keweenaw is the result. Imperfe<5tions 
 
1905 PREFACE 
 
 are to be found in the book as an example 
 of printing, but it has been hone^y made 
 and with delight in the work. We hope 
 that the new form into which Keweenaw 
 has been ca^ may prove worthy of the 
 author and his ^ory. 
 
 w. a p, 
 F. F. r. 
 
AND NOW THE STORY 
 
KEWEENAW 
 
 'ANSE is a dead old village, but 
 Tt has what few of the mining 
 and fore^ towns of this region have — 
 its romance. We heard that there was 
 good trouting in this neighborhood — 
 in fad, you can catch them right 
 there off the railroad bridge — and we 
 stopped to try it. We took a team and 
 drove around the head of the bay some 
 ten miles, to a beautiful little stream that 
 falls out of the hills into the lake, and 
 soon filled our baskets. Now look across 
 the bay, please, and you will see a clump 
 of buildings. That is a convent. Its 
 hi^ory goes almost back to the days of 
 Marquette, and as we drove near to it, 
 it looked ancient enough to be on the 
 
W. C. G. KEWEENAW 
 
 shores of Lake Leman. Those buildings 
 which you see this way along the bluffs 
 are an Indian village. Take your glasses 
 and look into the lake a mile this side 
 of the village, long reaches of gill-nets, 
 and at the end a large net supported 
 by four po^s. This last is a fish 
 pound. It is a great sheet of netting forty 
 feet square, let dovm into the water like a 
 bowl. The Indians put their catches of fish 
 into it to keep them alive until they are 
 ready for market. 
 
 The question at once arose in my mind 
 why a convent so extensive should have 
 been e^ablished in a wilderness place, 
 so far away from any white fx)pula- 
 tion as this was when it was built. It? 
 bell rang out over the calm waters and 
 back into the deep foreils, where there 
 were none to answer its call to prayer, 
 
KEWEENAW W. C. G. 
 
 unless they should be the wild Indians, 
 "There has been many a broken heart 
 behind those walls," remarked our team- 
 ^er — we rode in an open jolt-wagon be- 
 hind a pair of farm horses. 
 "How is that?** I asked. 
 "Well, sir, there is some mystery about 
 that convent; there mo^ always is about 
 such places. People make them up out of 
 their imaginations. It is said that it is a 
 refuge or place of penance for fallen nuns, 
 and that is why it is so far away from 
 anywhere. It may have been so, or it 
 may not; and then the idea was softened 
 somewhat, and it was said it was a place 
 of refuge from the cruel world for fallen 
 girls ; and if it were, sir, I should think all 
 the more of it. You see, sir, the world 
 hasn't any mercy for those who need 
 it mo^, nor the church either for that 
 
IV. C, a KEWEENAW 
 
 matter; and so the only place where such 
 could find peace was in the bottom of the 
 river, or out there in the lake. There are 
 two things Tm thinkin that the world needs 
 mo^ to provide for in these times, shot- 
 guns for betrayers, and mercy for the be- 
 trayed, where they are women/* 
 
 The driver drew a horny hand across 
 his face and lapsed into silence. There was 
 more feeling in his tone than in his words, 
 and I perceived that there was a my^ery 
 in his brea^, whether there were one in 
 the convent or not. But the subjedt was 
 changed and we drove on, and at the end 
 of two hours from the ^art, forded a clear 
 and beautiful ^ream. 
 
 "Here we are,** cheerily said the team- 
 ^er, as he sprang out on a little grassy pla- 
 teau and proceeded to unharness and teth- 
 er his horses. The others had put their rods 
 
KEWEENAW W. C C. 
 
 -^ I I III Ill MBIII I M II ■ nilHIl II ■ I I I 
 
 together as we came, and immediately left 
 the wagon cind began tlie sport. Not three 
 minutes had elapsed when there was a 
 shout and a beautiful three-quarter pound- 
 er was landed. But I left my pair of lance- 
 woods in the case and waited till the team- 
 ster was ready, when I told him to lead 
 off, and I would follow. He soon struck a 
 trail, which I was glad to see had not been 
 tramped that year, and at the end of a mile 
 and a half I heard that sound so joyful to 
 a trouter, the music of a waterfall. I hand- 
 ed him one of my rods, and we soon had 
 them jointed up, and the first fly I sent in- 
 to tlie pool was responded to instantly. 
 We kept well out of sight, and in an hour 
 1 had as many as I wished to carry. We 
 sat down together on a fallen pine. I 
 looked at him in silence for a time, and he 
 returned my gaze with a glance. 
 
IV. C a KEWEENAW 
 
 "What was it?** I asked in a low tone. 
 
 "What was what?** he responded, with 
 a look of surprise. 
 
 "What was it in connedion with the 
 convent which gave you such a shudder 
 of painful recolledion?** 
 
 "Oh, my God !** he exclaimed, and cov- 
 ered his face with his bent arm, as if 
 he would shut away something from his 
 sight. "I hoped that it would fade out, 
 and that I would feel better, but it don't. 
 My arms ache longing to do something 
 to undo what is done, and my heart 
 aches. Sranger, I had a lovely wife not so 
 very long ago. We rough men of the 
 woods and mines don*t get credit for more 
 than what is seen on the outside. But I 
 had sense enough and grace enough to 
 take that dear woman all into my heart, 
 and what you may happen to see in me 
 
KEWEENAW W. C G. 
 
 that pleases you is the impress of my wife's 
 soul and spirit. But she died. Yes; I will 
 tell you the story. It's good to have human 
 sympathy." 
 
 Pausing briefly to consider what was 
 necessary by way of explaination to me, he 
 resumed. 
 
 "Have you been up and over that 
 point — over Keweenaw Point — north of 
 the river? No ! Well then, you should know 
 that that whole country is strewn with the 
 wrecks of fortunes, fortunes lo^ in the cop- 
 per craze. There are villages, good houses, 
 redudtion works, machinery, everything a- 
 bandoned and deserted ; good roads, bridges, 
 fills, the whole a total loss. 1 was in that 
 myself. Thought I had struck it rich on a 
 little ftream that runs not far from the light- 
 house above Copper Harbor, and others 
 thought so, too. You see that is on the 
 
IV. C. a KEWEENAW 
 
 we^, or rather north, for the point bends 
 ea^, side of the point, about ten miles from 
 the ea^ern extremity. I put all I had into 
 the company and took charge of the men, 
 built a comfortable pine-log house, and was 
 hopeful and happy. There my wife died, 
 and there she lies buried. 
 
 **My Nellie, all that I had left, was just 
 stepping into womanhood. Nellie was 
 beautiful, tall, fair, rosy, soft-eyed, the 
 sweetest disposition, and she dearly loved 
 me. Oh! how often, when I came in 
 soiled from the mine and tired, she came 
 running with a glass of water, or with slip- 
 pers for my coarse feet, or threw her white 
 arms around my tawny neck. I always 
 knew I was not good enough for the love 
 of such angelic creatures as Nellie and her 
 mother. O Nellie! Nellie!" and he sprang 
 to his feet and extended his arms as if to 
 
KEWEENAW W, C. G, 
 
 clasp her, and then lifting them, exclaimed, 
 "Oh, my God!" 
 
 I was myself affected to tears by this un- 
 controllable outburst of grief and anguish. 
 
 After a time he resumed, as if in a so- 
 liloquy; 
 
 "Yes; his father was a good man, and is 
 now, though his son was a devil. He palmed 
 a sham marriage off on her. Blind fool that 
 I was! It is I who am to blame. 
 
 "I think that Nellie's mind was broken 
 down by grief and weeping, first by his 
 long absense, and worse than all when it 
 came out that he had decieved her by a 
 mock marriage, and would never return. 
 I thought that her little babe would bring 
 back some sunshine into her heart, and it 
 did seem to for a time, and then it seemed 
 to become a constant reminder. 
 
 "We had a trim little sail-boat, only a 
 
W. C. G. KEWEENAW 
 
 good-sized row-boat, but decked in at each 
 end closely. She had a deep keel, a light, 
 tough mast, a good sail and tiller, a safe and 
 beautiful sailer. Her decked-in compart- 
 ments, fore and aft, were water-tight, and 
 she would float, anyway. 
 
 "Now, wife and I were familiar with 
 the country here around the head of Ke- 
 weenaw Bay, and we used to talk abont 
 the old convent in Nellie's hearing. Wife 
 said that so long as a broken heart was 
 bearable, it was belter that it should beat 
 in the convent than lie still at the bottom 
 of the lake. 
 
 "Everything went to pieces on Kewee- 
 naw about the time my wife died. People 
 were pulling up and moving off; but Nellie 
 and I staid, though there was nothing to 
 stay for except wife's grave and Nellie's bro- 
 ken heart. Except the few, here and there 
 
KE WEEN A IV W. C. G. 
 
 one, who remained, as I did, the whole point 
 above the Calumet was abandoned. 
 
 "One morning of a June I awoke soon 
 after sunrise and went to call Nellie. She 
 was gone. Baby was gone. I called and 
 called. My heart seemed to be freezing. 
 While rushing about here and there 1 caught 
 a glimpse of a boat through a rift in the trees 
 a mile out at sea. 1 knew the sail. It was 
 the 'Alice,* and a glass showed me that 
 Nellie was holding the tiller. The wind 
 was from the north-ea^, and I saw that 
 Nellie was tacking, aiming to make the end 
 of Keweenaw Point. She had been so 
 often out with me in the 'Alice* that she 
 could handle the boat as well as 1 could. 
 About she came, inshore, rising and falling 
 on the long swells, and then off again to the 
 north. I shouted, even though I knew my 
 voice would not reach her, and then rushed 
 
IV. a a KEWEENAW 
 
 forward to reach the point, six miles away. 
 I plunged through thickets, dashed along 
 the bodies of fallen pines, clambered over 
 ledges of rocks, and at la^ reached the 
 bar at the top of Keweenaw. 
 
 "The wind had gone down, leaving 
 Nellie at the end of a northea^ern reach 
 which would have brought her clear of 
 the land. I sat and watched the boat» which 
 was two or three miles out, idly rocking on the 
 water. She could have used the oars if she 
 had chosen, but she did not. With my glass 
 I saw her take up the babe and press him 
 to her bosom. What little wind there was 
 drifted her back and further out to sea. 
 Hours of agony passed. By going down 
 on the ea^ coait of Keweenaw seven miles, 
 I could have gotten a boat, but i dreaded 
 to lose sight of her, and I knew that the 
 Acamer Peerless ought to pass that day 
 
KEWEENAW W. C. G. 
 
 between the point and Manitou, and if 
 she did she would pick Nellie up. Beside, 
 I felt sure that Nellie would round the 
 point and come down, probably near shore. 
 So I waited and watched. The *Alice* was 
 a mere speck, far out to the north, as even- 
 ing drew on. But I saw the wind strike the 
 glassy water beyond her. It was due north. 
 The white sail filled out. Southeastward 
 she flew. Oh, if she would only tack now 
 and come down before the wind ! Though 
 she was three miles or more out I put my 
 hands to my mouth for a trumpet and shout- 
 ed, *Steer for the bar, Nellie! Steer for the 
 bar, love! Here I am!* 
 
 "At last the boat came about square 
 before the wind, and went like a bird. Due 
 south she went; close along the shore of 
 Manitou she seemed, but she kept right 
 on, and at last tacked again southwest to 
 
W, C. a KEWEENAW 
 
 follow the shore of Keweenaw, then due 
 we^. Thank God she was nearing the 
 land! I arose and plunged along the shore 
 in the gathering darkness. I was weak 
 from facing and grief, and I tumbled and 
 fell often. The la^ I saw of the 'Alice* 
 she was bearing inshore, but it became too 
 dark to see. Fortunately, there was ahead 
 of me a three-mile Wretch of sandy beach, 
 and gaining this I ran with all my remain- 
 ing strength southwestward along the shore, 
 shouting as loud as I could! 'Nellie! Nellie, 
 dear! come to land!' 
 
 "About half way along that beach as I 
 ran, 1 heard baby cry. I stopped and list- 
 ened. Right out from shore he was, not 
 over a quarter of a mile away. 
 
 "'Nellie! Nellie! tack and come straight 
 inshore. Here I am!* 
 
 "No reply came back, but as baby kept 
 
KEWEENAW W. C. G. 
 
 on crying, I quickly perceived that the boat 
 was keeping on her south we^ward course, 
 tliough she seemed to be nearing land. 
 
 **1 rose and ran again, following the 
 voice of the crying child as nearly as the 
 water would permit me, and I was able 
 to keep up with it till the end of the sandy 
 beach was reached. Here a bay ran in- 
 shore, and the bluffs were dense with pines 
 and fallen timber. 1 managed to clamber 
 the bluff and reach the cliff at the mouth 
 of the bay, and paused to li^en. Nellie's 
 sweet voice singing a lullaby to baby — faint 
 and far, fainter and farther, farther and 
 more di^ant, and then only the low swash 
 of the waves on the rocks. 
 
 "It was not so very dark on the shore, 
 but the moment I entered the fore^ it be- 
 came pitchy dark. I mu^ now go due 
 weft to get around the bay. I ftruggled 
 
W. C. G. KEWEENAW 
 
 with the underbrush and rocks, and with 
 the dry limbs of fallen trees, on and on, 
 making but little progress. How long this 
 struggle continued I know not. The last 
 I knew of it I had hope quickened in me 
 by seeing a star up in a rift of the pines. 
 
 "I was awakened by a crash of thunder 
 and a dash of rain in my face. So stiff 
 was I and so full of pain that it was a tor- 
 ture to move; but I recalled the situation 
 and sat up, and found a log to rest my 
 back against. A quivering vibrant flash 
 of lightning showed me the lake below, now 
 rising into angry waves. The crash over- 
 head seemed to go off southward in long, 
 loud mutterings, following the wake of my 
 dears. I prayed, oh! how I prayed, not 
 for myself, but for my child and her babe. 
 Then I rose, defying the pain and tried to 
 press forward, but found myself very weak. 
 
KEWEENAW W. C. G. 
 
 Fearing that 1 would go off again into in- 
 sensibility from faintness or sleep or what- 
 ever it was, I stopped to consider. 
 
 "The summer storm had soon spent its 
 fury, and as the clouds broke away I saw 
 that the east was gray with the early June 
 dawn. I sat dov/n and waited until I could 
 see, and then soon struck a good 'tote- 
 road* which led to an abandoned mine, 
 where I knew there was a family remaining, 
 and a boat. 
 
 "I pushed forward, arrived at their 
 house, roused them, and before they had 
 time to rise, I lighted a fire for making 
 coffee, and in a little over a half-hour I 
 was refreshed and we were off in chase 
 of the 'Alice.' 
 
 *'We kept a keen lookout both inshore 
 and out, and having only moderate wind, 
 with occasional calms, when we pulled at 
 
W. C. G. KEWEENAW 
 
 the oars, we reached the mouth of 
 Traverse River by the middle of the af- 
 ternoon and topped to inquire. Yes; the 
 keeper of the lighthouse had seen a boat 
 scudding southward before the coming 
 ^orm at the peep of early dawn. She 
 made as if she would come into port, so 
 near that the keeper, in the dim light, with 
 his glass saw di^indly a woman with the 
 sheet-rope in one hand, the tiller in the 
 other, and a babe lying across her knees. 
 Then she put cut to sea again, and very 
 soon the clouds came down black and 
 close and the lake rose in combing seas. 
 
 "Such was the flr^ news we had of the 
 *Alice* and her precious cargo. Still I 
 didn't lose hope. I knew that Nellie knew 
 the boat, and that the boat would climb 
 almo^ any sea if she were held right. The 
 only thing was to push ahead. Fortunately, 
 
KEWEENAW W.C.G. 
 
 a little ^eam yacht just then came out of 
 the river, and we hailed her, boarded her, 
 and Captain Wilson at once undertook 
 the chase of the *Alice.* 
 
 **We steamed along slowly, examining 
 every creek and nook. Nothing was seen 
 till we came in sight of those Indian fish- 
 ing nets which you saw out in the bay in 
 front of the convent. There lay the 'Alice' 
 on her side, lodged again^ the netting ** 
 
 The teamster here choked up. 
 
 "You recovered the bodies?" 
 
 "No— n— no, sir. This cold lake never 
 gives up its dead." 
 
 "Nellie was trying to make the con- 
 vent, you think?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly; and but for the ^orm 
 she*d a-made it safely." 
 
 "But you say she passed the lighthouse 
 aU right?" 
 
^r. C. G. KE WEEN AH' 
 
 "Yes; and the wind that was flying her 
 then was the fir^ puff of the itorm. I 
 think she would have ridden it out anyway. 
 But you see, the poor girl had been out 
 twenty-four hours then, already, and she 
 had to hold the sheet-rope, and the tiller, 
 and baby, too, in a rolling sea. She couldn't 
 do it. I reckon she let go the rigging to 
 hold baby, and was knocked over. It may 
 have been miles out." 
 
 As we returned and the convent bells 
 sounded across the quiet bay, the lines 
 came to my mind: 
 
 "Let the bells toll. A saintly soul 
 Floats o*er the Stygian river." 
 
SEP 11 19C5 
 IE COPY RECElVtii 
 
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