The Canadian Brothers | Page 4

the waters of Lake Erie, at this precise point, receives into
her capacious bosom the vast tribute of the noble river connecting her
with the higher lakes. Between this island and the Canadian shore lies
the only navigable channel for ships of heavy tonnage, for although the
waters of the Detroit are of vast depth every where above the island,
they are near their point of junction with the lake, and, in what is called
the American channel, so interrupted by shallows and sandbars, that no
craft larger than those of a description termed "Durham boats" can
effect the passage--on the other hand the channel dividing the island
from the Canadian shore is at once deep and rapid, and capable of
receiving vessels of the largest size. The importance of such a passage
is obvious; but although a state of war necessarily prevented aid from
armed vessels to such forts of the Americans as lay to the westward of
the lake, it by no means effectually cut off their supplies through the
medium of the Durham boats already alluded to. In order to intercept
those, a most vigilant watch was kept by the light gun boats despatched
into the lesser channel for that purpose.
A blockhouse and battery crowned also the eastern extremity of the
island, and both, provided with a flag staff for the purpose of
communication by signal with the fort, were far from being wanting in
picturesque effect. A subaltern's command of infantry, and a
bombardier's of artillery, were the only troops stationed there, and these
were there rather to look out for, and report the approach of whatever
American boats might be seen stealing along their own channel, than
with any view to the serious defence of a post already sufficiently
commanded by the adjacent fortress. In every other direction the island
was thickly wooded--not a house--not a hut arose to diversify the wild
beauty of the scene. Frequently, it is true, along the margin of its sands

might be seen a succession of Indian wigwams, and the dusky and
sinewy forms of men gliding round their fires, as they danced to the
monotonous sound of the war dance; but these migratory people,
seldom continuing long in the same spot, the island was again and
again left to its solitude.
Strongly contrasted with this, would the spectator, whom we still
suppose standing on the bank where we first placed him, find the view
on his left. There would he behold a neat small town, composed
entirely of wooden houses variously and not inelegantly painted; and
receding gradually from the river's edge to the slowly disappearing
forest, on which its latest rude edifice reposed. Between the town and
the fort, was to be seen a dockyard of no despicable dimensions, in
which the hum of human voices mingled with the sound of active
labour--there too might be seen, in the deep harbour of the narrow
channel that separated the town from the island we have just described,
some half-dozen gallant vessels bearing the colours of England,
breasting with their dark prows the rapid current that strained their
creaking cables in every strand, and seemingly impatient of the curb
that checked them from gliding impetuously into the broad lake, which
some few hundred yards below, appeared to court them to her bosom.
But although in these might be heard the bustle of warlike preparation,
the chief attention would be observed to be directed towards a large
half finished vessel, on which numerous workmen of all descriptions
were busily employed, evidently with a view of preparing for
immediate service.
Beyond the town again might be obtained a view of the high and
cultivated banks, sweeping in gentle curve until they at length
terminated in a low and sandy spot, called from the name of its
proprietor, Elliott's Point. This stretched itself toward the eastern
extremity of the island, so as to leave the outlet to the lake barely wide
enough for a single vessel to pass at a time, and that not without skilful
pilotage and much caution.
Assuming our reader to be now as fully familiar with the scene as
ourselves, let him next, in imagination, people it, as on the occasion we
have chosen for his introduction. It was a warm, sunny, day in the early
part of July. The town itself was as quiet as if the glaive of war reposed
in its sheath, and the inhabitants pursued their wonted avocations with

the air of men who had nothing in common with the active interest
which evidently dominated the more military portions of the scene. It
was clear that among these latter some cause for excitement existed, fat,
independently of the unceasing bustle within the dock yard--a bustle
which however had but one undivided object-the completion and
equipment