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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 077 [08-17-1853]

              thus named.  Rather a heavy sea being on, the Captain, not wishing
to arrive in�t at the bar of the Fond-du-Lac river, there to let
the vessel lye knocking about, anchored off one of the islands.  And
two boats loads of passengers went ashore.    Climbing up the wooded
earth banks, I rambled over the island, steep, damp, and foamy, it
was all o�ergrown with red pine, birch and cedar.   Rotting tree trunks
lay about in the dank underwood to any extent.    Took a long
sketch westwards, till at a decent distance from the steamer, had
a delectable bathe all alone in the fresh clear lake, great rolls
of surf coming in & dashing against the shore.        Return, and to the
Sam Ward again.    On, throughout the afternoon.   Much rolling and
pitching about, and some disappearances into cabins.   Talk with girls.
I hear that pretty girl with curls is indisposed.          In the forepart
of the boat with Campeau and Lewis, watching the white foam flakes
and dipping anchor.       The surface of the lake all foam-flecked,
with curling waves, the vessel stirring to and fro with short uneasy
motion.   At sunset we were fast nearing the Western extremity
of this mightiest sheet of fresh water on our planet.       In a long
line on our right stretches the Minnesota shore, perchance eight
miles off, exquisitely cobalt in hue, and steep looking. Passed unseen on our left the 
	shallow Bois Brule.  Much
heaving the lead, continuously, ten fathom, eight, � and the word
is given to cast anchor.     So we ride, rolling about.  Keen eyes
can descry the entrance of Fond du Lac river, the sand bar of
which can not be wisely attempted with such a sea on, and at night.
As evening wears on dancing is commenced, I scribble awhile.
  18. Thursday. Lying at the mouth of the St Louis river,
contemplative of the sand-bar.   A canoe with Indians paddling,               
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