Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/984

912 tall piercing chimneys proved the presence of busy factories. The whole complicated life of modern civilization was within sight and within reach. Not far away locomotives moved restlessly. At a short distance trolley-cars clanged through the streets. In the "sky-scrapers" elevators darted up and down. Jostling crowds filled the sidewalks. A little farther away people were driving to country clubs. In rich, warm drawing-rooms women were having afternoon tea. The contrast was another of the many presented by our American life.

Nowhere in the world does winter work greater change than on the Great Lakes. In no other place does the power of cold cause such arrestment. As they are the busiest sheets of water in the world in summer,—in the winter, by contrast, they appear the most deserted and dismal. Where a goodly part of the commerce of a country has passed, for the most part nothing moves. A lonely bird takes the place of the great freighters; a few fishermen come instead of the big propellers. The harbors are closed, each vessel held in its icy bonds. The rigging of the few visible sailing-ships is frozen hard. From the funnels of the steamers rises no smoke. They are all inert—dormant—hibernating until life comes again with the passing of the winter months.

In the quiescence and solitude the boats rise more darkly and immensely even as the elevators seem to tower in greater volume. The mightiest freighter is held as helplessly as the smallest harbor skiff, and one may approach them as one might some other enchained mammoth. Indeed, in the lake ports perhaps more than elsewhere can the winter aspect of the Lakes be felt and seen. The tugs even—the busybodies of the harbor—are silent and idle. Nothing moves except perhaps a big fire-boat, which strives to keep a way open and often fails. No one stirs on the docks. Hardly a sound can be heard. The chains of the drawbridge are quiet, for no boat passes. All has paused—all is waiting. The temporary end has come, with activity and stir only to be resumed when winter is gone.

The last craft to get through at the end of the season often gains something of a reputation. Practical reasons prevent any stoppage until the last moment possible. The longer a vessel runs, the greater the freights earned, and often chances are taken. No boat ever had a more typical and exciting trip than the Hutchinson in the year just passed. On the evening of November 29 the Hutchinson in a high sea and driving snow-storm ran on an uncharted rock in Lake Superior. The sharp points tore a hole through the bottom of the big vessel. In sudden terror some of the fire-men and crew made for the small boats, but were driven back by the captain. Rockets pierced the darkness, and a huge bale of inflammable stuff soaked in kerosene was set flaming at the masthead. Fires were lighted on the steel decks, and all night long the signals of distress burned. With the notification of the life-saving station