A fearful storm arose; the captain
thought it would be dangerous to proceed, and so put in below a little
island opposite Cleveland, and tied up to a pier which ran out from the
island. Here we lay for three weary days and nights, the storm
continually raging.
Finally, the captain thought he must start out. He kept the boat as near
the shore as he could with safety, and we moved slowly until we were near
the head of the lake. Then the storm raged and the wind blew with
increased fury. It seemed as if the "Prince of the power of the air" had
let loose the wind upon us. The very air seemed freighted with woe. The
sky above and the waters below were greatly agitated. It was a dark
afternoon, the clouds looked black and angry and flew across the horizon
apparently in a strife to get away from the dreadful calamity that seemed
to be coming upon Lake Erie.
We were violently tempest-tossed. Many of the passengers despaired of
getting through. Their lamentations were piteous and all had gloomy
forebodings of impending ruin. The dark, blue, cold waves, pressed hard
by the wind, rolled and tumbled our vessel frightfully, seeming to make
our fears their sport.
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