Huron is but a small and uninteresting place, situate in a most
unwholesome locality, lying opposite to a murky swamp, whose poisonous
vapours spread disease and death around. It is the highway to Sandusky
city, an inland border town, rendered famous for the obstinacy with
which the inhabitants and a body of U.S. Infantry defended a fort there
against the attacks of the British troops in 1812. Having ascertained
the captain's intention not to sail until the day following, and it
being described as a very attractive spot, I hired a horse, and, after a
seven miles' ride through a country dotted with farm houses, which had a
desolate look, and the lands appertaining to which were subdivided by
zigzag log fences (hedges being unknown in the back settlements), I
reached the so-called city, which is built in nearly the form of a
parallelogram, the area of greensward having a pretty effect. Here are
some good hotels, and a seminary or college for young ladies, which is
much patronized by the better classes of the northern and eastern
states, especially New York. I looked in vain for the Fort, which has,
since the war, been demolished; but the landlord of the hotel at which
I afterwards dined, took me to its site, and related several incidents
that occurred in connection with the fortress, and the struggle between
the belligerent parties at the time. As, however, I considered these
somewhat apocryphal, from several of his relations failing to hang
together, and his decided bias against the Britishers, as he called the
English, I shall not trouble the reader with the details. After viewing
the place and its suburbs to my satisfaction, and after an excellent
dinner of green maize and venison, I rode back to the steamer.

It was towards evening when I arrived; and, as I approached Huron, by
the banks of the creek that divides the swamp I have mentioned, and
which was unusually swollen, I noticed a canoe that had broken loose