An Infantry Regiment Of Militia Took To Their Heels
And Ran Off At Full Pelt, - And A Large Body Of Heavy Cavalry Dashed By
In A Perfect Hurricane Of Moustaches, Draggled Plumes, Cross-Bands,
Gigantic White Gloves, And Clattering Sabres, Clearing The Streets
Effectually.
A hundred years ago Detroit was a little French village of wooden houses,
a mere post for carrying on the fur-trade with the Indians.
Some of these
houses still remain, dingy, many-windowed, many-gabled buildings, of
antique construction. Canoes laden with peltry were perhaps the only craft
which disturbed the waters of the Detroit river.
The old times are changed, and a thriving commercial town of 40,000
inhabitants stands on the site of the French trading-post. Handsome quays
and extensive wharfs now line the shores of the Detroit river, and to look
at the throng of magnificent steamers and small sailing-vessels lying
along them, sometimes two or three deep, one would suppose oneself at an
English seaport. The streets, which contain very handsome stores, are
planted with trees, and are alive with business; and hotels, banks, and
offices appear in every direction. Altogether Detroit is a very pleasing
place, and, from its position, bids fair to be a very important one.
I had to leave the friends whose acquaintance and kindness rendered
Detroit so agreeable to me, in the middle of a very interesting
conversation. Before ten at night I found myself on an apparently
interminable wharf, creeping between cart-wheels and over bales of wool to
the Mayflower steamer, which was just leaving for Buffalo.
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