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Castle Nowhere
Constance Fenimore Woolson

Page 1 of 239


CASTLE NOWHERE 

BY 

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON 

Not many years ago the shore bordering the head of Lake Michigan, the
northern curve of that silver sea, was a wilderness unexplored.  It is
a wilderness still, showing even now on the school-maps nothing save
an empty waste of colored paper, generally a pale, cold yellow
suitable to the climate, all the way from Point St.  Ignace to the iron
ports on the Little Bay de Noquet, or Badderknock in lake phraseology,
a hundred miles of nothing, according to the map-makers, who, knowing
nothing of the region, set it down accordingly, withholding even those
long-legged letters, 'Chip-pe-was,' 'Ric-ca-rees,' that stretch
accommodatingly across so much townless territory farther west.  This
northern curve is and always has been off the route to anywhere; and
mortals, even Indians, prefer as a general rule, when once started, to
go somewhere.  The earliest Jesuit explorers and the captains of

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