Early History of Lake Maxinkuckee - Literature of the Lake  

The lake has been embalmed in poetry, song and story by some of the most famous authers of the State. George O. Work somposed and published an instrumental piece of music entitled "The Rippling Maxinkuckee", which, however, was nothing out of the ordinary and has gone out of print.

LeRoy Armstrong, and Indiana author of some note, wrote a beuatif ul short love story in which a handsome Indian girl was the heroine, the principal events of which took place at the lake and in the vicinity, and was published in the Chicago Herald, on which Mr. Armstrong was employed as one of the special writers at that time, about a decade ago.

Mr. John C. Butler, ex-surveyor of Marshall County, under the nom de plime of Hagon Deischmartz, published in the Plymouth Democrat, in March, April and May, 1898, a serial story entitled, "The Lily of the Valley", a story of Maxinkuckee, in which the "Webb is Truth, but the Love is fiction". In his exordium he pasy the following tributre to the beutif ul lake:

"There is no lovlier piece of scenery by its expression of sweet pictureuresqueness than that in the vicinity of Maxkinkuckee Lake.

No CLeared or diviner waters ever sang with constant lips of the hand which sendeth rain on the just and the unjust thand the beautiful Maxinkuckee. No pastures ever brightened in springtime with more passionate blossoming tna the sloping hills and moors bordering on its water; no sweeter homes ever hallowed the heart of the onwers with a pride of possession, fain hidden, but self-confessed, than those of the surrounding farms".

At a clebration of the Fourth of July, 1878, Judge A. C. Capron, now president of this association, responded to the toast, "Our Navy", a portion of which, relating to this lake is deemed appropriate in this connection. After speaking at some length on the deplorable condition of the United States Navy, he turned his thoughts to our home navy, and in relation to Maxinkuckee lake, he said:

"And no we come to the beautiful Maxinkuckee Lake - a bright sheet of pure water, surrounded by shady banks and pleasant groves. What a squadron we have there. First and foremost we have the 'Queen Anna' a magnificent three-decker, spreading her snowy sails, of which our well knowe townsman W. W. Hill is captain, H. G. Thayer is mate and C. C. Buck is crew. Go down there almost any time - and it is worth your while to do it - you will find Captain Hill in f ull command, abrefooted, with coat and hat off, ready to swin in case of upset. But the way he sails his vessell, makes your head swin in spite of yourself. There is next the "Nancy Lee", manned by Capt. Ed. Morris, who is always on hand with his fast sailing craft, for a fishm ride or race. Bout our navy would be incomplete without the "Kittie Mae", a duck of a boat, clinker built, with all appointments complete, of which my friend here D. McDOnald is captain, mate and crew. Nor must we forget the row of staunch gunboats, anchored off the east shore, commanded by Captain SPangler, the genial host of the Allegheny House, whose flag is never at half-mast, and whose larder never runs out. These, my friends, are some of the vessels that belong to our Marshall county Navy, and on all occasions, they and their trusty officers and crews, can be depended upon for a ride or a fishing trip, or any kind of warfare you may wish to make upon th finny tribe. Let us be tahnkf ul for what we have and not be cast down for what we have not, and may the flags of our home navy wave as long as the fishing is good, and the water holds out".

From an address of welcome by Hon. C. H. Reeve, of Plymouth, to the Northern Indiana Teacher's Association of the "Beatuif ul Maxinkuckee" is inserted as a literary gem - a classic in its way. Mr. Reeve said:

"Many years ago, near where we are now located, I came in sight of the lovely lake yonder for the first time.

When I first saw it, the prieval forest around it was almost untouched. Some rushes grew in the shallow spots, A log canoe rocked on the shore near me as th light waves p ulsated to and fro. The sunlight glinted from the surface of the water and the whole space above was filled with a kind of glowing haze I have seen nowhere else. The und ulations of the shores and the deep green of the trees were refelcted in black shadows from the water below. Near me a robin was caroling his liquid song. The red-winged balckbird flew chirping across the narrow bends, alighting now and then on the limber twig of a bush, or some stout b ulrush that bent to the water and allowed him to seize something he saw and wanted. The lazy g ulls rose and fell, and turned from side to side as they crossed and recrossed above the water. Here and there in some still spot a fish would spring out and leave a circlet of tiny waves following each other in glowing circles, soon broken by others made in like manner near them. Some wild ducks arose from near the shore with a cry of alarm and winged a rapid flight around the bends to light in some obsecure place. Away near the opposite shore a figure sat in a dugout, holding a pole that would occasionally rise to the perpendic ular and then come down to the horizontal, and it looked as completely alone as if it were the only being in its form alive. These triflings incidents attracted momentary notice only. But the lights and shades; the outlines and the und ulations; the glittering and shimmering of sun and water and shadowy relections; the lifide and motion and stillness; the strange mellow haze, lika an invisible veil, yet obstructing no light, that was above and over it all like a halo; the something, indescribable and seen nowhere else, were before me in the f ullness of Nature's most perfect work. I reined in my horse and sat still on him, almost entranced by the indescribable feelings created by the scene. There are no words I know to describe it. It could be felt - a glow of pleasure and wonder mingled with awe - a sense of beauty with a glow of exageration that went beyond words for comparison.
I had met an Indian only afew moments before seeing the lake; just up yonder on the road coming through the woods. He was bare headed, had on a calico shirt, deerskin leggings and moccasins and carred a gun; and he had told me in broken English with sort pauses between the words about the road I desired to follow. 'go so', he said pointing the direction, 'see-big-trail. Mabbe-go-so,' pointing another direction, 'see-chemoke-man's-wigwam. Yes' That was, I would soon come to the main wagon road, and following that would come to a white man's house. I followed the first direction, and soon after the weird and beautiful galmour of the wonderf ul Max-in-kuck-ee was before me. I shall see it always. You can never see it as I did then.

But it has another beauty now, that you gaze on. I have them both before me, and year by years have seen the changes as they grew in it and in the country regions round about. How many can go back to that log canoe, as, half filled with water, it oscillated upon the shore yonder, and step by step follow the changes down to the gracef ul h ulls and sails that daily skim the surface of the lake, or the shapely little steamers that 'Walk the water like a thing of life'; while the echoes on the shore awake to the throbs of their fiery, imprisoned hearts, as the p ulsations evole the forces of their artificial life.

To me there is a strange blending of the sights and sounds here now with the memory of those of long ago. The carol of the robin and the bell of the steamer; the whistle of the blackbirds and the scream of the locomotive; the grace of the waterfowl and its rapid flight, and the white-sailed yachts; the presence of the lonely fisherman and the silent Indian; the knowledge of the fewer wants and fewer means of gratifying them then, and the many needs and boundless resources of the present; of the lighter burdens that rested then and the mighty ones that rest now, all pass before me like the cloud capped towers, the gorgeous palaces and solemn temples created by the baseless fabric of some weird vision."