Sherman Bronson is seen in this 1893 photo.

MARQUETTE — Last week’s story was about a “mystery quilt,” made by Harriet Bronson Randall for her son, Sherman Bronson. The story mentioned that typhoid fever killed Sherman’s father when Sherman was only three months old and then took his sister when she was 15. He got it himself at 17, and though he survived, he was always afterwards in poor health.

Mrs. Randall mailed the quilt to her son in Marquette in 1870, with a note sewn in the corner explaining where each piece of the quilt came from. More than 100 years later, in 1972, an article about the quilt ultimately resulted in a long and fruitful correspondence with several later generations of the family. One story that came to the History Center was written by Randall Peck Bronson, Sherman’s son, about a harrowing experience his father had the same year he received the quilt. Here is the story as Randall wrote it.

“In 1870, he [Sherman Bronson] and his stepfather, Reverend Randall, and his father-in-law, Samuel Peck, had purchased a piece of land near Nestoria on which there was some showing of iron. Leaving Marquette, they went up to have a look at it, taking the train to Champion, then round the south end of Lake Michigamme on the old L’Anse trail, till they were south of Three Lakes. They made their way up to the northwest corner of the most northerly lake and set up camp from which they were to make their excursions to view the land.

About noon on the first day (June 14th) Mr. Bronson was taken sick and notified his companions that he was going back to camp, intending to follow a little creek to the lake, but a thunderstorm was coming up and, in his haste, he crossed the creek and worked off north and when dark came was hopelessly lost. He had with him only a pen knife and a little satchel containing his lunch for that day–two hard boiled eggs and some soda crackers. He made a camp for the night and in the morning made a desperate attempt to find himself.

Convinced he could not have crossed the creek to the north without noticing it, he kept working further north until late in the afternoon he heard the Champion mine whistle blowing every five minutes. He realized at once that his companions must have notified the Mining Company that he was lost and that the whistles were for him, but so far had he gone, and so weak was he, for he had been unable to eat anything, that it was not until morning of the second day thereafter that he came out at the northeast side of the lake on which they had their camp.

As he stood on the little sand beach, he saw four men carry a birch canoe down and put it in the water some distance south of him. The wind was south so he could not make them hear so he took off his shirt and waving it wildly rushed up and down the little sand beach.

The party in the canoe, consisting of his associates and Mr. Kidder, recognized him at once but so many stories were current then of men going insane when lost that they were doubtful he would not disappear if they approached him. When he began to rush back and forth waving his shirt, they were sure he was demented, and before they left shore prepared ropes and straps to bind him. They then started paddling west very slowly, letting the canoe drift with the wind, and as soon as the boat was within reach, Mr. Bronson waded out and got in.

I remember very well my brother and I swinging on the gate of our house, corner of Ridge and High Streets, when all of a sudden, all the whistles in town began to blow.

A man running by said he thought it must be a collision, but in a very few minutes, Mrs. Ely, wife of the manager of the railroad, came dashing up in her carriage, which was one of the very few in Marquette at the time, and rushed into the house with the telegram bringing the glad news in her hand. When she met mother, they were both so overcome they could not speak, but the news was good it was evident and it was not until they had cried in one another’s arms that the message was read.”

Sherman Bronson retired and left Marquette in 1886 for Maitland, Florida. Though never in good health, he survived to age 70. He, his wife, both his sons, and their wives, are buried in Park Cemetery.