St. Louis River, July, 1846.
I now write you from the margin of a stream which empties into Lake
Superior, towards which I am impatiently pursuing my way. Sandy Lake,
where ended my voyaging on the Mississippi, is one of the most famous
lakes of the northwest. It lies only about three miles east of the great
river, and almost directly west from Lake Superior. Over the intervening
route which connects the two water wonders of our country, more furs and
Indian goods have been transported, than over any other trail in the
wilderness. The lake received its name from the French, on account of
its sandy shores, which are remarkably beautiful, abounding in agates
and cornelians. There is a trading post here, which is said to have been
established ninety years ago; and in a certain log cabin which was
pointed out to me, I was told furs had been stored, to the value of
fifty millions of dollars.
The shores of this lake are hilly, and being full of beautiful islands,
it presents a most interesting appearance. The water is clear and
abounds in fish, of which the black bass, the pike and white-fish are
the most abundant.
The voyager in pursuing this route always finds it necessary to make a
number of portages. The original manner in which I performed one of
these I will briefly describe.
When the company to which I belonged had landed on the eastern shore of
Sandy Lake, I immediately inquired for the trail, seized my gun and
started on ahead, hoping that I might succeed in killing a few pigeons
for supper. The path was well beaten, the scenery interesting, and I
went on with a light heart and a head full of fantastic images born of
the wild forest. The only creature in the way of game that I saw was a
large red deer, which suddenly startled me by a shrill snort, and
bounded away as if in scorn of my locomotive powers. Soon as my _hair_
was fairly settled to its natural smoothness on my head, (how very
uncomfortable it is to be frightened!) the deer made a dignified pause,
and I attempted to draw near by dodging along behind the trees.
Soon as I was through dodging, I looked up and found that my game was
missing, and I therefore wheeled about to resume my journey. My
intention was reasonable and lawful, but then arose the thought, what
direction shall I pursue? The more I pondered the more my wonder grew,
and after a series of ineffectual rambles I finally concluded that I had
lost my way, and must spend the night, literally speaking, “in the
wilderness alone.” I now record my tale without a particle of emotion,
but I can tell you that my feelings and reflections on that occasion
were uncomfortable in the extreme.
After wandering about the woods until my feet were blistered, I
concluded to pitch my tent for the night, although the only things I had
with me to make me comfortable in my solitude, were an unloaded gun, a
horn half full of powder, and my shot-bag, empty of shot and balls. I
happened to be in a deep valley, which was entirely covered with pine
trees. One of them had two large branches that shot out together about a
dozen feet from the ground, and as I had no sure way of keeping off an
enemy, I managed to climb up to them, and there spent the night, without
once budging from my interesting roost.
I was not visited by any goblins on that memorable night, but the actual
miseries which ministered to me during the dark hours were quite
numerous. In the first place, I had to watch the deepening shadows of
the evening, tormented by hunger and thirst. Instead of having an
opportunity to satisfy my own appetite, it seemed as if all the
musketoes of the wilderness had assembled together for the purpose of
having a feast on my own flesh and blood. But nature granted me a brief
respite from this torment, by causing a heavy shower to fall, which had
a tendency to cool my feverish lips and brow, and allowed me a lucid
interval of sleep.
But this blessedness was soon ended, for in a fit of the night-mare I
had a very narrow escape from falling to the ground. After I had fairly
recovered myself, and again drank in the horrors of a musketo dirge, I
almost made up my mind to drop at any rate, and thereby end my life and
the enjoyment of my infernal enemies.
But there was soon another change in the character of my miseries. An
immense owl had the impudence to perch himself on a limb above my head,
whence he poured forth a flood of the most horrible screaming that
mortal ever heard. Soon as the echoes thus awakened had melted into
silence, a crackling sound fell upon my ear, and I beheld an old bear,
straggling along, as if he was sure of enjoying a feast of fresh meat.
He halted and snuffed around the base of a tree, which stood only a few
yards distant from the one I occupied, and then continued on his way. He
seemed to know that human feet had lately trodden the valley, but
rationally concluding that no sensible man would remain in that
particular region any longer than he could possibly help it, he did not
trouble himself about the scent he had discovered. I felt grateful
towards the old savage for his unintentional politeness, but if my gun
had been loaded with only one ball, I should have favored him with an
unexpected salute.
The hours which followed this event, and preceded the dawn, were the
longest that I ever experienced. My wretchedness was indescribable; I
was cold and hungry, and in a perfect fever, from want of sleep, and the
insect poison infused into my whole body; but morning came at last, and
with it the warm bright sunshine and the silence of the Sabbath; only a
loud clear chorus of sweetest melody echoed through the pine forest
valley, from the throats of a thousand feathered minstrels.
On descending from my elevated position, I ascended a high hill, from
whose summit I could look down upon a beautiful lake, where I saw my
fellow travellers all quietly afloat in their canoes. I loaded my gun
with powder and fired a signal, which was answered by a deafening shout,
that was far sweeter to my ears at that particular moment than even the
song of birds. When the Indians who had been hunting after me had
returned, and when I resumed my seat in the canoe, and had a slice of
cold pork between my fingers, I was perfectly happy, in spite of the
many jokes cracked at my expense.