Entering the Wilds of Wisconsin.
The party disembarked at a sand beach, but the sailboat drew too much
water to permit a close landing. Here it was that the two tenderfeet got
their first experience with Lake Superior's cold water, since all were
obliged to climb or jump overboard into three feet of the almost icy
water, and to carry on heads and shoulders portions of the luggage to
the dry land. Here was to begin the first night of my camp life. Dry
wood was sought, and camp fires were kindled to be used, first, to dry
the wet clothing, and second, to cook the food for the first out-of-door
supper.
To avoid mosquitoes, orders were given to prepare beds for the night on
the sand beach away from the friendly tall trees that stood near by. One
mattress served for the whole party and consisted of as level a strip of
the sandy shore as could be selected. Promise of fair weather rendered
unnecessary the raising of tents which were made to serve as so much
thickness to keep the body from contact with the sand.
That night the stars shone brightly above the sleepers' faces, the
waters of Superior broke gently along the beach, and the tall pines lent
their first lullaby to willingly listening ears.
"The waves have a story to tell me,
As I lie on the lonely beach;
Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,
The wind has a lesson to teach;
But the stars sing an anthem of glory
I cannot put into speech.
They sing of the Mighty Master,
Of the loom His fingers span,
Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
And weft in the wondrous plan."
The next morning broke bright and clear, and the sun sent a sheen upon
the dimpled waters of old Superior that gave us a touch of regret at the
parting of the ways; for the members, one by one, after a well relished
breakfast, shouldered their packs and fell into single file behind the
Indian guide who led the way to the trail through the woods, forty miles
long, to the Flambeau Reservation.
Two days and the morning of the third brought the party, footsore in new
boots and eaten by mosquitoes, to the end of the trail. Now, lakes must
be crossed, and the Flambeau River navigated for many days. In the
Indian village were many wigwams, occupied by the usually large
families of two or three generations of bucks, squaws, children, from
the eldest down to the liquid-nosed papoose, and their numerous dogs
that never fail to announce the approach of "kitchimokoman," the white
man.
Some of the old men were building birch canoes, and many birch crafts of
different ages and of previous service were to be seen in the camp. From
among them, enough were bought to carry all of the men of the party and
their outfits. The last canoe bought was a three-man canoe, which leaked
and must be "pitched" before it could be used.
At this point let it be explained that every woodsman, trapper, pioneer,
settler, or camper who depends upon a birch canoe for navigation should,
and generally does, provide himself with a quantity of commercial resin
and a fireproof dish in which to melt it. The resin is then tempered by
adding just enough grease to prevent the mixture, when applied to the
dry surface of a leaky spot on the canoe, and cooled in the water of the
lake or river at the time of using, from cracking by reason of too great
hardness. The surface must be dry or the "pitch" will not adhere firmly
to the leaky seam or knot in the bark of the canoe. The drying is
quickly done by holding a live ember or firebrand close to the surface
of the wet bark.
Mr. Patrick had bought the canoes from different owners and had paid for
them all except the leaky three-man canoe. It was the property of a fat
squaw of uncertain age. The price agreed upon for this canoe was twenty
dollars. Mr. Patrick and the squaw were standing on opposite sides of
the canoe as Mr. Patrick took from his pocket a twenty dollar bill to
hand her in payment. Just then he discovered that the pan of pitch
(resin), which had been previously placed over the live coals, was on
fire. He placed the twenty dollar bill on the canoe in front of the
squaw, and quickly ran to extinguish the fire in the burning pitch. When
he returned to the canoe, the bill had disappeared, and the wise old
squaw claimed to know nothing of its whereabouts. A second twenty dollar
bill was produced and handed to the squaw, when Mr. Patrick became the
owner of a forty dollar birch canoe.