“And now the thicken’d sky
Like a dark ceiling stood; down rushed the rain
Impetuous.”--MILTON.
DECREASE OF OUR PROVISIONS.--FACE TO FACE WITH STARVATION.--SORE
TRIALS.--SHOEING CANOES.--THROUGH THE STORM.--WE SIGHT THE WATERS OF
THE AROOSTOOK.--“HURRAH!”
After this adventure we moved our camp to the foot of the first
Mansungun Lake, which has for its outlet a river bearing the same name.
After arranging our camp we sent the guides ahead to explore the
country in our advance, and ascertain the pitch of water in Mansungun
Stream.
“There’s more work ahead,” said Hiram, in a disconsolate tone of voice
on returning to camp, “The water’s jest about deep enough to float a
turtle. We’re in for a long ‘drag,’ an’ I’m afeard our canoes won’t
never reach the ’Roostook waters unless somethin’s done to pertect ’em.”
A council was held, and at the suggestion of Nichols, we at last
decided to build sleds or “shoes” for our canoes, and drag them through
the bed of the stream twelve miles to the Aroostook River.
Little by little our provisions had given out. First the sugar, then
the hard tack and coffee, while potatoes and Indian meal had been a
thing of the past for many days. The trout had left the summer pools
for their spawning beds, and notwithstanding the state of our larder,
we had no time to ascertain their whereabouts.
Occasionally we shot a duck or partridge; we added plenty of water to
the stew, to make sufficient for the party, and in consequence had an
unsubstantial meal.
For many weeks we had subsisted almost entirely on the flesh of
beavers, but now being in haste we had little time to set our traps.
[Illustration: SHOEING CANOES.]
On the 20th of October starvation almost stared us in
the face. Our breakfast this day consisted of the last portion of
beaver flesh and a cup of tea without milk or sugar.
[Illustration: “--WOULDN’T TAKE FIFTY DOLLARS FOR IT.”]
“I believe I’d give ten dollars a mouthful for another meal like that,
’though its only an appetiser,” said Hiram, arising from the frugal
repast.
“Hiram,” remarked the Colonel, “puts me in mind of an Englishman I
met some weeks ago at the Tremont Hotel, Boston. The gentleman sat at
my table, and for four mornings in succession I had noticed him call
for dried herrings and coffee, of which he made his entire meal. I
was wonderfully interested, and on the fifth morning, to satisfy my
curiosity, I had the audacity to question him; ‘I say, my friend, you
must excuse me; but do you eat those herrings from a medicinal motive,
or because you really love them?’ ‘Well,’ he answered, with a drawl, ‘I
don’t exactly _love_ them, but along about 11 o’clock in the morning
there creeps over me such a glorious thirst that I wouldn’t take fifty
dollars for it!’”
But this was no time for story telling, and we immediately set to work
on the “shoes” for the canoes.
The guides soon felled a number of tall cedars and dragged them into
camp.
Then we split them into boards ten feet in length, half an inch in
thickness, and tapering from four to two inches in width, the broadest
extremities lapping one another at midships.
[Illustration: MANSUNGUN DEADWATER.]
Sixteen of these strips were necessary for each of the three canoes,
and were fastened to their bottoms by being split at the edges and
drawn tightly together with strips of cedar bark which ran through the
slits, and passing upward were tied securely to the thwarts. Thus the
graceful form of the birch was lost in the rough outline of a boat.
For four days we labored incessantly at our task, and from the
splitting of the great logs to the finishing of the wood had as tools
only an axe and a penknife.
Fortunately partridges proved abundant, and on these we subsisted
during our forced encampment. A fine otter four feet in length was shot
near camp, but his flesh proved too fishy for us, half-famished as we
were. A large hawk frightened by our voices, dropped from his talons a
trout of over two pounds in weight, suggesting to our minds Israelitish
experience.
[Illustration: A SKY PICTURE.]
Among all trying circumstances we kept at work, and cheered one
another by incessant jokes on the situations.
At last the “shoeing” of the canoes was accomplished, and repacking our
luggage, we paddled down the dead water of Mansungun Stream, and passed
falls five miles below.
Although the morning was lowery, we little thought we had selected the
worst day of the entire tour for the passage of the river; but so it
proved.
Soon the heavens grew dark, the birds sought shelter in the wooded
depths, the wind howled among the tall forest trees, and the rain,
beginning first with light showers, increased at last in volume to a
perfect deluge.
In the midst of this we were obliged to disembark from our canoes and
drag them through the rocky bed of the river, and the good results of
the “shoeing” at once became manifest.
“You look out for the bow, me look out for stern,” yelled Nichols, as
crowding my canoe forward over the ledges of rocks and through the
shallow water of the stream we pushed onward, followed by the remainder
of the party.
[Illustration: A TWELVE MILE DRAG.]
We soon realized that we were in for hard work.
Mile after mile we dragged the canoes, at one moment plunging into some
unseen hole almost to our waists, the next instant striking a ledge
with hardly sufficient water to cover our feet while the rain poured in
torrents upon us. It was water above and water below, and when we were
thoroughly wet, it made little difference from which source it came.
Occasionally we reached water sufficiently deep to float us a short
distance, but after a few trials we found it less fatiguing to remain
in the stream all the time.
I pulled and hauled until every muscle seemed strung to the tension of
a fiddle-string, and before the end of the ordeal I felt like a beast
of burden.
So did the others; but we never grumbled. A common feeling inspired us
with the idea that it was heroic sport.
After nine hours of toil and discomfort, through difficulties that
lasted for twelve miles, we reached the mouth of the stream, and camped
at the junction of the Mansungun and Millnoket Rivers, our hardships
forgotten in the first sight of the Aroostook waters.
But for the cedar splits protecting the canoes, they would hardly have
withstood this rough experience, as the knife-like rocks had left deep
impressions on them.
Our rubber bags had shielded our tents and blankets, from the ill
effects of the storm, but the Tourograph had been floating unobserved
in two inches of water, which destroyed a number of the plates,
changing them from the “dry” to the “wet process” of photography.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: IN CAMP ON THE AROOSTOOK RIVER.]