We went a mile or two independently and studied the land from all
the high hills; evidently we had crossed the only great sheet of
water in the region. About noon, when all had assembled at camp,
I said: "Preble, why, isn't this Lockhart's River, at the western
extremity of Aylmer Lake?" The truth was dawning on me.
He also had been getting light and slowly replied: "I have forty-nine
reasons why it is, and none at all why it isn't."
There could be no doubt of it now. The great open sea of Aylmer was
a myth. Back never saw it; he passed in a fog, and put down with a
query the vague information given him by the Indians. This little
irregular lake, much like Clinton-Colden, was Aylmer. We had covered
its length and were now at its farthest western end, at the mouth
of Lockhart's River.
How I did wish that explorers would post up the names of the
streets; it is almost as bad as in New York City. What a lot of
time we might have saved had we known that Sandy Bay was in Back's
three-fingered peninsula! Resolving to set a good example I left a
monument at the mouth of the river. The kind of stone made it easy
to form a cross on top.
