The
sunset light still tinged the sky back of Mount Sawyer, and from
its foot came up the roar of the rapid. Now and again a bird's
evening song came down to us from the woods on the hill above, and
in the tent Joe was playing softly on the mouth organ, "Annie
Laurie" and "Comin' through the Rye." After I had gone to my tent
the men sang, very softly, an Indian "Paddling Song."
A stream of bright sunlight on the roof of my tent roused me on
Saturday morning, and mingling with the sound of the river came
again that of the "Paddling Song." At breakfast all were
exclaiming over the wonderful weather, George insisting that he did
not believe this could be Labrador at all.
That morning I was to make my maiden attempt at following a new
trail, and when the last load was ready I went first to try my
fortunes. The trail meant just a little snip off the bark of a
young tree here, the top of a bush freshly broken there, again a
little branch cut showing that the axe had been used. There was
not a sign of any path. The way was not always the easiest, and
sometimes not the shortest, but it was always the quickest. My
heart quite swelled with pride when I reached the river at 8.30
A.M. having missed the trail but once, and having found it again
with little delay. Already it had grown hot on the hills, and the
mosquitoes were beginning to come, so that it was good to be back
at the river again; but before the men went away for more loads I
had to promise very solemnly that I would not go on the rocks by
the rapids.
By noon the whole outfit was at the river, we had lunch, and the
men rested an hour and then we were off again. A mile of paddling
and two short portages brought us to the head of what the trappers
call "Three Mile Rapid." The river was very picturesque here, and
in midstream were great swells which curled back like ocean
breakers as the torrent of water poured over the boulders of the
riverbed. I smile now remembering how I asked George if be thought
I should see anything so fine as this rapid on, the rest of my
journey.
Splendid as the rapids were, it was a great relief to reach smooth
water again, though the current was still swift. Passing a bend
half a mile above we came in sight of a beautiful wooded island,
and saw that we had reached the edge of the burned-over country.
It would scarcely be possible to convey any adequate idea of the
contrast. The country had been grand with a desolate sort of
grandeur softened by the sunshine and water and the beautiful
skies, but now the river with its darkly-wooded hills was not only
grand but was weirdly beautiful as well.
