‘What a day,’ he writes, ‘was my last Sunday at Moose! How fully were all the services attended! What a large number of communicants, and how solemn was our ordination service, when the Rev. E. Richards was made priest! How painful were the partings of the succeeding week, for every one at Moose is to me as a son or a daughter. As the hour of departure approached a crowd assembled at the head of the island, where I was to embark. At four o’clock I stepped into my canoe, and standing up, the people being on the high bank, I gave them my fatherly blessing. I had two companions to go with me to Canada—a young grandson, eight years of age, and a most loved young friend, who was to stay with her uncle in Montreal. My daughter and her children accompanied me, to remain for the night, and the evening was one of cheerful sadness. Our encampment seemed like a small canvas village, so many had come off in their canoes. After the tents were all erected, we soon had a good fire roaring in the forest, by which we cooked our meal; then we had a very solemn service, and by half-past nine the fires were out, the tents were closed, and all was quiet.
‘We were astir in the early morning, when we again bent the knee together in prayer, after which the last farewells were uttered, the last kiss given—my last to my sweet little granddaughter, Gertrude, who was too young to understand the nature of “Good-bye,” and who would for many a day wonder why grandpapa did not come and have a romp with her, and take his accustomed place at table. Then we descended to our respective canoes; they to return to Moose, we to pursue our solitary way up the mighty river, until we came to the great sign of modern civilisation, the iron road of the steam-engine at Missenabie, a station of the Canadian Pacific Railway. I had five Indians with me, all good fellows, Christians, in whom I had the fullest confidence, and who, I knew, would do their very best to bring us in safety to the place of our destination. They divided themselves into two bodies, and took turn and turn about at the tracking. A long line was attached to the canoe; to this one party harnessed itself, for in going against the stream the paddle is but little used, the principal work being done by the tracking line and pole—the latter a powerful instrument of propulsion about nine feet long, and shod with iron, wonderfully useful among the rapids.
‘At breakfast time we all went ashore; a fire was kindled, the kettle boiled, a little meat cooked, and, sitting on boxes or stones, the meal was consumed; after which we continued our way until dinner-time, when there was another halt. Then we went on again until eight o’clock, when we put up for the night. This was quite a business, for we could not encamp everywhere. We went up into the woods; axes were brought into requisition, and a large space was cleared; the marquees were put up, and everything was made as comfortable as possible, so that presently we were quite at home; supper, conversation, and service finished the day, when we lay down, grateful for continued mercies.
‘In the morning, during the breakfast hour, all met near the fire; we first had a hymn, after which I read a portion of Scripture, and prayers from the Prayer Book. Prayer-time was to us a season of great refreshment. We had sometimes heavy rains; this caused us much trouble, greatly increasing the difficulty and danger of the rapids. Frequently we were all obliged to get ashore, and make our way as best we could through the pathless woods, where the fallen trees were lying about in every direction. This was intensely hard work.
A LARGE CANOE SHOOTING A RAPID
‘On one occasion we had ascended a terrible and long rapid, and had got by the easiest side of the stream just opposite the foot of our longest portage, but between us and it ran the swollen and fiercely flowing river. We all grasped a paddle firmly, and bending with our full strength dashed out into the stream; we could get no further, and were swept down like lightning into the boiling rapid. The sight was the most dangerous I had ever witnessed, but the men were equal to the emergency. Turning round in the canoe, the bow became the stern, and we were kept clear of the rocks which threatened our destruction.
‘Then on we went again to face fresh dangers, to meet with new difficulties; still ever onwards, till on Saturday morning we came into the smooth waters of the Missenabie Lake. Missenabie was a small and inconsiderable post which up to this time had been buried deep in the wilderness, but which by the carrying of the Canadian Pacific Railway through the country, had been brought to the very confines of the civilised world, being only fifty miles from a railway station.’