We could doubtless have killed many more if we had wished to remain for the purpose; but the Harmony River, our destination, was a long way off, and the sun was running across the sky at a rapid rate.
We stopped to dine at Goulais Point, and took advantage of the opportunity to bathe; the water, close to the shore where it was shallow and had been heated by the sun’s rays, was warm, but occasionally streaks cold enough almost to freeze the blood were encountered. The Namægoose, on being prepared for the pot, were found to contain spawn well advanced, and were exceedingly fat.
The dinner being over and the men rested, our slow progress was resumed, and we passed Maple Island—Isle aux Arabes—into Batchawaung Bay. The sun in his downward course marked out a broad golden path upon the still surface of the lake, vividly recalling to our minds that most exquisite picture in “Hiawatha” of the chieftain’s departure for the “land of the Hereafter;” which now had the charm of a peculiar interest, as we were floating upon the very waters where the scene is laid:
“And the evening sun, descending,
Set the clouds on fire with redness;
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
Left upon the level water
One long track and trail of splendor,
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening.”
Thus dreamily murmured Don, as with his back against our biscuit-barrel, and his feet upon our butter-tub, he gazed upon the dying glories of the orb of day; and now, as the last glimmering spark sank below the horizon, the strange pale light of the north crept over the sky; the stillness of death brooded upon land and water, and ephemeræ, issuing from their larva state, burst into winged life and followed the course of our boat. Fronting us was the long island called by the same name as the bay beyond it, and towering far above were the mountains of the mainland, cleft in two places where the Harmony and Batchawaung Rivers had broken their way to the lake; to the right extended the bay for many miles, and to the left stretched in its immensity the trackless “Gitche-Gumee, Big-Sea-Water.” Darkness approaches slowly in northern latitudes; our oarsmen were weary, and our pace was moderate, but we had to make a long detour to reach the river beyond, and it was determined to camp on the island. Reaching the upper end, we landed, and our men searched for a favorable spot. One peculiarity of a voyageur is his antipathy to camping at an unusual place; warned by his experience of the inconveniences that attend such a course, the difficulty of making a comfortable bed, properly securing the tent, and arranging the fire, he will endure considerable extra labor to reach a spot with which he is acquainted. Therefore we were not surprised when Frank reäppeared and announced the impracticability of establishing our camp.
The day had been hard for the men; the weather had been hot and the journey long, and it gave me pleasure to hear Don propose that we should row for a time. He was rather unaccustomed to the exercise, but kept up bravely as we continued our course round the island and across towards the main shore. The pale light still filled the atmosphere to that degree that, at nine o’clock, we could read fine print; the ephemeræ still followed us with fluttering wings, and whisks extended; the death-like calmness still rested on the unruffled water. At the point of the island were four pretty little islets clustered together, lending additional beauty to the bay embosomed in majestic hills. The way seemed lengthened out amazingly, and our arms were weary, and the night had closed in darkness ere we reached the mouth of the Harmony River, the Auchipoisœbie of the Indians. Here we found an old camping-ground, almost a cleared field in size, and the remnants of several wigwams. Collecting the poles of the latter, we built a rousing fire that illuminated the surrounding forest and cast a lurid glow upon our active men. By its light we landed our stores, pitched our tent, established our quarters, and retired to rest.
We had made a long thirty-five miles, against unfavorable circumstances, felt exhausted but thankful we had arrived at last, and taking a little refreshment, drank good-luck to ourselves and the Harmony. Just as I was about closing my eyes to sublunary things, Don remarked:
“There is a serious question I have to put to you. To-day’s journey has probably been exceptionally slow and tedious, but how long, under ordinary circumstances, do you think it would require to come from New York to the Harmony River?”
Next morning early having broiled a Namægoose for breakfast and found it both well cooked and excellent, we ascended the level water that extends for some distance from the mouth of the river. The day was fair and the wind favorable, the birds sang their welcome merrily, and the trees bowed gracefully as we passed. An old duck and her young were startled by our approach, and fled, making such use of their powerful legs as to outstrip us readily. A short distance beyond the smooth water, and almost three miles from the lake, we came to the lower fall or pitch of the stream, which had become quite narrow, and there we made our camp.
It was a lovely spot; the thick trees formed a dense shade over our tent, the trembling cascade furnished continual music; opposite, a rivulet of purest ice-water emptied into the stream; in front the river spread out into a broad, quiet pool; while through intervening trees and bushes we could catch glimpses of the high falls a few hundred yards above us. Previous camps had been located at the same place, and a path had been cut to the rock close by, from which we could fish below the cascade.