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.
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.
