"So we start an' follow de batteau, an' of course you can't see ver' far in de river, he is so crooked. I was in de bow, an' I see dem men in de batteau, 'bout two acres ahead, 'fore we get to de bend. Well, we come to de head dis portage and we see nobody dere. I take out my pack an' put de tump-line on my head, an' my chum say 'Dem fellers make de portage pretty quick.' I go down wid my pack, and start up de portage once more, for bring de canoe, me an' Big Jule. W'en I get to de head of de portage, my chum, he come run up all out of breat', an' he say 'I see a hat an' a oar in de water down by de foot de rapid!'
"Den I know w'at's de matter. Me an' Big Jule we have de canoe on our heads for carry it down de portage, but we don't say one word. We jus' turn de canoe down and I jump in de bow, an' my chum in the middle, an' Big Jule for steer, an' we run de rapid. We t'ink maybe somebody hang on de rock; but fore we know it we strike jus' where dey strike, on a side jam w'ere de logs pile up. I jump out, an' my chum he jump out, an' we catch de canoe an' let her swing, an we holler to Jule to jump, an he jump jus' in time I tell you, for the canoe go under de jam an' smash, cr-r-ack all to piece. I never so near de en' of my life till I die, sure. Well, we go back an' tell de foreman, and he sen' some men for shut down de dam, up in de lac, an' we look for dem feller four days. We look way down below, but we no fine 'em, an' de mornin' de fift' day, I was stan' up in de bow, an' I see black spot come up an' bob up an down in de eddy right down dere, an' in fifteen minute we have dem six feller out on dis san' bar. Dey was all in a bunch. It was hot, and dey look awful.
"Well, sir, after dat you not hear one word in de shanty at night. De mens come in, an' dey jus' sit an' say not one word, an' good many de young lads git fright, an' leave de drive an go home. O, I t'ink I remember dis rapid pretty sure."
Joe's boyhood experience of the Gatineau stood us in good stead all the way down. He remembered perfectly all the rapids, knew which could be run and which could not. "W'en you see de swells run black over de rock, don't you be fright' dat you strike," said he, "but if de water be white, den you look out." And he showed how, along the edge of the rough water, there is often a liquid path, not more than the width of the canoe, which may be followed with perfect safety.
Another half-day's run brought us to a lumber shanty, with its tell-tale smoke.
"Quay!" shouted the cook, which is good Algonquin for "Hello!" And then I realized that weeks of constant out-of-door existence had transformed me into a good enough imitation of an Indian to deceive a lumberman.
"Don't I know you?" asked Joe of the cook, not deigning to reply in the Algonquin tongue. And then the white man on shore and the half-red man in the stern of the canoe recognized each other as camp-mates on some by-gone excursion down the river in escort of a few thousand logs.
"What shanty you from?" asked the cook, turning to me inquiringly. "Didn't I see you with Gilmour's boss last year?"
Explanations followed, and the canoe which had come all the way around from Mattawa secured the undivided attention of the lumber crew when they came to supper that evening.
The next day brought us down to the Desert village, where we left my beloved canoe on the bank, and took a stage coach.