to the upper end of the portage, which represented a walk of thirty-three miles, eighteen of which were travelled with one-hundred pound loads upon their backs, over rocky hills and through swamps knee-deep with mire. This was disheartening work at the outset, but it was good training for what was to follow.
The next morning the weather was hot and the flies were out in swarms, as on the day before. The men were all foot-sore and stiff, but without a grumble resumed their work. They were obliged to make two more trips before everything was across, and by that time it was nearly noon; still, without a pause for rest, they loaded the canoes, pushed out into the lake—a small expansion of the river—and headed for the opposite shore, where we soon discovered the mouth. When yet far out on the lake we could see the river's foaming water, and as we drew nearer could plainly hear the unmistakable roar of a cataract. Some distance to the right, on a sand-beach, we went ashore, and found ourselves at the foot of a second long portage.
Because of the condition of our men camp was now ordered to be pitched, so as to give them some chance to recruit. My brother and I walked across the portage, and found it to be three and one-half miles in length. It was, however, much less difficult than the former one, being more level and less rocky. Its upper end terminated on the shore of Black Lake, where we hoped to find Indians who would help us across. But in this we were disappointed, and, instead of Indians, found only old forsaken "tepee" poles and blackened fireplaces. We tried to rest for a while upon the shore of Black Lake, but the flies swarmed about us with such frightful fury that we were compelled to beat a retreat,
