The Sun.
London, England, 1859-10-24 00:00:00

the next obstruction. We were obliged to get into
the stream, often up to the middle, and there I se-
veral times fell headlong—completely using up our
compass, which now frantically pointed in any di-
rection its addled head though desirable. The
water had unglued the case, and it was ruined.
After long hours of such labour we got the raft
down, and La Mountain again tied it together.
Passing on, in a')out an hour we came to a large
lake—ten miles long and six miles broad. Around
it we must, of course, pass until we should find the
outlet. So we turned up to the right, and pressed
on with as much resolution as could be expected.
To-day we found one clam, which I insisted
La Mountain should eat, as he was weaker than
myself, and had eaten little or nothing on the day
we went up. Around we went into all the inden-
tations of the shore, keeping always in shal-
low water. At last we stopped at a place we
thought least exposed to the wind. We lay down
upon the cold ground, having lifted up the end of
our raft, so that the wind might not drift it away
in the night. We were cold when we lay down,
and both of us trembled by the hour like men suf-
fering from a severe attack of the ague. The wind
had risen just at night, and the dismal surging of
the waves upon the shore formed, I thought, a fit-
ting lullaby to slumbers so disturbed and dismal as
ours. By this time our clothes were nearly torn
off. My pantaloons were slit up both legs, and
the waistband nearly torn off. My boots both
leaked, and our mighty wrestlings in the canons
had torn the skin from ancles, and hands. La
Mountain's hat was gone; the first day out he had
thrown away his woollen drawers and stockings,
as they dragged him down by the weight of the
water they absorbed. We slept little. It really
seemed as though, during the night, we passed
through the horrors of a dozen deaths. At day-
light we got up by degrees—first on one knee and
then on the other—so stiff and weak we could
hardly, stand.
Again upon the almost endless lake we went,
paddling round its shore for an outlet. About 10
o'clock we found a broad northern stream, which
we thought was the outlet we were seeking, and
we entered it with great joy, believing it would
take us to our long sought Ottawa. Shortly after
entering the stream it widened out and assumed
the form of a lake. We poled up the westerly
shore for about seven miles, but found we were
again deceived. On our way up Mr. La Moun-
tain sang these pretty lines :-
6‘ Cheer up your hearts, my men;
Let nothing fright you;
Be of a gallant mind—
Let that delight you."
His voice was hardly above a whisper, but the
song was a source of great comfort to me. His, in-
deed, was a gallant mind, which the extraordinary
hardships and dangers of our position had not
daunted. But when we found that all the weary
miles of our morning travel had been in vain, and
had to be retraced, my resolution certainly failed me
for a moment ; I sat down upon my end of the raft,
and felt like shedding one tear of genuine regret.
Yet we felt that our duty, as Christian men, was to
press on as long as we could stand, and leave the
issue with God.
It had now been full four days since we ate a
meal. All We had eaten in the meantime was a frog
a piece, four clams, and a few wild berries, whose
acid properties and bitter taste had probably done
us more harm than good. Our strength was begin-
ning to fail very fast, and our systems evidently
about to undergo an extraordinary change. I did
not permit myself to; think of food—thoughts of a
well-covered table would have been too much. I
thought over all of poor Strain's sufferings on the
Isthmus of Darien, where he, too, was paddling a
raft down an unknown stream, but never believed
he could stand half the amount of suffering he did.
Besides, he had means to make a fire—we had none.
He was upon a stream which he knew would lead
to the sea and safety—we were upon waters whose
flow we knew really nothing of, and were as much
lost as though in the mountains of the moon. But
we " could not give it up so," and took fresh courage
as troubles appeared to thicken.
Well, we turned the raft around, and poled her
back towards the place where we had entered this
last lake. We had gone about a mile when we heard
the sound of a gun, quickly followed by a second
report. No sound was ever so sweet to me as that.
We helloed as loud as we could a good many times,
but could get no response. We kept our poles going,
and had gone about half a mile, when I called La
Mountain's attention to what I thought was smoke
curling up among the trees on the side of a hill.
My own eyesight had begun to fail me to an extent
that I could not depend upon it when a long steady
gaze was necessary. He said it was smoke, and that
he thought just below it, on the bank, was a bark
canoe. In a few moments the blue smoke rolled
gently, yet unmistakeably, above the tree tops, and
we felt that we were saved. Such a revulsion of
feeling was almost too much for us. We could hardly
believe our senses,- and credited anything favour
able to our condition with the utmost caution. Our
bitter disappointments had taught us that lesson.
We paddled the raft with the ends of our poles
directly across the lake, near, perhaps, three-fourths
of a mile wide, and made for the canoe. It proved
to be a large one, evidently an Indian's. Up the
bank I pressed, leaving La Mountain at the canoe
to cut off a retreat by the Indian, in case he was
timid and wished to avoid us. I came at once upon
the shanties of a lumbering wood, and from the
chimney of the farthest building a broad volume
of smoke was rising. I halloed—a noise was heard
inside, and a noble-looking Indian came to the
door. " Vous parlez Francais ?" was my eager in-
quiry, as I grasped his outstretched hand. " Yes,
sir, and English too." He drew me into the cabin,
and there was the head of the party, a noble-
hearted Scotchman, named Angus Cameron: I
immediately told my story, that we came in a
balloon, were lost, and had been four days with-
out food, asking where we were. Imagine my sur-
prise when he said we were 150 miles due north of
Ottawa, in the dense uninhabited forest, whose only
limit was the Arctic circle. In a word, we were
nearly 300 miles in a due north course from Water-
town, in lat. 47 deg.
After entertaining his unexpected visitors two
days, Mr. Cameron took them, together with his
own part' of four, to Desert, in a canoe. On the
way back, within half a mile from the bank of a
creek, the ballom was found, so much torn as to
render the idea of getting it home hopeless. At
Desert, John Backus procured some Indians to take
them towards Ottawa, which they reached on Mon-
day afternoon. At Ottawa they were hospitably
entertained by Robert Bell, editor of the Citizen,
and by Mr. Joseph Aumond.