20 LETTERS FROM TPIE BACKWOODS. 



shouldered again our knapsacks and pressed on. The 

 sky, which was clear and beautiful in the morning, 

 had drawn a veil over its face, and the clouds, thicken- 

 ing every moment, gave omen of a stormy night and 

 gloomy day to come. When we set out, ^ye expected 

 to encamp at the base of the main peak over night, 

 and ascend next morning, but I told Cheney we must 

 be on the top before sunset, for in the morning im- 

 penetrable clouds might rest upon it, and all our 

 labor be lost. We were weary enough to halt, and 

 a more forlorn-looking company you never saw than 

 we were, as we straggled like a flock of sheep up the 

 bed of the stream. At length it began to climb the 

 mountain in cataracts, and we after it. It was now 

 nearly three o'clock, and we had been walking since 

 seven in the morning. Wearied and completely 

 fagged out, it seemed almost impossible to make tlfe 

 ascent. Up, up, at an angle of nearly forty-five de- 

 grees — flogged and torn at every step by the long, 

 thorn-like branches of the spruce trees — leaping from 

 rock to rock, or crawling from some cavity into which 

 we had fallen through the treacherous moss, we panted 

 on, striving in vain to get even a sight of the summit 

 that mocked our hard endeavors. One hunter with 

 us several times gave out completely, and we were 

 compelled to stop and wait for him. Crossing now 

 a bear-track, and now coming to a bed where a moose 

 had rested the night before, we at length saw the 

 naked cone, forming the extremest summit of the 

 mountain. There it stood, round, gray, cold, and 

 naked, in the silent heavens. A deep gully lay be- 



