36 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS, 



Adirondac Iron Works at noon, having traveled 

 twelve miles, a part of the way on our hands and 

 knees. After dinner, it was resolved to push on and 

 nit€t our teamster, who, we were afraid, would be com- 

 pelled to encamp in the forest alone with his team. 

 Getting our guide to row us five miles down Lake 

 Sandford, we bade him good-bye, and, shouldering 

 our knapsacks, started off. I had received a fall in 

 the Pass which stunned me dreadfully, and made 

 every step like driving a nail into my brain. Losing 

 my footing, I had fallen backwards, and gone down 

 head foremost among the rocks — a few feet, either 

 side, and this letter had probably never been writ- 

 ten. We expected every moment to meet our team- 

 ster, but were disappointed, and thus traveled on 

 until twilight began to gather over the forest, ad- 

 monishing us to seek a place of rest for the night. 

 We had now gone sixteen miles from the Adirondacs, 

 which, added to the twelve miles to and from the 

 Pass, made a severe day's work of it. Twilight 

 brought us to the Boreas River, and here we found a 

 log shanty which some timber cutters had put up the 

 winter before and deserted in the spring. It was a 

 lonely-looking thing, dilapidated and ruinous, with 

 some straw below, and a few loose boards laid across 

 the logs above. We kindled a blazing fire outside, 

 and divided our last provisions among us, then sought 

 our repose. As I said, only a few boards were laid 

 across the logs above, leaving the rest of the loft per- 

 fectly open. By getting on to a sort of scaffolding, 

 and reaching up to the timbers, we were able to swing 



