With Gun ^ Rod in Canada 



Lake Rossignol and the Fourth Lake. Jack had been 

 paddling bow in my canoe for several days, and being 

 well acquainted with his courageous character, resource- 

 fulness, and swimming ability, I had not given a thought 

 to his previous canoe experience. Consequently when 

 he pushed my little basswood canoe out into the water 

 and, seating himself in the stern seat, began to paddle 

 out into the lake, with the bow high in the air and the 

 light craft teetering on her narrow stern with hardly a 

 third of her keel in the water, I thought he was going to 

 give us an exhibition and perhaps showus some newstunts. 

 There was a stiff breeze blowing offshore, and this caught 

 the high bow of the canoe and kept it straight before the 

 wind, so that Jack's inexpertness with the paddle did 

 not betray itelf to us observers on the beach. As he 

 shot out from under the lee of the land, he ran into 

 rough water and half a gale of wind. He tried to turn 

 around, but found it impossible, owing to the high bow 

 acting as a sail, and during his struggles a wild black 

 squall capsized him. Joe and I launched our big 

 guide's model eighteen-foot canoe and went to the 

 rescue. When we got to him we found the little craft 

 had tipped him out, and, hardly shipping any water at 

 all, had immediately righted itself. Jack had divested 

 himself of a heavy sweater, and with the canoe's painter 

 in his teeth, was swimming sturdily for shore when we 

 picked him up. He did not say very much until safely 

 on the beach. Then he gave us the most enlightening 

 exhibition of salt-water cussing that ever assaulted our 

 innocent ears. It was lurid. He cursed my particular 

 canoe, all canoes in general, and the men that made them. 

 He had on a pair of mole-skin riding-breeches, which 

 shrank so rapidly that it gave the pleasing effect of a little 

 boy growing to manhood without having time to change 

 his pants. A couple of hours' quiet instruction the 



