A Cruise on Lake Rossignol 



the trail. One massive hemlock was half uprooted and 

 canted across the boat. Its top had luckily lodged in an 

 adjacent tree. The roar of the surf and wind was terrify- 

 ing. Pat said it would be impossible for a boat to get out 

 of the mouth of the Shelburne River and face it without 

 swamping. We carried a little waterproof tent in the 

 motor-boat for emergencies. As we were too wet and 

 miserable to have courage to face the bitter cold and storm 

 of the big lake, we pitched the tent in the lee of a knoll, 

 built up a tremendous fire, and in spite of swirling smoke 

 and sparks, made ourselves as comfortable as possible. 

 Our strenuous exercise had sharpened normally good 

 appetites, but with no food left and no blankets, it looked 

 a little as though we might be a trifle bored before 

 morning ! We could have abandoned our boat, used a 

 canoe for crossing the Shelburne River, and by walking 

 twelve miles and fording or swimming the Kejimkujik 

 River, reached home that night. But I do not think that 

 any of us relished the trip. 



A little before dark I persuaded my companions to 

 try to get across the lake in the dory. We shipped all 

 hands and the wild-cat, and slid down the current under 

 full speed. We rounded the granite boulder that had 

 nearly wrecked us on the way in, and fairly smashed our 

 way out through a mountainous, breaking surf. The 

 spray from the first wave came aft in a blinding sheet 

 and struck me in the face like a load of buck-shot, nearly 

 smothering me. The boat stopped, staggered, and then 

 dived into the second. By this time I had my eyes open, 

 and succeeded in ducking the next charge of icy water. 

 The staunch little dory took each succeeding wave in 

 better shape, and although the spray was suffocating at 

 times, she fought her way out from the shore and rocks 

 into deep water. Strange to say, she did not ship any 

 green water, but always seemed to shoulder her way 



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