LAUNCHING CANOE 17 



she was christened The Otter and we drank to 

 " success." 



Then we bid farewell to the teamster, and 

 turned our attention to the lake, and to embarking 

 on our journey. 



Though the day was fine the aspect of the 

 lake was not reassuring : it was on the eve of 

 rupture and change, but, contrary to expecta- 

 tion, the ice had not yet broken up in any ex- 

 tensiveness. We viewed the scene ; Joe with a 

 practised eye, I with half his intentness, and 

 listening more, it must be confessed, to the 

 tumult of the lake surface ; for on the air, from 

 the distance and near at hand, in haunting 

 restlessness rose the persistent modulating sound 

 of grinding, groaning ice-blocks agitated by the 

 underflowing flood-water. It seemed to me as 

 if the very soul of the ice-field was pleading to 

 be set free, knowing in some mute sense that 

 the holding grasp of winter weakened, and that 

 the hour was at hand when its substance would 

 cease to be. 



I turned from those fancies, and conjectured 

 with Joe the chance of finding a clear passage 

 out. Around the landing, and across the head 

 of the lake, there was open water — clear except 

 for occasional detached lumps of floating ice — 

 but away down the lake, as far as the eye could 

 see, there was nothing but a great sheet of dull, 

 water-soaked, rotting ice, broken in places, and 

 piled up where pressure had forced it to bulge 

 and overlap on to a resisting surface. 



" What do you make of it, Joe ? " I asked. 



"Not much," answered Joe; "'We may or 



