WINTER IN THE BACKWOODS 273 



me, and I lay for a time more dead than alive. 

 The ignition of the fuel soon produced a cheery 

 blaze, and as the heat thawed me out, I felt 

 better and able to move without pain. I was 

 now afraid to go to sleep, and so arranged my 

 position that I could not do so without getting 

 unpleasantly burnt. A Canadian winter's night 

 is very long, and to me, on this particular occasion, 

 it seemed endless. Never did I welcome a new 

 day with more satisfaction. As it grew light, and 

 the distant features of the lakes were brought to 

 view, it appeared like a paradise of beauty. 



" I took off my warm fur-mittens, and began 

 to examine my gun, taking the barrel in my 

 hands. I very quickly dropped it. The frost 

 had so eaten into the steel that its touch was 

 like red-hot iron, and the skin came off my 

 fingers as though they had been burnt by fire. 

 My wounds became exceedingly sore. Once 

 before I had ventured to lift with my naked 

 hands a stable-latch, and found my skin sticking 

 to it like a needle to a magnet. 



" My sore hands rendered my descent to the 

 lake very painful, and I often raised the injured 

 parts to my mouth and breathed upon them." 



18 



