XIX 



IN THE HEART OF THE MOOSE COUNTRY 



1894 



WE had pitched our two small cotton tents on the top of a 

 tiny island in one of the many lakes in Canada. The 

 island was of solid rock and rose about 20 feet ahove water- 

 level ; bare everywhere and worn by waves and ice except on the 

 summit, where a thin layer of mould gave a precarious foothold 

 to a few stunted birch and spruce-trees. It was a charming 

 situation for a camp given fine and still weather such as we 

 were then enjoying after all the pouring rain of the last few 

 days, and before all that was yet to come. A lovely spot, over- 

 looking as it did the beautifully clear water which splashed 

 incessantly against the rock ; beyond, wooded hills, now in their 

 autumnal garb, confined the view all around, the dark pines, 

 cedars and spruces, in different shades of green, throwing out in 

 sharp relief the gorgeous foliage of their neighbours, the golden 

 birches and the crimson maples. 



Beautiful was it by day, but greatly more so by night when 

 the full moon had risen, and her silvery rays were playing with 

 the ever restless waves, lighting up parts of the forest while they 

 threw others into still deeper shadow. 



To this islet we I and my two Indians had come in search 

 of moose after a hard and extremely wet canoe journey of several 

 days, with many portages from lake to lake and many others to 

 avoid the frequent rapids in a long creek which meandered for 

 several miles through dense alder swamp and among low wooded 

 hills. It would have been a most enjoyable trip but for the 

 almost ceaseless rain which made the sitting in the canoe 

 unpleasant, while the tramps through the dripping bushes did 



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