CANOEING FROM BOSTON TO BOSTON. 



JOSEPH F. ROCHE. 



On the day our vacation began, the Doc- 

 tor and I started on our cruise which was to 

 be from Boston to Boston, not going over 

 the same water twice. Our start was on the 

 Charles. This stream empties into Boston 

 Harbor, after passing through some of the 

 most picturesque farming country of Mas- 

 sachusetts. As it nears the harbor, it passes 

 the conservative old town of Dedham. A 

 mile or two farther on it broadens into Big 

 and Little Cod Bay. It becomes narrower 

 through the Newtons, Waltham, Water- 

 town, Cambridge and then expands until it 

 passes out at Charlestown, washing the old 

 U. S. S. Wabash, and the century old his- 

 toric U. S. S. Constitution, now painted a 

 sickly yellow. 



Our first day was devoid of special in- 

 terest and we lost some of our enthusiasm 

 when at night we counted 8 " carries " we 

 had made; so about 7 o'clock the Doctor 

 suggested retiring. Later he suddenly 

 awakened me. I will never forget how he 

 looked, even in the semi-darkness. His 

 face was ghastly, as he told me to get up 

 quickly, but admonished me to make no 

 noise, as some one was sneaking about the 

 tent. The Doctor had often smiled grimly 

 as young students and probationary nurses 

 fainted at the operating table; yet he was 

 shivering at the approach of footsteps, on a 

 farm not 10 miles from law-abiding Boston. 

 Small wonder I was scared. Scared!!! 

 That is not the word. I was paralyzed with 

 fear, but did my best to hide it from the 

 Doctor. I rested on my right arm; listened, 

 and heard the slow, measured tread of some 

 one bent on surprising the innocent, sleep- 

 ing inmates of our tent. I reached for the 

 camp hatchet, which I had carefully put 

 at my side before falling asleep. It was 

 not there. 



With courage born of desperation I 

 threw aside the flaps of our tent door and 

 stepped out into the darkness, saying, in a 

 good, hospitable sort of a way, " Good 

 night! How do you do?" For a reply 

 came retreating footsteps. The Doctor and 

 I then became truly brave. One started to 

 the right and the other to the left, to head 

 off the midnight marauders. The Doctor 

 had not gone far when he stumbled over a 

 yearling calf. Picking himself up, he said, 

 as he gave me his hand, " Don't tell the 

 boys. They will never believe you if you 

 tell them we were sober." 



We returned to our bed of pine boughs 

 and were soon asleep, nothing disturbing 

 us until morning. Then a cruising party, 

 seeing our tent and no life, awoke us, in- 

 troducing themselves with the suggestion 



that one fire might be made for the one 

 breakfast. When we turned out they had a 

 fire started. Introductions were waived 

 and all sat down to a hearty meal. This 

 shows the fraternal feeling that exists 

 among canoeists. When 2 canoeing parties 

 meet for a rest, there is usually a free ex- 

 change of provisions. 



The second day was practically the first 

 of our cruise. Quick paddling brought 

 us, shortly before noon, to the picturesque 

 Charles river rapids. At times there is not 

 enough water to permit going through in 

 a canoe, but on this day we paddled and 

 poled. It was interesting and even excit- 

 ing, as we dodged one rock and then an- 

 other. The swift water threw us bow on; 

 then the stern swung, and as we came out 

 all right the Doctor said, " That was a nar- 

 row escape." 



The " carry " made, we immediately 

 pushed on, for our visitors at breakfast and 

 companions for the remainder of the trip 

 told us of a spring where dinner would be 

 taken. We took our time after dinner, as 

 we had only a short paddle to Natick, 

 where we were to stop for the night. 



The next morning we went to the Cochit- 

 uate lakes. Our friends had taken the 

 canoe through the town, by a team, during 

 the night. Here we learned they would 

 like to join us in our trip. We were de- 

 lighted, for they proved jolly young fel- 

 lows. At 6.30 we pushed out to cross the 

 Three Lakes. These lakes are the source 

 of supply for the Boston Water System. It 

 was a stormy day and the water was rough. 

 An official of the water works, at the lakes, 

 said, " I have been in this vicinity for 15 

 years and have not seen the water any 

 rougher than it is to-day. I wouldn't take 

 $10,000 and cross them lakes in such crafts 

 as them canoes." However, we put out, 

 carefully skirting the shore of the lakes and 

 getting as free from wind as possible. We 

 reached Saxonville in about twice the regu- 

 lar time. On our return trip we learned 

 that the water official had followed us in a 

 large boat, expecting to pick us up out of 

 the water. 



At Saxonville a teamster carried the 

 canoes over the Sudbury river. The water 

 was low and dirty. We had to wade more 

 than a mile and a half, dragging the canoes 

 after us. We finally struck clear water. 4 

 feet deep, running through rich meadows. 



About 5.30 we pitched tent on a rise of 

 ground, in the district known as Wayland. 

 I was put on the invalid list, my arms being 

 so burned they hung helpless at my sides. 

 The next morning large blisters covered 



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