MORNING IN THE WILDERNESS. 71 



claims and almost invariably receives attention. The 

 morning is probably calm, the stars are slightly paling, 

 cold yellow light begins to show itself in the east ; on the 

 river or lake rests a screen of dense fog, landwards a wall 

 of forest impenetrable to the eye. Walking a step or two 

 from the camp a sudden rush through the underbrush 

 tells of a fox, mink, or marten prowling close by, probably 

 attracted by the remains of last night's meal. From the 

 dying camp fires a thin column of smoke rises high 

 above the trees, or spreads lakewards to join the damp 

 misty veil which hides the quiet waters from view. 

 Around the fires are silent forms like shrouded corpses 

 stretched at full length on the bare rock or on spruce 

 branches carefully arranged. These are the Indians, they 

 have completely enveloped themselves in their blankets, 

 and lie motionless on their backs. Beneath upturned 

 canoes, or lying like the Indians, with their feet to the 

 fire, the French voyageurs are found scattered about the 

 camp ; generally the servant attached to each tent stretches 

 himself before the canvas door. No sound at this season 

 of the year disturbs the silence of the early dawn if the 

 night has been cold and calm. The dull music of a 

 distant waterfall is sometimes heard, or its unceasing 

 roar when camped close to it as on the Eattlesnake Por- 

 tage, but these are exceptional cases, in general all nature 

 seems sunk in perfect repose, and the silence is almost 

 oppressive. As the dawn advances an Indian awakes, 

 uncovers his face, sits on his haunches and looks around 

 from beneath the folds of his blanket which he has drawn 

 over his head. After a few minutes have thus passed, 

 not observing his companions show any sign of waking 

 or disposition to rise, he utters a low " waugh " ; slowly 

 other forms unroll themselves, sit on their haunches and 



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