)uNE IS, igdr.] 
«>FOH£sT •AND « STREAM? 
46 8 
there Is an inside channel, back of the islands, that will 
afford safe passage for the canoes. Another glance at 
the tumbling water convinces' them that the inside chan- 
nel must be found, and as there is no one else to consult 
within several miles, they proceed to search for it them- 
selves. In a few minutes an entrance is found back of 
what seems to be a large island facing Darling's. This 
they enter, and find themselves in a wide and sheltered 
stretch of water dotted with innumerable islands. Never 
doubting that this is the channel they are in search of 
they proceed. After several hours' paddling they discover 
they are in a big landlocked bay — one of the snares the 
native had warned them against — and they have to turn 
back. They eventually creep out by the same channel 
they entered, and are once more in face of Darling's 
Island, with only enough daylight left to make camp for 
the night. They sleep that night with the booming of the 
surf in their ears. Shortly after 7 o'clock next morn- 
ing the canoes are launched again. As the sea in the 
open has gone down, and there is no wind worth men- 
tioning, they decide to cut through the wide stretch of 
water and head directly for Loudon's Island. The next 
island with a hoxise on it that comes in view they stop 
at, and Kitchener climbs over the rocks to interview the 
inmates. Nobody being astir. Kitchener boldly knocks 
at the door, and presently it is opened by a man in his 
night shirt, who takes in the situation at a glance. 
"What can I do for you?" he asks. "I suppose you are 
lost— everybody who ventures into Georgian Bay gets 
lost sooner or later — and you want me to find you again. 
Where are you headed for? Moon River? Well, come 
out here and I'll try to show you; but I warn you that 
you are more in the hands of Providence than in mine." 
He steps out upon the rocks with his solitary garment 
fluttering in the cold morning wind and proceeds to 
point out the way. 
"You fellows will have to hurry,*' he says, in conclu- 
sion, and wagging his head at the sky, "for it's going 
to blow like blazes." ■ 
They steer for a fishing hut which appears in the dis- 
tance, and there interview a lone Avoman guarded by two 
fierce dogs. Her opinion is that they will never find the 
entrance to Moon River though they search for it for a 
month on end. Nobody ever finds it, that she has ever 
heard tell of. Sometimes it seems to be in one place — 
but mostly it isn't. But they can try for it if they want 
to, There isn't any law against that that she has ever 
heard tell of. Then she exhausts her store of knowledge 
by telling them the way to Indian Harbor. 
They pass on to the next objective point, to-wit, a 
small island with a solitary tree growing on it, and mark- 
ing the entrance to the harbor. Indian Harbor proves 
10 be merely a channel between an island and the main- 
land. At the end of it the open water of Georgian Bay 
is again encountered. A long paddle through tumbling 
seas brings the party tp the next indicated point, namely, 
Jubilee Island. Here an intelligent half-breed, in charge 
of a Mackinac boat, is found; and from him minute in- 
structions are obtained with the .usual warning against 
landlocked bays. Despite this, not only is the entrance 
not found, but once more do the weary voyageurs find 
themselves at the end of a long bay witii a great stretch 
of paddling to live through before the open is reached 
once more, Then, night coming on, camp is made at 
the first available island. Supper finished and black night 
shutting in, the four gather round the blazing logs, light 
their pipes with a live ember — which, by the way, imparts 
a new and delightful aroma to tobacco all its own — and 
settle down for a comfortable chat. 
"Do you know, Kitchener," the Sick Thing says, draw- 
ing dreamily at his pipe, "I have made a discovery on this 
trip! The waterways of this country, all of it probably 
from the Atlantic to the Great Divide, were used as high- 
ways by the inhabitants long before roads were even 
thought of. If they wanted to get from the interior to 
the seaboard, from trading post to town, or from their 
own settlement to the next settler's clearing, they used 
the waterways. Here have we been traveling over lakes 
and rivers we never saw before, and the course has been 
marked for us by thousands and thousands of men who 
have gone before us. And another interesting thought 
comes to me. We are traveling just as the earlj^ voy- 
ageurs did — like La Salle or Marquette, or any of those 
splendid old chaps who did it for glory or for skins, or 
to preach the gospel to the red man. I wonder if they 
ever went over our course." 
"The usual course from Quebec and Montreal to 
Mackinac and beyond was up the Ottawa to Lake Nipis- 
sing, down the French River to Georgian Bay, ^through 
the Soo, and so on." Our course has too many portages 
for big canoes and heavy loads. However, it is quite evi- 
dent from the plainly marked portages that the course 
has been in constant use from the beginning — probably 
from the earliest settlements in America." 
"Wonder if the priests did any swearing on the 
portages," Cyclops remarks, sleepily. 
*T fancy they did a bit of praying, you know, when they 
passed through the shoals of Georgian Bay," the I-ittle 
Officer Boy says, reflectively. "They're just awful." 
"They'd be all right in a breeze," Kitchener says, "for 
they'd be shown by the whitecaps then. But in such a 
day as we've had, with the water almost still, why, they're 
enough to make a man old before his time. My hair 
has stood on end so long to-day that I doubt it will ever 
lie down again. It's nothing but shoal and sunken reef 
from the time we left Darling's Island. The first thing 
yon know there is a sudden yellow gleam through the 
i)I;ick water, for all the world as though some submarine 
monster were reaching ont to crush you in its maw, and 
yon just sheer off in time to save the canoe. But if we 
can find the entrance to Moon River to-morrow, I think 
we shall be free from that part of our dangers. I don't 
mind rocks above water, but I hate those sneaking things 
that lie hid jiist below the surface." 
"The rock formation in this country," says the Sick 
Tiling, "is most interesting. We are probably standing 
on the earliest geological formation known to science — - 
on the very backbone of old Mother Earth, so to speak. 
And what an idea you get of an early molten condition 
with mighty forces heaving and twisting in the birth- 
throes of creation! How the river courses are marked 
and scored with the passage of glaciers! All the rest of 
the^ earth is young compared with this. Why, the very 
rock we are sitting on may have stood exactly where 
it stands now ten thousand years before Moses came upon 
the earth to make his great trek into the wilderness 
according to the will of God I It is to me a most sol- 
emn and " 
"I say," Cyclops interrupts, and is promptly checked 
bv Kitchener, 
"Be quiet, child! Go on. Sick Thing." 
"What is it, Cyclops?" the Sick Thing says, indul- 
gently. "Tell us how it impresses you." 
"I was only going to ask if any of you fellows had any 
tobacco," Cyclops says, giving vent to a mighty yawn. 
"Sorry I interrupted you." 
They all replenish their pipes, and then fall into a com- 
fortable silence, gazing steadily into the glowing embers 
of the fire. There is too much laz3' content to require 
the stimulus of conversation. It is sufficient to sit and 
think, or even not to think at all, but just to smoke 
and smoke, growing deliciously sleepier with every mo- 
ment. And then, the unspeakable comfort of creeping 
into blankets laid atop of odorous spruce twigs, to fall 
asleep on the instant and lie quiet and dreamless for ten 
blessed hours of forgetfulness ! 
Next morning Kitchener and the Little Officer Boy 
go off in one of the canoes to explore for the entrance 
to Moon River, while the Sick Thing and Cyclops re- 
main on the island and keep house. According to the 
Government map there is a perfectly straight entrance 
from Moon River Bay into Blackstone Harbor. When 
Kitchener returns, .after an absence of about five hours, 
he has a different story to tell. The entrance may be 
described as follows: Sadie Island, lying at the south- 
west corner of Moon Island, is the beginning. Its name 
is plainly painted in large characters on a rock. The 
course is then southeast, following the main channel and 
avoiding the bays on either hand. Then comes Keller's 
Island on the right, also plainly marked, and further 
along. Island 62 on the left. About two miles beyond 
this an island lies in mid-stream, which may be recog- 
nized by a large rock shaped like a sugar loaf, which is 
a prominent feature of it. Here a turn to the northeast 
is made into Captain Island's Straits. The course is then 
along the left bank until a house on the far side of a 
bay is reached. This house marks the entrance to Black- 
stone Harbor. 
The expedition does not move until the day following 
Kitchener's investigations and his redrawing of the Gov- 
ernment map. The two canoes find their way into Black- 
stone Harbor without any -difficulty. They cross the har- 
bor, keeping a long point of land on the left, and come 
to the entrance to Blackstone River. This is closed by 
a boom, necessitating unloading the canoes and a lift 
over. Then comes a dam and another small portage. 
The Blackstone, a narrow, winding and picturesque 
stream flowing between sedgy banks and shut in by heavy 
timber which throws it into deepest shade, is a charming 
bit of traveling. A few miles further along it runs more 
swiftly over a pebbly bottom, so shallow that the four 
voyageurs have to step out of the canoes and wade the 
rest of the way to the next dam. At this dam there is 
an awkward lift over an almost perpendicular bank, and 
a short portage beyond. The canoes are set down in the 
midst of a tangle of logs, beyond which is a boom which 
the canoes slide over. Then there is a little bay, com- 
pletely shut in by forest, at the far end of which a river 
is found flowing through drowned land. By means of a 
dam the lumbermen have so raised the level of this 
stream that it overflows both its banks and submerges 
the forest. As the stream itself is choked with logs, a 
short cut through the forest is made— a decidedly novel 
experience in canoeing. Every condition of' a stroll 
through summer woods is there — the hum of insect life, 
the shy call of a bird, the multitude of forest colors, and 
above all the solemn hush of the woodland. It is slow 
progress, but so delightful an experience that the voy- 
ageurs feel no impatience, but rather regret when it is 
ended and the river channel reached once more. This 
part of the river, too, is filled with floating logs, which 
have to be slowly manipulated for every foot of way the 
canoes make. At last the dam is reached and the tired 
men land, strip, and plunge into the water just where it 
comes tumbling over. Then, luncheon — and after that 
the weary trail. A portage of something over a mile — 
an easy one, however— brings them to the water above 
a flume. More logs and a boom, and after that a half 
hour's paddling into Crane Lake, where camp is made. 
It is evidently an old camping ground, abundant evidence 
of sojourners who have gone before being found — some 
of them not quite satisfying to dainty nostrils. Kitchener 
is a sworn enemy to making camp where another camper 
has preceded him, but in this case there is no alterna- 
tive, the afternoon being too far advanced to permit of 
further seach. On one of the trees is pinned the follow- 
ing curious legend: "Hemah che lie juh no Moon ewh 
O mah ah yah — Mr. Elijah Yellowhead from Orillia, 
Ont., Aug. 12, 1900." 
Next morning the camp is visited by a Fire Ranger, 
who serves the customary notice — Victoria, by the grace 
of God, desires her well-beloved to carefully extinguish 
their fires before leaving, whereby Her Majesty's forests 
may be preserved, with minute instructions how to pro- 
ceed in the matter. The Fire Ranger carries in his canoe 
the invariable fire pail and the equally invariable rifle, 
without which latter no native seems ever to stir abroad. 
He is a big, straight, alert, self-reliant young man with 
a wonderful air of dignity and good-breeding about him — 
the kind of man one would desire to know more of. Out 
of native politeness he makes an effort to translate the 
Inscription on the tree, but fails for want of knowledge 
of the tongue. He hazards the opinion, however, that it 
was written by an Indian guide who took a party of 
Americans through recently, and probably contained some 
timely hint for other guides to follow. 
"Down on Georgian Bay," the Sick Thing says, "the 
natives would have characterized your Americans as a 
d — d Yankee p^lsh." 
"There'.s no call to speak of the Americans that way," 
he answers, quietly. "We get lots of them through here, 
and they're as decent men as I want to know. They take 
care of their fires and leave their camps sweet and clean. 
They don't take any more fish than what thev can eat, 
nor cut any more wood than what they need. The Amer- 
icans are all rightr-as right as they make 'em," 
Next morning, the channel from Crane Lake into the 
Upper Blackstone Lake .is found to be an easy course, 
there being only one dam, and that open and with suffi- 
cient water to float the canoes through. The Upper 
Blackstone breaks upon the view like a glimpse of para- 
'dise. It is so entrancing a spot that the voyageurs, 
though they have paddled not more than five miles since 
breakfast, decide at once to make camp. From the spot 
they select for the purpose they can see, away in the dis- 
tance, a clearing in the forest with a scattered group of 
little houses in it. When the tent is up and everything 
made snug, one of the canoes sets off to visit this clear- 
ing and obtain, if possible, a supply of fresh vegetables — 
anything, in fact, to vary the ordinary round of camp 
diet. Potatoes, eggs, bread and butter are the fruit of 
a ten miles paddle, and the voyageurs live high that 
night on black bass, bacon, blueberries, fried potatoes 
and great slices of good white loaf spread thick with the 
unaccustomed lu.xury of butter. To properly appreciate 
such delicacies one must have been deprived of them 
for a week or two. Then, they are eaten in a kind of 
exalted ecstacy, as something almost too precious for 
mortals. 
The delights of the Upper Blackstone are so great 
that it is left behind only after several days, and then with 
regret. A. climb of perhaps sixty feet by a trail through 
the forest brings the party to Birch Lake. A mile's 
paddle brings them to a dam with a hundred and fifty 
yards portage around it. Then a half mile through Burnt 
Lake, and another portage, beginning with a sharp 
ascent and then winding for half a mile through the bush. 
Then Portage Lake, with a mile and a half portage over 
a wagon trail at the end of it. 
"Boys," says Kitchener at the beginning of this, "as 
this is a long portage I propose that we make it in one 
carry. Sick Thing, are you good for two of the bags?" 
"Sling 'em up and I'll try it," the Sick Thing responds. 
He starts with something more than twice the load he 
has thus far carried. At the end of half a mile or so he 
shoots his load over his head and rests. He is doubtful 
about ever getting it up again — but he must rest. Then, 
when his breathing is easier he hfts the heavier of the 
two bags to his shoulder, adjusts the tump-line about his 
head, and slides the bag to the hollow of his back. Then, 
taking the other bag by its tump-line, he swings it over 
him and drops it on top of the other, finding the opera- 
tion much easier than he had dared to hope. Training 
has done wonders for him. Another half mile, and he 
rests again. Kitchener goes past him now at a jog trot, 
a canoe on his shoulders and a miscellaneous load in his 
free hand. 
"Can vou do it, old man?" he calls. 
"Yes; to the Queen's ta.ste. 1 just stop now and again 
to admire the scenery." 
When he has his load up again, Cyclops trots past him 
bearing two bags, an axe, a couple of guns and various 
odds and ends. He looks quite comfortable and entirely 
happy. A shorter carry this time, and the Sick Thing 
admires tlie scenery once more. The Little Officer Boy 
now passes him, bearing a canoe, and the Sick Thing 
. falls in behind and makes a lusty effort to keep up. But 
he cannot do it, and when the Little Officer Boy has 
disappeared around the next turn he lets his bags drop 
once more. Then Kitchener comes running back to 
him. 
"By George, old chap," he cries heartily, "you've done 
it within a couple of hundred yards. This expedition is 
just what you needed. It's made a lusty youth of you." 
The course from the end of the portage is into Lake 
Joseph, and thence by a^small channel into Lake Ros- 
seau. At the far end of this is Morgan's Bay, the ulti- 
mate destination. Just three weeks have passed since 
the four voyageurs left Orillia. The remainder of the 
month is to be spent in permanent camp in fishing, 
shooting and in limitless idling. Though the mainland 
is dotted with summer cottages and the village of Ros- 
seau lies in a corner of the bay, civilization is still suffi- 
ciently removed to be easily forgetable. Camp is pitched 
on a little island nearly three miles from the mainland, 
and the only sounds which reach it, other than the famil- 
iar sounds of the forest, are the occasional hootings of 
a steamer passing in the distance, the steamer which 
will ultimately carry them homeward again. The place 
is as wild and primeval as though there were not a set- 
tlement within a hundred miles. 
One of the first excursions the party makes is to the 
wonderful .Shadow River — one of the show-places of Mus- 
koka. The canoes go dancing across the bay to this. 
Even with a load the canoe, modeled directly after the 
red man's primitive design and changed in no particular 
save that basswood takes the place of birchbark, has a 
certain capriciousness in its motion. But with just two 
paddlers in it to carry, its coquetry breaks out and colors 
al! its behavior. It goes swiftly through the water, but 
with a little mincing way that is indiscribably charming — 
never steady for a moment. The little creature seems to 
enjoy herself too much in her play with -the water to be 
sedate. She curtsies to it, invites it, shifts away from it, 
coquettes With it, and acts generally like a willful, beauti- 
ful hoyden in the presence of a big lover she is more than 
half afraid of. 
The water of the Shadow River is so dark and still 
that it looks like a pool of ink, and the shadow pictures 
in it are depicted with extraordinary fidelity. The 
stream winds and wirids through ever-changing banks, 
and the sheer beauty of it is beyond description. Here 
it will be shut in and overarched by deep, dark forest, with 
now and then a little opening glade that gives you a vista 
of a hundred yards or so, not of the ordinary tangled 
mass of rock and rotting timber common to this country, 
but something as soft and soothing to the senses as an 
English landscape. Then the banks will change to rocks 
and ferns and gorgeous wild flowers, with little curving 
pools formed for no other purpose than to delight the 
eye. Sometimes the trees shoot straight up and leave 
the open water to paint its color harmonies of sky and 
cloud and bank, and then, again, the overarch is so com- 
plete that the sun only comes through in little flecks 
and splotches. But, sun or shadow, the pictures are 
always there — such pictures as it is worth a three weeks' 
journey to see. There is a curious illusion forever in the, 
mind of the visitor to this extraordinary stream. He is 
led to expect that the next bend will bring him in sight 
41 
