Chapter 3

Before these fields were shorn and till'd,
Full to the brim our rivers flow'd;
The melody of waters fill'd
The fresh and boundless wood;
And torrents dash'd, and rivulets play'd,
And fountains spouted in the shade.
BRYANT.

It is generally known that the waters which flow into the southern
side of Ontario are, in general, narrow, sluggish, and deep.
There are some exceptions to this rule, for many of the rivers
have rapids, or, as they are termed in the language of the region,
"rifts," and some have falls. Among the latter was the particular
stream on which our adventurers were now journeying. The Oswego
is formed by the junction of the Oneida and the Onondaga, both of
which flow from lakes; and it pursues its way, through a gently
undulating country, some eight or ten miles, until it reaches the
margin of a sort of natural terrace, down which it tumbles some
ten or fifteen feet, to another level, across which it glides with
the silent, stealthy progress of deep water, until it throws its
tribute into the broad receptacle of the Ontario. The canoe in
which Cap and his party had travelled from Fort Stanwix, the last
military station of the Mohawk, lay by the side of this river,
and into it the whole party now entered, with the exception of
Pathfinder, who remained on the land, in order to shove the light
vessel off.

"Let her starn drift down stream, Jasper," said the man of the woods
to the young mariner of the lake, who had dispossessed Arrowhead
of his paddle and taken his own station as steersman; "let it go
down with the current. Should any of these infarnals, the Mingos,
strike our trail, or follow it to this point they will not fail to
look for the signs in the mud; and if they discover that we have
left the shore with the nose of the canoe up stream, it is a natural
belief to think we went up stream."

This direction was followed; and, giving a vigorous shove, the
Pathfinder, who was in the flower of his strength and activity, made
a leap, landing lightly, and without disturbing its equilibrium,
in the bow of the canoe. As soon as it had reached the centre of
the river or the strength of the current, the boat was turned, and
it began to glide noiselessly down the stream.

The vessel in which Cap and his niece had embarked for their
long and adventurous journey was one of the canoes of bark which
the Indians are in the habit of constructing, and which, by their
exceeding lightness and the ease with which they are propelled,
are admirably adapted to a navigation in which shoals, flood-wood,
and other similar obstructions so often occur. The two men
who composed its original crew had several times carried it, when
emptied of