Chapter 3 - Page 2

its luggage, many hundred yards; and it would not have
exceeded the strength of a single man to lift its weight. Still
it was long, and, for a canoe, wide; a want of steadiness being
its principal defect in the eyes of the uninitiated. A few hours
practice, however, in a great measure remedied this evil, and both
Mabel and her uncle had learned so far to humor its movements,
that they now maintained their places with perfect composure; nor
did the additional weight of the three guides tax its power in any
particular degree, the breath of the rounded bottom allowing the
necessary quantity of water to be displaced without bringing the
gunwale very sensibly nearer to the surface of the stream. Its
workmanship was neat; the timbers were small, and secured by
thongs; and the whole fabric, though it was so slight to the eye,
was probably capable of conveying double the number of persons
which it now contained.

Cap was seated on a low thwart, in the centre of the canoe; the
Big Serpent knelt near him. Arrowhead and his wife occupied places
forward of both, the former having relinquished his post aft. Mabel
was half reclining behind her uncle, while the Pathfinder and
Eau-douce stood erect, the one in the bow, and the other in the
stern, each using a paddle, with a long, steady, noiseless sweep. The
conversation was carried on in low tones, all the party beginning
to feel the necessity of prudence, as they drew nearer to the
outskirts of the fort, and had no longer the cover of the woods.

The Oswego, just at that place, was a deep dark stream of no great
width, its still, gloomy-looking current winding its way among
overhanging trees, which, in particular spots, almost shut out
the light of the heavens. Here and there some half-fallen giant of
the forest lay nearly across its surface, rendering care necessary
to avoid the limbs; and most of the distance, the lower branches
and leaves of the trees of smaller growth were laved by its waters.
The picture so beautifully described by our own admirable poet,
and which we have placed at the head of this chapter, was here
realized; the earth fattened by the decayed vegetation of centuries,
and black with loam, the stream that filled the banks nearly to
overflowing, and the "fresh and boundless wood," being all as visible
to the eye as the pen of Bryant has elsewhere vividly presented them
to the imagination. In short, the entire scene was one of a rich
and benevolent nature, before it had been subjected to the uses and
desires of man; luxuriant, wild, full of promise, and not without
the charm of the picturesque, even in its rudest state. It will
be remembered that this was in the year 175-, or long before even
speculation had brought any