I
looked out, and above were three broad circles of light with long-
pointed fingers raying up to the centre directly over my tent as I
watched. It seemed like a benediction from the hand of God
Himself. Gradually they drew off to the northwest in great,
beautiful scrolls.
The day following, Monday, July 24th, the river continued most
bewildering. Beside the portage at our camp, we had one, about
half a mile long, farther up where the old trail was quite well
marked, and carried us past a fall of about seven feet with a heavy
rapid below. All day our way led among high hills till towards
evening, when they spread out to the north and south, and we saw
ahead a terraced sand plain, several miles wide, with the hills
again beyond. Here, coming in from the northwest, was a brook,
where, according to our map, the Indian route again leaves the
river. This meant another long stretch of rough water, but our
plan was still to keep to the river as far as it was possible,
finding our own portage route where necessary.
The river's course was now cut deep into the plain, the banks being
from thirty to forty feet in height, and the current very swift.
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