Setting off, therefore, in “light marching order,” I immediately gained the high grounds, in order to keep clear of the underwood that covers the banks of the river; and just as the moon appeared above the surrounding hills, arrived on the banks of a small stream, where I observed a portage path sunk deep in the ground, a circumstance which proved it to be much frequented—­by whom or for what purpose I could not say, for I had seldom passed the limits of my farm during last winter, and was nearly as ignorant of the topography of the environs as the first day I arrived.  I had not heard of the existence of a river in the quarter, nor did I imagine there was any; the conclusion I arrived at therefore was, that I had lost my way, and that my most eligible course was, to endeavour to find the main stream, and by following it, retrace my course to the portage.

I soon fell on the river, but my retrograde march proved exceedingly toilsome; at every step I was obliged to bend the branches of the underwood to one side and another, or pressing them down under my feet, force my way through by main strength:  some short spaces indeed intervened, that admitted of an easier passage; still my progress was so slow that the sun appeared before I reached the upper end of the portage.  Finding an old canoe here, belonging to the post, I resolved on crossing to the opposite side of the river, where I knew there was a path that led to the house, by which the Indians often passed when travelling in small canoes.  I accordingly ran to the lower end of the portage for a paddle, where I found my men still asleep; and having heard that the lower end of this path came out exactly opposite to the upper end of the portage, I struck out into the woods the moment I landed, fancying that I could not fail to discover it.

The sun got higher and higher as I proceeded, and I went faster and yet faster, to no purpose;—­no path appeared; and I at length became convinced that I was lost—­being equally in difficulty to find my way back to the river as forward to the post.

The weather was very sultry; and such had been the drought of the season that all the small creeks were dried up, so that I could nowhere procure a drop of water to moisten my parched lips.  The sensations occasioned by thirst are so much more painful than those we feel from hunger, that although I had eaten but little the preceding day, and nothing on that day, I never thought of food.  While my inner man was thus tortured by thirst, my outer man scarcely suffered less from another cause.  The country through which I passed being of a marshy nature, I was incessantly tormented by the venomous flies that abound in such situations,—­my shirt, and only other habiliment, having sustained so much damage in my nocturnal expedition, that the insects had free access partout.[1]