About
seven o'clock I walked, or scrambled my way through close-matted spruce
and brambles to get a view of the open lake. The force of the waves was
not, perhaps, much different from the day before, but they were directly
from the west, and blowing directly down the lake. Could I get out from
the nook of a bay where I was encamped, and get directly before them, it
appeared possible, with a close-reefed sail, to go on my way. My
_engagees_ thought it too hazardous to try, but their habitual sense of
obedience to a _bourgeoise_ led them to put the canoe in the water, and
at 10 o'clock we left our encampment on Outard Point, got out into the
lake, not without imminent hazard, and began our career "like a
racehorse" for the Capes of the St. Mary's. The wind blew as if "'twad
blawn its last." We had reefed our sail to less than four feet, and I
put an extra man with the steersman. We literally went "on the wings of
the wind." I do not think myself ever to have run such hazards. I was
tossed up and down the waves like Sancho Panza on the blanket.
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