Eight miles above the
fort the roar of a great fall of water sounded through the twilight. In
surge and spray and foaming torrent the enormous volume of the Winnipeg
was making its last grand leap on its way to mingle its waters with the
lake. On the flat surface of an enormous rock which stood well out into
the boiling water we made our fire and our camp.
The pine-trees which gave the fall its name stood round us, dark and
solemn, waving their long arms to and fro in the gusty winds that swept
the valley. It was a wild picture. The pine-trees standing in inky
blackness the rushing water, white with foam-above, the rifted
thunder-clouds. Soon the lightning began to flash and the voice of the
thunder to sound above the roar of the cataract. My Indians made me a
rough shelter with cross-poles and a sail-cloth, and, huddling themselves
together under the upturned canoe, we slept regardless of the storm.
I was ninety miles from Fort Garry, and as yet no tidings of the
Expedition.
A man may journey very far through the lone spaces of the earth without
meeting with another Winnipeg River. In it nature has contrived to place
her two great units of earth and water in strange and wild combinations.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213