Voyage of The Paper Canoe | Page 9

the terminus of the Northern
Pacific Railroad, our traveller will have paddled (following the
contours of the land) over two thousand miles from salt water into the
American continent without having been compelled to make a portage
with his little craft. Let him now make his first portage westward, over
the road one hundred and fifteen miles from Duluth to the crossing of
the Mississippi River at Brainerd, and launch his boat on the Father of

Waters, which he may descend with but few interruptions to below the
Falls of St. Anthony, at Minneapolis; or, if he will take his boat by rail
from Duluth, one hundred and fifty-five miles, to St. Paul, he can
launch his canoe, and follow the steamboat to the Gulf of Mexico. This
is the longest, and may be called the canoeist's western route to the
great Southern Sea. In St. Louis County, Minnesota, the water from
"Seven Beaver Lakes" flows south-southwest, and joins the
Flood-Wood River; there taking an easterly course towards Duluth, it
empties into Lake Superior. This is the St. Louis River, the first
tributary of the mighty St. Lawrence system. From the head waters of
the St. Louis to the mouth of the St. Lawrence at Bic Islands, where it
enters the great estuary, the length of this great water system, including
the great Lakes, is about two thousand miles. The area thus drained by
the St. Lawrence River is nearly six millions of square miles. The
largest craft can ascend it to Quebec, and smaller ones to Montreal;
above which city, navigation being impeded by rapids, the seven canals
before mentioned have been constructed that vessels may avoid this
danger while voyaging to Lake Ontario.
The southern and shorter coast route to the gulf leaves the great river at
the Acadian town of Sorel, where the quiet Richelieu flows into the St.
Lawrence River. Of the two long routes offered me I selected the
southern, leaving the other to be traversed at some future time. To
follow the contours of rivers, bays, and sounds, a voyage of at least
twenty-five hundred miles was before me. It was my intention to
explore the connecting watercourses southward, without making a
single portage, as far as Cape Henlopen, a sandy headland at the
entrance of Delaware Bay; there, by making short portages from one
watercourse to another, to navigate along the interior of the Atlantic
coast to the St. Mary's River, which is a dividing line between Georgia
and Florida. From the Atlantic coast of southern Georgia, I proposed to
cross the peninsula of Florida by way of the St. Mary's River, to
Okefenokee Swamp; thence, by portage, to the Suwanee River, and by
descending that stream (the boundary line of a geographical division --
eastern and middle Florida), to reach the coast of the Gulf of Mexico,
which was to be the terminal point of my canoe journey. Charts, maps
and sea-faring men had informed me that about twenty-three hundred

miles of the trip could be made upon land-locked waters, but about two
hundred miles of voyaging must be done upon the open Atlantic Ocean.
As I now write, I smilingly remember how erroneous were my advisers;
for, while prosecuting my voyage, I was but once upon the open sea
and then through mistake and for only a few minutes. Had I then
known that I could have followed the whole route in a small boat upon
strictly interior waters, I should have paddled from the Basin of Quebec
in the light paper canoe which I afterwards adopted at Troy, and which
carried me alone in safety two thousand miles to the warm regions of
the Gulf of Mexico. The counsels of old seamen had influenced me to
adopt a large wooden clinker-built, decked canoe, eighteen feet long,
forty-five inches beam, and twenty-four inches depth of hold, which
weighed, with oars, rudder, mast and sail, above three hundred pounds.
The Mayeta was built by an excellent workman, Mr. J. S. Lamson, at
Bordentown, New Jersey. The boat was sharp at each end, and the lines
from amidships to stem, and from amidships to stempost, were alike.
She possessed that essential characteristic of seaworthiness, abundant
sheer. The deck was pierced for a cockpit in the centre, which was six
feet long and surrounded by a high combing to keep out water. The
builder had done his best to make the Mayeta serve for rowing and
sailing -- a most difficult combination, and one not usually successful.
On the morning of July 4, 1874, I entered the Basin of Quebec with my
wooden canoe and my waterman, one David Bodfish, a "shoreman" of
New Jersey. After weeks of preparation and weary travel by rail and by
water, we had steamed up the Gulf and the River