Tea, pepper, salt, short-cake, all floating together--it was a hopeless case.
But this was not the worst.

As the fervid July sun rose higher in the heavens, the steam which exhaled from every object on board was nearly suffocating.

The boat was old--the packs of skins were old--their vicinity in a dry day had been anything but agreeable--now it was intolerable.

There was no retreating from it, however; so we encouraged the children to arm themselves with patience, for the short time that yet remained of our voyage.
Seated on our odoriferous couch, beneath the shade of a single umbrella, to protect our whole party from the scorching sun, we glided wearily down the stream, through that long, tedious day.

As we passed successively the Kakalin, the Rapids, Dickenson's, the Agency, with what longing eyes did we gaze at human habitations, where others were enjoying the shelter of a roof and the comforts of food--and how eagerly did we count the hours which must elapse before we could reach Port Howard! There were no songs from the poor Frenchmen this day.