[The marked Bowdoin Spruce] After making pictures of the Falls a feeling of reaction manifested itself in Cary’s physical condition, and he remarked, “I do not wish to go farther, I need sleep.”  Cole, as assistant, had avoided the wear and anxiety of leadership.  His athletic work at Bowdoin, in throwing the shot and hammer and running on the Topsham track, had given him stored energy of arm and leg.  This reserve strength prompted him to press forward and see more of a region new to human eyes.  Leaving his hatchet with Cary, now rolled up in his blanket, with the hope and expectation that on waking he would use the same in preparing fuel and cooking supper, Cole pressed forward into the strange and unknown country three or four miles, and then, for a final view of the location, climbed the highest tree he could find and from its top surveyed the waste of land and river.  He stood thus exalted near the center of the vast peninsula of Labrador.  Four hundred and fifty miles to the east lay the wide expanse of Hamilton Inlet.  Four hundred and fifty miles to the north lay Cape Chudleigh, towards which he could imagine the Julia A. Decker, vainly as it proved, pointing her figure head through fog and ice.  Only six hundred miles due south the granite chapel of Bowdoin College points heavenward both its uplifted hands.  Four hundred and fifty miles to the west rolled the waves of that great inland ocean, Hudson’s Bay, into whose depths, Henry Hudson, after his penetrations to northern waters above Spitzbergen, after his pushing along the eastern coast of Greenland, after his magnificent and successful exploration of the American coast from Maine to Virginia, penetrating Delaware bay and river and sailing up that river crowned by the Palisades and the hights of the Catskills, honored with his name and whose waters bear the largest portion of the commercial wealth of our own country; still fascinated by the vision of a northwest passage that intrepid explorer penetrated into the waters of the unknown sea whose waves unseen dash along the coasts of Labrador from its westward to its northern shores and Cape Chudleigh.  All these explorations he accomplished in a sailing vessel about the size of the Julia A. Decker, the ship “Discoverie” of seventy tons.  He had wintered at the southern extremity of Hudson’s Bay surrounded by a mutinous crew.  In the hardships and suffering of the next season, after he had divided his last bread with his men, in the summer of 1611, while near the western coast of Labrador, half way back to the Straits, by an ungrateful crew he was thrust into a sail boat with his son John and five sailors sick and blind with scurvy, and was left to perish in the great waste of waters, which, bearing his name, is “his tomb and his monument.”  Cole, with his mind and imagination filled with these facts, involuntarily took his knife and carved his name and the expedition on the upper part of the tree which formed his outlook.  It might be his monument