We arrived at the post of Lac de la Pluie, on the 8th of June; and, after a short halt, and carrying our impedimenta across the portage on which the fort is situated, commenced the descent of Lac de la Pluie river,—­a beautiful stream, running with a smooth, though strong current, and maintaining a medium breadth of about 200 yards.  Its banks, which are clothed with verdure to the water’s edge, recede by a gradual slope until they terminate in a high ridge, running parallel to the river on both sides.  This ridge yields poplar, birch, and maple, with a few pines, proving the excellence of the soil.  The interior, however, is said to be low and swampy.

We passed the residence of an old retired servant of the Company, on the 9th, who, if I may judge from the appearance of his farm and the number of his cattle, must vegetate very much at his ease.

Observing in the evening a large Indian camp, I requested the guide to put ashore for a little.  We were received kindly, but in a manner quite different to what I had been accustomed.  The young men were drawn up on the shore, and eyed us with a savage fierte in their looks, returning our salutation in a way that convinced us that we were at length among the “wild men of the woods.”  The weather being extremely hot, we found them in almost a complete state of nudity, with only a narrow shred of cloth around their loins.  They speak the Sauteux language; and I had much difficulty in making myself understood by them.  In their physiognomy and personal appearance they exhibit all the characteristic features of the genuine aboriginal race; and this party certainly appeared, one and all, to be “without a cross;” but there had been long a trading post at Lac la Pluie, and I noticed, in a neighbouring camp, a lass with brown hair and pretty blue eyes.  Where did she get them?  After bartering some sturgeon with the Indians, and presenting them with a little tobacco, we parted good friends, and encamped so near them as to be annoyed the whole night by the sound of their drum.

On the following morning we entered the Lake of the Woods, and next morning White River, a very violent stream, full of falls and dangerous rapids.  The portages are innumerable, and often close together.  After crossing one of these portages, we observed, with astonishment, a number of people on the next portage, La Cave, about pistol-shot distance from us.  They proved to be Mr. Hughes, formerly partner of the North-West Company; Mr. Berens, a member of Committee, and suite:  they were painfully situated, in consequence of the loss of their bowsman, who, by missing a stroke with his pole, fell into the rapid, and was drowned:  the steersman was saved with great difficulty.