Our arrival at the “International” was the cause of no small amount of discomfort to the persons already on board that vessel.  It took us but little time to rush over the gangway and seek safety from our pursuers within the precincts of the steamboat:  but they were not to be baffled easily; they came in after us in millions; like Bishop Haddo’s rats, they came “in at the windows and in at the doors,” until in a very short space of time the interior of the boat became perfectly black with insects.  Attracted by the light they flocked into the saloon, covering walls and ceiling in one dark mass.  We attempted supper, but had to give it up.  They got into the coffee, they stuck fast in the soft, melting butter, until at length, feverish, bitten, bleeding, and hungry, I sought refuge beneath the gauze curtains in my cabin, and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

And in truth there was reason enough for sleep independently of mosquitoes bites.  By dint of hard travel we had accomplished 104 miles in twenty-seven hours.  The midnight storm had lost us three hours and added in no small degree to discomfort.  Mosquitoes had certainly caused but little thought to be bestowed upon fatigue during the last two hours; but I much doubt if the spur-goaded horse, when he stretches himself at night to rest his weary limbs, feels the less tired because the miles flew behind him all unheeded under the influence of the spur-rowel.  When morning broke we were in motion.  The air was fresh and cool; not a mosquito was visible.  The green banks of Red River looked pleasant to the eye as the “International” puffed along between them, rolling the tranquil water before her in a great muddy wave, which broke amidst the red and grey willows on the shore.  Now and then the eye caught glimpses of the prairies through the skirting of oak woods on the left, but to the right there lay an unbroken line of forest fringing deeply the Minnesota shore.  The “International” was a curious craft; she measured about 130 feet in length, drew only two feet of water, and was propelled by an enormous wheel placed over her stern.  Eight summers of varied success and as many winters of total inaction had told heavily against her river worthiness; the sun had cracked her roof and sides, the rigour of the Winnipeg winter left its trace on bows and hull.  Her engines were a perfect marvel of patchwork—­pieces of rope seemed twisted around crank and shaft, mud was laid thickly on boiler and pipes, little jets and spurts of steam had a disagreeable way of coming out from places not supposed to be capable of such outpourings.  Her capacity for going on fire seemed to be very great; each gust of wind sent showers of sparks from the furnaces flying along the lower deck, the charred beams of which attested the frequency of the occurrence.  Alarmed at the prospect of seeing my conveyance wrapped in flames, I shouted vigorously for assistance, and will long remember the look of surprise and pity with which the native regarded me as he leisurely approached with the water-bucket and cast its contents along the smoking deck.