While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on a trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his state-room.  He turned the contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip, with the intention of entrusting it to the man next door.  Then the thought smote him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of his possession.  So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really did not weigh more than forty pounds.

It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started.  The current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they use the paddles.  It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the shoulders, stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the underbrush, slipping at times and falling into the water, wading often up to the knees and waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing dash across the current to the other bank, in paddles, over the side, and out tow-line again.  It was exhausting work.  Antonsen toiled like the giant he was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the powerful body and indomitable brain of Churchill.  They never paused for rest.  It was go, go, and keep on going.  A crisp wind blew down the river, freezing their hands and making it imperative, from time to time, to beat the blood back into the numbed fingers.

As night came on, they were compelled to trust to luck.  They fell repeatedly on the untravelled banks and tore their clothing to sheds in the underbrush they could not see.  Both men were badly scratched and bleeding.  A dozen times, in their wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized.  The first time this happened, Churchill dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack.  He lost half an hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe.  As long as the canoe floated it was safe.  Antonsen jeered at the grip, and toward morning began to curse it; but Churchill vouchsafed no explanations.

Their delays and mischances were endless.  On one swift bend, around which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score of attempts and capsizing twice.  At this point, on both banks, were precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against the current.  At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the paddles, and each time, with heads nigh to bursting from the effort, they were played out and swept back.  They succeeded finally by an accident.  In the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the current sheered the canoe out of Churchill’s control and flung it against the bluff.  Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and landed in a crevice.  Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the other till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water.  Then they pulled the canoe out and rested.  A fresh start at this crucial point took them by.  They landed on the bank above and plunged immediately ashore and into the brush with the tow-line.