with many adventures, but proceeded without serious accident until
one day our canoe was submerged in heavy rapids, the lashings gave
way, and to our consternation the precious tablet, together with
the flag and pennant, was lost in the flood. After two days' vain
effort to recover the tablet and flags we continued on the river
until at length further ascent seemed unpractical. From this
point, with packs on our backs, we made a difficult foot journey of
several days to the Susan River valley.

I shall not attempt to describe my feelings when at last we came
into the valley where Hubbard died and where we had suffered so
much. Man changes with the fleeting years and a civilized world
changes, but the untrod wilderness never changes. Before us lay
the same rushing river I remembered so well, the same starved
forest of spruce with its pungent odor, and there was the clump of
spruce trees in which our last camp was pitched just as I had seen
it last. Malone and Blake remained by the river bank while I
approached alone what to me was sacred ground. Time fell away, and
I believe that I expected, when I stepped beside the boulder before
which his tent was pitched when we said our last farewell on that
dismal October morning ten years ago, to hear Hubbard's voice
welcome me as of old. The charred wood of his camp fire might,
from all appearances, have but just grown cold. The boughs, which
I had broken and arranged for his couch, and upon which he slept
and died, were withered but undisturbed, and I could identify
exactly the spot where he lay. There were his worn old moccasins,
and one of the leather mittens, which, in his last entry in his
diary he said he might eat if need be. Near the dead fire were
some spoons and other small articles, as we had left them, and
scattered about were remnants of our tent.