tallow. Our matches--and this was a great piece of good fortune--were
uninjured, and we had a good stock of them. The tent stove seemed
useless without the pipe, but we determined to cling to it, as our
luggage now was light. Our guns, axes, the balance of our provisions,
including salt, the tea kettle and all our other cooking utensils,
were gone, and worst of all, three hundred and fifty unexposed
photographic films. Only twenty or thirty unexposed films were saved,
but fortunately, only one roll of ten exposed films, which was in one
of the cameras, was injured, and none of the exposed films was lost.
One camera was damaged beyond use, as were also my aneroid barometer
and binoculars. However, we were fortunate to get off so easily as we
did, and the accident taught us the lesson to take no chances in
rapids and to tie everything fast at all times. Carelessness is
pretty sure to demand its penalty, and the wilderness is constantly
springing surprises upon those who submit themselves to its care.

A pretty dreary camp we pitched that evening near the place of our
mishap. Fortunately there was plenty of dead wood loose on the
ground, and we did very well for our camp fire without the axes. A
pemmican can with the end cut off about an inch from the top, with a
piece of copper wire that I found in my dunnage bag fashioned into a
bale, made a very serviceable tea pail, from which we drank in turn,
as our cups were lost. The top of the can answered for a frying pan
in which to melt our caribou tallow and pemmican when we wanted our
ration hot, and as a plate. Tent pegs were cut with our jackknives
and the tent stretched between two trees, which avoided the necessity
of tent poles. Thus, with our cooking and living outfit reduced to
the simplest and crudest form, and with a limited and unvaried diet of
pemmican, tallow and tea, we were on the whole able, so long as loose
wood could be found for our night camps, to keep comparatively