荒野泛舟

This was his common expression instead of saying “we.” He never addressed us by our names, though curious to know how they were spelled and what they meant. We called him Polis. He had already guessed very accurately at our ages, and said that he was forty-eight. After breakfast I emptied the melted pork that was left into the lake, making what the sailors call a “slick,” and watching to see how much it spread over and smoothed the agitated surface. The Indian looked at it a moment and said, “That make hard paddlum through; hold ’em canoe. So say old times.” We hastily reloaded, putting the dishes loose in the bows, that they might be at hand when wanted, and set out again. The western shore, near which we paddled along, rose gently to a considerable height and was everywhere densely covered with the forest, in which was a large proportion of hard wood to enliven and relieve the fir and spruce. The Indian said that the lichen which we saw hanging from the trees was called _chorchorque_. We asked him the names of several birds which we heard this morning. The thrush, which was quite common, and whose note he imitated, he said was called _Adelungquamooktum_; but sometimes he could not tell the name of some small bird which I heard and knew, but he said, “I tell all the birds about here; can’t tell littlum noise, but I see ’em, then I can tell.” I observed that I should like to go to school to him to learn his language, living on the Indian island the while; could not that be done? “Oh, yer,” he replied, “good many do so.” I asked how long he thought it would take. He said one week. I told him that in this voyage I would tell him all I knew, and he should tell me all he knew, to which he readily agreed.…