He was drowned.
We had in the morning directed the boatman in charge of the baggage to
go on in advance, and erect our tents on an island in Round Lake. When
we entered this beautiful sheet of water, about four o'clock, we saw
the white tents standing near the shore of the island, with a column
of smoke curling gracefully up among the tall trees that overshadowed
them. When we arrived, we found everything in order. They were pitched
in a pleasant spot, looking out to the west over the water, while
within were beds of green boughs from the spruce and fir trees, and
bundles of boughs tied up like faggots for pillows. Our first dinner
in the wilderness was a pleasant one, albeit the cookery was somewhat
primitive. With fresh venison and trout, seasoned with sweet salt
pork, we got through with it uncomplainingly.
This little lake is a gem. It is, as its name purports, round, some
four miles in diameter, surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills,
beneath whose shadows it reposes in placid and quiet beauty. On the
northeast, Ballface Mountain rears its tall head far above the
intervening ranges, while away off in the east Mount Marcy and Mount
Seward stand out dim and shadowy against the sky. Nearer are the Keene
Ranges, ragged and lofty, their bare and rocky summits glistening in
the sunlight, while nearer still the hills rise, sometimes with steep
and ragged acclivity, and sometimes gently from the shore.
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