Then the high land was
left behind, and half an hour between low meadows brought us out upon
the yellow sands and heaving swells of Lake Winnibegoshish, the largest
in the Mississippi chain, the dimensions of which, including its lovely
north-eastern bay, are about eleven by thirteen miles. The name
signifies "miserable dirty water lake," but save a faint tinge of brown
its waters are as pure and sparkling as those of any of the upper
lakes. Our entrance upon Winnibegoshish was under a driving storm of
wind and mist, against which we paddled three miles to Duck Point, a
slender finger of wooded sand and boulder reaching half a mile out, at
whose junction with the main land is a miserable village of most
villainous-looking Indians. One man alone could speak a little English,
and through him we negotiated for replenishing our provisions.
Meantime, the storm freshened and embargoed an eight-mile journey
across an open and boiling sea; so we paddled to the outermost joint
upon the jutting finger for a bivouac under the trees, waiting the
hoped-for lull of wind and wave at sunset. The smoke of our fire
invited to our camp the hungry natives, who dogged us at every turn all
the long afternoon, in squads of all numbers under twenty, and of all
ages between two and seventy.
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