Everyone tried to get hold of whatever object they could reach as some of the cargo struck against rocks or branches reaching out from shore. Tom saw his trunk going by, reached out, and grabbed it. In another second it would have sunk. Harold’s and Harry’s duffel bags containing all their clothes were floating, but everything in them was soaked. Divers finally fished up the precious box of bullets from the bottom, but one shotgun was lost. Then began the diving to recover the canoe. Night was already on its way. They had travelled exactly fifteen minutes on that first historic day of their pioneer journey. At last the canoe itself was lifted and pulled out of the river. The soaked cargo was roughly replaced, and the party went upstream about five minutes to a place where they could make camp for the night. Thoughts were left unspoken. Perhaps it was better so. Once in a while the men’s glances met as they doggedly went about unpacking the water-soaked clothes, hanging them on tree branches to dry, and putting the camp in order. Jubilation had been short-lived. Tomorrow they would start again.
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