At this juncture, the Indians, instead of making any effort to assist the others, sat down and shed tears, though it is considered a mortal disgrace among Indians to weep except when intoxicated.
On the 22d of July, after encountering countless trials and the dangers of savage foes, no less than the obstacles of nature, Mackenzie reached an arm of the sea in latitude 52° 20′ 48″, where on a rocky cliff he inscribed this brief legend in vermilion: “Alexander Mackenzie from Canada by land, the 22d of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.”
The next day, when alone, he was nearly murdered by a band of Indians, but escaped by his agility and by a fortunate momentary hesitation on the part of the savages.
Mackenzie’s return journey was over the same route that he had first taken, and required but four weeks to traverse the mountains.
In reading a detailed account of this voyage, one is impressed with the many perils encountered, no less than the ofttimes remarkable and fortunate escapes from them. It is so with the journals of nearly all great travellers. They recount an endless succession of dangers and adventures by sea and land, from which, though often in the very jaws of death by reason of the operations of nature and the elements, the traveller ever eventually escapes, apparently in defiance of the laws of chance and probability. But we must bear in mind the great host of travellers who have never returned, and whose unfinished journals are lost forever to mankind.
The remotest corners of the earth have been mute witnesses to these tragedies. The inhospitable, rock-bound shores of lonely islands, or low-lying sands of coral reefs, where the ceaseless ocean billows thunder in everlasting surf, have beheld the expiring struggles of many a bold navigator. The colossal bergs and crushing ice of polar seas; hurricanes and typhoons in tropic latitudes; the horrors of fire at sea; the broad wastes of continents; trackless desert sands, where, under a scorching sun, objects on the distant horizon dance in the waving air, and portray mirage pictures of lakes and streams to the thirsty traveller; deep, cool forests bewildering in the endless maze of trees; piercing winter storms, with cutting winds and driving snows; the blood-thirsty pack of famishing wolves; rivers, dangerous to navigate, with impetuous current swirling and roaring in fearful rapids,—all these have their records of death and disaster.