THE LURE OF THE 
 LABRADOR V^LD 
 
 b>D I LLON WALLACE 
 
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Cornell University Library 
 F 1137H87 W18 
 
 Lure of the Labrador wild : the story of 
 
 olin 
 
 3 1924 028 906 051 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028906051 
 
'SOMETHING LOST BEHIND THE RANGES" 
 "LOST AND WAITING FOR YOU. GO!" 
 
THE LURE OF THE 
 LABRADOR WILD 
 
 THE STORY OF THE EXPLORING 
 
 EXPEDITION CONDUCTED BY 
 
 LEONIDAS HUBBARD, JR. 
 
 BY 
 
 DILLON WALLACE 
 
 With Illustrations 
 and Maps 
 
 New Yokk Chicaoo ToEoirro 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 LONDOK AND EDINBXrHGH 
 
7; 
 
 /^. 
 
 CopyrigKt, UOS, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 'U 
 
 By The Same Author 
 
 UNGAVA BOB 
 
 A Tale of the Fur Trappers 
 By DILLON WALLACE 
 
 Norman Duncan, the famous novelist, 
 says: "A rarely admirable book for 
 boys — one of the most engaging of 
 the sort I have ever read. It is an 
 honest story, but as appealing to the 
 hearts and imaginations of boys as 
 the stories commonly offered. " 
 
 New York; 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago : 125 No. Wabash Ave. 
 Toronto : 26 Richmond St., W. 
 London : 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: 100 Princes StreA 
 
L.H. 
 
 Here, b'y. is the issue 
 of our plighted troth. 
 Why I am the scribe 
 and not you, God knows: ^ 
 »nd you have His secret. 
 
 D.W. 
 
"There's no sense in going further — ^it's the edge of 
 
 cultivation," 
 So they said, and I believed it . . . 
 Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable 
 
 changes 
 On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated — so : 
 Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look 
 
 behind the Ranges — 
 Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting 
 
 for you. Go! " 
 
 —Kipling's " The Explorer." 
 
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 
 
 Thbee years have passed since Hubbard and I began 
 that fateful journey into Labrador of which this 
 volume is a record. A little more than a year has 
 elapsed since the first edition of our record made its 
 appearance from the press. Meanwhile I have looked 
 behind the ranges. Grand Lake has again borne me 
 upon the bosom of her broad, deep waters into the 
 great lonely wilderness that lured Hubbard to his 
 death. 
 
 It was a day in June last year that found me again 
 at the point where some inexplicable fate had led 
 Hubbard and me to pass unexplored the bay that 
 here extends northward to receive the Nascaupee 
 River, along which lay the trail for which we were 
 searching, and induced us to take, instead, that other 
 course that carried us into the dreadful Susan Valley. 
 How vividly I saw it all again — Hubbard resting on 
 his paddle, and then rising up for a better view, as 
 he said, " Oh, that's just a bay and it isn't worth 
 while to take time to explore it. The river comes in 
 up here at the end of the lake. They all said it was 
 at the end of the lake." And we said, " Yes, it is at 
 the end of the lake ; they all said so," and went on, for 
 that was before we knew — Hubbard never knew. 'A 
 perceptible current, a questioning word, the turn of 
 a paddle would have set us right. No current was 
 noticed, no word was spoken, and the paddle sent us 
 straight toward those blue hills yonder, where Suffer- 
 
 5 
 
PREFACE TO SIXTH EDITION 
 
 ing and Starvation and Death were hidden and wait- 
 ing for us. How little we expected to meet these grim 
 strangers then. That July day came back to me as 
 if it had been but the day before. I believe I never 
 missed Hubbard so much as at that moment. I never 
 felt his loss so keenly as then. An almost irresistible 
 impulse seized me to go on into our old trail and 
 hurry to the camp where we had left him that stormy 
 October day and find if he were not after all still 
 there and waiting for me to come back to him. 
 
 Reluctantly I thrust the impulse aside. Armed 
 with the experience gained upon the former expedi- 
 tion, and information gleaned from the Indians, I 
 turned into the northern trail, through the vaUey of 
 the Nascaupee, and began a journey that carried me 
 eight hundred miles to the storm-swept shores of 
 Ungava Bay, and two thousand miles with dog sledge 
 over endless reaches of ice and snow. 
 
 While I struggled northward with new compan- 
 ions, Hubbard was always with me to inspire and 
 urge me on. Often and often at night as I sat, dis- 
 heartened and alone, by the camp-fire while the rain 
 beat down and the wind soughed drearily through the 
 firtops, he would come and sit by me as of old, and 
 as of old I would hear his gentle voice and his words 
 of encouragement. Then I would go to my blankets 
 with new courage, resolved to fight the battle to the 
 end. 
 
 One day our camp was pitched upon the shores of 
 Lake Michikamau, and as I looked for the first time 
 upon the waters of the lake which Hubbard had so 
 longed to reach, I lived over again that day when he 
 returned from his climb to the summit of the great 
 
PREFACE TO SIXTH EDITION 
 
 grey mountain which now bears his name, with the 
 joyful news that there just behind the ridge lay 
 Michikamau; then the weary wind-bound days that 
 followed and the race down the trail with all its hor- 
 rors ; our kiss and embrace ; and my final glimpse of 
 the little white tent in which he lay. 
 
 And so with the remembrance of his example as an 
 inspiration the work was finished by me, the survivor, 
 but to Hubbard and to his memory belong the credit 
 and the honour, for it was only through my training 
 with him and this inspiration received from him that 
 I was able to carry to successful completion what he 
 had so weU planned. 
 
 My publishers inform me that five editions of our 
 story have found their way into the hearts and homes 
 of those who cannot visit the great northern wilds, 
 but who love to hear about them. I shall avail myself 
 of this opportunity to thank these readers for the 
 kindly manner in which they have received the book. 
 This reception of it has been especially gratifying to 
 me because of the lack of confidence I had in my 
 ability to teU the story of Hubbard's life and glori- 
 ous death as I felt it should be told. 
 
 The writing of the story was a work of love. I 
 wished not only to fulfil my last promise to my friend 
 to write the narrative of his expedition, but I wished 
 also to create a sort of memorial to him. I wanted 
 the world to know Hubbard as he was, his noble char- 
 acter, his devotion to duty, and his faith, so strong 
 that not even the severe hardships he endured in the 
 desolate north, ending only with death, could make 
 him for a moment forget the simple truths that he 
 learned from his mother on the farm in old Michigan. 
 
 7 
 
PREFACE TO SIXTH EDITION 
 
 I wanted the young men to know these things, for 
 they could not fail to be the better for having learned 
 them; and I wanted the mothers to know what men 
 mothers can make of their sons. 
 
 An unknown friend writes me, " To dare and die 
 so divinely and leave such a record Is to be transfig- 
 ured on a mountain top, a master symbol to all men 
 of cloud-robed human victory, angel-attended by 
 reverence and peace ... a gospel of nobleness 
 and faith." And another, " How truly ' God moves 
 in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.' Mr. 
 Hubbard went to find Lake Michlkamau; he failed, 
 but God spelled ' Success ' of ' Failure,' and you 
 brought back a message which should be an inspira- 
 tion to every soul to whom it comes. The life given 
 up in the wilds of Labrador was not In vain." 
 
 Space win not permit me to quote further from the 
 many letters of this kind that have come to me from 
 all over the United States and Canada, but they tell 
 me that others have learned to know Hubbard as he 
 was and as his friends knew him, and that our book 
 has not failed of Its purpose. 
 
 The storms of two winters have held in their icy 
 grasp the bleak land in which he yielded up his life 
 for a principle, and the flowers of two summers have 
 blossomed upon his grave, overlooking the Hudson. 
 But It was only his body that we burled there. His 
 spirit still lives, for his was a spirit too big and noble 
 to be bound by the narrow confines of a grave. His 
 life Is an example of religious faith, strong principle, 
 and daring bravery that will not be forgotten by the 
 young men of our land. 
 
 New Yobi, June 1, 1906. D. W. 
 
 S. 
 
PREFACE TO ELEVENTH EDITION 
 
 As the eleventh edition of this book goes to press, the 
 opportunity is given for a brief prefatory description 
 of a pilgrimage to Hubbard's death-place in the 
 Labrador Wilderness from which I have just returned. 
 
 For many years it had been my wish to re-visit the 
 scene of those tragic experiences, and to permanently 
 and appropriately mark the spot where Hubbard so 
 heroically gave up his life a decade ago. Judge William 
 J. Malone, of Bristol, Connecticut, one of the many 
 men who have received inspiration from Hubbard's noble 
 example, was my companion, and at Northwest Eiver 
 we were joined by Gilbert Blake, who was a member 
 of the party of four trappers who rescued me in 1903. 
 We carried with us a beautiful bronze tablet, which was 
 designed to be placed upon the boulder before which 
 Hubbard's tent was pitched when he died. Wrapped 
 with the tablet was a little silk flag and Hubbard's 
 college pennant, lovingly contributed by his sister, Mrs. 
 Arthur C. Williams, of Detroit, Michigan. These were 
 to be draped upon the tablet when erected and left with 
 it in the wilderness. Our plan was to ascend and ex- 
 plore the lower Beaver Hiver to the point where Hub- 
 
PREFACE TO ELEVENTH EDITION 
 
 bard discovered it, and where, in 1903, we abandoned 
 our canoe to re-cross to the Susan River Valley a few 
 days before his death. Here it was our expectation to 
 follow the old Hubbard portage trail to Groose Creek 
 and thence down Goose Creek to the Susan River. 
 
 Of our journey up the Beaver River suffice it to say 
 that we met with many adventures, but proceeded with- 
 out serious accident until one day our canoe was sub- 
 merged in heavy rapids, the lashings gave way, and to 
 our consternation the precious tablet, together with the 
 flag and pennant, was lost in the flood. After two days' 
 vain effort to recover the tablet and flags we continued 
 on the river until at length further ascent seemed un- 
 practical. From this point, with packs on our backs, we 
 made a difficult foot jonrney of several days to the 
 Susan River valley. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe my feelings when at 
 last we came into the valley where Hubbard died and 
 where we had suffered so much. Man changes with the 
 fleeting years and a civilized world changes, but the 
 untrod wilderness never changes. Before us lay the 
 same rushing river I remembered so well, the same 
 starved forest of spruce with its pungent odor, and there 
 was the clump of spruce trees in which our last camp 
 was pitched just as I had seen it last. 
 
 Malone and Blake remained by the river bank while 
 
 I approached alone what to me was sacred ground. Time 
 
 fell away, and I believe that I expected, when I stepped 
 
 10 
 
PREFACE TO ELEVENTH EDITION 
 
 beside the boulder before which his tent was pitched 
 when we said our last farewell on that dismal October 
 morning ten years ago, to hear Hubbard's voice welcome 
 me as of old. The charred wood of his camp fire might, 
 from all appearances, have but just grown cold. The 
 boughs, which I had broken and arranged for his couch, 
 and upon which he slept and died, were withered, but 
 undisturbed, and I could identify exactly the spot where 
 he lay. There were his worn old moccasins, and oAe of 
 the leather mittens, which, in his last entry in his diary 
 he said he might eat if need be. Near the dead fire were 
 some spoons and other small articles, as we had left 
 them, and scattered about were remnants of our tent. 
 
 Lovingly we put ourselves to our task. Judge Malone, 
 with a brush improvised from Blake's stiff hair, and with 
 white lead intended for canoe repairs, lettered upon the 
 boulder this inscription: 
 
 Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., 
 Intrepid Explorer 
 
 and 
 
 Practical Christian 
 
 Died Here 
 
 Oct. 18, 1903. 
 
 "WMther I go ye know, 
 
 and the way ye know." 
 
 John XIV.— 4. 
 
 Then with hammer and chisel I cut the inscription 
 
 deep into the rock, and we filled the letters with white 
 
 lead to counteract the effect of the elements. 
 
 H 
 
PREFACE TO ELEVENTH EDITION 
 
 It was dark when the work was finished, and by 
 candle-lightj beneath the stars, I read, from the same 
 Testament I used in 1903, the fourteenth of John and 
 the thirteenth of First Corinthians, the chapters which 
 I read to Hubbard on the morning of our parting. Judge 
 Malone read the Fiftieth Psahn. We sang some hymns 
 and then knelt about the withered couch of boughs, each 
 of us three with the feeling that Hubbard was very close 
 to us. 
 
 In early morning we shouldered our packs again, and 
 
 with a final look at Hubbard's last camp, turned back to 
 
 the valley of the Beaver and new adventures. 
 
 Dillon Wallace. 
 
 Beacoj^'-ox-the-Hudson', 
 November eighteenth, 1913. 
 
 12 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. The Object of the Expedition 13 
 
 II. Off at Last ...,, 26 
 
 III. On the Edge of the Wilderness 36 
 
 IV. The Plunge into the Wild ....... SS 
 
 V. Still in the Awful Valley 68 
 
 VI. Searching for a Tkail 78 
 
 VII. On a Real River at Last 95 
 
 VIII. " Michikamau or Bust ! '* 113 
 
 IX. And There was Michikamau! . 138 
 
 X. Prisoners of the Wind 147 
 
 XI. We Give it Up 162 
 
 XII. The Beginning of the Retreat 179 
 
 XIII. Hubbard's Grit 193 
 
 XIV. Back through the Ranges 204 
 
 XV. George's Dream 214 
 
 XVI. At the Last Camp . .227 
 
 XVII. The Parting 243 
 
 XVIII. Wandering Alone •••• 858 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 XIX. The Kunnnsi of tek Bbexim ...•••• ^^ 
 
 XX. How Httbbasd Went to Sleep •...••• ^^^ 
 
 XXI. Fhom Out the Wiuj 295 
 
 XXII. A StBANQE FuNEBAL PBOCESnOH •••••• SOi 
 
 XXIII. Oeb the Ice 319 
 
 XXIV. Hubbabo'b MEBSAas 335 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Fcumg Page 
 " SoMETHixo Lost Behind the Ranges. Lost and 
 
 Waiting foe You. Go!" Title 
 
 Httbbasd "On the Edge op the Unknown Silent 
 
 WlUlEBNESS" 40 
 
 "We Abeived at Rigoixt" 48 
 
 " Mackenzie and a Geoitp op Swaetht Natives Gatheeed 
 
 * * * to see tjs Off" 56 
 
 "We had to • • * Lift and Push the Heavily Laden 
 
 Boat up the River" 60 
 
 HuBBABD Took Obseevations foe Latitude .... 76 
 
 " Fbom Goose Camp to Lake Shore * * I Caeried a 
 
 Pack" 88 
 
 "A Bio Woodland Stag Caribou " 104 
 
 Hubbard "Ragged and Almost Barefooted" .... 113 
 
 "We Shall Call it Lake Hope" 120 
 
 HUBBAED SCEAPED THE HaIE FROM THE CaEIBOU SkIN . 150 
 
 "George Came with Four * • • Grouse in his Hand" 202 
 
 " Hubbard's Condition is Pitiable " 338 
 
 "FouE Swaetht Men * * * my Rescuers" .... 370 
 
 Our Winter Home: Northwest Rivee Post . . . 300 
 
 Lumber Camp, Muddy Lake 300 
 
 " Day aiteb Day we Followed the Coast Line South " 334 
 
 ! 
 
AclcTiiOtdedgment is due Mr. Vrwnk Bark- 
 ley Copley, a personal and literary friend 
 of Mr. Htibbard, for assistance rendered 
 in the preparation of this volwme. 
 
 D. W. 
 
 New York, January, 1905. 
 
THE LURE OF 
 THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 I 
 
 iUHE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 ""W* "TTOW would you like to go to Labrador, 
 
 I 1 WaUace? " 
 
 ^L J^ ^* ^^^ * snowy night in late November, 
 1901, that my friend, Leonidas Hubbard, 
 Jr., asked me this question. All day he and I had 
 been tramping through the snow among the Shawan- 
 gunk Mountains in southern New York, and when the 
 shades of evening fell we had built a lean-to of boughs 
 to shelter us from the storm. Now that we had eaten 
 our supper of bread and bacon, washed down with 
 tea, we lay before our roaring campfire, luxuriating 
 in its glow and warmth. 
 
 Hubbard's question was put to me so abruptly that 
 it rather startled me. 
 
 " Labrador ! " I exclaimed. *' Now where in the 
 world is Labrador.? " 
 
 Of course I knew it was somewhere in the north- 
 eastern part of the continent ; but so many years had 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 passed since I laid away my old school geography 
 that its exact situation had escaped my memory, and 
 the only other knowlege I had retained of the country 
 was a confused sense of its being a sort of Arctic wil- 
 derness. Hubbard proceeded to enlighten me, by 
 tracing with his pencil, on the fly-leaf of his note- 
 book, an outline map of the peninsula. 
 
 "Very interesting," I commented. "But why do 
 you wish to go there ? " 
 
 " Man," he replied, " don't you realise it's about 
 the only part of the continent that hasn't been 
 explored? As a matter of fact, there isn't much 
 more known of the interior of Labrador now than 
 when Cabot discovered the coast more than four hun- 
 dred years ago." He jumped up to throw more wood 
 on the fire. " Think of it, Wallace ! " he went on, 
 " A great unknown land right near home, as wild and 
 primitive to-day as it has always been! I want to 
 see it. I want to get into a really wUd country and 
 have some of the experiences of the old fellows who 
 explored and opened up the country where we are 
 now." 
 
 Resuming his place by the blazing logs, Hubbard 
 unfolded to me his plan, then vague and in the rough, 
 of exploring a part of the unknown eastern end of the 
 peninsula. Of trips such as this he had been dream- 
 ing since childhood. When a mere boy on his 
 father's farm in Michigan, he had lain for hours out 
 under the trees in the orchard poring over a map of 
 
 14 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 Canada and making imaginary journeys into the 
 unexplored. Boone and Crockett were his heroes, and 
 sometimes he was so affected by the tales of their 
 adventures that he must needs himself steal away 
 to the woods and camp out for two or three days. 
 
 It was at this period that he resolved to head some 
 day an exploring expedition of his own, and this reso- 
 lution he forgot neither while a student nor while 
 serving as a newspaper man in Detroit and New 
 York. At length, through a connection he made with 
 a magazine devoted to out-of-door life, he was able to 
 make several long trips into the wild. Among other 
 places, he visited the Hudson Bay region, and once 
 penetrated to the winter hunting ground of the 
 Mountaineer Indians, north of Lake St. John, in 
 southern Labrador. These trips, however, failed to 
 satisfy him ; his ambition was to reach a region where 
 no white man had preceded him. Now, at the age of 
 twenty-nine, he believed that his ambition was about 
 to be realised. 
 
 " It's always the way, Wallace," he said ; " when a 
 fellow starts on a long trail, he's never wiUing to quit. 
 It '11 be the same with you if you go with me to 
 Labrador. You'll say each trip will be the last, but 
 when you come home you'U hear the voice of the wil- 
 derness calling you to return, and it will lure you 
 away again and again. I thought my Lake St. John 
 trip was something, but while there I stood at the 
 portals of the unknown, and it brought back stronger 
 
 15 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 than ever the old longing to make discoveries, so that 
 now the walls of the city seem to me a prison and I 
 simply must get away." 
 
 My friend's enthusiasm was contagious. It had 
 never previously occurred to me to undertake the 
 game of exploration ; but, like most American boys, I 
 had had youthful dreams of going into a great wild 
 country, even as my forefathers had gone, and Hub- 
 bard's talk brought back the old juvenile love of 
 adventure. That night before we lay down to sleep I 
 said : " Hubbard, I'U go with you." And so the thing 
 was settled — that was how Hubbard's expedition had 
 its birth. 
 
 More than a year passed, however, before Hubbard 
 was able to make definite arrangements to get away. 
 I believe it was in February, 1903, that the telephone 
 bell in my law ofiice rang, and Hubbard's voice at the 
 other end of the wire conveyed to me the information 
 that he had " buUy news." 
 
 " Is that so ? " I said. « What's up ? " 
 
 " The Labrador trip is all fixed for this summer," 
 was the excited reply. " Come out to Congers 
 to-night without fail, and we'U talk it over." 
 
 In accordance with his invitation, I went out that 
 evening to visit my friend in his suburban home. I 
 shall never forget the exuberance of his joy. You 
 would have thought he was a boy about to be released 
 from school. By this time he had become the asso- 
 ciate editor of the magazine for which he had been 
 
 16 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 writing, but he had finally been able to induce his 
 employers to consent to the project upon which he had 
 set his heart and grant him a leave of absence. 
 
 " It will be a big thing, Wallace," he said in clos- 
 ing; "it ought to make my reputation." 
 
 Into the project of penetrating the vast solitudes 
 of desolate Labrador, over which still brooded the 
 fascinating twilight of the mysterious unknown, Hub- 
 bard, with characteristic zeal, threw his whole heart 
 and soul. Systematically and thoroughly he went 
 about planning, in the minutest detail, our outfit and 
 entire journey. Every possible contingency received 
 the most careful consideration. 
 
 In order to make plain just what he hoped to accom- 
 plish and the conditions against which he had to 
 provide, the reader's patience is asked for a few 
 minutes while something is told of what was known 
 of Labrador at the time Hubbard was making prep- 
 arations for his expedition. 
 
 The interior of the peninsula of Labrador is a 
 rolling plateau, the land rising more or less abruptly 
 from the coast to a height of two thousand or more 
 feet above the level of the sea. Scattered over this 
 plateau are numerous lakes and marshes. The rivers 
 and streams discharging the waters of the lakes into 
 the sea flow to the four points of the compass — into 
 the Atlantic and its inlets on the east, into Ungava 
 Bay on the north, Hudson Bay and James Bay on 
 the west, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence on the south. 
 
 17 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WDLD 
 
 Owing to the abrupt rise of the land from the coast, 
 these rivers and streams are very swift and are filled 
 with a constant succession of falls and rapids ; con- 
 sequently, their navigation in canoes — ^the only possi- 
 ble way, generally speaking, to navigate them — ^is 
 most difficult and dangerous. In this, to a large 
 extent, lies the explanation as to why only a few 
 daring white men have ever penetrated to the interior 
 plateau; the condition of the rivers, if nothing else, 
 makes it impossible to transport sufficient food to sus- 
 tain a party for any considerable period, and it is 
 absolutely necessary to run the risk of obtaining 
 supplies from a country that may be plentiful with 
 game one year and destitute of it the next, and in 
 which the vegetation is the scantiest. 
 
 The western part of the peninsula, although it, too, 
 contains vast tracts in which no white man has set 
 foot, is somewhat better known than the eastern, most 
 of the rivers that flow into Hudson and James Bays 
 having been explored and correctly mapped. Hub- 
 bard's objective was the eastern and northern part of 
 the peninsula, and it is with this section that we shall 
 hereafter deal. Such parts of this territory as might 
 be called settled lie in the region of Hamilton Lilet 
 and along the coast. 
 
 Hamilton Inlet is an arm of the Atlantic extending 
 f inland about one hundred and fifty miles in a south- 
 westerly direction. At its entrance, which is two 
 hundred miles north of Cape Charles, the inlet is 
 
 18 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 some forty miles wide. Fifty miles inland from the 
 settlement of Indian Harbour (which is situated on 
 one of the White Bear Islands, near the north coast of 
 the inlet at its entrance), is the Rigolet Post of the 
 Hudson's Bay Company — the "Old Company," as 
 its agents love to call it — and here the inlet narrows 
 down to a mere channel; but during the next eighty 
 miles of its course inland it again widens, this section 
 of it being known as Groswater Bay or Lake Melville. 
 
 The extreme western end of the inlet is called Goose 
 Bay. Into this bay flows the Grand or Hamilton 
 River, one of the largest in Labrador. From its 
 source among the lakes on the interior plateau, the 
 Grand River first sweeps down in a southeasterly 
 direction and then bends northeasterly to reach the end 
 of Hamilton Inlet. The tributaries of the lakes form- 
 ing the headwaters of the Grand River connect it 
 indirectly with Lake Michikamau (Big Water). 
 This, the largest lake in eastern Labrador, is between 
 eighty and ninety miles in length, with a width vary- 
 ing from six to twenty-five miles. 
 
 The Grand River, as well as a portion of Lake 
 Michikamau, some years ago was explored and cor- 
 rectly mapped; but the other rivers that flow to the 
 eastward have either been mapped only from hearsay 
 or not at all. Of the several rivers flowing into 
 Ungava Bay, the Koksoak alone has been explored. 
 This river, which is the largest of those flowing north, 
 rises in lakes to the westward of Lake Michikamau. 
 
 19 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 Next to the Koksoak, the George is the best known of 
 the rivers emptying into Ungava Bay, as well as the 
 second largest; but while it has been learned that its 
 source is among the lakes to the northward of Michi- 
 kamau, it has been mapped only from hearsay. 
 
 Now if the reader wLU turn to the accompanying 
 map of Labrador made by Mr. A. P. Low of the 
 Canadian Geological Survey, he will see that the body 
 of water known as Grand Lake is represented thereon 
 merely as the widening out of a large river, called 
 the Northwest, which flows from Lake Michikamau 
 to Groswater Bay or Hamilton Inlet, after being 
 joined about twenty miles above Grand Lake by a 
 river called the Nascaupee. Relying upon this map, 
 Hubbard planned to reach early In the summer the 
 Northwest River Post of the Hudson's Bay Company, 
 which is situated at the mouth of the Northwest River, 
 ascend the river to Lake Michikamau, and then, from 
 the northern end of that lake, beat across the country 
 to the George River. 
 
 The Geological Survey map is the best of Labrador 
 extant, but its representation as to the Northwest 
 River (made from hearsay) proved to be wholly incor- 
 rect, and the mistake it led us into cost us dear. 
 After the rescue, I thoroughly explored Grand Lake, 
 and, as will be seen from my map, I discovered that 
 no less than five rivers flow into it, which are known to 
 the natives as the Nascaupee, the Beaver, the Susan, 
 the Crooked, and the Cape Corbeau. The Nascaupee 
 
 20 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 is the largest, and as the inquiries I made among the 
 Indians satisfied me that it is the outlet of Lake Michi- 
 kamau, it is undoubtedly the river that figures on the 
 Geological Survey map as the Northwest, while as for 
 the river called on the map the Nascaupee, it is in all 
 likelihood non-existent. There is a stream known to 
 the natives as Northwest River, but it is merely the 
 strait, one hundred yards wide and three hundred 
 yards long, which, as shown on my map, connects 
 Groswater Bay with what the natives call the Little 
 Lake, this being the small body of water that lies at 
 the lower end of Grand Lake, the waters of which it 
 receives through a rapid. 
 
 Hubbard hoped to reach the George River in season 
 to meet the Nenenot or Nascaupee Indians, who, 
 according to an old tradition, gather on its banks in 
 late Augiist or early September to attack with spears 
 the herds of caribou that migrate at that time, pass- 
 ing eastward to the sea coast. It is reported that 
 while the caribou are swimming the river the Indians 
 each year kill great numbers of them, drying the flesh 
 for winter provisions and using the skins to make 
 clothing and wigwam-covering. Hubbard wished not 
 only to get a good story of the yearly slaughter, but 
 to spend some little time studying the habits of the 
 Indians, who are the most primitive on the North 
 American continent. 
 
 Strange as it may seem to some, the temperature in 
 the interior of Labrador in midsummer sometimes rises 
 
 21 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 as high as 90 degrees or more, although at sunset it 
 ahnost invariably drops to near the freezing point and 
 frost is liable at any time. But the summer, of 
 course, is very short. It may be said to begin early 
 in July, by which time the snow and ice are aU gone, 
 and to end late in August. There is just a hint of 
 spring and autumn. Winter glides into summer, and 
 summer into winter, almost imperceptibly, and the 
 winter is the bitter winter of the Arctic. 
 
 If the season were not too far advanced when he 
 finished studying the Indians, Hubbard expected to 
 cross the country to the St. Lawrence and civilisa- 
 tion; otherwise to retrace his steps over his upward 
 trail. In the event of our failure to discover the 
 Indian encampment, and our finding ourselves on the 
 George short of provisions, Hubbard planned to nm 
 down the swift-flowing river in our canoe to the 
 George River Post at its mouth, and there procure 
 passage on some fishing vessel for Newfoundland ; or, 
 if that were impossible, to outfit for winter, and when 
 the ice formed and the snow came, return overland 
 with dogs. 
 
 Hubbard knew that by ascending the Grand River 
 he would be taking a surer, if longer, route to Lake 
 Michikamau; but it was a part of his project to 
 explore the unknown country along the river mapped 
 as the Northwest. I have called this country 
 unknown. It is true that in the winter of 1838 John 
 McLean, then the agent of the Hudson's Bay Com- 
 
 22 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 pany at Fort Chimo, a post situated on the Koksoak 
 River about twenty miles above its mouth, passed 
 through a portion of this country in the course of a 
 journey he made with dogs from his post to Northwest 
 River Post. His route was up the Koksoak and across 
 country to the northern end of Lake Michikamau, 
 which he followed for some little distance. After 
 leaving the lake he again travelled eastward across 
 country until at length he came upon the " North- 
 west " or Nascaupee River at a point probably not far 
 above Grand Lake, from which it was easy travelling 
 over the ice to the post. The record left by him of 
 the journey, however, is very incomplete, and the 
 exact route he took is by no means certain. 
 
 Whatever route it was, he returned over it the 
 same winter to Fort Chimo. His sufferings during 
 this trip were extreme. He and his party had to eat 
 their dogs to save themselves from starvation, and 
 even then they would surely all have perished had it 
 not been for an Indian who left the party fifty miles 
 out of Chimo and fortunately had strength enough to 
 reach the post and send back relief. Later McLean 
 made several summer trips with a canoe up the 
 George River from Ungava Bay and down the Grand 
 River to Hamilton Inlet; but never again did he 
 attempt to penetrate the country lying between Lake 
 Michikamau and Hamilton Inlet to the north of Grand 
 River. The fact was that he found his Grand River 
 trips bad enough ; the record he has left of them is a 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 story of a continuous struggle against heartbreaking 
 hardships and of narrow escapes from starvation. 
 
 It is asserted that a priest once crossed with the 
 Indians from Northwest River Post to Ungava Bay 
 by the>Nascaupee route ; but the result of my inquiries 
 in Labrador convinced me that the priest in question 
 travelled by way of the Grand River, making it cer- 
 tain that previous to Hubbard's expedition no white 
 man other than McLean had ever crossed the wilder- 
 ness between Hamilton Inlet and Lake Michikamau 
 by any route other than the aforesaid Grand River. 
 As has been pointed out, McLean made but a very 
 incomplete record of his journey that took him 
 through the country north of the Grand River, so 
 that Hubbard's project called for his plunge into a 
 region where no footsteps would be found to guide 
 him. Not only this, but the George River country, 
 which it was his ultimate purpose to reach, was, and 
 stiU remains, terra mcognita; for although McLean 
 made several trips up and down this river, he neither 
 mapped it nor left any definite descriptions con- 
 cerning it. 
 
 Here, then, was an enterprise fully worthy of an 
 ambitious and venturesome spirit like Hubbard. 
 Here was a great, unknown wildemess into which even 
 the half-breed native trappers who lived on its out- 
 skirts were afraid to penetrate, knowing that the 
 wandering bands of Indians who occasionally trav- 
 ersed its fastnesses themselves frequently starved to 
 
 24 
 
THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION 
 
 death in that inhospitable, barren country. There 
 was danger to be faced and good "copy" to be 
 obtained. 
 
 And so it was ho for the land of " bared boughs and 
 grieving winds " J 
 
 ^5 
 
II 
 
 OFF AT LAST 
 
 IABRADOR'S uncertain game supply presented 
 more than one vexed problem for Hubbard to 
 ^Jsolve. Naturally it would be desirable to take 
 with us sufficient provisions to guard against 
 all contingencies ; but such were the conditions of the 
 country for which we were bound, that if the expedi- 
 tion were at all heavily loaded it would be impossible 
 for it to make any headway. Hubbard, therefore, 
 decided to travel light. Then arose the question as to 
 how many men to take with us. If the party were 
 large — ^that is, up to a certain limit — more food might 
 possibly be carried for each member than if the party 
 were small ; but if game proved plentiful, there would 
 be no danger from starvation whether the party were 
 large or small ; for then short stops could be made to 
 kiU animals, dry the flesh and make caches, after the 
 manner of the Indians, as supply bases to faU back 
 upon should we be overtaken by an early winter. And 
 if the game should prove scarce, a small party could 
 kill, on a forced march, nearly, if not quite, as much 
 as a large party ; and requiring a proportionately, 
 smaller amount of food to maintain it, would conse- 
 quently have a better chance of success. Taking all 
 
 26 
 
OFF AT LAST 
 
 things into consideration, Hubbarid Hecided that tKe 
 party should be small. 
 
 To guard against possible disappointment in the 
 way of getting men, Hubbard wrote to the agent of 
 the Hudson's Bay Company at Rigolet, asking 
 whether any could be obtained for a trip into the 
 interior either at that post or at Northwest River. 
 The agent rephed that such a thing was highly im- 
 probable, as the visits of the Indians to these posts 
 had become infrequent and the other natives were 
 afraid to venture far inland. Hubbard then engaged 
 through the kind oflSces of Mr. S. A. King, who was in 
 charge of the Hudson's Bay Company Post at Mis- 
 eanabie, Ontario, the services of a Cree Indian named 
 Jerry, tha;t we might have at least one man upon whom 
 we could depend. Jerry was to have come on to New 
 York City to meet us. At next to the last moment, 
 liowever, a letter from Mr. King informed us that 
 Jerry had backed down. The Indian was not afraid 
 of Labrador, It appeared, but he had heard of the 
 dangers and pitfalls of New York, and when he 
 learned that he should have to pass through that city, 
 his courage failed him ; he positively refused to come, 
 saying he did not " want to die so soon." 
 
 We never had occasion to regret Jerry's faint- 
 heartedness. Mr. King engaged for us another man 
 who, he wrote, was an expert canoeman and woods- 
 man and a good cook. The man proved to be all that 
 he was represented to be — and more. I do not believe 
 
 27 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 that in all the north country we could have found a 
 better woodsman. But he was something more than a 
 woodsman — ^he was a hero. Under the most trying 
 circumstances he was calm, cheerful, companionable, 
 faithful. Not only did he turn out to be a man of 
 intelligence, quick of perception and resourceful, but 
 he turned out to be a man of character, and I am 
 proud to introduce him to the reader as my friend 
 George Elson, a half-breed Cree Indian from down 
 on James Bay. 
 
 The first instance of George's resourcefulness that 
 we noted occurred upon his arrival in New York. 
 Hubbard and I were to have taken him in charge at 
 the Grand Central Station, but we were detained and 
 George found no one to meet him. Despite the fact 
 that he had never been in a city before, and aU was 
 new to him, his quick eye discovered that the long line 
 of cabs in front of the station were there to hire. He 
 promptly engaged one, was driven to Hubbard's 
 office and awaited his employer's arrival as calm 
 and unruffled as though his surroundings were per- 
 fectly familiar. 
 
 Our canoe and our entire outfit were purchased in 
 New York, with the exception of a gill net, which, 
 alas! we decided to defer selecting until we reached 
 Labrador. Our preparations for the expedition were 
 made with a view of sailing from St. Johns, New- 
 foundland, for Rigolet, when the steamer Virginia 
 Lake, which regularly plies during the summer be- 
 
 88 
 
OFF AT LAST 
 
 tween the former port and points on the Labrador 
 coast, should make her first trip north of the year. A 
 letter from the Reid-Newfoundland Company, which 
 operates the steamer, informed us that she would 
 probably make her first trip to Labrador in the last 
 week in June, and in order to connect with her, we 
 made arrangements to sail from New York to St. 
 Johns on June 20th, 1903, on the Red Cross Line 
 steamer Silvia. On the 19th Hubbard personally 
 superintended the placing of our outfit on board ship, 
 that nothing might be overlooked. 
 
 As the Silvia slowly got under way at ten o'clock 
 the next morning, we waved a last farewell to the 
 little knot of friends who had gathered on the Brooklyn 
 pier to see us off. We were all very light-hearted and 
 gay that morning ; it was a relief to be off at last and 
 have the worry of the preparation over. Mrs. Hub- 
 bard was a member of the party ; she was to accom- 
 pany her husband as far as Battle Harbour, the first 
 point on the Labrador coast touched by the Virginia 
 Lake. 
 
 June 24th was my birthday, and early that morn- 
 ing, before we sailed from HaHfax, at which port we 
 lay over for a day, Hubbard came into my stateroom 
 with a pair of camp blankets that he had been com- 
 missioned by my sisters to present to me. He had told 
 me he had enough blankets in his outfit and to take 
 none with me. How strangely things sometimes turn 
 out! Those blankets which Hubbard had withheld 
 
 29 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHLD 
 
 in order that I might be agreeably surprised, were 
 destined to fulfil an office, up there in the wilds for 
 which we were bound, such as we little suspected. 
 
 We reached St. Johns on the morning of Friday, 
 the 26th, and promptly upon our arrival were intro- 
 duced to the mysterious ways of the Reid-Newf ound- 
 land Company. The Virginia Lake, we were told, 
 already had gone north to Labrador, was overdue on 
 her return trip and might not be in for several days. 
 Hubbard, however, set immediately to work purchasing 
 the provisions for his expedition and supervising their 
 packing. The following day, on the advice of the 
 general passenger agent of the Reid-Newfoundland 
 Company, we took the evening train on their little 
 narrow-gauge railroad to Whitbourne, en route to 
 Broad Cove, where we were informed we should find 
 excellent trout fishing and could pleasantly pass the 
 time while awaiting the steamer. 
 
 The Reid-Newfoundland Company failed to carry 
 out its agreement as to our transportation to Broad 
 Cove, and we had considerable trouble in reaching 
 there, but we found that no misrepresentation had 
 been made as to the fishing; during the two days we 
 were at Broad Cove we caught aU the trout we cared 
 for. Having received word that the Virginia Lake 
 had returned to St. Johns, and would again sail north 
 on Tuesday, June 30th, Hubbard and Mrs. Hubbard 
 on the morning of that day took the train to St. 
 Johnsj, to board the steamer there and see that 
 
OFF AT LAST 
 
 nothing of our outfit was left behind. George and I 
 broke camp in time to take the evening train on the 
 branch road to Harbour Grace, where, it was agreed, 
 we should rejoin the others, the steamer being sched- 
 uled to put in there on its way north. 
 
 When I had our camp baggage transferred next 
 morning to the wharf, and George and I had arrived 
 there ourselves, we found also waiting for the steamer 
 several prospectors who were going to " The Labra- 
 dor," as the country is known to the Newfound- 
 landers, to look for gold, copper, and mica. All of 
 them apparently were dreaming of fabulous wealth. 
 None, I was told, was going farther than the lower 
 coast ; they did not attempt to disguise the fact that 
 they feared to venture far into the interior. 
 
 Around the wharves little boats were unloading 
 caplin, a small fish about the size of a smelt. I was 
 informed that these fish sold for ten cents a barrel, 
 and were used for bait and fertiliser. My astonish- 
 ment may be imagined, therefore, when I discovered 
 that on the Virginia Lake they charged thirty-five 
 cents for three of these little fish fried. 
 
 At ten o'clock our boat came in, and a little after 
 noon we steamed out of the harbour, Hubbard and I 
 feeling that now we were fairly on our way to the 
 scene of our work. Soon after rejoining Hubbard, I 
 learned something more of the mysterious ways of the 
 Reid-Newfoundland Company. The company's gen- 
 eral passenger agent, avowing deep interest in our 
 
 31 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 enterprise, had presented Hubbard with passes to 
 Rigolet for his party. Hubbard accepted them 
 gratefully, but upon boarding the steamer he was 
 informed that the passes did not include meals. Now 
 such were the prices charged for the wretchedly- 
 cooked food served on the Virginia Lake that a 
 moderately hungry man could scarcely have his 
 appetite kiUed at a less expense than six dollars a 
 day. So Hubbard returned the passes to the general 
 passenger agent with thanks, and purchased tickets, 
 which did include meals, and which reduced the cost 
 considerably. 
 
 The Virginia Lake is a steamer of some seven hun- 
 dred tons burden. She is subsidised by the New- 
 foundland Government to carry the mails during the 
 fishing season to points on the Labrador coast as far 
 north as Nain. She is also one of the sealing fleet 
 that goes to " the ice " each tenth of March. When 
 she brings back her cargo of seals to St. Johns, she 
 takes up her summer work of carrying mail, passen- 
 gers, and freight to The Labrador — always a wel- 
 come visitor to the exiled fishermen in that lonely 
 land, the one link that binds them to home and the 
 outside world. She has on board a physician to set 
 broken bones and deal out drugs to the sick, and a 
 customs oflBcer to see that not a dime's worth of 
 merchandise of any kind or nature is landed until a 
 good round percentage of duty is paid to him as the 
 representative of the Newfoundland Government, 
 
OFF AT LAST 
 
 which holds dominion over all the east coast of Labra- 
 dor. This customs officer is also a magistrate, a 
 secret service officer, a constable, and what not I do 
 not know — pretty much the whole Labrador Govern- 
 ment, I imagine. 
 
 The accommodations on the Virginia Lake were 
 quite inadequate for the number of passengers she 
 carried. The stuffy little saloon was so crowded 
 that comfort was out of the question. I had to use 
 some rather impressive language to the steward to 
 induce him to assign to me a stateroom. Finally, 
 he surrendered his own room. The ventilation was 
 poor and the atmosphere vile, but we managed to 
 pull through. Our fellow-passengers were all either 
 prospectors or owners of fishing schooners. 
 
 There was much ice to be seen when the heavy veil 
 of grey fog lifted sufficiently for us to see anything, 
 and until we had crossed the Strait of Belle Isle our 
 passage was a rough one. It was on the Fourth of 
 July that we saw for the first time the bleak, rock- 
 bound coast of Labrador. In aU the earth there is 
 no coast so barren, so desolate, so brutally inhospitable 
 as the Labrador coast from Cape Charles, at the 
 Strait of Belle Isle on the south, to Cape Chidley 
 on the north. Along these eight hundred miles it is 
 a constant succession of bare rocks scoured clean 
 and smooth by the ice and storms of centuries, with 
 not a green thing to be seen, save now and then a 
 bunch of stunted shrubs that have found a foothold 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 in some sheltered nook in the rocks, and perchance, 
 on some distant hill, a glimpse of struggling spruce 
 or fir trees. It is a fog-ridden, dangerous coast, 
 with never a lighthouse or signal of any kind at any 
 point in its entire length to warn or guide the 
 mariner. 
 
 The evening was well upon us when we saw the 
 rocks off Cape Charles rising from the water, dismal, 
 and dark, and forbidding. AU day the rain had been 
 faUing, and aU day the wind had been blowing a gale, 
 lashing the sea into a fury. Our little ship was 
 tossed about like a cork, with the seas constantly 
 breaking over her decks. Decidedly our introduction 
 to Labrador was not auspicious. Battle Harbour, 
 twelve miles north of Cape Charles, was to have been 
 our first stop ; but there are treacherous hidden reefs 
 at the entrance, and with that sea the captain did not 
 care to trust his ship near them. So he ran on to 
 Spear Harbour, just beyond, where we lay to for the 
 night. The next day I made the following entry in 
 my diary: 
 
 "Early this morning we moved down to Battle 
 Harbour, where Mrs. Hubbard left us to return home. 
 It was a most dismal time and place for her to part 
 from her husband, but she was very brave. It was not 
 yet six o'clock, and we had had no breakfast, when she 
 stepped into the small boat to go ashore. A cold, 
 drizzling rain was falling, and the place was in 
 appearance particularly dreary ; no foliage nor green 
 
 34! 
 
OFF AT LAST 
 
 thing to be seen — nothing but rocks, cold and high 
 and bleak, with here and there patches of snow. They 
 pointed out to us a little house clinging to the rocks 
 high up. There she is to stay until the steamer comes 
 to take her home, to spend a summer of doubts and 
 hopes and misgivings. Poor little woman! It is so 
 hard for those we leave behind. I stood aside with a 
 big lump in my throat as they said their farewell." 
 Up there in the dark wilderness for which we were 
 bound Hubbard talked with me frequently of that 
 parting. 
 
 On July 6th, the day after we left Battle Harbour, 
 the captain informed us for the first time that the 
 boat would not go to Rigolet on the way up, and gave 
 us the option of getting off at Indian Harbour at the 
 entrance to Hamilton Inlet or going on to Nain with 
 him and getting off at Rigolet on the way back. 
 Hubbard chose the former alternative, hearing which 
 the customs officer came to us and hinted that nothing 
 could be landed until we had had an interview with 
 him. The result of the interview was that Hubbard 
 paid duty on our entire outfit. 
 
 The next morning, Tuesday, July 7th, we reached 
 Indian Harbour. Amid a chorus of " Good-bye, boys, 
 and good luck!" we went ashore, to set foot for the 
 first time on Labrador soil, where we were destined to 
 encounter a series of misadventures that should call 
 for the exercise of all our fortitude and manhood. 
 
 35 
 
Ill 
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE 
 WILDERNESS 
 
 THE island of the White Bear group upon 
 which is situated the settlement of Indian 
 Harbour is rocky and barren. The settle- 
 ment consists of a trader's hut and a few fish- 
 ermen's huts built of frame plastered over with earth 
 or moss, and the buildings of the Royal National 
 Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, a non-sectarian 
 institution that maintains two stations on the Labra- 
 dor coast and one at St. Anthony in Newfoundland, 
 each with a hospital attached. The work of the 
 mission is under the general supervision of Dr. Wil- 
 fred T. Grenfell, who, in summer, patrols the coast 
 from Newfoundland to Cape Chidley in the little 
 floating hospital, the steamer Straihcona, and during 
 the winter months, by dog team, visits the people of 
 these inhospitable shores. The main station in 
 Labrador is at Battle Harbour, and at this time 
 Dr. Cluny Macpherson was the resident physician. 
 Dr. Simpson, a young English physician and lay 
 missionary, was in charge of the station at Indian 
 Harbour. This station, being maintained primarily 
 for the benefit of the summer fishermen from New- 
 foundland, is closed from October until July. Dr. 
 
 36 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Simpson had a little steamer, the Julia Sheridan, 
 which carried him on his visits to his patients among 
 the coast folk. We were told by the captain of the 
 Virginia Lake that the Julia Sheridan would arrive at 
 Indian Harbour on the afternoon of the day we 
 reached there; that she would immediately steam to 
 Rigolet and Northwest River with the mails, and that 
 we undoubtedly could arrange for a passage on her. 
 This was the reason that Hubbard elected to get off 
 at Indian Harbour. 
 
 The trained nurse, the cook, and the maid-of -all- 
 work connected with the Indian Harbour hospital 
 (" sisters," they call them, although they do not 
 belong to any order) boarded the Virginia Lake at 
 Battle Harbour and went ashore with me in the ship's 
 boat when I landed with the baggage. Hubbard 
 and George went ashore in our canoe. A Kne of 
 Newfoundlanders and " hvyeres " stood ready to 
 greet us upon our arrival. " Livyeres " is a contrac- 
 tion of live-heres, and is appKed to the people who 
 live permanently on the coast. The coast people 
 who occasionally trade in a small way are known as 
 "planters." In Hamilton Inlet, west of Rigolet, all 
 of the trappers and fishermen are called planters. 
 There the word livyere is never heard, it having 
 originated with the Newfoundland fishermen, who 
 do not go far into the inlet. 
 
 The " sisters " who landed with us had diiSculty 
 in opening their hospital, as the locks had become so 
 
 m 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILp 
 
 rusted and corroded that the keys would not turn. 
 We offered our assistance, and after removing the 
 boards that had been nailed over the windows to pro- 
 tect them from the winter storms, we found it neces- 
 sary to take out a pane of glass in order that 
 Hubbard might unlatch a window, crawl through 
 and take the lock off the door. The sisters then 
 told us that Dr. Simpson might not arrive with the 
 Julia Sheridan untU the following day, and extended 
 to us the hospitality of the station, which we thank- 
 fully accepted, taking up our temporary abode in 
 one of the vacant wards of the hospital. 
 
 Our first afternoon on Labrador soil we spent in 
 assorting and packing our outfit, while the Newfound- 
 landers and livyeres stood around and admired our 
 things, particularly the canoe, guns, and sheath- 
 knives. Their curiosity was insatiable ; they inquired 
 the cost of every conceivable thing. 
 
 The next afternoon (Wednesday) Dr. Simpson 
 arrived on his steamer, and, to our great disappoint- 
 ment, we learned that the Julia would not start on the 
 trip down the inlet until after the return of the Vir- 
 ginia LaJce from the north, which would probably be 
 on Friday or Saturday. The Labrador summer 
 being wofully short, Hubbard felt that every hour 
 was precious, and he chafed under our enforced deten- 
 tion. We were necessarily going into the interior 
 wholly unprepared for winter travel, and hence must 
 complete our work and make our way out of the wil- 
 
 38 
 
DN THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 derness before the rivers and lakes froze and canoe 
 travel became impossible. Hubbard felt the respon- 
 sibility he had assumed, and could imagine the diffi- 
 culties that awaited us should his plans miscarry. 
 Accordingly, he began to look around immediately 
 among the fishermen and livyeres for someone with a 
 small boat willing to take us down the fifty miles to 
 Rigolet. Finally, after much persuasion and an 
 offer of fifteen doUars, he induced a young livyere, 
 Steve Newell by name, to undertake the task. 
 
 Steve was a characteristic livyere, shiftless and 
 ambitionless. He lived a few miles down the inlet 
 with his widowed mother and his younger brothers 
 and sisters. For a week he would work hard and 
 conscientiously to support the family, and then take 
 a month's rest. We had happened upon him in one 
 of his resting periods, but as soon as Hubbard had 
 pinned him down to an agreement he put in an imme- 
 diate plea for money. 
 
 " Fse huntin' grub, sir," he begged. " I has t' 
 hunt grub aU th' time, sir. Could 'un spare a dollar 
 t' buy grub, sir.'' " 
 
 Hubbard gave him the dollar, and he forthwith 
 proceeded to the trader's hut to purchase flour and 
 molasses, which, with fat salt pork, are the great 
 staples of the Labrador natives, although the coast 
 livyeres seldom can afford the latter dainty. While 
 we were preparing to start, Hubbard asked Steve 
 what he generally did for a living. 
 
 39 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH,D 
 
 " I hunts In winter an' fishes in summer, sir," was 
 ^he reply. 
 
 " What do you hunt? " 
 
 "Fur an' partridges, sir. I trades the fur for 
 flour and molasses, sir, an' us eats th' partridges." 
 
 " What kind of fur do you find here.? " 
 
 "Foxes is about aU, sir, an' them's scarce; only a 
 chance one, sir." 
 
 " Do you catch enough fur to keep you in flour and 
 molasses ? " 
 
 " Not always, sir. Sometimes us has only par- 
 tridges t' eat, sir." 
 
 We started at five o'clock in the evening in Steve's 
 boat, the Mayflower, a leaky little craft that kept one 
 man pretty busy bailing out the water. She carried 
 one ragged sail, and Steve scuUed and steered with a 
 rough oar about eighteen feet Ibng. An hour after 
 we got under way a blanket of grey fog, thick and 
 damp, enveloped us; but so long are the Labrador 
 summer days that there stiU was light to guide us 
 when at eleven o'clock Steve said: 
 
 " Us better land yere, sir. I lives yere, an' 'tis a 
 good spot t' stop for th' night, sir." 
 
 I wondered what sort of an establishment Steve 
 maintained, and drawing an inference from his per- 
 sonal appearance, I had misgivings as to its cleanli- 
 ness. However, anything seemed better than the 
 chilling fog, and land we did — in a shallow cove where 
 we bumped over a partly submerged rock and ma- 
 
 40 
 
to 
 
 t/> 
 
 w 
 
 
 o 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 P 
 
 W 
 11 
 H 
 
 b 
 O 
 
 M 
 Q 
 
 (I) 
 H 
 
 2 
 O 
 
 Q 
 
 < 
 n 
 « 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WttDERNESS 
 
 noeuvred with difficulty among others, that raised their 
 heads ominously above the water. As we approached, 
 we made out through the fog the dim outlines, close 
 to the shore, of a hut partially covered with sod. 
 Our welcome was tumultuous — a combination of the 
 barking of dogs and the shrill screams of women 
 demanding to know who we were and what we wanted. 
 There were two women, tall, scrawny, brown, with hair 
 flying at random. The yovmger one had a baby in her 
 arms. She was Steve's married sister. The other 
 woman was his mother. Each was loosely clad in a 
 dirty calico gown. Behind them clustered a group 
 of dirty, half -clad children. 
 
 Steve ushered us into the hut, which proved to have 
 two rooms, the larger about eight by ten feet. The 
 roof was so low that none of us could stand erect 
 except in the centre, where it came to a peak. In the 
 outer room were two rough wooden benches, and on a 
 rickety table a dirty kerosene lamp without a chimney 
 shed gloom rather than light. An old stove, the sides 
 of which were bolstered up with rocks, filled the hut 
 with smoke to the point of suffocation when a fire was 
 started. The floor and everything else in the room 
 were innocent of soap and water. 
 
 Greorge made coffee, which he passed around with 
 hardtack to everybody. Then all but Steve and oiu- 
 party retired to the inner room, one of the women 
 standing a loose door against the aperture. Steve 
 curled up in an old quilt on one of the benches, while 
 
 41 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHLD 
 
 Hubbard, George and I spread a tarpaulin on the floor 
 and rolled in our blankets upon it. 
 
 We were up betimes the next morning after a fair 
 night's sleep on the floor. We again served hardtack 
 and coffee to aU, and at five o'clock were once more on 
 our way. A thick mantle of mist obscured the shore, 
 and Hubbard offered Steve a chart and compass. 
 " Ain't got no learnin', sir ; I can't read, sir," said the 
 young livyere. So Hubbard directed the course in the 
 mist while Steve steered. Later in the day the wind 
 freshened and blew the mist away, and at length de- 
 veloped into a gale. Finally the sea rose so high that 
 Steve thought it well to seek the protection of a har- 
 bour, and we landed in a sheltered cove on one of the 
 numerous islands that strew Hamilton Inlet, where we 
 then were — Big Black Island, it is called. 
 
 George had arisen th&l morning with a lame back, 
 and when we reached the island he could scarcely 
 move. The place was so barren of timber we could not 
 find a stick long enough to act as a centre pole for our 
 tent, and it was useless to try to pitch it. However, 
 the moss, being thick and soft, made a comfortable 
 bed, and after we had put a mustard plaster on 
 George's back to relieve his lumbago, we rolled him in 
 two of our blankets under the lee of a bush and let 
 him sleep. Then, as evening came on, Hubbard and I 
 started for a stroll along the shore. The sun was still 
 high in the heavens, and the temperature mildly cool. 
 
 A walk of a mile or so brought us to the cabin of one 
 42 
 
, ON THE EDGE OF THE WH^DERNESS 
 
 Joe Lloyd, a livyere. Lloyd proved to be an intelli- 
 gent old Englishman who had gone to Labrador as a 
 sailor lad on a fishing schooner to serve a three-years' 
 apprenticeship. He did not go home with his ship, 
 and year after year postponed his return, until at last 
 he married an Eskimo and bound himself fast to the 
 cold rocks of Labrador, where he will spend the re- 
 mainder of his life, eldng out a miserable existence, 
 a lonely exile from his native England. 
 
 After he had greeted us, Lloyd asked : " Is aU the 
 world at peace, sir.'' " He had heard of the Boer war, 
 and was pleased when we told him that it had ended 
 in a victory for the British arms. His hunger for 
 news touched us deeply, and we told him all that we 
 could recall of recent affairs of public interest. I have 
 said that his hunger for news touched us. As a matter 
 of fact, few things have impressed me as being more 
 pathetic than that old man's life up there on that 
 isolated and desolate island, where he spends most of 
 his time wistfully longing to hear something of the 
 great world, and painfully recalling the pleasant 
 memories of his childhood's home and friends, and the 
 green fields and spring blossoms he never will know 
 again. And Lloyd's story is the story of perhaps the 
 majority of the settlers on The Labrador. 
 
 The old man had a fresh-caught salmon, and we 
 bought it from him. We then sat for a few minutes 
 in his cabin. This was a miserable affair, not exceed- 
 ing eight by ten feet, and, like Steve's home, so low 
 
THE LUKE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 we could not stand erect in it. The floor was paved 
 with large, flat stones, and the only vent for the smoke 
 from the wretched fireplace was a hole in the roof. 
 Midway between the fire and the hole hung a trout 
 drying. In this room Lloyd and his Eskimo wife live 
 out their Kfe. During our visit the wife sat there 
 without uttering a word. Her silence was character- 
 istic ; for, somewhat unlike our women, the women of 
 Labrador talk but little. 
 
 When we had bidden Lloyd farewell, we carried the 
 salmon we had obtained from him back to camp, where 
 Hubbard tried to plank it on a bit of wreckage picked 
 up on the shore. It fell into the fire, and there was 
 great excitement untU, by our united efforts, we had 
 rescued it, and had seen part of it safely reposing in 
 the frying pan, while Steve set to work boiling the re- 
 mainder in our kettle with slices of bacon. As the 
 gale continued to blow, it was decided that we should 
 remain in camp until early morning. Hubbard 
 directed Steve to pull the boat around to a place 
 where it would be near the water at low tide. He 
 and I then threw down the tent, lay on it, pulled a 
 blanket over us and prepared for sleep. It was about 
 eleven o'clock, and darkness was just beginning to fall. 
 Out in the bay a whale was blowing, and in the dis- 
 tance hig gulls were screaming. It was our first night 
 out in the open in Labrador, and aU was new and 
 entrancing; and as slumber gradually en^apped us, 
 it seemed to us that we had fallen upon pleasant times. 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ' At one o'clock (Friday morning) we awoke. By 
 the light of the brilliant moon we made colfee, called 
 George and Steve and ate our breakfast of cold salmon 
 and hardtack. George's lumbago was very bad,' and 
 he was unable to do any work. The rest of us portaged 
 the outfit two hundred yards to the boat, which, owing 
 to Steve's miscalculations as to the tide, we found 
 high and dry on the rocks. Working in the shallow 
 water, with a cloud of mosquitoes around our heads, 
 it took us until 4.30 o'clock to launch her, by which 
 time daylight long since had returned. 
 ' Once more afloat, we found that the wind had en- 
 tirely died away, and Steve's sculling pushed the boat 
 along but slowly. Grampuses raised their big backs 
 everywhere, and seals, upon which they prey, were 
 numerous. The water was aJive with schools of oaplin. 
 At eleven o'clock we made Pompey Island, a mossy 
 island of Laurentian rock about thirty-five mUes from 
 Indian Harbour. Here we stopped for luncheon, and 
 after much looking around, succeeded in finding 
 enough sticks to build a little fire. I made flapjacks, 
 and Hubbard melted sugar for syrup. 
 
 While we were eating, I discovered in the far dis- 
 tance the smoke of a steamer. We supposed it to be 
 the Julia Sheridan. Rushing our things into the boat, 
 we put off as quickly as possible to intercept her. We 
 fired three or four shots from our rifle, but got only a 
 salute in recognition. Then Hubbard and I scrambled 
 into the canoe, which we had in tow, and began to pad- 
 
 45 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 die with might and main to head her off. As we neared 
 her, we fired again. At that she came about — ^it was 
 the Virginia Lake. They took us on board, bag, bag- 
 gage, and canoe, and Steve was dismissed. 
 
 In an hour we were in sight of Rigolet, and I saw a 
 Hudson's Bay Company Post for the first time in my 
 life. As our steamer approached, a flag was run up 
 in salute to the top of a tall staff, and when it had been 
 caught by the breeze, the Company's initials, H. B. C, 
 were revealed. The Company's agents say these let- 
 ters have another significance, namely, " Here Before 
 Christ," for the flag travels ahead of the missionaries. 
 
 The reservation of Rigolet is situated upon a pro- 
 jection of land, with a little bay on one side and the 
 channel into which Hamilton Inlet narrows at this 
 point on the other. Long rows of whitewashed build- 
 ings, some of frame and some of log, extend along 
 the water front, coming together at the point of the 
 projection so as to form two sides of an irregular 
 triangle. A little back of the row on the bay side, 
 and upon slightly higher ground, stands the residence 
 of the agent, or factor as he is officially called, this 
 building being two stories high and otherwise the most 
 pretentious of the group. It is commonly called the 
 "Big House," and near it is the tall flagstafi". Be- 
 tween the rows of buildings and the shore is a broad 
 board walk, which leads down near the apex of the 
 triangle to a small wharf of logs. It was at this wharf 
 that our little party landed. 
 
 46 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Hubbard presented his letter of introduction from 
 Commissioner Chipman of the Hudson's Bay Com- 
 pany to Mr. James Eraser, the factor, and we re- 
 ceived a most cordial welcome, being made at home at 
 the Big House. We found the surroundings and 
 people unique and interesting. There were lumber- 
 men, trappers, and fishermen — a motley gathering of 
 Newfoundlanders, Nova Sootians, Eskimos and 
 "breeds," the latter being a comprehensive name for 
 persons whose origin is a mixture in various combina- 
 tions and proportions of Eskimo, Indian, and Euro- 
 pean. AU were friendly and talkative, and hungry 
 for news of the outside world. 
 
 Lying around everywhere, or skulking about the 
 reservation, were big Eskimo dogs that looked for all 
 tihe world like wolves in subjection. We were warned 
 not to attempt to play with them, as they were ex- 
 tremely treacherous. Only a few days before a little 
 Eskimo boy who stumbled and fell Was set upon by a 
 pack and aU buit killed before the brutes were driven 
 off. The night we arrived at Rigolet the pack killed 
 one of their own number and late him, only a little 
 piece of fur remaining in the morning to tell the tale. 
 
 Within an hour after we reached the post. Dr. 
 Simpson arrived on the Julia Sheridan; but as he had 
 neglected to bring the miail for Northwest River Post 
 that the Virginia Lake had left at Indian Harbour, he 
 had to return at once. Dr. Simpson not being per- 
 mitted by his principles to run his boat on Sunday, 
 
 47 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABKADOR WILD 
 
 unless in a case of great necessity, we were told not to 
 expect the Julia Sheridam back from Indian Harbour 
 until Monday noon; and so we were compelled to 
 possess our souls in patience and enj oy the hospitality 
 of Mr. Fraser. I must confess that while I was 
 anxious to get on, I was at the same time not so 
 greatly disappointed at our enforced delay; it gave 
 me an opportunity to see something of the novel life 
 of the post. 
 
 While at Rigolet we of course tried to get aU the 
 information possible about the country to which we 
 were going. No Indians had been to the post for 
 months, and the white men and Eskimos knew abso- 
 lutely nothing about it. At length Hubbard was 
 referred to " Skipper " Tom Blake, a breed, who had 
 trapped at the upper or western end of Grand Lake, 
 From Blake he learned that Grand Lake was forty 
 miles long, and that canoe travel on it was good to its 
 upper end, where the Nascaupee River flowed into it. 
 Blake believed we could paddle up the Nascaupee some 
 eighteen or twenty miles, where we should find the Red 
 River, a wide, shallow, rapid stream that flowed into 
 the Nascaupee from the south. Above this point he 
 had no personal knowledge of the country, and advised 
 us to see his son Donald, whom he expected to arrive 
 that day from his trapping grounds on Seal Lake. 
 Donald, he said, had been farther inland and knew 
 more about the country than anyone else on the 
 coast. 
 
 48 
 
Hubharrt Wallace 
 
 "WE ARRIVED AT RIGOLET " 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WH^DERNESS 
 
 Donald did arrive a little later, and upon question- 
 ing him Hubbard learned that Seal Lake, which, he 
 said, was an expansion of the Nascaupee River, had 
 been the limit of his travels inland. Donald reiter- 
 ated what his father had told us of Grand Lake and 
 the lower waters of the Nascaupee, adding that for 
 many miles above the point where the Nascaupee was 
 joined by the Red we should find canoe travel impossi- 
 ble, as the Nascaupee "tumbled right down off the 
 mountains." Up the Nascaupee as far as the Red 
 River he had sailed his boat. He had heard from the 
 Indians that the Nascaupee came from Lake Michi- 
 kamau, and he believed it to be a fact. This con- 
 vinced us that the Nascaupee was the river A. P. Low, 
 of the Geological Survey, had mapped as the North- 
 west. The Red River Donald had crossed in winter 
 some twenty miles above its mouth, and while it was 
 wide, it was so shallow and swift that he was sure it 
 would not admit of canoeing. He could not tell its 
 source, and was sure the Indians had never travelled 
 on it. In answer to Hubbard's inquiries as to the 
 probability of our getting fish and game, Donald said 
 there were bears along the Nascaupee, but few other 
 animals. He had never fished the waters above 
 Grand Lake, but believed plenty of fish were there. 
 On Seal Lake there was a " chance " seal, and he had 
 taken an occasional shot at them, but they were very 
 wild and he had never been able to kiU any. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, none of the men with whom 
 49 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 we talked mentioned that more than one river flowed 
 into Grand Lake, although they unquestionably knew 
 that such was the case. Their silence about this 
 important particular was probably due to the fact, 
 that while the Labrador people are friendly to 
 strangers, they are somewhat shy and rarely volunteer 
 information, contenting themselves, for the most part, 
 with simple answers to direct questions. Further- 
 more, they are seldom able to adopt a point of view 
 difi'erent from their own, and thus are unable to realise 
 the amount of guidance a stranger in their country 
 needs. In fact I discovered later that Skipper Blake 
 and his son, who have spent all their lives in the vicin- 
 ity of Hamilton Inlet, never dreamed anyone could 
 miss the mouth of the Nascaupee River, as they them- 
 selves knew so well how to find it. 
 
 We were sitting in the office of the post on Sunday, 
 comfortably away from the fog that lay thick out- 
 side, when we were startled by a steamship whistle. 
 Out we all ran, and there, in the act of dropping her 
 anchor, was the Pelican, the company's ship from 
 England. In the heavy fog she had stolen in and 
 whistled before the flag was raised, which feat Captain 
 Grey, who commands the Pelican, regarded as a great 
 joke on the post. Once a year the Pelican arrives 
 from England, and the day of her appearance is the 
 Big Day for all the Labrador posts, as she brings the 
 year's supplies together with boxes and letters from 
 home for the agents and the clerks. From Rigolet 
 
 50 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WH^DERNESS 
 
 she goes to Ungava, then returns to Rigolet for the 
 furs there and once more steams for England. 
 
 We found Captain Grey to be a jolly, cranky old 
 seadog of the old school. He has been with the Hud- 
 son's Bay Company for thirty years, and has sailed 
 the northern seas for fifty. He shook his head pessi- 
 mistically when he heard about our expedition. 
 " You'U never get back," he said. " But if you hap- 
 pen to be at Ungava when I get there, I'U bring you 
 back." " Sandy " Calder, the owner of lumber miUs 
 on Sandwich Bay and the Grand River, who came 
 from Cartwright Post on Sandwich Bay with Captain 
 Grey on the Pelican, also predicted the failure of our 
 enterprise. But Hubbard said to me that he had 
 heard such prophecies before ; that they made the work 
 seem all the bigger, and that he could do it and 
 would. 
 
 At noon on Monday Dr. Simpson came with the 
 Julia Sheridan, and we said good-bye to Rigolet. 
 The voyage down the inlet to Northwest River Post 
 was without incident, except that the good doctor was 
 much concerned as to the outcome of our venture, say- 
 ing : " Don't leave your bones up there to whiten, 
 boys, if you can possibly help it." We reached 
 Northwest River at two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, 
 and found the post to be much the same as Rigolet, 
 except that its whitewashed buildings were all strung 
 out in one long row. The welcome we received from 
 Mr. Thomas Mackenzie, the agent there in charge, 
 
 51 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 was most gratifying in its heartiness. Mr. Mackenzie 
 is a bachelor, tall, lean, high-spirited, and the soul of 
 hospitality. Hubbard promptly dubbed him a " bully 
 feUow." Probably this was partly due to the fact 
 that he was the first man in Labrador to give us any 
 encouragement. We had not been there an hour 
 when he became infected with Hubbard's enthusiasm, 
 and said he would pack up that night and be ready 
 to start with us in the morning, if he only were free 
 to do so. 
 
 To our great disappointment and chagrin, we 
 found that Mackenzie had no fish nets to sell. We 
 had been unable to obtain any at Rigolet, and now 
 we were told that none was to be had anywhere in that 
 part of Labrador. Hubbard realised fully the im- 
 portance of a gill net as a part of our equipment and 
 had originally intended to purchase one before leav- 
 ing New York; but he was advised by Mr. A. P. 
 Low of the Canadian Geological Survey that it would 
 be better to defer its purchase until we reached Rigo- 
 let Post or Northwest River, where he said we could get 
 a net such as would be best adapted to the coimtry. 
 Hubbard had no reason to doubt the accuracy of this 
 information, as Mr. Low had previously spent several 
 months at these posts when engaged in the work of 
 mapping out the peninsula. Conditions, however, 
 had changed, unfortunately for us, since Mr. Low's 
 visit to Labrador. Seeing the quandary we were in, 
 Mackenzie got out an old three-inch gUl net that had 
 
 62 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 been lying in a corner of one of his buildings. He 
 said he was afraid it was worn out, but if we could 
 make any use of it, we might take it. We, too, had 
 our doubts as to its utility; but, as it was the best 
 obtainable, Hubbard accepted it thankfully and Mac- 
 kenzie had two of his men unravel it and patch it up. 
 
 During the afternoon we got our outfit in shape, 
 ready for the start in the morning. Following is a 
 summary of the outfit taken from an inventory made 
 at Indian Harbour: Our canoe was 18 feet long, 
 canvas covered, and weighed about 80 pounds. The 
 tent was of the type known as miner's^ 6J x 7 feet, 
 made of balloon silk and waterproofed. We had 
 three pairs of blankets and one single blanket; two 
 tarpaulins ; five duck waterproof bags ; one dozen 
 small waterproof bags of balloon silk for note books ; 
 two .45-70 Winchester rifles ; two 10-inch barrel .22- 
 caHbre pistols for shooting grouse and other small 
 game; 200 rounds of A5-10 and 1,000 rounds of .22- 
 calibre cartridges ; 3 J x 4 J pocket folding kodak with 
 Turner-Reich Verastigmat lens; thirty rolls of films 
 of one dozen exposures each, in tin cans, waterproofed 
 with electricians' tape; a sextant and artificial hori- 
 zon; two compasses and our cooking utensils and 
 clothing. 
 
 At Indian Harbour we had four 45-pound sacks of 
 flour, but Hubbard gave one sack to the pilot of the 
 Julia Sheridan, and out of another sack he had given 
 the cook on the Julia sufficient flour for one baking of 
 
 53 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 bread, and we had also used some of this bag on our 
 way from Indian Harbour to Rigolet. This left us 
 two 45-pound bags and about thirty pounds in the 
 third bag, or 120 pounds in all. There were, per- 
 haps, 25 pounds of bacon, 13 pounds lard, 20 
 pounds flavoured pea meal, 9 pounds plain pea flour 
 in tins, 10 pounds tea, 5 pounds coffee, 8 pounds 
 hardtack, 10 pounds milk powder, 10 pounds rice, 8 
 pounds dried apples, 7 pounds salt, 7 or 8 pounds 
 tobacco and 30 pounds sugar. 
 
 This outfit, it will be remembered, was designed for 
 three men. Hubbard tried to hire some of the natives 
 to accompany us a few miles into the interior and 
 carry additional provisions that we might cache, but 
 failed ; they were all " too busy." 
 
 Mackenzie treated us royally during the evening 
 we spent at his post, and we enjoyed his hospitality 
 to the utmost, knowing that it was to be our last night 
 under shelter for weeks to come. Now we were on 
 the very edge of the wilderness. To-morrow we should 
 enter the unknown. 
 
 54< 
 
IV 
 
 THE PLUNGE INTO THE WILD 
 
 IT was nine o'clock on Wednesday morning, July 
 15, that we made the start. Our canoe, laden 
 deep with our outfit, was drawn up with its prow 
 resting snugly on the sandy bottom of the little 
 strait that is locally known as the Northwest River. 
 Mackenzie and a group of swarthy natives gathered 
 on the shore to see us off. All but the high-spirited 
 agent were grave and sceptical, and shook their heads 
 at our persistency in going into a country we had 
 been so frequently warned against. 
 
 The atmosphere was crisp, pure, and exhilarating. 
 The fir trees and shrubs gave out a delicious perfume, 
 and their waving tops seemed to beckon us on. The 
 sky was deep blue, with here and there a feathery 
 cloud gliding lazily over its surface. The bright sun- 
 light made our hearts bound and filled our bodies with 
 vigour, and as we stood there on the edge of the 
 unknown and silent world we had come so far to see, 
 our hopes were high, and one and all we were eager 
 for the battle with the wild. 
 
 " I wish I were going with you ; good-bye and God- 
 65 
 
The lure of the Labrador wild 
 
 speed!" shouted Mackenzie, as we pushed the canoe 
 into deep water and dipped our paddles into the cur- 
 rent. In a moment he and the grave men that stood 
 with him were lost to view. Up through the strait 
 into the Little Lake we paddled, thence to the rapid 
 where the waters of Grand Lake pour out. With one 
 end of a tracking hne, Hubbard sprang into the 
 shallow water near the shore below the swift-running 
 stream, and with the other end fastened to the bow of 
 the canoe, pulled it through the rapid. A "plant- 
 er's" family in a cabin near by watched us 
 wonderingly. 
 
 Then we were in Grand Lake. Hubbard remarked 
 that it looked like Lake George, save that the hills 
 were lower. For a few miles above its outlet the 
 shores on both sides of the lake are low. Then on 
 the south come bluffs that rise, stem and grand in 
 their nudity, almost perpendicularly from the deep, 
 clear water, while on the north come lower hills, for 
 the most part wooded, that retreat more gently from 
 the rocky shore. Heading for the extreme upper end 
 of the lake, where Low's map and the natives had led 
 us to expect we should find the Northwest or Nascau- 
 pee River, we paddled along the north shore to a 
 point where we stopped among the rocks for a 
 luncheon of flapjacks and syrup. 
 
 We were away without waste of time, paddling 
 diagonally across the lake to the south shore. The 
 fleecy clouds had now thickened, and a few drops 
 
 66 
 
THE IPLXJNGE INTO THE WILB 
 
 of rain had fallen. In our course across the lake we 
 passed Cape Corbeau (Raven), but were so far out 
 that the mouth of the river of that name, which is just 
 east of it, escaped our attention. Cape Corbeau, it 
 had been named by a French missionary, because the 
 ravens build their nests on its rocky top, and, perched 
 high up, croak at you warningly from afar. Always 
 the ravens are there. Involuntarily, as one croaked 
 above our heads, " Nevermore " echoed through my 
 mind. " And my soul from out that shadow shall be 
 lifted- nevermore." There were dark shadows ahead 
 
 of us among the rocks and the forests, and But 
 
 in a moment the thought was drowned and forgotten 
 in the beauties of the scenery. Beauties i* — yes; for 
 bleak and desolate Labrador has a beauty and a charm 
 all its own. 
 
 Two hours after passing Cape Corbeau the rain 
 began to pour, and at 7.30 o'clock, when we made 
 camp on the south shore, we were well soaked. We 
 resumed our journey at 5.30 in the morning. A stiff 
 breeze was blowing, but by keeping in the lee of the 
 shore we made good progress. At ten o'clock, when 
 we found it necessary to cross to the north shore so 
 as to shorten the distance, there was a rising sea, and 
 we had to lighten the canoe and ferry the cargo over 
 in two loads. 
 
 It was soon after one o'clock that we reached the 
 upper end of the lake, where we found a stream about 
 125 yards wide that flowed with a swift current from 
 
 67 
 
The lure of the Labrador wild 
 
 out a little lake. Into this lake after luncheon we 
 paddled, and when we reached its upper end, there was 
 the mouth of a river, which we immediately hailed as 
 the Nascaupee, the stream that was to lead us up to 
 Lake Michikamau. Its mouth was wide, and it seemed 
 to answer so weU aU the descriptions we had heard of 
 the river for which we were searching that the possi- 
 bility of our being mistaken never once entered our 
 heads ; in fact, we remained under the impression that 
 it was the Nascaupee until the last. 
 
 But we were mistaken. We had passed the Nas- 
 caupee five miles below, where it empties, together 
 with the Crooked River, into a deep bay extending 
 northward from Grand Lake. At its mouth the Nas- 
 caupee is divided by an island into two streams, and 
 this island is so thickly covered with trees, and the 
 streams on either side of it are so narrow, that when 
 we crossed along in front of the bay no break in the 
 line of woods at the mouth of the river was percepti- 
 ble. Perhaps it wiU be said we should have explored 
 the bay. I know now myself that should have been 
 done, but in justice to Hubbard it must be remembered 
 that none of us then had any reason to suppose we 
 should find a river at any place other than the extreme 
 upper end of the lake. Time and time again Hub- 
 bard had asked the few natives who had been there if 
 the Nascaupee entered Grand Lake at its extreme 
 upper end, and the answer invariably had been : " Yes, 
 sir; he do." Furthermore, it will have to be taken 
 
 58 
 
THE PLUNGE INTO THE WH^D 
 
 into consideration how hard pressed Hubbard was by 
 the fear that the short summer would end before he 
 had completed his work, and by the consequent neces- 
 sity of pushing on with all possible speed. 
 
 The river up which we started to ascend with light 
 hearts was the Susan, a river which was to introduce 
 us promptly to heart-breaking hardships, a river 
 which is to me associated with the most tragic 
 memories. 
 
 On the southerly side of the little lake Porcupine 
 Hill raises its spruce-covered head a thousand feet 
 above the water. Proceeding up the Susan, we found 
 that the river valley was enclosed by low ridges cov- 
 ered with spruce and a few scattering white birch 
 and aspen trees. For the most part the banks of the 
 river were steep and high; where they were low the 
 river formed little pond expansions. For a mile 
 above its mouth we had good canoeing. Up to this 
 point the river was not more than thirty yards wide, 
 and was deep, with little current. Then it began 
 gradually to widen and become shallow and swift, 
 with a boulder-strewn bottom. Soon we had to jump 
 into the water, and with Hubbard at the end of the 
 tracking line, and George and I at either end of the 
 canoe, haul, lift, and push the heavily laden boat up 
 the river, while we floundered over the boulders. 
 Sometimes we would be able to get into the canoe and 
 pole, but never for long. Around the worst places 
 we portaged the whole outfit, canoe and all. It was 
 
 59 
 
THE LURE OF TUk LABRADOR WILD 
 
 desperately hard work, and when night came on and 
 we went into camp, we were only two miles above the 
 little lake. 
 
 Hard as it was, we should not have minded our 
 work in the rapids so much had it not been for the 
 flies. For the first time we now realised the full force 
 of what had been told us about the fly pest of 
 Labrador. We had considered them annoying at 
 Rigolet and Northwest River, but as soon as we 
 began to buck the rapids they came upon us in clouds. 
 They got into our nostrils, into our ears, into our 
 mouths, into our eyes even, and our faces and hands 
 were streaked with blood from their bites. They were 
 villainous, hellish. Hubbard frequently remarked 
 that the mosquitoes seemed friendly in contrast — and 
 the mosquitoes were by no means considerate of our 
 feelings and comfort either. We had purchased some 
 cheesecloth at Rigolet for face nets, but the trial we 
 had given it during the afternoon had proved that it 
 was too closely woven for us to see through it and 
 do our work, and it was useful only as some measure 
 of protection for our ears and necks. On our faces 
 we also tried some " fly dope " that we had purchased 
 in New York, but it kept the pests away for a few 
 minutes only. 
 
 The ordinary Labrador fly is smaller than a pin- 
 head. You do not feel it until after it has had its 
 bite, and then the sensation is like that of a fiery 
 itch. In addition to this kind, we had to withstand 
 
 60 
 
THE PLUNGE INTO THE Wn.D 
 
 the attacks of flies called by the natives " bulldogs." 
 These beasts are about the size of tlie top joint of 
 one's thumb. They are well named. When they bite, 
 you fed it immediately beyond a doubt. We used to 
 say they bit out pieces of our flesh entire and flew up 
 into the trees to eat them, and we used frequently to 
 beg George to try Ins luck at shooting the brutes. 
 However, it must be said to the credit of both kinds 
 of flies that they have one good habit — ^they " knock 
 off " work at the approach of tlie cool of evening, thus 
 giving you a chance to bathe as weU as sleep. 
 
 The rain was still pouring when we pitched our tent 
 that first night, but we had a good supper and were 
 reasonably cheerful. There were flapjacks dripping 
 with the syrup of melted sugar, and bacon, and hot 
 bread, and coffee. 
 
 " With tliis sort of work before us," said Hubbard, 
 " we must keep weU fed." 
 
 " The river," said I, " certainly is the limit. If the 
 Indians have to travel on it much, I feel sorry for 
 them." 
 
 " Well," said Hubbard, " we've surely got our work 
 cut out. At this rate we're going to make pretty 
 slow progress." 
 
 " Blake told us," I ventured, " we could paddle up 
 the river eighteen or twenty miles, and that he had 
 sailed his boat up that far. Fd be willing to bet he 
 never sailed it up this stream." 
 
 " Oh," replied Hubbard, " he was mistaken in the 
 
 61 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 distance. This must be the place where he said the 
 river tumbled off the mountain. What do you say, 
 boys," he added, " to throwing away some of the out- 
 fit? We'll never make any progress if we attempt to 
 carry it all." 
 
 "Let's stick to it a little longer," suggested 
 George. 
 
 However, we decided to abandon some clothing and 
 a pail containing about four pounds of lard; and as 
 George, particularly, was opposed to leaving behind 
 us any provisions, it was decided to eat of them lav- 
 ishly and pay no attention to the hxmt for the 
 present. 
 
 All night it continued to rain, and we broke camp 
 and started forward on Friday morning, July 17, 
 in a drenching downpour. George thought this was 
 rather hard. While Hubbard was out of hearing, he 
 told me that the Indians never travelled in the rain, 
 and that he had never been expected to do so before. 
 The fact was that George had never before been on 
 an expedition where there was so much necessity for 
 haste. 
 
 We found the river on the second day to be even 
 worse than our worst fears had pictured it, and it 
 kept growing worse as we ascended. The water was 
 so swift and shoal that we could take only a part of 
 the outfit in the canoe, which meant that we had to 
 return at intervals for the rest and track all the way, 
 Hubbard pulling on the line while George and I waded 
 
 62 
 
THE PLUNGE INTO THE WILD 
 
 and pushed. Sometimes we were scarcely knee deep 
 in the water, and at other times we would sink up to 
 our armpits. Frequently we were swept off our feet. 
 Once or twice we forced the canoe and outfit through 
 the thick willows and alders that lined the river, and 
 dragged them up the steep bank and attempted to 
 portage; but the country here had been burned and 
 f aUen trees were piled high in every direction, so that 
 we were compelled to return to the river and resume 
 our efforts in the raging torrent. 
 
 The work was awful, it was heartrending; and 
 though we exerted ourselves to the utmost from sis 
 o'clock in the morning until eight at night, we ad- 
 vanced our camp only two miles that day. And when 
 we gathered around the fire at night, how we did 
 "cuss" that river! None of us, however, was dis- 
 couraged, nor flinched at the prospect. Our oil- 
 tanned, cowhide moccasins and woollen trousers were 
 beginning to show the result of the attacks of bush, 
 rock, and water, but our blue flannel shirts and soft 
 felt hats were still quite respectable. Our coats we 
 had left behind us as an unnecessary encumbrance. 
 
 While George was cooking breakfast on Saturday 
 morning (July 18), a red squirrel barked at us from 
 a near-by tree. Drawing his pistol from its holster, 
 Hubbard said: 
 
 "Wallace, let's see who shall have the honour of 
 bringing to George the first game of the trip." 
 
 I acquiesced, and walking around the tree, caught 
 
 63 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 the first glimpse of the squirrel. At it I carefully 
 aimed my pistol, and down it came. It made a tiny 
 morsel for three men, but as the "first game of the 
 trip," we hugely enjoyed it when George served it in 
 a pot of soup. 
 
 At six o'clock we broke camp and laboured on, facing 
 the same desperate conditions that we had met the 
 day before. It is true that the rain had ceased to 
 fall, but the good weather brought out the flies in 
 increasing swarms. We fairly breathed flies, and we 
 dreaded them far more than the hard work. Since 
 they attacked us first, we had left our faces unwashed 
 so as to retain the " dope," and they were streaming 
 with a mixture of grease, dirt, blood, and perspiration. 
 
 The return of the sun also sent the mercury soar- 
 ing. At noon that Saturday it registered 90 degrees 
 in the shade. Always at sunset, however, the tem- 
 perature dropped with startling suddenness, and a 
 variation of from fifty to sixty degrees between the 
 maximum and minimum record for one day was not 
 an unusual thing as long as summer lasted. 
 
 Floundering up the boulder-strewn river that Satur- 
 day, we found the heat so oppressive that it seemed to 
 us we had got into the torrid zone instead of up to 
 within a few hundred miles of the Arctic Circle. We 
 resolved, however, that the obstacles interposed 
 against our advance by the unfeeling wild should 
 make us fight only the harder, George and I receiving 
 much inspiration from Hubbard, to whom difficulties 
 
 64< 
 
THE PLUNGE INTO THE WH^D 
 
 were a blessing and whose spirit remained indomitable 
 up to the very end. And when we sat down to our 
 evening meal by a cosey fire, we had the satisfaction 
 of knowing that we had doubled our previous day's 
 record and were four miles further up the river. 
 
 On our first Sunday out we remained in camp to 
 rest. We were all pretty tired, and enjoyed the long 
 sleep in the morning. The day was fine, but very 
 warm. In the morning Hubbard caught about 
 twenty small trout, and after luncheon he and George 
 went up the river on a scouting trip. When they 
 returned in the evening, they reported important dis- 
 coveries. First they had come upon a small, rocky 
 stream flowing into our river from the south, which 
 stream Hubbard felt sure must be the Red River 
 the Blakes had told us about, and a mile above that a 
 "two-mile stretch of good water." But the dis- 
 covery that pleased Hubbard the most was some old 
 cuttings that apparently had been made by Indians ; 
 he was of the opinion, as were all of us, that they in- 
 dicated we reaUy were on the Mountaineer Indian 
 trail to Michikamau, and that we undoubtedly soon 
 should come upon lakes and other good water that 
 would carry us through; and the discoveries of the 
 scouting trip buoyed up our spirits wonderfully. 
 
 On Monday morning (July 20) George took an 
 axe and cut us a portage route from our camp 
 through a swamp a mUe and a half to the foot of a 
 steep hill. This route we covered three times. It 
 
 65 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 was impossible for one man alone to carry the 
 canoe through the swamp, and in addition to it and 
 the firearms we had at this period to transport about 
 five hundred pounds of baggage made up into packs 
 of about seventy-five pounds each. At first Hub- 
 bard and I found seventy-five pounds a pretty good 
 load to carry, and neither of us could get even that 
 on his back without help from George; but later on 
 we learned to back and carry with comparative ease 
 a hundred pounds or more. In packing we never 
 used either shoulder or chest straps, relying solely 
 upon the head strap, which passes across the fore- 
 head. 
 
 When, after much groaning and sweating, we 
 finally arrived with aU of our outfit at the foot of the 
 hiU, it took the combined efforts of sill three of us to 
 get the canoe to the top, whence we followed an old 
 caribou trail for a mUe along the summit, camping 
 just above the smooth water that Hubbard and 
 George had seen on Sunday. We were all completely 
 exhausted when we reached camp. While staggering 
 along with the canoe a hundred yards from the tent, 
 I became so weak that I suddenly sank to the ground 
 and the others had to come to my rescue and bring in 
 the canoe. But the night was cool and starry, and 
 we sat long by our fire and talked and drank pea 
 soup and tea, and when it came time for us to turn in 
 to our soft bed of fragrant spruce boughs, our 
 troubles had been quite forgotten. 
 
 66 
 
THE PLUNGE INTO THE WH-D 
 
 The good water that Hubbard and George thought 
 was two miles long shortened down, when we actu- 
 ally came to it the next morning, to less than half a 
 mile, aif ording us only a meagre opportunity to make 
 use of the canoe. For a little distance we again 
 bucked the rapids, and then left the river for a rough 
 portage of a mile and a half over the hills on the 
 shore. Again at night we were exhausted, but again 
 we had a fine camp on a point overlooking the river. 
 The crisp air came laden with the perfume of spruce 
 and balsam. On the surrounding hiUs the fir trees 
 were darkly silhouetted against the sky, radiant 
 with its myriads of stars. The roar of the river 
 could be heard dying away into a mere murmur 
 among the hills below. 
 
 " Boys," said Hubbard, after we had made a good 
 supper of a mess of trout I had caught at midday, 
 " this pays for all the hard work." 
 
 Undoubtedly Hubbard was in fine fettle that even- 
 ing, and as we lay before the fire with that delicious 
 feeling of languor which comes from conscientious 
 toil, he entertained George and me with quotations 
 from his favourite author, Kipling, while we puffed 
 comfortably upon our pipes. One verse he dwelt 
 upon, as it seemed particularly appropriate to our 
 position. It was : 
 
 "When first under flre, if you're wishful to duck. 
 Don't look or take heed of the man that is struck; 
 Be thankful you're living and trust to your luck, 
 And march to your front like a soldier." 
 
 6T 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 THE next day (Wednesday, July 22) was by 
 far the most disheartening of our journey up 
 the valley of the Susan. We portaged all day 
 through gullies and swamps and over rough 
 ridges, covering in aU about two miles and a half. 
 All of us were overcome by the hard work in the burn- 
 ing sun and the poisonous bites of the flies. I was the 
 most susceptible to the attacks of the flies; for ten 
 days I was fairly sick from the poison they instilled. 
 The faces, hands, and wrists of all of us were badly 
 swollen and very sore. My face was so swollen I could 
 scarcely see. 
 
 In the morning when we started forward the tem- 
 perature was down to thirty-three degrees, but at 
 noon It had risen to ninety-two. Hubbard was 
 attacked with diarrhoea, and I with vonjltlng. We 
 were all too exhausted to eat when we stopped for 
 luncheon, and lay on the moss for an hour's rest, with 
 the tent drawn over us to protect us from the flies. 
 
 On a low, barren knoll we cached that day eighty 
 rounds of .45-70 cartridges and 300 rounds of .2£'s, 
 George marking the spot with a circle of stakes. 
 
 68 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 That left us 120 rounds of .45-70's and 500 rounds of 
 .SS's. It had become strictly necessary to hghten our 
 packs, and we had begun to drop odds and ends every 
 day. 
 
 In the afternoon Hubbard shot with his pistol a 
 spruce partridge (grouse) ; it was the first seen by 
 us on the trip. Together with a yellowlegs George 
 had shot, it seasoned a pot of pea soup. We camped 
 that night on a bluff, barren point, and Hubbard 
 named it " Partridge Point " in honour of our first bird. 
 
 On Thursday (July 23) Hubbard lay in the tent 
 all day sick. All he was able to eat was some hard- 
 tack dipped in tea. At his request George and I 
 scouted for trails. Each of us carried a rifle and 
 wore at his belt a pistol and a cup in addition to the 
 sheath knife we never were without. In our pockets 
 we placed a half-pound package of pea meal. George 
 started westward up the river, and I put for a high, 
 barren hill two miles to the north. As I climbed the 
 hill I heard gulls on the other side, which told me 
 water lay in that direction, and when I reached the 
 top, there at my feet, like a silver setting in the dark 
 green forest, lay a beautiful little shoe-shaped lake. 
 For miles and miles beyond the ridge I was on, the 
 •country was flat and covered with a thick spruce 
 growth. 
 
 To the northeast of the lake at my feet I could see 
 the glimmer of other water among the trees, and I 
 decided to go on and investigate. In doing so, I 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHLD 
 
 managed to get myself lost. Descending the hill to 
 the lake, I made my way through the thick spruce 
 growth in the swamp along the shore. A splash in 
 the water startled me, and soon I found the fresh 
 tracks of a caribou. As he had winded me, I knew it 
 was useless to try to follow him. Pressing my way 
 on to the northeast, I came upon another small lake 
 and several small creeks. At midday I built a fire and 
 made a cup of pea meal porridge. While waiting for 
 my meal to cook, I read a letter that a friend had 
 given me in New York, " to be opened after one week's 
 canoeing in Labrador." It was like a letter just 
 received from home. 
 
 In the afternoon the sun became obscured by gath- 
 ering clouds, and in the thick underbrush through 
 which my course led me I could see scarcely twenty 
 yards ahead. I attempted to get my direction with 
 the compass, but the needle would not respond. 
 Trusting, however, to my ability to find my course 
 without it, I made my way on past two more lakes. 
 A grouse fluttered up before me, and I brought it 
 down with"^ pistol shot. After tying it to my belt, 
 I decided it was time to turn back home, as we called 
 our camp, and struck off by what I hoped would be 
 a short cut through the swamp. Then it was that I 
 lost my bearings, and at dusk, when I hoped to reach 
 the first lake I had seen in the morning, I found my- 
 self on the shore of a lake I had never seen before. 
 
 Too weary to cook the grouse, or even build a fire 
 70 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 and make a cup of porridge, I threw myself on a flat 
 rock, pillowed my head on the trunk of a fallen spruce 
 tree, drew a handkerchief over my face to keep away 
 the clouds of mosquitoes, and slept soundly. At dawn 
 I arose, built a fire, repaired my compass, and ate a 
 cup of porridge. I was not frightened, because with 
 my compass again in working order I knew I should 
 have no difficulty in finding the river, which must be 
 somewhere to the south and which must lead me back 
 to camp. So to the southward I took my course, push- 
 ing my way through thick brush and over marshes 
 where the ground under my feet went up and down 
 like the waves of the sea. 
 
 Towards noon I reached a barren hill, and from its 
 summit saw the river just beyond and the site of one 
 of our old camping places that I knew was eighteen 
 miles below our last camp. Down to the shore of the 
 river I hurried, and built a fire for luncheon. The 
 partridge at my belt had been torn into shreds by 
 the bushes, and again a cup of porridge had to serve 
 me for a meal. It was dark when I reached camp, 
 to find Hubbard greatly worried and George away 
 looking for me. 
 
 There had been some good-natured arguments 
 between Hubbard and me as to the merits of our 
 respective compasses, and as he now appeared to have 
 the better of it, he took advantage of the occasion 
 to chaiF me unmercifully. Then when George 
 returned they both had fun with me for getting lost. 
 
 71 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 "That's all right," I said, "your turn, Hubbard, 
 will come later. You haven't been lost yet, because 
 you haven't been out of sight of camp alone. Any- 
 way, I just stayed out for a quiet evening by myself." 
 
 My absence on Friday did not delay our progress 
 any; for Hubbard was still unable to travel. On 
 Saturday (July 25) he had not yet fully recovered, 
 but he decided to push forward. A drizzling rain 
 was falling as we started. Each of us carried a load 
 some four miles up the valley and returned ; and then 
 Hubbard, with a second load, went ahead to make 
 camp, while George and I, with the remainder of the 
 baggage, endeavoured to drag the canoe upstream. 
 Darkness came on when we were two miles below 
 camp. While fording the river, I was carried off 
 my feet by the current and nearly swept over the fall 
 with a pack around my neck. 
 
 Then George and I left the canoe on the bank for 
 the night, and each with his pack proceeded to push 
 his way through the thick willows and alders and over 
 the rocks. It was so dark we could not see each other. 
 Falling down constantly and struggling to our feet 
 again, we stumbled on through the pitchy blaclcness 
 and down-pouring rain, until suddenly we discerned 
 the glowing light of our campfire and came upon 
 Hubbard frying bacon. George and I were too tired 
 to eat ; we were glad to lie down in our wet clothes on 
 the bed of spruce boughs that was ready for us and 
 forget our troubles in sleep. 
 
 72 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 We rested on Sunday — and ate. A partridge I 
 had shot the day before was served stewed with rice 
 and bacon for dinner, while for supper we had twenty- 
 two trout that Hubbard caught in the morning, served 
 with apple sauce and hot bread. This high living 
 fully recompensed us for our hard fight against 
 nature and the elements, and once more full of hope 
 we lay down to sleep. 
 
 In the morning (Monday, July 27) Hul)bard arose 
 with a feeling of depression, but fair progress during 
 the day brightened him up. A typical fall wind blew 
 all day, and we were very wet and very cold when we 
 went into camp at night. But with the coming of 
 evening the clouds were driven away before the wind, 
 affording us an occasional glimpse of the new moon 
 hanging low in the heavens ; and this, together with 
 the sound of the river and the roaring campfire, soon 
 cheered us up. No matter how weary and dis- 
 couraged we were during the day, our evening fire 
 invariably brought to us a feeling of indescribable 
 happiness, a sweet f orgetf ulness of everything but the 
 moment's comfort. 
 
 Our fire that Monday night was no exception to 
 the general rule, but after supper, while we were 
 luxuriantly reclining before it on a couch of boughs, 
 Hubbard gave expression to a strange feeling that 
 had been growing on him and me in the last few days. 
 It was almost as if the solitude were getting on our 
 nerves. Hubbard was munching a piece of black 
 
 73 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 chocolate, which he dipped at intervals in a bit of 
 sugar held in the palm of his left hand, when he 
 said: 
 
 "It's queer, but I have a feeling that is getting 
 stronger from day to day, that we are the only people 
 left in the world. Have you fellows experienced any 
 such feeling? " 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " I have. I have been feeling that 
 we must forever be alone, going on, and on, and on, 
 from portage to portage, through this desolate 
 wilderness." 
 
 " That's it exactly," said Hubbard. " You sort of 
 feel, that as you are now, so you always have been 
 and always will be; and your past life is like a 
 dream, and your friends like dream-folk. What a 
 strange sensation it is! Have you felt that way, 
 George .'' " 
 
 George took the pipe from his mouth, blew out a 
 cloud of tobacco smoke to join the smoke of the fire, 
 and spat meditatively over his shoulder. 
 
 " Don't know as I have," he grunted. " I know 
 there's mighty good huntin' down the bay; and I've 
 been thinkin' of Rupert's House [the Hudson's Bay 
 Company Post on James Bay where he was born] , and 
 what the feUus I know there are doin' these days. I 
 can't say they seem like dream-folks to me; they're 
 real enough, all right." 
 
 Hubbard and I laughed. Solitude v/as an old story 
 to our friend, the English-Indian, and our " feelings " 
 
 n 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 must have seemed to him highly artificial, if not 
 affected. 
 
 Our progress on Tuesday and Wednesday (July 
 28 and 29) was the old story of hard tracking in the 
 river and difficult portaging. The weather was 
 cloudy and a chill wind blew. On Tuesday we 
 advanced our camp a little more than three miles, 
 and on Wednesday a little more than four. This 
 continued slow work gave Hubbard serious concern, 
 and the condition of our larder and wardrobe was not 
 reassuring. Our bacon and sugar were going fast. 
 Fish had become an absolute necessity, and our 
 catches had been alarmingly small. There was also 
 a lamentable lack of game. Far below we had heard 
 the chatter of the last red squirrel, and seen the last 
 bear signs and the last tree barked by porcupines. 
 There were caribou trails a-plenty, but seldom a fresh 
 track. A solitary rabbit had crossed our trail since 
 we entered the valley, and there were no more rabbit 
 runs visible. We could only hope that as we neared 
 the " height of land," we should find more game — find 
 plenty of caribou, at least, on the moss-covered bar- 
 rens. We had also noted a change in the timber 
 growth; neither birch nor aspen had we seen for a 
 week. 
 
 Our moccasins were breaking through the bottoms, 
 and this was a serious matter; for while George had 
 an extra pair, Hubbard and I had only those on our 
 feet. Hubbard's feet were very sore. Two of his 
 
 75 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 toe nails came^off on Wednesday night, and a wide 
 crack, which must have made walking very painful, 
 appeared in one of his heels. The nearest thing we 
 had to adhesive plaster was electrician's tape, and with 
 this he bandaged his heel, and tied it and his toes up 
 with pieces of cotton rags we had brought for clean- 
 ing rifles. 
 
 It was on Thursday, July 30, that we reached the 
 point where another good-sized stream comes into the 
 Susan, or where the river may be said to divide into 
 two branches. We found that the southerly branch 
 came over a low fall from the west, while the other, or 
 northerly branch, flowed down from the northwest. 
 The southerly branch was fully as large as the north- 
 erly — ^narrower but deeper — and not nearly so swift 
 and rocky. 
 
 We were very uncertain as to which branch to fol- 
 low, and Hubbard sent George on a scouting trip up 
 the southerly stream, which we shall call Goose Creek, 
 while he himself climbed a knoll to get a look at the 
 country. A half mile or so up Goose Creek George 
 found a blaze crossing the stream from north to south, 
 which he pronounced a winter blaze made by trappers, 
 as the cuttings were high up on the trees and freshly 
 made. Half a mile above the blaze George came 
 upon the rotten poles of an old Indian wigwam, and 
 this discovery made Hubbard happy; he accepted it 
 as evidence that Goose Creek was the river mapped as 
 the "Northwest" and the Indian route to Michi- 
 
 76 
 
HUBBARD TOOK OBSERVATIONS FOR LATITUDE 
 
STILL IN THE AWFUL VALLEY 
 
 kamau. Accordingly it was decided to follow the 
 southerly branch, and to leave the main stream at this 
 point. 
 
 I was glad to leave the vaUey of the Susan. Our 
 whole course up the valley had been torturous and dis- 
 heartening. We had been out fifteen days from 
 Northwest River Post and had covered only eighty 
 miles. Hubbard had been ill, and I had been iU. 
 Always, as we pressed onward, I di-eaded the prospect 
 of retracing our steps through tlie Susan Valley. I 
 hated the valley from end to end. I have more reason 
 to hate it now. To me it is the Valley of the Shadow 
 of Death. 
 
 77 
 
VI 
 SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 WHEN we portaged into Goose Creek on 
 Friday, July 31st, Hubbard had quite re- 
 covered from his illness, I, too, was well 
 again, and our appetites had returned. 
 It is true that my legs and feet were much swollen 
 from the continuous work ia the cold river, but the 
 sweUing caused me no inconvenience. All of us, in 
 fact, were in better shape for the fight against the 
 wild than at any time since the start. 
 
 For three or four miles up Goose Creek the rapids 
 were almost continuous, and we had to portage for 
 practically the whole of the distance. On August 1st 
 and 2d the weather was cold, with a raw wind and a 
 continuous downpour of rain. At night the rain 
 kept up a steady drop, drop, drop through our tent. 
 On the 2d, owing to the inclemency of the weather, 
 we did not travel ; but the morning of the 3d brought 
 brilliant sunshine and with the perfume of the forest 
 in our nostrils we pushed on, soon reaching a flatter 
 and a marshy country, where the creek deepened and 
 narrowed with a sluggish current. Here the pad- 
 dling was good, and for a little way we made rapid 
 progress. 
 
 78 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 In this marshy stretch by the creek's bank we saw 
 a beaver house, and George stepped out of the canoe 
 to examine it. 
 
 " They're livin' here," he remarked. " If we're not 
 too far away when we camp to-night, I'm comin' 
 down with a rifle and watch for 'em. They come out 
 to play in the water in the evenin' and it's not hard 
 to get 'em." 
 
 " What's the use of killing them? " I asked. 
 "What could you do with a beaver if you got 
 him?" 
 
 " I'd cook it, and we'd have a good snack of beaver 
 meat," said George. " They're the finest kind of 
 eatin', and I'd go a good way for a piece of beaver 
 tail; it's nice and greasy, and better than anything 
 you ever ate." 
 
 As we paddled on, George continued to extol the 
 virtues of beaver meat, expatiating on many a " good 
 snack " of it that he had consumed. However, he did 
 not return to the beaver house, for more important 
 things that evening claimed our attention. 
 
 It was on this day that we reached a point where 
 our branch creek itself separated into two branches. 
 Upon scouting them, we discovered that each of these 
 branches had for its origin a lake, the two bodies of 
 water from which they flowed being close together 
 some three miles to the westward. Apparently they 
 were small lakes, but we hoped to find that they be- 
 longed to a chain that would carry us into the 
 
 79 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 country, and their discovery encouraged us to 
 push on. 
 
 This hope was strengthened by Indian wigwam 
 poles that we found in the vicinity. The poles, it is 
 true, were old, indicating that the Indians had not 
 been there for several years ; but as it had been a long 
 time since they had ceased to visit regularly North- 
 west River Post, we thought we had reason to believe 
 that the poles marked what had been a permanent 
 trail rather than the course of a hunting expedition. 
 Hubbard was particularly observant of these old 
 Indian signs. He was anxious to find them, and de- 
 hghted when he did find them. " Here are the 
 signs," he would say, "we are on the right trail." 
 But we were not on the right trail. The right trail — 
 the Nascaupee route — was miles to the northward. 
 We eventually did stumble upon a trail to Michi- 
 kamau, but it was another one — a very old one — and 
 we found it only to lose it again. 
 
 While we were following up Goose Creek the con- 
 dition of our commissariat troubled us not a little. 
 The scarcity of game had forced us to draw heavily 
 upon our stores. Only a little of our lard and a small 
 part of our twenty-five pounds of bacon remained. 
 " We must hustle for grub, boys," Hubbard fre- 
 quently remarked. Our diet, excepting on particular 
 occasions, was bread and tea, fish when we could get 
 them, and sometimes a little pea soup. The pea meal, 
 plain and flavoured, was originally intended as a sort 
 
 80 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 of emergency ration, but we had drawn on our stock 
 of it alarmingly. Our flour, too, was going rapidly, 
 and the time was drawing near when we felt that the 
 ration of bread must be cut down. 
 
 The only thing, perhaps, that we reaUy craved was 
 fresh meat. For several days after leaving the post 
 we had experienced a decided craving for acids, but 
 that craving had been partially satisfied when, on the 
 barren hills that border the VaUey of the Susan, we 
 found a few cranberries that had survived the winter. 
 Every day while we were on Goose Creek we caught a 
 few small trout. When we halted for any purpose, 
 Hubbard always whipped the stream. He was a 
 tireless as well as an expert fisherman. He would fish 
 long after I had become discouraged, and catch them 
 in pools where they positively refused to rise for me. 
 The trout thus obtained were relished, but a fish diet 
 is not strengthening, neither is it satisfying, and as 
 we had had no fresh meat since the day we landed at 
 Indian Harbour a month before, our longing for it 
 had become importunate. 
 
 Imagine our joy, then, when on August 8d, the 
 day we discovered the petering out of Goose Creek, 
 some fresh meat came our way. Most unexpectedly 
 was the day turned into one of feasting and thanks- 
 giving. As we were preparing, soon after passing 
 the beaver house, to pack at the foot of a rapid just 
 below a little pond expansion, Hubbard saw four 
 geese swimming slowly down the stream. He and 
 
 81 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 George had just lifted their packs from the canoe, 
 while I, some little distance oif , had mine on my back. 
 Hubbard had his rifle in his hands. George, who 
 caught sight of the geese almost as soon as Hub- 
 bard, grabbed my rifle from the canoe. " Drop ! " 
 cried Hubbard, and down we all fell behind the little 
 bank over which the birds had been sighted. There 
 was fresh meat swimming towards us, and while we 
 lay waiting for it to come in sight around the little 
 head of land the excitement was intense. 
 
 Soon the leader appeared, and Hubbard and 
 George fired almost simultaneously. If ever there was 
 a goose that had his goose cooked, it was that poor, 
 unfortunate leader. One of the bullets from the 
 .45-70 rifles that were aimed at him went through his 
 neck, cutting the bone clean and leaving his head 
 hanging by two little bits of skin. The other bullet 
 bored a hole through his body, breaking both wings. 
 I did not blame him when he keeled over. The leader 
 disposed of, Hubbard and George again fired in quick 
 succession, and two of the other geese dropped just 
 as they were turning back upstream and vainly try- 
 ing to rise on their wings, which were useless so soon 
 after the moulting season. The second shot emptied 
 George's rifle. He threw it down, grabbed a paddle 
 and went after one of the birds, which, only slightly 
 wounded, was flopping about in the water. 
 
 Meanwhile Hubbard had fired twice at the fourth 
 goose and missed both times. His rifle also being 
 
 82 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 empty now, he cast it aside, seized his pistol, ran 
 around the bank and jumped into the water in time 
 to head off the remaining goose as it was flopping 
 upstream. That brought the goose between him and 
 George, and the bird was so bewildered that Hubbard 
 had time to fire at him twice with his pistol and kill 
 him, while George effectually disposed of the wounded 
 goose by swatting him over the head with the paddle. 
 Thus aU four birds were ours, and our exultation 
 knew no bounds. We shouted, we threw our hats in 
 the air and shouted again. Lifting the birds criti- 
 cally, we estimated that we had on hand about fifty 
 pounds of goose meat. 
 
 More luck came to us that same day when we 
 halted for luncheon at the foot of some rapid water. 
 As soon as we stopped, Hubbard, as usual, cast a 
 fly, and almost immediately landed a half-pound 
 trout. Then, as fast as I could split them and 
 George fry them, another and another, all big ones, 
 fell a victim to his skill. The result was that we had 
 aU the trout we could eat that noon, and we ate a 
 good many. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when we reached the 
 point where the two brooks joined to form Goose 
 Creek. Our scouting was finished in less than two 
 hours, and we went into camp early: for, as Hub- 
 bard expressed it, we were to have a " heap big feed," 
 and George reminded us that it would take a good 
 while to roast a goose. Our camp was pitched at 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 the foot of a semi-barren ridge a half-mile above the 
 junction of the brooks. George built a big fire — 
 much bigger than usual. At the back he placed the 
 largest green log he could find. Just in front of the 
 fire, and at each side, he fixed a forked stake, and on 
 these rested a cross pole. From the centre of the pole 
 he suspended a piece of stout twine, which reached 
 nearly to the ground, and tied the lower end into a 
 noose. 
 
 Then it was that the goose, nicely prepared for 
 cooking, was brought forth. Through it at the 
 wings George stuck a sharp wooden pin, leaving the 
 ends to protrude on each side. Through the legs he 
 stuck a similar pin in a similar fashion. This being 
 done, he slipped the noose at the end of the twine 
 over the ends of one of the pins. And lo and behold ! 
 the goose was suspended before the fire. 
 
 It hung low — just high enough to permit the 
 placing of a dish under it to catch the gravy. Now 
 and then George gave it a twirl so that none of its 
 sides might have reason to complain at not receiving 
 its share of the heat. The lower end roasted first. 
 Seeing which, George took the goose off, reversed it 
 and set it twirling again. After a time he sharpened 
 a sliver of wood, stuck it into the goose and ex- 
 amined the wound critically. 
 
 " SmeUs like a Christmas goose when one goes 
 through the kitchen dead hungry before dinner," said 
 Hubbard. 
 
 84 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 " Um-m-n ! " I commented. 
 
 In a little while George tried the sharp splinter 
 again. Hubbard and I watched him anxiously. White 
 juice followed the stick. Two hours had passed, and 
 the goose was done! 
 
 Events now came crowding thick and fast. First, 
 George put the steaming brown goose in his mixing 
 basin, and deftly and rapidly disjointed it with his 
 sheath knife. Meanwhile, with nervous haste, Hub- 
 bard and I had drawn our knives, and with the tia 
 basin of goose before us, all three of us plumped down 
 in a half -circle on the thick moss in the light of the 
 bright-blazing fire. Many of the rules of etiquette 
 were waived. We stood not on the order of our fall- 
 ing to, but fell to at once. We eat and we eat, at first 
 ravenously, then more slowly. With his mouth full 
 of the succulent bird, George allowed he would rather 
 have goose than caribou. " I prefer goose to any- 
 thing else," said he, and proceeded to teU us of goose 
 hunts " down the bay " and of divers big Indian 
 feasts. At length all the goose was gone but one 
 very small piece. " I'U eat that for a snack before 
 I sleep," said George, as he started to put the giblets 
 to stew for breakfast. 
 
 The fire died down until nothing remained save a 
 heap of glowing embers. For a long time we sat in 
 the darkness over an extra pot of tea. At first, 
 silence; and then, while George and I puffed com- 
 placently on our pipes, Hubbard, who never smokeds 
 
 85 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 entertained us with more of Kipling. " The Feet of 
 the Young Men " was one of his favourites, and that 
 night he put more than his usual feeling into the 
 words : 
 
 " Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds 
 
 are loose — 
 Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain; 
 Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper 
 
 of the Trues, 
 Now the Red Gods make their medicine again! 
 Who hath seen the beaver busied? Who hath watched the 
 
 black-tail mating? 
 Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry? 
 Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is 
 
 waiting. 
 Or the sea-trout's jiunping — crazy for the fly? 
 
 " He must go — go — go away from here ! 
 
 On the other side the world he's overdue. 
 'Send your road is clear before you when the old 
 Spring-fret comes o'er you 
 And the Red Gods call for you I" 
 
 Again the silence. The northern lights flashed and 
 swept in fantastic shapes across the sky, illuminat- 
 ing the fir tops in the valley and making the white 
 lichens gleam on the barren hill above us. We thought 
 of the lake ahead with its old wigwams, and the 
 promise it held out of an easy trail to Michikamau 
 made us feel sure that the worst part of our journey 
 was ended. Thus we sat supremely happy and con- 
 tent until long past midnight, when we went to our 
 tent and our bed of fragrant spruce boughs, to be 
 
 86 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 lulled asleep by the murmuring waters of the creek 
 below. 
 
 The brooks into which Goose Creek divided near 
 our camp of course would not permit of canoeing, 
 and the morning after our feast (August 4) we por- 
 taged through a swamp into the lake .that fed the 
 southerly one. We called this small body of water 
 Mountaineer Lake, because the Mountaineer Indians 
 had been there. Besides numerous cuttings and 
 the remains of wigwams, we found the ruins of a 
 drying stage where they had cured meat or fish. 
 From Goose Camp to the lake shore George carried 
 the canoe, and Hubbard and I each a pack. Then 
 while George and I returned for the remaining packs, 
 Hubbard waited by the lake. As he sat there alone, 
 a caribou waded into the water less than a hundred 
 feet away, stopped and looked fearlessly at him for 
 a few moments, and then walked leisurely off into the 
 woods. 
 
 " It seemed as if he wanted to shake hands with 
 me," Hubbard said when he told us of the incident. 
 He had to let the deer depart in peace, because both 
 rifles were back with the last loads at Goose Camp, 
 and his pistol was in his bag. Needless to say, we 
 were bitterly disappointed at losing the first deer we 
 had seen, and it taught us the lesson always to take 
 one rifle forward with the first load on a portage. 
 
 We spent the afternoon scouting in different direc- 
 tions, and discovered that the only inlet to Moun- 
 
 87 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 taineer Lake ended in a bog a mile or so up. A mile 
 or more to the westward, however, George discovered 
 another and much larger lake, which in honour of him 
 we shall call Lake Elson. An old trail led from 
 Mountaineer Lake to Lake Elson, which George pro- 
 noimced to be a caribou trail, but which Hubbard 
 believed to be an old portage, because it led from 
 lake to lake by the most direct course. There were 
 no axe cuttings, however, to indicate that the Indians 
 had followed it. 
 
 We tried the troll in Mountaineer Lake, but caught 
 nothing. Apparently there was nothing there but 
 trout, of which fish I caught eight at the inlet. I 
 shot with my pistol a muskrat that was swimming 
 in the lake, but George did not cook it, as he said 
 the flesh would be too strong at that season. It was 
 raining again and the mosquitoes were out in mil- 
 lions, but with three geese stiU on hand and a good 
 lake ahead we were indifferent to such troubles as 
 that, although our clothing was not now in a condi- 
 tion successfully to withstand much bad weather. 
 
 Rags, in fact, were beginning to appear upon us 
 all. One of Hubbard's trousers legs was ripped clear 
 down the front, and it was continually streaming 
 behiild in the wind and getting caught in the bushes 
 despite his efforts to keep it in place with pieces of 
 twine. At length he patched it with a piece of white 
 duffel, and exhibited his tailoring feat to us with 
 much pride. 
 
 88 
 
"FROM GOOSE CAMP TO LAKE SHORE * * * I CARRIED A PACK" 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 About noon on August 5, after a two-mile portage, 
 we reached Lake Elson. On the way Hubbard sighted 
 two caribou. He dropped his pack and grabbed his 
 rifle. They were 250 yards away and partially 
 hidden by the timber, and as they were approaching 
 him, he waited, believing he would get a better shot. 
 But, while he was waiting, what he called a " cussed 
 little long-legged bird " scared them off, by giving 
 a sharp, shrill cry of alarm, which the deer evidently 
 were clever enough to construe as meaning that some- 
 thing out of the ordinary was happening. 
 
 Lake Elson proved to be about three and a half 
 miles long and a half mile wide. It lay in a basin 
 surroimded by wooded hills. The northerly portion 
 was dotted with low, mound-like islands of drift, with 
 two or three irregular, rocky islands, all completely 
 wooded. It was a beautiful sheet of water, and, like 
 all the lakes in Labrador, as clear as crystal and 
 very cold. On the northerly side there were narrow 
 straits and inlets, doubtless connecting the lake with 
 others to the northwest that were hidden by the 
 growth. 
 
 The outlet was at the southern end. It flowed 
 through a pass in a low ridge of hiUs that extended 
 for a great distance east and west, and emptied into 
 a small lake, the waters of which were discharged 
 through a creek that flowed through a pass in another 
 low ridge that ran parallel with the first as far as we 
 could see. Between the two ridges was a marsh that 
 
 89 
 
THE LURE DF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 extended westward for many miles. The ridges a,nd 
 the hills surrounding the lakes were covered with 
 spruce and balsam. Nowhere along our route smce 
 we left Northwest River Post, however, had we seen 
 any timber of commercial value ; the largest trees did 
 not exceed eight inches in diameter, the generality 
 being much smaller. 
 
 We were somewhat disconcerted upon finding no 
 further signs of Indians, and feared we had lost the 
 trail. Neither trapper's blaze nor trapper's cutting 
 was to be seen; for now we were beyond their zone 
 and in a country that apparently no white man and 
 no breed had ever viewed. We selected a site for 
 our camp near the outlet at the southern end of the 
 lake. In the afternoon Hubbard and George went 
 to some bluffs that could be seen two or three miles 
 to the southward, to scout for a route to Michikamau 
 and find the Indian trail if possible. I remained 
 behind to make camp. 
 
 The days were now shortening rapidly ; it was dark 
 before eight o'clock. In the grey of the twilight 
 George returned. When he hailed me, I was fishing in 
 the outlet just below the camp, standing on a rock in 
 midstream to which I had waded. 
 
 " Come 'long up to camp," he called. Once in 
 the wilderness, we made no distinctions as to master 
 and servant; we were all companions together. 
 Hence George's familiar manner of address. 
 
 " When I land two more trout," I shouted back. 
 90 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 " You've got enough ; come 'long now," he pleaded. 
 
 There was that in his tone that excited my curi- 
 osity; he seemed aU of a sudden to have acquired 
 an unusual fondness for my society. "What's the 
 matter, George?" I asked. 
 
 "I've been about lost," he returned. "Come on 
 and I'll tell you." 
 
 I was astonished. I had seen George drop a pack 
 in the bush, where everything for miles around looked 
 alike to me, and without marking the spot or appar- 
 ently taking note of any guiding signs, he would go 
 directly to it again. I was with him one pitch-dark 
 night when he left a pack among alders and willows 
 in the depth of a marsh, and in the morning he went 
 back two miles straight to the very spot. How a man 
 that could do this could get lost was beyond my under- 
 standing. I hurried up to camp. 
 
 " How did it happen, George .^ " I asked. 
 
 " I just got turned 'round," he replied. " I didn't 
 have any grub, and I didn't have a pistol, or a fish- 
 hook, or any way to get grub, and I didn't have a 
 compass, and I was scared." 
 
 "But don't you know how you got lost?" I 
 persisted. 
 
 "No, I don't," said George. *'I just got lost. 
 But I found myself pretty quick. I never got lost 
 before." 
 
 The only way I could account for it was that he 
 had permitted his thoughts to wander. I asked him 
 
 91 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 what he would have done if he had not been able to 
 find his way back. 
 
 " Gone to the highest hill I could see," he answered 
 with a grin, "and made the biggest smoke I could 
 make at its top, and waited for you f ellus to find me. 
 
 While we were talking George was busily engaged 
 in making the fire, putting a goose to boil and pre- 
 paring water for tea. The twilight deepened, and 
 ere we reahsed it darkness had come. Every moment 
 we expected to hear Hubbard, but he did not appear. 
 
 "Another man lost," said I, with a forced light- 
 ness that illy concealed the anxiety George and I 
 both felt ; we knew that Hubbard not only had nothing 
 to eat, but no matches to make a fire. 
 
 Frequently we stopped our work and talk, to peer 
 into the gathering night and listen for the breaking 
 of a twig. At length I took my rifle and fired at 
 intervals half a dozen shots ; but the reports echoed 
 and died away without a reply. A damp north wind 
 chilled the air, and the gloom seemed particularly 
 oppressive. 
 
 " Hubbard will have a hard night out there in the 
 bush," said George. 
 
 " Yes," I repHed ; " I don't suppose we can expect 
 him back now before morning; and when a man is 
 lost in this wild country it's pretty hard to find a 
 little tent all by itself." 
 
 I was thinking of my own experience farther back, 
 and what might happen should Hubbard fail to find 
 
 92 
 
SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL 
 
 us or we him. He was not so fortunate as I had 
 been, in that there was no river to guide his return. 
 However, at five o'clock in the morning he appeared. 
 He had spent a miserable night on a ridge two miles 
 to the southward, wet and shivering, with no fire, 
 and tormented by mosquitoes. He reported that 
 from the ridge he could hear the roar of a rapid. 
 Darkness had prevented him from going on, and he 
 had not seen the rapid, but he was sure it was a part 
 of a big river. 
 
 At first he was loath to admit he had been lost, 
 doubtless remembering how he and George had 
 " guyed " me when I had been out all night and 
 my prediction that his turn would come ; but when 
 George confessed to having gone astray also, he made 
 a clean breast of it, telling us he was " lost good 
 and plenty, and scared some, too." Now I had my 
 innings, and I must confess I took great delight in 
 returning some of the chaff they had given me. 
 
 Hubbard decreed, in consequence of these experi- 
 ences — getting lost — that thereafter each man at all 
 times should have on his person an emergency kit, 
 to consist of matches, a piece of fish line, some hooks 
 and two or three flies, enclosed in a film box water- 
 proofed with electrician's tape. 
 
 We remained in our camp on Lake Elson for two 
 days in order to scout and dry fish. It was the best 
 fishing place we had yet come to. During our stay 
 we had all the trout we could eat, and we dried and 
 
 93 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 smoked forty-five large ones. The scouting proved 
 that Hubbard's "big river" was an important dis- 
 covery. It lay two miles to the south of us, flowing 
 to the southeast. Hubbard sent Greorge to look at it, 
 and he reported that it certainly came from large 
 lakes, as it was big, deep and straight. Could it 
 come from Lake Michikamau .'' 
 
 While George was away Hubbard and I took a 
 trip in the canoe aroimd the lake and through some 
 inlets. At the northeast we discovered a creek flow- 
 ing into the lake, and as there were some old Indian 
 wigwams and cuttings near it, indicating the possi- 
 bility of its being part of a trail, we seriously con- 
 sidered the advisability of following it up. From a 
 knoU near by we could see to the northwest other lakes 
 into which the creek might possibly lead us ; but, after 
 returning to camp, we considered the situation fully 
 in the light of George's report of the big river, and 
 we decided that to the big river we should go. 
 
 This decision was not to prove an error of judg- 
 ment; for the big river was none other than the 
 Beaver — an important part of an old trail of the 
 Indians to Lake Michikamau. 
 
 94 
 
VII 
 DN 'A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 WE broke camp in the forenoon of August 
 7th, and a few hours later, after making 
 two trips back and forth, we arrived 
 with our baggage on the bank of our 
 new river. At last we had a real river to travel on, 
 its average width being between 100 and 150 yards. 
 None of us, of course, then knew that our real- river 
 was the Beaver, and that in taking to it we had 
 stumbled upon an old Indian route to Lake Michi- 
 kamau. If we had kiiown this, it would have made a 
 great difference in our fortunes. 
 
 Immediately below the point where we portaged 
 into the river, wooded ridges on either side hugged it 
 close, forming a narrow vaUey. Just above us the 
 valley broadened, and a mile or so up a big hill reared 
 its barren summit above the black spruce trees at its 
 base, standing there like a lonely sentinel among the 
 little hills that bordered the widening river basin. 
 Despite the fact that we had reached a real river, we 
 still had rapids to encounter, and we had to make so 
 many short portages that after we had ascended the 
 river two miles it was time to camp. 
 
 96 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 We pitched our tent on a rising plateau just below 
 a stretch of rushing water. As soon as we stopped, 
 Hubbard tried to fish, and while I made camp he landed 
 fifteen trout averaging nearly half a pound each. 
 They were most welcome, as the time had come when 
 we had to live off the country. Our bread ration W!»» 
 now cut '^own to one-third of a loaf a day for each 
 wan. As we had no lard, it was made simply of flour, 
 baking powder, and water. It was baked in our fry- 
 ing pan, and a loaf was about eight inches in dia- 
 meter and one inch thick, so that our daily ration 
 was but a morsel. We also decided that from now 
 on we should use pea meal only on rare occasions, and 
 to reserve our other provisions, with the exception of 
 a few dried apples, tea, coffee and a little chocolate 
 and cocoa, to give us a start should we at any time 
 find it necessary to make a sudden dash for the Post. 
 
 Our clothing was rapidly disintegrating. The 
 front of Hubbard's trouser leg was all torn open 
 again, and once more he had to resort to pieces of 
 twine. We had frequent discussions at this period 
 as to whose appearance was the most beautiful. For 
 a time Hubbard and I would claim the distinction 
 each for himself, but it usually ended by our conced- 
 ing the distinction to George. As a matter of fact, 
 with our unkempt hair and beards and our rags, we 
 now formed as tough looking a party of tramps as 
 ever " came down the pike." That night in camp I 
 cut up my canvas leggings and used pieces of the can- 
 
 96 "^ 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 vas to rebottom my moccasins, sewing it on with shoe- 
 maker's thread. 
 
 It was a glorious evening. A big moon rising over 
 the bluffs beyond us transformed the river into a sil- 
 very thread stretching far down through the dark 
 valley. Behind us the black spruce forest made our 
 roaring fife seem more cheerful in contrast. A cold 
 east wind had driven away the flies and the mosquitoes. 
 Supper eaten, our cup of contentment was full to the 
 brim. After aU, the wilderness was not so inhospit- 
 able. Who would be anywhere else, if he could.'' 
 Not one of us. 
 
 With the sensation that we were the only people 
 in Labrador, a fancy struck me and I suggested to 
 my companions that we ought to organise some sort 
 of government. 
 
 " We'll make you, Hubbard," I said, " the head of 
 the nation and call you the Great Mogul. Of course 
 you will be commander-in-chief of the army and navy 
 and have unlimited power. We're your subjects." 
 
 " I suspect," rephed Hubbard, " you are looking 
 for a pohtical job. However, I, of course, stand 
 ready, like our politicians at home, to serve the 
 country when duty calls — ^if there's enough in it. 
 As the Great Mogul of Labrador, I appoint you, 
 Wallace, Chief Justice and also Secretary of State. 
 George I shall appoint Admiral of the Navy." 
 
 " Where are my ships ? " asked George. 
 
 " Ships ! " exclaimed Hubbard. " Well, there will 
 97 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 be only one for the present. But she's a good 
 staunch one — eighteen feet long, with a beam of 
 thirty-three and a half inches. And she carries two 
 quick-fire rifles." 
 
 With these and other conceits we whiled away the 
 beautiful evening hours. What a difference there 
 was in the morning! We awoke — it was Saturday, 
 August 8 — to find that the east wind had increased 
 in force and was accompanied by a driving, chiUing 
 rain. Reluctantly we broke camp, and began a day 
 of back-breaking, disheartening work. The wind 
 soughed dismally through the forests, and it was as 
 though late autumn had overtaken us in a night. 
 The spruce boughs, watersoaked, seemed to hang low 
 for no other purpose than to strike us in the face at 
 every step, and the willows and alders along the river 
 that now and again obstructed our way appeared to 
 be thicker and wetter than ever. 
 
 Under these conditions we had made six portages, 
 the longest of which was about three-quarters of a 
 mile, and covered in aU about four and a half miles, 
 when one o'clock came and we gave up the fight for the 
 day, to make our Sunday camp and try to get fish. 
 We were ravenously hungry, and ate even the heads 
 of the dried trout we had for luncheon, these being 
 the last of those we caught and smoked on Lake Elson. 
 During the afternoon we put out for the first time the 
 old giU net Mackenzie had given us, and by hard work 
 with the rod caught a few more trout for supper. 
 
 98 
 
ON A Real river at last 
 
 It still poured on Sunday morning. Hubbard 
 fished all day, and I the greater part of the forenoon. 
 The net product of our labor was forty-five trout, 
 most of them little fellows. The gill net yielded us 
 nothing. In the afternoon George and I took the 
 rifles and started out in diff^erent directions to look 
 for caribou. Neither of us found any fresh tracks. 
 I returned at dusk, to find George already in camp 
 and our supper of boiled fish ready to be eaten. Our 
 sugar was all gone by this time, and our supply of 
 salt was so low that we were using hardly any. In 
 spite of us the salt had been wet in the drenching 
 rains we had encountered all up the Susan Valley, 
 and a large part of it had dissolved. 
 
 While we all craved sugar and other sweets, I 
 believe Hubbard suffered the most from their absence. 
 Perhaps the fact that George and I used tobacco and 
 he did not, was the explanation. He was continually 
 discussing the merits of various kinds of cake, candies, 
 and sweet things generally. Our conversation too 
 often turned to New York restaurants, and how he 
 would visit various ones of them for particular dishes. 
 Bread undoubtedly was what we craved the most, " I 
 believe I'll never refuse bread again," Hubbard would 
 say, " so long as there's a bit on the table." 
 
 Monday (August 10) brought with it no abate- 
 ment of the driving rain and cold east wind. Work- 
 ing industriously for half an hour before breakfast, 
 Hubbard succeeded in landing a single small trout, 
 
 99 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WttD 
 
 which fell to me, while he and George ate thick pea 
 meal porridge, of which they were very fond. Vve 
 made several short portages during the morning, and, 
 despite the dismal weather, our spirits brightened; tor 
 we came upon old vrigwam poles and axe cuttings, 
 which we accepted as proof that we were now surely 
 on the Indian trail to Michikamau. Towards noon 
 Hubbard said: 
 
 " Well, boys, we're on the right road, we've covered 
 three miles this morning, and this rain is killing, so 
 we'll pitch camp now, and wait for the weather to 
 clear and try to get some fish ahead. There are fish 
 here, I know, and when the wind changes we'll get 
 them." 
 
 After warming ourselves by a big fire and eating 
 luncheon, Hubbard and I took our rods and fished 
 the greater part of the afternoon, catching between 
 us twelve or fifteen trout. 
 
 " You had better cook them all for supper, George," 
 said Hubbard. " This is my mother's birthday, and 
 in honour of it we'U have an extra loaf of bread and 
 some of her dried apples. And I tell you what, boys, 
 I wish I could see her now." 
 
 On the following day (Tuesday, August 11) the 
 weather had somewhat moderated, but the east wind 
 continued, and the rain still fell during all the fore- 
 noon. We could get no fish at our camp, and at two 
 in the afternoon started forward, aU of us hungry 
 and steadily growing hungrier. Hubbard whipped 
 
 100 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 the water at the foot of every rapid and tried every 
 pool, but succeeded in getting only a very few trout. 
 While he fished, George and I made the portages, and 
 thus, pushing on as rapidly as possible, we covered 
 about four miles. 
 
 While George and I were scouting on Sunday, we 
 had each caught sight of a ridge of rocky mountains 
 extending in a northerly and southerly direction, 
 which we estimated to be from twenty to twenty-five 
 miles to the westward. Previous to Tuesday, these 
 mountains had not been visible from the river vaUey, 
 but on that day they suddenly came into view, and 
 they made us stop and think, for they lay directly 
 across our course. However, we did not feel much 
 uneasiness then, as we decided that our river must 
 flow through a pass in the mountains far to the north, 
 and follow them down before turning east. 
 
 Our camp on Tuesday night was rather a dreary 
 one; but before noon on Wednesday (August 12) 
 the clouds broke, big patches of blue sky began 
 to appear, and with a bit of sunshine now and 
 again, our hearts lightened as we proceeded on our 
 journey. 
 
 At the foot of a half-mile portage Hubbard caught 
 fourteen trout, and our luncheon was secure. Three 
 more portages we made, covering in all about three 
 miles, and then we shouted for joy, for there ahead 
 of us lay open water. Along it for five miles we gaily 
 canoed before stopping for luncheon. Hungry .!" 
 
 101 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 Yes, we were hungry even after devouring the four- 
 teen trout and drinking the water they were boiled 
 in — I could have eaten fifty like them myself — but 
 our spirits were high, and we made merry. For the 
 first time since leaving Grand Lake there was good 
 water behind us and good water before us. 
 
 At the last rapid we portaged the country had 
 flattened out. Wide marshes extended along the 
 south bank of the river, with now and then a low 
 hill of drift. The north side was followed by a low 
 ridge of drift, well wooded. We landed for luncheon 
 on the south bank, at the foot of a wooded knoU, and 
 there we made an interesting discovery, namely, the 
 remains of an old Indian camp and the ruins of two 
 large birch-bark canoes. In November, at Northwest 
 River Post, I heard the story of those canoes. 
 
 Twelve years before, it appears, the band of Indians 
 that had camped there, being overtaken by early ice, 
 was forced to abandon its canoes and make a dash for 
 the Post. Game was scarce, and the fish had gone to 
 deeper waters. The Indians pushed desperately on 
 overland, but one by one they fell, until at last the 
 gaunt fiend. Starvation, had claimed them all. Since 
 that time no Indian has ever travelled that trail — ^the 
 route to Michikamau upon which we had stumbled 
 was thereupon abandoned. The Indians believe the 
 trail is not only unlucky, but haunted ; that if while on 
 it they should escape Starvation — ^that terrible enemy 
 which nearly always dogs them so closely — they are 
 
 102 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 likely to encounter the spirits of them that died so 
 many years ago. 
 
 Not knowing anything of this tragic story, we 
 merrily ate our luncheon on the very spot where others 
 in desperation had faced death. It was to us an old 
 Indian camp, and an additional reason for believing 
 we were on the right trail, that was all. While we 
 ate, the sun came out brilliantly, and we resumed our 
 paddling feeling ready for almost anything that 
 might happen. And something soon did happen — 
 something that made the day the most memorable so 
 far of the trip. 
 
 No rapids intercepted our progress, and in an hour 
 we had paddled three miles, when, at a place where the 
 river widened, a big woodland stag caribou suddenly 
 splashed into the water from the northern shore, two 
 hundred yards ahead. I seized my rifle, and, without 
 waiting for the canoe to stop, fired. The bullet went 
 high. The caribou raised his head and looked at us 
 inquisitively. Then Hubbard fired, and with the 
 dying away of the report of his rifle, George and I 
 shouted : " You hit 'im, Hubbard ; you've got 'im ! " 
 The wounded caribou sank half way to his knees, but 
 struggled to his feet again. As he did so, Hubbard 
 sent another shot at him, but missed. Slowly the big 
 deer turned, and began to struggle up the bank. 
 Again Hubbard and I fired, but both shots went low. 
 
 We ran the canoe to shore, and while I made it fast, 
 Hubbard and George ran breathlessly ahead to where 
 
 103 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 the caribou had disappeared. I followed at once, and 
 soon came upon them and the caribou, which had 
 fallen thirty yards from the river with a bullet hole 
 through his body just back of the left shoulder. A 
 trail of blood marked his path from the river to where 
 he lay. As the animal floundered there in the moss, 
 Hubbard, with the nervous impetuosity he frequently 
 displayed, fired again against George's protest, the 
 bullet entering the caribou's neck and passing down 
 through his tongue the full length. Then George 
 caught the thrashing animal by the antlers, and while 
 he held its head down Hubbard cut its throat. 
 
 We made our camp right where the caribou fell. 
 It was an ideal spot on the high bank above the river, 
 being flat and thickly covered with white moss. The 
 banks at this point were all sand drift; we could not 
 find a stone large enough to whet our knives. George 
 made a stage for drying while Hubbard and I dressed 
 the deer. Our work finished, we all sat down and 
 roasted steaks on sticks and drank cofi^ee. The knowl- 
 edge that we were now assured of a good stock of 
 dried meat, of course, added to the hilarity of the 
 feast. As we thought it best to hoard our morsel of 
 flour, it was a feast of venison and venison alone. 
 
 While waiting for our meat to dry, we had to 
 remain in camp for three or four days. On the next 
 afternoon (Thursdaiy, August 13) Hubbard and I 
 paddled about three miles up the river to look for 
 fish, but we got no bites, probably because of the 
 
 104 
 
Wallace George 
 
 "A BIG WOODLAND STAG CARIBOU" 
 
i.W 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 cold ; in the morning there had been a fringe of ice on 
 the river shore. 
 
 " We'll take it easy," said Hubbard while we were 
 paddling upstream, "and make a little picnic of it. 
 I'm dead tired myself. How do you feel, Wallace? " 
 
 " I feel tired, too," I said. " I have to make an 
 extra effort to do any work at all." 
 
 Hubbard was inclined to attribute this tired feeling 
 to the freedom from strain after our nerve-racking 
 work of the last few weeks, while I hazarded the 
 opinion that our purely meat diet had made us lazy. 
 Probably it was due to both causes. 
 
 As Hubbard was anxious to obtain definite knowl- 
 edge as to what effect the high ridge of rocky moun- 
 tains had upon our river, George and I, with the 
 object of ascertaining the river's course, left camp 
 in the canoe on Friday morning (August 14), taking 
 with us, in addition to our emergency kits, our cups, 
 some tea, and enough caribou ribs for luncheon. We 
 portaged around a few short rapids, and then, about 
 eight miles above our camp, came upon a lake expan- 
 sion of considerable size with many inlets. On the 
 northerly side of the lake was a high, barren hiU, which 
 afforded us a splendid view of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 Winding away to the southeast was the river we had 
 ascended. To the west was a series of lake expan- 
 sions connected by narrow straits, and beyond them 
 were the mountains, which we estimated rose about 
 
 105 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 2,500 feet above the country at their base. In 
 sheltered places on their sides, patches of ice and snow 
 glistened in the sunshine. Barren ahnost to their 
 base, not a vestige of vegetation to be seen anjwhere 
 on their tops or sides, they presented a scene of 
 desolate grandeur, standing out against the blue sky 
 Hke a grim barrier placed there to guard the land 
 beyond. As I gazed upon them, some lines from 
 Kiphng's " Explorer " that I had often heard Hub- 
 bard repeat were brought forcibly to my mind: 
 
 "Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind 
 the Ranges — 
 Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for 
 you. Go!" 
 
 Let us call these ranges the Kipling Mountains. 
 
 To the north, hiU after hill, with bald top rising 
 above the stunted trees on its sides, limited our range 
 of vision. Far away to the south stretched a rolling, 
 wooded country. To the eastward, the country was 
 flatter, with irregular ranges of low hills, all covered 
 with a thick growth of spruce and fir balsam. Beyond 
 the point where the water flowed from it southeasterly 
 into the river we had ascended, the lake at the foot 
 of our hill seemed to extend directly eastward for four 
 or five miles; but the thick wood of the valleys and 
 low-lying hills made it difficult to see just where it 
 ended, so that from where we stood it was impossible to 
 teU what course the river took — ^whether it came from 
 the east, bending about in the lake expansion below us, 
 
 106 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 or flowed from the west through the lake expansions 
 beyond. Away off to the northeast an apparently 
 large lake could be discerned, with numerous mound- 
 like islands dotting its surface. 
 
 For a long time we stood and gazed about us. Far 
 to the southeast a tiny curl of smoke rose heaven- 
 ward in the clear atmosphere. That was Hubbard's 
 campfire — the only sign of life to be seen in aU that 
 wide wilderness. The scene was impressive beyond de- 
 scription. It gave me a peculiar feeling of solemnity 
 and awe that I shall never forget. 
 
 We found on our hiU a few dead twigs of sub- 
 Arctic shrubbery with which to make a fire to broil 
 our caribou ribs, and gathered some mildly acid ber- 
 ries of a variety neither of us had ever seen before, 
 which we ate as a dessert. After luncheon George 
 said he thought we had better go to the westward to 
 look for the river. 
 
 " But how can it come through those mountains? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I don't know as it can," he replied. " But," 
 pointing to one of the range, " I want to take a look 
 at the country beyond from that high mountain." 
 
 So we returned to our canoe, and paddled to the 
 westward a few miles through two lake expansions, 
 which brought us to the foot of the mountains. We 
 landed at a place where a small creek tumbled down 
 through a rocky pass. George went up his mountain 
 alone. During his absence, with my emergency kit, I 
 
 107 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 caught ten six-inch trout to be divided between us 
 for supper, as only two of our caribou ribs remained. 
 Near dark George came back. After climbing half 
 way to the summit of his mountain, he had en- 
 countered perpendicular walls of rock that blocked 
 his further progress. 
 
 We made a fire of old wigwam poles, and roasted 
 our fish before it on a flat stone. A quart of hot tea 
 between us washed down our meagre supper, and then 
 we made a bed of boughs. But when we tried to sleep 
 the icy wind that blew through the pass caused us to 
 draw closer to the fire, before which we alternately 
 sat and lay shivering throughout the night. Having 
 brought no axe with us, we could not build a fire of 
 any size. I do not believe either of us slept more than 
 half an hour. 
 
 " Which would you rather have, Wallace, a piece 
 of bread or a blanket? " George would ask at fre- 
 quent intervals. 
 
 " Bread," I always answered. At that he would 
 chuckle. We had tasted nothing but venison and fish 
 since the day we killed the caribou, and for bread we 
 had an inexpressible craving. 
 
 "Anyway," George would say, "this cold will 
 weaken the flies." And with this reflection he con- 
 tinued to comfort us as the nights became chiUier. 
 
 In the morning we had to break the ice to get water 
 for our tea, which with the two remaining caribou 
 ribs constituted our breakfast. George then made 
 
 108 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 another attempt at his mountain. Again he failed 
 to reach the summit, and I failed to induce any more 
 trout to rise. In a somewhat despondent mood ^e 
 turned back, and paddled for some distance into the 
 lake expansions to the eastward of the point where 
 our river flowed out. Although we were compelled 
 to start for " home " before obtaining any definite 
 knowledge of the course of the river, we were of the 
 opinion that it came from the east. For all we knew, 
 however, the river might end in those lake expansions ; 
 we could not teU, as no current could be discerned, 
 and having no food we could not continue the search. 
 
 It was five o'clock in the evening when we reached 
 camp, tired out and as hungry as two wolves, and we 
 astonished Hubbard with the amount of venison we 
 put out of sight. While George was temporarily out 
 of hearing, Hubbard said: 
 
 " It's buUy good to see you back again, Wallace. 
 I was disappointed when you didn't come back last 
 night, and I've been dead lonesome. I got thinking 
 of my wife and home, and the good things to eat 
 there, and was on the verge of homesickness." 
 
 " We were mightily disappointed, too, at not get- 
 ting back," said I between mouthfuls. " Up there 
 on the lakes we put in the toughest night yet, and we 
 were thinking of the venison and warm blankets down 
 here at camp." 
 
 Hubbard was much discouraged and depressed at 
 our report of the uncertain course of the river, 
 
 109 
 
THE LURE OP THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 although he was carsful to conceal his feelings from 
 George. 
 
 The next day (Sunday, August 16) we cut up our 
 canvas guncases and used some of the material to re- 
 bottom our moccasins. What was left over we put 
 away carefully for future use. George cracked the 
 caribou bones and boiled out the marrow grease. He 
 stripped the fat from the entrails and tried out the 
 tallow, preserving even the cracklings or scraps. 
 " We'll be glad to eat 'em yet," said he. One of the 
 hoofs he dressed and put with our store of meat. We 
 preserved everything but the head, the entrails and 
 three of the hoofs. The tallow we found an excellent 
 substitute for lard. 
 
 In the afternoon Hubbard and I caught thirty 
 trout in an hour at the rapid a mile and a half above 
 our camp, and a few more in the river close by the 
 camp. High living during the day raised all of our 
 spirits. For breakfast we had the caribou heart, 
 which George thought at first he would roast but 
 changed his mind and served stewed. For dinner we 
 had the tongue, the tidbit of the animal, boiled with 
 pieces of other parts. Hubbard's second bullet had 
 torn out the centre of the tongue, but what there was 
 of it was delicious. And at night we had the trout 
 caught during the afternoon, to which, as a Sunday 
 luxury, was added a cake of bread. 
 
 When we gathered around the fire in the evening, 
 Hubbard had entirely recovered from his depression 
 
 110 
 
ON A REAL RIVER AT LAST 
 
 and took a more hopeful view of the river. We dis- 
 cussed the matter thoroughly, and decided that the 
 river George and I had seen coming from the east- 
 ward must take a turn farther north and break 
 through the Kipling Mountains, and that it might • 
 prove to be Low's Northwest River we aU thought 
 was possible. 
 
 At the same time we could not disguise the fact 
 that it was extremely probable we should have to 
 portage over the mountains, and the prospect was 
 far from pleasing; but, ragged and almost bare- 
 footed though we were, not a man thought of turn- 
 ing back, and on Monday morning, August 17th, we 
 prepared to leave Camp Caribou and solve the prob- 
 lem as to where lay the trail of Michikamau. 
 
 in 
 
VIII 
 "MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 THE temperature was three degrees below 
 freezing when grey dawn at half past four 
 o'clock that Monday morning bid us up and 
 on. The crisp air and the surpassing beauty 
 of the morning stirred within us new hope and renewed 
 ambition. And the bags of jerked venison and the 
 grease gave us faith that we should succeed in reach- 
 ing our goal. Though we had some food in stock, 
 there was to be no cessation in our effort to get fish ; 
 our plan was for Hubbard to try his rod at the foot 
 of every rapid while George and I did the portaging. 
 
 Before midday Hubbard had forty trout, one of \ 
 them sixteen inches long — the biggest we had caught 
 yet. We stopped for luncheon on the sandy shore of 
 a pretty little lake expansion, and ate the whole 
 morning's catch, fried in caribou tallow, with un- 
 sweetened coffee to wash it down. Then on we 
 pushed towards the Kipling Mountains. At a nar- 
 row strait between two lakes we left Hubbard to fish, 
 George and I going on two miles farther to the place 
 where we had spent that chilly night while scouting, 
 and where our camp for this night was to be pitched. 
 Our object in going there was to give G«orge 
 
 in 
 
HUBBARD, "RAGGED AND ALMOST BAREFOOTED' 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 another chance to view the country on the other side 
 of the mountain range. This time he was to try 
 another peak. As he disappeared up the mountain 
 side, I paddled back to get Hubbard, who was await- 
 ing me with a good string of big trout. The two- 
 mile stretch of lake from where Hubbard was fishing 
 to our camping ground was as smooth as a sheet of 
 glass. The sun hanging low over the mountains and 
 reflecting their nude forms in the silvery water, and 
 the dark green forest of fir trees on the shores moved 
 Hubbard to exclamations of delight. 
 
 " Oh, if it could be painted just as it appears 
 now!" he said. "Why, Wallace, this one scene is 
 worth all the groaning we've done to get here. It's 
 grand ! grand ! " 
 
 At dark George returned to camp with the report 
 that from his peak he could see only higher moun- 
 tains looming up to the westward. In the shadow 
 of the grey rocks of the grim old mountains that so 
 stubbornly held their secret of what lay beyond, we 
 had a good supper of trout and were happy, though 
 through the gulch the creek roared defiance at us, 
 and off in the night somewhere a loon would break 
 out at intervals in derisive laughter. At the base 
 of the mountains the narrow lake reflected a million 
 stars, and in their kindly light the snow and ice 
 patches on the slopes above us gleamed white and 
 brilliant. 
 
 With our day's work the listlessness from which 
 
 113 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 we had recently suffered had entirely disappeared, 
 and we felt ready to undertake any task, the more 
 difficult the better. Hubbard suggested giving up 
 route hunting if our river ended where we then were, 
 and striking right across the mountains with our 
 outfit on our backs, and we received the suggestion 
 with enthusiasm. He talked, too, a great deal about 
 snowshoeing in winter to St. Augustine on the St. 
 Lawrence, cutting across country from the Kenemish 
 River, which flows into Groswater Bay opposite North- 
 west River Post. This trip, which he held out as a 
 possibility in the event of our missing the last steamer 
 out from Rigolet, seemed to appeal to him immensely. 
 
 " I don't care if we are too late for the steamer," 
 he said ; " that snowshoeing trip would be a great 
 stunt." 
 
 We found a great many wigwam poles near and in 
 the pass hard by our camp, while by the creek we came 
 across the remains of both summer and winter camps, 
 probably those of hunters. " One of the beggars was 
 high-toned," said George; "he had a stove." This 
 was evidenced by the arrangement of stones within 
 the circle of wigwam poles, and a few pieces of wood 
 cut stove-size. 
 
 On Tuesday morning (August 18) we turned back 
 and into the long, narrow lake expansions to the east- 
 ward, and soon satisfied ourselves that this was the 
 right course. Our thermometer registered 28 degrees 
 that morning. The day dawned clear and perfect; 
 
 114- 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 it was a morning when one draws in long breaths, 
 and one's nerves tingle, and life is a joy. Early in 
 the forenoon we reached rapids and quickly portaged 
 around them ; aU were short, the largest being not 
 more than half a mile. At ten o'clock we ate luncheon 
 at the foot of one of the rapids where we caught, in a 
 few minutes, fourteen large trout. Just above this 
 rapid the river opened into long, narrow lakes, and 
 the canoeing was superb. Suddenly the river took a 
 sharp turn to the westward, and appeared to lead 
 directly into the mountains. At that we sent up 
 three rousing cheers — the river problem seemed to be 
 solved; apparently the road to Michikamau lay. 
 straight before us. 
 
 A little above the bend in the river we came upon 
 an old gander and goose and two unfeathered young. 
 The gander With a great squawk and flapping wings 
 took to the bush, but we killed the old goose with a 
 rifle, and George "knocked over," as he expressed 
 it, one of the young ones with a pistol. More luck 
 (and food) came to us a little later. \Vhile George 
 and I portaged around the last rapid that evening, 
 Hubbard caught fifty trout averaging over a pound 
 each. They jumped greedily to the fly, four or five 
 rising at every cast. 
 
 Above this rapid the river again took the form of 
 a long, narrow lake — a lake so beautiful that we were 
 entranced. It was evening when we arrived, and the 
 very spirit of peace seemed to brood over the place. 
 
 115 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WII-D 
 
 Undoubtedly we were the ■ first white men that had 
 ever invaded its solitude, and the first human beings 
 of any kind to disturb its repose for many years. On 
 the north a barren, rocky bluif rose high above the 
 water; at all other places the shores were low and 
 wooded. A few miles to the westward could be seen 
 the barren Kipling Mountains, and between them and 
 us was a ridge of low hills covered with black-green 
 spruce. The sun was setting in our faces as we 
 paddled slowly along the lake, and as it went down 
 behind the mountains a veil was gradually drawn over 
 the lovely scene. Not a breath of air was stirring, 
 and hardly a sound broke the stillness save the ripple 
 at the bow of the canoe and the soft splash of the 
 paddles. In the placid waters two otters were swim- 
 ming and diving. One was timid and remained at a 
 distance, but the other was bold and inquisitive and 
 came close to the canoe. Here and there all over the 
 lake, its mirror-like surface was broken by big jump- 
 ing trout. Two loons laughed at us as we drew the 
 canoe on to the sandy beach of a low jutting point, 
 and they continued to laugh while we pitched our 
 camp in the green woods near the shore and prepared 
 our supper of roast goose. It was a feast day. 
 With goose, plenty of trout and good water for pad- 
 dling, it was a time to eat, drink, and be merry. 
 
 Our high spirits still remained when we broke camp 
 in the morning (Wednesday, August 19), but they 
 were destined soon to be dashed. Not long after we 
 
 116 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 started we found ourselves in good-sized lakes, with 
 arms extending in every direction. All day we hunted 
 for the river, but found only small streams emptying 
 into the lakes. The country now was much rougher, 
 and much more rocky and barren, than any we had 
 seen since we left the coast. The trees were more 
 stunted and gnarled, and the streams usually had a 
 bed-rock bottom. In the course of the day Hub- 
 bard shot three rock ptarmigans — " rockers," George 
 called them. They were the first we had seen, and 
 were still wearing their mottled summer dress ; later in 
 the season they are a pure, spotless white. Towards 
 evening we made our way to a point on the north- 
 westerly part of the lakes where a small stream 
 came through a mountain pass, and there went into 
 camp. 
 
 We were much disappointed at our failure to find 
 the river, but not disheartened. In order to make 
 certain that we had not overlooked it, we decided to 
 paddle back the next day as far as the last rapid 
 and make one more careful search. Failing then to 
 find the river, we should portage through the moun- 
 tain pass at the entrance to which we had camped. 
 
 " Do you remember," asked Hubbard, " the slogan 
 of the old Pike's Peakers?— ' Pike's Peak or Bust.? ' " 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " and very often they busted." 
 
 " WeU," said Hubbard, " we'll adopt it and change 
 it to our needs. ' Michikamau or Bust,' will be oiir 
 watchword now." 
 
 117 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILJ) 
 
 And sitting around the fire, we all took it up and 
 repeated determinedly, " Jlichikamau or Bust!" 
 
 The morning of the next day (Thursday, August 
 20) we occupied in mending our moccasins with parts 
 of the caribou skin. Greorge also took the venison 
 from the bags and hung it over the fire to give it a 
 little more drying, as it had begun to mould. In 
 the afternoon Hubbard and I, in accordance with 
 the plan we had adopted, paddled back over our 
 course and re-explored the lower lakes. We dis- 
 covered nothing new. The fact was that these lakes 
 were the source of the Beaver River. 
 
 While we were paddling about we came upon two 
 old and two young loons. The old ones tried to lure 
 us away from their young, by coming very near the 
 canoe. The young loons made frequent dives, but 
 we succeeded in catching one of them. Finally, how- 
 ever, we restored it to its parents, and when the loon 
 family was re-united there was great rejoicing in the 
 household. In the pool at the foot of the last rapid 
 we spent an hour fishing, and caught eighty-one trout, 
 averaging, perhaps, a half-pound each. Upon our 
 return to camp in the evening we dressed our catch 
 and hung the fish to dry over a slow, smoky fire. 
 
 The river having come to an end, our only course 
 now was to cross the moimtains, and on Friday 
 (August 21), with "ilichikaman or Bust!" for our 
 slogan, we began our portage along the stream that 
 flowed through the pass near our camp. A heavy 
 
 118 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 rain was falling. During the first part of the day, 
 in the course of which we crossed three small ponds, 
 the travelling was fairly good ; but during the latter 
 part it was exceedingly rough and difficult. We 
 pitched our tent that night on the divide; in other 
 words, we had reached the place where small streams 
 flowed both east and west. 
 
 The cold rain continued when we broke camp the 
 next morning (Saturday, August 22). For a time 
 we again encountered rough work, forcing a passage 
 over rocks and through thick brush and scrambling 
 down high banks, and then, as we neared the end of 
 the pass, the portage became less difficult. Before 
 noon we came upon a lake of considerable size and 
 unmistakable signs that in directing our course 
 through the pass we had kept upon the old Indian 
 trail. On the edge of the lake — we shall call it Lake 
 Hope — trees had been blazed to make plain the exact 
 point where the portage trail left the water, and near 
 this place were sweat holes where the medicine men 
 had given baths to the sick. Much drift wood show- 
 ing axe cuttings was on tHe shore, and we picked up 
 an old canoe paddle of Indian make. All this led 
 us to believe we were on waters connected directly 
 with Lake Michikamau (which was the fact), and 
 we thought that possibly we had reached a deep bay 
 said to extend from the main body of the lake some 
 thirty miles in a southeasterly direction. 
 
 Where we launched our canoe the mountain pass 
 119 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 was very narrow, and on the southerly side, rising 
 ahnost perpendicularly from the water to a height of 
 eight or nine hundred feet, stood a hill of absolutely 
 bare rock. The wind was blowing the rain In sheets 
 over its face, and, despite the wet and chill, we paused 
 to enjoy the grandeur of the scene. We had travelled 
 about six miles through the pass, and this hiU marked 
 its end ; the mountain barrier that at one time seemed 
 so formidable had not proved so difficult to cross after 
 all. And in accomplishing the pass we had reached 
 the great interior plateau — ^the land that lay hidden 
 behind the ranges. 
 
 After we had paddled along Lake Hope a hundred 
 yards, we struck a sharp-pointed rock that tore a 
 hole through the bottom of the canoe. This accident 
 forced us to take refuge on a near-by island where 
 George could repair the damage and procure gum 
 from the spruce trees to cover the patch. 
 
 Sunshine came with Sunday morning (August 23), 
 and we dried our blankets and camp outfit before 
 starting forward, so that it was after ten o'clock when 
 we quit the island. Lake Hope proved to be long 
 and narrow, and we soon realised that it could not 
 be Michikamau's southeast bay; but at the western 
 end we hoped to find a strait connecting it with 
 another lake, and as we approached the western end 
 with a feeling of uncertainty as to what lay beyond, 
 George remarked: " It's like goin' into a room where 
 there's a Christmas tree." 
 
 120 
 
WE SHALL CALL IT LAKE HOPE" 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 Sure enough there was a strait, and as we turned 
 into it, we saw beyond big water stretching away to 
 the westward for miles. "There's a Christmas tree 
 without a doubt," said Hubbard. We felt positive 
 now that this second lake was Michikamau's south- 
 east bay, and we broke the solemn stillness of the 
 wilderness with three lusty cheers. It is violating 
 no confidence to say here that the second lake was 
 not Michikamau's southeast bay; it was simply the 
 peculiarly-shaped body of water that appears on 
 my map under the name, Lost Trail Lake. 
 
 Two and a half miles up Lost Trail Lake we climbed 
 a barren ridge, where we found blueberries, moss- 
 berries and bake-apple berries. The latter berry is 
 salmon-coloured, and grows on a plant resembling 
 that of the strawberry. The berry itself resembles in 
 form the raspberry, and has a flavour like that of a 
 baked apple, from which fact it derives its name. 
 It ripens after the first frost. The mossberry is 
 small and black, resembling in shape and size the 
 blueberry, and is sweet and palatable after being 
 touched with frost. It is usually found on the moss 
 clinging to rocks. On the ridge it grew in abun- 
 dance, and we ate a great many. The blueberry of 
 Labrador is similar to the blueberry of the United 
 States. 
 
 Some distance beyond where we got the berries we 
 went into camp. Trolhng on the way, we caught a 
 namaycush (lake trout), the first we had seen on the 
 
 121 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 trip. In our camp on Lost Trail Lake we were held 
 all of Monday (August 24) by a gale that beat the 
 water into a fury. We took advantage of the oppor- 
 tunity to try our gill net, sinking it on the lee shore ; 
 but it was so rotten it would not hold a fish large 
 enough to get fast in it, and we finally threw it away 
 as a useless incumbrance. 
 
 In the course of the day Hubbard and George 
 climbed a hiU not far away, while I remained in camp 
 to do some " chores." They found bake-apple berries 
 in abundance — the only spot we came across where 
 they grew in any great quantity — and had a good 
 look at a lake we had previously sighted two mUes 
 to the north. This lake was larger than the one we 
 were on, being about twenty-five miles long; it was, 
 in fact, the largest body of water by far that we had 
 seen since leaving Grand Lake. Its size impressed 
 Hubbard with the fatal belief that it, rather than 
 Lost Trail Lake, was connected with Michikamau, 
 and to it he decided to go. Our experience there led 
 us to call it Lake Disappointment. 
 
 We portaged into it on Tuesday morning (August 
 25). Our course was over a neck of land which was 
 mostly soft marsh partially covered with spruce. We 
 did not know then that in abandoning Lost Trail 
 Lake for Lake Disappointment we were wandering 
 from the Indian trail to Michikamau. Some Indians 
 I met during the winter at Northwest River Post told 
 me that a river flowed out of the western end of Lost 
 
 122 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 Trail Lake into the very southeast bay of Lake Michi- 
 kamau we were longing so much to see. This was the 
 trail. And we lost it. 
 
 We ate our luncheon on the southern shore of Lake 
 Disappointment. That afternoon and the next two 
 days (August 26 and 27) we spent in paddling about 
 the lake in a vain search for a river. Thirty or more 
 miles a day we paddled, and found nothing but com- 
 paratively small creeks. One of these we followed 
 almost to its source, and then returned to the lake 
 again. We were living pretty well. While we were 
 on these lakes near the mountains we killed four geese 
 and one spruce-grouse, and caught about eighty half- 
 pound trout, two two-pound namaycush and a five- 
 pound pike. 
 
 The pike we got in this unsportsmanlike manner: 
 We were fishing for trout in a creek that emptied into 
 Lake Disappointment in a succession of falls, and 
 found that while there were some above the lower fall, 
 none could be induced to rise where the creek at the 
 foot of the lower fall made an ideal pool for them. 
 We were lunching on a rock near this pool when Hub- 
 bard suddenly remarked: 
 
 " There's only one reason why trout don't rise 
 here." 
 
 "What's that.?" I asked. 
 
 " Pike," hie answered laconically, and left his 
 luncheon to fasten a troUing hook on his trout line. 
 
 After he had fixed a piece of cork to the line for 
 123 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHJ) 
 
 a " bobber," he baited the hook with a small live trout 
 jmd dropped it into the pooL "Now we'll have a 
 pike," said he. 
 
 Scarcely had he resumed his luncheon when the 
 cork bobbed under, and he grabbed his rod to find a 
 big fish on the other end. He played it around imtil 
 it was near the shore, and as it arose to the surface 
 I put a pistol bullet through its head. Then Hub- 
 bard hauled ia the Hne, and he had our fire-pound 
 pike. 
 
 There were two occasions when we felt particularly 
 like feasting. One was when we were progressing 
 with a clear course ahead and were happy, and the 
 other was when we were not sure of the way and were 
 blue. That night we were blue ; so we had a feast 
 of goose and pike. Hubbard planked the pike, and 
 it was excellent. All of our food was eaten now with- 
 out salt, but we were getting used to its absence. 
 
 After our feast Hubbard astonished George and 
 me by taking out a new pipe I had brought along to 
 trade with the Indians, and filling it with the red 
 willow bark Greorge and I had been mixing with our 
 tobacco. We watched him curiously as he lighted it ; 
 for, with the exception of a puff or two on a cigarette, 
 he had never smoked before. He finished the pipe 
 without flinching. I asked him how he liked it. 
 
 "Pretty good," he said. Then after a pause he 
 added: "And Til tell you what; if ever I start out 
 again on another expedition of this sort, I am going 
 
 124 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 to learn to smoke; watching you fellows makes me 
 believe it must be a great comfort." 
 
 George and I had been mixing red willow bark 
 with our tobacco, because our stock had become 
 alarmingly low. In fact, it would have been entirely 
 gone had not Hubbard presented us with some black 
 plug chewing he had purchased at Rigolet to trade 
 with the Indians. The plugs, having been wet, had 
 run together in one mass ; but we dried it out before 
 the fire, and, mixed with the bark, it was not so bad. 
 Later on George and I took to drying out the tea 
 leaves and mixing them with the tobacco. 
 
 On Wednesday morning (August 26) when we left 
 camp to continue the search for a river, we decided 
 to leave the caribou skin behind us ; its odour had be- 
 come most offensive, and in spite of our efforts to 
 keep out the flies they had filled it with blows and it 
 was now fairly crawling with maggots. On Thurs- 
 day when we were passing the same way, George gave 
 a striking example of his prescience. He was at the 
 stem paddle, and turned the canoe to the place where 
 we had left the hide. 
 
 " What are you stopping for? " asked Hubbard. 
 
 " I thought I would get that caribou skin, wash it 
 off, and take it along," said George. 
 
 " What in the world do you expect to do with it? " 
 
 " Well," answered George quietly, " we may want 
 to eat it some day." 
 
 Hubbard and I both laughed. Nevertheless Hub- 
 125 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 bard jumped out of the canoe with George and helped 
 him wash the skin, and we took it along. And, as 
 George predicted, the day came when we were glad we 
 did. 
 
 It was on Thursday night that, disgusted and 
 weary, we gave up the search for a river. Our camp 
 was on the north shore of Lake Disappointment, down 
 near the western end. Hubbard now expressed the 
 opinion that we should have to portage north or 
 northwest across country. His idea was that by pro- 
 ceeding north we should eventually reach the river 
 that Low had mapped as flowing from Michikamau, 
 the so-called Northwest. If we reached the latitude 
 in which the river was supposed to be and could not 
 find it, Hubbard's plan then called for our turning 
 directly west. 
 
 The situation that confronted us was serious. Hub- 
 bard had recently had another attack of diarrhoea, 
 and was weak. The patches we put on our moccasins 
 would last only a day or two, and we were practically 
 barefoot. Our rags were hanging in strips. Our 
 venison was going rapidly, and our flour was practi- 
 cally gone. To portage across country meant that 
 we should probably not have many opportunities for 
 fishings as we should not have any stream to follow. 
 Getting game had proved uncertain. Even were we 
 to face towards home, we had not sufficient provisions 
 to carry us half way to Northwest River Post. 
 
 That Thursday evening in camp we discussed the 
 
 126 
 
"MICHIKAMAU OR BUST!" 
 
 situation from all sides. We knew that if we pressed 
 on winter in all probability would overtake us before 
 we reached a post, but we decided that we should 
 fight our way on to Lake Michikamau and the George 
 River. There was no doubt about it, we were taking 
 a long chance; nevertheless, we refused to entertain 
 the thought of turning back. Daring starvation, we 
 should on the morrow start overland and see what lay 
 beyond the hiUs to the northward. " Michikamau or 
 Bust ! " was stiU our slogan. 
 
 1ST 
 
IX 
 
 AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 FROM the northwesterly end of Lake Disap- 
 pointment we portaged on Friday (August 
 28) across a neck of land to two small, shal- 
 low lakes that lay to the northward, and in 
 the teeth of a gale paddled to the northern shore 
 of the farther lake. There we went into camp for the 
 day in order that Hubbard might rest, as he was stiU 
 weak from the effects of his recent illness. We took 
 advantage of the opportunity to patch up our moc- 
 casins and clothLig as best we could, and held a long 
 consultation, the outcome of which was, that it was 
 decided that for the present, at least, we should leave 
 behind us our canoe and the bulk of our camp equip- 
 ment, including the tent, and push on with light 
 packs, consisting of one blanket for each man, an 
 axe, the two pistols, one rifle, and our stock of food. 
 
 Before us there apparently stretched miles of 
 rough, rocky country. Our equipment and stock of 
 food at this time made up into four packs of about 
 100 pounds each. The canoe, water-soaked and its 
 crevices fiUed with sand, must now have weighed 
 nearly a hundred pounds. It was a most awkward 
 thing to carry over one's head when the wind blew, 
 and where there were rocks there was danger of the 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 carrier falling and breaking, not only the canoe, 
 but his own bones. This meant that if our entire 
 outfit were taken along, practically every bit of land 
 we travelled would have to be covered twice. In leav- 
 ing the canoe behind, we, of course, should have to 
 take chances on meeting intervening lakes ; but, once 
 in the region of northern Michikamau, there seemed 
 a fair chance of our falling in with Indians that 
 would take us down the George River, and the ad- 
 vantages of light travel were obvious with winter 
 fast approaching. 
 
 The stock of food we had to carry would not weigh 
 us down. The dried venison had been reduced to 
 a few pounds, so that we had to eat of it sparingly 
 and make our principal diet on boiled fish and the 
 water in which it was cooked. We had just a bit 
 of flour, enough to serve bread at rare intervals as 
 a great dainty. Nothing remained of our caribou 
 tallow and marrow grease. It is true we held in re- 
 serve the " emergency ration " ; but this consisted only 
 of eighteen pounds of pea meal, a pint of rice, and a 
 small piece of bacon. This ration we had pledged 
 ourselves to use only in case of the direst necessity, 
 should we be compelled to make a forced retreat, and 
 we felt we must not think of it at this time as food on 
 hand. 
 
 In camp on Friday night I could see that Hub- 
 bard was worrying considerably. Nervously active 
 by habit, he found delay doubly hard. The days we 
 
 189 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 had spent on Lake Disappointment in a vain search 
 for a river had been particularly trying on his nerves, 
 and had left Tiiin a prey to many fears. The spectre 
 of an early winter in this sub- Arctic land began to 
 haunt him constantly. The days were slipping away 
 and were becoming visibly shorter with each siinset. 
 If we could get to the Indians on the Greorge, we 
 should be safe; for they would give us warm skins 
 for clothing and replenish our stock of food. But 
 should we meet with more delays, and arrive on the 
 George too late for the caribou migration, and fail 
 to find the Indians, what then? Well, then, our 
 fate would be sealed. Hubbard was the leader of the 
 expedition, and he felt himself responsible, not only 
 for his own life, but, to a large extent, for ours. It 
 is little wonder, therefore, that he brooded over the 
 possibilities of calamity, but with youth, ambition, 
 and the ardent spirit that never will say dies he 
 invariably fought off his fears, and bent himself more 
 determinedly than ever to achieve the purpose for 
 which he had set out. Frequently he confided his 
 fears to me, but was careful to conceal aU traces 
 of them from George. 
 
 In light marching order we went out on Saturday 
 morning (August 29), making rapid progress to the 
 northward, through a thick growth of small spruce 
 timber and over a low ridge ; but scarcely had we gone 
 a mile when we were compelled to halt. There in 
 front of us was a small lake extending east and west. 
 
 130 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 It was not more than an eighth of a mile across it, 
 but a long distance around it. Back we went for the 
 canoe, and at the same time brought forward the 
 whole camp outfit. Again we tried light marching 
 order, and again a lake compelled us to go back for 
 the canoe and outfit. And thus it was all day: a 
 stretch of a mile or so ; then a long, narrow lake to 
 cross, until finally we were forced to admit that our 
 plan of proceeding with light packs and without the 
 canoe was impracticable. 
 
 Hubbard was feeling stronger on Saturday even- 
 ing, and we had a pleasant camp. George made a 
 big fire of tamarack, and we lay before it on a couch 
 of spruce boughs and ate tough boiled venison and 
 drank the broth ; and, feeling we had made some prog- 
 ress, we were happy, despite the fact that we were in 
 the midst of a trackless wilderness with our way to 
 Michikamau and the Indians as uncertain as ever. 
 
 Sunday morning (August 30) broke superbly 
 beautiful, and the day continued clear and mild. We 
 made an early start ; for every hour had become pre- 
 cious. While we were doing this cross-country work 
 without any streams to guide us, it was George's 
 custom to go ahead all the way from half a mile' to 
 two miles and blaze a trail, so that when we were 
 travelling back and forth bringing up the packs and 
 the canoe we might not go astray. In the course of 
 the morning we came to two small lakes, which we 
 paddled over. 
 
 131 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 We had believed that our goose chases were over; 
 for these birds now having grown their feathers, could 
 fly, and were generally beyond the reach of our pistols 
 and the uncertain aim of a rifle at anything on 
 the wing. For two days we had heard them flying, 
 and now and then would see them high in the air. 
 But while we were crossing one of the small lakes this 
 Sunday, five geese walked gravely down the bank 
 and into the water ahead of the canoe. One of them 
 we got with a pistol shot; the others flew away. 
 In another lake we reached late in the day we came 
 upon five or six ducks. They were not far away, 
 but dived so frequently we were unable to shoot them 
 with pistol or rifle. A shotgun might have enabled 
 us to get nearly all the geese as well as the ducks 
 and other game we saw on the wing and in the 
 water on other occasions. We often expressed the 
 regret that we had no shotgun with us. At one time 
 Hubbard had intended that one should be taken, but 
 later decided that the ammunition would be too bulky. 
 
 A low, semi-barren ridge running east and west 
 lay just beyond the small blue-green lake in which 
 we saw the ducks towards evening. About seven miles 
 beyond the ridge to the north was a short range of 
 high, barren mountains that were perhaps a trifle 
 lower than the Kiphng Mountains. Upon ascend- 
 ing the ridge we heard the rushing of water on the 
 other side, which sound proved to come from a 
 small fall on a stream expanding and stretching 
 
 132 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 out to the eastward in long, narrow lakes. Appar- 
 ently these lakes were the headquarters of a small 
 river flowing to the southeast, and in all probability 
 here was the source of the Red River, which, as I 
 have described, flows into the Nascaupee some fifteen 
 or eighteen miles above Grand Lake. 
 
 The whole diaracter of the country had now 
 changed. It was very rocky and steadily growing 
 more barren. Ridges and hills extended to the moun- 
 tains on the north. Great boulders were piled in con- 
 fusion behind us and in front of us. Portaging 
 over them had been most difficult and dangerous. A 
 misstep might have meant a broken leg, and as it was, 
 the skin had been pretty nearly all knocked oflF of 
 our shias from the instep to the knee. 
 
 Below the fall we had discovered was a deep pool 
 in which Hubbard caught, with his emergency kit 
 and a tamarack pole, twenty trout averaging twelve 
 inches ia lengtli. We camped near tliis pool. The 
 hard work of the day had brought on Hubbard 
 another attack of his old Olness ; apparently it was 
 only by a great exertion of will-power that he kept 
 moving at all during the afternoon, and at night he 
 was very weak. Before supper he drank a cup of 
 strong tea as a stimulant, and was taken immediately 
 with severe vomiting. 
 
 Watching his suflFering, the thought came to 
 me whether, disregarding all other considerations, I 
 should not at this point strongly insist on the party 
 
 ISS 
 
THE LURE or THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 turning back. I was aware, however, of the grim de- 
 termination of the man to g6t his work done, and was 
 convinced of the uselessness of any attempt to sway 
 him from his purpose. Moreover, I myself was 
 hopeful of our ability to reach the caribou grounds ; 
 I felt sure that Hubbard's grit would carry him 
 through. Looking back now, I can see I should have 
 at least attempted to turn him back, but I am still 
 convinced it would have been useless. I thoroughly 
 believe only one thing would have turned the boy 
 back at that time — force. 
 
 After this vomiting ceased, Hubbard said he felt 
 better, but he ate sparingly of the boiled fish we had 
 for supper. George and I also felt a bit weak, and 
 our stomachs were continually crying out for bread 
 or some other grain food. As we rechned before 
 the fire, Hubbard had George tell us of various 
 Indian dishes he had prepared. After he had entered 
 into these gastronomic details with great gusto, 
 George suddenly said: 
 
 "Wouldje believe it, fellus? — ^I once threw away 
 a whole batch of cookies." 
 
 "iVo.'" weboth cried. 
 
 " Fact," said George. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," said Hubbard, " why did you 
 doit?" 
 
 " Well," said George, " it was when I first went cook- 
 in' in a surveyor's camp. The cooldes wasn't as good 
 as I thought they ought to be, and I was so ashamed 
 
 124t 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 of 'em that I took the whole lot out and buried 'em. 
 Supposin'," added George, in an awed whisper, "sup- 
 posin' we had 'em now ! " 
 
 " Why what in the world would you do with them?" 
 asked Hubbard. 
 
 " Um ! " grunted George. " Well, I guess we'd find 
 a way to use 'em, all right." 
 
 The story of the buried cookies started us aU to 
 talking of doughnuts, and cake, and pie, and Hub- 
 bard extoUed the merits of the chocolate served at 
 one of the New York hotels. 
 
 " Wallace," he at length asked, " do you like pig's 
 knuckles? " 
 
 " I like," I replied, " anything that can be eaten." 
 
 " Well," confided Hubbard, " I know a place down 
 on Park Row where they serve the best pigs' 
 knuckles you ever ate. I used to go there for them 
 when I was on the old Daily News. They cook them 
 just right, and serve a big plate of nice greasy 
 cabbage or sauerkraut with them, and a cup of 
 pretty good coffee. We'll have to go there some time 
 when we get back." 
 
 And until it was time to go to sleep Hubbard 
 continued to talk of the good dinners he had eaten 
 when a child and of those his wife had recently pre- 
 pared at his Congers home. 
 
 As he had decided that before proceeding farther 
 we should know something of the country that lay 
 to the northward, Hubbard on Monday morning 
 
 133 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 (August 31) sent George on a scouting trip to the 
 short range of mountains just ahead. He and I 
 planned to spend the day catching and drying fish. 
 For some reason the fish refused to rise near the 
 camp, and Hubbard, who was so weak he could 
 hardly stand, returned to lie down, wliile I went 
 farther down the stream. Towards luncheon-time I 
 returned with only two or three small fish. Hubbard 
 was stiU resting in the tent, but soon after I had be- 
 gun to repair my fishing rod by the fire he came out 
 and joined me. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I'll be, WaUace," he said, " to get 
 to Michikamau and finish my work here and get home 
 again ! I've been wondering when that will be. 
 I'm afraid," he added slowly, " I've been a bit home- 
 sick to-da}-." 
 
 "We'll surely get there soon, old man," I said 
 encouragingly, " and when we do get there, we'U 
 appreciate it more than ever. Just think how it 
 will be to eat good bread, and all we want of it." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and then we'U be glad we came 
 here, and can laugh at the recollection of these 
 terrible ridges, and the whole awful country, and 
 the hard times we've been through. I'm dead glad 
 I had just you two fellows come with me. If I'd 
 had a single man that growled about the grub and 
 work, or wanted to quit, it would have been hell. 
 But we haven't had a growl or a word about quit- 
 ting or turning back." 
 
 1S6 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 " There's no reason for quitting," said I. " And 
 as for growling, there's no call for it. We've done 
 the best we could, and that's enough to make any 
 real man satisfied." 
 
 " That's so," said Hubbard. " Take things as they 
 come and make the best of them — that's good philos- 
 ophy. I was thinking that here it is the last of 
 August, and . we don't know where we are ; and it 
 bothered me some as I lay there in the tent. But 
 we've done our best and ought to be satisfied." 
 
 In the afternoon I took my rod and went about 
 three miles to the westward, where I came upon an 
 isolated pond with no apparent outlet. Everywhere 
 I could see the trout jumping, and by sundown had 
 as long a string of them as I could conveniently 
 carry. It was an hour after dark when I reached 
 camp. George had returned, and they were begin- 
 ning to fear that I was lost. 
 
 George had climbed the mountains, and he reported 
 a fair line of travel to the northwest, with a " long 
 lake that looked like a river," and, some distance 
 northwest of that, " big water " and a tolerably good 
 route for portages. What he told us led Hubbard 
 to decide to continue on with the canoe and our entire 
 outfit. George brought back with him two grouse he 
 had shot. 
 
 The next morning (Tuesday, September 1) Hub- 
 bard was much better, and we began September with 
 a renewed effort. It was rough and painful portag- 
 
 137 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 mg over rocks and knolls. Every forty or fifty rods 
 we came upon deep ponds with water so clear we 
 could see the pebbles on the bottom. Between these 
 ponds boulders were piled indiscriminately. In di- 
 recting our course to the northwest we avoided the 
 mountains that had lain just ahead. For two days 
 we pushed on among the boulders, then over a wide 
 marsh and through a heavy spruce growth, which 
 brought us, on September 3d, to George's " lake that 
 looked like a river." Let us call it Mary Lake. 
 
 Along Lake Mary we paddled, in the pouring rain 
 that began that day, some five miles to its western 
 end; and there, near a creek that flowed into it, we 
 found the remains of an old Indian camp. George 
 looked the camp over critically and remarked : 
 
 " The beggars killed two caribou, and they broke 
 every bone up and boile'd out the last drop of grease." 
 
 "What was it — a summer or a winter camp?" 
 asked Hubbard. 
 
 " A summer," said George. " And they'd been fish- 
 ing, too. There's a good fishing place — just try it." 
 
 We did try it, and we had a fairly good catch of 
 large trout. For supper we had a few of the trout 
 boiled, together with the water, with one spoonful 
 of flour for each man stirred in. We ate the fish 
 entire, entrails, head, and all, and from that time on 
 we let no part of the fish we caught be thrown away. 
 Everything now in the way of food George divided 
 carefully into three equal parts, even the fish broth. 
 
 138 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 By this time we had not enough flour on hand to 
 make more than half a dozen cakes of bread, and we 
 continued to use only a spoonful or two a day for 
 each man, mixing it with game or fish broth ; in this 
 way we hoped it would satisfy to some extent our 
 craving for grain, and last longer. 
 
 As evening approached the sky cleared, and a big 
 full moon tipped the fir trees with silver and set 
 Lake Mary to gleaming. The air was filled with the 
 perfume of the balsam and spruce, and it acted as a 
 tonic on our spirits and drove away the depression 
 of the day's work in the rain. Hubbard seemed to be 
 as fuU of vim as ever, and all of us were quite con- 
 tented. 
 
 Sitting on the couch of boughs, George looked up 
 at the sky and said: 
 
 " There's a fine Indian story about that moon." 
 
 Of course Hubbard and I begged that he tell it 
 to us. 
 
 " Well," said George, " it's a long story about a 
 boy and girl that lived together in a wigwam by 
 a great water. Their father and mother were dead, 
 and the boy had learned to be a great hunter, because 
 he had to hunt for them both, though he was young. 
 One day he found a tree that was very high, and he 
 climbed it, and told his sister to climb it with him; 
 and they climbed higher and higher, and as they 
 climbed, the tree grew taller and taller; and after 
 a while they reached the moon. And then the boy 
 
 139 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILE! 
 
 laid down to sleep, and after a while he woke up 
 with a bright light shinin' in his face — it was the sun 
 passin' 'long that way. The boy said he would set 
 a snare for the sun and catch it, and the next night 
 he had his snare set when the sun came 'long, and he 
 caught the sun, and then it was always bright on the 
 moon. 
 
 " There's a lot more to that story," added George, 
 after a pause, " and I'll tell it to you some time ; but 
 it's too long and too late to tell it to-night." 
 
 Unfortunately we never heard the continuation of 
 the tale. George often hinted at interesting folk- 
 lore stories about the milky way and different 
 stars, and various other things in nature; but this 
 was the nearest approach to a story we ever wrung 
 from him. 
 
 From our last camp on Lake Disappointment to 
 our camp at the western end of Lake Mary we had 
 travelled about twenty-five miles. In leaving the latter 
 camp on September 4th we inclined our course directly 
 west, to reach the " big water " George had seen from 
 his mountain. During the next four days we en- 
 countered bad weather. As evening came on the\sky 
 would clear and remain clear until morning, when the 
 clouds and rain would reappear. On the 4th there 
 was sleet with the rain, and on the 6th we had our 
 first snow, which soon was washed away, however, by 
 rain. 
 
 Our progress on the 4ith was along the edge of 
 140 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 a marsh between two low, wooded ridges, and then 
 over the marsh and through several ponds, upon the 
 shore of one of which we camped early in order that 
 George might climb a hill, view the country and de- 
 cide upon the shortest and best route to the " big 
 water." He reported it about three miles ahead. 
 
 It had been our rule to defer our bathing until 
 the evening's chill had quieted the flies,. but now there 
 was no need of that, as the colder weather had prac- 
 tically killed them for the season. About this time 
 I noticed that Hubbard did not take his usual bath, 
 and I remarked: 
 
 " The weather is getting pretty cold for bathing 
 in the open, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes," saidHubbard ; " but Iwouldn'tlet that stop 
 me if I weren't ashamed of my bones. To tell you the 
 truth, Wallace, I'm Hke a walking skeleton." 
 
 It was true. We were all very thin, but our lack 
 of food told upon Hubbard's appearance the most, 
 as he was naturally slender. 
 
 The " big water " George thought was only three 
 miles away proved to be like the wisp of hay that 
 is held before the donkey's nose to lead him on. Day 
 after day we floundered through swamps and marshes, 
 over rocky, barren hills, and through thick growths of 
 wiUows and alders, and at the end of the day's jour- 
 ney it would apparently be as far off^ as ever. The 
 explanation was that in the rarefied atmosphere of 
 interior Labrador distances are very deceptive ; when 
 
 141 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 Greorge reported that the "big water" was three 
 miles ahead it must have been fully fifteen. 
 
 On the 5th, while crossing the barrens we came upon 
 some blueberries and after eating our fill we were able 
 to gather enough to supply each man with a big dish 
 of them for supper. We were working our way over 
 some bluffs on the afternoon of the 6th, when George, 
 who was carrying the canoe, became separated from 
 Hubbard and me. The wind was blowing hard, and 
 he had difficulty in keeping the boat above his head. 
 Suddenly I heard a call, and, looking back, saw 
 George running after me, empty-handed. Hubbard 
 did not hear the call, and went on. I dropped my 
 pack, and waited for George to come up. 
 
 " You f eUus better wait for me," he panted. " I 
 can't manage the canoe alone in the wind, and if we 
 get separated, I might strike the lake one place and 
 you somewhere else. And," added George, senten- 
 tiously, " you f ellus have got the grub." 
 
 We shouted to Hubbard to wait, and when he 
 answered, George and I returned for the canoe. 
 Hubbard, however, kept on, and George and I carried 
 the canoe ahead until we reached the thick woods 
 into which he had disappeared; then George went 
 back for my pack. Presently we heard Hubbard call 
 from the depths of the woods, and a little later the 
 soiuid of an axe. 
 
 As we learned later, he had dropped his pack, 
 and was blazing a trail towards us in order that he 
 
 142 
 
AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 might find it again. He was as nervous as George 
 had been over his narrow escape from being perma- 
 nently separated from the rest of the party, and at a 
 time when such a happening would have had serious 
 consequences for us all. Under the best of circum- 
 stances, the prospect of being left alone in the midst 
 of that inhospitable wilderness was enough to appal. 
 
 On the 7th we reached a creek, and launched the 
 canoe. Hubbard went ahead to fish below the rapids 
 in the creek while George and I brought down the 
 canoe and outfit, making several short portages. 
 That night we camped two miles down the stream. 
 Hubbard had caught, by hard work, thirty small 
 trout, half of which we ate for supper. 
 
 We were still ravenously hungry after we finished 
 the trout, but the bag contained only one more meal 
 of venison and we did not dare draw on it. This, 
 together with the difficulty we were having in reaching 
 the " big water," set Hubbard to worrying again. 
 He was especially anxious about the sufficiency of 
 the material he had gathered for a story, fearing 
 that if he failed to reach the caribou grounds there 
 would not be enough to satisfy his publishers. I 
 told him I thought he already had enough for a 
 "bang-up" story. 
 
 "Anyway," I said, "we'll reach the caribou 
 grounds, and see the Indians yet. Greorge and I will 
 go with you to the last ditch ; you can count on us to 
 the finish." 
 
 143 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHJ) 
 
 " All right," said Hubbard, eridently relieved. " If 
 you hoys aren't sick of it, if s on to the caribou 
 grounds , late or no late. Bat I fed Tve got you 
 fellows in a tight place,"" 
 
 " We came with our eyes open," I replied, '* and 
 ifs not your fault." 
 
 On the morning of September 8th, following our 
 stream out to a shoal, rocky bay. we reached the 
 " big water "" at last. It was the great body of 
 water that I hare mapped out a; Windbound Lake. 
 Forty miles we had portaged from Lake Disappoint- 
 ment. We were practically out of food of any kind. 
 Looking over the great expanse of water stretching 
 miles away to the westward, we wondered what our 
 new lake had in store for us of hope and success, of 
 failure and despair. Would it lead us to Michi- 
 kamau.- If not, what were we to do? 
 
 On its farther shore, about twenty miles to the 
 northwest, rose in solemn majesty a great, grey 
 mountain, holding its head high above all the sur- 
 rounding world. It shall be known as Mount Hub- 
 bard. To this itountain we decided to paddle and 
 view the cormtry. Instinctively we felt that Michi- 
 kamau lay on the other side. We launched our canoe 
 after a light luncheon of trout and a small ptarmigan 
 George had shot. Once in the course of the after- 
 noon we stopped paddling to climb a low ridge near 
 the shore and eat cranberries, which we found in 
 abundance on its barren top. From the ridge we 
 
 144 
 
'AND THERE WAS MICHIKAMAU! 
 
 could see water among the Mils in every direction. 
 In the large lake at our feet were numerous wooded 
 islands. 
 
 We camped at dust on one of these islands, and on 
 Wednesday, September 9th, launched our canoe at day- 
 break, to resume our journey to Mount Hubbard. We 
 reached its base before ten o'clock. Blueberries grew 
 in abundance on the side of the mountain, which, 
 together with the country near it, had been burned. 
 One of us, it was decided, should remain behind to 
 pick berries, while the others climbed to the summit. 
 I volunteered for the berrypicking, but I shall always 
 regret it was not possible for me to go along. 
 
 Before Hubbard and George returned, I had our 
 mixing basin filled with berries, and the kettle half 
 full. The day was clear, crisp and delightful — one 
 of those perfect days when the atmosphere is so 
 pure and transparent that minute objects can be dis- 
 tinguished for miles. On the earth and on the water, 
 not a thing of life was to be seen. The lake, relieved 
 here and there with green island-spots; the cold 
 rocks of distant mountains to the northeast ; the low, 
 semi-barren ridges and hills that we had travelled 
 over bounding the lake to the eastward, and a ridge 
 of green hills west of the lake 'that extended south- 
 ward from behind Mount Hubbard as far as the 
 eye could reach — all combined to complete a scene 
 of vast and solemn beauty; and I, alone on the 
 mountain side picking blueberries, felt an inex- 
 
 145 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 presdUe s^nse of kmeliiies; — lilt nivs^ fte oolj 
 thing of life in aZ that bo'jidli^; ^srflderne&i-'s'crld. 
 
 Fro— the moment Hnbbazd and Georgt had left me, 
 I had not seen or heard than. Bat up the ido-thi- 
 tain thcj went thrc^g^i the bsmt spruce forst. 
 up for four miks over rocks, up and up to the top: 
 and then to the ^istEFnrx>sz fide s: the peak tiiej went 
 and looked — looked to the west: and there, onlj & 
 ter Bales awaj, laj ^lic'- ^<s.z:i^'i with its ninetj-^nile 
 expanse of water — the lake we sg I:'g hid ~o.ighT 
 for and foight ; : desperately to reac]i. It -s-is there, 
 jiisz beyond the ridge I had seal extsuiizig to the 
 southward. 
 
 IM 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 IT was four o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun 
 was getting low, that I, near the base of the 
 mountain and still industriously picking berries, 
 heard a shout from Hubbard and George at the 
 canoe on the shore of the lake below. I was anxious 
 to hear the result of their journey, and hurried down. 
 " It's there ! it's there ! " shouted Hubbard, as I 
 came within talking distance. " Michikamau is 
 there, just behind the ridge. We saw the big water ; 
 we saw it ! " 
 
 In our great joy we fairly hugged each other, 
 while George stood apart with something of Indian 
 stoicism, but with a broad grin, nevertheless, expand- 
 ing his good-natured features. We felt that Wind- 
 bound Lake must be directly connected with Michi- 
 kamau, and that we were now within easy reach of 
 the caribou grounds and a land of plenty. It is 
 true that from the mountain top Hubbard and George 
 had been unable to trace out the connection, as Wind- 
 bound Lake was so studded with islands, and had 
 so many narrow arms reaching out in the various 
 directions between low, thickly-wooded ridges, that 
 their view of the waters between them andMichikamau 
 
 147 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 was more or less obscured; but they had no doubt 
 that the connectioa was there. 
 
 "And," added Hubbard, after I had heard all 
 about the great discovery, " good things never come 
 singly. Look there ! " 
 
 I looked where he pointed, and there on the rocks 
 near Greorge's feet lay a pile of ptarmigans and one 
 small rabbit. I picked them up and counted them 
 with nervous joy; there were nine — nine ptarmigans, 
 and the rabbit. 
 
 "You see," said Hubbard reverently, "Grod 
 always gives us food when we are really in great 
 need, and He'll carry us through that way; in the 
 wilderness HeTl send us manna." On similar 
 occasions in the past Hubbard had made like 
 remarks to this, and he continued to make them on 
 similar occasions in the future. Invariably they 
 were made with a simplicity that robbed them of aH 
 cant ; they came from the man's real nature. 
 
 While George dressed three of the birds, Hubbard 
 and I built a fire on the rocks by the shore. Since 
 early morning, when we had a breakfast of thin soup 
 made with three thin slices of bacon and three spoon- 
 fuls of flour, we had had nothing to eat, and our 
 hunger was such, that while dinner was cooking, we 
 each took the entrails of a bird, wrapped them as 
 Greorge told us the Indians did, on the end of a stick, 
 broiled them over the fire and ate them greedily. 
 And when the ptarmigans were boiled what a glorious 
 
 148 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 feast we had ! In using a bit of bacon for soup in the 
 morning we had drawn for the first time on our 
 "emergency ration" — the situation seemed to war- 
 rant it; nevertheless, we were as bent as ever on 
 hoai"ding this precious little stock of food. 
 
 At five o'clock we paddled up the l&ke to the north- 
 east, to begin our search for the connection with 
 Michikamau. Hubbard dropped a troU as we pro- 
 ceeded, and caught two two-pound namaycush, 
 which, when we went into camp at dusk on a small 
 island, George boiled entire, putting into tlie pot 
 just enough flour to give the water a milky appear- 
 ance. With this supper we had some of the blueberries 
 stewed, and Hubbard said they would have been the 
 " real thing if we only had a little sugar for tliem." 
 
 All day on September 10th we continued our search 
 for the connection witli Michikamau, finally directing 
 our course to the soutliwest where a mountain seemed 
 to oflFer a view of the waters in that direction. It 
 was dark when we reached its base, and we went into 
 camp preparatory to climbing to tlie summit in the 
 morning. We had been somewhat delayed by wind 
 squalls that made canoeing dangerous, and before we 
 made camp rain began to fall. We caught no fish 
 on the troll that day, but Hubbard shot a large 
 spruce-grouse. At our evening meal we ate the last 
 of our ptarmigans and rabbit. 
 
 " Grfeorge," said Hubbard, after we had eaten our 
 supper, " you have a few more of mother's dried 
 
 149 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 apples there. How would it be to stew them to-night, 
 and stir in a little flour to thicken them? Wouldn't 
 they thicken up better if you were to cook them 
 to-night and let them stand until morning? " 
 
 "Guess they would," replied George. "There 
 ain't many of ^em here. Shall I put them aU to 
 cook? » 
 
 " Yes," said Hubbard, " put them all to cook, and 
 we'll eat them for breakfast with that smaU trout 
 Wallace caught and the two ptarmigan entrails." 
 
 In the morning (September 11th) we drew lots for 
 the trout, and George won. So he took the fish, and 
 Hubbard and I each an entrail, and, with the last 
 of the apples before us that Hubbard's mother had 
 dried, sat down to breakfast. 
 
 " How well," said Hubbard, " I remember the tree 
 on the old Michigan farm from which these apples 
 came ! And now," he added, " I'm eating the last 
 of the fruit from it that I shall probably ever eat." 
 
 " Why," said George, " don't you expect to get 
 back to eat any more? " 
 
 " That isn't it," replied Hubbard. " Father signed 
 a contract for the sale of the farm last spring, and 
 they're to deliver the property over to its new owners 
 on the fifteenth of this month. Father wanted me to 
 come to the farm and run it, as he's too old to do the 
 work any longer; but I had other ambitions. I feel 
 half sorry now I didn't ; for after all it's home to me, 
 and always will be wherever I go in the world. How 
 
 150 
 
HUBBARD SCRAPED THE HAIR FROM THE CARIBOU SKIN 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 often I've watched mother gathering these apples to 
 dry ! And then, the apple butter ! Did you ever eat 
 apple butter, boys ? " 
 
 George had not, but I had. 
 
 "Well," continued Hubbard, "there was an old 
 woman lived near us who could make apple butter 
 better than anybody else. Mother used to have her 
 come over one day each fall and make a big lot for 
 us. And, say, but wasn't it delicious ! 
 
 " I've told you, Wallace, about the maple sugaring 
 on the farm, and you had some of the syrup I brought 
 from there when I visited father and mother before 
 I came away on this trip. We used to bring to the 
 house the very first syrup we made in the spring, 
 while it was hot — the first, you know, is always the 
 best — and mother would have a nice pan of red hot 
 tea biscuits, and for tea she'd serve the biscuits with 
 cream and the hot new syrup. And sometimes we'd 
 mix honey with the syrup ; for father was a great man 
 with bees ; he kept a great many of them and had 
 quantities of honey. He had a special house where 
 he kept his honey, and in which was a machine to 
 separate it from the comb when the comb was not 
 well filled. In the honey house on a table he always 
 had a plate with a pound comb of white clover honey, 
 and spoons to eat it with ; and he invited every visitor 
 to help himself. 
 
 " Once, I remember, a neighbour caUed on father, 
 and was duly taken out to the honey house. He ate 
 
 161 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 the whole pound. ' Will you have some more? ' asked 
 father. ' Don't care if I do,' said the neighbour. So 
 father set out another pound comb, which the neigh- 
 bour proceeded to put out of sight with a facility 
 fully equal to that with which he demolished the first. 
 ' Have some more,' said father. ' Thanks,' said the 
 neighbour, ' but maybe I've had enough.' I used to 
 wonder how the man ever did it, but I guess I myself 
 could make two pounds of honey disappear if I had 
 it now." 
 
 Hubbard poured some tea in the cup that had con- 
 tained his share of the apple sauce, and after care- 
 fully stirring into the tea the bit of sauce that clung 
 to the cup, he poured it all into the kettle in which 
 the sauce had been cooked and stirred it again that 
 he might get the last bit of the apples from the tree 
 on that far-away Michigan farm. Then he poured 
 it aU back into his cup and drank it. 
 
 " I beUeve it sweetened the tea just a little," he 
 said, " and that's the last of mother's sweet apples." 
 
 Breakfast eaten, we had no dinner to look forward 
 to. Of course there was the " emergency ration," 
 but we felt we must not draw on that to any extent 
 as yet. Hubbard was much depressed, perhaps 
 because of his reminiscences of home and perhaps 
 because of our desperate situation. We still had to 
 find the way to Michikamau, aod the cold rain that 
 f eU this morning warned us that winter was near. 
 
 The look from the mountain top near our camp 
 152 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 revealed nothing, owing to the heavy mist and rain. 
 Once more in the canoe, we started southward close 
 to the shore, to hunt for a rapid we had heard roar- 
 ing in the distance. Trolling by the way, we caught 
 one two-pound namaycush. The rapid proved to be 
 really a fall where a good-sized stream emptied into 
 the lake. We had big hopes of trout, but found the 
 stream too shoal and rapid, with almost no pools, 
 and we caught only a dozen small ones. 
 
 Towards evening we took a northwesterly course in 
 the canoe in search of the lake's outlet to Michi- 
 kamau. While paddling we got a seven-pound 
 namaycush, which enabled us to eat that night. Our 
 camp was on a rock-bound island, partially covered 
 with stunted gnarled spruce and fir trees. The 
 weather had cleared and the heavens were bright 
 with stars when we drew our canoe high upon the 
 boulder-strewn shore, clear of the breaking waves. 
 The few small trout we had caught we stowed away 
 in the bow of the canoe, as they were to be reserved 
 for breakfast. 
 
 Early in the morning (September 12th) we were 
 awakened by a northeast gale that threatened every 
 moment to carry our tent from its fastenings, and as 
 we peered out through the flaps, rain and snow 
 dashed in our faces. The wind also was playing 
 high jinks with the lake ; it was white with foam, and 
 the waves, dashing against the rocks on the shore, 
 threw the spray high in the air. Evidently there was 
 
 153 
 
THE LURE OP THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 no hope of launching the canoe that day, and assum- 
 ing indifference of the driving storm that threatened 
 to uncover us, we settled down for a much-needed 
 morning sleep. At ten o'clock George crawled out 
 to build a fire in the lee of some bushes and boil trout 
 for a light breakfast. Soon he stuck his head in the 
 tent, and his face told us something had happened 
 even before he said : 
 
 " Well, that's too bad." 
 
 "What's too bad? " asked Hubbard anxiously. 
 
 " Somebody's stole the trout we left in the canoe." 
 
 " Who.? " asked Hubbard and I together. 
 
 " Otter or somebody — maybe a marten." (George 
 always referred to animals as persons.) 
 
 We all went again to look and make sure the fish 
 were not there somewhere ; but they were really gone, 
 and we looked at one another and laughed, and con- 
 tinued to make light of it as we ate a breakfast of 
 soup made of three little slices of bacon, with two or 
 three spoonfuls of flour and rice. 
 
 We occupied the day in talking — visiting, Hubbard 
 called it — and mending. Hubbard made a handsome 
 pair of moccasins, using an old flour sack for the 
 uppers and a pair of skin mittens for the feet. George 
 did some neat work on his moccasins and clothing, 
 and I made my trousers look quite respectable again, 
 and ripped up one pair of woollen socks to get yarn 
 to darn the holes in another. Altogether it was 
 rather a pleasant day, even though Hubbard's dis- 
 
 164. 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 play of his beautiful new moccasins did savour of 
 ostentation and thereby excite much heartburning on 
 the part of George and me. 
 
 Our second day on the island was Sunday, Sep- 
 tember 13th. We awoke to find that the wind, rain, 
 and sleet were still with us. Our breakfast was the 
 same as all our meals of the previous day — thin bacon 
 soup. The morning we spent in reading from the 
 Bible. Hubbard read Philemon aloud and told us 
 the story. I read aloud from the Psalms. George, 
 who received his religious training in a mission of 
 the Anglican Church on James Bay, listened to our 
 reading with reverent attention. 
 
 Towards noon the storm began to moderate, and in 
 a short stroll about the island we found some blue- 
 berries and currants, which we fell upon and de- 
 voured. At one o'clock the wind abated to such an 
 extent that we succeeded in leaving the island and 
 reaching the mainland to the northeast. The wind 
 continuing to abate, we paddled several miles in the 
 afternoon looking in vain for the outlet. In the 
 course of our search we caught a namaycush, and 
 immediately put to shore to eat it. While it was 
 being cooked we 4)icked nearly a gallon of cran- 
 berries on a sandy knoU. We camped near this spot, 
 and for supper had a pot of the cranberries stewed, 
 leaving enough for two more meals. 
 
 For several days past noiT, when George and I were 
 alone, he had repeated to me stories of Indians that 
 
 155 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 had starved to death, or had barely escaped starva- 
 tion, and a little later he spoke of these things in 
 Hubbard's presence. To me he would tell how weak 
 he was becoming, and how Indians would get weaker 
 and weaker and then give up to it and die. He also 
 spoke of how he had heard the big northern loons cry 
 at night farther back on the trail, which cries, he 
 said, the Indians regarded as sure signs of coming 
 calamity. At the same time he was cheerful and 
 courageous, never suggesting such a thing as turning 
 back. His state of mind was to me very interesting. 
 Apparently two natures were at war within him. 
 One — the Indian — was haunted by superstitious 
 fears; the other — the white man — rejected these 
 fears and invariably conquered them. In other 
 words, the Indian in him was panicky, but the white 
 man held him fast. And in seeing him master his 
 superstitious nature, I admired him the more. 
 
 Until this time it had been Hubbard's custom to 
 retire to his blankets early, while George and I con- 
 tinued to toast our shins by the fire and enjoy our 
 evening pipe. Then George would turn in, and I, 
 while the embers died, would sit alone for an hour or 
 so and let my fancy form pictures in the coals or 
 carry me back to other days. In our Sunday night's 
 camp on Windbound Lake, however, Hubbard sat 
 with me long after George was lost in sleep, and 
 together we talked of the home folks and exchanged 
 confidences. 
 
 156 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 I observed now a great change in Hubbard. Here- 
 tofore the work he had to do had seemed almost wholly 
 to occupy his thoughts. Now he craved companion- 
 ship, and he loved to sit with me and dwell on his 
 home and his wife, his mother and sister, and rehearse 
 his early struggles in the university and in New York 
 City. Undoubtedly the boy was beginning to suffer 
 severely from homesickness — ^he was only a young 
 fellow, you know, with a gentle, affectionate nature 
 that gripped him tight to the persons and objects 
 he loved. Our little confidential talks grew to be quite 
 the order of things, and often as the days went by 
 we confessed to each other that we looked forward 
 to them during all the weary work hours ; they were 
 the bright spots in our dreary Hfe. 
 
 A tremendous gale with dashes of rain ushered in 
 Monday morning, September 14th. Again we were 
 windbound, with nothing to do but remain where we 
 were and make the best of it. A little of our thin 
 soup had to serve for breakfast. Then we all slept 
 till ten o'clock, when Hubbard and I went out to the 
 fire and George took a stroU through the bush on the 
 shore, in the hope of seeing something to shoot. 
 While I cleaned my rifle and pistol, Hubbard and I 
 chatted about good things to eat and the days of 
 yore. 
 
 " Well, Wallace," he said, " I suppose that father 
 and mother are to-day leaving the old farm forever, 
 and that I never can call it home again. I dreamed 
 
 157 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 of It last night. Over fifty years ago father cleared 
 that land when he was a young man and that part of 
 Michigan was a wilderness. He made a great farm 
 of it, and it has been his home ever since. How I 
 hate to think of them going away and leaving it to 
 strangers who don't love it or care more for it than 
 any other plot of ground where good crops can be 
 raised! Daisy [his sister] and I grew up together 
 there, and I used to tell her my ambitions, and she was 
 always interested. Daisy gave me more encourage- 
 ment in my work than anyone else in the world. I'd 
 never have done half so weU with my work if it hadn't 
 been for Daisy." 
 
 After a moment's silence, he continued : 
 "That hickory cleaning rod for the rifle we lost 
 on a portage on the big river [the Beaver] father 
 cut himself on the old farm and shaped it and gave 
 it to me. That's the reason I hated so to lose It. 
 If we go back that way, we must try to find it. 
 Father wanted to come with me on this trip; he 
 wanted to take care of me. He always thinks of me 
 as a child ; he's never quite realised I'm a grown man. 
 As old as he is, I believe he could have stood this 
 trip as well as I have. He was a forty-niner in Cali- 
 fornia, you know, and has spent a lot of his life 
 in the bush." 
 
 When George returned — empty-handed, alas! — 
 we had our dinner. The menu was not very exten- 
 sive — it began with stewed cranberries and ended 
 
 158 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 there. The acid from the unsweetened berries made 
 our mouths sore, but, as George remarked, " it was a 
 heap better than not eatin' at all." 
 
 Perhaps I should say here that these were the 
 hungriest days of our journey. What we suffered 
 later on, the good Lord only knows ; but we never felt 
 the food-craving, the hunger-pangs as now. In our 
 enforced idleness it was impossible for us to prevent 
 our thoughts from dweUing on things to eat, and this 
 naturally accentuated our craving. Then, again, 
 as everyone that has had such an experience knows, 
 the pangs of hunger are mitigated after a certain 
 period has been passed. 
 
 In the afternoon George and I took the pistols and 
 ascended a low ridge in the rear of the camp to look 
 for ptarmigans. Soon George exclaimed under his 
 breath : 
 
 " There's two ! Get down low and don't let 'em 
 see you ; the wind blows so they'U be mighty wild. I'U 
 belly round to that bush over there and take a shot." 
 
 He crawled or wriggled along to the bush, which 
 was the nearest cover and about forty yards from 
 the birds. With a dinner in prospect, I watched him 
 with keen anxiety. I could see him lying low and 
 carefuUy aiming his pistol. Suddenly, bang! — and 
 one of the birds fluttered straight up high in the 
 air, trying desperately to sustain itself; then fell 
 into the brush on the hillside below. At that George 
 raised his head and gave a peculiar laugh — a laugh 
 
 159 
 
TBE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 of wild exultation — an Indian laugh. He was the 
 Indian hunter then. I never heard him laugh so 
 again, nor saw him look quite as he did at that 
 moment. As the other bird flew away, he rose to his 
 feet and shouted: 
 
 " I hit 'im! — did you see how he went.'' Now we'll 
 find 'im." 
 
 But we didn't. We beat the bushes high and low 
 for' an hour, and finally in disappointment and dis- 
 gust gave up the search. The bird lay there dead 
 somewhere, but we never found it, and we returned 
 to camp empty-handed and perhaps, through antici- 
 pation, hungrier than ever. 
 
 On Tuesday (September 15th) the high west wind 
 had not abated, and the occasional sleet-squaUs con- 
 tinued. We were dreary and disconsolate when we 
 came out of the tent and huddled close to the fire. 
 For the first time Hubbard heard Greorge tell his 
 stories of Indians that starved. And there we were 
 stiU windbound and helpless, with stomachs crying 
 continually for food. And the caribou migration 
 was soon to begin, if it had not already begun, and 
 there seemed no prospect of the weather clearing. 
 
 We made an inventory of the food we were hoard- 
 ing for an emergency, and found that in addition to 
 about two pounds of flour, we had eighteen pounds 
 of pea meal, a little less than a pint of rice, and a 
 half a pound of bacon. George then told another 
 story of Indians that starved. At length he stopped 
 
 160 
 
PRISONERS OF THE WIND 
 
 talking, and we sat silent for a long while, staring 
 blankly at the blazing logs. 
 
 Slowly the minutes crawled. In great gusts the 
 wind swept down, howling dismally among the trees 
 and driving the sleet into our faces. Still we sat 
 cowering in silence when Hubbard arose, pushed the 
 loose ends of the partially burned sticks into the fire 
 and stood with his back to the blaze, apparently deep 
 in thought. Presently, turning slowly towards the 
 lake, he walked down through the intervening brush 
 and stood alone on the sandy shore contemplating 
 the scene before him — the dull, lowering skies, the 
 ridges in the distance, the lake in its angry mood 
 protesting against his further advance, the low, 
 wooded land that hid the gate to ]Michikamau. 
 
 Weather-beaten, haggard, gaunt and ragged, he 
 stood there watching; then seemed to be lost com- 
 pletely in thought, forgetful of the wind and weather 
 and dashing spray. Finsdly he turned about briskly, 
 and, with quick, nervous steps, pushed through the 
 brush to the fire, where Greorge and I were still sitting 
 in silence. Suddenly, and without a word of intro- 
 duction, he said : 
 
 " Boys, what do you say to turning back? " 
 
 161 
 
XI 
 
 WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 FOR a moment I was dazed at the thought — 
 the thought of turning back without ever see- 
 ing the Indians or caribou hunt, and I could 
 not speak. Greorge, however, soon found his 
 tongue. He was still willing to go on, if need be, 
 and risk his life with us. 
 
 "I came to go with you feUus," he said, "and I 
 want to do what you fellus do." 
 
 "But," I said to Hubbard, "don't you think it 
 will be easier to reach the Indians on the Gleorge, or 
 even the George River Post, than Nori:hwest River 
 Post ? We must surely be near the Indians ; we shall 
 probably see the smoke of their wigwams when we 
 reach ilichJkamau. It is likely we shall find them 
 camping on the big lake — either Mountaineers or 
 Nascaupee — and if we get to them they'll surely 
 help us." 
 
 "Yes," answered Hubbard, "if we get to them 
 they'll help us; but these miserable westerly and 
 northwesterly gales may keep us on these waters in- 
 definitely, or even on the shore of ^lichikamau at a 
 spot where we may not be able to launch our canoe or 
 reach the Indians for days, and that would be fataL 
 
 162 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 The caribou migration is surely begun, and perhaps 
 is over already, and there's no use in going ahead." 
 
 I saw his point and acquiesced. "I suppose it's 
 best to turn back as soon as the wind will let us," 
 I said ; " for it's likely to subside only for a few hours 
 at a time at this season, and perhaps if we don't get 
 out when we can, we may never get out at all. But 
 what does George say?" I asked, turning to our 
 plucky companion. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " I'd like to turn back, and I think 
 it's safest; but I'm goin' to stick to you fellus, and 
 I'm goin' where you go." 
 
 "Well," said Hubbard, "what's the vote?— shall 
 we turn back or go on? " 
 
 " Turn back," said I. 
 
 "Very well, then," he replied quietly; "that's 
 settled." 
 
 The decision reached, George's face brightened 
 perceptibly, and I must confess we all felt better; a 
 great burden seemed to have been lifted from our 
 shoulders. It had required courage for Hubbard to 
 acknowledge himself defeated in his purpose, but the 
 acknowledgment once made, we thought of only one 
 thing — how to reach home most quickly. Hubbard 
 was now satisfied that the record of our adventures 
 would make a " bully story," even without the mate- 
 rial he had hoped to gather on the George, and his 
 mind being easy on that point, he discussed with ani- 
 mation plans for the homeward trip, 
 
 163 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 " We'll have to catch some fish here," he said, " to 
 take us over the long portage to Lake Disappoint- 
 ment. We ought to be able to dry a good bit of 
 namaycush, and on the way we'll probably have a 
 good catch of trout at the long lake [Lake Mary], 
 and another good catch where I used the tamarack 
 pole. And then when we get to Lake Disappoint- 
 ment we ought to get more namaycush." 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " and the berries should help us 
 some." 
 
 "What do you think the chances of getting cari- 
 bou are?" Hubbard asked George. 
 
 " We saw some comin' up," replied George, " and 
 there ought to be more now ; I guess we'll find 'em." 
 
 " If we kill some caribou," continued Hubbard, " I 
 think we'd better turn to and build a log shack, cure 
 the meat, make toboggans and snowshoes, wait for 
 things to freeze up, and then push on to the post over 
 the snow and ice. We can get some dogs at the post, 
 and we'll be in good shape to push right on without 
 delay to the St. Lawrence. It '11 make a bully trip, 
 and we'll have lots of grub. What would we need to 
 get at the post, George ? " 
 
 "Well," said George, "we'd need plenty of flour, 
 pork, lard, beans, sugar, tea, and bakin' powder ; and 
 we might take some condensed milk, raisins, currants, 
 rice, and molasses, and I'd make somiethin' good 
 sometimes." > 
 
 " That's a good idea," said Hubbard, whose mouth 
 164< 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 was evidently watering even as mine was. " And we 
 might take some butter, too. And how would oat- 
 meal go for porridge? — don't you think that would 
 be bully on a cold morning?" 
 
 " Yes," assented George ; " we could eat molasses on 
 it, or thin up the condensed milk." 
 
 " We shall probably have caribou meat that we can 
 take along frozen," Hubbard went on. " Frozen 
 caribou meat is bully ; it's better than when it's fresh 
 kiUed. Did you ever eat any, Wallace? " 
 
 "No," said I; "the only caribou meat I've ever 
 eaten was what we've had here." 
 
 "Then," said Hubbard, "there's a rare treat in 
 store for you. The first I ever ate was on my Lake 
 St. John trip. The Indian I had with me used to 
 chop off pieces of frozen caribou with an axe, and 
 fry it with lard, and we'd just drink down the grease. 
 It was fine." 
 
 " It's great," said George. 
 
 " Well," said Hubbard, coming back to the present, 
 " I'm dead glad we've decided to strike for the post. 
 If this wind wiU ever let up, we must get at it and 
 catch some fish. I lay awake most of last night think- 
 ing it all over and planning it all." 
 
 " I was awake most of the time, too," said George ; 
 "my feet were mighty cold." 
 
 There was no fishing on the day we decided to turn 
 back, as the wind confined us to camp, and aU we had 
 to eat was rice and bacon soup ; but our anticipations 
 
 165 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 of home to some extent overcame the clamour of our 
 stomachs, and we passed the time chatting about the 
 things we intended to do when we regained "God's 
 country." 
 
 "I'm going to take a vacation," said Hubbard. 
 " I'll visit father and mother, if they're in the east, 
 and sister Daisy, and maybe go to Canada with my 
 wife and stay a little while with her people. What 
 will you do, boys ? " 
 
 I told of my plans to visit various relatives, and 
 then George described a trip he was going to make 
 to visit a sister whom he had not seen since he was 
 a little boy, closing the description with a vivid 
 account of the good things he would have to eat, and 
 what he would cook himself. It was always so — ^no 
 matter what our conversation was about, it sooner 
 or later developed into a discussion of gastronomy. 
 
 In the evening Hubbard had me make out a list of 
 the restaurants we intended to visit when we got back 
 to New York and take George to. I have the list yet, 
 but since my return I have never had the heart to go 
 near any of the places it mentions. From the talk 
 about restaurants Hubbard suddenly turned to lum- 
 ber camps, asking George and me if we had ever 
 visited one. We replied that we had not, and won- 
 dered what had brought lumber camps into his mind. 
 We soon learned. 
 
 " You've missed something," he said. " We'll make 
 it a point to call at Sandy Calder's camp when we 
 
 166 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 go back, and make him give us a feed of pork and 
 beans and molasses to sop our bread in. They're 
 sure to have them." 
 
 "Do they have cake and pie?" asked George. 
 
 " Yes, in unlimited quantities ; and doughnuts, too 
 — at least they used to in the Michigan lumber camps 
 I've visited." 
 
 " That sounds good," I remarked — -" the pork and 
 beans and molasses, best of all. When I was a boy 
 I was fond of bread and molasses — good, black 
 molasses — but I haven't eaten any since. I'd like to 
 have a chance at some now." 
 
 "So should I," said Hubbard; "I'd just roll my 
 bread in it lumberjack fashion." 
 
 "Do they have gingerbread in the camps?" asked 
 George. 
 
 " Yes," said Hubbard ; " gingerbread is always on 
 the table." 
 
 "How do they make it?" 
 
 "Well, I don't" just know; but I'll tell you what, 
 George — if you want to know, I'll ask Mrs. Hubbard 
 to show you when we get home, and I know she'll be 
 delighted to do it. She's the best cook I ever knew." 
 
 " Do you think she would mind? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; she'd be very glad to do it. You must 
 stop at our house for a while before you go back to 
 Missanabie, and she will teach you to cook a good 
 many things." 
 
 And so our conversation continued until we turned 
 167 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHLD 
 
 to our blankets and sought the luxury of sleep, I to 
 dream I was revelling in a stack of gingerbread as 
 high as a house that my sisters had baked to welcome 
 me home. 
 
 To our ever-increasing dismay, the northwest gale 
 continued to blow almost unceasingly during the next 
 few days. Sometimes towards evening the wind would 
 moderate sufficiently to permit us to troll with diffi- 
 culty along the lee shore of an island, but seldom 
 were we rewarded with more than a single namaycush, 
 and so far from our getting enough fish to carry us 
 over our long portage to Lake Disappointment, we 
 did not catch enough for our daily needs, and were 
 compelled to draw on our httle store of emergency 
 provisions. On Wednesday (September 16th) we ate 
 the last bit of bacon and the last handful of rice we 
 had so carefully hoarded. We succeeded that day in 
 reaching the rapid where we caught the few trout 
 that some animal stole from us, and there we camped. 
 From this point we believed we could more readily 
 gain the bay where we had entered the lake, and begin 
 our retreat when the wind subsided. 
 
 The Canada jay, a carrion bird about the size of 
 a robin that is generally known through the north as 
 the "whiskey jack," had always hovered about our 
 camps and been very tame when, in the earlier days of 
 our trip, we had refuse to throw away ; but now these 
 birds called at us from a greater distance, seeming to 
 know we were looking at them with greedy eyes. 
 
 168 
 
WE 6lVE rP TJP 
 
 George told us that their flesh had saved many an 
 Indian from starvation, and that the Indians looked 
 upon them with a certain veneration and would kill 
 them only in case of the direst need. Our compunc- 
 tions against eating carrion birds had entirely dis- 
 appeared, and the course of the whiskey j acks in hold- 
 ing aloof from camp when they were most needed used 
 to make George furious. 
 
 "See the blamed beggars!" he would ejaculate. 
 " Just look at 'em ! We've been f eedin' 'em right 
 along, and now when it's their turn to feed us, look 
 at 'em go ! " 
 
 On Thursday (September 17th) George got his 
 revenge. Stealthily he crept upon a whiskey jack in 
 the bush and shot it with a pistol. " They're pretty 
 tough," he said, upon returning with his prize to 
 camp, " and will take a long time to cook." We did 
 not care for that; we ate that bird, bones and all, 
 stewed in a big pot of water with two or three spoon- 
 fuls of flour and an equal amount of pea meal. 
 
 That was our breakfast. We had no luncheon ; for 
 although we spent the entire day trolling up and 
 down the lee shore, it was not until evening that we 
 caught any fish. The wind was icy and set us all 
 a-shiver, our hands were benumbed by the cold water, 
 and we were just beginning to despair when we landed 
 a two-pound namaycush, and a little later a five- 
 pounder. Then, wet to the skin and chilled to the 
 bone, we paddled back to camp, to cheer ourselves up 
 
 169 
 
THE LUHE of the LABRADOR WILD 
 
 with a good fire and a supper of one-third of the 
 larger fish, a dish of stewed sour cranberries and 
 plenty of hot tea. 
 
 "I feel more satisfied every time I think of our 
 decision to turn back," said Hubbard, as, with supper 
 eaten, we reclined comfortably before the fire. " I 
 had a pretty hard night of it though, on Mon- 
 day; for I hated to turn back without seeing the 
 Indians." 
 
 " I was awake thinkin' about it, too," said George. 
 " I told you about havin' cold feet, and that they 
 kept me awake." He paused, and we felt that some- 
 thing was coming. At length out it came: "Well, 
 they did, but that wind out in the lake kept me awake 
 more than the cold feet. I knew that wind was makin' 
 the huntin' good down the bay, the game was comin' 
 down there now, and the young fellus I used to hunt 
 with had been wishin' for this very wind that was 
 keepin' us here, and they were glad to see it, and were 
 out shootin' waveys [a species of wild goose] ; and 
 here we boys was, up against it for sure." 
 
 Hubbard and I had to laugh at George's confes- 
 sion, and we joked him a little about being home- 
 sick. 
 
 " Well," said Hubbard, " we'll soon get away now 5 
 this wind must let up some time. Tallcing about the 
 bay reminds me that I want to arrange for a trip to 
 Hudson's Bay next summer. I want a nice, easy trip 
 that I can take Mrs. Hubbard on. I'd like to go up 
 
 170 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 early and return in the fall, and maybe get some 
 wavey shooting. Could you get one or two good men 
 besides yourself to go with us, George? " 
 
 George said he thought he could, and after Hub- 
 bard had invited me to make one of the party, they 
 went into minute details as to the food they would 
 take with them, planning an elaborate culinary outfit. 
 
 Just before George went to bed, Hubbard and I, 
 using the trees that stood close to the fire for a sup- 
 port, stretched a tarpaulin over our heads, to shelter 
 us from the rain and sleet. Beyond the circle of our 
 bright-blazing fire the darkness was profound. As 
 the wind in great blasts swept over the tops of the 
 trees, its voice was raised to piercing shrieks that 
 gradually died away into low moans. We thought 
 of the vast wilderness lying all about us under the 
 pall of a moonless and starless night. Where had all 
 the people in the world gone to, anyway? 
 
 But, sitting there on our couch of boughs beneath 
 the tarpaulin, in the grateful warmth of the high- 
 leaping flames, we found it very cosey. And we 
 talked of the places and persons that were somewhere 
 beyond the solitudes. 
 
 " You don't mind sitting here for a while and chat- 
 ting, do you, b'y?" said Hubbard. "It's very cold 
 and shivery in the tent." " B'y " was a word we had 
 picked up from the Newfoundland fishermen, who 
 habitually use it in addressing one another, be the 
 person addressed old or young. At first Hubbard 
 
 171 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 and I called each other "b'y" in jest, but gradually 
 it became with us a term almost of endearment. 
 
 " No, b'y," I answered ; " I would much rather be 
 out here with you than in the tent." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Hubbard, " of how I loved, 
 in the evening after dinner last winter, to sit before 
 the wood fire in our grate at Congers, and watch the 
 blaze with Mina [Mrs. Hubbard] near me. What a 
 feeling of quiet, and peace, and contentment, would 
 come to me then ! — I'd forget all about the grind at 
 the office and the worries of the day. That's real 
 happiness, Wallace — a good wife and a cheerful fire- 
 side. What does glory and all that amount to, after 
 all.'' I've let my work and my ambition bother me too 
 much. I've hardly taken time for my meals. In the 
 morning I'd hurry through breakfast and run for my 
 train. I haven't given my wife and my home the 
 attention they deserve. That wife of mine, Wallace, 
 deserves a great deal of attention. She's always 
 thinking of my comfort, and doing things to please 
 me, and cooking things I like. But I must be boring 
 you with all this talk about my own affairs." 
 
 "No, b'y," I said; "I hke to hear about them. 
 I've always been interested in witnessing how happy 
 you and your wife have been together." 
 
 " She's been a good wife to me, Wallace ; and as 
 time has gone on since our marriage we've grown 
 closer and closer together." 
 
 " I see you're like every other man that gets a good 
 
 m 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 wife — ^you've found the real key to the house of a 
 man's happiness." 
 
 "That's so. A single man, or a man with an 
 uncongenial wife whom he doesn't love and who doesn't 
 love him, may be as rich as Crcesus, and gain all the 
 honours in the world, and he won't possess an atom of 
 the happiness of a poor man congenially married. 
 Did I ever tell you about the day I was married.'' — 
 the trouble I had?" 
 
 " I don't remember that you did. Although I sus- 
 pected something unusual on foot, I didn't hear of 
 your marriage until after the deed was done. You 
 didn't take me into your confidence, you know." 
 
 " That was because we had never camped together 
 then, b'y. If we had camped together, I'd have told 
 you all about it. Mina and I had not intended to 
 get married so soon. We were to have been married 
 in the spring, but that January I received an assign- 
 ment for a trip through the South, and I knew it 
 would keep me away until after our wedding date. I 
 didn't want to postpone the wedding, so I decided, if 
 I could get Mina's consent, to make my trip our 
 honeymoon. She was at her parents' home in Canada, 
 and there was no time to lose, and I telegraphed ask- 
 ing her to come on at once and get married. She 
 was a brick and consented, and then I was in such a 
 nervous state of anticipation I was afraid the folks 
 where I was stopping would discover something was 
 up, so the day before I expected Mina to arrive I 
 
 173 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 ran over to Jersey to spend the night with my old 
 friend Dr. Shepard, the minister. 
 
 " Well, Mina's train was due at the Grand Central 
 Station early in the morning, and I had to catch a 
 train from Jersey a little after five o'clock to meet her. 
 I was afraid I'd oversleep, and I kept awake nearly 
 all night. Long before the train was due I was down 
 at the station and took a seat in the waiting room. 
 And what do you suppose I did.'' " 
 
 "What.?" said L 
 
 "Why," said Hubbard, with a cheerful grin, "I 
 fell to thinking so hard about what was going to 
 happen that I sat there in the station and let the 
 train I was so afraid to lose come and go without ever 
 hearing it." 
 
 Under the sleet-covered tarpaulin, there in the in- 
 terior of Labrador, Hubbard and I laughed heartily. 
 
 "And was the bride-elect kept waiting.'"' I asked. 
 
 " No," said Hubbard ; " I hustled over a couple of 
 miles to another line and got a train there, and as 
 Mina fortunately didn't arrive as early as expected, 
 I was in time." 
 
 The fire had died down and the darkness was begin- 
 ning to close in upon us. I arose to renew the fire, 
 and when the logs had begun to blaze again, and I 
 had resumed my seat, I saw that the drawn and hag- 
 gard look had returned to Hubbard's face, and that 
 he was staring wistfully out over the fire into the 
 impenetrable gloom. 
 
 171 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 "What is it, b'y?" I said. 
 
 "That was a great trip, Wallace — that southern 
 trip. I want to visit some of the places again with 
 Mina and live over our honeymoon. And," he went 
 on — " yes, I want some more of the good southern 
 cooking. You ought to eat their combread, Wallace ! 
 — there's nothing like it anywhere else in the world. 
 They cook corn meal in a dozen ways, from corn pone 
 to really delicate dishes. And they know how to cook 
 chickens, too. Their chickens and yams and corn- 
 bread are great. It makes my mouth water to think 
 of even the meals I've eaten in the mountaineers' 
 cabins — ^wild hog, good and greasy ; wild honey, hoe- 
 cake, and strong black coffee. When I get home I'm 
 going to experiment in camp with cooking corn meal, 
 and I've got an idea that a young sucking pig roasted 
 before the fire like George roasted the goose would 
 be great." 
 
 There we were, plunged once more into a discussion 
 about food, and it was after midnight when the talk 
 about roasting pigs, and stuffing pigs, and baking 
 this, and baking that, came to an end. Even then 
 Hubbard was loath to seek the tent, it was so " cold 
 and shivery " ; but he expressed himself as being fairly 
 comfortable when he had followed my example and 
 toasted himself thoroughly before the fire immediately 
 before turning in with a pair of socks on his feet that 
 had been hung up to warm. 
 
 On Friday (September 18th) a fierce northwest gale 
 X75 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 again kept us on the lee shore, and all we got on the 
 troU was a three-quarter-pound namaycush. Hub- 
 bard and I also fished conscientiously at the rapid 
 near which we were stiU camping, and our combined 
 efi'orts yielded us only two eight-inch trout and a 
 twenty-inch trout. Trying as we were to get fish 
 ahead for our long portage, it was most depress- 
 ing. 
 
 Despite the steady gnaw, gnaw at the pit of our 
 stomachs, we had cut down our meals to the minimum 
 amount of food that would keep us alive; we were 
 so weak we no longer were sure where our feet were 
 going to when we put them down. But aU the fish 
 we had to smoke was two or three. And on Friday 
 night we ate the last bit of our flour; it was used to 
 thicken the water in which we boiled for supper some 
 entrails, a namaycush head and the two little trout 
 we had caught during the day. 
 
 All that night the northwest gale was accompanied 
 by gusts of rain and snow. On Saturday (Septem- 
 ber 19th) the mercury dropped to 32 degrees, and the 
 air was raw. Not a single fish were we able to catch. 
 George and I smoked a pipe for breakfast, while 
 Hubbard imbibed the atmosphere. A bit of the 
 smoked fish we had hoped to keep, boiled with a dash 
 of pea meal in the water, did us for luncheon and 
 supper. 
 
 Heretofore we had slept each rolled in his own 
 blanket, but it was so cold in the tent that night we 
 
 176 
 
WE GIVE IT UP 
 
 had to make a common bed by spreading one blanket 
 beneath us on a tarpaulin and lying spoon-fashion 
 with the other two blankets drawn over us. The 
 blankets were decidedly narrow for three men to get 
 under, and it was necessary for us to lie very close 
 together indeed; but our new method enabled us to 
 keep fairly warm and we continued its use. 
 
 On Sunday (September 20th) the temperature 
 dropped to 29 and the squalls continued. In despera- 
 tion we broke camp in the morning and tried to cross 
 the lake with our outfit, but the wind soon drove us 
 back to shelter. While we were out on the lake we 
 caught a namaycush on the troll, and this fish we had 
 for luncheon, together with some cranberries we found 
 on a ridge near where we had taken refuge on the 
 shore. A little later I was attacked with vomiting 
 and f aintness. When I tried to swing an axe, I reeled 
 and all but lost consciousness. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the squalls subsided, and we 
 made another attempt to escape from the prison in 
 which we were slowly starving. Fortunately the wind 
 continued fair and there were no cross-seas ; and on 
 and on we paddled in the direction of — ^home! Oh, 
 the great relief of it ! For nearly two weeks we had 
 been held on that dreadful lake. Day after day the 
 relentless storm had raged, while hunger leered at 
 us and tormented us with its insistent clamour as we, 
 with soaked rags and shivering bodies, strove vainly 
 to prevent the little stock of food from diminishing 
 
 177 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 that we felt was our only hold on life. And now we 
 were going home ! 
 
 Darkness had long since fallen when we reached an 
 island near the point where we had entered the lake. 
 In a driving rain we pitched our camp. For supper 
 we had the last of the little stock of fish that we had 
 been able to dry. This meant that, in addition to our 
 stock of tea, the only food we had left on hand was 
 sixteen pounds of pea meal. But we did not worry. 
 We were going home. And on Monday morning, 
 September 21st, though the wind was again blowing 
 a gale, and the passage among the spray-covered rocks 
 was filled with risk, we paddled over to the mainland, 
 ready to begin our race for life down the trail we had 
 fought so hard to ascend. 
 
 178 
 
XII 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE 
 RETREAT 
 
 UPON reaching the mainland we stopped to 
 assort and dry our baggage. All of us felt 
 we had entered upon a race against starva- 
 tion, and everything that was not strictly 
 necessary to aid our progress to Northwest River 
 Post we threw away. In addition to many odds and 
 ends of clothing we abandoned about three pounds 
 of tea. Tea was the one thing of which we had car- 
 ried an abundance, and though we had used it 
 freely, we had more than we deemed necessary to 
 carry us through. 
 
 While we were nearing the shore, we sighted three 
 little ducklings bobbing up and down in the tumbling 
 waves and repeatedly diving. They were too far off 
 to reach with a pistol, and Hubbard took his rifle. 
 It seemed almost like attacking a fly with a cannon, 
 but with our thoughts on grub, none of us was im- 
 pressed with its incongruity then. After Hubbard 
 had fired two or three shots, one of the ducklings sud- 
 denly turned over. We paddled to it with feverish 
 haste, and found that it had been stunned by a ball 
 
 179 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 that had barely grazed its bill. It was a lucky shot ; 
 for if the bullet had gone through the duckling's 
 body there would have been little left of it to eat. 
 
 While George and I were drying the camp equip- 
 ment, Hubbard caught five small trout in the stream 
 that emptied into the lake at this point — ^the stream 
 we had followed down. These fish we ate for luncheon. 
 Once more ready to start, we pushed up the stream to 
 the place where we had last camped before reaching 
 the lake, and there we again pitched our tent. For 
 supper we made soup of the duckling. It was almost 
 like coming home to reach this old camping ground, 
 and it cheered us considerably. The first day of the 
 forty-mile portage we had to make before reaching 
 fairly continuous water had been, as a whole, de- 
 pressing. Rain, accompanied by a cold wind, began 
 to fall early in the afternoon. The weather was so 
 cold, in fact, that the trout would not rise after we 
 caught the five near the lake, and this made us uneasy 
 as to how the fishing would prove farther down the 
 trail. The day's journey, moreover, had made it 
 clear, in spite of our eflForts to hide the fact from one 
 another, that we were much weaker than when we last 
 had made portages. We had reached the stage 
 where none of us could carry the canoe alone. De- 
 cidedly we were not the same men that had set out so 
 blithely from the post eight weeks before. As for 
 myself, I had shortened my belt thirteen inches since 
 July 16th. 
 
 180 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 It became the custom now for George and me to go 
 ahead with the canoe for a mile or so while Hubbard 
 brought forward in turn each of the three packs for 
 about an eighth of a mile. Then George and I would 
 return to him, and, each taking a pack, we would 
 advance to the place where the canoe had been left. 
 Sometimes, however, this routine was varied, Hubbard 
 now and then helping George with the canoe while I 
 juggled with the packs until they returned to me. 
 Despite the fact that we had fewer as well as lighter 
 packs to carry than on the up trail, our progress was 
 slower because of our increasing weakness. Whereas 
 it had taken us three days on the up trail to portage 
 the fifteen miles between Lake Mary and Windbound 
 Lake, it now took us five days to cover the same 
 ground. 
 
 On Tuesday, the 22d, the second day of our port- 
 age, it rained all the time, and for the greater part 
 of the day we floundered through marshes and 
 swamps. We caught no fish and killed no game. 
 Hubbard tried to stalk a goose in a swamp, wading 
 above his knees in mud and water to get a shot ; but 
 he finally had to fire at such long range that he 
 missed, and the bird flew away, to our great disap- 
 pointment. Our day's food consisted of half a pound 
 of pea meal for each man. During the day Hubbard 
 had an attack of vomiting, and at night, when we 
 reached our second camping ground above the lake, 
 we were all miserable and thoroughly soaked, though 
 
 181 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 still buoyed up by the knowledge that we were going 
 home. 
 
 The cold rain continued on the 23d until late in 
 the day, when the sky cleared and evening set in cold 
 and crisp. That day I was attacked with vomiting. 
 Our food was the same as on the day previous, with 
 the addition of some mossberries and cranberries we 
 found on the barren ridge over which we crossed. It 
 was another day of hard portaging on stomachs cry- 
 ing for food, and when we pitched our camp we were 
 so exhausted that we staggered like drunken men. 
 Silent and depressed, we took our places on the seat 
 of boughs that George had prepared by the roaring 
 fire; but after we had eaten our meagre supper and 
 drunk our tea, and our clothes had begun to dry in 
 the genial glow, we found our tongues again; and, 
 half forgetting that, starving and desperate, we 
 were still in the midst of the wilderness, far from 
 human help, we once more talked of the homes that 
 were calling to us over the dreary wastes; talked of 
 the dear people that would welcome us back and of the 
 good things they would give us to eat; talked until 
 far into the night, dreading to go to the cold tent 
 and the wet blankets. 
 
 We awoke on the morning of the 24th to find six 
 inches of snow on the ground and the storm still 
 raging, with the temperature down to 28. Soon after 
 we began plodding through the snow on a pea-soup 
 breakfast, George left us to hunt geese. The night 
 
 182 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 before he had told Hubbard he would kill a goose in 
 the morning, if he were permitted to go on with a 
 rifle. He had heard the geese flying, and believed 
 they had alighted for the night in a small lake some 
 distance ahead. The knowledge that he was a famous 
 goose hunter " down the bay " made his confidence 
 impressive ; still we were doubtful about his succeed- 
 ing in his quest; for the geese had been so hard to 
 approach of late we were beginning to fear we should 
 never shoot any more. For half an hour after George 
 had taken his pack and a rifle and gone on, Hubbard 
 and I slowly followed his trail through the snow. 
 Then in the distance we heard a " Bang ! " and after 
 a short interval, " Bang ! — Bang ! " — ^three shots 
 in all. 
 
 " He's seen them," said Hubbard. 
 
 " And shot one," said I. 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that," returned Hubbard ; 
 " I'm afraid they flew and he tried to wing them, and 
 if that's the case the chances are against him." 
 
 Presently we came upon George's pack near the 
 western end of the little lake, and we stopped and 
 anxiously waited for him to appear. In a few 
 moments he came. 
 
 " You can kick me," he began with apparent dis- 
 gust ; then, observing the look of keen disappointment 
 upon Hubbard's haggard face, he quickly changed 
 his tone. "That's all right, fellus," he said; "I got 
 a goose. I saw 'em out there fifty yards from shore, 
 
 183 
 
THE LtJilE OF THE LASRAJDOR WtLt) 
 
 and I bellied along through the brush as close as I 
 dared, and fired and knocked one over. Then the 
 others flew out about two hundred yards farther, and 
 I thought I'd chance another shot ; for if I didn't try 
 I wouldn't get another, and if I did I might knock 
 one over. So I shot again and did get another. Then 
 the rest of the flock rose up, and I tried to wing one, 
 but missed, and they've gone now. But there's two 
 dead ones out in the lake." 
 
 Joy? — the word fails to express our feeling. 
 George and I hurried back for the canoe, and when 
 we paddled out, there, sure enough, were the two 
 geese, one dead and the other helpless with a broken 
 wing. George ended the life of the wounded goose 
 with a pistol, and we paddled back to our packs and 
 built a big fire in the lee of a thick clump of trees. 
 The snow had turned into a fierce, driving rain, but 
 that did not bother us. To dress the geese did not 
 take long. We put the giblets and entrails to boil 
 immediately, and, to quiet our impatience while wait- 
 ing for them to cook, George cut from the necks a 
 piece of skin and fat for each of us. These we 
 warmed on the end of a stick, taking great care not 
 to heat them enough to permit a single drop of the 
 oil to escape from the fat; then, half raw as they 
 were, we ate them down greedily and found them 
 delicious. It was really wonderful how much happi- 
 ness that bit of game brought us. As we were eating 
 the giblets and entrails and drinking the broth, we 
 
 184. 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 freely admitted that never before had we sat down 
 to such a banquet. 
 
 " And," remarked Hubbard, " just think how 
 original is our menu. I'll bet there isn't a menu in 
 New York that contains boiled goose entrails." 
 
 On the 25th the fierce northwest gale still blew, 
 and the air was again filled with snow. But still we 
 pushed onward. Let the wind blow, and the snow 
 and rain come as they liked, they could not stop us — 
 we were going home. We portaged this day to 
 another of our old camps by a small lake. On the 
 evening before we had eaten the wings and feet of the 
 geese boiled. For breakfast we had half a goose, 
 for luncheon we had pea soup, and at night we had 
 the other half of the goose left over from the morn- 
 ing. We scorched the bones in the fire and ate even 
 them. These meals did not begin to satisfy our 
 appetites, but they were sufficient to give us a little 
 new life. 
 
 While we were sitting around the fire Hubbard 
 wished me to promise to spend Thanksgiving Day 
 with him that year — ^if we reached home in time.. For 
 two years I had spent the day at his home, and 
 Thanksgiving, he said, must be our reunion day 
 always. No matter what happened, we must always 
 make a special effort to spend that day together in 
 the years to come. We must never drift apart. We 
 were brothers, comrades — more than brothers. We 
 had endured the greatest hardships together, had 
 
 185 
 
THE LimE OE THE LABHABOR WILT) 
 
 fought our way through that awful country together, 
 had starved together; and never had there been a 
 misunderstanding, never a word of dissension. 
 
 From this time on we talked less about what we 
 should eat when we reached civilisation. True, we 
 would sometimes lapse into restaurant and home- 
 dinner talks, but we fought against it as much as 
 possible, realising that to permit our thoughts to 
 dwell on good things to eat accentuated our distress. 
 Gradually we talked more and more of childhood's 
 days, and incidents, long forgotten, came vividly be- 
 fore us. It was a psychological phenomenon I cannot 
 account for ; but it was the case with all of us — Hub- 
 bard, George, and myself. 
 
 During these trying times we had one never-failing 
 source of amusement, which, because it was the only 
 one, was all the more valued and taken advantage of. 
 I refer to our appearance. George had shaved once 
 since we had gone into the country, but neither Hub- 
 bard nor I had known the caress of a razor since we 
 left the post on July 15th. None of us had felt the 
 loving touch of the scissors upon his hair since leav- 
 ing New York in June, and our heads were shaggy 
 masses of more or less dishevelled and tangled locks. 
 Long-continued exposure to sun and storm and the 
 smoke of campfires had covered our faces with a deep 
 coat of brown. Our eyes were sunken deep into their 
 sockets. Our lips were drawn to thin lines over our 
 teeth. The skin of our faces and hands was stretched 
 
 186 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 tight over the bones. We were almost as thin, and 
 ahnost the colour of the mummies one sees in museums. 
 
 As for our clothing, it was still hanging upon us, 
 and that is about aU that can be said of it. Our 
 trousers, full of rents, were tied together with pieces 
 of fish line. The bottoms of our moccasins were so 
 hopelessly gone that we had our feet wrapped in 
 rags, with pieces of fishline tied around what re- 
 mained of the uppers. Our flannel shirts were full 
 of rents. Around our necks we wore red bandanna 
 handkerchiefs. Our soft felt hats had become shape- 
 less things so full of rents that if it were not for the 
 bandanna handkerchiefs we wore in them our hair 
 would have protruded at every point. 
 
 Frequently we would picture ourselves walking 
 into our homes or through the streets of New York as 
 we then were, and laugh at the thought. " Wallace," 
 Hubbard would say, " the cops wouldn't let you walk 
 a block; they'd run you in sure. You're the most 
 disreputable-looking individual I ever saw, by long 
 odds." And I would retort : " I'd make a good 
 second to you; for you're the worst that ever hap- 
 pened." 
 
 It was on Saturday morning, the 26th, that we 
 reached the western end of Lake Mary and completed 
 fifteen miles of our forty-mile portage. We pitched 
 our tent, as we had done before, on the site of the old 
 Indian camp, near the brook George had pointed out 
 as a good fishing place. The rain and wind con- 
 
 187 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 tinued in the morning, but at midday the sun came 
 out and we were able to dry our blankets. Always 
 we waited for the sun to dry the blankets ; for we had 
 had so many articles of clothing burned while hang- 
 ing before the fire we did not dare to trust the 
 blankets near it. 
 
 While we were following our old trail to the lake, 
 Hubbard decapitated a duck with a rifle buUet, and 
 we went into camp with high hopes of more food 
 in the way of fish. Hubbard's rod was hopelessly 
 broken, so he took mine, now much wound with linen 
 thread, but still usable if not very pliable, and while 
 I made camp and George prepared the duck for 
 Itmcheon, he caught twenty trout of fair size, which 
 caused our spirits to run high. 
 
 Luncheon over, Hubbard resumed his fishing, and 
 I stole away with my rifle along the marshes in the 
 hope of seeing a caribou. When I returned towards 
 dusk without having sighted any game, I found a 
 stage over the fire and George hanging up trout to 
 dry. Hubbard, it appeared, had caught ninety-five 
 more. Our exultation knew no bounds. We had not 
 dreamed of any such catch as that. By remaining 
 ia camp and fishing another day, we should, at this 
 rate, be able to dry nearly enough trout to see us 
 through to Lake Disappointment. 
 
 We were as happy and as free from care as chil- 
 dren. Our great success here made us feel sure that 
 down below, where we had caught so many fish on our 
 
 188 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 inbound journey, we should again get plenty — aU we 
 should need, in fact — and our safety seemed assured. 
 We admitted We had felt doubts as to the outcome, 
 which we had not expressed out of consideration for 
 one another. But now we felt we could look forward 
 to reaching home as a certainty. And, feeling freer 
 to indulge our fancies, our talk at once returned to 
 the good things we were going to eat. 
 
 Sunday, the 27th, was warm and clear, with a 
 southwest wind, and everything seemed favourable 
 for more fish. For breakfast we ate the last of our 
 goose, and for luncheon trout entrails and roe. While 
 George and I were drying fish during the forenoon, 
 Hubbard caught fifty more. One big fellow had 
 sores all over his body, and we threw it aside. Towards 
 noon the fish ceased to rise, the pool probably being 
 fished out. After luncheon I again left camp with 
 my rifle in the vain hope of sighting a caribou. 
 
 The gloom of night was beginning to gather when 
 I returned. As I approached, stepping noiselessly 
 on the mossy carpet of the forest, I saw Hubbard 
 sitting alone by the bright-burning fire, mending his 
 moccasins. Something in his attitude made me pause. 
 He was bareheaded, and his long, unkempt hair hung 
 half way down to his shoulders. As he sat there in 
 the red glow of the fire, with the sombre woods be- 
 yond and the lonely stretch of lake below, and I took 
 note of his emaciated form and his features so hag- 
 gard and drawn, I seemed for the first time to realise 
 
 189 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 fully the condition to which the boy had been brought 
 by his sufferings. And while I stood there, still un- 
 observed, I heard him softly humming to himself : 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 How strangely the old hymn sounded among those 
 solitudes ! After a little I again started to advance, 
 and as I stepped upon a dry branch Hubbard stopped 
 his singing and looked up quickly. 
 
 " Wallace," he exclaimed, " I'm glad to see you ! 
 George and I have been having a long Sunday talk 
 and we missed you. We were wishing you'd come. 
 No luck.? " 
 
 " No," said I ; " nothing but old trails ; not a fresh 
 track anywhere. What were you talking about.? " 
 
 " We had a chapter from the Bible and a little talk 
 about it. I've been thinking about my class of boys 
 in the Sunday-school at Congers, and how glad I'll 
 be to get back to them again ; I've a lot I want to tell 
 them. It's restful just to think of that little church, 
 and this Sunday afternoon I've been thinking about 
 it a good deal." 
 
 George was lying in the tent, and Hubbard and I 
 joined him and continued our conversation there. 
 Hubbard spoke of the luck we had had in catching 
 trout, saying : " It's God's way of taking care of us 
 so long as we do our best." It was wonderful to see 
 how, as his body became weaker, his spirit grew 
 
 190 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 
 
 brighter. Steadily he became more gentle and affec- 
 tionate; the more he suiFered the more his faith in 
 the God of his youth seemed to increase. 
 
 Early the next morning (September 28th) George, 
 who was the first to be stirring, poked his head into 
 the tent, and with an air of mystery asked me for my 
 pistol. A moment later we heard a shot. Hubbard 
 and I both looked out, to see George returning with 
 empty hands and an expression of deep chagrin. 
 
 "What are you shooting at now?" asked Hub- 
 bard. 
 
 " The blackest marten I ever saw," said George. 
 " I knocked him over, but he got on his feet again 
 and was into the lake and away before I could reach 
 him. The beggar was right here in camp tryin' to 
 make oif with that fish with sores we threw away. He 
 might have made good eatin' if we'd got him." 
 
 As the day was squally with snow, and a heavy 
 wind was kicking up a sea on the lake, we decided to 
 remain in camp another day and smoke the fish a 
 little more. While we kept the smoke going under 
 the stage, we sat by the fire and chatted. The day's 
 rations consisted of three fish for each man at each 
 of the three meals. By way of a little variety we 
 roasted some of the fish on sticks. We were all very 
 weak, but George explained that away. 
 
 " The Indians," he said, " always go to pieces 
 after they've been hard up for a while and finally get 
 grub. Then they feed up and get strong again. It's 
 
 191 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 the grub comin' all of a sudden that makes you weak. 
 Your mind feelin' easier, you feel you can't do any- 
 thing." 
 
 Hubbard and I agreed that George was right. 
 Our minds certainly had relaxed; homeward bound 
 with enough fish on hand to last us for several days, 
 we had no doubts as to the future. We decided, how- 
 ever, that whatever the weather conditions in the 
 morning might be, we should break camp and push 
 on with the greatest possible speed, as it was the part 
 of wisdom to make our supply of fish carry us down 
 the back trail as far as possible. So we went to our 
 blankets more than eager for the morning's start, 
 and more confident we should get out safely than at 
 any time since we began the retreat. 
 
 192 
 
XIII 
 HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 TWO things soon became plain after our strug- 
 gle back to the post was resumed. One was 
 that winter was fast closing in upon us ; the 
 other was that Hubbard's condition was such 
 as might well cause the gravest concern. The morning 
 that we broke camp on Lake Mary (Tuesday, Sep- 
 tember 29th), was ushered in by a gale from the weSt 
 and driving snow. The mercury had dropped to 24, 
 and all of us were a-shiver when we issued from the 
 tent. While George and I were preparing the outfit 
 for travel Hubbard caught twelve trout in the pool. 
 On the lake we encountered as heavy a sea as our little 
 canoe could weather, and we had to struggle hard for 
 an hour to reach the farther shore. Upon landing, 
 Hubbard was again attacked with diarrhcea. George 
 and I carried the packs up the high bank to a 
 sheltered spot in the woods, but when I returned to 
 Hubbard he insisted on helping me to carry the canoe. 
 Up the steep ascent we laboured, and then, as we put 
 the canoe down, Hubbard said: 
 
 " I'm dead tired and weak, boys ; I think I'll have 
 to take a little rest." 
 
 193 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D' 
 
 After building him a roaring log fire, George and 
 I carried the canoe a mile and a half ahead through 
 the driving snow, which was of the wet kind that 
 clings to every bush and tree, robing the woods in a 
 pure and spotless white that inevitably suggests 
 fairyland. But I was not in a mood to admire the 
 beauty of it all. Upon our return to Hubbard he 
 announced that we should have to camp where we 
 were for the day, that he might have time to re- 
 cuperate. The delay affected him keenly. We should 
 eat nearly as much food in our idleness as we should 
 in moving onward, and the thought of drawing on 
 our thirty-five pounds of dried fish without making 
 progress was anything but pleasant. 
 
 The wintry weather did not worry us ; for we knew 
 the snow then falling would disappear before the 
 ground became covered for good, and we felt sure 
 we should reach the Susan Valley before freezing-up 
 time, in which event ice wo^ld assist rather than re- 
 tard our progress, as even with the Susan River 
 open it would be impossible to use the canoe in its 
 shoal, rapid waters. As for Hubbard's condition, 
 I suppose it worried me more than anyone else. 
 George had failed to note the signs of increasing 
 weakness in our leader that I had, and Hubbard him- 
 self was so under the influence of his indomitable 
 spirit that for a long time he apparently did not 
 realise the possibility of an utter coUapse. 
 
 By the campfire that night he was confident we 
 194 
 
HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 should be able to make up the next day for the delay 
 caused by his weakness. For a long time he sat 
 silently gazing into the fire, but as he had just been 
 expressing a longing to see his wife, if only for a 
 moment, I knew he did not see the blaze before him. 
 He was looking into another fire — a big, wood fire 
 in an old-fashioned fireplace in the cheerful sitting- 
 room of a far-away Congers home, and his wife was 
 by his side. He put out his arm to draw her closer to 
 him. I could see it all and understand — understand 
 the look of perfect happiness that his fancy's picture 
 brought to his face. But when George arose to throw 
 some more logs on the fire, the shower of sparks that 
 flew heavenward brought him suddenly back to 
 reality — ^to the snow-covered woods of Labrador. 
 
 " I hope we shall be able to find another house in 
 Congers with a fireplace such as our old one had," 
 he said, turning to me as if he knew I had been read- 
 ing his thoughts. " In the evening we sit long before 
 the fire without lighting a lamp. Sometimes we make 
 beKeve we're camping, and make our tea and broil 
 some bacon or melt some cheese for our crackers over 
 the coals, and have a jolly time. I want you, b'y, to 
 visit us often and join us in those teas, and see if you 
 don't find them as delightful as we do." 
 
 The next morning (September 30th) Hubbard said 
 he was much better, and gave the order to advance. 
 We made a short march, camping just beyond the 
 long swamp on the edge of the boulder-strewn 
 
 195 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 country we had found so hard to traverse on the 
 upward trail. On the way we stopped for a pot of 
 tea at a place in the swamp where we had previously 
 camped, and there discovered a treasure ; namely, the 
 bones of a caribou hoof we had used in making soup. 
 We seized upon the bones eagerly, put them in the 
 fire and licked the grease off them as it was drawn 
 out by the heat. Then we cracked them and devoured 
 the bit of grease we found inside. 
 
 It was agreed that from this point George and I 
 should carry the canoe about two miles ahead, while 
 Hubbard carried the packs to a convenient place 
 beyond the swamps and there pitched camp. It was 
 about dusk when George and I, after a laborious 
 struggle among the boulders and brush, put the 
 canoe down and turned back. As we approached the 
 place that had been selected for a camp, we looked 
 expectantly for the glow of the fire, but none was to 
 be seen. At length we heard axe strokes, and came 
 upon Hubbard cutting wood. He greeted us with 
 rather a wan smile. 
 
 " I've been slow, boys," he said. " I haven't got 
 the firewood cut yet, nor the boughs for the bed. 
 I've only just pitched the tent." 
 
 " I'll get the other axe," I said quickly, " and help 
 you while George builds the fire." 
 
 "No, no," he protested; "you get the boughs 
 while I'm getting the wood." 
 
 "I can get the boughs after we have the wood 
 196 
 
HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 chopped; it won't take me long and you must let 
 me help you." 
 
 At that Hubbard said, " Thank you, b'y," in a 
 tone of great relief. Then he added slowly, "I'm 
 stiU a bit weak, and it's hard to work fast to-night." 
 
 It was the first time since we left the post that he 
 consented to anyone doing any part of his share 
 of the work. It is true that since we had turned back 
 I had been relieving him of his share of carrying the 
 canoe, but I was able to do so only by telling him I 
 much preferred toting the boat to juggling with the 
 packs. From this time on, however, he consented, 
 with less resistance, to George or myself doing this 
 ar that while he rested by the fire. The fact was 
 he had reached the stage where he was kept going 
 only by his grit. 
 
 October began with tremendous galesi and a driv- 
 ing rain mixed with sleet that removed all traces of 
 the snow. The sleet stung our faces, and we fre- 
 quently had to take refuge from the blasts in the 
 lee of bushes and trees so as to recover our breath; 
 but we managed to advance our camp three miles on 
 the first, pitching the tent on the shore of one of the 
 limpid ponds among the boulders. For supper we 
 ate the last of the dried fish, which again left us 
 with only the diminishing stock of pea meal, and 
 none of us did much talking when we crouched about 
 the fire. 
 
 On Friday (October 2d), with high hopes of get- 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 ting fish, we hurried ahead with our packs to the pool 
 where Hubbard had caught the big trout with his 
 emergency kit and the tamarack pole, and near which 
 we had camped for a day while he rested and George 
 made a trip to the mountains from which he discov- 
 ered Lake Mary and Windbound Lake. The sight 
 of the old camping place brought back to me the 
 remembrance of how sick Hubbard had been there 
 a month before, and how the thought had come to 
 me to try to make him give up the struggle. 
 
 The weather was very unfavourable for trouting — 
 a cold west wind was blowing accompanied by snow 
 squalls — ^but Hubbard caught two within a few 
 minutes, and George boiled them with a bit of pea 
 meal for luncheon. Then, leaving Hubbard to try 
 for more fish, George and I went back to the canoe. 
 While we were returning to camp, George shot a 
 duck with my rifle. It was a very fat black duck, 
 and we gloated long over its fine condition. Only 
 three more trout rewarded Hubbard's afternoon's 
 work. However, we had duck for supper, and were 
 nearer home, and that comforted us. 
 
 I remember that while we sat by the fire that even- 
 ing George produced from somewhere in the recesses 
 of his pockets a New York Central Railroad time- 
 table on which was printed a buffet lunch menu, 
 and handed it to us with the suggestion that we 
 give our orders for breakfast. Hubbard examined it 
 and quickly said : 
 
 198 
 
HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 " Give me a glass of cream, some graham gems, 
 marmalade, oatmeal and cream, a jelly omelette, a 
 sirloin steak, Ijonnaise potatoes, rolls, and a pot 
 of chocolate. And you might bring me also," 
 he added, " a plate of griddle cakes and maple 
 syrup." 
 
 Every dish on that menu card from end to end 
 we thoroughly discussed, our ultimate concltision 
 being that each of us would take a f ull portion of 
 everything on the list and might repeat the order. 
 
 It was on this evening also that, while calculating 
 the length of time it would take us to travel from 
 point to point on our back trail, we began the dis- 
 cussion as to whether it would be better to stick to 
 the canoe on the " big river" (the Beaver) and follow 
 it down to its mouth, wherever that might be, or 
 abandon the canoe at the place where we had port- 
 aged into the river from Lake Elson, and make a dash 
 overland with Hght packs to the Susan Valley and 
 down that valley to the hvmters' cabins we had seen 
 at the head of Grand Lake, where we hoped we might 
 find a cache of provisions. Hubbard was strongly in 
 favour of the latter plan, while Greorge and I fav- 
 oured the former. As the reader knows, I had a great 
 dread of the Susan Valley, and I expressed my 
 feelings freely. But we all had the idea that the 
 " big river " emptied into Groose Bay (the extreme 
 western end of Hamilton Inlet), and Hubbard rea- 
 soned that we might reach the broad waters of the bay 
 
 199 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 far from a house, be windbound indefinitely and die 
 of starvation on the shore. On the other hand, we 
 were sure of the route through the Susan Valley, and, 
 in his opinion, it would be better to bear the ills we 
 had borne before than fly to others we know not of. 
 I cannot deny that his argument had weight, but we 
 decided that for the present we should hold the matter 
 in abeyance. One thing we felt reasonably sure of, 
 and that was we should get fish in the big river, 
 and we eagerly counted the days it would take us to 
 reach it. 
 
 Bright and cold and crisp was Saturday morning 
 (October 3d), with black wind-driven clouds and oc- 
 casional snow squalls later in the day. About noon, 
 when Hubbard had gone ahead with a pack, Greorge 
 and I sighted two small black ducks while we were 
 canoeing across a pond. They were quietly swim- 
 ming about fifty yards in front of us. I passed my 
 rifle ahead to George. He carefully knelt in the 
 canoe, and took a deliberate aim while I held my 
 breath. Then, Crack ! went the rifle, and but one duck 
 rose on the wing. Quick as a flash, without remov- 
 ing the rifle from his shoulder, George threw the lever 
 forward and back. Instantly the rifle again spoke, 
 and the bird in the air tumbled over and over into the 
 water. The first duck had been decapitated; the 
 other received a bullet through its body. 
 
 The moment was intense; for we had only a little 
 fish for breakfast, and the outlook for other meals 
 
 goo 
 
HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 had seemed dismal indeed; but George was stoicism 
 itself ; not a word did he utter, nor did a feature of 
 his face change. When, after picking up the ducks, 
 we touched the shore, I jumped out, took his hand and 
 said " George, you're a wonder." But he only 
 grinned in his good-natured way and remarked : " We 
 needed 'em." Tying the birds' legs together, he slung 
 them over his shoulder, and proudly we marched 
 to the place where Hubbard was awaiting us, to 
 make his heart glad with our good fortune. One of 
 the ducks we ate on the spot, and the other we had 
 for supper at our camp by a little pond among the 
 moonht lulls. 
 
 The thermometer registered only 10 degrees above 
 zero on Sunday morning (October 4th), but there 
 was not a cloud in the sky, and we should have 
 enjoyed the crisp, clear air had it not been for the 
 ever-present spectre of starvation. All the food we 
 had besides the pea meal was two of the fish Hubbard 
 had caught two days before. One of these we ate 
 for breakfast, boiled with a little pea meal. Our old 
 trail led us up during the forenoon to the shore 
 of one of the larger of the small lakes with which 
 the country abounded. This lake we crossed with 
 difficulty, being compelled to break the ice ahead of 
 the canoe with our paddles. 
 
 On the opposite shore we stopped to make a fire 
 for tea — ^that was all we thought we should have for 
 luncheon; just tea. George stepped into the timber 
 
 201 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 to get wood, and in a moment returned and asked 
 me for my pistol. 
 
 " I saw a partridge in there," he said quietly. 
 
 Presently Hubbard and I heard the pistol crack, 
 and we counted, at short intervals, four shots. 
 
 "There's something up," said Hubbard, and we 
 started to our feet just as George came in view with a 
 grin on his face and four spruce-grouse in his hand. 
 He always did those things in that quiet, matter-of- 
 fact way. 
 
 Two of the birds George cooked immediately, and 
 as he served to each an equal share, Hubbard said : 
 
 " Boys, we should thank the Lord for this food. 
 It has seemed sometimes, I know, as if He had for- 
 gotten us ; but He has not. Just now when we needed 
 food so much He gave us these partridges. Let us 
 thank Him." 
 
 So we bowed our heads for a moment, we three 
 gaunt, ragged men, sitting there by our fire in the 
 open, with the icy lake at our backs and the dark 
 wilderness of fir trees before us. 
 
 During the afternoon we bagged two more grouse. 
 Hubbard shot them as they fluttered up before him on 
 the trail, and a meal on the morrow was assured. 
 The day's work practically completed our forty-mile 
 portage; for we camped at night on the first little 
 lake north of Lake Disappointment. It was well that 
 we had about reached fairly continuous water. None 
 of us would have been able to stand much longer the 
 
"GEORGE CAME WITH FOUR *** GROUSE IN HIS HAND" 
 
HUBBARD'S GRIT 
 
 strain of those rough portages day after day. For- 
 tunate as we had been in getting game at critical 
 moments since leaving Windbound Lake, the quantity 
 of food we had eaten was far below that which was 
 necessary to sustain the strength of men who had to 
 do hard physical work. 
 
 It had become so that when we tried to sit down our 
 legs would give way and we would tumble down. 
 Hubbard was failing daily. He habitually staggered 
 when he walked, and on this last day of our long 
 portage he came near going all to pieces nervously. 
 When he started to tell me something about his wife's 
 sister, he could not recall her name, although it had 
 been perfectly famihar, and this and other lapses of 
 memory appeared to frighten him. For a long time 
 he sat very still with his face buried in his hands, 
 doubtless striving to rally his forces. And the most 
 pitiable part of it was his fear that George and I 
 should notice his weakness and lose courage. 
 
 But he rallied — ^ralHed so as again to become the 
 inspirer of George and me, he who was the weakest 
 physically of the three. 
 
 203 
 
XIV 
 
 BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 IN our camp on the first little lake north of Lake 
 Disappointment we ate on Monday morning 
 (October 5th) the last of the grouse we had kiUed 
 on the previous day, and when we started forward 
 we again were down to the precious little stock of pea 
 meal. In a storm of snow and rain we floundered with 
 the packs and canoe through a deep marsh, until once 
 more we stood on the shore of the big lake where we 
 had spent the weary days searching for a river — ^Lake 
 Disappointment. We built a fire on the shore to dry 
 our rags and warm ourselves; for we were soaked 
 through and shivering with the cold. Then we 
 latmched the canoe and paddled eastward. 
 
 Late in the afternoon we landed on an island that 
 contained a semi-barren knoll, but which otherwise 
 was wooded with small spruce. On the knoll we found 
 an abundance of mossberries, and soon after we had 
 devoured them we happened upon a supper in the 
 form of two spruce-grouse. George and Hubbard 
 each shot one. The sun's journey across the sky was 
 becoming noticeably shorter and shorter, and before 
 we had realised that the day was spent, night began 
 to close in upon us, and we pitched camp on the island. 
 
 g04i 
 
BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 In the morning (October 6) our breakfast flew 
 right into camp. George crawled out early to build 
 a fire, and a moment later stuck his head in the tent 
 with the words, "Your pistol, Wallace." I handed 
 it out to him, and almost immediately we heard a shot. 
 Then George reappeared, holding up another spruce- 
 grouse. 
 
 " This grub came right to us," he said ; " I knocked 
 the beggar over close by the fire." 
 
 While we were eating the bird, Hubbard told us he 
 had been dreaming during the night of home. Nearly 
 every day now we heard that he had been dreaming 
 the night before of his wife or his mother ; they were 
 always giving him good things to eat, or he was going 
 to good dinners with them. 
 
 It had rained hard during the night, but with early 
 morning there came again the mixture of rain and 
 snow we had endured on the day before. When we 
 put off in the canoe, we headed for the point where we 
 expected to make the portage across the two-mile neck 
 of land that separated Lake Disappointment from 
 Lost Trail Lake ; but soon we were caught by a ter- 
 rific gale, and for half an hour we sat low in the canoe 
 doing our best with the paddles to keep it headed to 
 the wind and no one speaking a word. The foam 
 dashed over the sides of our little craft, soaking us 
 from head to foot. Tossed violently about by the big 
 seas, we for a time expected that every moment would 
 be our last. Had George been less expert with the 
 
 205 
 
THE LURE DF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 stem paddle, we surely should have been swamped. 
 As it was, we managed, after a desperate struggle, 
 to gain the lee side of a small, rocky island, upon 
 which we took refuge. 
 
 At length the wind abated and the lake became 
 calmer, and, venturin/r out once more, we made for the 
 mainland some distance to the west of where we had 
 intended to make our portage. There we stumbled 
 upon a river of considerable size flowing in a south- 
 westerly direction /rom Lake Disappointment into 
 Lost Trail Lake. This river we had missed on the 
 up trail and here had lost the old Indian trail to 
 Michikamau. I volunteered to take my rifle and hunt 
 across the neck of land separating the two lakes while 
 Hubbard and George ran the rapids ; but presently I 
 heard them calling to me, and, returning to the river, 
 found them waiting on the bank. 
 
 "We'll camp just below here for the night," said 
 Hubbard, "and finish the river in the morning. I 
 couldn't manage my end of the canoe in a rapid we 
 were shooting and we got on a rock. You'd better 
 shoot the rapids with George after this." 
 
 I suppose Hubbard's weakness prevented him from 
 turning the canoe quickly enough when occasion 
 required, and he realised it. 
 
 All we had to eat that night was a little thin soup 
 made from the pea meal, and an even smaller quantity 
 had to serve us for breakfast. In the morning (Octo- 
 ber 7th) we shot the rapids without incident down 
 
 206 
 
BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 into Lost Trail Lake, and, turning to the eastward, 
 were treated to a delightful view of the Kipling 
 Mountains, now snow-capped and cold-looking, but 
 appearing to us so much like old friends that it did 
 our hearts good to see them. It was an ideal Indian 
 summer day, the sun shining warmly down from a 
 cloudless sky. Looking at the snow-capped peaks 
 that bounded the horizon in front of me, I thought 
 of the time when I had stood gazing at them from the 
 other side, and of the eagerness I had felt to discover 
 what lay hidden beyond. 
 
 "Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the 
 Ranges — 
 Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. 
 Go!" 
 
 Well, we had gone. And we had found what lay 
 hidden behind the ranges. But were we ever to get 
 out to tell about it? 
 
 We stopped on the shore of Lost Trail Lake to eat 
 some badly-needed cranberries and mossberries. The 
 mossberries, having been frozen, were fairly sweet, 
 and they modified, to some extent, the acid of the cran- 
 berries, so that taken together they made a luncheon 
 for which we, in our great need, were duly grateful. 
 After eating as many of the berries as our stomachs 
 would hold, we were able to pick a pan of them to 
 take with us. 
 
 Paddling on, we passed through the strait connect- 
 ing Lost Trail Lake with Lake Hope, and, recalling 
 
 207 
 
THE LUKE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 with grim smiles the enthusiastic cheers we had sent 
 up there a few weeks before, sped rapidly across Lake 
 Hope to the entrance of our old mountain pass, camp- 
 ing for the night on a ridge near the old sweat holes 
 of the medicine men. Our supper consisted of a little 
 more pea soup and half of the panful of berries. 
 
 While we were lying spoon-fashion under the 
 blankets at night, it was the custom for a man who 
 got tired of lying on one side to say " turn," which 
 word would cause the others to flop over immediately, 
 usually without waking. On this night, however, I 
 said " turn over," and as we aU flopped, Hubbard, 
 who had been awake, remarked: "That makes me 
 think of the turnovers and the spiceroUs mother used 
 to make for me." And then he and I lay for an 
 hour and talked of the baking days at the homes of 
 our childhood. Under-the-blanket talks like this were 
 not infrequent. "Are you awake, b'y?" Hubbard 
 would ask. "Yes, b'y," I would reply, and so we 
 would begin. If we happened to arouse George, 
 which was not usual, Hubbard would insist on his de- 
 scribing over and over again the various Indian dishes 
 he had prepared. 
 
 Weak as we were upon leaving Lake Hope (Octo- 
 ber 8), we did an heroic day's work. We portaged 
 the entire six miles through the mountain pass, camp- 
 ing at night on the westernmost of the lakes that con- 
 stitute the headwaters of the Beaver River, once more 
 on Uie other side of the ranges. We did this on a 
 
 208 
 
BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 breakfast of pea soup and the rest of our berries, and 
 a luncheon of four little trout that Hubbard caught 
 in the stream that flows through the pass. I shot a 
 spruce grouse in the pass, and this bird we divided 
 between us for supper. It was a terrible day. The 
 struggle through the brush and up the steep inclines 
 with the packs and the canoe so exhausted me that 
 several times I seemed to be on the verge of a collapse, 
 and I found it hard to conceal my condition. Once 
 Hubbard said to me : 
 
 " Speak stronger, b'y. Put more force in your 
 voice. It's so faint George '11 surely notice it, and 
 it may scare him." 
 
 That was always the way with Hubbard. Despite 
 his own pitiable condition, he was always trying to 
 help us on and give us new courage. As a matter of 
 fact, his own voice was getting so weak and low that 
 we frequently had to ask him to repeat. 
 
 And the day ended in a bitter disappointment. On 
 our uptrail we had had a good catch of trout at the 
 place where the stream flowing out of the pass fell 
 into the lake near our camp, and it was the hope of 
 another good catch there that kept us struggling on 
 to reach the end of the pass before night. But Hub- 
 bard whipped the pool at the foot of the fall in vain. 
 Not a single fish rose. The day had been bright and 
 sunshiny, but the temperature was low and the fish 
 had gone to deeper waters. 
 
 It was a dismal camp. The single grouse we had 
 209 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 for supper served only to increase our craving fof 
 food. And there we were, with less than two pounds 
 of pea meal on hand and the fish deserting us, more 
 than one hundred and fifty miles from the post at 
 Northwest River. By the fire Hubbard again talked 
 of home. 
 
 " I dreamed last night," he said, " that you and I, 
 Wallace, were very weak and very hungry, and we 
 came all at once upon the old farm in Michigan^ and 
 mother was there, and she made us a good supper of 
 hot tea biscuits with maple syrup and honey to eat 
 on them. And how we ate and ate ! " 
 
 But George's customary grin was missing. In 
 silence he took the tea leaves from the kettle and 
 placed them on a flat stone close by the fire, and in 
 silence he occasionally stirred them with a twig that 
 he broke from a bush at his back. At length, the tea 
 leaves having dried sufficiently, he filled his pipe from 
 them, and I filled my pipe. We had not had any 
 tobacco to smoke for many days. 
 
 The silence continued. On my right sat George, 
 his cheeks sunken, his eyes deep down in their sockets, 
 his long black hair falling over his ears — ^there he 
 sat stiffly erect, puffing his tea leaves with little appar- 
 ent satisfaction and gazing stoically into the fire. I 
 could guess what was passing through his mind — ^the 
 stories of the Indians that starved. 
 
 On my left was Hubbard. He had assumed the 
 attitude that of late had become characteristic when 
 
 210 
 
BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 he was dreaming of his wife and his mother and his 
 far-away home. His elbows were resting on his 
 knees, and his hands were supporting his head. His 
 long hair hid his bony fingers and framed his poor, 
 wan face. His sunken eyes, with their look of wistful 
 longing, were fixed on the blazing logs. 
 
 The silence became so oppressive that I had to 
 break it : 
 
 "George," I said, "were you never hungry 
 before.?" 
 
 " Never in my life was short of grub till now," 
 he answered shortly. 
 
 At that Hubbard, aroused from his reverie, looked 
 up. 
 
 " Well, I can tell you, George," he said, " there are 
 worse places than Labrador to starve in." 
 
 " How's that ? " grunted George. 
 
 " If you had been as hungry as I have been in New 
 York City, you'd know what I mean," said Hubbard. 
 " It's a heap worse to be hungry where there's lots 
 of grub around you than in the bush where there's 
 none. I remember that when I first went to New 
 York, and was looking for work, I found myself one 
 rainy night with only five cents in my pocket. It 
 was all the money I had in the world, and I hadn't 
 any friends in the city, and I didn't want to write 
 home, because nearly all the people there had no 
 faith in my venture. I was soaking wet and good 
 and hungry; I hadn't been eating much for several 
 
 ail 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH-D 
 
 days. Well, I went to a bakery and blew in my last 
 nickel on stale rolls and crullers and took them to 
 my room. Then I took off my wet clothes and got 
 into bed to get warm and snug, and there I ate my 
 rolls and crullers, and they were buUy. Yes, I 
 remember that although my room rent was overdue, 
 and I didn't know where my breakfast was coming 
 from, I was supremely happy; I sort of felt I was 
 doing the best I could." 
 
 We went to bed that night feeling that our lives 
 now depended on whether fish could be caught below. 
 
 More than anxious were we for the morrow, because 
 then we should go to the first rapid on the Beaver 
 River below the lakes, and there in the pool, where two 
 fishings had yielded us more than one hundred and 
 thirty trout on the up trail, test our fortunes. 
 
 The morning (October 9th) dawned crisp and 
 wintry. The sun rose in a cloudless sky and set all 
 the lake a-glinting. On the peaks of the Kipling 
 Mountains the sunbeams kissed the snow, causing it 
 to gleam and scintillate in brilliant contrast to the 
 deep blue of the heavens above and the dark green 
 of the forests below. Under normal circumstances 
 we should have paused to drink in the beauty of 
 it all; but as we in our faithful old canoe paddled 
 quickly down over the lake I am afraid that none of 
 us thought of anything save the outcome of the test 
 we were to make of our fortunes at the rapid for 
 which we were bound. It is difficult to be receptive 
 
 3,12 
 
BACK THROUGH THE RANGES 
 
 to beauty when one has had only a little watered pea 
 meal for breakfast after a long train of lean and 
 hungry days. We were glad only that the sun was 
 modifying the chiU air of the dawn, thus increasing 
 our chance of getting fish. 
 
 How friendly the narrow lake looked where we 
 had seen the otter at play at sunset and where the 
 loons had laughed at us so derisively. And the point 
 where we had camped that August night and roasted 
 our goose seemed very homelike. We stopped there 
 for a moment to look for bones. There were a few 
 charred ones where the fire had been. They crumbled 
 without much pressure, and we ate them. No trout 
 were jumping in the lake now — ^its mirror-like sur- 
 face was unbroken. AH was still, very still. To our 
 somewhat feverish imagination it seemed as if all 
 nature were bating its breath as if tensely waiting 
 for the outcome at the fishing pool. 
 
 I can hardly say what we expected. I fear my 
 own faith was weak, but I believe Hubbard's was 
 strong — ^his was the optimistic temperament. How 
 glad we were to feel the river current as it caught 
 the canoe and hurried it on to the rapid! Suddenly, 
 as we turned a point in the stream, the sound of the 
 rushing waters came to us. A few moments more 
 and we were there. Just above the rapid we ran the 
 canoe ashore, and Hubbard with his rod hurried dorm 
 to the pool and cast a fly upon the water. 
 
 213 
 
XV 
 
 GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 SINCE the weather had become colder we always 
 fished with bait, if any were available, and so, 
 when after a few minutes a small trout took 
 Hubbard's fly, he made his next cast with a 
 fin cut from his first catch. Before he cast the fly, 
 George and I ran the canoe through the rapid to a 
 point just below the pool where we had decided to 
 camp. Then, leaving George to finish the work of 
 making camp, I took my rod and joined Hubbard. 
 All day long, and until after dusk, we fished. We 
 got sixty. But they were all tiny, not averaging 
 more than six inches long. 
 
 The test of our fortunes was not encouraging. 
 Hubbard especially was disappointed, as he had been 
 cherishing the hope that we might catch enough to 
 carry us well down the trail. And what were sixty 
 little fish divided among three ravenous men! We 
 ate fifteen of them for luncheon and eighteen for 
 supper, and began to fear the worst. The pea meal 
 now was down to one and a half pounds. 
 
 It was late when we gave up trying to get more 
 fish, but we sat long by the fire considering the possi- 
 
 814 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM , 
 
 bility of finding scraps at the camp down the Beaver 
 where we had killed the caribou on August 12. The 
 head, we remembered, had been left practically un- 
 touched, and besides the bones there were three hoofs 
 lying about somewhere, if they had not been carried 
 off by animals. We knew that these scraps had been 
 rotting for two months, but we looked forward hope- 
 fully to reaching them on the morrow. 
 
 No lovelier morning ever dawned than that of 
 Saturday (October 10th), and until midday the 
 weather was balmy and warm; but in the after- 
 noon clouds began to gather attended by a raw west 
 wind. While George and I shot the rapids, Hubbard 
 fished them, catching in all seventeen little trout. 
 Some of the rapids George and I went through in the 
 canoe we should never, under ordinary conditions, 
 have dreamed of shooting. But George expressed 
 the sentiments of all of us when he said : " We may as 
 well drown as starve, and it's a blamed sight quicker." 
 Only when the river made actual falls did George 
 and I resort to portaging. However, we did not 
 make the progress we had hoped, and much dis- 
 appointed that we could not reach Camp Caribou 
 that night, we camped at the foot of the last fall 
 above the lake expansion on the shore of which 
 George and I had ascended a hill to be rewarded 
 with a splendid view of the country and the Kipling 
 Mountains. Our day's food consisted of three trout 
 each at each of our three meals. 
 
 gl5 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 Sunday (October 11th) was another perfect day. 
 It was wintry, but we had become inured to the cold. 
 We each had a pair of skin mittens, which although 
 practically gone as to the palms, served to protect 
 our hands from the winds. Before we started for- 
 ward I read aloud John xvii. Again in the morn- 
 ing we divided nine little trout aniong us, and the 
 remaining eight we had for luncheon. The weather 
 was now so cold that do what we would we never again 
 could induce a trout, large or small, to take the bait 
 or rise to the fly. 
 
 In the course of the day George took two long 
 shots at ducks, and missed both times ; it would have 
 been phenomenal if he hadn't. There was one little 
 faU that we could not shoot, and we landed on the 
 bank to unload the canoe. All three of us tried to 
 lift the canoe so as to carry it about thirty yards 
 down to where we could again launch it, but we were 
 unable to get it to our heads and it fell to ground 
 with a crash. Then we looked at one another and 
 understood. No one spoke, but we all understood. 
 Up to this time Hubbard and I had kept up the fiction 
 that we were " not so weak," but now all of us knew 
 that concealment no longer was possible, and the clear 
 perception came to us that if we ever got out of the 
 wilderness it would be only by the grace of God. 
 
 With difliculty we dragged the canoe to the launch- 
 ing place, and on the way found the cleaning rod 
 Hubbard's father had made for him, which had been 
 
 816 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 lost while we were portaging around the fall on 
 our upward journey. Hubbard picked the rod up 
 tenderly and put it in the canoe. 
 
 An hour before sunset we reached Camp Caribou, 
 the place where we had broiled those luscious steaks 
 that 12th of August and had merrily talked and 
 feasted far into the night. Having dragged the 
 canoe up on the sandy shore, we ' did not wait to 
 unload it, but at once staggered up the bank to begin 
 our eager search for scraps. The head of the cari- 
 bou, dried and worm-eaten, was where we had left 
 it. The bones we had cut the meat from were there. 
 The remnants of the stomach, partially washed away, 
 were there. But we found only two hoofs. We had 
 left three. Up and down and aU around the camp 
 we searched for that other hoof; but it was gone. 
 
 " Somebody's taken it," said George. " Some- 
 body's taken it, sure — a marten or somebody." 
 
 When all the refuse we could find had been col- 
 lected, and the tent had been pitched on the spot 
 where it stood before, George got a fire going and 
 prepared our banquet of bones and hoofs. The bit 
 of hair that clung to the skin on the upper part of 
 the hoofs he singed off by holding them a moment in 
 the fire. Then, taking an axe, he chopped the hoofs 
 and bones up together, and placed some of the mess 
 in the kettle to boil. A really greasy, though very 
 rancid, broth resulted. Some of the bones and par- 
 ticularly the hoofs were maggoty, but, as Hubbard 
 
 217 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 said, the maggots seemed to make the broth the richer, 
 and we drank it all. It tasted good. For some time 
 we sat gnawing the gristle and scraps of decayed 
 flesh that clung to the bones, and we were honestly 
 thankful for our meal. 
 
 The bones from which we made our broth were not 
 thrown away. On the contrary we carefully took 
 them from the kettle and placed them with the other 
 bones, to boil and reboil them until the last particle 
 of grease had been extracted. There was little left 
 on the head save the hide, but that also was placed 
 with the pile of bones, as well as the antlers, which 
 were in velvet, and what remained of the stomach 
 and its contents. 
 
 After we had finished gnawing our bones, Greorge 
 sat very quiet as if brooding over some great problem. 
 Finally he arose, brought his camp bag to the fire, 
 and, resuming his seat, went low into the recesses of 
 the bag. Still holding his hand in the bag, he looked 
 at me and grinned. 
 
 "Well?" said L 
 
 " Sh-h-h," he replied, and slowly withdrawing 
 his hand held up — ^an ounce package of cut plug 
 tobacco ! 
 
 I stared at the tobacco, and then again caught 
 George's eye. Our smiles became beatific. 
 
 " I've been savin' this for when we needed it most," 
 said George. "And I guess the time's come." 
 
 He handed me the package, and I filled my pipe, 
 
 sua 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 long unused to anything save leaves from the teapot 
 and red willow bark. Then George filled his pipe. 
 
 From the fire we took brands and applied them to 
 the tobacco. Deep, deep were our inhalations of the 
 fragrant smoke. 
 
 " George," said I, " however in the world could you 
 keep it so long?" 
 
 "Well," said George — puff, puff — "well, when we 
 were gettin' so short of grub " — puff — " thinks I " — 
 puff — " the time's comin' " — puff, puff — " when we'll 
 need cheerin' up " — ^puff — " and, says I," — ^puff — 
 " I'll just sneak this away until that time comes." 
 
 "George," said I, lying back and watching the 
 smoke curl upward in the light of the fire, " you are 
 not a half bad sort of a fellow." 
 
 " Wallace," said he, " we'll have a pipeful of this 
 every night until it is gone." 
 
 "I'd try it, too," said Hubbard wistfully, "but 
 I know it would make me sick, so I'll drink a little 
 tea." 
 
 After he had had his tea, he read to us the First 
 Psahn. These readings from the Bible brought with 
 them a feeling of indescribable comfort, and I fancy 
 we all went to our blankets that night content to 
 know that whatever was, was for the best. 
 
 With the first signs of dawn we were up and had 
 another pot of bone broth. Again the morning 
 (October 12th) was crisp and beautiful, and the con- 
 tinuance of the good weather gave us new courage. 
 
 219 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 While the others broke camp, I went on down the 
 river bank in the hope of finding game, but when, 
 after I had walked a mile, they overtook me with the 
 canoe I had seen nothing. While boiling bones at 
 noon, we industriously employed ourselves in remov- 
 ing the velvet skin from the antlers and singeing the 
 hair off. In the afternoon we encountered more 
 rapids. Once Hubbard relieved me at the stem 
 paddle, but he was too weak to act quickly, and we 
 had a narrow escape from being overturned. 
 
 While making camp at night, George heard a 
 whiskey jack calling, and he sneaked off into the brush 
 and shot it. We reserved it as a dainty for break- 
 fast. As we sat by the fire gnawing bones and chew- 
 ing up scorched pieces of antlers, we again discussed 
 the question as to whether we should stick to the 
 canoe and run the river out to its mouth or abandon 
 the canoe where we had entered the river. As usual 
 George and I urged the former course. 
 
 "When you're in the bush stick to your canoe as 
 long as you can," said George ; " that's always a 
 good plan." 
 
 But Hubbard was firm in the belief thajt^We should 
 take the route we knew, and renewed Jtiis argument 
 about the possibility of getting windbound on Goose 
 Bay, into which we thought the river flowed. Being 
 windbound had for him especial terrors, due, I sup- 
 pose, to his normally active nature. Another thing 
 that inclined him towards taking the old trail was his 
 
 820 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 strong faith that we should get trout in the outlet 
 to Lake Elson, where we had such a successful fishing 
 on the inbound journey. He argued, furthermore, 
 that along what we then thought was the Nascaupee 
 Kiver we should be able to recover the provisions we 
 had abandoned soon after plunging into the wild. 
 
 " However," he said in closing, " we'U see how we 
 feel about it to-morrow. I'U sleep on it." 
 
 I remember I dreaded so much a return to the 
 Susan VaUey that I told Hubbard it seemed like sui- 
 cide to leave the river we were on and abandon the 
 canoe. I felt strongly on the subject and expressed 
 my opinion freely. But it was a question of judg- 
 ment about which one man's opinion was as likely 
 to be right as another's and, recognising this, we 
 never permitted our discussions as to the best course 
 to follow to create any ill-feeling. 
 
 On Tuesday (October ISth) the weather continued 
 to favour us. We shot the rapids without a mishap, 
 tbnd camped at night within three miles of where we 
 had entered the river. But stiU the question about 
 leaving it was undecided. The whiskey jack and a 
 bit of pea meal helped our pot of bone broth at break- 
 fast, and in addition to more broth we had in the 
 evening some of the caribou stomach and its contents 
 and a part of a moccasin that Hubbard had made 
 from the caribou skin and had worn full of holes. 
 Boiled in the kettle the skin swelled thick and was 
 fairly palatable. 
 
 221 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 Clouds and a sprinkle of rain introduced the morn- 
 ing of Wednesday (October IMh). While the bones 
 were boiling for breakfast, George brought out the 
 caribou skin that he had picked up on the shore of 
 Lake Disappointment after we had abandoned It. 
 Now as he put a piece of it in the kettle, we recalled 
 his prophecy that some day we might want to eat it, 
 and laughed. Into the pot also went one-sixth of a 
 pound of pea meal together with a few lumps of flour 
 that we carefully scraped from a bag we had thrown 
 away in the summer and found near the camp. While 
 we were eating this breakfast (and really enjoying 
 it) we again considered the problem as to whether or 
 not we should leave the river. Li the course of the 
 discussion George said quietly : 
 
 " I had a strange dream about that last night, 
 fellus." 
 
 We urged him to tell us what it was. 
 
 "It was a strange dream," he repeated, and hesi- 
 tated. Then: "Well, I dreamed the Lord stood 
 before me, very beautiful and bright, and He had a 
 mighty kind look on His face, and He said to me: 
 ' George, don't leave this river — ^just stick to it and 
 it win take you out to Grand Lake where you'll find 
 Blake's cache with lots of grub, and then you'U be aU 
 right and safe. I can't spare you any more fish, 
 George, ajid if you leave this river you won't get any 
 more. Just stick to this river, and I'll take you out 
 safe.' 
 
 222 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 "The Lord was all smiKn' and bright," continued 
 George, " and He looked at me very pleasant. Then 
 He went away, and I dreamed we went right 
 down the river and came out in Grand Lake near 
 where we had left it comin' up, and we found Blake 
 there, and he fed us and gave us all the grub we 
 wanted, and we had a fine time." 
 
 It was quite evident that George was greatly 
 impressed by his dream. I give it here simply for 
 what it is worth. At the same time I cannot help 
 characterising it as remarkable, not to say extraordi- 
 nary; for none of us had had even a suspicion that 
 the river we were on emptied into Grand Lake at all, 
 much less that its mouth was near the point where we 
 left the lake. But I myself attached no importance 
 to the dream at the time, whatever I may think now ; 
 I was chiefly influenced, I suppose, in my opposition 
 to the abandonment of the river by the unspeakable 
 dread I had felt all along of returning to the Susan 
 Valley — ^was it a premonition? — and no doubt it was 
 only natural that Hubbard should disregard the 
 dream. 
 
 "It surely was an unusual dream," he said to 
 George; "but it isn't possible, as you know, for this 
 river to empty into Grand Lake. We were talking 
 about leaving the river until late last night, and you 
 had It on your mind — ^that's what made you dream 
 about it." 
 
 "May be it was," said George calmly; "but it 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 was a mighty strange dream, and we'd better think 
 about it before we leave the river. Stick to the 
 canoe, Hubbard, that's what I say. Wallace and 
 I 'U shoot the rapids aU right. They're sure to be 
 not so bad as we've had, and I think they'U be a lot 
 better. We can run 'em, can't we, Wallace? " 
 
 I added my opinon to George's that there would be 
 more water to cover the rocks farther down, and said 
 that however bad the rapids might be I should ven- 
 ture to take the stem paddle in every one that George 
 dared to tackle. But Hubbard only said: 
 
 "I stm think, boys, we should take the trail we 
 know." 
 
 " That means suicide," I said for the second time, 
 rather bitterly, I fear. "We'll surely leave our 
 bones in that awful valley over there. We're too 
 weak to accomplish that march." 
 
 Once more Hubbard marshalled his arguments in 
 favour of the overland route, and George and I said 
 no more that morning. 
 
 Soon after we relaunched the canoe something 
 occurred to change the current of our thoughts. A 
 little way ahead of us, swimming slowly down the 
 river, George espied a duck. No one spoke while 
 we landed him, rifle in hand, on the bank. Cautiously 
 he stole down among the alders and wiUows that lined 
 the shore, and Vhen crawled on hands and knees 
 through the marsh until the duck was opposite to him. 
 It seemed a very small thing for a rifle target while 
 
GEORGE'S DREAM 
 
 it was moving, and as George put the rifle to his 
 shoulder and carefully aimed, Hubbard and I watched 
 him with nerves drawn to a tension. Once he lowered 
 the rifle, changed his position slightly, then again 
 raised the weapon to his shoulder. He was delibera- 
 tion personified. Would he never fire? But sud- 
 denly the stillness of the wilderness wa^s broken by a 
 loud, clear report. And Hubbard and I breathed 
 again, breathed a prayer of gratitude, as we saw the 
 duck turn over on its back. With his long black hair 
 falling loosely over his ears, ragged, and dripping 
 wet with the marsh water, George arose and returned 
 to us. Stopping for a moment before entering the 
 canoe, he looked heavenward and reverently said : 
 
 "The Lord surely guided that bullet." 
 
 It was still early in the morning when we arrived 
 at the point where we had portaged into the river. 
 George prepared the duck — small it was but very 
 fat — for a delicious, glorious luncheon, and while it 
 was cooking we had our last discussion as to whether 
 or not we should leave the river. 
 
 "Well," I at length said to Hubbard, "a final 
 decision can be deferred no longer. It's up to you, 
 b'y — which route are we to take ? " 
 
 " I firmly believe," said Hubbard, " that we should 
 stick to our old trail." 
 
 George and I said no more. The question was 
 settled. Hubbard was the leader. Immediately 
 after luncheon we set to work preparing for the 
 
 ^25 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 march overland. In addition to several minor articles 
 of equipment, we decided to leave behind us the arti- 
 ficial horizon, the sextant box, and one of the axes. 
 When our light packs had been prepared, we turned 
 the canoe bottom up on the river bank. I hated to 
 leave it. I turned once to pat and stroke the little 
 craft that had carried us so far in safety. To me 
 it was one of our party — a dear friend and comrade. 
 It seemed cruel to abandon it there in the midst of 
 the wilderness. In my abnormal state of mind I 
 could scarcely restrain the tears. 
 
 But the best of friends must part, and so, shoulder- 
 ing our light packs, we bid the canoe a last farewell, 
 and staggered forward to the horrors in store for 
 us on the trail below. 
 
XVI 
 
 AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 WE began our march back to the Susan 
 Valley with a definite plan. Some twen- 
 ty-five miles below, on the Susan River, 
 we had abandoned about four pounds of 
 wet flour ; twelve or fifteen miles below the flour there 
 was a pound of powdered milk, and four or five miles 
 stiU further down the trail a pail with perhaps four 
 pounds of lard. Hubbard considered the distances 
 and mapped out each day's march as he hoped to ac- 
 complish it. We had in our possession, besides the 
 caribou bones and hide, one and one-sixth pounds of 
 pea meal. Could we reach the flour.'' If so, that 
 perhaps would take us on to the milk powder, and that 
 to the lard; and then we should be within easy dis- 
 tance of Grand Lake and Blake's winter hunting 
 cache. 
 
 Hubbard was hopeful ; George and I were fearful. 
 Hubbard's belief that we should be able to reach the 
 flour was largely based on his expectation that we 
 should get fish in the outlet to Lake Elson. His idea 
 was that the water of the lake would be much warmer 
 
 227 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 than that of the river. He had, poor chap ! the fatal 
 faculty, common to persons of the optimistic tempera- 
 tnent, of making himself believe what he wanted to 
 believe. Neither George nor I remarked on the pos- 
 sibiKties or probabilities of our getting fish in Lake 
 Elson's outlet, and just before we said good-bye to 
 the canoe Hubbard turned to me and said : 
 
 " Wallace, don't you think we'll get them there? 
 Aren't you hopeful we shall? " 
 
 " Yes, I hope," I answered. " But I fear. The 
 fish, you know, b'y, haven't been rising at all for sev- 
 eral days, and perhaps it's better not to let our hopes 
 run too high ; for then, if they fail us, the disappoint- 
 ment won't be so hard to bear." 
 
 " Yes, that's so," he replied ; " but it makes me feel 
 good to look forward to good fishing there. We wUl 
 get fish there, we will! Just say we will, b'y; for 
 that makes me feel happy." 
 
 " We will — ^we'll say we will," I repeated to com- 
 fort him. 
 
 Under ordinary conditions we should have found 
 our packs, in their depleted state, very easy to carry ; 
 but, as It was, they weighed us down grievously as we 
 trudged laboriously up the hiR from the river and 
 over the ridge to the marsh on the farther side of 
 which lay Lake Elson. On the top of the ridge and 
 on the slope where It descended to the marsh we found 
 a few mossberries, which we ate while we rested. 
 Crossing the marsh, we stepped from bog to bog 
 
 S28 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 when we could, but a large part of the time were 
 knee-deep in the icy water and mud. Our feet at this 
 time were wrapped in pieces of a camp blanket, tied 
 to what remained of the moccasin uppers with pieces 
 of our old trolling line. George and I were all but 
 spent when we reached our old camping ground on 
 the outlet to Lake Elson, and what it cost Hubbard to 
 get across that marsh I can only imagine. 
 
 As soon as we arrived Hubbard tried the fish. It 
 did not take him long to become convinced that there 
 was no hope of inducing any to rise. It was a severe 
 blow to him, but he rallied his courage and soon ap- 
 parently was as full of confidence as ever that we 
 should be able to reach the flour. While Hubbard 
 was trying the fish, George looked the old camp over 
 carefully for refuse, and found two goose heads, some 
 goose bones, and the lard pail we had emptied there. 
 
 " I'll heat the pail," he said, " and maybe there'll 
 be a little grease sticking to it that we can stir in our 
 broth." Then, after looking at us for a moment, he 
 put his hand into the pail and added : " I've got a 
 little surprise here. I thought I'd keep it until the 
 bones were boiled, but I guess you might as well have 
 it now." 
 
 From out of the pail he brought three little 
 pieces of bacon — ^just a mouthful for each. I 
 cannot remember what we said, but as I write I 
 can almost feel again the thriU of joy that came 
 to me upon beholding those httle pieces of bacon. 
 
 229 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 They seemed like a bit of food from home, and they 
 were to us as the rarest dainty. 
 
 George reboiled the bones with a piece of the hide 
 and the remainder of the deer's stomach, and with 
 this and the goose bones and heads we finished our 
 supper. We were fairly comfortable when we went 
 to rest. The hunger pangs were passing now. I 
 have said that at this time I was in an abnormal state 
 of mind. I suppose that was true of us all. The 
 love of life had ceased to be strong upon us. For 
 myself I know that I was conscious only of a feeling 
 that I must do all I could to preserve my life and to 
 help the others. Probably it was the beginning of 
 the feeling of indifference, or reconciliation with the 
 inevitable, that mercifully comes at the approach of 
 death. 
 
 In the morning (Thursday, October 16th) we 
 again went over our belongings, and decided to 
 abandon numerous articles we had hitherto hoped to 
 carry through with us — ^my rifle and cartridges, some 
 pistol ammunition, the sextant, the tarpaulin, fifteen 
 roUs of photograph films, my fishing rod, maps, and 
 note book, and various other odds and ends, including 
 the cleaning rod Hubbard's father had made for him. 
 
 " I wonder where father and mother are now," said 
 Hubbard, as he took a last look at the cleaning rod. 
 For a few moments he clung to it lovingly; then 
 handed it to me with the words, " Put it with your 
 rifle and fishing rod, b'y." And as I removed the 
 
 230 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 cartridge from the magazine, and held the rifle up 
 for a last look before wrapping it in the tarpaulin, 
 he said : " It almost makes me cry to see you leave 
 the fishing rod. If it is at all possible, we must see 
 that the things are recovered. If they are, I want 
 you to promise me that when you die you'll will the 
 rod to me. It has got us more grub than anything 
 else in the outfit, and it's carried us over some bad 
 times. I'd like to have it, and I'd keep and cherish 
 it always." 
 
 I promised him that he certainly should have it. 
 Well, the rod was recovered. And now when I look 
 at the old weather-beaten piece of wood as it reposes 
 comfortably in my den at home, I recall this incident, 
 and my imagination carries me back to those last 
 fishing days when Hubbard used it; and I can see 
 again his gaunt form arrayed in rags as he anx- 
 iously whipped the waters on our terrible struggle 
 homeward. It is the only thing I have with which 
 he was closely associated during those awful days, 
 and it is my most precious possession. 
 
 As we were chewing on a piece of hide and drinking 
 the water from the reboiled bones at breakfast, Hub- 
 bard told us he had had a realistic dream of rejoin- 
 ing his wife. The boy was again piteously homesick, 
 and when we shouldered with difficulty our lightened 
 packs and began the weary struggle on, my heart 
 was heavy with a great dread. Dark clouds hung 
 low in the sky, but the day was mild. Once or twice 
 
 221 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 while skirting Lake Elson we halted to pick the few 
 scattering mossberries that were to be found, once we 
 halted to make tea to stimulate us, and at our old 
 camp on Mountaineer Lake we again boiled the bones 
 and used the water to wash down another piece of the 
 caribou hide. 
 
 In the afternoon George took the lead, I followed, 
 and Hubbard brought up the rear. Suddenly George 
 stopped, dropped his pack, and drew Hubbard's 
 pistol, which he carried because he was heading the 
 procession. Hubbard and I also halted and dropped 
 our packs. Into the brush George disappeared, and 
 we heard, at short intervals, the pistol crack three 
 times. Then George reappeared with three spruce- 
 grouse. How our hearts bounded! How we took 
 George's hand and pressed it, while his face lighted 
 up with the old familiar grin ! We fingered the birds 
 to make sure they were good and fat. We turned 
 them over and over and gloated over them. George 
 plucked them at once that we might see their plump 
 bodies. It is true we were not so very hungry, but 
 those birds meant that we could travel just so much 
 the farther. 
 
 We pushed on that we might make our night camp 
 at the place where we had held the goose banquet 
 on the 3d of August — ^that glorious night when we 
 were so eager to proceed, when the northern lights 
 illuminated the heavens and the lichens gleamed on 
 the barren hill. Hubbard, I noticed, was laggings 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 and I told George quietly to set a slower pace. Then, 
 to give Hubbard encouragement, I fell to the rear. 
 The boy was staggering fearfully, and I watched 
 him with increasing consternation. " We must get 
 him out of here ! We must ! We must! " I kept say- 
 ing to myself. The camping place was only two 
 hundred yards away when he sank on the trail. I 
 was at his side in a moment. He looked up at me 
 with a pitiful smile, and spoke so low I could scarcely 
 hear him. 
 
 " B'y, I've got to rest here — a little — ^just a little 
 while . . . you understand . . . My legs 
 — ^have given out." 
 
 "That's right, b'y, take a little rest," I said. 
 "You'll be all right soon. But rest a little. I'll 
 rest a bit with you ; and then we'll leave your pack 
 here, and you walk to camp Kght, and I'll come back 
 for your pack." 
 
 In a few minutes he got bravely up. We left his 
 pack and together walked slowly on to join George 
 at the fifld goose camp on Goose Creek. Then I re- 
 turned Tor the pack that had been left behind. 
 
 George boiled one of the grouse for supper. Hub- 
 bard told us he was not discouraged. His weakness, 
 he said, was only momentary, and he was sure he 
 would be quite himself in the morning, ready to con- 
 tinue the march homeward. After supper, as he was 
 lying before the fire, he asked me, if I was not too 
 tired, to read him the latter part of the sixth chap- 
 
 233 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 ter of Matthew. I took the Book and read as he re- 
 quested, closing with the words : 
 
 " Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, 
 which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, 
 shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? 
 Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we 
 eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall 
 we be clothed? (For after all these things do the 
 Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth 
 that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye 
 first the kingdom of God and His righteousness ; and 
 all these things shall be added unto you. Take there- 
 fore no thought for the morrow ; for the morrow shall 
 take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto 
 the day is the evil thereof." 
 
 " How beautiful, how encouraging that is ! " said 
 Hubbard, as I put away the Book. He crawled into 
 the tent to go to sleep. Then : " I'm so happy, b'y, 
 so very, very happy to-night . . . for we're 
 going home . . . we're going home*" And he 
 slept. 
 
 Before I lay down I wrote in my diary : 
 
 " Hubbard is in very bad shape — completely worn 
 out physically and mentally — but withal a great 
 hero, never complaining and always trying to cheer 
 us up." 
 
 George said he was sick when he went to rest, and 
 that added to my concern. 
 
 Friday morning (October 16th) came clear, mild, 
 234 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 and beautiful. I was up at break of day to start 
 the fire, and soon was followed by George and a little 
 later by Hubbard. We all said we were feeling bet- 
 ter. George shot a foolhardy whiskey j ack that ven- 
 tured too near the camp, and it went into the pot with 
 a grouse for breakfast. The meal eaten, we all felt 
 very much stronger, but decided that more outfit must 
 be abandoned. I gave George my extra undershirt 
 and a blue flannel shirt, both of which he donned. 
 Every scrap we thought at the time we could do with- 
 out, including many photograph films and George's 
 blanket, was cached. 
 
 After Hubbard read aloud John xv, we resumed 
 the struggle. Naturally George and I relieved Hub- 
 bard of everything he would permit us to. The fact 
 was, we could not have taken much more and moved. 
 When Hubbard broke down on the trail, it was 
 strictly necessary for me to make two trips with the 
 packs ; although his weighed something less than ten 
 pounds, I could not have carried it in addition to my 
 own if my life had depended upon it. 
 
 Just below the place where Hubbard caught so 
 many fish that day in August that we killed the geese, 
 we stopped for a moment to rest. Hardly had we 
 halted when George grabbed Hubbard's rifle, exclaim- 
 ing, " Deer ! " About four hundred yards below us, 
 a magnificent caribou, his head held high, dashed 
 across the stream and into the bush. He was on our 
 lee and had winded us. No shot was fired. One 
 
 235 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 fleeting glance, and he was gone. Our feelings can 
 be imagined. His capture would have secured our 
 safety. 
 
 We struggled on. At midday we ate our last 
 grouse. At this stopping place George abandoned 
 his waterproof camp bag and his personal effects 
 that he might be able to carry Hubbard's rifle. This 
 relieved Hubbard of seven pounds, but he again failed 
 before we reached our night camp. It was like the 
 previous evening. With jaws set he tottered grimly 
 on until his legs refused to carry him farther, and he 
 sank to the ground. Again I helped him into camp, 
 and returned for his pack. 
 
 We pitched the tent facing a big rock so that the 
 heat from the fire, blazing between, might be re- 
 flected into the tent, the front of which was thrown 
 wide open. Of course George and I did all the camp 
 work. Fortunately there was not much to do; our 
 camps being pitched on the sites of previous ones, we 
 had stakes ready to hand for the tent, and in this 
 part of the country we were able to find branches and 
 logs that we could burn without cutting. We stiU 
 had one axe with us, but neither George nor I had 
 the strength to swing it. 
 
 The night was cold and damp. For supper we 
 had another piece of the caribou hide, and water from 
 the much-boiled bones with what I believed was the 
 last of the pea meal — about two spoonfuls that Hub- 
 bard shook into the pot from the package, which he 
 
 ^36 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 then threw away. As we reclined in the open front 
 of the tent before the fire, I again read from the Bible, 
 and again a feeling of religious exaltation came to 
 Hubbard. " I'm so happy, and oh ! so sleepy," he 
 murmured, and was quiet. He did not make his 
 usual entry in his diary. In my own diary for this 
 date I find : 
 
 " Hubbard's condition is pitiable, but he bears 
 himself like the hero that he is — trying always to 
 cheer and encourage us. He is visibly failing. His 
 voice is very weak and low. I fear he will break down 
 at every step. O God, what can we do ! How can 
 we save him ! " 
 
 On Saturday (October 17th) threatening clouds 
 overcast the sky, and a raw wind was blowing. It 
 penetrated our rags and set us a-shiver. At dawn 
 we had more water from the bones and more of the 
 hide. Cold and utterly miserable, we forced our way 
 along. Our progress was becoming slower and 
 slower. But every step was taking us nearer home, 
 we said, and with that thought we encouraged our- 
 selves. At noon we came upon our first camp above 
 the Susan River. , There George picked up one of 
 our old flour bags. A few lumps of mouldy flour 
 were clinging to it, and he scraped them carefully 
 into the pot to give a little substance to the bone 
 water. We also found a box with a bit of baking 
 powder still in it. The powder was streaked with 
 rust from the tin, but we ate it all. 
 
 237 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 Then Hubbard made a find — a box nearly half full 
 of pasty mustard. After we had each eaten a mouth- 
 ful, George put the remainder in the pot. He was 
 about to throw the box away when Hubbard asked 
 that it be returned to him. Hubbard took the box 
 and sat holding it in his hand. 
 
 " That box came from Congers," he said, as if in 
 a reverie. " It came from my home in Congers. 
 Mina has had this very box in her hands. It came 
 from the little grocery store where I've been so often. 
 Mina handed it to me before I left home. She said 
 the mustard might be useful for plasters. We've 
 eaten it instead. I wonder where my girl is now. 
 I wonder when I'll see her again. Yes, she had that 
 very box in her hands — ^in her hands ! She's been such 
 a good wife to me." 
 
 Slowly he bent his head, and the tears trickled 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 George and I turned away. 
 
 It was near night when we reached the point near 
 the junction of the Susan River and Goose Creek 
 where we were to cross the river to what had been our 
 last camping ground in the awful valley, and which 
 was to prove our last camp in Labrador. Hubbard 
 staggered along during the afternoon with the 
 greatest difficulty, and finally again sank to the 
 ground, completely exhausted. George took his pack 
 across the river. While he crouched there on the 
 trail, Hubbard's face bore an expression of absolute 
 
 238 
 
"HUBBARD'S CONDITION IS PITIABLE ' 
 
IkT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 despair. At length I helped him to his feet, and in 
 silence we forded the shallow stream. 
 
 Our camp was made a short distance below the 
 junction of the streams, among the fir trees a little 
 way from the river bank. Here and there through 
 the forest were numerous large rocks. Before one of 
 these we pitched the tent, with the front of it open 
 to receive the heat from the fire as it was reflected 
 from the rock. More bone water and hide served us 
 for supper, with the addition of a yeast cake from 
 a package George had carried throughout the trip 
 and never used. Huddling in the front of the tent, 
 we counselled. 
 
 «WeU, boys," said Hubbard, "I'm busted. I 
 can't go any farther — ^that's plain. I can't go any 
 farther. We've got to do something." 
 
 In the silence the crackling of the logs became pro- 
 nounced. 
 
 " George," Hubbard continued, " maybe you had 
 better try to reach Blake's camp, and send in help 
 if you're strong enough to get there. If you find a 
 cache, and don't find Blake, try to get back with 
 some of the grub. There's that old bag with a httle 
 flour in it — ^you might find that. And then the milk 
 powder and the lard farther down. Maybe Wallace 
 could go with you as far as the flour and bring back 
 a little of it here. What do you say, b'y.'' " 
 
 " I say it's well," I answered. " We've got to do 
 something at once." 
 
 8S9 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH-D 
 
 " It's the only thing to do," said George. " I'm 
 wiUin', and I'll do the best I can to find Blake and 
 get help." 
 
 " Then," said Hubbard, " you'd better start in the 
 morning, boys. If you don't find the bag, you'd bet- 
 ter go on with Greorge, Wallace ; for then there would 
 be no use of your trying to get back here. Yes, boys, 
 you'd better start in the morning. I'U be quite com- 
 fortable here alone until help comes." 
 
 " I'U come back, flour or no flour," I said, dreading 
 the thought of his staying there alone in the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 We planned it all before Hubbard went to sleep. 
 George and I, when we started in the morning, were 
 to carry as little as possible. I thought I should be 
 able to reach the flour bag and be back within three 
 days. We were to prepare for Hubbard a supply of 
 wood, and leave him everything on hand that might 
 be called food — ^the bones and the remainder of the 
 hide, a sack with some lumps of flour sticking to it 
 that I had recovered at this camp, and the rest of the 
 yeast cakes. George and I were to depend solely 
 on the chance of finding game. 
 
 " I'm much relieved now," said Hubbard, when it 
 had aU been settled. " I feel happy and contented. 
 I feel that our troubles are about ended. I am very, 
 very happy and contented." 
 
 He lay down in his blanket. After a little he 
 said: 
 
 S40 
 
AT THE LAST CAMP 
 
 " B'y, I'm rather chilly ; won't you make the fire 
 a little bigger." 
 
 I threw on more wood, and when I sat down, I told 
 him I should keep the fire going all night ; for the air 
 was damp and chiU. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, b'y," he murmured, " thank you. 
 You're so good." After another silence, the words 
 came faintly : " B'y, won't you read to me those two 
 chapters we've had before.'' — the fourteenth of John 
 and the thirteenth of First Corinthians . . . I'd 
 like to hear them again, b'y . . . I'm very .... 
 sleepy . . . but I want to hear you read before . . I 
 go ... to sleep." 
 
 Leaning over so that the light of the fire might 
 shine on the Book, I turned to the fourteenth of John 
 and began : " ' Let not your heart be troubled.' " 
 I paused to glance at Hubbard. He was asleep. 
 Like a weary child, he had fallen asleep with the first 
 words. The dancing flames lit up his poor, haggard, 
 brown face; but upon it now there was no look of 
 sufl'ering ; it was radiant with peace. 
 
 George lay by his side, also asleep. Thus I began 
 a night of weary vigil and foreboding. My heart 
 was heavy with a presentiment of something dread- 
 ful. In the forest beyond the fire the darkness was 
 intense. There was a restless stir among the fir tops ; 
 then a weary, weary sighing. The wiad had arisen. 
 I dozed. But what was that! I sat suddenly 
 erect. 
 
THE LURE DE THE LABRADOR WH.D 
 
 On the canvas above me sounded a patter, patter, 
 patter. Rain ! 
 
 Gradually the real and the seeming became blended. 
 Beyond the fire-glow, on the edge of the black paU 
 of night, horrid shapes began to gather. They 
 leered at me, and mocked me, and oh! they were 
 telling me something dreadful was going to happen. 
 A sudden jerk, and I sat up and stared wildly about 
 me. Nothing but the sighing tree-tops, and the pat- 
 ter, patter, patter of the rain. The fire had died 
 down. I struggled to my feet, and threw on more 
 wood. 
 
 Again the horrid shapes leered at me from out the 
 gloom. Then I heard myself exclaiming, " No, no, 
 no ! " The nameless dread was strong upon me. I 
 listened intently for Hubbard's breathing. Had it 
 ceased ? I crawled over and peered long and anx- 
 iously at his face — ^his face which was so spectral and 
 wan in the uncertain firelight. Twice I did this. 
 A confused sense of things evil and malicious, a con- 
 fused sense of sighing wind and pattering rain, a 
 confused sense of starts and jerks and struggles with 
 wood, and the night wore on. 
 
 The black slowly faded into drab. The trees, drip- 
 ping with moisture, gradually took shape. The, day 
 of our parting had come. 
 
 »n 
 
XV II 
 THE PARTING 
 
 IT was a drizzling rain, and the sombre clouds 
 hung low in the sky. The wind appeared to be 
 steadily increasing. The day was Sunday, 
 October 18th. Presently George sat up, rubbed 
 his eyes and gazed about him for a moment in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " Mornin', Wallace," he said, when he had col- 
 lected his. senses, "that blamed rain will make the 
 travellin' hard, won't it.'' " 
 
 He tied the pieces of blanket to his feet, and 
 started for the river to get a kettle of water with 
 which to reboil the bones. The movement aroused 
 Hubbard, and he, too, sat up. 
 
 " How's the weather, b'y ? " he asked. 
 "It makes me think of Longfellow's 'Rainy 
 Day,' " I replied. " 'The day is cold, and dark, 
 and dreary.' " 
 
 "Yes," he quickly returned; "but 
 
 "'Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining."* 
 
 I looked at him with admiration. 
 "Hubbard," I exclaimed, "you're a wonder! 
 You've a way of making our worst troubles seem 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 light. I've been sitting here Imagining all sorts of 
 things." 
 
 " There's no call to worry, b'y," he smilingly said ; 
 " we'U soon have grub now, and then we can rest and 
 sleep — and get strong." 
 
 He arose from his blanket, and walked out of the 
 tent to look at the sky. Slowly he returned, and sank 
 wearily down. 
 
 "I'm feeling stronger and better than I did last 
 night," he said ; " but I'm too weak to walk or stand 
 up long." 
 
 When our breakfast of bones and hide boiled with 
 a yeast cake was ready he sat up in the tent to receive 
 his share. While drinking the water and chewing the 
 hide, we again carefully considered how long it should 
 take George to reach Grand Lake, and how long it 
 would be before help could arrive, if he were able to 
 obtain any, and how long it would require me to 
 reach the flour and return. It was, roughly speak- 
 ing, forty miles to Grand Lake, and fifteen miles to 
 the flour. 
 
 That there was room for doubt as to whether my 
 strength would carry me to the flour and back again, 
 we all recognised; and we fully realised, that if 
 George failed to reach Grand Lake, or, reaching 
 there, failed to find Blake or Blake's cache, our doom 
 would be sealed ; but so long had death been staring 
 us in the face that it had ceased to have for us any 
 terror. It was agreed, however, that each man should 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 do his best to live as long as possible. I told Hub- 
 bard I should do my utmost to be back in three days, 
 even if I did not find the flour. 
 
 Hubbard remained seated in the front of the tent 
 while George and I went about gathering a supply 
 of wood that we thought should last him until some- 
 one returned. George also brought a kettle of 
 water from the river, and thoughtfully placed it 
 near the fire for Hubbard's use in boiling the bones 
 and hide, all of which we left with him together with 
 the yeast and some tea. I also turned over to him 
 the pair of blankets he had delivered to me at Hali- 
 fax — the birthday gift from my sisters. 
 
 These preparations for Hubbard's comfort com- 
 pleted, George and I returned to the tent to arrange 
 the kits we were to take with us. Hubbard sat in 
 the middle of the tent towards the rear ; George and I 
 on either side of him in the front. Hubbard gave 
 George his pistol and compass, and I had my own 
 pistol and compass. The pistols we fastened to our 
 belts along with a sheath knife and tin cup. Having 
 a case for my compass, I wore it also on my belt; 
 George placed his in his pocket. Each of us had half 
 a blanket, this to be our only covering at night. 
 George placed his half, together with a tea pail and 
 some tea, in the waterproof bag he had been using 
 to carry food. This bag he bound with a pack strap, 
 leaving a loop to sling over his shoulder. I also 
 bound my half a blanket with a pack strap, thinking 
 
 243 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 as I did so that I soon might want to eat the strap. 
 And then, when George and I had filled our water- 
 proof boxes with wax taper matches, and placed a 
 handful of pistol cartridges in our pockets, we were 
 ready to start. 
 
 At this point I suggested it might be well for each 
 man to make a note of such disposition as he desired 
 made of his effects. George made an entry in his 
 note book, and asked Hubbard to write when we were 
 gone a letter to Mr. King, the Hudson's Bay Com- 
 pany's agent at Missanabie, in reference to his 
 (George's) affairs at that post. I then made the 
 last entry in my diary, and with it wrote what I be- 
 lieved might be a last message to my sisters and my 
 friend and associate in business, Mr. Alonzo G. Mc- 
 Laughlin. I put the diary with my other papers in 
 my camp bag, and placed the bag in the rear of the 
 tent, where the note Hubbard was to write for George 
 was also to be placed ; we believed that if worst came 
 to worst the tent was more likely to be found than 
 our bodies down on the trail. Hubbard had been 
 watching us silently while we did these things, and 
 now he said: 
 
 "Wallace, if you get out of this, and I don't, 
 you'll have to write the story of the trip." 
 
 I expressed some doubt as to my ability, but he 
 made me promise I would do the best I could. I 
 also promised, at his request, that if I survived him 
 I should place his diary in his wife's hands. 
 
 S46 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 " Thank you, b'y," he said. " And now before you 
 leave me won't you read to me again? — ^I want to 
 hear that fourteenth chapter of John and the thir- 
 teenth of First Corinthians. I fell asleep last night 
 while you were reading, I was so tired. I'm sleepy 
 now, very sleepy ; but I'U keep awake this time while 
 you read." 
 
 I got my testament from my camp bag and read 
 both chapters through, noting as I read that the 
 look of happiness and peace was returning to Hub- 
 bard's poor, wan face. When I had finished, he said 
 quietly : 
 
 "Thank you, b'y, thank you very much. Isn't 
 that comforting? — 'Let not your heart be troubled.' 
 It makes me feel good. I've faith that we'll all be 
 saved. I'm not worried. McLean was caught just 
 as we are. He sent a man for help and got out all 
 right. God wiU send us help, too." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " and we shall soon be safe home." 
 
 "We'U soon be safe home," repeated Hubbard — 
 " safe home. How happy that makes me feel ! " 
 
 It was time for George and me to go. But I could 
 not say good-bye just yet. I turned my back to 
 Hubbard and faced the fire. The tears were welling 
 up into my eyes, and I struggled for self-control. 
 George sat silent, too, and his face was strangely 
 drawn. For a fuU ten minutes we sat silently gazing 
 into the fire. Finally George arose. 
 
 "Well, Wallace, we'd better start now." 
 247 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 "Yes," I said; "we'd better start." 
 
 I collected myself as best I could, and, turning 
 to Hubbard, held out my hand. 
 
 " Good-bye, b'y ; I'll be back soon." And then, as 
 I looked into his poor, wistful eyes, I broke down and 
 sobbed. 
 
 I crawled over to him, and put my arm about him. 
 I kissed his cheek, and he kissed my cheek. We 
 embraced each other, and for a moment held our faces 
 close together. Then I drew away. 
 
 George was crying, too. The dear fellow went 
 over to Hubbard, stooped and kissed his cheek. 
 
 "With God's help, I'll save you, Hubbard!" 
 
 Hubbard kissed his cheek, and they embraced. 
 
 George slung his bundle on his shoulder, and I 
 took up mine. We turned to go. But I had to 
 return. I stooped and again kissed Hubbard's cheek, 
 and he again kissed mine. He was quite calm — ^had 
 been calm throughout. Only his eyes shone with that 
 look of wistful longing. 
 
 " Good-bye, boys, and God be with you ! " 
 
 " Good-bye ! " 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 And George and I left him. About twenty yards 
 away I turned for a last look at the tent. Hubbard 
 evidently had immediately lain down ; for he was not 
 to be seen. All I saw was the httle peak of balloon 
 silk that had been our home for so many weeks, the 
 fire blazing between it and the big rock, the kettle 
 
 248 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 of water by the fire, and the white moss and the 
 dripping wet fir trees all about. 
 
 • ■ • • • 
 
 Some one hundred and fifty yards farther on 
 George and I forded a brook, after which our course 
 was through closely-grown, diminutive fir trees until 
 we came to a series of low, barren knolls. On these 
 knoUs we found some mossberries. Then we pushed 
 on. It was dreadfully slow travelling. The wind 
 was in the east, and was rising. The drizzling rain 
 had become a downpour, and it was dashed into our 
 faces in sheets. The cold was increasing. Our 
 hands were stiff and numb. Somewhat after mid- 
 day George threw down his pack. "We'll have a 
 spell [rest] and a cup of tea to warm us up," he said. 
 
 I did not protest. The previous night had been a 
 trying one, and I was very tired. We drew together 
 some wood. With his sheath-knife George whittled 
 some shavings, and a fire was soon blazing. When 
 the kettle had been placed over the fire to boil, George 
 drew out of his bag a package — ^yes, it was a half- 
 pound package of pea meal! At first I could not 
 beheve my eyes, and I stood stupidly staring as 
 George prepared to stir some of it into the kettle. 
 At length I found my tongue. 
 
 "George," I cried indignantly, "where did you 
 get that pea meal.?" 
 
 "Hubbard gave it to me this morning while you 
 were gettin' wood," he answered promptly. 
 
 S49 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WD^D 
 
 " But why did you take it? " 
 
 "He made me take it. I didn't want to, but he 
 said I must. He said we'd be workin' hard, and we'd 
 need it, and if we didn't have somethin' to eat, we 
 couldn't travel far and couldn't get help to him. 
 We ought to have it as much for his sake as for ours, 
 he said, and I had to take it from him to make him 
 feel right." 
 
 Hubbard had evidently reserved that last half- 
 pound of pea meal to be used in a last extremity, 
 and as the argument he had used to force it on 
 George had been at least specious, I could say noth- 
 ing. George put one-third of the package (one- 
 sixth of a poimd) into the kettle, and we each drank 
 a pint of the soup. It was very thin, but it did us 
 good. 
 
 After a half -hour's rest, we pressed on as rapidly 
 as possible, but when night overtook us we could 
 not have travelled more than six miles from camp. 
 To the storm, as well as our weakness, was due our 
 slow progress. As the afternoon wore on, the storm 
 became furious. The rain descended in drenching 
 sheets, and staggering blasts of wind drove it into 
 our faces. Even if darkness had not stopped us, 
 further progress in the face of the tempest would 
 have been impossible. 
 
 We selected for our bivouac as sheltered a spot as 
 possible in a spruce growth, hauled together a good 
 supply of small dead trees and made a fire. For 
 
 S50 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 supper we had one-half of what remained of the pea 
 meal, reserving the other half (one-sixth of a pound) 
 for breakfast. There was a little comfort to be 
 gained from the fire. The rain still descended upon 
 us in sheets. The blast of wind drove the smoke 
 into our eyes and blinded us. Despite our weariness 
 we could not sleep. George lay down, but I sat 
 crouching before the fire. We tried to keep our 
 pieces of blanket over our heads, but when we did so 
 we nearly suffocated. Now and again one or the 
 other would rise to throw on more wood. Towards 
 midnight the wind shifted, and snow began to fall. 
 It feU as I never saw snow fall before. And the 
 wind never ceased, and the smoke was more blinding 
 than ever, and the night grew colder. 
 
 There were fully six inches of snow on the ground 
 when the clouds broke just before dawn, and before 
 the first rays of the sun greeted us the wind died 
 away. It was Monday, October 19th. With the 
 return of daylight we ate the rest of the pea meal, 
 and resumed our march down the valley. The day- 
 light proved that my eyes had been greatly affected 
 by the smoke of our night's fire. Everything had 
 a hazy appearance. George complained of the 
 same trouble. Soon after we started, George came 
 upon a grouse track in the fresh snow, and followed 
 it to a clump of bushes a short distance off. He 
 aimed his pistol with great care, but the bullet 
 only knocked a few feathers out of the bird, and it 
 
 251 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 flew away, to Greorge's keen chagrin and my bitter 
 disappointment. 
 
 The flour bag we were to look for was on the 
 opposite or south side of the river, and it was neces- 
 sary to cross. Before noon we reached a place at 
 which George said it would be as easy to ford the 
 stream as at any other. The icy water came almost 
 up to our armpits, but we made the other shore 
 without mishap. There we halted to build a fire 
 and thaw ourselves out ; for immediately upon emerg- 
 ing from the river our clothing froze hard and stiff. 
 While waiting we had some hot tea, and as quickly 
 as possible pushed on. We must reach the flour 
 bag that night. 
 
 I found it hard to keep the pace George was set- 
 ting, and began to lag wofully. Several times he 
 had to wait for me to overtake him. We came upon 
 a caribou trail in the snow, and followed it so long 
 as it kept our direction. To some extent the broken 
 path aided our progress. Li the afternoon we came 
 upon another grouse track. George followed it to 
 a cliunp of trees, where the bird was discovered sit- 
 ting on a limb. This time his aim was accurate, and 
 the bird fell at his feet. Quickly he plucked the 
 wings, cut them off and handed me one with the 
 remark : " They say raw partridge is good when a 
 feUus' weak." It was delicious. I ate the wing, 
 warm with the bird's life blood, bones and all, and 
 George ate the other wing. 
 
 g5^ 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 I soon found it utterly impossible to keep George's 
 pace, and became so exhausted that I was forced to 
 take short rests. At length I told George he had 
 better go ahead and look for the flour ; that I should 
 rest, follow his trail and overtake him later. He 
 went on, but just over the bare knoll we were cross- 
 ing I found him sitting in the snow waiting for 
 me. 
 
 " I don't feel right to go ahead and leave you," he 
 said. " Do you see that second knoll? " He pointed 
 to one of a "series of round barren knolls about half 
 a mile down the river. 
 
 "Yes," I answered. 
 
 "Well, don't you remember it? No? Why, 
 that's where we camped when we threw the flour 
 away, and that's where we'll stop to-night. We'd 
 better eat a mouthful to help us on." 
 
 He had plucked the head and neck of the grouse, 
 and now proceeded to cut th^m off near the body. 
 To me he gave the neck, and ate the head himself — 
 raw, of course. 
 
 It was just dusk when we reached the !moll George 
 had designated. Straightway he went to a bush, 
 ran his hand under it and pulled out — ^the bag we 
 were looking for. We opened it eagerly. As has 
 been said, we left about four pounds of flour in it. 
 Now there was a lump of green and black mould. 
 However, we rejoiced at finding it; for it was some- 
 thing and it might sustain our lives. It might send 
 
 g53 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 Greorge to the lard, and keep Hubbard and me until 
 help could arrive. 
 
 On this side of the Susan the coimtry for some 
 distance had been burned; but, while there were no 
 standing trees, and the place was entirely vmshel- 
 tered, fallen spruce trees covered the ground in 
 every direction, so we found no difficulty in getting 
 together a good pUe of dry wood for our night's 
 fire, and we soon had a rousing big one going. For 
 supper we ate all of the grouse boiled with some of 
 the flour mould stirred in. It was a splendid supper. 
 
 I had not sat long before the fire when I felt a 
 strange sensation in my eyes. It was as if they had 
 been fiUed with sharp splinters, and I found it impos- 
 sible to open them. I was afflicted with smoke-bhnd- 
 ness, which is almost identical in its effect to snow- 
 blindness. George fiUed my pipe with dried tea 
 leaves and just a bit of his precious tobacco ; then Ht 
 it for me, as I could not see to do it myself. After 
 our smoke we lay down, and I slept heavily; it was 
 practically the first sleep I had had in three days. 
 Some time in the night George awoke me to make 
 me eat a little of a concoction of the mouldy flour and 
 water, cooked thick and a trifle burned after the 
 style of nekapooshet, an Indian dish of which 
 George was very fond. At the first signs of dawn 
 he again roused me, saying : 
 
 "It's time to be up, Wallace. We're goin' to 
 have more snow to travel in." 
 
 25i 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 He was right. The clouds were hanging low and 
 heavy, and the first scattering flakes were falling of 
 a storm that was to last for ten days. I was able 
 to open my eyes in the morning, but everything still 
 looked hazy. We boiled some of the wretched mouldy 
 flour for breakfast, and then divided what remained, 
 George taking the larger share, as he had the most 
 work to do. Looking critically at my share, he 
 asked : 
 
 "How long can you keep alive on that?" 
 
 "It wiU take me two days to reach Hubbard," I 
 replied, " and the two of us might live three days 
 more on it — on a pinch." 
 
 " Do you think you can live as long as that? " said 
 George, looking me hard in the eye. 
 
 "I'll try," I said. 
 
 " Then in five days I'll have help to you, if there's 
 help to be had at Grand Lake. Day after to-mor- 
 row I'll be at Grand Lake. Those f ellus '11 be strong 
 and can reach camp in two days, so expect 'em." 
 
 It was time for us to separate. 
 
 " George," I asked, " have you your Testament 
 with you? " 
 
 " It's the Book of Common Prayer," he said, draw- 
 ing it from his pocket; "but it's got the Psalms 
 in it." 
 
 He handed me the tiny leather-covered book, but 
 I could not see the print; the haze before my eyes 
 was too thick. I returned the book to him, and asked 
 
 865 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 him to read one of the Psalms. Quite at haphazard, 
 I am sure, he turned to the ninety-first, and this is 
 what he read: 
 
 "Whoso dwelleth under the defence of the Most High; shall 
 abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 
 
 "I wiU say unto the Lord, Thou art my hope, and my 
 stronghold: my God, in him will I trust. 
 
 "For he shall deliver thee from the snare of the hunter: 
 and from the noisome pestilence. 
 
 "He shall defend thee under his wings, and thou shalt be 
 safe under his feathers: his faithfulness and truth shall be 
 thy shield and buckler. 
 
 "Thou shalt not be afraid for any terror by night: nor for 
 the arrow that flieth by day; 
 
 "For the pestilence that walketh in darkness: nor for the 
 sickness that destroyeth in the noon-day. 
 
 "A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy 
 right hand: but it shall not come nigh thee. 
 
 "Yea, with thine eyes shalt thou behold: and see the reward 
 of the ungodly. 
 
 "For thou. Lord, art my hope: thou hast set thine house 
 of defence very high. 
 
 "There shall be no evU happen unto thee: neither shall any 
 plague come nigh thy dwelling. 
 
 " For he shall give his angels charge over thee: to keep thee 
 in all thy ways. 
 
 "They shall bear thee in their hands: that thou hurt not 
 thy foot against a stone. 
 
 "Thou shalt go upon the lion and adder: the young lion 
 and the dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet. 
 
 " Because He hath set His love upon me, therefore will I de- 
 liver him: I will set him up, because he hath known my name. 
 
 "He shall call upon me, and I will hear him: yea, I am 
 with him in trouble; I will deliver him and bring him to 
 honour. 
 
 "With long life will I satisfy him: and show him my salve^- 
 tiofc" 
 
 856 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 The Psalm made a deep impression upon me. 
 "For he shall give his angels charge over thee: to 
 keep thee in all thy ways." How strange it seems, in 
 view of what happened to me, that George should 
 have read that sentence. 
 
 We arose to go on our separate ways, George 
 twenty-five miles down the valley to Grand Lake, and 
 I fifteen miles up the valley to Hubbard. The snow 
 was falling thick and fast. 
 
 " You'd better make a cape of your blanket," sug- 
 gested George. " Let me fix it for you." 
 
 He placed the blanket around my shoulders, and on 
 either side of the cloth where it came together under 
 my chin made a small hole with his knife. Through 
 these holes he ran a piece of our old trolling line, and 
 tied the ends. Then he similarly arranged his own 
 blanket. 
 
 I held out my hand to him. 
 
 " Good-bye, George. Take care of yourself." 
 
 He clasped my hand warmly. 
 
 " Good-bye, Wallace. Expect help in five days." 
 
 Near the top of a knoll I stopped and looked back. 
 With my afflicted eyes I could barely make out George 
 ascending another knoll. He also stopped and 
 looked back. I waved my hand to him, and he waved 
 his hand to me and shouted something unintelligible. 
 Then he disappeared in the snow, and as he disap- 
 peared a silence came on the world, to remain 
 unbroken for ten days. 
 
 ^57 
 
XVIIl 
 WANDERING ALONE 
 
 WITH every hour the storm gathered new 
 force, and over the barren knolls, along 
 which my course for some distance lay, 
 the snow whirled furiously. The track 
 George and I had made on our downward journey 
 soon was obhterated. Once in the forenoon, as I 
 pushed blindly on against the storm, I heard a snort, 
 and, looking up, beheld, only a few yards away, a 
 big caribou. He was standing directly in my path. 
 For a second he regarded me, with his head thrown 
 back in fear and wonder; and then, giving another 
 snort, he dashed away into the maze of whirling snow. 
 My eyes troubled me greatly, and the pain at 
 length grew so intense that I was forced to sit down 
 in the snow for perhaps half an hour with both eyes 
 tightly closed. I was keeping some distance from 
 the river, as the obstructions here were fewer than 
 near the bank. In the afternoon it occurred to me 
 that I might have turned in my course, and I took 
 my compass from its case, to satisfy myself that I 
 was going in the right direction ; but my sight was so 
 impaired that I could not read the dial, nor be cer- 
 tain which way the needle pointed. And I wondered 
 vaguely whether I was becoming totally blind. 
 
 858 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 My day's progress was not satisfactory. I had 
 hoped to reach the place where George and I had 
 forded the river, and cross to the north shore before 
 bivouacking, but in the deepening snow it was impos- 
 sible. With the first indications of night, I halted in 
 a thick spruce grove near the river and drew together 
 a fairly good supply of dead wood. On the under 
 side of the branches of the fir trees was generally to 
 be found a thick growth of hairy moss, and with a 
 handful of this as tinder it did not take me long to 
 get a good fire blazing. Close to the fire I threw 
 a pile of spruce boughs that I broke from low 
 branches and the smaller trees. I melted snow in my 
 cup for water, and in this put a few lumps of mould 
 from the flour bag, eating the mixture after it had 
 cooked a while. On the couch of boughs by the fire I 
 spent a fairly comfortable night, waking only at in- 
 tervals to throw on more wood and shake the snow 
 from my back. 
 
 The storm was still raging in the morning 
 (Wednesday, October 21st). With the first grey 
 streaks of dawn, I boiled another cup of snow water 
 and mould, and then, slinging the flour bag over my 
 shoulder, began my day's struggle. The snow was 
 now knee-deep. Soon I reached the fording place. 
 The river was beginning to freeze over. For two 
 or three yards from shore the ice bore my weight; 
 then I sank up to my waist in the cold current. 
 Approaching the other shore, I broke the outer ice 
 
 259 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 with my arms until it became thick enough to pemut 
 me to climb out upon it. 
 
 The ice that immediately formed on my clothing 
 make walking impossible, and reluctantly I halted 
 to build a fire and dry myself. This took fully an 
 hour and a half, to my extreme vexation. I realised 
 now that my hope of reaching Hubbard that night 
 was vain. While I dried my clothing, I made a cup 
 of tea. I had just enough left for two brewings, so 
 after drinking the tea I preserved the leaves for 
 further use, wrapping them carefully in a bit of 
 rag. Once more on my way up the valley, I found, 
 to my consternation and almost despair, that my 
 eyes would again compel me to stop, and for nearly 
 an hour I sat with them closed. That night, with 
 the snow still falling, though very lightly, I made 
 my couch of boughs by a fairly comfortable fire, and 
 rested well. 
 
 On Thursday morning (October 22d) a light snow 
 was falling, and the weather was very cold. The cup 
 of thin gruel that I made from the green lumps of 
 mould nauseated me, and I had to brew some tea to 
 settle my stomach and stimulate me. With my piece 
 of blanket drawn over my head to protect my ears 
 from the biting wind, and with my hands wrapped 
 in the folds, I continued my struggle towards camp. 
 I had to force my way, blindly and desperately, 
 through thick clumps of fir trees, and as the branches 
 were hanging low under their weight of feathery 
 
 260 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 snow, I continually received a deluge of snow in my 
 face. 
 
 My stock of matches was small and time was 
 precious, and I did not stop at noon to build a fire. 
 Even when night began to close in upon me I still 
 plodded on, believing that I now must be near Hub- 
 bard. The snow was falling gently, and as there 
 was a moon behind the clouds the night was suffi- 
 ciently light for me to make my way tediously 
 through the trees, with the roar of the rapids to guide 
 me. It must have been near midnight when, utterly 
 exhausted, I was forced to abandon the hope of find- 
 ing Hubbard before morning. Fearing that the 
 mould would again sicken me, I ate nothing when I 
 halted; I simply collected a few dry sticks and 
 huddled for the remainder of the night by a misera- 
 ble fire, dozing and awaking with a shudder from 
 awful dreams. 
 
 The storm continued during the night, and with 
 the morning of Friday (October 23d) broke upon the 
 world and me with renewed fury. I prepared myself 
 another dose of the mould, and forced it down. I was 
 nervously anxious to get on and find Hubbard. I 
 knew I must be near him now, although the snow 
 had changed the whole face of the country and 
 obliterated all the landmarks. Soon I crossed a 
 brook, frozen and covered with snow, that I felt must 
 be the one near our camp. Eagerly I looked about 
 me for the tent. Because of the faUing snow and 
 
 861 
 
' THE LUKE DF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 the snow-bent branches, I could scarcely see twenty 
 yards in any direction. From snow-covered rock to 
 snow-covered rock I went, believing each in turn to 
 be the tent, but always to meet disappointment. 
 Repeatedly I stopped to peer into the maze of snow 
 for smoke. But there was none. Again and again 
 I shouted. But there was no answer. The tent 
 was really near me, but it kept its secret well. 
 
 I travelled on and on. I became desperate. Over 
 and over I repeated to myself, " I must find Hubbard 
 before night comes — I must find him — I must — ^I 
 must." At length the first signs of night warned 
 me that I must collect my wood, that I might be as 
 comfortable as possible through the dreary hours of 
 darkness. As night came on the storm moderated. 
 The wind ceased. An unwonted, solemn, awful still- 
 ness came upon the world. It seemed to choke me. 
 I was filled with an unutterable, a sickening dread. 
 Hubbard's face as I had last seen it was constantly 
 before me. Was he looking and waiting for me."* 
 Why could I not find him? I must find him in the 
 morning. I must, I must. Before going to sleep 
 I made some more gruel and tea, drinking them both 
 as a duty. 
 
 The snow was falling gently on Saturday (October 
 24th), the wind had mercifully abated, and the tem- 
 perature was somewhat milder. After more gruel 
 and the last cup of tea I was to have in my lonely 
 wanderings, I renewed my search for Hubbard. I 
 
 262 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 decided that possibly I was below the camp, and 
 pushed on to the westward. Finally I became con- 
 vinced I was in a part of the country I had never seen 
 before. I began to feel that possibly I was far 
 above the camp ; that a rescuing party had found 
 Hubbard, and that, as my tracks in the snow had 
 been covered, they had abandoned the hope of finding 
 me and had returned. They might even have passed 
 me in the valley below; it was quite possible. But 
 perhaps George's strength had failed him, and help 
 never would come to any of us. 
 
 I turned about, and again started down the valley. 
 After a time I attempted to cross the ice on the river, 
 to try and discover some familiar landmark on the 
 south shore. In midstream, where the current had 
 not permitted thick ice to form, I broke through. 
 The water was nearly up to my armpits. Standing 
 there with the icy current swirling about me, I said, 
 " What's the use? " It seemed to me I had reached 
 the limit of human endurance. Instead of trying to 
 struggle on, how much pleasanter to permit myself 
 to sink beneath the water and thus end it all! It 
 would be such a relief to die. 
 
 Then there came to me the remembrance that it 
 was my duty to live as long as I could. I must do 
 my best. As long as I had any strength left, I must 
 exert myself to live. With a great effort I climbed 
 out on the hard ice, and made my way back to the 
 north shore. Night was approaching. I staggered 
 
 263 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WHLD 
 
 into the spruce growth, and there came upon the same 
 brook I have previously mentioned as crossing. Near 
 its bank I made my night fire. That fire was within 
 two hundred yards of the tent. Perhaps it is just 
 as well that I did not know it. 
 
 The snow, which had fallen rather mildly all day, 
 thickened with the coming of night. All the loose 
 wood was now buried under the snow, and it was with 
 difficulty that I gathered a scant supply for the 
 night. My wet rags were freezing hard and stiff. 
 I moved about, half-dazed. I broke only a few 
 branches for my bedj and sat down. Scarcely had 
 I done so when a woman's voice came to me, kindly 
 and low and encouraging. 
 
 "Hadn't you better break a few more boughs?" 
 it said. " You will rest better then." 
 
 There was no mistaking the voice. It was clear 
 and distinct. It was the voice of my wife, who had 
 been dead for more than three years. I remember 
 it did not impress me as being at all strange that my 
 wife, who was dead, should be speaking to me up 
 there in the Labrador wilderness. It seemed to me 
 perfectly natural that she should be looking after 
 my comfort, even as she had done in life. I arose 
 and broke the boughs. 
 
 I am not a spiritist. I have never taken any stock 
 in the theory that the spirits of the dead are able 
 to communicate with the living. So far as I have 
 thought about them at all, it has been my opinion 
 
 264 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 tHat spiritists are either fools or frauds. But I am 
 endeavouring to give a faithful account of my feel- 
 ings and sensations at the time of which I am writing, 
 and the incident of the voice cannot be ignored. 
 Perhaps it was all a delusion — an hallucination, if 
 you will, due to the gradual breaking down of my 
 body and mind. As to that, the reader can form his 
 own conclusions. Certain it is, that from this time 
 on, when I needed help and encouragement the most^ 
 I felt a vague assurance that my wife was by my 
 side; and I verily believe, that if it had not been 
 for this, — hallucination, delusion, actuality, reality, 
 or whatever it may have been, — I should now be in 
 a land where the truth about these things is prob- 
 ably known for certain. 
 
 At times I even thought I saw my wife. And 
 often, often throughout those terrible days her voice 
 came to me, kindly and low and encouraging. When 
 I felt I really could plod no farther through the 
 snow, her voice would tell me not to lose heart, but 
 to do my best, and all would be right in the end. And 
 when, wearied beyond measure at night, I would fall 
 into a heavy sleep, and my fire would bum low, a 
 hand on my shoulder would arouse me, and her voice 
 would teU me to get up and throw on more wood. Now 
 and again I fancied I heard the voice of my mother, 
 who died when I was a boy, also encouraging and re- 
 assuring me. Indescribably comforting were those 
 voices, whatever their origin may have been. They 
 
 265 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 soothed me, and brought bahn for my loneliness. In 
 the wilderness, and amid the falling snow, those that 
 loved me were ministering unto me and keeping me 
 from harm. At least, so it seemed to me. And 
 now, as I think of those dear voices, and feel once 
 more that loving touch on my shoulder, there comes 
 back to me that verse from the Psalm George read 
 at our parting — "For He shall give His angels 
 charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." 
 
 It is all like a half-dream to me now. I know 
 that after Saturday night (October 24<th), when I 
 bivouacked within a stone's throw of Hubbard's tent, 
 I lost all count of the days, and soon could not recall 
 even the month. I travelled on and on, always down 
 the valley. Sometimes I fancied I heard men shout- 
 ing, and I would reply. But the men did not come ; 
 and I would say to myself over and over again, " Man 
 proposes, God disposes; it is His wiU and best for 
 all." 
 
 The flour mould nauseated me to such an extent 
 that for a day at a time I could not force myself 
 to eat it. The snow clogged in aU that was left of 
 my cowhide moccasins (larigans), and I took them 
 off and fastened them to my belt, walking thereafter 
 in my stocking feet. I wore two pairs of woollen 
 socks, but holes already were beginning to appear in 
 the toes and heels. The bushes tore away the legs 
 of my trousers completely, and my drawers, which 
 thus became the sole protection of my legs from the 
 
 266 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 middle of my thighs down, had big holes in them. 
 Each night I cut a piece of leather from my moc- 
 casin uppers, and boiled It in my cup until morning, 
 when I would eat it and drink the water. I found 
 afterward, carefuUy preserved in my match box, one 
 of the brass eyelets from the moccasins. Probably 
 I put it away thinking I might have to eat even that. 
 
 I knew there was something the matter with my 
 feet; they complained to me every night. They 
 seemed to me like individuals that were dependent 
 upon me, and they told me it was my duty to care 
 for them. But I gave no heed to their complaints. 
 I had enough to do to care for myself. My feet 
 must look out for themselves. Why should I worry 
 about them.'' 
 
 And stiU it snowed, night and day — sometimes 
 gently, sometimes blindingly ; but always it snowed. 
 Once while plodding along the side of a rocky hill, 
 I staggered over the edge of a shelving rock and fell 
 several feet into a snow drift. I was uninjured, but 
 extricating myself was desperately hard work, and 
 it was very pleasant and soft in the snow, and I 
 was so tired and sleepy. Why not give it up and 
 go to sleep.'' But she was with me, and she whis- 
 pered, " Struggle on, and aU will be well," and reluc- 
 tantly I dragged my poor old body out. 
 
 There were times when the feeling was strong upon 
 me that I had been alone and wandering on forever, 
 and that, like the Wandering Jew, I must go on 
 
 267 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 forever- At other times I fancied I was dead, and 
 that the snow-covered wilderness was another world. 
 Instinctively I built my fire at night under the stump 
 of a fallen tree, if I could find one; for the rotten 
 wood would smoulder until morning, and a supply of 
 other wood was very hard to get. 
 
 One evening I remember crossing the river, which 
 had now gone into its long winter sleep tucked away 
 under a blanket of ice and snow, and building a fire 
 tmder a rotten stump on the south side behind a bank 
 near the shore. I felt that I must be weU down the 
 valley. My supply of wood was miserably small, but 
 I had worked hard all day and could not gather any 
 more. I feU down by the fire and struggled against 
 sleep. She told me I must not sleep. When I 
 dozed, her hand on my shoulder would arouse me. 
 Thus the night passed. 
 
 At dawn I realised in a vague sort of way that 
 the clouds had at last broken away ; that the weather 
 was clear and biting cold. Before me was the river. 
 It had been a raging torrent when I first saw it ; now 
 it lay quiet and still under its heavy winter blanket. 
 At my back the low bank with its stunted spruce 
 trees hid the ridge of barren, rocky hiUs and knolls 
 that lay beyond. 
 
 A few embers of the rotten stump were smoulder- 
 ing, sending skyward, with each fitful gust of the east 
 wind, a fugitive curl of smoke. A few yards away 
 lay a dead tree, with its branches close to the snow. 
 
 868 
 
WANDERING ALONE 
 
 If I could break some of those branches off, and get 
 them back to my smouldering stump, I might fan the 
 embers into a blaze, get some heat and melt snow 
 in my cup for a hot drink. Not that I craved the 
 drink or anything else, but it perhaps would give 
 me strength to go just a little farther. 
 
 I pulled my piece of ragged blanket over my 
 shoulders and struggled to my feet. It was no use. 
 I swayed dizzily about, took a few steps forward and 
 fell. I crawled slowly back to the smouldering stump 
 and tried to think. I felt no pain ; I was just weary 
 to the last degree. Should I not now be justified in 
 surrendering to the overpowering desire to sleep? 
 Perhaps, I argued, it would strengthen me. I could 
 no longer walk ; why not sleep ? But still I was told 
 that I must not. 
 
 Was Hubbard still waiting and watching for me 
 to come back?- — somewhere in that still wilderness 
 of snow was he waiting and watching and hoping? 
 Perhaps he was dead, and at rest. Poor Hub- 
 bard! . . . 
 
 Why did not the men come to look for us — the 
 trappers that George was to send? Had they come 
 and missed me, and gone away again? Or was 
 George, brave fellow, lying dead on the trail some- 
 where below? How long had I been wandering, 
 anyway? 
 
 My sisters in far-away New York, were they 
 hoping and praying to hear from me? Perhaps 
 
 269 
 
THE LURE OP THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 they never would. There was a certain grave m a 
 little cemetery on the banlcs of the dear old Hudson. 
 It had been arranged that I should lie beside that 
 grave when I went to sleep forever. Would they 
 find my bones and take them back.'' 
 
 How enthusiastic Hubbard had been for this expe- 
 dition! It was going to make his reputation, he 
 thought. Well, well, man proposes, God disposes; 
 it was His will and best for aU. . . . , 
 
 I found myself dozing, and with an effort to 
 recover myself sat up straight. The sun was making 
 its way above the horizon. I looked at it and hoped 
 that its warming rays would give me strength to do 
 my duty — my duty to live as long as I could. Any- 
 way, the storms had passed ! the storms had passed ! 
 
 I dozed again. It may have been that I was enter- 
 ing upon my final sleep. But gradually I became 
 hazily conscious of an unusual sound. Was it a 
 shout? I was aroused. I made a great effort and 
 got on my feet. I hstened. There it was again! 
 It was a shout, I felt sure it was a shout! With 
 every bit of energy at my command, I sent up an 
 answering "Hello!" All was silent. I began to 
 fear that again I had been deceived. Then over 
 the bank above me came four swarthy men on snow- 
 shoes, with big packs on their backs. 
 
 270 
 
Gilbert Duncan Allen Donald 
 
 "FOUR SWARTHY MEN * * * MY RESCUERS" 
 
XIX 
 
 THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 THE unintelligible words that George shouted 
 to me from the knoll after we parted on 
 Tuesday (October 20th) were an injunction 
 to keep near the river, as the men he would 
 send to rescue Hubbard and me would look for 
 us there. As he proceeded down the valley his 
 progress was slow and tedious, owing to his weak- 
 ness, the rough country, and the deepening snow. 
 Towards noon he came upon the newly made track 
 of a porcupine, followed it a short distance into a 
 clump of trees, where he soon saw the round quill- 
 covered animal in the snow and shot it. Immediately 
 he built a fire, and singed off quiUs and hair. Then, 
 as he related to me afterwards, he considered, talk- 
 ing aloud to himself, what was best to do with his 
 prize. 
 
 "There's them fellus up there without grub," he 
 said. "Maybe I'd better turn about and take 'em 
 this porcupine. But if I do, it won't last long, and 
 then we'U be worse off than ever. This snow's gettin' 
 deeper all the time, and if it gets so deep I can't 
 walk without snowshoes, we'll all die for sure. No, 
 I'd better go on with this porcupine to help me." 
 
 271 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 So after boiling a piece of the porcupine in his 
 tea kettle and eating it, he continued down the valley. 
 By his fires he always talked to himself to keep 
 himself company, and that night he said: 
 
 " This 's been a tough day, and I ain't where I 
 ought to be. But I'U eat a good snack of this por- 
 cupine now with some of the flour, and in the mornin' 
 I'll have another good snack, and that 'II make me 
 stronger and I can travel farther to-morrow. I 
 ought to get most to Grand Lake to-morrow night." 
 
 But so far from getting anywhere near Grand 
 Lake the next day, he did not complete his twenty- 
 five-mOe journey for several days to come. The 
 snow became so deep he could hardly push through 
 it. He carefully hoarded the bones of his porcupine, 
 thinking he might have to eat them; but Providence 
 sent him more food. When the first porcupine was 
 eaten, he came upon and killed another, and when 
 that was gone, he shot a third. He also succeeded 
 in shooting sever£il grouse. If it had not been for 
 this game, he would not have lived to do the hard 
 work that was before him. 
 
 The pieces of blanket in which his feet were 
 wrapped were continually coming off, and frequent 
 halts were necessary to readjust them. He must 
 not let his feet freeze; for then he would not be able 
 to walk, and not only would he perish himself, but 
 "there'd be no hope for them feUus up there." 
 One day he came upon a man's track. He was 
 
 272 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 exultant. That it was a trapper's trail he had no 
 doubt. Staggering along it with all the speed he 
 could command, he shouted wildly at every step. 
 Presently he discovered that he was following his 
 own trail; he had been travelling in a circle. The 
 discovery made him almost frantic. He stopped to 
 reason with and calm himself. Said he, so that all 
 the listening wilderness might hear: 
 
 "Them fellus up there in the snow have got to be 
 saved. I said to Hubbard, 'With God's help I'll 
 save you,' and I'm a-goin' to if my legs hold out and 
 there's anybody at Grand Lake." And then he went 
 on. 
 
 His progress down the vaUey that day was only 
 a mile and a half. It was most discouraging. He 
 must do better. The powdered milk we had aban- 
 doned he did not find, but on October 26th he recov- 
 ered our old lard pail. Some of the lard he ate, some 
 he used in cooking a grouse, and the rest he took 
 along with him. 
 
 Below the place where he bivouacked that night the 
 snow was not so deep, and early the next morning 
 George once more beheld the broad waters of Grand 
 Lake. The journey he had expected to make in 
 three days had actually taken him seven. He arrived 
 at Grand Lake three days after I, wandering in the 
 valley above, lost aU track of time. 
 
 A few miles above its mouth the Susan River bends 
 to the southward, and from that direction reaches 
 
 »1B 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 the little lake that lies just north of the extreme 
 western end of Grand Lake, so that George, pro- 
 ceeding down the river on the south bank, eventually 
 came to the little lake's western shore. Along this 
 shore he made his way until he reached the point of 
 land formed by the little lake and the branch of the 
 Beaver River that flows a little south of east to merge 
 its waters in the little lake with those of the Susan. 
 The water here had not been frozen, and George 
 found his further progress arrested. He was in a 
 quandary. The trapper's tUt for which he was 
 bound was on the south shore of Grand Lake about 
 seven or eight miles from its western end, and in 
 order to reach the tilt he would have to continue on 
 south around the end of the lake. 
 
 The land on the other side of the swirling stream 
 to which George had come was the island at the 
 mouth of the Beaver that separates it into two 
 branches, and which forms the western shore of the 
 swift stream or strait that, flowing to the southward, 
 discharges the waters of the Uttle lake into Grand 
 Lake. George thought, however, that this island was 
 a part of the western boundary of Grand Lake, and 
 he determined to reach it. But how? To swim across 
 was impossible. Well, then, he would build a raft. 
 And, although he had no implements, he did. He 
 hauled together several fallen trees, laid them in a 
 row and bound them at one end with his pack strap 
 and at the other with a piece of our old trolling line. 
 
 274 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 When this was done, he hacked himself a pole with 
 his sheath-knife, threw his bag containing a piece of 
 a porcupine and some grouse on the raft, launched 
 it, jumped on it himself and pushed out into the 
 stream. 
 
 One or two good shoves George gave with his pole, 
 and then found he no longer could touch bottom. 
 He was at the mercy of the swift current. Down 
 into the little lake he was swept, and thence through 
 the strait right out into Grand Lake. A high 
 sea was running, and the frail raft promptly began 
 to fall to pieces. " Have I escaped starvin' only to 
 drown.? " thought George. It certainly looked like 
 it. " But," said he to himself, " if I drown them 
 f ellus up there will be up against it for sure." So he 
 determined not to drown. He got down on his hands 
 and knees, and, although the icy seas broke relent- 
 lessly over him, he held the floating sticks in place, 
 at the same time clinging tenaciously to his food 
 bag ; for, as he confided to me later, " it would have 
 been just as bad to escape drownin' only to starve as 
 it would have been to escape starvin' only to drown." 
 
 Farther out on the broad bosom of the lake George 
 was carried. "Now," said he, "if I jump, I'll 
 drown; and if I don't, I'll drown anyway. So I 
 guess I'll hang on a little longer." And hang on he 
 did for something like two hours, when the wind 
 caught his raft and drove it back to the southern 
 end of the island at the mouth of the Beaver. " You 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 can't lose me," said George, as he landed. He and 
 his game bag were saved, but his difficulties were not 
 ended by any means. 
 
 While the wind was driving him back, George 
 caught sight of the branch of the Beaver that flows 
 almost due south directly into Grand Lake, forming 
 the island's western shore. Standing on this shore, 
 he made a shrewd guess. "I'll bet," he said, "my 
 dream was right, and here we have the same river we 
 were on when we said good-bye to the canoe." What 
 interested him the most, however, was a row boat 
 he espied a little south of the island on the opposite 
 shore. Apparently it had been abandoned. " If I 
 can reach that boat," said George, " and it 'U float, 
 and I don't find Blake or any grub at his tilt, I'll 
 put right off for the post, and send help from there 
 to them feUus up there." 
 
 There was no doubt about it, he would have to 
 take chances with another raft. Although his rags 
 were beginning to freeze to his body, he did not stop 
 to build a fire, neither did he wait to eat anything. 
 At first it seemed hopeless to try to launch a raft; 
 for the bank on the western side of the island was 
 very steep. Farther north, however, ice had formed 
 in the river for some distance from the shore, and to 
 this ice George dragged fallen trees and bound them 
 as he had done before. It was the labour of hours, 
 the trees having to be dragged for considerable dis- 
 tances. Once more afloat, George found no difficulty 
 
 276 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 in touching bottom with his pole, and in the gathering 
 dusk he reached the other shore. 
 
 Supposing that he was still many miles from a 
 place where there was any possibility of finding a 
 human being, he decided to bivouac for the night; 
 but first he must examine the rowboat he had 
 sighted from the island. This made necessary the 
 fording of a small stream. Hardly had he emerged 
 from the water, when, from among the spruce trees 
 farther back from the shore, there came a sound that 
 brought him to a sudden standstill and set his heart 
 to thumping wildly against his ribs. It was a most 
 extraordinary sound to hear when one supposed one 
 was alone in a wilderness, and when all had been 
 solemnly still save for the dashing of waves upon a 
 shore. On the night air there came floating to 
 George the cry of a little child. 
 
 "When I heard that youngster scream," said 
 George, in telling me about the incident, " I knew 
 folks was there, and I dropped my bag, and I tore 
 my piece of blanket from my shoulders, and I runned 
 and I runned." 
 
 In the course of the summer Donald Blake had 
 built himself a log house on the spot to which George 
 was so wildly fleeing. The rowboat George had spied 
 belonged to him, but the house, standing back in a 
 thick clump of trees, had not been visible from the 
 water. On the evening of George's arrival, Donald 
 and his brother Gilbert were away, and Donald's wife 
 
THE LUKE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 and another young woman who stayed with her to 
 keep her company were alone. The latter young 
 woman, with Mrs. Blake's baby in her arms, was 
 standing at the door of the house, when suddenly she 
 heard a crashing noise in the bush in front of her, 
 and the next moment there loomed up before her 
 affrighted vision in the gloaming the apparition of 
 a gaunt and ragged man, dripping wet, and running 
 towards her with long, black hair and straggling 
 beard streaming in the wind. She turned and fled 
 into the house. 
 
 "O Mrs. Blake! Mrs. Blake!" she cried, "'tis 
 somethin' dreadful comin' ! 'tis sure a wild man ! " 
 
 Greatly alarmed, Mrs. Blake went to the door. 
 George, panting and still dripping, stood before her. 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy ! " she piously exclaimed, throw- 
 ing up her arms. 
 
 "Don't be scared, ladies," panted George; "I 
 couldn't hurt a rabbit. Ain't there any men here? " 
 
 His ingratiating manner reassured the frightened 
 women, and explanations followed. All the natives 
 of the vicinity of Hamilton Inlet had been wonder- 
 ing what had become of us, and Mrs. Blake quickly 
 grasped the situation. Kindness itself, she took 
 George in. Donald and Gilbert, she said, would be 
 back directly. She made him hot tea, and put on 
 the table for him some grouse stew, molasses, and 
 bread and butter, aU the time imploring him to 
 eit down and warm himself. But George was too 
 
 g7a 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 excited to sit down. Up and down he paced, the 
 melting ice on his rags making tiny rivulets on his 
 hostess's spotless floor. Most of the breeds who live 
 near the western end of Hamilton Inlet are remark- 
 ably cleanly, this probably being due to their Scotch 
 blood. 
 
 George at length calmed himself sufficiently to 
 turn his attention to the meal that had been prepared 
 for him. He had salt for his meat, molasses to 
 sweeten his tea and a bountiful supply of good bread. 
 He ate greedily, which fact he soon had cause to 
 regret; for later in the evening he began to bloat, 
 and for several days thereafter he writhed with the 
 colic. But for the present he thought of nothing 
 save the satisfaction of the appetite that had been 
 regenerated by the food he had been able to obtain 
 after leaving me. It was especially difficult for him 
 to tear himself away from the bread. As there must 
 be an end to all things, however, George eventually 
 stopped eating, and then he started to go for his 
 bag. But Mrs. Blake said: 
 
 " No, Donald 'U get he. Sit down, sir, and rest." 
 A little later Donald and Gilbert appeared. We 
 had made Donald's acquaintance, it will be remem- 
 bered, at Rigolet; it was he who had sailed his boat 
 up the Nascaupee and had given us the most Informa- 
 tion about that river. When he had heard George's 
 story, there was no need to urge him to make haste. 
 Lithe, ambitious, and in the habit of doing a dozen 
 
 279 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 things at a time, Donald was activity itself. His 
 brother Gilbert, a young fellow of seventeen, com- 
 monly called Bert, was also eager to start to the 
 rescue of Hubbard and me. They told George it 
 was fortunate he had arrived when he did, as m a 
 day or so they would have been away on their trap- 
 ping paths. 
 
 "But didn't you see Allen Goudie's tilt, sir.?" 
 asked Donald, when George had finished telling about 
 his trip down what he supposed to be the Nascaupee 
 River. " She's on th' Nascaupee right handy to th' 
 bank, and in fair sight from th' river, sir." 
 
 " If there's a tilt on the Nascaupee," said George, 
 " you can kick me." 
 
 Donald asked him to teU more about the river we 
 were on, and George drew a rough map of its leading 
 features. Then it was that George learned that the 
 river of our distress was really the Susan. 
 
 " And we passed right by the mouth of the Nas- 
 caupee.? " he asked. 
 
 He was informed that such was the case. 
 
 "WeU," said George, "I'll be blamed!" 
 " Blamed " was George's most violent expletive ; I 
 never heard him use profanity. 
 
 Donald told George he must not think of going 
 back with the rescuing party, as his weakness would 
 retard its progress. So George marked on the map 
 he had made of the Susan's course the general situa- 
 tion of our last camp. He warned Donald that the 
 
 280 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 deep snow up the valley might have prevented me 
 from reaching the tent, but that in any event they 
 would find me near the river. 
 
 Hearing that, Donald quickly decided that more 
 men were needed for the rescuing party ; for if either 
 Hubbard or I was found alone the party would have 
 to separate in order to continue the search for the 
 other man. The packs, besides, would be too heavy 
 for two men to carry and make the rapid progress 
 that was necessary. Fortunately Allen Goudie and 
 a young fellow named Duncan McLean were at the 
 former's winter tilt on the Nascaupee, seven miles 
 across the lake from Donald's. The hour was late 
 and the lake was rough, but Donald and Gilbert 
 started for them in their rowboat immediately after 
 making ready their packs of provisions and camp 
 equipment, prepared for an early start up the Susan 
 the next day. 
 
 At noon (October 28th) they were back with both 
 Allen and Duncan, and at once loaded the packs Into 
 the boat. Then the four men rowed up through the 
 little lake to the first rapid on the Susan, hauled the 
 boat up on the shore, donned their snowshoes, 
 shouldered their packs, and started up the valley. 
 Running when they could, which the rough country 
 would not permit of their doing often, they camped 
 at night ten miles above their boat. 
 
 The next morning (October 29th) they cached 
 some provisions to lighten their packs, and as thej] 
 
 281 
 
; THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 proceeded fired a rifle at intervals, thinking there was 
 now a chance of coming upon either Hubbard or 
 me. As a matter of fact they must have passed me 
 towards evening. They were on the north side of the 
 river, and it was the evening when I staggered down 
 the north shore, to cross the ice at dusk and make my 
 last bivouac in the lee of a bank on the south shore. 
 Whether I had crossed the river before they came 
 along, or whether, hidden by the trees and the falling 
 snow, I passed them unobserved on the same shore, I 
 do not know; the fact is, they camped that night 
 about a mile and a half above me, and about twelve 
 miles below Hubbard's tent. 
 
 There was only one thing that saved me from being 
 left alone to die — these trappers' keen sense of smell. 
 In the morning (October 30th) while they* were break- 
 ing camp preparatory to continuing on up the vaUey, 
 Donald Blake fancied that he smelled smoke. He 
 spoke to Allen Goudie about it, and both men stood 
 and sniffed the air. Yes, Allen smelled smoke, too. 
 It was unmistakable. The wind was blowing up the 
 valley; therefore someone must have a fire below 
 them. Hastily finishing the work of breaking camp, 
 the four men shouldered their packs and turned back. 
 
 Close down to the shore of the river they scram- 
 bled, and hurried on, shouting and discharging a 
 rifle. At length they paused, to give exclamations 
 of satisfaction. They had found my track leading 
 across the ice to the other shore. Only a moment thej] 
 
 282 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 paused, and then, following the trail, they broke into 
 a run, redoubling their shouts and repeatedly dis- 
 charging the rifle. They had smelled my smouldering 
 rotten stump, but if a whiflF of smoke was now rising 
 it was too small for them to see. My trail, how- 
 ever, led them to the bank over which they heard my 
 feeble answering shotit. So down the bank they 
 scrambled, to come to a sudden halt, transfixed with 
 amazement, as they told me afterwards, that such a 
 wreck as I could stand and live. 
 
 The spectacle I presented certainly must have 
 been an unusual one — a man all skin and bones, 
 standing in drawers and stocking feet, with the rem- 
 nants of a pair of trousers about his hips, there in 
 the midst of the snow-covered forest. They were 
 heavily clad and had their caps pulled far down over 
 their ears to protect them from the biting wind, while 
 I did not even have my hat on. 
 
 It was some time before I could realise that living 
 men were before me. As if in a half -dream, I stood 
 stupidly gazing at them. But with the return of 
 sensibility I recollected that George had gone to find 
 Donald Blake, and gradually it dawned upon me that 
 he was there. I spoke his name — " Donald Blake." 
 At that Donald stepped forward and grasped my 
 hand warmly and firmly like an old friend. 
 
 " Did George get out and send you? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; it was he that sent us, sir. He's safe 
 at my house." 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 " Have you found Hubbard? " 
 
 "Not yet, sir. We smelled smoke a mile and a 
 half above, where our camp was last night, an' came 
 down to find you, sir." 
 
 I remember telling Donald that he had better leave 
 me something to eat, and go on to Hubbard as fast 
 as he could. He replied that Duncan and Bert, the 
 two young fellows, would stay with me, while he and 
 Allen would continue on up the valley. During this 
 talk, the kind-hearted trappers had not been idle. 
 While two of them cut wood for a rousing fire and put 
 the kettle on for tea, the others made a cosey couch 
 close to the blaze and sat me on it. They gave me 
 a very small piece of bread and butter. 
 
 " You'd better eat just a small bit at first, sir," 
 said Allen. " You're fair starved, and much grub 
 at th' beginnin' might be th' worse for you." 
 
 Before I had my tea, Donald and Allen were ready 
 to start. Allen hesitated for a moment; then asked: 
 
 " If the other man be dead, sir? " 
 
 " Dead? " I said. " Oh, no, he won't be dead. 
 You'll find him in the tent waiting for you." 
 
 " But if he be dead? " persisted Allen, " He may 
 be, and we sure can't bring th' body out now, sir." 
 
 Although still struggling against the fear that my 
 reason told me was only too well founded, I re- 
 quested, that in the event of what they thought pos- 
 sible proving to be the case, they wrap the body in 
 the blankets they would find in the tent, and build 
 
 S8i 
 
THE KINDNESS OF THE BREEDS 
 
 for it a stage high enough from the ground to pro- 
 tect it from animals. I also asked that they bring 
 back with them all the things they should find in the 
 tent, including the rifle and camera, and especially 
 the books and papers of all descriptions. 
 
 Promising that all should be done as I wished, and 
 again cautioning me against eating too much, Allen 
 and Donald departed, leaving me a prey to anxiety 
 and fear as to the news they should bring back. 
 
 285 
 
XX 
 
 HOW HUBBARD WENT TO SLEEP 
 
 A POT of hot tea soon was ready, and I 
 drank some of it. 
 " I hopes you feels better, sir," then spoke 
 young Duncan MacLean. "A smoke '11 
 taste good now. Got a pipe, sir? " 
 
 I produced my pipe, and he held out to me a plug 
 of tobacco. 
 
 " Take he an' fiU th' pipe, sir." 
 With the plug in my possession, I drew my sheath- 
 knife to cut it. But Gilbert Blake objected. 
 
 " He's a big un, sir, to cut tobacca with. Let me 
 fill he, sir." 
 
 Obediently I handed him my pipe to be filled, and 
 when it had been returned to me one of the boys 
 struck a match and held it to the bowl while I puflFed. 
 Then Duncan took the plug from the log where Gil- 
 bert had left it, and, holding it out to me, said: 
 
 " He's yours, sir ; I brought he for you. An'," 
 added Duncan impressively, " there's more when he's 
 gone, sir." 
 
 The tea and the great leaping blaze warmed me, 
 the tobacco stimulated me, and my tongue was loosed. 
 I talked and I talked. It was good to have human 
 
 386 
 
HOW HUBBARD* WENT TO SLEEP 
 
 society and human sympathy again. The boys told 
 me how George had finally reached them after his 
 struggles, and what news of the world they had 
 heard. After a little they gave me a bit more bread, 
 and told me I had better sleep while they built a 
 break to keep the wind, which had shifted to the west, 
 from my couch. And, while watching them fell trees 
 for the wind-break and vaguely wondering whether 
 I should ever be strong and able to move about like 
 that again, I did go to sleep. 
 
 When, after an hour had passed, I awoke, the boys 
 made me drink more tea and eat another piece of 
 bread. Then Duncan took his rifle, and remarking, 
 " The 's deer signs right handy, an' a bit o' deer's 
 meat might do you good, sir," strode off into the 
 bush. Late in the afternoon he returned without 
 having been rewarded in his hunt, and took a seat 
 with Gilbert near my feet as I reclined on ihe boughs. 
 Twilight came and then darkness, and I, lying be- 
 fore the crackling flames, wondered, as they burned 
 ever brighter, whether Donald and Allen had yet 
 found Hubbard, and hoped against hope that they 
 had found him alive. Instinctively I felt that I should 
 prepare for the worst, but I cudgelled my brain for 
 specious arguments to make myself believe he had 
 survived, and went on hoping. 
 
 My feet had been paining me all day. I tried 
 to take off my socks, but blood clots held them fast 
 to the raw flesh. The fact was, they had been 
 
 287 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D. 
 
 frozen. It was hardly to be wondered at — the won- 
 der was, how I, wandering for ten days in a bitter 
 snowstorm almost naked as to my lower extremities, 
 escaped with my life. Under ordinary circumstances, 
 a physician has told me, the exposure would have 
 killed me in short order; but, having been living in 
 the open for months, I had become gradually inured 
 to the cold, and the eifect of the exposure was thus 
 greatly mitigated. There were only two or three 
 nights on the entire trip when any of us went to 
 bed with dry feet, and that none of us ever had the 
 shghtest symptom of a cold certainly speaks volumes 
 for an out-of-door life. 
 
 Although I ate very sparingly on the day the 
 trappers found me, I soon began to suffer greatly 
 from bloating and nausea. In the night I was very 
 iU. The boys did everything they could for me. 
 They were excellent nurses, those rough, brown fel- 
 lows of the forest, anticipating my every wish. When 
 once or twice in the night I tried to walk a few steps 
 from the fire to relieve my nausea, their faces and 
 actions showed plainly their concern. That I might 
 not stagger into the fire, they would rise to stand 
 between it and me. One of them remained awake 
 all night, to keep the fire going and to help me 
 should I need anything. 
 
 The sun was again showing itself above the hori- 
 zon, setting the expanse of fir trees and snow aglow, 
 and the boys, having placed the kettle over the fire 
 
 ^88 
 
HOW HUBBARD WENT TO SLEEP 
 
 for breakfast, were cutting more wood, when Donald 
 and Allen suddenly came over the bank, as they had 
 done on the morning before. Their packs were as 
 large as ever, and they had Hubbard's rifle. I knew 
 at once that the worst had happened. " His wife 
 and mother ! " — like lightning the thought flashed 
 through my mind. A dizziness came over me, and 
 for a moment I could not breathe. Donald spoke: 
 
 " Yesterday evenin' we found th' tent, sir. He 
 were fastened up tight with pins on th' inside, an' 
 hadn't been opened since th' snow began. Says I to 
 Allen, sir, ' Th' poor man's dead, 'tis sure he's dead.' 
 An' Allen he opened th' tent; for I had no heart to 
 do it, sir, and there th' poor man was, wrapped all 
 up in th' blankets as if sleepin', sir. But he were 
 dead, sir, dead; and he were dead for a long time. 
 So there was nothin' to do but to wrap th' poor man 
 safe in th' things that were there, an' bring back 
 th' papers an' other things, sir." 
 
 We kept silent, we five men, until Donald added : 
 
 " We saw a place when right handy to th' tent 
 where you'd had a fire by a brook, sir." 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " I built that fire— so that really 
 was the brook near our tent ! " 
 
 " 'Twere th' mercy of God, sir," said Allen, " that 
 you didn't know th' poor man were there dead; you 
 would ha' given up yourself, sir." 
 
 Having a superstitious horror of the dead, Donald 
 would not touch the body, and without assistance 
 
 289 
 
: THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn,D 
 
 Allen had been unable to place it on a stage as I 
 wished. However, he arranged it carefully on the 
 ground, where, he assured me, it would be perfectly 
 safe. He suggested that I permit them to bury the 
 body where it was, as it would be quite impossible to 
 transport it over the rough country for weeks to 
 come, or until Grand Lake had frozen solid and the 
 ice on the Susan River rapids become hard enough 
 to bear the weight of men with a sled. Both Donald 
 and Allen were willing to go back to the log-house 
 on Grand Lake, and get the tools necessary for dig- 
 ging the grave. 
 
 But it would be bad enough for me to return home 
 without Hubbard alive, and I felt that I simply must 
 get the body out and take it with me. And, although 
 the trappers could not understand my reasons, I 
 refused to consent to its burial in the wilderness. 
 In spite of their superior knowledge of the country 
 and the weather conditions, I felt that the body could 
 be taken down to the post later, but recognised the 
 impracticability, if not impossibility, of undertaking 
 the task immediately. 
 
 When Donald and Allen turned over to me the 
 papers they had found in the tent, I took up Hub- 
 bard's diary wondering if he had left a last message. 
 In the back part of the book was a letter to his 
 mother, a note to his wife, the evident attempt again 
 to write to his wife, and the letter to the agent at 
 Missanabie written on George's behalf. From these 
 
 ^90 
 
HOW HUBBARD WENT TO SLEEP. 
 
 I turned hastily to the diary proper. Yes, there was 
 an entry written on the day George and I had left 
 him, and this is what I read : 
 
 "Sunday, October 18th, 1903. 
 
 " Alone in camp, junction Nascaupee and some 
 other stream — estimated (overestimated, I hope) dis- 
 tance above head of Grand Lake 33 miles. 
 
 " For two days past we have travelled down our 
 old trail with light packs. We left a bit of flour — 
 wet — about 11 miles below here — 12 miles (approx.) 
 below that about a pound of milk powder — 4 miles 
 below that about 4 pounds of lard. We counted on 
 aU these to help us out in our effort to reach the 
 head of Grand Lake where we hoped to find Skipper 
 Tom Blake's trapping camp and cache. On Thurs-^ 
 day, as stated, I busted. Friday and Saturday it 
 was the same. I saw it was probably hopeless for me 
 to try to go farther with the boys, so we counselled 
 last night and decided they should take merely half 
 a blanket each, socks, etc., some tea, tea pail, cups 
 and the pistols, and go on. They will try to reach 
 the flour to-morrow. Then Wallace wiU try to bring 
 a little and come back to me. George will go on to 
 the milk and lard and to Skipper Blake's, if he can, 
 and send or lead help to us. I want to say here that 
 they are two of the very best, bravest and grandest 
 men I ever knew, and if I die it will not be because 
 they; did not put forth their best efforts. Our past 
 
 291 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 two days have been trying ones. I have not written 
 my diary because so very weak. Day before yester- 
 day we caught sight of a caribou, but it was on our 
 lee, and winding us got away before a shot could be 
 fired. Yesterday at our old camp we found the end 
 we had cut from a flour bag. It had a bit of flour 
 sticking to it. We boiled it with our old caribou 
 bones, and it strengthened the broth a little. We 
 also found a can of mustard we had thrown away. 
 Mina gave it to me as we were coming away, saying 
 she had no use for it and it might be good for plasters 
 here. I sat and held it in my hand a long time 
 thinking how it came from Congers and our home, 
 and what a happy home it was, and what a dear, dear 
 girl presided. Then I took a bite of it and it was 
 very good. We mixed some in our bone soup and it 
 seemed to stimulate us. We had a bit of caribou 
 skin in that same pot. It swelled up thick and was 
 very good. Last night I fell asleep while the boys 
 were reading to me. This morning I was very, 
 very sleepy. After the boys left — they left me tea, 
 the caribou bones and another end of a flour sack 
 found here, a rawhide caribou moccasin and some 
 yeast cakes — I drank a cup of strong tea and some 
 bone broth. I also ate some of the really delicious 
 rawhide (boiled with bones) and it made me stronger 
 — strong to write this. The boys have only tea 
 and 1-2 pound of pea meal. Our parting was most 
 aflFecting. I did not feel so bad. George said: 
 
How HUBBARD WENT TO SLEEP 
 
 'The Lord help us, Hubbard. With His help I'll 
 save you if I can get out.' Then he cried. So did 
 Wallace. Wallace stooped and kissed my cheek with 
 his poor, sunken bearded lips — several times-^and 
 I kissed his. George did the same, and I kissed his 
 cheek. Then they went away. God bless and help 
 them. 
 
 " I am not so greatly in doubt as to the outcome. 
 I believe they will reach the flour and be strengthened, 
 that Wallace will reach me, that George will find 
 Blake's cache and camp and send help. So I be- 
 lieve we will all get out. My tent is pitched in open- 
 tent style in front of a big rock. The rock reflects 
 the fire, but now it is going out because of the rain. I 
 think I shall let it go and close the tent till rain is 
 over, thus keeping out wind and saving wood. To- 
 night or to-morrow perhaps the weather will improve, 
 so I can build fire, eat the rest of my moccasins and 
 have some more bone broth. Then I can boil my 
 belt and oil-tanned moccasins and a pair of cowhide 
 mittens. They ought to help some. 
 
 " I am not suffering. The acute pangs of hunger 
 have given way to indifi^erence. I'm sleepy. I think 
 death from starvation is not so bad. But let no one 
 suppose I expect it. I am prepared — that is all. 
 I think the boys wiU be able, with the Lord's help, 
 to save me." 
 
 Bravo, Hubbard! nothing could down your spirit 
 293 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 for long, could there? So high was your spirit that 
 you could not know it was impossible for your poor 
 old body to hold it any longer. Your hand was 
 firm when you wrote, b'y, speaking eloquently of 
 that which most of all was you. " It is a man's 
 game," you said one day, in referring to our des- 
 perate struggle to reach those we loved. Well, you 
 played it to the limit, b'y, and it was a man's death. 
 My friend, I am proud of you. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Putting down the coverless book in which Hub- 
 bard's brave last words had been written, I sat and 
 thought. The tea, the bones and the other things 
 we had left with him had been found in the tent with 
 the body. The tent was closed as he said he was 
 going to close it, and the snow, which began to faU 
 that Sunday night, had -not been disturbed. He had 
 been found weU wrapped in the blankets, as if sleep- 
 ing. Yes, it was quite evident that after making 
 that last entry in his diary on the day we left him, 
 he had lain down, and there all alone amid the soli- 
 tudes of desolate Labrador, there in the wild that 
 had called to him with a voice to which he must 
 needs harken, had gone to sleep, and sleeping had not 
 awakened. 
 
 S,94s 
 
XXI 
 
 EROM OUT THE WILD 
 
 DONALD and Allen returned at once to the 
 log house on Grand Lake, leaving with the 
 boys and me their tent and tent-stove. 
 Donald also gave me a pair of high sealskin 
 boots with large, soft moccasin bottoms. It was their 
 expectation that we should remain in camp until they 
 got back with other things to aid my journey out; 
 but, although I was still very iU, and the heated tent 
 was comfortable, I found waiting irksome, and at 
 daylight the next morning (Sunday, November 1st) 
 the boys and I pulled up stakes. To protect my 
 hands during the journey I made a pair of mittens 
 from a piece of blanket duffel that had been brought 
 back from the tent where Hubbard was. 
 
 A pretty good path had been trodden in the snow 
 by the trips of my rescuers up and down the valley, 
 and following along it, with Duncan and Gilbert on 
 their snowshoes ahead of me packing it down still 
 further, I did not sink very deeply ; nevertheless, such 
 was the condition of my feet that every step I took 
 was painful. As the boys carried all that was to be 
 carried, I managed, however, to walk about ten miles 
 
 295 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WD^D 
 
 during the day. We camped at a place where the 
 four trappers on their journey in had cached a fat 
 porcupine. For supper I ate a bit of the meat and 
 drank some of the broth, and found it very nourish- 
 ing. 
 
 On the following day we met Donald and Allen 
 as they were returning to aid us. Allen brought 
 with him a pair of trousers to cover my half -naked 
 legs. At sunset we reached the rowboat, which had 
 been left near the mouth of the Susan, and as we 
 approached Donald's log-house something more than 
 an hour later a rifle was fired as a signal that we 
 were coming. When we landed, George was there 
 on the starlit shore to Welcome us. I hardly knew 
 him. His hair had been cut, he had shaved off his 
 ragged beard, and he was dressed in clean clothing 
 that Donald had lent him. He, of course, had heard 
 of Hubbard's death from Donald and Allen, and 
 when he clasped my hand in a firm grip to help me 
 from the boat, he said : 
 
 "WeU, Wallace, Hubbard's gone." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "Hubbard's gone." 
 
 He was good enough to say he was glad I had 
 escaped, and then in silence we followed the trail up 
 to the house — the first human habitation I had seen 
 for months. There was only one room in the house, 
 and there all of us, men and women alike, slept as 
 well as ate; but it was scrupulously clean — ^the floor, 
 table, chests and benches had been scoured until they 
 
 296 
 
FROM OUT THE WILD 
 
 shone — and to me it seemed luxurious. The family 
 did everything for me that was within their power. 
 Donald gave me fresh underclothes, and his wife 
 made me drink some tea and eat some rice and grouse 
 soup before I lay down on the bed of skins and 
 blankets they had prepared for me on the floor by 
 the stove. 
 
 My two-days' walk had completely exhausted me, 
 and I had a severe attack of colic and nausea. 
 George then told me of his sufferings. Mrs. Blake, 
 it appeared, had baked a batch of appetising buns, 
 and George, not profiting by his experience after his 
 indiscretion on the night of his arrival, had partaken 
 thereof with great liberality, the result being such 
 as to induce the reflection, " Have I escaped drownin' 
 and starvin' only to die of over-f eedin' .'' " 
 
 The women of the household slept in bunks fast- 
 ened to the wall, and while they prepared themselves 
 for their night's rest the lamps were turned low and 
 we men discreetly turned our backs. Just before this 
 incident we had family worship, which consisted of 
 readings from the Bible and the Anglican Book of 
 Common Prayer, in accordance with the usual cus- 
 tom of the household. Donald, our host, professed 
 not to be a religious man, but never a day passed that 
 he did not off^er thanks to his Maker, he regularly 
 subscribed one-tenth of his income to the support of 
 the Methodist Mission, he would not kill a deer or 
 any other animal on Sunday if it came right up to his 
 
 297 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 door, his whole life and his thoughts vere decent and 
 clean, and he was ever ready to abandon his work 
 and go to the rescue of those who needed help. It 
 may be thought strange that he should observe the 
 forms of the AngHcan Church in his family worship 
 and subscribe to the Methodist Mission. The expla- 
 nation is, that denominations cut absolutely no figure 
 in Labrador; to those simple-hearted people, whose 
 blood, for the most part, is such a queer mixture of 
 Scotch, Eskimo, and Indian, there is only one church, 
 — the Church of Jesus Christ, — and whenever a 
 Christian missionary comes along they will flock 
 from miles with the same readiness to hear him what- 
 ever division of the Church may claim his allegiance. 
 So accustomed had I become to living in the open 
 that I soon found the atmosphere of the closed room 
 imendurable, and several times during the night I 
 had to go out to breathe. I was down on the shore 
 of Grand Lake for a breath of the crisp winter air 
 when the sun rose. It was glorious. Not a cloud 
 was there in all the deep blue vault of the heavens, 
 and, as the sunbeams peeked over Cape Corbeau, the 
 lake was set a-shimmering and the snow on the sur- 
 rounding hills radiated tiny shafts of fire. It was 
 to me as if the sun were rising on a new world and a 
 new life. Our hardships and their culminating 
 tragedy seemed to belong to a dim and distant past. 
 What a beautiful world it was after all! and how I 
 thanked God that I lived ! 
 
 g98 
 
FROM OUT THE WILD 
 
 Allen Goudie had offered George and me the use of 
 his sailboat in returning to Northwest River Post, 
 and it was agreed that he and Duncan should row 
 us over to his tilt on the Nascaupee. So after break- 
 fast George and I said good-bye to Donald and the 
 rest of his household, and three hours later were 
 welcomed by Allen's wife. Again we received every 
 attention that kindly hearts could suggest. We 
 remained at Allen's two days while he and Duncan 
 made a pair of oars and fitted up the sailboat for 
 our trip to the post. With the soap and warm water 
 and bandages provided by Mrs. Goudie I was able 
 to dress my feet. One foot especially had been 
 afi'ected, and from it I cut with a jack knife much 
 gangrenescent flesh. 
 
 It was on Thursday morning, November 5th, that 
 George and I, warmly dressed in Donald's and Allen's 
 clothes, set sail in a snowstorm for the post through 
 the thin ice that was forming in the river. Upon 
 reaching Grand Lake we found the wind adverse and 
 the snow so thick we could not see our course, but 
 after we had hovered about a fire on the shore until 
 well Into the afternoon, the wind shifted to the west 
 and the storm abated, enabling us to proceed a little 
 farther on our journey, or until signs of approach- 
 ing night compelled us to take refuge in a trapper's 
 tilt near Cape Blanc on the southern shore. This 
 was the tilt that George, in his struggle out, had 
 supposed he would have to reach to get help. It was 
 
 299 
 
THE LUBE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 about six by seven feet, and as it contained a tent- 
 stove we were able to make ourselves comfortable 
 for the night after our supper of tea and bread and 
 butter and molasses thoughtfully provided by Mrs. 
 Goudie. 
 
 The next morning was clear and beautiful, and 
 although there was scarcely wind enough to fill the 
 single sail of our little craft, we made an early start. 
 Towards noon the wind freshened and soon was blow- 
 ing furiously. The seas ran high, but George and I 
 had become so used to rough weather and had faced 
 danger so often that we ran right on in front of the 
 gale, I at the tiller, and he handling the sail rope and 
 bailing the water out when occasionally we shipped 
 a sea. The rate at which we travelled quickly 
 brought us to the rapid at the eastern end of the lake, 
 and through this we shot down into the Little Lake, 
 and thence through the strait known as the North- 
 west River out into Groswater Bay. It was about 
 3.30 o'clock in the afternoon when, turning sharply 
 in below the post wharf, we surprised Mackenzie, the 
 agent, and Mark Blake, the company's servant, in 
 the act of sawing wood close down by the shore. 
 
 That they were astonished by the sudden appear- 
 ance of the boat with its strange-looking occupants, 
 was evident. They dropped their crosscut saw, and 
 stood staring. In a moment, however, Mackenzie 
 recognised George, who, having had a hair cut and 
 a shave, looked something like his old self, and came 
 
 300 
 
OUR WINTER HOME: NORTHWEST RIVER POST 
 LUMBER CAMP, MUDDY LAKE 
 
FROM OUT THE WILD 
 
 to the conclusion that the other occupant of the boat 
 must be I. He came quickly forward, and, grasp- 
 ing my hand as I stepped from the boat, asked 
 abruptly : 
 
 "Where's Hubbard?" 
 
 "Dead," I said. "Dead of starvation eighty 
 miles from here." 
 
 Mark Blake, a breed but not related to Donald, 
 took charge of George, and as Mackenzie and I 
 walked to the post house, I gave him a brief account 
 of Hubbard's death and my rescue. He had been 
 warmly attracted to Hubbard, and his big heart 
 was touched. I saw him hastily brush away a tear. 
 Taking me into the kitchen, he instructed his little 
 housekeeper, Lillie Blake, Mark's niece, to give me 
 a cup of cocoa and some soda biscuit and butter, 
 while he made a fire in the dining-room stove. Lillie 
 cried aU the time she was preparing my lunch. 
 
 " I feels so sorry for you, sir," she said. " An' 
 'tis dreadful th' poor man's starvin', an' he were 
 such a pretty man. In th' summer I says, before 
 you went t' th' bush, sir, he's sure a pretty man. 
 'Tis wonderful sad, 'tis wonderful sad t' have he 
 die so." 
 
 Oh, that pleasant kitchen, with the floor and all 
 the woodwork scrubbed white and the rows of shining 
 utensils on the shelves ! And the comfort of the great 
 wood-burning stove roaring out a tune to us on that 
 frosty winter evening! As I sat there sipping the 
 
 301 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 deKciously rich cocoa, Mackenzie joined me, and 
 while Lillie cooked the dinner I must tell him over and 
 over again my story. And in spite of herself the 
 tender-hearted little housekeeper would cry and cry. 
 
 The dinner, which consisted of grouse, potatoes, 
 marmalade, bread, and tea, was served in the dining 
 room, which was also the hviifg room. Mackenzie 
 sat at the head of the table, I at the foot, and on a 
 lounge to one side sat Atikamish, a small Moun- 
 taineer Indian hunting dog, gravely alert for the 
 bones his master would occasionally toss to him. 
 Atikamish had very good table manners. He caught 
 the bones neatly and deftly, and he invariably chewed 
 them up without leaving his seat or changing his 
 position. My appetite was returning, and I ate 
 well; but it was fully two weeks before I could eat 
 without experiencing distress later. When that 
 blessed time arrived, I never could get enough ; Lillie 
 was always pressing me to eat, and for a time I had 
 at least six meals a day. 
 
 After dinner Mackenzie got Mark Blake to cut 
 my hair and shave off my beard. Then he took me 
 to my room upstairs, where a stove was crackling 
 out a welcome and a big tub of warm water had 
 been prepared for me. After my bath, he again 
 came up to rub my legs, which were much swollen 
 from frostbite, and to dress my foot with salve. In 
 a suit of Mackenzie's flannel pajamas I then went to 
 mj; soft bed, and lay snug and warm under the 
 
 30^ 
 
FROM OUT THE WILD 
 
 blankets. It was the first real bed I had lain in for 
 nearly^ four months, and oh, the luxury of it ! 
 
 It is impossible for me to express the gratitude I 
 feel towards those good friends. They nursed me 
 with the tenderest care. Mackenzie's big Scotch 
 heart and the woman's sympathetic instinct of the 
 little housekeeper anticipated my every want, and he 
 and she never could seem to satisfy themselves with 
 doing things for my comfort. When I left the post 
 with Hubbard I weighed 170 pounds; a week after 
 my return I weighed ninety-five. But with the care 
 they took of me my general health was soon restored, 
 and I rapidly put on flesh. 
 
 My diiSculties, however, were not yet ended. 
 Hubbard's body was still to be recovered from the 
 wild and repatriated, and during the long months 
 that ensued before it could be reached I Kved in con- 
 stant dread lest it should be destroyed by animals, 
 until at length the dread amounted almost to an 
 obsession. Moreover, the gangrene in my foot be- 
 came worse, and if it had not been for the opportune 
 arrival in that dreary land of an unfortunate young 
 medical student, it in all likelihood would have killed 
 me. 
 
 303 
 
XXII 
 
 A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 THE young medical student was George 
 Albert Hardy, of Prince Edward Island. 
 Everybody called him " Doctor," and for all 
 practical purposes he was a regular physi- 
 cian and surgeon; for if he had been able to do two 
 or three months' more hospital work he would have 
 received his degree. The reason he had hastily aban- 
 doned his studies and sought professional service with 
 the lumber company that maintains camps at the 
 western end of the Hamilton Inlet was that he had 
 fallen a victim to consumption. He arrived at North- 
 west River Post on November 8th on a small schooner 
 that brought supplies from Rigolet for Mackenzie 
 and the Muddy Lake lumber camp at the mouth of 
 the Grand River. 
 
 The schooner remained only an hour at Northwest 
 River, and Dr. Hardy had to continue on to Muddy 
 Lake with her, but he found time to operate on my 
 left foot, which was badly affected, and advise 
 me how to continue its treatment myself. The doctor 
 said that the mail boat, the Virginia Lake, which had 
 
 304 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 carried him to Rigolet, would return there within 
 three weeks for her last trip to Newfoundland of 
 the season, and he urged me to take advantage of 
 that opportunity to go home, and get proper treat- 
 ment for my feet. The temptation was great, but 
 I felt it was my duty not to leave Labrador without 
 Hubbard's body. 
 
 It was my plan to engage dog teams and start 
 with the body for the coast so soon as it could be 
 brought to the post. Everybody agreed that it 
 could not be recovered before January, and Macken- 
 zie argued strongly against the practicabiHty of 
 transporting it with dogs, suggesting that we place 
 it in the old post mission chapel until navigation 
 opened in the spring, when it could be sent home on 
 the mail steamer. But I knew I must get home as 
 soon as possible, and my mind was made up to take 
 the body with me, if I had to haul it all the way to 
 Quebec. 
 
 The great toe on my left foot growing steadily 
 worse, it became necessary for me again to see the 
 doctor. Groswater Bay and Goose Bay by this time 
 were frozen solid, and on December 4!th I travelled to 
 Muddy Lake, where Dr. Hardy was stationed, by 
 dog team and komatik, Willie Ikey, an Eskimo em- 
 ployed by Monsieur Duclos, the manager of the 
 French trading post across the Northwest River, 
 acting as my driver. Upon my arrival I was cordi- 
 ally welcomed by Mr. Sidney Cruikshanks, the 
 
 305 
 
THE LUKE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 lumber " boss " ; Mr. James McLean, the storekeeper, 
 and Dr. Hardy. It was arranged that I should stop 
 and sleep with the doctor at McLean's house. The 
 doctor did some more cutting, and under his careful 
 treatment my foot so improved that it was thought 
 I could with safety return to the post on December 
 15th, to prepare letters and telegrams for the winter 
 mail, which was scheduled to leave there by dog team 
 for Quebec on the 18th. It was the 20th before the 
 mail got away, and with it went the first news 
 of Hubbard's death to reach his relatives and 
 friends. 
 
 My dispatches, forwarded from Chateau Bay, the 
 outpost of the Canadian coast telegraph service, were 
 received in New York on January 22d, the letters 
 two months later. 
 
 Immediately upon my return to Northwest River, 
 my feet began to trouble me again. Word was sent 
 to Dr. Hardy, who, regarding it as a caU of duty, 
 arrived on December 31st. I very much regret to say, 
 that in responding to the caU, Dr. Hardy received 
 a chill that hastened, if it did not cause, his death. 
 After examining my feet upon his arrival, he advised 
 me to return with him to Muddy Lake. So it was 
 arranged that George, with Mackenzie's dogs and 
 komatik, should drive Dr. Hardy and me to the Kene- 
 mish lumber camp, twelve miles across Groswater 
 Bay, where there was a patient that required atten- 
 tion, and that from there Hardy and I should go on 
 
 306 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 to Muddy Lake with other dogs. Alas! the doctor 
 never saw Muddy Lake again. 
 
 Before starting, I learned from Allen Goudie and 
 Duncan MacLean, who came from the interior to 
 spend New Year's Day, that Grand Lake was frozen 
 hard and an attempt might be made to bring out 
 Hubbard's body. Accordingly, I engaged Duncan 
 MacLean and Tom Blake, also a breed, to undertake 
 the task with George, and to recover, so far as pos- 
 sible, the photographic films and other articles we 
 had abandoned at Goose Camp and Lake Elson. 
 Blake was the father of Mackenzie's housekeeper, 
 and lived at the rapid at the eastern end of Grand 
 Lake. As he had, at the request of friends, fre- 
 quently prepared bodies for burial, it was arranged 
 that he should head the expedition, while George acted 
 as guide, and the agreement was that, weather per- 
 mitting, the party should start inland on January 
 6th. A coffin, made by the carpenter at Kenemish, 
 was aU ready to receive the body when it should 
 arrive at the post. 
 
 George was to have driven Dr. Hardy and me to 
 Kenemish on January 3d, but as there was a stiff wind 
 blowing and the thermometer registered 4!0 degrees 
 below zero, we postponed our departure until the 
 following day. The morning was clear, and the 
 temperature was 34) below. The dogs, with a great 
 howling and jumping, had hardly settled down to 
 the slow trot which with only fair travelling is their 
 
 307 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WTLD 
 
 habitual gait, when we observed that the sky was 
 clouding, and in an incredibly short time the first 
 snowflakes of the gathering storm began to fall. 
 Soon the snow was so thick that it shut us in as with 
 a curtain, and eventually even old Aillik, our leader, 
 was lost to view. 
 
 " Bear well t' th' east'ard, an' keep free o' th' bad 
 ice ; the's sure t' be bad ice handy t' th' Kenemish," 
 had been ]Mark Blake's parting injunction. So 
 George kept well to the eastward as, hour after hour, 
 we forged our way on through the blinding, drifting 
 snow. At length we came upon land, but what land 
 we did not know. The storm had abated by this time, 
 and a fresh komatik track was visible, which we pro- 
 ceeded to follow. On all sides of us ice was piled 
 in heaps as high as a house. We had been travelling 
 altogether about six hours, and the storm had ceased, 
 when we came upon a tUt on the shore of a deep bay, 
 and, close by it, a man making passes with a stick 
 at a large wolf, which, apparently emboldened by 
 hunger, was jumping and snarling about waiting 
 for a chance to spring in upon him. 
 
 The noise of our approaching komatik caused the 
 wolf to sHnk oflF, and then the man hurried to the 
 tilt, reappeared with a rifle and shot the beast as it 
 stni prowled among the ice hills. He proved to be 
 Uriah White, a trapper. No^ at all excited by his 
 adventure, he welcomed us to his tilt. In throwing 
 off his mittens to fire his rifle at the wolf, he had 
 
 308 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 exposed his naked hands to the bitter cold, and they 
 had been frost-bitten. While thawing out his hands 
 at a safe distance from the stove, he informed us that 
 he had been " handy 'nuf to he [meaning the wolf] 
 to see that he were a she." 
 
 The condition of my feet had not permitted me to 
 leave the komatik during our long journey, and I 
 suffered severely from the cold. Greorge and, alas! 
 Hardy, were also thoroughly chilled, though they had 
 occasionally exercised themselves by running behind. 
 Uriah prepared for us some hot tea and hardtack, 
 and gave us our bearings. We were about four miles 
 east of Kenemish, and an hour later we arrived there. 
 
 The lumber camp at the mouth of the Kenemish 
 River is composed of a saw mill, a storehouse in 
 which also live the native helpers, a cookhouse, a part 
 of which is given over to -lodgings for the Nova 
 Scotian lumbermen, and a log stable for the horses 
 that do the general work about the camp and in the 
 woods. Hugh Dunbar, the engineer, extended a 
 warm welcome to the doctor and me, and his wife, 
 who did the camp cooking, made us comfortable in 
 the cookhouse. I was destined to remain at the 
 camp for many weeks, and I cannot help testifying 
 to the gratitude I feel to those lumber folk, especially 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, WeUs Bently, the storekeeper ; 
 Tom Fig, the machinist, and Archie McKennan, 
 Leigh Stanton and James Greenan. 
 
 The chill he had received during the trip from 
 309 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 Northwest River so affected Dr. Hardy that he was 
 unable to proceed to Muddy Lake. Two days after 
 our arrival he had a severe hemorrhage, and the 
 following day another. They forced him to take to 
 his bed, and thereafter he rose only occasionally for 
 half an hour's rest in a chair. He was a deeply 
 religious nature, and, realising that he was doomed, 
 he awaited the slow approach of death with calm 
 resignation. 
 
 And my feet steadily grew worse. Three days 
 after our arrival at Kenemish I could not touch them 
 to the floor. The doctor and I lay on couches side 
 by side. I could not even bear the weight of the bed- 
 clothes on my feet, and Dunbar built a rack from the 
 hoops of an old flour barrel to protect them. Under 
 the doctor's direction, Mrs. Dunbar every day re- 
 moved the bandages from my feet, cleansed them 
 with carbolic acid water and rebandaged them. 
 Dunbar and the other men carried me in their arms 
 when it was necessary for me to be taken from my 
 couch. My temperature ran up until it reached 
 103^. The doctor then said there was only one way 
 to save my Hfe — to cut off my legs. 
 
 "And," he added, "I'm the only one here that 
 knows how to do it, and I'm too weak to undertake 
 it. So we're both going to die, Wallace. There's 
 nothing to fear in that, though, if you trust in 
 God." 
 
 The doctor was an accomplished player of the 
 310 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 violin, but he had left his own instrument at Muddy- 
 Lake, and the only one he could obtain at Kenemish 
 was a miserable affair that gave him little satisfac- 
 tion. So while he lay dying by the side of his patient 
 who he thought was also dying, he, for the most 
 part, gratified his love of music and sought to com- 
 fort us both by softly singing in his sympathetic 
 tenor voice the grand old hymns of the church. 
 "Lead Kindly Light" and "Nearer My God to 
 Thee " were his favourites, and every syllable was 
 enunciated clearly and distinctly. 
 
 But he was mistaken in thinking that I, too, was 
 to die. Soon there was an improvement noticeable 
 in the condition of both of my feet, and gradually 
 they grew better. 
 
 "It's truly a miracle that the Lord is working," 
 said the doctor. " You were beyond human aid. I've 
 prayed from the bottom of my heart that you'd 
 get well. I've prayed a dozen times a day, and now 
 the prayer is answered. It's the only one of my 
 prayers," he added sadly, " that has been answered 
 since I have been in Labrador." 
 
 During January and February the cold was ter- 
 rific. The spirit thermometer at the camp was 
 scaled down to 64 degrees below zero, and on several 
 days the spirit disappeared below the scale mark 
 before 8 o'clock in the evening. For a week the 
 temperature never, even at midday, rose above 40 
 below. The old natives of the bay said there never 
 
 311 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 had been such a winter before. Not a man in the 
 camp escaped without a frozen nose and the cheeks 
 and chins of all of them were black from being nipped 
 by the frost. Bently declared that he froze his nose 
 in bed, and Mrs. Bently bore witness to the truth of 
 the statement. But Bently's nose was frosted on an 
 average of once a day. 
 
 Nearly all of this time I lay at the lumber camp 
 worrying about Hubbard's body. One day late in 
 January, when I had been hoping that the body had 
 been safely brought out, Mackenzie and George ar- 
 rived from Northwest River with the news that the 
 storms had been so continuous it had not been deemed 
 wise to attempt the journey inland. I wished to be re- 
 moved at once to the post, thinking that my presence 
 there might hasten matters, but Dr. Hardy said there 
 would be no use of having two dead men, and I was 
 forced to be content with promises that the expedi- 
 tion would get under way as soon as possible. 
 
 Early in February the doctor said I might try 
 my feet on the floor. The result was the discovery 
 that my knees would not bear me, and that I should 
 have to learn to walk all over again. Recovering 
 the use of my legs was a tedious job, and it was no\ 
 until February 29th that I was able to return to 
 Northwest River. After leaving Kenemish I never 
 saw the unfortunate young doctor again ; for he died 
 on March 2M. 
 
 Back at Northwest River, I was able to stir things 
 
:a: strange funeral procession 
 
 up a bit, and bright and early on Tuesday morning, 
 March 8th, George, Tom Blake, and Duncan Mac- 
 Lean, composing the expedition that was to recover 
 Hubbard's body, at last left the post, prepared for 
 their difficult journey into the interior. I regretted 
 much that my physical condition made it impossible 
 for me to accompany them. Their provisions were 
 packed on an Indian flat sled or toboggan, and their 
 tent and other camp equipment on a sled with broad 
 flat rimners that I had obtained especially for the 
 transportation of the body from some Indians that 
 visited the post. At the rapid they were to get Tom 
 Blake's dogs to haul their loads to Donald Blake's at 
 the other end of Grand Lake. After that, the hauling 
 was all to be done by hand, as it is quite impossible 
 to use dogs in cross-country travelling in Labrador. 
 In the course of the afternoon snow squalls devel- 
 oped, and all day Wednesday and Thursday the snow 
 fell heavily. I knew the storm would interfere with 
 the progress of the men, but I hoped they had suc- 
 ceeded in reaching Donald's, and were at that point 
 holding themselves in readiness to proceed. What 
 was my disappointment, then, when towards noon on 
 Sunday Douglas and Henry Blake, Tom's two young 
 sons, came to the post to announce that their father 
 was at home ! He had made a start up Grand Lake, 
 they said, but the storms had not permitted the party 
 to advance any farther than the Cape Corbeau 
 tilt. 
 
 313 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 Douglas had accompanied the men to Cape Cor- 
 beau, which point it had taken an entire day to reach, 
 as the dogs, even with the men on their snowshoes 
 tramping a path ahead, sank so deeply in the snow 
 that they could hardly flounder along, to say nothing 
 of hauling a load. It was evident, therefore, that the 
 dogs would retard rather than accelerate the prog- 
 ress of the party on Grand Lake, and when the 
 Cape Corbeau tilt was reached on Tuesday night it 
 was decided that Douglas should take them back to 
 the rapid. On Wednesday morning the storm was 
 raging so fiercely that it was considered unsafe to go 
 ahead for the present. George, moreover, com- 
 plained of a lame ankle, and said he required a rest. 
 So Tom came to the conclusion that if he remained 
 at the tilt he would be eating the " stock of grub " 
 to no purpose, and when Douglas turned homeward 
 with the dogs he went with him. George and Dun- 
 can were to stay at the tilt until the travelling became 
 better, Douglas said, and then push on to Donald's 
 and wait for Tom there. 
 
 Douglas's story made it plain that the weather 
 conditions on Grand Lake had been fierce enough to 
 appal any man, but as there had been no snow since 
 Friday night I could not understand what Tom was 
 doing at the rapid on Sunday, and vfith Mackenzie's 
 consent I had Mark immediately harness the post 
 dogs and drive me up to his house. I arrived there 
 considerably incensed by his inactivity, but I must 
 
 314 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 say that his explanation was adequate. He asked 
 me if I had been able to see anything of Grand Lake, 
 and made me realise what it meant to be out there 
 with a high west wind of Arctic bitterness drifting 
 the snow in great clouds down its thirty-seven miles 
 of unbroken expanse. There was no doubt that the 
 men had done the best they could, and after instruct- 
 ing Tom that, if more provisions were needed, to 
 obtain them at Donald's at my expense, and receiv- 
 ing from him an assurance that he would again start 
 for Hubbard's body as soon as the weather would 
 permit, I returned, mollified, to the post. 
 
 It was on this day (Sunday, March 13th) that I 
 received my first news from home and the outside 
 world, Monsieur Duclos, who had been on a trip 
 north, bringing me two telegrams from New York. 
 They conveyed to me the comforting assurance that 
 all was well at home, being replies to the dispatches 
 I had sent in December. Received at Chateau Bay, 
 they had been forwarded to me three hundred and 
 fifty miles by dog teams and snowshoe travellers. 
 
 Tom Blake started on Monday morning, the 14th, 
 and Tuesday at noon joined George and Duncan at 
 Donald's. On Wednesday the three men began their 
 march up the Susan. The weather continuing fair, 
 they made good progress and had no difficulty in 
 finding the site of our last camp. Hubbard's body, 
 with the tent lying flat on top of it, was imder eight 
 feet of snow. Near the spot a wolverine had been 
 
 315 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 prowling, but the body was too deeply buried for any 
 animal to scent it, and in its quiet resting place it 
 lay undisturbed. It was fortunate that it had not 
 been placed on a stage, as I had suggested; for in 
 that event it would undoubtedly have been destroyed. 
 
 Continuing on inland, the men recovered the 
 photographic films, the sextant, my fishing rod, and 
 other odds and ends we had dropped on the trail as 
 far back as Lake Elson. Tom and Duncan praised 
 George unstintingly for the unvarying accuracy 
 with which he located the things. With the country 
 and smaller trees buried under a great depth of snow, 
 and no landmarks to guide him, George would lead 
 the other men on, and, with no searching about or 
 hesitancy, stop and say, " We'll dig here." And not 
 once did his remarkable instinct play him false. 
 
 " 'Tis sure wonderful," said Tom, in telling me 
 about it. " I ne'er could ha' done it, an' no man on 
 Th' Labrador could ha' done it, sir. Not even th' 
 Mountaineers could ha' done it." And Duncan 
 seconded Tom's opinion. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 On Sunday, March 27th, I was sitting in the cosey 
 post house wondering where George and the others 
 were, when suddenly George appeared from out the 
 snow that the howling gale was whirling about. My 
 long suspense was ended. The body had been recov- 
 ered in good condition, George said. Wrapped in 
 the blankets that Hubbard had round him when he 
 
 316 
 
A STRANGE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 died — the blankets he had so gaily presented me with 
 that Jiine morning on the Silvia — and our old tar- 
 paulin, which George had recovered farther back on 
 the trail, it had been dragged on the Indian sled 
 forty miles down over the sleeping Susan River, and 
 thence out over Grand Lake to the Cape Corbeau 
 tilt, where the men had been compelled to leave it the 
 day before owing to the heavy snowstorm that then 
 prevailed. From the tilt the men had gone on to 
 Tom's house at the rapid to spend the night, and 
 George had now come down to the post to relieve my 
 mind with the news that the body was safe. 
 
 It was arranged that the next morning George 
 and Duncan should take the post dogs and komatik, 
 drive up to Cape Corbeau and bring the body down. 
 The morning was calm and fine, and they started 
 early. It was a strange funeral procession that 
 returned. The sun was setting when, on their way 
 back, with the body lashed to the komatik, they passed 
 over the rapid where Hubbard that beautiful July 
 morning had sprung vigorously into the water to 
 track the canoe into Grand Lake. How full of hope 
 and pleasurable anticipation he had been when we 
 paddled through the Little Lake! Over the snow 
 and ice that now hid the lake the seven dogs that 
 were hauling his corpse strained and tugged, ever 
 and anon breaking into a trot as George and Dun- 
 can, running on their snowshoes on either side of the 
 komatik, urged them forward with Eskimo exclama- 
 
 817 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 tions or cracked their long whip over a laggard. No 
 need to urge any one of them on, however, when they 
 came in sight of the post. Darkness was falling. 
 Knowing that their daily meal was near at hand, the 
 dogs broke into a run, and with much howling and 
 jumping swung around the point and up to the 
 buildings. 
 
 318 
 
XXIII 
 OVER THE ICE 
 
 WITH the body at the post, It was my 
 intention to hire dog teams, and, accom- 
 panied by George, start with it at once 
 for home, travelling up Hamilton Inlet 
 to the ocean, and then down along the coast to Battle 
 Harbour, or some port farther south, where we might 
 happen on a ship that would take us away from the 
 land where we had suffered so much. More than three 
 weeks elapsed, however, before we could get away 
 from the Northwest River. It was about 325 miles 
 over the ice to Battle Harbour, and Mackenzie and the 
 others continued to argue against the feasibility of 
 my plan. For a time it did seem as if it would be 
 impossible to carry it out. First of all, I had trouble 
 with Hubbard's coflSn. When we received the body, 
 the plain spruce box that had been made for it was 
 foimd not to be deep enough. I sent over a request 
 to James Greenan, the carpenter at Kenemish, that 
 another one be made as speedily as possible. He 
 replied that the last board they had on hand had been 
 used in making a coffin for poor Dr. Hardy, but said 
 that if I would return to him the coflSn we had, he 
 
 319 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 believed he could raise the sides to the requisite height. 
 Mackenzie immediately despatched Mark with the 
 dogs and komatik to carry the coffin to Kenemish, 
 and on April 4th it was returned with the necessary 
 alterations. The body meanwhile had lain wrapped 
 in the blankets and tarpaulin in a storehouse where the 
 temperature practically was as low as it was out of 
 doors. Now we placed it in the box with salt as a pre- 
 servative, and everything was ready for our long 
 journey. 
 
 Then arose the question as to where I could get 
 dogs. Two teams were needed, one for the body and 
 one for our baggage. Not a dog owner could I find 
 who would undertake the task. I sent imploring mes- 
 sages for twenty-five miles around, but all to no pur- 
 pose. They would not even undertake the ninety-mile 
 journey to Rigolet. Some, I knew, did not like the idea 
 of travelling with a corpse, and others, like Tom 
 Blake, did not have enough dogs to haul our loads. 
 In despair I went to Monsieur Duclos on April 19th 
 and urged him to lend me his team to take us as far 
 as Rigolet, telling him that Mackenzie was willing to 
 let us have his team for the trip to Rigolet, but that 
 another was needed. The French post dogs had just 
 returned from a long journey, and Monsieur Duclos 
 said they were not fit for travel, but finally, to my 
 great joy, he very kindly consented to let me have 
 them, with Belfleur, a French-Indian, as driver, after 
 they had a couple of days' rest. 
 
 3^0 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 It was Mackenzie's custom to. make an annual trip 
 to Rigolet on post business, and this usually took place 
 in May; but he expedited his arrangements so as 
 to be able to leave with us and thus save his dogs an 
 additional journey. Belfleur arrived with his dogs 
 early on the morning of April 21st. Unfortunately 
 Fred Blake, Mackenzie's driver, was not on hand, 
 but it was decided that Belfleur should go ahead with 
 George and the cofBn, and that Mackenzie and I 
 should foUow with the baggage the next morning. 
 It was nine o'clock when the eight dogs that were to 
 haul the two men and the cofBn got un^er way. All 
 the natives were sorry to see George go, his genial 
 manners and cheerful grin having made him a prime 
 favourite. Mackenzie's little housekeeper and Mark 
 Blake's wife, who had been George's hostess, wept 
 copiously. 
 
 Mackenzie, Fred Blake, and I got off at six o'clock 
 the next morning. Our seven big dogs were howling 
 and straining on the long traces as I said good-bye 
 to aU the good friends that had been so kind to me 
 and had gathered to see me leave. It took us until 
 evening of the following day to reach Rigolet. The 
 Eskimo dogs almost invariably leave a house and 
 arrive at one with a great flourish, but between times 
 they settle down to a gentle pace and have to be urged 
 on with exclamations and much snapping of the whip. 
 Ours were much better travellers than those belonging 
 to the French post, and, despite the fact that they had 
 
 021 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 a heavier load to haul and were one less in number, 
 we overtook Greorge and BeMeur on the afternoon of 
 the second day. A part of the time Mackenzie and 
 Fred ran beside the komatik on their snowshoes to 
 get warm, but my knees were still so weak that I had 
 to stick to the komatik all the way. We spent the 
 night at the log cabin of a breed, and before noon 
 the next day csime to the cabin of one Bell Shepard, 
 where we learned Greorge and Belfleur had spent their 
 second night. 
 
 It is considered a gross beach of etiquette on The 
 Labrador to pass a man's house without stopping for 
 bread and tea, and so we had to turn in to see BelL 
 As he served us with refreshment, he gave us a start- 
 ling bit of news, to wit: that there was a great war 
 raging in the outside world, with Great Britain, the 
 United States, and Japan on one side, and Russia, 
 France, and Germany on the other. 
 
 "Fs sure 'tis true, sir," he insisted, upon observ- 
 ing that Mackenzie and I appeared incredulous. 
 " Fs just come frum Rigolet, an' Scott, th' trader, 
 had th' word by th' telegraph to Chateau. So 'tis 
 sure true, sir, an' 'tis bad word for us poor folk on 
 Th' Labrador, with th' prices to go up, as they teDs 
 me they sure wiH, on flour an' pork." 
 
 We found out later that such a report had really 
 spread up the coast from dog driver to dog driver 
 until it had reached Rigolet, and it was not until 
 I got to Battle Harbour that I learned that its basis 
 
 S22 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 was the beginning of the conflict between Russia and 
 Japan. 
 
 At Rigolet we were again hospitably received by 
 Fraser, the factor. The news of Hubbard's death 
 had preceded us ; in fact it had been carried up and 
 down the coast all the way from Cape Charles to Cape 
 Chidley. Awaiting me was a letter from Dr. Cluny 
 Macpherson, of the Deep Sea Mission at Battle 
 Harbour, who, I was informed, had recently been to 
 Rigolet and had hoped to see me. The letter proved 
 to contain much valuable information as to stopping 
 places and the probabilities of getting dogs between 
 Rigolet and Battle Harbour, as well as the good news 
 that a steamer was expected at Battle Harbour early 
 in May. 
 
 I also learned from Fraser that Mr. Whitney, 
 editor of Outing magazine, of which Hubbard had 
 been the associate editor, had sent a message to the 
 telegraph operator at Chateau Bay requesting him to 
 lend me every assistance possible and "to spare no 
 expense." Well-meant though the message was, it 
 had the effect of increasing my difficulties. Duly 
 exaggerated and embellished, it had spread up the 
 coast until every dog owner gained the impression 
 that a Httle gold mine was about to pass through 
 his country. I found this out when I tried to get 
 dog teams to carry me to Cartwright Post, the next 
 stage on my journey. A haughty person named 
 Jerry Flowers, it appeared, had a monopoly just then 
 
 323 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 of the dog-team business in the vicinity of Rigolet, 
 and when we arrived at the post he proceeded to deal 
 with me in the high-handed manner common to trust 
 magnates. The regular rate paid by traders for 
 transportation over the eighty odd miles between 
 Rigolet and Cartwright was from ten to twelve dol- 
 lars a team, but for the two teams I needed Jerry 
 expected me to pay him sixty dollars. 
 
 While I was still arguing with the immovable 
 Jerry, John Williams, an old livyere, fortunately 
 arrived from West Bay, which is half way to Cart- 
 wright, and Eraser used his influence with John to 
 such good purpose that he consented to take us with 
 his dog team at least as far as his home at the regular 
 rate. John had only six dogs, but he told us we 
 should be able to get an additional team at William 
 Mugford's two miles beyond Rigolet. 
 
 The strait at Rigolet was open, and when, late in 
 the afternoon of Monday, April 25th, we bade Mac- 
 kenzie and Eraser farewell, George and I, with our 
 baggage and Hubbard's body, were taken across 
 through the cakes of floating ice in one of the Cbm- 
 pany's big boats, manned by a crew of brawny post 
 servants. 
 
 On the other shore we loaded the baggage 
 and coffin on John's komatik, and with him driving 
 the dogs and George and I walking behind on snow- 
 shoes, we reached Mugford's at dusk. There we 
 stopped for the night, being served with the meals 
 
 324 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 that the people all down the coast usually eat at that 
 time of the year — ^bread and molasses and tea. With 
 one or two exceptions we had to sleep on the floor at 
 the places where we stopped ; for the houses generally 
 contained only one room divided by a partition. 
 Almost all of the houses had low extensions used as 
 a storage place, and there Hubbard's body would 
 rest over night. Never did we pay anything for our 
 entertainment ; poor as the people are, they would be 
 greatly offended if a traveller they took in offered 
 them money. 
 
 Generally speaking, we had good weather for our 
 long journey to Battle Harbour and pretty fair go- 
 ing. Day after day we followed the coast line south, 
 crossing from neck of land to neck of land over the 
 frozen bays and inlets. Sometimes we encountered 
 ridges on the necks of land, and then we would have to 
 help the dogs haul the loads to the top. Resuming our 
 places on the komatiks, we would coast down the 
 slopes, with the dogs racing madly ahead to keep 
 from being run over. If the descent was very steep, 
 a drag in the form of a hoop of braided walrus hide 
 would be thrown over the front of one of the komatik 
 runners, but even then the dogs would have to run 
 their hardest to preserve a safe distance between them 
 and us, and out on the smooth ice of the bays we would 
 shoot, to skim along with exhilarating swiftness. As 
 we proceeded south we were interested in observing 
 signs of spring. Towards the end of our journey 
 
 3^5 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 we encountered much soft snow and water-covered 
 ice. 
 
 Mugford agreed to help us out with his four dogs 
 as far as West Bay. Arriving there, we found that 
 only one team was procurable for the rest of the trip 
 to Cartwright, so John Williams continued on with 
 us all the way. Forty or fifty miles a day is about 
 all that dogs can be expected to accomplish with 
 average going, and we spent two days between Rigolet 
 and Cartwright, reaching the Hudson's Bay Company 
 Post at Sandwich Bay on the evening of Wednesday, 
 April 27th, to receive kindly welcome from the agent, 
 Mr. Swaffield. Again at Cartwright we had some 
 difficulty in getting dogs, and it was not until Friday 
 morning that we could push on. These delays were 
 exasperating, for I was bent on catching the steamer 
 that Dr. Macpherson informed me in his letter was 
 due at Battle Harbour early in May. 
 
 Our journey resumed, it was a case of fighting 
 dog owners all the way. Seal Islands, about ninety 
 miles farther down the coast, we reached on Satur- 
 day night, April 30th. There we had the good for- 
 tune to be entertained by a quaint character in the 
 person of Skipper George Morris, a native trader. 
 He had been expecting us, and he greeted me as if I 
 had been his long-lost brother. 
 
 " Dear eyes ! " he exclaimed, wringing my hand in 
 his bluff, cordial way ; " Dear eyes ! but I'se glad to 
 see you — ^wonderful glad ! " 
 
 3^6 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 The skipper's house was far above the average of 
 those on the coast. It had two floors with two rooms 
 each, and his good wife kept everything clean and 
 bright. Soon after our arrival the skipper got out 
 for our edification two shotguns — one single, and the 
 other double-barrelled — each of which was fully six 
 feet long from butt to muzzle and had a bore of one 
 and one-half inches. 
 
 "Th' Boers ha' been fightin' England," said he, 
 " an' I got un [the gun] t' fight, sir. Dear eyes ! 
 if th' Boers ha' come handy t' us, I thinks I could ha' 
 kept un off, sir. I knows I could wi' them guns. I'd 
 sure ha' shot through their schooners, sir, if un was 
 big as th' mail boat an' steamers like th' mail boat. 
 I'd ha' shot through un, sir, an' th' mail boat's a big 
 un, sir, as you knows." 
 
 The next day was May Day. I knew that at home 
 the birds and the flowers had returned, and that in 
 dear old New York gay parties of children were 
 probably marching to the parks. What a May Day 
 it was on The Labrador! The morning ushered in 
 a heavy snow storm, with a tremendous gale. Think- 
 ing of the steamer due at Battle Harbour, I suggested 
 that, despite the storm, we might make a start. 
 But the skipper exclaimed: 
 
 "Dear eyes! an' start in this gale! No, no, th' 
 dogs could ne'er face un, sir." 
 
 And as George and our drivers thought likewise, 
 we spent the day resting with the old skipper and his 
 
 327 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR Wn.D 
 
 wife, warmly housed and faring sumptuously on wild 
 duck, while the storm outside seemed to shake the 
 world to its very foimdations. 
 
 On May 2d the snow had almost ceased falling and 
 the wind had somewhat subsided, when at eleven o'clock 
 we parted from the quaint old skipper whose " Dear 
 eyes ! " continued to lend emphasis to his remarks up 
 to the last that we saw of him. Rounding a point of 
 land soon after leaving Seal Islands, we came sud- 
 denly upon two runaway dogs from a team that had 
 been stormbound at Seal Islands like ourselves. The 
 runaways were thoroughly startled by our sudden 
 appearance, and took to their heels, with our teams, 
 composed respectively of ten dogs and twelve dogs, 
 after them. The ice we were on had been swept clear 
 of snow by the wind, the hauling was easy, and our 
 dogs almost flattened themselves out in their effort 
 to get at the strangers and chew them up. The pace 
 became terrific, but there was nothing to do but hold 
 on tight and trust to luck. For perhaps five miles 
 our wild ride lasted, and then, the strange dogs turn- 
 ing to the snow-covered land, our teams abandoned 
 the race and condescended to pay some heed to their 
 masters' excited observations. Fortunately the chase 
 had carried us in the direction for which we were 
 bound. 
 
 Early in the afternoon we reached a cache of cod 
 heads, and stopped while the dogs were fed one each. 
 Poor brutes ! they had had nothing to eat since Fri- 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 day night — ^thls was Monday — and I imagine a rather 
 scant meal even then ; for at this time of the year the 
 stock of salt seal meat and fat and dried cod heads 
 and caplin that the natives put up in the summer and 
 fall for dog food is nearly exhausted, and what re- 
 mains is used very economically. Often the dogs 
 receive only one scanty meal every other day. Our 
 drivers had intended to feed their teams at Seal 
 Islands, but on account of the scarcity of dog food 
 none could be purchased. 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon we reached Norman 
 Bay, where we found a miserable hut unoccupied save 
 by an abundance of filth, two cats, and one hen. As 
 there were no tracks visible in the snow, the people 
 evidently had been away since the storm began on 
 Saturday night. We built a fire in the stove, made 
 tea and fed ourselves, the cats, and the hen from our 
 grub bag. I invariably insisted that our drivers 
 travel as long as there was light, which at this season 
 lasted until after eight o'clock, and we pushed on until 
 we came to Corbett's Bite, a place that also rej oices in 
 the name of New York, the same having been faceti- 
 ously bestowed upon it by some fisherman wag, be- 
 cause four small huts had been collected there to make 
 a « city." 
 
 The inhabitants of New York had all moved to their 
 fishing quarters farther out on the coast when we 
 arrived, and we took possession for the night of the 
 best of the huts. Filth and slush lay an inch deep 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WH^D 
 
 on the floor of the single room. A hole in the roof 
 provided a means of escape for the smoke from the 
 fire we built in an improvised fireplace, and, at the 
 same time, a constant source of fear on our part lest 
 some of the dogs which roamed at will over the roof, 
 fall through it and into our fire. An old bench and 
 loose boards taken from a semi-partition in the room 
 served as beds for our party, and we passed a fairly 
 comfortable night. 
 
 We were off' at daylight, and at half -past eight 
 that morning (May 3d) reached Williams Harbour, 
 where I had hoped to engage the teams of John and 
 James RusseU and proceed immediately to Battle 
 Harbour, which place was now only a few miles 
 off. But the RusseUs were away and did not return 
 until night, so that we were unable to proceed until 
 the following morning. With their teams of eight 
 and six dogs the Russells got us away early, how- 
 ever, and at half -past eleven that morning (May 4th) 
 we arrived at Fox Harbour, eight miles across 
 the bay from Battle Harbour. Now a new problem 
 presented itself, which was all the more exasperating 
 for the reason that we were in sight of our goal. The 
 ice pack was in the bay, and it was quite impossible 
 to cross it until the wind might shift and blow the 
 pack out. It is true that by a tortuous trail some 
 thirty miles around we could with dogs reach Cape 
 Charles, just below Battle Harbour; but none of the 
 few drivers that knew the trail was anxious to under- 
 
 830 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 take the journey, and as the probabilities were that 
 even if we did succeed in reaching Cape Charles 
 we should be in the same fix there as where we were, 
 our only course seemed to be to remain at Fox Har- 
 bour and wait. No vessel, they told us, had yet 
 arrived either at Battle Harbour or Cape Charles. 
 
 George Wakeham, an old English fisherman from 
 Devonshire, who had spent forty years of his life on 
 The Labrador and had an Eskimo wife, welcomed us 
 to his house. Near it was an eminence called Watch 
 HUl, from which the general situation of the ice pack 
 could be observed. Day after day I climbed Watch 
 Hill, and for hours at a time with a telescope viewed 
 the ice and gazed longingly at Battle Harbour in the 
 distance. On the morning of the ninth day the pack 
 appeared to be spreading, and I decided to run the 
 risk of getting fast in the Ice, and make at least an 
 attempt to start. So George and I and the five 
 natives that were to row us over got the boat afioat, 
 prepared for a start Immediately after luncheon. 
 
 Meanwhile George and I ascended Watch Hill for 
 another look at the ice pack. Upon scanning the 
 distant shore line through the telescope we discovered 
 a speck moving in the bay away over near Battle Har- 
 bour. A little later we were assured that it was a big 
 row-boat laboriously making its way through the ice. 
 It came nearer and nearer, obviously headed for Fox 
 Harbour. At noon it arrived, and its brawny crew of 
 fishermen said they had come for us. Dr. Macpher- 
 
 331 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 son had sent them. The steamer that the doctor had 
 written me was expected had arrived at Cape Charles 
 with a cargo for a new whale factory, and probably 
 would sail for Newfoundland the next day. Having 
 heard we were on our way down the coast, and divin- 
 ing that we were held at Fox Harbour by the ice. Dr. 
 Macpherson had sent the boat so that we might be 
 sure to get the steamer. I marvelled greatly at these 
 evidences of the doctor's thoughtfulness for us who 
 were absolute strangers to him, and was deeply 
 touched. 
 
 We placed the coffin m the boat, together with our 
 baggage, and started at once. The men had instruc- 
 tions to take us directly to the ship as she lay off 
 Cape Charles, and after a row of about thirteen miles 
 we reached her at five o'clock in the afternoon. She 
 was the Aurora, one of the Newfoundland sealing 
 fleet. It was like reaching home to be on shipboard 
 again, and I felt that my troubles were ended. The 
 mate, Patrick Dumphry, informed me, however, that 
 her commander, Captain Abraham Kean, was at Bat- 
 tle Harbour, and that the steamer would not sail 
 before the following night. So, wishing to have 
 Hubbard's coffin prepared for the voyage, and to 
 meet and thank Dr. Macpherson, I had the men row 
 me back the five nules to Battle Harbour. 
 
 There I learned that, upon receiving the first news 
 of my proposed attempt to bring out Hubbard's 
 body. Dr. Macpherson hsid made a special trip of 
 
 S32 
 
OVER THE ICE 
 
 twenty-five miles to Chateau Bay, to telegraph to New 
 York suggesting that arrangements be made with 
 Bowering & Co., the owners of the Aurora, to have 
 that steamer pick us up at Battle Harbour. Perhaps 
 I should say here that the kindness of the doctor 
 to us was only what might have been expected from a 
 gentleman by birth and breeding who, with his charm- 
 ing wife, buries himself on the desolate coast of 
 Labrador, in order to do his Master's work. Pitiable 
 indeed would be the condition of the poor folk on 
 The Labrador were it not for Dr. Grenfell and his 
 brave co-workers of the Deep Sea Mission. For 
 hundreds of miles along the coast they travel on. their 
 errands of mercy, braving the violent storms of the 
 bitter Arctic winter, sleeping in the meanest of huts, 
 and frequently risking their lives in open boats on the 
 raging sea. Many is the needy one for whom they 
 have found work, many is the stricken soul that they 
 have comforted, and many is the life that their med- 
 ical skill has saved. 
 
 At the doctor's house I received my first letters 
 from home, and the first accurate news of what had 
 been transpiring in the outside world. While there I 
 also met Captain Kean. Unfortunately the people 
 in New York had not made the arrangement Dr. Mac- 
 pherson had suggested, but the captain assumed the 
 responsibility of carrying us to Newfoundland, say- 
 ing that we should go as his guests. He is a former 
 member of the Newfoundland parliament, and a man 
 
THE LURE or THE LABRADOR WH-D 
 
 of influence as well as initiative, and it was lucky for 
 us that he commanded the Aurora, else we, in all 
 probability, should have had to push farther down 
 the coast with dogs, or waited at Battle Harbour for 
 the first appearance of the mail boat. 
 
 The next day (Friday, May 13th) a firm of traders 
 at Battle Harbour, under Dr. Macpherson's super- 
 vision, lined Hubbard's cofiin with sheet lead and 
 sealed it hermetically. The body was still frozen and 
 in good condition. In the afternoon we were taken 
 to the Aurora by Dr. Macpherson and a crew of his 
 men, and established in the cabin, while Hubbard's 
 coffin was carefully stowed away in the hold, there to 
 remain until it was transferred at St. Johns to the 
 Silvia, the steamer on which my old friend, so full of 
 life and ambition, had sailed from New York, and 
 which now was to carry him back a corpse. 
 
 Because of a delay in getting her unloaded, the 
 Aurora did not sail until Saturday evening. The 
 sky was all aglow with a gorgeous sunset when we 
 weighed anchor and steamed out of Cape Charles 
 Harbour down across the straits of Belle Isle. The 
 night was equally glorious. As darkness fell, the 
 sky and sea were illuminated by the northern lights. 
 There was no wind and the sea was calm. Close to 
 our port side an iceberg with two great spires towered 
 high above us ; another large iceberg was on our star- 
 board. Before us Belle Isle and the French shore 
 were dimly visible. Behind us the rocky coast of 
 Labrador gradually faded away. 
 
 334 
 
XXIV 
 HUBBARD'S MESSAGE 
 
 OUR voyage from Labrador to Newfound- 
 land was uneventful, and on Tuesday morn- 
 ing, May 17th, the Aurora steamed into St. 
 Johns Harbour. I was on the bridge with 
 Captain Kean when we passed through the narrows, 
 eagerly looking to see if the ship was there that was 
 to take us home. To my great satisfaction the 
 Silvia was at her wharf, and George and I lost no 
 time in presenting ourselves to my old friend Captain 
 Farrell, her commander, who was engaged on deck 
 when we arrived. He literally took me to his arms 
 in welcome, and like everyone in St. Johns showed 
 me the greatest consideration and kindness. Bow- 
 ring & Company, the owners of the Aurora, placed 
 at my disposal their steam launch and such men as 
 I needed, to aid me in the transference of the body 
 from the Aurora to the Silvia, and they would make 
 no charge for either this service or for our passage 
 from Cape Charles to St. Johns. 
 
 On Friday morning. May 20th, the Silvia sailed 
 from St. John's, and one week later (Friday the 
 27th), with her flag at half mast, steamed slowly to 
 her dock in Brooklyn. 
 
 335 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 It was a sad home-coming. Scarcely a year 
 before, Hubbard, light-hearted and gay, filled with 
 hope and ambition and manly vigour, had stood by 
 my side on that very deck as together we waved fare- 
 well to the friends that were gathered now to wel- 
 come George and me back. I thought of how, when 
 we were fighting our way across the desolate wilder- 
 ness, he had talked of, and planned for, this hour; 
 and thought of his childlike faith that God would 
 take care of us and lead us safely out. And then I 
 asked myself why George and I, whose faith was so 
 much the weaker, had been spared, while Hubbard, 
 who never lost sight of the religion of his youth, was 
 left to die. I felt that I was the least deserving. 
 And I lived. And Hubbard died. Why? I had no 
 answer to the question. That was God's secret. 
 Perhaps Hubbard's work, in the fulness of His 
 plan, had been completed. Perhaps He stiU had 
 work for me to do. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 We laid him to rest in a beautiful spot in the little 
 cemetery at Haverstraw, at the very foot of the 
 mountains that he used to roam, and overlooking the 
 grand old Hudson that he loved so well. The moun- 
 tains will know him no more, and never again will he 
 dip his paddle into the placid waters of the river; 
 but his noble character, his simple faith, a faith 
 that never wavered, but grew the stronger in his 
 hour of trouble, his bravery, his indomitable will — 
 
 336 
 
HUBBARD'S MESSAGE 
 
 these shall not be forgotten; they shall remain a 
 living example to all who love bravery and self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The critics have said that Hubbard was fool- 
 hardy, and without proper preparation he plunged 
 blindly into an unknown wilderness. I believe the 
 early chapters of this narrative show that these 
 criticisms are unfounded, and that Hubbard took 
 every precaution that could occur to a reasonable 
 mind. Himself a thorough student of wilderness 
 travel, in making his preparations for the journey 
 he sought the advice of men of wider experience as 
 to every little detail, and acted upon it. 
 
 Others tell how fish-nets might have been made 
 from willow bark " after the manner of the Indians," 
 and describe other means of securing food that they 
 claim men familiar with woodcraft would have 
 resorted to. The preceding chapters show how 
 impracticable it would have been for us to have con- 
 sumed our small stock of provisions while manufac- 
 turing a fish-net from bark; and how we did resort 
 to every method at our command of procuring food. 
 Unf ortimately we fell upon a year of paucity. The 
 old men of the country bore witness that never before 
 within their memory had there been such a scarcity 
 of game. 
 
 But by far the most serious criticism of all, to my 
 mind, is that against the object of the expedition. 
 It has been said that, even had Hubbard succeeded in 
 
 337 
 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD 
 
 accomplishing everything that he set out to do, the 
 result would have been of little or no value to the 
 world. In answer to this I cannot do better than to 
 quote from the eloquent tribute to Hubbard's expedi- 
 tion made by his old college friend, Mr. James A. 
 LeRoy, in the magazine issued by the Alumni Asso- 
 ciation of their alma mater. 
 
 " Editorial wiseacres," says Mr. LeRoy, " may 
 preach that such efforts as Hubbard made are of no 
 great immediate value to the world, even if success- 
 ful. But the man who is bom with the insatiable 
 desire to do somethmg, to see what other men have 
 not seen, to push into the waste places of the world, 
 to make a new discovery, to develop a new theme or 
 enrich an old, to contribute, in other words, to the 
 fund of human knowledge, is always something more 
 than a mere seeker for notoriety ; he belongs, how- 
 ever slight may be his actual contribution to knowl- 
 edge, however great his success or complete his 
 failure, to that minority which has from the first 
 kept the world moving on, while the vast majority 
 have peacefully travelled on with it in its course. 
 The unpoetical critic will not understand him, wiU 
 find it easy to call him a dreamer; yet it is from 
 dreams Kke these that have come the world's inspira- 
 tions and its great achievements." 
 
 Without any trace of the finicality that so often 
 is pure morbidity, Hubbard was the most con- 
 scientious man I ever knew, a man who was continu- 
 
HUBBARD'S MESSAGE 
 
 ally thinking of others and how he might help them. 
 Doubtless some will see in his brave life's struggle 
 only a determination to win for himself a recognised 
 place as a writer and expert upon out-of-door life; 
 but those who were privileged to enjoy his intimacy 
 know that the deep, underlying purpose of the man 
 was to fit himself to deliver to the world a message 
 that he felt to be profoundly true — a message that 
 should inspire his fellow-men to encounter the battle 
 of life without flinching, that should make them 
 realise that unceasing endeavour and loyalty to God, 
 their conscience and their brothers are indeed worth 
 while. He died before he reached the goal of his 
 ambition, but I do not beheve that his message was 
 undelivered. 
 
 Only men that have camped together in a lonely, 
 uninhabited country can in any degree comprehend 
 the bond of affection and love that drew Hubbard 
 and me ever closer to each other, as the Labrador 
 Wild lured us on and on into the depths of its 
 desolate waste. " The work must be done," he used to 
 say, " and if one of us falls before it is completed, 
 the other must finish it." His words ring in my ear 
 as a call to duty. I see his dear, brave face before 
 me now. I feel his lips upon my cheek. The smoke 
 of the camp-fire is in my blood. The fragrance of 
 the forest is in my nostrils. Perhaps it is God's 
 wiU that I finish the work of exploration that Hub- 
 bard began. 
 
 S39 
 
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