SLIPPING AWAY INTO THE WILDERNESS
It was on the 15th of July, 1903, that Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., my
husband, with two companions, set out from Northwest River Post,
near the head of Lake Melville, for a canoe trip into the interior
of Labrador, which be hoped would not only afford him an
interesting wilderness experience but also an opportunity to
explore and map one, and perhaps both, of these rivers, the
Northwest River draining Lake Michikamau to Lake Melville, and the
George River draining the northern slope of the plateau to Ungava
Bay.
Misled by information obtained at the post, which corresponded with
the indications of the map he carried, that of the Geological
Survey of Canada, Mr. Hubbard took the Susan River, which enters
Grand Lake at the head of a bay five miles from its western end.
The Susan River led them, not by an open waterway to Lake
Michikamau, but up to the edge of the plateau, where they became
lost in the maze of its lakes. When within sight of the great lake
the party was forced to begin a retreat, which Mr. Hubbard did not
survive to complete. He died in the far interior, and the object
of his expedition was not achieved.
It seemed to me fit that my husband's name should reap the fruits
of service which had cost him so much, and in the summer of 1905 I
myself undertook the conduct of the second Hubbard Expedition, and,
with the advantage of the information and experience obtained by
the first, a larger crew and a three weeks' earlier start,
successfully completed the work undertaken two years before.
My decision to undertake the completion of my husband's work was
taken one day in January of 1905. That evening I began making my
plans and preparations for the journey. Towards the end of May
they were completed, and on the evening of the 16th of June I
sailed from Halifax for Labrador, arriving at Northwest River Post,
the real starting-point of my journey, on Sunday morning, June
25th.
It was with characteristic courtesy and hospitality that M. Duclos,
who was in charge of the French trading post, placed himself and
his house at my service, and our coming was celebrated by a dinner
of wild goose, plum pudding, and coffee. After the voyage from
Halifax it seemed good to rest a little with the firm earth under
foot, and where the walls of one's habitation were still. Through
the open windows came the fragrance of the spruce woods, and from
the little piazza in front of the house you could look down and
across Lake Melville, and away to the blue mountains beyond, where
the snow was still lying in white masses.
The settlement at Northwest River consists mainly of the two
trading posts, the French post with its three buildings--the house,
store and oil house--on the right bank of the river, close to its
discharge into Lake Melville, and higher up on the opposite shore
the line of low, white buildings of the Hudson's Bay Company post.
A few tiny planters' homes complete the sum total of its greatness.
Monday morning the work of preparation for departure into the
wilderness began. My crew numbered four, chief among whom was
George Elson, who had loyally served Mr. Hubbard in 1903, and who,
with rare skill and rarer devotion, had recovered Mr. Hubbard's
body and his photographic material from the interior in the depths
of the following winter. The other two men were Joseph Iserhoff, a
Russian half-breed, and Job Chapies, a pure blood Cree Indian.
These three men were expert hunters and canoemen, having been born
and brought up in the James Bay country, and they came to me from
Missanabie, some 700 miles west of Montreal. The fourth was
Gilbert Blake, a half-breed Eskimo boy trapper, one of the two
young lads of the rescue party George Elson had sent back two years
before, when his heroic, but unsuccessful, efforts to save Mr.
Hubbard's life had brought him to Donald Blake's house. Through
the courtesy of M. Duclos, in whose service he was employed at the
time of my arrival, he was released that he might go with me. The
men were splendid, capable-looking fellows, with an air of quiet
dignity and self-possession about them, which comes from conscious
ability and character. Gilbert was a bright-faced, merry-hearted
boy, with a reputation for being a willing worker, which he fully
lived up to on the journey. All seemed thoroughly to enjoy the
prospect of the trip, and their assurance greatly added to my ease
of mind.
A deeper touch of anxiety was added for me by information obtained
at Rigolette to the effect that the Hudson's Bay Company's steamer,
_Pelican_, my only means of return to civilisation before the
closing in of winter, would be at the post at Ungava, my
destination, the last week in August. That left us two months to
make the journey, which, at the shortest, would carry us across 550
miles of Labrador wilderness. It seemed a great deal to expect,
but the men were confident and only eager to be started.
The task of unpacking, rearranging, and completing my outfit was
not accomplished when night came. A number of the things I had
counted on procuring at the posts were not to be had--the stores
being almost empty of supplies. However, M. Duclos and Mr. Cotter
of the Hudson's Bay Company cheerfully raided their own domiciles
to supply my lack; substitutes were improvised, and shortly after
noon on Tuesday the outfit was completed and loaded into the
canoes. To my great satisfaction they were found to carry the load
easily, riding well out of the water.
There were two canoes, canvas covered and 19 feet long, 13 inches
deep, 34 inches wide, and with each of them three paddles and a
sponge. The remainder of the outfit consisted of 2 balloon-silk
tents, 1 stove, 7 waterproof canvas bags, one dozen 10 lbs.
waterproof balloon-silk bags, 3 tarpaulins, 392 lbs. of flour, 4
lbs. baking powder, 15 lbs. rice, 20 cans standard emergency
rations, 12 lbs. tea, 12 lbs. chocolate, 60 lbs. sugar, 20 lbs.
erbswurst, 1 oz. crystalose, 4 cans condensed milk, 4 cans
condensed soup, 5 lbs. hard tack, 200 lbs. bacon, 14 lbs. salt.
There were kitchen utensils--3 small axes, 1 crooked knife, and 2
nets. The outfit of firearms consisted of two rifles, a 45-70 with
60 rounds of ammunition, and a 38-55 with 100 rounds. Each of the
men had a 22 cal. 10-inch barrel, single-shot pistol for partridges
and other small game. Each also carried a hunting knife, a pair of
light wool camp blankets, and an extra pair of "shoe-packs."
For myself, I had a revolver, a hunting knife, and some fishing
tackle; one three and a quarter by four and a quarter folding
pocket kodak, one panorama kodak, a sextant and artificial horizon,
a barometer, a thermometer. I wore a short skirt over
knickerbockers, a short sweater, and a belt to which were attached
my cartridge pouch, revolver, and hunting knife. My hat was a
rather narrow brimmed soft felt. I had one pair of heavy leather
moccasins reaching almost to my knees, one pair of high seal-skin
boots, one pair low ones, which M. Duclos had given me, and three
pairs of duffel. Of underwear I had four suits and five pairs of
stockings, all wool. I took also a rubber automobile shirt, a
long, Swedish dog-skin coat, one pair leather gloves, one pair
woollen gloves, and a blouse--for Sundays. For my tent I had an
air mattress, crib size, one pair light grey camp blankets, one
light wool comfortable, weighing 3 1/2 lbs., one little feather
pillow, and a hotwater bottle.
It was 3.15 P.M., July 27th, when the last details of preparation
were completed, and we were ready to start, with all Northwest
River to see us off.
"You will be all right, Mrs. Hubbard," said Mr. Cotter. "At first
I did not think you could do it, but I have changed my mind. You
can do it, and without any trouble too. Good-bye, and the best of
success to you."
The farewell wishes of M. Duclos and M. Fournier, his assistant,
were not less enthusiastic. M. Duclos ran forward a little, kodak
in hand, and as the canoe glided past up the river, he said: "I
have ze las' picture, Madame."
A few minutes' paddling carried the canoes round the point, and the
two posts were lost to sight.
It did not seem strange or unnatural to be setting out as I was on
such an errand. Rather there came a sense of unspeakable relief in
thus slipping away into the wilderness, with the privilege of
attempting the completion of the work my husband had undertaken to
do. Everything looked hopeful for my plans, and I was only glad to
be really started on my way at last. Behind me in my canoe sat the
trusty hero whose courage and honour and fidelity made my venture
possible, and who took from my shoulders so much of the
responsibility. Through George Elson I engaged and paid the other
men of my party, and on him I relied to communicate to them my
plans and my directions and desires.
It was a perfect day. The air was clear as crystal, and the water,
the greenwoods, the hills and mountains with lines and patches of
white upon them, the sky with its big, soft clouds made such a
combination of green and blue and silver as I had never seen except
in Labrador. Before five o'clock we had passed the rapid at the
head of the three-mile stretch of river draining Grand Lake to Lake
Melville, to which alone the natives give the name Northwest River,
and turned into Grand Lake.
The thought of Grand Lake had troubled me a little. It is forty
miles long and four miles wide, and only a little wind is needed to
make such a body of water impassable for loaded canoes. M. Duclos
had offered his yacht to take us to the mouth of the Nascaupee
River, but when we were ready to start there was not enough wind to
carry her past the rapid, and we decided not to wait. On entering
the lake we turned to the right and landed to put up our first
sails. Soon they were caught by the light breeze and, together
with the quick paddle strokes, carried the canoes at a rapid pace
towards Cape Corbeau, which rose high and commanding twelve miles
away.
At 6 P.M. we landed for supper, hard tack and bacon and tea, and
then as quickly as might be were on our way again. There was need
to make the most of such perfect conditions for passing Grand Lake.
Sunset, and we were nearing Cape Corbeau. Then came twilight which
was almost more beautiful, and I sat sometimes thinking my own
thoughts, sometimes listening to George and Job as they chatted
with each other in Indian. Ten o'clock came, and still the dip,
dip, of the paddles went on. Now and again they were laid across
the canoe, and the pipes came out, or the tired arms rested a
little. It was not till eleven that we finally turned in to camp
at Silver Pine Lodge, having made twenty-two miles of our journey.
The sky was still light in the north-west.
The men soon had a roaring camp fire, for it had grown cold after
sunset. We had a second supper, and at 12.45 A.M. I made the last
entry in my diary and went to my tent. Meanwhile, the light slowly
shifted from west to east along the northern sky, but did not fade
away. The men did not put up their tent, but lay beside the fire,
for we meant to be up betimes and try to make the mouth of the
Nascaupee River before the lake, which was already roughening a
little, became impassable.
At 3 A.M. George called, "All aboard." A quick breakfast, and we
were started. Paddling straight towards Berry Head we passed it
about six o'clock, and by 8 A.M. were safe on the Nascaupee River,
where the winds could not greatly trouble us.
The sand-hills stand about the wide-mouthed bay into which the
river flows, and many little wooded islands lie at its head, and in
the river's mouth, which is entirely obscured by them, so that it
is not until you are close upon them that the river can be seen.
For a mile we threaded our way among these islands and found
ourselves at the mouth of the Crooked River where it enters the
Nascaupee on the north. The two river courses lie near together
for some distance, separated only by a sandy plateau, in places
little more than a mile wide.
At 10 A.M. we halted for lunch, and after the meal the men lay down
in the willows to sleep. I tried to sleep too, but could not. The
Susan River had been so rough and hard to travel, and this river
was so big, and deep, and fine. The thought of what missing it two
years before had cost would not be shut out.
After a bite, at 3 P.M. we were off again, and had gone only a
little way when George exclaimed, "Who's that? Why, it's a bear."
On the farther side of the river walking along the hill was a huge
black bear. I had never before seen one anywhere but in the Zoo,
and the sight of this big fellow enjoying the freedom of his native
country gave me quite a new sensation. At first we decided not to
molest him. A full supply of provisions made it unnecessary to
secure game now, and at this time of the year the skin would be of
no value. The men sent a few rifle shots in his direction, though
not with any thought of their hitting him. They had the effect of
making him quicken his pace, however, and the trail took him up to
the top of the hill where, as he went leisurely along, his big form
clearly outlined against the sky, he proved too great a temptation.
Suddenly the canoe shot out across the river, and on the other
shore ran into the mouth of a little stream at the foot of a big
sand-hill.
Job hurried off with the rifle, and George and I followed as I was
able. We had to cross a broad belt of tangled willows, and to know
what that means, one must do it; but the prospect of at least
getting on the edge of a bear chase is great inducement when once
you become a little excited, and I scrambled through. The hill was
steep and thickly strewn with windfalls about which the new growth
had sprung up. Its top was like the thin edge of a wedge, and the
farther side dropped, a steep sand-bank, to the stream which flowed
at its foot. When we were hardly more than half-way up, there was
the sound of a shot and a funny, little shrill cry from Job. Bruin
had been climbing the sand-bank, and was nearly at the top when Job
fired. The bullet evidently struck him for, doubling up, his head
between his legs, he rolled over and over to the foot of the bank.
When I reached the top of the hill he was on his legs again and
running down along the edge of the stream. There had been only one
cartridge in the rifle, and Job rushed down the hill to the canoe
for more.
Joe and Gilbert had crossed the river meantime and were landing
near our canoe. The stream turned abruptly round the foot of the
hill close to them, and I wondered what would happen when Bruin
appeared suddenly round the bend. Evidently Bruin had the best
eyes--or nose--for, on coming to the bend, he turned suddenly and
started back up-stream; but again changing his mind he made up over
the hill where we had first seen him. I was still panting and
trembling with the exertion of my climb, but I took out my revolver
and sent a few shots after him. It is hardly needful to say they
did not hurt the bear. When Job and Gilbert came up with the
rifles to where we were standing he was just disappearing over the
top of the hill, having apparently been little injured, and so the
chase was not followed up.
Our camp that night was on a high sand-bank on the north shore of
the river. The place chosen looked rough and unpromising to me,
for the ground was thickly strewn with windfalls. All this part of
the country had been burned over many years ago, and was very
desolate looking. The men, however, pronounced the place "Ma-losh-
an! Ma-losh-an!" (fine! fine!) and in less than an hour the tents
were pitched and made comfortable. New experiences seemed to be
coming thick and fast, for we had supper of porcupine down on the
rocks at the shore. I did not like it.
I used my air mattress that night, building it up at the head with
my dunnage bag, and at the foot with boughs. My hot-water bottle
was also called into requisition, for it was cold. They were both
better than I had hoped, and I slept as comfortably as if in the
most luxurious apartment.