CHAPTER XVIII

THE RECKONING

There are times when that which constitutes one's inner self seems

to cease. So it was with me at the moment Mr. Ford uttered those

last words. My heart should have swelled with emotion, but it did

not. I cannot remember any time in my life when I had less

feeling.

Mr. Ford was asking me to come with him to the post house, and

looking at my feet. Then George was seen to rummage in one of the

bags and out came my seal-skin boots which I had worn but once,

mainly because the woman at Northwest River post who made them had

paid me the undeserved compliment of making them too small. My

"larigans," which had long ago ceased to have any waterproof

qualities, were now exchanged for the seal-skins, and thus

fortified I stepped out into the slippery mud. So with a paddle as

staff in one hand and Mr. Ford supporting me by the other, I

completed my journey to the post.

At the foot of the hill below the house, Mrs. Ford stood waiting.

Her eyes shone like stars as she took my hand and said, "You are

very welcome, Mrs. Hubbard. Yours is the first white woman's face

I have seen for two years." We went on up the hill to the house.

I do not remember what we talked about, I only remember Mrs. Ford's

eyes, which were very blue and very beautiful now in her

excitement. And when we reached the little piazza and I turned to

look back, there were the men sitting quietly in the canoes. The

Eskimo had drawn canoes, men and outfit across the mud to where a

little stream slipped down over a gravelly bed, which offered

firmer footing, and were now coming in single file towards the post

each with a bag over his shoulder.

Why were the men sitting there? Why did they not come too?

Suddenly I realised that with our arrival at the post our positions

were reversed. They were my charges now. They had completed their

task and what a great thing they had done for me. They had brought

me safely, triumphantly on my long journey, and not a hair of my

head had been harmed. They had done it too with an innate courtesy

and gentleness that was beautiful, and I had left them without a

word. With a dull feeling of helplessness and limitation I thought

of how differently another would have done. No matter how I tried,

I could never be so generous and self-forgetful as he. In the hour

of disappointment and loneliness, even in the hour of death, he had

taken thought so generously for his companions. I, in the hour of

my triumph, had forgotten mine. We were like Light and Darkness

and with the light gone how deep was the darkness. Once I had

thought I stood up beside him, but in what a school had I learned

that I only reached to his feet. And now all my effort, though it

might achieve that which he would be glad and proud of, could never

bring him back.

I must go back to the men at once; and leaving Mr. and Mrs. Ford I

slipped down the hill again, and out along the little stream across

the cove. They came to meet me when they saw me coming and Heaven

alone knows how inadequate were the words with which I tried to

thank them. We came up the hill together now, and soon the tents

were pitched out among the willows. As I watched them from the

post window busy about their new camping ground, it was with a

feeling of genuine loneliness that I realised that I should not

again be one of the little party.

Later came the reckoning, which may be summed up as follows:--

_Length of Journey_:--576 miles from post to post (with 30 miles

additional to Ungava Bay covered later in the post yacht Lily).

_Time_:--June 27th to August 27th. Forty-three days of actual

travelling, eighteen days in camp.

_Provisions_:--750 lbs. to begin with, 392 lbs. of which was flour.

Surplus, including gifts to Nascaupee Indians, 150 lbs., 105 lbs.

of which was flour, making the average amount consumed by each

member of the party, 57 1/2 lbs.

_Results_:--The pioneer maps of the Nascaupee and George Rivers,

that of the Nascaupee showing Seal Lake and Lake Michikamau to be

in the same drainage basin and which geographers had supposed were

two distinct rivers, the Northwest and the Nascaupee, to be one and

the same, the outlet of Lake Michikamau carrying its waters through

Seal Lake and thence to Lake Melville; with some notes by the way

on the topography, geology, flora and fauna of the country

traversed.

It is not generally borne in mind by those who have been interested

in Mr. Hubbard and his last venture, that he did not plan his

outfit for the trip which they made. The failure to find the open

waterway to Lake Michikamau, which has already been discussed, made

the journey almost one long portage to the great lake. But even

so, if the season of unprecedented severity in which my husband

made his journey, could have been exchanged for the more normal one

in which I made mine, he would still have returned safe and

triumphant, when there would have been only praises for his

courage, fortitude and skill in overcoming the difficulties which

lie across the way of those who would search out the hidden and

untrod ways.

Nevertheless rising far above either praise or blame stands the

beauty of that message which came out from the lonely tent in the

wilderness. In utter physical weakness, utter loneliness, in the

face of defeat and death, my husband wrote that last record of his

life, so triumphantly characteristic, which turned his defeat to a

victory immeasurably higher and more beautiful than the success of

his exploring venture could ever have been accounted, and thus was

compassed the higher purpose of his life.

For that it had been given to me to fulfill one of those lesser

purposes by which he planned to build up a whole, that would give

him the right to stand among those who had done great things

worthily, I was deeply grateful. The work was but imperfectly

done, yet I did what I could.

The hills were white with snow when the ship came to Ungava. She

had run on a reef in leaving Cartwright, her first port of call on

the Labrador coast; her keel was ripped out from stem to stern, and

for a month she had lain in dry dock for repairs at St. John's,

Newfoundland. It was October 22nd when I said good-bye to my kind

friends at the post and in ten days the _Pelican_ landed us safe at

Rigolette. Here I had the good fortune to be picked up by a

steamer bound for Quebec; but the wintry weather was upon us and

the voyage dragged itself out to three times its natural length, so

that it was the evening of November 20th, just as the sun sank

behind the city, that the little steamer was docked at Quebec, and

I stepped from her decks to set foot once again in "God's country."

DIARY OF LEONIDAS HUBBARD, JR.

KEPT DURING HIS EXPEDITION INTO LABRADOR

Tuesday, July 7th--Last night moonlight and starry and fine. This

morning the shore of Labrador spread out before us in the sunshine.

It calls ever so hard, and I am hungry to tackle it. Landed this

A.M. at Indian Harbour. George and I went ashore in the canoe;

Wallace in ship's boat. Lot of fishermen greeted us. Find all men

and women on the coast are Newfoundland men, and "Liveyeres" (Live-

heres). The former come up to fish in summer and are the

aristocrats. The latter are the under-crust. Could not get any

one to take us to Rigolette. Spent the afternoon getting outfit

together--assorting and packing--weighing it and trying it in the

canoe, while line of Newfoundland salts looked on, commented, and

asked good-natured questions. Canoe 18 feet, guide's special,

Oldtown, canvas. Weight about 80. Tent--miner's tent, pole in

front, balloon silk, weight 6 lbs., dimensions 6 1/2 x 7. Three

pairs 3-lb. blankets; two tarpaulins about 6 x 7; three pack

straps; two 9-inch duck waterproof bags, hold 40 lbs. each; three

12-inch bags; 3 1/4 x 4 1/4 kodak; 30 rolls films, one dozen

exposures each, in tin cases with electrician's tape water-

proofing; one dozen small waterproof bags of balloon silk, for

sugar, chocolate, note-books and sundries. Wallace and I each have

one extra light weight 45-70 rifle, smokeless powder. Also one

pistol each, diamond model, 10-inch barrel, for partridges. For

grub we have four 45-lb. sacks of flour; 30 lbs. bacon; 20 lbs.

lard; 30 lbs. sugar; 14 lbs. salt; 3 or 4 lbs. dried apples from

home; 10 lbs. rice; 20 lbs. erbswurst; 10 lbs. pea flour in tins;

10 lbs. tea; 5 lbs. coffee; 6 chocolate; 10 hardtack; 10 lbs. dried

milk. Put all in canoe, got in ourselves, and found we could carry

it 0.K.

Wednesday, July 8th.--Took observation at noon. Lat. 54 degrees 28

minutes. Steve Newell, a liveyere from Winter's Cove, offered to

take us to Rigolette for fifteen dollars. "Would I give him $1 to

get a bit of grub for his family?" Got flour and molasses.

Started in the _Mayflower_, a leaky little craft, about 5 P.M. No

wind to speak of. Cold drizzle and fog. About 11 we landed at

Winter's Cove. Nasty place to land among the rocks on a desolate

point. From a shanty on the beach came a yelling and hallooing

from several voices to know who we were and what we were doing.

Went into cabin, two rooms--one frame and the other sod. Room

about 12 x 14--desolate. Two women like furies--ragged, haggard,

brown, hair streaming. One had baby in her arms; two small girls

and a boy. One of women Steve's mother. Dirty place, but better

than the chilling fog. Glad to get in. Fire started. Stove

smoked till room was full. Little old lamp, no chimney. We made

coffee and gave coffee and hard-tack to all. Women went into other

room with children. We spread tarpaulin and blankets, and lay on

floor; so did Steve. Women talked loudly.

Thursday, July 9th.--Started at 5 A.M., launching boat after Steve

had said, "Don't know as we can launch 'er, sir." Fog. Offered

Steve chart and compass. "Ain't got no learnin', sir. I can't

read." So I directed course in fog and Steve steered. Later,

clear, fair, high wind. Steve cool, nervy, tireless. He traps

foxes and shoots partridges in winter. Buys flour and molasses.

Got too windy to travel. Landed at Big Black Island to wait for

lower wind. George used up--lumbago. Put him to bed and put on

mustard plaster. Bought salmon of Joe Lloyd. Lives in 10 x 12

shanty, hole in roof for smoke to escape. Eskimo wife. "Is all

the world at peace, sir?" He came from England. Hungry for news.

Had trout smoking in chimney. A little wood on this island, and

moss, thick and soft. Wind high, and George sick, so did not go

on. Gave George two blankets and tarpaulin. Did not pitch tent.

Wallace and I threw tent down and lay on it. Pulled his blanket

over us and slept. Still sunlight at 11. Whales snorting in the

bay. Big gulls croaking.

Friday, July 10th.--Awoke at 1 A.M. Bright moonlight, made coffee

and milk. Called men. George very bad. Portaged outfit 200 yards

to boat. Found her high. Worked till 4.30 to launch her. Little

wind. Made Pompey Island at 11. Saw many whales and seals.

Caught caplin on fish-hook tied to stick jerking them. Stopped on

Pompey for lunch. Mossy island of Laurentian rock. Saw steamer in

distance. Put off--fired three or four shots. Got only a salute.

Put off in canoe to head her off. She came about. Was the

_Virginia Lake_. Took us on board and brought us to Rigolette.

Mr. Frazer, H.B.C. Agent here, to whom I had letter from

Commissioner Chippman of the H.B. Co., took us in, as the Company's

men always do. Made us at home. Seems fine to be on land again at

a Company post. George better. Eskimo dogs. Eskimo men and

women, breeds lumbermen, trappers, fishermen, two clerks. All

kindly--even the dogs. All talkative and hungry for outside

visitors.

Saturday, July 11th.--Awoke from bad dream of trouble getting

somewhere to realise that I was at a post. Mighty good awakening.

George better. Trying to get data as to Northwest River. No

Indians here. White men and Eskimo know little about it. Capt.

Joe Blake says Grand Lake good paddling. Forty miles long.

Nascaupee River empties into it. Says Red River comes into it

about 15 miles above its mouth. His son Donald came from his traps

on Seal Lake to-day. Says same. Has crossed it about 50 miles

above its mouth in winter. Has heard from some one that Montagnais

Indians say it comes from Michikamau. Does not know. Says it is

shallow. This seems to be what Low has mapped as Northwest River.

Donald says not much game on it. Others who have not been there,

say plenty. All report bear. Man who lives on river just above

Grand Lake in winter to trap, missing. Supposed drowned. Donald

says a chance seal in Seal Lake. Has shot 'em but never killed

one. Little game there to eat. May be fish. Does not know. Does

not fish himself. Takes flour, pork, tea and "risin." Porcupines.

We can live on them. Hard to get definite data; but that makes the

work bigger.

Sunday, July 12th.--Birthday. "Bruise" for breakfast. Hard-tack,

fish, pork, boiled together--good. "Two more early risin's, and

then duff and bruise," is said to be a Thursday remark of the

fishermen. The _Pelican_ came in to-day. Stole in in fog, and

whistled before flag was up. Good joke on Post. Big day.

_Pelican_ goes from here to York, stopping at Ungava on way out and

comes back again. Brings supplies. Captain Gray came on shore.

Has been with company thirty years, in northern waters fifty years.

Jolly, cranky, old fellow. "You'll never get back" he says to us.

"If you are at Ungava when I get there I'll bring you back."

Calder, lumberman on Grand River and Sandwich Bay, here says we

can't do it. Big Salmon stuffed and baked for dinner--bully.

George says he is ready to start now. Prophecies that we can't do

it, don't worry me. Have heard them before. Can do it. WILL.

Monday, July 13th.--This noon the _Julia Sheridan_, Deep Sea

Mission Boat, Dr. Simpson, came. We said good-bye and embarked for

Northwest River. Had good informal supper in little cabin. Good

easy yachting time. Stopped about 11 P.M. behind St. John's Island

for the night.

Tuesday, July 14th.--Landed about 2 P.M. at Northwest River.

Thomas M'Kenzie in charge. Bully fellow, all alone, lonesome, but

does not admit it. Tall, wiry, hospitable in the extreme. Not

busy in winter. Traps some. Wishes he could go with us. Would

pack up to-night and be ready in the morning. Can get no definite

information as to our route. M'Kenzie says we are all right; can

make it of course. Gave away bag of flour. Discarded single

blanket, 5 lbs. can lard. Got at Rigolette yesterday, 10 lbs.

sugar, 5 lbs. dried apples, 4 1/2 lbs. tobacco. Bought here 5 lbs.

sugar. M'Kenzie gave me an 8 lb. 3 in. gill net.

Wednesday, July 15th.--Wind light, southeast all day, light clouds.

Lat. noon 53 degrees 35 minutes. Left Northwest River Post 9 A.M.

Camped early because of rain and stream which promised trout. No

trout caught. Lake looks like Lake George, with lower hills. Much

iron ore crops from bluffs on south side. Makes me a bit homesick

to think of Lake George. Wish I could see my girl for a while and

be back here. Would like to drop in at the Michigan farm too.

Thursday, July 16th.--Fair day. Wind southeast. Lat. at noon 53

degrees 45 minutes. Six miles above Grand Lake on Northwest River.

Started at 5.30 A.M. At 9 rounded point and saw mouth of river.

George and I ferried outfit across northwest arm of lake in two

loads. Wind too high for whole load. Saw steel trap. Probably

belonged to poor M'Lean, who was drowned. Had cup of tea at 10.

Stopped at noon three-quarters of an hour for observation.

Northwest River runs through spruce-covered valley, between high

hills, easily seen from lake, but not in river as spruce is too

close. In many places high banks, many turns, many little rapids.

Water low. Have to pole and track. See that we have our work cut

out. Doubt if we can make more than 10 miles a day up this river.

I took tracking line; George and Wallace the poles. Sand flies

awful--nasty, vindictive, bite out chunks, and streak our hands and

faces with blood. Mosquitoes positively friendly by contrast.

Tried net. Could not see, then tried dope--some help. Eating much

and not rustling for fish or game. Want to lighten outfit.

Friday, July 17th.--Rain and clouds. Rained hard in the night.

Awoke dreading to start out in it. Got breakfast to let George

sleep. Water so shoal and swift that we would take part of outfit

and return for the rest. Most places had to track, I pulling on

rope while Wallace and George waded, and pushed and dragged the

canoe.

Saturday, July 18th.--Bright, clear day. Lat. 53 degrees 45

minutes 30 seconds. Started out with full load and kept it most of

the day. Had to portage half load a few times. Awful work all

day. Rapids continuously. I waded with line while George and

Wallace dragged and lifted. All enjoyed the forenoon's work, and

no one depressed when P.M. weariness began. No game. Bear and

some caribou tracks. Have not seen a partridge or porcupine. Seem

to be few fish. They come later and farther on.

Sunday, July 19th.--Minimum temp. last night 38 degrees. Fine day

and warm. Stayed in camp all day to rest. I got up at 7 and

caught about twenty trout, small. All pretty tired and enjoyed the

long sleep. At noon George and I started up the river, following

the hills. Found small rocky stream coming in about 1 mile up.

Suppose it is the Red Wine River. Two miles up a 2-mile stretch of

good water. Best of all the portage route leading in at the foot.

We followed this over the hill to the Red Wine River, and found old

cuttings. This pleases us a heap. It shows that we are on the old

Montagnais trail, that we will probably have their portage routes

clear through, and that they probably found lakes and good water

farther up, or they would never have fought this bad water. To-

morrow we will tackle the 2-mile portage with light hearts. We are

3 miles south of where Low's map places us. Am beginning to

suspect that the Nascaupee River, which flows through Seal Lake,

also comes out of Michikamau, and that Low's map is wrong. Bully

stunt if it works out that way. Saw lots of caribou and fresh bear

tracks. Trout went fine for supper. Flies very bad. Our wrists

burn all the time.

Monday, July 20th.--Minimum temp. last night 37 degrees. Bright

day. Flies awful. I got breakfast while George cut portage

through swamp, and then we groaned all day--through the swamp 1 1/2

miles--across two streams, up steep hill, then along old trail to

foot of smooth water above these rapids. Covered route mainly

three times. All very tired. George worked like a hero.

Tuesday, July 21st.--Minimum temp. 36 degrees. Trapped bad three-

quarter mile. George and I scouted ahead 6 miles. Climbed hills

600 feet high. Caribou and bear tracks. Crossed two or three

creeks. Found old trail and wigwam poles and wood. George says

winter camp from size of wood; can't follow it. Tracked quarter

mile more, and started on long portage. Went half mile and camped.

Flies bad; gets cold after dark, then no flies. Stars, fir tops,

crisp air, camp fire, sound of river, hopeful hearts. Nasty hard

work, but this pays for it.

Wednesday, July 22nd.--Minimum temp. 33 degrees, 60 degrees in tent

at 6 A.M. Torture. All work to cross 2 1/2 mile portage. Sun

awful. Flies hellish. All too tired to eat at noon. Cold tea and

cold erbswurst. Cached 80 rounds 45-70 cartridges, 300-22s. too

heavy. Too tired at last to mind flies. Rested hour under tent

front, all of us. Diarrhoea got me--too much water drinking

yesterday I guess. Shot partridge, first seen on trip. Jumped up

on log before me, waited for me to drop pack and load pistol. Camp

on partridge point. Bird seasoned a pot of erbswurst. Dreamed

about home as I worked and rested.

Thursday, July 23rd.--George and Wallace scouted for trails and

lakes. I lay in tent, diarrhoea. Took Sun Cholera Mixture. Tore

leaves from Low's book and cover from this diary. These and

similar economies lightened my bag about 5 lbs. New idea dawned on

me as I lay here map gazing. Portage route leaves this river and

runs into southeast arm of Michikamau. Will see how guess turns

out. Heat in tent awful--at noon 104 degrees; out of tent at 1

P.M. 92 degrees. Diarrhoea continued all day. No food but tea and

a bit of hard-tack. George back about 7.30. Wallace not back.

Not worried. Has probably gone a little too far and will stay out.

Has tin cup and erbswurst. George reports branching of river and a

good stretch of calm water.

Friday, July 24th.--George produced yellowlegs shot yesterday. He

carried pack up river 2 miles. Diarrhoea. In tent I studied how

to take time with sextant. Observation failed. Much worried over

Wallace till he came in about 7 P.M. Compass went wrong; he lay

out overnight. Stewed yellowlegs and pea meal to-night.

Saturday, July 25th.--Four miles. Weak from diarrhoea. Portaged

one load each 4 miles south side of stream to open water. Back to

camp. I took another load; George and Wallace followed, trying to

drag canoe up river. I made camp. They came in after dark, tired

out. Canoe left 2 miles down stream. Wallace shot partridge with

pistol. Came near going over falls with pack round his neck.

Drizzled all day. Heavy rain to-night. Great relief from heat.

Flies very bad in afternoon and evening.

Sunday, July 26th.--Rain most of the clay. Lay in tent in A.M.

hoping to be better of diarrhoea. Read Low's report, etc. Trouble

better.

Monday, July 27th.--Spent A.M. and two hours P.M. bringing up

canoe, dragging half way, George carrying rest. Started on at 4.

Alternate pools and rapids. Rapids not bad--go up by dragging and

tracking. After 1 1/2 mile camped.

Tuesday, July 28th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 46 degrees. Three miles. Cool,

cloudy, spell of sunshine now and then. Cold, nasty wading all

A.M. to make a mile. Fine portaging in P.M., just cool enough, no

flies. Pretty nearly blue in A.M. over lack of progress. Two

miles in P.M. brightened things up. By fire between logs we dry,

clothes now in evening. All tired out. Low new moon.

Wednesday, July 29th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 58 degrees. Worked 4 miles.

Small ponds alternating with rapids. Portage 1 mile in P.M. Very

tired. Tea, and finished fine.

Thursday, July 30th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 39 degrees. Paddled through a

succession of ponds about a quarter of a mile long each, tracking

or dragging over little falls or rapids between. Made portage of

100 rods in P.M. Need fish now. Grub not so heavy as it was.

Were starting to dry blankets at fire when rain started. All

crawled into tent. Need rain to raise river. Plenty caribou

signs--two old wigwams (winter) on rock. No fish but 6-7 inch

trout. Bully camp to-night.

Friday, July 3lst.--Temp. 6 A.M. 56 degrees. Rain all day. Two

rivers puzzled us. Came together just above our camp. One comes

over a fall from the south side; other rough, comes from northwest.

South branch comes from west, better, more level. Little ponds

between falls and short rapids. Scouted. Think south branch Low's

Northwest River. Wallace caught bully mess of trout while George

and I were scouting. George found old wigwam about a quarter of a

mile up south branch; also a winter blaze crossing stream north to

south, fresh. Trappers' line, think. Blake or M'Lean. Wigwam

old. Rain bad. River not very good, some ponds, some portage,

some dragging. Up south branch three-quarters of a mile stopped

for lunch. Stopped after a quarter of a mile portage for a scout.

Wallace and I made camp in rain while George scouted. George

reports 1 1/2 mile bad river,, then level, deep ponds, very good.

Caught trout. Rainy camp.

Saturday, August 1st.--Rained steadily all night and to-day.

Tired, chilled, ragged. Wallace not well and things damp. Stayed

in camp all day. Hoped to dry things out. Too much rain. Went

out in bare feet and drawers and caught ten trout.

Sunday, August 2nd.--Cleared this A.M. Boys dried camp while I

caught twenty-four trout, some half pounders. Getting bigger,

nearer Height of Land we hope reason. Water higher. Will help us.

Two cans baking powder spoiled. Good feed of trout. Not a bit

tired of trout yet. Observation shows 53 degrees 46 minutes 12

seconds lat. Went 3 miles in P.M. and camped.

Monday, August 3rd.--Temp. 6 A.M. 56 degrees. Big day. At foot of

a portage as we were getting ready to pack, I saw four wild geese

coming down stream. Grabbed rifle, four cartridges in it. George

got Wallace's rifle. All dropped waiting for them to come round

bend, 30 ft. away. George and I shot at once, both hitting leader.

All started flapping along on top of water, up stream. I emptied

my rifle on them, going at 40 to 50 yards, killing two more. Drew

pistol and ran up and into stream and shot fourth in neck. Got all

and threw fits of joy. Need 'em just now badly for grub. Through

little lake beginning at head of water, quarter of a mile above,

into meadow, fresh beaver house. At foot of rapid water, below

junction of two streams, ate lunch. Trout half to three-quarter

pounds making water boil. Caught several. From this point to

where river branches to two creeks, we scouted. Think found old

Montagnais portage. To-night heap big feed. George built fire as

for bread-baking.

Tuesday, August 4th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 56 degrees. Portaged 1 mile to

Montagnais Lake. Portage ran through bogs and over low ridges. I

sat on edge of lake looking at rod, when a caribou waded into lake,

not 100 feet away. Rifle at other end of portage. Hoped to find

inlet to lake, but only one ends in bog. Lots of old cuttings at

northwest corner of lake; two old wigwams. Troubled to know where

to go from here. All scouted whole afternoon. Lake 1 mile west.

Old trail runs towards it. George thinks caribou trail, no

cuttings found on it yet. I think portage. Looks like portage we

have followed and runs in right direction.

Wedncsday, August 5th.--Portaged from camp on Montagnais Lake, 1

mile west to another lake. No signs of Indians here. Camped at

west end of this. Saw two caribou. Dropped pack and grabbed

rifle; was waiting for them 250 yards away when a cussed little

long-legged bird scared them. At point near camp where lakes meet,

I cast a fly, and half pound and pound fontanalis, as fast as I

could pull them out. What a feed at 2 P.M. lunch. Climbing ridge,

saw that lake empties by little strait into another small lake just

alongside, at south. Stream flows from that south. Therefore we

are on Hamilton River waters. George and I went scouting to bluffs

we saw from trees on ridge. Both lost. George got back before

dark. I spent night on hill, 2 miles southwest. No matches or

grub. Scared a little. Heard big river, found it flows southeast.

Must go into Hamilton, but it is a big one, several times as big as

the Northwest at its biggest. Where does it come from? Can it be

Michikamau?

Thursday, August 6th.--Slept some last night, lying on two dead

spruce tops, too wet and cold to sleep very well. Mosquitoes

awful. George went to my river. Wallace and I took canoe and went

into lake north of here. Cuttings, winter. George found river to

be big and deep. Straight, as though from Michikamau. Don't

believe this little creek of a Northwest comes from there. Will

portage to this river and try it.

Friday, August 7th.--Portaged 2 miles to river on our south; good

paddling save for a rapid now and then. So big we think, Low's map

to the contrary, that it comes from Michikamau. Anyway it comes

from that way and will carry us a piece toward the big lake. No

cuttings. Big trout despite east wind. Caught about fifteen.

Cold wind drove away flies. Fire between big rocks. Moon over

bluffs beyond. Fine evening. Fine river. Fine world. Life worth

living.

Saturday, August 8th.--Nasty, cold, east wind. Went 4 1/2 miles

through it all in good river with six short portages first three-

quarter mile, and stopped about 1 P.M. to make Sunday camp and get

fish. Put out net, ate our dried fish and by hard labour got a few

more for supper. Only a bit of bread a day now, no grease, save a

little bacon. All hungry for flour and meat.

Sunday, August 9th.--Raining this morning and most of the P.M.

Cold, east wind. Caught about forty-five trout by hard effort,

several 3/4 lb. each. George made paddle and scouted. Burned his

knife.

Monday, August 10th.--Rain and east wind. Caught one big fish

before breakfast. Wallace ate it. George and I ate pea meal. On

first portage found old summer cuttings and wigwam poles. Feel

sure that this was the old Montagnais route. Went 3 miles and

crossed four portages. Then on strength of being on right road and

needing fish, camped before noon. Mother's birthday. Ate some of

her dried apples last night with sugar.

Tuesday, August 11th.--East wind. Warmer a little. Just a little

rain. No fish biting. Slept late. Climbed ridge and tree. See

ridge of high half barren hills away ahead. Think this the ridge

east of Michikamau. Hungry all the time. Down to 40 lbs. of

flour, 8 lbs. tea, about 20 lbs. pea meal, a bit of sugar, bacon,

baking powder and dried apple, just a bit of rice. Saw mountains

ahead from a bluff just below our evening camp. River runs north

apparently; it must therefore be Low's Northwest River I think.

Mountains look high and rugged, 10 to 25 miles away. Ought to get

good view of country from there, and get caribou and bear.

Moccasins all rotten and full of holes. Need caribou. Need bear

for grease. All hungry all day. George weak, Wallace ravenous;

lean, gaunt and a bit weak myself. Fish braced us wonderfully.

Wednesday, August 12th.--Best day of trip. Started late. Cloudy,

damp. I took pack over half mile portage and stopped to fish.

Fourteen trout. Three portages and then--glory! Open water. Five

miles and stopped for lunch, with good water before and behind for

first time since Grand Lake. Old wigwam and broken-down canoe at

lunch place. Ate trout and loaf of bread. Hungry. Started again,

hoping for stream to fish in. Made 3 miles. Then a big bull

caribou splashed into the water of a bayou 200 yards ahead.

Wallace in bow took shot, high and to the left. I raised sights to

limit and held high. Did not think of sport, but grub, and was

therefore cool. As first shot George said, "Good, you hit him."

He started to sink, but walked up a bank very slowly. I shot two

more times, Wallace once and missed. George and I landed and

started towards spot. Found caribou down, trying to rise. Shot

him in breast, cut throat. George made stage for drying. Wallace

and I dressed caribou. Wallace put up tent. I started meat from

bones in good strips to dry. Then all sat down and roasted steaks

on sticks, and drank coffee, and were supremely happy. We will get

enough dried meat to give us a good stock.

Thursday, August 13th.--Worked at getting caribou skin tanned in

A.M. Ate steak for breakfast, liver for dinner, ribs for supper.

No bread, just meat. Wallace and I started in canoe to look for

fish and explore a bit. Found rapid 2 miles above. Very short,

good portage, old wigwam, good water ahead. Too cold to fish.

Cloudy day, but got blankets aired and dried. River seems to run

to northeast of ridge of quite high mountains, 6 to 10 miles ahead.

Very tired or lazy to-day. May be meat diet, may be relaxation

from month of high tension. Think the latter. Mended pants. One

leg torn clear down the front. Patched with piece of flour sack.

Friday, August 14th.--George and Wallace left in canoe with tin

cups, tea and some caribou ribs, to scout river above and climb

hills. I put some ashes and water on caribou skin. Just starting

to shed. Studied map and Low's book. Wish we could descend this

river on way out and map it.

Saturday, August 15th.--Cloudy again this morning. Sprinkle or

two. Wallace and George not back. Wallace and George came at

dusk; tired out and none too hopeful. Found stream coming from a

little lake with two inlets. Followed one west to mountains; it

turned to a brook, ended in mountains. Other went so much east

they fear it ends in lakes there. Think maybe they lost the river.

Hungry as bears. Stayed out to explore this east branch. The

three days' inaction and their story of doubtful river, depressed

me. If the way to Michikamau is still so doubtful, after more than

four weeks of back-breaking work, when will we get there, and when

to the caribou grounds, and when home? I'd like to be home to-

night and see my girl and the people, and eat some bread and real

sweet coffee or tea or chocolate. How hungry I am for bread and

sweets!

Sunday, August 16th.--Wind has changed at last to north. Not much

of it. Clear and bright in early morning. Clouded at noon, so I

am not sure my observation was just right, close to it though I

think. 53 degrees 46 minutes 30 seconds. Have been coming nearly

west, an angle to south and another to north. Last observation

possible was two weeks ago to-day. Feel fine to-day. Good rest

and good weather and grub are bully. Figure that east branch the

boys saw must be Low's Northwest River, and must break through the

mountains somewhere a little north. Anyway it can't run much east

and must take us north and west through lake expansions close to

the mountains. Then if it ends, it's up to us to portage over to

the lake expansions Low sees on his Northwest River flowing out of

Michikamau. Scraped flesh from caribou skin.

Monday, August 17th.--Temp. at 4.30 A.M. 29 degrees. Temp. noon 59

degrees. Ice on cups. First of season. Beautiful, clear day,

north wind, slight. Flies bad in P.M. Went west of north 3 miles,

following river to where it began to expand into lakes. Noon

observation 53 degrees 43 minutes 19 seconds. Yesterday's

observation wrong I think. In A.M. fished few minutes at foot of

short rapids. About forty trout, one 16 inches long, biggest yet.

Caught most on fins. Ate all for noon lunch, stopping at sand-

beach on shore of very pretty little lake expansion. Had coffee

too. In P.M. we turned west into some long narrow lakes, that

extend into mountains, and have a current coming out. George and

Wallace think from a previous look, that here is a portage trail to

Michikamau's southeast bay. George explored while I worked at

skin. George returned. No good so far as he saw, to cross here,

but he did not do the thing thoroughly. However, I'll let it drop,

for I believe the river goes east and north, and then west and

breaks through mountains to Michikamau. Worried some. Time short

and way not clear, but we'll get there if we have to take the canoe

apart and walk across. May have to stay late on the George, and

have to snowshoe to Northwest River and then across; but if it

comes to that we'll do it. This snowshoe to Northwest River and

then across to the St. Lawrence, by Kenamon and St. Augustine

Rivers, appeals to me. Lots of old wigwams about, summer and

winter. Stove was used in one. I think Indians hunted here.

Caribou tracks on barren mountains.

Tuesday, August 18th.--Temp. 28 degrees at 4 A.M. Clear sky in

morning. Much worried last night and this morning, about way to

Michikamau. Started early, ready to go at the job harder than

ever. Lake expansions, rapids, no signs of Indians. Afraid this a

bad stretch which Indians avoided. Stopped at 10 A.M. for tea.

Caught fourteen big trout there, in few minutes. Then river opened

into long narrow lakes, and the going was bully. It turned west,

or we did (it came from the west) and went into the mountains, and

we fairly shouted for joy. George saw caribou. Turned out to be

geese. Chased ahead them on bank. Shot old goose as she lay low

in water, swimming and hiding. Broke old one's wing and took off

leg. Then missed four shots. Gander took to woods. George took

after young and killed one with pistol. Came and helped get

wounded goose. Great chase. Trout, pounders, jumping like greedy

hogs to fly. Took about fifty while boys were making two short

portages in P.M. Bread, small loaf, coffee, sugar, goose, trout

for supper. Big feed in celebration geese and good water. At end

of to-day's course turned to right into wrong channel, into little

narrow lake half mile long, prettiest I ever saw. Big barren bluff

rises from water on north, barren mountains a few miles to west,

ridge of green to west, sun setting in faces to contrast and

darken, two loons laughing, two otters swimming in lake. One

seemed afraid and dived; other more bold, looked at us. Hoped to

kill it to settle question of species, but did not get near enough.

Good water ahead. Hope we are on the road to Michikamau.

Wednesday, August 19th.--Noon 53 degrees 50 minutes. Bright, clear

in A.M. Southeast wind brought clouds. Began to rain as we went

to bed. Spent whole day river hunting, paddling from arm to arm of

the lakes. George and I climbed high barren ridge. Red berries

and a few blue berries. Flock ptarmigan, rockers. I shot three

with pistol, old one, two young, but could fly. Saw more mountains

on all sides. Many lakes to east. Failure to find river very

depressing to us all. Seems to end in this chain of lakes. Will

retrace our way to last rapid to be sure, and failing to find

stream, will start west up a creek valley on a long portage to

Michikamau. Boys ready for it. I fear it will make us late, but

see no other way. Glad Wallace and George are game. A quitter in

the crowd would be fierce.

Thursday, August 20th.--Rain last night. Cloudy in A.M. Rain P.M.

and night. Wind south. Stopped to mend moccasins and give caribou

a bit more drying before we start to cross mountains. Looked ahead

and saw two more lakes. May be a good deal of lake to help us.

Mended moccasins with raw caribou skin. While George got lunch I

took sixteen trout, fin for bait. In P.M. Wallace and I took canoe

and went back over course to last rapid, exploring to see that we

had not missed river. Sure now we have not. So it's cross

mountains or bust, Michikamau or BUST. Wallace and I came upon two

old loons and two young. Old tried to call us from young. Latter

dived like fish. Caught one. Let it go again. We caught eighty-

one trout at last rapid in about an hour, mostly half-pounders;

fifteen about pounders, hung to smoke. Big feed for supper. Rest

for to-morrow. Rained good deal. Sat under drying stage with a

little fire, tarpaulin over us and had big supper--fried trout,

trout roe, loaf of bread, coffee. Last of coffee. Hate to see it

go. Little sugar left. A bit in morning and evening cups.

Friday, August 21st.--Rain all day. Wind changed to north, colder.

Portaged to little lake above camp. Found wigwams at each end of

portage. Looks like old Montagnais trail. Then more lakes and

short portages. Made 4 miles very easily, then, after pot of tea

and big trout feed, portaged 1 mile west to another little lake,

just over Height of Land. Our stream tumbles off the mountain, and

does not come from this last-named lake at all. Little 4-foot

ridge turns it. Went into camp very early, chilled through.

Saturday, August 22nd.--Portaged across Height of Land. Delighted

to find on end of lake to westward many Indian signs. Believe this

enters southeast bay of Michikamau, or a lake connected with it.

Rained hard by spells. West wind. Camped on island early in P.M.

after a very short march, to repair canoe, and to wait for head

wind to fall. Caribou meat roasted at noon. Two loaves of bread,

dried apples and tea--no meat or fish--supper.

Sunday, August 23rd.--West wind. Rain and clear by spells. Drank

last of chocolate--two pots--for breakfast. Dried blankets in a

sunny spell, and about 10 A.M. started. Coming to point round

which we expected to get view of lake ahead--"Like going into a

room where there is a Christmas tree," said George. Narrow channel

around point 2 1/2 miles from east end. Thence we saw a long

stretch of lake running west. Believe it Michikamau's S.E. bay

sure. Mighty glad. Ate boiled dried caribou, pea soup, tea.

Dried caribou hurts our teeth badly. Went west 2 1/2 miles and

climbed barren hill on north side of lake. Ate blue berries, bake-

apple berries, and moss berries. Saw on north, water in big and

little masses, also on N.W. many islands of drift, rocky and spruce

clad. One long stretch of lake, like a river, runs east and west,

about 2 miles north. Wonder if it is Low's Northwest River. Went

west on our lake 3 miles. Caught a fish like pike, with big square

head, 3 1/2 lbs. Found our lake ends, stream falling in from

another lake west. Came back 2 miles to outlet into waters north.

Camped. All feel bully. On Michikamau waters sure.

Monday, August 24th.--Rain, north wind, cold. In camp all day.

Bad head wind. George and I scouted. All restless at inactivity

but George. He calm, philosophical, cheerful, and hopeful always--

a wonderful man.

Tuesday, August 25th.--Cold N.E. wind. Rain. Made start. Nasty

portage into Northwest River (?). Wallace turned round and started

to carry his pack back. Wind fair part of time. Part of time

dangerously heavy. Landed on point running out from north shore.

Wigwam poles. Have diarrhoea. All chilled. Not sure of way

ahead, but not worried. Camped at 5 P.M. Nice camp in clump of

balsam. Not craving bread so much. Idleness and a chance to think

make us hungrier. Flies about gone. Proverb--On a wet day build a

big fire.

Wednesday, August 26th.--Temp. at 5 A.M. 40 degrees. Bright and

clear save for one shower in P.M. Started happy. Shot goose with

pistol after long chase. Goose would dive repeatedly. Shot

several times at rather long range. Paddled 20 to 25 miles on big

lake running east and west. No outlet west. Came back blue and

discouraged. Passed our camp of last night to climb a mountain on

N.E. side. Caught very pretty 2-lb. pike trolling. Wallace and I

got supper. George went to climb mountain, found river this side

(west) of mountain, running into this lake from N.W. What is it?

Low's Northwest River? Can't see what else. Glad again. Very

hopeful. Sick and very weak. Diarrhoea. Pea meal and venison and

goose liquor. Better. Bright northern lights.

Thursday, August 27th.--Bright and lightly clouded by spells. No

rain. Northwest River panned out only a little stream. N.G.

Guess we must portage. Desperate. Late in season and no way to

Michikamau. One more try for inlet, and then a long nasty portage

for the big lake. See little hope now of getting out before

winter. Must live off country and take big chances. Camping near

where we camped last night. Going up Northwest River and hunting

outlets some more, took our time. Ran across geese this A.M. I

went ashore and George and Wallace chased them close by. Shot

leader with rifle. Then two young ones head close in shore. I

killed one with pistol and two others started to flop away on top

of water. Missed one with pistol, and killed other. While

exploring a bay to N.W., we landed to climb ridge. George found

three partridges. I shot one, wounded another, pistol. Camped to-

night cheerful but desperate. All firm for progress to Michikamau.

All willing to try a return in winter. Discussed it to-night from

all sides. Must get a good place for fish and caribou and then

freeze up, make snowshoes and toboggans and moccasins and go. Late

home and they will worry. Hungry for bread, pork and sugar. How I

like to think at night of what I'll eat, when I get home and what a

quiet, restful time I'll have. Flies bad by spells to-day.

Friday, August 28th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 56 degrees. Back to northwest

end of lake where bay runs north. Portaged to small shoal lakes

and camped on north side, ready to start in A.M. Fixed moccasins

in preparation for long portage. Made observation of sun and moon

to-night, hoping to get longitude. All very tired, but feel better

now. No bread today. No sugar. Don't miss latter much, but

hungry for bread. Good weather. Shower or two. Writing by camp

fire.

Saturday, August 29th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 38 degrees. Am writing a

starter here, before beginning our march north. Wallace and George

at breakfast now. I'm not. Sick of goose and don't want it. Ate

my third of a loaf of bread lumpy without grease and soggy, but

like Huyler's bonbons to our hungry palates. Dreamed of being home

last night, and hated to wake. Jumped up at first light, called

boys and built fire, and put on kettles. We must be moving with

more ginger. It is a nasty feeling to see the days slipping by and

note the sun's lower declination, and still not know our way.

Outlet hunting is hell on nerves, temper and equanimity. You

paddle miles and miles, into bay after bay, bay after bay, with

maybe no result till you are hopeless. Ugh! This is a great

relief to be about to start north through the woods--fairly high

ground to start with--on a hunt for Michikamau. Hope we will not

have swamps. Lakes will probably stop us and make us bring up the

canoe. Good evening and we are happy, despite fact that grub is

short and we don't know our way and all that.

Sunday, August 30th.--Beautiful, clear Sunday, but no Sunday rest

for us. I jumped up early, called George, and built fire. Started

at 5.54 A.M., portaging from little lake to little lake, north and

west, to where we know Michikamau must lie, somewhere. For two

days we have heard geese flying. Thought our goose chases over,

but to-day five walked down bank into water ahead of canoe on a

small lake. Wounded two at one shot with rifle. Two old ones

flew. Left wounded to chase third young one. Shot and killed it

with pistol. Could not find wounded. Made 3 miles before dinner.

Good. In P.M. about 1 1/4 miles more. Then reached range of semi-

barren ridges, running east and west, and seeming to reach to

barren mountains north. George and I climbed first ridge from a

little lake, with blue green, ocean-coloured water. Heard stream

ahead. Little river running through ponds. George went back for

outfit and Wallace. These are trying days. We are not quite up to

normal strength. I think too much routine of diet, lack grease,

sugar and grain foods. The feeling of not knowing where we are or

how to get out adds to our weakness, still we are all cheerful and

hopeful and without fear. Glad all of us to be here. How we will

appreciate home and grub when we get out. I crawl into blankets

while the boys smoke their evening pipe. Then I think of M. and

our home at Congers, and plan how she and I will go to Canada or

Michigan or somewhere, for a two week's vacation when I get home.

I wonder when that will be.

Monday, .August 31st.--Ice on cups this morning. Thermometer out

of order. Lat. 53 degrees 57 minutes. I hate to see August end

with us so far from the George River, or so perplexed as to the

road. We are in camp now, on the stream we reached last night. I

am writing and figuring in the early morning. The whole character

of our country changes here. Ridges and hills extending into

mountains on the north. Must know what lies there before we

proceed. George will scout. Wallace and I will dry fish. While

George was scouting, I lay in tent awhile, too weak to fish even.

Fish not biting though. Oh, but I'll be happy to see Michikamau!

George returned late. Climbed mountains to north. Reports fair

line of travel to northwest, long lakes and tolerable portages.

Will go that way, I think. Wallace got a few trout. George killed

two partridges with my pistol.

Tuesday, September 1st.--West wind. Fair, warm. Very weak to-day.

Our stuff so light now we can take all but canoe at one trip over

portage. Have just crossed portage from lake by yesterday's camp,

to other lakelet N.W. Boys gone back for canoe. I sit here and

write. Very rough portaging here, all rocks and knolls. Little

clear lakes between. Have to put canoe into water every 40 rods or

so. Shot a plover with pistol to cook with George's partridges.

Later. Made about 4 1/2 miles. Caught about thirty-five trout at

edge of lake where stream empties.

Wednesday, September 2nd.--West wind. Fixed moccasins in A.M. and

started portage west. Camped in swamp.

Thursday, September 3rd.--Rain all day by spells. Wind west. Got

up in rain, hating to leave blankets. At breakfast, bread and tea

and venison. I took no tea. Am trying now just venison and fish

broth. May agree with me better than tea. Don't miss sugar much

any more, though I do plan little sweet feeds when I am out. Very

nasty work in rain. Am well again and strong. Worked well.

Portaged and paddled west 4 1/2 miles. Wallace turned round again

and carried pack back to starting point. George and I carried

canoe. Sky cleared in evening. Saw all day big spruce trees.

Country here not burned I think.

Friday, September 4th.--Rain. West wind, Portaged west 1 1/2

miles, with two little lakes to help. Rain all time. Stopped to

let George scout best way to big lake ahead. Thinks it is 3 miles

away. Hope it leads to Michikamau. George and Wallace mending

moccasins. George reports big water about 3 miles ahead. Hope

Low's Northwest River lake expansions. Cannot be far now from

Michikaman. Spent much time over map in P.M. Think we must start

back 1st October to the St. Lawrence, if we can get guides.

Otherwise to Northwest River and then snowshoe out.

Saturday, September 5th.--Rain by spells. West wind, cold. Awoke

in rain. Last three nights have been as clear as crystal,

beautiful moon. Then rain in the morning. Very disappointing. We

waited a little while about getting up, hoping rain would stop.

Slackened, and we started. Poor day's work. Portaged about 2 1/2

miles west. Came out on barrens and ate lot of blue berries. Saw

big waters to west, big blue hill, blue sky-line where we hope

Michikamau lies hidden. Pint berries raw for supper. Otherwise,

venison and broth, thickened with three spoonfuls of flour, each

meal.

Sunday, September 6th.--Temp. 5 A.M. 38 degrees. First snow came,

mixed with nasty cold rain. Nasty, raw, west wind. Worked in it

most of day, portaging 2 1/2 miles N.W. Tried carrying all stuff

at one trip. Grub low. Big water ahead. Believe this big water

will lead to Michikamau. Almost a desperate hope. If it does not

and we find no water route, I scarcely see how we can reach the

caribou grounds in time to see the crossing and meet the

Nascaupees. Without that I am doubtful of the success of this

trip, and failure makes me shudder. Besides it is liable to make

us all very hungry. We must push on harder, that's all. And get

there somehow.

Monday, September 7th.--Temp. at 5 A.M. 48 degrees. N.W. wind,

slight. Rain by showers. On portage crossed worst swamp of trip.

In to my knees and fell down with heavy pack on my back.

Floundered out in nasty shape. Found small stream flowing N.W.

toward our big water. I caught about thirty trout, not big, while

Wallace and George brought up outfit and canoe by stream. Very

slow work. All very hungry in P.M. Stopped for pot of soup.

Found it getting dark and stopped to camp. Last meal of venison in

bag. Must get fish. Ate half our trout to-night, boiled and

thickened with flour. Drank last bit of cocoa. No sugar. Boys

not scared. No talk of quitting. Don't just see where we are

coming out.

Tuesday, September 8th.--Cold raw N.W. wind, no rain, partly clear.

Observation noon, 54 degrees l minute 21 seconds. Aired and dried

blankets. Followed stream down to very shoal bay of our big water,

which like the will-o'-wisp has led us on. Only ten trout, mostly

small. Weather too raw. Very depressing to have it so when meat

is out. On to caribou grounds is the watchword. Gave up trouting

and started west on our big lake. Stopped to climb mountain. Ate

some cranberries. Saw a few old caribou tracks. Big mountain to

west of us. Islands or something between, many low, flat, wooded.

Wednesday, September 9th.--BIG DAY. Warm, clear. Temp. 5 A.M. 29

degrees. Ice in cups. Slept without sweater or socks last night.

Cold but slept well. Beautiful cold crisp morning. Up at first

dawn. Inspiring, this good weather. George boiled a little bacon

and rice together, and a little flour made sort of porridge for

breakfast. Very, very good. No fish or game ahead. Went to big

hill mentioned yesterday. George and I walked about 4 miles and

back getting to its top through spruce burnings. Awful walking.

Very tired when about to top. Wondering about next meal and

thinness of soup mostly to blame, I guess. Then things began to

get good. First we ran across a flock of ten ptarmigan. They were

in the burned-over semi-barren of the hill-top. They seem to lack

entirely the instinct to preserve themselves by flying. Only ran

ahead, squatting in apparent terror every few feet. We followed

with our pistols. I killed eight and George one, my last was the

old bird, which for a time kept away from us, running harder than

the rest, trying to hide among the Arctic shrubs. George says they

are always tame on a calm day. Their wings are white, but the rest

is summer's garb. "Not rockers, but the real kind," says George.

Then we went on across the mountain top and looked west. _There

was_ MICHIKAMAU! And that's what made it a BIG DAY. A series of

lake expansions runs east from it. We can see them among flat

drift islands, cedar covered, and a ridge south, and a hill and the

high lands north, and apparently a little river coming from the

north, and pouring into the lake expansions some miles east of

Michikamau. There is one main channel running east and south, in

this expansion. It is north of the waters we are now in, and we

can see no connection. However, there looks as if there might be

one about 5 miles east of our big hill. Behind some barren ridges,

about 50 feet high. So we are making for them to see what we can

find. If no connection, we must portage, but we will not mind a

little portage now, with Michikamau waters just over it. Westward

from our hill are dozens of little lakes, and a good deal of low

burned land. S.E. more lakes. Must be an easy portage from the

lakes on which we were muddled two weeks ago. That's where we

missed it, in not finding that portage.

Thursday, September 10th.--Wind west, cloudy. Temp. 5 A.M. 46

degrees. Rain in evening. Cut legs from old drawers and pulled

them over pants as leggings. Went east looking for opening in N.W.

River. Think we saw it in ridge to northeast, came S.W. Believe

that we saw also opening into Michikamau's Bay which runs out of

lake on S.E. side. Wind delayed, and we only got to foot of

mountain from which we expect to see it. Camped. Rain commenced.

While scouting I shot a large spruce partridge with pistol.

Friday, September 11th.--Raining in morning. Wind southwest.

Temp. 49 degrees. Ate last meal of mother's sweet dried apples.

We are on the verge of success apparently, in sight of Michikamau

from which it is not far to the caribou grounds and the Nascaupees.

Yet we are sick at heart at this long delay and the season's

lateness and our barefoot condition. Yet no one hints at turning

back. We could do so, and catch fish and eat our meal, for we know

the way to within easy walking distance of Grand Lake, but the boys

are game. If we only had a fish net we would be 0.K. My plan is

to get a few fish if possible, push on at once to Michikamau

somehow. Get to the George River, and find the Nascaupees. Then

if the caribou migration is not over, we will kill some of the

animals, dry them up and get as far back as possible before

freezing up and leaving the canoe. Then, unless we can get some

one to show us to the St. Lawrence, we will probably go to

Northwest River Post, get dogs and provisions, and snowshoe S.W. to

Natishquan or some such point. If we don't get to the caribou

grounds in time--well, we'll have to get some fish ahead, or use

our pea meal in a dash for the George River H.B.C. Post. After

breakfast George and I went in rain to climb mountain. No water

into S.W. bay of our lake as we hoped. Trolling back, I caught one

small namaycush. Then we all started to hunt for a rapid we heard

on the south side of this lake. Caught one 2 1/2 lb. namaycush.

Found rapid. Good sized stream falling in from south. Big hopes,

but too shoal and rapid, no pools. Only one mess of trout. Very

much disappointed. While Wallace and I fish, George gone to troll.

When he gets back, we will go to look for inlet into Low's

"Northwest River." Not finding that we will start on a portage for

it in the morning. Later by camp fire. Weather has cleared. All

bright and starry. Caught a 7-lb. namaycush and so we eat to-

night.

Saturday, September 12th.--Temp. 38 degrees. High N.W. wind.

Clouds and clear by spells. Dashes of snow. We camped on a little

island not far from the N.E. main land where we hope inlet is, just

at dusk. Ate big namaycush and were ready to push on early this

morning. Two meals of trout ahead. Awoke this A.M. to find awful

gale stirring the lake to fury. No leaving. Wallace and I stayed

in tent mending. I made pair of moccasins out of a pair of seal

mittens and some old sacking. Patched a pair of socks with duffel.

Not comfortable, but will do. George went to canoe to get fish.

"That's too bad," said he. "What?" I asked. "Somebody's taken the

trout." "Who?" "Don't know. Otter or carcajou, maybe." And sure

enough they were gone--our day's grub. We all laughed--there was

nothing else to do. So we had some thin soup, made with three thin

slices of bacon in a big pot of water and just a bit of flour and

rice stirred in. One felt rather hungrier after eating it, but

then we did not suffer or get weak. It is very disappointing to be

delayed like this; but we can only make the most of it and wait.

No game or fish on this island and no hopes of getting off till it

calms. So we are cheerful, and make the most of a good rest and a

chance to mend; and we need both, though perhaps we need progress

more.

Sunday, September 13th.--Temp. 39 degrees 5 A.M. High N.W. wind in

A.M. Clear, rain, sleet by spells. Heavy wind continued this A.M.

Some more rice and bacon soup for breakfast. Read Philemon aloud

and told story of it. Also 1st and 91st Psalm. Found blue

berries, and all ate. At about one o'clock, wind dropped somewhat.

We started to hunt outlet into N.W. River, supposed to be N.E. of

island. N.G. Shot at goose--missed. Hooked big namaycush--lost

it. Caught another 6 lbs. Ate it for lunch about 4 P.M. Picked

gallon of cranberries. Ate a pot stewed with a little flour for

supper. Enough for two meals left. Not very satisfactory, but

lots better than nothing. Sat long by camp fire.

Monday, September 14th.--Temp. 40 degrees 5 A.M. High N.W. wind,

clear and showers by spells. Very much disappointed to find heavy

gale blowing. Could not leave shore. Had breakfast of very thin

soup. Then all slept till nearly noon. I dreamed again of being

home. Hungry all day. George and I have decided that we must not

start this way home before freezing up time. Might get caught

again by bad winds. Better freeze on the George River with the

Indians, save grub if we get any, and then snowshoe clear out.

Later by camp fire. Hard to keep off depression to-night. Wind

continues and all hungry.

Tuesday, September 15th.--Temp. 31 degrees 5 A.M. West wind, spits

of sleet, and fair. Wind continued hard all day. Could not leave

shore. I lay awake all last night thinking over situation. George

is worried and talks of Indians who starve. Tries to be cheerful

but finds it hard. Here we are, wind bound, long way from

Michikamau, no hopes of wind abating. The caribou migration is due

to begin, yet we can't start and are at least two weeks from their

grounds, with no grub and no prospect of good weather. Our grub is

18 lbs. pea meal, to be held for emergency, and 2 lbs. of flour, 1

pint rice, 3 lbs. bacon. To go on is certain failure to reach the

caribou killing, and probable starvation. If we turn back we must

stop and get grub, then cross our long portage, then hunt more

grub, and finally freeze up preparatory to a sled dash for

Northwest River. That will make us late for boat, but we can

snowshoe to the St. Lawrence. All this, with what we have done so

far, will make a bully story. I don't see anything better to do.

I asked Wallace. He opposed and then said it was best. I said to

George, "Would you rather go on or turn back?" "I came to go with

you, and I want to do what you do." When I said we will turn back

he was very greatly pleased. Now my job is to get the party back

to Northwest River, getting grub as we go. We will take the back

track to some good fishing grounds, catch fish, try to kill a

caribou, and wait for freeze. We can't take the canoe down the

Nascaupee. Hence the need of freezing. Stayed in camp all day.

Could not launch canoe. No place to fish or hunt. Feel better now

that the decision is made. Ate very thin rice and bacon soup and

drank tea. Long chat with Wallace. Feeling good in spite of short

grub. George is telling again how be will visit his sister at

Flying Post and what be will eat. We are talking of plans for our

home-going, and are happy despite impending hunger.

Wednesday, September 16th.--Temp. 29 degrees 6 A.M. Wind N.W.

Shifting to N.E. Little rain. Moved to rapid on south shore where

there is some trout fishing, and hard place to be wind bound. Must

fish a few days and get grub ahead for our long portage back to

Namaycush Lake. Ate last bit of bacon at noon, cut in three pieces

and boiled with rice and a little flour. Boys trolled in P.M. I

made camp and fished brook. Too cold. They lost two good

namaycush. I took two 10-inch trout. Boiled these into a mush and

put last handful of rice and a little flour into pot with them.

Good soup. Made us feel stronger.

Thursday, September 17th.--Temp. 33 degrees 6 A.M. Rained all last

night and all this P.M. For breakfast a whisky jack, stewed with

flour and about two spoonfuls of erbswurst. Good. Wallace and I

each had half a bird. If we get enough fish ahead to take us

across this portage, our pea meal and what fish we can get on river

will see us to the post. Hoping weather will improve so we can

make a good haul. Disheartening in extreme to be working all the

time in rain and wind and cold. I made a map this A.M. of our long

portage--about 30 miles. Will require about seven days. Wallace

and I stretched tarpaulin by fire and sat long beneath it chatting.

Wallace is a great comfort these evenings. There has been no

friction this trip whatever. I think I'll get a bully story out of

it despite our failure to find the Nascaupees. I'll get more in

freezing up, more in Northwest River people and more in the winter

journey to God's country.

Friday, September 18th.--Temp. 38 degrees 6 A.M. S.E. wind,

turning to N.W. gale about noon. Raw and snow by spells. Caught

three namaycush in AM., then wind bound by fierce N.W. gale at

camp. Wallace caught 2 1/2 lbs. trout. I caught 1 lb. Namaycush

heads and guts and my trout for supper. Boiled with last of flour.

Hungry and a bit weak, but all cheerful. Sat late by roaring camp

fire. Very depressing this, getting wind bound so often just when

we are trying to get fish ahead for our long portage towards home.

Have thought a good deal about home. It seems to me I'll never be

willing to leave it again. I don't believe I'll want any more

trips too hard for M. to share. Her companionship and our home

life are better than a great trip. So it seems to me.

Saturday, September 19th.--Rain and snow last night, temp. 32

degrees. Gale from northwest all day. Wind bound in camp all day.

Lay in tent almost all the time. Spits of snow. No breakfast.

Bit of fish and its liquor for lunch. Same with a dash of pea meal

at night. Oh! to be away from this lake and its gales and to be

started home! Last night we quit rolling in blankets and made bed

to keep warm. All three crawled in. Warmer than other way. Quite

comfortable all night. Plan a great deal for the future. I am

planning to give more time to home. Less fretting and more home

life. I've let my ambitions worry me. More time for my meals when

I get home and more for my wife and our friends. I want to give

one or two little dinners in the woods when we get back and while

George is there. A turkey roast like a goose. Stuffed. Potatoes,

bannocks, made while the turkey is roasting, one of George's

puddings, coffee and maple cream.

Sunday, September 20th.--Temp. 6 A.M. 29 degrees. Morning bright

and clear. Light N.W. wind. Showers in P.M. Squally. To-night

we are starting for Northwest River Post. When we reach the big

river we can I think nearly live on the fish we get there. From

there too, there are more signs of caribou. About four days more

and we ought to reach a remnant of flour we threw away. It was wet

and lumpy, but we will welcome it now. It, if it is usable, will

see us to the head of Grand Lake, where Skipper Blake has a cache,

I think, in a winter hunting shanty. It promises to be a hungry

trip, but it is a man's game. Now that we are starting home I am

content with the trip and the material. We've done all we could.

Our minds turn to home even more and we are anxious to be back. So

hungry to see all the old friends.

Tuesday, September 22nd.--Temp. 38 degrees. N.W. wind. Rain in

morning and by spells all day. All feel stronger today than

yesterday. Tried to stalk goose in bad swamp. Missed at long

range. Waded above knees in mud and water to get shot. Portaged

all day mostly through low or swampy ground. Happy to be going

home. Camped tonight on second old camping-ground. George and

Wallace brought up outfit while I made camp and got wood.

Wednesday, September 23rd.--Rain by spells. W. wind. Clear in

evening and cold. Portaged all day. Crossed barren ridge. Had

big feed of moss-berries and cranberries. Wallace had apparent tea

sickness and vomited. Erbswurst same as yesterday. Feel quite

weak to-night. Had carried canoe a good deal. A good deal

depressed till camp fire. Then good again. Bright, crisp night.

Dried clothing and got warm. Talked long by fire of home.

Blankets very damp. Hard time keeping warm at night.

Thursday, September 24th.--Temp. 28 degrees. N.E. wind. Snowing

in morning. Quite cold last night, but clear and crisp till toward

morning when it snowed. Blankets very damp, but by drying clothes

at fire and getting good and warm, we slept warm and well. Dreamed

M. and I were at Missanabie. How I do wish I could see her again

at home. Thinking too much maybe, about home now. Makes too big

contrast. Snow covered ground by noon. Disagreeable morning, but

a little crisp wintriness helped it some. Plodded along on a pea

soup breakfast, wondering what the outcome will be--a little.

Nasty weather makes one wonder--and thinking of M. and home. Then

came a happy event. George had said last night be could kill a

wild goose this A.M. if I would let him take rifle. Did so, half

convinced by his confidence, and knowing he was a big goose shooter

down on "The Bay." He had started ahead. Had seen flock light in

pond ahead. Wallace and I heard four shots. Came to where George

had left pack. He was coming with no goose. "You can kick me,"

said he, "but I got a goose." We took canoe to his pond. He had

killed one goose, which was drifting ashore, and wounded another,

which sat on shore and let George end it with a pistol. Never was

goose more gladly received I'll venture. I promised George two

cook-books and a dinner as a reward.

Friday, September 25th.--Temp. 28 degrees. Wind N.E. Snow

squalls. Half goose breakfast. Pea soup, thin, for dinner. Half

goose, supper. Goose is bully. When done eating we burn the bones

and chew them. Nasty day. Portaged to old camp on small lake and

stopped. All day I have been thinking about childhood things and

the country. I want to get into touch with it again. I want to go

to Canada, if possible, for Christmas. I want to go somewhere in

sugar making. So homesick for my sweetheart. Fairly strong

despite short grub.

Saturday, September 26th.--Temp. 28 degrees. Wind N.E. Rain in

early morning, cold wind, warming in late P.M. Clear at mid-day.

Dried blankets. Travelled over our old course to our "long-lake-

that-looks-like-a-river." Shot a large duck's head off with rifle.

Had hopes of a few fish at place where we found them spawning on

our westward way, but was fearful of the cold. Left George cooking

and went to try with Wallace's rod, not over hopeful, as water was

very high and weather cold. Delighted to catch twenty very fair

ones while lunch was cooking. In P.M. took ninety-five more.

Estimated weight of catch 70 pounds. We will stay here to-morrow

and dry fish for journey. This is a wonderful relief. It means

enough fish to put us through to our big lake, or nearly so. We

had no hopes of such a catch, and would have been delighted with

just a meal or two. Then it means, I hope, that we will find the

trout biting at other spawning places, and catch enough to live on

in spite of the cold weather. We are happier than for weeks before

for we believe this almost guarantees our safe return home. Rain

drove us from our camp fire just after George had declared, "Now

we'll talk about French toast, and what we'll eat when we get to

New York." So we all crawled into blankets and did plan and plan

good dinners.

Sunday, September 27th.--Warm day, partly clear, wind S.W. Ate

last of goose for breakfast. Bully.

Monday, September 28th.--Snow and clear by spells. Stayed in camp

to rest and feed up. Were all weak as cats when we relaxed from

the grub strain. We kept smoke going under stage and lay in tent

most of day. Boiled fish for breakfast, roast smoked fish for

other meals. Like them rather better the latter way.

Tuesday, September 29th.--Temp. 24 degrees. Snow by squalls all

day. Wind W. Caught twelve good trout while boys were breaking

camp. Diarrhoea, which attacked me yesterday, came back when I

started to carry the canoe. Had to drop it and became very weak.

Boys went on with it about 1 1/4 miles and came back. We camped on

long lake. I huddled by fire and wrote when it was not snowing.

We can catch up to our schedule if I am able to travel to-morrow

for it is only an easy march, covered in less than a day before.

All talking about home, all happy to be going there.

Wednesday, September 30th.--Boys carried canoe nearly to Pike Lake,

while I made camp and went back and forth three times to bring up

packs. Then a happy camp nearer home. To-night we planned, in

case we have a long wait in St. John's to get rooms for light

housekeeping and not go to hotel. Then we can cook what we want

and need and live high--beef bones for caribou, cereals with real

cream, rich muscle-making stews of rice, beef, etc., tomatoes, etc.

Thursday, October 1st.--Temp. 40 degrees. Crossed to Pike Lake

this A.M. Lunch on west side, last of fish. Nothing now left but

pea meal. Crossed lake, no trail on east side, hoping to get trout

where I took a mess in outlet coming up. Not a nibble. Too cold

or something. Camped in lee of trees. Boys had feed of blue

berries while I fished. Ate half stick of erbswurst. Good camp-

fire, but I rather blue and no one talkative. So hungry for home--

and fish.

Friday, October 2nd.--Cold west wind. Temp. 30 degrees. Cold--

snowed a bit in the evening. Took packs early in day and hurried

across to tamarack pole fishing place. Only two trout before noon.

Ate them with pea meal and boys went back for the canoe. Only two

days, and easy ones, to our big lake. Then only two days to the

river with its good fishing. That makes us feel good. It means a

good piece nearer home.

Saturday, October 3rd.--Bright crisp morning. Temp. 21 degrees.

Snow squalls. Left tamarack pole place and portaged south over old

route, crossing lakes, etc., to our camp of 29th August, on little

pond. Wet feet and cold, but not a bad day. I lugged all the

packs and boys canoe. Beautiful moon and clear night. All sat

late by camp fire talking and thinking of home. Pleased to have

another fair march back of us--happy.

Sunday, October 4th.--Temp. 10 degrees. Bright clear cold A.M.

Everything frozen in morning. Pond frozen over. Two trout left.

One for breakfast, boiled with erbswurst. Portaged to lake about

three-quarter mile away. Crossed it. Some ice to annoy. George

borrowed Wallace's pistol saying he saw a partridge. He killed

four. Lord's with us. We need 'em bad. I'm weak and nervous.

Must have vacation. Wallace notices it. Have not taken bath for

two weeks, ashamed of my ribs which stick out like skeletons.

Monday, October 5th.--Temp. 30 degrees. Wind S.E. Snow on the

ground. Up late. Waited Wallace to mend moccasins. Late start.

Crossed bad swamp to big lake, wading icy water. Dried feet and

drank cup soup. Stopped island in P.M. to get berries. All talk

much of home now. At camp fire George told me of his plans to get

married and his love story.

Tuesday, October 6th.--Temp. 48 degrees. Rain and snow in A.M.

George shot partridge before breakfast. Rained most of night.

Started expecting to portage to lake first west of Height of Land.

Got into rough sea, exciting time. Found river of considerable

size emptying into that lake. Ran into it and prepared to finish

in the morning. George and I ran on rock shooting rapid.

Beautiful night--cold. Feel all cold.

Wednesday, October 7th.--Thermometer out of order. Heavy frost.

Ran down river into lake, west of barren mountain, climbed to scout

on day after entering lake W. of Height of Land. Stopped and fed

well on our moss berries and cranberries. Took some along.

Started Height of Land portage. Happy to be back. Very thin pea

soup breakfast. Some with berries for lunch. Weak.

Thursday, October 8th.--Thermometer N.G. Very frosty. Dreamed

last night we were going out of bush, very weak and hungry. Came

to our old Michigan Farm and found mother. Wonder where mother is

now. Do want a vacation at home or in Canada. May be won't need

it after ride on steamer. Finished Height of Land portage and came

on to place where we dried caribou (second time), at head of

Ptarmigan Lake. I caught four fish, small trout, while Wallace was

going back for rifle, which he had left at far end of small lake.

Wallace came back with partridge. This delayed us and we did not

reach good fishing rapid. Hoped to get trout there. Did catch a

few before--failed to-night. Bright crisp day too. George very

blue in consequence. Wallace and I not worried. Pea meal down to

less than two pounds. No other food save tea. Thinking much of

home and M., and our plans and old friends. I want to keep better

in touch with relatives everywhere and the country. How I wish for

that vacation in Michigan or Canada! or a good quiet time at

Congers, and I am aching to write home sketches and stories that

have come to my mind. We talk much of future plans, and the camp

fire continues to be a glorious meeting place.

Friday, October 9th.--Reached good fishing hole at rapid where we

caught so many trout on way up. Got about fifty in P.M. Glorious,

crisp fall day. Dried blankets. Fifteen trout lunch; twelve

supper; then six roast before bedtime. Disappointing. Hoped for

some to dry. Only one day's slim fish ahead--one and a half pounds

pea meal. No hopes of getting ahead fish to freeze up. Must get

out to civilisation. Pretty weak all of us.

Saturday, October 10th.--From rapid about half way to Camp Caribou.

Boys shot rapids while I fished. Beautiful day till about noon.

Then cloudy and cold west wind. Cheerful camp fire as always.

About twenty trout, nine boiled for supper. Same for lunch. Much

talk of grub and restaurants, and our home going, much of George's

room in New York, of good days in Congers. I want to go to

Michigan and Canada and to Wurtsboro'. Oh, to see my sweetheart

and be home again!

Sunday, October 11th.--Beautiful, clear day, cold. Off day for

grub. George shot three times at ducks and I fished at rapids. No

fish--no ducks. Nine small trout breakfast, eight lunch. No

supper ahead save what George hoped to find at Camp Caribou.

Arrived there tired and weak about an hour before sunset. George

gathered bones and two hoofs. Pounded part of them up. Maggots on

hoofs. We did not mind. Boiled two kettlefuls of hoofs and bones.

Made a good greasy broth. We had three cupfuls each and sat about

gnawing bones. Got a good deal of gristle from the bones, and some

tough hide and gristly stuff from hoofs. I enjoyed it and felt

like a square meal. Ate long, as it is a slow tough job. Saved

the bones to boil over.

Monday, October 12th.--Made about 9 miles to-day. Several bad

rapids. Shot them. George and I nearly came to grief in one. My

fault. Beautiful day. Fished a little, but no fish bit. Hope to

leave stream to-morrow, and that makes us happy. For breakfast

bones of caribou boiled to make greasy broth. Quite supply of

grease in it. Hoofs too boiled. Some gristle to these that was

good. Strong, rancid taste, but we relished it. Roasted hard part

of hoofs in fire, ate them. Half rubber, half leather, but heap

better than nothing. For lunch the same with skin from velvet

horns added. Latter boiled up and was very good. At night some

bones boiled to make broth, skin from head added. Part of mine I

could eat boiled. Part from nose very thick and had to be roasted

first. Good. Sat by camp fire long time. Very sleepy. Talked of

home and friends and grub and plans.

Tuesday, October 13th.--Lightened our packs a bit, throwing away

more or less useless stuff at old shack, where we had a rainy

night. Pot of tea at Rainy Sunday Camp. All very hungry and weak.

Camped below Rainy Sunday Camp. Tried wenastica, not bad. Not

much taste to it. Thinking all time of home and M. and parents and

Congers and Wurtsboro' and childhood and country.

Wednesday, October 14th.--Caribou bones, boiled into broth for

breakfast. Then George shot a duck. Came back. "Lord surely

guided that bullet," said he reverently. He had killed a

wonderfully fat duck. Oh! but it was good and greasy. Made bully

lunch boiled, and good pot of broth. Left river where we entered

it. Left canoe, sextant box, artificial horizon and my fishing-

rod. Packs still too heavy for our strength. Little progress.

Reached old camp where we left lakes for big river. Hoped fish.

No bites. Cold east wind. Big fire. All cheerful. Just bone

broth and a bit of wenastica for supper. Must lighten packs to

limit. Count on bit of flour 22 miles from here. Here George

found two old goose heads and some bones we left. Saved them for

breakfast. All gnawed some charred bones. George found three tiny

slices of bacon in old lard can we left--one each. How good they

were. The scrapings of lard he melted for the broth pot. We have

1 1/6 lbs. pea meal left. No other grub but tea. We think this

will take us to our bit of flour, if it is still left, and Blake

has a cache, we think, at the head of Grand Lake about 24 miles

beyond that. Hope to get out 0.K. Count on berries to help us.

Had some moss berries to-day.

Thursday, October 15th.--Dreamed last night came to New York, found

M. and had my first meal with her. How I hated to find it a dream.

Lightened packs a good deal. Left Wallace's rifle, cartridges,

rod, my cleaning rod, my sextant and 15 films and other things,

cached in bushes at left side of little stream between two lakes.

Wallace hated to leave his rifle, I hated to leave other stuff.

Spent most of forenoon getting ready. Ate for breakfast bit of

skin from old caribou head, boiled with bone broth. At lunch on

Montagnais Lake, same, but skin was from old caribou hide, which we

had carried to mend moccasins. Were almost to our second camp

where we ate first goose, when I got shaky and busted and had to

stop. Wallace came back and got my pack and I walked to camp

unloaded. In P.M. George shot three partridges which jumped up

before us in a swamp. Killed them with my pistol. Made us very

happy. Ate one for supper, OH! how good. In spite of my weakness

I was happy to-night. I remember a similar happiness once after I

went to New York. I got caught in rain, had no car fare, got

soaked, spent last 10 cents for rolls and crullers, then crawled

into bed to get dry and eat, not knowing where the next meal would

come from. Talk of home. George not thinking now of eating of

recent years, but just the things his mother used to make for him

as a child. Same way with Wallace and me, save that I think of

what M. and I have eaten that she made.

Sunday, October 18th.--Alone in camp--junction of Nascaupee and

some other stream--estimated (overestimated I hope) distance above

head of Grand Lake, 33 miles. For two days past we have travelled

down our old trail with light packs. We left a lot of flour wet--

about 11 miles below here, 12 miles (approximately) below that

about a pound of milk powder, 4 miles below that about 4 pounds of

lard. We counted on all 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 Thursday as stated, I busted.

Friday and Saturday it was the same. I saw it was probably useless

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 will

bring a little and come back to me. George will go on to the milk

and lard and to Skipper Blake 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 two

days have been trying ones. I have not written my diary because so

very weak. Day before yesterday 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 an 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 thickened the broth a little. We also

found a can of mustard we had thrown away. 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. Then I took a bite of it and it was

very good. We mixed some in our bone broth and it seemed to

stimulate us. We had a bit of caribou skin in the same pot. It

swelled 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 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 the bones, and it made me stronger--strong to write this. The

boys have only tea and one half pound pea meal (erbswurst). Our

parting was most affecting. I did not feel so bad. George said,

"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 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 believe 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 the rain

is over, thus keeping out wind and saving wood. To-night or to-

morrow perhaps the weather will improve so I can build a fire, eat

the rest of my moccasins and have some 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 indifference. I am sleepy. I think death

from starvation is not so bad. But let no one suppose that I

expect it. I am prepared, that is all. I think the boys will be

able with the Lord's help to save me.

NARRATIVE BY GEORGE ELSON

LAST DAYS TOGETHER

Friday, October 9th.--We got up good and early. Only tea we had,

expecting when we got to our rapid to have something to eat. After

going about 2 miles we came to our old camp where we camped on our

way up where we had a goose that Mr. Hubbard had killed. I also

had killed one. We went ashore to see if we could find some of the

old bones. We gathered all we could find and ate them all.

Mr. Hubbard said, "I often have seen dogs eating bones and thought

it was pretty hard lines for them, but it must be only fun for

them."