AT INDIAN HOUSE LAKE.
The hollow of the valley, which is filled with that great widening of the
George called Indian House Lake, is a mile in width and about twenty in
length. On either side of the river rise high rolling ridges, dotted with
spruce, willow, and juniper, which grow freely among immense boulders
and masses of rock. The whole of the land surface is seamed with the old
trails of caribou that have pursued their age-long wanderings in this
desolate region.
Tradition gives this place as the spot where, in 1894, an Indian killed
the last recorded specimen of the red or barren-ground bear. The whole
country is covered with the bones of deer; another noticeable fact is
that rarely could one look round the sky without seeing flocks of ravens
in the air. The croak of the raven, the cry of the loon, and the howl of
the wolf are certainly the three characteristic sounds of the interior of
Labrador.
Concerning wolves, I was much interested in trying to discover whether
these animals (which, though seldom seen by daylight, are, as I have
said, very numerous in Labrador) chase or attack the lonely traveller or
hunter, a pastime that, according to report and the illustrated papers,
their cousins of Europe undoubtedly indulge in. Who cannot recall a
picture of a flying droshki and its bearded driver, with the passenger
shooting a revolver over the crook of his arm at the pursuing wolf-pack?
But on the Labrador—near the settlements, at any rate—the wolf bears a
fairly good character in this respect. The only instance that I know of,
when wolves attacked a man, I have on the authority of Bishop Martin
of Nain. A settler had killed some seals on the edge of the ice, and
returned to his home. Later on he went back to bring in the carcases,
taking with him only a spade, as the place was not far from the station.
While he was engaged in shovelling off the snow which had collected on
the bodies of the seals, four wolves came down upon him in a threatening
manner. He was rather helpless, having no gun with him, but he defended
himself by cutting at the neck of one of the animals with his spade.
Then, keeping his face towards them, he held them off with the spade as
he retreated in the direction of the shore and the settlement, which he
reached without mishap. The fact that they meant to attack seems to be
proved by their following him for some distance.
More than ever as I sat beside the camp-fire on the day after our
long-desired arrival at the George River, did I regret the unfortunate
accident to my ankle. The muscles near the tendon had been badly
strained, and I found myself unable to do more than hobble about. Any
attempt to travel over the rocky ranges and through the treacherous
valleys, choked with boulders and moss, appeared to be absolutely out
of the question. Complete rest was my only hope. Yet, although this
presented a very pleasant prospect to my weary limbs as well as to my
ankle, the outlook was not so bright as it might have been, owing to the
fact that we were in the centre of a sterile country, with but four days’
provisions on short rations remaining to us.
[Illustration: Where the Nascaupees clean deerskins.]
[Illustration: Indian House Lake.]
In the morning, it is true, Hardy and Porter had found and fired at a
herd of fourteen deer, but these lost no time in leaving the locality,
for their forms were later seen by all of us against the skyline of
the mighty ridge above Slippery Brook—as we named the torrent by which
we were camped. Having passed to windward of us, we knew only too well
that the deer would put many a league of safety between ourselves and
them, and would follow the herds which had already passed away on their
migration. After lunch, my companions again left the camp, Porter to
gather wood, and Hardy—having been requested, in the words of the old
squaw Nokomis,
“Go, my son, into the forest,
Kill for us a deer with antlers”—
had started away into the vast medley of trees, boulders, and marshes
that hemmed us in on the north. In order to try and do something towards
the general support, I picked up the rod and began to fish the torrent
which roared within twenty yards of the camp. On the previous night Hardy
had taken six trout from this quick water, but when he sallied out among
the mosquitoes at dawn he had failed to get a single rise. I was luckier,
as after a few minutes’ fishing I saw a good-sized trout rise, and before
the numerous mosquitoes drove me to bury my face in a “smudge” (the smoke
of a fire of damp moss and leaves) I had caught him and three of his
fellows. After this, though I tried both fly and spoon, I could catch no
more. Just as I returned from fishing I heard the report of a rifle, and
an hour later Hardy came into camp with the greater part of the meat of a
very small caribou.
Soon—very soon—the kidneys, heart and liver were sizzling in the frying
pan, with three thin concomitant slices of our now most precious bacon.
As we had been a month on rations, and the latter part of it on very
short commons—having, indeed, had but two full meals since leaving Sandy
Camp, and those on the occasion when I had killed the deer—we did full
justice to the meat, and the pan was emptied more than once before pipes
were pulled out, filled, and lighted. Then we held a council.
It was finally decided that Robert Porter should go back over the trail
to bring up a relay of provisions while Hardy and I remained in the
camp, where we were to dry the meat of the caribou. But though we tried
to carry out this programme we were not very successful as regards one
portion of it, for it was necessary that Porter should have a rest before
he started; consequently, by the third day, very little was left of
Hardy’s deer, which, as I have said, was a small one. We were, moreover,
helped in disposing of the meat by foxes and ravens, which found and
took toll of the carcass on the night after it was killed and before
Hardy could reach it the next morning with his packing-strap. The scanty
amount that remained over we dried in a rough and ready fashion upon the
flat rocks by the river, but if we left the meat for a single instant
or ceased waving branches of leafy birch above it, every piece became
black with blow-flies, black-flies, and mosquitoes. While engaged in this
pleasant occupation, we for the first time really understood how and
why it is not good for man to live alone—especially in the Arctic and
sub-Arctic.
[Illustration: Slippery Brook.]
[Illustration: Camp beside Slippery Brook.]
In civilization it is said that a wife does not always add to her
husband’s ease or render his life more supportable, but up on the
Barren-grounds the worst of wives would be better than none. For on the
Labrador, to care for the meat and scare away the flies would certainly
be included in the list of a woman’s duties.
There, among the heathen tribes, if a man’s wife dies—provided he be not
a polygamist, in which case there is less need for hurry—he often marries
again within the week, and even the Christian Eskimo widowers are with
difficulty persuaded by the Moravian missionaries to allow six weeks to
intervene between the death of a first wife and a second wedding.
Certain it is that on the very day when the six weeks have elapsed the
hunter presents himself at the Mission House with a new bride, and asks
that the marriage service may be speedily read.
But to return to the process of meat-drying, which led to this
digression. We dried some pounds, and would have dried more had it not
been that some animal, probably a fox, raided our larder during the
night. We imagined that we had placed it in safety by sinking it in
the water of the torrent, but when we awoke on the morning of the 21st
a great part of it was gone, and as we had practically no flour or
other provision left, the loss was a serious one. A great piece of good
fortune, however, followed close upon it, for on the same evening, while
I was sitting talking to Hardy by the fire as the sun was beginning to
sink, a caribou suddenly appeared on the other side of the torrent.
Seizing my rifle, I had time to get in a shot just before the deer
crossed our wind. It turned out to be a doe, with horns of thirteen
points, and soon we had her carcass cleaned and sunk in a deep pool far
beyond the reach of even the most cunning of foxes.
The next morning Porter got away early, and Hardy and I were left to draw
our belts tight and yet tighter, for we decided that it would be only
common prudence to keep the meat of the last deer as a precaution against
unforeseen eventualities. In the wilderness only a very thin partition
exists between safety and danger, and it has been in consequence of
ignoring this fact until it was too late that many have perished.
Day by day the swelling of my ankle was subsiding; the weather was good
and everything favourable, though the lack of all farinaceous food
affected us considerably at first.
During Porter’s absence, Hardy and I spent most of our time in fishing
and hunting. There were very few trout in Slippery Brook, and without a
canoe it was difficult to fish Indian House Lake; but Hardy succeeded in
taking two fine _namaycush_. These, rather to our surprise, rose in the
fast water of the torrent.
Some two miles to the north of our camp we came across an interesting
geological phenomenon, which was repeated elsewhere along the valley of
the George, though in less marked a manner. This was a beach of clear
gravel, elevated at a height of 700 feet (by aneroid) above the present
level of the lake. The lake from which the George descends northwards
towards Ungava Bay in that succession of terrific rapids and falls so
graphically described by Mrs. Hubbard, is itself a very considerable
height above sea level. This could not therefore be an example of one
of those raised beaches that are so plentiful along the Labrador coast.
Hardy suggested that the explanation of the curious phenomenon might be
the same as that given for the existence of somewhat similar formations
in Scotland, which are known as “The Parallel Roads of Glenroy.”
[Illustration: Hungry Days at Slippery Brook.]
[Illustration: Tracks of Migrating Caribou.]
The theory is that in the past a glacier flowing westward along the line
of the esker ridges, which were a marked feature of our route, fell into
the George Valley and temporarily dammed up the waters of the lake to the
height of the gravel beach, that was left far up on the hill-side when
the flood at length receded. At any rate, whatever cause brought about
the formation of the raised beaches on the George, the fact of their
existence is here mentioned as it may be of interest to those concerned
with the geology of Labrador.
At length Porter returned, bringing with him a pack of a few pounds of
flour and bacon. He had gone and come at the rate of twenty-five miles
a day—a fine performance over such a country. We were at this time very
thin, and more than a little run-down, and therefore decided that we had
better indulge in a couple of days of full rations, even though that
might mean real hunger later. I have always been strongly of the opinion
that men working hard _for a long period_ can overdo the ration-cutting
business, and that the party who start strong and live upon what the Red
Gods send can win out better than the party who never have a full meal,
and eke out a small supply of provisions over endless days. But the party
that eats its food must be composed of men used to every aspect of the
wilderness life, and must be _certain_ of a minimum game supply. It is a
very good rule—I know of none better—to estimate the amount of fish and
game one expects to secure and then divide the expectation by four. If
the answer to that sum is enough to take the party to safety, well and
good; if not, it is common sense to be very careful of the food in hand.
Hardly had Porter arrived—certainly he had not been in camp above two
hours—when a tremendous storm began to blow from the south-east. It clean
blew away our fire, though protected by a break-wind of boulders, and as
it brought one or two trees near by crashing to the ground, we thought
it wiser to cut down those which overhung the camp. Had this gale—one
might in other latitudes call it a tornado—caught Porter upon the bare
and shelterless plateau he would have had a miserable, if memorable
experience.
All night long the wind howled and roared, banishing sleep; then, shortly
before dawn, it shifted and partially carried away our lean-to. We rose
and changed the position of our camp until it was once more back to
wind—a bleak business.
On August 29th we broke the camp by Slippery Brook, which we had occupied
since the 18th, and set out for the southern end of Indian House Lake. My
ankle, though stiff and apt to swell after a long day, did not retard our
speed very much.
All the morning we travelled over the ridges, and it was late in the
afternoon before we reached the level of the lake at a point about
a dozen miles south of our camp. Skirting the shore we found each
promontory set with the remains of the deserted Indian camps from which
this reach of the river takes its name, for it is here that the tribe
of Nascaupee Indians make their annual killing of the deer, which, in
migration, cross the narrows of the lake in immense herds. Their course
is not always the same—if it were, the problem of existence would be
easily solved by the Indian—for in some seasons the migration passes
elsewhere, along some other and perhaps distant route.
As it grew dark we came to an Indian camp which had only recently been
deserted. All about it were scattered the bones and hair of deer, which,
from appearances, seemed to have been killed a month or so previously.
The Indians had departed, it being the season when they make their summer
journey to the coast.
It was with great interest that we examined the deserted camp and the
various devices for dressing skins, and while Hardy and I were doing this
Porter went on over a hill to prospect. As he crossed the brow of the
ridge an eagle rose suddenly, and, going to the place, he found that it
had killed and partly eaten a young black fox. The month being August,
of course the skin was worthless, but, had it been December, the skin
of this fox, small as it was, would have been worth some hundreds of
dollars. Poor Porter!
When Porter returned it was growing late, and we went up from the
deserted Indian camp into the twilight of the woods, where, as it was
bitterly cold, we made a large fire, by the light of which we set up our
camp.
Later, we took stock of our provisions, and it was almost a shock to
discover the diminished amount our hunger had left to us. There was a
single full meal of caribou venison, with two or three small pieces,
which we meant to keep over. This shortage did not prevent our enjoying
a fair supper of meat and flour, as that night was the last we should
spend in the timber, for, owing to the provisions being at so low an
ebb, we had determined to set out in the morning upon the march back to
the coast. Therefore, the next dinner time would find us once more upon
the bare plateau, where we could hope for no fuel more adequate than the
leaves and stems of the dwarf birch. So the motto was _carpe diem_, which
we fully carried out, and afterwards sat long by the camp-fire smoking
and discussing the journey that lay before us.
Before very long, however, the talk, as usual, veered round to the
all-important topic of food. How well one knows those conversations of
hungry men! Lead the talk where you will, back it turns, like a magnet to
the Pole, to the various dishes one would order were one in such-and-such
a restaurant. Nearly all one’s desires are towards plenty of fat, plenty
of sweet, and plenty of rather heavy, solid bread: true hunger abhors
kickshaws and seasonings! Fat mutton, strawberry jam, bread and baked
potatoes—that is the meal which tempts a man when he is really hungry!
From time to time I have known hunger, and, as a matter of personal
experience, I have found that the desire of eating reaches its height
before one begins to starve. Starvation, indeed, like other disagreeable
things, is painful, and it is impossible to feel as hungry when one is
suffering spasms of pain and emptiness as in the earlier stages, when the
only feeling is the intense craving for food.
On this night, however, after the first comfort of our dinner had passed
off, we were just in the mood to discuss what we would eat an we had it.
It was late when at last we rolled ourselves in our blankets and turned
in.