was filled with incident and how all were stimulated by the uncertainty
of what lay before us. It is the experience of many that, in recalling
travels of this kind, the pleasant features of the time are remembered
with more distinctness than the trying ones. So in the retrospect of
this journey, many of the incidents, unpleasant at the time, are
softened by time's perspective, while the bright ones stand out in
bolder relief and recur to the memory with pleasure. One awkward
adventure, however, which occurred on the first day on the Mouni Rapids,
I have not yet succeeded in relegating to the realm of forgetfulness.
We were approaching a rocky point, similar to many others we had
encountered, past which the water dashed with angry violence. It was our
custom, on reaching such a place, to first detach the canoe, and then to
shove out the boat obliquely from the still water, to allow her bow to
fairly meet the swifter current. On this occasion, while Montague and I,
facing up-stream, were waiting on the bank above for the signal to
advance, the boat, through some carelessness, was pushed out from the
quiet eddy squarely into the swift water. The full force of the torrent
struck her abeam, and away she swept down-stream like a thing possessed.
Taken unawares, no time was given to throw off the leather straps from
our shoulders, and instantly we were thrown from our feet and dragged
over the rocks into the river by the merciless strength of the flood.
Most fortunately for me, the circular strap slipped over my head as I
was being dragged through the water. Montague's also released itself,
and the runaway sped down-stream a quarter of a mile before stopping. On
clambering up the bank I found Montague stunned and bleeding from a
scalp wound. Aside from some abrasions of the skin, I was none the worse
for the shaking up, and after a brief delay Montague revived, and we
resumed our "tow-path" exercise.
[The climate did not prove as severe as was expected, the
temperature being just low enough to be exhilarating and
bracing. Game and fish were abundant, and two black bears were
killed by the party.]
The declining sun of August 20 beheld our small craft glide into the
smooth waters of Lake Wanakopow. The first view of the lake was
beautiful, and most grateful to our eyes after the long struggle with
the rapids. Even Geoffrey and John, usually indifferent to scenic
effects, could not conceal their admiration as we glided by towering
cliffs and wooded headlands, and beheld at intervals cascades leaping
from the rocks into the lake, their silvery outlines glistening in the
sun and contrasting distinctly with the environment of dark evergreen
foliage. This romantic sheet of water stretches in a northeasterly and
southwesterly direction a distance of about thirty-five miles, and has
an elevation above sea-level, according to my aneroid observations, of
four hundred and sixty-two feet. Low mountains of granite and gneiss
rise on both sides, and the average width of the lake is less than one
mile. A sounding taken near the middle showed a depth of four hundred
and six feet. This narrow elevated basin is probably of glacial origin,
the presence of great numbers of boulders and the rounded appearance of
the hill summits pointing to a period of ice movement.
[They finally reached a point beyond the previously stated
location of the falls, and on August 27 attained the head of
boat navigation in a wide, shallow rapid.]
While at the Northwest River Post we had learned from a reliable Indian
that the old trail, long disused, led from this point on the river to a
chain of lakes on the table-land. By following these lakes and crossing
the intervening "carries," the rapid water which extends for fifteen
miles below the Falls could be circumvented, and the traveller brought
finally to the waters of the Grand River, many miles above the Grand
Falls. Our plan was to follow this old trail for several days, and then
to leave the canoe and strike across country in a direction which we
hoped would bring us again to the river in the vicinity of the Falls.
It was deemed best to follow this circuitous canoe route rather than to
attempt to follow the banks of the river on foot, in which case
everything would have to be carried on our backs through dense forests
for many miles.
After a long search the old trail was found, and, leaving Geoffrey in
charge of the main camp on the river, the other members of the party
took the canoe and a week's provisions, and began the ascent of the
steep path which led up to the edge of the elevated plateau, which here
approaches the river. Making a "carry" of three miles to the north along
the old trail, we reached the first of the chain of lakes, where we
erected a rude shelter and camped for the night. A violent storm arose
during the night, and next day we lost much time in seeking for the
continuation of the trail on the opposite side of the lake. Having been
disused for twenty-seven years, the path, where it came out on the
lake-shore, was distinguished by no "blazes" on the trees, or recent
choppings. This necessitated a careful examination of the shores on all
the lakes, and caused considerable delay.
We were now on the great table-land of the Labrador interior, and,
wishing to get a good outlook, climbed a conspicuous hill near by to
scan the adjacent country. A view truly strange and impressive was
before us. As far as the eye could reach extended an undulating country,
sparsely covered with stunted spruce-trees, among which great
weather-worn rocks gleamed, while on all sides white patches of caribou
moss gave a snowy effect to the scene. A hundred shallow lakes reflected
the fleeting clouds above, their banks lined with boulders, and
presenting a labyrinth of channels and island passages. Low hills arose
at intervals among the bogs and lakes, but the general effect of the
landscape was that of flatness and bleak monotony.
The continuation of the old Nascopie trail remaining invisible, to
escape the discomfort of another rainy night on the plateau we returned
to the shelter of the camp on the river. On August 30 we returned to
Geoffrey Lake, where our patient search for the trail was at last
successful.
Next day we advanced along the trail, which led us over four "carries"
and across five lakes. For convenience of reference, we applied names to
some of these small sheets of water. Thus, the third one of the chain
was designated "Gentian Lake," from finding the closed variety of the
blue gentian growing on its borders. The next day we turned aside from
the dim trail and paddled to the northwestern extremity of the sixth
lake, where we drew the canoe ashore and prepared for the tramp across
country. Arrayed in heavy marching order, and carrying nearly all that
remained of our provisions, we were soon advancing westward on a course
which we hoped would soon bring us to the river in the vicinity of the
Falls. The country we were now passing through was of the most desolate
character, denuded of trees and the surface covered with caribou moss,
Labrador tea plants, blueberry-bushes, and thousands of boulders. By
keeping to the ridges fair progress was made; but when compelled to
leave the higher ground and skirt the borders of the lakes, dense
thickets of alders and willows were encountered, and these greatly
impeded our advance. Language seems inadequate to describe the
desolation of this upland landscape. No living thing was encountered,
and the silence of primordial time reigned supreme.
Just before sunset we went into camp on a hill-side near a large
lake, and soon after, from the top of a high rock, beheld a great
column of mist rising like smoke against the western sky. This we knew
marked the position of the Falls, and, needless to say, our spirits
rose--oblivious of our bleak surroundings--as we contemplated the near
attainment of our journey's end. During the night the thermometer
registered a minimum temperature of forty-one degrees, and we were
treated to a superb display of Northern Lights.
September 2 was a day memorable as marking the date of our arrival at
the Grand Falls. A rough march over the rocks and bogs intervened,
however, before we reached this goal. As we approached the river,
spruce-forests of a heavier growth appeared, and, pressing on through
these, although we could no longer see the overhanging mist, the deep
roar of falling waters was borne to our ears with growing distinctness.
After what seemed an intolerable length of time--so great was our
eagerness--a space of light in the trees ahead made known the presence
of the river. Quickening our steps, we pushed on, and with beating
hearts emerged from the forest near the spot where the river plunged
into the chasm with a deafening roar.
A single glance showed us that we had before us one of the greatest
waterfalls in the world. Standing at the rocky brink of the chasm, a
wild and tumultuous scene lay before us, a scene possessing elements of
sublimity and with details not to be apprehended in the first moments of
wondering contemplation. Far up-stream one beheld the surging, fleecy
waters and tempestuous billows, dashing high their crests of foam, all
forced onward with resistless power towards the steep rock whence they
took their wild leap into the deep pool below. Turning to the very
brink and looking over, we gazed into a world of mists and mighty
reverberations. Here the exquisite colors of the rainbow fascinated the
eye, and majestic sounds of falling waters continued the paean of the
ages. Below and beyond the seething caldron the river appeared, pursuing
its turbulent career, past frowning cliffs and over miles of rapids,
where it heard "no sound save its own dashings." The babel of waters
made conversation a matter of difficulty, and after a mute exchange
of congratulations, we turned our attention to examining the river in
detail above and below the Falls.
A mile above the main leap the river is a noble stream four hundred
yards wide, already flowing at an accelerated speed. Four rapids,
marking successive depressions in the river-bed, intervene between this
point and the Falls. At the first rapid the width of the stream is not
more than one hundred and seventy-five yards, and from thence rapidly
contracts until reaching a point above the escarpment proper, where the
entire column of fleecy water is compressed within rocky banks not more
than fifty yards apart.
Here the effect of resistless power is extremely fine. The maddened
waters, sweeping downward with terrific force, rise in great surging
billows high above the encompassing banks ere they finally hurl
themselves into the gulf below. A great pillar of mist rises from the
spot, and numerous rainbows span the watery abyss, constantly forming
and disappearing amid the clouds of spray. An immense volume of water
precipitates itself over the rocky ledge, and under favorable conditions
the roar of the cataract can be heard for twenty miles. Below the Falls,
the river, turning to the southeast, pursues its maddened career for
twenty-five miles shut in by vertical cliffs of gneissic rock, which
rises in places to a height of four hundred feet. The rocky banks above
and below the Falls are thickly wooded with firs and spruces, among
which the graceful form of the white birch appears in places.
[The Falls were photographed from several points of view, and
carefully measured, the vertical descent proving to be over
three hundred feet, while the chute or rapid at their head
made a farther descent of thirty-two feet.]
The deep, incessant roar of the cataract that night was our lullaby as,
stretched out under a rough "barricade," we glided into that realm of
forgetfulness where even surroundings strange as ours counted as naught.
By the morning light we again viewed the wonders of the place, and
sought for some sign of the presence of bird or animal in the vicinity;
but not a track or the glint of a bird's wing rewarded our quest, and
this avoidance of the place by the wild creatures of the forest seemed
to add a new element of severity to the eternal loneliness of the spot.
The Grand Falls of Labrador, with their grim environment of time-worn,
archaic rocks, are one of the scenic wonders of this Western world, and
if nearer civilization, would be visited by thousands of travellers
every year. They are nearly twice as high as Niagara, and are only
inferior to that marvellous cataract in breadth and volume of water. One
of their most striking characteristics is the astonishing leap into
space which the torrent makes in discharging itself over its rocky
barrier. From the description given of the rapid drop in the river-bed
and concident narrowing of the channel, one can easily understand that
the cumulative energy expended in this final leap of the pent-up waters
is truly titanic.
[Illustration: PARLIAMENT HOUSES, OTTAWA]
If a substratum of softer rock existed here, as at Niagara, a similar
"Cave of the Winds" would enable one to penetrate a considerable
distance beneath the fall. The uniform structure of the rock, however,
prevents any unequal disintegration, and thus the overarching sheet of
water covers a nearly perpendicular wall, the base of which is washed by
the waters of the lower river. In spite of the fact that no creature,
except one with wings, could hope to penetrate this subaqueous chamber,
the place is inhabited, if we are to believe the traditions of the
Labrador Indians. Many years ago, so runs the tale, two Indian
maidens, gathering firewood near the Falls, were enticed to the brink
and drawn over by the evil spirit of the place. During the long years
since then, these unfortunates have been condemned to dwell beneath the
fall and forced to toil daily dressing deer-skins; until now, no longer
young and beautiful, they can be seen betimes through the mist, trailing
their white hair behind them and stretching out shrivelled arms towards
any mortal who ventures to visit the confines of their mystic
dwelling-place.
The Indian name for the Grand Falls--Pat-ses-che-wan--means "The Narrow
Place where the Water Falls." Like the native word Niagara,--"Thunder of
Waters,"--this Indian designation contains a poetic and descriptive
quality which it would be hard to improve.
From the point where the river leaves the plateau and plunges into the
deep pool below the Falls, its course for fifteen miles is through one
of the most remarkable canyons in the world. From the appearance of the
sides of this gorge, and the zigzag line of the river, the indications
are that the stream has slowly forced its way through this rocky chasm,
cutting its way back, foot by foot, from the edge of the plateau to the
present position of the Falls. Recent investigators estimate that a
period of six thousand years was required to form the gorge below
Niagara Falls; or, in other words, that it has taken that time for the
Falls to recede from their former position at Queenstown Heights to
their present location. If it has taken this length of time for the
Niagara Falls to make their way back a distance of seven miles by the
erosive power of the water acting on a soft shale rock supporting a
stratum of limestone, the immensity of time involved by assuming that
the Grand River canyon was formed in the same way is so great that the
mind falters in contemplating it, especially when it is recognized that
the escarpment of the Labrador Falls is of hard gneissic rock. And yet
no other explanation of the origin of this gorge is acceptable, unless,
indeed, we can assume that at some former time a fissure occurred in the
earth's crust as a result of igneous agencies, and that this fissure ran
in a line identical with the present course of the river; in which case
the drainage of the table-land, collecting into the Grand River, would
follow the line of least resistance, and in the course of time excavate
the fissure into the present proportions of the gorge.
LIFE AMONG THE ESQUIMAUX.
WILLIAM EDWARD PARRY.
[The attempt to find a northwest passage from the Atlantic to
the Pacific, by which commerce might make its way round the
continent of North America, occupied the attention of navigators
from the voyage of Henry Hudson, in 1610, to that of McClure, in
1850; the latter proving that such a passage existed, but that
it was impracticable for commerce. Among those engaged in this
enterprise one of the most notable was Captain Parry, from whose
interesting journal of his voyage (1821-25) the following
selection is taken, descriptive of experiences at Gore Bay,
where the ships of the expedition had lain all winter in the
ice.]
On the 2d of April a thin sheet of bay-ice several miles square had
formed on the sea to the eastward and southward, where for two or three
days past there had been a space of open water. This was occasioned more
by the wind remaining very moderate and the neap tides occurring about
this time than from any great degree of cold, the thermometer seldom
falling below -6 deg. or -7 deg. The wind, however, settling in the
southeast to-day, the main body of ice, which had been scarcely visible
in the offing, soon began to move inshore, forcing before it the young
floe and squeezing it up into innumerable hummocks, which presently, being
cemented together by a fresh formation in their interstices, constituted
an example of one of the ways in which these "hummocky floes" are
produced, of which I have before so often had occasion to speak. We were
always glad to see this squeezing process take place while the ice was
still thin enough to admit of it, as it thus became compressed perhaps
into one-fiftieth part of the compass that it would otherwise have
occupied, and of course left so much the more open space upon the
surface of the sea. The temperature of the water at the bottom in eight
fathoms was to-day 28 deg., being the same as that of the surface.
Early in the morning the Esquimaux had been observed in motion at the
huts, and several sledges drawn by dogs and heavily laden went off to
the westward. On going out to the village, we found one-half of the
people had quitted their late habitations, taking with them every
article of their property, and had gone over the ice, we knew not where,
in quest of more abundant food. The wretched appearance which the
interior of the huts now presented baffles all description. In each of
the larger ones some of the apartments were either wholly or in part
deserted, the very snow which composed the beds and fireplaces having
been turned up, so that no article might be left behind. Even the bare
walls, whose original color was scarcely perceptible for black, blood,
and other filth, were not left perfect, large holes having been made
in the sides and roofs for the convenience of handing out the goods
and chattels. The sight of a deserted habitation is at all times
calculated to excite in the mind a sensation of dreariness and
desolation, especially when we have lately seen it filled with cheerful
inhabitants; but the feeling is even heightened rather than diminished
when a small portion of these inhabitants remain behind to endure the
wretchedness which such a scene exhibits. This was now the case at the
village, where, though the remaining tenants of each hut had combined to
occupy one of the apartments, a great part of the bed-places were still
bare, with the wind and drift blowing in through the holes which they
had not yet taken the trouble to stop up. The old man Hikkeeira and his
wife occupied a hut by themselves, without any lamp or a single ounce of
meat belonging to them, while three small skins, on which the former was
lying, were all that they possessed in the way of blankets. Upon the
whole, I never beheld a more miserable spectacle, and it seemed a
charity to hope that a violent and constant cough with which the old man
was afflicted would speedily combine with his age and infirmities to
release him from his present sufferings. Yet in the midst of all this he
was even cheerful, nor was there a gloomy countenance to be seen at the
village.
Almost all the men were out, and some of them had been led so far to sea
upon the floating and detached masses of ice in pursuit of walruses that
Captain Lyon, who observed their situation from the ships, had it in
contemplation, in the course of the evening, to launch one of the small
boats to go to their assistance. They seemed, however, to entertain no
apprehension themselves, from confidence, perhaps, that the southeast
wind might be depended upon for keeping the ice close home upon the
shore. It is certain, notwithstanding, that no degree of precaution, nor
any knowledge of the winds and tides, can render this otherwise than a
most perilous mode of obtaining subsistence; and it was impossible,
therefore, not to admire the fearlessness as well as dexterity with
which the Esquimaux invariably pursued it.
Having distributed some bread-dust among the women, we told old Illumea
and her daughter Togolat that we proposed taking up our lodging in their
hut for the night. It is a remarkable trait in the character of these
people that they all always thank you heartily for this as well as for
eating any of their meat, but both board and lodging may be given to
_them_ without receiving the slightest acknowledgment either in word or
deed. As it was late before the men returned, I asked Togolat to get the
rest of the women to perform some of their games, with the hope of
seeing something that was new. I had scarcely time to make the proposal
when she darted out of the hut and quickly brought every female that was
left at the village, not excepting even the oldest of them, who joined
in the performance with the same alacrity as the rest. I could, however,
only persuade them to go through a tedious song we had often before
heard, which was now indeed somewhat modified by their insisting on our
taking turns in the performance, all which did not fail to create among
them never-ceasing merriment and laughter. Neither their want of food
and fuel, nor the uncertain prospect of obtaining any that night, were
sufficient to deprive these poor creatures of that cheerfulness and good
humor which it seems at all times their peculiar happiness to enjoy.
The night proved very thick with small snow, and as disagreeable and
dangerous for people adrift upon floating ice as can well be imagined.
If the women, however, gave their husbands a thought or spoke of them to
us, it was only to express a very sincere hope that some good news might
shortly arrive of their success. Our singing party had not long been
broken up when it was suddenly announced by one of the children, the
usual heralds on such occasions, that the men had killed something on
the ice. The only two men who were at home instantly scrambled on their
outer jackets, harnessed their dogs, and set off to assist their
companions in bringing home the game, while the women remained for an
hour in anxious suspense as to the extent of their husbands' success. At
length one of the men arrived with the positive intelligence of two
walruses having been taken, and brought with him a portion of these huge
animals as large as he could drag over the snow.
If the women were only cheerful before, they were now absolutely
frantic. A general shout of joy instantly re-echoed through the village;
they ran into each other's huts to communicate the welcome intelligence,
and actually hugged one another in an ecstasy of delight by way of
congratulation. One of them, Arnalooa, a pretty young woman of
nineteen or twenty, knowing that a dog belonging to her husband was
still at the huts, and that there was no man to take him down on the
ice, ran out instantly to perform that office; and, with a hardiness not
to be surpassed by any of the men, returned after two hours' absence,
with her load of walrus-flesh, and without even the hood thrown over her
head to protect her from the inclemency of the weather.