The day following no one was astir early. I think no one slept much. I could hear from the other tent the low hum of the men's voices far into the night. Mosquitoes kept me awake. About 2 A.M. I got up, lighted my candle, and killed all I could find, and after that I had a little peace, but did not sleep much. It was then growing light.
There was a general limpness to be observed in camp that morning, aggravated by a steady downpour of rain; but before noon it cleared, and the men took all but the camp stuff forward. We had supper late to avoid the flies, the still night gathering round us as we ate. Rising close above was the dark mass of Lookout Mountain, the lake at its foot stretching away into the gloom, reflecting dimly the tinge of sunset light in the sky above. By the camp fire, after our meal, the men sat telling each other stories till Job and Joe broke the little circle and went to their tent. Then floating out on the solemn, evening silence came the sound of hymns sung in Indian to old, familiar tunes, and last the "Paddling Song." With what an intense love the one who was "gone away" had loved it all. I could not help wondering if sometimes he wished to be with me. It seemed as if he must.
On Sunday morning it rained, but cleared before noon, and at 11.30 A.M. we were on the river. That afternoon and the day following we passed the most picturesque part of the river. There were Maid Marion Falls, where the river drops fifty feet into a narrow gorge cut out of the gneiss and schists of the Laurentian rock over which it flows; Gertrude Falls, a direct drop of sixty feet, which for dignity and beauty is unsurpassed by any feature of the Nascaupee; and Isabella Falls, a system of falls and rapids and chutes extending for more than a mile, where the water poured over ledges, flowed in a foaming, roaring torrent round little rocky islands, or rushed madly down a chute. About half-way up there was an abrupt, right angle bend in the river, and, standing at the bend looking northward, you could see through the screen of spruce on the islands, high above you and half a mile away, the beginning of the river's wild mile race, as it took the first flying leap out over a wall of rocks.
The rock colouring was a deep red brown, and in some places almost purple. The perpendicular surfaces were patched with close lying grey-green moss, and in places with a variety almost the colour of vermilion. The country was not burned over, and everywhere the beautiful reindeer moss grew luxuriantly, setting off in fine contrast the tall spruces, with occasional balsams growing among them.
A mile and a half of very rough portaging brought us at 3 P.M. to the head of the falls, and there we found ourselves on a lake at last. Perhaps few will understand how fine the long stretch of smooth water seemed to us. That day the portaging had been very rough, the way lying over a bed of great, moss-covered boulders that were terribly slippery. The perspiration dripped from the men's faces as they carried, for it was very hot. The big Labrador bulldogs (flies as large as wasps) were out in force that day, as well as the tiny sandflies. One thing we had to be thankful for, was that there were no mosquitoes. The men told me that there are never many where the bulldogs are plentiful, as these big fellows eat the mosquitoes. I did not see them doing it, but certain it is that when they were about in large numbers there were very few mosquitoes. They bit hard, and made the blood run. They were so big and such noisy creatures that their horrible buzzing sent the cold chills chasing over me whenever they made an attack. Still they were not so bad as mosquitoes.
And now we were afloat again on beautiful smooth water. The lake stretched away to the southwest six and a half miles. We camped that evening on a rocky ridge stretching out in serpent-like form from the west shore of the lake above. The ridge was not more than fifty feet wide, but it was one mile long. The rocks were grown over with moss, and the willows and a few evergreens added their touch of beauty. These long narrow points were a characteristic feature of the lakes of the upper plateau. In this and the lakes above, through which we passed the day following, there were many small, rocky islands, some of them willow covered, some wooded. The shores everywhere were wooded, but the difference in size in the trees was now quite marked. They were much smaller than on the river below. The water was clear, and we could see the lake beds strewn with huge boulders, some of them reaching to very near the surface. Here we began to see signs of the Indians again, occasional standing wigwam poles showing among the green woods.
Passing four of these lakes, we came to where the river flows in from the south down three heavy rapids. On the west side of its entrance to the lake we found the old trail. The blazing was weather worn and old, but the trail was a good one, and had been much used in the days long ago. The portage was little more than a quarter of a mile long, and we put our canoes into the water again in a tiny bay above the islands.
While the men took their loads forward I set up my fishing-rod for the first time. Every day I had felt ashamed that it had not been done before, but every day I put it off. I never cared greatly for fishing, much as I had loved to be with my husband on the lakes and streams. Mr. Hubbard could never understand it, for more than any other inanimate thing on earth he loved a fishing-rod, and to whip a trout stream was to him pure delight. As I made a few casts near the foot of the rapid, my heart grew heavier every minute. I almost hated the rod, and soon I took it down feeling that I could never touch it again.
In the bay above the falls we saw a mother duck and her flock of little ones, the first we had seen so far on our trip. In the afternoon we passed up the short reach of river into another lake, the largest we had yet seen, stretching miles away to east and west, we could not tell how far. We could see, the men thought, about ten miles to the east, and twelve to fifteen west. The lake seemed to average about four miles in width. The narrowest part was where we entered it, and on the opposite shore, three miles away, rose a high hill. It seemed as if we might even now be on Michikamau, perhaps shut from the main body of the lake only by the islands. From the hill we should be able to see we thought, and so paddled towards it.
The hill was wooded almost to the top, and above the woods was the barren moss-covered summit. The walking was very rough. It seemed to me as we climbed that I should be stifled with the heat, and the flies, and the effort, but most of all with the thoughts that were crowding my mind. Instead of being only glad that we were nearing Michikamau I had been growing more and more to dread the moment when I should first look out over its broad waters. Sometimes I felt that I could never go on to the top—but I did.
The panorama of mountain, and lake, and island was very impressive. For miles in every direction were the lakes. Countless wooded islands, large and small, dotted their surfaces, and westward, beyond the confusion of islands and water around us, lay the great shining Michikamau. Still we could see no open way to reach it. Lying along its eastern shore a low ridge stretched away northward, and east of this again the lakes. We thought this might perhaps be the Indian inland route to George River, which Mr. Low speaks of in his report on the survey of Michikamau. Far away in the north were the hills with their snow patches, which we had seen from Lookout Mountain. Turning to the east we could trace the course of the Nascaupee to where we had entered it on Sunday. We could see Lookout Mountain, and away beyond it the irregular tops of the hills we had come through from a little west of Seal Lake. In the south, great rugged hills stood out west towards Michikamau. North and south of the hill we were on were big waters. The one to the south we hoped would lead us out to Michikamau. It emptied into the lake we had just crossed in a broad shallow rapid at the foot of our hill, one and a half miles to the west.
George showed me, only a few miles from where we were standing, Mount Hubbard, from which Mr. Hubbard and he had seen Michikamau; Windbound Lake and the lakes through which they had hoped to find their way to the great lake; the dip in the hills to the east through which they had passed on their long portage. He pointed out to me a little dark line on the brow of the hill where the bushes were in which they had shot the rabbit, and on the eastern slope another dark shadow showing where they had shot the ptarmigan.
So much of life and its pain can crowd into a few minutes. The whole desperate picture stood out with dread vividness. Yet I had wished very much to see what he had shown me.
At the rapid we were but a few minutes poling up to the big water south. Then after two miles of paddling, still southward, we rounded a point and looked westward straight into Michikamau and the sun. It was 5.52 P.M.
When the exclamations of delight had subsided Gilbert asked: "Do we have rice pudding for supper to-night, Mrs. Hubbard?"
That evening we camped in an island flower-garden.
It was the sun that did it, or else it was a scheme on the part ofGeorge and Job to work in an extra pudding. However that may havebeen, we found ourselves on Wednesday morning not yet on LakeMichikamau, and we did not reach it until 5.15 P.M. that day.
We started, expecting to paddle straight away west into the great lake. As we glided out on what proved to be, after all, another lake instead of an arm of Michikamau, we saw that land, not water, stretched across the western horizon. South from our island camp the shore of the lake was a low ridge sloping to the water in three distinct terraces, moss-covered and smooth as a carefully kept lawn, with here and there a clump of stunted fir trees. Four miles to the west the ridge terminated in a low point.
As we crossed the lake Job remarked that there was some current here. On nearing the point we were startled by a sudden exclamation from him. He had caught sight of a freshly cut chip on the water. We stopped, and the chip was picked up. The two canoes drew together, when it was examined closely, and an animated discussion in Indian went on. It was all interesting to watch, and a revelation to me to see an ordinary little chip create so much excitement. How much a seeming trifle may mean to the "Children of the Bush," or for that matter to any other "children," who see the meaning of things. I could not tell of course what they were saying, but I knew that the question was: "Who, beside ourselves, is in this deep wilderness?" The conclusion reached was that the wind had brought it here in the night from our own camp.
Passing the point the canoe again stopped some distance beyond it, and another brisk conversation ensued. I learned they had discovered a current coming from the south, and we turned to meet it. Following it up, one mile south and one mile west, we came to where the river flows in from the south in a rapid. This was really funny. We had comfortably settled ourselves in the belief that the rapids had all been passed. Job and Gilbert had taken off their "shoe-packs" with the prospect of a good day's paddling, and here were the rapids again. Our course for four miles above this point was up a tortuous, rapid river. It seemed to flow from all points of the compass, and, in almost continuous rapids. They were not rough, but the currents were fearfully swift, and seemed to move in all directions. These are more difficult to understand, and hence more dangerous than many of the rougher rapids.
About 2 P.M. we came out upon a lake. It was not very large, and its upper end was crowded with islands. Four miles from the outlet the lake narrowed, and the water flowed down round the islands with tremendous swiftness. Again it widened, and a mile west from the rapids we landed to climb a hill. Everyone went, and by the time I was half-way up, the men were already at the top jumping round and waving their hats and yelling like demons, or men at a polo match. As I came towards them, Gilbert shouted: "Rice pudding for supper to-night, Mrs. Hubbard." It was not hard to guess what all the demonstration meant. We could not see all the channel from our hill-top, there were so many islands; but it could be seen part of the way and what was most important we could see where it led straight west to Michikamau.
Once more in the canoes our way still led among the islands up the swift flowing water. It was not till 5.15 P.M. that we at last reached the point where the Nascaupee River first receives the waters of the great lake. Paddling against a rather strong head wind we continued westward near a long island, landing shortly before 7 P.M. on its outer shore to make our first camp on Lake Michikamau.
It was a beautiful place, and had evidently been a favourite with the Indians. There were the remains of many old camps there. Here the flies and mosquitoes were awful. It made me shiver even to feel them creeping over my hands, not to speak of their bites. Nowhere on the whole journey had we found them so thick as they were that night. It was good to escape into the tent.
Next morning I rose early. It was cloudy but calm, and Michikamau was like a pond. How I wondered what fortune would be ours in the voyage on this big water. The canoes seemed so tiny here. I called the men at 6.30 A.M., and at nine we were ready to start. Before leaving, Job blazed two trees at the landing, and in one he placed a big flat stone on which I wrote with a piece of flint Joe brought me,
Underneath it I wrote the names of all the party. Then we embarked and it was "All aboard for George River!" our next objective point.
Our way led among the islands through water which seemed to promise good fishing. We put out the trolls, and waited hopefully to see what might be the prospect for testing the namaycush (great lake trout) of Michikamau for lunch. We had not long to wait. Soon I saw Joe in the other canoe hauling in his line, and a few minutes after there was a tug at mine. I got a nice little one. I had my line out a second time for just a short while when there was a harder tug on it, and I knew I had a big one. We had no gaff, and Job said we had better go ashore to land him. We did, and I was just pulling him up the beach when he gave one mighty leap and was gone. When my line came in I found the heavy wire which held the hooks had been straightened out, and he had gone off with them in his mouth. Joe's fish was a big one, about fifteen pounds, the men thought. Job said mine was bigger.
We had lunch on an island that day. The men boiled the whole of the big fish, except a little that they fried for me. George ate the head boiled, which be says is the best part. It was all delicious. I cleaned my little one carefully, and placing some willow boughs about it, laid it in the shade until we should be starting. Then after all my care we went away and forgot it. On the island we found the whitened antlers and skull of a young caribou stag. Joe cut off one of the points, and I used it after that to wind my trolling line.
During the afternoon there was more wind, and the lake grew rougher. It was fine to see the way the men managed the canoes. Sometimes we seemed almost to lose ourselves in the trough of the big waves, but there was not a dipper of water taken in. There was a head wind and hard paddling for a time, but towards evening it grew calmer, and the lake became very beautiful. In the distance we saw several large masses of floating ice, and lying far away in the west were many islands. The sky above was almost covered with big, soft, silver clouds and as the sun sank gradually towards the horizon the lake was like a great field of light. Once we stopped to listen to the loons calling [Great Northern Divers]. They were somewhere out on the glittering water, and far apart. We could not see them, but there were four, and one wild call answering another rang out into the great silence. It was weird and beautiful beyond words; the big, shining lake with its distant blue islands; the sky with its wonderful clouds and colour; two little canoes so deep in the wilderness, and those wild, reverberant voices coming up from invisible beings away in the "long light" which lay across the water. We listened for a long time, then it ceased.
We camped early that night south of the bay on the farther side of which the hills reached out to the west, narrowing the lake to about seven miles. The bay was between four and five miles wide, and it was too late to risk crossing it that night. George said if it were still calm in the morning they would take just a bite and a cup of tea, and start. We could have breakfast on the other shore.
During the night a north wind sprang up, and though soon calm again the lake was stirred up, and all the rest of the night and the early morning we could hear the waves rolling in on the beach. From dawn the men were out, now and again, to see if it were fit to start, but it was 10 A.M. before we were on the water. On one of the islands where we landed during the morning we found the first "bake-apple" berries. They were as large as the top of my thumb, and reddened a little. Though still hard they already tasted like apples. We lunched on an island near the north shore of the bay. While at our meal the wind changed and was fair for us, so we started, hoping to make the most of it. Crossing through a shallow which separated what had looked like a long point from the hills, we came out to the narrower part of the lake. Here the hills on the east shore were seen to recede from the lake, stretching away a little east of north, while between, the country was flat and boggy. A short distance further on we landed to put up sails. A ptarmigan and her little family were running about among the bushes, and the men gave chase, coming back shortly afterwards with the mother bird and her little ones.
Towards evening we put out our trolls, and I caught one big brook trout, one little namaycush, and a big one a twenty-pounder. This time he did not get away, though I strongly suspect this may have been because Job landed him. We camped late in a swampy place, and while the men put up camp I cleaned my three fish. The big one was so big that I could hardly manage him. I had just opened him up and taken out the inside and was struggling to cut off his head when somehow my hunting-knife touched his spinal cord in a way that made his tail fly up almost into my face. I sprang up with a shriek but suddenly remembered he really must be dead after all, and returned to my task. Presently Job emerged from the bushes to see what was the trouble. He suggested that I had better let him clean the fish, but I declined. Finally I did get the head off, and soon carried my fish to the camp in triumph. The big one was boiled for supper, and, oh! how good it tasted, for all were desperately hungry. The night was clear and cold, and after supper I sat at the camp fire till quite late—reluctant to leave it. Finally it died down, and leaving the glowing embers to burn themselves out, I went to my tent.
We were off early next morning with a fine southwest wind, and were at the head of the lake sooner than we had expected. From here we had to cross almost to the west shore to reach the bay at the north end of the lake. It had grown rough since we left camp, and it did not seem to me that we could get to the point, for it meant running into the wind part of the way. It was an exciting hour's work, and the men were very quiet. There was none of the usual merry chat. Evidently a storm was coming, and unless we could pass that long, rocky point, and win the shelter of the bay beyond, we might be delayed for days. The big waves came rolling up the lake, and as each reached us the bottom of the canoe was tipped towards it a little to prevent its coming over, and George's head turned slightly to see how it was treating his charge. At the same time I could feel my fingers which were just over the edge on the other side run along the top of the water, and now and then it came over and slipped up my sleeve.
It was squally, and anxiously five pairs of eyes watched the sky and the point. It was a relief when the wind dropped a little, but then we could see it had risen again, roughening the water in the distance some minutes before it reached us. As I watched the other canoe slip down the long slope of a big wave I wondered, often, if it would come up again, for it looked as if bound straight for the bottom of the lake. Soon, however, it was on the crest of another wave and ready to dip again. The most exciting part of the experience was watching its motions. The perspective made them seem more remarkable than those of my own, which indeed were startling enough at times.
With glad hearts we felt the wind drop a little as we neared the point. Then, bending to their paddles with all the strength of their strong arms, the men carried the canoes beyond the breakers to where we could turn our backs to the wind, and we slipped into the quiet bay.
We had not reached our haven too soon. Almost immediately the wind rose again, and by noon was blowing so strong that we could have done nothing in any part of Lake Michikamau, not to speak of crossing the upper end in a heavy south wind. Around the point I did not find things look as I expected. It was only a very shallow bay, and where we looked for the islands a long, narrow point of land stretched out from the west shore to the northeast. Flowing round the eastern end of this point was a rapid, some two hundred yards in length, and at the head of this we found a little lake, between two and three miles in length, lying northeast and southwest. All the eastern portion of it was shallow, and it was with considerable difficulty we succeeded in getting the canoes up to the low shore, where we had lunch. I wondered much if this could possibly be Michikamats, which is mapped in, in dotted lines, as a lake twenty-five miles long lying northwest.
In the afternoon my perplexities were cleared up. A small river, coming down from the northwest, flowed in at the east end of the lake. Three-quarters of a mile of poling, dragging, and lifting brought us up to another lake, and this proved to be Lake Michikamats. For half a mile or more at its lower end the lake is narrow and shoal. Its bed is a mass of jagged rocks, many of which rise so near to the surface that it was a work of art to find a way among them. A low point ran out north on our left, and from this point to the eastern shore stretched a long line of boulders rising at intervals from the water. This line marks the edge of the shallows, and beyond it the lake is deep and broad and stretches away northeast for more than eight miles of its length, when it bends to the northwest.
As we entered it we saw that the low range of wooded hills on our left formed the western boundary of the lake, and over the flat wooded shore on the right we could see the tops of big, barren hills of a range stretching northward. These are a continuation of the round-topped hills which border the east shore of Michikamau south of where the lake narrows. For some miles of our journey up northern Michikamau we could see these hills miles back from the low shoreline. Now we seemed to be turning towards them again. Beyond a point one mile and a quarter north from where we entered the lake a deep bay runs in to the east, and here the hills came into plain view though they were still far back from the shore. Their rounded tops were covered with moss, and low down on the sides dark patches showed where the green woods were.
It was a glorious afternoon, and the canoes scudded at racing pace before a heavy south wind. At a point on the east shore, six miles up the lake, I landed to take bearings. Here we found a peculiar mound of rocks along the edge of the water which proved to be characteristic of the whole shoreline of the lake. The rocks had been pushed out by the ice and formed a sort of wall, while over the wall moss and willows grew, with here and there a few stunted evergreens, the whole making an effective screen along the water's edge. Back of this were swamps and bogs with low moss-covered mounds running through them, and grown up with scattered tamarack and spruces. On the west shore the hills reached quite to the wall itself.
Behind this wall, at the point, we found a family of ptarmigan. When we appeared the mother bird tried vainly to hurry her flock away to a place of safety. Her mate flew across to an island a short distance north, leaving her alone to her task, but she and her little ones were all taken. Here the first wolf tracks we had seen on the trip were found.
After some time spent at the point it was time to camp. We crossed to the island, north, and as we landed a white-winged ptarmigan flew back to where had just been enacted one of the endless succession of wilderness tragedies. I wondered if he would not wish he had stayed to share the fate of his little family, and what he would do with himself now. It was a beautiful camping place we found. The Indians had found it too, and evidently had appreciated its beauty. There were the remains of many old camps there, well- worn paths leading from one to the other. It was the first place we had come upon which gave evidence of having been an abiding Place of some permanence. There must have been quite a little community there at one time. The prospect south, west, and north was very beautiful.
My tent was pitched in a charming nook among the spruce trees, and had a carpet of boughs all tipped with fresh green. The moss itself was almost too beautiful to cover; but nothing is quite so nice for carpet as the boughs. We were on a tiny ridge sloping to the south shore of the island, and over the screen of willows and evergreens at the water's edge, the wind came in strong enough to drive away the flies and mosquitoes, and leave one free to enjoy the beauty of the outlook. It was an ideal place to spend Sunday, and with a sigh of relief we settled into our island camp. The week had been a wonderfully interesting one; but it had also been an anxious and trying one in a few ways. I was glad to have passed Michikamau so quickly and easily. I wished it might be our good fortune to see some of the Indians.
Through the night the south wind rose to a gale, and showers of rain fell. On Sunday morning I was up at 7 A.M., and after a nice, lazy bath, luxuriously dressed myself in clean clothes. Then came a little reading from a tiny book that had been in Labrador before, and a good deal of thinking. Just after 9 A.M. I lay down to go to sleep again. I had not realised it before, but I was very tired. My eyes had closed but a moment when rat-a-tat-tat on the mixing pan announced breakfast. Joe had prepared it, and the others came straggling out one by one looking sleepy and happy, enjoying the thought of the day's rest, the more that it was the kind of day to make it impossible to travel. Returning to my tent after the meal I lay down to sleep. My head had no sooner touched the pillow than I was asleep, and did not wake till 1.30 P.M.
I could hear Gil outside preparing lunch, and went out to see how he was getting on. It was the first time he had attempted anything in the cooking line, and he looked anxious. We were to have fried cakes and tea, and Gil was cooking the fried cakes. They were not much to look at, for the wind had coated them well with ashes; but they tasted good, and the youngster looked quite relieved at the way they disappeared when we began to eat.
Michikamats was certainly very picturesque in the gale. The wind had six miles of unbroken sweep, and stirred the lake to wild commotion. Out of shelter I could scarcely stand against it. For a long time I watched two gulls trying to fly into the wind. They were very persistent and made a determined fight, but were at last compelled to give up and drop back to land. I spent nearly the whole afternoon watching the storm, running to cover only while the showers passed.
When we gathered for supper in the evening Job was holding a pot over the fire, and did not move to get his plate and cup with the rest. George gave me my plate of soup, and when I had nearly finished it Job set the pot down beside me, saying gently: "I just set this right here." In the pot were three fried cakes, crisp and hot and brown, exactly as I liked them.
There was much speculation as to what we should find at the head of Lake Michikamats, and I wondered how much scouting there would be to do to find the George River waters. If only we could see the Indians. Time was slipping away all too fast; the last week in August was not far distant, and the George River waters might not be easy to find. The days were becoming increasingly anxious for me. Our caribou meat was nearly gone, and a fresh supply of game would have been very welcome. There would be a chance to put out the nets when we reached the head of the lake, and the scouting had to be done. The nets had not yet touched the water.
In the night the wind veered to the north and a steady rain set in, which was still falling when morning came. All were up late for it was too stormy to travel, and rest still seemed very good. While eating breakfast we heard geese calling not far away, and started on a goose hunt. It did not prove very exciting, nor very fruitful of geese. They were at the head of the bay which ran in east of our island. There were a number of small islands in the bay separated by rock-strewn shallows, and having landed Job and Joe on one of the largest of these, George, Gilbert and I paddled round to the south of the group, and came out in the upper part of the bay. There just over the marsh grass at its head we saw five geese, but they saw us too, and before we could get near them were up and away. On the way back four red-throated loons, two old and two young, and a spruce partridge were taken.
It was nearly noon when we reached camp again, and the men were in the midst of preparing dinner when they caught sight of a big caribou stag swimming across to the point south of us. In such circumstances Job was indescribable. He seemed as if suddenly inspired with the energy of a flying bullet, and moved almost as silently. There was a spring for the canoe, and in much less time than it takes to tell it, the canoe was in the water with Job, Gilbert, and George plying their paddles with all their strength. As had happened before, the splendid creature almost reached the shore when a bullet dropped in front of him, and he turned back. His efforts were now no match for the swift paddle strokes that sent the canoe lightly towards him, and soon a shot from George's rifle ended the struggle. He was towed ashore, bled and gralloched, and brought to camp in the canoe.
Most of the afternoon was spent in cutting up the caribou, and putting it on a stage to dry. While they were busy with their task there came again the sound of the wild goose call. Seizing the rifles, George and Gilbert made off across the island, and soon came back with two young geese, and word that there was another there but too far out in the water for them to get it. Whereupon Job and Joe went off in the canoe, and after a short time came back with a third. This made a pretty good day's hunt. George's record was, one spruce partridge, two young geese, and one caribou.
We had young wild goose for supper that night. I think I never have tasted anything more delicious, and with hot fried cakes it made a supper fit for a king. As we ate the men talked about the calls of the wild birds.
George said: "I do like to hear a wild goose call." Certainly no one who heard him say it would doubt his word. After a little he continued: "There is another bird, too, that the Indians call 'ah- ha-way,' that I used to like so much to listen to when I was a boy. How I used to listen to that bird call. I tell you if you heard that bird call you could just sit and listen and listen. I don't know the English name for it. It is a very small duck, just a very little bird."
Speaking of the loons we had heard calling on Lake Michikamau he said: "You should hear some of the little Indian boys calling the loons. Men's voices are too strong and rough, but some of those little boys, they can do it very well. You will just see the loons come and circle round and round over them when they call."
All day long the rain had fallen steadily. I spent most of it in my tent, but the men had been out the whole day and were soaked. Having done their washing on Sunday they had no dry clothes to put on, and so slept wet that night.
Tuesday morning, August 8th, dawned clear and calm, and Gilbert came forth to light the fire, singing: "Glory, glory, hallelujah! as we go marching along." Yet before the tents were taken down the wind had sprung up from the southwest, and it was with difficulty that the canoes were launched and loaded.
A short distance above our starting-point, we were obliged to run into a sheltered bay, where part of the load was put ashore, and with the canoes thus lightened we crossed to a long, narrow point which reached half-way across from the other side, making an excellent breakwater between the upper and lower parts of the lake. The crossing was accomplished in safety, though it was rough enough to be interesting, and Job and Joe went back for what had been left behind.
The point terminated in a low, pebbly beach, but its banks farther up were ten to twelve feet high, and above it was covered with reindeer moss. Towards the outer end there were thickets of dwarf spruce, and throughout its length scattered trees that had bravely held their heads up in spite of the storms of the dread northern winter. To the south of the point was a beautiful little bay, and at its head a high sand mound which we found to be an Indian burying-place. There were four graves, one large one with three little ones at its foot, each surrounded by a neatly made paling, while a wooden cross, bearing an inscription in Montagnais, was planted at the head of each moss-covered mound. The inscriptions were worn and old except that on one of the little graves. Here the cross was a new one, and the palings freshly made. Some dis- tance out on the point stood a skeleton wigwam carpeted with boughs that were still green, and lying about outside were the fresh cut shavings telling where the Indian had fashioned the new cross and the enclosure about the grave of his little one. Back of this solitary resting-place were the moss-covered hills with their sombre forests, and as we turned from them we looked out over the bay at our feet, the shining waters of the lake, and beyond it to the blue, round-topped hills reaching upward to blend with exquisite harmony into the blue and silver of the great dome that stooped to meet them. Who could doubt that romance and poetry dwell in the heart of the Indian who chose this for the resting- place of his dead.
Walking back along the point we found it cut by caribou trails, and everywhere the moss was torn and trampled in a way that indicated the presence there of many of the animals but a short time since. Yet it did not occur to me that we might possibly be on the outskirts of the march of the migrating caribou. Ptarmigan were there in numbers, and flew up all along our way. We passed a number of old camps, one a large oblong, sixteen feet in length, with two fireplaces in it, each marked by a ring of small rocks, and a doorway at either end. Near where we landed, close in the shelter of a thicket of dwarf spruce, was a deep bed of boughs, still green, where some wandering aboriginal had spent the night without taking time or trouble to erect his wigwam, and who in passing on had set up three poles pointing northward to tell his message to whoever might come after.
The wind continued high, and squalls and heavy showers passed. Nevertheless, when lunch was over we pushed on, keeping close to the west shore of the lake. Little more than a mile further up the men caught sight of deer feeding not far from the water's edge. We landed, and climbing to the top of the rock wall saw a herd of fifteen or more feeding in the swamp. I watched them almost breathless. They were very beautiful, and it was an altogether new and delightful experience to me. Soon they saw us and trotted off into the bush, though without sign of any great alarm. George and Job made off across the swamp to the right to investigate, and not long after returned, their eyes blazing with excitement, to say that there were hundreds of them not far away.
Slipping hurriedly back into the canoes we paddled rapidly and silently to near the edge of the swamp. Beyond it was a barren hill, which from near its foot sloped more gradually to the water. Along the bank, where this lower slope dropped to the swamp, lay a number of stags, with antlers so immense that I wondered how they could possibly carry them. Beyond, the lower slope of the hill seemed to be a solid mass of caribou, while its steeper part was dotted over with many feeding on the luxuriant moss.
Those lying along the bank got up at sight of us, and withdrew towards the great herd in rather leisurely manner, stopping now and then to watch us curiously. When the herd was reached, and the alarm given, the stags lined themselves up in the front rank and stood facing us, with heads high and a rather defiant air. It was a magnificent sight. They were in summer garb of pretty brown, shading to light grey and white on the under parts. The horns were in velvet, and those of the stags seemed as if they must surely weigh down the heads on which they rested. It was a mixed company, for male and female were already herding together. I started towards the herd, kodak in hand, accompanied by George, while the others remained at the shore. The splendid creatures seemed to grow taller as we approached, and when we were within two hundred and fifty yards of them their defiance took definite form, and with determined step they came towards us.
The sight of that advancing army under such leadership, was decidedly impressive, recalling vivid mental pictures made by tales of the stampeding wild cattle in the west. It made one feel like getting back to the canoe, and that is what we did. As we ran towards the other men I noticed a peculiar smile on their faces, which had in it a touch of superiority. I understood in part when I turned, for the caribou had stopped their advance, and were again standing watching us. Now the others started towards the herd. Emboldened by their courage, and thinking that perhaps they held the charm that would make a close approach to the herd possible, I accompanied them. Strange to relate it was but a few minutes till we were all getting back to the canoes, and we did not again attempt to brave their battle front. We and the caribou stood watching each other for some time. Then the caribou began to run from either extreme of the herd, some round the south end of the hill, and the others away to the north, the line of stags still maintaining their position.
After watching them for some time we again entered the canoes. A short paddle carried us round the point beyond which the lake bent to the northwest, and there we saw them swimming across the lake. Three-quarters of a mile out was an island, a barren ridge standing out of the water, and from mainland to island they formed as they swam a broad unbroken bridge; from the farther end of which they poured in steady stream over the hill-top, their flying forms clearly outlined against the sky. How long we watched them I could not say, for I was too excited to take any note of time; but finally the main body had passed.
Yet when we landed above the point from which they had crossed, companies of them, eight, ten, fifteen, twenty in a herd, were to be seen in all directions. When I reached the top of the ridge accompanied by George and Gilbert, Job and Joe were already out on the next hill beyond, and Job was driving one band of a dozen or more toward the water at the foot of the hill, where some had just plunged in to swim across. Eager to secure a photo or two at closer range than any I had yet obtained, I handed George my kodak and started down the hill at a pace which threatened every second to be too fast for my feet, which were not dressed in the most appropriate running wear. However the foot of the hill was reached in safety. There a bog lay across our way. I succeeded in keeping dry for a few steps, then gave it up and splashed through at top speed. We had just hidden ourselves behind a huge boulder to wait for the coming of the herd, when turning round I saw it upon the hill from which we had just come. While exclaiming over my disappointment I was startled by a sound immediately behind me, and turning saw a splendid stag and three does not twenty feet away. They saw us and turned, and I had scarcely caught my breath after the surprise when they were many more than twenty feet away, and there was barely time to snap my shutter on them before they, disappeared over the brow of the hill.
The country was literally alive with the beautiful creatures, and they did not seem to be much frightened. The apparently wanted only to keep what seemed to them a safe distance between us, and would stop to watch us curiously within easy rifle shot. Yet I am glad I can record that not a shot was fired at them. Gilbert was wild, for he had in him the hunter's instinct in fullest measure. The trigger of Job's rifle clicked longingly, but they never forgot that starvation broods over Labrador, and that the animal they longed to shoot might some time save the life of one in just such extremity as that reached by Mr. Hubbard and his party two years before.
The enjoyment of the men showed itself in the kindling eyes and faces luminous with pleasure. All his long wilderness experience had never afforded Job anything to compare with that which this day had brought him. He was like a boy in his abandon of delight, and I am sure that if the caribou had worn tails we should have seen Job running over the hills holding fast to one of them.
Before proceeding farther we re-ascended the hill which we first climbed to take a look at the lake. It could be seen almost from end to end. The lower part which we had passed was clear, but above us the lake was a network of islands and water. The hills on either side seemed to taper off to nothing in the north, and I could see where the land appeared to drop away beyond this northern horizon which looked too near to be natural. North of Michikamats were more smaller lakes, and George showed me our probable route to look for "my river". Squalls and showers had been passing all the afternoon, and as it drew towards evening fragments of rainbow could be seen out on the lake or far away on the hills beyond it. Labrador is a land of rainbows and rainbow colours, and nowhere have I ever seen them so brilliant, so frequent and so variedly manifested. Now the most brilliant one of all appeared close to us, its end resting directly on a rock near the foot of the hill. George never knew before that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I suspect he does not believe it yet for I could not persuade him to run to get it. Gilbert, more credulous, made a determined attempt to secure the treasure, but before he reached the rock the rainbow had moved off and carried the gold to the middle of the lake.
Camp was made a little farther up. When it was ready for the night Job and Joe were again off to watch the caribou. They were feeding on the hills and swimming back and forth from islands to mainland, now in companies, now a single caribou. Job was so near one as he came out of the water that he could have caught him by the horns. Now and then a distant shout told that Job and the caribou had come to close quarters.
While George and Gilbert prepared supper, I sat writing in my diary with feet stretched to the fire, for I was wet and it was cold that night. Suddenly I was startled to hear George exclaim in tragic tones: "Oh! look there! Isn't that too bad!"
Looking up quickly to see what was the trouble I saw him gazing regretfully at a salt shaker which he had just drawn from his pocket.
"Just see," he exclaimed, "what I've been carrying round in my pocket all the time you were running after those caribou, and never thought about it at all. Well, I am sorry for that. I could just have given you a bit and you would have been all right."
For fifty miles of our journey beyond this point we saw companies of the caribou every day, and sometimes many times a day, though we did not again see them in such numbers. The country was a network of their trails, in the woodlands and bogs cut deep into the soft soil, on the barren hillsides broad, dark bands converging to the crossing place at the river.
At the time I made my journey the general movement of the caribou was towards the east; but where they had come from or whither they were going we could not tell. Piles of white hair which we found later at a deserted camp on Cabot Lake where the Indians had dressed the skins, and the band of white hair clinging to the west bank of the George River, opposite our camp of August 15th, four feet above the then water-level, pointed to an earlier occupation of the country, while the deep cut trails and long piles of whitened antlers, found at intervals along the upper George River, all indicated that this country is favourite ground with them. Yet whether they had been continuously in this territory since the spring months or not I did not ascertain. The Indians whom we found at Resolution Lake knew nothing of their presence so near them.
Towards the end of August the following year Mr. Cabot, while on a trip inland from Davis Inlet, on the east coast, found the caribou in numbers along the Height of Land, and when he joined the Indians there, though the great herd had passed, they had killed near a thousand. It would therefore seem not improbable that at the time I made my journey they were bending their steps in the direction of the highlands between the Atlantic and the George.
The movements of the barren ground caribou of Labrador have never been observed in the interior as they have been in the country west of Hudson Bay. So far as I can learn I alone, save the Indians, have witnessed the great migration there; but from such information as I was able to gather later at the coast, their movements appear to be as erratic as those of the caribou of northern Canada. [See Warburton Pike's "Barren Grounds of Northern Canada".]
From Mr. John Ford, the Agent of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post at the mouth of the George River, I learned that they cross in the neighbourbood of the post at different times of the year. He has seen them there in July and August, in October and November, in January, February, and March. They are seen only a few days in the summer time, but in winter stay much longer—sometimes two months. In 1903 they were near the post all through February and March. On one occasion in the summer one of Mr. Ford's Eskimo hunters went to look for caribou, and after walking nearly all day turned home, arriving shortly before midnight, but without having found a trace of deer. The next morning at three o'clock they were running about on the hills at the post in such numbers that without trouble as many could be killed as were desired.
From the George River post they hunt west for the caribou, which are more often found in the vicinity of Whale River post than at either George River or Fort Chimo to the west. For the five years preceding my visit the caribou had crossed regularly in November at Whale River. That is to say they were seen there in great numbers, but no one knew whence they had come, or whither they went. Their coming cannot, however, be counted upon every year.
In September 1889 the whole band of George River Eskimo went for the annual hunt, by which they expect to supply themselves with winter clothing. Day after day they travelled on without finding the deer. When provisions gave out they were so far away from the post that they dared not turn back. One family after another dropped behind. Finally, the last little company gave up, one young man only having the strength to go any farther. He, too, was about to sink down, when at last be came upon the caribou. He went back to help the others, but in spite of their best efforts twenty- one of the band perished from starvation.
That the caribou of Labrador have greatly decreased in numbers seems certain. Mr. Peter M'Kenzie, Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company in the east, who was a fellow-traveller on my return journey, told me that many years ago while in charge of Fort Chimo he had seen the caribou passing steadily for three days just as I saw them on this 8th of August, not in thousands, but hundreds of thousands. The depletion of the great herds of former days is attributed to the unreasoning slaughter of the animals at the time of migration by Indians in the interior and Eskimo of the coast, not only at Ungava, but on the east coast as well, for the caribou sometimes find their way to the Atlantic. The fires also which have swept the country, destroying the moss on which they feed, have had their share in the work of destruction.
Only twice during the journey did we find trace of their enemy—the wolves. These hunt the caribou in packs, cutting out a single deer, and following him till his strength is gone, when they jump on him and pull him down. Mr. M'Kenzie tells how, when on one of his hunting trips at Fort Chimo, a caribou came over the ridge but a short distance from him followed by seven wolves. The animal had almost reached the limit of his strength. He ran with head low and tongue hanging out. From cover of a boulder Mr. M'Kenzie waited for them to pass, and one after another he dropped four of the wolves. The others taking the hint altered their course, and the victim escaped.
The gale continued all night with passing showers, which threatened to riddle the tent with their force, and it was not till ten the following forenoon that we were able to proceed, hugging the shore as we went. Deer were about in all directions, and as we rounded a point near the head of the lake, George, standing in the bow of the canoe, and looking across to the woods beyond the big marsh, which stretched away northward, said: "The wood over there is just moving with them."
Camp was pitched on the point among the spruce and tamarack, preparatory to scouting for George River waters, and lunch over, Job and Joe were off to the task, while George and Gilbert built a stage and put the caribou meat over the fire to smoke and dry again. It was my golden opportunity to air my camp stuff, and bags were emptied and everything spread out in the sunshine and wind. Later my washing, neglected on Sunday on account of the storm, was added to the decorations.
How very much I wanted to go scouting with Job and Joe! Here I expected difficulties in finding the way. The map I carried indicated a number of detached lakes stretching miles northward from Lake Michikamats, and to find among the lakes of this upper plain the one which should prove the source of the George River, promised to be interesting work. Inwardly impatient I waited for the return of the men. Less than two hours later I saw them come down across the marsh to where they had left the canoe. There mounting a huge boulder they sat down to watch the caribou.
This was trying, when I had so eagerly waited for the news they were to bring; but a little reflection convinced me that it meant simply—nothing definite about the George River. Otherwise they would have come immediately to camp. The conclusion proved correct, and when towards evening they came in, the report was— more streams and lakes leading northward up the slope of the plateau. We had not yet reached the real head of the Nascaupee River.
Thursday morning, August 10th, we began our portage across the marsh. Before leaving, the men had a few careless, ineffectual shots at a crow which had alighted near the camp, the first of its kind we had seen on the trip. The marsh was one mile wide from east to west, and reached almost two miles northward from the upper end of the lake. It was cut by many little streams, which, issuing from a tiny lake one mile and a half above camp, wound about among the grassy hummocks of the marsh, collecting half a mile below in a small pond, to break again into innumerable tiny channels leading down to Lake Michikamats.
The pond and streams above gave us some paddling. Then came more portaging to the little lake. Below it lay a stretch of higher ground which was a queer sort of collection of moss-covered hummocks, crisscrossed by caribou trails cut deep into the soft soil. Here cloudberries grew in abundance, and though not yet ripe, they were mature enough to taste almost as good as the green apples I used to indulge in surreptitiously in the days of my youth. They seemed a great treat now, for they were the first fruit found in abundance on the trip, though we had seen a few that were nearly ripe on an island in Lake Michikamau, and on the 8th of August Gilbert had gathered a handful of ripe blueberries on Caribou Hill.
The lake was about one mile long and two hundred yards wide, and was fed by a good-sized stream coming down from the north in continuous rapids. The stream was deep, and the canoes were poled up with all the outfit in them to the lake above, and on a great bed of huge, packed boulders at the side of the stream we halted for lunch. The quest was becoming more and more interesting. When was our climbing to end? When were we really going to find the headwaters of the Nascaupee, and stand at the summit of the plateau? It was thoroughly exciting work this climbing to the top of things.
That afternoon our journey carried us northwest through beautiful Lake Adelaide, where long wooded points and islands cutting off the view ahead, kept me in a constant state of suspense as to what was to come next. About 4 P.M. we reached the northern extremity of the lake, where the way seemed closed; but a little searching discovered a tiny stream coming in from the north and west of this the well marked Indian trail. What a glad and reassuring discovery it was, for it meant that we were on the Indian highway from Lake Michikamau to George River. Perhaps our task would not be so difficult after all.
The portage led north one hundred yards to a little lake one mile long and less than one quarter wide, and here we found ourselves at the very head of the Nascaupee River. There was no inlet to the lake, and north of it lay a bog two hundred yards wide which I knew must be the Height of Land, for beyond it stretched a body of water which had none of the appearance of a still water lake, and I felt sure we should find its waters flowing north.
It was just 5 P.M. when, three hundred miles of my journey into the great, silent wilderness passed, I stepped out of the canoe to stand at last on the summit of the Divide—the first of the white race to trace the Nascaupee River to its source.
I had a strange feeling of being at the summit of the world. The country was flat and very sparsely wooded, but I could not see far. It seemed to fall away on every hand, but especially to north and south. The line of the horizon was unnaturally near, and there was more than the usual realising sense of the great space between the earth and the sky. This was enhanced by the lifting of a far distant hill-top above the line as if in an attempt to look across the Divide.
That morning I had found myself with only a few films left, for the fascination of taking the first photographs of the region traversed had betrayed me into using my material more lavishly than I should; but now I squandered two films in celebration of the achievement, taking one picture looking out over the waters flowing South to Lake Melville and the Atlantic and facing about, but without otherwise changing my position, one over the waters which I felt sure we should find flowing north to Ungava Bay.
In a wonderfully short time the outfit had been portaged across, and we were again in the canoes, the quest now being, not for the inlet but for the outlet of the lake, a much less difficult task. Less than an hour's paddling carried us to the point where the George River, as a tiny stream, steals away from its source in Lake Hubbard, as if trying to hide in its rocky bed among the willows, to grow in force and volume in its three hundred mile journey to Ungava, till at its discharge there it is a great river three miles in width.
Here at its beginning on the boggy margin of the stream we went into camp. Here I saw the sun set and rise again, and as I lay in my tent at dawn, with its wall lifted so that I could look out into the changing red and gold of the eastern sky, I heard a splashing of water near, and looking up saw a little company of caribou cross at the head of the stream and disappear towards the sunrise.
How little I had dreamed when setting out on my journey that it would prove beautiful and of such compelling interest as I had found it. I had not thought of interest—except that of getting the work done—nor of beauty. How could Labrador be beautiful? Weariness and hardship I had looked for, and weariness I had found often and anxiety, which was not yet past in spite of what had been achieved; but of hardship there had been none. Flies and mosquitoes made it uncomfortable sometimes but not to the extent of hardship. And how beautiful it had been, with a strange, wild beauty, the remembrance of which buries itself silently in the deep parts of one's being. In the beginning there had been no response to it in my heart, but gradually in its silent way it had won, and now was like the strength-giving presence of an understanding friend. The long miles which separated me from the world did not make me feel far away—just far enough to be nice—and many times I found myself wishing I need never have to go back again. But the work could not all be done here.
Half the distance across the peninsula had been passed, and now on August 11th we were beginning the descent of the George River. Would the Labrador skies continue to smile kindly upon me? It would be almost if not quite a three hundred mile journey to Ungava, and it might be more. Could we make the post by the last week in August? The men appeared confident; but for me the days which followed held anxious hours, and the nights sleepless ones as I tried to make my decision whether in case it should become evident we could not reach Ungava in time, I should turn back, leaving the work uncompleted, or push on, accepting the consequent long winter journey back across Labrador, or round the coast, and the responsibility of providing for my four guides for perhaps a full year. At least the sun shone on the beginning of the journey, and about nine o'clock, the last pack having gone forward, I set off down the portage below Lake Hubbard, a prayer in my heart that the journey might be swift.
The prayer seemed doomed to remain unanswered at first. Before noon of that day the sun was hidden, and for nearly a week we did not again see his face. Violent storms of wind and rain and snow made progress difficult or impossible, and on August 16th we were camped only thirty miles from the Height of Land.
The upper river proved a succession of lake expansions of varying sizes, their waters dropping from one to the other down shallow rapids. At the Height of Land, and for some miles beyond, the country is flat and boggy, and sparsely wooded with tamarack and spruce, many of the tall, slender tops of the former being bent completely over by the storms. The spruce was small and scant, increasing in size and quantity as we descended from the highest levels, but nowhere on the northern slope attaining the size reached in the valley of the Nascaupee.
Gradually low, barren ridges began to appear, their white mossy sides marked by caribou trails which formed a network over the country we were passing through, and all were freshly cut with hoof marks. Every day there were herds or single deer to be seen along the way, and at a number of points we passed long piles of whitened antlers. Other game too, ducks, geese, and ptarmigan had become plentiful since we entered the caribou country, and now and then a few were taken to vary the monotony of the diet of dried caribou meat. Loons were about us at all hours, and I grew to love their weird call as much almost as the Indians do.
We travelled too fast to fish, and it was stormy, but the indications were that in places at least fish were abundant. When we ran down to the little lake, on which our camp of August 12th was pitched, hundreds of fish played at its surface, keeping the water in constant commotion. They were in no wise disturbed by our presence and would turn leisurely over within two feet of the canoe. I ran out my troll as we paddled down the lake—but not a nibble did I get. The men said they were white fish.
Every day we expected to see or hear something of the wolves which are said to attend the movements of the caribou; but no sign of them appeared, save the one track found at the point on Lake Michikamats.
Signs of the Indians became more numerous, and on a point near the head of Cabot Lake we found a camp but lately deserted, and left, evidently, with the idea of return in the near future. The Indians had been there all through the spring, and we found a strongly built cache which the men thought probably contained furs, but which we did not, of course, disturb. It was about ten feet long and six feet wide at the base, and built in the form of an A, with the trunks of trees from five to six inches in diameter set up close together and chinked with moss and boughs.
There were many of the uncovered wigwams standing about, one a large oblong with three fireplaces in it. Lying near the wigwams were old clothes of a quite civilised fashion, pots, kettles, a wooden tub, paint-cans and brushes, paddles, a wooden shovel, broken bones, piles of hair from the deer skins they had dressed, and a skin stretcher. Some steel traps hung in a tree near, and several iron pounders for breaking bones. On a stage, under two deer-skins, were a little rifle, a shot gun, and a piece of dried deer's meat. A long string of the bills of birds taken during the spring, hung on a tree near the water, and besides each of the various wigwams, in the line of them which stretched along the south shore of the point, a whitened bone was set up on a long pole for luck.
The river gradually increased in volume, and all previous excitement of work in the swift water seemed to grow insignificant when my long course in running rapids began. Perhaps it was because the experience was new, and I did not know what to expect; but as the little canoe careered wildly down the slope from one lake to the next with, in the beginning, many a scrape on the rocks of the river bed, my nervous system contracted steadily till, at the foot where we slipped out into smooth water again, it felt as if dipped into an astringent.
A few miles below Cabot Lake the river is joined by what we judged to be its southeast branch, almost equal to the middle river in size. This branch, together with a chain of smaller lakes east of Lake Michikamau, once formed the Indian inland route from the Nascaupee River to the George used at times of the year when Lake Michikamau was likely to be impassable on account of the storms. It had been regularly travelled in the old days when the Indians of the interior traded at Northwest River post; but since the diversion of their trade to the St. Lawrence it had fallen into disuse.
There was much talk of our prospective meeting with the Nascaupees which I did not understand; and it was not until the evening of August 14th, as I sat after supper at the camp fire, that I became conscious of the real concern with which the men were looking forward to the event.
For two precious days we had been unable to move on account of the storms. The rain had fallen steadily all day, changing to snow towards evening, and now, though the downpour had ceased, the black clouds still fled rolling and tossing over head before the gale, which roared through the spruce forest, and sent the smoke of the big camp fire whirling now this way, now that, as it found its way into our sheltered nook.
George and Joe were telling amusing stories of their boyhood experiences at Rupert's House, the pranks they played on their teacher, their fights, football, and other games, and while they talked I bestowed some special care upon my revolver. Job sat smoking his pipe, listening with a merry light in his gleaming, black eyes, and Gilbert lounged on the opposite side of the fire with open-mouthed boyish attention.
The talk drifted to stories of the Indians, tributary to Rupert's House, and the practical jokes perpetrated on them while camped about the post to which they brought each spring from the far interior their winter's catch of furs. There were stories of Hannah Bay massacre, and the retribution which followed swift and certain; and of their own trips inland, and the hospitality of the Indians. The talk ended with an anxious "If it were only the Hudson Bay Indians we were coming to, there would be no doubt about the welcome we should get."
Turning to me, George remarked, "You are giving that revolver a fine rubbing up to-night."
"Yes," I replied, laughing a little: "I am getting ready for theNascaupees."
"They would not shoot you," he said gravely. "It would be us they would kill if they took the notion. Whatever their conjurer tells them to do, they will do."
"No," asserted Gilbert, who boasted some traditional knowledge of the Nascaupees, "they would not kill you, Mrs. Hubbard. It would be to keep you at their camp that they would kill us."
I had been laughing at George a little, but Gilbert's startling announcement induced a sudden sobriety. As I glanced from one to the other, the faces of the men were all unwontedly serious. There was a whirl of thoughts for a moment, and then I asked, "What do you think I shall be doing while they are killing you? You do not need to suppose that because I will not kill rabbits, or ptarmigan, or caribou, I should have any objection to killing a Nascaupee Indian if it were necessary."
Nevertheless the meeting with the Indians had for me assumed a new and more serious aspect, and, remembering their agony of fear lest some harm befall me ere we reached civilisation again, I realised how the situation seemed to the men. When I went to my tent, it was to lie very wide awake, turning over in my mind plans of battle in case the red men proved aggressive.
The following morning the weather was still bad but we attempted to go forward. Soon a snow squall drove us to the shelter of the woods. When it had passed we were again on the water; but rain came on and a gale of wind drove it into our faces, till they burned as if hot water instead of cold were pelting them. We could make no headway, and so put ashore on the right bank of the river to wait for calmer weather. Camp was made on a tiny moss-covered ridge of rock back of the stretch of swamp along the shore, and soon a roaring fire sent out its welcome warmth to the wet and shivering wayfarers crouching near it in the shelter of the spruce. How cold it was! And how slowly we were getting on!
The river widened here, and on the left bank, at short intervals broad trails with fresh cut tracks led down to its edge, and along the shore a wide band of white caribou hair clung to the bank four feet above the river, where it had been left by the receding water. So we knew that the caribou had been in possession of the region since shedding their winter coats.
We had been sitting by the fire only a little while when Job, who, after his usual manner had disappeared, called to us in a low, eager voice from one hundred feet away. He said only one word— "Joe"—but we all knew what it meant and there was a rush in the direction in which he had again disappeared. A herd of fifteen caribou were swimming across from the opposite shore straight to the little bay above our landing. Under cover of the woods and willows we stole down quite close to the water and waited until they came almost to shore. Then springing from our hiding places we shouted at them. The beautiful, frightened creatures turned and went bounding back through the shallow water, splashing it into clouds of spray, till they sank into the deeper tide and only heads and stubs of tails could be seen as they swam back to the other shore. They were nearly all young ones, some of them little fawns.
All day long, at short intervals, companies of them were seen crossing, some one way, some another. Towards evening two herds passed the camp at the same time, one to the east of us but a short distance away, and the other along the foot of the ridge on the west, not fifty feet from our camp.
On Wednesday, against the strong northwest wind, we succeeded in making six and a half miles, passing the mouth of the southwest branch of the Upper George River; and when at 3 P.M. we reached the head of Long Lake it was too rough to venture on, and we had to go into camp.
I felt rather desperate that night, and sick with disappointment. One week of precious time was gone, it was the 16th of the month, and we were only thirty miles, perhaps a little more, from the Height of Land. How was it possible to reach the post in time for the ship now?
"We will get you there about two days before the ship arrives,"George insisted.
"When we get down below the lakes we can make forty miles a day if the weather is good," said Joe.
But I was not reassured. When we should get down below the lakes we could travel fast perhaps; but the last one, Indian House Lake, where the old Hudson's Bay Company post had been, was still far, far north of us, and no one knew what lay between. Perhaps there was a bare possibility that we might make the journey in ten days; but I knew I could not count on it. Had I a right to undertake the return journey with its perils? I was not sure.
My tent was sweet that night with the fragrance of its carpet of balsam boughs, and a big bunch of twin flowers, which grew in profusion there; but it was late before I slept. Perhaps two hours after I awoke to find a big moon peering into my face through the open front of my tent.
I was startled at first, and instinctively reached for my revolver, not knowing what it was; but when full consciousness had returned, whether it was the effect of the moon or not, the question had somehow been settled. I knew I should go on to Ungava whatever the consequences might be.