We Left Word And Travelled
Till 7, Having Come 11 Miles Up From The River's Mouth.
Our supper
that night was Crane, a little piece of bread each, some soup, and
some tea.
At 10 the hunters came back empty-handed. Yes, they found a fresh
Moose track, but the creature was so pestered by clouds of - - - -
that he travelled continually as fast as he could against the wind.
They followed all day but could not overtake him. They saw a Beaver
but failed to get it. No other game was found.
Things were getting serious now, since all our food consisted of
1 Crane, 1 tin of brawn, 1 pound of bread, 2 pounds of pork, with
some tea, coffee, and sugar, not more than one square meal for
the crowd, and we were 5 men far from supplies, unless our hunting
proved successful, and going farther every day.
Next morning (July 9) each man had coffee, one lady's finger
of bread, and a single small slice of bacon. Hitherto from choice
I had not eaten bacon in this country, although it was a regular
staple served at each meal. But now, with proper human perversity,
I developed an extraordinary appetite for bacon. It seemed quite
the most delicious gift of God to man. Given bacon, and I was ready
to forgo all other foods. Nevertheless, we had divided the last of
it. I cut my slice in two, revelled in half, then secretly wrapped
the other piece in paper and hid it in the watch-pocket of my
vest, thinking "the time is in sight when the whole crowd will be
thankful to have that scrap of bacon among them." (As a matter of
fact, they never got it, for five days later we found a starving
dog and he was so utterly miserable that he conjured that scrap
from the pocket next my heart.)
We were face to face with something like starvation now; the game
seemed to shun us and our store of victuals was done.
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