Down
from the hills to the east flowed a little stream winding its way
through a tortuous channel as it passed out to the river. We
turned into it and followed it up, passing between high mud-banks
which obscured the post till we reached a bend where the channel
bore away to the farther side of the cove. Then to my surprise the
men suddenly changed paddles for poles and turning the bows inshore
poled right on up over the mud-bank. It was such a funny and novel
performance that it snapped the spell for me, and I joined with the
men in their shouts of laughter over the antics of the canoe on the
slippery mud-bank. When we finally reached the top and slid out on
to the flat, we saw a man, who we supposed must be Mr. Ford, the
agent at the post, coming over the mud with his retinue of Eskimo
to meet us.
We were all on our feet now waiting. When he came within hearing,
I asked if he were Mr. Ford, and told him who I was and how I had
come there. Then came the, for me, great question, "Has the ship
been here?"
He said, "Yes."
"And gone again?"
"Yes. That is - what ship do you mean? Is there any other ship
expected here than the Company's ship?"
"No, it is the Company's ship I mean, the _Pelican_. Has she been
here?"
"Yes," he said, "she was here last September.
