Do, work which would for ever associate my
husband's name with the country where he hoped to begin his
explorations. For long months of darkness I had not dreamed that I
could ever have the gladness and honour of doing this. Now it
seemed that I might almost count on success.
As we continued our journey the river grew more and more
mysterious, ending apparently in each little lake, and keeping us
constantly guessing as to the direction in which our course would
next lead us. The inlet in the numerous expansions was unfailingly
concealed, so that not until we were almost upon it could it be
made out. Most mysterious of all was the last lake of our day's
journey, where the rush of the entering river could plainly be
seen, but appeared to come pouring forth from a great hole in the
side of a mountain. As the current swung round the upper end of
the lake it made the last half hour's work decidedly exciting. We
landed to camp for the night on the first portage since passing
Cascade Rapid, nearly twenty miles back.
We had caribou roast for supper, and, to my surprise, I found it
one of the most delicious things I had ever eaten, altogether
different from any venison I had before tasted. An astonishing
amount of that roast was stowed away before the camp was quiet for
the night.
The northern lights were that evening very brilliant. When I put
out my light at bed-time it was as if a bright moon was shining. I
looked out, and above were three broad circles of light with long-
pointed fingers raying up to the centre directly over my tent as I
watched. It seemed like a benediction from the hand of God
Himself. Gradually they drew off to the northwest in great,
beautiful scrolls.
The day following, Monday, July 24th, the river continued most
bewildering. Beside the portage at our camp, we had one, about
half a mile long, farther up where the old trail was quite well
marked, and carried us past a fall of about seven feet with a heavy
rapid below. All day our way led among high hills till towards
evening, when they spread out to the north and south, and we saw
ahead a terraced sand plain, several miles wide, with the hills
again beyond. Here, coming in from the northwest, was a brook,
where, according to our map, the Indian route again leaves the
river. This meant another long stretch of rough water, but our
plan was still to keep to the river as far as it was possible,
finding our own portage route where necessary.
The river's course was now cut deep into the plain, the banks being
from thirty to forty feet in height, and the current very swift.
The plain had once been sparsely, wooded but was burned over and
very desolate looking now. Huckleberries, cranberries, and
Labrador tea grew in profusion, and were in blossom, while patches
of reindeer moss were seen struggling into life where we made our
camp.
During the last part of the day's journey the current had been
increasingly swift, and some distance ahead we could hear the sound
of a heavy waterfall. We reached it the following morning about
two miles or more above our camp. It was a beauty, about thirty
feet in height. The canoes could be taken close to the foot of the
fall, and after a short carry over the high, rocky point were put
in the water again not twenty feet from the brink of the fall.
As the morning was fine, I had walked from camp to the fall while
the men brought up the canoes. I was striding along the terrace,
not thinking at all about my surroundings, when I suddenly became
conscious of a most delightful fragrance, and looking down I found
myself in the midst of a tangle of the long, trailing vines of the
twin flower (Linnea borealis), sweetest of all Labrador flowers,
with hundreds of the slender, hair-like stems bearing their
delicate pink bells. How delighted I was to find it. Other
Labrador flowers were beautiful, but none so lovely as this.
Above the falls the river was very rough, and in the next half or
three-quarters of a mile we made three more portages, and landed a
little before noon at a high, rocky point on the south shore, to
find ourselves at the edge of the hill country again. Here the
river was crowded between high, rocky hills where it flowed too
swift and deep for either poles or paddles. We could keep to it no
farther, and so made camp, for now some scouting for a portage
route would be necessary.
While at dinner that day a thundershower passed. The thunderstorms
of Labrador seem very mild and gentle as compared with those we are
accustomed to. Later it settled to steady rain. Job went
scouting, and the others lay in the tent most of the afternoon, Joe
and Gilbert not feeling very well. Trouble - change of diet with a
little too much of it. Job on his return in the evening reported
the river bending away to the southwest a few miles farther on, and
impassable as far as he could see. There would be a long portage
west and south, but the country was not very rough, and a number of
small lakes would give some paddling.
The following day all the men, except Job, were ill, and camp was
not moved till Thursday morning. When evening came, the outfit had
been taken forward three and a half miles. The three small lakes
we had passed had given about one mile of paddling, and at night
our camp was made at the edge of the fourth, a tiny still water
pond.
