You
can do it, and without any trouble too. Good-bye, and the best of
success to you."
The farewell wishes of M. Duclos and M. Fournier, his assistant,
were not less enthusiastic. M. Duclos ran forward a little, kodak
in hand, and as the canoe glided past up the river, he said: "I
have ze las' picture, Madame."
A few minutes' paddling carried the canoes round the point, and the
two posts were lost to sight.
It did not seem strange or unnatural to be setting out as I was on
such an errand. Rather there came a sense of unspeakable relief in
thus slipping away into the wilderness, with the privilege of
attempting the completion of the work my husband had undertaken to
do. Everything looked hopeful for my plans, and I was only glad to
be really started on my way at last. Behind me in my canoe sat the
trusty hero whose courage and honour and fidelity made my venture
possible, and who took from my shoulders so much of the
responsibility. Through George Elson I engaged and paid the other
men of my party, and on him I relied to communicate to them my
plans and my directions and desires.
It was a perfect day. The air was clear as crystal, and the water,
the greenwoods, the hills and mountains with lines and patches of
white upon them, the sky with its big, soft clouds made such a
combination of green and blue and silver as I had never seen except
in Labrador. Before five o'clock we had passed the rapid at the
head of the three-mile stretch of river draining Grand Lake to Lake
Melville, to which alone the natives give the name Northwest River,
and turned into Grand Lake.
The thought of Grand Lake had troubled me a little. It is forty
miles long and four miles wide, and only a little wind is needed to
make such a body of water impassable for loaded canoes. M. Duclos
had offered his yacht to take us to the mouth of the Nascaupee
River, but when we were ready to start there was not enough wind to
carry her past the rapid, and we decided not to wait. On entering
the lake we turned to the right and landed to put up our first
sails. Soon they were caught by the light breeze and, together
with the quick paddle strokes, carried the canoes at a rapid pace
towards Cape Corbeau, which rose high and commanding twelve miles
away.
At 6 P.M. we landed for supper, hard tack and bacon and tea, and
then as quickly as might be were on our way again. There was need
to make the most of such perfect conditions for passing Grand Lake.
Sunset, and we were nearing Cape Corbeau. Then came twilight which
was almost more beautiful, and I sat sometimes thinking my own
thoughts, sometimes listening to George and Job as they chatted
with each other in Indian. Ten o'clock came, and still the dip,
dip, of the paddles went on. Now and again they were laid across
the canoe, and the pipes came out, or the tired arms rested a
little. It was not till eleven that we finally turned in to camp
at Silver Pine Lodge, having made twenty-two miles of our journey.
The sky was still light in the north-west.
The men soon had a roaring camp fire, for it had grown cold after
sunset. We had a second supper, and at 12.45 A.M. I made the last
entry in my diary and went to my tent. Meanwhile, the light slowly
shifted from west to east along the northern sky, but did not fade
away. The men did not put up their tent, but lay beside the fire,
for we meant to be up betimes and try to make the mouth of the
Nascaupee River before the lake, which was already roughening a
little, became impassable.
At 3 A.M. George called, "All aboard." A quick breakfast, and we
were started. Paddling straight towards Berry Head we passed it
about six o'clock, and by 8 A.M. were safe on the Nascaupee River,
where the winds could not greatly trouble us.
The sand-hills stand about the wide-mouthed bay into which the
river flows, and many little wooded islands lie at its head, and in
the river's mouth, which is entirely obscured by them, so that it
is not until you are close upon them that the river can be seen.
For a mile we threaded our way among these islands and found
ourselves at the mouth of the Crooked River where it enters the
Nascaupee on the north. The two river courses lie near together
for some distance, separated only by a sandy plateau, in places
little more than a mile wide.
At 10 A.M. we halted for lunch, and after the meal the men lay down
in the willows to sleep. I tried to sleep too, but could not. The
Susan River had been so rough and hard to travel, and this river
was so big, and deep, and fine. The thought of what missing it two
years before had cost would not be shut out.
After a bite, at 3 P.M. we were off again, and had gone only a
little way when George exclaimed, "Who's that? Why, it's a bear."
On the farther side of the river walking along the hill was a huge
black bear. I had never before seen one anywhere but in the Zoo,
and the sight of this big fellow enjoying the freedom of his native
country gave me quite a new sensation. At first we decided not to
molest him. A full supply of provisions made it unnecessary to
secure game now, and at this time of the year the skin would be of
no value.
