Gilbert alone sang and
laughed as merrily as ever, undisturbed by doubts or fears.
That evening the sunset was of clear gold and the sudden chill,
which in Labrador always follows, sent me shivering to the camp
fire where, below the bank, on the solid, smooth-worn rock of the
river-bed, we had supper of ptarmigan. But neither hunger nor
perplexities could shut out the impress of the desolate grandeur of
our surroundings. This was the wilderness indeed with only the
crystal river and the beautiful skies to make it glad. Only? Or
was there more? Or was it glad? Perhaps, yes surely, somewhere
within it there was gladness; but everywhere it was beautiful with
the beauty which alone, to some hearts, can carry the "still small
voice." If only it would never say, "What dost thou here?" One
must wish to stay and listen to it always.
Through the stillness came up the sound of the rapids below our
camp. Above, fish jumped in the quiet waters where the after-glow
in the sky was given back enriched and deepened. Then came night
and the stars - bright northern lights - bright moon - shadows on the
tent - dreams.
A ptarmigan whirred up, from the corner of my tent and I awoke to
find the sun shining and everything outside sparkling with frost.
The men had already begun portaging, for below camp the rapids were
too heavy to take the outfit down; but when breakfast was over and
the last load had been taken forward over the half-mile portage,
the canoes were run down the river.
A short distance below, the river drops rapidly round many little
islands of pink and white rock by a succession of picturesque falls
and rapids and chutes extending for more than a mile and here a
number of short portages were made. We reached the last of the
islands shortly before eleven o'clock and then landed to climb a
hill to the east. It rose six hundred and thirty feet above the
river, but the view from the top afforded us little satisfaction so
far as the route was concerned. The river could be seen for only a
few miles ahead, flowing away to the northwest towards higher
hills, where we could see patches of snow lying. Some miles to the
east was a large lake, its outlet, a river of considerable size,
joining the George River three-quarters of a mile north of where we
had left the canoes. Below the junction there were many Indian
signs along the shores, and we knew that there the portage route of
which the Montagnais women had spoken, must lead to the river
again.
