It seemed very fine to have another good day's work behind and I
felt less heavy hearted. Some thinking had convinced me that the
two months' estimate for the journey to Ungava was far from
correct; but I still feared it was useless to entertain hope of
being in time for the ship. Yet one does hope even when it is
plainly useless. Nevertheless life had come to be a serious matter
with us all now, excepting Gilbert, for the men too were averse to
spending a winter in Labrador, and had rather advocated a return by
way of Davis Inlet or the Grand River. 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. Steadily through the afternoon we approached the higher
hills, ever on the watch for the Nascaupee camp; but we did not
find it.
There was a short lift over a direct drop of four or five feet, and
two portages of about half a mile past heavy rapids, at the second
of which the river drops fifty feet to flow between high, sandy
banks, the hills on either side standing back from the river, their
broken faces red with a coating of iron rust. The intervening
spaces were strewn with boulders of unusual size.
Fresh caribou tracks, the only ones seen since leaving the head of
Long Lake, were found on the first portage, and on the second I
gathered my first moss berries. A heavy shower passed late in the
afternoon and the sky remained overcast; but we were not delayed,
and towards evening arrived at the point, twenty miles below
Thousand Island Expansion, where a large tributary comes in from
the west, and the George River turns abruptly northward among the
higher hills.
The proposal to go into camp had already been made when George
discovered some ptarmigan high up the bank. There was a brisk hunt
and eleven were taken. So again we supped on ptarmigan that night.
I took mine in my tent on account of the mosquitoes, which were so
thick that, as George expressed it, it was like walking in a
snowstorm to move about outside.
CHAPTER XVI
THE BARREN GROUND PEOPLE
On Sunday morning, August 20th, I awoke in a state of expectancy.
We had slept three times since leaving the Montagnais camp, and
unless the Barren Grounds People were not now in their accustomed
camping place, we ought to see them before night. Many thoughts
came of how greatly Mr. Hubbard had wished to see them, and what a
privilege he would have thought it to be able to visit them.
It seemed this morning as if something unusual must happen. It was
as if we were coming into a hidden country. From where the river
turned into the hills it flowed for more than a mile northward
through what was like a great magnificent corridor, leading to
something larger beyond.
When Joe and Gilbert, who were usually the first to get off,
slipped away down the river, I realized how swift flowing the water
must be. It looked still as glass and very dark, almost black.
The quiet surface was disturbed only by the jumping of the fish.
We saw the canoe push off and turned to put a few last touches to
the loading of our own.
