“The river!” he paused between mouthfuls to exclaim, “that’s the only thing within twenty miles that I didn’t see. I’ve been looking for it for four hours, but it kept changing its location and I never found it till I struck camp just now.”
“Now, boys,” said I, when all the pipes were going, “I’ve something to say to you. Up to this time we’ve had no real hardships to meet. We’ve had hard work, and it’s been most trying at times, but there’s been no hardship to endure that might not be met with upon any journey in the bush. If we go on we shall have hardships, and perhaps, some pretty severe ones. There’ll soon be sleet and snow in the air, and cold days and shivery nights, and the portages will be long and hard. On the whole, there’s been plenty to eat—not what we would have had at home, perhaps, but good, wholesome grub—and we’re all in better condition and stronger than when we started, but flour and pork are getting low, lentils and corn meal are nearly gone, and short rations, with hungry days, are soon to come if we don’t strike game, and you know how uncertain that is. I cannot say what is before us, and I’m not going to drag you fellows into trouble. I’m going to ask for one volunteer to go on with me to Ungava with the small canoe, and let the rest return from here with the other canoe and what grub they need to take them out. Who wants to go home?”
It came to them like a shock. Outside, the wind howled through the trees and dashed the rain spitefully against the tent. The water dripped through on us, and the candle flickered and sputtered and almost went out. In the weird light I could see the faces of the men work with emotion. For a moment no one spoke. Finally Richards, in a tone of reproach that made me feel sorry for the very suggestion, asked: “Do you think there’s a quitter here?”
The loyalty and grit of the men touched my heart. Not one of them would think of leaving me. Nothing but a positive order would have turned them back, and I decided to postpone our parting until we reached Michikaumau at least, if it could be postponed so long consistently with safety.
The next day was Sunday, and it was spent in rest and in preparation for our advance up the trail. The weather was damp and cheerless, with rain falling intermittently throughout the day.
To cover a possible retreat a cache was made near our camp of thirty pounds of pemmican in tin cans and forty-five pounds of flour and some tea in a waterproof bag. A hole was dug in the ground and the provisions were deposited in it, then covered with stones as a pro-tection from animals.
By Monday morning the storm had gained new strength, and steadily and pitilessly the rain fell, accompanied by a cold, northwest wind.
What narrowly escaped being a serious accident occurred when we halted that day for dinner. Easton was cutting firewood, when suddenly he dropped the ax he was using with the exclamation “That fixes me!” He had given himself what looked at first like an ugly cut near the shin bone. Fortunately, however, upon examination, it proved to be only a flesh wound and not sufficiently severe to interfere with his traveling. Stanton dressed the cut. Our adhesive plaster we found had become useless by exposure and electrician’s tape was substituted for it to draw the flesh together.
On the evening of the second day after leaving the Nascaupee, our tent was pitched upon the site of an extensive but ancient Indian camp beside a mile-long lake, four hundred and fifty feet above the river. Five ponds had been passed en route, but all of them so small it was scarcely worth while floating the canoe in any of them.
In these two days we had covered but eleven miles, but during the whole time the wind had driven the rain in sweeping gusts into our faces and made it impossible for a man, single-handed, to portage a canoe. Thus, with two men to carry each canoe we had been compelled to make three loads of our outfit, and this meant fifty-five miles actual walking, and thirty-three miles of this distance with packs on our backs. The weather conditions had made the work more than hard— it was heartrending—as we toiled over naked hills, across marshes and moraines, or through dripping brush and timber land.