CHAPTER XXIII
BACK TO NORTHWEST RIVER
We had now reached an English-speaking country; that is, a section where every one talked understandable English, though at the same time nearly every one was conversant with the Eskimo language.
All down the coast we had been fortunate in securing dogs and drivers with little trouble through the intervention of the missionaries; but at Makkovik dogs were scarce, and it seemed for a time as though we were stranded here, but finally, with missionary Townley’s aid I engaged an old Eskimo named Martin Tuktusini to go with us to Rigolet. When I looked at Martin’s dogs, however, I saw at once that they were not equal to the journey, unaided. Neither had I much faith in Martin, for he was an old man who had nearly reached the end of his usefulness.
A day was lost in vainly looking around for additional dogs, and then Mr. Townley generously loaned us his team and driver to help us on to Big Bight, fifteen miles away, where he thought we might get dogs to supplement Martin’s.
At Big Bight we found a miserable hut, where the people were indescribably poor and dirty. A team was engaged after some delay to carry us to Tishialuk, thirty miles farther on our journey, which place we reached the following day at eleven o’clock.
There is a single hovel at Tishialuk, occupied by two brothers—John and Sam Cove—and their sister. Their only food was flour, and a limited quantity of that. Even tea and molasses, usually found amongst the “livyeres” (live-heres) of the coast, were lacking. Sam was only too glad of the opportunity to earn a few dollars, and was engaged with his team to join forces with Martin as far as Rigolet.
There are two routes from Tishialuk to Rigolet. One is the “Big Neck” route over the hills, and much shorter than the other, which is known as the outside route, though it also crosses a wide neck of land inside of Cape Harrison, ending at Pottle’s Bay on Hamilton Inlet. It was my intention to take the Big Neck trail, but Martin strenuously opposed it on the ground that it passed over high hills, was much more difficult, and the probabilities of getting lost should a storm occur were much greater by that route than by the other. His objections prevailed, and upon the afternoon of the day after our arrival Sam was ready, and in a gale of wind we ran down on the ice to Tom Bromfield’s cabin at Tilt Cove, that we might be ready to make an early start for Pottle’s Bay the following morning, as the whole day would be needed to cross the neck of land to Pottle’s Bay and the neatest shelter beyond.
Tom is a prosperous and ambitious hunter, and is fairly well-to-do as it goes on the Labrador. His one-room cabin was very comfortable, and he treated us to unwonted luxuries, such as butter, marmalade, and sugar for our tea.