The sensations that had come to Paul in Hudson Strait when he first beheld the distant wilderness and the sailless sea, thrilled him again—first fear and shrinking, then an inward, inexplicable sense of power and freedom.
“And no one lives there,” he said, more to himself than to his companions.
“No one but Indians,” said Remington. “Eskimos on the coast. They all live as close to nature as man can live, and they fight that wilderness pretty constantly for existence. It’s a land of the survival of the fittest.”
Later, on other occasions during their stay in Richmond Gulf, Paul visited the barren hill. He would steal away alone, and for an hour at a time sit upon its rocky summit, and revel in the rugged beauties of the landscape. Here he felt a something well up within him, a desire to do something—an indescribable longing he could not define.
The lure and the power of the wilderness were exerting their influence. This was the world just as God had made it, untouched by the hand of man. Rugged mountains, patches of green forests, sparkling lakes, the distant sea, the blue sky, and silence. There were no brick walls to limit the vision, no tall chimneys belching out smudges of black smoke to defile the atmosphere, no rushing crowd to distract. Nowhere does one get so close to God as in the wilderness. The wilderness is the temple of pure thoughts, of high ambitions. Here man’s soul expands as nowhere else on earth.
When the three returned to camp they found the tents set up and everything snug and in order. A fragrant and cozy seat of spruce boughs had been arranged by Dan and Kuglutuk before a roaring log fire, and, by no means the least attractive of the preparations, a delicious supper of salmon awaited them, which they attacked with a will, for the exercise had given them an unusual appetite.
“I never ate such fish before,” Paul declared, between mouthfuls.
When supper was finished the two men lighted cigars, and chatted, while Paul reclined upon the boughs and gazed into the blaze. Presently Tom and Dan joined them, and Dan, producing his harmonica, began to play a soft, low air, while Tom cut some tobacco from a plug, rolled it between the palms of his hands, stuffed it into a pipe, lighted it with a brand from the fire and handing the plug to Kuglutuk who followed his example, contentedly settled back to smoke and enjoy the warmth, for the evening was chilly.
“Them was fine salmon you gets this evenin’,” Tom remarked.
“Yes,” said Remington, “fine ones, and I hope we’ll have more tomorrow.”