I have already referred to Mr. Stefansson, as one who no doubt will be heard more of in the future. It is now over five years since we bade each other good-bye on that dreary night, and ever since he has lived almost constantly along the Arctic coast, collecting information which it is hoped he may return to publish. He is at present somewhere in that barren region busily studying the ethnological characteristics of that strange race which probably at some time in its past history was driven by its enemies beyond the habitable land to seek shelter on these islands and capes which they have now grown to love so dearly that they would not exchange them for any other.
There seems no reason for this except the sentiment that is enshrined in the word “Home.” A sentiment that is world wide and which every race on earth holds dear.
“The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Proclaims the happiest land his own,
The naked negro panting on the line
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine.”
It rained all night and during the early morning, but cleared up about ten o’clock when we prepared to resume our journey.
I had engaged the Indians to carry my outfit across the portage, thence in their canoes to Rampart House, for a certain sum, and had paid them in advance at Fort McPherson. In addition to the four Indians and squaw whom I have mentioned, a young man had joined the party on starting, and assisted thus far on the journey.
While we were packing up in the morning this individual in a rather defiant manner approached me and in fair English informed me that it would be impossible, without his assistance, for the others to carry all that I was bringing; at the same time asking me what I proposed to pay him for helping them across. I realised that I had to act firmly. I would gladly have engaged him, but I felt that it was, to use a common phrase, “a hold up,” and that if I allowed him to intimidate me at this early stage in the journey there was no telling what he might attempt next. My authority with the others would be weakened and they would look on him rather than myself as leader of the party. I told him that all the loads had been weighed before starting from the post, that his people had been given all they asked for the work, and that if they wanted his assistance it rested with them to pay him. In a somewhat angry tone he said “that was not the way for a white man to talk, and that if I did not pay him he would go ahead light and make the journey in half the time we would.” I then told him that he must provide for himself, as I did not want him in our party. With this he hurriedly gathered up his blankets and a little dried meat he had, and with his gun started ahead, and we saw no more of him. I felt greatly relieved when he left, and after this I heard not the slightest complaint from any one of the party, though they were heavily loaded; so much so that I could not refrain from assisting them myself, and the fact was that from this point across I believe I bore my fair share with the rest, according to my strength, though in real weight I only took a small fraction of what one of the men carried. This particular Indian and his wife, who was with us, were really fine specimens of their race. Both were young, of splendid stature, and really good looking, and though he must have carried over 100 pounds across that eighty miles, it was all done without any show of irritability but with the utmost good nature, while the wife also bore her share without complaint.
We did not get started on this, our second day on the trail, till 11 o’clock, but travelled till 8.30 P.M. and camped on the bank of a small stream flowing southerly and emptying into a larger one flowing easterly into the Peel. The latter is known as La Pierre or “Stony Creek,” and our trail lay in the valley of this stream all the way to the “great divide.” The small stream where we camped was at this time only two rods wide and fifteen inches deep, but evidently is one of considerable size at other seasons of the year.