"At 1.30 for the first time a fair breeze sprang up or rather lazily got up. Joyfully then we raised our mast and sail. The boys curled up to sleep, except Beaulieu. He had his fiddle and now he proceeded to favour us with 'A Life on the Ocean Wave,' 'The Campbells are Coming,' etc., in a manner worthy of his social position and of his fiddle. When not in use this aesthetic instrument (in its box) knocks about on deck or underfoot, among pots and pans, exposed in all weather; no one seems to fear it will be injured.
"At 7 the usual dead calm was restored. We rowed till we reached Et-then Island at 8, covering two miles more or 32 in all to-day. I was unwilling to stop now, but the boys, said they would row all day Sunday if I would camp here, and then added, 'And if the wind rises to-night we'll go on.'
"At 10 o'clock I was already in bed for the night, though of course it was broad daylight. Preble had put out a line of mouse-traps, when the cry was raised by the Indians now eating their 7th meal: Chim-pal-le! Hurra! Chilla quee!' ('Sailing wind! Hurra, boys!').
"The camp was all made, but after such a long calm a sailing wind was too good to miss. In 10 minutes every tent was torn down and bundled into the boat. At 10.10 we pulled out under a fine promising breeze; but alas! for its promise! at 10.30 the last vestige of it died away and we had to use the oars to make the nearest land, where we tied up at 11 P. M.
"That night old Weeso said to me, through Billy, the interpreter: 'To-morrow is Sunday, therefore he would like to have a prayer-meeting after breakfast.'
"'Tell him,' I said, 'that I quite approve of his prayer-meeting, but also it must be understood that if the good Lord sends us a sailing wind in the morning that is His way of letting us know we should sail.'
"This sounded so logical that Weeso meekly said, 'All right.'
"Sure enough, the morning dawned with a wind and we got away after the regular sullen grumbling. About 10.20 the usual glassy calm set in and Weeso asked me for a piece of paper and a pencil. He wrote something in Chipewyan on the sheet I gave, then returned the pencil and resumed his pilotic stare at the horizon, for his post was at the rudder. At length he rolled the paper into a ball, and when I seemed not observing dropped it behind him overboard.
"'What is the meaning of that, Billy?' I whispered.
"'He's sending a prayer to Jesus for wind.' Half an hour afterward a strong head-wind sprang up, and Weeso was severely criticised for not specifying clearly what was wanted.