As we continued our journey the river grew more and more mysterious, ending apparently in each little lake, and keeping us constantly guessing as to the direction in which our course would next lead us. The inlet in the numerous expansions was unfailingly concealed, so that not until we were almost upon it could it be made out. Most mysterious of all was the last lake of our day's journey, where the rush of the entering river could plainly be seen, but appeared to come pouring forth from a great hole in the side of a mountain. As the current swung round the upper end of the lake it made the last half hour's work decidedly exciting. We landed to camp for the night on the first portage since passing Cascade Rapid, nearly twenty miles back.
We had caribou roast for supper, and, to my surprise, I found it one of the most delicious things I had ever eaten, altogether different from any venison I had before tasted. An astonishing amount of that roast was stowed away before the camp was quiet for the night.
The northern lights were that evening very brilliant. When I put out my light at bed-time it was as if a bright moon was shining. I looked out, and above were three broad circles of light with long- pointed fingers raying up to the centre directly over my tent as I watched. It seemed like a benediction from the hand of God Himself. Gradually they drew off to the northwest in great, beautiful scrolls.
The day following, Monday, July 24th, the river continued most bewildering. Beside the portage at our camp, we had one, about half a mile long, farther up where the old trail was quite well marked, and carried us past a fall of about seven feet with a heavy rapid below. All day our way led among high hills till towards evening, when they spread out to the north and south, and we saw ahead a terraced sand plain, several miles wide, with the hills again beyond. Here, coming in from the northwest, was a brook, where, according to our map, the Indian route again leaves the river. This meant another long stretch of rough water, but our plan was still to keep to the river as far as it was possible, finding our own portage route where necessary.
The river's course was now cut deep into the plain, the banks being from thirty to forty feet in height, and the current very swift. The plain had once been sparsely, wooded but was burned over and very desolate looking now. Huckleberries, cranberries, and Labrador tea grew in profusion, and were in blossom, while patches of reindeer moss were seen struggling into life where we made our camp.
During the last part of the day's journey the current had been increasingly swift, and some distance ahead we could hear the sound of a heavy waterfall. We reached it the following morning about two miles or more above our camp. It was a beauty, about thirty feet in height. The canoes could be taken close to the foot of the fall, and after a short carry over the high, rocky point were put in the water again not twenty feet from the brink of the fall.
As the morning was fine, I had walked from camp to the fall while the men brought up the canoes. I was striding along the terrace, not thinking at all about my surroundings, when I suddenly became conscious of a most delightful fragrance, and looking down I found myself in the midst of a tangle of the long, trailing vines of the twin flower (Linnea borealis), sweetest of all Labrador flowers, with hundreds of the slender, hair-like stems bearing their delicate pink bells. How delighted I was to find it. Other Labrador flowers were beautiful, but none so lovely as this.
Above the falls the river was very rough, and in the next half or three-quarters of a mile we made three more portages, and landed a little before noon at a high, rocky point on the south shore, to find ourselves at the edge of the hill country again. Here the river was crowded between high, rocky hills where it flowed too swift and deep for either poles or paddles. We could keep to it no farther, and so made camp, for now some scouting for a portage route would be necessary.
While at dinner that day a thundershower passed. The thunderstorms of Labrador seem very mild and gentle as compared with those we are accustomed to. Later it settled to steady rain. Job went scouting, and the others lay in the tent most of the afternoon, Joe and Gilbert not feeling very well. Trouble—change of diet with a little too much of it. Job on his return in the evening reported the river bending away to the southwest a few miles farther on, and impassable as far as he could see. There would be a long portage west and south, but the country was not very rough, and a number of small lakes would give some paddling.
The following day all the men, except Job, were ill, and camp was not moved till Thursday morning. When evening came, the outfit had been taken forward three and a half miles. The three small lakes we had passed had given about one mile of paddling, and at night our camp was made at the edge of the fourth, a tiny still water pond.