CHAPTER XIII.

_ADVENTURES BY LAND AND SEA._

Starting southward down the coast of Hudson Bay on the 13th of September, with the weather beautifully calm, we made a capital run past a rocky coast, skirted by a succession of shoals and reefs, and at night camped upon the shore about twelve miles north of Marble Island, whose snow-white hills of quartzite could be distinctly seen on the horizon.

Marble Island—so called because of the resemblance its rounded glaciated rocky hills bear to white marble—is well-known as a wintering station for New England whalers. Its geographical position was determined in 1885 and 1886 by Commander Gordon, of the Dominion Government Hudson Bay Expedition, of which the writer was a member, so we were glad to avail ourselves of the opportunity of connecting our survey with so well-fixed a landmark.

We had been informed by the Eskimos that there were no whalers now at the island, and we satisfied ourselves of the truth of their report by the use of our long-range binoculars. Had there been we would have endeavored to arrange with one of them to take us down to Churchill, but in their absence we could only stick to the canoes. Near camp, on the shore, we found part of the skeleton of an immense whale, but unfortunately not the part that is of commercial value. This doubtless had been carried away by the Eskimos or by some whaling crew.

During the following day the weather continued fair, and feeling that nature was favoring us we made good use of our time. As we followed the coast in a south-westerly direction the outline of Marble Island could be seen against the southern sky; while to the north extended the bold, dark coast-line of rock, unbroken in appearance excepting where here and there lay great banks of snow.

About noon we discovered, on landing, what must very recently have been a large Eskimo encampment. Several kometics (sleds) and other articles were found. The wreck of a large whale-boat lay on the shore, and several dogs were seen lurking about. This camping-place was the summer home of the Eskimos we had met sailing up Chesterfield Inlet, and from a sanitary point of view was no credit to them, for filth and putrefaction everywhere abounded.

The rocks of this locality were of an interesting character, being dark green hornblendic schists of the Huronian formation.

Following these two days of exceptionally fair weather we enjoyed still another, and were permitted to traverse the mouth of Rankin Inlet, which would have required two or three days to coast had the weather been anything but calm. During these three days we had made a distance of just one hundred miles, which, upon such an exposed coast, we considered good progress.

Though we saw little game we still had some dried meat left, and at this rate of travel two weeks would take us to Churchill. By carefully rationing ourselves we had meat enough to last for five or six days, and the balance of the time could, if necessary, be spent without provisions.

On the night of the 15th, however, being camped upon a little sand island in the mouth of Corbet’s Inlet, our hopes were blighted by the approach of a gale, and all the next day we lay imprisoned upon the sand-bar without any fresh water to drink. Toward evening the wind was accompanied by a chilling rain, which continued all night and the greater part of the next morning. On the following afternoon the wind suddenly fell, and though a heavy sea continued to roll in from the east, the waves ceased to break.

Fearing to lose one hour when it was possible to travel, we launched our canoes upon the heaving bosom of the deep and started across the mouth of the inlet on an eight-mile traverse. As we passed out beyond the shelter of the island we found the seas running fearfully high, but so long as they did not break upon us we had little to fear, and this would not likely occur unless the wind should spring up again; but when we were well out in the middle of the inlet that is just what did occur. The wind began to rise from exactly the opposite quarter, and speedily increased in force, whipping the crests off the waves in such a way as to make things appear anything but reassuring. Our situation was indeed perilous. Every effort was made to guide the canoes so as to brook least danger, but in spite of all we could do the seas dashed in upon us, and it looked as if we would never reach the shore.

My brother and I laid down our paddles, and with tin kettles applied ourselves vigorously to bailing out the water. Many times the great tumbling billows seemed as if they would surely roll over us, but our light cedars, though sometimes half-filled with water, were borne up on the crest of the waves. At length we neared the rocky shore toward which for several hours we had been struggling, but, to our dismay, only to find it skirted by a long line of rocks and shoals, upon which the full fury of the wild sea was breaking. What were we to do? Without a harbor we would be dashed to pieces upon the rocks—and it was impossible to retreat against the storm. On we were borne by the force of the gale, but, thanks to a kind Providence, just as the crisis appeared to have come, a way of escape was discerned. One rock could be seen standing out in advance of the others, and behind this we managed with a supreme effort to guide the canoes. Then in shallow water, with the force of the seas broken, we all sprang out, and with great exertion succeeded in landing the boats in safety.

The country here was entirely barren and rocky, comparatively level, and of a most dreary aspect, without a sign of vegetation. The storm continued for two days longer, during which time we were obliged to remain on shore. As our provisions were now about exhausted, attention was chiefly devoted to hunting, but all that could be found was a small duck and two gulls. The broken remains of an Eskimo kyack were found upon the shore, and these were carefully gathered up so that a kettle of water might be boiled and our gulls cooked for supper.

On the morning of the 20th, the wind having fallen, camp was called at four o’clock and without breakfast our journey resumed. Later in the day each man had a small piece of dried meat, quite insufficient to satisfy his appetite; but, hungry though we were, the motto plainly written on every man’s face was, “Speed the paddle.” Thus we pressed on for two days, making good progress, but having scarcely anything to eat the work began to tell on us.

On the 22nd we were again storm-bound by a heavy gale with snow, which lasted four days. During this time we suffered considerably from the violence of the storm as well as from want of food. As soon as it had abated sufficiently, which was not until the morning of the 25th, two of the men, Pierre and Louis, were sent out with the shot-guns to hunt for food, and with our rifles my brother and I set out for an all-day tramp into the interior. We found our camp was situated near the end of a long narrow point at the back of which was Neville Bay. The point consisted in places of extended fields of water-washed boulders, and in order to reach the mainland we had to cross these. The necessity of doing this, together with the fact that we were walking with weakened limbs into the teeth of a gale, made travelling extremely difficult.

Shortly after leaving camp a hare jumped out from among the rocks, and coming to a fatal stand, was perforated by a slug from my “Marlin.” Not wishing to carry it all day, it was left with Pierre and Louis to be taken to camp. By three o’clock, after a long and laborious march and securing nothing but a solitary ptarmigan, my brother and I reached the bottom of the bay and there discovered the mouth of a large river which flowed into it. We would gladly have stayed some time in this vicinity, but as the day was already far spent, and we were pretty well used up, we dare not. Finding a little dry moss we made a fire, roasted and ate the ptarmigan, and then started back to camp. In some localities the fresh snow was deep and soft, and this added greatly to the fatigue of the trip. But before we had proceeded far we met with encouragement in the discovery of deer-tracks. They were a day or so old, for they were frozen, but they led away nearly in the direction of camp, so we eagerly followed them, and from every hill-top keenly scanned the country.

The shades of evening were gathering and we were tired and hungry. Nothing could we see of the deer, and fearing to lie out all night without blankets in the rough, cold weather, we pushed on towards camp as fast as our weary limbs would carry us. We were frequently obliged to sit down to rest, and consequently when still several miles from camp we found ourselves enveloped in darkness and groping our way laboriously through a field of boulders. For a considerable distance we had to feel the way with hands and feet, between and over the rocks. After about two hours of this sort of experience we gained the more level country, and shortly afterwards, guided by the light of a candle in one of the tents, we reached camp thoroughly used up. We were not, however, obliged to go to bed hungry, for Pierre and Louis, having been more successful than ourselves, had secured several ptarmigan and rabbits. From these a _bouillon_ had been prepared, and part of it saved for our supper. It was a most thoroughly appreciated meal, and after partaking of it we were soon rolled up in our blankets, all unconscious of the storm that howled without or of the fact that we had not another meal in camp. On the morning of the 26th we were glad to find that the wind had fallen sufficiently to allow us to launch. Without delay the canoes were loaded and a fair run made. Several sea-ducks were shot during the day, and thus supper was secured.

The next day, again storm-bound by a gale from the south-west, the whole party started out to hunt for food. We were not altogether unsuccessful, assembling in the evening with five marmots (little animals about the size of squirrels).

The following morning, though a strong breeze was blowing, we determined to make a start, for to remain where we were meant that we must soon starve to death. We were already much reduced and weakened from the effects of cold and hunger, and the condition of the weather had of late been most disheartening. Churchill, the nearest habitation of man, was still fully three hundred miles distant. We had not one bite of food. The country was covered with snow, the climate piercingly cold. No fuel was to be had, and worst of all, the weather was such, the greater part of the time, that we were unable to travel. It was difficult to be cheerful under such circumstances, but we kept up courage and pushed on.

While we were bending to our paddles, after making perhaps seven or eight miles south-westerly along the coast, a band of deer was seen upon the shore. Our course was quickly altered and a landing effected, though with some difficulty, as the tide was falling and the water rapidly receding. The men were left to keep the canoes afloat while my brother and I, with our rifles, went in pursuit of the deer, which were at this time much more difficult to hunt than earlier in the season, when they run in great herds. The country here was a vast and dreary plain, affording no cover for the hunter save that of a few scattered boulders. Concealed by some of these we crept for long distances, but finding it impossible to get within any kind of medium range, we opened fire at a distance of four or five hundred yards. At first the deer trotted about in confusion, but soon locating their enemies they fled straight away across the plains. For several hours we followed, vainly seeking for opportunity of nearer approach, but being unsuccessful, retraced our weary steps to the shore, where we arrived faint and exhausted. We found the men had been unable to keep the canoes afloat because of the ebbing tide. They were now high and dry, and the water of the Bay barely visible in the distance—such was the extremely low and flat character of the coast.

[Illustration: BLACKFOOT BOY.]