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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I:
A JOURNEY OF SENTIMENT


CHAPTER II:
THE FATAL ERROR


CHAPTER III:
DUTY FIRST


CHAPTER IV:
A MAN'S GAME


CHAPTER V:
A PERMANENT MEMORIAL


CHAPTER VI:
WILL THE ICE TURN US BACK?


CHAPTER VII:
STORMY VOYAGE


CHAPTER VIII:
RETURN TO NORTHWEST RIVER


CHAPTER IX:
A CHIEF VOYAGEUR


CHAPTER X:
THE BEAVER IS A BAD RIVER


CHAPTER XI:
SOUNDING THE BIG LAKE


CHAPTER XII:
BREAD WITHOUT BAKING POWDER MAKES ME SICK


CHAPTER XIII:
I NEVER TRAVELS ON SUNDAY


CHAPTER XIV:
VIRGIN AS GOD MADE IT


CHAPTER XV:
FIRST PORTAGE


CHAPTER XVI:
TRAIL COMPANIONS


CHAPTER XVII:
MURDOCK'S RAPID


CHAPTER XVIII:
TRACKING THROUGH BOULDERS


CHAPTER XIX:
MARCH TO YOUR FRONT LIKE A SOLDIER


CHAPTER XX:
IT'S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO TRAVEL ON SUNDAY


CHAPTER XXI:
WORST COUNTRY FOR GAME I EVER SAW


CHAPTER XXII:
BACK TO GET THE BAKING POWDER


CHAPTER XXIII:
DISASTER IN THE RAPIDS


CHAPTER XXIV:
TAKING STOCK


CHAPTER XXV:
GRAPPLING


CHAPTER XXVI:
INDIANS HAVE PLENTY OF HARD TIMES


CHAPTER XXVII:
THIS RIVER IS LIKE A BAD WOMAN


CHAPTER XXVIII:
NO RELIEF FROM WADING


CHAPTER XXIX:
HELL AND TWENTY


CHAPTER XXX:
BACKPACKING TO THE SUSAN


CHAPTER XXXI:
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH


CHAPTER XXXII:
THE MIND WORKS CURIOUSLY


CHAPTER XXXIII:
RELIVING THE PARTING


CHAPTER XXXIV:
MARKING HUBBARD'S BOULDER


CHAPTER XXXV:
A NEW DISASTER


CHAPTER XXXVI:
THE HARDEST BIT OF TRAVELING I EVER DONE


CHAPTER XXXVII:
SOMETHING WORTHWHILE UP THERE IN THE HILLS


NOTES

PHOTO GALLERY

COLOUR SLIDE GALLERY

ADDENDUM TO
THIRD EDITION

COMMENTS ON THE
NAMING COMPULSION

BACK TO THE LABRADOR WILDS

 XXXIV

MARKING HUBBARD'S BOULDER

We pitched camp on a point a hundred yards below the rock.  Quite near enough, Gilbert thought, to a place where tragic death had occurred, and much nearer, he declared, to an unlucky and perhaps haunted spot than any Indian would have ventured to place his wigwam.

Preparations were begun at once for the work we had to do.  A side of the rock looking down the river was selected as offering a good surface for the inscription.  A thick growth of lichen covered it, and this was removed by lighting a fire upon the rock, and scraping and scouring with sand and water the surface which we were to utilize.

Judge Malone, who was not inexperienced with the brush, was first to paint the inscription upon the rock as it should appear, that I might chisel with greater accuracy.  For this purpose we had brought with us a tube of white lead, intended for canoe repairs; and to provide a brush, Gilbert donate a lock of his coarse black hair.  With a piece of the fish line, the Judge tied the hair to the end of the stick, and with pocket scissors trimmed it to a point, thus improvising an excellent lettering brush.  We had no oil with which to liquefy the white lead, and pork grease was substituted.  The grease and white lead, mixed in the frying pan, were kept soft over a small fire while the Judge worked, and before night the lettering was finished.  The following is the inscription which Judge Malone painted up the rock:

LEONIDAS HUBBARD JR.

 INTREPID EXPLORER 

                AND

PRACTICAL CHRISTIAN

           DIED HERE

         OCT.18, 1903

WHITHER I GO YE KNOW

AND THE WAY YE KNOW 

                      JOHN XIV. –4.

With the arrival of daylight the following morning I was busy with hammer and chisel, and that afternoon had the satisfaction of seeing the inscription cut deep into the stone.  Both in order that we might photograph the result of our work to better advantage, and that it might be protected to some extent from the action of water and frost, it was decided that Judge Malone should fill the letters with white lead, and with twilight the task was accomplished.

The provisions which we had brought with us from our cache were nearly exhausted.  We had, indeed, less than two days’ rations of flour and tea remaining, and no sugar or salt.  Therefore it was necessary that we should break camp and begin our return march to the Beaver River and our base without delay.  Gilbert was baking the flour into bread in preparation for this when the Judge and I completed our work upon the rock.  We had our supper, and when Gilbert finished his baking, gathered around Hubbard’s deathbed for a service.

It was past eleven o’clock.  All day rain had been falling, but now the stars looked down upon us from a clear sky.  We lighted a candle or two that we might see to read, and opening the same little testament from which I read to Hubbard on the morning of our parting, and standing upon the spot where I then sat, I read the same passages—the fourteenth of John and the thirteenth of First Corinthians.  Judge Malone read the One Hundred and Forty-Third Psalm, and following this we sang, “Lead Kindly Light,” “Nearer My God to Thee,” and at Gilbert’s suggestion, “Shall We Gather at the River.” Then, in silent prayer, we three knelt for a little around the spot where Hubbard lay when he died.

It was simple service, but out there under the stars and the wide dome of heaven, in the depths of the silent wilderness, it was an impressive service.  No priestly robes, no pomp, no vain fashion of ceremony could have added to its solemnity; and kneeling there, we here three felt, as we had never felt before, the Power and Presence of the Almighty.

The day’s occupation and the evening service had a peculiar emotional effect upon me, and I lingered a little out under the stars before joining the Judge and Gilbert in the tent.  We had been in our blankets for some time when the Judge spoke:

“Wallace, are you awake?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“I’ve been lying here thinking,” said the Judge.  “It seemed to me that I actually felt Hubbard’s presence out there to-night.

“And so did I,” I confessed.  “He seemed actually to be with us.”

While Gilbert broke camp in the morning the Judge and I photographed the rock. In lieu of the flag and pennant we had lost, we draped another little flag, which the Judge had thoughtfully brought with him, above the inscription, together with a pennant he improvised from a piece of oilcloth in which his camera was wrapped and on which he lettered with charcoal the word “MICHIGAN”,”—Hubbard’s college. At the base of the rock, below the inscription, we cached our hammer, three steel drills and a cold chisel.

When all was ready for our departure, I went for a last look at the rock and the old campground—the last in all human probability that I shall ever have of this spot, which held for me so many associations. Then we shouldered our packs, and at a rapid pace began our return march to the Beaver River.


Wallace and the inscribed stone


Remnants of Hubbard’s belongings

 

Next: Chapter XXXV: A New Disaster