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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

 IV

A MAN'S GAME

On the fourth day after parting from Elson I reached the vicinity of Hubbard’s camp.  The snow had not ceased to fall during those four days, and it was falling heavily at the time.  Vainly I searched for the tent, but could not find it, and never found it.  The next day I went farther up the valley, to be sure that I had not mistaken the location, for the snow had changed the whole appearance of the country.

That night I heard voices of people speaking to me—friends who had been long dead.  The next day, and frequently during the days that followed, I heard men shouting.  I shouted back at the empty wilderness, for the shouting men were phantoms of my fevered imagination.

Finally I came to the belief that rescuers had found Hubbard, and failing to find me in the thick snow had taken him out, and that I was alone in the wilderness.  Then I turned back down the valley toward Grand Lake.

I lost all count of days and the measure of time.  It seemed to me that I had been wandering for weeks.  The snow continued, and I remember I fell down often in the drifts and the walking was painful.

One night the snow ceased to fall and the sky cleared.  The next morning four trappers found me in the snow.  My feet were frozen, and I was too weak to walk.  They told me the date was November 1.  Fourteen days had elapsed since I left Hubbard.  They also told me that Elson had killed four porcupines and grouse for food, and in good strength had reached them at Grand Lake two days previously.

Allen Goudie, Donald Blake, Duncan McLean and Gilbert Blake were the rescuers.  Gilbert and Duncan remained with me; Allen and Donald proceeded at once in search of Hubbard.

They found the tent.  Its front was closed, and snow had drifted high about it.  They removed the snow, and opening the tent peered in.  Hubbard, wrapped in his blankets, slept; but it was the eternal sleep from which there is no earthly awakening.

They made his body safe from prowling animals, and returned to me with our records.  From a long entry which he had made in his diary directly after Elson and I left him, it was evident Hubbard lay down to sleep that very day and never awoke.  Following are the closing words of this entry: 

I am not suffering.  The acute pangs of hunger have given way to indifference.  I’m sleepy.  I think death from starvation is not so bad.  But let no one suppose I expect it.  I am prepared—that is all.  I think the boys will be able with the Lord’s help to save me.

Hubbard had played his “man’s game”, he used to call it, to the end, as a man should.

For many weeks I lay helpless with gangrene in my feet, but a party which I dispatched for the purpose during the winter brought Hubbard’s body out of the wilderness to Northwest River; and when I returned home in the spring, I brought it with me, that Hubbard might be accorded a Christian burial in civilization.

 

Next: Chapter V: A Permanent Memorial