LITMIR.BIZ

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winter! It was a heavy price to pay; but the poor Esquimaux remained unmolested that year, while the Indians received a salutary lesson. But the compulsory peace was soon broken, and it became apparent that the only effectual way to check the bloodthirsty propensity of the Indians was to arm their enemies with the gun. The destruction of the first expedition to the Esquimaux, and the bad feeling that existed in the minds of the natives of Richmond Gulf consequent thereon, induced the fur-traders to fix on another locality for a new attempt. It was thought that the remote solitudes of Ungava Bay, at the extreme north of Labrador,—where the white man’s axe had never yet felled the stunted pines of the north, nor the ring of his rifle disturbed its echoes,—would be the spot best suited for the erection of a wooden fort.

      Accordingly, it was appointed that Mr George Stanley should select a coadjutor, and proceed with a party of picked men to the scene of action as early in the spring as the ice would permit, and there build a fort as he best could, with the best materials he could find; live on whatever the country afforded in the shape of food; establish a trade in oil, whalebone, arctic foxes, etcetera, etcetera, if they were to be got; and bring about a reconciliation between the Esquimaux and the Indians of the interior, if that were possible. With the careful minuteness peculiar to documents, Stanley’s instructions went on to point out that he was to start from Moose—with two half-sized canoes, each capable of carrying ten pieces or packages of 90 pounds weight each, besides the crew—and bore through the ice, if the ice would allow him, till he should reach Richmond Gulf; cross this gulf, and ascend, if practicable, some of the rivers which fall into it from the height of land supposed, but not positively known, to exist somewhere in the interior. Passing this height, he was to descend by the rivers and lakes (if such existed) leading to the eastward, until he should fall upon a river reported to exist in these lands, and called by the natives Caniapuscaw, or South River, down which he was to proceed to the scene of his labours, Ungava Bay; on reaching which he was considerately left to the unaided guidance of his own discretion! Reduced to their lowest term and widest signification, the instructions directed our friend to start as early as he could, with whom he chose, and with what he liked; travel as fast as possible over terra incognita to a land of ice—perhaps, also, of desolation—and locate himself among bloody savages. It was hoped that there would be found a sufficiency of trees wherewith to build him a shelter against a prolonged winter; in the meantime he might enjoy a bright arctic summer sky for his canopy!

      But it was known, or at least supposed, that the Esquimaux were fierce and cruel savages, if not cannibals. Their very name implies something of the sort. It signifies eaters of raw flesh, and was bestowed on them by their enemies the Muskigons. They call themselves Innuit-men, or warriors; and although they certainly do eat raw flesh when necessity compels them—which it often does—they asserted that they never did so from choice. However, be this as it may, the remembrance of their misdeeds in the first expeditions was fresh in the minds of the men in the service of the fur-traders, and they evinced a decided unwillingness to venture into such a country and among such a people,—an unwillingness which was only at length overcome when Mrs Stanley and her little daughter heroically volunteered to share the dangers of the expedition in the manner already narrated.

      Stanley now made vigorous preparations for his departure. Some of the men had already been enrolled, as we have seen, and there were more than enough of able and active volunteers ready to complete the crews.

      “Come hither, lads,” he cried, beckoning to two men who were occupied on the bank of the river, near the entrance to Moose Fort, in repairing the side of a canoe.

      The men left their work and approached. They were both Esquimaux, and good stout, broad-shouldered, thick-set specimens of the race they were. One was called Oolibuck, (This name is spelt as it should be pronounced. The correct spelling is Ouligbuck), the other Augustus; both of which names are now chronicled in the history of arctic adventure as having belonged to the well-tried and faithful interpreters to Franklin, Back, and Richardson, in their expeditions of north-west discovery.

      “I’m glad to see you busy at the canoe, boys,” said Stanley, as they came up. “Of course you are both willing to revisit your countrymen.”

      “Yes, sir, we is. Glad to go where you choose send us,” answered Oolibuck, whose broad, oily countenance lighted up with good-humour as he spoke.

      “It will remind you of your trip with Captain Franklin,” continued Stanley, addressing Augustus.

      “Me no like to ’member dat,” said the Esquimau, with a sorrowful shake of the head. “Me love bourgeois Franklin, but tink me never see him more.”

      “I don’t know that, old fellow,” returned Stanley, with a smile. “Franklin is not done with his discoveries yet; there’s a talk of sending off another expedition some of these days, I hear, so you may have a chance yet.”

      Augustus’s black eyes sparkled with pleasure as he heard this. He was a man of strong feeling, and during his journeyings with our great arctic hero had become attached to him in consequence of the hearty and unvarying kindness and consideration with which he treated all under his command. But the spirit of enterprise had been long slumbering, and poor Augustus, who was now past the prime of life, feared that he should never see his kind master more.

      “Now I want you, lads, to get everything in readiness for an immediate start,” continued Stanley, glancing upwards at the sky; “if the weather holds, we shan’t be long off paying your friends a visit. Are both canoes repaired?”

      “Yes, sir, they is,” replied Oolibuck.

      “And the baggage, is it laid out? And—”

      “Pardon, monsieur,” interrupted Massan, walking up, and touching his cap. “I’ve jest been down at the point, and there’s a rig’lar nor’-wester a-comin’ down. The ice is sweepin’ into the river, an’ it’ll be choked up by to-morrow, I’m afraid.”

      Stanley received this piece of intelligence with a slight frown, and looked seaward, where a dark line on the horizon and large fields of ice showed that the man’s surmise was likely to prove correct.

      “It matters not,” said Stanley, hastily; “I’ve made arrangements to start to-morrow, and start we shall, in spite of ice or wind, if the canoes will float!”

      Massan, who had been constituted principal steersman of the expedition, in virtue of his well-tried skill and indomitable energy, felt that the tone in which this was said implied a want of confidence in his willingness to go under any circumstances, so he said gravely—

      “Pardon, monsieur; I did not say we could not start.”

      “True, true, Massan; don’t be hurt. I was only grumbling at the weather,” answered Stanley, with a laugh.

      Just then the first puff of the coming breeze swept up the river, ruffling its hitherto glassy surface.

      “There it comes,” cried Stanley, as he quitted the spot. “Now, Massan, see to it that the crews are assembled in good time on the beach to-morrow. We start at daybreak.”

      “Oui, monsieur,” replied Massan, as he turned on his heel and walked away. “Parbleu! we shall indeed start to morrow, an it please you, if all the ice and wind in the polar regions was blowed down the coast and crammed into the river’s mouth. C’est vrai!”

      Chapter Five.

      Ice looks unpropitious—The start—An important member of the party nearly forgotten—Chimo

      Stanley’s forebodings and Massan’s prognostications proved partly incorrect on the following morning. The mouth of the river, and the sea beyond, were quite full of ice; but it was loose, and intersected in all directions by lanes of open water. Moreover, there was no wind.

      The gray light of early morning brightened into dawn, and the first clear ray of the rising sun swept over a scene more beautiful than ever filled the fancy of the most imaginative poet of the Temperate Zones. The sky was perfectly unclouded, and the surface of the sea was completely covered with masses of ice, whose tops were pure white like snow, and their sides a delicate greenish-blue, their dull, frosted appearance forming a striking contrast to the surrounding

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