In
the evening we came to a rapid. Hubbard and I nearly swamped the
canoe, and part of the rapid was too rough to run. It was only
just a short lift over, about 100 feet. The three of us took the
canoe, and before getting over we dropped it. We were getting so
weak that it took the three of us to carry the canoe, and yet we
couldn't even that distance. We looked at each other, but none
complained of his weakness. We found we could not go any farther
without something to eat. We ate one of Mr. Hubbard's old
moccasins, made out of caribou skin, that he made himself. We
boiled it in the frying pan, till it got kind of soft, and we
shared in three parts. Each had his share and found it good, and
also drank up the water where it was boiled in. At night we had
some tea, and it freshened us up some.
Tuesday, October 13th.--Wind raw and cold. We came to a little
fall we had to carry over, quite short, about 40 feet portage, but
our canoe we hadn't the strength to carry. We had to drag it over
the rocks.
I shot a whisky jack, and we had it along with our bone broth and
tea. Not knowing what our next meal would be, or whether we will
ever have the pleasure of enjoying another meal, it looked very
much like starvation.
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