Tuesday, July 7th—­Last night moonlight and starry and fine.  This morning the shore of Labrador spread out before us in the sunshine.  It calls ever so hard, and I am hungry to tackle it.  Landed this A.M. at Indian Harbour.  George and I went ashore in the canoe; Wallace in ship’s boat.  Lot of fishermen greeted us.  Find all men and women on the coast are Newfoundland men, and “Liveyeres” (Live-heres).  The former come up to fish in summer and are the aristocrats.  The latter are the under-crust.  Could not get any one to take us to Rigolette.  Spent the afternoon getting outfit together—­assorting and packing—­weighing it and trying it in the canoe, while line of Newfoundland salts looked on, commented, and asked good-natured questions.  Canoe 18 feet, guide’s special, Oldtown, canvas.  Weight about 80.  Tent—­miner’s tent, pole in front, balloon silk, weight 6 lbs., dimensions 6 1/2 x 7.  Three pairs 3-lb. blankets; two tarpaulins about 6 x 7; three pack straps; two 9-inch duck waterproof bags, hold 40 lbs. each; three 12-inch bags; 3 1/4 x 4 1/4 kodak; 30 rolls films, one dozen exposures each, in tin cases with electrician’s tape water-proofing; one dozen small waterproof bags of balloon silk, for sugar, chocolate, note-books and sundries.  Wallace and I each have one extra light weight 45-70 rifle, smokeless powder.  Also one pistol each, diamond model, 10-inch barrel, for partridges.  For grub we have four 45-lb. sacks of flour; 30 lbs. bacon; 20 lbs. lard; 30 lbs. sugar; 14 lbs. salt; 3 or 4 lbs. dried apples from home; 10 lbs. rice; 20 lbs. erbswurst; 10 lbs. pea flour in tins; 10 lbs. tea; 5 lbs. coffee; 6 chocolate; 10 hardtack; 10 lbs. dried milk.  Put all in canoe, got in ourselves, and found we could carry it 0.K.

Wednesday, July 8th.—­Took observation at noon.  Lat. 54 degrees 28 minutes.  Steve Newell, a liveyere from Winter’s Cove, offered to take us to Rigolette for fifteen dollars.  “Would I give him $1 to get a bit of grub for his family?” Got flour and molasses.  Started in the Mayflower, a leaky little craft, about 5 P.M.  No wind to speak of.  Cold drizzle and fog.  About 11 we landed at Winter’s Cove.  Nasty place to land among the rocks on a desolate point.  From a shanty on the beach came a yelling and hallooing from several voices to know who we were and what we were doing.  Went into cabin, two rooms—­one frame and the other sod.  Room about 12 x 14—­desolate.  Two women like furies—­ragged, haggard, brown, hair streaming.  One had baby in her arms; two small girls and a boy.  One of women Steve’s mother.  Dirty place, but better than the chilling fog.  Glad to get in.  Fire started.  Stove smoked till room was full.  Little old lamp, no chimney.  We made coffee and gave coffee and hard-tack to all.  Women went into other room with children.  We spread tarpaulin and blankets, and lay on floor; so did Steve.  Women talked loudly.