Thursday, July 9th.—­Started at 5 A.M., launching boat after Steve had said, “Don’t know as we can launch ’er, sir.”  Fog.  Offered Steve chart and compass.  “Ain’t got no learnin’, sir.  I can’t read.”  So I directed course in fog and Steve steered.  Later, clear, fair, high wind.  Steve cool, nervy, tireless.  He traps foxes and shoots partridges in winter.  Buys flour and molasses.  Got too windy to travel.  Landed at Big Black Island to wait for lower wind.  George used up—­lumbago.  Put him to bed and put on mustard plaster.  Bought salmon of Joe Lloyd.  Lives in 10 x 12 shanty, hole in roof for smoke to escape.  Eskimo wife.  “Is all the world at peace, sir?” He came from England.  Hungry for news.  Had trout smoking in chimney.  A little wood on this island, and moss, thick and soft.  Wind high, and George sick, so did not go on.  Gave George two blankets and tarpaulin.  Did not pitch tent.  Wallace and I threw tent down and lay on it.  Pulled his blanket over us and slept.  Still sunlight at 11.  Whales snorting in the bay.  Big gulls croaking.

Friday, July 10th.—­Awoke at 1 A.M.  Bright moonlight, made coffee and milk.  Called men.  George very bad.  Portaged outfit 200 yards to boat.  Found her high.  Worked till 4.30 to launch her.  Little wind.  Made Pompey Island at 11.  Saw many whales and seals.  Caught caplin on fish-hook tied to stick jerking them.  Stopped on Pompey for lunch.  Mossy island of Laurentian rock.  Saw steamer in distance.  Put off—­fired three or four shots.  Got only a salute.  Put off in canoe to head her off.  She came about.  Was the Virginia Lake.  Took us on board and brought us to Rigolette.  Mr. Frazer, H.B.C.  Agent here, to whom I had letter from Commissioner Chippman of the H.B.  Co., took us in, as the Company’s men always do.  Made us at home.  Seems fine to be on land again at a Company post.  George better.  Eskimo dogs.  Eskimo men and women, breeds lumbermen, trappers, fishermen, two clerks.  All kindly—­even the dogs.  All talkative and hungry for outside visitors.

Saturday, July 11th.—­Awoke from bad dream of trouble getting somewhere to realise that I was at a post.  Mighty good awakening.  George better.  Trying to get data as to Northwest River.  No Indians here.  White men and Eskimo know little about it.  Capt.  Joe Blake says Grand Lake good paddling.  Forty miles long.  Nascaupee River empties into it.  Says Red River comes into it about 15 miles above its mouth.  His son Donald came from his traps on Seal Lake to-day.  Says same.  Has crossed it about 50 miles above its mouth in winter.  Has heard from some one that Montagnais Indians say it comes from Michikamau.  Does not know.  Says it is shallow.  This seems to be what Low has mapped as Northwest River.  Donald says not much game on it.  Others who have not been there, say plenty.  All report bear.  Man who lives on river just above Grand Lake in winter to trap, missing.  Supposed drowned.  Donald says a chance seal in Seal Lake.  Has shot ’em but never killed one.  Little game there to eat.  May be fish.  Does not know.  Does not fish himself.  Takes flour, pork, tea and “risin.”  Porcupines.  We can live on them.  Hard to get definite data; but that makes the work bigger.