the river of
that name, which is just east of it, escaped our attention. Cape
Corbeau, it had been named by a French missionary, because the ravens
build their nests on its rocky top, and, perched high up, croak at you
warningly from afar. Always the ravens are there. Involuntarily, as
one croaked above our heads, "Nevermore" echoed through my mind. "And
my soul from out that shadow shall be lifted nevermore." There were
dark shadows ahead of us among the rocks and the forests, and--But in a
moment the thought was drowned and forgotten in the beauties of the
scenery. Beauties?--yes; for bleak and desolate Labrador has a beauty
and a charm all its own.

Two hours after passing Cape Corbeau the rain began to pour, and at
7.30 o'clock, when we made camp on the south shore, we were well
soaked. We resumed our journey at 5.30 in the morning. A stiff breeze
was blowing, but by keeping in the lee of the shore we made good
progress. At ten o'clock, when we found it necessary to cross to the
north shore so as to shorten the distance, there was a rising sea, and
we had to lighten the canoe and ferry the cargo over in two loads.

It was soon after one o'clock that we reached the upper end of the
lake, where we found a stream about 125 yards wide that flowed with a
swift current from out a little lake. Into this lake after luncheon we
paddled, and when we reached its upper end, there was the mouth of a
river, which we immediately hailed as the Nascaupee, the stream that
was to lead us up to Lake Michikamau. Its mouth was wide, and it
seemed to answer so well all the descriptions we had heard of the river
for which we were searching that the possibility of our being mistaken
never once entered our heads; in fact, we remained under the impression
that it was the Nascaupee until the last.

But we were mistaken. We had passed the Nascaupee five miles below,
where it empties, together with the Crooked River, into a deep bay
extending northward from Grand Lake. At its mouth the Nascaupee is
divided by an island into two streams, and this island is so thickly
covered with trees, and the streams on either side of it are so narrow,
that when we crossed along in front of the bay no break in the line of
woods at the mouth of the river was perceptible. Perhaps it will be
said we should have explored the bay. I know now myself that should
have been done, but in justice to Hubbard it must be remembered that
none of us then had