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The Author Leonidas Hubbard, Jr. Where Romance Lingers Deep Ancient Valleys George Elson Job Gilbert On Into the Wilderness The Fierce Nascaupee The White Man's Burden Making Canoe Poles Job Was in His Element Coming Down the Trail with Packs Washing-Day On the Trail In the Heart of the Wilderness Solitude Joe Skinning the Caribou The Fall Wild Maid Marion Gertrude Falls Breakfast on Michikamau Stormbound From an Indian Grave A Bit of the Caribou Country The Indians' Cache Bridgman Mountains The Camp on the Hill A Montagnais Type The Montagnais Boy Nascaupees in Skin Dress Indian Women and Their Rome With the Nascaupee Women The Nascaupee Chief and Men Nascaupee Little Folk A North Country Mother and Her Little Ones Shooting the Rapids, The Arrival at Ungava A Bit of the Coast A Rainy Camp Working Up Shallow Water Drying Caribou Meat and Mixing Bannocks Great Michikamau Carrying the Canoe Up the Hill on the Portage Launching In the Nascaupee Valley A Rough Country The French Post at Northwest River Hudson's Bay Company Post as Northwest River Night-Gloom Gathers Map of Eastern Labrador showing Route
A WOMAN'S WAY THROUGH UNKOWN LABRADOR
LEONIDAS HUBBARD, JR.
There was an unusual excitement and interest in Mr. Hubbard's face when he came home one evening in January of 1903.
We had just seated ourselves at the dinner-table, when leaning forward he handed me a letter to read. It contained the very pleasing information that we were shortly to receive a, for us, rather large sum of money. It was good news, but it did not quite account for Mr. Hubbard's present state of mind, and I looked up enquiringly.
"You see, Wife, it means that I can take my Labrador trip whether anyone sends me or not," he said triumphantly.
His eyes glowed and darkened and in his voice was the ring of a great enthusiasm, for he had seen a Vision, and this trip was a vital part of his dream.
The dream had begun years ago, when a boy lay out under the apple trees of a quiet farm in Southern Michigan with elbows resting on the pages of an old school geography, chin in palms and feet in air. The book was open at the map of Canada, and there on the other page were pictures of Indians dressed in skins with war bonnets on their heads; pictures of white hunters also dressed in skins, paddling bark canoes; winter pictures of dog-teams and sledges, the driver on his snow-shoes, his long whip in hand. The boy would have given all the arrow-heads he had for just one look at what he saw pictured there.
He was born, this boy, of generations of pioneer ancestors, the line of his mother's side running back to Flanders of three hundred years ago, through Michael Paulus Van Der Voort, who came to America from Dendermonde, East Flanders, and whose marriage on 18th November, 1640, to Marie Rappelyea, was the fifth recorded marriage in New Amsterdam, now New York. A branch runs back in England to John Rogers the martyr. It is the boast of this family that none of the blood has ever been known to "show the white feather." Among those ancestors of recent date of whose deeds he was specially proud, were the great-grandfather, Samuel Rogers, a pioneer preacher of the Church of Christ among the early settlers of Kentucky and Missouri, and the Grandfather Hubbard who took his part in the Indian fights of Ohio's early history. On both mother's and father's side is a record of brave, high-hearted, clean-living men and women, strong in Christian faith, lovers of nature, all of them, and thus partakers in rich measure of that which ennobles life.
The father, Leonidas Hubbard, had come "'cross country" from Deerfield, Ohio, with gun on shoulder, when Michigan was still a wilderness, and had chosen this site for his future home. He had taught in a school for a time in his young manhood; but the call of the out-of-doors was too strong, and forth he went again. When the responsibilities of life made it necessary for him to limit his wanderings he had halted here; and here on July 12th, 1872, the son Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., was born.
He began by taking things very much to heart, joys and sorrows alike. In his play he was always setting himself some unaccomplishable task, and then flying into a rage because he could not do it. The first great trouble came with the advent of a baby sister who, some foolish one told him, would steal from him his mother's heart. Passionately he implored a big cousin to "take that little baby out and chop its head off."
Later he found it all a mistake, that his mother's heart was still his own, and so he was reconciled.
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