George Tracy Marsh

“ There was a lump in his throat as he gazed at the distant fur post. That little settlement, with its log trade house and church of the Oblat Fathers, the last outpost of the great company on the bleak east coast, which for two centuries had defied the grim North, stood for all he held most dear—was home. In the church burial ground inclosed by a slab fence, three spruce crosses marked the graves of his father, mother, and brother. In the mission house, built by Cree converts, lived Julie Breton. ”

“ Somewhere, far down the bold east coast the Great Whale River emptied into the salt “Big Water” of the Crees. It would take about four days of hard paddling to make it, if the sea was flat and the wind light. But if he were wind-bound, as was likely heading south in the spring, it might take weeks. He had a hundred pounds of cured fish and could wait out the wind, but the thought of Julie, who by this time must have learned from his partners of his mad journey, made Jean anxious to reach the post. He preferred to be welcomed living than mourned as dead. ”