BACK REFLECTION
1851 NEWFOUNDLAND POLE LINE SURVEY (GISBORNE’S JOURNAL) PART 2 OF 2 BY PHILIP PILGRIM OCT. 31ST.
Wind S & gloomy with every appearance of rain; determined to start however & at 10 a.m. we were off, Frank Paul accompanying us for one day’s march in search of deer. We went in W.NW½ W direct for Mitchel’s Hill, so called from an old Indian of that name having once resided there, & at 3½ p.m. having crossed an inconsiderable stream called King’s brook we encamped in a small droke of woods under the hill. By this time we were pretty wet as it had rained so hard since noon. I spent the eve of this the first anniversary of my wedding talking about my dear love to Joe & listening to his various past adventures. After sun down it snowed a little but we passed a tolerably comfortable night under the silk. Ahead 10 miles. Note. The road must pass round the head of White Bear Bay take the sloping tongue northward & then run off W.N.E.½ E for Mitchell’s Hill. It will average £30 per mile to which add £50 for the first brooks & £35 for the latter. Land is very poor after rising up from the Bay. I should have remarked that either the relative positions of White Bear Bay & Bay of Despair are incorrectly laid down on this chart or else the variation of the compass must be considerably less as we made a full W by N course the whole distance whereas per chart a W. course would barely fetch it.
78 SUBMARINE TELECOMS MAGAZINE
Memo. During this month of October we had 21 wet days!
NOVEMBER 1ST. 1851.
Thick fog & rain. I offered Frank Paul 6/- to proceed on another day’s march but he declined travelling this season in such weather at any price. At 10 a.m. we left him under Mitchell’s Hill & travelled W by N until we struck the eastern brook of Little Barrysway. Never have I seen a heavier fall of rain. Every little stream a river & the marshed dreadfully heavy. We toiled for 7 successive hours without stopping a moment to either eat or rest, Joe’s only cry being “Must go ahead captain else no catch bush tonight”. My limbs became so chafed from the friction of wet swanskin that blood
trickled down them. My long boots were constantly filled with water & our bread became mere poultice. In fact half an hour’s soaking in a pond could not have rendered our march more thoroughly distressing. At 4 p.m. , Joe pulled up & exclaimed “never catch Grandy’s brook tonight must stop”. At this time we were shivering with cold wind having veered from S. to N.E. For a whole hour did we try every means for lighting a fire under a high rock at the foot of which a few stunted trees eked out a bare sustenance. They were not over 5 feet high. At last we succeeded in raising a smoke & contrived to get the chill out of us by submitting to partial suffocation We threw our camp over a short tree & crawled under its flopping shelter to pass