The party for Grand River--Cary, Cole, W.R. Smith and Young--have
decided to dispense with a guide; very wisely, I think, from what I
have seen of native Labradoreans. While the journey they undertake is
one in which the skill of Indians or half-breeds, familiar with
Labrador wildernesses would be of great value and would add to the
comfort of our party, it is very doubtful if any living person has
ever been to the falls or knows any more about the last, and probably
the hardest part of the trip, than Cary. And, further, the travel is
so difficult that about all a man can carry is supplies for himself;
and the Indians cannot stand the pace that our men intend to strike;
nor, if it should come to the last extremity, and a forlorn hope was
needed to make a last desperate push for discovery or relief, could
the Indian guides, so far as we have any knowledge of them, be relied
on. That the boldest measures are often the surest, will probably
again be demonstrated by our Grand River party.

We tried the exploring boats very thoroughly at Chateau Bay, three of
us getting caught about six miles from the vessel in quite a blow, and
the well-laden boat proved herself very seaworthy. When loaded, she
still draws but little water, and is good in every way for the trip.

This letter was begun in the fine breeze off Newfoundland, but could
not be mailed till the port of entry and post-office of Labrador,
Battle Harbor, was reached. A week was consumed in getting from our
first anchorage in Labrador to this harbor, as the captain was
unaccustomed to icebergs, and properly decided to take no risks with
them in the strong shifting currents and thick weather of the eastern
end of the straits. The wind was ahead for several days, and the heavy
squalls coming off the land in quick succession made us fear the wind