APPENDIX 



WHEN in Labrador and Newfoundland a fews years ago, the 

 writer copied the entries of an old half-breed woman trapper s 

 daily journal of her life. It is fragmentary and incoherent, but 

 gives a glimpse of the Indian mind. It is written in English. 

 She was seventy-five years old when the diary opened in Decem 

 ber, 1893. Her name was Lydia Campbell and she lived at 

 Hamilton Inlet. Having related how she shot a deer, skinning 

 it herself, made her snow-shoes and set her rabbit snares, she 

 closes her first entry with : 



&quot; Well, as I sed, I can t write much at a time now, for i am 

 getting blind and some mist rises up before me if i sew, read or 

 write a little while.&quot; 



Lydia Campbell s mother was captured by Eskimo. She ran 

 away when she had grown up, to quote her own terse diary, 

 &quot;crossed a river on drift sticks, wading in shallows, through 

 woods, meeting bears, sleeping under trees seventy miles flight 

 saw a French boat took off skirt and waved it to them 

 came took my mother on board worked for them with the 

 sealers camped on the ice. 



&quot;As there was no other kind of women to marrie hear, the 

 few English men each took a wife of that sort and they never 

 was sorry that they took them, for they was great workers and 

 so it came to pass that I was one of the youngest of them.&quot; 

 [Meaning, of course, that she was the daughter of one of these 

 marriages.] 



&quot;Our young man pretended to spark the two daughters of 

 Tomas. He was a one-armed man, for he had shot away one 



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