The final entry in the diary of Leonidas Hubbard, 1903.

Leonidas Hubbard was an American adventurer, who, accompanied by Dillon Wallace and guide George Elson, attempted to cross overland from North West River to Ungava Bay in 1903. Inexperienced, with no local guide, and bedevilled by misfortune, they never made it. While retreating from the approaching Labrador winter, Wallace and Elson left Hubbard in camp while they made a dash back to the nearest homestead for help. Hubbard died there from starvation and exposure, while Wallace and Elson barely escaped with their lives.

This is the final entry in the diary Hubbard kept of his journey. It was originally published by his widow Mina, who made the trip he never completed, two years after his death.

Sunday, October 18th.—Alone in camp—junction of Nascaupee and some other stream—estimated (overestimated I hope) distance above head of Grand Lake, 33 miles. For two days past we have travelled down our old trail with light packs. We left a lot of wet flour—about 11 miles below here, 12 miles (approximately) below that about a pound of milk powder, 4 miles below that about 4 pounds of lard. We counted on all these to help us out in our effort to reach the head of Grand Lake where we hoped to find Skipper Tom Blake's trapping camp and cache. On Thursday as I stated, I busted. Friday and Saturday it was the same. I saw it was probably useless for me to try to go farther with the boys, so we counselled last night, and decided they should take merely half a blanket each, socks, etc., some tea, tea pails, cups, and the pistols, and go on. They will try to reach the flower to-morrow. Then Wallace will bring a little and come to me. George will go on to the milk and lard and to Skipper Blake if he can, and send or lead help to us. I want to say here that they are two of the very best, bravest, and grandest men I ever knew, and if I die it will not be because they did not put forth their best efforts. Our past two days have been trying ones. I have not written my diary because so very weak. Day before yesterday we caught sight of a caribou, but it was on our lee, and, winding us, got away before a shot could be fired.

Yesterday at an old camp, we found the end we had cut from an old flour bag. It had a bit of flour sticking to it. We boiled it with our old caribou bones and it thickened the broth a little. We also found a can of mustard we had thrown away. I sat and held it in my hand a long time, thinking how it came from Congers and our home, and what a happy home it was. Then I took a bite of it and it was very good. We mixed some in our bone broth and it seemed to stimulate us. We had a bit of caribou skin in the same pot. It swelled thick and was very good. Last night I fell asleep while the boys were reading to me. This morning I was very, very sleepy. After the boys left—they left me tea, the caribou bones, and another end of flour sack found here, a rawhide caribou moccasin, and some yeast cakes—I drank a cup of strong tea and some bone broth. I also ate some of the really delicious rawhide, boiled with the bones, and it made me stronger—strong enough to write this. The boys have only tea and one half pound pea meal (erbswurst). Our parting was most affecting. I did not feel so bad. George said, "The Lord help us, Hubbard. With His help I'll save you if I can get out." Then he cried. So did Wallace. Wallace stooped and kissed my cheek with his poor, sunken, bearded lips—several times—and I kissed his. George did the same, and I kissed his cheek. Then they went away. God bless them and help them.

I am not so greatly in doubt as to the outcome. I believe that they will reach the flour and be strengthened, that Wallace will reach me, that George will find Blake's cache and camp and send help. So I believe we will all get out.

My tent is pitched in open style in front of a big rock. The rock reflects the fire, but it is going out because of the rain. I think I shall let it go and close the tent, till the rain is over, thus keeping out wind and saving wood. To-night or to-morrow perhaps the weather will improve so I can build a fire, eat the rest of my moccassins and have some bone broth. Then I can boil my belt and oil-tanned moccassins and a pair of cowhide mittens. They ought to help some. I am not suffering. The acute pangs of hunger have given way to indifference. I am sleepy. But let no one suppose that I expect it. I am prepared, that is all. I think the boys will be able with the Lord's help to save me.