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View of loose item on ScrpBk1_06-verso: typescript of letter written by Georges Destrubé for his family, May 2-25, 1917. Page 12 of 19.

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  • [start page] - 12 - And what enthusiasm was ours and joy. We wished we could continue that trail life all our lives, and plan after plan we made and none could <del>hav</del> have guessed what dreams were ours as we broke our trail back again to home. Of the things I shall never forget is that unlucky Winter of 1913 (when Maurice and Maggie were with you in England) which led up to several unfortunate events, chiefly poor Guy's illness. There was that chronic drive to St. Paul de Metis on our way out to Chicago with poor Guy wrapped up in the sled-box, and so bad, that bitter cold night: and shall I ever forget those moments of agony and suspense when Guy, with a certain name constantly on his lips, called on me to stop the rig and sat suddenly bolt upright and said he was dying, and I had my hand on his chest in a second counting the heart-beats, for it was little I understood his illness and my fear was great, for Guy was never the sort of chap to imagine things and was exeptionally strong headed, and couragous in every sense of the word. --- Yes, those were trying anxious days, and it was harrowing to have to sit by his bed and answer his disordered questions and listen to wonderful ravings and hardly know what to do to help him. Speaking of that trip north a picture is still vivid in my mind. It was on a lake, we called "Lone Lake", where we made one of our last and furthest camps north. I had been away from Guy two days on a tributary to Lone Lake (Goose River we named it) and was collecting in a long lline of traps we had laid there, and had reached the Lake on my way back just before sunset, and I can remember my sense of great loneliness and my eagerness to rejoin Guy. Our camp lay on the further shore and I had another four miles to do and soon I knew I would eventually <del>discern first the tent which was on the margin of the Lake, and then</del> [end page]
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