C Ihe Ladies c cu. V'VVAN - History and Classics, Department of

~ Harbour 0--------------------~~------------~----------------------Wrecked MenN ext m 0 r n I n g, w hen I wa Ike d dow nth e rI v e r ban k, Aklavik was like acity of the dead.I paid various calls on ready-made friends found during the last two days, hopingto bring in some of them to cheer Gwen in her solitary state, but not a soul was stirring.There was silence about the wireless station, silence at the store; every cabindoor and window was shut and not a voice was heard. Only the missionaries were atwork within their mission house, busy with washing and sewing. On my way back Imet a friend, one of the North-West Mounted Police who had travelled down theMackenzie with us, and I walked with him to the cabin where his comrades weretyping, cooking, reading or sleeping. They had a good library of novels and Iborrowed half a dozen volumes. When I asked him what had happened to all theinhabitants he explained the silence of the place in a few brief words."The steamer brought in drink," he said. "The first liquor in nine months.They are all under the covers today. Dead drunk."Then I remembered a certain remark once made by the judge. With his typicallyFrench lucidity he always liked to place his subject in a clear light and then todefine it in a telling phrase. The north country, he had observed, is "TheHarbour of Wrecked Men."N ow we pondered on that remark and began to observe people's lives with newunderstanding and no sooner did we look for tragedy than we found itconstantly. Day after day our experience would reinforce the judge's theory. Itmight be a face seen in a crowd, a phrase or a story overheard, a few minutesspent in a cabin interior. Any such glimpse or tale or encounter might flash on