Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

And now a blinding flash of lightning is followed immediately by a tremendous crash of thunder. The house is shaken by the concussion. ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ quickly runs to the old-fashioned cupboard in the corner, takes out a bottle and sprinkles _l’eau benite_ over the door lintel and window frame. Her sister having run out of the room after the alarming thunder-peal, ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ shares your settee and explains that the little ceremony she has just performed is to keep lightning out of the room. She goes out and brings back a French-English conversation lexicon. She turns to one of the sentences arranged in parallel columns, speaks the French and asks you to pronounce the English. This done, you exchange; she speaks the English and you speak the French—each correcting the pronunciation of the other until both are right. The others look on eagerly, and smile encouragement over your progress. Every time you speak without the necessity for correction, all cry out delightedly, “_Oui, Oui, Monsieur_.”

At last ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ closes the book, and makes you understand that without looking at it you are to address her in French.

The thunder has ceased, the clouds have passed, and the returning light illumines the room and the kindly faces about you. A golden sunbeam casts an aureole around the head of ‘_La Bonne Ange_,’ and turning to her you say, “_Vous etes tres jolie, mademoiselle_!” A peal of happy laughter from the family greets your remark, followed by a clapping of hands; and as she looks down demurely, ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ replies, “_Vous parlez français tres bien, Monsieur_;” at which we all laugh more heartily than before.

You rise to go, expressing your thanks for shelter the while. A kind and hearty invitation to remain and sup is given; but this you reluctantly decline, explaining that duty calls you away by the evening train. All press around to bid you good-bye, and as you leave and turn the bend of the road all the members of the family salute you from the porch with waving hands, while in their midst, fluttering her handkerchief, stands ‘_La Bonne Ange de l’Orage_.’

Proceeding down the St. Lawrence, St. Germain de Rimouske, or Rimouski, is reached, a thriving town and pleasant summer resort, with good hotels, a fine river and attractive scenery. The beach at Sacré Coeur, a few miles away, is a good one. There is a fine Government wharf here. Father Point, a ‘Wireless’ station and place of call for large ocean-going vessels, may be reached from here, or from the next station, St. Anaclet, on the Intercolonial Railway. Passing Ste. Flavie, from which a short connecting railroad runs to Métis Beach, Matane and Matane-Sur-Mer, and going by St. Octave with its fine fall on the Grand Métis River, the station of Little Métis is reached, from which a drive of about six miles terminates at the well-known St. Lawrence resort, Métis Beach.

This delightful watering-place with its combined charm of country and shore is a favorite summer place for all who love quiet and restful surroundings, with walks and drives in a country that is full of interest. It has been termed the ‘Bride’s Mecca’ or nearest mundane approach to the groves of paradise. It is one of those nice spots favored by people of quiet tastes and avoided by lovers of glare and noise.

Boating, bathing, golf, tennis, walking and driving, are the chief amusements. There is also an enjoyable social life. The summer cottages are delightfully situated, being almost hidden in the trees: each has its own outlook over the broad St. Lawrence, here some forty miles wide. The Golf Links are most beautifully situated amidst ideal surroundings. The hotels are right on the water, with plenty of shade from the generous tree-growth so noticeable in this district.

The beach, one of the best along the St. Lawrence shore, is not used as much as it should be. It is of pebble and sand, with clusters of rock that have fallen from the bold cliff. A very romantic waterfall cascades through a rocky defile and falls on to the beach near one of the principal hotels of the resort; and this waterfall—so accessible, so enticing—is surely one of the most charming pictures that could possibly be imagined. After it reaches the beach it courses down over the pebbles in miniature rapids and foaming rills. No greater fun for children could be found than that of wading in the dashing and sparkling streams that make their way down the beach and out into the salt St. Lawrence.

Rambling along the beach here, under the shade of the trees, is very enjoyable; and rocky knolls with nooks and shelters are conveniently near.

About eighteen miles down the river, Matane-Sur-Mer is reached, a very pleasant spot that has recently been opened up by a short railroad that connects with the Intercolonial Railway at Ste. Flavie. Near the lighthouse, and the lighthouse-keeper’s cheerful home adjoining, bungalows and cottages are being built on a nicely-wooded elevation that overlooks a long strip of pebble beach. It commands a fine view of the broad St. Lawrence, and is a good situation for those who like perfect rest and quiet.

A very enjoyable walk leads to the river Matane, at the mouth of which the bright and busy village of Matane is placed. Large lumber shipments are made here, and the place promises to grow steadily as the St. Lawrence lower coast trade develops. Matane stands on a well-chosen site, and it has good facilities for bathing, boating, etc. There are many fine views from the surrounding heights, and the walks in and about the village, as well as in the adjacent country, are very enjoyable.

_The Country Across The Base of The Gaspé Peninsula, and Some Superb
Fishing Streams_

Saying ‘Good-bye’ to the hospitable shore of the St. Lawrence, and with mind well stored with pleasant memories of happy days and joyous hours, a course across the base of the Gaspé Peninsula is now taken by the line of the Intercolonial Railway, which here makes a south-easterly dip to reach Matapedia at the head of the Baies de Chaleurs.

Regaining Little Métis station a good view of interesting country is obtained on the way to Kempt. Mountain ranges rise on each side, with high table land, bold slopes, and lines of hills running off to the north. The woods are beautiful, the white birches brightening up the various shades of forest green. Beyond Kempt the hills broaden out at times into wide plains marked by gentle undulations of rich green. Rocky cuttings, protected by high snow-fences, are passed, and soon a well-defined valley is reached that is quite narrow in places. At the left, for some distance, runs the river. Other rocky cuttings are entered, beyond which another valley, with the still-flowing river, is reached, After passing the little lumbering village of St. Moise the road again leads through the hills; higher and higher, with dense forest on every hand, and soon it is necessary to cut through their very midst.

At Sayabec the region of beautiful Lake Matapedia is reached, and at Cedar Hall is the most convenient stopping-place for seeing the lake and its scenery. Together with Amqui and Lac au Saumon these places are small lumbering centres. They all have fine surroundings, but the district has not been fully opened up, and only moderate accommodation can be found.

The course now leads by the murmuring Matapedia River, and at Causapscal is found an ideal spot for a restful vacation. It is only suited for those who have quiet tastes and a love for the beautiful, or for those who can enjoy woodland and river walks. It is one of the most beautiful and restful little spots ever seen. It is a picture from Switzerland, and more. No matter how extended the journey, a stay of a few days should be made at Causapscal to drink in some of its soothing balm.

The Matapedia courses right through the village—one of the cleanest in all Quebec, by the way—and one may stop at a comfortable little hostelry, look right out on the river just across the highway, and be lulled to calm slumber by its gentle murmur. Here the houses are built only on one side of the road, and this gives a pleasant view of grassy sward and rippling stream from any part of the village. There are fine views on every hand. The Causapscal River unites with the beautiful Matapedia quite nearby, and along the banks of both streams many choice walks may be enjoyed.

The junction of the two rivers is between high banks, and here is a favorite fishing-haunt for those who own the fishing rights. The Matamajaw Salmon Club House is on the top of the bank, close by.

Beau Rivage is a peaceful hamlet, framed by the far-reaching hills that are here broadened out to a considerable extent. Those who would see the beauties of the famed Matapedia Valley will find ample occupation as the train speeds along.

The Matapedia, or ‘Musical’ River, flows along with soothing murmur and sings a song of peace the while. The rows of cedar logs piled high on the bank, for shipment over the railroad, are turning grey under the summer sun and they blend harmoniously in the landscape effect. Flowers are springing up everywhere, and the tall lambkill is beautiful to behold. How glorious is the country with its absence of formalism and inane repetition of stereotyped patterns! Here the river narrows and throws up two long islands of white and grey pebbles. The water, confined to small channels for the time, dashes forward and springs up, leaping and foaming. How joyful its music! The course now bends suddenly, just where the current is foaming and descending in a noisy rapid. The clear water breaks in rippling waves of snow-white foam, and passes in well-marked ridges for some distance, until the widening channel permits it to resume its erstwhile tranquil way.

Now it passes under the shade of a high and beautifully-wooded mountain, and immediately the water is tinged with a darkening shade—the sun eclipsed by the overhanging trees. On many of the mountains so thick is the foliage that not one tree-trunk can be seen uncovered, excepting, here and there, a white birch sapling.

The scenery of the river and valley between Assametquaghan and Glen Emma is particularly bold and grand, and most enchanting views of the winding Matapedia meet the gaze at every turn of its sinuous course. The mountains rise higher and higher, and as the train turns in and out, far-away glimpses of the silvery stream are frequently caught. Just below the railroad a mass of rocks has fallen from the mountain side into the bed of the river, almost closing the way. Leaning out of the window, as we slow up, the spray is almost at hand.

At times the stream broadens considerably, and the mountains run to foot-hills that diminish to gentle slopes at the river’s brink. Looking along the valley at such points, a grand panorama of mountain, hill, dale, valley and winding stream enchants the artistic eye. There a long line of beautiful trees is seen on an islet, once part of the mainland. As the train goes down stream the island seems to come up under full sail to meet it; and all around, in valley, on mound and hill, and up the steep sides of the mountains, the gorgeous pink bloom of the prolific rhododendron gives joy to the senses.

Here the Matapedia has changed its pebble bed for one of rock, and as there is a considerable fall,—which is also quite noticeable on account of the easy running of the train—the churning waves and dashing foam show beautifully below. At a point where the stream deepens and flows on with darker hue and unruffled surface the train crosses again to the left bank and approaches Millstream—the smallest of hamlets in the most ideal situation that could well be imagined.

On the shore of the river, not far away, is an encampment of happy vacationists, with tent, and shack for cooking; their boat moored below, and the stream singing of health and cool summer joys as it dashes gaily by.

The village of Matapedia has a choice and romantic situation at the confluence of the Matapedia and Restigouche Rivers, known as ‘the meeting of the waters.’ A railroad runs from here along the south shore of the Gaspé Peninsula. The surrounding country is magnificent, and a wealth of beauty is found in the river scenery and fine walks of the neighborhood. It is one of the choice spots of Canada, and numerous sites for cottage retreats and river bungalows will be found along the valley of the Matapedia River, above and below the village.

The canoeing waters of this lovely district are exceedingly choice.

Very nearly all of the country traversed hitherto has been rich in rivers and streams. In addition to the great inland sea of the St. Lawrence, and all the numerous rivers previously named, the district bordered by the Matapedia River has excellent water privileges that cover a wide area. That fine river, the Rimouski, and the charming little Neigette are within easy reach of the Métis River, indeed the smaller river runs into the Métis; and the Métis itself is almost touched by the Patapedia which runs on and connects with the Restigouche and Matapedia Rivers.

Rich as Quebec is in watercourses, the province of New Brunswick, into which we are about to pass, is endowed to even a more extraordinary extent with those supreme additions to the beauty of a landscape; and which provide, when communicating, such pleasant and convenient means for going from one part of the country to the other.

The system of nearly-connecting rivers just traced extends through New Brunswick in a wonderful manner; for over the Upsalquitch, Nepisiguit, Miramichi and other rivers, and by means of the Madawaska and Tobique, and over the widely ramifying waters of the noble St. John, a grand highway of water travel is provided. In addition, there is an almost countless number of tributary streams that intersect the country in every direction, and which serve to bring remote inner districts into communication with the seaboard. As has been seen, some of the rivers are very rapid—dashing headlong through rocky gorges and over stony beds. Others are wide and tranquil, and some ripple a quiet way over sandy beds.

Nor must the myriad streams of smaller proportions be forgotten—the cascade, the brook, the clear and sparkling waters where fish abound. Surely the whole of this beautiful country is that of which the poet of olden days wrote:

1. Meeting of the Waters, Causapscal
2. Tunnel near Matapedia
3. Meeting of the Waters, Matapedia

“The lofty woods, the forests wide and long,
Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and greene
In whose cool hours the birds with chaunting song
Do welcome with their Quire the Summer’s Queene;

The meadows faire, where Flora’s gifts among
Are intermixt the verdant grass between,
The silver skaled fish that softly swimme
Within the brookes and cristal wat’ry brimme.”

The Matapedia, or ‘Musical,’ River received its name from the sound made by the wind in the branches of the trees as it courses over and through the numerous ravines. The river rises in Lake Matapedia, and is over sixty miles long. Its principal tributaries are the Causapscal and the Kassimiguagan. It runs a rapid course between two extensive mountain ranges, and terminates in the Restigouche at a point some twenty miles south-west of Matapedia village.

Along the Tobique River are mountains and mountain ranges of great beauty. Bald Head, on the Riley Brook, near the Northern Forks, is nearly 2,300 feet above sea-level. The Blue Mountains of the Tobique Valley are very picturesque—some rise as high as 1,200 feet above the river level. The loftiest heights are attained on the south branch of the Nepisiguit, between Nictor and Nepisiguit Lakes and the eastern branch of the Tobique. Here a height is attained of 2,600 feet above the sea-level. There are several odd-looking mountains on the portage from Nepisiguit River to Upsalquitch Lake, and a good view of the surrounding country is obtained by climbing one of these heights.

The Tobique is considered by many to be the most picturesque stream in all New Brunswick. The fishing is fine and the scenery beautiful. Nictor Lake is well worth the journey necessary to reach it, and the whole trip up and down the river is a unique woodland and water experience. Near the high land separating the Tobique waters from those of the Miramichi and Nepisiguit, the highest lakes of New Brunswick are found, many of them being over 1,200 feet above the level of the sea. The whole province abounds in lakes. Those off the regular travel routes are seldom visited, although they are quite attractive.

The Restigouche has been called the ‘noblest salmon river of the world.’ It is navigable for 130 miles or more above Campbellton. It has bold and rugged shores as well as scenes of softer beauty. The country on both sides of the river is exceedingly grand and impressive. There are huge lofty mountains, often of irregular shape, covered with tall pines and rich hardwood. Its chief tributaries are the Matapedia, the Upsalquitch, the Patapedia, and the Quatawamkedgewick, or ‘Tom Kedgewick.’ The head waiters are within fifteen miles of the St. John, and that river may be reached by canoe with a portage of only three miles along the Grand River connection.

The length of the Restigouche is over 200 miles. It flows generally over a north-east course, and broadens gradually as it nears its mouth at the Bay of Chaleur. It is the first large river to be met that is entirely free of rapid and fall not practicable for a canoe. It is full of windings and abrupt turns which add to the beauty of its scenery, and where pools are so often found in which fish like to lie. There are places where the flow of the water is so tranquil that it can hardly be noticed. Others there are where gay and frothy little rapids bubble and dance as they toss their white crests in the air, but here a canoe may be poled through with ease. Even in those places where swirling eddies and foaming waters are found, little difficulty is experienced in making a way through to the quiet water above. In the quiet and still parts of the river the fish are to be seen swimming about many feet below the surface, and this is true, also, of the Green River, which connects with the upper forks of the Restigouche.

The Upsalquitch is a stream of many tributaries and sparkling branches. It abounds in salmon and trout. It is related that on one journey over this river the fish were so plentiful that considerable effort was necessary to force a way through with the canoe. On another trip down to the Restigouche a pool was passed through where not less than two hundred salmon jumped and darted in every direction when they were thus disturbed. These fish would only average about twenty pounds each; but others weighing over forty pounds are frequently caught.

From Campbellton over the line of the International Railway to St. Leonard’s, many districts of the Upsalquitch, Kedgewick, Restigouche, Tobique and St. John Rivers may be reached.

The Nepisiguit, or ‘River of Foaming Waters,’ is a fine fishing stream. But great as this attraction is, it has even a greater, for its scenery is rugged, romantic and exquisitely varied. The picturesque Pabineau Fall is a lovely sight, and the Grand Falls of the Nepisiguit, about twenty miles from Bathurst, should be seen by every one. Connection is made by a short railroad with the line of the Intercolonial Railway at Nepisiguit Junction, near Bathurst. The Grand Falls tumble precipitately in four descents through a huge rocky gorge. The roar of the water, the foaming curtain of the descending torrent and the spray that floats some distance down—all combine to make a striking scene; while the sight of the river rolling away in the shuddering depths below has a strong fascination for all. Above the Grand Falls there are picturesque rapids where by walking over the great rocks—and over giant tree trunks that have lodged in immovable positions in their descent of the river from the lumbering region higher up—a good view of river and hilly banks may be obtained. By going down the railroad for about one quarter of a mile, and climbing up on to a bluff, a full view of the gorge, the fall and the foaming depths far below may be had.

Pabineau Fall takes its name indirectly from the small stream Pabineau that falls into the Nepisiguit a short distance below the Fall. It was once called Pabina, and had the English name of Cranberry Falls as well. Although the word is of Indian origin, its present form is believed to be Acadian French, meaning the Highbush Cranberry. The Indians used to spear a canoe-load of salmon at a time by the Pabineau Fall in the days before fishery wardens were appointed to patrol the river.

There are splendid trout lakes on the upper waters of the Nepisiguit, and the whole region is one of the choicest for sportsmen, lovers of nature, and those who do not mind being away from the towns. To see the river at its best, it is necessary to camp out with guides accustomed to the management of canoes, and who are also skilled in woodcraft. There are many such guides living all along the lower part of the river. There are some excellent private fishing-club houses, as well as a few where guests are received.

Theodore Roosevelt, who, in addition to his other qualifications, is a genuine nature-lover, scout, woodsman and Nimrod, is always at home in the upper waters of the Nepisiguit. Of this country he wrote: “Goodbye, lovely Nepisiguit, stream of the beautiful pools, the fisherman’s elysium; farewell to thy merry, noisy current, thy long quiet stretches, thy high bluffs, thy wooded and thy rocky shores. Long may thy music lull the innocent angler into day-dreams of happiness. Long may thy romantic scenery charm the eye and gladden the heart of the artist, and welcome the angler to a happy sylvan home.”

The country just described is perhaps the best in all North America for hunting and fishing. Some details and incidents relating to this region will therefore be of interest.

The hibernating or marvellous winter sleep of bears is doubtless well known to all. A large bear crawled out one April from under a bridge of logs in the Upsalquitch district over which timber had been hauled noisily all winter without arousing him from his long, deep sleep.

Bruin plays queer antics. A bear broke into a lumber camp, turned the tap of the molasses barrel, rolled over and over in the sticky syrup, broke open a flour barrel with one stroke of the paw and then rolled about in the flour until he looked like a polar bear.

An Indian without a gun was once chased by an infuriated she-bear, whose cub he had stolen. His only refuge was a hollow tree, down which he lowered himself with the cub. The old bear descended bear fashion, tail first. The Indian seized her by the stumpy tail, whereupon he was drawn to the top, and giving the bear a thrust off on top of the stump, master of the situation.

A bear caught in a trap on the Patapedia by an Indian was met by the hunter, marching around with the trap on one foot and shouldering the pole to which it was attached, biting savagely at the knots and boughs of trees he passed and inflicting terrible wounds on the defenceless wood. Knowing there was a bounty of three dollars a bear on the New Brunswick side of the boundary, the Indian succeeded in driving him across the dividing brook. This done, he shot him and got his bounty.

Another wily Indian cut off the snouts of two large Newfoundland dogs, and producing them to the magistrate demanded the bounty money. Being asked for the customary oath, he said, ‘Swear me in Indian, me no understand English well.’ ‘All right,’ said the unsuspecting justice. The guileless Indian then swore in the Indian tongue that he had killed two large black dogs—and pocketed the six dollars.

A story showing the humor of a Maliceet Indian, who was a great snuff-taker, is the following: “One time I go huntem moose, night come dark, rain and snow come fast; no axe for makum wig-wam; gun wet, no get um fire; me bery tired, me crawl into large hollow tree; I find plenty room, almost begin sleep. By-and-by me feelum hot wind blow on my face, me know hot bear’s breath. He crawl into log too; I takeum gun, she no go; I think me all same gone, all eat up. Then me thinkum my old snuff-box. I take some snuff and throw ’em in bear’s face, and he run out, not very much likeum. I guess me lay still all night, he no come again, little while, bear he go O-me sneezum, over and over, great times. Morning come, me fixeum gun and shoot ’em dead; he no more sneezum, no more this time.”

When an Indian catches a bear in a trap, he apologizes to the animal, and asks that vengeance shall not be taken for his death. He promises to respect his bones, and this promise he keeps; for Indians burn bears’ bones instead of giving them, like other bones, to the dogs.

Bruin is often very wily. A bear once dropped to the fire of a hunter’s rifle. Carefully reloading, the hunter advanced and poked the animal to make sure it was not shamming. The bear was motionless. The gun was laid down and a sheath knife drawn to prepare Mr. Bruin for the camp bearers. Just as the hunter grasped the forepaw the bear raised up, and a terrible struggle ensued. A son of the hunter was commanded by the father to shoot, but the boy was too nervous to risk a shot. Finally the hunter was worsted and succumbed to his injuries just as the son gained command of himself and lodged a bullet in Bruin’s head. A singular part of the story is the positive statement that only one bullet was found in the bear’s body—and that was the son’s bullet that killed the animal at the last.

Another story of a bear shamming has a happier ending, for in this case the hunter reloaded and approached by stealth after seeing Bruin drop like a stone to his rifle shot. This time the bear ‘came to life’ too soon. He was found standing, and ready to give battle, until a second shot really hit him and ended all shamming.

Fish stories are always in order in a fishing country; and when that country is the best the world has to offer, the stories may properly be of fair proportions.

On the Nepisiguit River a 45-pound salmon has been known to leap from the water into a canoe. This reverses the usual practice of suicides; and perhaps it will be well to explain that as a fish has to jump out of water to commit felo-de-se, the salmon in question took the easiest course.

Squirrels in swimming across a river are sometimes swallowed by trout. As trout have often been caught weighing six pounds, this story seems quite credible:

On a trouting excursion in this region so many fish were caught that the fishermen became completely exhausted through the incessant labor of hauling in the fish. On the homeward journey they reached a place where large trout poked their heads out of the water, but the fishermen had not enough energy left to throw a line.

In good fishing waters, strange as it may seem, two trout have been caught on the same hook with one cast of the line.

It may be well to remark that in Quebec and New Brunswick the system of private leases of fishing privileges prevails. That is to say, the fishing rights on a stream are either owned by those who have bought land with river frontages, or they are leased outright by the Government to fishing clubs of wealthy sportsmen who can afford to have the river patrolled by fishery guards. A privilege may include the right to cast a line in one pool, in a stretch of water a mile or two in length, or over the course of the river for a distance of fifty or even a hundred miles.

Club-houses are built at the principal spots where the best fishing may be had, and there wealthy fishermen make their stay in comfortable quarters during the salmon season. At Matapedia, Campbellton, etc., may be seen whole truck loads of large boxes some four feet long, each box having one or more fine salmon packed in snow for transportation to friends of the anglers at New York and other distant points.

The expense of maintaining the club-house, buying fishing rights, employing fish guardians, etc., is borne by the members of the club; and all things considered the sport of salmon-fishing is a royal amusement costing a considerable amount of money.

The best rights are all bought up; but there are still some places, as on the Upsalquitch River, where fair salmon-fishing may be had at ten dollars a day and the cost of the fishing permit added. In some streams, where fish do not abound, the cost is much less. Sportsmen should bear these facts in mind before planning a fishing trip. If really good sport with fine fish is desired, the best plan is to communicate with the I. C. R. Agent at the nearest point to the centre selected, and he will procure all the information required. If planning a trip in June and July, do not wait until the fishing-rights are let out and all the guides and boats are engaged—write in good time, not later than the month of April or May, and have definite arrangements made well in advance, including the important detail of where to stay. Some of the best places for fish have neither cabin nor camp anywhere near. In selecting a spot like this, arrangements for tents and supplies, teams and guides, etc., should be made at least some months ahead.

_The Bay of Chaleur_

Jacques Cartier entered and named La Baie des Chaleurs in the year 1535, but before that time the unnamed waters had been frequented by European fishermen, drawn there by the splendid fishing for which this bay has long been known. The name ‘Bay of Heats’ was probably given to mark the genial temperature of these waters as compared with that of the more frigid waters of the Newfoundland shore. In very early maps it is termed La Baie des Espagnols, or ‘Spanish Bay’, from the fact that many of the early fishers were from Spain. The Indian name, Ecketuam Nemaache, the English of which is ‘Sea of Fish,’ is quite appropriate, too; but the use of the name Bay of Chaleur is now universal.

The Bay is more than ninety miles long, and receives the waters of fully sixty rivers and streams. Sea and brook trout are found in nearly all of these tributaries, and in many of them the finest salmon are caught. It is rarely stormy, on account of the protection afforded by the projecting peninsulas, and the outlying islands, Shippegan and Miscou. The air is clear and pleasant, and fog is comparatively unknown. The tides, also, are quite moderate.

American fishing fleets visit these waters every year. They may be seen in the spacious harbor of Miscou Island when they come there from the outer waters for shelter in stormy weather. The Bay of Chaleur has always been a favorite fishing-ground for New Englanders; for it was a Yankee captain of whom Whittier wrote in his “Skipper Ireson’s Ride,” describing the punishment meted out to that hard-hearted man for his cruelty in abandoning to its fate a sinking craft manned by his fellow-townsmen.

“Small pity for him!—He sailed away
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,—
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town’s people on her deck!

‘Lay by! lay by!’ they called to him.
Back he answered, ‘Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!’
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!”

The land on the north side of the bay is very bold, and considerably varied. The Shickshock Mountains, running through the centre of the peninsula, attain a height of nearly 4,000 feet. The southern shore is much lower, with occasional elevations. The outlying parts of Chaleur Bay and much of the coast may be seen to advantage by taking a steamer from Montreal or Quebec down the St. Lawrence and into the bay. The boats of the Gaspé Steamship Co. run from Montreal to Gaspé and Port Daniel, calling at Matane and many other parts of the south shore of Gaspé Peninsula. The boats of the Quebec Steamship Co. also run from Montreal to Gaspé and other parts of the Maritime Provinces.

A very good plan is to go from Campbellton to Gaspé by the _Canada_ of the Campbellton and Gaspé Steamship Co. The boat puts in at many of the places along the north shore of Chaleur Bay, and affords an excellent opportunity for viewing the coast scenery. If preferred, the return journey may be made over the line of the Quebec Oriental Railway from Gaspé, its present terminus, calling at Douglastown, Barachois and Cape Cove, etc.; or it may be varied by taking the steamship from Gaspé to Grand River, to see the eastern Gaspesian coast by daylight, and making the remainder of the western journey by train from Grand River. The railway touches the towns and villages along the coast, connects with a ferry for Campbellton, and terminates at Matapedia. On the return trip a stop-off may be made at the principal places along the line. This trip may be reversed and changed as may be found most convenient.

Presuming it has been decided to go all the way to Gaspé by steamship, and to return by way of Grand River and the railway to Campbellton, a description of the country traversed now follows:

Leaving Campbellton at about 11 a.m. and putting in at Dalhousie on the south shore, the steamship calls at Carleton, New Richmond, Bonaventure, New Carlisle, Port Daniel, Grand River, and Percé, etc., arriving at Gaspé the next morning at 9 o’clock.

The Bay of Gaspé is both long and wide, being about twenty miles in length, with a width of five miles or more in its widest part. Rather more than half-way in a small peninsula makes out from the sandy beach to the south, and another from the northern shore. These afford admirable protection for the upper water or harbor, where there is room for a great fleet to ride at anchor. The view from the water approach to the town is delightful.

“The mountains of Gaspé are fair to behold,
With their fleckings of shadow and gleamings of gold.”

Several rivers empty into the bay and harbor, there are noble hills around, and behind the town the high mountains rise. A goodly fleet of whalers and fishing schooners leaves from this port, and the smaller craft with the numerous boats, etc., add greatly to the pleasant view that meets the eye on entering the port. No better spot could be selected for enjoying yachting, boating and fishing; while the cool air and splendid scenery leave nothing lacking for the enjoyment of those who come here. There are many visitors in the summer, and the life is a pleasant and social one.

It was at Gaspé that Jacques Cartier landed, took possession of the country in the name of his king, and erected a cross thirty feet high adorned with the fleur-de-lis of France. Here, also, a great naval engagement took place between the French and English, and here, too, in later years a great English fleet arrived and captured the village. The Gaspé Peninsula was formerly a province, with its seat of government in this very town of Gaspé. It is now part of the Province of Quebec. In this part also there survives a distinct tradition of the Norse discovery of America.

The early Indians of this region are said to have been the most intelligent of all the North American tribes or peoples. They were far advanced in civilization, and had a fair knowledge of geography and astronomy. In connection with the visits of the Spaniards Velasquez and Gomez, and their meetings with the Gaspesian Indians, a fanciful tradition survives in relation to the origin of the word ‘Canada.’

The oft-repeated remark, “aca nada,” or ‘there is nothing here,’ made by the Castilian adventurers when disappointed in their search for gold, was judged to be of importance by the Indians, who frequently repeated it to Jacques Cartier. Cartier is supposed to have mistaken this oft-heard expression for the name of the new country. A more likely derivation, however, is found in the Indian compound word Caugh-na-daugh, or ‘village of huts;’ and this, it is thought, has gradually settled into the euphonious and easily pronounced name of ‘Canada.’

In later years the Micmac Indians were along the shores of the Gaspé Peninsula in large numbers, but more recently they have almost deserted the region, and are to be found in New Brunswick, etc.

It is related that when Lord Aylmer was Governor-General he once went on an excursion to Gaspé. Micmac Indians to the number of nearly 500 flocked to welcome the ‘great chief.’ When the governor landed with a brilliant staff, he was met by Peter Basket, the great Micmac Chief, at the head of the aboriginal deputation. The chief, a fine, powerful man, and surrounded by his principal warriors, at once commenced a long oration in the usual solemn, singsong tone, accompanied with frequent bowings of the head.

It happened that a vessel had been wrecked in the Gulf some months previously, and the Indians proving themselves ready and adroit wreckers had profited largely by the windfall. Among other things they had seized for personal adornment was a box full of labels for decanters, marked in conspicuous characters, ‘Rum,’ ‘Gin,’ ‘Brandy,’ etc.

The chief had his head liberally encircled with the usual ornaments, and, in addition, had dexterously affixed to his ears and nose some of the labels as bangles.

At first they were not particularly noticeable amid the general novelty of the spectacle, but while listening to the prolonged harangue of the chief, the governor began to scrutinize his appearance and dress; and then his ears and nose with the labels inscribed ‘Brandy.’ ‘Gin,’ ‘Rum,’ etc. Glancing towards his staff he could no longer maintain his gravity, and was joined in a hearty but indecorous burst of unrestrainable laughter.

1. Carleton
2. New Carlisle
3. Gaspé

The indignant chief, with his followers, immediately withdrew, and would neither be pacified nor persuaded to return, although the cause of the ill-timed merriment was explained to him.

Sunrise on the Gaspé is a beautiful sight. The long stretch of sandy beach, the opposite shore with the pine and fir trees in the far background, the houses of the fishermen, the boats on the strand, the waving fields of grain, the ever-brightening sun tinting all with increasing light, and in the distant offing the dark hull of a vessel that has not yet passed into the bay; all make a new picture.

“What a delightful haven of rest Gaspé is for the overworked and sleepless New Yorker!” remarked a Gothamite who makes this his summer home. Another, on his return from mackerel fishing exclaimed, “What a glorious spot to recuperate exhausted nature! No noise, no telegrams, no trusts, no bank troubles, no corporation frauds, no boodlers, no presidential elections!...... Instead, sleep, bracing air and incomparable landscapes.”

No one is in a hurry here. They get up when they like. They do not rush—they saunter. No feverish haste to do anything. If a thing is not done to-day—very good, it may be done tomorrow. Idle older people smoke all day, gossip a bit, take a walk, and otherwise amuse themselves. They retire early and sleep soundly, undisturbed by civilization’s din.

A characteristic little story is related by Lemoine in his excellent ‘Maple Leaves,’ or Explorations in the Lower St. Lawrence. It seems that the government of the day had sent a commissioner to Gaspé to enquire into the discipline, etc., of the county prison there. When he arrived, he found the jailer sitting on the court house steps, in an easy chair, smoking a huge Dutch meerschaum. This is a transcript of the dialogue that ensued:

“Won’t you step in, Mr. Commissioner, and see how we manage here. My turnkey is away catching his winter’s cod. My prisoners are all in good health, and I have eighteen of them.”

“I should like to see them,” replied the visiting official.

“Are you in a hurry—will it do after supper?” asked the genial jailer. “I will have them all here then.”

“I cannot wait,” replied the official, “as I have to make up my report at once.”

“Sorry you have so little time,” the jailer now remarked; “the fact is, my prisoners take a turn in the country every morning, then they do up my garden, catch a few fresh trout for dinner, and do other little things; but at sundown all come back here to sleep. I treat them well, and they don’t mind staying in at nights. Wait until the evening, they are looking up my two cows that are off in the woods, and I promise to trot out every man-jack of the eighteen.”

There is excellent fishing in the York and Dartmouth Rivers, as well as in the waters of the harbor and bay; and visitors in pleasant Gaspé have no lack of general summer amusements.

Steering south and crossing Mal Bay, the fishing village of Percé is reached, a district made remarkable by the neighboring Percé Rock and Bonaventure Island. After leaving Percé, the steamship passes between island and rock and affords fine views of both.

Bonaventure Island acts as a breakwater for the Percé shores from which it is distant about two-and-a-half miles. Its inhabitants are fishermen. The island is a mass of rock with cliffs nearly 500 feet high, and a sail around it is very enjoyable. Several desperate naval engagements have taken place nearby. It is at the Percé Rock, however, that interest centres itself strongly.

Percé Rock is nearly 300 feet high and about 500 feet long. Its precipitous sides rise directly from the sea. The huge cliff is pierced by a lofty arch under which boats sometimes pass. Formerly there was a second arch or tunnel near the outer end of the rock, but it fell with a great crash, leaving only a high pillar of what had stood before. The top is covered with grass; and sea birds in great numbers make it their home. Their loud cries have often helped to guide home the mariner when caught in a fog.

Of the general scenery found here much may be written that is favorable. The village has two coves and is divided by the Mont Joli headland. Artists and lovers of wild and romantic scenery may find here all that their hearts desire. Mont Ste. Anne in rear of the village rises almost abruptly to a height of 1300 feet or more, and is the first sight of land obtained from vessels coming up the Gulf to the south of the Island of Anticosti. On a clear day it may be seen sixty miles away. The ascent towards French Town commands a good general view, and makes an excellent standpoint from which to see the Percé Rock. A climb up Mont Ste. Anne will disclose an outspread panorama the like of which is rarely seen. As many as two hundred sail have been counted on the surrounding waters. On the slopes, too, may be found fossil remains of elevated beaches, and interesting specimens of fine quartz crystals, jasper and agate.

The road through the mountain gorge or highway connecting Percé with Gaspé Basin has been likened to the best of Swiss scenery.

A number of quaint legends have their origin in connection with the Percé Rock. These all turn on the white and ghost-like vapor often seen over the rock in the dim light, caused by flocks of birds circling overhead in fantastic array before alighting. It is told that a Breton maid lost her life here and that her spirit still haunts the scene. Her lover in the days of long ago came to the New Land to seek his fortune. She, his promised bride, he left behind, until he could make a living and a home for her. He prospered, and soon sent back word for her to come. She left, but met a terrible fate on the way, for her ship was captured by Spanish corsairs and she alone was spared to become the wife of the pirate captain. She refused, and he swore she should never reach Quebec. When he knew her story he threatened he would sail past Percé; and in sight of her lover she should be put to death.

This preyed on her mind to such an extent that at last, when they drew near the place that was to have been the scene of her happiness, she jumped overboard—the vigilance of her watchers for a moment relaxed. She sank, and all attempts to rescue were vain. As they were cruising about and searching the water, the lookout discovered what appeared to be a woman rising from the water with dripping garments. It was nearing sunset and the vessel gradually drew near the rock, lured by the figure. It was soon discovered that the ship was slowly sinking, and orders were given to wear away from the haunted spot. In vain the crew tried to obey. It was hopeless; for the ship was turning to stone, her masts had become pillars of iron, her sails—slate.

Rapidly sinking she drew near to the Percé Rock, and before the pirates could jump over to swim ashore, they were turned to stone. The doomed ship immediately struck the rock and became part of it. Yonder point is said to have been the vessel’s bowsprit, there was the foremast, here the stern. Once clearly visible, they are now worn down by wind and wave so that they appear to be an integral part of the rock itself; but although the ship’s identity is lost, the wraith of the poor Breton maid lingers ever near the spot. Those living near believe she will depart and be at rest when the last vestige of the pirate ship shall have vanished.

It is said that sunset is the time to see the ghostly presence, and so well is this believed that no fisherman dares to drop a line near the spot when the evening sun dips low.

Some ten miles south-west of Percé is Cape Despair, near which Queen Anne’s great fleet under Admiral Walker met grave disaster in the great storm that scattered and almost destroyed it. Eight large vessels were wrecked, and the bodies of several thousand men were strewn along this shore and on that of Egg Island. Fragments of the wrecks were to be seen along the coast until quite recently. Here the “Flying Dutchman” is still believed to prolong his phantom existence, for the natives say that sometimes when the sea is quiet and calm, vast white waves roll in from the Gulf bearing on their crest a phantom ship crowded with men in old-style uniforms. An officer stands on the bow, with a white-clad woman on his left arm, and as the surge sweeps the doomed ship on with terrific speed, a tremendous crash is heard and the clear, agonizing cry of a woman—and then, nothing is left to view save the stern cliffs and the tranquil sea.

The coast now makes off almost west, and soon the little fishing village of Grand River, on the river of that name, is reached. This was the former terminus of the coastal railway that now extends to Gaspé. If desired, the return journey by rail to Campbellton may start from here. Grand River has a good wharf and is a place of call for steamers from Montreal, Campbellton, Dalhousie, etc. The country is pleasant and rolling, while the scenery on the river is both varied and picturesque. The fishing rights are leased, as is the custom through the greater part of this province. The open sea washes the shore, and the air is very enjoyable. The river affords excellent canoeing.

Passing Pabos and the outlets of the Great and Little Pabos Rivers, the spreading village of Port Daniel is seen, comfortably placed on and near the river of that name and its tributaries, as well as by the head of its own picturesque little bay. Near here, at Pointe-au-Maquerau, the steamship _Colborne_ went ashore with a valuable cargo of silks, wine, hardware, silver-plate and specie. This was strewn in great confusion along Harrington’s Cove, and even at Port Daniel. Much was picked up by wreckers from Gaspé and Percé; and the auction sale of the salvage brought wealth to many along the shore, for the cargo was worth over $400,000. From the top of the Cap au Diable mountain range a splendid panoramic view may be seen. The rivers of this district are full of wild fowl in the spring and fall. The Grand Pabos is quite a fine stream. Not far away is Duck Cove, a pretty spot with a clear little stream running down to the sea. West of Newport there is a rocky little island close to the shore, well wooded in the center and admirably suited for the erection of a small bungalow or summer home.

Further west is some of the wildest hill scenery, with rocky gorges, and where foaming brooks may be seen cascading seawards in a series of minute waterfalls. A bold and rising series of hills marks the approach to the Gascon Capes, in the valleys of which the streams make sheer plunges down to the shore line with many a fall of picturesque beauty.

Just between Gascons and Port Daniel a branch of the Port Daniel River winds a devious course to the ocean. On one side a huge precipice rises, inaccessible and almost vertical. The river washes its base, while on the other side rolling hills and a more-shelving shore make it possible to walk near the river bed. Some of the headlands and caves are very striking. The minute beaches or sand-strips are covered at high tide, so that at such time it is impossible to obtain a view save from above, or from the tip of some further projecting rocky spur thrown out from the main cape.

Near Port Daniel may be observed a feature that is common on the north Chaleur shore, for the inrush of the tide has carved out lateral scoops in the sides of the inlets and bays, so that inwardly projecting horns make a good anchorage for boats and vessels where the sound of the breaking waves may plainly be heard coming from the outer sides. Sometimes a short distance of ten or twenty yards is all that separates the active sea from the quiet haven.

Some of the smaller streams have trees on opposite banks, meeting close and mingling their shade overhead for mile after mile. In many cases the only way to fish or view some pleasant water-course is to walk in the water—for the banks generally rise abruptly. It is only by the wider streams that gravel strips or edges of green sward give a dry foothold. The pretty brooks and streams between Grand River and Cascapedia have pure and sparkling water in their channels, and these, like the streams to the east, are bordered by perpendicular banks that are grass-grown and plentifully covered with a profusion of wild flowers.

Paspebiac, the inhabitants of which are called “Papsy-Jacks” by the English-speaking people hereabouts, with part of the village towards the shore, tree-embowered, presents a pleasing aspect with its group of vessels of good size lying in its clear waters. It stands on a gentle slope that runs down to the sea. Near here the railroad track runs very close to the brink of the cliff, so close that it will not be long before the inroads of the sea below will cause it to be moved in.

The Bonaventure is a river of fair size on which lumbering is done, as on all the important streams of the peninsula. Clean lumbering, such as the floating of logs, does not spoil these excellent fishing rivers. It is the sawdust and mill refuse that is harmful, and there is a strict provision against this and other forms of pollution throughout the whole of the Maritime Provinces.