Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

In the neighborhood of New Richmond and the Grand and Little Cascapedia Rivers the hills are mountainous and beautiful, and a fine panorama of country is unfolded in proceeding west. The village of Cascapedia is delightfully situated; and the river takes a charming course through the finest of scenery, dividing into forks and making many a turn in its course.

New Richmond is prettily situated in the midst of hills and valleys in a country that is finely wooded. The district is well watered, situated as it is between the two Cascapedia Rivers. The head waters of the main stream reach well up towards the St. Lawrence, and almost into connection with the Matane. There are lakes of good size within convenient reach.

The country from here to Carleton, at the foot of the majestic Tracadiegash Mountain, is full of interest and beauty. Gray sand, dark firs seeking a foothold on the mountains, the meadows, the hay fields, the bright yellow of the grain crops, the dark brown nearer mountains and the blue-black distant range, overcapped by clinging clouds, and the steamy vapor in long filaments lining the folds of the hills that fade away into distance to right and left, are all fair to behold. The pure white wings of the seabirds, even when far away, are outlined with sharp cut distinction against the lofty mountain background.

Here and there a tiny little hamlet hides modestly behind the sheltering green, and the first glimpse of its presence is often the top of the church spire barely showing through the leafy canopy. Yonder a few dark roofs peep out from over the trees of lesser growth, and down the shore are lighthouses and neat little wharves for vessels and steamers. Owing to the long and narrow dimensions of the farms, and their subdivision for various crops, the shore often presents the appearance of a great checker-board, the dark and light patches frequently alternating with exact regularity.

Carleton is a pleasant and cool little spot, spreading out crescent-shaped on table land at the foot of the hills and right on the shore, fronted by a clean sand beach. The village is peopled by descendants of the Acadian French who came here from Tracadie. It lies almost in a nook, nicely sheltered. The Bay of Carleton is a fine sheet of water, with the points of Miguasha and Tracadiegetch at its western and eastern boundaries. The little river Nouvelle empties into its western end. It is a good place for sea fish, and the brooks and streams inland are stocked with trout.

The Chaleur Bay shore of the Gaspé Peninsula has many attractions for summer visitors, for being somewhat removed from the regular highways of travel it still preserves its old-time appearance. Those who spend a vacation in any of its homelike villages or towns cannot fail to be pleased with all they will find there. The great hunting and fishing opportunities are described under the chapter “Where to Go.”

In leaving the Gaspé shore, the province of Quebec is left behind, and further progress east and south is in the province of New Brunswick.

The once fire-swept, but again busy and prosperous, town of Campbellton stands at the head of the navigable deep-water of Chaleur Bay. The surrounding country is well diversified and exceedingly picturesque with its valleys and conical hills. The Sugar Loaf boldly overlooks all from an elevation of over 900 feet. An excellent view of the broad Restigouche River may be had from almost any part of the town. Campbellton has good wharves and much shipping; it is also a busy Intercolonial Railway centre. Because of its admirable situation it is a natural centre for hunting, fishing and canoeing trips, and it makes a good base for camping-out parties. It is also finely adapted for summer residence of those who like to spend their vacation in a town centre convenient to outlying country and places of interest.

Almost directly over the river is Cross Point, sometimes called Mission Point. Here there is a reservation occupied by 500 Micmac Indians. They are skilled in woodcraft and the management of canoes, and make excellent guides.

A few miles up the Restigouche above Campbellton a naval encounter took place between the French and English, off Restigouche, that resulted in the capture of the French and the destruction of the shore defences at Battery Point. The whole place went up in flames. Pieces of the old French vessels, and artillery, shells and scraps of camp fittings have been found in the neighborhood.

Dalhousie with its extensive water front, divided between river and bay shore, its streets of generous length and proportion and its pleasant walks and cool air, is a quiet place for summer enjoyments. Here, as at Campbellton, there are splendid opportunities for motor-boating open to those who take their own boats. There is a very comfortable and homelike summer hotel on the ocean front, about two miles from the Intercolonial Railway station. Here boats are provided free of charge to guests. There is excellent bathing, with good country and coastwise walks and rambles. A pleasant life with restful surroundings may be enjoyed here. The islands off the shore make pleasant objectives for boating trips, and the natural arch of rock in a little sandy cove, reached through the fields, is a good direction in which to take a quiet stroll. The beach is very enjoyable, and ladies spend many happy hours here watching the children boating and playing in the sand.

Charlo River is one of that fine chain of watering places or summer resorts that stretches down the River and Gulf of St. Lawrence to the Atlantic shore, following the line of the Intercolonial Railway. From Charlo, and east, the wide, open waters of the Gulf are gradually reached; but strong as this district is in water privileges and cool air, it has other features that are almost greater. For Charlo is one of those delightful country places where fine woods abound, where glorious country roads stretch out in many a shady avenue of noble trees, and where a romantic river dashes and plays over rocks, tumbles over falls, courses through gorges, ripples under bridges, rests by the meadows and slumbers under the shady hills. For fishermen it has great attraction, because it is an “open” stream; but a still greater lure is the fact that fine salmon are caught there, and the waters are not fished out. For some reason, probably because of its pure water, salmon often turn into the Charlo in large numbers. On that account and because of the total absence of urban life, excellent fishing is the result.

The Charlo is a stream full of beauty, and one that the nature-lover may enjoy to his heart’s content. The country around and every approach to the river is clean, picturesque and unspoiled by vandal crowds. There are no excitements and no startling incidents in the quiet life of the place. On the other hand, there is every suitable surrounding and inducement to enjoy nature, to live a life of quiet ease varied by healthful recreation amidst enjoyable surroundings—a life that best fits the vacationist for active winter work in the crowded city.

The conformation of the country through which the river runs is such that fishing may readily be done in many places without boats. Another advantage is that the river is close at hand. It is not necessary to go a considerable distance before a line may be well cast, for a short walk leads to woodland depths, leafy shade and the secluded, rippling stream.

1. Natural Arch, Dalhousie
2. The Rippling Charlo
3. Tea in the Woods, Charlo River
4. Fishing in the Charlo River
5. Charlo Falls
6. Jacquet River

A pleasant and comfortable place is found at Henderson’s, near the bay shore, not far from the mouth of the Charlo River, where there is a combination of country hotel, farmhouse and home. Here visitors will feel at home from the moment they arrive.

The house, built somewhat on the old French plan with an open court behind and upper story verandas, has excellent porches surrounding it, a pleasant outlook, and the bay shore a short distance in its rear accessible for boating and bathing.

Bungalows are being erected, and a very enjoyable social life is enjoyed by the happy fraternity that congregates here from various parts of Canada and the U.S.A. A plan sometimes followed is that of living in a simple but comfortable bungalow on the shore, taking meals at the inn. Shacks and tents are also put up by the proprietor for those who wish to enjoy outdoor life to its full extent.

Charlo, then, is one of those rare places where the sportsman may take his wife and family, with the certainty of being comfortably housed and cared for, and where all may amuse themselves with quiet recreations of a healthful kind while he is away fishing the stream for the noble salmon. It is also one of those summer places where there are no throngs, and where the number found assembled in the summer time is just right for social blending in one happy colony. When the fishermen have returned, and all have admired the day’s catch, and when supper is over, how pleasant as twilight is setting in to gather on the porches for intercourse, to recline in easy chair, or to swing lazily in hammock for rest.

And as the young people wander off in “twos” and “threes,” but mostly in “twos,” to see the glorious sunset from the porch of a St. Lawrence bungalow or cottage; the fisherman, the nature-lover, the charming bevy of young married ladies, their attentive husbands, the sedate couples of riper age, and even the militant suffragette who did not go off in one of the “twos”—all these gather to enjoy the _dolce far niente_ of a cool, summer evening in Charlo.

A larger stream than the Charlo, but one that has its fishing rights leased, is the Jacquet River. Arrangements may easily be made, however, by which a day or two or a week’s fishing, or longer, may be obtained at moderate cost. There is a growing feeling in many pleasant places, such as Jacquet River, that individual fishing rights retard the growth of a place, and it is likely that here and in other districts leading men of the neighborhood will buy in the fishing rights, not for their own use, but to charge a reasonable fee by the day or week for those who would then come to fish.

The whole neighborhood of the Jacquet River is a pleasant one, with good woods and shady roads. There is a picturesque little cove, with high and rocky banks, where boats may be kept, and the sandy beach of which offers a desirable spot for children’s play. The upper reaches of the river are quite pretty, the drives are good, and the country is well varied with hill and dale.

Passing east along the bay shore and dipping south by the water-bend that forms Nepisiguit Bay, the town of Bathurst is reached. This, one of the principal sporting centres of the province, is in itself a pleasant summer resort, and, in addition, is a starting point for a series of inner country places, as well as for tours and journeys over the Nepisiguit River and to the interior lakes. The town is situated on a tidal lagoon which is an inlet from the great Chaleur Bay. The Nepisiguit and three smaller rivers empty their waters here, and one of these, the Tête-a-gauche, or Fairy River, has a small but very picturesque fall. The Nepisiguit, as is well known, is one of the finest salmon rivers of the province, and the Nepisiguit Lakes teem with trout. Moose, deer and game birds are also here in abundance. Guides and canoes may be obtained in the district. Those interested in hunting and fishing should consult Chapters IV. and XV. where other information of the kind is given.

Pabineau, the Grand Falls of the Nepisiguit, and the upper waters of the river may all be reached from Nepisiguit Junction, from whence the short line of the Northern New Brunswick Railway leads, and by which a way to these places and the inner lakes is opened. In this direction many pleasant outings may be enjoyed. To picnic by the rushing rapids, or on a bluff in full view of the falls, is a unique experience and one that will be long remembered. The short railroad referred to, which connects Bathurst with the iron mines of the Nepisiguit, is a regular sporting highway—in summer for the fishing, and in the fall for hunting.

The eastern arm of the Chaleur Bay is traversed by a railroad that runs from Gloucester Junction and Bathurst to Caraquet, Shippegan and Tracadie. There are several quiet places on this shore that are quite quaint, and suited for those who wish to be off the main route of travel. Caraquet is a pleasant little Acadian settlement where sea fishing is carried on. Shippegan is on an excellent harbor, and here deep-sea fishing and cool air may be enjoyed. From Shippegan a crossing may be made by boat to the island of the same name, a distance of about a mile. From Miscou Harbor, at the northern end of Shippegan Island, a crossing may be made in quiet water to the outermost island of Miscou, or a boat may be taken instead from Caraquet. Both of these islands afford the best of wild-bird shooting in the fall, such as geese, duck, plover, etc. Miscou is an old French settlement, and from its harbor many boats were formerly engaged in walrus hunting. Off Miscou a curious fresh-water spring spouts up through the briny sea and retains its freshness. Fishermen obtain drinking water here without the necessity for going ashore.

The whole Chaleur shore from the region of Charlo River down to Bathurst is a network of small rivers and streams where trout may always be found; and because of their favorable position the pleasant towns and villages that line this coast are sure to grow and increase in favor as summer places.

_The Miramichi River and Nashwaak Valley Districts_

Proceeding south on the Intercolonial Railway, the important centre of Newcastle on the Miramichi River is reached. Here the fine river Miramichi empties into Miramichi Bay, passing first through the island-protected inner bay that makes such a broad approach to Chatham and the wide Miramichi at Newcastle. The prosperous towns of Chatham and Newcastle are therefore natural centres for outfitting and starting on river journeys of such extent that the whole of Central New Brunswick may easily be reached; and not only that, but also Tobique River and the west, the St. John and Madawaska to the far west, the Restigouche and Matapedia Rivers to the north-west, the Upsalquitch and Nepisiguit Rivers to the north, the Nashwaak and St. John Rivers to the south-west, and Grand Lake, Canaan and Kennebecasis Rivers and the Bay of Fundy to the south are all made accessible by the Miramichi River.

This grand system of waterways has no parallel elsewhere. Canoeing, fishing, etc., over such an extensive chain of rivers is a joy that, once tasted, calls back the happy nature lover again and again to the fascination of continued exploration in a country that is full of variety and beauty.

By this time the traveller has fairly entered New Brunswick, and he cannot have failed to observe many differences between this province and that he has recently left. Quebec is the old world, with scarcely anything of the new in it, save its scenery, distinctive of the Western Continent. New Brunswick, in its life, seems to typify admirably the happy position occupied by all Canada, a position midway between that of Old England and the great republic to the south. With a strong sheet anchor of conservatism and respect for old and tried institutions fastened firmly in Britain’s shore, the far-reaching and unbreakable cable, or indissoluble bond, of attachment and love for the mother country reaches out; but the sails of the ship of state are not furled, and the good ship _Canada_ does not ride inactive while the breezes of modern progress and thought pass idly over her bare spars; for her sails are unfurled and turned to the growing breeze, and when that wind blows steadily from one direction instead of in cats-paws, eddies and squalls—the noble vessel will draw up on her anchor, and her canvas will fill to the breeze as she sails steadily forward.

And so the New Brunswicker, if you ask him how he is, will not reply, like our British Cousin, “Quite well, thank you; how are you?” Nor will he tell you he feels “great” or “fine”, like our American cousin. Instead, he will tell you he is “Not too bad!” which, as will be apparent, is about half way between the other expressions. If you ask a New Brunswicker, “Is it going to rain to-day?” he will reply, “I don’t think!” Do not be deceived. This does not mean that he does _not_ think; it is his way of saying “I think not.” He will be found genial, pleasant and manly, with a keen eye to the main chance, but not making money his worship—as yet.

Miramichi Bay, or “Bay of Boats,” was visited by Jacques Cartier. So many savages put out in their canoes that the bay was literally covered by them—hence the name. Indeed, Cartier had to fire off cannon to frighten them away lest they should swarm on and overrun his little vessels. The next day the explorer made friends with the Indians by giving a red hat to their chief.

The town of Chatham has a particularly fine situation near the mouth of the river. Here large ocean steamships load their cargoes of pulpwood blocks, timber and lumber, etc., for all parts of the world. It is a splendid point for fitting out with fishing and hunting equipment, and a convenient base for hunting, fishing and camping-out parties. Enjoyable shorter trips may be taken down the bay to Tabusintac, Neguac and Portage Island, as well as to Fox island, Loggieville and Escuminac. Some of these places are excellent for trout and wild-birds.

At Kent Junction, south of Chatham, on the line of the Intercolonial Railway, train connections may be made for Kouchibouguac Bay, the Kouchibouguacis River, and also for the pleasant resort of Richibucto.

Newcastle is another centre, equipping-point and starting-place for river trips, fishing, hunting, etc. It has a fine situation on Miramichi Bay, and considerable shipping may be seen at the wharves and mills on the water front. On this river, as on the rivers of New Brunswick generally, the extent of the lumbering operations may be judged from the timber rafts and immense quantities of logs floating down stream on their way to the timber-booms and saw-mills.

There is a pleasant trip up the Miramichi by steamer as far as Red Bank, and down the bay to Chatham, and seaward there are other interesting steamer routes. Newcastle makes a very pleasant summer stopping-place, as it is quite convenient to many places of interest in the neighborhood.

From Derby Junction on one side of the river and from Chatham Junction on the other, two Intercolonial lines run by the Miramichi to Blackville, where they join. From this point the line runs to Fredericton along the river valley, and, from where the Miramichi turns westward, the railroad keeps its southern course and follows the Nashwaak river to its junction with the St. John.

The Indian word Miramichi means “Happy Retreat,” and this describes its character not only for the old-time “Children of the Forest,” but for the summer visitor as well. It is one of the largest and most important rivers of the province. It has its source in a lake not far from the distant Tobique River. It flows with considerable rapidity in some places, and in the main over a bed of shingle and gravel. The North-West and the Little South-West branches are dotted with pleasant little hamlets in their lower reaches. The Renous, Dungarvon, Batholomew and Cain’s Rivers all discharge into its lower waters, and well above Blackville the pretty little Taxis River at Boiestown marks the westerly turn of the main or South-West Miramichi. At Cross Creek the easterly running Nashwaak turns abruptly south, and over the heights and along this picturesque valley the railway reaches the St. John River, and crosses over it to the southern bank on which Fredericton is so beautifully placed.

In addition to the main river and its large tributaries, there are numerous smaller streams and brooks that plash and fall or glide smoothly along to swell the Miramichi; and there is hardly a town or village along the route just traced that does not afford good fishing and hunting, as well as all the joys the nature-lover knows well he will find in such a superbly-watered and well-wooded country. For touring to see the beauties of nature, for drives from the principal centres, and for walking expeditions, no richer or prettier country could be found. This is also the very heart of a great hunting country. Indeed, it is a common thing to look from the passing train and see the deer browsing and bounding gracefully within a stone’s throw of the track, or standing motionless by the edge of some nearby thicket.

The Nashwaak itself has its own network of pretty little tributaries, not least of which is the charming Tay; and here as in so many parts of New Brunswick it is difficult to alight at random in a place that has not water and canoeing facilities.

The following description of a canoe trip on the Nashwaak is typical of hundreds of similar journeys that can be taken along the course recently traced, and indeed on any of the rivers and waterways, great and small, with which the province is so liberally endowed. As it is most convenient to make this particular excursion from Fredericton, that place is taken as the starting point from which the canoe puts out.

It is a bright morning, the air is playing in a gentle breeze, and the St. John River gleams with many a dancing ripple as we take our way well up stream to drop down quietly with the current as we drink in the glorious view on every hand. Higher up, where the banks become bolder, the lumbermen’s piers of stone, cribbed in with timber, and overgrown with young tree shoots and wild-flowers in profusion, line the centre of the stream like so many ornamental gardens.

Yon shimmering surface in the distant valley, at the foot of a bold hill, is not a placid lake bathed in the beams of the early sun—it is a white and fleecy morning mist catching the side rays horizontally and reflecting them in long pencils of light.

1. Boating on the Nashwaak
2. A New Brunswick Waterfall
3. Boating on the Nashwaaksis
4. Armstrong’s Brook, Jacquet River
5. New Brunswick Farm Scene—Pigs in Clover

At times the hills and woodland over there terminate abruptly in long stretches of perfectly smooth meadow-land, stretching out like a well-laid carpet, and with only an occasional high tree by the edge to mark the course of the river.

We are nearly opposite the Nashwaak, and paddling across the northern half of the broad St. John we reach the rich meadows that lie at the mouth of the stream upon which we shall soon float.

Gliding up stream with easy paddling, the covered bridge is reached and we thread our way through the loose floating boards and made-up rafts of deal that mark the lumberman’s highway. A little further up, however, a stop is made, for here is a boom of heavy timbers, chained directly across the stream. We soon find a place where there is a clear waterway near the shore, some three or four feet wide, and pushing through this we speed on.

But the rippling murmur of water falls on our ears, and looking ahead we see the wavelets, eddies and bubbles that mark a swiftly flowing current. Bending to with a will, and at times using the paddle as a pole in very stiff water, we manage to work our way up higher.

And now another obstruction is met, a boom that completely closes the way, with no water passageway of any kind. And so, keeping inshore and balancing on one of the logs, while using one hand for support against the almost perpendicular bank, we pull the canoe over the boom, step in, and once more proceed on our way.

The lively kingfisher makes flights up the stream in advance of our progress, sweeping down at times with unerring eye to seize his prey from under the surface of the water, and then resting on some projecting tree branch he gives opportunity for admiring his comely appearance before our near presence warns him to renewed flight. Well up above the water, but skimming the trees and brushing the leaves as he flies, he keeps us company, and soon is joined by other merry fellows that make the way lively.

Here is a huge eagle with a wing-spread of five or six feet, at least. Seemingly unafraid, he drops almost alongside on the bank that runs down to a flat sand strip; and as he stands still as we pass, we can see the pure white of his head and tail, and notice his powerful wings as he again soars in the air.

Wild canaries, also, are quite numerous; and the canoe voyager on the Nashwaak has no lack of pleasant company.

Several pieces of swift water have been passed, and at one point where the river meets an island and has a steep descent and sharp bend of the channel, the rushing fall of water carries us nearly into the shore; and it takes both paddles to make any progress by “poling” or pushing on the bottom of the river.

Going further, we look with apprehension on an apparently insurmountable barrier in the form of an immense log, wedged solidly across stream between the high banks, with a very narrow channel and, of course, plenty of rushing water. The log does not touch the water, being held in position about a foot, or less, above it. Holding to the huge barrier we force the head of the canoe beneath it, and pressing down with united weight we manage to get past by scrambling over the log and dropping into the canoe as it passes clear.

A very pretty stretch of water now marks the gradual approach to the Marysville dam, and here occasional streaks of rapid water are found as the channel contracts. At last we reach the foaming run, or rapid, just below the fall, and a lively time ensues before the canoe is brought right under the curtain of the waterfall. Turning now to descend, the full current of the rapid is behind. Watching until we head right, and planning to reach a quiet pool below, to rest awhile, our skilful guide propels us boldly into the midst of the foaming current.

Hurrah! This is fine! We are where the current is swiftest, and where waves curl and boil over with dashing foam. There! a sheet of white spray! and we have tasted the Nashwaak. We take the water like a duck, are whisked past the point at a tremendous speed, and then, with a powerful stroke of the paddle, we make a quick and giddy turn—to find ourselves in still water, taking a few moments of well-earned rest.

While the Nashwaak, in the main, may be termed a meadow stream, it has many places in its upper waters where high and rugged banks, wild woodland and steep fall make scenes of romantic beauty. It is not open in the sense that a canoe may go all over its course without meeting obstruction, as may be done on so many other rivers in the province. It is one of those small streams that many prefer just for the fun of making easy portages and crossing such barriers as those described, as well as over occasional bars of sand or gravel in shoal places.

A journey of 20 to 25 miles may be taken up stream in this way. One in each canoe is best for the upper waters. There are pleasant little settlements all along the shore, and simple refreshment may be obtained, as well as sleeping accommodation, if the canoeist desires to prolong the trip and take time to see the inner country at his ease.

_Fredericton and the Upper St. John River_

No matter how Fredericton may be approached, from north, east, south or west, by land or water, train, carriage, in steamboat or canoe, the impression sure to be received, as the capital is neared, is that of forest depths, great rivers and immense natural resources. A feeling of admiration and awe, akin to that felt by our humble Indian brother as he roamed the depths of these noble forests, casts a spell over the thinking mind. “For,” says Bryant in his ‘Forest Hymn’:—

“His simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty.”

As is meet and proper, we do not plunge into the hurly-burly of modern life in Fredericton, the capital city of the province. Instead, we reach a peaceful, tree-embowered and altogether delightful forest city. Here is refinement of life and civilization enough to meet all reasonable demands, yet back of all there still reigns the too-quickly-vanishing spirit of rest, the absence of haste, the old-time simplicity. How delightful if all towns and cities were no larger than charming Fredericton, with its modest 8000 inhabitants. No trusts! No cold storage! No horrid skyscrapers! No cars! It sounds too good to be true. And yet at Fredericton no cars are needed; and, as a result, all who visit the homelike capital will know more of it than they possibly do of their own city. Here it is a delight to walk and ramble; and, of course, driving is a great joy with such woodland surroundings and fine river scenery. An inhabitant of Fredericton once actually expressed a desire to live in New York! Incredible! Impossible! you cry. And so say all of well-balanced mind. But mortals do not always know when they are well off; and a fit of temporary insanity sometimes gains a flitting lodgment in the brightest mind.

Few cities are better or as well situated as Fredericton. It stands on the noble St. John, which here is nearly three quarters of a mile wide. The five older streets and the two newer ones all run parallel with the river. There are shady trees on pleasant streets wherever you go. In the heart of the city you are still in the country. Nature everywhere is so profuse and abundant that it almost shuts out the view of Cathedral Church and Parliament Buildings, and enwraps fountain, statue and river-bank-seat with its wealth of foliage; while in many a shady street the tree branches knock at the house windows for admittance, and place smiling clusters of bloom in the hands of those who throw open the casement in response to the call.

Queen Street is the principal thoroughfare. At its west end is the substantial building known as Government House, the official residence of the Lieutenant-Governor of New Brunswick. Between Queen Street and the river, in a central situation, are the large barracks that were formerly the headquarters of the British army in this province. At the lower end of the street is the handsome Parliament Building, where a small but choice library may be consulted, and from the dome of which building an extensive view may be enjoyed.

Christ Church Cathedral, the recent fire damage to which has been repaired, is patterned after that delightful type of old English church seen in many a quaint parish of the distant motherland. It has a graceful spire and pretty interior, with a beautiful stained glass chancel window presented by the Episcopal Church in the United States.

The substantial building so firmly seated on the southern hills is the University of New Brunswick, the higher education centre of the province. Here there is a geological museum; and from the cupola of the building a wide view may be had of the river and surrounding country.

The glory of Fredericton is the St. John River with its fine scenery and numerous excursions up and down stream; nor must there be forgotten the added pleasure of sailing over the tributary streams such as the Nashwaak, the Nashwaaksis, the Keswick, the Oromocto, the Jemseg, etc.; and of reaching Grand and Washademoak Lakes, and the numerous smaller lakes that are all about.

There are excursions up the river to Woodstock and the numerous riverside places on the way. It is even possible to go all the way to Grand Falls by water. Then the St. John River steamboats go down the river daily to St. John and the towns and villages along the banks of the river.

Nearly opposite Fredericton at the mouth of the Nashwaak formerly stood an old French fort erected by Villebon. Acadian refugees flocked to Ste. Anne at the time of the “Expulsion,” and sought refuge under the protection of the fort; but after the American Revolutionary War the exiled American Loyalists drove away the Acadians to Madawaska, and settled themselves along the shore in their place.

A world of pleasant exploration lies above the Grand Falls in the upper waters of the St. John and its tributaries, but this region while quite accessible from Fredericton, is somewhat remote for the average summer visitor, and the Middle St. John from Grand Falls to Fredericton is the district herein described.

Like many of the great rivers that have numerous tributaries and increase in their descent almost to the proportions of inland seas, the middle waters of the St. John, deep in places, have shallow reaches and rapids where the current is very swift. Some distance above Fredericton it becomes turbulent and foaming in many a seething descent; but it is possible to take an outing over a considerable distance, without portages, in a canoe with two men using poles.

A swift motor-canoe of light draft may easily make a two-days’ journey up, giving four days on the St. John, with stops for meals, etc., at convenient places. The river is sufficiently well settled to lay out in advance a plan for stopping-places for meals, as well as for resting or putting-up at night. This is much more convenient and not nearly so expensive as taking guides and tent equipment, food and cooking utensils, etc.

For those who desire to spend several weeks on the river it is necessary to have guides, canoes and tent equipment, especially if remote places are to be visited. There can be no doubt that camping out on the St. John is one of the most delightful ways of spending a healthful vacation. A plan by which the expense of guides may be avoided is that of camping out in a choice place not far from a settlement, or a farm, and where there is plenty of recreation in walks, sailing the river, fishing for trout, etc., without the necessity for exploring the untrodden woods. Where any kind of exploration is to be done, or unfrequented places visited, it will be understood that guides are necessary; and it is illegal to go without them for hunting, etc.

In camping on the river to enjoy boating, bathing, fishing and outdoor life, the plan is recommended of employing someone in Fredericton to take out the party and equipment, and leave them in a locality where supplies, such as milk, bread, etc., are easily obtained. At the expiration of the fine holiday that will thus be enjoyed, those employed to bring out the party will come and take them back to Fredericton. There are many springs of cool and sparkling water all along the whole route, and farms on both sides of the river where produce, poultry, butter and eggs, as well as bread, may be bought by previous arrangement. To have the full pleasure of the river in such an outing, a canoe or row boat of very light draft should be left with the camping party, and poles as well as paddles or oars should be provided.

In addition to choosing a convenient place for water, shade and supplies, etc., care should be taken to place the camp at some point on the shore where there is a good stretch of easy water for several miles above and below. This will afford pleasant cruising, without the constant labor of poling through swift water.

Such a place is the “Reach,” above Long Island, and below Tapley Bar and the Koack Islands. In the neighborhood of Hawkshaw and Pokiok will also be found good camping-grounds meeting all needful requirements, and within easy reach of the Shogomoc River and Lakes. There are other good places nearer Fredericton if desired. Of course, if there are athletic young men in the party—not forgetting young women who love outdoor life and are able to handle pole and paddle—the locality of a difficult piece of swift water, or even that of a sheer rapid, may purposely be chosen to have plenty of fun close at hand.

For those who have never yet cut loose from the ties of hotel or other stopping-place, a vacation of this kind is strongly recommended; for the freedom and joy of living so close to nature, and, it may truthfully be added, nature at her best, is an experience that brings back youth to the middle-aged, and exuberance of spirits to young and old alike.

Oh! the fascination of the musical rapid, and ah! the glory of the starlit evening with its gentle breeze and its hours of calm repose followed by sweet and health-giving sleep—the tent well open to the fragrance of the balmy air.

As an example of a pleasant excursion from Fredericton, an account of a two-days’ journey of some 45 miles up the St. John in a motor-canoe is now given, and this could be extended to a trip of some weeks, or even months, by exploring the upper tributaries to their headwaters. Many of the places nearer Fredericton may be reached, and the starting point regained, in a day, or even in half a day, and the route may constantly be varied by taking the different tributaries in turn.

A start was made from Fredericton in the early morning; and, in addition to handbag and raincoat, a bag of fruit was taken to give variety to our meals at the farmhouses along the river.

Our eighteen-foot canoe with a 2½ h.p. motor, piloted by the able and obliging Davidson, of Fredericton, started gaily up-stream and passed under the graceful iron town-bridge—the sun behind thick banks of cloud, and apparently threatening rain. As the clouds screened us from the hot rays of an August sun, we took little thought of the dark sky: for we knew by experience that such a beginning often ended in a bright and clear noonday.

After splendid running for a few miles, we tied up at Springhill and climbed the path up the bank to the lumber-camp and boarding-house above. Here were roadside inns in the olden days, with their quaint names, such as “Dewdrop inn,” or “Rest and be Thankful.” Here the jolly and amphibious red-shirted raftsmen used to congregate, and here, too, their good-hearted successors make their down-river headquarters.

It took a few minutes to prepare our breakfast of coffee, toast, fresh eggs from the fine poultry run, and new milk from the cows browsing in the pretty tree-bordered meadows hard by.

Breakfasting and taking a refreshing draught of cool spring water, we regained our canoe, and as the upward course was resumed the sun burst through its cloudy barrier and shone down with cheering effect. Passing Percy Bar and the Keswick Islands we have an opportunity of testing the important question of speed, for in the narrower channels the current has a velocity of four to six miles an hour, and sometimes even faster.

Before entering a rapid or piece of swift water, we carefully oil the working parts of the motor, and see that everything is in trim for our struggle against the stream. Off we go for our first tussle, and in a minute more we are in swift water, with circling eddies and a foam-lined shore.

The water is higher than usual, owing to recent rain and well-swollen tributaries. The whole current of the great river flows through the one channel we have just entered. Fortunately, the river is deep here, and it gives a good hold for our rapidly revolving screw. The engine working well, the lever is pushed to “full-speed,” and in a moment we are cleaving the water into two high ridges at our bow, while the throbbing motor settles down to its best speed.

We look ashore a little anxiously, it must be admitted, for we appear unequal to our task, the trees alongside and the rocks by the shore holding fixed positions on our beam. It is only for a moment, however, for soon we creep along shore, slowly, very slowly; and yet we are gaining. After half-an-hour’s steady going we emerge into a wider channel, the current loses its force and now we go ahead with increasing speed.

Here we are in a run that is clear save for the quantities of logs floating downstream, and which are being gathered in and made up into rafts to be towed or guided with poles to the maws of the rapacious mill. The long boom of logs fastened together end-wise, the walking platform and the small floating shanty, together with the constant downward stream of logs of all sizes going down singly, in “twos” and “threes,” and, at times, in great bunches, all make an interesting incident in the trip; and to thread a devious way in and out of the swiftly passing timber keeps our rudder in constant oscillation as we follow the ever-changing path.

Here is Lunt’s Ferry. We see the high, steel cable strung across the river, with the running block and gang ropes connecting it with the side-railed flat barge or ferry. These floats are often propelled across stream by the force of the current. Just as a ship makes headway by the side wind running off her sails obliquely, so does a boat cross a stream by the action of the tide, if care is taken to have the boat’s head turned partly against the current. The boat being fastened to a transverse cable and running block to prevent it from being driven down stream, the tide strikes the hull obliquely and causes progression in that direction towards which the boat is headed. When the tide is sluggish a gasolene boat is frequently used to ensure more rapid progress. Moored alongside, it soon pushes the ferry across; and when traffic is active this is the best motive power.

Soon we run under high bluffs and notice the fine growth of woods covering the almost perpendicular heights, and which touch the side of the steep slope with their projecting side branches. The varying shades of green in the woodland, the giddy height, the far-extending reflection in the now sunlit river, all combine in a beautiful picture; and again are we tempted to land and drink of a sparkling stream that can be seen flowing down the mountain side in a minute but clearly-defined rivulet.

Giving the engine a few minutes’ rest, we again push on, and, after passing French Village, the pretty little Macinquac stream joins ours on the right, and directly under the picturesque bluff, with its quaint white church showing like a beacon through the trees, a landing is made and we push our canoe tip into the mouth of the little stream, drinking in the while all the beauties that are on every hand.

Once more afloat, for we are thinking of a place for dinner, and we wish to find refreshment without waiting. In this way we may push forward and cover the considerable distance of swift water that intervenes before we reach our destination where we are to sup and lodge.

Fortunately, a suitable place is fairly close at hand, and, dinner over, we resume our course upstream. The engine now “kicks-up” a little, as all self-respecting motors must do, sooner or later. Again oiling the parts, we push from off-shore again, for we had pulled in to avoid being drawn down by the current, and thus losing ground.

But we do lose ground, for when we push off into deep water to give the screw a chance to revolve without chipping the rocks, the canoe is turned right around, and downstream we go, the engine obstinately refusing a single turn.

Back to the shore we go with paddle, and after a few operations with the motorist’s beloved tool, the wrench, and sundry squirts here and there from his much cherished oil-can, the engine starts to revolve with savage energy. It came so unexpectedly that we are off full speed downstream before we recover. Putting the helm over we head up the river and are just settling down to regain the lost way, when—the engine stops!

“Variety is the spice of life,” so we take to the shore again and hold fast to a log conveniently stranded for our use. These little incidents, it may be remarked, give added pleasure to the excursion, and for the true motorist they supply that fulness and joy in life that cannot be obtained in any other way. This time the real seat of the trouble is found—moisture bridging the spark-gap.

Hurrah! Now we are off, in real earnest, and triumphant smiles come quickly as swift water is passed and we finally get over Big Bear Island Bar with only a few glancing knocks of the propeller on a stray rock or two.

Twilight has come and gone. The trees are still, and not a breath ripples the long and straight course of the river wide and ghostly, and reaching into darkness at the end of a lengthy vista that is only dimly defined—partly by the tall trees on each side, but more by the patch of faint light that falls on the water down the avenue before us. Gray forms float on the surface of the stream, turning a ghostly white as they near us. We look over to examine more closely, and find small floating islets of froth or foam, made hours before far up, and now borne on the glassy surface of the tranquil stream, gathering in size as they descend, or breaking against obstructions and vanishing suddenly out of sight.

Soon the surface of the river shows a pale gleam of light, and the white trunks of the silver birches begin to lose their spectral appearance as they stand out, one by one, from the dense pall of overhanging foliage. We look behind and enjoy to the full that glorious spectacle, moonrise on a wide and beautiful river, in a country rich in mountain and vale; and as the increasing light brings into view one feature after another of the unfolding landscape, we marvel at its beauty, and at the softness and delicacy of all when pencilled by that companion and friend of the traveller by night—the gentle moon.

As we look behind at the dancing wavelets left in our wake, the crest of each gleams white and brilliant ere it subsides in milky foam; while down the widening and rippling channel just made by the revolving screw a thousand gleams of light are refracted into a glorious play of ever-changing color.

The sound of the motor is jarring when viewing a scene so fair. So turning the canoe and stopping the engine, we drift inshore to view the surroundings in perfect quiet.

How bright the planets show when seen from a deep valley on such a night, and how marvellous and grand the sight when from almost total darkness and confused or indistinguishable detail the whole beauty of the view steals out, line by line, giving time to admire each new feature as it springs into sight, until finally the whole glorious landscape and wondrous river are spread before in a soft blending of light and shade impossible to adequately picture or describe.

Reluctantly, though supperless, we turn our canoe and continue our way upstream. We are now on a river of molten silver, floating down a path at once fantastic and beautiful. The reflected and inverted banks of the river are close to us on each hand, the tree branches sharply outlined and gently quivering under the influence of a balmy zephyr that now steals with velvet touch over the surface of the water.

Are we really in cloudland? we ask, so spiritual is the scene—and as if to dispel all uncertainty a distant gleam of light reveals the far-away course of the river, as it seems to pass on to the sky, where it flows through the splendid portals of a gorgeous palace built in the clouds and limned with outlines of pale silver by the artist moon.

“All journeys have an end.” Journeys are also said to “end in lover’s greetings.” Sometimes, however, they terminate with a fine supper cooked by the obliging wife of a good-hearted farmer for two supperless men dropped from the clouds, as it were, one hour before midnight. And here we are at Davidson’s Ferry, a good supper with a night’s repose on a comfortable bed surely making a happy ending for one part of our trip.

After a 6 o’clock breakfast next morning the canoe is headed up the lovely St. John—for are we not bound to reach the Nacawick stream, Pokiok, the narrow gulf, and its waterfall, Clare Mountain, the Meductic Fall and the Shogomoc Rapids. And we do reach these in good time, and after admiring the rocky banks of the river near Hawkshaw, the beautiful views at Pokiok, the narrow chasm and the little waterfall at the Gulf, and the bold Clare Mountain, we finally reach our goal—the Shogomoc Rapids. Here we turn inshore in full view and sound of the famed swift water.

What an exhilarating spectacle, and how the waters dash, foam and roar as they are hurled headlong down the steep descent. What a splendid place to camp anywhere near here—one would surely never tire of such delightful surroundings. As we sit and watch the water assume ever-changing forms, we think of the Indians and their life on these waters in the long ago, and in fancy we see them mounting the crests of the billows and passing up and down the river in perfect safety.

Up and down is doubtless wrong, for who could propel a boat upstream against a foaming current going over ten miles an hour, and often nearer fifteen! Discussing this with our guide, he declares he feels like going up in the motor-canoe as far as he can, and, he adds, “By George, I believe I can get through!” We laugh him to scorn. He persists in trying it. At last we decide to join in the experience.

We oil up and make all ready. Off we go! right into the midst of the foam at the lower end of the rapids. The engine works furiously at full speed while we watch results.

We are making rapid progress in the wrong direction; for working full speed ahead, we gain just enough way to get into the direct current and then downstream we go, stern first, Davidson joining in the laugh at his expense. “Never mind,” we say, “we were right in the midst of it, and the boat did splendidly.”

1. Waterloo Row, Fredericton
2. York Street, Fredericton
3. Walnut Park, Fredericton
4. Phoenix Square, Fredericton