Chapter IV: A Trip to the La Val

A beautiful breeze was blowing down between the grand old hills of the majestic Saguenay on that first day of August when Walton[8] and myself started from L’Anse à l’Eau in one of the oddly-shaped pilot-boats of the St. Lawrence, for a visit to the Bon Homme la Val. The Bon Homme la Val, a beautiful and romantic stream that falls into the St. Lawrence about sixty miles below the Saguenay, tradition asserts was named by the pious Canadians in the early days of the country after a beloved father confessor. But time and the English, equally utilitarian, have contracted it into simply La Val, and the origin of the name, together with the piety that suggested it, is almost forgotten by the present generation. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the strong northwest wind curled the waves of the ancient river, and crested them with foam; the dark waters surged in their falling tide; the stunted trees shivered in the blast; while the granite hills were as immovable as they had been mid storm and calm for many thousand years; but the pretty little village was all astir with our departure.

It is a fanciful place, with the white houses perched in a nook between the whiter rocks, while the graceful roofs and white-washed walls shining in the sunlight, produces a picturesque effect. The few English families residing there, and their many friends on visit to them, made an agreeable society, drawn closer together by its seclusion from the world at large; and bright eyes looked brighter when there were none others by.

The world of L’Anse à l’Eau was collected on the wharf to witness our departure--the Canadians because they had no better employment, the English that they might bid us adieu. Our pilot-boat, called by the Canadians _chaloupe_, an open boat some five-and-twenty feet long by seven wide, was crammed full of our numerous traps, plunder or baggage, as it would be variously styled in different parts of our land of freedom. The fishing rods, and one gun, devoted to the destruction of bears for lack of smaller game, were carefully stowed; small barrels, at present filled with meat, but destined to return filled with fish, lay side by side with baskets full of more delicate provender; tents, bedding and innumerable other articles occupied every inch of room. We were experienced in woodsman life, and had no idea of suffering the want of luxuries that could be easily carried with us, and would never trouble us on our return, unless they did it in spite of our teeth. There were preserved soups, meats and fruits, sauces of many kinds, tea and coffee, the latter ground and in bottles of essence; there were brown, white and maple sugars, concentrated milk, flour, indian and oatmeal, barley, rice and potatoes; liquors of many kinds, and other things too numerous to mention. For our protection from the weather, we had two tents and waterproof cloth sufficient for a make-shift, two indian-rubber blankets apiece, one coated on the side the other in the middle, waterproof suits, plenty of blankets, flannels, and warm clothes; and such other things as a gentleman ordinarily carries on a journey. As a defence against the mosquitoes, black flies, sand flies, and other like torments of Satan’s invention, there were veils, the oil of tar, and a mixture of glycerine, turpentine and spearmint. Above our treasures were carefully stowed our two canoes, bottom upmost. In a heavy sea they cannot be towed, as they are apt to fill and tear to pieces.

Few persons know how beautiful and delicate a canoe is. It is manufactured only by the Indian; in that the white man has never equalled him. The best is made from a piece of white birch bark, stripped from the tree in springtime, damped, and after being cut away to the requisite extent, molded into the proper shape. The inside is covered with gum, and a thinner piece of bark fitted upon it, so that though the outer bark be torn, it still does not leak. Over this are passed thin strips of red cedar, lengthwise of the canoe, and crossing them at every inch are ribs of the same wood. The gunwale is formed of a stout stick of hickory or ash, laced to the sides, and four strong but slender thwarts bind the whole firmly together, and serve for seats or supports. Inferior articles are made of but one thickness and of poorer bark. The shape differs according as they are manufactured by the Mountaineers or Micmacs, the two tribes of this region, the former building a long, narrow and graceful boat, easily capsized even for a canoe, and well suited for travel in smooth water; while the latter build a broader and flatter boat, drawing little water and better suited for shoals and rapids. They are mostly manufactured on the south side of the St. Lawrence, birch-trees of the requisite size having almost disappeared from the north shore. The bark is composed of innumerable layers, and is the only known substance that would stand the rough contact with rocks that canoes experience. A volume could be written on the wondrous qualities of birch bark, the woodsman’s invaluable treasure; to him it is a boat, a tent, a table, a plate, a cup, a basket, a pail, a basin, a frying-pan, a tea-kettle, a candle, a flambeau, a cooking oven, writing paper, kindling wood, and almost all the other conveniences or necessaries of life.

The chaloupe being loaded, a long farewell shouted loudly that our spirits might not fail, and we turned our backs on L’Anse à l’Eau, the pretty bay at the waterside. The jib was set, and the _grande voile_, or foresail, together with the _tapecu_, or jigger, while the mainsail, called by the Canadians mizzin--for we were a three-masted schooner--was brailed up, not only to give us more room, but because the open boat was then under all the sail she could stagger to. The French are a wonderful people; strange and incomprehensible are the sailing vessels they have produced; but in Canada, aided by the antiquated notions of the English, they surpass themselves and manage to combine in their pilot-boats all the defects of which either system is capable. While the rest of the world has discovered that the more sails a small boat carries the slower she will go, they have carefully cut up what should have been one sail into four; and whereas a pilot-boat is mainly wanted in rough weather, and should be capable of living in any sea, they have built them open, and any heavy wave breaking aboard would swamp them in an instant.

But of all wonderful productions of the human mind the jigger excels; a mast is stepped alongside the stern-post, with a little spritsail hoisted on it; a stationary boom, or out-rigged, is fastened in the stern and projects aft into the water; in the end of this boom an augur hole is bored, through which is rove the sheet to the jigger, and the sail trimmed down or eased off. By this ingenious arrangement all possible disadvantages are combined without one conceivable advantage. However, not to condemn unreasonably, there are conveniences in this singular rig. The bowsprit can be taken out and used to shove off from rocks or a lee shore, and as these vessels are never known to go to windward, that is important; the sprit of the jigger can be used to boom out the mainsail when going wing and wing; any passenger, finding a sail incommodes him, can reach up and wrap it round the mast, out of his way; and in fact, if he were to pull it down and put it in his pocket, no one would miss it; and finally, a Kentuckian might find the mainmast useful, with a little whittling, as a toothpick. It is also rather perplexing that the Canadians should call the foresail the _grande voile_, which is the proper name for the mainsail, and then call the mainsail the mizzin, in pronouncing which they endeavor to cheat the last syllable of its vowel; whereas, the jigger, if any, is entitled to be called the mizzen. Instead of having a cabin, like Christians, they have amidships, for it is a keel boat, what they call a _boîte_; and sure enough it is a box, as long as the width of the boat, some seven feet, about two and a half feet deep at the lowest part, and rounding to the shape of the bottom, and three and a half feet wide. Into that they crawl, and two men and a boy have been known to sleep comfortably.

Such was the vessel that was destined to bear us sixty miles down the broad St. Lawrence, and was soon tearing along under the fierce wind that crested every wave with foam. Fortunately, our course lay along the weather shore, for our open cockle-shell would not have lived a minute exposed to the full sweep of the blast and the sea it must have raised on the other side of the river, or even a few miles from shore. Once in a while, a little dash of spray would come hissing on board, or fling itself into our faces; but as the wind was free, we could carry on sail as long as she could keep above the waves, or until she carried the masts out of her. Even that ungainly vessel, driving on in the seething waters, carrying the canoes on her deck, and with her sails straining in the blast, must have been more than picturesque.

On we tore, skirting the dreary, inhospitable coast past the village of Tadousac, past the Moulinbaud, the Escomain, a river once famous for its salmon, but no longer so; past the Patte de Lièvre, a rock of the shape of the hare’s foot, where many years ago the sea gave up its dead, and a cross now stands to mark the grave of the lost nameless one; and the last puffs of the wearied blast urged us quietly into the outlet of Sault de Cochon. At the mouth of this river there is a steep fall, down which once a hog hastily descended much against her will; in her death covering herself with immortality giving her name to the torrent that destroyed her.

Hastily launching one of the canoes, and rigging up our rods, my companion and myself, eager for the fray, commenced tempting the innocent inhabitants of the deep with delusive baits. Evidently Mr. Red Hackle was not one of their intimate acquaintances, and they took to him amazingly. The god of day was already declining behind the western hills, and casting long shadows over the now placid water, but the fish leaped at the fly in innumerable numbers, giving us such sport as we at least never enjoyed before. At almost every cast a trout, varying in size from a quarter of a pound to two pounds and a half, plunging out of water, seized the fly fearlessly in his mouth, while often two or three were on the line at once. Large or small, they were most vigorous, making fierce struggles and mad rushes to escape, their silver sides glancing through the water, and their tails lashing it into a foam. No dull, heavy, logy fish were they, but active and lively, and excellent was the sport they gave; so that when our men, having improvised a kitchen on the rocks, called to us that supper was ready, we were loath to leave our sport. It was then eight o’clock; we had been fishing about three hours, and over one hundred and twenty fish, averaging about half a pound, were the net reward of our skill.

The scene, as we took our supper upon the end of an old tumble-down dock, was peculiar. The light of the fires, making the surrounding darkness the deeper, served alone to illumine with lurid brightness the faces and fantastic dresses of our men, while the roar of the cataract shut out all other sounds. The chaloupe lay below us, its outline just defined upon the dark water, while we, seated upon a log, drank our tea and feasted right royally upon fresh trout and other comforts that civilization had provided us.

Truly incomprehensible are the Habitans of Canada. One of the few inhabitants being without any eatable thing in the house, having scraped the flour barrel till he had scraped off splinters of wood, and, except for our arrival, without the prospect of a meal for the morrow, had soothed his sorrows by inviting his neighbors to a ball. Of course there was no supper; but the music of one fiddle, and the merry spirits of the Canadian girls made up for the deficiency, and when we joined them, after our tea, they all seemed as happy as though stomachs never grew hungry or limbs tired. Being politely offered the belles, we joined the festivities, our potables adding to the merriment of the party, till, with the prospect of a hard day’s work on the morrow, we thought best to retire to the dressing-room and camp upon the floor for the night. Although the bed was hard, and our rest somewhat disturbed by visions of beautiful creatures arranging their hair and dresses by the light of a tallow candle, before the looking-glass in our room, and at last donning their hats for a final departure, we slept tolerably, and the early dawn saw us on our feet, preparing for our departure.

While the men were carrying out our directions, in anticipation of a long absence from civilization, the attractions of the finny tribe were too seductive, and we, yielding to their enticements, again cast our lines in pleasant places, and again, in about three hours, captured over eighty of the speckled silver-sides. The largest weighed two pounds and a half, and was the best fish taken, thus far.

The barrels were arranged, the salt was purchased and stowed, the canoes made fast, the sails set, and, blessed by a still more favorable southwest wind, we got under way for La Val. Its mouth was only about one mile distant, but we intended to ascend it as far as possible with the chaloupe, on the rising tide, and were thankful for the favoring wind. At its outlet lies an island of the same name with the river, behind which stretches a broad, rocky, shallow bay. We escaped by grazing several rocks, and entered a sluggish, canal-like, dirty river, as unlike the La Val of a few miles above as anything can be conceived, and ploughed our way through crowding shoals of sardines, that rose so thick as to tempt us to try to catch them with a scap net. But where the rocks began to be visible as the water became clearer, we drew the chaloupe to the shore, and anchoring her stem and stern, loaded our canoes for the ascent of the river. We took with us the essentials of our camp life, intending to send back for the superfluities after we had established a permanent camp; the river being too low, our canoes would not carry a heavy load.

Armed with iron-shod poles to shove up the rapids, and paddles for the deeper pools, our Canadians took their places and we commenced our ascent. My companion was an expert canoeman, but for myself it was my first real lesson in the unsteady little shells, and seated upon the bottom I awaited every moment a sudden bath. Here the water was comparatively smooth, and little was I prepared for the falls and rapids that were ere long to steady my nerves for anything, and prove what a canoe can do when it is well handled.

While our head guide, with the musical taste that is inherent in the French nature, rang forth--

“Aimez-moi Nicolas,”

the paddles were being plied vigorously, and we shot into the narrow cleft that forms the bed of the La Val. Straight up from the water’s edge sprung the hills on each side, their grey rocks scarcely half covered with stunted spruce, pine and hemlock, and rarely leaving margin enough for underwood to grow upon the bank. The water, now limpid as crystal, poured down in an ever increasing current, and here and there boiled over a hidden rock. On we forced our way, a bald eagle the only contestant for our sole occupancy of the river, past the grey cliffs, the sombre trees, through dark pools, up rapid currents, by banks of clay greyer than the granite hills themselves. On, on, with steady exertions, at every moment ascending toward the source of the wild stream. The water became shoaler, the currents stronger, and the rapids more rocky as we advanced.

Poling up the rapids was strange indeed. Imagine a torrent pouring, hissing and boiling down over rocks, where the foam glistened and the spray danced into the air, sweeping through narrow channels and leaping up and curling over in crested waves; imagine a light, fragile boat, that a man could lift with one hand, forced against such a current, between or even over the rocks, swayed about, swept hither and thither, and once in a while caught broadside on, and, unless quickly righted, carried to instant destruction. Imagine the excited efforts, the quick directions of the steersman, or forward boatman, whose care it is to head the canoe straight, to choose at a glance the deepest channel, and to keep her clear as possible from the rocks. “_Arrête! avance! pousse! à droite! à gauche!_” with a thousand others, come streaming forth as she touches, swings round, or tries to take her own head. At times she stops entirely, and by main force alone is she pushed over; the rock being distinctly felt as it bends the thin bark, that by its elasticity gives to the pressure and springs to its place the next instant. The men stand erect, exerting all their strength, and handle their poles like a Paddy his shillelah, first on one side, then on the other, then in front and then behind, the iron taking a firm hold of the slippery rocks. Such was our ascent, and deeply interesting it proved to me, although at first it seemed inevitable that the foaming water must ingulf us all, and, destroying our provisions, leave us, if we escaped at all, shipwrecked mariners upon a desolate coast.

I was glad, therefore, at every opportunity to quit the canoe, and clambering as fast as I could over the slippery rocks, post myself ahead upon the point of some _batture_ or ledge of rocks, and cast the fly till the canoe came toiling painfully along. Great was my success, beautiful the dark pools, ever varying the limpid water. The treacherous banks of clay, so slippery that it was scarce possible to stand on them; the dark pines casting a gloomy shadow upon the water, the sombre depths where the current had worn away a cavern for the naiads of the watery realm, made together a picture never to be forgotten. While the innumerable trout were enough to gladden the heart of any true sportsman.

The day was passed and yet our journey not half done; we halted for the night as “The shades of eve came slowly down,” and Walton joined me with his rod while the tent was being pitched and the fire lighted. Glorious was our sport; many a brave fish rose and sunk, and rose to sink no more; either in that region the parent trout had not learned the infant song that in civilized localities they are accustomed to teach their children, or else the mothers did not know the latter were out; for certainly they were not aware of the concealment of the cruel hook under the seeming insect. They showed no fear and we no pity, till the call of “supper” found us with over a hundred fish, averaging a pound and a half.

In conscious innocence and happiness we retired; the fire was bright, the night was warm, the woods were still, the sand was soft, but oh! the sand flies. They came down upon us more innumerable than the locusts in Egypt, and if Pharaoh had only been tormented with them, he would have given up in one night. I tossed and turned and rolled about, hid my head under the blanket, and covered it up with my handkerchief. All to no use; they would still find some means of entrance, the little, invisible things; and they bit till my face seemed on fire. Their bite does not itch like a mosquito’s, but burns, and I never again shall despise a thing because it is small. Compelled to surrender all hope of sleep, I gathered the dying embers of the fire, and adding fuel, drove away the pests, while, at the same time, with infinite relish, I scorched our men, who, to my previous disgust, had been sleeping during my sufferings as though they were in paradise.

By the earliest dawn I had waded into the river and made the discovery that fish, unlike the proverbial birds, will not take the fly too early. Just before the sunlight tinged the mountain-tops, they, thinking to provide their own breakfasts, provided me with mine, so that, when the time came to leave off, I had taken twenty fish weighing over forty pounds.

Immediately after the meal was over, we continued our ascent as rapidly as possible, dreading another experience such as we had endured the previous night, and hurried on to reach our regular camping-ground and pitch a proper tent. On the way, I only had time to catch fifteen, weighing thirty-seven pounds, the largest being of three pounds and a half, and late in the afternoon hailed with pleasure the information that at last we had reached the spot that was to be to us for some time our home. It was a beautiful location; the stream, by a sudden bend, forming a low, long point of land, nearly level, which had been, by previous camping parties, entirely denuded of underbrush and partly of trees. In front, midway in the river, was a large flat rock, beyond which, extending to the further shore, and just fairly within casting distance, lay a deep, black pool. A dead tree leaned over this rock from our side of the river, forming a perilous swinging bridge by which one could reach it dry-shod. Directly across a cool spring brook entered the La Val at a place where the shore was a mass of overhanging underbrush. A pathway had been cut through the woods by some previous salmon fishers to the pools above and below; and with the poles, benches, boards and other insignificant but useful articles left by our predecessors, our camping-ground combined every requisite with many luxuries. At five o’clock the tent was pitched, our necessary part of the arrangements, the head-work done, and Walton and myself commenced fishing. We stood side by side upon the rock already mentioned, and before dark had taken fifty-three trout, weighing one hundred and twenty pounds. They were most vigorous fish, and many a time did their continued runs almost exhaust our lines. We had fished at Sault de Cochon with three flies; on ascending the river had diminished them to two, and now the fish themselves coolly reduced them to one. Almost invariably, if we struck two fish at a time, no matter what pains we took, one broke away with the hook. After a short time, we did not pretend to use more than one, and then had to take great pains in removing it from the mouth to avoid its being destroyed, so tough were the lips and strong the teeth of these noble fish. Indeed, it was soon effectually proved that any fly with the hackle wound from the shoulder to the bend was worthless, the first fish biting away the hackle, which should have been only wound close to the head. Heretofore the destruction of my fly had been a minor consideration, but now I found that I must look to myself, or, although provided with over thirty dozen, there might be danger of my falling short. As it was, the fish destroyed in the course of my trip at least ten dozen.

A delicious night’s rest was the reward of our efforts at arranging a proper camp, and in fact, henceforth there was no trouble from flies, mosquitoes, or any insect, except to a slight degree during the day-time; an annoyance that a segar would effectually dispel. From a quarter before seven to a quarter past eight next morning I alone took twelve fish averaging over two pounds, and during the day, while ascending the river for a short distance to investigate what now became to us a serious question, the depth of water, Walton and myself together caught twelve, and in the afternoon twenty-eight more. In the course of this day we established a rule to throw back all fish weighing under two pounds, a rule we adhered to till our last day in the river. The water proved to be very low, and although at night we occasionally heard the rush of a large fish up the rapids, the salmon had passed above and were probably on their spawning grounds, whither it now began to be very doubtful whether we could follow them. It was late in the season, as we knew, for salmon, although we had come prepared for them, and wished to catch at least a few.

We had picked up at Sault de Cochon, as a super-numerary, a boy of about eighteen, who was one of the most remarkable beings the sun ever shone upon. He would sit for hours with his mouth open and his hands before him, and, unless told, would hardly have sense to eat enough to keep himself from starvation. After dark, our men, with a hook and line and the entrails of a trout for bait, caught some eels, and he, emulous of their success, took the line after they had finished, and concluded he would try his luck. Although he had been watching their proceedings for an hour with the deepest interest, he had no idea what they used for bait, and was forced to inquire. They, with peals of laughter, suggested alternately “a cup of tea, a bit of biscuit, a little ale, a lump of sugar,” and such other anomalous baits. Although he at last succeeded in ascertaining from them what they used, it was not to be supposed that he would catch anything; in fact, it is highly probable he fell asleep over his rod and slept till morning.

The next day we prepared for a portage of five miles to the Lake la Val, a pond of some two miles in length by one in breadth, formed by the river’s spreading out and filling a valley in the hills. Walton donned a heavy basket, Joe, our chief canoeman, took the canoe, while François, the lazy boy, carried a bundle of bedding. We crossed the river, and striking directly into the woods, followed an Indian trail that had probably been there before this continent was discovered by Columbus. The mode of carrying the canoe was truly original; it was reversed and mounted on Joe’s shoulders, and his head being entirely concealed, he steadied it by holding to one of the cross pieces, and, at a distance, looked like some strange animal with a huge trunk, supported by two little legs. It was surprising how he managed it through the trees and among the underbrush, and even ascended places where we were compelled to give our legs the aid of our hands, not, however, without strenuous exertion, and the perspiration streamed from him when, after accomplishing about a mile, he leaned it upon a fallen log and slipped from beneath. Then the warning my friend had so often given me never to wet the bottom of the canoe, because it augmented its weight so terribly, came forcibly to mind. Fortunately François waked up, and having volunteered to carry the canoe over the next stretch, and it being ascertained, to every one’s astonishment, that he knew how, proved himself for the first time of any value, and shortened our journey considerably. During the portage we saw our first game, a spruce grouse so tame that no efforts we made could induce him to fly. He escaped death, primarily because we had no gun, and secondarily because it was out of season. At last, after a trying journey for our men, we passed a deserted lumbermen’s shanty, and found ourselves upon the sandy shore of the lovely Lake la Val.

This beautiful sheet of water, lying amid high sterile hills far from the abodes of man, has remained, and will continue for centuries, unvisited except by the native Indian or the adventurous sportsman. Romantic in its location and appearance, it is remarkable for the number and apparently irreconcilable character of the fish that inhabit its waters. While the voracious northern pickerel and giant mascallonge inhabit the upper part, and the fierce, greedy and powerful salmon have appropriated the outlet, shad or mullet and lake trout, both comparatively inoffensive, dwell in the centre, and doubtless prove an easy prey and grateful food to their natural enemies on either hand. Along the upper margin, weeds grow, and the bottom is in places soft and muddy, while the residue of the shore and bottom is firm white sand. The lake looked, in its broad expanse with the sun dancing on its rippled surface, lovely to us whose eyes had for a time been confined to a narrow gorge or the blue sky above.

Hastily launching the canoe, we descended the outlet, where the water poured over huge bowlders covered with a long, weedy grass, the seeds of which had been washed from the lake. Walton was standing in the bow of the canoe, and shouted with delight, and waved his paddle enthusiastically in air as salmon after salmon flashed up through the water, and shot by, rapid as light. The sight made our nerves tingle, but it was useless to try for them; the water was too clear, and they were dark and long run from the sea. At one point he frantically shouted to stop, and hastily explained that he had seen five salmon and numerous large trout in one deep hole. In vain, however, did we cast our flies, they had been frightened, and probably rushed down the stream, for we could not stir a fin. Descending a short distance further, we halted for dinner, after which, taking advantage of a resting spell, I waded back to the same spot.

The pool lay close beside a little island covered with alders, and by crawling cautiously I kept out of sight, and reaching the head of the island, cast carefully and lightly round it into the pool. The line went out straight the full length, the fly fell like a snow-flake on the water, there was an angry rush, a mighty splash, a quick taughtening of the line, and an enormous fish was fastened to my frail tackle. In his astonishment he fortunately darted up stream, and by skillful management was led round into the other channel, where, after many a struggle and desperate effort to escape, baffled only by prudence and care exerted through a long but exciting half hour, I landed him by walking into the water waist deep, and slipping the net under him. As for leading him to shore, my rod, already bent double would not bear the strain. He was a dark-backed, yellow-sided river fish, and weighed four pounds and a quarter. He was our champion prize, and remained so to the end. The water not having been disturbed, I made another cast, and was rewarded by another fish that weighed four pounds. A brace of beauties, fit to set before a king. The second one, however, so fought and flounced, and kicked and slapped about in the pool, in spite of all my persuasive efforts to induce him to leave it, that the rest grew suspicious, and refused the most seductive baits. My friend looked the least little bit envious when I rejoined him, and mentioned his having previously taken a sea trout at the Mingan that weighed nine pounds. I smiled, of course respectfully. We returned to the lake, having taken in all fifteen fish averaging three pounds, and leaving the canoe on the beach, wended our way through the woods back to our sylvan home, where Pierre received us with a redoubtable supper. Insatiable, however, I that evening took eight, and next morning three, from our preserve, as we called the pool in front of the tent.

As we intended to return to the lake, and might perhaps spear a pickerel, Joe made an _égog_, which appears to be the Indian name for fish-spear, the Canadians having not only adopted the word, but coined from it a French verb, _égogger_, to spear. Armed with it, and provided with make-shift tenting materials, we hastened to the lake, and launching our canoe,, tried its virtues upon the pickerel. The latter, however, were so scarce, that we rigged up the more effectual spinning tackle, and took a pickerel and a mascallonge of about twelve pounds each, and struck another of the latter very large, weighing, as well as could be guessed, from his passing close to the boat, about forty pounds. That night, provided with flambeaux, we went out for the purpose of again trying to spear pickerel; but, passing by the outlet of the pond, were so attracted by the numerous salmon, we could get no further.

It was a romantic sight; the canoe, lit up by the blazing flambeau, that was fastened, high above our heads, to a pole fixed in the bow, and by its glare made the surrounding darkness the more impenetrable; the silence of the night was unbroken, except by the dip of the paddle; and calmness of the water unruffled, through which the bewildered salmon lazily floated, following us about, coming so close that we could touch them with our hands, and occasionally jumping frantically into the air, utterly out of their wits and at the mercy of any poacher. Walton was excited, myself enthusiastic, but Joe was frantic; “_Egoggez donc! égoggez donc!_” he shouted, wildly pushing at the fish with his paddle, and almost ready to jump out of the boat. My friend held the spear in hand--he was a splendid spearsman, and could have filled the boat with salmon; but it was illegal as well as dishonorable to catch them in that manner--he wavered but a moment, and then with a sigh lay down the spear and took up his paddle, the greatest example of self-command and honest sportsmanship I ever knew. General Washington, when he refused to be king, was no greater. My friend was not rewarded if he did not sleep happier for it that night in the old cabin on the shore of Lake la Val; and if the falling pipe of the rotting stove that nearly crushed his head had killed him, he would have died virtuous, respected and without reproach.

Oh, that I had the pen of Julius Cæsar, Homer, Shakspeare, or even Byron, that I might write an ode to sapin, the balsam fir-tree! Tree of the weary woodsman, tree of the luxurious sportsman, tree of all men whom the drowsy god catches in the woods and compels to his embraces! A bed of thy leaves is softer than one of eider-down, and far more comfortable. A prince might sleep on thee and dream he was in paradise. Thou preservest us from colds, from rheumatism, and the many ills that flow from the evil humors of the cold ground. Thy leaves, growing in one direction from the stem, will lie flat, and may be piled to any depth--a foot of luxury, as in our permanent camp--and make a couch that combines the softness of the feather-bed with the firmness of the mattress, and an elasticity purely thy own. To thee, and to thy mate the hemlock, and thy associate the white birch, I now, far from thee, waft, in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, my love. Go on, increase and wax great; may often the one support me on the land, the other on the water!

When the next morning’s sun had once more brought round my birthday, the thirty-first that had ever dawned, we commemorated the fact by undertaking to descend the La Val from the outlet to our home; a roundabout journey of some fifteen miles, in lieu of the portage of five. It was to be a final test of the depth of the water, as the course lay over bad rapids and falls, and we entered upon the journey with great uncertainty. Packing our temporary bedding in a water-proof blanket, our party embarked and sped gaily along for the first mile or two, but soon found the bed of the stream one mass of huge rocks, over which the canoe had to be driven with sheer force, and which tore and strained the fragile bark till it leaked terribly.

During this day our progress was necessarily slow and laborious, and to relieve ourselves we fished continually. The trout rose beautifully--in fact, in one pool they were so thick, sweeping round in shoals, that we grew surfeited, and left it for a spot where they were less plenty. Still it required a long line and light fly to cull the largest--which were the ones we sought--and skill and patience to land them. We might have taken hundreds had the time permitted, or our canoe been in condition to carry them; but every strain had increased the leak till we could no longer keep it down by bailing, and had to land from time to time to turn the water out. In fact, it was a wet time altogether; there was a drizzling rain, the canoe was three inches deep with water, we had both been wading part of the day, and had so arranged our water-proof blanket that it projected beyond the temporary tent, and catching all the water that drained off, would not permit it to soak through, but collected a miniature Lake la Val in the middle of our bed. I being the heaviest, had the most of it; but by the aid of a blazing fire, I slept warm and comfortable till the morning air struck me, when the time came to rise, and sent a shiver to my very bones, giving me at first horrible visions of consumption, night-sweats and early death. Our tally of fish taken during the day amounted to fifty-three, weighing nearly two hundred pounds, and I had captured the greatest weight as yet taken at one cast, landing two fish, one of which weighed two and the other three pounds and a half. A handsome present the river gods made me for my birthday!

The next day, after an hour had been spent in vainly trying to attract the salmon, our journey was continued to the camp, the river as we descended proving worse, the rocks higher, the rapids fiercer, the water lower, our canoe frailer, till it came almost to dragging the latter over the bed of a current instead of floating comfortably along its surface. All hope of ascending to the head-waters was extinct, the rapids above the lake we knew must be worse than those below, and the latter were totally impassable for a loaded canoe. In our despair, we fished steadily at every breathing spell, and might have taken unlimited numbers, for they rose gloriously.

While walking unconsciously along, separated from my companions, I was fairly startled at observing what at first glance seemed to be a female figure seated on the opposite side of the stream beneath the bank. The impression was only dissipated by a close inspection. The rains had scooped out of the bank a dark niche, the edges of which were ornamented with vines and moss and in it was seated a figure of clay, worn to an astonishing likeness of a woman with a gipsy bonnet on her head. She appeared to be seated, and her bonnet, its strings and her dress, were accurately imitated by the curling white birch bark. The color of her face seemed dark brunette, set off by the birch bonnet, that was brought out in strong relief by the heavy shadow of the background. Altogether, it was a startling apparition, and conjured up to my eyes the wondrous sights of the times of elfin power, when my spectre would have made a most perfect wood nymph.

Whether my elf gave me good luck or not, it is impossible to say, but we caught thirty-seven magnificent fish, and after a hard day’s work, during which we had toiled at the canoe and waded most of the way, the camp was no unwelcome sight. It required Pierre’s best culinary efforts to restore our spirits, and soothe our disappointment at being unable to effect a further ascent, in which our worst forebodings were confirmed by Jermain, an additional guide who had followed us, and who reported from his Indian friends that the upper stream was impassable, the water being a foot lower than was ever known before. With sad hearts, therefore, the council of war determined that advance was hopeless, and retreat inevitable; even our splendid sport could not console us.

It had been drizzling all day, and the next morning we devoted to a general drying of wet articles--the camp looked like a grand clothes washing establishment, with lines stretched from tree to tree round a big fire, and hung with clothes. I took some seven trout for dinner, but otherwise the fish had a rest until the morrow, which was to be our last on the river, when we captured twenty-eight, a few of which, however, did not exceed a pound and a half in weight.

The next day came, and good bye to the beautiful La Val. Slowly and sorrowfully we struck our tent, sadly we collected together, and stowed the many little articles that the occasion had hallowed to our hearts. With feelings of deep regret we embarked, and looking our last look at the camping-ground that had been our home, commenced a descent to our chaloupe. As there were three canoes, and only five canoemen, including my friend, I was gladly compelled to take the bow of one and act as steersman. Of course my experience was limited, for, with the exception of having once upset Walton to his intense disgust, I had taken little active part in canoe management, and having for my stern-oar, Joe, whose only idea was to push ahead under all circumstances, we performed manœuvres that astonished more than they delighted our associates. Ours was the leaky canoe that had been patched up with gum and a piece of a shirt for the occasion, and being utterly reckless of it, we shot down rapids and leaped over rocks like a runaway race-horse. Wonderful were our hair breadth escapes; the rapid water, Joe with his “_Avancez toujours_,” gave me no time to see and less to avoid the half-hidden dangers, even if my skill had been equal to the task, and we darted along amid the foaming current, or plunged headlong down cataracts, at a rate and in a manner that would have surprised a locomotive off the track. We succeeded, however, in keeping straight with the current, and although once or twice our destruction seemed inevitable, we finally arrived safe, though in a leaky and dilapidated condition, at the place where we had anchored our chaloupe. The latter, left to herself, had been trying what she could do on the rocks, and had succeeded, with the aid of a falling tide, in upsetting twice, and so frightening the boy in charge of her that he had fled for refuge to a shanty, which providentially was near at hand.

Joe had taken the opportunity during our last day’s fishing, on hearing of the misfortunes of his boat, to remove her to the Sault de Cochon, so that we had to paddle about two miles in the open St. Lawrence. The river was over twenty miles broad, and, under the influence of a southwesterly wind, was so rough that our unsteady bark danced, tossed and rolled about uncommonly. I could no longer stand up, as I had been forced to do hitherto, and was brought to my knees at once, while even Joe found it safer to sit down on the thwart. No one who has not tried it can imagine what a canoe is in the slightest sea-way; it appears to bob from under you, and rolls and dances so quickly as to render staying in it almost impossible, even if it should not carry out its evident design to turn bottom up. Once at Sault de Cochon and I again tried the fish, having taken, on the descent of the La Val, twelve, and was rewarded as I deserved, by total failure.

The wind had died out, the water lay a perfect mirror, and, crowding down into the narrow cock-pit, we slept till two o’clock in the morning, when a favoring tide helped us slowly along toward our destination. The night passed, and the next day, and we drifted by place after place that we passed before with such rapidity, and sunset again found us only thirty-three miles on our way. We ran into a little bay at the mouth of the Escomain, where, having built a huge fire and eaten a hearty supper, we slept, on a bed of the softest pebble stones, soundly and sweetly till the first grey light of daybreak, when we continued our journey along a coast so poor that the best fed hogs are, as we were credibly informed, light and weak enough to be blown over by a strong wind, and mill-stones, to say nothing of the miller, starve for want of grain.

Again the hills of the Saguenay rise to our view, Tadousac rests calmly in its nook, and the sun shines on the white houses of L’Anse à l’Eau as when we left. Our trip is done. The La Val will live in our memory as long as we can cast a fly--aye, and when gout or age shall have laid us on the shelf. To you, my friend, the genial companion of my trip, I give my thanks; may we meet again, and once more stand side by side upon some projecting rock, as fish after fish rises to our fly. May you long live to enjoy the sport at which you so excel, and may you leave children that can cast a fly as well. To the stately St. Lawrence, to the magnificent Saguenay, to the beautiful La Val, a long farewell.