CHAPTER XV.

Seal hunting on the St. Lawrence—The white porpoise.

Tadousac, July.

Before breakfast this morning, I had the pleasure of taking fifteen common trout, and the remainder of the day I devoted to seal hunting. This animal is found in great abundance in the St. Lawrence, and by the Indians, and a few white people, is extensively hunted. There are several varieties found in these waters, and the usual market price for the oil and skin is five dollars. They vary in size from four to eight feet, and are said to be good eating. Many people make them a principal article of food; and while the Indians use their skins for many purposes, they also light their cabins with the oil. In sailing the river, they meet you at every turn, and when I first saw one, I thought I was looking upon a drowning man; for they only raise their heads out of water, and thus sustain themselves with their feet, fins, pads, flippers, or whatever you may call them. They live upon fish, and in many of their habits, closely resemble the otter. Their paws have five claws, joined together with a thick skin; they somewhat resemble the dog, and have a bearded snout like a cat, large bright eyes, and long sharp teeth. They are a noisy animal, and when a number of them are sunning themselves upon the sand, the screams they utter are doleful in the extreme—somewhat resembling the cry of children.

My first seal expedition was performed in company with two professional hunters. We started from shore with a yawl and a canoe, and made our course for a certain spot in the St. Lawrence, where the waters of the Saguenay and the flood tide came together, and caused a terrible commotion. The canoe led the way, occupied by one man, who was supplied with a harpoon, and a long line; while the other hunter and myself came up in the rear, for the purpose of rescuing the harpooner in case an accident should happen, and also for the purpose of shipping the plunder. The seal seems to delight in frequenting the deepest water and more turbulent whirlpools, and the object of using a canoe is to steal upon him in the most successful manner. We had not floated about the eddy more than twenty minutes, before a large black animal made his appearance, about ten feet from the canoe; but, just as he was on the point of diving, the hunter threw his harpoon, and gave him the line, to which was attached a buoy. The poor creature floundered about at a great rate, dove as far as he could towards the bottom, and then leaped entirely out of the water; but the cruel spear would not loosen its hold. Finally, after making every effort to escape, and tinging the surrounding water with a crimson hue, he gasped for breath a few times, and sunk to the end of the rope, quite dead. We then pulled him to the side of the boat, and with a gaff-hook secured him therein, and the hunt was renewed. In this manner did my companions capture no less than three seals before the hour of noon.

On one occasion, I noticed quite a large number of seals sunning themselves upon a certain sandy point; and as I felt an “itching palm” to obtain, with my own hands, the material for a winter cap, I spent the afternoon in the enjoyment of a “shooting frolic, all alone.” I borrowed a rifle of one of my friends, and, having passed over to the sandy point in a canoe, I secreted myself in the midst of some rocks, and awaited the game. I had remained quiet but a short time, when a huge black seal made its appearance, scrambling up the beach, where he kept a sharp look-out for anything that might do him harm. I admired the apparent intelligence of the creature, as he dragged his clumsy and legless body along the ground, and almost regretted that he was doomed to die. True to my ridiculous nature, however, I finally concluded to leave him unmolested for the present, hoping that he would soon be accompanied by one of his fellow-seals, and that I should have a chance of killing a pair. I was not disappointed, and you will therefore please consider me in full view of one of the finest marks imaginable, and in the attitude of firing. Crack went the rifle, but my shot had only the effect of temporarily rousing the animals, and I proceeded to reload my gun, wondering at the cause of my missing, and feeling somewhat dissatisfied with matters and things in general. Again was it my privilege to fire, and I saw a stick fly into the air about thirty feet on the left of my game. The animals were, of course, not at all injured, but just enough frightened to turn their faces towards the water, into which they shortly plunged, and entirely disappeared. I returned to my lodgings, honestly told my story, and was laughed at for my pains and bad luck. It so happened, however, that the owner of the gun imagined that something might be the matter with the thing, and, on examination, found that one of the sights had been accidentally knocked from its original position, which circumstance had been the “cause of my anguish;” and, though it restored to me my good name as a marksman, it afforded me but little satisfaction.

But, that my paper about seals may be worth sealing, I will give you the history of an incident which illustrates the sagacity of an Indian in killing his game. A Mik-mak hunter, with his family, had reached the shore of the St. Lawrence, hungry, and short of ammunition. On a large sand-bank which lay before him, at a time when the tide was low, he discovered an immense number of seals. He waited for the tide to flow, and again to ebb, and as soon as the sand appeared above the water, he hastened to the dry point in his canoe, carrying only a hatchet as a weapon. On this spot he immediately dug a hole, into which he crept, and covered himself with a blanket. He then commenced uttering a cry in imitation of the seal, and in a short time had collected about him a very large number of those animals. He waited patiently for the tide to retire so far that the animals would have to travel at least a mile by land before reaching the water; and, when the wished for moment arrived, he suddenly fell upon the affrighted multitude, and with his tomahawk, succeeded in slaughtering upwards of one hundred. To many, this may appear to be an improbable story, but when it is remembered that this amphibious animal is an exceedingly slow land traveller, it will be readily believed. The manner in which our hunter managed to save his game, was to tie them together with bark, and when the tide rose tow them to the main shore.

Since I have brought my reader upon the waters of the St. Lawrence, I will not permit him to go ashore until I have given him an account of another inhabitant of the deep which is found in very great abundance, not only in this river, but also in the Saguenay. I allude to the white porpoise. The shape of this creature is similar to that of the whale, though of a pure white color, and usually only about fifteen feet in length. They are exceedingly fat, and yield an oil of the best quality, while the skin is capable of being turned into durable leather. They are extensively used as an article of food; the fins and tail, when pickled, are considered a delicacy; and their value is about twenty-five dollars a-piece. They are far from being a shy fish; and, when sailing about our vessel in large numbers, as is often the case, they present a beautiful and unique appearance. For taking this fish, the people of this region have two methods. The first is to use a boat with a white bottom, behind which the fisherman tows a small wooden porpoise, which is painted a dark slate color, in imitation of the young of the species. With these lures the porpoise is often brought into the immediate vicinity of the harpoon, which is invariably thrown with fatal precision. In this manner an expert man will often take three or four fine prizes in a day. Another mode for taking these creatures is by fencing them in. It appears that it is customary for this fish to wander over the sand bars, at high water, for the purpose of feeding. Profiting by this knowledge, the fishermen enclose one of the sandy reefs with poles set about three feet apart, and sometimes covering a square mile. They leave an appropriate opening for the porpoises, which are sure to enter at high water, and, owing to their timidity, they are kept confined by the slender barrier until the tide ebbs, when they are destroyed in great numbers with very little trouble. It is reported that a party of fishermen, some ninety miles above the Saguenay, once took one hundred and forty porpoises at one tide; and it is also asserted that in dividing the spoil the fishermen had a very bitter quarrel, since which time, as the story goes, not a single porpoise has ever been taken on the shoal in question.

The Esquimaux Indians of Labrador.

Tadousac, July.

The vast region of country lying on the north shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and extending to the eastward of the Saguenay as far as Newfoundland, is generally known under the name of Labrador. It is an exceedingly wild and desolate region, and, excepting an occasional fishing hamlet or a missionary station belonging to the worthy Moravians, its only inhabitants are Indians. Of these the more famous tribes are the Red Indians, (now almost extinct,) the Hunting Indians, the Mic-Maks, and the Esquimaux. The latter nation is by far the most numerous, and it is said that their sway even extends to the coasts of Hudson’s Bay. They are, at the same time, the wildest and most rude inhabitants of this wilderness, and, in appearance, as well as manners and customs, closely resemble the inhabitants of Greenland.

During one of my nautical expeditions down the St. Lawrence, I chanced to be wind-bound for a couple of days at the mouth of the nameless river on the north shore, where I found a small encampment of Esquimaux Indians. The principal man of the party was exceedingly aged, and the only one who could convey his thoughts in any other language than his own. He had mingled much with the French fur-traders of the north, and the French fishermen of the east, and possessed a smattering of their tongue. Seated by the side of this good old man, in his lodge, with a moose skin for a seat, a pack of miscellaneous furs to lean against, and a rude seal-oil torch suspended over my head, I spent many hours of one long-to-be-remembered night in questioning him about his people. The substance of the information I then collected, it is now my purpose to record; but it should be remembered that I speak of the nation at large, and not of any particular tribe.

According to my informant, the extent of the Esquimaux nation is unknown, for they consider themselves as numerous as the waves of the sea. Much has been done to give them an education, and, though missionaries of the cross have dwelt among them for about a century, yet the majority of this people are, at the present time, in heathen darkness. The men are chiefly employed in hunting and fishing, and the domestic labor is all performed by the women. Their clothes are made in the rudest manner imaginable, and generally of the coarser skins which they secure in hunting. They believe in a Supreme Being, who has a dwelling-place in the earth, the air, and the ocean, and who is both good and evil; and they also believe in the immortality of the soul, which they describe as similar to air, which they cannot feel. Their principal men are magicians and conjurors, distinguished, as I infer from good reason, for their profligacy. Whenever a man is sick, they attribute the cause to the alleged fact that his soul has departed from his body, and he is looked upon with contempt and pity. The first man who came into the world sprang from the bosom of a beautiful valley; in this valley he spent his infancy and childhood, feeding upon berries; and having, on a certain occasion, picked up a flower which drooped over one of his accustomed paths, it immediately became changed into a girl with flowing hair, who became his playmate, and afterwards his wife, and was the mother of all living. They believe in a heaven and a hell, and consider that the road to the former is rugged and rocky, and that to the latter, level, and covered with grass. Their ideas of astronomy are peculiar, for they consider the sun, moon and stars as so many of their ancestors, who have, for a great variety of reasons, been lifted to the skies, and become celestial bodies. In accounting for the two former, they relate that there was once a superb festival given by the Esquimaux, in a glorious snow-palace of the north, where were assembled all the young men and maidens of the land. Among them was a remarkably brave youth, who was in love with an exceedingly beautiful girl. She, however, did not reciprocate this attachment, and endeavored, by all the means in her power, to escape from his caresses. To accomplish this end, she called upon the Great Spirit to give her a pair of wings; and, having received them, she flew into the air, and became the moon. The youth also endeavored to obtain a pair of wings, and, after many months, finally succeeded; and, on ascending to the sky, he became the sun. The moon, they say, has a dwelling-place in the west, and the sun another in the far east. They account for thunder and lightning by giving the story of two women who lived together in a wigwam, and, on one occasion, had a most furious battle. During the affray, the cabin tumbled in upon them, causing a tremendous noise, while the women were so angry that their eyes flashed fire. Rain, they say, comes from a river in the skies, which, from the great number of people who sometimes bathe in it, overflows its banks, and thus comes to the earth in showers.

When one of their friends has departed this life, they take all his property and scatter it upon the ground, outside of his cabin, to be purified by the air; but in the evening, they collect it together again, and bury it by the side of his grave. They think it wrong for the men to mourn for their friends, and consider themselves defiled if they happen to touch the body of the deceased, and the individual who usually performs the office of undertaker, is considered unclean for many days after fulfilling his duty. The women do all the wailing and weeping, and during their mourning season, which corresponds with the fame of the deceased, they abstain from food, wear their hair in great disorder, and refrain from every ablution. When a friendless man dies, his body is left upon the hills to decay, as if he had been a beast. When their children die, they bury the body of a dead dog in the same grave, that the child may have a guide in his pathway to an unknown land, to which they suppose all children go.

Polygamy, as such, among the Esquimaux, is practised only to a limited extent; but married men and women are not over-scrupulous in their love affairs. Unmarried women, however, observe the rules of modesty with peculiar care, and the maiden who suffers herself to be betrayed, is looked upon with infamy. When a young man wishes to marry, he first settles the matter with his intended, and then, having asked and obtained her father’s permission, he sends two old women to bring the lady to his lodge, and they are considered one. The Esquimaux mother is fond of her children, and never chastises them for any offence. Children are taught to be dutiful to their parents, and until they marry they always continue under the paternal roof.

The amusements of the Esquimaux do not differ, materially, from those of the Indian tribes generally. The men are fond of dancing, playing ball, and a species of dice game, while the women know of no recreation but that of dancing and singing.

And thus endeth my mite of information respecting one of the most extensive aboriginal nations of the far north.

The Habitan of Canada.

River du Loup, July.

Since dating my last chapter from the Saguenay, I have completed my pilgrimage through Lower Canada; but before leaving the province, I will give you the result of my observations respecting some of its people. These are divided into three classes—the descendants of the French colonists, commonly called “Habitans,” the British settlers, and the Indian tribes. The “Habitans,” of whom I am now to speak, are the most numerous, and so peculiar in their appearance and manners, as to attract the particular attention of travellers. The men are usually tall and slender, of sinewy build, and with a dark-brown complexion; the girls are black-eyed, and disposed to be beautiful, while the women are always dumpy, but good-looking. Their dress is similar to that of the French peasantry; the men wear the old-fashionedcapot, on their heads every variety of fantastic caps and hats, and, on their feet, a moccason made of cowhide; the women wear jackets or mantelets, which are made of bright colors, and, on their heads, either a cap or straw hat, made in the gipsy-fashion. Occasionally, they make an effort to imitate the English in their dress, and, at such times, invariably appear ridiculous. As a class they are devoted, principally, to agriculture; but as their opportunities for obtaining instruction are exceedingly limited, their knowledge of the art of husbandry is precisely what it was one hundred years ago. They seem to be entirely destitute of enterprise, and tread in the beaten steps of their fathers. They who live in the vicinity of Montreal and Quebec, generally supply those markets with vegetables; but those who reside in the more obscure parts, seem to be quite satisfied if they can only manage to raise enough off their farms for the purpose of carrying them through the year. They are partial to rye bread, and never consider it in a cooking condition until it has been soured by age; and their standard dish, which they make use of on all occasions, is a plain pea soup. The consequence is, the pea is extensively cultivated. You seldom find a farmer who is so poor as not to be able to sell from five to fifty bushels of wheat, and this article he appropriates to the same use that most people do their money. Their plough is distinguished for its rudeness, and their farming implements, generally, would not be creditable even to a barbarous people. If an individual happens to have a stony field, the idea does not enter his head that he might build a fence with those very stones, and the consequence is, that he piles them in one immense heap, in the centre of the field, and draws his rails a distance, perhaps, of two miles. But with all their ignorance of agriculture, the inhabitants are sufficiently careful to make their little farms yield them all the necessaries they require, particularly their clothing and shoes, their candles, soap, and sugar. There are but few professional mechanics among them, and the dwelling of the peasant is almost invariably the production of his own individual labor. Their houses are distinguished for pictorial beauty, always one story high, and, generally, neatly white-washed. Their cattle are small, and, owing to their neglect in feeding and protecting them, are exceedingly poor. Their horses are nothing but ponies, but distinguished for their toughness. The Habitans are partial to the luxury of riding, and their common vehicle is a rough two-wheeled cart, and, occasionally, a calash.

The establishment which I employed for travelling in the settled parts of Canada, was a fair specimen of the class. The cost of the horse (four feet and a half high), was twenty dollars, and the cart (made entirely of wood), was four dollars.—Mycoachmanwas a Habitan, and, in driving over a hilly road, on a certain day, I had a fine opportunity for studying the conflicting traits of character which distinguish the race. Whenever he wanted his horse to go fast, he pulled the reins with all his might, and continued to utter a succession of horrible yells. He invariablyranhis animalupthe hill, and deliberatelywalked him down. When angry at his unoffending beast, he showered upon his head a variety of oaths, which might be translated as follows:infernal hog,black toad, andhellish dog; and yet when the animal was about to drop to the ground from fatigue and heat, he would caress him, and do everything in his power to restore the animal, and ease his own conscience. I first employed this man to bring me to this place, and said nothing about continuing my journey. On ascertaining, however, that I was bound further down the St. Lawrence, he volunteered his services, and I employed him, although he had informed his wife that he would positively return on the night of the day he left her. I retained him in my employ for two days, and was particularly struck with the anxiety he manifested concerning the disappointment of his wife. He alluded to the impropriety of his conduct at least a dozen times, and usually added, “But you give me plenty money (it was only six dollars for taking me forty miles), andI will buy something pretty for my wife, which will make her very glad—I guess she won’t be sorry.” I asked him what it was that he intended to purchase, and his answer was, “some ribbon, a pair of scissors, with some needles, and a calico dress.” Who can deny that it is pleasant to study the sunshine of the human heart “by which we live?”

The Habitans profess the Roman Catholic religion with much zeal. Among them, I believe, may be found many worthy Christians; but they manifest their religious devotion in many peculiar ways. They are fond of social intercourse, and spend a goodly portion of their time in visiting each other. They reluctantly establish themselves beyond the sound of a chapel bell, and I positively believe that they spend more than half of their time in performing mass and horse racing. The Sabbath is their great holiday, and always decidedly the noisiest day in the week. Their general deportment, however, is inoffensive, and often highly praiseworthy. They are seldom guilty of committing atrocious crimes, and do not often engage in the personal conflicts which are so prevalent in the United States. They treat all men with kindness, and in their language and manners, are remarkably polite. The little girl, playing with her doll in her father’s door, would think her conduct highly improper should she omit to drop you a courtesy as you passed along; and even the rude boy, when playing ball, or driving his team, invariably takes off his hat to salute the traveller.

The Habitans are particularly fond of the river St. Lawrence, and their settlements extend from Montreal, about two hundred miles along the river on the north shore, and perhaps three hundred and fifty miles on the southern shore. Their principal roads run parallel with the river; are about half a mile apart, and, generally, completely lined with rural dwellings.

The political opinions of the Habitans are extremely liberal, and not much in accordance with the spirit of Canadian institutions. They hate England by nature, and the advice of their priesthood, and scruple not to declare themselves actually in love with what they call the American Government. They complain that Englishmen treat them as if they were slaves, while the people of the United States always hail them as brothers. They are an unlettered race, but believe that their condition would be much happier were they the subjects of a President, instead of a Queen. That is a matter I consider questionable.

The Grand Portage into New Brunswick—Lake Timiscouta—The Madawaska river.

On the Madawaska, July.

The traveller who would go from Quebec to Halifax by the recently established government route, will have to take a steamer for one hundred and twenty miles down the great river, and cross the Grand Portage road, which commences at the river, Du Loup, and extends to lake Timiscouta, a distance of thirty-six miles.

With the village of Du Loup I was well pleased. It contains about twelve hundred inhabitants, and a more general mixture of English, Scotch and French than is usually found in the smaller towns of Canada. The place contains an Episcopal church, which must be looked upon as a curiosity in this Roman Catholic country, for it is the only one, I believe, found eastward of Quebec. The situation of the village is romantic to an uncommon degree. It commands an extensive prospect of the St. Lawrence, which is here upwards of twenty miles wide, and bounded, on the opposite side, by a multitude of rugged mountains. The river is studded with islands; and ships are constantly passing hither and thither over the broad expanse; and when, from their great distance, all these objects are constantly enveloped in a gauze-like atmosphere, there is a magic influence in the scenery. The principal attraction is a water-fall, about a mile in the rear of the village. At this point the waters of the rapid and beautiful Du Loup dance joyously over a rocky bed, until they reach a picturesque precipice of perhaps eighty or a hundred feet, over which they dash in a sheet of foam, and, after forming an extensive and shadowy pool, glide onward, through a pleasant meadow, until they mingle with the waters of the St. Lawrence. But, as I intend to take you over the Grand Portage, it is time that we should be off. The first ten miles of this road are dotted with the box-looking houses of the Canadian peasantry; but the rest of the route leads you up mountains and down valleys as wild and desolate as when first created. The principal trees of the forest are pine, spruce and hemlock, and the foundation of the country seems to be granite. This region is watered by many sparkling streams, which contain trout in great abundance. The only curiosity on the road is of a geological character, and struck me as something remarkable. Crossing the road, and running in a northerly direction, and extending to the width of about two miles, is a singular bed of granite boulders. The rocks are of every size and form, and while, from a portion of them, rises a scanty vegetation, other portions are destitute of even the common moss. In looking upon this region, the idea struck me that I was passing through the bed of what once was a mighty river, but whose fountains have become forever dry. This is only one, however, of the unnumbered wonders of the world which are constantly appearing to puzzle the philosophy of man. In passing over the Grand Portage, the traveller has to resort to a conveyance which presents a striking contrast with the usual national works of her ladyship, the Queen. It is the same establishment which conveys the Royal Mail from Quebec to Halifax, and consists of a common Canadian cart, a miserable Canadian pony, and a yet more miserable Canadian driver. Such is the way they order things in Canada, which, I fancy, is not exactly the way they do in France. The Grand Portage road itself is all that one could desire, and as there is a good deal of summer and winter travelling upon it, it is surprising that the Government cannot afford a more comfortable conveyance. But this recently “Disputed Territory,” owing to nobody’s fault but the actual settlers, seems to be destitute of everything desirable, and I know not but we ought to rejoice that Lord Ashburton concluded the late treaty in the manner he did.

The eastern termination of the Grand Portage road is at Lake Timiscouta, where is located a pleasant hamlet of Canadians, and a picketed fort, which is now abandoned. The views from this spot are unique and exceedingly beautiful, particularly a western view of the lake, when glowing beneath the rays of the setting sun. The Indian word Timiscouta signifies thewinding water, and accurately describes the lake, which has a serpentine course, is twenty-four miles long, and from two to three wide. Excepting the cluster of houses already mentioned, there is not a single cabin on the whole lake, and the surrounding mountains, which are perhaps a thousand feet high, are the home of solitude and silence. The only vessels that navigate the Lake are Indian canoes, paddled by Canadians. Not only does the isolated settlers depend upon them for the transportation of provisions, but even the English nobleman, when travelling in this region, finds it necessary to sit like a tailor in their straw-covered bottoms.

The only outlet to Lake Timiscouta is the Madawaska River, which is but a contraction of the same water, but reduced to the width of a stone’s throw, and leading to the St. John’s, a distance of some forty miles. The meaning of Madawaska, as I am informed, isnever frozen, and the river obtained this name from the fact that certain portions, on account of the current, are never ice-bound. The scenery of the river is precisely similar to that of its parent lake, only that it is a little cultivated. The waters of both are clear, but not very deep or cold. They abound in fish, of which the common trout, the perch, and pickerel (not pike), are the more valuable varieties.

The manner in which I sailed through Timiscouta and Madawaska, was exceedingly pleasant, if not peculiar and ridiculous. My canoe was manned by a couple of barbarous Canadians, and while they occupied the extreme stern and bow, I was allowed the “largest liberty” in the body thereof. It was an exceedingly hot day when I passed through, and having stripped myself of nearly all my clothing, I rolled about at my own sweet will, not only for the purpose of keeping cool, but that I might do a good business in the way of killing time. At one moment I was dipping my feet and hands in the water, humming a lightsome tune of yore, and anon sketching the portrait of a mountain or a group of trees. Now I lay flat upon my back, and while I watched the fantastic movements of the clouds, as they crossed the blue of heaven, I attended to the comforts of the inner man by sucking maple-sugar. Now I called upon the boat-men to sing me a song, and, while they complied with my request, I fixed myself in the poetical attitude of a Turk, and smoked a cigar. At one time, we halted at a mountain spring, to obtain a refreshing drink, and at another, the men pulled up to some rocky point, that I might have the pleasure of throwing the fly. Thus vagabondizing, “pleasantly the days of Thalaba went by.”

My voyage down the Madawaska was not without a characteristic incident. There was quite a fleet of canoes descending at the same time, some of them laden with women and babies, and some with furs, tin-kettles, and the knapsacks of home-bound lumbermen. Two of the canoes were managed by a Canadian and a Scotchman, who seemed to cherish a deeply-rooted passion for racing. They paddled a number of heats, and as they were alternately beaten, they both, finally, became angry, and began to bet quite extravagantly. The conclusion of the whole matter was that they went ashore on a bushy point among the mountains, and settled their difficulty by a “private fight.” They fought, “like brave men, long and well,” and by the time one had a tooth knocked out of his head, and the other had nearly lost an eye, they separated, and quietly resumed their way. These were the only wild animals that I saw in the Madawaska wilderness.

The Acadians.

Mouth of the Madawaska, July.

At the junction of the river Madawaska and St. John, and extending for some miles down the latter, is a settlement of about three hundred Acadians. How these people came by the name they bear, I do not exactly understand, but of their history, I remember the following particulars. In the year 1755, during the existence of the colonial difficulties between England and France, there existed, in a remote section of Nova Scotia, about fifteen thousand Acadians. Aristocratic French blood flowed in their veins, and they were a peaceful and industrious race of husbandmen. Even after the government of England had become established in Canada, they cherished a secret attachment for the laws of their native country. But this was only a feeling, and they continued in the peaceful cultivation of their lands. In process of time, however, three titled Englishmen, named Lawrence, Boscawan and Moysten, held a council and formed the hard-hearted determination of driving this people from their homes, and scattering them to the four quarters of the globe. Playing the part of friends, this brotherhood of conquerors and heroes sent word to the Acadians that they must all meet at a certain place, on business which deeply concerned their welfare. Not dreaming of their impending fate, the poor Acadians met at the appointed place, and were there informed of the fact that their houses and lands were forfeited, and that they must leave the country to become wanderers in strange and distant lands. They sued for mercy, but the iron yoke of a Christian nation was laid more heavily upon their necks, in answer to that prayer, and they were driven from home and country, and as they sailed from shore, or entered the wilderness, they saw in the distance, ascending to Heaven, the smoke of all they had loved and lost. Those who survived, found an asylum in the United States, and in the more remote portions of the British empire, and when, after the war, they were invited to return to their early homes, only thirteen hundred were known to be in existence. It is a remnant of this very people who, with their descendants, are now the owners of the Madawaska settlement, and it is in an Acadian dwelling that I am now penning this chapter. But owing to their many misfortunes, (I would speak in charity,) the Acadians have degenerated into a more ignorant and miserable people than are the Canadian French, whom they closely resemble in their appearance and customs. They believe the people of Canada to be a nation of knaves, and the people of Canada know them to be a half savage community. Worshipping a miserable priesthood, is their principal business; drinking and cheating their neighbors, their principal amusement. They live by tilling the soil, and are content if they can barely make the provision of one year take them to the entrance of another. They are, at the same time, passionate lovers of money, and have brought the science of fleecing strangers to perfection. Some of them by a life of meanness have succeeded in accumulating a respectable property; but all the money they obtain is systematically hoarded. It is reported of the principal man of this place that he has in his house, at the present moment, the sum of ten thousand dollars, in silver and gold, and yet this man’s children are as ignorant of the alphabet as the cattle upon the hills. But with all their ignorance, the Acadians are a happy people, though it is the happiness of a mere animal nature.

The scenery of this place, which does not seem to possess a name, is quite agreeable, but its attractive features are of an architectural character. The first is a block house, and the second a Catholic church. The block house occupies the summit of a commanding and rocky knoll, and was built at a cost of near five thousand dollars, for the purpose of defending this portion of New Brunswick, during the existence of the late boundary difficulty. The edifice is built of stone and timber, and may be described as a square box, placed upon another and large one in a triangular fashion; the width may be thirty feet, and the height one hundred and fifty. It is well supplied with port holes, entered by a wooden flight of stairs, and covered with a tin roof. It contains two stores, besides a well-filled magazine. It is abundantly supplied with guns and cannon, and almost every variety of shot, shells and balls. It was once occupied by three military companies, (about all that it would possibly hold;) but the only human being who now has anything to do with it, is a worthy man, who officiates as keeper. The panorama which this fortress overlooks, is exceedingly picturesque, embracing both the valley of the Madawaska and that of St. John, which fade away amid a multitude of wild and uncultivated mountains. When I first looked upon this block house, it struck me as being a most ridiculous affair, but on further examination, I became convinced that it could not be taken without the shedding of much blood.

Of the church to which I alluded, I have only to remark that it is a very small, and, apparently, a venerable structure, built of wood, painted yellow, with a red steeple. It is pleasantly located, amid a cluster of rude cabins, on the margin of the St. John, and in the immediate vicinity of a race course. It was my fate to spend a Sabbath in this Madawaska settlement. As a matter of course, I attended church. The congregation was large, and composed entirely of Acadians; decked out in the most ridiculous gewgawish dresses imaginable. I noticed nothing extraordinary on the occasion, only that at the threshold of the church, was a kind of stand, where a woman was selling sausages and small beer. The services were read in Latin, and a sermon preached in French, which contained nothing but the most common-place advice, and that all of a secular character. At the conclusion of the service, the male portion of the congregation gradually collected together on the neighboring green, and the afternoon was devoted to horse racing, the swiftest horse belonging to the loudest talker, and heaviest stake planter, and that man was—a disciple of the Pope, and the identical priest whom I had heard preach in the morning. It will be hard for you to believe this, but I have written the truth, as well as my last line about the Acadian settlement on the Madawaska.

Sail down the Madawaska—The Falls of the St. John.

Falls of the St. John, July.

In coming to this place, from the North, the traveller finds it necessary to descend the river St. John in a canoe. The distance from Madawaska is thirty-six miles, and the day that I passed down was delightful in the extreme. My canoe was only about fifteen feet long, but my voyageur was an expert and faithful man, and we performed the trip without the slightest accident.

The valley of this portion of the river is mountainous, and its immediate banks vary from fifteen to thirty feet in height. The water is very clear and rapid, but of a brownish color, and quite warm, varying in depth from three to thirty feet, and the width is about a quarter of a mile. That portion of the stream (say some seventy miles of its source), which belongs exclusively to the United States, runs through a fertile and beautiful country, abounds in water-falls and rapids, and is yet a wilderness. That portion which divides the United States from New Brunswick is somewhat cultivated, but principally by a French population. Owing to the fact that the farms all face the river, and are very narrow, (but extend back to the distance of two or three miles,) the houses have all been erected immediately on the river, so that, to the casual observer, the country might appear to be thickly inhabited, which is far from being the case. The principal business done on the river is the driving of logs and timber for the market of St. John; and excepting the worthy and hard-working lumbermen who toil in the forests, the people are devoted to the tilling of their land, and are precisely similar to the Acadians in their manners and customs, and probably from the same stock. There is a miniature steamboat on the river, but as the unnumbered canoes of the inhabitants are engaged in a kind of opposition line, the fiery little craft would seem to have a hard time. In navigating the river the voyageurs paddle down stream, but use a pole in ascending; and two smart men, gracefully swinging their poles, and sending their little vessel rapidly against the current, taken in connection with the pleasant scenery of the river, present an agreeable and novel sight.

We started from Madawaska at four o’clock in the morning, and having travelled some twenty miles, we thought we would stop at the first nice-looking tavern on the shore, (for about every other dwelling is well supplied with liquor, and, consequently, considered a tavern,) for the purpose of obtaining a breakfast. Carefully did we haul up our canoe, and having knocked at the cabin door, were warmly welcomed by a savage-looking man, whose face was completely besmeared with dirt, and also by a dirty-looking woman, a couple of dirty-legged girls, and a young boy. The only furniture in the room was a bed, and a small cupboard, while the fire-place was without a particle of fire. In one corner of the room was a kind of bar, where the boy was in attendance, and seemed to be the spokesman of the dwelling. We asked him if we could have some breakfast, and he promptly replied that we could.

“What can you give us?” was my next question.

“Anything you please,” replied the boy, in broken English.

“We’ll take some ham and eggs, then.”

“We haven’t any, only some eggs.”

“We’ll take some bread and milk.”

“We haven’t any bread, but plenty of milk.”

“Haven’t you any kind of meat?”

“No, plenty ofRum.What’ll you have?”

I could stand this no longer, and having expressed my displeasure at the ignorance of the boy, and condemned his father for pretending to keep a tavern, I gave the former a sixpence, and took half a dozen eggs, with which we returned to our canoe. While I was fixing my seat in the boat, and commenting upon wilderness hospitality, my companion amused himself by swallowing four of the purchased eggs in a leather cup of brandy. In two hours after this little adventure, our little canoe was moored above the Falls of the St. John, and we were enjoying a first-rate breakfast, prepared by the lady of a Mr. Russell, who keeps a comfortable house of entertainment in this place.

After I had finished my cigar, and enjoyed a resting spell, I pocketed my sketch-book, and spent the entire day examining the scenery of the Falls. After making a broad and beautiful sweep, the river St. John here makes a sudden turn, and, becoming contracted to the width of about fifty yards, the waters make a plunge of perhaps forty feet, which is mostly in a solid mass, though rather disposed to form the third of a circle from shore to shore. Below this pitch, and extending for about two miles, is a continued succession of falls, which make the entire descent upwards of eighty feet. The water rushes through what might be termed a winding chasm, whose walls are perhaps one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet high, and perpendicular. Generally speaking, the entire distance from the first fall to the last, presents a perfect sheet of foam, though around every jutting point is a black, and, apparently, bottomless pool, which, when I peered into them, were quite alive with salmon, leaping into the air, or swimming on the margin of the foam. On the western side of the falls, to a great extent, the original forest has been suffered to remain, and a walk through their shadowy recesses is an uncommon treat; and on this side, also, is the ruin of an old saw-mill, which, for a wonder, actually adds to the picturesque beauty of the spot. On the eastern side of the falls is a commanding hill, which has been stripped of its forest, and now presents a stump field, of three hundred acres. It is a desolate spot, but in strict keeping with the enterprise of the province. The expense of clearing, or, rather, half clearing, the hill in question, was six thousand dollars, and it was the original intention of the mother government to erect thereon an extensive fortress; but owing to the birth of a sensible reflection, the idea was abandoned. The barracks of the place, as they now exist, consist of two log houses, which are occupied by a dozen sprigs of the British Army. And thus endeth my account of the most picturesque spot in New Brunswick, which, I doubt not, may hereafter become a fashionable place of summer resort.

The Hermit of Aroostook.

Mouth of the Aroostook, July.

I was on my way down the river St. John, in New Brunswick, and having heard that the Aroostook (one of its principal tributaries), was famous for its salmon and a picturesque water-fall, I had taken up my quarters at a tavern near the mouth of that stream, with a view of throwing the fly for a few days, and adding to my stock of sketches. I arrived at this place in the forenoon, and after depositing my luggage in an upper room, and ordering a dinner, I proceeded to arrange my tackle and pencils for an afternoon expedition. This preparatory business I performed in the sitting-room of the tavern, where there happened to be seated at the time, and reading the New York Albion, an oddly-dressed, but gentlemanly-looking man. In form, he was tall and slender, appeared to be about fifty years of age, and there was such an air of refinement in his appearance and manners that he attracted my particular attention. I said nothing, however, and quietly continued my snelling operations, until summoned to dinner. While at the table, I sent for the landlord to inquire about the stranger whom I had noticed, and his reply was as follows:—“His name isRobert Egger; he is a strange but good man, and lives the life of a recluse; his house is above the fall, on the Aroostook, and about four miles from here. He has been in this part of the country for many years, but I seldom see him at my house, excepting when he wants to read the news, put a letter in the office, or purchase a bag of flour.”

With this intelligence I was quite delighted, for I fancied that I had discovered acharacter, which eventually proved to be the case. On returning to the room where the stranger was seated, I introduced myself by offering him a cigar; and while fixing my rod, asked him a few questions about the surrounding country. His replies proved him to be an intelligent man, and as he happened to express himself a lover of the “gentle art,” I offered him the use of some fishing tackle, and invited him to accompany me. He refused my offer, but accepted my invitation, and we started for the Aroostook. He officiated as my guide; and when we approached the river, which was from two to five feet deep, about one hundred yards wide, very rapid, and filled with bridge piers in ruin, we jumped into a Frenchman’s canoe, and were landed on the northern shore. Here we came into a road which passed directly along the bank of the river; this we followed for one mile, until we arrived at a flouring-mill, located at the mouth of a large and very beautiful brook, where the road made a sudden turn towards the north. Directly opposite the mill, on the Aroostook side, was a narrow and rapid rift, where, my friend told me, I was sure to hook a salmon. I did not like the appearance of the place, but took his advice and waded in. I tried my luck for some thirty minutes, but could not tempt a single fish. This, my friend did not understand; he said there were salmon there, and thought that the fault was mine. I knew what he wanted, and therefore handed him my rod, that he might try his fortune. He fished for nearly half an hour, and then broke the fly-tip of my rod. As I was cherishing an earnest desire to take at least one salmon,under the fall, which I thought the only likely place to succeed, and towards which I had set my face, this little accident made me exceedingly nervous. My friend attempted to console me by remarking, that, as it was getting to be toward evening, we had better return to the tavern, and take a fresh start in the morning. But this proposition did not suit me at all, and I promptly said so. “Just as you please,” replied my companion, and so we repaired the rod, and continued up the river. Very rapid, with many and deep pools, was this portion of the stream; and our course along the shore, over logs and fallen trees, through tangled underbrush, and around rocky points—was attended with every imaginable difficulty, and so continued for at least two miles. On coming in sight of the fall, however, I was more than amply repaid for all my trouble, by the prospect which there presented itself. It was, perhaps, one hour before sunset, and there was a delightful atmosphere resting upon the landscape. Directly before me, in the extreme distance, and immediately under the crimson sun, was a narrow rocky gorge, through which foamed the waters of the Aroostook, over a precipice of some thirty feet; and just below the fall, rose a perpendicular rock to the height of nearly a hundred feet, dividing the stream into two channels. The entire middle distance of the prospect was composed of a broad and almost circular basin of very deep and dark water, skirted mostly with a rocky shore, while directly across the surface of this pool, winding down the stream, was a line of foam, distinguishing the main channel; while the foreground of this picture consisted of a gravelly beach, two bark wigwams, several canoes, and some half dozen Indians, who were enjoying their evening meal by the side of an expiring fire.

We held a brief conversation with the Indians, and found out that they had visited the basin for the purpose of spearing salmon by torchlight; and while my companion sat down in their midst to rest himself, I jumped into one of the canoes, and paddled to the foot of the fall, to try one of my fancy flies. I fished for about thirty minutes—caught one small salmon—lost two very large ones, and returned to the Indian camp, where I had previously concluded to spend the night, provided my guide did not insist upon returning to the tavern by moonlight. It so happened, however, that my interesting plan was vetoed by my companion, who told me that his dwelling was only a mile off, and that I must go and spend the night with him. I willingly assented to this proposition, and having picked up the salmon, we engaged the Indians to ferry us across the basin, and proceeded on our way. Our path was somewhat narrow, crooked, and intricate, and as I listened to the roaring of the water-fall, and thought of the mystery which hung over my companion, I could not but wonder what I was about, and to what strange place I was going.

In due time, however, we emerged from the woods, and came out upon the side of a gentle hill, which sloped to the margin of the Aroostook, and was sufficiently open to command an extensive view of the river. Here my friend told me to tarry a few moments, for he had a canoe hidden among some willows, and wished to hunt it up, that we might re-cross the river once more. I heard his words, but neglected to assist him, for my whole attention was riveted by the scene upon which I was gazing. The sober livery of twilight had settled upon the world, and the flowing of the river was so peaceful, that I could distinctly hear the hum of unnumbered insects as they sported in the air. On the opposite shore was a lofty forest-covered hill, and at the foot of it a small clearing, in the centre of which stood a rude log cabin—the dwelling-place of my friend. On my left, the river presented the appearance of a lake: and apparently in the centre of it were two of the most exquisitely foliaged islands imaginable. The valley seemed completely hemmed in with mountains, and these, together with a glowing sky, were all distinctly mirrored in the sleeping waters. Charming beyond compare was this evening landscape, and the holy time “was quiet as a nun, breathless with adoration.” But now my companion summoned me to a seat in the canoe, and we passed over the stream in safety; he hauled up his shallop, laid aside his paddle, and, slapping me on the shoulder, led the way to his cabin, repeating, in a loud, clear voice, the following words:

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