_Monday, 22nd_.--Rain obliged us to put ashore this morning.  Nothing
can be more wretched than travelling in rainy weather.  The men, poor
fellows, do not make the least attempt to keep themselves dry; but the
passengers endeavour, by means of oiled cloths, to keep out the wet; and
under this they broil and suffocate, till at last they are obliged to
throw off the covering.  Even were this not the case, we should still be
wretched, as the rain always finds its way in somewhere or other; and I
have been often awakened from a nap by the cold trickling of moisture
down my back, and have discovered upon moving that I was lying in a pool
of water.  Ashore we are generally a little more comfortable, but not
much.  After dinner we again started, and advanced on our journey till
sunset.

_Tuesday, 23rd_.--To-day we advanced very slowly, owing to the
shallowness of the water, and crossed a number of portages.  During the
day we ran several rapids.  This is very exciting work.  Upon nearing
the head of a large rapid, the men strain every muscle to urge the canoe
forward more quickly than the water, so that it may steer better.  The
bowsman and steersman stand erect, guiding the frail bark through the
more unbroken places in the fierce current, which hisses and foams
around, as if eager to swallow us up.  Now we rush with lightning force
towards a rock, against which the water dashes in fury; and to an
uninitiated traveller we appear to be on the point of destruction.  But
one vigorous stroke from the bowsman and steersman (for they always act
in concert) sends the light craft at a sharp angle from the impending
danger; and away we plunge again over the surging waters--sometimes
floating for an instant in a small eddy, and hovering, as it were, to
choose our path; and then plunging swiftly forward again through the
windings of the stream, till, having passed the whole in safety, we
float in the smooth water below.

Accidents, as may be supposed, often happen; and to-day we found that
there is danger as well as pleasure in running the rapids.  We had got
over a great part of the day in safety, and were in the act of running
the first part of the Rose Rapid, when our canoe struck upon a rock, and
wheeling round with its broadside to the stream, began to fill quickly.
I could hear the timbers cracking beneath me under the immense pressure.
Another minute, and we should have been gone; but our men, who were
active fellows, and well accustomed to such dangers, sprang
simultaneously over the side of the canoe, which, being thus lightened,
passed over the rock, and rushed down the remainder of the rapid stern
foremost ere the men could scramble in and resume their paddles.  When
rapids were very dangerous, most of the cargo was generally disembarked;
and while one half of the crew carried it round to the still water
below, the other half ran down light.

Crossed two small portages and the Mountain Portage in the afternoon; on
the latter of which I went to see a waterfall, which I was told was in
its vicinity.  I had great difficulty in finding it at first, but its
thundering roar soon guided me to a spot from which it was visible.
Truly, a grander waterfall I never saw.  The whole river, which was
pretty broad, plunged in one broad white sheet over a precipice, higher
by a few feet than the famous Falls of Niagara; and the spray from the
foot sprang high into the air, bedewing the wild, precipitous crags with
which the fall is encompassed, and the gloomy pines that hang about the
clefts and fissures of the rocks.  Fur-traders have given it the name of
the Mountain Fall, from a peculiar mountain in its vicinity; but the
natives call it the _Kackabecka_ Falls.  After making a sketch of it,
and getting myself thoroughly wet in so doing, I returned to the canoe.

In the evening we encamped within nine miles of Fort William, having
lost one of our men, who went ashore to lighten the canoe while we ran a
rapid.  After a good deal of trouble we found him again, but too late to
admit of our proceeding to the fort that night.

_Wednesday, 24th_.--Early this morning we left the encampment, and after
two hours' paddling Fort William burst upon our gaze, mirrored in the
limpid waters of Lake Superior--that immense fresh-water sea, whose
rocky shores and rolling billows vie with the ocean itself in grandeur
and magnificence.

Fort William was once one of the chief posts in the Indian country, and,
when it belonged to the North-West Company, contained a great number of
men.  Now, however, much of its glory has departed.  Many of the
buildings have been pulled down, and those that remain are very
rickety-looking affairs.  It is still, however, a very important fishing
station, and many hundreds of beautiful white-fish, with which Lake
Superior swarms, are salted there annually for the Canada markets.
These white-fish are indeed excellent; and it is difficult to say
whether they or the immense trout, which are also caught in abundance,
have the most delicate flavour.  These trout, as well as white-fish, are
caught in nets; and the former sometimes measure three feet long, and
are proportionately broad.  The one we had to breakfast on the morning
of our arrival must have been very nearly this size.

The fur-trade of the post is not very good, but the furs traded are
similar to those obtained in other parts of the country.

A number of _canotes de maitre_, or very large canoes, are always kept
in store here, for the use of the Company's travellers.  These canoes
are of the largest size, exceeding the north canoe in length by several
feet, besides being much broader and deeper.  They are used solely for
the purpose of travelling on Lake Superior, being much too large and
cumbersome for travelling with through the interior.  They are carried
by four men instead of two, like the north canoe; and, besides being
capable of carrying twice as much cargo, are paddled by fourteen or
sixteen men.  Travellers from Canada to the interior generally change
their _canotes de maitre_ for north canoes at Fort William, before
entering upon the intricate navigation through which we had already
passed; while those going from the interior to Canada change the small
for the large canoe.  As we had few men, however, and the weather
appeared settled, we determined to risk coasting round the northern
shore of the lake in our north canoe.

The scenery around the fort is very pretty.  In its immediate vicinity
the land is flat, covered with small trees and willows, which are
agreeably suggestive of partridges and other game; but in the distance
rise goodly-sized mountains; and on the left hand the noble expanse of
the Lake Superior, with rocky islands on its mighty bosom and abrupt
hills on its shores, stretches out to the horizon.  The fort is built at
the mouth of the Kamenistaquoia River, and from its palisades a
beautiful view of the surrounding country can be obtained.

As the men wanted rest and our canoe a little repair, we determined to
remain all day at Fort William; so some of the men employed themselves
re-gumming the canoe, while others spread out our blankets and tents to
dry.  This last was very necessary as on the journey we have little time
to spare from eating and sleeping while on shore; and many a time have
I, in consequence, slept in a wet blanket.

The fair lady of the gentleman in charge of the fort was the _only lady_
at the place, and indeed the only one within a circuit of six hundred
miles--which space, being the primeval forest, was inhabited only by
wild beasts and a few Indians.  She was, consequently, very much
delighted to meet with Mrs Bain, who, having for so many days seen no
one but rough _voyageurs_, was equally delighted to meet her.  While
they went off to make the most of each other, Mr Bain and I sauntered
about in the vicinity of the fort, admiring the beauty of the scenery,
and paid numerous visits to a superb dairy in the fort, which overflowed
with milk and cream.  I rather think that we admired the dairy more than
the scenery.  There were a number of cows at the post, a few of which we
encountered in our walk, and also a good many pigs and sheep.  In the
evening we returned, and at tea were introduced to a postmaster, who had
been absent when we arrived.  This postmaster turned out to be a
first-rate player of Scotch reels on the violin.  He was self-taught,
and truly the sweetness and precision with which he played every note
and trill of the rapid reel and strathspey might have made Neil Gow
himself envious.  So beautiful and inspiriting were they, that Mr Bain
and our host, who were both genuine Highlanders, jumped simultaneously
from their seats, in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, and danced to the lively
music till the very walls shook; much to the amusement of the two
ladies, who, having been both born in Canada, could not so well
appreciate the music.  Indeed, the musician himself looked a little
astonished, being quite ignorant of the endearing recollections and
associations recalled to the memory of the two Highlanders by the rapid
notes of his violin.  They were not, however, to be contented with one
reel; so, after fruitlessly attempting to make the ladies join us, we
sent over to the men's houses for the old Canadian wife of Pierre
Lattinville and her two blooming daughters.  They soon came, and after
much coyness, blushing, and hesitation, at last stood up, and under the
inspiring influence of the violin we:--

  "Danced, till we were like to fa',
  The reel o' Tullochgorum!"

And did not cease till the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion of
our musician compelled us to give in.

On the following morning we bade adieu to the good people at Fort
William, and began our journey along the northern shore of Lake
Superior, which is upwards of three hundred miles in diameter.  Fortune,
however, is proverbially fickle, and she did not belie her character on
this particular day.  The weather, when we started, was calm and clear,
which pleased us much, as we had to make what is called a traverse--that
is, to cross from one point of land to another, instead of coasting
round a very deep bay.  The traverse which we set out to make on leaving
Fort William was fourteen miles broad, which made it of some consequence
our having a calm day to cross it in our little egg-shell of a canoe.
Away we went, then, over the clear lake, singing "Rose Blanche"
vociferously.  We had already gone a few miles of the distance, when a
dark cloud rose on the seaward horizon.  Presently the water darkened
under the influence of a stiff breeze, and in less than half an hour the
waves were rolling and boiling around us like those of the Atlantic.
Ahead of us lay a small island, about a mile distant; and towards this
the canoe was steered, while the men urged it forward as quickly as the
roughness of the sea would allow.  Still the wind increased, and the
island was not yet gained.  Some of the waves had broken over the edge
of the canoe, and she was getting filled with water; but a kind
Providence permitted us to reach the island in safety, though not in
comfort, as most of the men were much wet, and many of them a good deal
frightened.

On landing, we pitched our tents, made a fire, and proceeded to dry
ourselves, and in less than an hour were as comfortable as possible.
The island on which we had encamped was a small rocky one, covered with
short heathery-looking shrubs, among which we found thousands of
blaeberries.  On walking round to the other side of it, I discovered an
Indian encamped with his family.  He supplied us with a fine white-fish,
for which our men gave him a little tobacco and a bit of the fresh
mutton which we had brought with us from Fort William.

Three days did we remain on this island, while the wind and waves
continued unceasingly to howl and lash around it, as if they wished, in
their disappointment, to beat it down and swallow us up, island and all;
but towards the close of the third day the gale moderated, and we
ventured again to attempt the traverse.  This time we succeeded, and in
two hours passed Thunder Point, on the other side of which we encamped.

The next day we could only travel till breakfast-time, as the wind again
increased so much as to oblige us to put ashore.  We comforted
ourselves, however, with the prospect of a good mutton-chop.

The fire was soon made, the kettle on, and everything in preparation,
when the dreadful discovery was made that the whole of the fresh mutton
had been forgotten!  Words cannot paint our consternation at this
discovery.  Poor Mrs Bain sat in mute despair, thinking of the misery
of being reduced again to salt pork; while her husband, who had hitherto
stood aghast, jumped suddenly forward, and seizing a bag of fine
potatoes that had been given to the men, threw it, in a transport of
rage, into the lake, vowing that as we were, by their negligence, to be
deprived of our mutton, they certainly should also be sufferers with us.

It was very laughable to behold the rueful countenances of the men as
their beautiful, large white potatoes sank to the bottom of the clear
lake, and shone brightly there, as if to tantalise them, while the
rippling water caused them to quiver so much that the lake seemed to
rest on a pavement of huge potatoes!  None dared, however, attempt to
recover one; but after a while, when Mr Bain's back was turned, a man
crept cautiously down to the water's edge, and gathered as many as were
within reach--always, however, keeping an eye on his master, and
stooping in an attitude that would permit of his bolting up on the
slightest indication of a wrathful movement.

It would be tedious, as well as unnecessary, to recount here all the
minutiae of our voyage across Lake Superior; I shall merely touch on a
few of the more particular incidents.

On the 1st of October we arrived at the Pic House [see note 2], where we
spent the night; and, after a rough voyage, reached Michipicoton on the
4th.  Our voyage along Lake Superior was very stormy and harassing,
reminding us often of Lake Winnipeg.  Sometimes we were paddling along
over the smooth water, and at other times _lying-by_, while the lake was
lashed into a mass of foam and billows by a strong gale.  So much
detention, and the lateness of the season, rendered it necessary to take
advantage of every lull and calm hour that occurred, so that we
travelled a good deal during the night.  This sort of travelling was
very romantic.

On one occasion, after having been ashore two days, the wind moderated
in the afternoon, and we determined to proceed, if possible.  The sun
set gloriously, giving promise of fine weather.  The sky was clear and
cloudless, and the lake calm.  For an hour or so the men sang as they
paddled, but as the shades of evening fell they ceased; and as it was
getting rather chilly, I wrapped myself in my green blanket (which
served me for a boat-cloak as well as a bed), and soon fell fast asleep.

How long I slept I know not; but when I awoke, the regular, rapid hiss
of the paddles struck upon my ear, and upon throwing off the blanket the
first thing that met my eye was the dark sky, spangled with the most
gorgeous and brilliant stars I ever beheld.  The whole scene, indeed,
was one of the most magnificent and awful that can be imagined.  On our
left hand rose tremendous precipices and cliffs, around the bottom and
among the caverns of which the black waters of the lake curled quietly
(for a most death-like, unearthly calm prevailed), sending forth a faint
hollow murmur, which ended, at long intervals, in a low melancholy
cadence.  Before and behind us abrupt craggy islands rose from the
water, assuming every imaginable and unimaginable shape in the uncertain
light; while on the right the eye ranged over the inky lake till it was
lost in thick darkness.  A thin, transparent night-fog added to the
mystical appearance of the scene, upon which I looked with mingled
feelings of wonder and awe.  The only distinct sound that could be heard
was the measured sound of the paddles, which the men plied in silence,
as if unwilling to break the stillness of the night.  Suddenly the guide
uttered in a hoarse whisper, "_A terre_!" startling the sleepy men, and
rendering the succeeding silence still more impressive.

The canoe glided noiselessly through a maze of narrow passages among the
tall cliffs, and grounded on a stony beach.  Everything was then carried
up, and the tents pitched in the dark, as no wood could be conveniently
found for the purpose of making a fire; and without taking any supper,
or even breaking the solemn silence of the night, we spread our beds as
we best could upon the round stones (some of which were larger than a
man's fist), and sank into repose.  About a couple of hours afterwards
we were roused by the anxious guide, and told to embark again.  In this
way we travelled at night or by day, as the weather permitted--and even,
upon one or two occasions, both night and day--till the 12th of October,
when we arrived at the _Sault de Ste.  Marie_, which is situated at the
termination of Lake Superior, just as our provisions were exhausted.

We had thus taken eighteen days to coast the lake.  This was very slow
going indeed, the usual time for coasting the lake in a north canoe
being from eight to ten days.

The Sault de Ste.  Marie is a large rapid, which carries the waters of
Lake Superior into Lake Huron.  It separates the British from the
American possessions, and is fortified on the American side by a large
wooden fort, in which a body of soldiers are constantly resident.  There
is also a pretty large village of Americans, which is rapidly
increasing.  The British side is not fortified; and, indeed, there are
no houses of any kind except the few belonging to the Hudson Bay
Company.  This may be considered the extreme outskirts of civilisation,
being the first place where I had seen any number of people collected
together who were unconnected with the Hudson Bay Company.

I was not destined, however, to enjoy the sight of new faces long, for
next morning we started to coast round the northern and uninhabited
shores of Lake Huron, and so down the Ottawa to Montreal.  Mr and Mrs
Bain left me here, and proceeded by the route of the Lakes.

During the next few days we travelled through a number of rivers and
lakes of various sizes; among the latter were Lakes Huron and
Nipisingue.  In crossing the latter, I observed a point on which were
erected fourteen rough wooden crosses.  Such an unusual sight excited my
curiosity, and upon inquiring I found that they were planted there to
mark the place where a canoe, containing fourteen men, had been upset in
a gale, and every soul lost.  The lake was clear and smooth when we
passed the melancholy spot, and many a rolling year has defaced and cast
down the crosses since the unfortunate men whose sad fate they
commemorate perished in the storm.

While searching about the shore one night for wood to make a fire, one
of our men found a large basket, made of bark, and filled with fine
bears'-grease, which had been hid by some Indians.  This was considered
a great windfall; and ere two days were passed the whole of it was eaten
by the men, who buttered their flour cakes with it profusely.

Not long after this we passed a large waterfall, where a friend of mine
was once very nearly lost.  A projecting point obliges the traveller to
run his canoe rather near the head of the fall, for the purpose of
landing to make the portage.  From long habit the guides had been
accustomed to this, and always effected the doubling of the point in
safety.  Upon this occasion, however, either from carelessness or
accident, the canoe got into the strong current, and almost in an
instant was swept down towards the fall.  To turn the head of the canoe
up the stream, and paddle for their lives, was the work of a moment; but
before they got it fairly round they were on the very brink of the
cataract, which, had they gone over it, would have dashed them to a
thousand atoms.  They paddled with the strength of desperation, but so
strong was the current that they remained almost stationary.  At last
they began slowly to ascend--an inch at a time--and finally reached the
bank in safety.

On Sunday the 19th of October we commenced descending the magnificent
river Ottawa, and began to feel that we were at last approaching the
civilised nations of the earth.  During the day we passed several small
log-huts, or shanties, which are the temporary dwelling-places of men
who penetrate thus far into the forest for the purpose of cutting
timber.  A canoe full of these adventurous pioneers also passed us; and
in the evening we reached Fort Mattawan, one of the Company's stations.
At night we encamped along with a party who were taking provisions to
the wood-cutters.

The scenery on the Ottawa is beautiful, and as we descended the stream
it was rendered more picturesque and interesting by the appearance,
occasionally, of that, to us, unusual sight, a farmhouse.  They were too
few and far between, however, to permit of our taking advantage of the
inhabitants' hospitality, and for the next four days we continued to
make our encampments in the woods as heretofore.  At one of these
frontier farms our worthy guide discovered, to his unutterable
astonishment and delight, an old friend and fellow-voyageur, to greet
whom he put ashore.  The meeting was strange: instead of shaking hands
warmly, as I had expected, they stood for a moment gazing in
astonishment, and then, with perfect solemnity, kissed each other--not
gently on the cheek, but with a good hearty smack on their sunburnt
lips.  After conversing for a little, they parted with another kiss.

On the fourth day after this event we came in sight of the village of
Aylmer, which lay calmly on the sloping banks of the river, its church
spire glittering in the sun, and its white houses reflected in the
stream.

It is difficult to express the feelings of delight with which I gazed
upon this little village, after my long banishment from the civilised
world.  It was like recovering from a trance of four long dreamy years;
and I wandered about the streets, gazing in joy and admiration upon
everything and everybody, but especially upon the ladies, who appeared
quite a strange race of beings to me--and all of them looked so
beautiful in my eyes (long accustomed to Indian dames), that I fell in
love with every one individually that passed me in the village.  In this
happy mood I sauntered about, utterly oblivious of the fact that my men
had been left in a public-house, and would infallibly, if not prevented,
get dead drunk.  I was soon awakened to this startling probability by
the guide, who walked up the road in a very solemn I'm-not-at-all-drunk
sort of a manner, peering about on every side, evidently in search of
me.  Having found me, he burst into an expression of unbounded joy; and
then, recollecting that this was inconsistent with his assumed character
of sobriety, became awfully grave, and told me that we must start soon,
as the men were all getting tipsy.

The following day we arrived at Bytown.

This town is picturesquely situated on the brow of a stupendous cliff,
which descends precipitously into the Ottawa.  Just above the town a
handsome bridge stretches across the river, near which the Kettle Fall
thunders over a high cliff.  We only stayed a few minutes here, and then
proceeded on our way.

During the day we passed the locks of the Rideau Canal, which rise, to
the number of eight or ten, one over another like steps; and immediately
below them appeared the Curtain Falls.  These falls are not very
picturesque, but their great height and curtain-like smoothness render
them an interesting object.  After this, villages and detached houses
became numerous all the way down the river; and late in the evening of
the 24th we arrived at a station belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, on
the Lake of the Two Mountains, where we passed the remainder of the
night.

Here, for the first time since leaving home, I was ushered into a
civilised drawing-room; and when I found myself seated on a _cushioned_
chair, with my moccasined feet pressing a soft carpet, and several real,
_bona fide ladies_ (the wife and daughters of my entertainer) sitting
before me, and asking hundreds of questions about my long voyage, the
strange species of unbelief in the possibility of again seeing the
civilised world, which had beset me for the last three years, began
slowly to give way, and at last entirely vanished when my host showed me
into a handsomely furnished bedroom, and left me for the night.

The first thing that struck me on entering the bedroom was the
appearance of one of our _voyageurs_, dressed in a soiled blue capote,
dilapidated corduroy trousers, and moccasins; while his deeply sunburnt
face, under a mass of long straggling hair, stared at me in
astonishment!  It will doubtless be supposed that I was much horrified
at this apparition.  I was, indeed, much surprised; but, seeing that it
was my own image reflected in a full-length looking-glass, I cannot say
that I felt extremely horrified.  This was the first time that I had
seen myself--if I may so speak--since leaving Norway House; and, truly,
I had no reason to feel proud of my appearance.

The following morning, at four o'clock, we left the Lake of the Two
Mountains; and in the afternoon of the 25th October, 1845, arrived at
Lachine, where, for the time, my travels came to a close--having been
journeying in the wilderness for sixty-six days.

Soon after my arrival winter set in, and I became acquainted with a few
of the inhabitants of Lachine.  The moment the snow fell, wheeled
carriages were superseded by carioles and sleighs of all descriptions.
These beautiful vehicles are mounted on runners, or large skates, and
slide very smoothly and easily over the snow, except when the road is
bad; and then, owing to the want of springs, sleighs become very rough
carriages indeed.  They are usually drawn by one horse, the harness and
trappings of which are profusely covered with small round bells.  These
bells are very necessary appendages, as little noise is made by the
approach of a sleigh over the soft snow, and they serve to warn
travellers in the dark.  The cheerful tinkling music thus occasioned on
the Canadian roads is very pleasing.  Sleighs vary a good deal in
structure and costliness of decoration; and one often meets a rough,
cheerful Canadian _habitant_ sitting in his small box of a sledge
(painted sometimes red and sometimes green), lashing away at his shaggy
pony in a fruitless attempt to keep up with the large graceful sleigh of
a wealthy inhabitant of Montreal, who, wrapped up in furs, drives
tandem, with two strong horses, and loudly tinkling bells.

Reader, I had very nearly come to the resolution of giving you a long
account of Canada and the Canadians, but I dare not venture on it.  I
feel that it would be encroaching upon the ground of civilised authors;
and as I do not belong to this class, but profess to write of savage
life, and nothing but savage life, I hope you will extend to me your
kind forgiveness if I conclude this chapter rather abruptly.

It is a true saying that the cup of happiness is often dashed from the
lips that are about to taste it.  I have sometimes proved this to be the
case.  The cup of happiness, on the present occasion, was the enjoyment
of civilised and social life; and the dashing of it away was my being
sent, with very short warning, to an out-of-the-way station, whose name,
to me, was strange--distance uncertain, but long--appearance unknown,
and geographical position a most profound mystery.

Note 1.  Since the above was written, many years have passed, and Dr
Rae's name has become famous, not only on account of successful
discovery, but also in connection with the expeditions sent out in
search of Sir John Franklin.

Note 2.  It must be borne in mind that all the establishments we passed
on the way belonged to the Hudson Bay Company.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

WINTER-TRAVELLING IN CANADA--DEPARTURE FROM LACHINE--SCENERY ALONG THE
ROAD--"INCIDENTS" BY THE WAY--ARRIVAL AT TADOUSAC--MR. STONE'S ADVENTURE
WITH INDIANS--CLUBBING SEALS.

It was on a bright winter's day in the month of January 1846 that I was
sent for by the Governor, and told to hold myself in readiness to start
early the following morning with Mr Stone for Tadousac--adding, that
probably I should spend the approaching summer at Seven Islands.

Tadousac, be it known, is a station about three hundred miles below
Montreal, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, and Seven Islands is two
hundred miles below Tadousac; so that the journey is not a short one.
The greater part of the road runs through an uninhabited country, and
the travelling is bad.

In preparation for this journey, then, I employed myself during the
remainder of the day; and before night all was ready.

Next morning I found that our journey was postponed to the following
day, so I went into Montreal to make a few purchases, and passed the
rest of the day in a state of intense thought, endeavouring to find out
if anything had been forgotten.  Nothing, however, recurred to my
memory; and going to bed only half undressed, in order to be ready at a
moment's notice, I soon fell into a short disturbed slumber, from which
the servant awakened me long before daylight, by announcing that the
sleigh was at the door.  In ten minutes I was downstairs, where Mr
Stone shortly afterwards joined me; and after seeing our traps safely
deposited in the bottom of the sleigh, we jumped in, and slid
noiselessly over the quiet street of Lachine.

The stars shone brightly as we glided over the crunching snow, and the
sleigh-bells tinkled merrily as our horse sped over the deserted road.
Groups of white cottages and solitary gigantic trees flew past us,
looking, in the uncertain light, like large snow-drifts; save where the
twinkling of a candle, or the first blue flames of the morning fire,
indicated that the industrious _habitant_ had risen to his daily toil.
In silence we glided on our way, till the distant lights of Montreal
awakened us from our reveries, and we met at intervals a solitary
pedestrian, or a sleigh-load of laughing, fur-encompassed faces
returning from an evening party.

About seven o'clock we arrived at the hotel from which the stage was to
start for Quebec--but when did stage-coach, or sleigh either, keep to
its time?  No sign of it was to be seen, and it required no small
application of our knuckles and toes at the door to make the lazy waiter
turn out to let us in.  No misery, save being too late, can equal that
of being too soon; at least, so I thought while walking up and down the
coffee-room of the hotel, upon the table of which were scattered the
remains of last night's supper, amid a confusion of newspapers and
fag-ends of cigars; while the sleepy waiter made unavailing efforts to
coax a small spark of fire to contribute some warmth to one or two damp
billets of wood.

About an hour after its appointed time, the sleigh drove up to the door,
and we hastened to take our places.  The stage, however, was full, but
the driver informed us that an "extra" (or separate sleigh of smaller
dimensions than the stage) had been provided for us; so that we enjoyed
the enviable advantage of having it all to ourselves.  Crack went the
whip, and off went the leader with a bound, the wheeler following at a
pace between a trot and a gallop, and our "extra" keeping close in the
rear.  The lamps were still burning as we left the city, although the
first streaks of dawn illumined the eastern sky.  In fifteen minutes
more we had left Montreal far behind.

There is something very agreeable in the motion of a sleigh along a good
road.  The soft muffled sound of the runners gliding over the snow
harmonises well with the tinkling bells; and the rapid motion through
the frosty air, together with the occasional jolt of going into a hollow
or over a hillock, is very exhilarating, and we enjoyed our drive very
much for the first hour or so.  But, alas! human happiness is seldom of
long duration, as we soon discovered; for, just as I was falling into a
comfortable doze, bang! went the sleigh into a deep "cahoe," which most
effectually wakened me.  Now these same "cahoes" are among the
disadvantages attending sleigh-travelling in Canada.  They are nothing
more or less than deep hollows or undulations in the road, into which
the sleighs unexpectedly plunge, thereby pitching the traveller roughly
forward; and upon the horses jerking the vehicles out of them, throwing
him backward in a way that is pretty sure to bring his head into closer
acquaintance with the back of the sleigh than is quite agreeable,
particularly if he be a novice in sleigh-travelling.  Those which we now
encountered were certainly the worst I ever travelled over, rising in
succession like the waves of the sea, and making our conveyance plunge
sometimes so roughly that I expected it to go to pieces.  Indeed, I
cannot understand how wood and iron could stand the crashes to which we
were exposed.  In this way we jolted along, sometimes over good,
sometimes over bad roads, till about nine o'clock, when we stopped at a
neat, comfortable-looking inn, where the driver changed his horses, and
the passengers sat down to a hurried breakfast.

The morning turned out beautifully clear and warm, at least in
comparison with what it had been; and upon re-entering the sleigh we all
looked extremely happy, and disposed to be pleased with everything and
everybody.  The country through which we now passed was picturesque and
varied.  Hills and valleys, covered with glittering snow and dark pines,
followed each other in endless succession; while in every valley, and
from every mountain-top, we saw hundreds of hamlets and villages, whose
little streets and thoroughfares were crowded with busy _habitants_,
engaged in their various occupations and winter traffic.

The laughing voices of merry little children romping along the roads
accorded harmoniously with the lively tinkling of their parents'
sleigh-bells as they set out for the market with the produce of their
farms, or, dressed in their whitest blanket capotes and smartest
_bonnets rouges_, accompanied their wives and daughters to a marriage or
a festival.  The scene was rendered still more pleasing by the extreme
clearness of the frosty air and the deep blue of the sky; while the
weather was just cold enough to make the rapid motion of our sleighs
agreeable and necessary.

In some places the roads were extremely precipitous; and when we arrived
at the foot of a large hill we used generally to get out and walk,
preferring this to being dragged slowly up by the jaded horses.

During the day our sleighs were upset several times; but Mr Stone and
I, in the "extra," suffered more in this way than those of the regular
stage, as it was much narrower, and, consequently, more liable to tip
over.  Upon upsetting, it unaccountably happened that poor Mr Stone was
always undermost.  But he submitted to his fate most stoically; though
from the nature of things my elbow invariably thrust him deep into the
snow, on which, after being extricated, a splendid profile impression
was left, to serve as a warning to other travellers, and to show them
that a gentleman had been _cast_ there.

As very little danger, however, attended these accidents, they only
afforded subject for mirth at the time, and conversation at the end of
the stage--except once, when the sleigh turned over so rapidly, that I
was thrown with considerable force against the roof, which, being of a
kind of slight framework, covered with painted canvas, offered but small
opposition to my flight; my head, consequently, went quite through it,
and my unfortunate nose was divested to rather an alarming extent of its
cutaneous covering.  With this exception, we proceeded safely and
merrily along, and about seven o'clock in the evening arrived at the
small town of Three Rivers.

Early next morning we resumed our journey, and about four in the
afternoon arrived at the famous city of Quebec, without having
encountered any very interesting adventures by the way.

The first sight we had of Quebec was certainly anything but
prepossessing.  A recent fire in the lower town had completely destroyed
a large portion of it; and the first street I passed through was nothing
but a gaunt row of blackened chimneys and skeleton houses, which had a
very melancholy, ghostlike appearance when contrasted with the white
snow.  As we advanced, however, to where the fire had been checked, the
streets assumed a more agreeable aspect--shops were open here and there,
and workmen busily employed in repairing damaged houses and pulling down
dangerous ones.  Upon arriving at the steep street which leads from the
lower town to within the walls, the immense strength of the ramparts and
fortifications struck me forcibly.  The road up which we passed to the
gate was very narrow: on one side a steep hill descended to the lower
town; and on the other towered the city walls, pierced all over with
loopholes, and bristling with cannon.  At the head of the road, in an
angle of the wall, two silent but grim-looking guns pointed their
muzzles directly down the road, so as to command it from one end to the
other.  All the other parts of the walls that I happened to see were
even more strongly fortified than this.

The streets of Quebec are very steep, much more so than those of
Edinburgh; and it requires no small exertion to mount one or two without
stopping to breathe at the top.  Upon the whole, it is anything but a
pretty town (at least in winter), the houses being high, and the streets
very narrow.  The buildings, too, are commonplace; and the monument to
Wolfe and Montcalm is a very insignificant affair.  In fact, Quebec can
boast of little else than the magnificent views it commands from the
ramparts, and the impregnable strength of its fortifications.  Some of
the suburban villas, however, are very beautiful; and although I saw
them in winter, yet I could form some idea of the enchanting places they
must be in summer.

After spending three pleasant days here, we got into our sleigh again,
and resumed our journey.

No stages ran below Quebec, so that we now travelled in the sleigh of a
farmer, who happened to be going down part of the way.

Soon after leaving the city, we passed quite close to the famous Falls
of Montmorenci.  They are as high, if not higher, than those of Niagara,
but I thought them rather tame, being nothing but a broad curtain of
water falling over an even cliff, and quite devoid of picturesque
scenery.  A curious cone of ice, formed by the spray, rose nearly
half-way up the falls.

The scenery below Quebec is much more rugged and mountainous than that
above; and as we advanced the marks of civilisation began gradually to
disappear--villages became scarcer, and roads worse, till at last we
came to the shanties of the wood-cutters, with here and there a solitary
farmhouse.  Still, however, we occasionally met a few sleighs, with the
conductors of which our driver seemed to be intimately acquainted.
These little interruptions broke, in a great degree, the monotony of the
journey; and we always felt happier for an hour after having passed and
exchanged with a Canadian a cheerful _bonjour_.

Our driver happened to be a very agreeable man, and more intelligent
than most Canadians of his class; moreover, he had a good voice, and
when we came to a level part of the road I requested him to sing me a
song--which he did at once, singing with a clear, strong, manly voice
the most beautiful French air I ever heard; both the name and air,
however, I have now forgotten.  He then asked me to sing--which I did
without further ceremony, treating him to one of the ancient melodies of
Scotland; and thus, with solos and duets, we beguiled the tedium of the
road, and filled the woods with melody! much to the annoyance of the
unmusical American feathered tribes, and to the edification of our
horse, who pricked up his ears, and often glanced backwards, apparently
in extreme surprise.

Towards evening the driver told us that we should soon arrive at Baie de
St. Paul; and in half an hour more our weary horse dragged us slowly to
the top of a hill, whence we had a splendid view of the village.  In all
the miles of country I had passed over, I had seen nothing to equal the
exquisite beauty of the Vale of Baie de St. Paul.  From the hill on
which we stood the whole valley, of many miles in extent, was visible.
It was perfectly level, and covered from end to end with thousands of
little hamlets, and several churches, with here and there a few small
patches of forest.  The course of a little rivulet, which meanders
through it in summer, was apparent, even though covered with snow.  At
the mouth of this several schooners and small vessels lay embedded in
ice; beyond which rolled the dark, ice-laden waves of the Gulf of St.
Lawrence.  The whole valley teemed with human life.  Hundreds of
Canadians, in their graceful sleighs and carioles, flew over the
numerous roads intersecting the country; and the faint sound of tinkling
bells floated gently up the mountain-side, till it reached the elevated
position on which we stood.  The whole scene was exquisitely calm and
peaceful, forming a strange and striking contrast to the country round
it.  Like the Happy Valley of Rasselas, it was surrounded by the most
wild and rugged mountains, which rose in endless succession, one behind
another, stretching away in the distance till they resembled a faint
blue wave on the horizon.  In this beautiful place we spent the night,
and the following at Mal Baie.  This village was also pretty, but after
Baie de St. Paul I could but little admire it.

Next night we slept in a shanty belonging to the timber-cutters on the
coast of the gulf, which was truly the most wretched abode, except an
Indian tent, I ever had the chance (or mischance) to sleep in.  It was a
small log-hut, with only one room; a low door--to enter which we had to
stoop--and a solitary square window, filled with parchment in lieu of
glass.  The furniture was of the coarsest description, and certainly not
too abundant.  Everything was extremely dirty, and the close air was
further adulterated with thick clouds of tobacco smoke, which curled
from the pipes of half a dozen wood-choppers.  Such was the place in
which we passed the night; and glad was I when the first blush of day
summoned us to resume our travels.  We now entered our sleigh for the
last time, and after a short drive arrived at the termination of the
horse road.  Here we got out, and rested a short time in a shanty,
preparatory to taking to our snow-shoes.

The road now lay through the primeval forest, and fortunately it proved
to be pretty well beaten, so we walked lightly along, with our
snow-shoes under our arms.  In the afternoon we arrived at another
shanty, having walked about eighteen miles.  Here we found a gentleman
who superintended the operations of the lumberers, or wood-cutters.  He
kindly offered to drive us to Canard River, a place not far distant from
the termination of our journey.  I need scarcely say we gladly accepted
his offer, and in a short time arrived at the river Saguenay.

This river, owing to its immense depth, never freezes over at its mouth;
so we crossed it in a boat, and on the evening of the 7th of February we
arrived at the post of Tadousac.

This establishment belongs to the Hudson Bay Company, and is situated at
the bottom of a large and deep bay adjoining the mouth of the river
Saguenay.  Unlike the posts of the north, it is merely a group of
houses, scattered about in a hollow of the mountains, without any
attempt at arrangement, and without a stockade.  The post, when viewed
from one of the hills in the neighbourhood, is rather picturesque; it is
seen embedded in the mountains, and its white-topped houses contrast
prettily with the few pines around it.  A little to the right rolls the
deep, unfathomable Saguenay, at the base of precipitous rocks and abrupt
mountains, covered in some places with stunted pines, but for the most
part bald-fronted.  Up the river, the view is interrupted by a large
rock, nearly round, which juts out into the stream, and is named the
"Bull."  To the right lies the Bay of St. Catherine, with a new
settlement at its head; and above this flows the majestic St. Lawrence,
compared to which the broad Saguenay is but a thread.

Tadousac Bay is one of the finest natural harbours in the St. Lawrence.
Being very deep quite close to the shore, it is much frequented by
vessels and craft of every description and dimension.  Ships, schooners,
barks, brigs, and bateaux lie calmly at anchor within a stone's-throw of
the bushes on shore; others are seen beating about at the mouth of the
harbour, attempting to enter; while numerous pilot boats sail up and
down, almost under the windows of the house; and in the offing are
hundreds of vessels, whose white sails glimmer on the horizon like the
wings of sea-gulls, as they beat up for anchorage, or proceed on their
course for England or Quebec.  The magnificent panorama is closed by the
distant hills of the opposite shore, blending with the azure sky.  This,
however, is the only view, the land being a monotonous repetition of
bare granite hills and stunted pines [see note 1].

Here, then, for a time, my travels came to a close, and I set about
making myself as comfortable in my new quarters as circumstances would
permit.

Tadousac I found to be similar, in many respects, to the forts in the
north.  The country around was wild, mountainous, and inhabited only by
a few Indians and wild animals.  There was no society, excepting that of
Mr Stone's family; the only other civilised being, above the rank of a
labourer, being a gentleman who superintended a timber-cutting and
log-sawing establishment, a quarter of a mile from the Company's post.

My _bourgeois_, Mr Stone, was a very kind man and an entertaining
companion.  He had left Scotland, his native land, when very young, and
had ever since been travelling about and dwelling in the wild woods of
America.  A deep scar on the bridge of his nose showed that he had not
passed through these savage countries scathless.  The way in which he
came by this scar was curious, so I may relate it here.

At one of the solitary forts in the wild regions on the west side of the
Rocky Mountains, where my friend Mr Stone dwelt, the Indians were in
the habit of selling horses, of which they had a great many, to the
servants of the Hudson Bay Company.  They had, however, an uncommonly
disagreeable propensity to steal these horses again the moment a
convenient opportunity presented itself; and to guard against the
gratification of this propensity was one of the many difficulties that
the fur-traders had to encounter.  Upon one occasion a fine horse was
sold by an Indian to Mr Stone, the price (probably several yards of
cloth and a few pounds of tobacco) paid, and the Indian went away.  Not
long after the horse was stolen; but as this was an event that often
happened, it was soon forgotten.  Winter passed away, spring thawed the
lakes and rivers, and soon a party of Indians arrived with furs and
horses to trade.  They were of the Blackfoot tribe, and a wilder set of
fellows one would hardly wish to see.  Being much in the habit of
fighting with the neighbouring tribes, they were quite prepared for
battle, and decorated with many of the trophies of war.  Scalp-locks
hung from the skirts of their leather shirts and leggins, eagles'
feathers and beads ornamented their heads, and their faces were painted
with stripes of black and red paint.

After conversing with them a short time, they were admitted through the
wicket one by one, and their arms taken from them and locked up.  This
precaution was rendered necessary at these posts, as the Indians used to
buy spirits, and often quarrelled with each other; but, having no arms,
of course they could do themselves little damage.  When about a dozen of
them had entered, the gate was shut, and Mr Stone proceeded to trade
their furs and examine their horses, when he beheld, to his surprise,
the horse that had been stolen from him the summer before; and upon
asking to whom it belonged, the same Indian who had formerly sold it to
him stood forward and said it was his.  Mr Stone (an exceedingly quiet,
good-natured man, but, like many men of this stamp, very passionate when
roused) no sooner witnessed the fellow's audacity than he seized a gun
from one of his men and shot the horse.  The Indian instantly sprang
upon him, but being a less powerful man than Mr Stone, and, withal,
unaccustomed to use his fists, he was soon overcome, and pommelled out
of the fort.  Not content with this, Mr Stone followed him down to the
Indian camp, pommelling him all the way.  The instant, however, that the
Indian found himself surrounded by his own friends, he faced about, and
with a dozen warriors attacked Mr Stone and threw him on the ground,
where they kicked and bruised him severely; whilst several boys of the
tribe hovered around him with bows and arrows, waiting a favourable
opportunity to shoot him.  Suddenly a savage came forward with a large
stone in his hand, and, standing over his fallen enemy, raised it high
in the air and dashed it down upon his face.  My friend, when telling me
the story, said that he had just time, upon seeing the stone in the act
of falling, to commend his spirit to God ere he was rendered insensible.
The merciful God, to whom he thus looked for help at the eleventh hour,
did not desert him.  Several men belonging to the fort, seeing the turn
things took, hastily armed themselves, and hurrying out to the rescue,
arrived just at the critical moment when the stone was dashed in his
face.  Though too late to prevent this, they were in time to prevent a
repetition of the blow; and after a short scuffle with the Indians,
without any blood shed, they succeeded in carrying their master up to
the fort, where he soon recovered.  The deep cut made by the stone on
the bridge of his nose left an indelible scar.

Besides Mr Stone, I had another companion--namely, Mr Jordan, a clerk,
who inhabited the same office with me, and slept in the same bedroom,
during the whole winter.  He was a fine-looking athletic half-breed, who
had been partially educated, but had spent much more of his life among
Indians than among civilised men.  He used to be sent about the country
to trade with the natives, and consequently led a much more active life
than I did.  One part of his business, during the early months of
spring, was hunting seals.  This was an amusing, though, withal, rather
a murderous kind of sport.  The manner of it was this:--

My friend Jordan chose a fine day for his excursion, and, embarking in a
boat with six or seven men, sailed a few miles down the St. Lawrence,
till he came to a low flat point.  In a small bay near this he drew up
the boat, and then went into the woods with his party, where each man
cut a large pole or club.  Arming themselves with these, they waited
until the tide receded and left the point dry.  In a short time one or
two seals crawled out of the sea to bask upon the shore; soon several
more appeared, and ere long a band of more than a hundred lay sunning
themselves upon the beach.  The ambuscade now prepared to attack the
enemy.  Creeping stealthily down as near as possible without being
discovered, they simultaneously rushed upon the astonished animals; and
the tragic scene of slaughter, mingled with melodramatic and comic
incidents, that ensued, baffles all description.  In one place might be
seen my friend Jordan swinging a huge club round with his powerful arms,
and dealing death and destruction at every blow; while in another place
a poor weazened-looking Scotchman (who had formerly been a tailor! and
to whom the work was new) advanced, with cautious trepidation, towards a
huge seal, which spluttered and splashed fearfully in its endeavours to
reach the sea, and dealt it a blow on the back.  He might as well have
hit a rock.  The slight rap had only the effect of making the animal
show its teeth; at which sight the tailor retreated precipitately, and,
striking his heel against a rock, fell backwards into a pool of water,
where he rolled over and over--impressed, apparently, with the idea that
he was attacked by all the seals in the sea.  His next essay, however,
was more successful, and in a few minutes he killed several, having
learned to hit on the head instead of on the back.  In less than a
quarter of an hour they killed between twenty and thirty seals, which
were stowed in the boat and conveyed to the post.

Nothing worth mentioning took place at Tadousac during my residence
there.  The winter became severe and stormy, confining us much to the
house, and obliging us to lead very humdrum sort of lives.  Indeed, the
only thing that I can recollect as being at all interesting or amusing--
except, of coarse, the society of my scientific and agreeable friend,
Mr Stone, and his amiable family--was a huge barrel-organ, which, like
the one that I had found at Oxford House, played a rich variety of psalm
tunes, and a choice selection of Scotch reels--the grinding out of which
formed the chief solace of my life, until the arrival of an auspicious
day when I received sudden orders to prepare for another journey.

Note 1.  It may be well to say that the above description applied to the
country only in the summer and autumn months.  It is now, we believe, an
important summer resort, and a comparatively populous place.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A JOURNEY ON SNOW-SHOES--EVILS OF SNOW-SHOE TRAVELLING IN SPRING--VALUE
OF TEA TO A TIRED MAN--ENCAMP IN THE SNOW--ISLE JEREMIE--CANOEING AND
BOATING ON THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE--AMATEUR NAVIGATING--SEVEN ISLANDS--
A NARROW ESCAPE--CONCLUSION.

It was on a cold, bleak morning, about the beginning of March 1846, that
I awoke from a comfortable snooze in my bedroom at Tadousac, and
recollected that in a few hours I must take leave of my present
quarters, and travel, on snow-shoes, sixty miles down the Gulf of St.
Lawrence to the post of Isle Jeremie.

The wind howled mournfully through the leafless trees, and a few flakes
of snow fell upon the window as I looked out upon the cheerless
prospect.  Winter--cold, biting, frosty winter--still reigned around.
The shores of Tadousac Bay were still covered with the same coat of ice
that had bound them up four months before; and the broad St. Lawrence
still flowed on, black as ink, and laden with immense fields and
hummocks of dirty ice, brought down from the banks of the river above.
The land presented one uniform chilling prospect of bare trees and deep
snow, over which I was soon to traverse many a weary mile.

There is nothing, however, like taking things philosophically; so, after
venting my spite at the weather in one or two short grumbles, I sat down
in a passable state of equanimity to breakfast.  During the meal I
discussed with Mr Stone the prospects of the impending journey, and
indulged in a few excursive remarks upon snow-shoe travelling, whilst he
related a few incidents of his own eventful career in the country.

On one occasion he was sent off upon a long journey over the snow, where
the country was so mountainous that snowshoe walking was rendered
exceedingly painful, by the feet slipping forward against the front bar
of the shoe when descending the hills.  After he had accomplished a good
part of his journey, two large blisters rose under the nails of his
great toes; and soon the nails themselves came off.  Still he must go
on, or die in the woods; so he was obliged to _tie_ the nails on his
toes each morning before starting, for the purpose of protecting the
tender parts beneath; and every evening he wrapped them up carefully in
a piece of rag, and put them into his waistcoat pocket--_being afraid of
losing them if he kept them on all night_.

After breakfast I took leave of my friends at Tadousac, and, with a pair
of snow-shoes under my arm, followed my companion Jordan to the boat
which was to convey me the first twenty miles of the journey, and then
land me, with one man, who was to be my only companion.  In the boat was
seated a Roman Catholic priest, on his way to visit a party of Indians a
short distance down the gulf.  The shivering men shipped their oars in
silence, and we glided through the black water, while the ice grated
harshly against the boat's sides as we rounded Point Rouge. Another
pull, and Tadousac was hidden from our view.

Few things can be more comfortless or depressing than a sail down the
Gulf of St. Lawrence on a gloomy winter's day, with the thermometer at
zero!  The water looks so black and cold, and the sky so gray, that it
makes one shudder, and turn to look upon the land.  But there no
cheering prospect meets the view.  Rocks--cold, hard, misanthropic
rocks--grin from beneath volumes of snow; and the few stunted
black-looking pines that dot the banks here and there only tend to
render the scene more desolate.  No birds fly about to enliven the
traveller; and the only sound that meets the ear, besides the low
sighing of the cold, cold wind, is the crashing of immense fields of
ice, as they meet and war in the eddies of opposing currents.
Fortunately, however, there was no ice near the shore, and we met with
little interruption on the way.  The priest bore the cold like a stoic;
and my friend Jordan, being made, metaphorically speaking, of iron,
treated it with the contemptuous indifference that might be expected
from such metal.

In the evening we arrived at Esquimain River, where we took up our
quarters in a small log-hut belonging to a poor seal-fisher, whose
family, and a few men who attended a sawmill a short distance off, were
the only inhabitants of this little hamlet.  Here we remained all night,
and prepared our snow-shoes for the morrow, as the boat was there to
leave us and return to Tadousac.  The night was calm and frosty, and
everything gave promise of fine weather for our journey.  But who can
tell what an hour will bring forth?  Before morning the weather became
milder, and soon it began to _thaw_.  A fine warm day, with a bright
sun, be it known, is one of the most dreadful calamities that can befall
a snowshoe traveller, as the snow then becomes soft and sticky, thereby
drenching the feet and snow-shoes, which become painfully heavy from the
quantity of snow which sticks to and falls upon them.  In cold frosty
weather the snow is dry, crisp, and fine, so that it falls through the
network of the snow-shoe without leaving a feather's weight behind,
while the feet are dry and warm; but a thaw!--oh! it is useless
attempting to recapitulate the miseries attending a thaw; my next day's
experience will show what it is.

Early on the following morning I jumped from my bed on the floor of the
hut, and proceeded to equip myself for the march.  The apartment in
which I had passed the night presented a curious appearance.  It
measured about sixteen feet by twelve, and the greater part of this
space was occupied by two beds, on which lay, in every imaginable
position, the different members of the half-breed family to whom
the mansion belonged.  In the centre of the room stood a
coarsely-constructed deal table, on which lay in confusion the remains
of the preceding night's supper.  On the right of this, a large
gaudily-painted Yankee clock graced the wall, and stared down upon the
sleeping figures of the men.  This, with a few rough wooden chairs and a
small cupboard, comprised all the furniture of the house.

I soon singled out _my_ man from among the sleeping figures on the
floor, and bade him equip himself for the road--or rather for the march,
for road we had none.  In half an hour we were ready; and having
fortified ourselves with a cup of weak tea and a slice of bread, left
the house and commenced our journey.

My man Bezeau (a French Canadian) was dressed in a blue striped cotton
shirt, of very coarse quality, and a pair of corduroys, strapped round
his waist with a scarlet belt.  Over these he wore a pair of blue cloth
leggins, neatly bound with orange-coloured ribbon.  A Glengarry bonnet
covered his head; and two pairs of flannel socks, under a pair of raw
seal-skin shoes, protected his feet from the cold.  His burden consisted
of my carpet-bag, two days' provisions, and a blue cloth capote--which
latter he carried over his shoulder, the weather being warm.  My dress
consisted of a scarlet flannel shirt, and a pair of _etoffe du pays_
trousers, which were fastened round my waist by a leathern belt, from
which depended a small hunting-knife; a foraging cap and deer-skin
moccasins completed my costume.  My burden was a large green blanket, a
greatcoat, and a tin tea-kettle.  Our only arms of offence or defence
were the little hunting-knife before mentioned, and a small axe for
felling trees, should we wish to make a fire.  We brought no guns, as
there was little prospect of meeting any game on the road; and it
behoves one, when travelling on foot, to carry as little as possible.

Thus we started from Esquimain River.  The best joke, however, of all
was, that neither I nor my man had ever travelled that way before!  All
we knew was, that we had to walk fifty miles through an uninhabited
country, and that then we should, or at least ought to, reach Isle
Jeremie.  There were two solitary houses, however, that we had to pass
on the way; the one an outpost of the Hudson Bay Company, the other a
saw-mill belonging to one of the lumber companies (or timber-traders) in
Quebec.  In fact, the best idea of our situation may be had from the
following lines, which may be supposed to have been uttered by the
establishment to which we were bound:--

  "Through the woods, through the woods, follow and find me,
  Search every hollow, and dingle, and dell;
  To the right, left, or front, you may pass, or behind me,
  Unless you are careful, and look for me well."

The first part of our road lay along the shores of the St. Lawrence.

The sun shone brightly, and the drifting ice in the gulf glittered in
its rays as it flowed slowly out to sea; but ere long the warm rays
acted upon the snow, and rendered walking toilsome and fatiguing.  After
about an hour's walk along the shore, we arrived at the last hut we were
likely to see that day.  It was inhabited by an Indian and his family.
Here we rested a few minutes, and I renewed my snow-shoe lines, the old
ones having broken by the way.

Shortly after this we passed the wreck of what had once been a fine
ship.  She lay crushed and dismasted among the rocks and lumps of ice
which lined the desolate shore, her decks and the stumps of her masts
drifted over with snow.  Six short months before, she had bounded over
the Atlantic wave in all the panoply of sail and rigging pertaining to a
large three-master, inclosing in her sturdy hull full many a daring
heart beating high with sanguine hopes, and dreaming of fame and glory,
or perchance of home.  But now, how great the change!--her sails and
masts uprooted, and her helm--the seaman's confidence and safeguard--
gone; her bed upon the rocks and pebbles of a dreary shore; and her
shattered hull hung round with icicles, and wrapped in the cold embraces
of the wintry ocean.  Few things, I think, can have a more inexpressibly
melancholy appearance than a wreck upon a rocky and deserted shore in
winter.

The road now began to get extremely bad.  The ice, over which we had to
walk for miles, had been covered with about six inches of water and
snow.  A sharp frost during the night had covered this with a cake of
ice sufficiently strong to bear us up until we got fairly upon it, and
were preparing to take another step, when down it went--so that we had a
sort of natural treadmill to exercise ourselves upon all day; while
every time we sank, as a matter of course our snowshoes were covered
with a mixture of water, snow, and broken ice, to extricate our feet
from which almost pulled our legs out of the sockets.

In this way we plodded slowly and painfully along, till we came to a
part of the shore where the ice had been entirely carried off, leaving
the sandy beach uncovered for about two miles.  We gladly took advantage
of this, and, pulling off our snow-shoes, walked along among the shells
and tangle of the sea-shore.  At this agreeable part of our journey,
while we walked lightly along, with our snow-shoes under our arms, I
fell into a reverie upon the superior advantages of travelling in cold
weather, and the delights of walking on sandy beaches in contrast with
wet snow.  These cogitations, however, were suddenly interrupted by our
arrival at the place where the ice had parted from the general mass; so,
with a deep sigh, we resumed our snow-shoes.  My feet, from the friction
of the lines, now began to feel very painful; so, having walked about
ten miles, I proposed taking a rest.  To this my man, who seemed rather
tired, gladly acceded, and we proceeded to light a fire under the stem
of a fallen tree which opportunely presented itself.

Here we sat down comfortably together; and while our wet shoes and socks
dried before the blazing fire, and our chafed toes wriggled joyously at
being relieved from the painful harness of the snow-shoes, we swallowed
a cup of congou with a degree of luxurious enjoyment, appreciable only
by those who have walked themselves into a state of great exhaustion
after a hurried breakfast.

Greatly refreshed by the tea, we resumed our journey in better spirits,
and even affected to believe we were taking an agreeable afternoon walk
for the first mile or so.  We soon, however, fell to zero again, as we
gazed wistfully upon the long line of coast stretching away to the
horizon.  But there was no help for it; on we splashed, sometimes
through ice, water, and snow, and sometimes across the shingly beach,
till the day was far spent, when I became so exhausted that I could
scarcely drag one foot after the other, and moved along almost
mechanically.  My man, too, strong as he was, exhibited symptoms of
fatigue; though, to do him justice, he was at least seven times more
heavily laden than I.

While we jogged slowly along in this unenviable condition, a lump of ice
offered so tempting a seat that we simultaneously proposed to sit down.
This was very foolish.  Resting without a fire is bad at all times; and
the exhausted condition we were then in made it far worse, as I soon
found to my cost.  Tired as I was before, I could have walked a good
deal farther; but no sooner did I rise again to my feet than an
inexpressible weakness overcame me, and I felt that I could go no
farther.  This my man soon perceived, and proposed making a fire and
having a cup of tea; and then, if I felt better, we might proceed.  This
I agreed to; so, entering the woods, we dug a hole in the snow, and in
half an hour had a fire blazing in it that would have roasted an ox!  In
a short time a panful of snow was converted into hot tea; and as I sat
sipping this, and watching the white smoke as it wreathed upwards from
the pipe of my good-natured guide, I never felt rest more delightful.

The tea refreshed us so much that we resumed our journey, intending, if
possible, to reach Port Neuf during the night; and as we calculated that
we had walked between fifteen and eighteen miles, we hoped to reach it
in a few hours.

Away, then, we went, and plodded on till dark without reaching the post;
nevertheless, being determined to travel as long as we could, we pushed
on till near midnight, when, being quite _done up_, and seeing no sign
of the establishment, we called a council of war, and sat down on a lump
of ice to discuss our difficulties.  I suggested that if we had not
already passed the post, in all probability we should do so, if we
continued to travel any farther in the dark.  My companion admitted that
he entertained precisely the same views on the subject; and,
furthermore, that as we both seemed pretty tired, and there happened to
be a nice little clump of willows, intermixed with pine trees, close at
hand, his opinion was that nothing better could be done than encamping
for the night.  I agreed to this; and the resolution being carried
unanimously, the council adjourned, and we proceeded to make our
encampment.

First of all, the snow was dug away from the foot of a large pine with
our snow-shoes, which we used as spades; and when a space of about ten
feet long, by six broad, was cleared, we covered it with pine branches
at one end, and made a roaring fire against the tree at the other.  The
snow rose all around to the height of about four feet, so that when our
fire blazed cheerily, and our supper was spread out before it upon my
green blanket, we looked very comfortable indeed--and what was of much
more consequence, _felt_ so.  Supper consisted of a cup of tea, a loaf
of bread, and a lump of salt butter.  After having partaken largely of
these delicacies, we threw a fresh log upon the fire, and rolling
ourselves in our blankets, were soon buried in repose.

Next morning, on awaking, the first thing I became aware of was the fact
that it was raining, and heavily too, in the shape of a Scotch mist.  I
could scarcely believe it, and rubbed my eyes to make sure; but there
was no mistake about it at all.  The sky was gray, cold, and dismal, and
the blanket quite wet!  "Well," thought I, as I fell back in a sort of
mute despair, "this is certainly precious weather for snow-shoe
travelling!"  I nudged my sleeping companion, and the look of melancholy
resignation which he put on, as he became gradually aware of the state
of matters, convinced me that bad as yesterday had been, to-day would be
far worse.

When I got upon my legs, I found that every joint in my body was stiffer
than the rustiest hinge ever heard of in the annals of doors! and my
feet as tender as a chicken's, with huge blisters all over them.
Bezeau, however, though a little stiff, was otherwise quite well, being
well inured to hardships of every description.

It is needless to recount the miseries of the five miles' walk that we
had to make before arriving at Port Neuf, over ground that was literally
next to impassable.  About nine o'clock we reached the house, and
remained there for the rest of the day.  Here, for three days, we were
hospitably entertained by the Canadian family inhabiting the place;
during this time it rained and thawed so heavily that we could not
venture to resume our journey.

On the 16th the weather became colder, and Bezeau announced his opinion
that we might venture to proceed.  Glad to be once more on the move--for
fears of being arrested altogether by the setting-in of spring had begun
to beset me--I once more put on my snow-shoes; and, bidding adieu to the
hospitable inmates of Port Neuf, we again wended our weary way along the
coast.  Alas! our misfortunes had not yet ceased.  The snow was much
softer than we anticipated, and the blisters on my feet, which had
nearly healed during the time we stayed at Port Neuf, were now torn open
afresh.  After a painful and laborious walk of eight or nine miles, we
arrived at a small house, where a few enterprising men lived who had
penetrated thus far down the gulf to erect a saw-mill.

Here we found, to our infinite joy, a small flat-bottomed boat, capable
of carrying two or three men; so, without delay, we launched it, and
putting our snow-shoes and provisions into it, my man and I jumped in,
and pulled away down the gulf, intending to finish the twenty miles that
still remained of our journey by water.  We were obliged to pull a long
way out to sea, to avoid the ice which lined the shore, and our course
lay a good deal among drifting masses.

Half an hour after we embarked a snow-storm came on, but still we pulled
along, preferring anything to resuming the snow-shoes.

After a few hours' rowing, we rested on our oars, and refreshed
ourselves with a slice of bread and a glass of rum--which latter, having
forgotten to bring water with us, we were obliged to drink pure.  We
certainly cut a strange figure, while thus lunching in our little boat--
surrounded by ice, and looking hazy through the thickly falling snow,
which prevented us from seeing very far ahead, and made the mountains on
shore look quite spectral.

For about five miles we pulled along in a straight line, after which the
ice trended outwards, and finally brought us to a stand-still by running
straight out to sea.  This was an interruption we were not at all
prepared for, and we felt rather undecided how to proceed.  After a
little confabulation, we determined to pull out, and see if the ice did
not again turn in the proper direction; but after pulling straight out
for a quarter of a mile, we perceived, or imagined we perceived, to our
horror, that the ice, instead of being stationary, as we supposed it to
be, was floating slowly out to sea with the wind, and carrying us along
with it.  No time was to be lost; so, wheeling about, we rowed with all
our strength for the shore, and after a pretty stiff pull gained the
solid ice.  Here we hauled the flat up out of the water with great
difficulty, and once more put on our snow-shoes.

Our road still lay along shore, and, as the weather was getting colder,
we proceeded along much more easily than heretofore.  In an hour or two
the snow ceased to fall, and showed us that the ice was _not_ drifting,
but that it ran so far out to sea that it would have proved a bar to our
further progress by water at any rate.

The last ten miles of our journey now lay before us; and we sat down,
before starting, to have another bite of bread and a pull at the rum
bottle; after which, we trudged along in silence.  The peculiar
compression of my guide's lips, and the length of step that he now
adopted, showed me that he had made up his mind to get through the last
part of the journey without stopping; so, tightening my belt, and
bending my head forward, I plodded on, solacing myself as we advanced by
humming, "Follow, follow, over mountain,--follow, follow, over sea!"
etcetera.

About four or five o'clock in the afternoon, upon rounding a point, we
were a little excited by perceiving evident signs of the axe having been
at work in the forest; and a little farther on discovered, to our
inexpressible joy, a small piece of ground enclosed as a garden.  This
led us to suppose that the post could not be far off, so we pushed
forward rapidly; and upon gaining the summit of a small eminence, beheld
with delight the post of Isle Jeremie.

This establishment, like most of the others on the St. Lawrence, is
merely a collection of scattered buildings, most of which are
storehouses and stables.  It stands in a hollow of the mountains, and
close to a large bay, where sundry small boats and a sloop lay quietly
at anchor.  Upon a little hillock close to the principal house is a
Roman Catholic chapel; and behind it stretches away the broad St.
Lawrence, the south shore of which is indistinctly seen on the horizon.
We had not much inclination, however, to admire the scenery just then;
so, hastening down the hill, my man walked into the men's house, where
in five minutes he was busily engaged eating bread and pork, and
recounting his adventures to a circle of admiring friends; while I
warmed myself beside a comfortable fire in the hall, and chatted with
the gentleman in charge of the establishment.

At Isle Jeremie I remained about six weeks; or rather, I should say,
belonged to the establishment for that time, as during a great part of
it I was absent from the post.  Mr Coral, soon after my arrival, went
to visit the Company's posts lower down the St. Lawrence, leaving me in
charge of Isle Jeremie; and as I had little or nothing to do in the way
of business (our Indians not having arrived from the interior), most of
my time was spent in reading and shooting.

It was here I took my first lessons in navigation--I mean in a practical
way; as for the scientific part of the business, that was deferred to a
more favourable opportunity--and, truly, the lessons were rather rough.
The way of it was this:--Our flour at Isle Jeremie had run out.  Indians
were arriving every day calling loudly for flour, and more were
expected; so Mr Coral told me, one fine morning, to get ready to go to
Tadousac in the boat for a load of flour.  This I prepared to do at
once, and started after breakfast in a large boat, manned by two men.
The wind was fair, and I fired a couple of shots with my fowling-piece,
as we cleared the harbour, in answer to an equal number of salutes from
two iron cannons that stood in front of the house.  By-the-bye, one of
these guns had a melancholy interest attached to it a few months after
this.  While firing a salute of fourteen rounds, in honour of the
arrival of a Roman Catholic bishop, one of them exploded while the man
who acted as gunner was employed in ramming home the cartridge, and blew
him about twenty yards down the bank.  The unfortunate man expired in a
few hours.  Poor fellow! he was a fine little Canadian, and had sailed
with me, not many weeks before, in a voyage up the St. Lawrence.  But to
return.  Our voyage, during the first few days, was prosperous enough,
and I amused myself in shooting the gulls which were foolish enough to
come within range of my gun, and in recognizing the various places along
shore where I had rested and slept on the memorable occasion of my
snow-shoe trip.

But when did the St. Lawrence prove friendly for an entire voyage?
Certainly not when I had the pleasure of ploughing its rascally waters!
The remainder of our voyage was a succession of squalls, calms, contrary
winds, sticking on shoals for hours, and being detained on shore, with
an accompaniment of pitching, tossing, oscillation and botheration, that
baffles all description.  However, time brings the greatest miseries to
an end; and in the process of time we arrived at Tadousac--loaded our
boat deeply with flour--shook hands with our friends--related our
adventures--bade them adieu--and again found ourselves scudding down the
St. Lawrence, with a snoring breeze on our quarter.

Now this was truly a most delectable state of things, when contrasted
with our wretched trip up; so we wrapped our blankets round us (for it
was very cold), and felicitated ourselves considerably on such good
fortune.  It was rather premature, however; as, not long after, we had a
very narrow escape from being swamped.  The wind, as I said before, was
pretty strong, and it continued so the whole way; so that on the evening
of the second day we came within sight of Isle Jeremie, while running
before a stiff breeze, through the green waves which were covered with
foam.  Our boat had a "drooping nose," and was extremely partial to what
the men termed "drinking;" in other words, it shipped a good deal of
water over the bows.  Now it happened that while we were straining our
eyes ahead, to catch a sight of our haven, an insidious squall was
creeping fast down behind us.  The first intimation we had of its
presence was a loud and ominous hiss, which made us turn our heads round
rather smartly; but it was too late--for with a howl, that appeared to
be quite vicious the wind burst upon our sails, and buried the boat in
the water, which rushed in a cataract over the bows, and nearly filled
us in a moment, although the steersman threw her into the wind
immediately.  The sheets were instantly let go, and one of the men, who
happened to be a sailor, jumped up, and, seizing an axe, began to cut
down the main-mast, at the same time exclaiming to the steersman,
"You've done for us now, Cooper!"  He was mistaken, however, for the
sails were taken in just in time to save us; and, while the boat lay
tumbling in the sea, we all began to bail, with anything we could lay
hands on, as fast as we could.  In a few minutes the boat was lightened
enough to allow of our hoisting the fore-sail; and about half an hour
afterwards we were safely anchored in the harbour.

This happened within about three or four hundred yards of the shore; yet
the best swimmer in the world would have been drowned ere he reached it,
as the water was so bitterly cold, that when I was bailing for my life,
and, consequently, in pretty violent exercise, my hands became quite
benumbed and almost powerless.

Shortly after this I was again sent up to Tadousac, in charge of a small
bateau, of about ten or fifteen tons, with a number of shipwrecked
seamen on board.  These unfortunate men had been cast on shore about the
commencement of winter, on an uninhabited part of the coast, and had
remained without provisions or fire for a long time, till they were
discovered by a gentleman of the Hudson Bay Company, and conveyed over
the snow in sleighs to the nearest establishment, which happened to be
Isle Jeremie.  Here they remained all winter, in a most dreadfully
mutilated condition, some of them having been desperately frozen.  One
of the poor fellows, a negro, had one of his feet frozen off at the
ankle, and had lost all the toes and the heel of the other, the bone
being laid bare for about an inch and a half.  Mr Coral, the gentleman
who had saved them, did all in his power to relieve their distress--
amputating their frozen limbs, and dressing their wounds, while they
were provided with food and warm clothing.  I am sorry to say, however,
that these men, who would have perished had it not been for Mr Coral's
care of them, were the first, upon arriving at Quebec the following
spring, to open their mouths in violent reproach and bitter invective
against him; forgetting that, while their only charge against him was a
little severity in refusing them a few trifling and unnecessary
luxuries, he had saved them from a painful and lingering death.

In a couple of days we arrived at Tadousac the second time, to the no
small astonishment of my brother scribbler residing there.  After
reloading our craft, we directed our course once more down the gulf.

This time the wind was also favourable, but, unfortunately, a little too
strong; so we were obliged, in the evening, to come to an anchor in
Esquimain River.  This river has good anchorage close to the bank, but
is very deep in the lead, or current; this, however, we did not know at
the time, and seeing a small schooner close to shore, we rounded to a
few fathoms outside of her, and let go our anchor.  Whirr! went the
chain--ten! twelve! sixteen! till at last forty fathoms ran out, and
only a little bit remained on board, and still we had no bottom.  After
attaching our spare cable to the other one, the anchor at last grounded.
This, however, was a dangerous situation to remain in, as, if the wind
blew strong, we would have to run out to sea, and so much cable would
take a long time to get in; so I ordered my two men, in a very pompous,
despotic way, to heave up the anchor again.  But not a bit would it
budge.  We all heaved at the windlass; still the obstinate anchor held
fast.  Again we gave another heave, and smashed both the handspikes.

In this dilemma I begged assistance from the neighbouring schooner, and
they kindly sent all their men on board with new handspikes; but our
refractory anchor would _not_ let go, and at last it was conjectured
that it had got foul of a rock, and that it was not in the power of
mortal man to move it.  Under these pleasant circumstances we went to
bed, in hopes that the falling tide might swing us clear before morning.
This turned out just as we expected--or, rather, a little better--for
next morning, when I went on deck, I found that we were drifting quietly
down the gulf, stern foremost, all the sails snugly tied up, and the
long cable dragging at the bows!  Towards evening we arrived at Jeremie,
and I gladly resigned command of the vessel to my first lieutenant.

One afternoon, near the middle of April, I sat sunning myself in the
veranda before the door of the principal house at Isle Jeremie, and
watched the fields of ice, as they floated down the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, occasionally disappearing behind the body of a large pig,
which stood upon a hillock close in front of me, and then reappearing
again as the current swept them slowly past the intervening obstacle.

Mr Coral, with whom I had been leading a very quiet, harmless sort of
life for a couple of weeks past, leant against a wooden post, gazing
wistfully out to sea.  Suddenly he turned towards me, and with great
gravity told me that, as there was nothing particular for me to do at
the establishment, he meant to send me down to Seven Islands, to relieve
the gentleman at that post of his charge; adding, that as he wished me
to set off the following morning at an early hour, I had better pack up
a few things to-night.

Now, this order may not seem, at the first glance, a very dreadful one;
but taking into consideration that Seven Islands is one hundred and
twenty miles below the post at which I then resided, it did appear as if
one would wish to think about it a little before starting.  Not having
time to think about it, however, I merely, in a sort of bantering
desperation, signified my readiness to undertake a voyage to any part of
the undiscovered world, at any moment he (Mr Coral) might think proper,
and then vanished, to prepare myself for the voyage.

It was optional with me whether I should walk through one hundred and
twenty miles of primeval and most impassable forest, or paddle over an
equal number of miles of water.  Preferring the latter, as being at once
the less disagreeable and more expeditious method, I accordingly, on the
following morning, embarked in a small Indian canoe, similar to the one
in which I had formerly travelled with two Indians in the North-West.
My companions were--a Canadian, who acted as steersman; a genuine
Patlander, who ostensibly acted as bowsman, but in reality was more
useful in the way of ballast; and a young Newfoundland dog, which I had
got as a present from Mr Stone while at Tadousac.

When we were all in our allotted places, the canoe was quite full; and
we started from Isle Jeremie in good spirits, with the broad, sun-like
face of Mike Lynch looming over the bows of the canoe, and the black
muzzle of Humbug (the dog) resting on its gunwale.

It is needless to describe the voyage minutely.  We had the usual amount
of bad and good weather, and ran the risk several times of upsetting; we
had, also, several breakfasts, dinners, suppers, and beds in the forest;
and on the afternoon of the third day we arrived at Goodbout, an
establishment nearly half-way between the post I had left and the one to
which I was bound.  Here we stayed all night, proposing to start again
on the morrow.  But the weather was so stormy as to prevent us for a
couple of days trusting ourselves out in a frail bark canoe.

Early on the third morning, however, I took my place as steersman in the
stern of our craft (my former guide being obliged to leave me here), and
my man Mike squeezed his unwieldy person into the bow.  In the middle
lay our provisions and baggage, over which the black muzzle of Humbug
peered anxiously out upon the ocean.  In this trim we paddled from the
beach, amid a shower of advice to keep close to shore, in case the
_big-fish_--alias, the whales--might take a fancy to upset us.

After a long paddle of five or six hours we arrived at Pointe des Monts,
where rough weather obliged us to put ashore.  Here I remained all
night, and slept in the lighthouse--a cylindrical building of moderate
height, which stands on a rock off Pointe des Monte, and serves to warn
sailors off the numerous shoals with which this part of the gulf is
filled.  In the morning we fortunately found an Indian with his boat,
who was just starting for Seven Islands; and after a little higgling, at
which Mike proved himself quite an adept, he agreed to give us a lift
for a few pounds of tobacco.  Away, then, we went, with:--

  "A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
  And a wind that followed fast,"

ploughing through the water in beautiful style.

The interior of our boat presented a truly ludicrous, and rather filthy
scene.  The Indian, who was a fine-looking man of about thirty, had
brought his whole family--sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, wife, and
mother--and a more heterogeneous mass of dirty, dark-skinned humanity I
never before had the ill-luck to travel with.  The mother of the flock
was the most extraordinary being that I ever beheld.  She must have been
very near a hundred years old, as black and wrinkled as a singed hide,
yet active and playful as a kitten.  She was a very bad sailor, however,
and dived down into the bottom of the boat the moment a puff of wind
arose.  Indians have a most extraordinary knack of diminishing their
bulk, which is very convenient sometimes.  Upon this occasion it was
amusing to watch them settling gradually down, upon the slightest
appearance of wind, until you might almost believe they had squeezed
themselves quite through the bottom of the boat, and left only a few
dirty blankets to tell the tale.  Truly, one rarely meets with such a
compact mass of human ballast.  If, however, a slight lull occurred, or
the sun peeped out from behind a cloud, there was immediately a
perceptible increase in the bulk of the mass, and gradually a few heads
appeared, then a leg, and soon a few arms; till at last the whole batch
were up, laughing, talking, singing, eating, and chattering in a most
uproarious state of confusion!

After the usual amount of storms, calms, and contrary winds, we arrived
in safety at the post of Seven Islands, where I threw my worthy friend
Mr Anderson into a state of considerable surprise and agitation by
informing him that in the individual before him he beheld his august
successor!

The establishment of Seven Islands is anything but an inviting place,
although pretty enough on a fine day; and the general appearance of the
surrounding scenery is lonely, wild, and desolate.  The houses are built
on a low sandy beach, at the bottom of the large bay of Seven Islands.
The trees around are thinly scattered, and very small.  In the
background, rugged hills stretch as far as the eye can see; and in
front, seven lofty islands, from which the bay and post derive their
name, obstruct the view, affording only a partial glimpse of the open
sea beyond.  No human habitations exist within seventy miles of the
place.  Being out of the line of sailing, no vessels ever visit it,
except when driven to the bay for shelter; and the bay is so large, that
many vessels come in and go out again without having been observed.
Altogether, I found it a lonely and desolate place, during a residence
of nearly four months.

An extensive salmon-fishery is carried on at a large river called the
Moisie, about eighteen miles below the post, where the Company sometimes
catch and salt upwards of eighty and ninety tierces of fish.

During my sojourn there, I made one or two excursions to the fishery, a
description of which may perhaps prove interesting to those versed in
the more practical branches of ichthyology.

It was a lovely morning in June when Mr Anderson and I set out from
Seven Islands on foot, with our coats (for the weather was warm) slung
across our backs, and walked rapidly along the beach in the direction of
the river Moisie.  The weather was very calm, and the mosquitoes,
consequently, rather annoying; but, as our progressive motion
disconcerted their operations a little, we did not mind them much.  The
beach all the way was composed of fine hard sand, so that we found the
walk very agreeable.  A few loons dived about in the sea, and we passed
two or three flocks of black ducks, known in some parts of the country
by the name of "old wives;" but, having brought no gun with us, the old
ladies were permitted to proceed on their way unmolested.  The land all
along presented the same uniform line of forest, with the yellow sand of
the beach glittering at its edge; and as we cleared the islands, the
boundless ocean opened upon our view.

In about four hours or so we arrived at the mouth of the Moisie, where
the first fishery is established.  Here we found that our men had caught
and salted a good many salmon, some of which had just come from the
nets, and lay on the grass, plump and glittering, in their pristine
freshness.  They looked very tempting, and we had one put in the kettle
immediately; which, when we set to work at him soon afterwards,
certainly did not belie his looks.  The salmon had only commenced to
ascend the river that day, and were being taken by fifties at a haul in
the nets.  The fishery was attended by three men, who kept seven or
eight nets constantly in the water, which gave them enough of
employment--two of them attending to the nets, while the third split,
salted, and packed the fish in large vats.  Here we spent the night, and
slept in a small house about ten feet long by eight broad, built for the
accommodation of the fishermen.

Next morning we embarked in a boat belonging to a trapper, and went up
the river with a fair wind, to visit the fisheries higher up.  On the
way we passed a seal-net belonging to the owner of the boat, and at our
request he visited it, and found seven or eight fine seals in it: they
were all dead, and full of water.  Seal-nets are made the same as
salmon-nets, except that the mesh is larger, the seal having a pretty
good-sized cranium of his own.  After a good deal of unravelling and
pulling, we got them all out of the net, and proceeded onward with our
cargo.

The scenery on the river Moisie is pleasing: the banks are moderately
high, and covered to the foot with the richest and most variegated
verdure; while here and there, upon rounding some of the curvatures of
the stream, long vistas of the river may be seen, embedded in luxuriant
foliage.  Thirteen or fourteen miles up the river is the Frog Creek
fishery, at which we arrived late in the afternoon, and found that the
man superintending it had taken a good many fish, and expected more.  He
visited his nets while we were there, but returned with only a few
salmon.  Some of them were badly cut up by the seals, which are the most
formidable enemies of fishermen, as they eat and destroy many salmon,
besides breaking the nets.  We were detained here by rain all night, and
slept in the small fishing-house.

Travelling makes people acquainted with strange beds as well as strange
bed-fellows; but I question if many people can boast of having slept on
a bed of _nets_.  This we were obliged to do here, having brought no
blankets with us, as we expected to have returned to the Point fishery
in the evening.  The bedstead was a long low platform, in one end of the
little cabin, and was big enough to let four people sleep in it--two of
us lying abreast at one end, and two more at the other end, feet to
feet.  A large salmon-net formed a pretty good mattress; another, spread
out on top of us, served as a blanket; and a couple of trout-nets were
excellent as pillows.  From this _piscatorial_ couch we arose early on
the following morning, and breakfasted on a splendid fresh salmon; after
which we resumed our journey.  In a couple of hours we arrived at the
Rapid fishery, where I found that my old friend Mike, the Irishman, had
caught a great number of salmon.  He was very bitter, however, in his
remarks upon the seals, which it seems had made great havoc among his
nets during the last two days.  A black bear, too, was in the habit of
visiting his station every morning, and, sitting on a rock not far off,
watched his motions with great apparent interest while he took the fish
out of the nets.  Mike, poor man, regretted very much that he had no
gun, as he might perhaps shoot "the baste."  Bears are very destructive
at times to the salted salmon, paying visits during the night to the
vats, and carrying off and tearing to pieces far more than they are
capable of devouring.

While inspecting the nets here, we witnessed an interesting seal-hunt.
Two Indians, in separate canoes, were floating quietly in a small eddy,
with their guns cocked, ready to fire at the first unfortunate seal that
should show his head on the surface of the stream.  They had not waited
long when one popped up his head, and instantly got a shot, which
evidently hurt him, as he splashed a little, and then dived.  In a
minute the Indian reloaded his gun, and paddled out into the stream, in
order to have another shot the moment the seal rose for air: this he did
in a short time, when another shot was fired, which turned him over
apparently lifeless.  The Indian then laid down his gun, and seizing his
paddle, made towards the spot where the seal lay.  He had scarcely
approached a few yards, however, when it recovered a little, and dived--
much to the Indian's chagrin, who had approached too near the head of a
small rapid, and went down, stern foremost, just at the moment his
friend the seal did the same.  On arriving at the bottom, the animal,
after one or two kicks, expired, and the Indian at last secured his
prize.  After this, we embarked again in our boat; and the wind _for
once_ determined to be accommodating, as it shifted in our favour,
almost at the same time that we turned to retrace our way.  In a few
hours we arrived at the fishery near the mouth of the river, where we
found supper just ready.

After supper, which we had about eight o'clock, the night looked so
fine, and the mosquitoes in the little smoky house were so troublesome,
that we determined to walk up to the post; so, ordering one of the men
to follow us, away we went along the beach.  The night was fine, though
dark, and we trudged rapidly along.  It was very tiresome work, however,
as, the tide being full, we were obliged to walk upon the soft sand.
Everything along the beach looked huge and mystical in the uncertain
light; and this, accompanied with the solemn boom of the waves as they
fell at long intervals upon the shore, made the scene quite romantic.
After five hours' sharp walking, with pocket-handkerchiefs tied round
our heads to guard us from the attacks of mosquitoes, we arrived at
Seven Islands between one and two in the morning.

Not long after this, a boat arrived with orders for my companion, Mr
Anderson, to pack up his worldly goods and start for Tadousac.  The same
day he bade me adieu and set sail.  In a few minutes the boat turned a
point of land, and I lost sight of one of the most kindly and agreeable
men whom I have had the good fortune to meet in the Nor'-West.

The situation in which I found myself was a novel, and, to say truth,
not a very agreeable one.  A short way off stood a man watching
contemplatively the point round which the boat had just disappeared; and
this man was my only companion in the world!--my Friday, in fact.  Not
another human being lived within sixty miles of our solitary habitation,
with the exception of the few men at the distant fishery.  In front of
us, the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence stretched out to the horizon, its
swelling bosom unbroken, save by the dipping of a sea-gull or the fin of
a whale.  Behind lay the dense forest, stretching back, without a break
in its primeval wildness, across the whole continent of America to the
Pacific Ocean; while above and below lay the rugged mountains that form
the shores of the gulf.  As I walked up to the house, and wandered like
a ghost through its empty rooms, I felt inexpressibly melancholy, and
began to have unpleasant anticipations of spending the winter at this
lonely spot.

Just as this thought occurred to me, my dog Humbug bounded into the
room, and, looking with a comical expression up in my face for a moment,
went bounding off again.  This incident induced me to take a more
philosophical view of affairs.  I began to gaze round upon my domain,
and whisper to myself that I was "monarch of all I surveyed."  All the
mighty trees in the wood were mine--if I chose to cut them down; all the
fish in the sea were mine--if I could only catch them; and the palace of
Seven Islands was also mine. The regal feeling inspired by the
consideration of these things induced me to call in a very kingly tone
of voice for my man (he was a French Canadian), who politely answered,
"Oui, monsieur."

"Dinner!" said I, falling back in my throne, and contemplating through
the palace window our vast dominions!

On the following day a small party of Indians arrived, and the bustle of
trading their furs, and asking questions about their expectations of a
good winter hunt, tended to disperse those unpleasant feelings of
loneliness that at first assailed me.

One of these poor Indians had died while travelling, and his relatives
brought the body to be interred in our little burying-ground.  The poor
creatures came in a very melancholy mood to ask me for a few planks to
make a coffin for him.  They soon constructed a rough wooden box, in
which the corpse was placed, and then buried.  No ceremony attended the
interment of this poor savage; no prayer was uttered over the grave; and
the only mark that the survivors left upon the place was a small wooden
cross, which those Indians who have been visited by Roman Catholic
priests are in the habit of erecting over their departed relatives.

The almost total absence of religion of any kind among these unhappy
natives is truly melancholy.  The very name of our blessed Saviour is
almost unknown by the hundreds of Indians who inhabit the vast forests
of North America.  It is strange that, while so many missionaries have
been sent to the southern parts of the earth, so few should have been
sent to the northward.  There are not, I believe, more than a dozen or
so of Protestant clergymen over the whole wide northern continent.

For at least a century these North American Indians have hunted for the
white men, and poured annually into Britain a copious stream of wealth.
Surely it is the duty of _Christian_ Britain, in return, to send out
faithful servants of God to preach the gospel of our Lord throughout
their land.

The Indians, after spending a couple of days at the establishment--
during which time they sold me a great many furs--set out again to
return to their distant wigwams.  It is strange to contemplate the
precision and certainty with which these men travel towards any part of
the vast wilderness, even where their route lies across numerous
intricate and serpentine rivers.  But the strangest thing of all is, the
savage's certainty of finding his way in winter through the trackless
forest, to a place where, perhaps, he never was before, and of which he
has had only a slight description.  They have no compasses, but the
means by which they discover the cardinal points is curious.  If an
Indian happens to become confused with regard to this, he lays down his
burden, and, taking his axe, cuts through the bark of a tree; from the
thickness or thinness of which he can tell the north point at once, the
bark being thicker on that side.

For a couple of weeks after this, I remained at the post with my
solitary man, endeavouring by all the means in my power to dispel ennui;
but it was a hard task.  Sometimes I shouldered my gun and ranged about
the forest in search of game, and occasionally took a swim in the sea.
_I_ was ignorant at the time, however, that there were sharks in the
Gulf of St. Lawrence, else I should have been more cautious.  The
Indians afterwards told me that they were often seen, and several
gentlemen who had lived long on the coast corroborated their testimony.
Several times Indians have left the shores of the gulf in their canoes,
to go hunting, and have never been heard of again, although the weather
at the time was calm; so that it was generally believed that shark had
upset the canoes and devoured the men.  An occurrence that afterwards
happened to an Indian renders this supposition highly probable.  This
man had been travelling along the shores of the gulf with his family--a
wife and several children--in a small canoe.  Towards evening, as he was
crossing a large bay, a shark rose near his canoe, and, after
reconnoitring a short time, swam towards it, and endeavoured to upset
it.  The size of the canoe, however, rendered this impossible; so the
ferocious monster actually began to break it to pieces, by rushing
forcibly against it.  The Indian fired at the shark when he first saw
it, but without effect; and, not having time to reload, he seized his
paddle and made for the shore.  The canoe, however, from the repeated
attacks of the fish, soon became leaky, and it was evident that in a few
minutes more the whole party would be at the mercy of the infuriated
monster.  In this extremity the Indian took up his youngest child, an
infant of a few months old, and dropped it overboard; and while the
shark was devouring it, the rest of the party gained the shore.

I sat one morning ruminating on the pleasures of solitude in the
_palace_ of Seven Islands, and gazed through the window at my solitary
man, who was just leaving an old boat he had been repairing, for the
purpose of preparing dinner.  The wide ocean, which rolled its waves
almost to the door of the house, was calm and unruffled, and the yellow
beach shone again in the sun's rays, while Humbug lay stretched out at
full length before the door.  After contemplating this scene for some
time, I rose, and was just turning away from the window, when I descried
a _man_, accompanied by a _boy_, walking along the sea-shore towards the
house.  This unusual sight created in me almost as strong, though not so
unpleasant, a sensation as was awakened in the bosom of Robinson Crusoe
when he discovered the footprint in the sand.  Hastily putting on my
cap, I ran out to meet him, and found, to my joy, that he was a trapper
of my acquaintance; and, what added immensely to the novelty of the
thing, he was also a _white_ man and a gentleman!  He had entered one of
the fur companies on the coast at an early age, and, a few years
afterwards, fell in love with an Indian girl, whom he married; and,
ultimately, he became a trapper.  He was a fine, good-natured man, and
had been well educated: and to hear philosophical discourse proceeding
from the lips of one who was, in outward appearance, a regular Indian,
was very strange indeed.  He was dressed in the usual capote, leggins,
and moccasins of a hunter.

"What have you got for dinner?" was his first question, after shaking
hands with me.

"Pork and pancakes," said I.

"Oh!" said the trapper; "the first salt, and the latter made of flour
and water?"

"Just so; and, with the exception of some bread, and a few ground pease
in lieu of coffee, this has been my diet for three weeks back."

"You might have done better," said the trapper, pointing towards a blue
line in the sea; "look, there are fish enough, if you only took the
trouble to catch them."

As he said this, I advanced to the edge of the water; and there, to my
astonishment, discovered that what I had taken for seaweed was a shoal
of kippling, so dense that they seemed scarcely able to move.

Upon beholding this, I recollected having seen a couple of old hand-nets
in some of the stores, which we immediately sent the trapper's son (a
youth of twelve) to fetch.  In a few minutes he returned with them; so,
tucking up our trousers, we both went into the water and scooped the
fish out by dozens.  It required great quickness, however, as they shot
into deep water like lightning, and sometimes made us run in so deep
that we wet ourselves considerably.  Indeed, the sport became so
exciting at last, that we gave over attempting to keep our clothes dry;
and in an hour we returned home, laden with kippling, and wet to the
skin.

The fish, which measured from four to five inches long, were really
excellent, and lent an additional relish to the pork, pancakes, and
_pease coffee_!

I prevailed upon the trapper to remain with me during the following
week; and a very pleasant time we had of it, paddling about in a canoe,
or walking through the woods, while my companion told me numerous
anecdotes, with which his memory was stored.  Some of these were grave,
and some comical; especially one, in which he described a bear-hunt that
he and his son had on the coast of Labrador.

He had been out on a shooting expedition, and was returning home in his
canoe, when, on turning a headland, he discovered a black bear walking
leisurely along the beach.  Now the place where he discovered him was a
very wild, rugged spot.  At the bottom of the bay rose a high precipice,
so that Bruin could not escape that way: along the beach, in the
direction in which he had been walking, a cape, which the rising tide
now washed, prevented his retreating; so that the only chance for the
brute to escape was by running past the trapper, within a few yards of
him.  In this dilemma, the bear bethought himself of trying the
precipice; so, collecting himself, he made a bolt for it, and actually
managed to scramble up thirty or forty feet, when bang went the boy's
gun; but the shot missed, and it appeared as if the beast would actually
get away, when the trapper took a deliberate aim and fired.  The effect
of the shot was so comical, that the two hunters could scarcely re-load
their guns for laughing.  Bruin, upon receiving the shot, covered his
head with his fore-paws, and, curling himself up like a ball, came
thundering down the precipice head over heels, raising clouds of dust,
and hurling showers of stones down in his descent, till he actually
rolled at the trapper's feet; and then, getting slowly up, he looked at
him with such a bewildered expression, that the man could scarcely
refrain from laughter, even while in the act of blowing the beast's
brains out.

This man had also a narrow escape of having a _boxing_ match with a
moose-deer or elk.  The moose had a strange method of fighting with its
fore feet, getting up on its hind legs, and boxing, as it were, with
great energy and deadly force.  The trapper, upon the occasion referred
to, was travelling with an Indian, who, having discovered the track of a
moose in the snow, set off in chase of it, while the trapper pursued his
way with the Indian's pack of furs and provisions on his shoulders.  He
had not gone far when he heard a shot, and the next moment a moose-deer,
as large as a horse, sprang through the bushes and stood in front of
him.  The animal came so suddenly on the trapper that it could not turn;
so, rising up with a savage look, it prepared to strike him, when
another shot was fired from among the bushes by the Indian, and the
moose, springing nearly its own height into the air, fell dead upon the
snow.

In chasing the moose during winter in some parts of these countries,
where the ground is broken and rugged, the hunters are not unfrequently
exposed to the danger of falling over the precipices which the deceptive
glare of the snow conceals from view, until, too late, he finds the
treacherous snow giving way beneath his feet.  On one occasion a young
man in the service of the Company received intelligence from an Indian
that he had seen fresh tracks of a moose, and being an eager sportsman,
he sallied forth, accompanied by the Indian, in chase of it.  A long
fatiguing walk on the Chipewyan snow-shoes, which are six feet long,
brought them within sight of the deer.  The young man fired, wounded the
animal, and then dashed forward in pursuit.  For a long way the deer
kept well ahead of them.  At length they began to overtake it; but when
they were about to fire again, it stumbled and disappeared, sending up a
cloud of snow in its fall.  Supposing that it had sunk exhausted into
one of the many hollows which were formed by the undulations of the
ground, the young man rushed headlong towards it, followed at a slower
pace by the Indian.  Suddenly he stopped and cast a wild glance around
him as he observed that he stood on the very brink of a precipice, at
the foot of which the mangled carcass of the deer lay.  Thick masses of
snow had drifted over its edge until a solid wreath was formed,
projecting several feet beyond it.  On this wreath the young man stood
with the points of his long snow-shoes overhanging the yawning abyss; to
turn round was impossible, as the exertion requisite to wield such huge
snow-shoes would, in all probability, have broken off the mass.  To step
gently backwards was equally impossible, in consequence of the heels of
the shoes being sunk into the snow.  In this awful position he stood
until the Indian came up, and taking off his long sash, threw the end of
it towards him; catching hold of this, he collected all his energies,
and giving a desperate bound threw himself backwards at full length.
The Indian pulled with all his force on the belt, and succeeded in
drawing him out of danger, just as the mass on which he had stood a
moment before gave way, and thundered down the cliff, where it was
dashed into clouds against the projecting crags long before it reached
the foot.

About a week after his arrival the trapper departed, and left me again
in solitude.

_The last voyage_.--There is something very sad and melancholy in these
words--the last!  The last look, the last word, the last smile, even the
last shilling, have all a peculiarly melancholy import; but the last
_voyage_, to one who has lived, as it were, on travelling--who has
slept for weeks and months under the shadow of the forest trees, and
dwelt among the wild romantic scenes of the wilderness--has a peculiar
and thrilling interest.  Each tree I passed on leaving shook its boughs
mournfully, as if it felt hurt at being thus forsaken.  The very rocks
seemed to frown reproachfully, while I stood up and gazed wistfully
after each well-known object for the last time.  Even the wind seemed to
sympathise with the rest; for, while it urged the boat swiftly away from
my late home, like a faithful friend holding steadfastly on its
favouring course, still it fell occasionally, and rose again in gusts
and sighs, as if it wished to woo me back again to solitude.  I started
on this, the last voyage, shortly after the departure of my friend the
trapper, leaving the palace in charge of an unfortunate gentleman who
brought a wife and five children with him, which rendered Seven Islands
a little less gloomy than heretofore.  Five men accompanied me in an
open boat; and on the morning of the 25th August we took our departure
for Tadousac.  And, truly, Nature appeared to be aware that it was my
_last_ voyage, for she gave us the most unkind and harassing treatment
that I ever experienced at her hands.

The first few miles were accomplished pleasantly enough.  We had a fair
breeze, and not too much of it; but towards the afternoon it shifted,
and blew directly against us, so that the men were obliged to take to
the oars; and, as the boat was large, it required them all to pull,
while I steered.

The men were all French Canadians: a merry, careless, but persevering
set of fellows, just cut out for the work they had to do, and, moreover,
accustomed to it.  The boat was a clumsy affair, with two spritsails and
a jigger or mizzen; but, notwithstanding, she looked well at a distance,
and though incapable of progressing very fast through the water, she
could stand a pretty heavy sea.  We were badly off, how ever, with
regard to camp gear, having neither tent nor oilcloth to protect us
should it rain--indeed, all we had to guard us from the inclemency of
the weather at night was one blanket each man; but as the weather had
been fine and settled for some time back, we hoped to get along pretty
well.

As for provisions, we had pork and flour, besides a small quantity of
burnt-pease coffee, which I treasured up as a great delicacy.

Our first encampment was a good one.  The night, though dark, was fine
and calm, so that we slept very comfortably upon the beach, every man
with his feet towards the fire, from which we all radiated like the
spokes of a wheel.  But our next bivouac was not so good.  The day had
been very boisterous and wet, so that we lay down to rest in damp
clothes, with the pleasant reflection that we had scarcely advanced ten
miles.  The miseries of our fifth day, however, were so numerous and
complicated that it at last became absurd!  It was a drizzly damp
morning to begin with; soon this gave way to a gale of contrary wind, so
that we could scarcely proceed at the rate of half a mile an hour; and
in the evening we were under the necessity either of running _back_ five
miles to reach a harbour, or of anchoring off an exposed lee-shore.
Preferring the latter course, even at the risk of losing our boat
altogether, we cast anchor, and leaving a man in the boat, waded ashore.
Here things looked very wretched indeed.  Everything was wet and
clammy.  Very little firewood was to be found; and when it was found, we
had the greatest difficulty in getting it to light.  At last, however,
the fire blazed up; and though it still rained, we began to feel,
_comparatively speaking_, comfortable.

Now, it must have been about midnight when I awoke, wheezing and
sniffling with a bad cold, and feeling uncommonly wretched--the fire
having gone out, and the drizzly rain having increased--and while I was
endeavouring to cover myself a little better with a wet blanket, the man
who had been left to watch the boat rushed in among us, and said that it
had been driven ashore, and would infallibly go to pieces if not shoved
out to sea immediately.  Up we all got, and rushing down to the beach,
were speedily groping about _in_ the dark, up to our waists in water,
while the roaring breakers heaved the boat violently against our
breasts.  After at least an hour of this work, we got it afloat again,
and returned to our beds, where we lay shivering in wet clothes till
morning.

We had several other nights nearly as bad as this one; and once or twice
narrowly escaped being smashed to pieces among rocks and shoals, while
travelling in foggy weather.

Even the last day of the voyage had something unpleasant in store for
us.  As we neared the mouth of the river Saguenay the tide began to
recede, and ere long the current became so strong that we could not make
headway against it; we had no alternative, therefore, but to try to run
ashore, there to remain until the tide should rise again.  Now it so
happened that a sand-bank caught our keel just as we turned broadside to
the current, and the water, rushing against the boat with the force of a
mill-race, turned it up on one side, till it stood quivering, as if
undecided whether or not to roll over on top of us.  A simultaneous rush
of the men to the elevated side decided the question, and caused it to
fall squash down on its keel again, where it lay for the next four or
five hours, being left quite dry by the tide.  As this happened within a
few miles of our journey's end, I left the men to take care of the boat,
and walked along the beach to Tadousac.

Here I remained some time, and then travelled through the beautiful
lakes of Canada and the United States to New York.  But here I must
pause.  As I said before, I write not of civilised but of savage life;
and having now o'ershot the boundary, it is time to close.

On the 25th of May 1847 I bade adieu to the Western hemisphere, and
sailed for England in the good ship _New York_.  The air was light and
warm, and the sun unclouded, as we floated slowly out to sea, and ere
long the vessel bathed her swelling bows in the broad Atlantic.

Gradually, as if loath to part, the wood-clad shores of America grew
faint and dim; I turned my eyes, for the last time, upon the distant
shore: the blue hills quivered for a moment on the horizon, as if to bid
us all a long farewell, and then sank into the liquid bosom of the
ocean.

THE END.