FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 31 



already afloat ; several boats were a mile from 

 shore, and others, with sails flapping and oars 

 thumping, were working their way towards the 

 east. Across the far horizon lay a long, low 

 bank of white fog. The sun came slowly from 

 it and looked at the drowsy world with its one 

 red eye. Its light touched each wave as it 

 broke, and through the thin green-combing of 

 the breaker the sun's glow was rose-colored and 

 exquisitely beautiful. So, too, the rosy light lay 

 in the thin water which ran back across the shin- 

 ing sand, as each wave subsided after breaking 

 on the beach. Cape Dauphin and its islands 

 floated as rosy castles in a distant haze, and the 

 bluffs close to me put on soft and alluring tints, 

 soon to be lost, however, as the sun grew clear, 

 and by whiter light robbed the scene of most 

 of its peculiar charm. 



It was not until after another period of sweet 

 sleiep that we began our walk of fourteen miles 

 from French River over Cape Smoky to Ingonish. 

 The day was warm and clear. Smoky stood up 

 boldly against the north, facing eastward towards 

 the open sea with a front as steep as Blomidon's, 

 and nearly three times as high. For about two 

 hundred feet above the ocean the mountain's face 

 was reddish rock ; thence for a thousand feet 

 low trees clothed the rampart with soft green. 

 The top, running inland a long distance, appeared 



