CHAP. XXII. SCENERY OF THE BAY. 31 



camp-ground, ample enough for 10,000 Montagnais 

 lodges. On a summer day, with a gentle breeze blowing 

 to drive mosquitoes away, it becomes a delightful but 

 very lonely lounge ; and at the entrance to the channel, 

 opposite the Great Boule island, with the sea in front, the 

 calm rippling bay at your feet, the silent forest just 

 behind, backed by the everlasting hills, mconceivably 

 desolate and wild, which stretch for a thousand miles 

 towards the west, it is a fit spot for old memories to renew 

 themselves, old sorrows to burst out afresh. So, evidently, 

 Otelne thought and found ; for as I was bathing about a 

 mile from the mission on the Friday after our arrival, I 

 saw an Indian sitting among the tall coarse grass which 

 grew on the edge of the sloping beach. After a plunge 

 in the cold water, observing him still retaining his posture, 

 I went up to him, and when he turned at my approach 

 I saw it was Otelne. He made no sign, but without 

 expression of any kind took the seal-skin tobacco-pouch I 

 offered him, filled his pipe, brought out his flint and steel, 

 struck a hght, and, turning in silence towards the ocean, 

 smoked without saying a word. After a short time I 

 uttered the Ojibway word for sun, calling his attention by 

 pointing with the finger to the hght which the setting sun 

 was casting upon the Seven Islands. He watched it with 

 apparent interest as it slowly rose up the side of the 

 Grande Boule, when the sun descended behind the range 

 of high hiUs in the rear of the bay. 



As soon as the last rose-tint fled from the summit, he 

 shook the ashes out of his pipe, and touching me, while 

 still squatting on the ground, pointed to the summit of 

 the Great Boule. Bising on his knees, he began to speak. 



