226 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 



dam. The day before our visit three dead fish were 

 found in the pool below, killed by too much jump- 

 ing. Those we saw had the jump about all taken 

 out of them; several did not get more than half 

 their length out of the water, and occasionally only 

 an impotent nose would protrude from the foam. 

 One fish made a leap of three or four feet and landed 

 on an apron of the dam and tumbled helplessly 

 back; he shot up like a bird and rolled back like a 

 clod. This was the only view of salmon, the buck 

 of the rivers, we had on our journey. 



It was a bright and flawless midsummer day that 

 we sailed down the Saguenay, and nothing was want- 

 ing but a good excuse for being there. The river 

 was as lonely as the St. John's road; not a sail or 

 a smokestack the whole sixty-five miles. The scen- 

 ery culminates at Cape Trinity, where the rocks 

 rise sheer from the water to a height of eighteen 

 hundred feet. This view dwarfed anything I had 

 ever before seen. There is perhaps nothing this 

 side the Yosemite chasm that equals it, and, emp- 

 tied of its water, this chasm would far surpass that 

 famous canon, as the river here is a mile and a quar- 

 ter deep. The bald eagle nests in the niches in the 

 precipice secure from any intrusion. Immense blocks 

 of the rock had fallen out, leaving areas of shadow 

 and clinging overhanging masses that were a terror 

 and fascination to the eye. There was a great fall 

 a few years ago, just as the steamer had passed from 

 under and blown her whistle to awake the echoes. 

 The echo came back, and with it a part of the moun- 



