DAYS WITH THE LAND-LOCKED SALMON. 



97 



mdering the equilibrium precarious. To get the 

 head to point once more towards the wind was 

 impossible, so the canoe drifted back to shore amid 

 the jeers and laughter of the Indian squaws, while I 

 tried to appear as though I had forgotten something 

 and wanted to land. Thus I discovered that to 

 "paddle one's own canoe" one must kneel carefully 

 in the centre, taking care not to touch the thin skin 

 of bark between the wooden ribs, and that an empty 

 canoe is exceedingly capsizable. After loading up 

 and making a start on our circumnavigating trip I 

 found one could move with confidence and safety, and 

 in a few minutes I was even able to blow my nose 

 without a qualm. One of my two men was partly, 

 the other wholly though it sounds paradoxical to 

 say so half-breed. The former was called Thomas 

 Larouche, and was a Frenchman with Indian blood, 

 who had married, and had children by, an Indian 

 squaw. The other was called Olivier Leauniere, and 

 both were related to almost every one within fifty 

 miles of the place. Nothing could exceed their good 

 temper and willingness to oblige. The French- 

 Canadian, as a rule, is easy to get on with, being 

 polite and generous; but I am not so sure I should 

 be willing to depend on him at a crisis, or that one 

 should trust him farther than one could see him. His 

 volatile temperament and easy-going disposition make 

 him a cheery companion. 



Quebec and its neighbourhood is mainly peopled by 

 French Canadians, and the region of the Saguenay and 



H 



