234 A BIRCH-BARK CANOE TRIP 



broke into a lumber camp, and drawing a molasses tap rolled over 

 arid over in the sweet flood, then breaking up a flour barrel rolled 

 over and over in the flour. When the men returned they were 

 startled to find a white bear in their house. ' This is the only 

 instance, I suppose, Joe, where the white bear has been seen in 

 New Brunswick/ I said. ' No, sir ; I once heard of a white bear 

 with pink eyes killed on this river.' Could this have been an 

 albino, or was Joe hoaxing ? Once when out with a brother hunter, 

 Tom Isaacs by name, an otter was stolen from Tom's steel trap by 

 a bear ; made evident by the tell-tale track. Tom swore a terrible 

 revenge, for an otter was worth about $12. Wandering after- 

 ward on a neighbouring barren, he came quietly upon a bear feed- 

 ing on berries. ' Where's my otter ? ' thundered Tom. The bear 

 jumped aside nearly twenty feet, and failing a satisfactory answer, 

 was shot dead by Tom. This animal is a curious mixture of 

 bravado and timidity. He will not pass through an open door ; 

 but if a hut is sealed up will use every endeavour to break through, 

 especially if he scents the odour of molasses or pork. A common 

 plan of protection is to leave a chain stretched across the open door 

 of the storehouse, the clank of which frightens bruin when he 

 touches it. 



At this camp a curious nocturnal bird, new to me, and by no 

 means to be mistaken for the common night-hawk, kept on the 

 wing until after midnight, uttering a harsh short note that jarred 

 the ear, accustomed to silence at that hour. Numbers of king- 

 fishers had perforated the bank beneath us for their nests ; we 

 found the holes invariably sloping upward, doubtless to afford 

 more dryness by draining off the water to the mouth. 



Above this point we were delighted with the fresh green woods 

 on either side, so refreshing after the fire-scathed country through 

 which we had passed. Lovely maples, elms and ash, greeted us, 

 and a few noble spruce and pine that had escaped the lumberman's 

 axe reared themselves nobly aloft, ' fit for the mast of some great 

 admiral'. Indian Falls gave us a rather severe portage of nearly 

 a mile, but somewhat repaid this inconvenience by the charming 

 and romantic scenery it presented. 



At the Devil's Elbow we halted for two days. This is the 

 name bestowed on the best big trout pool of the river. What 

 connexion the Prince of Darkness can have with these lovely 

 surroundings we failed to discover. Our tent poles went up on 

 a sloping pebbly beach, where the river makes a sharp turn. Here 

 we saw traces of our American friends in the shape of heads of 

 enormous trout, wings of the shield duck and partridge. We 

 have omitted to record that we daily shot numbers of these birds. 



