The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 

 to it so kindly that I begged for a few bottles to 

 help down the very poor fare of the steamer. 



Johnny Peters, for an Indian, was quite sorry 

 to part with me, and I gave him, in addition to 

 his pay, which he had thoroughly earned, a lot 

 of camp gear. He still cast loving eyes on my 

 glasses, but those I did not feel inclined to 

 part with. 



On the way back to St. John's we stopped to 

 pick up two passengers who were going to 

 Canada. They were engaged, and were to be 

 married on arrival. A too-persuasive friend of 

 the husband-elect had supplied a sort of stirrup 

 cup in the form of a tumblerful of raw rum, 

 40 over proof an amount to make even an 

 Indian toper drunk. The result was melancholy 

 to a degree. For he had not been on board an 

 hour before he behaved like a raving lunatic, and 

 eventually became so violent that the captain 

 had to send three men aft to strap the " tee- 

 totaller " to the grating of the wheel-house. The 

 poor girl sat up with her prospective bridegroom 

 throughout the night, holding his hands. 



At St. John's I remained a day or so awaiting 

 the Allan liner that was to take me on to Halifax, 

 N.S., and found much to interest in the stores 

 wherein were stacked the tons of dry cod for 

 which St. John's is famous. A great portion of 

 this fish goes to Portugal, and other Roman 

 Catholic countries, the ships bringing back as 



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