TO MT. SYLVESTER WITH THE MICMACS 267 



up, " you boys have no grit nowadays." So, throwintr off 

 his sea-boots, he seized the line in his teeth, and clambered 

 up to giddy heights without a stop. 



Long Harbor Office, where Ryan lives, is forty miles from 

 Belleoram, and it took us all day to reach our destination. 

 In darkness we cast anchor beside a little island. A row of 

 half a mile brought us to shore, where two Indians, Micky 

 John and Paddy Hinx, rose to greet us. They told us that 

 Steve Bernard and John Hinx were both on their way, the 

 former from Bay Despair, and the latter from his "tilt" up 

 to the north-east, to meet me ; that I should be able to 

 start in two days, though no two Indians could get up the 

 Long Harbor River. This was rather serious news, as I 

 had hoped to do my trip with two Indians; however, the 

 difficulty was solved by the arrival on the following day of 

 Matty Burke and Johnny Benoit, who agreed to come with 

 me for seven days, and to help Bernard and Hinx with 

 the boats until the worst of the rapids were passed. 



On 2nd October came Steve Bernard, looking considerably 

 the worse for wear, as the result of one of the inevitable 

 "sprees" which preludes such trips into the "country." But 

 the walk of forty-five miles had sobered him, and he was 

 in that frame of mind which brings a chastened spirit and 

 a desire for work, having wasted all his money at the shrine 

 of Bacchus. 



Steve is the sole survivor of eleven children born to 

 old Joe Bernard, late chief of the Newfoundland Micmacs, 

 all of whom have died from the bottle, consumption, or 

 strains, the three principal causes which decimate the red 

 men. He is twenty-eight years old, as strong as a bull, and 

 good-natured to the highest degree. When he was not 

 singing mournful Indian dirges and Gregorian chants, he was 



