306 NEWFOUNDLAND 



experienced in getting to St. John's at this late season of the 

 year, beyond briefly stating that after packing my heads in 

 Belleoram I had again to recross Fortune Bay in Mr. Ryan's 

 boat. Having missed the weekly steamer, there was nothing 

 for it but to boat and walk across the country. After a 

 heavy gale, we had to run for shelter into Anderson's Cove, 

 but next day made Bay dArgent. Here I said good-bye to 

 my genial Irish friend, and taking the two Indians, marched 

 for eighteen miles across the Peninsula to Bain Harbour in 

 Placentia Bay. None of the inhabitants would or could 

 convey me across the bay, as the weather was vile, but after 

 beating about half the night I induced an old ruffian and his 

 two sons to essay the passage in his lumber schooner for 

 twenty dollars. The night was awful, blowing smoke from 

 the south-east, and half-a-dozen times the skipper wanted to 

 turn back, but by various inducements I got him to hold on 

 till daylight. The seas washed over us, the cabin was so 

 filthy, and smelt so abominably of bilge water and rotten 

 fish, that it made me ill, and it was with great joy I hailed the 

 welcome harbour of Placentia on the following evening after 

 seventeen hours' misery. Here I caught the train, and next 

 day the steamer for England. 



The attendant discomforts of travel in out-of-the-way 

 places are things to be taken philosophically by the hunter, 

 and, in looking back on my days in Newfoundland, they 

 seem few and easily forgotten, whilst the happy ones are 

 numerous and deeply fixed in my mind. 



How strange is England's ignorance of her colonies, and 

 of none so great as that relating to Newfoundland. Those 

 that give her a passing thought consider her people a mixture 

 between French Canadians and Red Indians, who live in a 

 climate that is a hybrid between the North Pole and a 



