THE HOME OF GLOOSCAP. 



THERE are siren voices at Ingonish. I can say 

 this with confidence, because I heard one, and it 

 rings in my ears now, and will ring there as 

 long as memory lasts. I was lying on the sun- 

 lit sand outside the cobblestone wall of Ingonish 

 South Bay beach, dreaming. To my right rose 

 the red, forest-capped wall of Smoky, on my 

 left was Middle Head, and behind me many a 

 mountain side walled in the valley. Suddenly, 

 the heavens, the bluffs, and the mountains gave 

 out a sound which made my heart stand still. 

 It had the force of thunder and the pitch of 

 agony. I was told afterwards that the first time 

 the sound startled Ingonish was at night, and 

 that people fled from their houses or fell upon 

 their knees, thinking the day of reckoning had 

 come. Springing to my feet, I saw, coming 

 slowly past the cliffs of Smoky and towards the 

 lighthouse at the pier, a good-sized steamer. It 

 was the Harlaw, from Halifax via the Bras d'Or 

 lakes, on her way to Newfoundland. As I lay 

 upon the sand, I had been dreaming of a voyage 

 across those sixty miles of sea to the rock-bound 



