NEWFOUNDLAND. 65 



sharp beak up one of his nostrils, bringing down a pouring 

 stream of blood. With such poor incidents as these, 1828 

 passed gloomily and drearily away. But one morning, 

 soon after the new year had opened, Martin at breakfast 

 electrified Gosse by the announcement that he was going 

 to send the latter to Carbonear. The lad was to travel on 

 foot across the country, trackless and buried deep in snow. 

 Philip thought not for an instant, however, of danger or 

 labour, in the joy of getting back to companionship and 

 home. Old Joe Byrne, a trapper and furrier, familiar with 

 the interior — a worthy, simple old fellow, and quite a 

 character — was to be his pilot, and to carry his little kit, 

 his chest remaining to be sent round the coast by the first 

 spring schooner. 



Accordingly, the next day, they left in a small boat, and 

 were rowed up the bay, to its extreme point, where Colinet 

 river enters. Here was Joe's house, and here Philip Gosse 

 remained for one day as his guest, regaled with delicious 

 beaver meat. He declared to the end of his life that no 

 flesh was so exquisite as the hind quarters of beaver roasted. 

 An old Irish farmer was living near, whose English was 

 imperfect. He came in to speed the travelling party, and 

 wishing to describe the abundance of ptarmigan in the 

 interior, he assured them that "you will see a thousand 

 partridge, and she will look you right in the face." After 

 a last revel on the delicious tail of the beaver, late in the 

 afternoon Joe and Philip Gosse started to walk to Car- 

 bonear, striking due north for the head-waters of Trinity 

 Bay, some sixteen or seventeen miles distant in a direct 

 line. Just before nightfall they arrived at a little " tilt," or 

 rude hut, of Joe's, made in his pursuit of fur animals. 

 Here they soon built up a good fire and prepared their 

 evening meal, falling asleep at last in a fog of pungent 

 wood-smoke. 



F 



