THE MAGDALENS 147 
off an island with red sandstone cliffs, and green 
fields rising gently into hills clad with stunted 
spruce forests. This was at the southern end of the 
long sand bar which joins these so-called islands; and 
our destination, Grand Entry, near the northern end 
of the chain, was reached late in the afternoon. 
At this point we embarked in a small sailboat, 
and in a driving rainstorm flew before the wind 
across a bay two miles in width, and up an arm a 
mile or so in length, to the settlement of Grosse Isle, 
on the island of the same name. The tide was out; 
Black-backed Gulls were feeding on the flats, and 
Gannets fishing in the deeper water ; Guillemots rose 
before the boat; a seal showed itself for a moment 
and disappeared—moving figures in a picture which 
impressed itself very vividly on my memory. A 
landing was made with difficulty, and a walk of 
nearly a mile through the scrubby spruces brought 
us to the home of the fisher folk, who had agreed to 
take us in. 
If Percé is isolated, Grosse Isle is in another 
sphere. Even the weekly steamer which plies be- 
tween Pictou and the Magdalens from May to No- 
vember comes no nearer than Grand Entry, and its 
arrival seemed a rather vague incident, made real 
only by the appearance of mail. 
The lobster season had just closed, the “pots” 
were piled in heaps on the beaches, and mackerel 
fishing was now the presumable industry of the male 
population of Grosse Isle. But few fish were run- 
ning, and each day boat after boat of glum-looking 
men came in from the sea with often only a few cod 
to show for their labor. This, however, was midsum- 
