Aug. 17, 1895.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



1S7 



a great barred owl, 5ft, from tip to tip, settled in the 

 foliage. Dennis was superstitious — most Irishmen are— 

 and, startled by the disturbance, he suspended for an in- 

 stant his culinary operations, and, frying-pan in hand, 

 gazed slowly and fearfully about him. Persuading him- 

 self that the noise was but the effect of imagination, 

 he again addressed himself to his task, when the 

 owl set up his fearful hoot, which sounded to the 

 horrified ears of Dennis like l Mo-eooks for ]/ou all!' 

 Again he suspended operations, again gazed fearfully 

 forth into the night, again persuaded himself that his 

 imagination was at fault, and was about to return to his 

 task, when accidentally glancing upward he beheld the 

 awful countenance and glaring eyes of the owl turned 

 downward upon him, and from that cavernous throat in 

 hollow tones again issued the question, 'Who! who 

 6oo1m for you alW 'God. bless your honor,' said poor 

 Dennis, while the mess-pan shook in his quivering grasp 

 and the Unheeded pork poured forth a molten stream., 

 which, falling upon the flames, caused a burst of illumina- 

 tion that added to the terrors of the scene, 'God bless 

 your honor, I cooks for Captain Eaton, but I don't know, 

 sir, who cooks for the rest of the gintlemen.' A burst of 

 fiendish laughter followed from those who had witnessed 

 the incident unseen, and 'Dennis's Devil' became a 

 favorite yarn in the 2d Infantry from that time forth." 



H. S. D. 



THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 



Here we are slowing up at Clayton, a pretty little 

 village on the American side of the St. Lawrence River, 

 about twenty miles from Lake Ontario. We alight from 

 the train and take a "bus" to the Hubbard House, a most 

 comfortable and homelike hostelry, the headquarters of 

 many gentlemen who, like ourselves, have resolved "to 

 go a-flshing." 



It is early evening, and even before supper we must 

 secure a guide for the morning. We were fortunate in 

 happening upon one of the best, who assured us that he 

 Would have all things ready in the morning at 7 o'clock 

 sharp. 



So, resting our faith in our new found companion of a 

 week to be, we turned our attention to a most satisfactory 

 supper at one of the many tables, surrounded by bevies 

 of ladies and gentlemen Chatting over the day's catches 

 of bass' ahd perch and pickerel. 



The evening ig passed listening to fish stories, Wonder- 

 ful, yet possible, toid by guests and guides On the great 

 piazza. At 10 we turn in, full of finny expectations, and 

 all night long visions of fisherman's luck dance through 

 our heads. 



Up at 6, we break our fast and take our tackle and step 

 to the front of the hotel, where waits our punctual guide, 

 Ed Paige, with a great basket of what turned out later in 

 the day to be a fine lunch. Him we follow to his boat 

 house, a two minutes' walk, and there he launches an 

 elegant clipper skiff 20ft. long, and furnished with all the 

 conveniences which twenty years of experience have 

 shown to be desirable. We step carefully in and take 

 our seats in the high-backed chairs. The tackle, our 

 lunch, the "lunch" for the fish, and all things else are 

 quickly and snugly arranged aboard. The guide steps in 

 and deftly sets the mast, the sail unfurls its white wings, 

 and in a moment more we are speeding up the river 

 before a spanking breeze, under a bright sky, over spark- 

 ling waters, in a glorious air, amidst enchanting scenery, 

 toward our gamy victims waiting for us in Morgan's Bay, 

 nine miles away. 



After a glorious spin of over an hour the guide luffs up 

 just under a rocky promontory, trips the mast, furls the 

 sail and lays them carefully in the boat. 



We string our rods. I have a 9oz, split-bamboo, lift, 

 long, my son a slightly heavier rod of same length, made 

 of greenheart and lance wood. 



We drop overboard our lively minnows, and the guide 

 slowly rows. In a minute what seemed to me a runaway 

 locomotive struck my bait and made off down the river 

 for Clavton. I let the thing go, simply keeping a taut 

 line. The fish took 150 ft. and then felt the strain of the 

 rod enough to stop and investigate. For an instant he 

 was still; then he made a mighty rush for the Canada 

 shore, as if to butt his head with terrific force against the 

 rocky promontory; but he saw his danger and stopj)ed 

 before dashing out his brains, and made up the river, 

 eomewhat slower, and a little uncertain what to do. All 

 the time I was giving the fish the butt of the rod, keeping 

 a taut line. Many a rush he made, everyone shorter and 

 weaker, until I got him near the boat, and was startled 

 to see such a monster pickerel. I coaxed him closer, but 

 suddenly he darted under the boat deep in the water, and 

 for an instant took most of my rod under the surface. 

 The guide turned the boat and relieved the rod, while I 

 coaxed the pickerel slowly to the top; he made two or 

 three more rushes and sulks, but at last, when he was 

 tired and dazed, the gaff of the guide lifted the beauty 

 into the boat. Oh ! 



He was a channel pickerel 8ft. long and weighed 91bs. 



And so on Aug. 9, at 9 o'clock in the morning, nine 

 miles from Clayton, on a 9oz. rod, in a nine minutes' 

 fight, I brought to boat a 9lbs. pickerel which measured 

 four times 9in. from the tip of his nose to the end of his 

 tail. Great was our rejoicing. 



The morning progresses; my son is catching bass and 

 perch rapidly, and highly elated chaffs me for falling 

 behind, until in self-defense I shoot at him the Latin 

 fable of the prolific wolf who upbraided a lioness fox- 

 bringing forth only one whelp at a time. "My son," said 

 I, "the lioness replied: 'one, but a lion,' "and with a 

 proud air I pointed to my pickerel; my proud heir saw 

 the point and immediately subsided. 



Until high noon the flap of our fish box occasionally 

 shut over a handsome captive. Then, while the fish of 

 the river are supposed to be taking their post-prandial 

 nap, we seek the shore. The nose of the boat grates 

 lightly on the pebbles. The guide steps out, pulls the 

 prow well up on a stick laid transverse the keel and we 

 carefully get out. Reclining on a moss-grown bank in 

 the solid shade of heavily f oliaged trees we watch the 

 guide unpack the boat and prepare for dinner. Out 

 came the great basket containing lunch and dishes, the 

 bag with all the cooking utensils, the folding table and 

 r amp Btools. We had landed at one of the many kitch- 

 ens of the guides, and here is a fireplace made of two 

 : long rectangular stones placed parallel to and within lOin. 

 of each other, ever ready to be heated up for the cheer of 

 the first comer; In a moment dry. dead wood is gath- 

 ered; the hatchet reduces it to proper lengths and sizes. 



and soon a fire is blazing, which burns to a mass of coals 

 by the time the guide is ready. With great interest we 

 watch the process of cooking, new and novel to one of us. 



In half an hour from landing, the guide announces: 

 "Gentlemen, dinner is ready," and gratefully we sit down 

 to a meal fit for a king. 



What is it? Clam chowder, baked bass, broiled chicken, 

 a bit of fried pork, stewed and fried potatoes, boiled ccrn, 

 omelette, rolls, chow-chow and coffee, with berry pie, a 

 glass of iced milk,|banauas and oranges for dessert. Good? 

 I think so. Superb, splendid; never can mortal enjoy his 

 dinner more than we did those Elysian lunches of a week 

 on the St. Lawrence. 



After dinner we withdrew to our mossy bank, and the 

 guide, adding a piece of carefully broiled' beefsteak, pro- 

 ceeded in a systematic and professional way to wholly 

 wipe out the "surplus," together with the accumulated 

 reserve fund of the beefsteak. This done, which was ac- 

 complished with zest and capacity, attributed to Senator 

 Evart's hired man, the guide gathered up the impedi- 

 menta, repacked them snugly in the boat and called us 

 from our dreamy laziness and restful stretching on the 

 bank. We re-embark and are \ rowed to the water 

 which the guide says, at this time of day for big baas, is 

 the very best. 



This is Morgan's Bay. Over what the guide calls a 

 "scoop," making the sounding deeper, and giving to this 

 well-known depression in the bottom, abounding in rocks, 

 a high-sounding name, suggestive of "scooping in the 

 bass," we stop and bait and watch the wriggling, shining 

 minnows on our hooks, curious combination of faith and 

 works— our faith and their works— as they go zigzag 

 toward the bottom. In a minute I have a strike and the 

 rheumatism is taken out of my rod by a fine bass of 

 Ulbs. 



"I told you we would find them here," said the guide 

 as he lifted this gamy one with his landing net. 



"Heigho," said my son, who had been watching me 

 capture the bass, "I guess I've caught on to a rock." 

 The guide sits down to back up the boat when "No, 

 steady," the boy says, in a voice unsteady with the 

 tremulo of excitement, "I've got the boss bass, I think," 

 and as his rod takes on a mighty bend he straightens 

 himself in his chair, his lips compress, his color height- 

 ens, his eyes flash, and the contest begins. "Keep cool, 

 my boy," I say, in a low, quiet tone, and instantly saw 

 the break of his will power act upon him, and at the 

 flame time I saw the break of the willful bass, as he 

 came rushing 2ft. out of the water and shook his jaws in 

 a mighty effort to throw out the hook; but the boy with 

 the greenheart rod is no green hand, and the line staying 

 taut as a fiddle string, the bass fell back, still a prisoner, 

 baffled in his first rush for freedom. 



He immediately sets out down the river, apparently for 

 Montreal, but the rod gets its back up at this proposed 

 trip, and puts in a demurrer, and after a long and lively 

 argument the demurrer is sustained, The bass being at 

 liberty to amend tries again, this time for the shore, but 

 he soon finds that his baggage is not checked for Canada, 

 and with the fierceness and rage of a wounded and baffled 

 Apache makes another break into the air; but the glori- 

 ous spring of the rod is always on him, and he fails back, 

 having to "fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." 

 Now he darte up the river for Lake Ontario, ten miles 

 away. The guide all the time has kept turning the boat 

 so that the boy faces the bass; the reel sings again; then 

 the tip shakes hands with the butt, and the rush is slowly 

 stayed; some line is taken in before the next and last 

 mighty effort; he makes another fruitless break and darts 

 for the channel with the energy of despair, but it is short- 

 lived; he is tired, and the rod does not register its best 

 bend to stop him. He is slowly coaxed toward the boat; 

 tries hard to go to the bottom, but is restrained; the net is 

 already deep in the water, and slowly the tired fighter is 

 guided to it; with a dexterous motion the guide passes it 

 under him, and quickly lifts his majesty into the boat. 

 The boy, relaxing his tension, gives first a great sigh of 

 relief, and then, in delight, exclaims, "Beat that if you 

 can, pa," and the guide, reading the scales, announces, 

 "Three pounds and a half." 



After three days of the wearing and tearing excitement 

 of fishing, we were glad to take a rest, and were advised 

 that no recreation from the work of fishing could be 

 pleasanter than making the tour of the islands. Accord- 

 ingly, we went down to the wharf at 9 o'clock in the 

 morning and boarded the new Island Wanderer as she 

 touched at Clayton in a bi-daily trip of "swinging round 

 the circle." Securing comfortable camp chairs well for- 

 ward-on her upper deck, we settled ourselves for the leis- 

 urely and full enjoyment of a trip which we had been told 

 was most delightful. 



Swinging out from Clayton, we pass Governor Alvord's 

 island close on our right and Prospect Park on our left, 

 and make westerly for the channel between Grindstone 

 at starboard and Wolfe, the largest of the 1,800 islands, 

 being fifteen miles long and five miles broad, at port. 

 In the channel we cross into Canadian waters, heading 

 straight for Howe Island, lying between Wolfe and the 

 Canadian shore. 



The line between the United States and Canada does not 

 follow the center of the river nor the ship channel, but 

 winds and turns in a queer and tortuous manner. 



Here the river is nine miles wide, but we soon turn due 

 north and point for Gananoque, which is directly across 

 from Clayton, and which is now hidden from us by a 

 group of charming islands, which we pass through in a 

 labyrinthine course, and touch at the ancient town. 

 While at this dock and leaving it, we were fortunate 

 enough to see an exciting race by a fleet of small sail- 

 boats. 



We pursue our way down the river on the Canadian 

 side, and are soon in an archipelago which it seems im- 

 possible to traverse without certain and immediate wreck. 

 We turn quickly to the right, now to the left, and contin- 

 uously wind our way through the changing channel, avoid- 

 ing a rocky shore to starboard so narrowly that we start 

 from our chairs to steel ourselves from the shock; then 

 we seem sure to run on a jutting point to port, or to grind 

 out the life of the boat on a half -sunken great rock, or to 

 run her prow squarely on to an island and split her in two; 

 but the hand at the helm guides our craft with unerring 

 skill and keeps a few feet of air between her sides and the 

 rocks, and, it is said, 100ft. of water between her keel and 

 the -bottom of the river. 



So we go on, passing island after island of many forms 

 and sizes; some are simply rocks, covered with cedars and 

 lichens; others have been fashioned by the hand of man 



into earthly paradises. Beautiful cottages with broad 

 verandas, lovely castles with tempting turrets and cosy 

 corners, velvety lawns with plots of plants and profusion 

 of flowers, are as numerous here as leaves that strew the 

 Vale of Valombrosa. At every curve in our course and 

 every minute of our trip new scenes of loveliness enchant 

 us. It is a kaleidoscope of wondrous variety and beauty. 



Now we approach the far-famed Alexandria Bay, at the 

 head of which lies a large triangular island, indented 

 with a bay on the north. It is called Wells or Wellesly 

 Island, and resembles a huge arrow head pointing down 

 the river. On it are three great hotels; on the left barb, 

 Grand View Park, and on the point, Westminster Park 

 Hotel. 



These great caravansaries with adjacent cottages make 

 this island very attractive and exceedingly popular with 

 tourists. We touch at Grand View and then steamed for 

 six miles along the arrow head to Westminster Park. 

 We are greeted on the way by scores of skiffs fishing in 

 the little bays which serrate the island; a warm wave of 

 tho handkerchief, a hearty salute of the hand, showed us 

 that the enjoyment of successful fishing mellows the 

 heart and raises the social temperature. As we saw, here 

 and there, a gentleman or lady all absorbed in "playing" 

 a fighting fish, we distracted ourselves with the still unan- 

 swered question: "which would you rather, take in from 

 this deck the beauties of the river with your eyes, or from 

 one of yon boats with your rod?" 



At Westminster Park we reach the most southerly point 

 of our tour across the islands, and leaving it press 

 easterly between islands across Alexandria Bay to the 

 hotel of the same name, on the mainland. This is one of 

 the largest and handsomest of the hotels, and is crowded 

 with guests from all parts of the country year after year. 



The environment of the great hotels is most delightful; 

 green lawns sloping to the water's edge, threaded by 

 winding paths and curving drives and shaded by oak, 

 maple, hickory, hemlock or pine, cover a large part of 

 the grounds; groups of groves, bevies of bowers invite 

 restful reclinings; and all the surroundings are full of 

 suggestions of dreamland peacef ulness and universal en- 

 joyment. 



We continue our course up the river now, between and, 

 around charming islands as before, touch at the docks of 

 three other great hotels, and then the whistle sounds for 

 Clayton, the place of beginning. 



Most reluctantly do we close our circuit of fifty miles, 

 and as I descend from the deck and walk to the shore, 

 this parody runs through my head: 



"The Thousand Islands are a place 

 Of such enchanting mien, 

 Thar to be truly worshipped, 

 Need but to be seen." 



After a week of delights in the vicinity of Clayton, we 

 "reel in" and prepare for a trip down the St. Lawrence to 

 Montreal. Of a morning, at 7 o'clock, we board the 

 "Corsican," a large, high-decked steamer from Toronto, 

 as she touches at Clayton ; and bidding a reluctant adieu 

 to scenes of many days' pleasure, we steam down through 

 Alexandria Bay and soon have left behind "The Lake of 

 the Thousand Islands." Thirty miles below we make a 

 stop at Brockville, so named in honor of General Brock, 

 who fell on Queenstown Heights in the War of 1812. It 

 is a very pretty and thriving town. Our next stop is at 

 Prescott, one of the finest towns on the St. Lawrence. 

 Fort Wellington crowns one of its hills and by its quaint- 

 ness and un-American appearance attracts our attention. 



The city of Ogdensburgh is opposite Prescott, not far 

 below; the Gallop Rapids prepare the traveler for the 

 swifter and more turbulent Rapids of the Long Sault. 

 These are a continuous rapid of nine miles, divided by 

 islands in the middle. Steam is shut nearly off and we 

 gallop along at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The 

 surging waters present the appearance of breaking surf, 

 and rolling and plunging and riding down hill by water 

 produces a very novel sensation; in some of the passengers 

 pleasure, and in others mal de mer. 



Pleasantly situated at the foot of the Long Sault is 

 Cornwall. The boundary line between the United States 

 and Canada passes near this village and is marked by a 

 flagstaff on one of the Islands. Below this the St. 

 Lawrence is wholly within Her Majesty's Dominions. 

 Near Cornwall begins the expansion of the river which is 

 called St. Francis, and extends for forty miles to Coteau 

 du Lac, where begins a very swift rapid two miles in 

 length. The steamboat next enters Cedar Rapids, in which 

 the peculiar motion of the boat settling down as she glides 

 from one ledge to another makes the passage very excit- 

 ing. Enormous boulders seem to guard the entrance of 

 Split Rock Rapids; a timid person will hold his breath 

 until this ledge is passed. 



The steamer appears to be running straight upon it, but 

 just in time, as by magic, she glides aside into open water. 

 Quickly we pass through Cascade Rapids, full of white 

 caps, cresting and foaming on its dark waters; here again 

 the steamer pitches as if in a chopping sea. After passing 

 the cascades, the river widens into Lake St. Louis, where 

 the dark waters of the Ottawa by one of its mouths joins 

 the St. Lawrence. Now from the deck we have a magni- 

 ficent view of Montreal Mountain, thirty miles away. 

 Nine miles from Montreal is Lachine on the north side, 

 and Caughnamaga, the village of the praying Indians, on 

 the south. Just below these towns we pass the manificent 

 bridge of the Canadian Pacific Railroad. Soon the 

 steamer glides down the river with increasing swiftness, 

 denoting that a rapid is ahead; in a few minutes we rush 

 into the first pitch of the Lachine Rapids, the most formid- 

 able of them all; and in silence imposed by awe of the 

 situation, and the grandeur of the scene around, we run 

 the rapids double flanked by frightful rocks, and draw a 

 long breath of relief as we shoot into smooth and level 

 water just above Victoria Bridge, the longest, largest and 

 most costly bridge in the world, and passing under which 

 we slowly steam to the landing at Montreal. 



Montreal, a city of about 150,000 inhabitants, is built on 

 low and level land about two miles wide, between the 

 river and a considerable and very beautiful elevation 

 called "Mount Royal." 



The city is on an island of the same name, about thirty 

 miles long and ten broad, and is at the head of ocean 

 navigation and 020 miles from the sea. 



Steamers and other boats which ascend the St. Law- 

 rence River from Montreal pass around the various rapids 

 through canals which have been constructed at great ex- 

 pense and which are now being deepened and widened. 

 The harbor of the city is large and secure, and the quays, 



