42 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 9, 1888. 



CANOEING AND FISHING ON THE ST. 

 JOHN. 



FREDERICTON, N. B. — The St. John has its sources 

 in the State of Maine as well as in the British Prov- 

 inces of New Brunswick and Quebec. It can be navi- 

 gated by canoe and bateau from the city of St. John, in 

 the Province of New Brunswick, for its whole length, 

 more than 400 miles, with one exception, where at the 

 Grand Falls, 220 miles from its mouth, it makes a perpen- 

 dicular descent of about 70ft. into a rugged and precipitous 

 chasm, between whose steep sides it boils and surges a 

 confused mass of white waters for nearly three-quarters 

 of a mile. Here a carry of one-half or three-quarters of 

 a mile is necessary. At this point there is a village with 

 good hotels, and the portage is easily and quickly made 

 by means of a good road. This is the only rapid around 

 which a canoe or boat must be carried in the whole dis- 

 tance from the foot to the head of this beautiful river. 

 For thirty-six miles above the Grand Falls to Edmund- 

 ton the waters of the St. John ran deep and smooth, 

 hardly the ripple of a current disturbs their tranquil sur- 

 face. 



After Edmundton, where railway comnmnication 

 ends, is passed, the river becomes more rapid; thirty-five 

 mile above Edmundton at the mouth of the St. Francis, 

 to which there is a good road, highways cease and only 

 a few scattered huts of the lonely hunter or woodsman 

 are found above this'; and even these shortly disappear, 

 and the voyage ur sees nothing but the ancient forests on 

 either side of his watery way, which here pasees along 

 with rapid current in its descent to the sea, winding 

 among ledges and working its route through boulders and 

 over sandbars. 



From Edmundton to the mouth of the St. John, with 

 the exception of the carry at the Grand Falls, a child can 

 paddle a canoe in perfect safety. Probably there is no 

 river in America better adapted to canoeing than the 

 St. John. The canoeist can either carry his own canoe 

 by rail to Edmundton and paddle it down river, passing 

 the night either at one of the farmhouses, which are 

 found all the way down, or tent out in some of the 

 numerous groves which are everywhere to be found. 

 The Bluenose farmer will take no offense at any one 

 camping on his ground, but will be very glad to sell him 

 all the butter and eggs that he may require. 



The waters of the St. John are clear as crystal, then- 

 descent to Fredericton, the capital of the Province, is 

 uniformly rapid: there are no muddy reaches from its 

 very sources to that city. Should the sportsman or 

 traveler not have a canoe, he can hire a good boatman 

 with his canoe to bring him down as far as he wishes. 

 There are little villages in numerous places in sight of 

 the river where provisions can be had, so that he can 

 take his baggage in the canoe with him and get his meals 

 either at some of these villages or beneath the shelter of 

 the trees which overhang the river. Canoemen or sports- 

 men visiting the St. John had better come directly to 

 Fredericton, where there are two large and first-class 

 hotels. Fredericton is built on the western bank of the 

 St. John, and steamers ply daily between that city and 

 St. John, the large seaport at the mouth of the river. 



On the east bank of the St. John, directly opposite 

 Fredericton, there is a little village of Meliciteor Akanaki 

 Indians where men and canoes can be had, there is also 

 another Indian village, eleven miles above Fredricton, on 

 the banks of the river. These Indians are also expert 

 men, and are always ready to carry visitors around in 

 their light and graceful birch bark canoes. There is also 

 a large Indian settlement where more than 20 canons 

 and Indians can be had, at the mouth of the Tobique, a 

 river which empties into the St. John, about 115 miles 

 above Fredericton. and which can itself be ascended in 

 canoes without making any portage for 80 miles, and if 

 the sportsman wishes to meet the Intercolonial Railway 

 at Bathurst, on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, he can do so 

 by carrying his canoe from Nictaux Lake to Nepisiguit 

 Lake, a distance of three miles over a bushed portage; 

 from the lake he passes down into Nepisiguit River, 

 which is crossed by the Intercolonial Railway. 



There is also a portage from Grand River to the Resti- 

 gouche; a canoe can be poled up the former river to the 

 Nagan, and by a three-mile portage taken into a stream 

 which empties into the Restigouche; or what is better, 

 the canoe can be hauled twenty miles on a wagon by 

 lumbermen's portage from the St. John to the Restigouche, 

 which is a splendid river, rapid, but without falls. The 

 canoeman descending this, can take the Intercolonial 

 Railway at Campbelltown. Green River, which passes 

 the St. John eight miles below Edmundton, abounds with 

 trout. This can be ascended by canoe to its source and 

 the Quatawamkedgwick, one of the largest branches of 

 the Restigouche. reached by a carry of Bix miles over a 

 brushed road. Thus the Restigouche can be reached by 

 either Grand or Green River, or by the Tobique, this last 

 named portage being the most difficult. The Indians liv- 

 ing at the mouth of the Tobique know all of these port- 

 ages. There is a hotel at Andover, two miles below the 

 mouth of the Tobique. Andover is reached by rail. 

 About five miles above Andover the Aroostook River, 

 which is nearly as large as the Tobique, joins the St. John. 



There is good fishing on many of its branches. The 

 best place to reach there is from Caribou, in the State of 

 Maine, where there is a good hotel. There is railway 

 communication with Caribou up the St. John. 



There are but few fish to be caught in the vicinity of 

 the Grand Falls. Edmundton, where there are several 

 country hotels, and where canoes and men can usually 

 be had, is an excellent center for fishermen. From it the 

 upper waters of Green River are reached by a ten mile 

 drive; from Edmundton to Temiscouata Lake, twenty- 

 five miles distant, a boat can be rowed up the Madawaska 

 into Temiscouata Lake, which itself is twenty-five miles 

 long and very pretty, and where there is also at the little 

 village of Notre Dame du Lac a very comfortable hotel. 

 An hour's row from this up and across Lake Temiscouata 

 will bring one to the mouth of the Tuladi, which can be 

 ascended by canoe for more than fifty miles. This river, 

 on which there is not a solitary house (with the excex>tion 

 of one at its mouth), abounds with trout. One of the 

 lakes on one of its branches is nine miles long. On this 

 Tuladi stream there are dozens of lakes and streams, in 

 very many of which no fly was ever cast, the whole i 

 country being a vast forest. I 



A railway has just been constructed from Edmundton 

 to the St. Lawrence at River du Loup, where the Inter- 

 colonial Railway is intersected. This railway runs along 

 the shore of Temiscouata Lake. 



From Edmundton, following the highway up the St. 

 John (which is here the dividing line between the State 

 of Maine and the Province of New Brunswick) for a dis- 

 tance of seven miles, one conies to Frenchville. where 

 there is a comfortable little hotel, and where one can get 

 guides and canoes. Five miles west of Frenchville by a 

 good highway, Long Lake, the head of Fish River, is 

 struck; down this for fifty miles or more one can descend 

 with a canoe, and here at the proper season of the year 

 he can get all the trout he wants; in numerous places 

 they are of large size. 



The St. Francis (thirty-five miles above Edmundton) is 

 also a good river for lake or stream trout; it has a number 

 of fine lakes on it. and is easily ascended by canoe. 



Above the St. Francis to the head of the St. John 

 trout can be caught at various places, and often in great 

 quantities, by going at the proper season of the year. 

 Tins part of the St. John being through a forest covered 

 country necessitates the carrying of provisions, tent and 

 bedclothes with one. All supplies can be had at Edmund- 

 ton, which, as above remarked, is an excellent center for 

 him who would spend a few weeks at the home of the 

 trout— the upper waters of the River St John. 



Edward Jack. 



EARLY DAYS ON THE MISSOURI. 



m.— THE INDIAN. 



OF all misunderstood and misrepresented people I con- 

 sider the North American Indian the most so. By 

 some lie has been painted as anincarnate fiend; by others 

 he has been represented as a sage and stoic, his mind 

 stored with philosophy, in demeanor grave, taciturn, and 

 delighting in solitude; his body capable of great endur- 

 ance, and his spirit sustained by unflinching courage. 

 By such wresting, twisting and misrepresentation as 

 would make a poem out of the multiplication table, or 

 an alleerory out of a problem of Euclid, his childish fetish- 

 ism has blossomed into a sublime theology. His myths, 

 which are like the dreamings ot insanity, are remodeled 

 to resemble legends of the lives of the saints, with a dash 

 of the Arabian Nights. With a language of but little 

 more than a hundred words he has become the author of 

 sublime poems, dealing with the abstract and complex. 

 Even gentlemen of the Masonic fraternity have discov- 

 ered that he has anticipated the signs and secrets of 

 their order. 



He is described as stoical, yet it is an every-day affair 

 to see a full grown Indian buck sit down, lift up his 

 voice and weep over the most trifling disappointment. 



He is called taciturn and loving solitude, and yet he will 

 chatter like a magpie; gossip is his principal business in 

 life, and he will ride for miles to be the first to tell any 

 news; while there are not sufficient inducements on 

 this whuding globe to influence him to live solitary 

 for a single month. 



He is supposed to be naturally brave and physically 

 strong, but he is not; nor does he pretend even to himself 

 to be either. 



The only Indians I know anything about, are those of 

 the upper Missouri. They are generally allowed to be 

 the finest physically and otherwise of the North Ameri- 

 can Indians; and have been less contaminated by con- 

 tact with the whites. It is of these I write. 



It is useless to look for original Indian traits or myths 

 among partially civilized Indians. The Jesuits and other 

 Christian missionaries were early among the different 

 tribes, and explained to them Christian stories and 

 legends which they thought suitable to their comprehen- 

 sion. Many Catholic Frenchmen whose own lives were 

 dominated by the folk lore and legends of mediaeval 

 Europe, lived among them and became their interpreters 

 in their intercourse with the whites. Their language is 

 so barren, so many things aTe called by the same name, 

 that it is no wonder the imaginative and ingenious 

 Frenchman, one of whose compatriots, it is claimed, 

 could make soup out of a bucket of water and an onion, 

 could also clothe the bald statements of the Indian in the 

 flowers of rhetoric, A slight examination of any of the 

 published Indian myths will easily disclose their originals. 

 The Christian missionary anxious to find evidence of the 

 universal knowledge of a Supreme Ruler, has elevated 

 the poor savage's medicine bag into a Great Spirit. On 

 the Bcent for evidences of a general belief in immortality, 

 he has outlined from the ghastly spirit world of the red 

 barbarian a something between the elysium of the Greeks 

 and an orthodox Heaven and Hell. Other parties have 

 delighted in dwelling on his scalping knife and toma- 

 hawk, yet the Indian antiquary will be puzzled to show 

 a scalping knife different from the one in every, day use 

 for household purposes. As for the tomahawk I do not 

 believe it could ever have been used as a weapon of war. 

 as it could never meet any ordinary club on equal terms. 

 I have heard of lodges being hung with scalps, yet I have 

 never seen one there, and I have been prohibited by 

 Crows from bringing one of their enemies 1 scalps into a 

 lodge, for fear of bringing in the wraith of the vengeful 

 dead. 



When an Indian kills an enemy, he, and every one 

 directly concerned in it, black then- faces. The scalp is 

 carried on a pole as they go circling round the lodge. At 

 night the scalp is danced, after which they burn it. An 

 Indian village after night is a picturesque sight. It is 

 situated, when possible, amid the timber of a creek bot- 

 tom, with the horses all tied round the lodges by the foot, 

 and the ubiquitous wolf-like dog always ready for a snap 

 and snarl. The older Indians sit round the lodge fire, 

 over which perpetually boiled some meat while they had 

 any. The lodge chief sits with his medicine bag hanging 

 directly behind him, and no one must pass in front or be- 

 hind him ; fills his pipe with kinnekanik (dried willow bark 

 mixed with one-third tobacco), smokes one whiff to the 

 sun, one to the earth, one to his medicines, then circles it 

 among his companions. The social smoke is enlivened by 

 constant talk, their meagre language helped out by ex- 

 pressive Indian signs. In fact, so necessary do I consider 

 these gestures to their conversation, that I almost think 

 it would render them dumb if their hands were tied. 

 These gesture signs are extremely expressive. There are 

 natural gestures indicating ideas as there are natural 

 tones indicating feeling. If w r e hear a shriek of pain, or 

 a cry of joy, a groan or a laugh, we need no words to tell 

 us what it means. I have attended a council of four dif- 



ferent tribes, in which no word was spoken except nat 

 ural tones. Here the silent handiness of the orator 

 gracefully displaced his more bombastic speech. 



Outside there is a more lively scene. Here and there 

 are numerous fires, around which congregate the young 

 men and women, whose laughing chatter does not sug- 

 gest taciturnity. Around others gather the old crones 

 discussing the tanning of the robes, the conduct of the 

 dogs, the difficulty of getting dry wood for the fires, 

 or the malevolence of some fetish which has that day 

 caused lodge poles to become untied, the packs to become 

 unfastened, or forbidden the skin to tan properly. If it 

 is a scalp dance, the hairy trophy is tied on a pole and 

 held aloft over the circling dancers. Outside the circle 

 old men sat on the ground and beat time to the monoton- 

 ous tom-tom. The singing commenced with a low gut- 

 teral bass "Hai-ha, hai-ha, hai-ha," gradually deepening 

 and rising into a tenor, then with the shrillest women's 

 voices rising into a weird soprano shriek, gradually lessen- 

 ing back to teiior and. bass, until it died away in a sob- 

 bing guttural, then a full assembled war-whoop with a 

 refrain of "Neotona batz zatz." This song was accom- 

 panied by a rising and falling on the toes, with the knees 

 slightly bent, the whole party making a circular move- 

 ment. As their blood warmed and their enthusiasm 

 deepened, the tom-tom beat louder and louder, the bass 

 was deeper and hoarser, and the wailing crescendo rose 

 to an unearthly shriek. The bucks commenced to mimic 

 the motions of war, robes are thrown off, the rocking 

 motion becomes a leap, the circle swaying faster and 

 faster. One old woman, whose only attire consisted of a 

 robe, who held in her clenched hand a gleaming knife 

 aloft and sung "Neotonah batz-zatz," in the frenzy threw 

 off the robe and continued the dance, which was now 

 a leaping pandemonium, as naked as when she was born. 



When I first saw these Indians the sense of shame and 

 what civilization calls modesty had as 1 ttle significance 

 to them as to Adam and Eve before they had eaten of the 

 tree of knowledge. 



While one part of the camp was a scene of merry jest- 

 ing, dancing and gossip, in the gloom of another section 

 would rise the wail of some one weeping for the dead. 



No gifted funeral orator can equal or convey the im- 

 pression of the mournful tenderness, the exulting pride 

 or gloomy despair expressed by the untaught savage in 

 this mere act of formality. An Indian, man or woman, 

 will be laughing and dancing; in a moment the merry 

 circle will be left, and the next moment the same person 

 will lift up his voice in heart-breaking accents, the plain- 

 tive notes will weep tears of mournful tenderness, again 

 startling defiance and war will breathe with fierce energy 

 the deeds of the silent dead; then as the sorrowful recollec- 

 tions, inspired by the fate of the fallen relative, the high 

 pean sinks to such supplicating despair as suggests a lost 

 spirit lamenting its dismal fate. And all this is a mere 

 formality, for the next moment the weeper may be the 

 merriest of the laughing throng. 



The religious belief of the Indians is a difficult question 

 to handle, as they really have no formulated beliefs. 

 You question one Indian in the same camp in regard to 

 these ideas and the next one will give you views that are 

 the exact reverse. I am satisfied that where they have 

 not been impressed by the beliefs of the whites their god, 

 in so far as they can be said to have one, is the sun. He 

 dispenses to them light and heat, and in return their 

 greatest festival is the sun dance. They multilate them- 

 selves in his honor; it is very common to find arms and 

 valuables tied on top of a tree, or a dog or a horse tied to 

 the body of a tree, given in honor of the shining orb. But 

 this is no monotheistic belief, but rather a pantheism 

 that venerates any conspicuous force. 



The ruling guiding power of an Indian is his medicine. 

 This is contained in a sack made from the skin of some 

 animal, which he considers of good omen to himself. In 

 this he places his fetish. It may be a weed, or a rock, or 

 a trinket, and I once knew a very prominent Indian to 

 have buffalo dried dung for his medicine. 



Their ideas of life after death are very vague, but the 

 general belief is that it is gloomy and unsatisfactory. 

 Then- conception of the joys of futurity are fairly pre- 

 sented in the answer of the shade of Achilles to the con- 

 solation of Ulysses: 



"Talk not of ruling in this dolorous gloom, 



Nor think vain words (he cried) can ease my doom, 



Rather I'd choose lahoriously to hear 



A weight of woes, and hreathe the vital air, 



A share to some poor hind that toils for hread, 



Than reign the sceptred monarch of the dead." 



The dead body is painted and furnished with arms and 

 food left on his grave. He is rolled and swathed in 

 wrappings to exclude the ah-, and each body is placed on 

 a separate scaffold, high enough to be out of the reach of 

 wild animals. His feet are placed to the rising sun and 

 his medicine buried with him. In mourning for the dead 

 the relatives usually cut off the hair, and if the dead has 

 been of any importance, they usually cut off one or more 

 fingers in his honor. 



If an Indian is killed in a quarrel his relatives are usu- 

 ally apjjeased by payment. I remember once a fancy, 

 overbearing young Assinaboine buck came into the Milk 

 River Agency and bent his bow and arrow on the agent's 

 pet dog. The agent warned him if he shot the dog he 

 would kill the Indian. The young buck shot his arrow, 

 the agent killed him. We expected to have some trouble, 

 but the grief-stricken father came forward on behalf of* 

 the relatives and claimed that, in consideration of the 

 young man being such a good buffalo runner, the agent 

 must pay for the loss of such a person a red blanket, a 

 piece of calico and four pounds of sugar. He complied 

 with their demands, but the vengeful relatives thereafter 

 adopted him as their banker. The mother and other rela- 

 tives of the slain young man scarcely ever met the agent 

 without embracing him and with endearing epithets beg- 

 ging for something more in remembrance of the good 

 buffalo runner. 



The chief has but little authority and the office is not 

 hereditary. He is like a prime minister, in that he 

 must command a vote of confidence to retain his position. 



The working women are usually stronger physically 

 than the men, but the duties of the camp, all things, con- 

 sidered, are as evenly divided between the sexes as 

 among the whites. The male Indian has to hunt, guard 

 the horses, which are watched day and night, defend the 

 camp and go to war, which means stealing horses. 

 When horses and food are plenty, polygamy is freely 

 and with approbation practiced. As an act of hospital- 



