Jan. 31, 1914. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
137 
todian, is in camp and sleeps poorly, he has to get 
up, slam the door, light his pipe, snort about the 
premises, and go back to bed groaning. Then 
the English guests on the balsam boughs search 
their memories for French swear words, and 
finding none, go back to sleep with their profan¬ 
ity still in them. 
Hunting and fishing are followed chiefly ac¬ 
cording to the state of the weather, partly ac¬ 
cording to personal whim, and only a little ac¬ 
cording to the state of the larder. 
One of the most interesting phases of camp 
life is the making of little necessities and con¬ 
veniences. We have made such things as an axe 
helve, broom, cigar holder, folding bed, camp 
stools, fireless cooker, rack for drying fish, reel 
for fish line and numberless other trifles. We 
have also done some washing, patched some 
pants, bandaged wounds, drawn maps, and read 
the Bible. 
There was some little reading and writing. 
We brought a few books and magazines. But 
the writing of letters was somewhat discouraged 
by the poor postal facilities. Only one mail a 
week comes to Rat River by canoe, and then we 
must send out nine miles after it. The best time 
we were able to make between Amherst, Mass., 
and the camp was eight days. 
This gives us a magnificent isolation at the 
camp, at all events. Not a newspaper of any sort 
was seen during our five-weeks stay. The world 
simply had to run without us. It is a very com¬ 
fortable feeling on the whole, to be out of the 
world in such fashion; and more especially when, 
through the exercise of our own craftsmanship 
as already described, we feel that we are really 
independent of the world. What’s tariff to us? 
or the price of wheat? or the heavy-weight 
championship? We would rather know where 
the blueberries are, or whether the trout will 
bite, or why Blackburn boils his tea. 
“grub.” 
Eating is not distinctively a function of civili¬ 
zation, and so the eating habit is one of the last 
to lapse when one goes to the woods. In fact 
eating belongs, not to civilization at all, but to the 
pure animal life, and so the gastronomic man 
comes to the front promptly when camp life 
begins. 
Our appetities were enormous, but the food 
supply was scaled to them. We had all the 
necessities and many of the luxuries. Revising 
our actual list of purchases slightly, experience 
would show that the senior and the junior mem¬ 
bers for four weeks in camp would need about 
the following supplies: 
Flour, 6 pounds; cornmeal, 3 pounds; sugar, 6 
pounds; baking powder, % pound; coffee, 3 
pounds; tea, 1 pound; rice, 2 pounds; soup 
tablets, a few; salt, 1 pound; cocoa, 1 pound; 
bacon, 10 pounds; salt pork, 4 pounds; cheese, 
2 pounds; crackers of different sorts, 4 pounds; 
lard, 3 pounds; condensed milk, 1 dozen; oatmeal 
and other cereals, 3 pounds; Lea and Perrins 
sauce; matches, soap, etc. 
Careful computation shows further that the 
expense of boarding at such a camp as ours is 
about 25 cents a day for each person. This 
could be considerably cut down, but shouldn’t be. 
With a proper supply of fish and game we 
can live sumptuously on this. We had soups 
and stews, dumplings and pancakes—all the de¬ 
lights of life—at least in the dietary line. 
BLACKBURN AND HIS KIND. 
To see Louis Blackburn, the half-breed guide, 
is worth the whole trip. We judge him to be 
half and half Scotch, Indian and Kanuk. He is 
a bare trifle over five feet tall—a bundle of 
sinews and habitant tricks. He sleeps in his 
clothes, smokes in bed and spits at the ceiling. 
He is trapper, farmer, and guide, and would 
rather row us up and down the lake, or take us 
Some Bag for a Boy. 
Photo by J. L. Banks. 
a blind trail to some new lake, than to work. He 
is as faithful as old dog Tray, and filled with 
the same sort of wisdom. He is a fancier in pea 
soup and an expert in local geography. He 
speaks the vilest patois of the French habitant 
with a pipe in his mouth. He has for company 
a short Winchester and a dog scalded with hot 
water. He has a French family, several children 
and grandchildren, and a wife who makes habi¬ 
tant bread and the worst butter outside the axle- 
grease factory. 
Blackburn can give all sorts of information 
about the woods, the fish, and the hunting; but if 
you ask him foolish questions about politics or 
religion he answers “S-pas,” and shrugs his 
shoulders. 
The entire population of this section, which is 
sparse enough, is mostly of Blackburn’s kind. 
They are genuine French-Canadians. In pedigree 
they are much mixed, the Scotch, French, and 
Indian elements being visible nearly everywhere. 
The language is everywhere French patois and 
the man who speaks only English has a hard 
time. 
They are jolly good fellows, always sociable— 
often excessively so—always good hearted and 
anxious to do a favor, a happy-go-lucky, devil- 
may-care, and yet a thrifty lot. The weak ones 
all die young, as no weakling can stand the regi¬ 
men, and the survivors are as hardy as reindeer. 
Where they come into contact with the world 
they quickly take on considerable polish, as our 
traveling acquaintance M. Maurice Arcard 
would exemplify. He was a good-looking, affa¬ 
ble, polite, smooth of speech and keen at the bot¬ 
tle. It is a race worth knowing, though I would 
rather marry with another family myself. 
THE NIGHT AT L’EVEQUE’s. 
The trip up the St. Maurice river is an experi¬ 
ence. Several sorts of experience. The scenery 
is magnificent, the air bracing, the people inter¬ 
esting and interested. They all want to know 
your business and how long you are going to 
stay. Every man is a character and every woman. 
Indeed some have two characters. Captain 
Laing of the La Tuque stands to the wheel all 
day, over the reaches, up the rapids, at scratch 
landings—a man of physique, honor and duty— 
held thereto by frequent pulls at every proffered' 
bottle. Bass ale, gin or whiskey, red or white,, 
are all water for his mill. It is rare to see a 
man of such heroic figure, who can stand up to 
so much work and so much liquor at once. 
Nevertheless by the time night closes, leaving 
the La Tuque half way up the river where she 
is obliged to tie up till morning, the captain and 
the passenger list are all pretty well up to the 
scuppers. It is about eight o’clock when we pull 
up beside a river-bank farm and quit. The party 
trails up to the house, and each man for himself, 
as he sees fit, asks thrifty Madame L’Eveque for 
a supper and for lodging. Some eat the lunches 
they have brought; some secure “staterooms” on 
the boat, some arrange to sleep in the barn, while 
some are drunk enough to lie comfortably on the 
woodpile. 
It was our chance to get a chamber. There 
were two in the house, opening by curtains into- 
a hall, where a stairway descended to the living 
and dining room. The other chamber was taken 
by a young man and his wife, while the hall was- 
occupied by a miscellaneous collection of river 
boys in advanced stages of hilarious drunk. 
These laughed and joked and sang for the first 
two hours without regard to the pair of English¬ 
men in the next chamber, or the wedded pair 
adjoining, all of whom might just as well have 
been in a small sitting room together. 
The fighting began about midnight. French 
cursing, poor and ineffectual in verbal structure, 
but for sound comparing with a sham battle, 
accompanied this tournament. The game was 
interrupted occasionally by Madame L’Eveque, 
who came to the head of the stairs and lectured 
the polite French drunks like the priest might 
lecture them on the day of their execution. Once 
or twice certain of the contestants went out doors 
to yell and to swear and sweat. Finally the main 
belligerents were worn out with it all; one lapsed 
into fits of crying like a child and another went 
to sleep. “Oh,” cried the big fellow, “he cursed 
me by le bon Dieu! Is it not that le Dieu est 
bon? Oh, yes! Why should he curse me by le 
bon Dieu? Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!” 
This quieted down and practically ceased by 
three o’clock; but as we had to get up at four 
to get breakfast—the boat leaving at five—there 
was precious little time left for sleep. Also so 
little nerve for it that one of the guests at least 
never slept at all. On this followed the breakfast 
of baked beans and pork, coffee and French 
bread; and we were off once more into the morn¬ 
ing fog of the St. Maurice. It is a lively and 
picturesque memory; and any man ought to be 
willing to devote one night in a lifetime to ac¬ 
quiring such an illuminating experience. People 
who stay stupidly at home never see the St. 
Maurice nor know the habitants nor find the 
unique entertainment of a night at L’Eveque’s. 
THE BLUE JAY. 
BY WILL C. PARSONS. 
Who shatters vernal dreams with curdling 
shriek ? 
Nest rifler; mangier of fledglings weak! 
THE BLUE JAY! 
BUT 
When summer songsters all have fled the 
cold, 
(E’en as some friends, when trouble comes to 
you) 
‘Midst snow flakes, chill and white, who flashes 
blue 
With crest erect, and mien both stout and bold? 
THE BLUE JAY! 
