April 19, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
491 
Without Rod and Gun in Canada 
I T is not such a very long journey to Nova 
Scotia, but when you arrive at Sydney you 
are just about 1,000 miles nearer Ireland 
than you were when leaving Montreal on the 
Intercolonial Railway. Yet this is not short¬ 
ening your ocean voyage by that many miles, 
because you will sail from Halifax. But we 
are not taking the ocean voyage at this time, so 
we will not figure so very close. By the way, 
this trip across Canada, to the Maritime Prov¬ 
inces, will be a most pleasant and to most a novel 
experience. For one thing you will travel by 
a superb line that is owned and operated by 
the Government. "The Canadian Government 
Railways” it is called, or if you prefer to travel 
in French, you can call it “Les Chemins de Fer 
du Gouvernement Canadien,” which comprises the 
same general privileges and restrictions, the fare 
being the same in either language. While we 
are on this subject, and to save e.xplanations 
hereafter, it must be stated that this railroad 
being a Government affair absolutely, there are 
no stockholders, no stock, no dividends, no re¬ 
bates, no graft. If the road makes money and 
shows up a profit on the operations, this money 
is used in the betterment of the property; if 
there is a loss in the operation of the property, 
there is no kick by stockholders having cold feet, 
for there are no stockholders to kick or howl. 
Our first stop is at Quebec, or rather we do 
not stop exactly at the ancient capital, for that 
is across on the opposite side of the St. Law¬ 
rence River, and about a mile or more from the 
place where we do stop, which is Levis. We 
take a peep at the brilliantly electrically-lighted 
old city from our distant viewpoint and wonder 
what the old fellows who prowled around there 
nearly three centuries ago would say if they 
could be pried up to gaze upon the fairy spec¬ 
tacle of this night. Levis does not look very 
attractive by night, but it looks a hundred times 
better by night than by day. It is raining and 
the comfort, nay, luxury of our sleeper, decides 
us not to stay there. The idea is blood-curdling. 
We go on with the rest of our self-respecting 
and agreeable compagnons de voyage. The next 
thing that is wholly apparent to our comfort- 
lulled senses is the fact that we are at Riviere 
du Loup. We expected to at least hear a wolf 
howl, or hear one of the hair-raising stories of 
the Loup Garoux, which, according to the folk 
lore of the region, were in the habit of carry¬ 
ing off the children of the habitants and de¬ 
vouring them in the rocky fastnesses of the 
By RALPH BENBROOK 
mountains. What was nearly as great a tragedy, 
they carried off chickens and sheep and pigs 
and other useful equipment of the farm. But 
all that we heard, characteristic of the places, 
was the music of the dashing cascade which 
leaped down the rocks at the side of the rail¬ 
road. It was just daybreak, and a faint idea 
could be formed of the romantic beauty of the 
spot. 
Riviere du Loup is just across the River St. 
Lawrence from Tadoussac, with which it is con¬ 
nected in summer by a ferry, The river at this 
point is about eighteen miles wide. Some river 
when you think it over, or try to cross it with 
a canoe when the tide is up. We speed on past 
numberless stations, settlements, hamlets and 
water stations. By looking over the time table 
at the breakfast table I found that there were 
forty-seven of these stations with a St. in front 
of their names between Montreal and Moncton. I 
actually did not know there were so many saints 
in the calendar. For instance, whoever heard of 
St. Pacome or Saint Bazile o'r Saint Perpetue? 
But down here in Quebec Province it is a cold 
day when you cannot pick up a few odd saints 
that you never heard of. We have followed the 
St. Lawrence River thus far, and now at 
Rimouski we gradually swing southward and 
directly we are in the picturesque Metapedia 
valley, the most beautiful scenery in New Bruns¬ 
wick. if not in all Eastern Canada. Language 
cannot describe its charms, nor can the camera 
reproduce its beauties adequately. 
The valley is inclosed by forest-clad hills 
rising to an elevation of 500 to 1,000 feet which 
approach each other so intimately that barely 
room is left for the river, the railway and the 
fine high road. What space is left between the 
foot of the hills and the river, or the railway 
is filled with beautiful flowers, often of tropical 
luxuriance and coloring. The river forms in¬ 
numerable rapids and is conceded one of the 
most famous salmon streams in Canada, with the 
Restigouche not far away (in importance or dis¬ 
tance). As usual all the salmon fishing is in 
private hands and strictly preserved. Three 
members of the Metapedia Club joined our party 
in the smoker at this point, and while they were 
plainly enthusiastic sportsmen, they were not 
telling big fish stories, but rather bemoaning 
tbe fact that the season had been a “beastly” 
one for fisbermen, owing to incessant rains and 
bad condition of the streams. The fact seems to 
impress me that the whole of what is called the 
north shore of New Brunswick is a salmon and 
trout fishing country. The Restigouche stands 
pre-eminently above every other stream, with 
its tril'.utary waters, as the finest salmon stream 
in the world. 
Rimouski, or as it is otherwise called, St. 
Germain de Rimouski, is perhaps best known as 
a port of call for ocean steamers where pas¬ 
sengers and mails from or for the Maritime 
Provinces embark or disembark. There is a 
French population which is wholly Roman Catho¬ 
lic. It is a seat of a Roman Catholic bishop and 
has a fine cathedral built of stone. St. Barnabe 
Island protects the harbor, and with this is con¬ 
nected a romantic legend. As a matter of fact 
the territory along the St. Lawrence is alive with 
legends, and it is considered as equal to being 
out of the world as to be destitute of a fine old 
legend or two. The rivalry became very spirited 
at one time, and the chap or priest that could 
spring a really fine dramatic and hoary-headed 
ancient tale with fairly well-marked symptoms 
of probability was much sought for. This stim¬ 
ulated the cupidity of some, and fake legends 
were now and then detected, in which case the 
perpetrator was summarily thrown into the St. 
Lawrence. 
I was told that in some localities a “legend 
censor" was necessary to establish the authen¬ 
ticity of a legend, and even there the public was 
not secure, on account of the propensity of the 
censor to accept bribes of one kind or another. 
So even in the primeval wilderness and amid the 
railroad station saints, ‘ boodle" was s.een to 
herald civilization. 
A quiet people are these habitants of the 
lower St. Lawrence, simple in their tastes, primi¬ 
tive in their ways, with an abiding devotion to 
their mother tongue, and an absorbing faith in 
their mother church. , Little change has I een 
effected by the opening up of the country by 
railroad and the more aggressive settlers, either 
in the mode of life, the sentiments or the in¬ 
terest in the outside world. They remain much 
as they have been for the past two centuries. 
Their ways are the ways of their fathers The 
railroad and the telegraph run through a coun¬ 
try inhabited by a people who are still in the 
seventeenth century; such is their tenacity in 
holding to the manners, customs and language 
of the obi regime. Their wants are few and 
ea'^ilv sivnb'ed, vexed by no restless am'-ition, 
light-hearted, and vivacious, they are ontimists 
of the opt'mists. French in all their thoughts 
