

FOREST AND STREAM. 

swiftness, the Indian has more need than ever of his 
nerve. At one moment it seems as if nothing could keep 
her off yon threatening boulder that lies right ahead, and 
most certainly no human power could. Paradoxical as it 
may appear, the boulder itself provides a means of escape. 
From its smooth, rounded sides the foaming rush of water 
Sweeps in eddying circles, and scarcely has the bow of your 
birch bark dipped into the seething vortex ere like an arrow 
it shoots off almost at a right angle. Borne onward by the 
resistless dash of turbulent waters, and gaining fresh im- 
petus, the canoe, like a self-willed racehorse, over whom 
his rider has lost all control, darts across the stream, and 
throwing all his strength into a quick forward stroke of 
his pole the bow-man holds hard, checks for a moment its 
wild impulse, and as the bow swings round to the required 
direction, stands ready to again stay her progress should oc- 
casion require—never once looking behind him, now and 
then giving a hasty instruction in his own language to his 
comrade in the stern, whose duty is to steer. 
The stream on which we floated, though lacking deep 
rolling billows, falls embedded in silvery spray, or any of 
those attributes which are essential to the full enjoyment of 
and thorough exhiliration attending canoe voyaging, was 
nevertheless, on a small scale, rich with that quiet charm 
and active life we often find absent in more imposing and 
grander flowing rivers. At length, after a couple of hours’ 
poling, varied occasionally by our having to wade and 
carry the canoe across some pebbly bar, we reached the 
salmon hole, and hauling our little craft (which leaked sadly 
from her rough journey up river) high and dry upon the 
bank we quickly put our fishing tackle together. In a few 
minutes I had arise, and in the next cast hooked a small 
salmon, which I killed in twenty minutes. Though this 
was a good beginning, and I looked forward to a good day’s 
sport, yet I whipped the pool till my arms ached and only 
succeeded in getting a couple of rises, in one of which I 
hooked a fish and after playing him more than a quarter of 
an hour had the misfortune to lose him. * From a pool some 
fifty yards above me De Courcy and Gamache were pulling 
out trout as fast as they could throw their fly in, and by 
noon had caught upwards of six dozen. Several ran from 
ahalf to two pounds, while two beauties weighed nearly 
three pounds each. We had been told that the fish took 
better in the Anticosti waters after a heavy rainfall, but our 
experience went to prove the reverse, as, with the exception 
of the few I rose in the early part of the day, the salmon 
lay et SER at the bottom of the pool. By sunset our 
show of trout amounted to ten dozen and four, and as it 
was useless to fish any longer, we launched the canoe and 
“made tracks” for home. Our déscent with the current was 
rapid, and the cheerful blaze of our camp fire soon wel- 
comed us back to warmth, dry clothes, and a comfortable 
dinner from the hands of our maitre de cuisine. The sal- 
mon we iound to weigh nine pounds, and the two largest 
trout two pounds and ten ounces, 
When next we woke a gentle zephyr stirred the waters of 
the bay, and the clouds banking along the western sky pre- 
dicted that ere long we should have perhaps rather more 
wind than we cared about. Under the improved aspect of 
affairs we quickly packed our‘traps, and despatching break- 
fast began to ship our baggage in Gamache’s large fishing 
boat, which lay at moorings some two hundred yards dis- 
tant. Several trips of the canoe were necessary, and by 
the time we had stowed everything away a smart breeze 
had sprung up from the northwest. Nothing could be bet- 
ter; with the wind in that quarter blowing over the land 
we should have a smooth sea, and would soon run down to 
Jupiter river. Taking leave of Madam Gamache and her 
son, who seemed very loth to be separated from his father, 
evidently dreading the maternal sway, we paddled off in 
the canoe, and hoisting her in, slipped our moorings and 
with a flowing sheet stood out of the bay. On clearing the 
reefs, which extend seaward for upwards of a mile, we 
hauled up and ran along the coast, which, about nine miles 
east of Becscie river, assumes a somewhat bolder type, and 
we passed St. Mary’s Cliff, a steep range of conglomerate 
and sand, as near as we could judge about seventy feet in 
height. A beacon in the form of a wooden cross stands on 
fhe summit of the cliff, of very little value for all practical 
purposes, I should imagine, as the ship that approached the 
island so close as to be able to discern the beacon might 
make up her mind to go quietly ashore. Some ten miles 
from St. Mary’s Cliffs the surface of ‘he country is broken 
by pleasing undulations, and the eye, which has hitherto 
met with little but thick jungle and stunted timber, is agree- 
ably relieved by long stretches of natural clearings, covered 
with luxuriant groves, which, lying in alternate hills and 
vales, follow the outlines of the coast, which here forms a 
picturesque inlet known as St. Ann’s Cove. From what 
Gamache told us, the quality of the soil around this cove is 
rich, and the land admirably adapted for grazing. The 
capes and headlands we passed during the forenoon have, 
most of them, a little history of their own. Sometimes 
they derive their titles from a local incident ; occasionally 
from some beast or bird, for which the neighborhood was 
once noted. Too often, however, their story is a tragic 
one. Gamache himself once bore a prominent part in the 
- scene which has given to one of these capes the forbidding 
title of ‘Dead Man’s Point.” It happened thus :—Some 
twenty yer °s ago, in company with a “‘pal,” he was travel- 
m Lilis Bay to Southwest Point. It was a cold, raw 
in November, and the season of navigation had 
losed. Towards evening a few snow flakes began 
the travellers pressed on, eager to reach a halt- 
ere the storm should overtake them. They had 
wr, and had tasted nothing since morning, but their 





51 

hearts grew light, for beyond the bend of the shore they 
were fast rounding lay a sandy spit of land, and their jour- 
ney was at an end. Near the Point a stream of fresh water 
trickled down to the sea. Beside it they would light their 
camp fire, eat their frugal meal, and then; after a few hours 
of that rest they stood so much in need of, would continue 
their road at daylight. They little dreamt of the welcome 
that awaited them at their would-be camping ground—a 
welcome which, staying alike their hunger and fatigue, 
would make them push on for many a mile through the 
darksome night ere they thought of resting their wearied 
limbs. As they neared the Point they perceived in the in- 
distinct twilight a brig, or rather the battered remains of 
one, lying on the reefs within a stone’s throw of the shore, 
and hastening forward, not knowing what surprise should 
greet them, the travellers toiled through the yielding sand. 
Suddenly one of them stumbles and falls. On regaining 
his feet and looking down to discover, if possible, the cause 
of his mishap, his horror may be imagined, for there, half 
covered with the sand, lay a human figure, with glazed eye 
and outstretched arms, which, though stiff and stark, to 
the affrighted trapper appeared imbued with life, and only 
striving to draw him into their ghastly embrace. For an 
instant he stood rooted to the spot, and then, with a scream 
of terror, fled to the woods, leaving Gamache alone upon 
the beach. The latter, nothing daunted, and knowing that 
where there was one victim there would be more,.made a 
careful search, and soon found two bodies lying face down- 
wards, just as they had fallen in the last struggle for life. 
By this time his ‘‘pal,” either ashamed of his cowardice, or 
perhaps tolerably reassured of safety, sinc@ the goblin from 
whose clutches he had escaped had not deigned to pursue 
him, had returned, and now urged him to abandon the 
dead and quit the fatal spot. The snow was falling thick 
and fast, and mingling with the drifting sand beat pitilessly 
against the trappers, who would fain have run up some 
- rude shelter which might protect them from the fury of the 
elements. Gamache, however, turned a deaf ear to all his 
comrade’s entreaties, and vowed he would not stir until he 
had given the shipwrecked mariners christian burial. Pro- 
curing a piece of wood for a shovel, he then set to work to 
scoop out three holes in the sandy ground, and seeing it 
was useless to argue with him, his friend sullenly lent him 
assistance, and they soon had a sufficient depth removed. 
The remainder of the ghastly work devolved upon Gamache 
alone, for though his comrade had reluctantly assisted at 
the grave digging he stoutly refused to touch the corpses. 
The snow already lined the graves, and formed a winding 
sheet of spotless purity, while floating on the surf, and soft- 
ened by its roar, the report of the brig’s sails, flapping 
loudly with each successive bump of the vessel, sounded 
like the far-off tolling of a funeral bell. Lifting the bodies 
tenderly, one by one, Gamache laid each in its last resting 
place, and covering them reverently with sand and stones, 
to keep, if possible, the wild beasts away, he invoked a 
“De Profundis” over their ashes, and, crossing himself 
thrice, bade adieu to the solemn burial ground. Though it 
was long past dusk, and the storm raged around them, yet 
the recollection of what they had just gone through made 
the*wayfarers toil on through blinding snow and drifting 
sand, through tangled wood and running water, till, having 
placed several miles between themselves and the scene of 
their late adventure, they at length ventured to rest for the 
night. Their tramp had been a gloomy one, for scarcely a 
word was spoken. The nerves of each had been strung to 
highest tension, and their minds overwrought, the one by 
abject fear and the other by pity and a sort of undefined 
horror, and neither liked to be the first to break the chain 
of thought that bound his fellow’s tongue. Such was the 
occurrence that stamped the site of the catastrophe with 
the illomened name of ‘‘Dead Man’s Point,” and to this 
day the traveller who knows the story (there are few who 
have lived any time upon thé island that are not conversant 
with its every legend and tradition) passes it in the day time 
with a shudder, while woe betide him if he find himself in 
its vicinity at nightfall. Then, if report be true, grim 
spectres flit noiselessly and uneasily along the Point, jeal- 
ously guarding any encroachment upon their narrow do- 
main, and readyewith menacing look and wild gesture to 
repel the foolhardy wanderer who would dispute the pas- 
sage. 
While we have been listening to Gamache’s tale the wind, 
which, on starting from Becscie river, had been northwest, 
has veered gradually around to west, and with a free sheet 
we are bowling merrily over the white crested waves, Un- 
fortunately, we had still some distance to go, and the rapidly 
rising sea, which with either a westerly or southwesterly 
wind gets up very quickly, soon warned us we should have 
to give up all hope of reaching Jupiter river that day. We 
ran on a few miles further, when being close to Otter river, 
where there is a snug and safe anchorage for small vessels, 
Gamache determined to put in. His decision was not a mo- 
ment too soon. A few hundred yards to the eastward of 
the river a line of reefs, trending to the southwest for three- 
quarters of a mile, forms a breakwater, under whose lee 
small schooners may be sheltered from a westerly wind. 
In order to fetch the anchorage when standing in from the 
west it is necessary to pass over the outer edge of the bar, 
if we may so term it, and then round to. As we neared 
the land we began to experience the heavy rollers which 
marked the extremity of the land, and further in shore a 
long line of broken surf, which boiled and hissed as if in 
eager anticipation of its prey, was by no means a welcome 
sight. We were rapidly approaching the bar, and as the 
rollers following quickly on each other’s heels caught the 
boat, and the bow for an instant took a downward plunge, 
U. OF I. LIB. 
speedily rising again as the wave passed underneath, the 
feeling was one of intense excitement. We had run in 
somewhat too far, and should have to cross the bar in a 
shoaler part than we nad intended. It was too late now to re- 
trace our steps, but as we were borne onwards by the ad- 
vancing rollers, which, mounting high above the stern 
threatened to engulf the boat, Gamache stood up, and we 
could see by the way in which he held the sheet, ready to 
let fly at a second’s notice, and the anxiety displayed in 
every feature, that he did not consider the attempt to be 
without danger. Another minute and we were on the reef, 
and could see the limestone slabs, apparently only a few 
inches under our keel. To touch we knew would be fatal, 
and we held our breath. At this critical: juncture a massive 
roller, gathering immensity with each giant stride, came 
towering towards us. Hitherto our feeling had been one 
of excitement certainly, but one could hardly say of fear. 
Now, however, I must confess that for an instant, which in 
point of duration seemed like a century, I gazed with hor- 
ror on the ‘approaching avalanche of water. Nearer and 
nearer it came, and when close behind us our only thought 
was that it must topple over, break and bury us in its mighty 
volume. We prepared to do—I didn’t know exactly what— 
for in such a sea human strength would have availed little ; 
but in place of an enemy the roller proved our friend. 
Speeding on it caught our frail boat in its grasp, and lifting 
it high on its friendly crest carried us safely over the bar 
and into comparatively smooth water. 
Hauling the sheet aft we now ran close in, and dropped 
anchor in some fourteen feet of water, within ten yards of 
the beach. The fact of there being an anchorage here at 
all is only known to the few hardy settlers, who, from being 
obliged to make frequent passages from one part of the 
coast to the other, are perforce constrained to make them- 
selves familiar with every configuration of the reefs and 
any shelter they may afford, for they can never tell when 
the knowledge may stand them in good stead. For instance, 
this morning, had we not been aware of the anchorage at 
Otter river, we should have had three alternatives before us. 
The first and wisest would have been to put ashore at the 
nearest point on the first shift of wind. The second, to 
have run on to Jupiter river, irfwhich case we should most 
likely have been pooped. The third, to have beached the 
boat in the surf when we could run no further, in which 
last alternative we should in all probability have been 
drowned. More than once this sheltered roadstead had 
saved Gamache from a watery grave, and it seems, a pity 
that it is not more generally known. To lift the canoe gently 
out and send her ashore with the impedimenta was the work 
of a few minutes, and following with our rods and guns we 
lita fire on the shore, and after a pannikin of tea, very 
grateful after our cold sail, we set out for the river. 
Otter river, for some two hundred yards, runs nearly par- 
allel to the shore, from which it is completely hidden by 
an intervening bank of shingle and earth, covered with a 
scanty herbage. Near the mouth its width is about twenty 
yards, with a depth of water ranging from a few inches 
along the shore to two or three feet inthe centre. With 
picturesque windings, and here and there branching off into 
narrow creeks, whose banks are lined with sedge and rush, 
the river has a course of some miles from the northeast, 
As we follow the left bank—now on a good gravelly beach, 
now picking our way over fallen timbers and through long 
waving reeds, we light upon a creek, and a few duck rising 
almost at our feet, before we have recovered from our sur- 
prise have gained the cover of the woods. Presently the 
stream expands into a wide reaching sheet of water, which 
deepens into inky pools, usually well stocked with salmon, 
and sweeping gracefully to the right the further course of 
the river appears lost to view. We catch yet another glimpse 
of its ripple, where beyond a low muddy swamp (a favorite 
resort of duck) it flows between narrow banks of sombre 
pine. Though there were plenty of salmon in the river, I 
did not get a rise the whole day. Once or twice a fellow 
would make a dart at my fly, and after eyeing it in the most 
supercillious and provoking manner, as if undecided whether 
he should take it or not, would turn up his nose (I believe 
salmon have nasal organs) in contempt, and rejoin his breth- 
ren at the bottom of the pool. The fish had been in the 
river for the last two months and a half, and would soon be 
spawning, and this may probably have had something to 
do with their fastidiousness and sluggish behavior; but I 
also attribute my non-success to lack of proper flies. Fly 
fishing is so rarely practiced in Anticosti that when making 
up my hook I found it almost impossible to obtain any in- 
formation as to what flies were best suited to the rivers of 
the island, and had to trust to those generally used for the 
waters of the Labrador. These, however, as a rule, are too 
large, my experience showing that small flies—not much 
larger than those used for trout—are preferable. The mots 
killing fly I found to be one with red head, pale green 
body, ribbed with gold tinsel, legs light brown, wings of 
partridge feather, and brick-red tail; another, equally 
good, was one with dark claret body, with silver twist, 
bright scarlet legs, wings of brown mottled turkey feather, 
with black tip, and forked’ tail of yellow and red ; and, 
generally speaking, bright gaudy flies with small hook seem 
to be the favorites. 
Lizut. W. Hurcueson Por, R. M. L. I. 
[To be Continued. | 


—We have just been told of a full grown male trout that 
was caught with his mouth full of trout spawn. How is 
this? Does the trout ‘‘ go back on” its paternity? If these 
fish destray their embryo progeny, what encouragement is 
there tothope that the species will propagate and multiply? 
