50) 
FOREST AND STREAM 
ie SSSR ASA esa SAAT ASE NIE DRT SRE STARRETT SIN 9S SE TTT Ta pS STU Ge SES a SS ea ana Pa ee 
wash-tub. However, when they had rubbed the sleep out 
of their eyes, they put them on with as much indifference 
as though they had been dry. Poor fellows! We might have 
given them a place under the canvas; but as all Indians 
are lousy, the risk was too great to permit a humanity 
which the fellows wouldn’t appreciate anyhow. 
The first thing now was to start a fire and get the kettle 
to boiling; for we were nearly famished. Any one not skilled 
in woodcraft would have had to fare that morning on raw pork 
and ‘‘ hard tack,” which would have been ‘‘ hard lines” for 
supperless men. Every stick, tree, leaf and bunch of grass 
was water-soaked. The green standing timber would not 
burn, and the few charred logs that lay scattered about 
were rotten and soggy, and no wood was to be had. What 
could be done? Nothing more simple, when one knows how. 
The Indians traversed the ridge far and near, testing every 
stump and log with the but or the edge of their axe until 
they found a sound one at last. Then they split off the 
soaked outside, and from the inner wood got dry chips and 
splinters and larger fuel. Then they found some old pine 
knots among the low bushes that grew around. All these 
they gathered up and toted to camp. Meanwhile John had 
gone down to the timber in the bottom, and stripping off 
the bark of birch and maple trees in spots where a sort of 
knot or protuberance had formed upon the trunk, found 
dry bits of fungus or punk that burned like tinder. Climb- 
ing back again to high ground, he gathered wisps of long 
dead bunch-grass, and twisting them in his hands until he 
had wrung them as dry as possible, he lighted his punk 
with a match and placed it in the centre of the wisps of 
grass. (In the absence of matches, the punk might have 
been covered with powder and a spark flashed into it from a 
flint as easily). Then he swung the branches vigorously 
until the fire of the smouldering punk and the air had kin- 
dled them into ablaze, and placed them under the dry 
splinters which had been laid in a little circle, Indian fash- 
ion. The rest of the experiment was easy, and the kettle 
soon began to sizzle, and the pork to splutter in the pan. 
A couple of trout were split and cut into sections, and this 
fare with the addition of some bread and pickles and a cup 
of condensed coffee made a comfortable breakfast. 
Blessed be Borden, who invented condensed coffee! Though 
enjoying much this delicious beverage, I have never taken 
the ordinary crude coffee into the woods. If it come in 
contact with tea or any other article, it imparts its flavor 
to it and thereby vitiates it. 
This is especially the case in damp weather, or when the 
‘‘kit” géts wet. But with the condensed coffee, there can 
be no such liability or objection. One has only to lift the 
lid of the little tin can and dip out a teaspoonful into his 
cup of hot water, stir it a little, and lo! in a jiffy the cof- 
fee is made! And it is uniformly good too, not exposed 
to the caprices of accident, the ignorance of the cook, or 
vitiated by the fraud of the grocer who mixes it with 
chicory and beans. With condensed ceffee, condensed milk, 
dessicated meats and vegetables, preservedsoup, and canned 
fish, lobsters, fruits and preserves, all packed in small space, 
who need starve in the woods in these days—provided he 
knows how to make a fire! And how few self-styled sports- 
men have ever acquired this art? 
And now after a hearty breakfast, behold us on our way 
over the remainder of the portage to the landing at the 
second lake, or widening of the river beyond. The paddles, 
the axe, the rods, and guns, are all lashed firmly to the 
cross-bars of the canoe, and the whole is lifted upon the 
shoulders of Jack and Lamahbe, who walk off with it toward 
the landing. Then the upright tent poles are taken down, 
the guy-loops are slipped off their pegs, the tent is rolled 
up snugly and tied withits own gear, and the strongest of 
the other Indians having adjusted his head-strap upon his 
forehead, raises it upon his back. This would seem to 
make a sufficient load, but,no; on the top thereof isswung a 
forty pound bag of fiour, and upon this a box of miscella- 
neous stuff, resting firmly upon the soft yielding box. 
Then with a frying pan in one hand and a kettle in the 
other, he is equipped and ready to proceed. Indian No, 2 
swings up the blankets and extra clothing in like fashion, 
places another box of stuff on top, and with both hands 
full, follows. What is left the gentlemen carry, and it is 
not without some conscientious compunctions that they 
watch the heavy laden plodding onward, while they go 
comparatively light, yet quite sufficiently burdened before 
the terminus is reached. For in such cases a pair of boots 
grows heavy at the end, and a gun or rifle increases to a 
small howitzer or carronade. On their way they meet de- 
tachments of the surveyor’s men marching in single file 
with their enormous weights, and wonder if the patrons of 
‘‘Butler’s Health Lift” will ever be able to stagger un- 
der such burdens over two miles of stump-and-rock-ob- 
structed path. 
Down at the landing is a little village of canvas tents, 
with great stacks of flour and pork, ete., piled up waiting 
transportation by boat over the lake to the next carry. 
Close at hand are ranges of rude tables with hemlock splits 
for benches capable of seating sixty men. There are huge 
fires burning. Over onea great pot swings, filled with 
bean soup, and in front of another is a large tin oven with 
many appetizing loaves of bread just browned. Strings of 
tin cups hang on trees; great fish are split and dressed, 
ready for frying. From one to the other of his numerous 
duties the cook passes constantly, and at noon the whole 
crew of sixty men will dine sumptuously. Day after day 
for week after week together, this toilsome work will go 
on until the last portage is passed, the last heavy back-load 
carried over, and the headquarters of the surveying ex- 
pedition far to the northward are reached. , 
In front of the camp is spread a beautiful lake, dotted 
with wooded islands. (This is called the lake of the five 
Tsiands.”) A few rods distant, concealed by the interven- 
ing forest, the rapids are dashing with a continuous roar. 
There is a path from the camp to the rapids well worn by 
men who have gone there to angle for the splendid trout of 
the Nepigon, seven of which have been known to furnish a 
breakfast for twenty-six brawny and stalwart vigorous men. 
Fain would we tarry here to indulge our passion. Envi- 
ously we look upon tl e huge fish upon the grass before us. 
But we must go on again. At night where we shall camp 
we will have some glorious sport. John is busy now gum- 
ming the seams in his canoe to make it water-tight. He takes 
a blazing brand in one hand and passes it along the seams, 
melting the gum and applying it as he proceeds, just as a 
tin-roofer uses his soldering iron and solder. When he has 
finished, we will sing merrily ‘‘en avant encore. 
HAVELOGE. 
ANTICOSTI. 
THE JOURNAL OF A NAVAL OFFICER. 
pees as 
[Continued from our Last Issue.) 
eee en 
REAKFAST time found the rain descending; ten 
o’clock came, and still it pattered with a persistency 
which gave but little hopes of its clearing off, and as Ga- 
mache told us it would be useless to fish the pool while it 
lasted, we reluctantly resigned ourselves to a wet day. 
Gamache had an ample fund of anecdote and fact. He 
seems a wonderfully intelligent man, and, in the course of 
a long conversation with him to-day, gave me much infor- 
mation about the island, of which, thanks to having lived 
there off and on for the last forty years, he can speak with 
some authority. The peaty barrens which, scattered 
through the country, embrace a large proportion of it, in 
his opinion only rgquire draining to become valuable and 
prolific soil. As “x proof of what may be done he men- 
tioned that about thirty years ago the keeper of the East 
Point Lighthouse turned his attention to a swampy barren 
in the rear of the building, and set to work to drain it. 
With the labor and means at his disposal the task occupied 
him nearly all summer, but the following year he was well 
repaid by a rich crop of potatoes, and the land thus re- 
claimed has ever since yielded large returns of potatoes, 
turnips, and cabbage without once requiring the aid of arti- 
ficial manure. 
The island slopes gradually from the high limestone cliffs 
which line the northern coast to the low wooded lands and 
barrens skirting the southern shore, and though probably 
none but the most hardy cereals would do well along either 
shore, yet the interlying plains and barrens sheltered from 
the piercing blasts that sweep the northern coast, and to a 
great extent protected from the saline moisture arising from 
the ocean, if properly drained would no doubt become very 
productive, and as these barrens have generally an incline 
towa#ds the sea the drainage might be effected easily. The 
course of the river runs in a series of picturesque curves in 
a northeasterly direction, many small brooks furnishing 
their contributions (often no inconsiderable ones) to the main 
stream. The junction of these is generally marked by 
pretty islets, originally, no doubt, part of the main land, 
but now detached, and adding largely to the quiet beauty 
of the landscape. Potatoes put in the ground in the mid- 
dle of June are fit for digging by the end of August or be- 
ginning of September. This year, by way of experiment, 
Gamache tried how tobacco would grow, and the result 
more than realized his expectations. The plant in his gar- 
den shows (after two months’ growth) leaves seventeen 
inches in length, and so pleased is he with the success of 
his trial that he is now preparing a considerable tract of 
land, which he purposes planting with tobacco next year. 
The most fertile soil is in the neighborhood of Jupiter river, 
where there is also some fine timber, juniper and spruce 
attaining a large size. Unfortunately, some forty years ago, 
a fire swept the centre of the island from Hast Point to be- 
yond Jupiter river, a distance of sixty miles, wasting in its 
course a strip of land averaging five miles in width. This 
tract now forms one vast central “barren, whose swampy 
bottoms are covered with alders and other shrubs, and 
abound in berry-bearing plants, on which the bears come to 
feed in the autumn. The best month for shooting the lat- 
ter is May, when, after their long winter sleep, they are 
found prowling along the shores in search of dead fish and 
a peculiar species of sea-weed cast up by the waves, both 
of which they greedily devour. Till the end of June they 
may be met with on’the beach, but after the first pangs of 
hunger have been stayed they leave the cover of the woods 
more cautiously, and unless one follows the coast in a canoe 
(which they do not appear to mind) the chance of approach- 
ing one when seen is small. During August they frequent 
the barrens, and at this season (that of breeding) are ex- 
tremely savage, but the sportsman will have better oppor- 
tunities of finding them now than when on the .sea-shore, 
and, from the comparatively open cover, there is less risk 
of their escaping. Strange to say, though trappers have 
tried time after time and year after year to trace them to 
their winter habitats, there is but one authentic record of a 
den having been discovered. In this instance a she bear 
and two cubs had availed themselves of the wide-spreading 
boughs of a spruce, which, bent down by the superincum- 
berft mass of snow, formed a dome around the trunk. 
The dinner was the event of this day, De Courcy being 


engaged all morning in preparing the midday feast. With 
the help of rice, turnips, a few young carrots, and pota- 
toes, kindly supplied by Madam Gamache, he succeeded in 
producing an excellent pottage. Salmon cutlets, followed 
by fried trout, formed our second course, while a splendid 
black duck served as the piece de resistance. Our batter pud- 
ding, which had caused no little trouble. and anxiety (the 
combined culinary knowledge of the Madam, Flanigan, and 
De Courcy having been called into requisition), resolutely 
refused to bake, and as we still had some regard for our 
digestion we handed it over to the youthful Gamache, who, 
to judge by the quickness with which it disappeared, was 
not troubled with such a disagreeable reminder. The even- 
ing closed in as dismally as the morning had begun, and as 
the rising wind swept round the house, dashing the rain 
heavily against the window, we felt thankful we were not 
obliged to camp out on such a night, and making up our 
bed on the floor were soon sound asleep. 
Not a trace of the sturm was visible as we walked down 
for a plunge in the river, which we found to have risen six 
or seven inches. After an early breakfast we carried the 
canoe across the low neck of land separating the river from 
the bay, and seating ourselves in the bottom, with Gamache 
in the bow and Peter in the stern, commenced our ascent. 
The land on either side is low, dense woods reaching almost 
down to the water’s edge, which is fringed by thick borders 
of high bush cranberries, (Pabineauz). Occasionally, how- 
ever, the shores are clearer, and the hemlock, towering high 
above its diminutive neighbors, the juniper and the birch, 
testify to the richer properties of the soil, while the banks 
are bright with yellow and purple flowers. Here a spruce 
or pine, which has yielded to the storm, with half-bared 
roots, leans threateningly athwart the stream, ready to fall 
at the first approaching .breeze; there a huge trunk, 
bleached by long exposure, and with astray gnarled arm 
projecting from the parent stem, lies across the channel 
and bars our further progress. Jumping out we lift the 
canoe over the prostrate monarch, and resuming our seats 
follow the mazy windings of the stream. Now we are 
shooting rapidly along a reach of dead water, where an oc- 
casional thrust of the pole propels us easily forward ; the 
next moment, as we round a bend of the stream, a long 
line of broken water lies before us—here leaping in smooth 
green volumes over a ledge or shelf, there rushing merrily 
on, forming countless wavelets as it dances over the rough, 
uneven rocks and stones, now foaming and sparkling in the 
sunlight, now sweeping with eddying, impetuous onset past 
some dark boulder, which rears its head above the surface 
as if to learn the cause of all this uproar. At length, the 
obstacles being all surmounted, and a deeper channel) 
gained, the river again rolls on calmly and sedately, as if 
ashamed at having been betrayed into such a temporary 
frolic. Amongst the many beauties of nature, assuredly 
there are few invested with such unflagging interest, or 
which afford matter for such pleasant study as a babbling 
mountain stream. Its ever-changing features of rugged, 
boisterous mirth—its deep, quiet periods—its varying 
moods, as now o’ershadowed by overhanging cliffs it flows 
in gloomy, forbidding stream—now laughing in the sun- 
beams it rushes heedlessly on—combine to render its con- 
templation more attractive than that of the most stupen- 
dous and, at first sight, more inviting works of nature. 
Its wayward humors afford an apt illustration, and in its 
fitful wanderings we almost fancy we can hear it whisper- 
ing of the constant vicissjtudes and fickle fortunes that are 
common to humanity. The bend of the river consisting 
for the most part of flat slabs of limestone, covered with a 
sort of fungus, poling was no easy task, and it required 
all the skill of our bow-man, as with a vigorous thrust of 
the pole, now on one side, now on the other, he avoided 
the rocks to stem the rapid current, and so gain any ground. 
A quick eye, good nerve, firm hand, and steady balance 
are indispensable to good poling. The Indian, asthe stands 
up in the bow of the canoe, his knees slightly bent, and rest- 
ing lightly against the gunwale, has need of all in ascending 
orshootingarapid. In the former case a eensiderable amount 
of vim must be imparted to each thrust of the pole in order to 
make headway, and if the river-bed be of any smooth, slip- 
pery substance, as in our case, the tendency of the pole to 
glide off becomes apparent, and no resistance being offered 
to the outlay of strength, the natural consequence is that 
with most men the pole would fall out of their hands while 
they would be capsized out of the boat. The Indians, 
however, from constant practice, seem to maintain their 
balance under any circumstances. On one occasion Hamil- 
ton had given asharp stroke, and, as the canoe shot for- 
ward, from some cause or other the pole snapped right in 
the middle, leaving about two feet in his hands. We ex- 
pected to see him tilted gracefully over the bow, but with 
the exception of a momentary surge, which he instantly 
recovered, he did not appear to feel the sudden check one 
bit. A quick eye is requisite to enable him to avoid the fre- 
quent rocks and stones which, lying only an inch or two 
below the surface, are sometimes barely seen till the canoe 
is almost upon them, when with a rapid stroke he sends the 
head of his boat in another direction, perhaps at once to be 
again met by a like impediment, and so bending in and out, 
now gaining a few yards, now receding for an instant till - 
the proper channel is obtained, he slowly but steadily mas- 
ters the rapid, In descending or ‘“‘shooting’” a rapid the 
danger of being capsized is greater. True, no force is re- 
quired to urge the canoe down stream—the strength of the 
current does all that, often with a greater rapidity than 
could be desired—but as the frail bark gets into the full 
swing of the stream, and is hurried on with incredible 

