FOREST AND STREAM 



made up a kind of bed on the floor, and then, first scrupu- 
lously shutting the door and window, about half past nine 
o'clock, set us the example to retire by bundling into bed, 
clothes and all. Their son, a boy fifteen years of age, next 
sprang nimbly into asmall erib beside the paternal four- 
poster, or rather what answered for one.. Then De Courcy 
and self slipped under our scanty sheet and rug, and next 
the husband, who, owing to our bed place being at one side 
of his, had to scramble up over the bottom rails, and lastly 
Flanigan took up his berth in a straight-backed chair, and 
resting his heels on the top of the stove (where a fire had 
been lit in our honor), prepared to make himself comfort- 
able for the night. It was a close pack, and likely ‘to be a 
hot one, the whole scene reminding one forcibly of a ‘*Pull- 
man” sleeping car, where protruding above the curtain you 
may see a hand hanging, then a skirt, then a petticoat, and 
so on ad infinitum, the only difference being that in our 
case there was no curtain, and it constantly required a good 
deal of careful manwuvreing on our parts to divest our- 
selves of our nether habiliments without shocking the good 
lady’s sense of propriety. However, at last that was wn fadt 
accompli, and being thoroughly tired we soon dropped off to 
sleep, confused ideas of shipwrecked sailors, half-starved 
mariners, and other strange fancies running in our heads. 
On waking next morning about eight o’clock we found 
the rest of the family up and dressed. Luckily M. Ga- 
mache and his wife, probably not so tired as we were, had 
awoke early and dressed while we slept ; otherwise, had we 
all ‘‘come to” about the same hour, the consequences would 
have been awkward to say the least. The baking we had 
undergone during the night prevented us feeling as fresh 
~ as we should have done after our long rest, but a dip in the 
river, 200 yards above the house, where there was a deep 
pool, soon set us to rights. Becscie river, so called from 
the number of shell drakes formerly found here (beescie 
being the French name for that bird), would perhaps be bet- 
ter described as a stream, since, though extending some dis- 
tance inland, the width only averages from twenty to thirty 
feet, and the depth one foot, save in pools and stretches of 
‘‘dead” water, where there is from three to eightéen feet. 
It has its source in a small lake sixteen miles to the north- 
east, and” for the first ten miles the bed of the river is 
nearly dry. As it approaches the sea, however, it is fed by 
numerous small tributaries, which so increase the supply ofe 
water that the current during the last few miles is extremely 
rapid, and, as we found, very difficult to stem in a canoe. 
The channel is altogether stone, in some places large slabs of 
limestone, but for the most part shingle and small rough 
stones, forming frequent rapids some over one mile in 
length, with a depth of water of six or seven inches. The 
Jand it passes through is low and thickly wooded, the tim- 
ber sloping down to the water’s edge, and after winding in 
a succession of picturesque bends the river enters the sea 
at the head of a small inlet, about 400 yards wide by 200 
deep. Ona narrow clearing on the right bank, where the 
land is somewhat higher, and overlooking the river, stands 
the ‘‘cabin” we now found ourselves in. The small win- 
dow sashes, heavy rafters, with here and there a bolt pro- 
truding, and planks studded with many a nail, indicate the 
origin of its construction, which a glance at the paper 
pasted over the walls (sheets from an old ‘‘log”’ book) con- 
firms. Built forty years ago from the wreck of a brig cast 
away near the mouth of the river, it has been successively 
occupied by trappers engaged in hunting otter and marten 
in the woods bordering the neighboring streams. Its present 
proprietor, Absalom Gamache, is the only surviving son of 
Gamache of Ellis Bay notoriety. He is a middle-aged man, 
rather above the average height, but with an habitual stoop, 
which makes him appear shorter than he really is. Small, 
piercing grey eyes, deeply set under shaggy eyebrows, and 
half hidden by long rusty black hair, which hangs in tufts 
over his forehead and blows in wild clusters round his ears 
and neck, give a weird expression to a thin angular face, 
tanned by constant exposure to every kind of weather and 
scanty ablutions to a dirfy brown—such is the picture of a 
man who, in his younger days, was a wild character, inher- 
iting from his father a total absence of fear and disregard 
of life, either of his own or that of any other human being 
who thwarted his wishes. From all accounts the Gamache 
family were an awkward one to have dealings with, ugly 
stories being told of shipwrecked sailors who with their 
vessels had been cast ashore, but who, on the principle that 
‘dead men tell no tales,” had been quietly disposed of 
while some member of the family appropriated whatever 
the ship contained. Our friend Absalom does not appear 
to have entertained any great regard for his worthy sire, as 
a few years ago, when on a fishing trip, he told Hamilton 
(our boatman) that “he would not die happy unless he got 
a shot at the ole man,” THis father, to whom he thus jocu- 
larly alluded, however, no doubt out of spite, killed him- 
self in a drinking bout, and so saved his affectionate son 
the trouble, though history does not tell whether the disap- 
pointment has preyed deeply on the latter’s mind. In the 
afternoon we walked up to the lower salmon pool, 200 
yards from the mouth of the stream. The water there, as 
indeed we found throughout the island, is of a rich brown 
color, but with a peculiar golden shade, which gives it 
wonderful transparency, so that had there been salmon in 
the pool we could hardly have escaped seeing them. We 
failed, however, to find any trace either of salmon or trout, 
and resolved next morning to try our luck at the upper 
pool, between three and four miles higher up. As we did 
not care for arepetition of the previous night’s sleeping 
arrangements, we had a tent, rigged up with sails from Ga- 
mache’s boats, made on the beach, and as we still felt the 
effects of our tramp turned in early and slept well. 
On potas up about six o’clock we were bind to ‘find the 
Indians had arrived, having been prevented by the heavy 
sea from pushing on yesterday. They had been employed 
in the forenoon in putting on strips of canvas and generally 
patching the bottom of the canoe, which had been a good 
deal rubbed from contact with the sharp reefs. About 
twelve o’clock I started with Gamache for the river, leav- 
ing De Courcy and Flanigan to await the afternoon tide‘ 
when they purposed crossing the bay in search of duck. 
Skirting the right bank of the stream for a few hundred 
yards we then struck into the woods and followed a rough, 
tortuous path, cleared by Gamache for trapping purposes. 
From this main path several smaller ones branch off in 
different directions, and at irregular distances we passed 
marten traps, which were being put in working order for 
the coming winter. Otter and marten were formerly very 
plentiful in these woods, but some ten years ago a party 
from the main land, not content with legitimate trapping, 
spread a quantity of poison on the ground. They reaped 
but scanty benefit themselves, as but one-third of the ani- 
mals that were killed were ever found, but when the snow 
cleared away in the following spring hundreds of skeletons 
of foxes, otter, marten, and even bear, were found through- 
out the island. The poison, though originally confined to 
a comparatively small tract, had been carried far and wide 
by the unfortunate animals in their wanderings, and as they 
died the beasts that preyed upon their tainted carcasses in 
their turn fell victims to the foul scourge. The fur-bearing 
animals had been well nigh exterminated, and it is only 
within the last year or two that, thanks to protective mea- 
sures (which offer a reward for information that will lead 
to the conviction, and inflict a heavy fine on the culprit 
guilty of such a dastardly act) their increasing numbers 
show that they are beginning to recover from the almost 
fatal shock they sustained. Nearly all the trapping is done 
when the snow is on the ground, and though Gamache’s 
snares are spread over a wide district, some twenty miles 
long by six or seven in width, if he captures half a dozen 
marten and nine or ten otter during the season he considers 
himself lucky. 
Following our rugged pathway, which lies now deep in 
the recesses of the wood, where so thickly grow the spruces 
that the sun’s chary rays can with difficulty penetrate the 
overarching and tangled boughs, and where our axes are 
frequently required to cut away the windfalls, which block 
up and sometimes totally conceal the path, now emerging 
in a larger and clearer growth of timber, where the foliage 
of the white and black birch and the ash forms a pleasing 
variety to the dark green of the never-changing spruce. 
Here the ground is bright with the scarlet of the ‘“‘pigeon 
berry” (Cornus Canadensis) and the snow white fruit of the 
‘maidenhair” plant (Capillaria), while amongst other vege- 
tation we observe the ‘“‘cow cabbage” (Clintonia Borealis), 
with clusters of bluish-purple berries and ‘‘Solomon’s seal” 
(Streptopus Rosius), with its luscious red pendulent fruit. 
Black and red currants, raspberries, and in the grassy open- 
ings strawberries, grow in wildest profusion, and while 
here J may remark that in wild fruit -and edible berries An- 
ticosti appears prolific. Of the former we saw quantities 
of raspberry and strawberry plants, and though the fruit 
was, now nearly all gone the little that remained was in 
flavor fully equal to that of the garden. Red and black 
currants, too, were abundant. Of the latter there are two 
varieties—one similar to the garden berry, the other cov- 
ered with prickles and slightly bitter to the taste. Besides 
the above, high bush cranberries (Viburnum Opulus), with 
red, cherry-like fruit, grew in great profusion on the river 
banks, while on the low grassy bottoms skirting the beach 
strips two or three hundred yards in length were covered 
with gooseberry bushes. The low cranberry we did not 
come across, though I believe on the peaty ground further 
south it is found in large numbers. Of berries the princi- 
pal was the “‘maidenhair” in the woods and the ‘‘squash” 
in the barrens, both of which make delicious preserves, the 
former selling in Gaspe for fifty cents a gallon. 
Anon the circuitous winding of the path brings us to a 
bank overlooking the river, which flows in a rapid, foam- 
flecked stream some thirty feet below, and whose ripple 
sounds sweet and refreshing after the utter solitude of the 
woods we have just traversed. Fording the river we strike 
a path on the opposite bank, and a few hundred yards fur- 
ther up lies the salmon hole. In shape it is somewhat sim- 
ilar toa basin, the depth in the centre being eighteen to 
twenty feet, gradually shoaling towards the edges, and the 
length about thirty yards by twenty-five in the widest part. 
A few years ago the pool was seined, and roots, rocks, 
driftwood and. other obstacles underlying the banks, and 
which would have torn a seine, have all been removed, so 
that now there is nothing that can possibly foul one’s line. 
Though the trees and shrubs fringe the bank on either side, 
and render fly fishing impossibler a small gravel bank at 
the foot of the pool serves both as a good casting spot, and, 
dividing the stream into two narrow channels, with a depth 
of water of from one to three feet, lessens the chances of 
fish escaping in that direction. Aboye the hole the river 
sweeps suddenly to the right, and forms a succession of 
long rapids and quiet pools, the latter well stocked with 
trout. Peering cautiously through the alder bushes on the 
left bank we saw that which made our hearts throb and 
sent the blood coursing riotously through our veins, for 
there, with head up stream, and underlying the current, 
which whirls in circling eddies far overhead, lay some 
fifteen or twenty dark-colored , bodies, scarcely distinguish- 
able from the ground on which they rest. Presently some- 
thing shoots from out the apparently inanimate mass, and 
there under the opposing bank the water breaks and a mo- 
‘mentary gleam of his silver livery marks the leap of a 
noble salmon. Peter is delighted beyond measure, but de- 
termined not to appear too sanguine to my “Well, Peter, 
any luck to-day, think you ?” replies with a laconic ‘‘meb- 
be.” The bright flash of his eye, and the flush that man- 
tles his sallow cheek, shows that he anticipates a good day’s 
sport, and hastily putting my rod together, and tying on a 
large dullish fly, T cast near the head of the pool. 
To detail the anxiety with which my eye followed every 
motion of the fly, as now dropping it into the eddying cur- 
rent, now throwing it under either bank, now allowing it 
to trail lightly on the surface, would be tedious ; switice it 
that for nearly an hour I whipped the hole without a rise, 
or any token that might lead me to infer that it contained 
salmon. However, we had ocular proof that the fish were 
there, so substituting asmall gaudy fly I threw it just above 
the spot where they lay. The effect was marvellous. 
Hardly had it touched the water ere Thad arise. In my 
eagerness I was too quick, and missed striking. Another 
cast followed by another rise, and again the fish escapes. Bad 
angling this, and so it is, and has excited the indignation of 
the Indian, for he whispers in a voice which ill-conceals his 
vexation, ‘“Me tink you too much hurry.” Quite right, 
Peter, there lies the secret. So steadying my nerves and 
waiting a few minutes I try another cast. Bah! I have 
frightened them, and my friend is not to be taken in again 
think I, in disgust, as the fly unnoticed floats down stream. 
No, by Jove! there he is at it again. Now he seizes it ! 
Wait yet a moment. See, he has discovered his mistake, 
and is about to turn and be off. Now’s your time ; strike 
quick and sharp ; and the next instant the strain on the rod 
and the merry click of the reel as the line slips rapidly off 
assures me of success .so far. Thirty yards have run off 
my reel, and as he nears the head of the pool and there 
seems to be no diminution of the speed with which the line 
still continues to unwind, I thought he was about to make 
for the rapids. Luckily he did not, for though the water is 
shoal my line must have infallibly been parted on one of 
the numerous rocks and roots, and then good-bye to salmon 
for that day. This time, however, he preferred sticking to 
the pool, and turning at its head the line suddenly slackens 
and with a spring of three or four feet the salmon launches 
itself in the air. I have only time to note the play of the 
sunlight on his silvery body when, with a downward 
plunge, he againg starts off with a bolt that makes me 
tremble for my gear. No fear of its failing, though. The 
rod is a yeteran, and belongs to one of the best fishermen 
in Nova Scotia, who has killed his hundreds on it, and my 
tackle is all chosen by the same kind friend from the famous 
stores of Mrs. O’Connell, of Halifax notoriety. 
Now he makes the circuit of the pool, and as he ap- 
proaches my right hand is busily employed in reeling up 
the slack line, so as to maintain an even strain. Ah! he is 
heading for the narrow channel by the gravel bank. ‘Hi! 
Peter, look alive there, and frighten him back.” No need 
to sing out so loudly, for Peter is on the qui vive, and the 
apparition that, with arms distended and brandishing a 
formidable looking gaff, stands in mid stream and bars the 
passage is enough to cause the most courageous of the finny 
tribe to shrink back in dread and pause ere he attempts to 
force a path in that direction. So thinks this salmon ; but 
confound it there he is darting straight for the spot where 
his bretbren lie, and with another spring right over them he 
proclaims his intention to warn them if possible of his im- 
pending fate. This will never do. 1 shan’t get another 
rise, even if I succeed’in landing my friend, if he continues 
in this playful mood much longer ; so putting a little extra 
strain on the rod as he again nears me I give him the but 
handsomely, and endeavor to bring him into shoal water 
on the slope of the gravel bank, where Peter stands ready 
with the gaff. The rod bends almost double, and as it 
won't stand the increasing pressure, and the fish is evidently 
but half tired, I am reluctantly obliged to let him take line, 
and he leads me another dance round the pool. At last I 
wear him out, and as he swims exhausted near the surface 
I gradually bring him in shore, and, giving him the but till 
his sides show on a level with the water, Peter strikes him 
well behind the shoulder, and the next instant lands high 
and dry on the beach the beautiful creature that for the 
past forty-five minutes has been affording me so much 
excitement. He had been well hooked right behind the 
gills, and could only have eseaped by a miracle. 
Gamache meanwhile had not been idle, having with the 
aid of a sapling cut on the bank, a whipcord and a fly bor- 
rowed from my hook, pulled out some three dozen trout, 
ranging from afew ounces to upwards of one pound in 
weight. As certain inward misgivings warn us it must be 
near luncheon time, and as it will do no harm to give the 
salmon hole a little rest, we light a fire on the shore, con- 
cealed from the pool by a bend of the river, and splitting 
half a dozen of the largest trout down the belly, after clean- 
ing, washing and sprinkling with pepper and salt, we pro- 
ceed to cook them in approved sportsman fashion. Split- 
ting pieces of green willow, which grows conveniently 
near, to within afew inches of the bottom, we place the 
trout, first kept in a flat position by thin ees of wood, 
in the fisssures thus formed, and tying up the heads of Hee 
sticks with a bit of string or grass, drove them in the 
ground round the fire, which should be allowed to kindle 
thoroughly till the embers are red hot and emit but little 
flame. Wlth an occasional turn of the sticks, in less than 
ten minutes the trout are done to a nicety, and cooked in 
this primitive manner taste better than when served up 
with all the ingenuity and artistic devices of a chef de cuisine. 
A hard biscuit and a draught of the deliciously cool water 
that flows in a crystal stream at our feet, complete our 
