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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour etre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ■^^^F 'iji^,2^J'y lyr^. ^'fV/ ! . ^T Q 1 - -7 c t V' /^ / • ' ^C , /■' / /', THE GAMP AT : 1 ' LES ERABLES 1890. /Ui-±/ \.-^yt '^t) y Printed by WARWICK A SONS, 68 Front Street West. Entered accordinf? to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-one, by S. V. Blake, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. I ' CONTENTS. i Pa(;e.s. Who We Are 5-0 Introduction l)y Professor Muttonhead 7-8 CHAPTERS. I— V. History of the Camp. A. Monro Grier 9.33 CHAPTER VI. A Day in Camp. J. McGregor Younu 34-42 CHAPTERS VII— VIII. History of the Cauxp — (continued). A Monro Grier . . ' 43-47 CHAPTER IX. Story of the Falls Expeditionary Force. W. H. Blake 48-57 CHAPTERS X— XI. History of the Camp— (coniinwet/). A. Monro Grier 58-61 CHAPTER XII. The Story of the Rapids. S. V. Blake G2-G8 CHAPTER XIII. History of the C&mi)— {concluded). A. Monro Grier 69 Miscellanea (Muttonheaded). A. Monro Grier 70-73 The Songs of Camp. W. H. Blake 74.77 Epilogue. A. Monro Grier 78-79 U'HO WE ARE. «. Ff. Blakk.- VV' hose favorite song runs : — *' Come o'er tlie sea, Cruising with lue ; While sea birds are calling and billows foam past ; If the tide's fair We mail reach somewhere, And I'll steer, while you sweep with a thing like a mast." Robert Cahsels. — Called sometimes "The Oslrich," in honest praise of a gastric juice which has proved eciual to digesting the judgments of the Supreme Court of Canada. *A. MoNuo Gkier.— Ihilce ride'n,s, duke lotptens. Historian, Poet, Orator, Honorary Cook, P. G. Alexander Mackenzie.— " Tho' the dews of Kilmarnock fall heavy and chill, My heart is aye warm if I'm close to the(e) still." Huron ) ^ Frank } Cronvn.- The two of them don't make one very big boy, but each has grit enough for a grenadier. ^:=W. H. Blake.— Soi ilisaut chef de I'expedition. *J. McG. Young.— The real commander, diversely known as "James," " Jim," "Greg," "McGregor," "McGruder," "J. McG." " Jacques McGregoire La Jeunesse," " Here, you you " Hugh Rose.— "TheJedge." *S. V, Blakk.— " Sam," " Le Jeune Nicoliia," V. Ckonyn.— -Piscator." Fierce and unforgiving' to the tinny tribe alone. T. D. Law.— ''Tommy." His ^lotto :— •'All ploasnres but the angler's bring r the tail Repentance like a sting." A. T-;~^ ^^^ ^^^ .^^^^^^.,.^^^ ^^y the invariable bandanna, redolent of moscjuito oil. F, H. Moss.— " Frank." Him of the unfailing appetite. ^' ^^ FrX/' " D-'^'^y-" " E-Haps." A reckles,, dare-devil, swagger- ing ;„hn L. Sullivan ; but a,,proachaV,le by the ta>r .e. u, h,. softer moods. Nkw» A«b,^.- ^^^^ ^ ^^^^^^ ,^^^^^.^^ ^j P^^„^, blood i. "Le Sauvage." In responsible for a sense and skilful in a canoe of humor. Strong, untiring, good natures beyond Anglo-Saxon comprehension. Olivier Dumont.— Bon " cook " et bon canotier. Gaspard Simard.— Perhaps our best liar. I mese->.'ith Professor Muttonhead-are the several authors of the following pages. INTRODUCTION. BY PROFESSOR MUTTONHEAD. I "i / HAVE buon .iskod by my friond Mr. Alox. Monro fJrier to edit V the following account by him of certuin campinj,' exiteriences of hiinsolf and others on the Murray River in the month of August, in the year of (Jrace 1890. I have had great difHdence and reluctance in acceding to this reque.st, but have at last given way, having been moved to do so by tlie following considerations, am(»ngst others : 1.— Such humanity as 1 possess iJrompted me to say "Yes"'; humanity towards him in giving him contentment and pleasure; luimanity towards others in pruning this literary sprout of a few of its leaves and twigs, and thus «es near l»y a porti(»n of the Muiray River; but, whilst the sense of pride intlates me, as a balloon is tilled with ;^'as, or as the fabled froi,' was blown with vanity, the pin of consciousness of inal)ility reduces me to tlutness and tlaceidity. Let me avoid the pin, and try my best. 1 would, however, claim for myself the right to set everything (b>wn in such order, or sucli want of order, as shall commend itself to me, without regard to any considerations .as to whether or not in the experience of mankind the like has l)een known outside of the realms where the night-mare kicks her heels. And T make this claim with greater freedom wlien I contem[)late the variety of scene and inci- dent which it is my lot to descri])e, a variety which itself demands a treat- ment not confined within the borders of convention. On Wednesday evening, tho Oth day of August, 1890, Mr. W. H. Tilake> of the City of Tor of his was, in part at least, due to the Captain's conduct in refraining from speaking to the Indian. I do not mention this incident for Nicolas' hlame. i:i Chapter II. TT was a jolly scrub and swim we had the next morning. The writer "*■ espied a small suburb of the main rock, and on that suburb squatted, and, squatting, watched the others soap themselves. One of the youngest hearts, Mr. S. H. Blake, made merry at the expense of his fellow campers, particularly, jjerhaps, of Mr. Cassels, whose chief aim, except that of wash; ig himself, seemed to be to make the small pool in front of him like unto a washing caldron on Monday morning, and to give the whole rock a saponaceous fringe. The writer, from the sanctuary aforementioned, took an {esthetic pleasui'e in the effect produced, but failed to find agree- ment with his views on the part of those who had to follow Mr. Cassels to the bath. We were a gay fleet, from the Cronyn Boys torpedo boats to the Alexander Mackenzie man-of-war. Now, this day was fated to contain mishaps and other things conducive to discontent, and the true chronicler must duly set them out, if he would he had for an honest man. Woe is me that I should have to say so, but it was decided to strap the fishing rods and the rifle together. Parentheti- cally and pathetically I here would advise all campers who wish not to T)e troubled with the sight of game of any kind to be sure to include a gun in their ^^impedimenta." In my limited experience I have never known it to fail. Well, the rods and the rifle were strapped together, and the Captain took them for the first stage. That awful pack ! It was bad enough to have to carry it oneself, as the thing had a capacity for re- search hito delicacy of bone on the shoulder that partook of the marvellous; but that was as nothing compared with the distress of seeing another man the pack-bearer. So that at least one shoulder of each man ached all the time. You saw the other man stumble along rough places, and you reflected upon your strides over a green sward ; he had to brush through trees, and the vista of your cleared path came to you again. And another worry was ours, for we had to walk behind the charettes, the object being, as I was told, that if anything happened to them we i i 15 ' re- you )Ugh :tes, I might be near ftt hand. The road was bad in many ^jlaces, and every lurch and every lunge of every liorse was known to us, v/hilst, in addition, our enforced shnvness of gait gave room for reflection upon- the ditticulties of the way for our own feet. In short, it was tiresome work. But we were rewarded to some degree when we came to a river which crossed the path, a river which bears a striking resemblance, in one particular, to all others that we saw, namely, that I have forgotten its name. It was a brave sight to see the i)oor horses rush down the near decline, plunge across the sucking mud, and struggle up the opposing hill to the music of rewarding shouts. And here it was that Francis (" Frank") Drake, who had relieved the Captain of the rods and ritie was, himself, relieved of them by the writer. Bravely had Drake carried them, and in a way titting to a descendant of Sir Francis Drake of illustrious meiuory. The qualities of endurance in the present owner of the name bore so striking a resemblance to those of the hero of an earlier day, that I have been at pains to discover if some likeness of experiences in their lives might not be unearthed. Outside, however, of the experiences more or less common to mankind, such as a tendency towards hunger on an empty stomach, I have found none, save one only, which solitary one is, however, of so startling a character that [ break the thread of my narrative in order to speak of it. It will be remembered how Sir Francis Drake (I allude to the one of the Elizabethan era) whilst one day playing bowls on the Hoe at Plymouth was informed that the Armada was approaching. He appeared to be not in the least disconcerted, but went on playing his game. Now for the Drake of the Victorian age. One day, whilst he was playing bowls at the Murray Bay Club, a heated messenger rushed breathless into the alley, and cried out " The Pilot Boat !" Here the likeness ends, and strangely enough, for, whereas in the earlier case the fleet was a hostile one, and to be dreaded, as meaning the hardships of war, in the latter, the fleet was a friendly one, and to be welcomed, as meaning a pleasant and peaceful outing. The face of the Drake of to-day blanched, and he fled from the alley. [Note by the Professor. Here, as well as elsewhere in his account, 1 believe the author to have drawn upon his imagination somewhat, but I must trust to the reader's capacity to discriminate between fact and fiction. ](j / There follow upon the incident narrated above some allusions t(t the Pilot lioat which are apparently intended to be of a jocose character. These I suppr'oss, as I happen to have come across an old manuscript (endorsed " S.H.B. , Q.C.") from which I gather that these allusions are based upon a misconception as to the i|ualities of this popular and intereatin^ boat, Interes(-ing, not by reason of this present author's references to it, but from the estimate in which it is held by one of the high standing of the gentlentan whom, from the initials mentioned above, I take to be the author of the manuscript 1 have mentioned. F^rom this document I learn, amongst many others, such facts as these : That, despite all the oblocjuy which has beaten against it, and the abuse which has been tired at it, the Pilot Boat has never yet been sunk or burnt. That the cultivation of Spartan (lualities receives a healthy stimulus on it, opportunity being given to six or eight to sleep in a space ilesigned for three, whilst, if any preference in that direction is shown, no covering in the way of blankets need be worn, even in the rain, whose descent upon the provisions is cordially welcomed. That the attachment for her of her crew has sometimes been so great that, though having started for a trip of, say only three days, they have stayed at sea for ten days, and that even when the winds were adverse.] We now walked in front of the charettes, and, when we arrived at a river whose name I have forgotten, a halt was ordered until they should have caught us up. Here it was that, as we sat enveloped in the smoke of a "smudge," built in honour of the flies, Mr. Cronyn, thinking, perhai)3, how certainly the taste for mos(puto bites is an acquired one and how equally certainly he had not acquired it, became possessed of the idea of walking on ahead. "With what results, we shall see. The charettes soon reached the spot and on we went, again in front of them, until we came to where the road forked, one prong leading whither we would go, the other to a point on the river, the name of which point I have forgotten. The Captain, fearing that Mr. Cronyn might have taken the wrong path, despatched Moss and Young as a Cronyn Relief Expedi- tion. Meanwhile, the rest of us moved on, and we arrived without i % i 17 i 4 I jin'shjip . It ;i point from which the Captain tliought a '*>)eeline" mi^ht bo made to the rivor. This was done ; and by the river's side we tenderly laid down the pack of ritlo and tishinf^ rods, ho[)ing that exertion was for a time at an end. Not so ; the Captain wished tointei'cept the chaiettes and, |>resaing .several of us into the service, he set out up the hill. We overlooked and passed beyond tlie road we had conio by, and then the Captain, apparently thinking that otherwise we were not likely to have enough exercise that lay, made up his mind not to retrace hia steps but to try to strike the road at a higher point. [Note by the Prttfessor. The author hero adds: — "The plan giveh below will at onco snow the reader the course taken by us." I'ldiajipiiy, Ixowever, it cannot be reproduced within the limits of a page of this book. The only plan that I have seen to which it bears any likeness is Mark Twain's justly celebrated one of Paris, whicli, if my memory serves me aright, was of such transcendental excellence that a n»an who, up to the moment of his seeing it had suffered from freckles, had since seeing it suffered from convulaions only. For the curative projjerties of the author's [tian, T have only to say that it has destroyed in me all lingering tuber- culous bacilli of belief in his capacity as a draughtsman. Those who were present with Mr. Grier on the run, assure me that for unlikeness to the course in fact taken it could not be excelled.] For my own part, I am unable to dilate upon any feeling of pleasure in that chase. The further we went the less familiar everything seemed to be, and to the " hulloas " of the Captain no answer came. At last, when hope was almost on her death-bed, there came a faint resjxtnse. The Captain shouted again, and an answering cry came through the woods. With livelier step, we crashed through the undergrowth, and got to the road, after striding along which for a short way, we came across the men who had answered our shout, who proved to be the Cronyn Relief Expedition. The Captain now had his work cut out for him ! Canoes in one place ; Indians in another ; some of the party in a third ; others of them in a fourth ; the charettes in a fifth ; and the packs, like Amgi, dotting the 2 IS 1'' 'ill ,lll woods. Here we bid farewidl to the cliarettes, and here the party bn^ke up, for all could not yo in tho oanous. Of the experience of those who took to the river, I cannot say much, but 1 know that Drake, who was anxious to take all the hard work posnible and refused the otl'er of a stro'i through the woods, ciiooHing instead the arduous duty of sitting in a canoe, seemed, when we next met, to have h very faint recollection of the canoe but a very lively one of boulders. What a " stroll throu^di the woods" we had ! From tangled bush to bog : from boj,' to fallen tree I However, we plodded on, and managed to get to the point on the river's bank where we were to cross. In a few minutes we were yn the other side of the river, seated on a delightful bar of sand, which is to be found there. From this point ;i portage had to be made. The writer i>icked up two packs of moderate weight, but, on being advised that he was overtaxing himself, he contented himself with one ; as my memory serves me, not the heavier of the two. On reaching his journey's end, he noticed a beautiful slab of rock in the river, bright with the sun. Thither he repaired, but he was soon driven away by the Hies. Anxious to share his good fortune with another, the thought occurred to him that it would be pleasant for one of the Cronyn boys if he accompanied the writer to the rock, there to light a " smudge " and to keep it alight, whilst he, the writer, lay in the sun and marked the beauty of the scene. These details are given in order to heighten the picture of his dismay when, on getting l)ack to the others, he found that they had carried a second series of packs whilst he was lying in the sun. Stifling — in a manner becoming to the would-be editor of a new edition of " The Perfect Gentleman," a complete handbook of the usages of Polite Society, price 6d. — his natural chagrin at this lost opportunity to share in an arduous task, the writer watched the others load the canoes for the next stage. Those of us who walked this stage found that the trees had not been planted for the convenience of walking parties. There were fine avenues for things of the bulk of pins and needles, and of the last perhaps even those of the darning species, but for a man of even moderate regularity in his meals, the trees were crowded. 4 4 4 i\) broke e who LO waH I Btro/'i K in ft ;i(in of ush to all Aged II a few lij^'htful up two !itaxin«? me, iu»t jticed a ither he hare his t would e writer t, whilst e scene. 3 dismay arried a ng — in a )f "The )f Polite r to share anoes for not been e avenues haps even regularity I Food before a hungry man : a frothy tankard at the lips of u thirsty one : land in sight of an oce.-m traveller all these things occur to niu aa 1 think of our fei-lings of joy and relief when we i-iiine upon the spot where our tents were to be pitched — " Les Erables " I A tow trout were killed, and, in a short while, to theacconipaiiinient of «avoury snn'lls of Hsh and ticsli, we wore outing and drinking with tho Zest which only those know who feel that they have earned the right to oat and drink. To give the l)lack with the white, the shade with the sunlight, it must be told that, hofore that moal, rumblings of grumbling had been heard ; oitjoctions that tho tviiik and tile had been kept in tho dark all the day as to the precise dithcultios to be overcome before Los Erables cnidd bo re.iched ; cynical excuses that perhaps that had arisen from the Captain's being really in the dark himself; many other kindred surlinesses — all these things had been heard. But the warm suffusion induced by meat ■and drink dealt insidious but serious blows to our discontent, and the potent narcotic that fcjUowed seemed to drug it from dire sickness unto death. Oh ! the joy of smoking after that day of work and annoyance : the pipe, material, a symbol of the one each spirit smoked — the tobacco, in the last, of the brand " Virtuous Consciousness of Something Done I " Wo built a camp fire, and, as its tiamesshot up into the black of the night, we renewed our good fellowship in songs and stories. The Captain gave us several, ranging from grave to gay. When ho told us the French Canadian story of Cadieux's devotion, awful in the sublimity of the heroism shown, tho fitness of the theatre for the drama, the exact appropriateness of the frame for the picture, forced itself so vividly upon us that in very truth the breath of life seemed to have been breathed again into the historic dead. The solitary heights beyond the river loomed on our vision ; our feet ached with those of the alone man seen there ; and something of his agony of .soul entered into our own beings. The general conversation became split up into talk of groups, from that it was broken into a whisper between two, and from that it was shattered into silence, in the quiet of which, the "Good Nights' were said. 20 Thu writer could not slocp. Tlio rciiHon wa.s Imrd to tind, for he whh tirt'd, all waH ntill, litid, as a rulu with him, HUHtp camu at hin faintuRt call. But, to-ni^ht, 8hu would not coniu, or, coiiiii)i<, caino titfiilly only. So, from timo to time throuj^'buut the ni^dit, hu envuioi'ud hiniHclf in a big uverco'it anl manhood. Above, there might be the wild leap of boyhood, and, below, the tiunbling steps of old age ; but here the masterful strides of man in his prime were seen. On the river's other shore, after a ribbon of sand and trees, a steep hill met his view, which, for the most part was covered with trees, though here and there bare rock showed itself, as though it had pushed its way to the open air, tt)88ing aside the trees in its course. To the right of this hill, stood another, far more sterile and forbidding, and, through the gorge between them, could be seen, in the far away, a roof of darkest Idue, studded with stars. Gradually, a sense of the awful grandeur of the scene stole over the writer ; sojue perception of the littleness of himself and of his kind in such a place. The rest of the camp slept, and he was alone. He peopled the f cene with creatures of his mind, whose web of life he tried to weave, but again and again the threads would break and he would be alone. In despair, he turned to a big tree which stood near by the tent^, and, despite its contrasting large- ness, he seemed to find rest there. He lay beneath it, and, as he lay, he endeavoured to fashion an allegory. I show it here, but with a great sense of shame at its want of beauty of form, and its incapacity to stand without the prop of kindly judgment. I II An Al,LK(inKV. It wnH ^ivull unto eac)) of the dwullurs in a curtain land that hu nli^ht plant hifl innur Hulf as Hcod in the ^nxuid, and thiH Huud would ^rovv- in its own »tri»n},'th and way, no niattor what hi.s outor soil- how fair to viow, or ill. And Hoiiiotiuit'H nion would stay near their own troof., and to sonjo this brouj,'ht rest, but to others nothing (tf <|uiet came. Nor did all the owners look upon their poascssionH with the same re<{ard, an waH awaku and thu writur wan no loii^cr aloiiu. [Notf hy thu Profusaor. I havu cut out thu account of the Cronyii Kuliuf Kxpuditioii, which t'oUowed huru. Thu author imivoly statufi that hu liinisulf is in douht aM to what thu ruHpuctivu proportionH weru of t]i j foUowiii^f in^rudiuntH, of which ho adinits that thu account was co.n- pountlud : Fact ; inia^'ination of V'oung ; and imagination of thu writer hiuiHulf. That thu ruadur may know something' of its general stylu, I give a nhort excorpt. *' On arrival at the river's sidu, Young and Moss found Mr. Cronyn, "and, at thu Hamu timu, woru witnusscs of a striking illustration of the "capacity of thu civilized man to hidu his umotions undur all circum- '* stances ; for, whiJii they sut eyes on thu lost camper, ho wjis calmly •' procuuding to lish, apparently unconscious of thu purils around him on *' uvury sidu, and forgutful of thu fact that hu was alone in those 'darkest' " wilds. Nor had hu allowud his anxiuty to age him. Somu twunty-sevun *' minutus had ulapsud sincu hu had last been with his fellowH, and yet he *• now luokud but half an hour older, so that thrue minutes and the true "explanation may have been the destruction by the atujosphere of the "lustre of the mos(|uito oil, but, waiving thu right to make use of such " an explanuticm — three minutus, I say, composed thu whole period of time " imprinted upon his c(Juntenanco in excess of that accounted for by •• Young's Waturbuiy. " On the way Ycning and Moss had practised a salutation de deux, to be " used in the event of their finding Mr. Cronyn, until their rehearsal was "of so perfect a character as to induce from Moss the remark, ' Let it go "'at that!' " When they met the wanderer it went 'at that ', as, standing side by " side in military fashion, toes out, left arms down, right hands saluting, " they said in solemn tones — one tenor, the other bass— ' Mr. Cronyn, I " ' presume ! ' To which, all unmoved and, as the rescuers told me after- " wards, 'as though he were the victim of a relief expedition every day,*^ " he replied, ' Messieurs McGregor Young and Francis Moss, I believe !" "Tableau."] i 4 CiiAriMk III. 4 i i '^ TIIK kocpin^' of a daily journal has literary oltjcctioiiH all itn own, the incliiHion of storetitypod rtMiiarkH appuarin^ to hv, at till i)Vi>ntH at tirst MiihIi, ho much a matter of uecuHsity. 1 Hpoak, of courac, from tliu jtoint of view of art. From that ()f easo, the cano in vastly difri'i. .»t. Induod, forniH mij,dit lio printed, with hero and there hucIi ixpreHBions aH '* the next morninf,'," " on the following day," '* the sun rose, etc." Posnihly there are many artintiu methodn of doinj^ away with thene, hut they do not occur to me, and, oven if they did, I might not make use of them. [Note hy the ProfeHHor. The author qoos on to liken these expressions spoken of to milestones, hut ho mixes up the tear and the laugh in a manner as reckless as that distinguishing numy others of his remarks, which, for the very fault I am now discussing, I have 8U])pres8ed. Listen to him : "A milestone I How much of humanity it conjures " up ; so that the stone, however crude in form, is not out of jdace even " in country roads where the ex'iuisite tracery of roal loaves is seen (the "eyes of the wayfarer raised to the trees), and the not less ex^juisite of *' the mimic ones (the eyes of the wayfarer lowered to tiio sun-shot floor). "The humanity^ It lies in this thought: — 'Here, other feet have "ached ! ' '* Courage, reader, then I Others have had to toil ahmg this weary *' road. I, to them, as well as to you, the guide. I, with my life and a " stick of chocolate (brand * Hope.' May I offer you some !) in my hand."] Saturday morning. "Very early Mr. S. H. Blake was on the alert, more than ready to be ofi* to keep his Sunday appointi.ients at Murray Bay. There had been a rumour the day before that he had expatiated upon the comforts of a trip in the pilot boat as compared with that day's journeying to Les Erables. Immediately after breakfast, he and Mr. Cassels started on their return journey. With them went also the two Cronyn boys, who, by their unfailing pluck and endurance, had won the applause of all their elders. 24 :'! The Captain then l)egan to prepare for the Falls Expedition, but it doon became evident that it could not set forward that day. Amongst other dirtioulties, one of the birch bark canoes had been so seriously injured that tlic mending of it was not to bo avoided. Would that I could describe Nicolas' mending of the canoe. It was an incident not unworthy of a poet. It revived all tlie ideal Tiotions of what the Indian was in the older days, when his canoe was the only means by which the waters of this continent were traversed, when he whose hands were deft, whose feet had speed, was accounted great amongst his fellows. For the task in hand, Nicolas could get* from our stores an instrument with which to punch in the bark the needed holes, and pitch to finish his work with ; but, for all else, he had to seek the woods. The charm of the occasion lay in the directness of thought and action, for, here, you had a man who could do, and do well, what he had been set to do. No empty puzzlement was to be seen in hia face, resulting in hesitancy, or, in that worse than hesitancy, the speedy domg ot something, and as speedy an undoing of that done. A near tree gave him the bark to stand in the stead of the broken por- tion. Out of other growths he quickly fashioned strong withes with some of which to lace the bark in its place ; whilst, by splitting others of them, he made the needed thread to do the finer work. With slash of knife, he cut away the old and wounded fiesh ; with other cuts, he shaped the new and healthy, which, with dexterous hand, he sewed in the place of that thrown away, and then the canoe was sane again. And to watch him as he did it ; big of bulk ; strong of nerve ; Avith eyes alert, and the whole man possessed of one idea ! At times he would stand erect, doing nothing you would think, unless you looked at his face, but the next minute you had learnt what the quiet meant, by the decided action which followed. The painter had revelled in the capable move- ments of his hands, which kept at their work even when, from time to time, he uttered friendly jokes or cried aloud for very merriment. A kodak was tried, but there was too little light for the purpose. I, too, have utterly failed in this attempted sketch. Whilst this canoe was being mended, Moss was paddling up the river in another. He was apparently trying how near he could get to the rapids > ■t I*' . ''v» v.»> ■I L. 2.') I, iininecliately above the camp, })ut, in a few minutes, the canoe was seen Hoating down the river, bottom upwards, and we beheUl Moss swimming for the opposite shore, paddle in mouth, (^uick as a flash Nicolas had run to the water's edi^e, and had taken a third canoe in pursuit of the over- turned one, which was drifting towards the rapids below the camp. With a few strokes of the ])addle, he came up to it, and then, as though the feat were a triHing one, he lifted the canoe out of the water and set it on its keel, after which he put it in tow <>f the one he was in, and paddled gaily back, looking like a soldier with a |)risoner of war. During the day a disousHiou arose as to the height of the hill opposite to the camp, and it was determined to test the (juestion with the aneroid. Before, however, we started to climb, each man was asked to give his estimat'3 of the lieight, and a small " pool " was made up. The pool arranged, and the Captain havnig taken the bearings with his compass, we set pposite shore. To set things out -n exact array : — We were paddled across the Murray ; waded across the cold stream ; and began the ascent of the hill. The walking was enjoyable, as the trees grew so near to one another that they could be put to use as a balustrade, with the result that our arms got more exercise than our legs, whose task was as easy as that of walking on the level. By skilful tactics the Captain avoided a deep gully, which seemed at one time to be our inevitable fate, and, after a short spell of steady walking, we came out of the gloom of the trees into the light of the open. From this point we had a variety of experiences. Now a stretch of soft spongy ground, now a bluft' of rock, next a belt of wooded land, and again the open. From our second resting place, and from other points which we stopped at, we could see the camp, and in all the pride of our accomplishment our hulloas were shouted down to the stay-at-homes. We passed the point which we had seen from the camp and got on to a plateau not far above it. Alas ! arrived there, we found that there towered beyond us another ridge of the hill — a Pelion upon our Ossa ! The Captain was generous enough to offer to wait where we then were, whilst those who would climbed the greater height, but we met his 26 generos'ty iinth generosity, and declined to impose upon his good nature. We descended to the highest point which wo had seen from the camp, and there erected a cairn in honour of our ascent. In some future age, wlien there shall be a formula for each of the emotions, and men shall have only numbers to mark their entities, Numbers 5 a and 101 x and 102 x [Section A, Subsection I, North America] may come across this spot, and, urged by emotion mn, lift these stones. Great their wonder when they find the names recorded there on a small slip of paper, and keen their discussion upon the days when men were individualities, and Good and Evil were considered to be things differing in kind. In anticipation I hear the intense pity of young 101 x and 102 x for us " who lived in those dark ages : " a pity which knows no bounds until 5a, an aged man, begins, with a sudden light in his dimmed eyes and a nervous twitching of his knotted hands, to speak of '• those good old days I" After the cairn was in position, the brilliant thought occurred to Law and the Historian to roll large stones down the hill. Each effort result- ed in failure, until, finally, a master stroke was attempted. Sweat of brow, bending of back, tension of muscles, strain of nerves and (piicken- ing of breath : all these things entered into the lugging of a giant amongst his fellows to a likely "coign of vantage." A mighty shove, and the stone has started. This one we shall see bounding down the hill- side, heedless of opposing rock or thickset bush 1 Woe is me that I must tell the tale I As it had been brought from a longer distance than any of the other stones, so did it roll a shorter. In this instance, a yard of dragging gave an inch of tumble. What a scurry we had down the hill, tumbling, running, slipping, slid- ing and tobogganing I Lest any misconception arise as to the meaning of the last word here, it may be said that the amusement was indulged in without any extraneous help in the shape of lengths of wood. Our gar- ments alone were between us and the steep stretches of turf or rock down which we slid with shout of joy and wear of trousers. The sarto- rial profession in Toronto have, for this, to thank Mr. Thomas Law, whose fertile brain seemed to teem with resources that day. It was a royal, descent we made of that hill, though lacking in things ceremonial, and, like kings returned from a victorious fight, we entered the camp and re- counted our deeds of prowess. ■$ ■■,'« -I •1 27 It was during this day that Mackenzie proved himself an inventor of the higliest rank. It was on this wise :— After tl)e fatigues of the day before, he lay in the grateful shade all day, and he pillowed his liead at the base of the big tree, from which his body and legs extended like spokes from the centre of a wheel. The Patent was the Tree-Man Sun- dial. Young must share the honors with Mackenzie, for he it was who saw the use to which the latter might be put. There was no need to ask what o'clock it was at any given time, for Mackenzie moved round the base of the tree in concert with the sun, whose rays he wished to avoid, so that a man could tell the time of day from the place where of his legs. If the sweet chronicles of the Kodak were read, might it not be learned how he looked when be had traversed but a small portion of the dial's face ! But I dwell not upon that, save to regret my inability to describe the sweet sense of rest which seemed to permeate his whole being through all his length of leg. That night we had at the camp fire Young's "Buck Billy Goat," my memory of whicli dates from the first night of the expedition and lives yet. The rich, fat, unctuous humour of the song, rolled out by Young, seized us! The proud possessor of the noble animal stood before us; with her we gloried in his noble qualities of body and mind and heart, and with her we wailed for his loss. OhI that wail! All the emotion of the Irish heart was crowded into it, and, hearing it, life became as no- thing to us, the ''Buck Billy Goat " having died. Tears of life to thee, Young, if for no other purpose, to sing that song, noble in sentiment transcendental in thought ! [Note by the Professor. — The Author, flagrantly egotistical as he is throughout the whole book, becomes so distressingly so in his account of the installation of himself as Historian, that I have run my pen through it. He first enlarges upon some trifling incident of the presentation by him of pieces of wedding cake to his fellow campers in the wilderness, call'"" it ** Stocktonesque for incongruity"; and then proceeds with the instal f i- n. I might have inserted it, but for his having, in effect, labelled it "fiction," by writing that " after he had been duly appointed Historian, he thanked "them for the honour done to him, in a few well-cho»en and gracefrd "words!"] Chapter IV. li \ I yHE next day was Sunday, but, as may be gathered from the story I of the Falls Expedition (where the course of conduct now to be spoken of is defended by arguments hardly to be met) it had been deter- mined the day before to transpose Saturday and Sunday, and in accord- ance with that change, the Captain and his band set out. Mr. Cronyn and Young — under the care of Dumont — went with them to see the glories of the "dead water" above the camp, and Rose and I were, therefore, left alone. Perhaps our inner life was eventful that day ; certainly, our outer was not. Rose made several ineffectual efforts to catch some trout, fish which are absent from those parts in great numbers, but the melancholy of his failures grew so great upon us that finally I suggested that the day should be devoted to the preparation of savoury meals and to their consumption. Some griefs cannot be told, nay some can scarcely be alluded to, but one of this latter and more terrible class 1 must now — no matter at what cost to my feelings — mention. Stay, 1 cannot yet : perhaps I never shall be able to ; assuredly, for the present, I cannot. Let a farce precede the tragedy I During my residence in the woods, it had been my wont, at times, to roam the trackless wilds, habited in an engaging suit of Pyjamas modestly covered by an enormous overcoat kindly lent to me by Mr. L. R. O'Brien, R. C. A. The beauties of my suit must have aroused the envy of a fellow camper, for, as I sat idly numbering the fish which Rose was not catch- ing, my eye was attracted by a small piece of paper which lay crumpled •on the ground, not far from me, and, on smoothing it out on my knee, 1 managed to decipher the following : — ^HK ^9 ■« ■ 29 I I've hunted butfalos ajid bears, I've captured elephants in snares, I've shot at tigers in their lairs, I've slaughtered llamas. When thus beyond Dame Grundy's ken, I've worn the garb of sporting men, And sometimes, (I've looked lovely then I) The smock of farmers. But never in my wildest mood. However low my wardrobe stood, Have I arrayed me in the rude. Though gay, Pyjamas I My consolation was then, as It is now, that the wealth of milice prompting the lines is e(]ualled only by their own poverty. Now for the tragedy. Expectant, eager, -^-tip-toe in its honour. Rose and T went to the larder for the bacon. It was GONE 1 No, I over- estimated my strength of mind. I cannot si)eak of its loss, but must refer you to the Captain's narrative. It was not his loss, and he can speak it. A. can make B's corns the footing for an anecdote, provoking laugh- ter ; but, for B. himself, he holds them as a secret of his soul. So with Rose and myself and the bacon. Falling back ( almost literally, as well as in tigure, so great was our grief) upon the pork and potatoes, we set to work to make what we could of them. The potatoes were a success. *rom the pork we tried to make soup. That was not a success. The endeavour was to concoct a rich thick licjuid, but thicken it would not. From pot to pan we poured it ; from pan to plate. The hours sped on, the sun ran its course, and, in the light of its dying rays, brilliant in death, as they fell upon our out-poured handiwork, my companion and I read our fate. There were baths of liquid; indeed, had it been, like a certain soap, " matchless for the com- plexion," we might have swum in it and put the rose to the blush for our beauty. But soap it was not, nor was it soup, and, as the sun sank, leav- ^> 30 iiij^ the fatty particles (which had been Hoatiny;, glorious and scintillating on the top of the liquid, each j)articlo a gem) to dull in their native want of light, robbed of the shimmer of the splendid sun, our hearts sank also, aid we sat unwrai)[)ed in gloom. We were aroused from our grief by Mr. Cronyn and Young, who told us, in moving language, of the glories of their day. i That night we sang hymns as we lay in the tent, and the majestic silence of the night sounded like an accompaniment. Amongst our hynuis we echoed tliat heart's cry "Lead, Kindly Light," not knowing that "the morn" had almost dawned for him who wrote the words, wlio was to die within the span of a day. iiiji ill ChaitiiK v. ,9 |N Monday morning, Rose and I started oS with Diimont to go up the "dead water," leaving Mr. Cronyn and Young in charge of the camp When, from time to time, the thouglit has occurred to me that it was my duty, as Historian of the camp, to attem[)ta description of the sceneij- of the " dead water " regiini, 1 have been api)alled at the contemi)lation of my uiititness for sucli a task. I liave felt that all I could try to do was to act as the painter acts when he comes across a motif of such worth and beauty in his eyes that he abandons, until the conditions of opportunity and of a feeling of fitness kiss, the idea of a completed work, and con- tents himself with ' ' impressions" which, however crude they may seem to others, have for him a value, since they serve the purpose of calling up the scene before him, to the present delight of his eye and to the inspirit- ing of him for the future and more serious work. But F am relieved from all re.si)onsibility in the matter, as the reader may for his enjoyment read the Captain's descripti(»n (I have already read it for mine) and so pass with him along those waters of delight. I have only to say that that glorious region is still near to me. If pettj- worries come, and the sordid in life presses too keenly upon me, 1 can escape to that realm, and again move on the surface of that stream, loved of me, and loved of the suitor trees upon its banks : again watch with awe the lonely giant heights, quiet in strength : again look to their very t«jps to find there a roof of blue : and again, with humbled eye, look upon the ground, and, for a reward, find the rival ' counterfeit iiresentment. ' Yes, again become the darling of Nature, cradled upon the tide, and with a matchless fairy book held open for the joy and wonder of my soul. I cannot express myself. I might as well attempt to portray a face I loved. Let the use by me of such a simile serve to open my heart's door wide enough for a peep within. 82 111 i VVhoii wo had rouchcueen's on barge with banks of rowers : the mad ecstacy of the rioting rapids ! Who shall describe these last I Just before entering a rapid, Dumont would stand in the stern to "view the land," and then, when he was again kneeling, "steady" was the word. A momentlater, and we are in the swirl. It threatens to dash us on a rock, but Dumont holds the canoe almost motionless until he sees a pathway. Down it we go, and every now and then we pass over a " black r(»ck," barely covered by water. And now a worse eddy catches us, and we seem like a toy in its hands, a toy to be tossed about until tlie pitiless waters, tired of their jjlaything, throw it against the two rocks which stand on either side of a narrow passage to the (^uiet beyond, a passage which invites the luckless traveller, only to mock him when he reaches the unbending rocks between which there is no room for his light craft. We must try to turn. No, Dumont is urging us to the death I With nervous strokes we are shot towards the rocks. There is no more to be d( ue or said : this is the end I Not so, the path is just wide enough, but the margin is so narrow that the very canoe quivers with affright. With a last convulsive movement we pass between the guardian stones, and then a wild " Hurrah I " louder even than the noise of the disappointed waters, breaks from our lips as we leap into the friendly calm. ill 33 The luimiiig (.f the rnpitls that day had an element of ^run humour in it, as Duniont addressed paasenj^'ers, rapids, canoe and njcks, in turn and all in French, so that poor Rose and I knew n(.t what to do, and, as a conse(|Uence, erred as to each conunand to us. Happily, the canoe under- stood him, and ol)eyed him without faltering. < Ml our return to the camp we found Mr. Cronyn and Vouny sound in wind and limh. Rose and I iiad drunk our fill of happiness that day, and wo slept the sleep which only that intoxicant-narcotic can give, deep but healthful. A. M. G. ClIAITHR VI. THE histoiinn inaists th.it a record of the Impiu-niugs ;it cainii on Monday tho E'oventh day of tho month, and tlio third ot our tarrying at Les KrubleH, should bo furnished, and l>y mo. My manifohl political and jtrofossional duties so complt't;)ly en<,'agu my attention that I despair of being able to find sutHcient time to faithfully perform tho task thus assigned to me, and I rej(»ico, therefore, to discover among a precious package of letters returned to mo under distressing circumstances nut unknown to the readers of this history, one which appears to deal with tho very day in hand. This, with proper apologies to all concerned, I bog to submit. Lks Ekaulks, August 11th, 18.^0. My Dearest Samantha. Tho stitomont in your precious letter of tho Hrst instant, that you are worried by a longing to Hy to my side, gives me great concern. Although I have never longed tf> tly to any great extent, 1 can readily understand how disheartening and irksome the chronic longing must be to one wh(» can't tly well. Moreover, Samantha, it is going to be a hard case for you to reach my side if you select any other means of transit, and if you don't tly, I fear that you are booked for a gaudy passage out. It is possible to take canoe to Les Erables, but you don't take canoe as yon take Steam- boat or Pullman or medicine, but you take it firmly by the forward end and drag it up several miles of rapids on your hands and knees, I prefer my hardships dry and so elected for the overland route, which a gentle- man in tho far village who had made a careful study of the map of the Province of Quebec recommended as a pleasant jaunt along the river's edge. The distance of the last portage he fixed at *'deux milles et un bout," — " bout," as we discovered, being the French fiction for miles and miles of underbrush and brule, .which the gentleman didn't hesitate to throw in by way of good measure. I don't suppose that you have ever run .!=■ i "1 iicroMt) imu'li Kriile in your tiinu, and I fuel at u Ihhs for liin^uu;,'o which will l»e;,'in to convoy to tluj uiiinitiiitod the full force (»f tho horror of brule in a .stnto of n.itiu'o. Mr. Hu^'h Rose of our expedition deliiies it ii.i ti liindsli«lo of ti'le^iriiph poles, which in correct enou;^h from the pictiiresi|ue standpoint, but if you desire detailed inforniaticjn I shall he pleased to send you an expur^'ated edition of " Mackenzie on IJrulo," which is, by all odds, the iu(jst interesting', in^structive and exhaustive treatise on the subject extant. I doubt if auy of us will ever for;,'et the eventful incidents of that houie-8t retch throuj^h tho bush. To begin with, the keenness of our cravinj; for an afternoon's ramble in the wilderness had been blunted by a ten miles tramp through decently stitf country regularly scheduled in the bill of the play as introducing the entire company, to which every member of the troupe had added some little private inuuber of more or lews length and excitement. Mr. Cronyn wandorcil off and got lost. Frank Moss and I wandered ofl' and found him — four miles to each wander, according to the laws of that game. Meantime, Willie Blake put the boys through tho Sir Et)ger do Coverley in a nice restful jungle on the hillside, looking for the charottes which wore following around after them. Timimie Law, who objects to country dances, is prepared to make his declaration that all hands would have been circling around there yet had not an observation by 8annuy Blake as to tho striking similarity of tho stumps in that section of the country led up to' an investigation, which showed that they had passed the same stump fourteen times. I supt)ose you remember Frankio Drake— big, hulking, ugly chap, that looks like a bhantymao. Frankie has a good many uf tho instincts of tho true woodman, and held out from the firts in the face of general scorn and insult, that there was something altogether too circular in this steeplechase to suit the tastes of a gentleman who dearly loves to make every step tell in the straight direction of his destination. On the one hand, he had a fixed belief in his conviction that he would make as much in the road to Les Erables by climbing a tree and sliding down again as by joining in the race, while, on tho other, there were the dismal truths that seven men stand a better chance of licking a 3G t)uar t\\nu one iiiati, uiid tliut tho dews of Kilnuiniock iimvud with tliu |»r«)ci!HHi<)ii. Si» Friinkii' iniirclu'd ai»»w rojoinod tho niiiiii Ixulj, ho robollod iij;(iinHt tho onlor to th»' land forces to mako f<»r a point two iniloH up tho livor and took a Htowaway passayo in a canoo. Aftor a HorioH of upBots avoia^inK two spills to ahundrod yards, tho exij^enoios of trathc coiiipollod tho toodor-heartotl canooist to dump his iiaHson^or out upon tho noarost bouldor, whence, aftor many harrowiuji,' oxporioncos and hair-broadth escapes, the crafty duckling? managed to ovortaki' tho rest ttf tlio party at tho foot of tho lust portaijo. A hundred yards from tho start, hero, one gallant footman announced his fiftieth tumblo and refused to advance another stop except upon tho terms of my holding his hand. This unsoliciti'd honor piled on to the jtri\ iloge of packing t)0 pounds of pork, tilK-d my prograuuno up to tho extra — extras and liardened my heart tii tho river, which hore, after nil u^ly chunk of rupid hrondenit out into ii <|uiut pool, whuru, tnulition huN it, the Hnlinoii oncu caiiiu in thoiisnndfl. Von iiru not trouldud with niosquitoH at Luh KrahlL-s uiiIohh you ilimb a tri$u, tor Hpacuhuin^IiiMituil and tho ^^pecilicK'nivity of thu Kri-nch Mack tly hvini^'^reatitr than that of thu French nioHijuito, thu Ifhick \\y i{i>tH the tiri^t Hat. SandflicM havo tho fuc siniplu of tho ;{rouod thM»r, 'mt kindly Mother Nature chaiiiH them up by day and only turiiH thoin loose at ni;;ht. Sand* Hies are joky little lads and ho energetic and active that it would bo hard to renist a fondncHH for them if their preHence didn't convey the HensationH of a »inall-pox patient hreakini,' in a job lot of underclothing, lilack Hies, too, work on strict time and are under rnion rules with a Factory act, and when the blood-red sun, as he sinks to rest, kindles tho mighty mountain tops with llame.s of ,s,dory, you don't rejoiee in tho blood-rod sun nor yet in the tiauios of ylory, but in the gladsome departure of tlu- tuneless tiy and tho change to the s(nigful mos(iuito. Our Historian says — yes, my dearie, wo havo a real live Ifistorian (an I never mind what he says) with note books and pencils and all the orthodox material for a History except information. He has been making up to mo lately and I liavo promised to help him distinguish dead water from rapids, and to loan him S(jmo stptibs i^f mine own which deal in pretty measure with "morning mists " and "quickening day " and other like essentials of later-day Odysseys in consideration (»f an extra copy of his narrative, whence you may gather particulars of my movements since the mourning maidens watched our departure from the Mille Roches veranda. His jurisdiction, unfortunately, if limited to the recording what is present to his senses, and in his absence from the camp to-day, it falls upon your treasure to tell his Samantha how the treasure has ])assed the day. You will bear in mind that, according to the original arrangements, seven of our number were to push on up the river in search of water- falls, and that four of us were to be left behind as the Les Erables home-guard. On the morning fixed for their start, there was a general clamor for some thoroughly reliable man to help the expedition over the difficulties of the first day, and, as I am considered no corpse with 88 t|!. a paddle and some pumpkins in the bush, there was great rejoicini; when I vohmteerod to take Mr, Cronyn and Dumont in the spue canoe and to see the party .safely landed in easy country. Great inde-d was our reward, for I look back upon yesterday as the most delightful outing of my life, and when the day comes that I can name before it, that day will I be drawing from bounteous Fortune more than my services in the workshop of life will ever have earned. Fired by our glowing reports of the glories (»f the trip, Grier and Rose have arranged t«; cover the same ground to-day, and thus are we left alone with our sand-bar and our sand. The Voyageurs departed, I nominate, second, elect and swear in Mr. Cronyn as First Minister of the Bailiwick, with power to add to his numbers, but, such the ingratitude of potentates, he scorns the saving clause and names me Cook to the Privy Council, vice Olivier DuuKjnt, left limits, as his sole official act for the day. Whatever my shortcomings in the technical requirements of the position, I fancy the eternal fitness of things was less jostled by my appointment than that of my lamented predecessor. The spectacle of the noble aborigine on the i-iver or in the woods completely unhitches our Poet and lands bim into a shadowy kingdom of romance, where no one beneath the degree of a special lilend Knickerbocker Indian in good standing has any business to live, while some of the most respectable of us take on about dusky maidens and savage chieftains and how we would dote on a little tomahawking with tomahawks until a poor civilized outcast that has been brought up to three meals a day off plates, doesn't know where to hide his head for very shame of himself. Yet, the Poet freely admits that the entire history of the North American Indians from Pocahontas to Jane Snake, can't produce a halo that will fit on Dumont peeling potatoes. Sentiment, however, out of the question, I can't believe that in my quaintest humors qua cook I am much more deadly than Dumont. What I don't know about cookery would make as large and useful a book as Mrs. Godey's own, but, whenever Mr. Dumont swerves from the narrow path of making cold water hot it is an experiment for him and a disaster for the company. And now, out in your world, Samantha, Demand has long since pitched 1 - re or die of heart disease when he hooks him, there isn't much danger of his getting dusty on land. But if this particular fish is concerned with the fears of death, he doesn't give out many signs oi it, for he is playing Puss in a Corner, and Ring around Rosy, and Who'll be my Nancy Jane, with an occasional hitch and kick at a dragon-fly between games, until we both feel that we must maim him somehow, just to take the conceit out of him and to teach him the proper respect for skilled assassins of his kind. I am an avenging spirit forthwith, and beg for the privilege of giving some assistance in the cause ; w^hereupon Mr. Cronyn graciously permits me to try my hand at a little more clearing, it being manifest that we need a longer line to get into the fisii's territory. I go back to the bush- whacking with a better grace than I began — prepared if needs be, to trans- form the wilderness into a tennis court, yet overwhelmed with the conviction that if the tackle gets foul of the bushes, I forfeit the esteem of a gentleman I love. I am charmed to find that, as I break my way in, the thicket gets thinner, and it is like a receipted bill to me to see at each cast the fly working back more and more and dropping farther and farther out in the pool. Once, an extra long throw fetches up with a sickly jerk, but, as an impatient pull bears off a little strip of flesh along with the Parma- chene Belle, I am glad and proud that the fly has caught in me, and tha there is no stain upon my handicraft. I must make cracking bait, for the very next cast the salmon leaves. 42 I ii'' otf Ilia calisthenics, and begins to be interested in the red-chested Hy that is peppering around and all about him. " Yoti'ro my .Jerusha," thinks he, and as Belle and I gracefully (juiver down at the edge of a sloping sand- bar on the far side of the river — Mother of Moses I — the animals roar — the band hits in— up goes the curtain — the whole three rings are aldaice with light and life— and the Greatest Show on Earth — one admission to every tent — has struck the town with both feet and a homo run. Mr. Cronyn insists now that he sang out some cool and uninipassioned directions, but banish me from your tenderness if I heard aught but the hum of the reel, the splash of the waters, and a yell which nearly dislocated luy tonsils. At all events, when I have scrambled down to the water's edge, Mr. Cronyn is sitting in the river as lim]) and purposeless as the Hyless line that is drifting on the water in front of him, and the salmon is head- ing for the St. Lawrence with something in his ugly jaw that will keep him from caramels for many a long day. It had been as we feared — the trout tackle could not withstand the rushes of a twenty-five-pound fish, and, at his second leap, he parted the line at a weak joint in the cast. As I reel in and take down the rod, I give my version of the fray, which, as I had seen none of it, perhaps inclines rather to the graphic than the accurate, yet as it fairly bristles with savage leaps and dashes for freedom, it has been pronounced orthodox by all parties interested, and I promise Mr. Cronyn no little fame and renown from our subsequent narration thereof. Great stickler for truth, is Mr. Cronyn. I offered him two dozen leaps and thirty minutes' play, with a dreadful accident to break any part of the machinery he would name at the end, if he would but consent to let me appear in a reasonably prominent place in the picture, but never a bit of him would give in (between you and me, I believe he expects to get back at that fish to-morrow), and here am I, your hero, Samantha, face to face with the humiliation that in this "sport of kings," the part I play is fiddling away with a knife and fork at a brush heap, with my back to it — the sport, not the brush heap — bad luck to it. (The conclusion of this letter was, at no time of interest to any other than the recipient, and alas, now, not oven to her.) J. McG. Y. ■'^ i > hat is I ks he, sand- ■'i roar — '■? a])la/e ion to Chapter VII. /^F Tuesday, two things must l)e told : — the marvellous climb of ^-^ Young and the Historian, and the Adventures of Mr. Cronyn ■with the Salmon. Surfeited with the jieaceful calm of the camp, Young and the Historian liecame possessed of a mad desire to ascend the opposite height (which, from the number of views taken whilst we were on it, Sam lilake had fitly christened " Kodak Hill") to its very top. As the occasion required the very strongest of boots, the Historian put on pro])ably the weakest paiv of shoes in the world. We rested at the cairn and tried to map out our course to the height heyond, a task made somewhat difficult by reason of our having no com- pass. After a stretch of open, there lay liefore us a broad belt of trees, yirdling the mountain, and, beyond that, stood a steep hill, which did not ofter many pathways to the desired top. ^Vhen we reached the belt of trees, we found that it was in fact a wooded valley, and we had to make a considerable descent before we could begin to climb up. The difficulty of our walk through the woods was not les- s*ened in any way by our avoidance of anything like a beaten track, for fear that it might lead to a bear's residence. The sight of some diminutive animal when we had come a short way up the hill had added to the tension of poor Young's nerves, and I was glad that he had the robust courage of the Historian to watch, and, watching, to gain heart from, as we trod that lonely way. [Note by the Professor. I have here cut out a portion of the story in which the Author discourses upon the subject of " various paths leading to one goal. " It is hard not to call him a liar. He gravely states that he is afraid that in concerting with Y'oung, in the avoidance of bears, he has laid his conduct open to a misconception, as the general public will incline to the opinion that, in his case, as in Young's, fear was the controlling 44 power, the fact being that, whilst uiuloiilitedly this was sd in Voung's case, what weighed with the Historian was the fact tliat they had brought no visiting cards, which he considered that out of bare civility tliey ought to leave. And, then, as though after all he might n(jt be believed, he states tiiat this can be corroborated by Young, to whom he spoke on the subject at the time.] The rocks were not very easy to scale, and Young began to grow dizzy, but he i»luckily held on his way. When we were on the point of reaching the top, Young, on a sudden, to my horror said : — "I can't go any further." The situation was dramatic. We were on a narrow ledge, to fall from which meant, in the first place, to drop plumb down a steep cliff, and, after that, to roll down the pitiless hill. It was not a spot in which to temporize. He generously said that I might leave him, but it became clear that that meant great risks for him. My judgment coincided with my selfish wish, and I insisted that to ascend and rest on the top was better than to go down at once. The contemplation of more climl)ing was naturally awful to Young, but the heroic is sometimes shown in play, and he chosethe climb. When Ave reached the top, we found ourselves in a fairy land ; the mountains lying around us like colossal boulders, from one to another of which the giants would skip, laughing at the valleys between. The sun shone on us, and the air was sweet to our taste. The river below us, winding through the woods, was a mere silver thread in a ribbon of green. W^e looked into the far distance at our right, and our eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of the St. Lawrence and the fringe of Murray Bay. Pigmies in body we stood there, but no giant ever skipped more easily from hill to hill than did our thoughts light, first near by the Falls, to bid the Captain be of good courage, and next at Murray Bay, to whisper that we hatl not forgotten those at home, and would not be ourselves forgot. But we must be off. Through over anxiety to avoid precipices, the Historian missed the way through the wooded belt on the return journey, and, on emerging from the lower side of it, we found that we had gone considerably out of our course. We made up our minds to strike straight for the nearest point of the Cold Stream, which ran at the base of the hill, 45 and to follow it down as far as the camp. We atl(»i>ted the dry l)ed of a mountain stream f<>r our path, as we rushed down liolter skelter, the shoes of the Ifistorian heccming "groggier" at every step. Ardent spirits have heen immortalised, wine sung, and beer api)lauded, but, for Young and uie, *' coM stream " water, the drinker " extra sec, " bears the palm. With mighty gulps we drank and drank, wliilst the waters of a neighbour rapid danced for us in the sunlight. It has never been the lot of any man, even of an eastern potentate, to (luafl'such draughts and gaze upon so grand a ballet I What a journey it was down that stream ; one moment, in the water, floundering about on sliitpery stones, and the next, in the dry, springing, so far as Young was concerned, and, for the Historian, trying to spring, from boulder to boulder. The shoes of the Historian became like embodied yawns, so great their gaping. Presently we came to a pool where the water was evident'y deeper, and he.e, on either side, the bank was so steep a rock that a man could not walk on it. " It is a case of wading here," so, Y'oung, as he stepped into the water. The shorter Historian, abreast of the other, aped his steps. " There appears to be some water here" — so the Historian, and the next minute he was swimming. Young had to follow suit and they struck out side by side, sputtering with laughter, nntil the likeness of the occasion to an incident in the shipwrecking of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs Aleshine occurred to the Historian, and he called upon Y'oung to remember that they were not wearing black stockings, at the same time giving expression to a fearful wonder if sharks came so far up the stream. But nothing had terrors for Young that day but precipices (awful visions of a sudden drop in the river of hundreds of feet, Niagara outniagaraed, Dorees([ue for horror, haunted him) and he was reassuring as to sharks. The joy of reaching camp that day needs, for its painting, pigments with more " light " in them than any I have in my modest box of colours. 4 1 I will not sing Mr. Cronyn's praises as fellow-camper, much as I might write of him, sunny from dawn to dark, but something must be told of him as Hunter of the Salmon. Those who have not seen him in that character do not know him in his most intense mood. 40 The sulinoii waa seen U» loiip ju'»f opDosite the camp, and soon tliu fly was cast near the meeting of tb jrs, the "cold stream ' and the Murray. The lly was nibble ' j^om that moment Mr. Cronyn was »almon-j)os8e8sed. Tlie ea' uison (Vvtrc lay iji its jKjsse.-sion "I that salmon ; that of Mr. Cronyn in his desire to kill it. I feel that I ought to write in an heroic strain, l)Ut it is beyond me. Ere the sun had found its way to our camp each morning, and wiiilst the heavy breathing of Young and others alseep interrupted the tjuiet of the morning, Mr. Cronyn was (» ut and across the river, seeking the salmon. All day long ho would whip the stream, but beyond a bite nothing would be his. At last, in an hour now . historic, he had the Msh well «)n his line, and the fight began. I cannot describe it. Black, in one dip of the jien, could so tell the story that the reader could see that run up the river, that leap to get free, that playing of the line, that longer run of the salmon, hopeful of escai)e, tliat gradual in- drawing of the line, tense with the struggles of the plucky fish, and, at the last, that fatal snapping of the cord ! In suit of tweed, with socks tucked over his trousers, his grey beard throwing out the tan and the rose of his cheeks, and with his soft hat whicli had a splendid ' spot ' of color in its red band, the fisherman was the ideal centre figure for a painting of the scene. Near him stood Young, a relief to the strain of the occasion, thanks to the luminous humour of his face ; and close by him,Dumont, the Indian in him rampant, ready to rush into the water and seize the fish — a human landing-net. The line broke just as hope was becoming certainty. Let no more be said ' i Chaptmk VIII. -5« -I .A 71 S to the biilivnco of the timo spent in eaiup before the return of tho ^ J- Falls Expedition, that is to say, up to about niicklay on Wednes- day, there is not niueh to bo written. Mr. Cronyn's oceupation has been told. Young, Rose and tlio Historian moscjuito-oiled themselves until that fascinating' jtleasuro palled ; then they sat on the hot sand, and life became a jumble of pipe smoke ; smoke of smouldering Hre ; light of sun greying the burning embers by its greater light ; smell of oil ; buzzing of llics ; hotchpot of conversation ; weariness of the llesh ! All these things would come to me if I read ''The Dynamiter " again, whose real unreality fitted our position and helped to while away the h(jurs. The Historian — ever anxious to do good where that involved an acces- sion of comfort to himself— spent much time in training Dumont as a valet. It was a moving instance of the untutored savage learning the ways of civilization. The custom had been for each man of the camp who needed water, to fetch it from the river himself, but the Historian, seated in the royal splendor of Pyjamas and overcoat, woulil cry out " Venez ici, Dumont !" Then, by a skilful conjunction of English and French words, the wishes of the writur would be told, and the obedient Duinont would fetch the water. He became as docile as a child, and can now be recommended with all confidence as a combination valet -guide. Despite the splendid ease of our life, we were by no means sorry to hear the cries of the returning Falls Expedition. Some of their doings were told us over a noisy meal, which we ate just after their arrival, but 1 refer the reader to the Captain's narrative, which follows here. A. M. a. Chai'TI-:r IX. While my friend, the Mistorian, chronicles the peaceful annals (if the camp at Lus Erables, it is mine to sing the exploits (»f the devoted band which sought the watorfall. It has been observed that wliere a camp is divided against itself, the weaker section is left baconless. IJacon is the natural sustenance of the explorer, and fires his eye and gives courage t() his heart. A side and a half of this precious and eavory stimulant went with the ailvance guard, and nothing but a sweet, sad memory was loft for the Lotus eaters who lingered on the yellow sand. Of pork they wearied, both as to the lean and the fat thereof, and were seized with the cruelest l)acon nostalgia. In visions of the night fair yellow hams floated before their delighted eyes and eagerly they clutched the phantom, and found a void ! Full often under the pallid stars a choked and tearful cry for bacon echoed from the ridge-pole of the tent, and "Bacon" was the toast drunk in melancholy silence at the evening meal. To this day the word *' Bacon " inflicts a cruel stab, and scarcely are we freed from the imputation of having, with considered malice, bereft our comrades of their porcine stay and brought them to this pitiable pass. The rape of the bacon was of course not discovered till after miles of forest and river lay between us and our brethren, otherwise should we have hastened with contrition to repair the damage and much bitterness of spirit would have been spared. I have not had the advantage of a perusal of the Historian's narrative, where doubtless the lamentable bacon incident is set out in all its griev- ous circumstance, and therefore am unable to say whether my plea of con- fession and avoidance forms the fittest answer to his allegations. I reserve a right to amend by setting up : (1) That there never was any bacon in 49 Cimip. (2) Thiit it wiis .ill oiiton by thu Historian boforo we started. (3) That we left more than wo took away. (4) That if we took all the bacon (which we by no means admit, but on the contrary strenuou.sly deny) one Suck-eggs, (alian (Jaspard Simard), did it witiiout our privity or connivance and is solely answerable for all resulting damage an»l incon- venience (if any). And finally we bring into C(»urt half a .side of bacon and pray to be dismissed with our reputation.s and purses intact. At this stage 1 can hear the Hi.storian's polite and gentle »iuery, "What has all this to do with the explorations which you were detailed to write of ! " For my part I contend that without foundati(»n it is vain to hope for superstructure, vide Tristram Shandy and Lti Rcchrrchv de L'Ahmh). It is the characteristic of this age of crudities to strive to produce ert'ects without a ba.si.s of deep-rooted and legitimate cause, a mode of procedure contrary to the canons of true art and much to be repre- hended. How could the reader be brought to an intelligent appreciation of the subject in haiul without some reference to Drake's ear-tlaps i These curiously useless appendages to his deerstalker would of themselves form a pictorial narrative ()f the expedition if represented in their varying relations to his head. While yet within the pale of civilization they were modestly tucked away, and the entire headgear conveyed an idea of inexpressible gentility. When under stress of the first portage one flap worked out, the reckle.ss Buccaneer nature began to show itself through the strained and cracking veneer of propriety. Later the other tlap appeared, and the whole character of the man stood revealed. With the gradual elevation of the tlaps went a readiness to eat trout with his fingers, and a scandalous disregard of soap. When the tlaps stood at the right-angle Drake was dangerous ; his keen eye, as he walked the wilderness, on the alert for some prowling creature wild and fierce as he. As the angle tended more towards acuteuess the worst rapid was as still water to the wearer of the cap, and a fine sight it was to see him, fire in his eye and paddle in hand, dashing over waves or rocks, — it was all one to Drake. 50 We would DOW imtiirally coinu to tiu; settiiig-forth of thu hncon-fod, ))ut heforij luunchiiiiL; tliu cHnoi'Hacoiintitutional i|UUHti«)ii iiiUHt hu touchud on. In evory HtAto whore tho will of thu pyople is iioveri!i;,'n, a miijority of tho electors can procure a inoditicatioii of the law. It is unlikely therefore that exception will he taken to the transposition of Saturday and Sunday which was effected unaniuioUHly, (Cronyn he»iteriencod in the details of camping, ho rested not long in his ignorance, and before tho razor kissed his ton days' beard there was little loft that he had to learn. He who starts with the intention of tinding something to laugh at, oven in his miseries, and who if his tump-line cuts beyond the limit of patient endurance will at least swear cheerily, is far on tho road of ((ualilication for a life in the woods. When he adds to that an invaryingly unselfish attitude to those around him, — but I see the swift blushes rise, and desist. What a difference there is between campers, both green and experi- enced I There is the man who on arrival at the spot where tents are to be pitched, takes in the situation at a glance, knows what is to be done, and does it. There are poles and crotches to cut, firewood to gather, sapin to collect, tents, blankets and camp-kit to unpack, a space for the camp to be cleared, canoes to be looked to, and a score of other little things which it would take two or three men a counle hours to compass, but which can be disposed of in half an hour if all hands turn to. The Intelligently Active man without a word picks up an axe, spits on his hands and disappears in the bush. In five minutes he returns with the necessary tent-poles. If there be another of his species in the camp he 51 )VV\- :o he and , but in his 11 the ip he Huti to clearing awny iiiulurhniih, and IniH th« touts ready to pitch when his coiiirndu ruturiiB. The L'niiittdlim'iitly Active mail MiiyH, '* Wlmt shall /tlo/" Andy(»uiiiay get Hoiiio work out of him in the direction of cutting mi/xu, if yuu lend him A knifi! and hIkiw him how to UHe it and where t-o go. The Intelligently Inactive man thinkn it a good time to root out his pack and change hin clothes on the Hpot where you want to huild the tire, and if you constrain him to exert himself on behalf uf the commonwealth, and bid him undo the blankets, he will leave the pack-HtrapH lying where it will take lialf-an-hour to tind them, and lie down on the blankets and smoke. The Unintelligently Inactive man sits down and contemplates the scene without the moat distant idea that anything is expected of him. lie borrows your mos(|uito oil, puts the bottle out of his liand, and straight- way forgets wliere lie has laid it. lie needs close watching and steady prodding Ho hauls the canoes up without dumping tlie water, and if lie unties the rods, leaves them wliere they will bo stepped on. Better let him go for a swim, and then he will probably return, and calmly inform you that he haa lost the last bit of soap in camp. And then the Grumbler I But from him 1 earnestly pray deliverance, and of him I shall not write, lest my pen should be guilty of some unkiiidness. And so to my tale. Four canoes bore away nine of us with what baggage was absolutely necessary, and Mr. Cronyn, Young and Dumont accompanied us for some distance in the fifth canoe. We had started with a short portage to surmount the camp rapid, but found that it might have been profitably lengthened, as another rapid and a stretch of very swift water remained to be passed. Nicolas poled up without much trouble, but the rest of us, not being masters of that ditticult art, were constrained to walk, canoe in hand, an easier, but extremely damp mode of progress. In the succeeding six miles there were but three rapids which required disembarkat ion, and in one of them the enthusiastic Young indulged in 52 a short swim, which j^ave every one (exctipt possibly Young) much inno- cent enjoyment. There is also a story concerning Tom, who found himself at one stage up to his neck in rapid water, with his canoe half full. But this, and Tom's grace during soup at the Les Erables camp, belong to the esoteric portion of our narrative. Tlie day was overcast, with a strong wind in the inountain tops, though not a breath touched the surface of the river. The clouds scudding over U3 at a height of a couple of thousand feet, concealed the rugged sum- mits, and the precipices and escarped rocks on either side shone with wet. Sometimes a noiseless torrent of cloud drove down a gorge through the thick-massed hemlock, till the Heecy avalanche seemed about to over- whelm us. As a lifting wind swept the vapour upwards in gigantic wreaths and eddies, the mountain forms for an instant dimly appeared, mysteriously vast. Spits of rain drifted across from time to time, — heralds of the deluge we were to encounter later. Huge rocks lay here and there in the river bed, and one could mark the spot, many hundreds of feet above us, whence they had broken away. The level floor of the gorge is covered with an unbroken forest of trees which are giants to the Tamiliar stunted growth of the Laurentians, and the river with its banks of yellow sand, tlowa as peacefully through the centre as though it had never in its innocent existence heard of wild rapid or foaming cJmte, After a six-mile paddle we come to an abrupt turn in the gorge, and here the mountains standing back somewhat, their huge proportions are better revealed. Over the eastern rim of this spacious amphitheatre fall two considerable streams : — the Decharge de la Gabdne, and the De'charge de la Mine d'Argent. Both descend a thousand feet in one unbroken dash of foam and spray, and it would be difficult to find an apter resem- blance for the latter than to a torrent of silver poured from the melting pot and flashing bright down the dark face of the precipice, till lost in the sombre forest at its base. From this angle in the river our course lay North-west, and after sur- mounting a couple of strong rapids and traversing a mile or two of dead water, we reached what was apparently the head of canoe navigation. 53 It being well on in the afternoon, Dumont and his canoe-load turned back, and speedily disappeared in the heavy rain which now began to fall. Thunder crashed above us, and died away in a thousand lessening echoes. Nicolas was sent on through the dripping woods to find out how far the rapid which barred our progress extended, and returned with the news that we had reached tlie end of the dead waters, and must now abandon tlie canoes. Though some hours of daylight were left it was thought better to pitch tlie tent, and make a fair start on foot on the morrow. The fishermen dispersed to try the jjooIs and fill the frying-pan, with the result that some seven or eight dozen trout were taken, running up to three-quarters of a pound in weight. Here and above we were much surprised to see no large fish, though a more perfect water could not be desired, and it is unlikely that the river has had a fly cast in it for over fifteen years. Only two explanations suggest themselves to me, and neither seems satisfactory. The first is, that the Montagnais Indians, who at one time hunted and fished here, absolutely depleted the river of fish ; and the second, that the trout have not proper feeding grounds, and are continually disturbed by the rocks which fall into the river, and the state of unrest of its bed. Fishing at the first fall on the following day, I constantly heard the rumble of the boulders carried down by the water rising above the noise of the fall. AU'night the wind howled and the rain pelted down, but, packed as close as the guests at a five o'clock tea, we lay snug and warm, and not a little music and laughter found its way out into the dark and roaring night. The next day broke fair, but the start was delayed till about eight o'clock, that the undergrowth might have a chance to dry. There is nothing so dispiriting as a tramp through wet bushes, and I have seen a man get sulkier and sulkier as the dripping boughs slapped his face and sent each its little complemental rivulet down his neck, till, falling over head and ears into some creek, he became at one stroke entirely soaked and happy. Seven very light packs were made up, and these changed hands every half-hour when a halt for a minute or two was called . 54 Our way lay along the river bank, and for the first four hours was easy and pleasant. Here and there we passed through open glades where the stag fern rose to our shoulders, and the tall maples and birch reminded one of a hardwood bush in Upper Canada. Keeping always within a short distance of the stream in order to observe its character, we found that some four or five miles of comparatively dead water would have per- mitted us to avail ourselves of the canoes for that distance. A few ditti - cult places where steep mountain slopes abutted on the river set us to wading, but this usually ended in a waist-deep flounder and a scramble for the woods. As the morning wore into afternoon, and we were supposed to l)e near- ing the first fall, ears were strained to catch its roar, and once or twice the sound of heavy rapids sent us forward at (juickened pace. Old Simard, who is undoubtedly one of the most competent liars that the region has produced, pretended from time to time to discover land- marks, but being immediately thereafter obliged to explain them away, a shade of doubt fell over his ability as a guide. We lunched at a brook which our guileless friend recognized as being but a few hundred yards from a fall, " haute comme vn pin," and alto- gether awe-inspiring in character. There he had camped — had killed a moose — had portaged up, Heaven knows how many hundred weight of **du lard," — that he should now be mistaken was impossible. The modest fall, some fifteen feet in height, to which a half-hour's walk brought us, utterly failed to satisfy him, and we pushed on along a rocky bank, with precipice above and foaming river below, where a man needed all his feet and at least one additional hand to convoy himself and pack in safety. Quarter of a mile above we found another small fall, and a few hun- dred yards beyond this yet another, about fifteen feet high. The pools at the foot of these falls looked too tempting to pass, and in front the gorge appeared scarcely passable. It was thought best to camp at this spot, while a detachment proceeded forward, and those remaining gave the river a thorough trial. This was a fortunate resolution, as those who went on reported that it would have been quite impossible to get along with a -^ack. Tom, Frank, Andy and Sam returned to camp after sun- IfciF^ ;5 down witt) the news that no falls had been encountered higher than those already passed, but that the river was one continuous rapid as far as they could see ic, — a perfect mountain torrent, with precipitous banks which they had been obliged to scale to a height of six or seven hundred feet in / order to make way at all. On their return they had encountered so abrupt a descent that chey had been obliged to slide down the trees from ledge to ledge. Some hours' fishing in this most attractive looking stretch of water only afforded sufficient trout for supper, and those not of a large size. No young salmon were seen above the fall, which seems to be high enough to ett'ectually bar the progress of fish up the river. One of the objects of our expeMtion was to locate the headquarters of the salmon, and was therefore successfully accomplished. We were lucky enough to find in this very rugged region a most charm- ing camping ground — a stretch of soft dry sand beside the river, backed by the precipice and sheltered by fine large hemlocks. Nine very tired men turned in after a hearty supper, and neither dreamed nor turned till *' morning stood tip-toe on the misty mountain tops." After breakfast, our guide thought it due to his reputation to give an explanation of his multitudinous errors of the day before. — It was years since he had passed this way, and then it was winter. Snow and ice were piled up in the river and the fall much higher than in summer. He related that he had passed a nuit hlanche thinking of these things, ^| and had wept over the lapse of his aged recollection. I noted, however, that the path of no tear was visible upon his grizzled cheek, and have every reason to believe that the quantity of water contained in ||! a tear, must, had it travelled that way, have left its mark upon that countenance. Of one thing he assured us however, with the calling in of many Saints as witnesses, and this was that the fall we had reached was posi- tively the highest actual fall upon the river, though many rapids and cas- cades intervened between this spot and the bridge at La Cruche. The walk down was made in much faster time, though one halt of half ■an hour was called to allow of a trial of a particularly likely looking pool. The most imaginative angler could not have devised or desired a more 56 promising water, but even the ingenious Tom, with a Silver Doctor, could not raise anything wcrthy of his fly. This point being the head of the dead water, there was some debate as to whether it would be profitable to make a raft and float down to camp, but as more time would have been lost in the making that would have been gained by taking to the river, packs were once more shouldered and the line led oft". The day being yet young when camp was reached, we struck the tent,, which had been left standing, and embarked in the canoes. The rapids and currents which had been po wearisome to ascend, bore us down with, scarce the necessity of paddling, and in a surprisingly short time we reached the angle where the rivqr makes its abrupt turn to the South-west, and camped upon a sandy island in the centre of the ampitheatre before spoken of. What a glorious panorama I Up the river, a swift, tumultuous rapid falling into a broad quiet pool, and the narrowing lines of the hills, rounded and sloping to the West, and abrupt and preci{)itous to the East. Down the river a long stretch of peaceful water mirroring the dense for- est and bare mountain side, with the great mass of Mont des Erables, its rugged granite softened and purpled by distance, closing the vista in that direction. East and West granite piling up toward Heaven, and to crown all, the two water-falls thundering down the clifi" and mingling their dull roar with the more musical voice of the rapid. Here giants might feel at home, but the sons of men are insignificant indeed. We had a fair evening's fishing both above and below the camp, though, again no large fish were seen, and got back in time to watch the fading glories of a lovely sunset which dyed the river crimson and lingered long on the mountain crests. When the moon rose the scene was more ethereally beautiful, and long we sat about our camp fire — that tiny flame upon which the Great Solitary Watchers must have looked with infinite contempt. I think the next day's paddle will not be forgotten by any of us, and for my part I am tempted to venture again into those wilds for the sake only of such a morning. The day was bright, still and cloudless, at least 57 until afternoon, and the peaks which had been hidden in vapor on our upward journey, were now clear cut against the blue. So perfect were the shadow pictures that one could see reflected the stunted and distorted Urs that hung on the verge two thousand feet above, and where shadow ended and reality began the keenest eye could not tell. Lazily floating down, dreading to end a day that might never return, we still were carried onward too fast. Here and there casting a fly, and ever plying the ubiquitous Kodak until that faithful instrument notified its inability to 'contain any more scenery, now shooting a tangled rapid, so we came at length within hallooing distance of our friends, who ran to meet us with unfeigned joy upon their faces. Sam, always anxious for more worlds to concjuer, shot the camp raj)id triumphantly, but candidly acknowledged that he had wished to be well out of it when he perceived the size of the ])iece which, having bitten oflF, he needs must chew. The decision to engage on a rapid is as irrevocable as fate, and, once started, you and your canoe must go through, either in company or each on his own hook at the mercy of wild whirling water and jagged rocks. W. H. B. Chapter X. 7] FTER the meal which we all had together on the return of the ^ ^ Falls Expedition, passengers and baggage were packed into the canoes, and with three cheers, and the singing of " lion Soir ! " Les Erables ! ", we set oflf down the stream, leaving the hills to shrui,' their shoulders, and the trees to contemptuous silence, at the thought of the daring dwarfs who had tried to read their secrete. Sam Blake is to write the history of the journey of the canoes down the river, and I therefore merely state that we continued on until we came to a point whose name I have forgotten, where we determined to camp for the night. We had a merry time, as, habited in suits of soap, of Pears and other build, we plunged, some from one bank, some from the other, into the river. A crowd of schoolboys, with no care in the world, and conscious only of jolly sunlight and of appetites that grew apace for a meal soon to come. Fishing was indulged in by some, and enough trout were caught for tea. We had a glorious camp fire that night for, to the elements which always entered into our enjoyment, were added two peculiar ones. The tirst, our keen delight at the party being once more united, the second, the feeling that this was to be the last night of the camp. Amongst other amusements that evening, we competed at the con- struction of sentences in the line of those which are to be found in some grammars, and which bear this heading: — "Correct the mistakes (if any) in the following sentences. " Despite the opposition of the owners of shares in the fishing in the river in question, the following sentence received the majority of votes : "I have killed 20 dozen trout in the Murray River ! " 1)9 Joariuin Miller and Louis Stevenson were introduced to us, the former by Sam. Blake, and the latter by the Captain, but each of them left all too soon. Andy Thompson i^ave greater body and riav(»ur than ever to " Willie brewed a peck o' maut," and we fairly revelled in it, as, with no intoxicant but " Camaraderie Special (1890)," we rolled the chorus out, the jolliest of bacchanals. It seemed hard to stop singing that night, and the thought of how seldom a band of men is the same for two years running gave a tug at our hearts when we joined hands round the fire and sang '* Auld Lang Syne ! " I Chapter XI. TN the morning we all began the journey in canoes, but, whilst some ^ had a good tleal of canoe to a little walking, there were others of us — I had the honour to be of their number — who, for every inch of puddling had a hundred yards to walk, The term *' walking" here is an euphemism. Wearied of boulders, we would seek the woods, tired of the bushes we would again try the boulders. Thus it went on, until, at last, those in advance waited for us who were labouring behind, and, on our coming up to them, all those not in charge of canoes were given the choice of continuing to advance in their then manner or taking to the woods and trying to strike the path which we had traversed on our outward journey. Mackenzie, Young, Rose and the Historian chose the woods, and to the last- named the compass was given. We had not gone far before a question arose as to whether or not we were keeping in the right direction ; and, as we got further and further from the river, and no signs of the path appeared, our fears grew apace, whilst the pr -^ of a day in the woods looking for the way, grew in bulk and horrui Totally strange features in the landscape showed themselves, and at one point we arrived at a bog, as unfamiliar as it was unpleasant. With sinking hearts and feet we trudged across it, and soon after sought a height of ground, to reconnoitre, but no path was to be seen. Woi'ld that I were not BO nearly related to the Historian, that I were not debarred from painting his heroism, as, indiflferent to any sagacious suggestions from others, and blind to all errors on his own part, he would, from time to time, gaze at the compass with unintelligent eye, and then go on his way, heedless of consequences and the future, and careful only of the present and that the course chosen had as few fallen trees and as little mud as- possible ! But so it often happens : the best, unsung ! 61 We were beginning to be seriously alarmed, when, suildonly, we came to a stretch of trees scorched by Hre which seemed familiar to us. (^uoth the Historian : " I do not care to leave this spot, the path unfound." Hardly had the words been spoken when a tremendous " wh(M>i) I " from Younj,' proclaimed the tact that we had discovered the looked-for treasure. We could not express our joy in English, and in despair, we turned to the French tongue, tilling the aisles of the woods with yells of " Sacre ! " When we reached the portage we sat, in company with the planche drivers, on a sunny rock by the river's side, and waited for the others, whose story runs thus ;— A. M. a. '^ ii If it Chaithr XII. IN ordor that the roiuler may arrive at a true undorstaiuling of any sub ^. joct, the main requisites would appear to bo u clear conception on his part, firstly, of the mind of the writer in relation to the subject umtter; secondly, of the mind of the writer in relation to his reiulers ; and thirdly, of the elements whicli compose tlie subject matter itself. It is with these re(|ui8ites in view that 1 have written what, in any other light, might be deemed extraneous. 1. When the word went forth that I was to write, and that full (juickly, a description of a specified day of one of the many camps of last summer, I set myself immediately to the task of gatherinj^ my scattered recol- lections together. 1 spent the whole day worrying over faint memory- tracks, like a hunter lost in the wilderness in which we had camped, trying to pick out a distinct trail, and at night I fell asleep, hopeless and weary. When r awoke, my knees were pressed against the .sides of a canoe and my hands clutched a paddle. A moonlit river running swiftly between shadowy pine-clad banks hurried the canoe down. My head seemed bent as with the weight of many mountains ; and, within it, as the canoe grazed a rock, there came a sudden click, and a great weight eiiiK, nnd I hud liltle hope, for, more fearful than all else, adown the wind-HWopt river came the sound of mockin({ lau^dlteI'H, and the voice of one behind me, where I dare not look, whis|)erin^ the frightful wordH " Vou press the button and we do the rest." At last the landing swam in sight, and ^'atherin^ every atom of life left in me, £ managed to run the bow ashore and jump. VVhun the canoe touched the beach there came the dreaded click, Homethin<( broke within, and ! know no more. Now the m<»rning afttr, my head between my hands, [ am endeavouring to sort out the plates which have been telescoped together, and there is nought remaining but an im- pression of one long river, running ever through 8t<»ne guUeys of broken rock, around which the brown water churns itself into yellow foam. II. The reader is by this time, I suppose aware that with the ex- ception of two of our number, one a student of Arts, the other of Medicine, and both sons of lawyers, our camp was composed entirely of members and students of that profession in whose eyes, river, lake and stream are viewed but us so much land — covered by water. It is probably to the fact of my being a student of the profession which in- culcates so remarkably the faculty of seeing to the bottom of things, that I am indebted for the foresight which prompted me to fortify my- self with an afhdavit of my fellow passenger, verifying in minutest detail, the following account. I secured this before connnencing to write at all, recognizing the necessity for a free hand in the narration of fact, and being determined not to be trammelled by any consideration of the incredulity of my readers. In exchange I was obliged to execute an affidavit of my own with regard to the weight of certain specified fishes ; but, as I have acted in the capacity of fish recorder for many years, and in divers camps, the strain on my moral fibre was scarcely felt. III. Arma virumqne canoe flnmenque. Paddle, Man, Canoe and River, these I sing ! The Paddle —now a weapon winning the way through the ranks of the enemy, drawn up in battle array ; now a guard against hidden ambuscades and sudden surprises ; now Hashing in (luick strong strokes, an engine of locomotion ; now standing, a rigid pole, holding the Canoe still as a rock in the swirling water—the Paddle, lending itself to the least motion of its 04 witildor, nixl Hwiii^iii^ from nido to Hidu with Hpuud of li^htiiiii^ ; of littlu wui;{h( mid gruat povvor, over rundy in the tiiUH of iiuud, i« well wurtliy of its Work. Thu Mail, knuoliiig in the stern, with vyo fixed and liody hraoud for the coining fray, hiit knuuH hard prcHHud against the sides uf the Cauoe, his urniH aloft, free and strong, wiehling th»' I'uddle. The Canoe, frailest of crafts, resting upon the surface of the water < able *.o skim the Hludlowest of leefH and thread the narrowest of gulches ; her skin so delicate that it feels the gentlest touvh of the softest sand, the lighteHt caress of the Hinallest eddy ; <,>ueen of the Mountain River I you 1 sing I And the River also — that element upon which the three first played their parts. It has been said that " the ylory of a river is by virtue of the land that lieiiiH it in " ; and so it may appear to him who stands u))on the mountain side. *' Full many a glorious morning have I seen, Flatter the mountain to[>s with sovran eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale .streams with heavenly alchemy." Here the river is as a precious stone in h glorious setting. But the life of a river lies in its channel bed. There the shifting variety of infinite cliange, the springing vitality of restless motion answering the pulse-beat of mankind, clothe its every aspect with a human interest. Come down from the mountain side and bathe in its running waters I Get thee a vessel and join those who go dowi> to the sea in ships, and marvellous wonders wilt thou behold ! Our little river has passed through the gates of the Laurentians, and where we commence our day's run, is breaking out in tempestuous haste to reach its final resting place many hundred feet below — and miles beyond. We are obliged to leave the land brigade shortly after breaking our last camp, having found it impossible to carry them further. 03 Our rieet in tiwulo up of Hvu caiious, Imulud with hii^^a^u iitid four paHHun^urH, nnd iiiuiitiud hy two rod niun mid tlirito pulu fiicun. Wu nro juHt roaliHinu til it iiiHtead of a run ovur Hwift Huiooth wntur, wu have lutfore us many inilua of tiurcu rapidx ; and tlut canouii, uvun after the land f*irc(! has ht'cn dumped, liru hurdunud to th« full »xtunt of their capacity fur the work in view. The rapids are of manifold types. There in the rapid whose shallownesH, easily seen and avoided, is its chief feature. There boin^ no difhuult work lor eye or hand these leave but little impression save of a pretty playfulneHs. The canoe dancing down the middle iiows merrily to the graceful curling waves, and darts out into the pool below, like a coipiette tlyin){ from the attentions she has just provoke«l. Then there is the rapid, strong and fierce, with but one channel and that to be fou>(ht for. Here the canoe meets with no polite ;,'allantry, no gentle handling ; but the wavcH, tossing their white arms high around her, carry her down towards the line of breakers covering the savage reef. And yet she cannot but respect the honest depth of feeling, and forgive the rude passion of her lover ; knowing full well that it were better to yield here, if yield she must, than to strand in the shallows above or founder in the dead water below. And then there is the tirelessly persistent rapid ; the rapid that will not tiike "No ;" whose persecuting attentions are at first received with tolerant patience, changing to bitter fretfulness and at last frigid animosity. These are the guUeys literally choked with stones, without either grace or symmetry, plan or channel ; but ever two rocks ahead, a hand's breadth between, and a rock a few feet below guarding the centre ; ever the same desperate etibrt at safe passage, to ])e repeated again and again ; and we— entering strong and lioi)eful, in the hey-day of our youth, and before the rapid is well commenced, becoming parched with a great thirst for the still waters below, even as the busy man in the midst of strife thirsts for the waters of quietness where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest — wo come out shrunken and decrepit, stricken with old age, having, as the rapid unwound itself stretch after stretch in 5 ; , m an interminable monotony of infinite sameness — even more wearisomely tiresome than tlie sentence now labouring to describe it — passed through every stage of existence from manhood to senility. Here the Heetsjjreads across the river from hank to bank, each steers- man endeavouring to find, wliere he chooses to look, the lost pathway ; and each failing, for it was not ; yet managing to thread hia crooked j)a88age without cata8tro[)he. Floating in the eddy of a pool at the rapid's foot 1 find tlie broken blade of a paddle which I had lost many miles above. It must have been snapped like a match between the finger and thumb of some reef, past which, in the hands ot its wielder, it might in safety have steered the canoe. And now the roar of the giant rajnd defying all description is lieard. lireat fragments of jagged rock cleave the river into a score of tortuous snake-like windings, down which the black water circles swift and deep. We begin wading, and lower the canoes from rock to rock ; until, standing waist deep in mill-race running water, we can no longer trust our foot- hold. Then one by one we mount a boulder, and each, according to his faith l)reathing a supplication, embarks. Away sweeps the canoe like a toboggan steered by a straw, and next moment we are whirled against a huge scpiare mass of reck, and tamed broadside to the swishing current. "Steady I" rings out, as the water surges over the gunwale ; and then a mighty effort, and the canoe swings clear, but stern foremost, downward. Not far this time, for; we are spun like a piece of driftwood to where we manage to clamber on to two spray- wet boulders, and, having lifted our baggage out, to capsizie our half filled canoe. Again we re-embark, feel- ing as if we were stepping upon a lily-pad in the midst of a whirlpool, and are whirled, we know not how, on to the end. Just after this there comes a long shallow, and it is with a feeling of relief that we begin to wade, making our passengers disembark. But we soon find it possible to run and go tumbling dt>wn into a little circular bay between an island and the main shore, where, letting the river go on without us, we beach our canoes, and, sitting down in the bottom, our legs dangling over the sides, munch each a hard-tack and wait for our passengers, who are scrambling along the shore. 67 ** What a scorcher that was !" " I should say so I Any more like it !" " No ; I think that's the worst. There are some pretty bi^' ones below though. Tom says he saw the Pearly (iates three times." "Standing ajar {" " I hope so." '• Here they come ! Drake's earHaps rampant as usual." "Hurry up, boys I" And then the crackling of underbrush, and the passengers get into their places and we start once more. For the most part of the way the sun rests on our shoulders, but once or twice when the river takes a turn we come suddenly upon a stretch right in it3 face. Then there spreads out before us a world of gold. Molten gold running between rocks of the beaten metal and breaking into golden cascades which send u\) golden spray— a dazzling pathway of aureate halos. But as the clear sight of surrounding objects is more prized by us than even the vision of an unveiled God, blinding with excess of light, these visitations are more dread than welcome. .Shortly after leaving our luncheon cove we come upon a rajnd which at tirst sight, appears impossible to run ; and we begin wading, close to the bank. Presently Nicholas, who, a little in advance, is letting his canoe down without c(mdescending to diseuibark, stands up ; and, holding it still with his pole, takes a (juick survey of the rapid. Next moment he drops on to his knees ; and his canoe goes surging up stream, stern foremost. His pole, bending under the weight thrown upon it, breaks in the middle ; and his canoe, cauting over, gulps a great draft of water. Steadying him- self, he whips a paddle from the bottom of the canoe, and makes it whirl like the fans of a screw which has " taken charge," and the canoe crosses (jver in the face of the current into mid-stream, and turns, as on a pivot, in time to pass between two rocks, which stand sentry at the rapid's head. Suddenly the mighty redman, in the midst of the fiercest rapid, rising in his seat, breaks forth into an Indian war-song, which blends its wild cadence with the roaring of the waters around him , and keeps its time with the beats of his swinging i)addle. And we,— pale faces indeed, up to our armpits in water, huddled against Sil. I 68 the bank, — we follow in the redman's wake, but with no thought of aong ; and tueth so firmly clenched that none can issue if we had the will. Below tjiis the river separates into two distinct channels, and we wait impatiently, liolding back our canoes, as the Indians consult which shall be chosen. Nicholas pushes otF to the right ; where the river spreads out over sunshiny wanu-looking shallows, wh(jse rippling waters appear scarcely sutticient to Hoat us safely down. Dumont, the younger Indian, chooses the left; where the body of the water goes dashing down, in a narrow winding channel, and the white waves leap high. And him we follow, preferring the risk of being swamped, to the likelihood of being stranded ; and get our reward instantly in running the most charming, though by no means the most docile, of rapids ; while Nicholas is yet toiling ankle deep over the first of the many shallows that bar his passage. Dipping down a cascade, we swing round a bend in the river, and the landing is in sight. We are running before we know it, and as a matter of course, through the very rapid over which, when standing on the banks nine days before, we had gravely shaken our heads as impossible. It is a baby in arms to those already conquered ; and next moment we bring up at the landing amid the welcoming cheers of our comrades, and the wild shouts of the French drivers. Two of us start instantly, upon landing, to walk into Malbaie ; and putting on a brisk pace, we shortly afterwards reach our luncheon ground of the first day. Here while we wait for our eggs frizzling in the pan, we are overtaken by Nicholas. He refuses anything to eat ; asks for niatches, and bidding us *' good-day," is gone. And to us, standing in the doorway, as we watch the tall, dark, powerfully-built man, striding along the roadway towards civilization, the color seems to fade out of the Indian of the rapid and the war-song, and we think sadly of the when we shall behold him next, decked out in a white collar and a stiff hat. , S. V. B. Chapter XIII. mHE homeward drive, like the outward, was one of intense pleasure to I the Historian, but as that pleasure, in each case, was duo not only to the keen air and the delight of lake and hill and field, but also to the conversfition with another, I will not enlarge upon the subject, lest my praise pale before the blushes it evokes. The walkers-Moss and Sam. Blake-broke their appetite into frag- ments at the half-way-house, but the rest of us merely chipped a corner off. Yet the memory of those bowls of berries is a very fond one ! Nothing of excitejnent occurred until we were nearing home, when '' Billee " took it into his head to race with a cart carrying a load of merry hearted girls. His example stirred up some of the otlier drivers to a like endeavour, with the result that the maddest of chariot races began, until we feared that we should return to our homes in the condition of the man in the Bab Ballads, " in pieces most par- ticularly small." This dread fate was avoided by a large expenditure of potent language, and in - Billee's ' case, by fiot less potent blows U|,on his back. Months have passed since that evening, but the mem.)ry of my appetite of that night dwells with me, and will dwell, as, indeed, does and will that of the swish of the razor upon my unkempt beard. ' But these were the smaller things : the larger lay in the warmth of welcome, and in the sweetness of voices, heard after days of silence, and naming and making " Home ! " 70 1% [Note by the Professor. — At this point the writer introduces what ho is pleased to call " Miscellanea." I have done away with many items, and am confident that my action will bo justitiod by the reader, when he reHects upon the the fact that those which J iiave left in, bad as they are, are probably the best thinj^s in the jumbled collection.] MISCELLANEA (Muttonheadei.). TuMT Line. — This is a broad strap, the theory of whose use is, that it keeps a pack, otherwise unmanageable, in such a position on the body of tlie carrier as will enable him to bear it. In practice, it adds to the delight of the pack a charm of its own, for, when it be- gins to make an impression upon the wearer, from that moment his body seems to consist of various sections whose boundaries are tump line. Blankets. — These are all of the same pattern, in order that a certain picturesqueness may characterize both the appearance and the language of tlie camp, when the moment arrives for the identifica- tion of each man's property. Bacon. — See the narrative of the Captain, and keep with the stronger section of the camp. Pork. — Pigs killed for tlie camp have no lean. The object in this is, that, if by any unlucky (!) chance you finish the pork, you may still have it with you, in a sense, from the additional richness imparted to everything else by contact with it in the bag. Onions. — These should be let run loose in the bag, for the reason men- tioned above with reference to the fat of pork. Guides. — The synonym is '* mirage makers"; though I have seen people running through the letter L for a fit word. The Captain seems to be in agreement with such people. (See his narrative). Caps with Flai's. — See the Capta'n's touching allusions to Drake's head- gear. Hats. — See Andrew Thompson's hat, and copy it, oY avoid it, as the humour strikes you to keep, or not to keep, a resting place, in the shape of a large veil, for the Hies, where they can get their wind when " time " is called after each *' round " with your face. 71 Oamp Loafers. — Tlieir main mission is to throw into strong light the virtues of the workers, whose correct mental attitude is a "look- on-thia-picture-and-on-that " one. I copy an advertisement which I have had inserted in some of the sporting pa[H!rs, but which, i am atraitl, does not exactly cor- respond with the Captain's too-kind words of me. " (amp Loafer. — A. M. G. is ready to enter into engagements " for next Summer. Unfailingly la/.y; cheerful in his laziness; of " no use; always in the way; can never find his own things; knows "nothing of sport; prefers the lightest pack or none at all; hetero- " dox as to trout ; must insist upon having his moscjuito oil carried by " others ; would throw the feeblest of workers into oright relief. "References given to all camping parties he has ever been "with.- Advt." TiNNKi) Meats.— ^4. Generally. These, with several other appurtenances of the camp, are very useful in the cultivation of virile (sometimes written "bad") language. To this end, those rectangular in form can be recommended in preference to the circular ones, as having a greater aptitude in finding the pack-carrier's more sus- ceptible bones. B. Those with polyglot ^^ Jiredioiis for it.>e." Campers not so conversant as the writer with the French language will find these of great utility where the tins have to last more than one day, and the cook has therefore to be instructed to see that the rennmnts are " kept in a cool j)lace." After all the other campers have retired for the night, you wander out in the dark to search for the half-empty tin. Hav- ing found it, you retire to bed in the tent, and then, by the light of a candle, you pass the silent watches of the night m committing the directions to memory. In the morning you walk boldly up to the French cook, and astonish him with your proficiency. The first half tin may be spoilt, if the tent is hot, but the choice is between the meat and your reputation as a scholar. Warning need not be given against learning the German by mistake, as the type differs; but the Spanish must be carefully guarded against. A tendency in that language towards a final "a" in words is useful to remember, in the premises. 1! 72 Tkout. — This is a mythical Hsh, except in far countries. It is greatly beloved of the romantic school, as it lends itself readily to idealism. The large ones are, unfortunately, in such inaccessible regions that n<» heavy packs, Huch as scales, can be carried thither. < )n this account, many enormous hsh have been caught, the real magniti- cence of whose proportion^ can never be known, the modesty of the captors inducing them to underrate their size. In habits they are so terrible that catching them is called "killing," to indicate the fierce combats between slayer and slain. When killed, all the ferocity of expression which was theirs in life leaves them and they lo-ik ((uite harndess. Salmon Fihhino. — The usefulness of this occupation was em)>hjisized during our stay at Les Erables. It was Young who pointed it out to me. Whilst the river was open to us to cross we were liable at any moment to stray from the camp, to the neglect of home duties, such as lying on the hot sand and covering ourselves with mosijuito oil. On the three other sides of the camp all was well. Bounded on the north (my use here of the different points of the compass is arbitrary) by pathless woods, on the soutli by trackless wilds, and on the east by impenetrable forest, there was no temptation to stray in either one of those directions. But, on the west we were bounded by the river, and there our temptation lay. The river became a salmon run, sacred to the eflForts of Mr. Cronyn, and we were saved ! Tub French LANorAciE. — A compressed form of this is used in camp. " Lingual pemmican," so to speak. With " aiicre," a whole camp can hold out for an entire expedition. French Dictionaries. — The one moststnmgly recommended has as many types as there are differing French words in the volume. The result achieved is not to be overrated. For instance, if you wish the cook to give you some lime-juice to drink, and to rub mos(iuito oil on you, and (through your over-anxiety not to have either licjuid act the wrong part, or for some other reason) your memory fails you as to whether the French for the two materials is the same,^ you instinctively remember that the word for one of them was in Ionic, and that for the other in Roman, type. You thus are 73 aware that you must look up two words, and not one only* This you proceed to do, and there you are, don't you know ! 1 believe that there are other methods of explaining this dictionary. Andrew Thomson has an explanation ; but his is of a different type from mine, so you nuiHt look up both. Perhaps I am obscuring tbe matter a little to myself. I will stop. Cronyn tt (il rn. Hlakk et at. — [Note by the Professor. In answer to Mr. W. H. Blake's admirable statement of defence in the suit likely to arise out of the abstraction of the camp bacon, the author sets out a suggested long and rambling reply, which, out nf kindness to him, I suppress. T may state that he mainly rests his chances of success upon the bringing into court by the defendants of the '*half a side of bacon," wliose bringing in, he contends, means the putting out of court of the defendants, they having, by such proceeding, invoked against themselves the well-known etjuitable princijde, that " he who comes into e(|uity must come with clean hands I '"] Good Byes. — [Nate hy the Professor. The author "airs" himself very much on this subject, entering into a discursive dissertation on the different varieties of farewells. The meat of it all is contained in the concluding sentences, which appear below. I leave them in, because I believe the words of good-bye to the camp to be blood-red words : heart words.] " Good-Bye !" How easy, at times — at times, how hard, t<» sjiy ! My farewell to an attack of the measles was to me a striking instance of the former class. The present occasion gives me a vivid illustration of the latter. Must this '* Good-Bye " be said ? Good-Bye ! Captain and other fellow campers. 1 cannot tell you all that you have taught me, but this one lesson I must speak of : — That in the woods the strong is thoughtful for the weak : that there a man will share with his fellows all his comforts, even to the last pair of socks : that there, if a man say **I need a helping hand," the hands of all his comrades are held out to him. " Good-Bye !" A.* M. G. 74 TMK SON(JS OF CAMP. Many Miey wero, in many tonmies and tlivorsly sung. Snatches <,l\son,o IuiIf.ron.,Mubt,re.I l.allad from lips whore 8on« was a stranKor, a triHu .loleful to all l.ut the singer perhaps, but his drean.y laraway eyes revealed the chord that vibrated. Li.ely catches mug ar.mnd the cau.p-lire, or caught up.uaybeon weary lMjrt,,Ke, to bring a moments forgetfulness of keenly cutting packstraps. Uousing choruses given with Huch good-will that the mountain sides hoarsely sent back the melody. Plaintive French folk-songs, their simple humor, endless iteration and mnior strain an echo of the life of the people that gave then, birth. Nor were there wanting ellorts more aml,itious,-soIos wh.^se obligato accon.panin,ent was the wind in the pines and the ru.le counterpoint of the river. There were those who could not be made t.. sing, and those who could not be kept from singing, and finally those from whom an niHnity of persua8i.,n produced fragments of music sacred or profane, or possibly the admissible alternatives of a story or recitiition. Taking all thecontributions into account, the repertory of the expedition was no mean one, and would HII many a page. The Historian suggests that two lyrical efforts which are more peculiarly expeditionary property should be given in full. Canok 8ong. Air : Over the Seo to Sk»tv, Daylight is gone. Night Cometh on. Trailing its robe of shade. As o'er the tide Swiftly we glide. Bending the ashen blade. 75 ChontH, -\'i>icvfi keep time, Murk to our rhyme, Kchoed from cliff ami tree ; Wliilo our ciiiioe flol(JH its course true, OviT the darkling sea. Sunlii^ht is dead, Stars overhead, Stars in the li(|uid deep ; Now the moonray A silvery way Hath tracked for (jur bark to keep. Clio f IIS. — Tides swiftly How, Murmuring go, Eddy past reef and bar ; Paddles dip fast, Headlands are past, Dim lights are twinkling far. Chorus. — Sleep lady fair, Through your tossed hair Fairer the moonlight seems ; Rippling along, Hushed is my song, Smile upon me in your dreams I Chorus. — 76 HjLLV ANi. Fan. Air: Jionalir. ./c HiiiN lu.nun.- AuKugtin Hilly -,lu Hilly, I 8c,rneti,„eH go ni\' o„ the 8,,roo-on the «proo ; ./o mt'iio irm calt'che, And I'll drive you to sinaBli «i V0U8 mo donneroz u„ bon co.ip dWu de vie. Cho,us. -Hut I care not what others ,nay say, .raiuiorai toujnurs ma jolie Malhaie ; Old IVralbaio, clu'ro Malhaio, J'aimcrai t(»ujour8 ma jolio Malbaie. '1e puis aisen.ont l)attru Pomero-Pomero For his horse <{oe8 confoundedly slow, -deadly slow, •Jo chante couinie une chatto, And I jrauibol like Pat, Kt je porto mon pacjuet en hen.8 ! Chorus. — .Je pars cha(|ue ann^e pour le bois,-pour le bois, With Jo8ci)h. Pomoro, Nicolas -Nicolas, Nous prenons des truites, That we measure by feet, Et nous graissons les bottes de M'sieu Law : aior us Ma jument je I'appelle - Sacre Fan I-n.angeuse Fan But I treat her as well as I can,— as I can Elle est bonne, elle est vite, And you can't see her feet, Quand elle fait un bon - break " pour le " stand." Choriis I I — 77 .lu portu un uhapuau u (Kmix coriieH, — u deux coriiuM, ThatH why ttotnutiiiiuH I've inuru than uiiu horn, than onu horn •Jti suJH cour<>nn«<, So Viva ol Roy, Et le (liable prend culiii (lui ost iiiornu ' {JhovHH : ! :— Bi-lin^ual doi^^urel which nuuds iiioit* than a word of oxplanation ! Augustin Hilly (a violent accent on the " ly"), known in the County of Ch>*rluvoix as '* Le Hoi Den Charretiurs,' singeth himself and his mare ; <»f hi8 occasional addiction to *' h hon iriski " and its effect upon his whip arm he maketh casual mention. He recitoth the ease with which his rival " Poniero " is overcome, and speaketh lightly of \m accomplishmentH in the Held and drawing-room, likening himself to the sportive colloy " Pat." He telleth of hi.s voyages, and of the great tish which are taken, and of his duties in relation to Mr. Law's " beefoos. " His "Fan,'— the joy of his heart, ho next toucheth on, and how bitterly he curseth and how kindly he treateth her. He sayoth not how- ever that she is blind of one eye and advanced in years. He maketh mention of a certain hat, having horns twain, invented and constructed by himself, with which Htly is he crowned ; and lastly inviteth the Powers of Darkness to avail themselves of any atrabilious individual, who looks at life less cheerfully than he with his back bent by sixty years of severest toil and cheerless poverty. W. H. B. Iii'iLodui:. Not irmiiy