The great curiosity of St. John is the "reversible cataract" in the
river, caused in the gorge just west of the city by the enormous tides
of the Bay of Fundy. The great river above the city is a wide estuary,
but before entering the harbor it is compressed into a short, deep and
narrow gorge, barely one hundred and fifty yards wide in some places,
and obstructed by several rocky islets. As this is the best
crossing-place, two bridges are thrown side by side over the chasm,
one for a railway and the other for a street, resting upon the
limestone cliffs a hundred feet above the water. As the tide ebbs and
flows, the rushing river currents make the reversible cataract, almost
under the bridges, with the water pouring down both ways at different
tidal stages. Through this contracted pass the entire current of the
vast St. John valley finds its outlet to the sea. When the ebb tide
quickly empties the harbor below, the accumulated river waters cannot
get into the gorge fast enough to reduce as rapidly the level of the
broad basin above, and they consequently rush down, a cataract,
swelling sometimes to ten or twelve feet at the upper entrance to the
gorge, and make whirling, seething rapids below. When the tide turns,
this outflow is gradually checked by the rise in the harbor, but soon
the tremendous incoming flood from the Bay of Fundy overpowers the
river current, fills up the gorge, and rapidly rising in the gorge
rushes inward to the broad basin, thus making the cataract fall the
other way. Twice every day this ever-changing contest is fought, and
were it not for the obstruction made by this narrow, rocky gateway,
these enormous tides would rush along in full force and overflow a
large surface of the very low-lying interior of New Brunswick. The
river makes a sharp bend just at the outlet of the gorge, turning from
south to northeast around a rocky cape protruding far into the stream;
then it broadens out into a rounded bay, and a short distance beyond
sharply bends again into the harbor of St. John. Vessels are taken
through the gorge at proper tidal stages, guided by tugs and floating
at high speed with the rushing current. This is one of the most
remarkable exhibitions made of the curious influence of these enormous
Bay of Fundy tides.
The River St. John, flowing out of the vast forests of Maine,
stretches four hundred and fifty miles from its sources to the sea.
The Micmac Indians of its upper reaches called it Ouangondie, while
the Etechemins of the lower waters and the St. Croix valley named it
Looshtook, or the "Long River." Its sources interlock in the Maine
forests, at two thousand feet elevation, with those of the Penobscot
flowing south and the Chaudiere flowing north to the St. Lawrence,
near Quebec. At first the St. John flows northwest, then east and
southeast to its Grand Falls, then by a winding southern course to the
Bay of Fundy. For a long distance its upper waters are the national
boundary between Maine and Canada. It receives several large
tributaries and drains a valley embracing seventeen millions of acres.
The immense forest wilderness of Maine, wherein are the sources of
these streams, is seven times the size of the famous "Black Forest" of
Germany. Upon the upper St. John waters are various villages of French
Acadians, the descendants of those who were driven out of Nova Scotia
in the eighteenth century. It receives the Allegash, St. Francis,
Madawaska, Grand and St. Leonard's Rivers, and thus comes to its
cataract with augmented waters--the Grand Falls. Above, the stream
expands into a broad basin, flowing from which its enormous current is
compressed into a narrow rock-bound canyon, and after running down a
moderate incline suddenly plunges over the front and sides of an
abyss. This is about sixty feet deep and formed of slate, the water
falling into the cauldron below, and also over the outer ledges in
minor cascades. Then, with lightning rapidity the foaming current
dashes through another canyon of two hundred and fifty feet width for
three-fourths of a mile, the walls, of dark, rugged rock, being one
hundred and fifty feet high. Within this terrific chasm there is a
descent of sixty feet more, in which the waters do not rush along as
in the rapids below Niagara, but are actually belched and volleyed
forth, as if shot out of ten thousand great guns, with enormous
boiling masses hurled into the air and huge waves leaping high against
the enclosing cliffs. This ungovernable fury continues throughout most
of the passage, the stream at times heaping itself all on one side,
and giving brief glimpses of the rocky bed of the chasm. Finally an
immense frothy cataract flows over into a lower basin, said to be
unfathomable, where the stream becomes tranquil and then goes along
peacefully between its farther banks. Majestic scenery surrounds
these Grand Falls, there being high mountains in all directions.
Like all great cataracts, this one has its romance and tragedy.
Alongside the final unfathomable basin rises a towering precipice two
hundred feet high, its perpendicular wall as smooth as glass. Down it
the ancient Micmacs hurled their captives taken in war. The implacable
foes of these Micmacs, as of all the tribes allied to the French, were
the New York Iroquois, and particularly the Mohawks. Once a party of
Mohawks penetrated all the way to this remote region, surprising and
capturing a Micmac village with a fearful massacre. One young squaw,
who promised obedience, they spared, because they wanted her to guide
them down the river. She was put in the foremost canoe, and the
fatigued Mohawks lashed their canoes together to float with the
current in the night, and then went to sleep. The girl was to guide
them to a safe landing above the cataract, so they could land and next
day go around the portage. She steered them into the mid-stream
current instead, and dropping quietly overboard swam ashore. They
floated to the brink of the cataract, and when its thunders awoke
them, too late for safety, the whole party were swept over and
perished. This was the last Mohawk invasion of the region. Twenty
miles below, the Tobique River comes into the St. John, and is
regarded as the most picturesque stream in New Brunswick, being noted
for its lumber camps and good angling. Here is Andover, a little
village supplying the lumbermen, and also Florenceville and Woodstock,
with busy sawmills. For miles the river shores are lofty and bold,
affording charming scenery. The Meduxnekeag flows in from the Maine
forests, bringing down many logs, and below the Meduntic Rapids are
passed. Then the Pokiok, its Indian name meaning the "dreadful place,"
flows to the St. John through a sombre and magnificent gorge four
hundred yards long, very deep and only twenty-five feet wide. The
little river, after plunging down a cataract of forty feet, rushes
over the successive ledges of this remarkable pass until it reaches
the St. John. For a long distance the great river passes villages
originally settled by disbanded British troops after the Revolution
and now peopled by their descendants, and then it winds through the
pastoral district of Aukpaque, which was held by Americans within New
Brunswick for two years after the Revolution began, they finally
retreating in 1777 over the border into the wilderness of Maine, and
reaching the coast at Machias. Seven miles below is Frederickton, the
New Brunswick capital, a small city, quiet and restful, with broad
streets lined by old shade trees, and covering a good deal of level
land adjoining the river. It has a fine Parliament House, a small but
attractive Cathedral, with a spire one hundred and eighty feet high,
and on the hills back of the town is the University of New Brunswick.
The Nashwaak River flows in opposite among sawmills and cotton-mills,
and there was the old French Fort Nashwaak where the Chevalier de
Villebon, who was sent in 1690 to govern Acadie, fixed his capital
(removing it from Annapolis Royal), and used to fit out expeditions
against the Puritans in New England, they attacking him once in
retaliation, but being beaten off. The St. John passes through a
pleasant intervale below, the garden-spot of the Province, where at
Maugerville was the earliest English settlement on the river,
colonized from New England in 1763, after the French surrender of
Canada. Then the St. John receives Jemseg River, the outlet of Grand
Lake, where a French fort was built as early as 1640 and was fought
about for more than a century. This is a deep, slow-winding stream in
a region of perfect repose, having opposite its outlet Gagetown, a
pretty place with a few hundred people, and said to be the most
slumbrous village of all this sleepy region:
"Oh, so drowsy! in a daze,
Sleeping mid the golden haze;
With its one white row of street
Carpeted so green and sweet,
And the loungers smoking, still,
Over gate and window sill;
Nothing coming, nothing going,
Locusts grating, one cock crowing,
Few things moving up or down;
All things drowsy--Drowsytown!"
The St. John below is much like a broad and placid lake flowing
through a pastoral country, having long tributary lakes and bays,
including the extensive and attractive Kennebecasis, which is the
favorite rural resort of the St. John people and the scene of their
aquatic sports. The river farther down broadens into Grand Bay, and
then passing the narrow gorge of the "reversible cataract," makes the
expansive harbor of St. John, and is ultimately swallowed up by the
Bay of Fundy.