coming in or going out. Rows of carriages are backed in compact lines as
far as the eye can see. It is almost equally lively at night, and
presents a gay sight with its strings of electric light and clusters of
summer people congregating on the wharf to meet the coming and speed
departing friends. Everyone comes to see the boats arrive and depart.
Furniture, cots, etc., are being unloaded rapidly, and there, as a box
is passed ashore the strong electric light shows it is addressed
to—Cabot; historic name! The busy scene on steamer and wharf, the plash
of the water, the bustle of the moving carriages, the long line of the
pier thrown out from the stern cliff, the beautiful air and the
fascination of a St. Lawrence sunset with its fairy panorama of
fantastic cloud, silver tinted under the influence of the rising
moon—these things constitute a scene that is truly delightful.
[Illustration: A Home in the Woods, St. Irénée]
[Illustration]
Owing to the fine drives in the neighborhood, carriages are very
numerous. Almost every house of a _habitant_ has its stable, and whether
he be a grocer, a shoemaker or what not, his _voiture_ may be seen
emerging from its lane by the trim little cottage to meet every
steamboat that calls at the wharf.
The life at Murray Bay is very pleasant; and it is sure to be enjoyed by
all who like driving, walking, boating, bathing, tennis, golf, etc.; all
of which recreations may be followed here to their full in the midst of
ideal surroundings.
Cap à l’Aigle may be described as a farm-village resort. It has a
pleasant little strip of shale and gravel beach. It has a waterfall,
where, although the volume of water passing over it is small, the view
is very picturesque. Beach life is not prominent in any of the Murray
Bay resorts, unless it is at St. Irénée. This is because of the
wonderful attraction the surrounding country has for walks, drives, and
other outdoor recreations. A few houses cluster at the top of the road
leading up from the wharf at Cap à l’Aigle, and farm houses extend along
the tops of the cliffs in the direction of St. Fidèle and St. Simeon.
There are numerous pleasant walks along the breezy heights, and the road
to Murray Bay River and village is an enjoyable one. Cap à l’Aigle has a
quiet, restful, and simple life that suits it for those who desire to
spend the summer not too near to a town; and in addition, it has the
advantage of being within reasonable distance of the busy summer centre
at Murray Bay.
On the south shore of the St. Lawrence, almost opposite Cap à l’Aigle,
lies bright and picturesque Kamouraska, with its white houses lining the
river, and its five verdant islands reposing within convenient reach for
the enjoyment of boating, bathing and fishing. There are summer cottages
here pleasantly placed along the banks, and a number of stopping-places
for visitors are found on the quiet streets. Driving, walking, and
tennis are the recreations, with the usual social life found in country
vacation centres. The village is very prettily laid out; and the
enjoyable stretches of beach, with the abundant tree-growth of the
neighborhood, make this a favorite spot. Kamouraska is near the
Intercolonial Railway station of St. Paschal, from which place it is
reached by a carriage drive of about six miles.
[Illustration: MURRAY BAY]
1. Bungalow
2. Cape Fortin
3. Lower Fraser Falls
4. Bungalow
[Illustration]
Rivière du Loup, some twenty-three miles down the St. Lawrence from
Kamouraska, is a growing city of considerable importance. It took its
name from the seals, once very numerous by the mouth of the river. It
has a pleasant situation on high land, and on that account it has cool
air. The long main street stretches continuously to Fraserville, and
follows the channel of the river for some distance. It is a natural
tourist centre; and the hotel accommodation is good. The hotels at the
Fraserville end are particularly suited to those making a stay in the
neighborhood; for some are large and roomy, with nice gardens and a fine
view of the river from the quiet porches and balconies on the St.
Lawrence side. There are pleasant drives to Notre Dame du Portage
village, Cacouna, etc.; and enjoyable trips may be made over the lines
of the Intercolonial and Temiscouata Railways, as well as on the river
in various directions. Lake Temiscouata, or ‘Winding Water,’ the Touladi
River and Lake, the Madawaska, or ‘Never-Frozen’ River and the Acadian
village of Edmundston are all reached by going over the line of the
Temiscouata Railway. These places are all in the heart of a good fishing
and hunting country.
At ‘The Point’ on the river, numerous cottages have been built for the
enjoyment of cool river breezes, and here, too, good summer hotels are
found where gay companies spend happy days in boating and other
amusements. The wharf with its promenade 2,500 feet long is a favorite
spot at all times, and from this point the steamers of the Trans St.
Laurent Company leave for Tadousac and the Saguenay, almost immediately
opposite on the north shore some twenty-five miles across.
The celebrated Falls of the Rivière du Loup are still beautiful,
although mills, etc., have made sad inroads on their beauty. They are
seen to best advantage by crossing the Intercolonial Railway bridge and
walking through the fields to a point down stream where a high bank
commands a full view of the river bed and the fall above.
Rivière du Loup is the centre of an interesting district; its stores are
very attractive, and its streets shady and well kept; while the
Fraserville district and the summer resorts of ‘The Point’ affords
attractive opportunities for passing many a restful week in the summer
days. From this point, too, may be had one of the best views of the
north shore mountains found along the whole river.
[Illustration: The Falls, Rivière du Loup]
No more pleasant a way of reaching Tadousac and the world-famous
Saguenay River can be imagined than that enjoyed by taking a steamer of
the Trans St. Laurent Company from Rivière du Loup wharf. It is a
delightful trip of about two hours and a half, and it is doubtful
whether any other way of approaching the Saguenay gives the pleasure and
breadth of prospect that this commands.
Near where the steamboat lies at the starting wharf, great three-masted
merchantmen anchor to discharge and take on freight, and tied up by the
wharf itself huge steam barges receive their freight of pulp wood for
the U. S. A.
[Illustration: Scenes at CAP À l’AIGLE]
1. On the Beach
2. On the Rocks
As the crossing is made, numerous craft of all kinds come into view.
Boats, launches, barges, yachts, schooners, steamships, ocean liners and
naval vessels all pass by. The air is delightful and invigorating, and
the salt breeze from the ocean is both perceptible and stimulating. The
water is smooth, with just a gentle swell. There is hardly a ripple to
be seen, save here and there where without apparent reason a tiny
wavelet bursts on the surface and spreads its milky froth around for a
brief second or two, and then becomes lost to the sight in the general
silvery calm that prevails. The sky overhead is clear, while near the
horizon beautiful clouds of grey and sun-lit white lend enchantment to
the distant mountain range on the north, now drawing nearer and nearer
and gradually becoming distinguishable. To the west a barge is crossing
south, and its long trail of black smoke reaches down to the Hare
Islands where it mingles with the white fleece of the cloud horizon and
reflects a glint of sunshine over the island slopes.
[Illustration]
To the far west the Allan liner that passed by an hour before is
mingling its smoke and vapor with that of the barge, and building
strange and fantastic castles in the air. To the east Red Island looks
like a long pontoon craft calmly sailing over the waters. Before us the
mountain range that erstwhile was dark, and dimly visible, is now
clearing and coming within view, and shows light and shade of green
fields and darker woodland.
As if by magic, the water has suddenly taken on a deep blue, and the
effect is to make the distant hills further off than they seemed before.
Now we pass through a river of molten silver, the wake of a vessel that
went by long ago. Gliding through, we reach a lake-like expanse,
cerulean in hue, and St. Catharines comes into view over the bow of our
vessel, with Tadousac beyond on the right.
We are now nearing the famous Saguenay, where the mariners of ten
centuries ago tarried after their long voyage to the ‘Ultima Thule’ of
those remote days.
That which appeared to be a huge cloud bank over the rent in the
mountain range, where pours out the river in a mighty flood, is now
assuming form as a second and greater range beyond, dwarfing more and
more the high riparian hills into comparative insignificance.
But Tadousac is near, its grand prospect is spread out for our gaze on
every side, and we are making fast to a wharf in a romantic, rocky
cove—both wharf and cove presenting the appearance of having dropped out
of some picture-book in the clouds, so charming and striking is the
whole scene.
[Illustration: Tadousac]
Tadousac was named by the native Montagnais Indians, the word meaning
mounds, or, as in this case, mountains. It has been said that the
village is placed like a nest in the midst of granite rocks that
surround the mouth of the Saguenay. It is built on a crescent-like
terrace, backed and flanked by mountains, and has a fine view over the
harbor, river, and distant shore of the St. Lawrence. The whole life of
the place is so tranquil and uncommercial that it does not intrude on
the visitor’s pleasure. It does not follow from this that there is an
absence of life here—quite the contrary, for Tadousac is a favorite
resort of thousands; but what is meant is that throngs are rarely seen
on the streets or roads. A thousand people may arrive on one of the
great steamboats, and for a while a scene of activity prevails at the
wharf; but in a short time they disperse for the roads, woods, lakes,
park, shore and hotels, and soon the usual tranquility prevails. There
is nothing to mar the repose of the slumbering little Chapel of the
Jesuits on the heights; and its bell, over three centuries old, still
rings true. The Government Piscicultural Station, or salmon hatchery, is
beautifully placed and kept, overlooking the wharf and rocky cove. Here
the little creek Anse a l’Eau makes out, and the tiny waterfall, the
lake, the platform walks, the summer house, and climbing on the rocky
slopes, attract many to a quiet enjoyment of their beauties.
[Illustration: Milking Time]
Golf, tennis, walks, boating, etc., are the chief amusements, and
children find plenty of occupation playing on the fronting sand beach,
or in climbing the rocks and hills. There is a pleasant promenade in
front of the principal hotel. It faces south-east, commands one of the
noblest prospects ever seen, and is immediately above the beach and open
to the cool summer breeze. Summer houses or pergolas dot the walk on the
top of the cliff, and there is no lack of pleasant walks in many
directions. There are places where the first thought on arrival is, “how
can I occupy my time?” The thought that immediately comes to mind here
is, “how can I see what is to be seen here in a few days—a week—or a
month?”
The display of the Aurora Borealis is often magnificent in this region.
The Indians call this the reflection of the Camp Fires in the Happy
Hunting-Grounds. On a night when the sky is cloudless, and brilliant
with stars, it is a joyous experience to camp out. Possibly there is
just enough of a breeze to fan the flickering flame of the camp fire.
The broad expanse of the St. Lawrence is unruffled by a single ripple,
and as the gaze follows its surface the glorious stars are mirrored like
shining jewels. Looking to the mountains, great rays of white shoot
upward from behind their far-away heights. Stupendous arches of purple
mount into the blue sky, transient, evanescent; for soon the dream-like
fabric crumbles and disappears, to be followed by red or crimson flames
and a suffused glow as of some cosmic conflagration in far-off space.
[Illustration]
The white porpoise is hunted with harpoons on the Saguenay and St.
Lawrence rivers. A length of fifteen feet for this fish is not uncommon.
They are not unlike the whale in appearance and are often mistaken for
their more unwieldy brother. Much art is used to draw sufficiently near
to make a good ‘strike.’ A boat with a white bottom has been used for
this purpose, with a wooden porpoise, or decoy, painted slate-color in
imitation of the young fish. Fenced enclosures, formed like a trap, are
quite common in many parts of the river. The fish enter, become confused
in seeking an outlet, and are easily caught when the tide lowers. Seals
are also caught in this locality, and even small whales are harpooned at
times.
A broad sand-bank reaches out into the St. Lawrence just a short
distance above the Saguenay. It is related that here a whale was pursued
by a swordfish. The fish, provided by nature with its sharp weapon of
offence, was chasing the unlucky whale, which moved with great rapidity
in the direction of the shore, making huge leaps out of the water and
giving out loud bellowing sounds as it sped along. The whale was all of
forty feet in length, and its enemy was fully grown and must have
measured twenty feet over all.
Confused by the near approach of its dread enemy, the whale went too
close to the sand-bar and was soon floundering about in only ten feet of
water. The swordfish now made off, possibly alarmed by the tremendous
splashing and the too-near approach to land. As the tide was rapidly
going out—it falls some eighteen feet here—there was danger for the
whale in being stranded high and dry. It lashed out with its tail and
churned the water with billowing foam. At last after repeated rolls
towards deep water it got off, and soon its joyful spouting could be
seen in the distance as it escaped and made its way down the Gulf.
[Illustration]
Seals are also caught with the harpoon. To get near them unperceived,
Indians have made holes in the sands at low tide. Here they hide under a
blanket and imitate the cry of the seal. The seals down by the water’s
edge are attracted from their native element, and gradually draw near.
They make very slow progress on the land, and when too far away to
escape back to the water the Indians pounce out and kill dozens with
blows from their hatchets.
The Saguenay River is possibly the chief tributary of the St. Lawrence.
In every way it is remarkable. Deep, bold, and with headlands of awful
height, a trip over its waters from Tadousac to Chicoutimi is an unique
experience; for nowhere else can similar scenes be found. The source of
the river is in those streams that empty into the head waters of
Pikouagami, or Lake St. John, the principal of which are the Peribonka
and Mistassini rivers. The Metabetchouan, an important stream, also
flows into Lake St. John; and these rivers with the Chicoutimi,
Marguerite, Ha-Ha, and numerous smaller rivers, all unite to swell the
great flood of the almost bottomless Saguenay. There are numerous lakes
north and south of the river, and, almost needless to state, the whole
district abounds in mountain, gorge, and waterfall scenery of the
wildest kind. Tumultuous rapids are everywhere; and the awful contrast
with them of cloud-capped mountain and the silent, still and deep,
unfathomable water below is almost overpowering.
It has been said of the Saguenay that it is not properly a river. It is
a tremendous chasm like that of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea,
cleft for sixty miles almost in a straight line through the heart of a
mountain wilderness. There is not a part of the river that does not
impress one with its grandeur and sublimity. The Indians, in their usual
direct nomenclature, called the river Saggishsekuss, ‘a river whose
banks are precipitous’; and from that name the more pronounceable
Saguenay has been derived. Jacques Cartier and Champlain both sailed on
this river, and tradition has it that Roberval penetrated far inland and
never returned.
Shallow water in the lower Saguenay must not be expected, and even at
the head of navigation a name is found that signifies ‘deep water.’ This
is Chicoutimi, a delightful village where Scandinavian vessels come to
load up with lumber. Some claim that the name of the village is derived
from the Indian word Ishkotimew, meaning ‘up to here the water is deep.’
Be that as it may, it is a picturesque place, where many of the cottages
are roofed with birch-bark, and where trim flower gardens, and cottage
doors festooned with climbing vines, may be seen. The dashing mountain
stream Chicoutimi, which has a wild descent of near 500 feet in seven
miles, enters the Saguenay just above the village, and puts on a white
bridal-fall in honor of its union with the stern Saguenay.
[Illustration]
On the way from Tadousac to Chicoutimi, the mouth of the Marguerite
River is passed. This river is distant from Tadousac about 14 miles, and
it has a beauty of its own claimed by some to compare with that of the
larger river, but, of course, on a smaller scale. The scenery is
romantic in the extreme. Swirling eddies and foaming rapids turn sharply
around the high cliffs, which are water-worn and smooth below from the
action of the dashing foam. Here and there are quiet pools, deep and
silent; and some are in almost perpetual shade from overhanging cliff
and woodland.
Some seventeen miles above stands Cape Eternity, with Eternity Bay
between it and the giant twin-brother Cape Trinity. Many have felt that
here the ‘climax of the awe-inspiring scenery of the Saguenay is
reached.’ A huge wall of limestone here towers up and projects boldly
over the river. Those who pass beneath it give a shudder of apprehension
as they realize that a fall would mean annihilation for all below. The
great column has been likened to a colossal stairway of three enormous
treads, fit ascension to the clouds for the giant gods of the early
Indian’s dream. Cape Eternity is 1700 feet high, and Cape Trinity 1500
feet. These enormous bulwarks of rock are stern and grand in the awful
majesty of their height and power. As the eye soars upward, the
pine-trees that have gained a foothold in the fissures serve to
accentuate the prodigious heights, for onward and upward they loom until
lost as specks of nothingness.
As Chicoutimi is gradually neared, the water of Ha-Ha Bay opens up on
the south. It received its odd name from the peals of laughter indulged
in by the early French explorers who took it for the main channel of the
river, and who found their mistake when they reached the end of the
cul-de-sac.
[Illustration]
In and about Chicoutimi and the neighboring villages are numerous places
of great interest; and doubtless many who visit this district will wish
to go part or all the way to Lake St. John for the pleasure of returning
by canoe, and of enjoying the lively sport of shooting the rapids in
care of two skilful Indian guides. At Portage de l’Enfant an Indian
child managed to perform a feat that few could be likely to imitate
successfully: that of going over the 50-foot fall in a canoe, and
escaping uninjured. For lovers of the curious, the church at Chicoutimi
contains an ancient bell with an inscription on it that no one has been
able to decipher.
If so minded, the traveller who finds himself in this delightful
district may go by rail from Chicoutimi to Roberval at the south-western
end of Lake St. John. Here, in more open country, another series of
excursions may be had, and, not forgetting the pleasure of a stay at
Roberval as a centre, those who are fond of steamboat trips, driving,
walking, boating and canoeing may go in many directions.
The steamboat trip from Roberval to the Grand Discharge and ‘Thousand
Isles of the Saguenay’ is a favorite one. There is nothing similar to it
elsewhere. The drives to Ouiatchouan Falls, picturesque and nearly 300
feet high, and the Montagnais village of Pointe Bleue are full of
interest and novelty. Many other trips are possible.
Much of the country to the north of the lake is unexplored. The same
remark applies to the rivers of the northern district, or rather to
their upper waters. Across Lake St. John, therefore, is ground where the
experienced huntsman or nature-lover may find ample occupation in new
fields.
The happy sojourner in these regions will soon become accustomed to the
Indian names, and, if the use of ‘fire-water’ is eschewed, words like
Chamouchouan and Ashuapmouchouan will roll trippingly from the tongue.
And now for an Indian legend. Tonadalwa was an Indian maid beautiful to
look upon, and desired by every young brave of her tribe. Her eyes were
dark and lustrous, her form was lithe, supple and beautifully moulded,
words from her lips were sweeter than honey, and her song was like unto
that of the bird that soars joyously in the sky at the first flush of
the rosy dawn.
Tonadalwa’s heart had never quickened its tender fluttering under the
glances of her dusky wooers. One only, Po-kwa-ha, had any place in her
affections. He had saved her from drowning, years before, and it filled
her memory. In a canoe as light as a feather, that her lover had made
for her, and with the stroke she had learned from him, she would take
her way over the water, skimming the white-crested waves with a grace
and speed beautiful to behold.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
One day as the soft summer air played languidly in and out of the
quivering tree branches, while the sun poised over the horizon and
assumed its dying robe of crimson, Tonadalwa’s canoe glided out from the
village shore and took its way down the great river. Taking only an
occasional stroke to keep in mid-channel, the maiden floated on. The
faint musical ripple of the gliding canoe and the gentle swish of the
paddle made a fitting accompaniment for girlish fancies that lightly
came and went on the wings of thought, and soon the soul of Tonadalwa
was deep in communion with nature, and her paddle rested motionless over
the water.
But a sound from the shore interrupts her reverie. She listens. Yes, it
is her lover’s voice. He calls her, as he has done before. She waits to
see if his canoe puts out, but it does not. Again his voice is heard,
and, this time quickly immersing her paddle, she speeds for the shore.
But it is a cruel ruse of a rejected suitor, for when too late she sees
the hated brave dash out in his canoe, and the thing she has dimly
dreaded from the evil glance of Ka-wis is about to happen. She screams
and turns to flee. The dastard brave drops his paddle, springs to his
feet, and, knowing that the maiden will escape in her light canoe, sends
an arrow on its deadly errand of revenge. But Tonadalwa’s eye was quick
and her action fleet, for she dropped prostrate ere the arrow sped where
she had stood a moment before. Alas! she had lost her paddle in the
quick movement, and as she drifted down, not daring to look up, she soon
heard the roar of the dreaded fall below.
All too soon she realized her peril. A cry now reaches her ear. The cry
rings true this time, her heart tells her, and, springing up, she looks
to the bank, sees that Ka-wis has fled and that her brave Po-kwa-ha is
running rapidly as he tries to overtake her. Ere he can draw near to
take the plunge of desperation and love, the whirling eddies have caught
the Indian maid in their grasp, the seething rapids toss her canoe from
billow to billow, and Death seizes her in his cold embrace as the frail
bark is dashed over the foaming cataract.
[Illustration]
Po-kwa-ha sees the dreadful catastrophe, as for one brief moment the
beloved form of Tonadalwa is outlined clearly against the evening sky;
and then, with one last involuntary cry for help, she extends her arms
to her lover—and she has gone.
With his loved one torn from his very grasp, with despair in his heart,
and all desire for life extinguished at one stroke, the poor lover
rushes madly to the brink and plunges over the cataract to his death.
But the Good Manitou is kind to the brave, the good, the pure, and the
true; shadowy forms, spirits of dead braves, rise from the foaming
depths below, and ere the hungry waters can overwhelm the Indian maid,
she is borne up, rescued, and returned to life.
Nor was the lover to meet the death he sought; for the same arm that had
rescued the maiden now held up the form of the young brave, and placing
her in his arms, Tonadalwa and Po-kwa-ha were united in life; and,
bearing her tenderly to her home and safety, they were soon united in
happy matrimony amidst the rejoicing of the whole tribe.