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PREFACE.
PREFACE.
The title-page alone would serve for a preface to the present volume. It is the record of a voyage, during the summer of 1859, in company with a distinguished landscape painter, along the north-eastern coast of British America, for the purpose of studying and sketching icebergs. It was thought, at first, that the shores in the neighborhood of St. Johns, Newfoundland, upon which many bergs are often floated in, would afford all facilities. It was found, however, upon experiment, that they did not
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CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER I.
COOL AND NOVEL. “ After icebergs!” exclaims a prudent, but imaginary person, as I pencil the title on the front leaf of my note-book. “Why, after deer and trout among the Adirondack Mountains with John Cheeney, the Leather-stocking of those wilds, who kills his moose and panther with a pistol; or after salmon on the Jaques Cartier and Saguenay, is thought to be quite enough for your summer tourist. “After buffalo is almost too much for any not at home in the great unfenced, Uncle Sam’s continent
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CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE EDGE OF THE GULF-STREAM. Friday Morning , June 17, 1859 . Here we are on the edge of the Gulf-Stream, loitering in a fog that would seem to drape the whole Atlantic in its chilly, dismal shroud. We are as impatient as children before the drop-curtain of a country show, and in momentary expectation that this unlucky mist will rise and exhibit Halifax, where we leave the steamer, and take a small coasting-vessel for Cape Breton and Newfoundland. As we anticipated, both of us have been sea-s
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CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER III.
THE PAINTER’S STORY. Twenty days, and most of them days of intense heat and sea-sickness, were spent on a brig from New York to the mouth of the Magdalena. In twenty minutes all that tedious voyage was sailed over again, and he was in the best humor possible for the next nine days in a steamboat up the river, a mighty stream, whose forests appear like hills of verdure ranging along its almost endless banks. After the steamboat, came a tiresome time in a canoe, followed by a dark and fireless nig
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CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER IV.
HALIFAX. We have now been lying for hours off Halifax. The fog appears to be in a profound slumber. Whistle, bell and big guns have no power to wake it up. The waves themselves have gone to sleep under the fleecy covering. Old Ocean lazily breathes and dreams. The top-mast, lofty and slim, marks and flourishes on the misty sky, as an idler marks the sand with his cane. Pricked on by our impatience, back and forth we step the deck, about as purposeless as leopards step their cage. They are lettin
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CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER V.
THE MERLIN. Be it known that the Merlin, the name in which our vessel delights, is a small propeller, with a screw wheel, and a crazy mess of machinery in the middle, which go far towards making one deaf and dumb by day, but very wakeful and talkative by night; so thoroughly are the rumbling, thumping and clanking disseminated through all those parts appointed for the passengers. The Merlin has not only her peculiar noises, but her own peculiar ways and motions; motions half wallowing and half p
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CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VI.
SYDNEY.—CAPE BRETON.—THE OCEAN. Monday , June 19, 1859 . We are still rising and sinking on the misty ocean, and somewhere on those great currents flowing from the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Yesterday, at an early hour, we were entering Sydney Harbor, Cape Breton, with a tide from sea, and a flood of brightness from the sun. The lively waters, the grassy fields dotted with white dwellings, and the dark green woodlands were bathed in splendor. A few clouds, that might have floated away from the cotton
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CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRST ICEBERGS. Newfoundland seems to be wreathed with fogs forever. As a dwelling-place, this world certainly appears far from complete,—an argument for a better country. But yonder is the blue sky peeping through the mist, an intimation of that better country. A solitary bird sits upon a stick floating by, looking back curiously as it grows less and less. Now it merely dots the gleaming wave, and now it is quite wiped away. Thus float off into the past the winged pleasures of the hour. Aga
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CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER VIII.
NEWFOUNDLAND.— St. JOHNS. When the mist dispersed, the rocky shores of Newfoundland were close upon our left,—lofty cliffs, red and gray, terribly beaten by the waves of the broad ocean. We amused ourselves, as we passed abreast the bays and headlands and rugged islands, with gazing at the wild scene, and searching out the beauty timidly reposing among the bleak and desolate. On the whole, Newfoundland, to the voyager from the States, is a lean and bony land, in thin, ragged clothes, with the sm
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CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER IX.
AN ENGLISH INN.—GOVERNOR AND BISHOP.—SIGNAL HILL. Wednesday , June 22, 1859 .—We are at Warrington’s, a genuine English inn, with nice rooms and a home-like quiet, where the finest salmon, with other luxuries, can be had at moderate prices. Every thing is English but ourselves. I feel that the Yankee in me is about as prominent as the bowsprit of the Great Republic, the queen ship of the metropolis of yankeedom, the renowned port from which we sailed, and through the scholarly air of which my th
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CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER X.
THE RIDE TO TORBAY.—THE LOST SAILOR.—THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. Thursday , June 23 . We were stirring betimes, making preparations for our first venture after an iceberg. Unluckily, it was a Romish holiday, and every vehicle in town seemed to be busy carrying people about, by the time we thought it necessary to engage one for ourselves. We succeeded at length in securing a hard-riding wagon, driven by a young Englishman, and were soon on our way, trundling along at a good pace over the smooth road le
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CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XI.
TORBAY.—FLAKES AND FISH-HOUSES.—THE FISHING BARGE.—THE CLIFFS.—THE RETREAT TO FLAT ROCK HARBOR.—WILLIAM WATERMAN, THE FISHERMAN. Torbay , finely described in a recent novel by the Rev. R. T. S. Lowell, is an arm of the sea, a short, strong arm with a slim hand and finger, reaching into the rocky land, and touching the waterfalls and rapids of a pretty brook. Here is a little village, with Romish and Protestant steeples, and the dwellings of fishermen, with the universal appendages of fishing-hou
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CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XII.
THE WHALES.—THE ICEBERG.—THE RETURN, AND THE RIDE TO St. JOHNS BY STARLIGHT. The sunshine was now streaming in at a bit of a window, and I went out to see what prospect of success. C——, who had left some little time before, was nowhere to be seen. The fog seemed to be in sufficient motion to disclose the berg down some of the avenues of clear air that were opened occasionally. They all ended, however, with fog instead of ice. I made it convenient to walk to the boat, and pocket a few cakes, bro
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CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIII.
ST. MARY’S CHURCH.—THE RIDE TO PETTY HARBOR. Friday , June 24 . Daylight, with the street noises, surprised me in the very midst of the sweetest slumbers. I had already learned that the summer daybreak, in these more northern latitudes, was far enough ahead of breakfast, and so I flattered myself back into one of those light and dreamy sleeps that last, or seem to last, for several long and pleasant hours. When the bell aroused me, the day appeared old and glittering enough for noon. But it was
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CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XIV.
PETTY HARBOR.—THE MOUNTAIN RIVER.—COD-LIVER OIL.—THE EVENING RIDE BACK TO St. JOHNS. To venture a geological remark: All these coast highlands correspond with the summits of the Alleghenies, and with those regions of the Cordilleras, C—— tells me, which are just below the snow-line. From the sea-line up to the peak, they correspond with our mountains above the upper belt of woods. Their icy pinnacles and eternal snows are floating below in the form of icebergs. Imagine all the mid-mountain regi
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CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XV.
THE CHURCH SHIP.—THE HERO OF KARS.—THE MISSIONARY OF LABRADOR. Saturday , June 25 . This has been a quiet day, mostly spent in making calls and social visits. At an early hour, in company with Mr. Newman, the consul, we visited the Church Ship, a pretty vessel of not more than sixty tons, called the Hawk, a name suggested by that line in the Odyssey, where the poet says, “the auspicious bird flew under the guidance of God.” By an ingenious arrangement, the cabin, which is a large part of the ves
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CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVI.
SUNDAY EVENING AT THE BISHOP’S.—THE REV. MR. WOOD’S TALK ABOUT ICEBERGS. Monday , June 27 . We attended church, yesterday, at the cathedral, where we heard practical sermons and fine congregational singing. The evening was passed at the Bishop’s, when the conversation was about Oxford, and Keble, English parsonages, and Christian art. A few poems were read from Keble’s Christian Year, and commented upon by the Bishop, who is a personal friend and admirer of the poet. Before the company separated
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CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVII.
OUR VESSEL FOR LABRADOR.—WRECK OF THE ARGO.—THE FISHERMAN’S FUNERAL. Wednesday , June 29 . We are far advanced in our preparations for the voyage. Yesterday and to-day, we have been busily engaged, and now see the way clear for leaving to-morrow morning. Bishop Field, who, with many others, is pleased that C—— has volunteered to take Mr. Hutchinson and Mr. Botwood, his associate, to Labrador, sailed on the visitation of his extended diocese to-day. The Church Ship, which we visited in the morni
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CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
OUR FIRST EVENING AT SEA. Thursday evening , June 30 . At sea. I am now writing, for the first time to-day, by the candles on our table in the main cabin of the Integrity. We are sailing northward with a fair wind, but with fog and rather rough water. But let me go back, and take the day from the beginning, passing lightly over its labors and vexations. The morning opened upon us brilliantly, and all were employed about those many little things which only can be done at the last moment. Noon cam
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CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XIX.
ICEBERGS OF THE OPEN SEA.—THE OCEAN CHASE.—THE RETREAT TO CAT HARBOR. Friday , July 1 . The fog is so dense that the rigging drips as if it rained. In fact, if it be not the finest of all rain, then it is the thickest of all mists. C—— and I are sea-sick, almost as a matter of course, and look upon all preparations for breakfast with no peculiar satisfaction. Our consolation is, that we are sailing forward, although with only very moderate speed. Delightful change! It is clearing up. The noonda
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CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XX.
CAT HARBOR.—EVENING SERVICE IN CHURCH.—THE FISHERMAN’S FIRE.—THE RETURN AT MIDNIGHT. At eight o’clock, our brave little pink-stern was lying at anchor in her haven, as quietly as a babe in its cradle, with the wind piping a pleasant lullaby in the rigging, and the roar of the ocean nearly lost in the distance. A few rude erections along the rocky shore, with a small church, a store and warehouse, compose the town of Cat Harbor, the life of which seems to be the water-craft busy in the one common
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CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXI.
AFTER ICEBERGS AGAIN.—AMONG THE SEA-FOWL. Saturday , July 2 . It is five o’clock, and the morning has kindled in the clouds its brightest fires. We are moving off to sea gracefully before a fair, light wind. The heart delights in this golden promise of a fine summer day, and the blue Atlantic all before us. As the rising sun looks over it, the glittering waves seem to participate in these joyful emotions. How marvelously beautiful is this vast scene! Give me the sea, I say, now that I am on the
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CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXII.
NOTRE DAME BAY.—FOGO ISLAND AND THE THREE HUNDRED ISLES.—THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS.—THE ICEBERG OF THE SUNSET, AND THE FLIGHT INTO TWILLINGATE. After noon, with the faintest breeze, and the sea like a flowing mirror. We have sailed by the most eastern promontories, Cape Bonavista and Cape Freels, and have now arrived at a point where the coast falls off far to the west, and gives place to Notre Dame Bay, the great Archipelago of Newfoundland, of which there is comparatively little known. Our true
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CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SUNDAY IN TWILLINGATE.—THE MORNING OF THE FOURTH. Monday Morning , July 4, 1859 . We were roused from our slumbers very suddenly, yesterday morning, by Mr. Hutchinson, in a loud and cheerful voice, telling us the pleasing news that the Church Ship was at anchor near by, and that he had exchanged salutations with the Bishop. His vessel had lost a spar in the same squall that drove us into Cat Harbor. To that accident we owed the pleasure of meeting him in Twillingate, and of passing a profita
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CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. Twelve o’clock. The day we celebrate. Three cheers! How we are after the iceberg. Upon getting near, we find it grounded in fifty fathoms of water, apparently storm-worn, and much the worse for the terrible buffeting of the recent gale. Masses of the huge, glassy precipices seem to have been blasted off within the last hour, and gone away in a lengthy line of white fragments upon the mighty stream. We are now bearing down upon it, under full sail, intending to pass cl
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CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS ONCE MORE.—A BUMPER TO THE QUEEN AND PRESIDENT. The waves are crisp with a snowy mane, and the rocky shores of Twillingate are draped with splendid lights and shadows. While the seams and surfaces of the cliffs are strikingly plain in the sunlight, they are dark as caverns in the shade. This gives the coast a wonderfully broken, wild, and picturesque look. Once more the sea “is all before us where to choose.” The joy of this freedom is utterly inexpressible, although, in
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CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVI.
GULL ISLAND.—THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. Tuesday , July 5 . Off Cape St. John, with fog and head winds. We are weary of this fruitless beating about, and resolve to put into smooth water for the sake of relief from sea-sickness. While our English guests seem to enjoy the breakfast, we have gone no further than to sip a little tea, take a few turns on deck in the chilly morning air, and return to the cabin, where I pencil these notes. There is a dome-shaped berg before us in the mist, but not
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CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. We are making a round of calls on all the icebergs of Cape St. John, painting, sketching, and pencilling as we go. Our calls are cut short for the want of wind, and we lie becalmed on the low, broad swells, majestically rolling in upon the Cape, only a mile to the south-west. Captain Knight is evidently unquiet at this proximity. A powerful current is setting rapidly in, carrying us over depths too great for our cables, up to the very cliffs. If the advent
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE SEAL FIELDS.—SEALS AND SEALING.—CAPTAIN KNIGHT’S SHIPWRECK. The sealers from St. Johns, for example, start upon their northern voyage, early in March, falling in with both ice and seals very frequently off the Capes of Conception and Trinity Bays. The ice, a snowy white, lies in vast fields upon the ocean, cracked in all ways, and broken into cakes or “pans” of all shapes and sizes. At one time, it resembles a boundless pavement dappled with dark water, into which vessels work their way, and
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CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXIX.
BELLE ISLE AND THE COAST.—AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION.—FIRST VIEW OF LABRADOR.—ICEBERGS.—THE OCEAN AND THE SUNSET. Wednesday , July 6 . After a quiet night, with a mild and favorable breeze, the morning opens with the promise of a bright day. Our little cloud of sail is all up in the early sunshine, and moving before the cool south wind steadily forward down the northern sea. Brilliantly as the summer sun looks abroad upon the mighty waters, I walk the clean, wet deck, in the heaviest winter clothin
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CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE MIDNIGHT LOOK-OUT FORWARD.—A STORMY NIGHT.—THE COMEDY IN THE CABIN. Past Midnight. I have been up and watching forward for more than an hour, roused from my berth by the cry of ice. A large ship, with a cloud of sail, passed just across our head, bound for Old England. “That’s a happy fellow,” says the man at the helm; “past the dangers of the St. Lawrence and the Straits, and fairly out to sea.” The wind is rising, and promises a rough time. “There is something,” I said to myself, as I lean
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CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE CAPE AND BAY OF ST. LOUIS.—THE ICEBERG.—CARIBOO ISLAND.—BATTLE HARBOR AND ISLAND.—THE ANCHORAGE.—THE MISSIONARIES. Five o’clock, P. M. What a pleasing contrast! We have been tossing nearly all day upon a rough, inclement ocean, and are now on the sunny, smooth waters of the bay, gliding westward, with Cape St. Louis close upon our right. We have sailed from winter into summer, almost as suddenly as we come out of the fog, at times—bursting out of it into the clear air, as an eagle breaks out
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CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXII.
BATTLE ISLAND AND ITS SCENERY. We sit down upon the summit of Battle Island, after a zigzag scramble up its craggy side, and talk and sketch and scribble, as we rest and look upon the blue, barren sea, and the brown and more barren continent, with its mountains of desert rock. With all this desolateness, the approaching sunset and the warm skies, the stern headlands, the white icebergs and bleak islands, and the bay with its rays and points of water, like a vast spangle on the savage landscape,
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CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
MOSSES, ODORS AND FLOWERS.—A DINNER-PARTY. Friday , July 8, 1859 . A bright, cool morning. After breakfast at the parsonage, we went rambling again up and down the moss-covered fields of Battle Island, smelling the fine perfume, gathering flowers, and counting the icebergs. There are more than forty in the neighborhood, and some of them grand and imposing at a distance. Have you thought, as I did, that there are no flowers, or next to none, in Labrador? You might as well have thought that all, o
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CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
OUR BOAT FOR THE ICEBERGS.—AFTER THE ALPINE BERG.—STUDY OF ITS WESTERN FACE. After dinner. Mr. Hutchinson has placed at our service his parish vessel, at once a schooner and a row-boat, of which Captain Knight, of course, is master, and our men the sailors. We are all ready, waiting its arrival alongside, in order for our first excursion after icebergs, equipped entirely to our mind. An hour’s sail has brought us off into the broad waters, south of Battle Harbor, close to a berg selected from th
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CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE ALPINE BERG.—STUDIES OF ITS SOUTHERN FRONT.—FRIGHTFUL EXPLOSION AND FALL OF ICE.—STUDIES OF THE WESTERN SIDE.—OUR PLAY WITH THE MOOSE HORNS.—THE SPLENDOR OF THE BERG IN THE SUNSET. We are now lying under oars, riding quietly on the swells, distant, say, a hundred yards south of the berg, which has a visible, perpendicular front of five hundred, by one hundred and fifty feet or more elevation. It resembles a precipice of newly-broken porcelain, wet and dripping, its vast face of dead white ti
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CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
RAMBLE AMONG THE FLOWERS OF BATTLE ISLAND.—A VISIT TO THE FISHERMEN.—WALK AMONG THE HILLS OF CARIBOO. Saturday , July 9 . We are abroad again on the rocky hills, fanned with the soft, summer wind, and blessed with the loveliest sunshine. The mosses sparkle with their sweet-scented blossoms of purple, white, and red, and the wood-thrush is pouring out its plaintive melody over the bleak crags, and the homes of fishermen, around whose doors I see the children playing as merrily as the children of
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CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AFTER THE BAY ST. LOUIS ICEBERG.—WINDSOR CASTLE ICEBERG.—FOUNDERS SUDDENLY.—A BRILLIANT SPECTACLE. After dinner, upon the heights of Battle Island, gathering roots, plants, and mosses to carry home. We notice with pleasure the largest iceberg by far that we have ever yet seen. It is the last arrival from Greenland, and is abreast Cape St. Louis, in the northeast. It is a stupendous thing, and reminds me of Windsor Castle, as I know it from pictures and engravings. It appears to be wheeling in to
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CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SUNDAY IN LABRADOR.—EVENING WALK TO THE GRAVEYARD.—THE ROCKY OCEAN SHORE. Sunday evening , July 10 . We have had a beautiful and interesting day. Early in the morning, flags were flying from the shipping, and from the tall staff in front of the church, the only bell-tower of the town. Boats, with people in their Sunday best, soon came rowing in from different quarters, for the services of the day, in which I had the pleasure of assisting. The house, seating about two hundred people, was crowded,
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CHAPTER XXXIX.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE SAIL TO FOX HARBOR.—A DAY WITH THE ESQUIMAUX, AND OUR RETURN. Monday , July 11 . After icebergs in St. Michael’s Bay, was to have been the order of the morning. It lies northward forty miles, and usually abounds in icebergs of the largest size, Mr. Hutchinson informs us. There is not, however, the least necessity for passing Cape St. Louis, south of which there is ice enough in sight for all the painters in the world. But the charm of novelty is almost irresistible. Had we the time, we would
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CHAPTER XL.
CHAPTER XL.
A MORNING RAMBLE OVER CARIBOO.—EXCURSION ON THE BAY, AND THE TEA-DRINKING AT THE SOLITARY FISHERMAN’S. Tuesday , July 12 . Cold as November, and a gale outside. After a late breakfast, we roam the hills of Cariboo, under the cliffs of which the Integrity now lies tied to the rocks. We gather roots and flowers, gaze upon the vast and desolate prospect, count the icebergs, and watch the motions of the fog driving, in large, cloud-like masses, across the angry ocean. It is surprising how much we do
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CHAPTER XLI.
CHAPTER XLI.
PAINTING THE CAVERN OF GREAT ISLAND, AND OUR SAIL HOMEWARD IN A GALE. Two o’clock P. M. The wind has moderated, and blows from the land. We sail out upon the eastern or ocean side of Great Island. This is not precisely the excursion proposed in the morning, which was to an iceberg in the bay. It is the best, though, that we can do, and may turn out very well. I could wish a less exciting passage in than we had out, when, for the first, I learned the power of wind to knock a vessel over at a sing
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CHAPTER XLII.
CHAPTER XLII.
AFTER THE ICEBERG OF BELLE ISLE.—THE RETREAT TO CARTWRIGHT’S TICKLE.—BRIDGET KENNEDY’S COTTAGE, AND THE LONELY STROLL OVER CARIBOO. Wednesday , July 13 . We rise with the intention of spending the day in Belle Isle water to the south, around what we call the Great Castle Berg—an object, from the first, of our particular regard. The breeze freshens from the north, but the Captain thinks we may lie safely to the leeward of the ice, and so sketch and write. Battle Harbor has a narrow and shallow pa
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CHAPTER XLIII.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE ICEBERG OF THE FIGURE-HEAD.—THE GLORY AND THE MUSIC OF THE SEA AT EVENING. Late in the afternoon, and the breeze gone down. We are off on the gentle rollers of the Bay of St. Louis, after a low, broad iceberg, covering, say, an acre of surface, and grounded in forty fathoms of water. It has upon one extremity a bulky tower of sixty feet, on the other, forty, and in the middle a huge pile of ice blocks of all shapes and sizes, the ruins of some spire. While the outside of this heap of fragmen
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CHAPTER XLIV.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CAPE ST. CHARLES.—THE RIP VAN WINKLE BERG.—THE GREAT CASTLE BERG.—STUDIES OF ITS DIFFERENT FRONTS. Thursday , July 14 . Off again for the Great Castle Berg. The passage from Battle Harbor into the south waters is a shallow, rocky lane, and furnishes very rare studies of color in stone. A large agate cut across would serve the painter very well as a sample of much that is seen here along the rough margin of this little strait. Wave-washed, and sparkling with mica and crystallizations, and tinged
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CHAPTER XLV.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE SAIL FOR ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN.—THE SALMON FISHERS.—THE CAVERN OF THE ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN.—BURTON’S COTTAGE.—MAGNIFICENT SCENE FROM ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN.—THE PAINTING OF THE RIP VAN WINKLE BERG.—THE ICE-VASE, AND THE RETURN BY MOONLIGHT. Our sails are up, and we glide landward, stopping to warm at a hut on a rocky islet. Two young fellows, engaged here in the salmon fishery, welcomed us to their cabin, and soon made their rusty old cooking-stove hot enough. The salmon are taken very much lik
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CHAPTER XLVI.
CHAPTER XLVI.
AFTER OUR LAST ICEBERG.—THE ISLES.—TWILIGHT BEAUTIES OF ICEBERGS.—MIDNIGHT ILLUMINATION. Friday , July 15 . This is another of the summer days of Labrador, with a soft, southerly wind, tempting one to ramble in spite of musquitoes and black flies, which, though few, are uncommonly pestilent. The painter is sleeping from very weariness, and I am loitering about these cliffs, note-book in hand, in a drowsy state, for a similar reason. These long days and late hours about headlands and icebergs are
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CHAPTER XLVII.
CHAPTER XLVII.
FAREWELL TO BATTLE HARBOR.—THE STRAITS OF BELLE ISLE.—LABRADOR LANDSCAPES.—THE WRECK OF THE FISHERMEN. Saturday , July 16 . “Once more upon the waters, yet once more.” We were awakened from sound slumbers by the footsteps and voices of the men above, making ready for sea. It was a pleasant sound, and the sunshine streaming down into the cabin was welcome intelligence of the brightness of the morning. We dressed in time to get on deck, and wave a final adieu to our friends, from whom we had forma
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CHAPTER XLVIII.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
SKETCHING THE PASSING BERGS.—THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. The painter is a model of industry, sketching and painting the bergs as we pass them. They are now clustered on the northern horizon, with a few exceptions. We have been for some time near one, out of which might be cut an entire block of Broadway buildings, evidently presenting the same upper surface that it had when it slid as a glacier from the polar shore. If such is the fact, we infer that in its long glacial experience it could not have
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CHAPTER XLIX.
CHAPTER XLIX.
DRIFTING IN THE STRAITS.—RETREAT TO TEMPLE BAY.—PICTURESQUE SCENERY.—VOYAGERS’ SATURDAY NIGHT. We are drifting to the north shore in spite of all that can be done, and positively have not been before in so great danger. Our anchor, with all the cable we have, would be swinging above the bottom, were we close to the rocks. A reckless skipper, not long ago in a similar predicament, let go his anchor with the expectation that it would catch in time to save him, but he went bows on, and lost his ves
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CHAPTER L.
CHAPTER L.
SUNDAY IN TEMPLE BAY.—RELIGIOUS SERVICES.—THE FISHERMAN’S DINNER AND CONVERSATION.—CHATEAU.—THE WRECK.—WINTERS IN LABRADOR.—ICEBERGS IN THE WINTER.—THE FRENCH OFFICERS’ FROLIC WITH AN ICEBERG.—THEORY OF ICEBERGS.—CURRENTS OF THE STRAIT.—THE RED INDIANS.—THE RETURN TO THE VESSEL. Monday , July 19 . Early yesterday morning, a boat with tan-colored sails came off from the town, and found that we were not traders from Newfoundland, as they supposed, but visitors merely, and direct from Mr. Hutchinso
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CHAPTER LI.
CHAPTER LI.
EVENING WALK TO TEMPLE BAY MOUNTAIN.—THE LITTLE ICEBERG.—TROUBLES OF THE NIGHT AND PLEASURES OF THE MORNING.—UP THE STRAITS.—THE PINNACLE OF THE LAST ICEBERG.—THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE. After dinner and a pleasant conversation on deck, we found time to slip ashore, and thread our way through thickets of sweet-scented spruce to the mountain-top for a prospect. Once in my life, on the borders of a forest pond, in the lower St. Lawrence country, I experienced the plague of black flies to an extent t
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CHAPTER LII.
CHAPTER LII.
COAST SCENERY.—FAREWELL TO LABRADOR. The coast of Labrador was really fine, all the forenoon, and sometimes strikingly grand. It has lost something of the desolate and savage character it has about the Capes St. Louis and St. Charles, and seems more like a habitable land. There are long and graceful slopes and outlines of pale green hills slanting down to the sea, along which is the craggy shore-line, black, brown and red. The last few miles, and which is near the Canadian border, the red sandst
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CHAPTER LIII.
CHAPTER LIII.
WESTERN NEWFOUNDLAND.—THE BAY, THE ISLANDS, AND THE HIGHLANDS OF ST. JOHNS.—INGORNACHOIX BAY. Newfoundland now lifts its blue summits along the southeast sky, a kind of Catskill heights, with here and there patches of snow, that recall to mind the White Mountain House. In the course of the afternoon, we pass them, and find that they are the highlands of St. Johns, the loftiest, I believe, in the island, and bound the bay called by the same lovely name. What a region for romantic excursion! Yonde
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CHAPTER LIV.
CHAPTER LIV.
SLOW SAILING BY THE BAY OF ISLANDS.—THE RIVER HUMBER.—ST. GEORGE’S RIVER, CAPE, AND BAY.—A BRILLIANT SUNSET. Tuesday , July 19 . We have a brilliant morning and a favoring breeze, but a vexatious current. What a net of these currents has the tyrannous Neptune set around his beloved Newfoundland! Like a web in a dim cellar window, it is perpetually entangling some fly of a craft in its subtle meshes. Buzz and struggle as we will, he has got us by the foot, and, spider-like, may look on, and enjoy
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CHAPTER LV.
CHAPTER LV.
FOUL WEATHER.—CAPE ANGUILLE.—THE CLEARING OFF.—THE FROLIC OF THE PORPOISES.—THE NEW COOKS.—THE SHIP’S CAT. Wednesday , July 20 . We have a misty morning, and a contrary wind. If there are any two words in English, that early fell in love and married, and have a numerous progeny, those words are Patience and Progress. They do not walk hand in hand, but, like the red Indians, in single file. If Progress walk before, Patience is close behind, which order of march now happens to prevail, and a good
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CHAPTER LVI.
CHAPTER LVI.
ST. PAUL’S ISLAND.—CAPE NORTH.—COAST OF CAPE BRETON.—SYDNEY LIGHT AND HARBOR.—THE END OF OUR VOYAGE TO LABRADOR, AND AROUND NEWFOUNDLAND. Thursday , July 21 . After a boisterous night we are on deck again, and find a pleasant change in the wind. It is gray and rainy, but then our sails swell, and we rush southward. A dome of inhospitable rock peers through the mist, one of nature’s penitentiaries, which no living man would own, and so has been deeded to St. Paul: Melita is Eden to it. The saints
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CHAPTER LVII.
CHAPTER LVII.
FAREWELL TO CAPTAIN KNIGHT.—ON OUR WAY ACROSS CAPE BRETON.—A MERRY RIDE, AND THE RUSTIC LOVER. Friday , July 22 . Sydney harbor. A bright morning, and the wind from the quarter where we should be happy to find it, were we going to sea. But, selfish souls! because it puts us to a small inconvenience, we now wish that it did not blow, and that we may have calm weather. We are to breakfast, to finish packing, and take our leave of Captain Knight, from whom we part with emotions of regret. He will d
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CHAPTER LVIII.
CHAPTER LVIII.
EVENING RIDE TO MRS. KELLY’S TAVERN.—THE SUPPER, AND THE LODGING. At a sort of half-way house, the driver of the baggage-wagon stopped to feed and water, and I walked on alone, leaving the painter with his sketch-book. For a mile or more, the road wound its way through thick woods, mostly spruce, and “I whistled as I went,” certainly not “for want of thought,” and sang for the solitude, and was answered by the ringing echoes and the wood-thrush, whose sweet melody, sounding with a silvery, metal
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CHAPTER LIX.
CHAPTER LIX.
SUNDAY AT DAVID MURDOCH’S.—THE SCENERY OF BRAS D’OR. Saturday , July 23 . We were off betimes, and trundling right merrily again along the hilly shores of Bras D’or, a much more expanded sheet of water than yesterday. At three o’clock, P. M. , we arrived at David Murdoch’s, the end of our journey with Dearing’s conveyances, and where we remain until Monday morning. I have just returned from a walk through wood and meadow, picking berries by the way, and now wait for dinner, which, from the linen
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CHAPTER LX.
CHAPTER LX.
OFF FOR THE STRAIT OF CANSO.—ST. PETER’S AND THE COUNTRY.—DAVID MURDOCH’S HORSES, AND HIS DRIVING.—ARRIVE AT PLASTER COVE. Monday , July 25 . We are out “by the dawn’s early light,” and assist in getting our baggage upon the coach, as David Murdoch calls his two-horse covered wagon, which is to carry us on to the Strait of Canso. We have breakfasted, and all is ready. As I pen these notes, here and there by the wayside, I keep them mainly in the present tense. David, a little fair-complexioned,
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CHAPTER LXI.
CHAPTER LXI.
ADIEU TO DAVID AND CAPE BRETON.—THE STRAIT OF CANSO.—OUR NOVA SCOTIA COACH.—ST. GEORGE’S BAY, AND THE RIDE INTO ANTIGONISH. Plaster Cove , a small village, and our dining-place, is at the main point of departure for Nova Scotia on the Strait of Canso, a river to all appearance, and not unlike the Niagara, pouring its deep, green tides back and forth through its rocky channel, overlooked by cliffs and highlands. Directly opposite, the hills rise into quite a mountain, thickly wooded, down the sid
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CHAPTER LXII.
CHAPTER LXII.
NEW GLASGOW.—THE RIDE TO TRURO.—THE RAILWAY RIDE TO HALIFAX.—PARTING WITH THE PAINTER. Tuesday , July 26 . New Glasgow. We halt here for breakfast, after a sociable and merry ride of several hours from Antigonish, where, after a refreshing sleep, we were favored by a change of coaches, and the pleasant company of an officer of the English army. Here is a broad and fertile vale with a pretty river and town; all reminding us of New England. Across the river are coal-mines, a railroad, and the roar
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CHAPTER LXIII.
CHAPTER LXIII.
COACH RIDE AT NIGHT FROM HALIFAX TO WINDSOR.—THE PRINCE EDWARD’S MAN, AND THE GENTLEMAN FROM NEWFOUNDLAND. Immersed in fog, and shut up in a small coach, three of us, a Prince Edward’s man and a gentleman from Newfoundland, rode at a round trot, with but two or three brief intermissions, from ten o’clock in the evening until six next morning. The country, I conclude—if a man may have any conclusions, who rides with his eyes fast shut, and sleeps and nods—is a succession of hills and dales. From
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