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AFTER ICEBERGS 
 
 WITH A PAINTER: 
 
 SUMMER VOYAGE TO LABRADOR AND AROUND 
 NEWFOUNDLAND. 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. LOUIS L. xNOBLE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF TUE "LIFE OF COLE," " P O E M 8 ," ETC. 
 
 ;/ 
 / 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 D. APPLE TON AND COMPANY, 
 
 44:3 & 445 UTvOADWAY. 
 
 LONDON: 10 LITTLE BRITAIN. 
 
 M.DCCO.LXI. 
 
 /a 
 
 
 
.N74 
 
 \ 
 
 4 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, 
 By D. APPLETON & CO., 
 In the Clcrfs OflSce of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 V District of New York. 
 
 ~> 
 
E, 33. r> ^ L m: E R, 
 
 THE SCIILPTOPv, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS EESPECTEULLY 
 
 ^Itbkakb. 
 
 / 
 
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 pur- 
 pose 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 facihties. It was found, however, upon ex- 
 periment, that they did not. Icebergs were too 
 few for the requisite variety ; too scattered to be 
 reached conveniently; and too distant to be mi- 
 nutely examined from land. One needed to be in 
 the midst of them, where he could command 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 -s-ieT^'s, near or remote, of all sides of tliem, at all 
 horn's of tlie day and evenino:. 
 
 For tliat purpose a small vessel ^vas hired to 
 take lis to Labrador. Favoring circumstances di- 
 rected us to Battle Harbor, near Cape St. Louis, in 
 the waters of which icebergs, and all facilities for 
 sketching them, abounded. 
 
 To diversify the journey, we returned through 
 the Gulf of St. Lawrence, coasting the west of 
 Newfoundland, and the shores of Cape Breton, and 
 concluding with a ride across the island, and 
 through Nova Scotia to the Bay of Fundy. 
 
 If the writer has succeeded in picturing to his 
 reader, with some freshness, what he saw and felt, 
 then will the purpose of the book, made from notes 
 pencilled rapidly, have been accomplished. 
 
 L. L. K 
 
 ITupsojf, N"ew Jekset, 
 March, ISOl. 
 
CO:N'TEIsrTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 Cool and Novel, ....... 1 
 
 CnAPTEE IL 
 On the Edge of the Gulf-Strcam, ..... 5 
 
 CHAPTEE IIL 
 The Painter's Story, ... ... 8 
 
 CnAPTEE IV. 
 Ilalifax, . . . . . . , , 15 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 The Merlin, ........ 19 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 Sydney. — Cape Breton. — The Ocean, .... 23 
 
 CHAPTEE VIL 
 The first Icebergs, . . - , , .27 
 
 CIIAPTEU VIII, 
 
 Newfoundland. — St. Johns, ...,., 80 
 
Vm CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. PAGE 
 
 An English Inn. — The Gorernor and Bishop. — Signal Hill, . . S3 
 
 CIIAPTEK X. 
 The EiJo to Torbay.— The lost Sailor.— The Newfoundland Dog, . 88 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 Torbay. — Flakes and Fish-houses. — The Fishing-barge. — The Chffs. — 
 The Retreat to Flat Rock Harbor. — WiUiam Waterman, the fisher- 
 man, ........ 41 
 
 CIIAPTEK XII. 
 
 The W*ales.— The Iceberg.— The Return, and the Ride to St. Johns 
 • by Starlight, ....... 52 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 St. Mary's Church. — The Ride to Fctty Harbor, . . .60 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ■^ Petty Harbor. — The Mountain River. — Cod-liTcr Oil.— The Evening 
 
 Ride back to St. Johns, ..... G5 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Church Ship. — The Hero of Ears. — The Missionary of Labrador, 71 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Sunday Evening at the Bishop's. — The Rev. Mr. "Wood's Talk about 
 Icebergs, ....... 74 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Our Ycsscl for Labrador. — Wreck of the Argo. — The Fisherman's 
 
 Funeral, ........ 76 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. PACE 
 
 Our First Evening at Sea, ...... 80 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Icebergs of the Open Sea. — The Ocean Chase. — The Retreat to Cat 
 
 Harbor, ........ 82 
 
 CIIAPTEPv XX. 
 
 Cat Harbor. — Evening Service in Church. — The Fisherman's Fire. — The 
 
 Return at Midnight, ...... 89 
 
 • CHAPTER XXI. 
 After Icebergs again. — Among the Sea-Fowl, . . . .93 
 
 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, . . . . . . 96 
 
 • CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Sunday in TwiUingatc.— The Morning of the Fourth, . . 103 
 
 GilAPTER XXIV. 
 The Iceberg of Twillingate, ..... IOC 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Freedom of the Seas once more. — A Bumper to the Quaen and 
 President, ........ 112 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Gull Island.— The Icebergs of Cape St. John, . . . 115 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 The Splendid Icebergs of Cape St. John, . . . .121 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. page 
 
 The Seal Fields. — Seals and Sealing. — Captain Knight's Shipwreck, 129 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIX. 
 
 Belle Isle and the Coast. — After-dinner Discussion. — First View of 
 Labrador. — Icebergs. — The Ocean and the Sunset, . . 135 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 The Midnight Look-out Forward. — A Stormy Night. — The Comedy in 
 the Cabin, . . . . . . .143 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXI. 
 
 The Cape and Bay of St. Louis. — The Iceberg. — Cariboo Island. — 
 
 Battle Harbor and Island. — The Anchorage, — The Missionaries, 149 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 Battle Island and its Scenery, ...... 155 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 Mosses, Odors, and Flowers. — A Dinner Party, . . . 161 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 Our Boat for the Icebergs. — After the Alpine Berg. — Study of its 
 
 Western Face, . . . . . . .165 
 
 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. — Splendor of the Berg at Sunset, . . 169 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 Ramble among the FloM-ers of Battle Island. — A Tisit to the Fisher- 
 men. — Walk among the Hills of Cariboo, . . . 1*79 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTEPv XXXVII. 
 
 After the Bay St. Louis Iceberg. — Windsor Castle Iceberg. — Founders 
 Suddenly. — A Brilliant Spectacle, . . . . 18i 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
 
 Sunday in Labrador. — Evening Walk to the Graveyard. — The Rocky 
 Ocean Shore, . . . . . . .188 
 
 CHAPTER XX5IX. 
 The Sail to Fox Harbor. — A Day with the Esquimaux, and our Return, 192 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A Morning Ramble over Cariboo. — Excursion on the Bay, and the Tea- 
 drinking at the Solitary Fisherman's, .... 196 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Painting the Cavern of Great Island, and our Sail Ilomeward in a Gale, 200 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 After the Iceberg of Belle Isle. — The Retreat to Cartwright's Tickle. — 
 Bridget Kennedy's Cottage, and the Lonely Sti-oU over Cariboo, 204 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The Iceberg of the Figure-head. — The Glory and the Music of the Sea 
 
 at Evening, ....... 210 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Cape St. Charles.— The Rip Van Winkle Berg.— The Great Castle 
 Berg. — Studies of its Different Fronts, .... 214 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 The Sail for St. Charles Mountain. — The Salmon Fishers. — The Cavern 
 of St. Cliarlos Mountain. — Burton's Cottage. — Magnificent Scene 
 
XU CONTENTS. 
 
 PA6K 
 
 from St. Charles Mountain. — The Painting of the Eip Van Winkle 
 Berg. — The Ico-vasc, and the Return by Moonlight, . . 219 
 
 CHAPTEE XLYI. 
 
 After our Last Iceberg. — The Isles. — ^Twilight Beauties of Icebergs. — 
 
 Midnight IlUiuiination, . . . . . .228 
 
 CUAPTEK XLTII. 
 
 Farewell to Battle Ilarbor.— The Straits of Belle Isle.— Labrador Land- 
 scapes. — The Wreck of the Fishermen, . . . 236 
 
 CHAPTEK XLYIII. 
 Sketching the Passing Bergs. — The Story of an Iceberg, . . 241 
 
 CIIAFTEK XLIX. 
 
 Drifting in the Straits. — Retreat to Temple Bay. — Picturesque Scenery. 
 
 — ^^'oyager's Saturday Night, ..... 264 
 
 CnAPTET. L. 
 
 Sunday in Temple Bay, — Religious Services. — The Fisherman's Dinner 
 and Conversation. — Chateau. — ^The Wreck. — ^^Yinters in Labrador. 
 — ^Icebergs in the Winter. — The French Officers' Frohc with an 
 Iceberg. — Theory of Icebergs. — Currents of the Strait. — The Red 
 Indians.— The Return to the Vessel, . . . .267 
 
 CIIAPTEU LI. 
 
 Evening Walk to Temple Bay Mountain. — ^The Little Iceberg. — 
 Troxibles of the Night, and Pleasures of the Morning. — ^Fp the 
 Straits. — The Pinnacle of the Last Iceberg. — Gulf of St. 
 Lawrence, ....... 274 
 
 CHAPTEE Lll. 
 Coast Scenery. — FareweU to Labrador, . . . .2*79 
 
CONTENTS. xm 
 
 CIIAPTEU LIII. rAOiii 
 
 Western Newfoundland. — Tl>o Bay, the Islands, and the Highlands of 
 St. John. — lugornachoix Bay, ..... 284 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 Slow Sailing by the Bay of Islands. — The River Ilumber. — ^St. George's 
 
 River, Capo, and Bay. — A Brilliant Sunset, . . . 'iST 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Foul Weather.— Capo Anguillc.— The Clearing Off.— The Frolic of the 
 Porpoises.- The New Cooks.— The Ship's Cat, . . 2'JO 
 
 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, ...... 2y8 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 Farewell to Captain Knight. — On our way across Cape Breton. — A 
 
 Merry Ride, and the Rustic Lover, . . . .301 
 
 CHAPTER LVII I. 
 Evening Ride to Mrs. Kelly's Tavern. — The Supper and the Lodging, 806 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 Sunday at David Murdoch's. — Scenery of Bras d'Or, . . . 314 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Off for the Strait of Canso. — St. Peters, and the Country. — David Mur- 
 doch's Horses, and his Driving. — Plaster Cove, . . 318 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 Adieu to David and Cape Breton. — The Strait of Canso. — Our Nova 
 
 Scotia Coach. — St. George's Bay. — The Ride into Antigonish, . 322 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 CUAPTKE LX1F» ia^^e 
 
 Now Glasgow.— Tho lUdo to Tiuiw— Railway Kulo to llalillvx.— rait- 
 ing witli tho raiutor, ..... S2G 
 
 CIIAFTKR LXIIL 
 t,\>ach Uido tUnH Halifax to Wimlsor. — ^The IMuw Edwarti's Man, aud 
 tho GiMitlomaii tKnu XowfouiHllaiul, .... S:i9 
 
 CWArXKK LXIY. 
 Wluilsor. — ^Tho Avon, and tt»o Tide. — Steamer fov St. Johns, Xow 
 Knmswick. — MiuoiS l>4\sin. — Coast S<vnery. — ^The Sctnie of Ihan- 
 g^'line. — ^I'arsbow. — The lk\y of Rmdy. — ^Xo>-a Sootia aud Now 
 Brunswick Shoivs.— St. Johns. — The Maiito Coast. — Bland of 
 Grand Mauan, . . .... s^ 
 
AFTEll TCKMllfiS WITH A TAINTER. 
 
 OlIAPTEll I. 
 
 COOL AND NOVKL. 
 
 "After iccbcrrija ! " cxclainiH n ])rudcni, but imagi- 
 nary person, as I pencil the titlo on the front leaf of my 
 note-Look. 
 
 " Why, after deer and trout among the Adirondack 
 Mountains with John Chccney, the Leather-stocking of 
 those wilds, who kills his niooso and pafither with a 
 pistol ; or after salmon on tho Jaques Cartier and 
 Saguenay, is thought to ])o qmto enough for your sum- 
 mer tourist. 
 
 "After huITalo is almost too nmch for any not at 
 home in tho great unlbnced. Undo Sam's continental 
 parks, where ho pastures his herds, and wat(>rs Mi(>in iu 
 
2 COOL AND NOVEL. 
 
 the Platte and Colorado, and walls out the Pacific witli 
 the Eocky Mountains. He is rather a fast hunter who 
 indulges in the chase in those fair fields. It is no boy's 
 play to commit yourself to mule and horse, the yawls of 
 the prairie, riding yourself sore and thirsty over the grace- 
 fully rolling, never-breaking swells, the green seas spark- 
 ling with dewy flowers, but never coming ashore. The 
 ocean done up in soHd land is weary voyaging to one 
 whose youthful footsteps were over the fields, to the sound 
 of sabbath bells. ,; 
 
 " After ostriches, with the ship of the desert, although 
 rather a hot chase for John and | Jonathan over broad 
 sands, yellow with the sunshine of centuries, and the bird 
 speeding on legs swift as the spokes of the rapid wheels, 
 is, nevertheless, a pleasure enjoyed now and then. 
 
 " But after icebergs is certainly a cool, if not a 
 novel and perilous adventure. A few climb to the ices 
 of the Andes ; but after the ices of Greenland, except 
 by leave of government or your merchant prince, is 
 entirely another thing. 
 
 " You will do well to recollect, that nature works in 
 other ways in the high north than in the high Cordilleras 
 and Alps, and especially in the latter, where she carefully 
 slides her mer-de-glace into the warm valley, and gently 
 melts it off, letting it run merrily and freely to the sea, 
 
/ *^ 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 2.^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 No. 1.— VIGNETTE— ICEBERGS AT SUNSET, ... 1 
 J, No. 2.— A LARGE ICEBERG IN THE FORENOON LIGHT 
 
 NEAR THE INTEGRITY, Uq 
 
 . No. 3.— AN ARCHED ICEBERG IN THE AFTERNOON LIGHT, 136 
 
 No. 4.— ICE FALLING FROM A LOFTY BERG, . . 1-73 
 
 fj|> No. Ji.— ICEBERG IN THE MORNING MIST— WHALE-BOAT, 214 
 
 No. G.— ICEBERG IN THE STRAIT OF BELLE ISLE, . . 241 
 
COOL AND NOVEL. 3 
 
 I every crystal fetter broken into silvery foam. But in 
 
 I 
 
 I Greenland she heaves her mile-wide glacier, in all its 
 
 flinty hardness, into the great deep bodily, and sends it, 
 both a glory and a terror, to flourish or perish as the cur- 
 rents of the solemn main move it to wintry or to sum- 
 mer climes. After icebergs ! Weigh well the perils and 
 the pleasures of this new summer hunting." 
 
 " We have w^eighed them, I confess, not very care- 
 fully ; only ' hefting' them a little, just enough to help 
 us to a guess that both are somewhat heavier than the 
 ordinary delights and dangers of sporting nearer home. 
 But, Prudens, my good friend, consider the ancient saw, 
 ' Nothing venture nothing have.' Not in the least weary 
 of the old, we would yet have something new, altogether 
 new. You shall seek the beauties of scales and of 
 plumage, and the graces of motion and the wild music 
 of voices, among the creatures of the brooks and wood- 
 lands. Our game, for once, is the wandering alp of the 
 waves ; our wilderness, the ocean ; our steed, the winged 
 vessel ; our arms, the pencil and the pen ; our game- 
 bags, the portfolio, painting-box, and note-book, all harm- 
 le^ instraments, you perceive, with mild report. It is 
 seldom that they are heard at any distance, although, at 
 intervals, the sound has gone out as far as the guns of 
 the battle-field. 
 
4 AFTER ICEBERGS. 
 
 "Should we 'have the sport we anticipate, you m& 
 see the rarest specimen of our luck preserved in oil an 
 colors, a method peculiar to those few, who intend theii 
 articles less for the market than for immortality, as men 
 call the dim glimmering of things in the dusky reaches 
 of the past. 
 
 ^'But you shall hear from us, from time to time, if 
 possible, how we speed in our grand hunt, and how the 
 pleasures and the risks make the scale of our experience 
 vibrate. Within a few minutes, we shall be on our way 
 to Boston, darting across grassy New England, regardless 
 as the riders of the steeple-chase of cliff and gulf, fence, 
 wall and river, with a velocity of wheels that would set 
 the coach on fire, did not ingenuity stand over the axles 
 putting out the flame with oil. 
 
 " This evening, we meet a choice few in one of those 
 bowery spots of Brookline, where intelligence dwells with 
 taste and virtue, and talk of our excursion. 
 
 " To-morrow, amid leave-takings, smiles and tears, 
 and the waving of handkerchiefs, of which we shall be 
 only quiet spectators, with the odor of our first sea-dinner 
 seasoning the brief excitement of the scene, and all 
 handsomely rounded off with the quick thunder of the 
 parting gun, we sail, at noon, in the America." 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE GULF-STEEAM. 
 
 Friday Morning, June 17, 1859. Here we arc 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 countiy show, and in momentary ex- 
 pectation 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-sick con- 
 tinually. I had hoped that we should have the pleasure 
 of one dinner at least, with that good appetite so com- 
 mon upon coming off into the salt air. But before the 
 soup was fairly off there came over me the old qualm. 
 
b ON THE EDGE OF THE GULF-STEEAM. 
 
 the herald of those dreadful impulses that drive the un- 
 happy victim either to the side of the vessel, or down into 
 its interior, where he lays himself out, pale and trembling, 
 on his appointed shelf, and awaits in gloomy silence the 
 final issue. It is needless to record, that, with that un- 
 lucky attempt to enjoy the luxuries of the tahle, perished, 
 not only the power, hut the wish to eat. 
 
 Yesterday, when I came on deck, I found C con- 
 versing with Agassiz. Although so familiar with the Al- 
 pine glaciers, and all that appertains to them, he had never 
 seen an iceberg, and almost envied us the delight and ex- 
 citement of hunting them. But not even the presence 
 and the fine talk of the great naturalist could lay the 
 spirit of sea-sickness. Like a very adder lurking under 
 the doorstone of appetite, it refused to hear the voice of 
 the charmer. Out it glided, repulsive reptile ! and away 
 we stole, creeping down into our state-room, there to bur- 
 row in damp sheets, taciturn and melancholy " wretches, 
 with thoughts concentred all in self" An occasionel 
 remark, either sad or laughable, broke the sameness of 
 the literally rolling hours. By what particular process 
 of mind, I shall not trouble myself to explain, the Paint- 
 er, who occupied the lower berth, all at once gave signs 
 that he had come upon the borders of a capital story, and 
 with the spirit to carry even a dull listener to the further 
 
ON THE EDGE OF THE GULF-STREAM. 7 
 
 side of it, and keep him thoroughly amused. It was a 
 traveller's tale, a story of his own first ride over the 
 mountains of New Granada, accompanied by a friend, on 
 his way to the Andes. 
 
CnAPTER III. 
 
 THE TAINTEK'S STOET. 
 
 Twenty days, and most of tbem days of iutensc heat 
 aud sea-sicknesSj "wore spent on a brig from ISTew York to 
 the month of the Magxialena, In twonry minutes all that 
 tedious voyage was sailed over again, and he was in the 
 host humor possible for the next nine days in a steam- 
 boat up the river, a mighty stream, whose forests appear 
 like hills of verdure ranging along its almost endless 
 banlvS. 
 
 After the steamboat, came a tiresome time in a canoe, 
 foUowal by a dark and fii-eless night in the great woods, 
 where they were stung by the ants, and startled by the 
 liooting-s and bowlings, and aU the strangle voices and 
 noises of a tropical forest. 
 
 Then the tale kept pace with the mules all day, jogging 
 
TUE i'AINTElc'ti BTOltY. 9 
 
 on slowly, an all-day story that pictured to the listener's 
 mind all the passing scenery and incidents, the people 
 and the travellers themselves, even the ears of the self- 
 willed, ever-curious mules. Towards sunset, the way- 
 farers found themselves journeying along the slope of a 
 mountain, willing to turn in for the night at almost any 
 dwelling that appeared at the road-side. The guide and 
 the baggage were behind, and suggested the propriety of 
 an early halt. But each place, to which they looked for- 
 ward, seemed sufficiently repulsive, upon coming up, to 
 make them venture on to the next. They ventured, with- 
 out knowing it, beyond the very last, and got benighted 
 where it was difficult enough in the broad day. After a 
 weary ride up and up, until it did appear that they would 
 never go down again in that direction, they stopped and 
 consulted, but finally concluded to continue on, although 
 the darkness was almost total, trusting to the mules to 
 keep the path. At length it was evident that they were 
 at the top of the mountain, and passing over upon its 
 opposite side. Very soon, the road, a mere bridle-path, 
 became steep and rugged, leading along the edges of pre- 
 cipices, and down rocky, zigzag steps, that nothing but 
 the bold, sure-footed mule would or could descend. The 
 fact was, they were going down a fearfully dangerous 
 
 mountain-road, on one of the darkest nights. And, won- 
 1* 
 
10 THE painter's STOEY. 
 
 derful to tell, they went down safely, coming out of the 
 forest into a level vale beset with thickets and vine-cov- 
 ered trees, a horrible perplexity, in which they became 
 heated, scratched, and vexed beyond all endurance. At 
 last, they lost the way and came to a dead halt. Here 
 
 C got off, and leaving the mule with F , plunged 
 
 into the bushes to feel for the path, pausing occasionally 
 to shout and to wait for an answer. No path, however, 
 could be found. In his discouragement, he climbed a 
 tree with the hope of seeing a light. He climbed it to the 
 very top, and gazed around in all directions into the wide, 
 unbroken night. There was a star or two in the black 
 vault, but no gleam of human dwelling to be seen below. 
 Extremes do indeed meet, even the dreadful and the 
 
 ridiculous. And so it was with C in the tree-top. 
 
 From almost desperation, he passed into a frolicsome 
 mood, and began to talk and shout, at the top of his voice, 
 in about the only Spanish he could then speak, that he 
 would give cinco pesos, cinco pesos, — five dollars, five dol- 
 lars, to any one that would come and help them. From 
 five he rose to ten. But being scant of Spanish, he could 
 express the ten in no other way than by doubling the 
 cinco — cinco cinco pesos, cinco cinco pesos. Fruitless 
 effort ! A thousand pounds would have evoked no 
 friendly voice from the inhospitable solitude. 
 
THE painter's STORY. 11 
 
 The airing, though, was refreshing, and he clambered 
 down and attempted his way back, shouting as usual, 
 but now, to his sm-prise, getting no reply. What could 
 it mean ? Where was F ? Had he got tired of wait- 
 ing, and gone off .? With redoubled energy C pushed 
 
 on through the interminable brush to see. He was in a 
 perfect blaze of heat, and dripping with perspiration. A 
 thousand vines tripped him, a thousand branches whipped 
 him in the face. When he stopped to listen, his ears 
 rung with the beating of his own heart, and he made the 
 night ring too with his loud hallooing. But no one an- 
 swered, and no mules could be found. Nothing was left 
 but to push forward, and he did it, with a still increasing 
 energy. Instantly, with a crack and crash he pitched 
 headlong down quite a high bank into a broad brook. 
 For a moment he was frightened, but finding himself 
 sound, and safely seated on the soft bottom of the brook, 
 he concluded to enjoy himself, moving up and down, 
 with the warm water nearly to his neck, till he had 
 enough of it ; when he got up, and felt his way to the op- 
 posite bank, which, unfortunately for him, was some 
 seven or eight feet of steep, wet clay. Again and again 
 did he crawl nearly to the top, and slip back into the 
 water — a treadmill operation that was no joke. A suc- 
 cessful attempt at scaling this muddy barrier was made, 
 
12 THE painter's STORY, 
 
 at length, through the kindly intervention of some 
 vines. 
 
 But how was all that ? Where was he ? He never 
 crossed a stream in going to the tree. He must "be lost. 
 He must have become turned at the tree, and gone in a 
 wrong direction. And yet he could not relinquish the 
 notion that all was right. He decided to continue for- 
 ward, pausing more frequently to halloo. To his exceed- 
 ing joy, lie presently heard a faint, and no very distant re- 
 ply. He quickly heard it again — close at hand — " C , 
 
 come here ! — come here ! " He hastened forward, F 
 
 was sitting on the mule. He said, in a low tone of voice, 
 " Come here, and help me off. I am very sick." He 
 
 was alarmingly sick. C helped liim down, arid laid 
 
 him on the ground. The only thing to be done was to 
 make a rough bed of the saddles and blankets, secure the 
 mules, and wait for daylight. While engaged in this, 
 one of the mules suddenly broke away, and with a perilous 
 
 flourish of heels about C 's head, dashed off through 
 
 the thickets, and was seen no more. To crown their 
 troubles, a ferocious kind of ant attacked them at all 
 points, and kept up their assault during the remainder 
 of the miserable nighit. They bad made their bed upon 
 a large ant-hill. In the morning, there they were, they 
 knew not where, with but one mule, trappings for two, 
 
THE painter's STORY. 13 
 
 and F too indisposed to proceed. C mounted the 
 
 mule and set off for relief. A short ride brought him out 
 upon the path, which soon led down to the border of a wide 
 marsh. The crossing of the marsh was terrible. The poor 
 animal sank into the mire to the girth, reared, plunged and 
 rolled, plastering himself and rider all over and over again 
 with the foulest mud. When they reached the solid ground, 
 and trotted along towards some natives coming abroad to 
 their labor, the appearance of our traveller, in quest of 
 the sublime .and beautiful, was certainly not imposing. 
 He told his story to the staring Indians in the best way 
 his ingenuity could invent, none of which they could be 
 made to comprehend. He inquired the way to the 
 town, the very name of which they seemed never to have 
 heard. He asked the distance to any place, — the near- 
 est, — no matter what. It was just as far as he was 
 pleased to make it. 
 
 " Was it two leagues 7 " 
 
 ^^Si, Seilor." 
 
 " Was it five leagues ? " 
 
 " Si, Sefior." 
 
 "Was it eight, nine, ten leagues ? " 
 
 " Si, Senor." 
 
 " For how much money would they guide him to the 
 town ? " 
 
14 THE PAINTEE'S STORY. 
 
 Ah ! that was a diflferent thing ; they had more intel- 
 ligence on that subject. They would guide him for a 
 great deal. In fact, they would do it for about ten times 
 its value. He spurred his muddy mule, galloped out of 
 sight and hearing, more amused than vexed, and went 
 ahead at a venture. The venture was lucky. In the 
 course of the morning he made his entrance into the 
 city, succeeded in finding out the residence of the person 
 to whom he had letters of introduction, presented himself 
 to the gentleman of the house, an American, and had 
 both a welcome and a breakfast. Before the day was 
 
 past, F and himself were comfortably settled, and, 
 
 with their kind host, were making merry over their first 
 ride on the mountains of South America, I am sure I 
 was made merry at the quiet recital. Lying as I was in 
 my berth, rolled in cloak and blanket, and looking neither 
 at the face nor motions of the speaker, but only at the 
 blank beams and boards close above, I laughed till the 
 tears ran copiously, and I forgot that I was miserable 
 and sea-sick. 
 
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 shm, marks and flourishes on the misty sky, as 
 an idler marks the sand with his cane. Pricked on by 
 our imjDatience, back and forth we step the deck, about as 
 purposeless as leopards step their cage. They are letting 
 off the steam. It is flowing up from the gpQat fountains, 
 a deep and solemn voice, a grand ventriloquism, that 
 mufiles in its breadth and fulness all the smaller sounds, 
 as the mighty roar dampens the noisy dashings of the 
 cataract. What a sublime translation of human skill 
 and genius is an engine, this stupendous creature of 
 
16 HALIFAX. 
 
 iron ! How splendid are its polislied limbs ! What 
 power in all tliose easy motions ! What execution in 
 those still and oily manoeuvres ! 
 
 Among the ladies there is one of more than ordinary 
 beauty. Luxuriant, dark hair, a fair complexion with 
 the bloom of health, a head and neck that would attract 
 a sculptor, and surpassingly fine, black eyes. There is a 
 power in beauty. Why has not God given it to us all .? 
 You shall answer me that in heaven. There is indeed a 
 power in beauty. It goes forth from this young woman 
 on all sides, like rays from some central light. I have 
 called her a New England girl, but she turns out to be 
 Welsh. 
 
 How like magic is the work of this fog ! Instantly 
 almost it is pulled apart like a fleece of wool, and lo ! 
 the heavens, the ocean, and the rugged shores. A pilot 
 comes aboard from a fishing-boat, looking as rough and 
 craggy as if he had been, toad-like, blasted out of the 
 rocks of his flinty country, so brown and warty is his 
 skin, so shaggy are his beard and hair, so sail-like and 
 tarry is his raiment. The ancient mariner for all the 
 world ! His skinny hand touches no common mortal. 
 His glittering eye looks right on, as he moves with silent 
 importance to the place where shine the gilded buttons 
 of the caj)tain. 
 
HALIFAX. 17 
 
 This is a wild northern scene. Hills, bony with rock 
 and bristling with pointed firs, slope down to the sea. 
 But yet how beautiful is any land looking off upon the 
 barren deeps of ocean. Distant is the city on a hill-side, 
 glittering at a thousand points, whUe on either hand, as 
 we move in at the entrance of the harbor, are the pleas- 
 ant woods and the white dwellings, country steeples and 
 cultivated grounds. As the comfortless mist rolls away, 
 and the golden light follows after, warming the wet and 
 chilly landscape, I feel that there are bliss and beauty 
 in Nova Scotia. • 
 
 Grandly as we parade ourselves, in the presence of 
 the country and the town, I prefer the more modest, 
 back-street entrance of the railroad. The fact is, I am 
 afraid of your great steamer on the main, and for the 
 reason given by a friend of mine : if you have a smash- 
 up on the land, why, there you are ; if, on the sea, where 
 are you ? 
 
 I have been talking with the fair lady of Wales. She 
 was all spirit. " There was much," she said, " that was 
 fine, in America ; but Wales was most beautiful of all. 
 Had I ever been in Wales ? " One could well have felt 
 sorry he was not then on his way to Wales. We parted 
 where we met, probably to meet no more, and I went for- 
 ward to gaze upon the crowded wharf, which we were 
 
18 HALIFAX. 
 
 then approaclung. A few hasty adieus to some newly- 
 formed acquaintances, and we passed ashore to seek the 
 steamer for Cape Breton. It was waiting for us just he- 
 hind the storehouse where we landed, and soon followed 
 the America with a speed not exactly in proportion to 
 the noise and effort. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MEKLIN. 
 
 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 pro- 
 gressive ; a compound motion very difficult to describe, 
 at the time, mainly on account of a disagreeable con- 
 fusion in the brain and stomach. 
 
 The arrangements in the Merlin for going to repose 
 are better than those for quitting it. No chestnut lies 
 
20 THE MEELIN. 
 
 more snugly in the burr tlian your passenger in his berth. 
 If he happen to be short and slender, it is sure to fit him 
 all the better. But when he gets out of it, he is pushed 
 forward into company immediately, and washes in the 
 one bowl, and looks at the one glass. On board the Mer- 
 lin, one feels disposed to give the harshest words of his 
 vocabulary a freq[uent airing. He sees how it is, and he 
 says to himself : I have the secret of this Merlin ; she is 
 intended to put a stop to travel ; to hinder people from 
 leaving Halifax for Sydney and St. Johns. Wait you 
 eight and forty hours after this ungenerous soliloquy, and 
 speak out then. What do you say ? The Merlin is the 
 thing ! 
 
 Away in this dusky corner of the world Peril spins her 
 web. High and wide and deep she stretches her subtle 
 lines : cliffs, reefs and banks, ice, currents, mists and 
 winds. But the Merlin is no moth, no feeble insect to get 
 entangled in this terrible snare. Dark-winged dragon- 
 fly of the sea, she cuts right through them all. Tour 
 grand ocean steamer, with commander of repute, plays 
 the tragic actress quite too frequently in the presence of 
 these dread capes. But the Merlin, with Captain Samp- 
 son's tread upon the deck, in the night and in the light, 
 with his look ahead and his eye aloft, and his plummet 
 in the deep sea, trips along her billowy path as lightly as 
 
THE MERLIN. 21 
 
 a lady trips among her flowers. A blessing upon Captain 
 Sampson who sails the little Merlin from Nova Scotia to 
 Newfoundland. He deserves to sail an Adriatic. 
 
 Here we are again in that same bad fog, that smoth- 
 ered much of our pleasure, and some of our good luck, in 
 the America. It is gloomy midnight, and the sea is up. 
 A pale, blue flame crowns the smoke-stack, and sheds a 
 dreary light upon the sooty, brown sails. The breeze 
 plays its wild music in the tight rigging, while the swells 
 beat the bass on the hollow bow. To a landsman, how 
 frightfully the Merlin rolls ! But we are dashing along 
 through this awful wilderness, right steadily. Every hour 
 carries us ten miles nearer port. Ye wandering barks, on 
 this dark, uncertain highway, do hear the mournful clang 
 of our bell, and turn out in time as the law of nature 
 directs ! Ye patient, watchful mariners that keep the 
 look-out forward, pierce the black mist with your keen 
 sight, and spy the iceberg, that white sepulchre of the 
 careless sailor. Just here there is a mountain in the 
 deep, and we are crossing its summit, which accounts for 
 the sharp, rough sea, the captain tells me. The vessel 
 now turns into the wind, the loose sails roar and crack, 
 and bound in their strong harness, like frightened horses ; 
 loud voices cut through the uproar, rapid footsteps 
 thump, and rattling ropes lash the deck. Then there 
 
22 THE MERLIN. 
 
 is a momentary lull : they Leave the lead. The moun- 
 tain top is under us, say, five hundred feet. All is 
 right. Captain Sampson puts off into wider waters, and 
 I, chilly and damp, creep into my herth, full of hope 
 and sleep. 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 SYDNEY. — CAPE BKETON.— THE OCEAN. 
 
 Monday, June 19, 1859. We are still rising and 
 sinking on the misty ocean, and somewliere 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-fields of Ala- 
 bama, kept Sunday in the quiet heavens. We went 
 ashore with some thought of attending church, but found 
 the time would not permit. A short walk to some In- 
 dian huts, with the smoke curling up from their peaks 
 like the pictures of volcanoes, a cup of tea of our own 
 making, some toast and fresh eggs in the village tavern, 
 
24 SYDNEY. CAPE BRETON. — THE OCEAN. 
 
 with the comfort of sitting to enjoy them at a steady 
 table on firm land, gave an agreeable seasoning to the 
 hour we hngered in Sydney, and braced us for the long 
 stretch across to Newfoundland. 
 
 As you enter Sydney Bay, yon see northward some 
 remarkable cliffs, fan-like in shape as they rise from the 
 sea. In the clear and brilliant morning air, they had a 
 roseate and almost flame-like hue, which made them ap- 
 pear very beautiful. I thought of them as some gigantic 
 sea-shells placed upon the brim of the blue main. When 
 they set in the waves, along in the afternoon, the pic- 
 turesque coast of Cape Breton was lost to view, and we 
 became, to all appearance, a fixture in the centre of the 
 circle made by the sky and the sea. How wearisome it 
 grew ! Always moving forward, — yet never getting further 
 from the line behind, — never getting nearer to the line be- 
 fore, — ever in the centre of the circle. The azure dome was 
 over us, its pearl-colored eaves all around us. Oh ! that 
 some power would lift its edge, all dripping with the 
 brine of centuries, out of the ocean, and let the eye peep 
 under ! But all is changeless. We were under the cen- 
 tre of the dome, and on the hub of the great wheel, run 
 out upon its long spokes as rapidly and persistently as 
 we would. Our stiff" ship was dashing, breast-deep, 
 through the green and purple banks that old Neptune 
 
SYDNEY. — CAPE BRETON. THE OCEAN. 25 
 
 heaved up across our path. Bank after bank he rolled 
 up before us, and our strong bows burst them all, striking 
 foam, snowy foam, out of them by day, and liquid jewelry 
 out of them by night. The circle was still around us, the 
 tip of the dome above. We were leaving half a world of 
 things, and approaching half a world of things, and yet 
 we were that same fixture. Our brave motions, after 
 all, turned out to be a kind of writhing on a point, 
 in the middle of the mighty ring, under the key-stone of 
 the marvellous vault. The comfort of the weary time 
 was, that we sailed away from the morning, passed under 
 the noon, and came up with, and cut through the evening. 
 When we caught up with the evening yesterday, and 
 saw the sun set fire to, and burn off that everlasting ring, 
 we were sitting quietly on deck, touched with the sweet 
 solemnities of the hallowed hour. The nii2;ht, with all 
 that it would bring us, was coming out of the east, mov- 
 ing up its stupendous shadow over the ocean ; the day, 
 with all it had been to us, was leaving us, going off into 
 the west over the great continent. We were crossing the 
 twilight, that narrow, lonesome, neutral ground, where 
 gloom and splendor interlock and wrestle. The little 
 petrel piped his feeble notes, and flew close up, following 
 under the very feathers of the ship, now skimming the 
 glassy hollow of the swells, and then tiptoe on the crest. 
 
26 SYDNEY. GAPE BEETON. THE OCEAN. 
 
 The wind was strengtliening, tuning every cord and 
 straining every sail, winnowing tlie fiery cliaffi, and sowing 
 the sparkling grain forward on the furrowed waters. 
 We had a vessel full of wind ; and so vessel, wind and 
 sparks together, went away across the sea as if they were 
 seeking some grand rendezvous. Far and wide the 
 waves all hastened in the same direction, rolling, leaping, 
 crumbling into foam, bristhng the snowy feathers on neck 
 and breast as they skipped and flew upon each other in 
 their play and passion. And so we all sped forward with 
 one will, and with one step, keeping time to the music of 
 the mighty band : clouds, winds and billows, seabirds, 
 sails and sparkling smoke, and Merlin with her men ; all 
 moving forward, as some grand army moves onward to a 
 battle-field. When there is really nothing to describe, 
 why should not one record the conceits and fancies born 
 of an evening at sea ? So I thought, last evening, when 
 I was a little sea-sick, and sick of the monotony of the 
 scene, and a little home-sick, and felt that this was 
 pleasure rather dearly bought. Still if one would see the 
 planet upon which he has taken his passage round the 
 sun, and through the spaces of the universe, he must be 
 brave and patient, hopeful and good-tempered. Be this, 
 or turn back, at the first view of salt-water, and go home 
 to toil, to contentment and self-possession. 
 
CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 THE FIKST ICEBEEGS. 
 
 Newfoundland seems to be wreathed with fogs for- 
 ever. 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. 
 
 Again we are at blindman's-buff in the fog. The 
 whistle and the bell remind us of the perils of this play. 
 The gloom of evening deepens, and we go below with the 
 hope of rounding Cape Eace, and of wheeling down the 
 northern sea direct for port, before daylight. Down the 
 northern sea ! — This calling north down instead of iip, 
 
28 THE FIRST ICEBERGS. 
 
 appeoT,rs to me to be reversing the right order of things. 
 It is against the stream, which, inshore, sets from Baffin's 
 Bay south ; and, in respect of latitude, it is v-p-liUl : the 
 nearer the pole, the higher . the latitude. And besides, 
 it is up on the map, and was up all through my boyhood, 
 when geography was a favorite study. But as down 
 seems to be the direction settled upon in common par- 
 lance, doiun it shaU be in all these pages. 
 
 Icebergs ! Icebergs ! — The cry brought us upon deck 
 at sunrise. There they were, two of them, a large one 
 and a smaller : the latter pitched upon the dark and 
 misty desert of the sea like an Arab's tent ; and the 
 larger like a domed mosque in marble of a greenish white. 
 The vaporous atmosphere veiled its sharp outlines, and 
 gave it a softened, dreamy and mysterious character. 
 Distant and dim, it was yet very grand and impressive. 
 Enthroned on the deep in lonely majesty, the dread of 
 mariners, and the wonder of the traveller, it was one of 
 those imperial creations of nature that awaken powerful 
 emotions, and illumine the imagination. Wonderful 
 structure ! Fashioned by those fingers that wrought the 
 glittering fabrics of the upper deep, and launched upon 
 those adamantine ways into Arctic seas, how beautiful, 
 how strong and terrible ! A glacier slipped into the 
 ocean, and henceforth a wandering cape, a restless head- 
 
THE FIRST ICEBEllGS. 29 
 
 land, a revolving island, to compromise the security of the 
 world's broad highway. No chart, no sounding, no 
 knowledge of latitude avails to fix thy whercahout, thou 
 roving Ishmael of the sea. No look-out, and no friendly 
 hail or authoritative warning can cope with thy secrecy 
 or thy silence. Mist and darkness are thy work-day 
 raiment. Though the watchman lay his ear to the water, 
 he may not hear thy coming footsteps. 
 
 "We gazed at the great ark of nature's building with 
 steady, silent eyes. Motionless and solemn as a tomb, it 
 seemed to look back over the waves as we sped forward 
 into its grand presence. The captain changed the course 
 of the steamer a few points so as to pass it as closely as 
 
 possible. C was quietly making preparation to sketch 
 
 it. The interest was momentarily increasing. We were 
 on our way to hunt icebergs, and had unexpectedly come 
 up with the game. AVe fancied it was growing colder, 
 and felt delighted at the chilly air, as if it had been so. 
 mTlch breath fresh from the living ice. To our regret, I 
 may say, to our grief, the fog suddenly closed the view. 
 No drop-curtain could have shut out the spectacle more 
 quickly and more completely. The steamer was at once 
 put on her true course, and the icebergs were left to pur- 
 sue their solitary way along the misty Atlantic. 
 
OHArTErv VUl. 
 
 NEWFOU N 1. A N 0. -Sr. ,1 OUN S, 
 
 ^YIIEN tlio mist dispersed, the rocky shores of New- 
 ibmuUand ayoiv close iipou our left, — lofty clilVs, red siud 
 gray, terribly boateu l\v the waves of the broad ocean. 
 Wo amused oui-selvos, as we passed abreast tlio bays and 
 headlands and rugged islands, with gazing at the Tvild 
 scene, and searching oiit the beauty timidly reposing 
 among the bleak and desolate. On the whole. Newfound- 
 la lul, to the vopiger from tho States, is a lean and bony 
 land, ill thin, ragged clothes, with tho smallest amount 
 of ornament. Along the sides of tho dull, bixnvn mountains 
 there is a suspicion of verdui-o, spotted and striped hero 
 and theixj with meagi-o woods of birch and iir. The glory 
 of this haixl ivgion is its coast : a wonderful perplexity of 
 tionls, kiys and creeks, islands, peninsulas and capes, 
 endlessly pictui-csqne, and very often magnificently grand. 
 Nothing can well exceal tho headlands and piwipices, 
 
NEWKOUNJJLAND. — H'V. JOIINH. 31 
 
 # 
 
 honcy-combcd, Hliuttercd, and hollowed out into vant cav- 
 orriH, and ^iven up to tlic thundcrH and tlio fury oi' tlio 
 docjp-Hca Inllovvfl, liead the Pirate of Bcott again, and 
 SuriiLurg Head wii) picture for you numbcrH of heads, of 
 which it is not important to mention the name. The 
 brookfi that flow from the highlands, and fall over chfi's 
 of great elevation into the very surf, and that would be 
 counted features of grandeur in some countries, are here 
 the merest trifles, a kind of jewelry on the hem of the 
 landscape. 
 
 The harbor of St. Johns is certainly one of the most 
 remarkable for bold and efiectivc scenery on the Atlantic 
 shore. The pictures of it, which of late abound, and arc 
 quite truthful as miniature portraits, fail entirely to sug- 
 gest the grand expression and strong character of the 
 coast. We were moving spiritedly forward over a bright 
 and lively sea, watching the stern headlands receding in 
 the south, and starting out to view in the north, when we 
 passed Cape Spear, a lofty promontory, crowned with a 
 light-house and a signal-shaft, upon which was floating the 
 meteor-flag of England, and at once found ourselves 
 abreast the bay iu front of St. Johns. Not a vestige, 
 thougli, of any thing like a city was in sight, except an- 
 other flag flitting on a distant pinnacle of rock. Like a 
 mighty Coliseunj, llie sea-wall half encircled the deep 
 
32 NEWFOUNDLAND. ST. JOHNS, 
 
 t 
 
 water of this outer bay, into which the full power of the 
 ocean let itself under every wind except the westerly. 
 Eight towards the coast where it gathered itself up into 
 the greatest massiveness, and tied itself into a very Gor- 
 dian knot, we cut across, curious to behold when and 
 where the rugged adamant was going to split and let us 
 through. At length it opened, and we looked through, 
 and presently glided through a kind of mountain-pass, 
 with all the lonely grandeur of the Franconia Notch. 
 Above us, and close above, the rugged, brown chifs rose 
 to a fine height, armed at certain points with cannon, and 
 before us, to all appearance, opened out a most beautiful 
 mountain lake, Vvith a little city looking down from the 
 mountain side, and a swamp of shipping along its shores. 
 V7e were in the harbor, and before St. Johns. As we 
 bade adieu to the sea, and hailed the land with our 
 plucky little gun, the echoes rolled among the hills, and 
 rattled along the rocky galleries of the mountains in the 
 finest style. We were quite dehghted. So fresh and 
 novel was the prospect, so unexpected were the peculiar 
 sentiment and character of the scene, one could hardly 
 realize that it was old to the experience of tens of thou- 
 sands. I could scarcely help feeling, there was stupidity 
 somewhere, that more had not been said about what had 
 been seen by so many for so long a time. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN ENGLISH INN.-GOVEENOK AND BISHOP.— SIGNAL HILL. 
 
 Wednesday, June 22, 1859. — We are at Warring- 
 ton's, a genuine English inn, witli nice rooms and a liome- 
 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 Eepublic, the 
 queen ship of the metropolis of yankeedom, the renowned 
 port from which we sailed, and through the scholarly air 
 of which my thoughts wing their flight home. 
 
 Among other qualities foremost at this moment, (and 
 for which I discover the Bull family is certainly pre-emi- 
 nent,) is appetite, the measure of which, at table, is time, 
 not quantity. My chief solicitude at breakfast, dinner, 
 tea and supper, is not so much about luliat I am to eat, 
 
 as about liow I shall cat, so as not to distinguish myself. 
 2* 
 
34 AN ENGLISH INN. 
 
 C _, who is looked upon as ouc of tlie immortals, and I, 
 
 in liis Avakc^ perliaps as Ms private chaplain, may be re- 
 garded as representative people from the States. We 
 would, therefore, avoid signalizing onrsclvcs at the 
 trencher. The method adopted on these frequent occa- 
 sions, is to be on hand early, to expend small energy in 
 useless conversation, and to retire modestly, though late, 
 from the entertainment. It is surprising how well we 
 acquit ourselves without exciting admiration. I am 
 hopeful that the impression in the house is, that we are 
 small eaters and talkers, pei-sons sHghtly diffident, who 
 eat chiefly in order to live, and prosper on our voyage. 
 Under this cover, it is wonderful what an amount of spoil 
 we bear away, over which merriment applauds in the 
 privacy of our rooms. 
 
 When the gray morning light stole at the same time 
 into my chamber and my dreams, it was raining heavily, 
 a seasonable hindrance to early excursions, affording 
 ample time to arrange those plans which we are now car- 
 rying out. In company with Mr. Newman, our consul, 
 to whom we are indebted for unremitting attentions and 
 hospitalities, we first caUed on the Bishop of Newfound- 
 land. 
 
 The visitation of his large diocese, which embraces 
 both the island and Labrador, together with the distant 
 
THE GOVEKNOR AND BISHOP. 35 
 
 isle of Bermuda, has given him a thorough knowledge of 
 the shores and ices of these northern seas. An hour's 
 conversation, illustrated with maps and drawings, seems 
 to have put us in possession of nearly all the facts neces- 
 sary in order to a pleasant and successful expedition. At 
 the close of our interview, during which the Bishop 
 informed us that he was just setting off upon an exten- 
 sive coast visitation, he very kindly invited us to join his 
 party for the summer, and take our passage in the Hawk, 
 his " Church Ship." It was a most tempting offer, and 
 would have been accepted with delight had the voyage 
 been shorter. There was no certainty of the vessel's re- 
 turn before September, a time too long for my purposes. 
 To be left in any port, in those out-of-the-way waters, 
 with the expectation of a chance return, was not to be 
 thought of We declined the generous offer of the 
 Bishop, but with real regret. To have made the tour of 
 Newfoundland and Labrador, with a Christian gentleman 
 and scholar so accomplished, would have been a privilege 
 indeed. From the house of the Bishop, a neat residence 
 near his cathedral, we climbed the hill upon which stands 
 the palace of the Governor, Sir Alexander Bannerman, 
 commanding a fine prospect of the town and harbor, the 
 ocean and adjacent country. As we passed up the broad 
 avenue, shaded by the poplar, birch and fir, instead of 
 
36 SIGNAL HILL. 
 
 those patricians of tlie wood, tlio maple, oak and elm ; 
 the flag, waving in the cool sea-hreezo, and the brown- 
 coated soldier, pacing to and fro, reminded one of the 
 preseuce of English j)ower. His Excellency, a stately 
 and venerable man, to whom we had come pnrposely to 
 pay onr respects, received ns in a spacious room with an- 
 tique furniture. During the conversation, he expressed 
 much pleasure that a painter of distinction had come to 
 visit the sceneiy of Newfoundland, and kindly offered such 
 assistance as would facilitate sketching in the neighbor- 
 hood. A soldier should watch for icebergs, on Signal 
 Hill, a lofty peak that overlooks the sea ; a boat should 
 be at his command, the moment one was needed. Upon 
 leaving, he gave ns for perusal Sir Kichard Bonnycastle's 
 Newfoundland. From the western front of the house, we 
 overlooked a broad vale, dotted with farmhouses, and, in 
 its June dress of grass and dandelions, quite New-Eng- 
 land-like. We continued our walk to Quidy Viddy, a 
 pretty lake, and returned in time to call upon Mr. Am- 
 brose Shea, Speaker of the Assembly, to whom C had 
 
 letters of introduction. 
 
 . After dinner we set off for Signal Hill, the grand 
 observatory of the country, both by nature and art. Be- 
 fore we were half-way up, we found that June was June, 
 even in Newfoundland. But there is something in a 
 
SIGNAL HILL. 37 
 
 mountain ramble that pays for all warmtli and fatigue. 
 Little rills rattled by, paths wound among rocky notches 
 and grassy chasms, and led out to dizzy '' over-looks " 
 and " short-offs." The town with its thousand sgaokes 
 sat in a kind of amphitheatre, and seemed to enjoy the 
 spectacle of sails and colors in the harbor. Below us 
 were the fishing-flakes, a kind of thousand-legged shelves, 
 made of poles, and covered with spruce boughs, for diying 
 fish, the local term for cod, and placed like terraces or 
 large steps one above another on the rocky slopes. We 
 struck into a fine military road, and passed spacious stone 
 barracks, soldiers and soldiers' families, goats and little 
 gardens. 
 
 From the observatory, situated on the craggy pinna- 
 cle, both the rugged interior and the expanse of ocean 
 were before us. Far off at sea a cloud of canvas was 
 shining in the afternoon sun, a kind of golden white, 
 while down the northern coast, distant several miles, was 
 an iceberg. It was glittering in the sunshine like a 
 mighty crystal. The work and play of to-morrow were 
 resolved upon immediately, and wo descended at our 
 leisure, plucking the wild flowers among the moss and 
 herbage, and gazing quietly at the hues and features of 
 the extended prospect. 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE EIDE TO TOEBAT.— TUE LOST SAILOK.-THE NEWFOUND- 
 LAND DOG. 
 
 Thuesday, June 23. We were stirring "betimeSj 
 making prej)arations for our first venture after an iceberg. 
 Unluckily, it was a Komish holiday, and every vehicle in 
 town seemed to he 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 wag- 
 on, driven by a young Englishman, and were soon on 
 our way, trundling along at a good pace over the smooth 
 road leading from St. Johns to Torbay, the nearest water 
 to our berg, and distant some eight or nine miles. The 
 morning was fine, the sunshine cheering, the air cool and 
 bracing, and all went promisingly. The adjacent coun- 
 try is an elevated kind of barren, clothed with brush- 
 wood, spruce and birch, crossed by numerous little trout 
 brooks, and spotted with ponds and wet meadows, with 
 
THE RIDE TO TORBAY. THE LOST SAILOR. 39 
 
 here and there a lonely-looking hut. But there were the 
 songs of birds, the tinkling of cow-bells, and the odor of 
 evergreens and flowers. A characteristic of the coast is 
 its elevation above the country lying behind. Instead of 
 descending, the lands rise, as you approach the ocean, 
 into craggy domes, walls and towers, breaking off pre- 
 cipitously, and affording from the eminences of our road 
 prospects of sparkling sea. Our hearts were full of music, 
 and our minds and conversation were a kind of reflection of 
 the solitary scene. For months, our young man tells us, the 
 snow lies so deeply along this fine road as to render it im- 
 passable for sleighs, except when sufficiently hard to bear 
 a horse. The snow-shoe is then in general use. One 
 of the pests of early summer is the black fly, as we have 
 already experienced. A few years ago, a sailor ijm away 
 from his vessel, at St. Johns, and took to these bushy 
 wilds, in which, at length, he got lost, and finally per- 
 ished from the bites of this pestilent fly. He was found 
 accidentally, and in a state of insensibility, being covered 
 with them, and so nearly devoured that he died within a 
 few hours after his discovery. 
 
 Speaking of the Newfoundland dog, he told us that 
 one of pure, original blood, was scarcely to be found. I 
 had supposed, and had good reason for it, from what I had 
 read in the papers, about the time of the visit to St. 
 
40 THE EIDE TO TOEBAY. — THE LOST SAILOR. 
 
 Johns, upon the laying of the Atlantic Cable, that any 
 person could for a small sum purchase numbers of the 
 finest clogs. I think a certain correspondent of some 
 New York daily, told us that several gentlemen supplied 
 themselves with these animals upon their departure. If 
 such was the case, then they took away with them about 
 the last of the real breed, and must have paid for them 
 such prices as they would not like to own. Scarcely a 
 splendid dog is now to be seen, and five, ten, and even 
 twenty pounds sterhng might be refused for him. We 
 have not seen the first animal that compares with those 
 which trot up and down Broadway nearly every week ; 
 and they are not the pure-blooded creature, either, by 
 a good deal. It is to be regretted, that dogs of such 
 strength,- beauty and sagacity should have been permitted 
 to become almost extinct in their native country. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TOEBAY.— FLAKES AND FISH - HOUSES.— THE FISHING BAEGE.— THE 
 CLIFFS.— THE EETEEAT TO FLAT EOCK HAEBOE.— WILLIAM WATEE- 
 MAN, THE FISHEEMAN. 
 
 ToRBAY, finely described in a recent novel by the Rev. 
 E. T. S. Lowell, is an arm of the sea, a sliort, strong arm 
 witb 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 Eomich and Protestant 
 steeples, and the dwellings of fishermen, with the uni- 
 versal appendages of fishing-houses, boats and flakes. 
 One seldom looks upon a hamlet so picturesque and 
 wild. The rocks slope steeply down to the wonderfully 
 clear water. Thousands of poles support half-acres of the 
 spruce-bough shelf, beneath which is a dark, cool region, 
 crossed with footpaths, and not unfrequently sprinkled and 
 washed by the surf, — a most kindly office on the part of 
 
42 FLAKES AND FISH-HOUSES. 
 
 the sea, you will allow, when once you have scented the 
 fish-offal perpetually dro23ping from the evergreen fish- 
 house above. These little buildings on the flakes are 
 conspicuous features, and look as fresh and wild as if 
 they had just wandered away from the woodlands. 
 
 There they stand, on the edge of the lofty pole-shelf, 
 or upon the extreme end of that part of it which runs off 
 frequently over the water like a wharf, an assemblage of 
 huts and halls, bowers and arbors, a curious huddle made 
 of poles and sweet-smelling branches and sheets of birch- 
 bark. A kind of evening haunts these rooms of spruce, at 
 noonday, while at night a hanging lamp, like those we 
 see in old pictures of crypts and dungeons, is to the 
 stranger dnly a kind of buoy by which he is to steer his 
 way through the darkness. To come off then without 
 pitching headlong, and soiling your hands and coat, is the 
 merest chance. Strange ! one is continually allured into 
 these piscatory bowers whenever he comes near them. 
 In spite of the chilly, salt air, and the repulsive smells 
 about the tables where they dress the fish, I have a fancy 
 for these queer structures. Their front door opens upon 
 the sea, and their steps are a mammoth ladder, leading 
 down to the swells and the boats. There is a charm also 
 about fine fishes, fresh from the net and the hook, — the 
 salmon, for example, whose pink and yellow flesh has 
 
A FISHING BARGE. 43 
 
 given a name to one of the most delicate liues of Art or 
 Nature. 
 
 But where was the iceberg ? We were not a little 
 disappointed when all Torbay was before us, and nothing 
 but dark water to be seen. To our surprise, no one 
 had ever seen or heard of it. It must lie off Flat Eock 
 Harbor, a little bay below, to the north. We agreed 
 with the supposition that the berg must lie below, and 
 made speedy preparations to pursue, by securing the only 
 boat to be had in the village, — a substantial fishing- 
 barge, laden rather heavily in the stern with at least a 
 cord of cod-seine, but manned by six stalwart men, a mo- 
 tive power, as it turned out, none too large for the occa- 
 sion. We embarked at the foot of a fish-house ladder, 
 being carefully handed down by the kind-hearted men, 
 and took our seats forward on the little bow-deck. All 
 ready, they pulled away at their long, ponderous oars, 
 with the skill and deliberation of life-long practice, and 
 we moved out upon the broad, glassy swells of the bay 
 towards the open sea, not indeed with the rapidity of a 
 Yankee club-boat, but with a most agreeable steadiness, 
 and a speed happily fitted for a review of the shores, 
 wliich, under the afternoon sun, were made brilliant with 
 lights and shadows. 
 
 We were presently met by a breeze, which increased 
 
44 THE CLIFFS. 
 
 tlie s^Yoll, anil made it easier to fall in eloise under the 
 northern shore, a lino of stupendous precipices, to Avhich 
 the oeeaii g'oes deep home. The ride beneath these 
 mighty cliffs was by far the iinest boat-ride of my life. 
 While they do not cq[ual the rocks of the Saguenay, yet, 
 >vilh all tlieir appendages of extent, structure, complex- 
 ion and adjacent sea, they ai-e sufficiently lofty to pro- 
 duce an almost appalling sense of subliniity. The surges 
 lave them at a great height, sliding from angle to angle, 
 and fretting into foam as they slip obliquely along the 
 foco of the vast Nvalls, They descend as deeply as two 
 hundred feet, and rise perpendicularly two, three, and 
 four hundred feet from the water. Their stratifications 
 are up and do^vn, and of different shades of light and 
 dark, a ribbed and striped appearance tliat increases the 
 tlio effect of height, and gives variety and spirit to the 
 surface. 
 
 At one point, where the rocks advance from the 
 main front, and form a kind of headland, the strata, six 
 and eight feet thick, assume the form of a pyramid, from 
 a broad base of a hundred yards or more running up to 
 meet in a point. The heart of this vast cone has partly 
 fallen out, and left the resemblance of an enormous tent 
 \Yith cavernous recesses and halls, in which tlie shades of 
 evening >v ere already lurkini:,-. and the surf was sounding 
 
THE CLIFFS. 45 
 
 mournfully. Occasionally it was musical, pealing forth 
 like the low tones of a great organ with awful solemnity. 
 Now and then, the gloomy silence of a minute was 
 broken by the crash of a billow far within, when the re- 
 verberations were like the slamming of great doors. 
 
 After passing this grand specimen of the architecture 
 of the sea, there appeared long roclry reaches, like Egyp- 
 tian temples, old dead cliffs of yellowish gray, checked 
 off by lines and scams into squares, and having the re- 
 semblance, where they have fallen out into the ocean, of 
 doors and windows opening in upon the fresher stone. 
 Presently we came to a break, where there were grassy 
 slopes and crags intermingled, and a flock of goats skip- 
 ping about, or ruminating in the warm sunshine. A 
 knot of kids — the reckless little creatures ! — were sport- 
 ing along the edge of the precipice in a manner almost 
 painful to witness. The pleasure of leaping from point 
 to point, where a single mis-step would have dropped 
 them hundreds of feet, seemed to be in proportion to the 
 danger. The sight of some women, who were after the 
 goats, reminded the boatmen of an accident which oc- 
 curred here only a few days before : a lad playing about 
 the steep, fell into the sea, and was drowned. 
 
 We were now close upon the point just behind whicli 
 we expected to behold the iceberg. The surf was sweep- 
 
46 RETREAT TO FLAT ROCK HARBOR. 
 
 ing the black reef, that flanked the small cape, in the 
 finest style, — a beautiful dance of breakers of dazzling 
 white and green. As every stroke of the oars shot us 
 forward, and enlarged our view of the field in which the 
 ice was reposing, our hearts fairly throbbed with an ex- 
 citement of expectation. " There it is ! " one exclaimed. 
 An instant revealed the mistake. It was only the next 
 headland in a fog, which unwelcome mist was now coming 
 down upon us from the broad waters, and covering the 
 very tract where the berg was expected to be seen. Fur- 
 ther and further out the long, strong sweep of the great 
 oars carried us, until the depth of the bay between us 
 and the next headland was in full view. It may appear 
 almost too trifling a matter over which to have had any 
 feeling worth mentioning or remembering, but I shall not 
 soon forget the disappointment, when from the deck of 
 our barge, as it rose and sank on the large swells, we 
 stood U23 and looked around, and saw that if the ice- 
 berg, over which our very hearts had been beating with 
 delight for twenty-four hours, was anj'-where, it was some- 
 where in the depths of that untoward fog. It might as 
 well have been in the depths of the ocean. 
 
 While the pale cloud slept there, there was nothing 
 left for us but to wait patiently where we were, or retreat. 
 We chose the latter. C gave the word to pull for the 
 
RETREAT TO FLAT ROCK HARBOR. 47 
 
 settlement, at the head of the little bay just mentioned, 
 and so they rounded the breakers on the reef, and we 
 turned away for the second time, when the game, as v/c 
 had thought, was fairly ours. Even the hardy fishermen, 
 no lovers of " islands-of-ice," as they call the bergs, felt 
 for us, as they read in our looks the disajDpointment, not 
 to say a little vexation. While on our passage in, wo 
 filled a half-hour with questions and discussions about 
 that iceberg. 
 
 " We certainly saw it yesterday evening ; and a sol- 
 dier of Signal Hill told us that it had been close in at 
 Torbay for several days. And you, my man there, say 
 that you had a glimpse of it last evening. How hap- 
 pens it to be away just now ? Where do you think 
 it is ? " 
 
 "Indeed, sir, he must be out in the fog, a mile or 
 over. De'il a bit can a man look after a thing in a fog 
 more nor into a snow-bank. Maybe, sir, he's foundered ; 
 or he might be gone off to sea altogether, as they some- 
 times does." 
 
 " Well, this is rather remarkable. Huge as these 
 bergs are, they escape very easily under their old cover. 
 No sooner do we think we have them, than they are gone. 
 No jackal was ever more faithful to his lion, no pilot-fish 
 to his shark, than the fos: to its bers;. We will run in 
 
48 WILLIAM WATEEMAN3 
 
 yonder and inc[iiire about it. We may get tlie exact 
 bearing, and reach it yet, even in tlie fog/' 
 
 Tbe wind and sea being in our favor, we soon reached 
 a fisliery-ladder, which we now knew very well how to 
 climb, and wound our " dim and perilous way'' through 
 the evergreen labyrinth of fish-bowers, emerging on the 
 solid rock, and taking the path to the fisherman's house. 
 Here lives and works and wears himself out, WiUiam 
 Waterman, a deep-voiced, broad-chested, round-shoul- 
 dered wight, dressed, not in cloth of gold, but of oil, with 
 the foxy remnant of a last winter's fur cap clinging to his 
 large, bony head, a little in the style of a piece of turf to 
 a stone. You seldom look into a more kindly, patient 
 face, or into an eye that more directly lets up the hght 
 out of a large, warm heart. His countenance is one sober 
 shadow of honest brown, occasionally lighted by a true 
 and guileless smile. William Waterman has seen the 
 " island-of-ice." "It lies off there, two miles or more, 
 grounded on a bank, in forty fathoms water." 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock ; and yet, as there were 
 signs of the fog clearing away, we thought it jorudent to 
 wait. A duU, long hour passed by, and still the sun was 
 high in the north-west. That heavy cod- seine, a hundred 
 fathoms long, sank the stern of our barge rather deeply, 
 and made it row heavily. For all that, there was time 
 
THE FISHERMAN. 49 
 
 enough yet, if we could only use it. The fog still came 
 in masses from the sea, sweeping across the promontory 
 between us and Torbay, and fading into air nearly as soon 
 as it was over the land. In the mean time, we sat upon 
 the rocks — upon the wood-pile — stood around and talked 
 — looked out into the endless mist — looked at the fisher- 
 men's houses — their children — their fowls and dogs. A 
 couple of young women, that might have been teachers 
 of the village school, had there been a school, belles of 
 the place, rather neatly dressed, and with hair nicely 
 combed, tripped shyly by, each with an arm about the 
 other's waist, and very merry until abreast of us, when 
 they were as silent and downcast as if they had been 
 passing by their sovereign queen, or the Great Mogul. 
 Their curiosity and timidity combined were quite amus- 
 ing. We speculated upon the astonishment that would 
 have seized upon their simple, innocent hearts, had they 
 beheld, instead of us, a bevy of our city fashionables in 
 full bloom. 
 
 At length we accej)ted an invitation to walk into the 
 house, and sat, not under the good-man's roof, but under 
 his chimney, a species of large funnel, into which nearly 
 one end of the house resolved itself Here we sat upon 
 some box-like benches before a wood fire, and warmed 
 
 ourselves, chatting with the family. While we were 
 3 
 
50 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 making oursolvos comfortable and agrocablo, wo mado tlio 
 novel, and rather funny discovery of a lien sitting on licr 
 nest just under the bench, with her red comb at om- 
 lingers' ends. A large griddle hung suspended in the 
 more smoky ivgions of tho chimney, ready to bo lowered 
 ior the baking of cakes or frying fish. Having tarred my 
 hand, the fisherman's wife, kind woman, insisted upon 
 washing it herself. After rubbing it with a little grease, 
 she first scratched it with her finger-nail, and then fin- 
 ished with soap and water and a good wiping with a 
 a coarse towel. I begged that sho would spare herself 
 the trouble, and allow me to help myself. But it was no 
 trouble at all for her, and the greatest pleasure. And 
 what should I know about washing off tar ? 
 
 They were members of the Church of England, and 
 seemed pleased when they found that I Avas a clergyman 
 of tlie Episcopal Church. They had a pastor, who visited 
 tliem and others in tho village occasionally, and held 
 divine service on Sunday at Torbay, where they attended, 
 gving in boats in summer, and over the hills on snow- 
 shoes in tho winter. Tho woman told me, in an under- 
 tone, that the fomily relations were not all agreed in 
 their religious faith, and that they could not stop there 
 any longer, but had gone to "America," which they liked 
 much better. It was a hard eountrv, anv wav, no mat- 
 
THE FISHERMAN. 51 
 
 ter whether one were Protestant or Papist. Three 
 months were all their summer, and nearly all their time 
 for getting ready for the long, cold winter. To be sure, 
 they had codfish and potatoes, flour and butter, tea and 
 sugar ; but then it took a deal of hard work to malcc 
 ends meet. The winter was not as cold as we thought, 
 perhaps ; but then it was so long and snowy ! The 
 snow lay five, six, and seven feet deep. Wood was a 
 great trouble. There was a plenty of it, but they could 
 not keep cattle or horses to draw it home. Dogs were 
 their only teams, and they could fetch but small loads at 
 a time. In the mean while, a chubby little boy, with 
 cheeks like a red apple, had ventured from behind his 
 young mother, where he had kept dodging as she moved 
 about the house, and edged himself up near cnougli to Ijo 
 patted on the head, and rewarded for his little liberties 
 with a half-dime. 
 
CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 THE AVIIALES.— THE ICEBEKG.— THE KETUKN, AND TIIE EIDE TO 
 St. JOHNS BY STARLIGHT. 
 
 The sunshine was now streaming in at a bit of a win- 
 dow^ and I went out to see what prospect of success. 
 
 C , who had left some little time beforej was nowhere 
 
 to 1)0 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, brought along as a kind of 
 
 scattering lunch. C was descried, at length, cHmbing 
 
 the broad, rocky ridge the eastern point of which we had 
 doubled on our passage from Torbay. Making haste up 
 the crags by a short cut, I joined him on the verge of the 
 promontory, pretty well heated and out of breath. 
 
 The effort was richly rewarded. The mist was dis- 
 
TUE WHALES. 53 
 
 persing in the sunny air around us ; tho ocean was clear- 
 ing off ; tho surge was breaking with a pleasant sound 
 below. At the foot of the precipice were four or five 
 whales, from thirty to fifty feet in length, apparently. 
 We could have tossed a pebble upon them. At times 
 abreast, and then in single file, round and round they 
 went, now rising with a puff followed by a wisp of vapor, 
 then plunging into the deep again. There was something 
 in their large movements very imposing, and yet very 
 graceless. There seemed to be no muscular effort, no 
 exertion of any force from within, and no more flexibility 
 in their motions than if they had been built of timber. 
 They appeared to move very much as a wooden whale 
 might be supposed to move down a mighty rapid, roUing 
 and plunging and borne along irresistibly by the current. 
 As they rose, we could see their mouths occasionally, and 
 the lighter colors of the skin below. As they went un- 
 der, their huge, black tails, great winged things not un- 
 like the screw-wheel of a propeller, tipped up above the 
 waves. Now and then one would give the water a good 
 round slap, the noise of which smote sharply upon the 
 ear, like the crack of a j)istol in an alley. It was a novel 
 sight to watch them in their play, or labor rather ; for 
 they were feeding upon tlie capelin, pretty little fishes 
 that swarm along these shores at this particular season. 
 
54 THE ICEBERG. 
 
 We could track them beneath, the surface about as -well 
 as upon it. In the sunshine, and in contrast with the 
 fog, the sea was a very dark blue or deep purple. Above 
 the whales the water was green, a darker green as they 
 descended, a lighter green as they came up. Large oval 
 spots of changeable green water, moving silently and 
 shadow-like along, in strong contrast with the surround- 
 ing dark, marked the places where the monsters were 
 gliding below. When their broad, blackish backs were 
 above the waves, there was frequently a ring or ruffle of 
 snowy surf, formed by the breaking of the swell,^ around 
 the edges of the fish. The review of whales, the only re^ 
 view we had witnessed in Her Majesty's dominions, was, 
 on the whole, an imposing spectacle. We turned from 
 it to witness another, of a more brilliant character. 
 
 To the north and east, the ocean, dark and sparkling, 
 was, by the magic action of the wind, entirely clear of 
 fog ; and there, about two miles distant, stood revealed 
 the iceberg in all its cold and solitary glory. It was of a 
 greenish white, and of the Greek- temjDle form, seeming 
 to be over a hundred feet high. We gazed some minutes 
 with silent delight on the splendid and impressive object, 
 and then hastened down to the boat, and pulled away 
 with all speed to reach it, if possible, before the fog should 
 cover it again, and in time for*C to paint it. The 
 
THE ICEBEEG, 55 
 
 moderation of the oarsmen and tlie slowness of our progress 
 were quite provoking. I watched the sun, the distant 
 fog, the wind and waves, the increasing motion of the 
 boat, and the seemingly retreating berg. A good half- 
 hour's toil had carried us into broad waters, and yet, to 
 all appearance, very little nearer. The wind was freshen- 
 ing from the south, the sea was rising, thin mists — a 
 species of scout from the main body of fog lying off in the 
 east — were scudding across our track. James Goss, our 
 captain, threw out a hint of a little difficulty in getting 
 back. But Yankee energy was indomitable : C quiet- 
 ly arranged his painting-apparatus ; and I, wrapped in my 
 cloak more snugly, crept out forward on the Kttle deck,-^a 
 sort of look-out. To be honest, I began to wish ourselves 
 on our way back, as the black, angry-looking swells 
 cliased us up, and flung the foam upon the bow and 
 stern. All at once, huge squadrons of fog swept in, and 
 swamped the whole of us, boat and berg, in their thin, 
 white obscurity. For a moment we thought ourselves 
 foiled again. But still the word was On ! And on 
 they pulled, the hard-handed fishermen, now flushed 
 and moist with rowing. Again the ice was visible, but 
 dimly, in his misty drapery. There was no time to be lost. 
 
 Now, or not at all. And so C began. For half an 
 
 hour, pausing occasionally for passing flocks of fog, he 
 
56 THE ICEBERO. 
 
 plied tlio brush with a rapidity not usual, and under disad- 
 vantages that would have mastered a less experienced hand. 
 
 We were getting close down upon the berg, and 
 in fearfully rougli water. In their curiosity to catch 
 glimpses of the advancing sketch, the men pulled with 
 little regularity, and trimmed the boat very badly. Wo 
 
 were rolling frightfully to a landsman. C begged of 
 
 them to keep their seats, and hold the barge just there as 
 near as possible. To amuse them, I passed an opera- 
 glass around among them, with which they examined the 
 iceberg and the coast. They turned out to be excellent 
 good fellows, and entered into the spirit of the thing in a 
 way that pleased us, I am sure they would have held on 
 
 willingly till dark, if C had only said the word, 
 
 so much interest did they feel in the attempt to paint 
 the " island-of-ice." The hope was to linger about it 
 until sunset, for its colors, lights and shadows. That, 
 however, was suddenly extinguished. Heavy fog camo 
 on, and we retreated, not with the satisfaction of a con- 
 quest, nor with the disappomtment of a defeat, but 
 cheered with the hope of complete success, perhaps the 
 
 next day, when C thought that we could return upon 
 
 our game in a little steamer, and so secure it beyond the 
 possibility of escape. 
 
 The seine was now hauled from the stern to the cen- 
 
TUE RETURN. 57 
 
 tre of the barge ; and the men pulled away for Torbay, a 
 long six miles, rough and chilly. For my part, I was 
 trembling with cold, and found it necessary to lend a 
 hand at the oars, an exercise which soon made the 
 weather feel several degrees warmer, and rendered mc 
 quite comfortable. After a little, the wind lulled, the 
 fog dispersed again, and the iceberg seemed to contem- 
 plate our slow departure with complacent serenity. We 
 regretted that the hour forbade a return. It would have 
 been pleasant to play around that Parthenon of the sea 
 in the twilight. The best that was left us, was to look 
 back and watch the effects of light, which were wonder- 
 fully fine, and had the charm of entire novelty. The 
 last view was the very finest. All the east front was a 
 most tender blue ; the fissures on the southern face, from 
 which we were rowing directly away, were glittering 
 green ; the western front glowed in the yellow sunlight ; 
 around were the dark waters, and above, one of the most 
 beautiful of skies. 
 
 We fell under the land presently, and passed near the 
 northern cape of Flat-Rock Bay, a grand headland of red 
 sandstone, a vast and dome-like pile, fleeced at the sum- 
 mit with green turf and shrubs of fir. The sun, at last, 
 was really setting. There was the old magnificence of 
 the king of day, — airy deeps of ineffable blue and pearl, 
 
58 THE KETURN. 
 
 stained with scarlets and crimsons, and striped with 
 living gold. A blaze of white light, deepening into the 
 richest orange, crowned the distant ridge behind which 
 the snn was vanishing. A vapory splendor, rose-color 
 and purple, was dissolving in the atmosphere ; and every 
 wave of the ocean, a dark violet, nearly black, was " a 
 flash of golden fire." Bathed with this almost supernatu- 
 ral glory, the headland, in itself richly complexioned with 
 red, brown and green, was at once a spectacle of singular 
 grandeur and solemnity. I have no remembrance of more 
 brilliant effects of light and color. The view filled us 
 with emotions of deHght. We shot from beneath the 
 great cliff into Flat-Kock Bay, rounding, at length, the 
 breakers and the cape into the smoother waters of Tor- 
 bay. As the oars dipped regularly into the polished 
 swells, reflecting the heavens and the wonderful shores, 
 all lapsed into silence. In the gloom of evening the 
 rocks assumed an unusual height and sublimity. GHding 
 quietly below them, we were saluted, every now and then, 
 by the biUows thundering in some adjacent cavern. The 
 song of the sea in its old halls rung out in a style quite 
 unearthly. The slamming of the mighty doors seemed 
 far off in the chambers of the cliff, and the echoes trem- 
 bled themselves away, muffled into stillness by the 
 stupendous masses. 
 
THE RIDE TO ST. JOHNS BY STARLIGHT. 59 
 
 Thus ended our first real hunting of an iceberg. 
 When we landed, we were thoroughly chilled. Our man 
 was waiting with his wagon, and so was a little supper in 
 a house near by, which we enjoyed with an appetite that 
 assumed several phases of keenness as wc proceeded. 
 There was a tower of cold roast beef, flanked by bread 
 and butter and bowls of hot tea. The whole was carried 
 silently, without remark, at the point of knife and fork. 
 We were a foiiorn-hopo of two, and fell to, winning the 
 victory in the very breach. We drove back over the fine 
 gravel road at a round trot, watching the last edge of 
 day in the north-west and north, where it no sooner fades 
 than it buds again to bloom into morning. We lived the 
 new iceberg experience all over again, and planned for 
 the morrow. The stars gradually came out of the cool, 
 clear heavens, until they filled them with their sparkling 
 multitudes. For every star we seemed to have a lively 
 and pleasurable thought, which came out and ran among 
 our talk, a thread of light. When we looked at the 
 hour, as we sat fresh and wakeful, warming at our Eng- 
 lish inn, in St. Johns, it was after midnight. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 ST. MAEY'S CnUKClI.— THE RIDE TO PETTY HAEBOE. 
 
 Feiday^ J^mc 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 only in good time for us, a little worn with the ex- 
 citement and toils of the day before, and in trim to enjoy 
 a good solid breakfast. All thought of revisiting the ice- 
 berg of Torbay was postponed, at least for the present, 
 and the day given up to previous invitations. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, I attended the consecration of St. 
 Mary's, a fine new church on the South Side, as the street 
 
ST. MARY'S CHURCH. 61 
 
 on tho opposite shore of the harbor is called. As I 
 walked across the bridge, conducting to that side, the 
 sacred edifice, together with other buildings in the neigh- 
 borhood, adorned with numerous English flags, presented, 
 in contrast with the craggy mountain above, a lively and 
 picturesque appearance. I may mention, by the way, that 
 St. Johns might well be denominated the city of flags. 
 They arc flying everywhere thick as butterflies and pop- 
 pies in a Yankee garden, 
 
 I was made acquainted with a number of clergymen, 
 some of them Cambridge and Oxford men, and invited to 
 take a part in the services. The sermon, preached by 
 Archdeacon Lower, was remarkable for its plainness, sim- 
 plicity and earnestness, a characteristic of all the sermons 
 I have heard from the clergy of Bishop Field, himself a 
 preacher of singular simplicity and earnestness. I could 
 not avoid drawing the contrast between the simple, prac- 
 tical character of this gospel preaching by accomplished 
 scholars, and the florid, pompous style of many half- 
 educated men in my own country. While the latter may, 
 at times, stir a popular audience more sensibly with the 
 fire that crackles among their brushwood of words, the 
 former are infinitely superior as sound, healthy, evan- 
 gelical teachers. 
 
 On my return to the inn, I found C in his room, 
 
62 THE RIDE TO PETTY HARBOR. 
 
 busily painting a duplicate of tlie berg of Torbay. Soon 
 after dinner we set off, in company with Mr. Shea, for 
 Petty Harbor, a small fishing port, nine or ten miles to 
 the south. The road — one of the finest I ever saw, an old- 
 fashioned English gravel road, smooth and hard almost as 
 iron, a very luxury for the wheels of a springless wagon — 
 keeps up the bank of a small river, a good-sized trout 
 stream, flowing from the inland valley into the harbor of 
 St. Johns. Contrasted with the bold regions that front 
 the ocean, these valleys are soft and fertile. We passed 
 smooth meadows, and sloping plough-lands, and green 
 pastures, and houses peeping out of pretty groves. One 
 might have called it a Canadian or New Hampshire vale. 
 At no great distance from the town, we crossed the 
 stream over such a bridge as one would be glad to find 
 more frequently upon the streams at home, and gradually 
 ascended to a shrubby, sterile country, with broad views 
 inland. 
 
 From the long, low hills of the western horizon, at no 
 great distance, Mr. Shea informed us that there were 
 prospects of Trinity Bay, of great beauty. Our road, at 
 length, carried us up among the bleak coast hills, winding 
 among them in a most agreeable manner, and bringing to 
 view numbers of small lakes, liquid gems set in black and 
 craggy banks, and wliich are all to be united by cuttings 
 
THK HIDE TO PETTY nARBOli. 63 
 
 through the rocks, and then contluctcd to St. Jolnis, thus 
 forming one of the completest reservoirs. 
 
 The flowers by the wayside, mostly small and pale, 
 touched the air with delicate perfume. I looked for the 
 bees, but there were none abroad ; neither was there to bo 
 heard the hum of insects nor warbling of birds. Now and 
 then a lonely bird piped a feeble strain. We continued 
 winding among the thinly- wooded hills, our wheels ringing 
 along the narrow gravel road for an hour. At last we 
 reached the height of land, and overlooked the ocean. 
 Here we rested a few moments, rose from the seats, and 
 looked around upon the majestic scene. Far out upon 
 the blue were many sails, white in the bright sunshine as 
 the wings of doves. The fishing boats, little schooners 
 with raking masts, which swarm in these seas, were scud- 
 ding under their tan-colored canvas, in all directions, 
 looking like so many winged flies far down upon the 
 spangled plain, a most lively and agreeable contrast to 
 the desolate highlands, where you behold no dwelling, or 
 field, or sign of human work, except the road, which, I 
 cannot help repeating, lies among the rough hills, and 
 rocky masses, as cleanly cut, and smooth as a road in a 
 gentleman's park. What a token of greatness and refine- 
 ment is the perfect road ! No nation makes such roads 
 as these, in a land bristling with rugged difficulties, that 
 
64 THE RIDE TO PETTY HARBOK. 
 
 has not wound its way up to the summit of power and 
 cultivation. The savage contents himself with a path 
 that is engineered and beaten by the wild beast. 
 
 The praise which an American, used to the rough 
 roads of home, is continually disposed to lavish upon 
 these admirable English roads of rugged Newfoundland, 
 must by no manner of means be shared by the carriages 
 that travel them, things at least one hundred years be- 
 hind the time. Such vehicles, on mich roads, fit about as 
 well as a horseman on one of our city avenues dressed in 
 the iron clothes of a crusader. No Yankee rides in them 
 who does not have his laugh at their absurd strength and 
 clumsiness. They are evidently intended to descend 
 from father to son ; and they are just as certain to do it 
 as they are to descend the hiUs, from which no common 
 horse and harness can prevent them, when tolerably 
 loaded. If the intelligence which designs, and executes, 
 and orders these wagons about, was not British intelli- 
 gence, one would not have a word to say. As it is, a little 
 ridicule is at least an innocent pastime. Take off the 
 box, the pleasure-box, and put upon the stalwart machine 
 any thing you choose, stones, saw-logs, fire-engine, can- 
 non, and all will go safely. When you return, put on your 
 pleasure-box again, and you are ready for an airing, wife 
 and daughters. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 PETTY nAEBOE— THE MOUNTAIN EIVEE.-COD-LIVER OIL.— THE 
 EVENING KIDE BACK TO ST. JOHNS. 
 
 To venture a geological remark : AU these coast 
 highlands correspond with the summits of the Alleghanies, 
 
 and with those regions of the Cordilleras, C tells me, 
 
 which arc just below the snow-line. From the sea-line 
 uj) 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 region in the deep, and 
 you have the Andes here. 
 
 We descended in a zigzag way into a deep gorge, one 
 of those cuts through the shore mountains from inland 
 regions to the sea, which occasionally become fiords or 
 narrow bays. Along the rocky steps, resembling galle- 
 ries, were patches of grass and beds of flowering mosses, 
 
66 THE MOUNTAIN RIVER. 
 
 with springs bubbling up in the spongy turf, and spin- 
 ning themselves out into snowy threads from the points 
 and edges of the crags. At the bottom is the little vil- 
 lage of Petty Harbor, where the river, a roaring torrent, 
 meets the salt tide. We alighted at a cottage, Swiss- 
 like among the rocks, before we were quite down, and 
 were X3leased to hear Mr. Shea, whose guests we were, 
 making arrangements with a nice-looking woman for an 
 abundant supper, on our return. Mr. S., in company 
 with several persons who now joined us from St. Johns, 
 then proceeded to show us the lions of the place, or lion 
 rather, for every thin^ and everybody are run up into, and 
 knit into one body, the fishery. 
 
 In the first place, we were struck with the general 
 appearance of things. The fishing flakes completely floor 
 the river, and ascend in terraces for a short distance up 
 the sides of the vale. Beneath these wide, evergreen 
 floors, upon which was fish in all states, fresh from the 
 knife, and dry enough for packing, ran the river, a brawl- 
 ing stream at low tide, and deeper, silent water when the 
 tide was in. We could look up the dark stream, and see it 
 dancing in the mountain sunshine, and down through the 
 dim forest of slender props, and catch glances of the glit- 
 tering sea. Boats were gliding up out of the daylight 
 into the half-darkness, slowly sculled by brown fishermen. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN EIVER. 67 
 
 and freighted with the browner cod, laced occasionally 
 with a salmon. In this wide and noiseless shade, these 
 cool, Lethean realms, sitting upon some well-washed 
 boulder, one might easily forget the heat and uproar of 
 all cities, and become absorbed in the contemplation of 
 merely present and momentary things. If one doubts it, 
 let him immerse himself for half an hour, in those still 
 and gloomy shadows, strongly seasoned with "ancient 
 and fish-like smells." Should he be able to reflect upon 
 the absent, or engage his thoughts upon any thing except 
 that which most immediately affects his senses, he will 
 possess a power of abstraction which a philosopher and a 
 Brahmin might envy. 
 
 In the course of our walk we visited a cod-liver oil 
 manufactory. The process of making this article is 
 quite simple. The livers, fresh from the fish, and nearly 
 white, are cleanly washed, and thrown into a cauldron 
 heated by steam instead of fire, where they gradually 
 dissolve into oil, which is dipped out hot and strained, 
 first through conical felt bags, and then through those 
 made of white moleskin, from which it runs pure and 
 sweet as table^oil. Wine-glasses were at hand, from 
 which we tasted it, and fouDd it entirely agreeable. In 
 this state it is barrelled for market, and sold at an aver- 
 age price of one dollar and fifty cents per gallon. By 
 
68 COD-LIVER OIL. 
 
 what process it is transmuted into that horrid stuff which 
 is sold at a high price, in small bottles, perhaps the drug- 
 gist can inform us. When I mentioned the character of 
 cod-liver oil in New York, a gentleman present, qualified 
 to decide, did not hesitate to say that it was adulterated 
 with some cheap, base oil. Near by a fish-house, there 
 is ordinarily seen a row of hogsheads open to the sun, and 
 breathing smells that none but a fisherman can abide. 
 A near approach discovers these casks to be filled with 
 cod Hvers in a state of fermentation. After a few days 
 in the sun, these corpulent and sweaty vessels yield a 
 rancid, nauseous fluid, of a nut-brown hue, at a much 
 less cost than the refined oil of the manufactory, and 
 which, I imagine, must have a flavor not unhke that 
 which the invalid finds lurking in those genteel flasks on 
 the apothecary's shelves. After all, our common whale- 
 oil, I suspect, after some cleansing and bleaching, and 
 slight seasoning with the pure, is bad enough for sick 
 people. 
 
 The catch, as the fisher terms the number of fish 
 taken, was small, that day, and we encountered, here and 
 there, knots of idle men, smoking, chewing, whittling 
 and talking. For the most part, they were a russet, tan- 
 gle-haired and shaggy-bearded set, shy and gram at first, 
 but presently talkative enough, and intelligent upon all 
 
THE EVENING RIDE BACK TO ST. JOHNS. 69 
 
 matters in their own little world. Fish were so glutted 
 with capelin that they would not bite well. The seines 
 did better. Among the dwellings that we passed or en- 
 tered, was one of a young English woman, of such exceed- 
 ing neatness, that the painter could not forget it. That 
 fine-looking, healthy, young English woman, with her bit 
 of a house just as neat as wax, was often spoken of. 
 
 Upon our return to the cottage on the hUl-side, where 
 we at first alighted, we sat down, with sharp appetite, to 
 a supper of fried capelin and cods' tongues, garnished 
 with cups of excellent tea. We ate and drank with the 
 relish of travellers, and talked of the continent from 
 Greenland to Cape Horn. After supper, we climbed out 
 of the valley, in advance of the wagons and our company, 
 to an eminence from which C sketched the surround- 
 ing scenery, more for the sake of comparison with some of 
 his Andean pencillings than for any thing really new. Ho 
 remarked that the wild and rocky prospect bore a strong 
 resemblance to the high regions of the Cordilleras. 
 
 While he was engaged with the pencil, I scrambled 
 to a high place, and looked at the Atlantic, touched 
 with long shafts of the light and shade of sunset. All 
 arrived at length, and we were fairly on our way back to 
 St. Johns. I buttoned my coat tightly, and wound my 
 cloak around me with a pleasing sense of comfort in the 
 
70 THE EVENING RIDE BACK TO ST. JOHNS. 
 
 clear and almost wintry air. AU talked somewliat loudly, 
 and in the best possible good humor, our three wagons 
 keeping close company, and making a pleasant sound of 
 wheels, as we ran down our serpentine way among the 
 hills and lakes, now darkening in the dusk, and reflecting 
 the colored skies. Although there was not a water-fowl 
 in sight, the words came to memory spontaneously, and 
 I recited them to myself : 
 
 "WMtlier, midst falling dew, 
 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
 Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue 
 Thy solitary way ? " 
 
 As we approached the town, we were much amused 
 with some boyish sports of a new kind. We saw what 
 appeared through the darkness to be balls of fire, chasing 
 each other down the craggy hill-side, but which turned 
 out to be a company of frolicsome boys with lighted 
 torches, bounding down the zigzag mountain road. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE CnUECn SHIP.— THE HEEO OF KAES.— THE MISSIONAKY OF 
 LABEADOE. 
 
 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 aus- 
 picious bird flew under the guidance of God." By an 
 ingenious arrangement, the cabin, which is a large part of 
 the vessel, can be changed, in a few minutes, from state- 
 rooms into a saloon, which, again, by a slight alteration, 
 becomes a chapel. In this, at once home and church, the 
 Bishop visits not only the harbors and islands of New- 
 foundland and Labrador, but the island of Bermuda. It 
 was the gift of the Rev. Robert Eden, a clergyman of 
 
72 THE HERO OF KARS. 
 
 England, some twelve years ago, and has been employed 
 in that benevolent and sacred service ever since, with the 
 promise of the same for years to come. There are now 
 more than forty settled clergymen and missionaries along 
 those cold and rugged shores, who are visited from time 
 to time by their Bishop in this bold little ship, which I 
 shall dismiss for the present, for the reason that there 
 will be occasion to speak of it again. 
 
 From the Bishop's ship we went to his house, where 
 we hjad the honor of an introduction to General Williams, 
 the hero of Kars, and to Colonel Law, one of the few 
 now living who distinguished themselves at the battle of 
 Waterloo. In the presence of one who had mingled in 
 the grand scenes of Napoleon and the Duke of Welling- 
 ton, emotions of admiration were spontaneous. The hero 
 of Kars stands foremost among what arc called fine- 
 looking military men, — a tall, commanding person, with 
 a most pleasing address. 
 
 Wo closed the day with the consul, who invited to 
 join us the Rev. George Hutchinson, a nephew of the 
 poet Wordsworth, and accustomed, in his youthful days, 
 to see at his uncle's such literary worthies as Lamb and 
 Southey. He talked much of Hartley Coleridge, of whose 
 abilities he had a high opinion. Southey, of all, seemed 
 to be his admiration. He was, all in all, indeed a won- 
 
THE MISSIONARY OF LAnRADOll. 73 
 
 deiful man; a perfect Hercules in literary labors. A few 
 years ago, Mr. Hutchinson, moved by a religious spirit, 
 was induced to give up a pleasant living in Dorsetsliire, 
 under the Malvern Hills, and devote himself to the toils 
 and privations of a missionary in Labrador. Upon the 
 death of his mother he went home, over a year ago, and 
 became possessed of a small property. He has returned 
 recently, and is now waiting for an opportunity to get 
 back to Labrador. This meeting and conversation with 
 the Eev. George Hutcliinson, has turned out to be of more 
 
 than ordinary interest. C has determined to hire a 
 
 vessel for a month, and set the missionary down in the 
 midst of his people, without farther trouble. We retired, 
 pleasantly excited with visions of icebergs and northern 
 coast scenery, and with thoughts of preparation for the 
 voyage. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SUNDAY EVENma AT THE BISIIOP'S.-TIIE EEV. MK. "WOOD'S TALK 
 ABOUT ICEBEEGS. 
 
 Monday, June 27. We attended clmrcli, yesterday, 
 at the catliedral, wliere we heard practical sermons and 
 fine congregational singing. The evening was passed at 
 the Bishop's, when the conversation was about Ox- 
 ford, and Keble, English parsonages, and Christian art. 
 A few ]joems were read from Kehle's Christian Year, 
 and commented upon by the Bishop, who is a personal 
 friend and admirer of the poet. Before the company 
 separated, all moved into a very beautiful private chapel, 
 and closed the evening with devotions. 
 
 This has been a bright day, and favorable for our 
 preparations. We took tea with the Consul, and had 
 the pleasure of meeting the Eev. Mr. Wood, the Eector 
 of St. Thomas', on.e of the city churches ; who has true 
 
THE llEV. MR. wood's TALK ABOUT ICEBERGS. 75 
 
 feeling, and a thorougli appreciation of fine Bcenerj^, and 
 whose descriptive abilities are rare. He says that an ice- 
 berg is to him the most impressive of all objects. Most 
 beautiful in its life and changes, it i?, next to an carth- 
 qi^ake, most terrible and appalling, in the moment of its 
 destruction, to those who may happen to be near it. 
 Upon the falling of its peaks and precipices, waves and 
 thunders carry the intelligence across the waters. Lofty 
 as it frequently is, the head only, helmeted and plumed 
 with dazzling beauty, is above the sea. In its solemn 
 march along the blue main, how it steps upon the high 
 places of the deep, is all unseen. Around its mighty 
 form, far down its alabaster cliffs and caverns, no eye plays 
 but that of the imagination. When it pauses in its last 
 repose, and perishes, at times, as quickly as if it were 
 smitten by the lightning, you may stand in the distance 
 and gaze with awe, but never draw near to witness the 
 motions and sounds of its dissolution. After tea, we sat 
 by the windows, which face the east and command the 
 harbor, with its grand entrance from the Atlantic, and 
 enjoyed the scene, one of unusual splendor, every cliff 
 glowing with hues of reddish orange. 
 
CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 OtTK VESSEL FOE LABKADOK.— WEECK OP THE AEGO-THE FISHEE- 
 MAN'S EUNEEAL. 
 
 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 has volunteered to take 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson and Mr. Botwood, his associate, to Lab- 
 rador, sailed on the visitation of his extended diocese to- 
 day. The Church Ship, wliich we visited in the morning, 
 looked, in her perfect order and neatness, with her signal 
 guns and her colors flying, quite like a little man-of-war. 
 We shall foUow for awhile in her track, but with no ex- 
 pectation of seeing her again. 
 
 Allow me now to take you to the wharf, and show 
 you the craft which C has selected for his novel, and 
 
OUR VESSEL FOR LABRADOR. 77 
 
 somewhat perilous expedition. Here slic lies, the Integ- 
 rity, of Sydney, Cape Breton, a pinlt-sterned schooner, of 
 only sixty-five tons, but reputed safe and a good sailer. 
 Her forecastle contains the skipper and mate, a young 
 man of twenty-two, the owner of the vessel, and three 
 men, the youngest an overgrown Scotch lad, who has heen 
 serving, and will continue to serve us, in the capacity of 
 cook. Her cabin is for Captain Knight, the commander, 
 pro tem., with whom you will be made much better ac- 
 quainted. Just forward of the cabin, in the hold, there 
 has been a temporary cabin partitioned off, and furnished 
 with beds, bedding, chairs and table ; in short, with every 
 necessary article for the comfort and convenience of five 
 individuals. In this snug little room, and in the hold, 
 laden only with a light stone baUast, are stores and pro- 
 visions, of the very best quality, for two full months, 
 wood and water to be taken along shore as need shall re- 
 quire. 
 
 At C 's sole expense, and under his control, this 
 
 vessel is to cruise for a few weeks in the region of the ice- 
 bergs, setting down the missionaries by the way. The sheet 
 anchor and mainstay (I begin to speak the language of 
 the mariner) of our hopes of a pleasant and successful 
 trip, humanly speaking, is Captain Knight, a respected 
 citizen of St. Johns, and an accomplished sailor, whom 
 
78 WEECK OF THE AKGO, 
 
 C has had the good fortune to secure as master, 
 
 pilot, and companion". 
 
 "We have been startled by the intelligence, that the 
 Argo, of the Galway line of steamers, from New York to 
 Scotland, is ashore at St. Shotts, near Cape Eace. As 
 usual, a variety of reports have agitated the community, 
 and made people look with eagerness for the return of the 
 two small harbor steamers, which Mr. Shea, the agent for 
 that line, dispatched yesterday to the scene of distress. 
 One of the tugs, the Blue Jacket, has at length arrived 
 with a part of the passengers in sad plight. It is the old 
 story of shipwreck on these rocky coasts. Wrapped in 
 fogs, and borne forward by a powerful current, the ill-fated 
 ship struck the shore, a few moments after it was jiiscov- 
 ered. Providentially, it was calm weather, and the sea 
 unusually quiet, or all had perished. As it was, all went 
 safely to land, and encamped in the woods. Numbers of 
 the passengers, saddened by the loss of trunks containing 
 clothing and other valuables, excited and fatigued, tell 
 bitter stories of carelessness and inefficiency. 
 
 While, with a crowd of people, we were at the pier, 
 awaiting the arrival of the Blue Jacket, a funeral pro- 
 cession of boats with little white flags, half-pole, came 
 slowly rowing in from sea, and across the harbor, and 
 landed with the coffin near where we were standing;. Not 
 
THIk fisherman's FUNERAL. 79 
 
 only the relatives were dressed in mourning, but the 
 bearers. There were long flowing weeds of black crape 
 upon all their hats, and wide white cambric cuffs upon 
 the sleeves of their coats. They were of the fishing class, 
 from some village up or down the coast, and conducted 
 matters apparently with more dispatch than mournfid- 
 ness. A hearse or black carriage, of very substantial 
 make, with a high top, and white fringe or valance de- 
 pending from its eaves instead of curtains, was waiting 
 on the wharf, attended by a man with a flag of white 
 linen attached to his hat. 
 
 Among our last calls to-day, was one of ceremony 
 upon Sir Alexander and Lady Bannerman, from whom 
 we had received an invitation to dine. Her ladyship, a 
 fine-looking person, of graceful and dignified manners and 
 
 pleasing conversation, talked with interest of C 's 
 
 excursion, and particularly of that part of it relating to 
 his carrying Mr. Hutchinson to Labrador. After taking 
 our leave, we went with Mr. Newman to look after some 
 fireworks, which his Excellency has been pleased to order 
 for our amusement at night among the icebergs. 
 
CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 OUE FIEST EVENING AT SEA 
 
 • 
 
 Thuksday evening, June 30. At sea. I am now 
 writing, for the first time to-day, by tlie 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 came and an early 
 dinner, before that all were in readiness and aboard. And 
 then, as if in retaliation for our delay during so many 
 lovely hours, the wind was not ready, and so we were 
 obliged to be towed by the Blue Jacket quite out into 
 broad water, where she left us with our colors quivering 
 
OUR FIRST EVENING AT SEA. 81 
 
 in the sunsliine, and all our canvas swelling in a mild 
 southerly breeze. The coast scenery, and the iceberg of 
 Torbay, and the last gleams of sunset upon land and 
 ocean, were the lions of the afternoon. 
 
 We have taken our first tea, counting, with a lad in 
 the charge of Mr. Hutchinson, six around the table, and 
 making, with the crew, eleven souls, quite a little congre- 
 gation, could all be s^oared to attend the short morning 
 and evening services. We are just beginning to feel the 
 effects of a small vessel with no lading beyond a light 
 ballast. She rolls excessively, rises with every swell, and 
 pitches into the succeeding hollow. This has already be- 
 gun to disperse our company to their berths, as the more 
 comfortable place for the random conversation which will 
 close the day. 
 
 4* 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ICEBEKGS OF THE OPEN SEA. -THE OCEAN CHASE.— THE EETEEAT TO 
 CAT HAEBOK. 
 
 Feiday, 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 a§ a matter of course, and look upon 
 aU preparations for breakfast with no peculiar satisfac- 
 tion. Our consolation is, that we are sailing forward, 
 although with only very moderate speed. 
 
 Delightful change ! It is clearing up. The noon- 
 day sun is showering the dark ocean, here and there, 
 with the whitest light. And lo ! an iceberg on our left. 
 Lo ! an iceberg on our right. An iceberg ahead ! Yes, 
 two of them ! — four ! — five — six ! — and there, a white 
 pinnacle just pricking above the horizon. Wonderful to 
 behold, there are no less than thirteen icebergs in fair 
 
THE OCEAN CHASE. 83 
 
 view. We run forward, and tlien we run aft, and then 
 to this side, and that. We lean towards them over the 
 railing, and spring up into the shrouds, as if these boyish 
 efforts brought us nearer, and made them plainer to our 
 delighted eyes. With a quiet energy, C betakes him- 
 self to painting, and I to my note-book. But can you tell 
 me why I pause, almost put up the pencil, and pocket 
 the book .^ I am only a little sea-sick. The cold sweat 
 starts upon the forehead, and I feel pale. We bear away 
 now, such is the order, for the largest berg in sight. I 
 freshen again with the growing excitement of this novel 
 chase, and feel a pleasurable sense of freedom that I can 
 never describe. I could bound like a deer, and shout Hke 
 the wild Indian, for very joj'-. The vessel seems to sym- 
 pathize, and spring forward with new spirit. The words 
 leap out of the memory, and I give them a good strong 
 voice : 
 
 " O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 
 Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free." 
 
 Indeed, there is a hearty pleasure in this freedom of the 
 ocean, when, as now with us, it is " all before you where 
 to choose." Tied to no task, fettered to no line of voyage, 
 to no scant time allowanced, the sliip, the ocean and the 
 day, are ours. Like the poet's river, that '^ windeth at its 
 
84 THE OCEAN CHAISE. 
 
 own sweet will/' our wishes flow down the lucandenng 
 channel of circumstances, and wo go with the current. 
 
 And how lo^•cly the prospect as we go ! That this is 
 all God's own world, which he holdeth in the hollow of 
 his hand, is manifest from the impartial "bestowal of 
 beauty. No apple, peach or rose is more within one net- 
 work ivf sweet, living grace, than the round world. ITow 
 wonderful and precious a thing must this beauty be, that 
 it is thus all-pervading, and universal ! Here on these 
 bleak and barren shores, so rocky, rough and savage, is a 
 rich and delicate splendor that amazes. The pure azure 
 of the skies, and the deeply blue waters, one would think 
 were sufficient for rude and fiiiitless regions such as these. 
 But look, how they shine and scintillate ! The iron 
 cheeks of yonder headland blush with glory, and the 
 west is all magnificent. Gaze below into the everlasting 
 evening of the deep. Glassy, glittering things, like chan- 
 deliers dispersed, twinkle in the lluid darkness. The 
 very fishes, clad in purple and satin, silvery tissues and 
 cloth-of-gold, seem to move with colored lights. God 
 hath apparelled all his creatures, and we call it beauty. 
 
 As we approach the bergs, they assume a great variety 
 of forms. Indeed, their changes are quite wonderful. In 
 passing around a single one, we see as good as ten, so 
 protean is its character. I know of no object in all 
 
THE OCEAN OlIAaiO. 85 
 
 nature so marvclously scnsitivo to a steady gaze. Sit 
 motionless, and look at one, and, fixture as it appears, it 
 has its changes then. It marks with unerring Itiithful- 
 ness every condition of atmosphere, and every amount 
 of light and shadow. Thus manifold complexions trem- 
 ble over it, for which the careless observer may see no 
 reason, and many shapes, heights and distances swell and 
 shrink it, move it to and from, of which the mind may 
 not readily assign a cause. 
 
 The large iceberg, for which we bore away this morn- 
 ing, resembled, at one moment, a cluster of Chinese 
 buildings, then a Gothic cathedral, early style. It was 
 curious to see how all that mimicry of a grand religious 
 pile was soon transmuted into something like the Coliseum, 
 its vast interior now a delicate blue, and then a greenish 
 white. It was only necessary to run on half a mile to 
 find this icy theatre split asunder. An age of ruin ap- 
 peared to have passed over it, leaving only the two ex- 
 tremes, the inner cliffs of one a glistening white, of the 
 other, a blue, soft and airy as the July heavens. 
 
 In the neighborhood, were numbers of block-like bergs, 
 which, when thrown together by our perpetual change of 
 position, resembled the ruins of a marble city. The play 
 of the light and shadows among its inequalities was 
 charming in the extreme. In the outskirts of this Pal- 
 
8() THE EETREAT TO CAT HARBOll. 
 
 myra of the waves, lay a berg closely resembling a Imge 
 ship of war, with the stern submerged, over which the 
 surf was brealdug linely, while the stem, sixty or seventy 
 feet aloft, with what the fancy easily shaped into a majes- 
 tic figure-head, looked with fixed serenity over the dis- 
 tant waters. As we ran athwart .the bow, it changed in- 
 stantly into the appearance of some gigantic sculpture, 
 with broad surfaces as smooth as polished ivory, and with 
 salient points cut with wonderful perfection. The dash- 
 ing of the waves sounded lilvC the dashing at the foot of 
 rocky clifls, indicative of the mass of ice below the sur- 
 face. 
 
 As the afternoon advances the breeze strengthens, 
 blowing sharply off to sea. We have the most brilliant 
 sunshine, with a clear, cold, exhilarating air. It very 
 nearly dispels all the nausea caused by this excessive 
 rolling. We are now beating up from the cast toward 
 the land, and passing several of the bergs, in the chase 
 of which we have spent so many joyous hours. Every 
 few minutes we have new forms and new eflects, new 
 thoughts and fresh emotions. The grand ruins of the 
 Oriental deserts, hunted on the fleetest coursers, would 
 awaken, I fiincy, kindred feelings. Full of shadowy sub- 
 limities are these great broken masses, as we sweep 
 around them, fall away, tack and return again. 
 
THE KETREAT TO CAT IIAllBOR. 87 
 
 I never could have felt, and so must not think of 
 making others feel through the medium of language, the 
 possibility of being so deceived in respect of the bulk of 
 these islands-of-ice, as our sailors always call them. 
 What seems, in the distance, a mere piece of ice, of good 
 snow-bank size only, is really a mass of such dimensions 
 as to require you to look up to it, as you sail around it, 
 and feel, as you gaze, a sense of grandeur. What you 
 might sujipose could be run down as easily as a pile of 
 light cotton, would wreck the proudest clipper as effectu- 
 ally as the immovable adamant. 
 
 Between the great northern current, and the breeze 
 •which plumes the innumerable waves with sparkling 
 white, our course has become rather more tortuous and 
 rough than is agreeable to landsmen who have only come 
 abroad upon the deep for pleasure and instruction. The 
 painter has cleaned his pallet, wiped his brushes, shut his 
 painting-box, and gone below. I am sitting here, near 
 the helm, close upon the deck, screened from the spray 
 that occasionally flies over, heavily coated, and cold at 
 that, maldng some almost illegible notes. Life, it is 
 often said, is a stormy ocean. It is on the. ocean, cer- 
 tainly, that one feels the wTiole force of the comparison. 
 
 The wind, which is blowing strongly, is getting into 
 the north, dead ahead, and sweeping us away upon our 
 
88 THE RETKEAT TO CAT HAEBOR. 
 
 back track. We are too lightly ballasted to tack with 
 success, and hold our own. The bergs are retiring, and 
 appear like ruins and broken columns. We are now fairly 
 on the retreat, and flying under reefed sails to a little bay, 
 called Cat Harbor. All aloft has the tightness and the 
 ring of drums, and the whistling of a hundred fifes. The 
 voice of the master is quick, and to the point, and the 
 motions and the footsteps of the men, rapid. On our 
 bows are the explosion and the shock of swells, the re- 
 sounding knocks and calls of old Neptune, and upon the 
 deck such showers of his most brilliant flowers and 
 bouquets as I feel in no haste to gather. The sea-fowl 
 whirl in the gale like loose plumes and papers, pouring 
 out their wild complaints as they pass. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CAT HARBOE.— EVENING SERVICE IN CnUEClI.— THE FISUEEMAN'S 
 FIEE.— THE EETUEN 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 employment, some returning 
 with the catch of the day, others going for the catch of 
 
 the night. While C was painting a sketch of the 
 
 scene, the sun vanished behind the purple inland hills, 
 with unusual splendor, and left the distant icebergs in 
 such a white " as no fuller on earth can white them." 
 
 After dinner, notwithstanding the lateness of the 
 
90 EVENING SERVICE IN CHUECH, 
 
 hour, Mr. Hutcliinson, who knew that the clergyman in 
 charge was absent, resolved to go ashore, and invite the 
 people to attend divine service. As soon as we were 
 landed, he left us to make our way to the church, at our 
 leisure, while he ran from house to house to announce 
 himself, and to give notice of the intended services. Our 
 path, as usual in these coast hamlets, went in zigzag, 
 serpentine ways, among evergreen fishing-bowers, and 
 many-legged flakes and huts, and oddly-fenced potato- 
 patches. In the marshy field around the church, we had 
 some time to amuse ourselves with gathering slender bul- 
 rushes tipped with plumes of whitest down. They were 
 sprinkled all abroad like snow-flakes over the dusky green 
 ground, and we ran about with the eagerness of boys, 
 selecting the prettiest as specimens for home. 
 
 Twilight was already close upon the darkness. We 
 turned from the chase of our thistle-down toys, and 
 gazed upon the solemn magnificence around us — the 
 dark and lonesome land — the bay, reflecting the colored 
 heavens— the warm orange fading out into the cool pearl, 
 and the pearl finally lost in the broad blue above. 
 
 It was fully candle-light when the congregation, 
 about forty, assembled, and the service began. The mis- 
 sionary preached extempore a practical sermon adapted 
 to his hearers, and we sang, to the tune of Old Hundred, 
 
THE fisherman's FlllE. 91 
 
 the One Hundredth Psahii, making the dimly- lighted 
 sanctuary ring again. After church, our party were in- 
 vited to warm at one of the houses, which we did most 
 effectually before a broad and roaring fire, while mine 
 host recounted the toil and the pleasure of getting winter 
 wood over the deep snows with his team of dogs, and the 
 more perilous and exciting labors of the fish-harvest, 
 upon which life and all depend. At the mention of the 
 puff-pig, the local name for the common porpoise, we in- 
 dulged ourselves in a childish laugh. A more ludicrous, 
 and at the same time a more descriptive name could not 
 be hit upon. 
 
 During the half-hour around the exhilarating July 
 fire, there dropped in, one by one, a room-full, curious to 
 see and hear the strangers from St. Johns and America, 
 as the United States are often called. We parted with a 
 general shaking of hands, and plenty of good wishes, 
 among which was one, " that we might have many igh 
 hicebergs." Some half dozen attended us to the shore, 
 and brought us ofii" in handsome style over the calm and 
 phosphorescent waters. At every dip of the oars it was 
 like unraking the sparkling embers, so brilliant was that 
 beautiful light of the sea. The boatmen called it the burn- 
 ing of the water. " When the water burnt," they said, 
 " it was a sure sign of south wind and a plenty of fish." 
 
92 THE RETURN AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 It was one of those still and starry nights wHch re- 
 quire only an incident or so to make them too beautiful 
 ever to be forgotten. Those incidents were now present, 
 in a peculiarly plaintive murmur of the ocean, the kin- 
 dling waves, and a delicate play of the Aurora Borealis. 
 When we reached our vessel it was almost midnight, and 
 still there was sweet daylight in the far north-west, mov- 
 ing along the circle of the northern horizon to brighten 
 into morning before we were half through our light and 
 dreamy slumbers. Weary and drowsy, all have crept to 
 their berths ; and I will creep into mine when I have put 
 the period to the notes of this long and delightful day. 
 I hear the footfalls of the watch on deck. May God keep 
 us through the short, but most solitary night, and speed 
 us early on our northern voyage ! 
 
CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 AFTER ICEBERGS AGAIN. — AMONG THE SEA-FOWL. 
 
 Saturday, Juhj 2. It is five o'clock, and tlie morn- 
 ing has kindled in tlie 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 sum- 
 mer day, and the blue Atlantic all before us. As the 
 rising sun looks over it, the glittering waves seem, to par- 
 ticipate in these joyful emotions. How marvelously 
 beautiful is this vast scene ! Give me the sea, I say, 
 now that I am on the sea. Give me the mountains, I 
 say, when I am on the mountains ! Henceforth, when 
 I am weary with the task of life, I will cry, Give me the 
 mountains a7id the sea. 
 
 The rugged islands, landward, have only an olive, not 
 the living green, and seem never to have rejoiced in the 
 blessing of a tree, or felt the delicious mercy of a leafy 
 
94 AMONG THE SEA-FOWL. 
 
 shade. There blow the whales, and here is the edge of 
 an innumerable multitude of sca-hirds feeding upon the 
 capelin, and flying to the right and left, thick as grass- 
 hoppers, as we advance among them. Poor things, they 
 arc so glutted that they are obliged to disgorge before 
 they can gain the wing, and many of them merely scram- 
 ble aside a few yards, and become the mark of the 
 roguish sailors, especially of Sandy, our young Scotch 
 cook, who is in a perfect frolic, pelting them with stones. 
 They sprinkle the sea by the million, and present, with 
 their white breasts and perpetually arching wings, a 
 lively and novel appearance. On the roll of the swells, 
 as the sunlight glances on them, they flash out white 
 like water-lilies. 
 
 How the pages of a book fiil to cany these scenes 
 into the heart ! I have been reading of them for years, 
 and, as I have thought, reading understandingly and 
 feelingly ; but I can now say that I have never known, 
 certainly never felt them until now. The living presence 
 of them has an originality, a taste and odor for the 
 imagination, which can never be expressed even by the 
 vivid and sensuous language of the painter, much less by 
 the more subtle, intellectual medium of written records. 
 It is so new and fresh to nie, that I feel as if none had 
 over seen this prospect before. Old and fimiliar as these 
 
AMONG THE SEA-FOWL. 95 
 
 waters are, I am thrilled with emotions, kindred to those 
 of a discoverer, and remember and repeat the rhyme of 
 the Ancient Mariner : 
 
 We woro the first that over burst 
 Into that silent sea. 
 
 Silent sea ! This is any thing but that. The surf, which 
 leajis up with the lightness and rapidity of flames, for 
 many and many a white mile, roars among the sharp, 
 bleak crags of the islands and the coast like mighty 
 cataracts. Words of the Psalmist fall naturally upon 
 the tongue, and I speak them in low tones to myself : 
 
 Voices are heard among them. 
 Their sound is gone out iuto all lands. 
 
 " And so sail we," this glorious morning, after the ice- 
 bergs, several of which stand sentinel along our eastern 
 horizon ; but we do not turn aside for them, for the reason 
 that we confidently look for others more closely on our 
 proper track. 
 
CHAPTEE XXn. 
 
 NOTEE DAME BAT.— FOGO ISLAND AND THE THREE HUNDRED 
 ISLES.— THE FEEEDOM OP THE SEAS.— THE ICEBEEG OF THE 
 SUNSET, AND THE FLIGHT INTO TWILLINGATE. 
 
 After noon, with tlie faintest breeze, and tlie sea 
 like a flowing mirror. We have sailed by the most east- 
 ern 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 course is nearly 
 north, and along the eastern or Atlantic side of Fogo, 
 which is now before us, the first and largest of some three 
 hundred islands. For the sake of the romantic scenery, 
 we conclude to take the inside route. 
 
 From the shores of Fogo, which are broken, and ex- 
 ceedingly picturesq[ue further on, as Captain Knight in- 
 forms us, the land rises into moderate hills, thinly wooded 
 
FOGO ISLAND AND THE THREE HUNDEED ISLES. 97 
 
 with, evergreens, with here and there a little farm and 
 dwelling. Perhaps there are twenty rural smokes in 
 sight and a spire or two. Under the full-blown summer 
 all looks pleasant and inviting. What will not the glori- 
 ous sunshine bless and beautify ? A dark and dusty 
 garret wakes up to life and brightness, give it an open 
 window and the morning sun. 
 
 The western headlands of Fogo are exceedingly at- 
 tractive, lofty, finely broken, of a red and purplisb brown, 
 tinted here and there with pale green. The painter 
 is busy with his colors. As we pass the bold prominences 
 and deep, narrow bays or fiords, they are continually 
 changing and surprising us with a new scenery. And 
 now the great sea-wall, on our right, opens and discloses 
 the harbor and village of Fogo, the chief place of the 
 island, gleaming in the setting sun as if there were flames 
 shining through the windows. Looking to the left, all 
 the western region is one fine iEgean, a sea filled with a 
 multitude of isles, of manifold forms and sizes, and of every 
 height, from mountain pyramids and crested ridges down 
 to rounded knolls and tables, rocky ruins split and shat- 
 tered, giant slabs sliding edgewise into the deep, columns 
 and grotesque masses ruffled with curling surf — the Cyc- 
 lades of the west. I climb the shrouds, and behold fields 
 
 and lanes of water, an endless and beautiful network, a 
 . 5 
 
98 THE FREEDOM OP THE SEAS. 
 
 little Switzerland with her vales and gorges filled with 
 the purple sea. 
 
 After dinner, and nearly sunset. We are breaking 
 away from the isles into the open Atlantic, bearing 
 northerly for Cape St.. John, where Captain Knight prom- 
 ises the very finest coast scenery. Far away on the blue, 
 floats a solitary pyramid of ice, while a few miles to the 
 cast of us there stands the image of some grand Capitol, 
 in shining marble. Looking back upon the isles, as they 
 retire in the south and west, with the hues of sunset upon 
 their green and cloud-like blue, we behold, the painter 
 tells me, a likeness to some West-Indian views. 
 
 Once again the breeze swells every sail, and we arc 
 speeding forward after the icebergs. All goes merrily. 
 It sings and cracks aloft, and roars around the j)row. We 
 speed onward. The little ship, like a very falcon, flies 
 down the wind after the game, and promises to reach it 
 by the last of daylight. A long line of gilding tracks the 
 violet sea, and expands in a lake of dazzling brightness 
 under the sun. Beneath all this press of sail, we ride on, 
 fast and steadily, as a car over the prairies. We seem to 
 be all alive. This is fine, inexpressibly fine ! This is 
 freedom ! I lean forward and look over the bow, and, 
 like a rider in a race, feel a new delight and excitement. 
 Wonderful and beautiful ! Like the Arab on his sands. 
 
THE ICEBERG OF THE SUNSET. 99 
 
 I say, almost involuntarily, God is great ! How soft is 
 the feeling of this breeze, and bow balmy is the smell, 
 " like the smell of Lebanon," and yet how powerful to 
 bear us onward ! We rise and bow gracefully to the 
 passing swells, but keep right on. Fogo is sinking in the 
 south, a line of roseate heights, and fresh ice sparkles 
 like stars on the northern horizon. 
 
 We dart off a mile or more from our right path in 
 order to bring a small berg between us and the sun, that 
 we may look into his sunset beauties. A dull cloud, close 
 down upon the waves, may defeat this mana3uvre. We 
 shall conquer yet. There, he rises from the sea, a sphinx 
 of pure white against the glowing sky, and every man 
 aboard is as full of fine excitement as if we were to grap- 
 ple with, and chain him. We pass directly under the 
 great face, the upper line of which overlooks our top- 
 mast. Every curve, swell and depression have the finish 
 of the most exquisite sculpture, and all drips with silvery 
 water as if newly risen from the deep. In the pure, 
 white mass there is the suspicion of green. Every wave, 
 by contrast, and by some optical effect, nearly black as 
 it approaches, is instantly changed into the loveliest 
 green as it rolls up to the silvery bright ice. And all 
 the adjacent deep is a luminous pea-green. The eye 
 follows the ice into its awful depths, and is at once star- 
 
100 THE ICEBERG OF THE SUNSET. 
 
 tied and delighted to find tliat the mighty crystal hangs 
 suspended in a vast transparency, or floats in an abyss of 
 liquid emerald. 
 
 We pass on the shadow side, soft and delicate as satin, 
 and changeable as costliest silk ; the white, the dove- 
 color and the green playing into each other with the sub- 
 tlety and fleetness of an Aurora-Borealis. As the light 
 streams over and around from the illuminated side, the 
 entire outline of the berg shines like newly-burnished sil- 
 ver in the blaze of noon. The painter is working with all 
 possible rapidity ; but we pass too quick to harvest all 
 this beauty : he can only glean some golden straws. A 
 few sharp words from the captain bring the vessel to, and 
 we pause long enough for some finishing touches. He 
 has them, and we are off again. An iceberg is an object 
 most diflS.cult to study, for which many facilities, much 
 time, and some danger are indispensable. The voyager, 
 passing at a safe distance, really knows little or nothing 
 of one. 
 
 Ten o'clock, and only twilight. We are now about 
 to put up note-book and painting-box, and join our Eng- 
 lish companions in a walk up and down our little deck. 
 Notwithstanding their familiarity with icebergs, they ap- 
 pear to enjoy them with as keen a zest as we, now that 
 they are brought into this familiar contact with them. 
 
FLIGHT INTO TWILLINGATE. 101 
 
 After the walk, and by candlc-liglit in the cabin. The 
 wind is strengthening, and promises a gale. The black 
 and jagged coast of Twillingate island, to the south, 
 frowns upon us, and the great pyramid berg of sunset 
 awaits us close at hand. For some time past, it has 
 borne the appearance of the cathedral of Milan, shorn of 
 all its pinnacles, but it now resumes its pyramidal form, 
 and towers, in the dusk of evening, to a great height. 
 After a brief consultation, we resolve to slip into the har- 
 bor of Twillingate, a safe retreat from the coming storm, 
 and there pass our first Sunday out of- St. Johns. To 
 dare this precipitous coast, haunted with icebergs, and a 
 gale blowing right on, in so light a craft as ours, would 
 be rash. Much as I wish to make the most of our time, 
 I am glad to find that we are making harbor, and intend 
 to rest, according to the law. 
 
 I cannot take my mind's eye from the brilliant spec- 
 tacle of the waves in conflict with the iceberg. I still 
 hear the surf in the blue chasms. But with all the power 
 of its charge, it is the merest toy to the great arctic mass, 
 a playful kitten on the paws of the lion. 
 
 After ten, and after prayer. We arc rolling most un- 
 comfortably while we are beating towards our anchorage 
 between the headlands of the harbor. It is midnight 
 nearly, and yet I am not in the least sleepy. The day is 
 
102 FLIGHT INTO TWILLINGATE. 
 
 SO lengthyj and we are so continually stimulated with the 
 grandeur and novelty of these scenes that it is quite 
 troublesome to sleep at all. A few hours of slumber^ so 
 thin that the sounds on deck easily break through and 
 wake the mind, is about all I have, "We are coming 
 about, and roll down almost upon the vessel's side. The 
 sails are loose, and roar in the breeze. The anchor drops 
 home to its bed. The chain rattles and runs its length. 
 We repose in safe waters, and I turn in thankfully to my 
 berth. 
 
CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 THE SUNDAY IN TWILLINGATE.-THE MOKNING 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 profitable and happy Lord's day. The wind 
 was blowing a perfect gale, and roared among the ever- 
 green woods on the surrounding hills. At half-past ten, 
 the Bishop's boat glided alongside, and bore us ashore, 
 from which we walked past the church, through the assem- 
 bling congregation, to the house of the Eector, the Eev. 
 Thomas Boone, where we joined the Bishop and two or 
 
104 THE MORNING OF THE FOUKTH. 
 
 three of the leading persons of the island. There were 
 tlie regular morning and evening services, and a third 
 service at night, completed though hy good strong day- 
 light. The house was filled, and the sermons plain and 
 practical, their burden being repentance, faith in Christ, 
 and obedience to his law. After supper, and a social 
 hour with the Eector and his family, we returned to our 
 vessels respectively, the north-western sky still white 
 with daylight, and the thunder of the ocean breaking 
 with impressive grandeur upon the solemn repose, into 
 which all nature seemed gladly to have fallen after the 
 tempest. 
 
 I was up this morning at an early hour, and away 
 upon the hills with Mr. Hutchinson and Master WiUiam 
 Boone, a fine youth of fifteen, for our guide and compan- 
 ion. The main object was to get a view of the iceberg 
 of Saturday evening. To my surprise and disappoint- 
 ment, the ocean was one spotless blue. The berg had 
 foundered, or gone off to sea. It was barely possible that 
 it lay behind a lofty headland, beneath which we passed 
 in making the harbor. To settle a question, which in 
 some measure involved the pleasure of the day, we 
 climbed a rocky peak beset with brushwood, and descried 
 the berg close in upon the headland apparently, and, as 
 I supposed, rapidly diminishing, a lengthy procession of 
 
THE MORNING OF THE FOURTH. 105 
 
 fragments moving up the coast. Looking south, there 
 was unrolled to view, sj^read out from cast to west, the 
 splendid island scenery of Notre Dame Bay, already de- 
 scribed. A single reach of water, with islets and moun- 
 tainous shores, had a striking resemblance to Lake George. 
 At eight o'clock, we were again on board and ready 
 for the boat, which, by appointment, was to take our 
 party to the Hawk for a farewell breakfast with the 
 Bishop. It is needless to say that we were most Idndly 
 and pleasantly entertained. The Bishop was pleased to 
 accompany us back to our vessel, and to give us his part- 
 ing blessing, on our own more humble deck. Just be- 
 fore sailing. Master Boone came off to us in a boat with 
 a gift of milk and eggs, and a nice, fat lamb. By ten 
 o'clock, both the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes 
 were waving on high in a south-west breeze, and we 
 glided through the narrows toward the open sea, the 
 chasms of the precipices heavily charged with the last 
 winter's snow. 
 
 5* 
 
CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 TUE ICEBERG OF T WILL ING ATE. 
 
 Twelve o'clock. The day we celebrate. Three 
 cheers ! Now we arc after the iceberg. Upon getting 
 near, we find it grounded in fifty fathoms of water, ap- 
 parently 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 frag- 
 ments upon the mighty stream. We are now bearing 
 down upon it, under full sail, intending to pass close 
 under it. Our good angels bear us company as we pass. 
 
 What an exc[uisite specimen of nature's handiwork 
 it looks to be, in the blaze of noon ! It shines like pol- 
 ished silver dripping with dews. The painter is aU ready 
 with his colors, having sketched the outlines with lead. 
 The water streams down in all directions in little rills and 
 
THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. 107 
 
 falls, glistening in the liglit like molten glass. Veins 
 of gem-like transparency, blue as saiDj)liirc, obliquely- 
 cross the opaque white of the prodigious mass, the pre- 
 cious beauty of wliich no language can picture. Frag- 
 ments lie upon the slopes, like bowlders, ready to be dis- 
 lodged at any moment, and launched into the waves. 
 Now we dash across his cool shadow, and take his breath. 
 There looks to be the permanency of adamant, while in 
 reality all is perishable as a cloud, and charged with 
 awful peril. Imagine the impressive grandeur and ter- 
 rific character of cliffs, broad and lofty cliffs, at once so 
 solid, and yet so liable at any moment to burst asunder 
 into countless pieces. We all know the danger, and I 
 confess that I feel it painfully, and wish ourselves at a 
 safe distance. 
 
 The wind increases, and all is alive on deck. To my 
 relief, we have fallen off to leeward beyond all harm. 
 But we are on the back track, and meafti to take him 
 again, and take the risques also of his terrible, but very 
 beautiful presence. Now we run. If he were a hostile 
 castle, he would open upon us liis big guns, at this in- 
 stant. Bravely and busily the waves beat under the hol- 
 low of the long, straight water-line, rushing through the 
 low archways with a variety of noises, — roaring, hissing, 
 slapping, cracking, lashing the icy vaults, and polishing 
 
108 THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. 
 
 and mining away with, a wild, joyous energy. Poor 
 Islimael of the sea ! every hand and every force is against 
 him. If he move, he dashes a foot against the deep 
 down stones. While he reposes, the sun pierces his 
 gleaming helmet, and strikes through, the joints of his 
 glassy armor. 
 
 In the seams and fissures the shadows are the softest 
 blue of the skies, and as plain and palpable as smoke. 
 It melts at every j^ore, and streams as if a perpetually 
 overflowing fountain were upon the summit, and flashes 
 and scintillates like one vast brilliant. Prongs and reefs 
 of ice jutting from the body of the berg below, and over 
 which we pass, give the water that emerald clearness so 
 lovely to the eye, and open to the view something like 
 the fanciful sea-green caves. We now lie to, under the 
 lee side, fearfully close, it seems to me, when I recollect 
 the warning of the Bishop, never, on any account, to ven- 
 ture near an iceberg. Its water-line. Under which tbe 
 waves disappear in a lengthy, piazza-like cavern, with ex- 
 plosive sounds, is certainly a remarkable feature. Occa- 
 sional glimpses unfold the polish, the colors^ and the 
 graceful winding of sea-sbells. A strong current in con- 
 nection with the wind forces us, I am glad to say, to a 
 more safe and comfortable distance. The last ten min- 
 utes has given us a startling illustration of the dangers 
 
THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. 109 
 
 of whicli we have been forewarned : a crack like a field- 
 piece was followed by the falling of ice, on the opposite 
 side of the berg, attended with a sullen roar. 
 
 We round to, and take the breeze in our faces. The 
 ice is up the wind, square before us, and we must after it 
 by a tack or two. The stars and stripes yet float aloft, 
 and seem to tremble with delight as we sport through 
 these splendid hours of Freedom's holiday. The berg 
 with its dazzling white^ and dove-colored shadows, — the 
 electric breeze, — the dark sea with its draperies of spark- 
 Hng foam, north, east, south, out to the pure azure of the 
 encircling sky, — the sunshine, that bright spirit and cease- 
 less miracle of the firmament, — the white-winged vessel 
 boxing the billow, now rolling on black and cloud-like, 
 now falling off with the spotless purity of a snow-drift, — 
 the battle of the surges and the solid cliffs, all conspire 
 to enliven and excite. 
 
 While the painter is busy, overlooked by Mr. Hutch- 
 inson, and I' lean over the bow and scribble in my 
 note-book, a sailor comes forward and gazes upon the ice- 
 berg as if he, too, was looldng at something new. He has 
 passed them by, time out of mind, either idly or with dis- 
 like, as things to be shunned, and not to be looked back 
 at when safely weathered. Now that his attention is 
 called, he finds that this useless mass, tumbling about in 
 
110 THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. 
 
 the path of mariners, is truly a most wonderful creation. 
 Like all the larger structures of nature, these crystalline 
 vessels are freighted with God's power and glory, and 
 must be reverently and thoughtfully studied, to " see into 
 the Hfe of them/' The common clouds, which unnoticed 
 drop their shadows upon our dwellings, and spot the land- 
 scape, are found to be wonderful by those alone who 
 watch them patiently and thoughtfully. " The witchery 
 of the soft blue sky did never melt into the poet's heart ; 
 he never felt the witchery of the soft blue sky" but from 
 silent, loving study. 
 
 Captain Knight backs the sails, and we hold on near 
 enough to the ice to see the zone of emerald water, a 
 fearfully close proximity. Look up to those massy folds 
 and wreaths of icy drapery, all flashing in the sun ! Sec 
 that gigantic wing, not unlike the pictured wings of an- 
 gels, unfolded from one of the vast shoulders, and spread 
 upon the high air. As the wind sweeps over and falls 
 upon us, we feel an icy chilliness. Beyond" a very short 
 distance, however, we are unable to perceive the smallest 
 influence. 
 
 "We are now to the leeward, half a mile or so, and are 
 watching the Captain, who has gone with the boat and a 
 couple of men to gather ice out of the drift, which 
 stretches from the berg in a broken hne for two miles or 
 
THE ICEBERG OF TWILLINGATE. Ill 
 
 more. Portions of this have fallen within the last hour, 
 keeping up a kind of artillery discharge, very agreeable 
 to hear at this distance, and quite in harmony with the 
 day at home. They have struck the ice, a mile off, and 
 the chips sparkle in the sunshine as they ply the axe. 
 As they return, we drop down the wind to meet them. 
 Here they come with a cart-load of the real arctic alabas- 
 ter, the very same, I have no question, that hung an hour 
 ago as one of the shining crags of the lofty ice-cliff. And 
 now, with all sail spread, and a S2)irited breeze, away to 
 the north-west for Cape St. John. 
 
CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 THE FEEEDOM OP THE SEAS ONCE MOEE.— A BUMPEE TO THE QUEEN 
 AND PBESIDENT. 
 
 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 consideration of the day, we — we Yankees — occasion- 
 ally hurra right heartUy. But no words can do justice 
 to the delightful emotions of moments such as these. 
 " Messmates, hear a brother sailor sing the dangers of the 
 sea," runs the old song. None that I have ever heard or 
 read express at all the real pleasure of its freedom. The 
 
THE FREEDOM Oi-' THE SEAS ONCE MOKE. 113 
 
 freedom of the seas ! If any great city council would do 
 a man of feeling a noble pleasure, let them vote him that, 
 A lonely isle of crystalline brightness, all the way from 
 Melville Bay, most likely, gleams in the north-east. 
 Pale and solitary, like some marble mausoleum, the ice- 
 berg of Twillingate stands off in the southern waters. 
 After all, how feeble is man in the presence of these arc- 
 tic wonders ! With all his skill, intelligence and power, 
 he passes, either on the sunny or the shady side, closely 
 at his peril, only in safety at a distance too great to 
 satisfy his curiosity, and gazes at their greatness and 
 their splendor, and thinks and feels, records his thoughts 
 and feelings, draws their figure and paints their com- 
 plexion, but may no more lay his hand upon them than 
 the Jew of old might lay his hand upon the ark of the 
 covenant. He may do it and live, do it twice or thrice, 
 and then he may perish for his temerity. There now re- 
 poses, amid the currents and billows of the ocean, the 
 huge, polar structure, which has been to us an object of 
 the liveliest interest and wonder ; its bright foundations 
 fifty fathoms in the deep ; an erection suggestive of the 
 skill and strength of the Creator ; with a mystery en- 
 veloping its story, its conception, birth and growth, its 
 native land, the hour of its departure, its strange and 
 labyrinthine voyage. While the body of this building- 
 
114 A BUBIPER TO THE QUEEN AND PEESIDENT. 
 
 of-the-elements sleeps below, and only its gables and 
 towers glow and melt in tbe brigbtness of tbese summer 
 days, yet is it as dissolvable as the clouds from which it 
 originally fell. It is but the clouds condensed and crys- 
 tallized. A column of vapof, mainly invisible, per^^etu- 
 ally ascends into its native heavens, while the atmos- 
 phere, and the warm, briny currents melt and wear, at 
 every imaginable point of the vast surface. Pass a few 
 sunny weeks, and all will be melted, and, like a snow- 
 flake, lost in the immensity of waters. 
 
 Still the flags wave above. We fiU our glasses with 
 iceberg-water, and drink with cheers to the Queen and 
 President. As the breeze dies away in the long, long 
 afternoon, and we roU lazily on the glassy swells, the 
 painter and I, the poorest of sailors, lapse into sea-sick- 
 ness, and go below. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 GULL ISLAND.— THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 Tuesday, Juhj 5. Off Cape St. Jolm, 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 Enghsh 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 of sufficient beauty in the dull gray atmosphere 
 to attract attention. Exclamations of our friends on 
 deck have brought me up to look at the ice as we pass it, 
 distant, it may be, five hundred yards. It bears a strange 
 resemblance to a balloon lying on its side in a collapsed 
 
116 THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 condition. It lias recently undergone some heavy dis- 
 ruptionSj and rolled so far over as to bring its late water- 
 line, a deep and polished fissure, nearly across the top 
 of it. 
 
 There is a promise of clear weather. The clouds, to 
 our delight, are breaking, and giving us peeps of the sunny 
 azure far above. The Cape is in full view, a promontory 
 of shaggy precipices, suggestive of all the fiends of Pande- 
 monium, rather than the lovely Apostle, whose name has 
 been gibbeted on the black and dismal crags. The salt 
 of that saintly name cannot save it. Nay, it is better 
 fitted to spoil the saint. Cape St. John ! Better, Cape 
 " Moloch, Horrid King," or some other demon of those 
 that figure in the dark Miltonic scenes. It is terribly 
 awful and impressive. Our lamb, poor innocent, seems 
 to feel lonely under the frown of a coast so inhospitable 
 and savage, and comes bleating around us as if for sym- 
 pathy. The wind is cold and bracing, sweeping alike 
 the sea and the sky of all fog and clouds, and driving us 
 to heavy winter clothing. 
 
 As we bear down toward the Cape, we pass Gull Isle, 
 a mere pile of naked rocks delicately wreathed with lace- 
 like mists. Imagine the last hundred feet of Corway 
 Peak, the very finest of the New Hampshire mountain 
 tops, prickmg above the waves, and you will see this 
 
THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 117 
 
 little outpost and breakwater of Cape St. John. All 
 things have their uses. Even this bone of the earth, 
 picked of all vegetable growth and beauty, and flung into 
 the deep, has the marrow of goodness in it to a degree 
 that invites a multitude of God's fair creatures to make 
 it their estate and dwelling-place. Gulls with cimetar- 
 like pinions, cut and slash the air in all directions. 
 Pretty little sea-pigeons fly to and fro, flying off with 
 whistling wings in straight lines, and flying back, full of 
 news, and full of alarm. 
 
 A grand iceberg is before us, remarkable, in this par- 
 ticular light, for its pure, white surface. A snow-drift, 
 with its icy enamel, after a silver thaw, might be taken 
 as a model of its complexion. This is a berg evidently 
 of more varied fortunes than any we have yet seen. It is 
 crossed and recrossed with old water-lines, every one of 
 which is cut at right angles with its own system of lines, 
 formed by the perpendicular dripping. It is ploughed 
 and fluted and scratched deeply in all possible directions. 
 At this very moment a new system of lines is rapidly 
 forming by the copiously descending drip, over- streaming 
 all those made when the berg had other perpendiculars. 
 Any large fall of ice, for example, from the opposite side, 
 would bow the berg toward us, sinking the present sea- 
 line on this side, and lifting it on the other. In nearly 
 
118 THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 every case tlie berg, when it rolls, loses its old horizontal 
 position, and settles in a new one. Immediately a new 
 Lorizon-line, if it may so be called, with its countless ver- 
 tical ones, of course, instantly commences forming, to be 
 followed by a similar process, at each successive roll of 
 the berg, unto the end. There are draperies of white 
 sea-shell-like ice, with streaks of shadow in their great 
 folds, which rival the softest azure. Indicative of the 
 projections of the submarine ice, the light-green water 
 extends out in long, radiating points, a kind of eme- 
 rald spangle, with its bright central diamond on the pur- 
 ple sea. 
 
 It is a wonderfully magnificent sight to see an almost 
 black wave roll against an iceberg, and instantly change 
 in its entire length, hundreds of feet, into that delicate 
 green. Where the swell strikes obliquely, it reaches high, 
 and runs along the face, sweeping like a satellite of loveli- 
 ness in merry revolutions round its glittering orb. Like 
 cumulous clouds, icebergs are perpetually mimicking the 
 human face. This fine crystal creature, by a change in 
 our position, becomes a gigantic bust of poet or philoso- 
 pher, leaning back and gazing with a fixed placidity into 
 the skies. In the brilliant noon, portions of it glisten 
 like a glassy waterfall. The cold, dead white, the subtle 
 greens, the blues, shadows of the softest slate, all contrast 
 

 CVJ 
 o ■ 
 
 % 
 
THE ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 119 
 
 with tlie flashing brightness in a way most exquisite to 
 behold. True to all the forms of nature that swell to the 
 sublime, an iceberg grows upon the mind astonishingly. 
 On the boundless plains of water, of course, it is the 
 merest molehill : in itself, it has the lonely grandeur of a 
 broad precipice in the mountains. 
 
 Foremost of several bergs, now hovering about the 
 Cape, is one of greater magnitude than any we have pre- 
 viously met. It is, on this front, a broad and lofty pre- 
 cipice, very nearly resembling the finest statue-marble, 
 newly broken. It is losing its upper crags, every now 
 and then, and vibrating very grandly. At short intervals, 
 we hear sharp reports, like those of brass ordnance, fol- 
 lowed by the rough, rumbling crash of the descending 
 ice, and the dull roar of its final plunge into the ocean. 
 After this awful burial of its dead, with such grand 
 honors, a splendid regiment of waves retreats from the 
 mournful scene, in a series of concentric circles, rivalling 
 the finest surf that rolls in upon the sand. It is the very 
 flower of the ocean cavalry. Under its fierce and bril- 
 liant charge, an ordinary ship's boat would go down, 
 almost to a certainty. It is what we have been most 
 carefuUy warned to avoid. This fine iceberg presents, I 
 fancy, much the same appearance it had in the G-reenland 
 waters. Its water-line, which is the only one visible, is 
 
120 THE ICEBEEGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 not less than fifteen feet deep, and rises and falls, in 
 its ponderous rockings back and fortk, not more tlian 
 twenty feet, so vast the bulk below. I have little doubt 
 that the Alpine slopes and summits are its primitive 
 surface. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 THE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 We are making a round of calls on all tlie icebergs 
 
 of Cape St. John, painting, sketching, and pencilling as 
 
 we go. Our caUs 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 adventurous mariner, who first sighted this bold and 
 
 forward headland, was bent upon christening it by an 
 
 apostolic name, why did he not call it Cape St. Peter ? 
 
 All in all, it is certainly the finest coast scenery I have 
 
 ever seen ; and Captain Knight assures us it is the very 
 
 finest on the eastern shore of Newfoundland. It is a 
 
 black, jagged wall, often four, and even five hundred feet 
 
 
t22 TUE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF OAPE BT. JOHN. 
 
 in lici^lit;, with u iive-iiiilo front, and tlio deep yea closo 
 ill to tho ro(.!lij without a bcacli, and ahnost without a 
 foothohl. 'I'his stupendous, natural wharf stretches back 
 into the Houth-west toward the main land, widening very 
 litdo for twenty miles or more, dividing tho largo expanse 
 of White Bay on tlio west from tho larger expanse of 
 Notre Danio Bay on iho cast and south, tho fine iEgcan, 
 heforo mentioned, with its multitudinous islands, of which 
 wo get not tho least notion from any of our popular maps. 
 Such is a kind of charcoal sketch of Capo St. John, 
 toward which, in spito of all wo can yet do, wo are slowly 
 drifting. Unless there he power in our hoat, manned by 
 nil tho crow pulling across tho current, with the Captain 
 oil tho bow cracking them up with his fine, firm voice, 
 I do not SCO why wo arc not in tlio greatest danger of 
 drifting ashore. It is possible that there is a breath of 
 wind under the cliffs, by which avo might escape round 
 into still Avator. AVith all the quiot of the ocean, I see 
 the white surf spring up against the precipices. In the 
 strongest gales of tho Atlantic, the surges hero must bo 
 perfectly terrific, ami equal to any tiling of the kind on 
 tho globe. Tho great Baffin current, sweeping past with 
 fiH'co and velocity, makes this a point of singular danger. 
 To be wrecked hero, with all gentleness, would be pretty 
 sure destruction. In a storm, tho chance of escape would 
 
TIIK ^ilM.KNDIP ICKIIKIUIS OK CAl'K SI'. JOHN. rj;v 
 
 1)0 abouL Llio biuiu', jus in the mpiils of Mia!j;:irii. Al'lui' 
 ftU, tlicro is a fiuo oxcitoinoiil. in Mils rudu'r perilous play 
 with tlio suWinio ami dcsolalo. Would any boliovo it ? 
 1 am actually soa-siclv, ami (hat in llio lull enjoynicut of 
 this grandeur of adamant and ico. I lind I am not alone. 
 Tho painter with his live colors falls to tlio Kamo level of 
 Buflerinj]^ with the man of the dull lead-pencil and the 
 noto-book. A slight breeze has relieved us of all jinxicty, 
 and all necessity of further elTort to row out of danger. 
 Wo are moving perceptibly up the wide current, and 
 propose to escape to the north as soon as the wind sliall 
 favor. 
 
 Wo have just passed a fragment of some one of the 
 surrounding icebergs that has amused us. It bore tho 
 rescniblance of a huge polar bear, reposing upon the baso 
 of an inverted cone with a twist of a sea-shell, and whirl- 
 ing slowly round and round. The ever-attending grocu 
 water, with its aerial clearness, enabled ns to see its 
 spiral folds and horns as they hung suspended in tho deep. 
 Tho bear, a ton-foot mass in tolerable proportion, scorned 
 to bo regularly hesct by a pack of hungry littlo swells. 
 First, one would take him on the haunch, then whip back 
 into the sea over his tail and between his legs. Presently 
 a bolder swell would rise and pitch into his back with a 
 ferocity that threatened instant destruction. it only 
 
124 THE SPLENDID ICEBEEGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN, 
 
 washed his satin fleece the whiter. While Bruin was 
 turning to look the daring assailant in the face, the rogue 
 had pitched himself back into his cave. No sooner that, 
 than a very hull-dog of a billow would attack him in the 
 face. The serenity with which the impertinent assault 
 was borne was complete. It was but a puff of silvery 
 dust, powdering his mane with fresher brightness. Noth- 
 ing would be left of bull but a little froth of all the 
 foam displayed in the fierce onset. He too would turn 
 and scud into his hiding-place. Persistent little waves ! 
 After a dash singly, all around, upon the common enemy, 
 as if by some silent agreement under water, they would 
 all rush on, at once, with their loudest roar and shaggiest 
 foam, and overwhelm poor bear so completely, that noth- 
 ing less might be expected than to behold him broken 
 into his four quarters, and floating helplessly asunder. 
 Mistaken spectators ! Although, by his momentary roll- 
 ing and plunging, he was evidently aroused, yet neither 
 Bruin nor his burrow were at all the worse for all the wear 
 and washing. The deep fluting, the wrinkled folds and 
 cavities, over and through which the green and silvery 
 water rushed back into the sea, rivalled the most exqui- 
 site sculpture. And nature not only gives her marbles, 
 with the finest lines, the most perfect lights and shades, 
 she colors them also. She is no monochromist, but poly- 
 
THE SPLENDID lOEBEliGS OF (JAPE ST. JOHN. 125 
 
 cliroic, imparting such touches of dove-tints, emerald and 
 azure, as she bestows upon her gems and her skies. 
 
 We arc bearing up under the big berg us closely as 
 we dare. To our delight, what we have been wishing, 
 and watching for, is actually taking place : loud explo- 
 sions with heavy falls of ice, followed by the cataract-like 
 roar, and the high, thin seas, wheeling away beautifully 
 crested with sparlding foam. If it is possible, imagine 
 the effect upon the beholder : This precipice of ice, with 
 tremendous cracking, is falling toward us with a majestic 
 and awful motion. Down sinks the long water-line into 
 the black deep ; down go the porcelain crags, and galle- 
 ries of glassy sculptures, a speechless and awful bap- 
 tism. Now it pauses and returns : up rise sculptures 
 and crags streaming with the shining, white brine ; up 
 comes the great, encircling line, followed by things new 
 and strange, crags, niches, balconies and caves ; up, up 
 it rises, higher and higher still, crossing the very breast 
 of the grand ice, and all bathed with rivulets of gleaming 
 foam. Over goes the summit, ridge, pinnacles and all, 
 standing off obliquely in the ojiposite air. Now it pauses 
 in its upward roU : back it comes again, cracking, crack- 
 ing, cracking, '^groaning out harsh thunder" as it comes, 
 and threatening to burst, like a mighty bomb, into mil- 
 lions of glittering fragments. The spectacle is terrific 
 
126 THE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF GATE ST. JOHN. 
 
 and magnificent. Emotion is irrepressible, and peals of 
 wild hurra burst forth from all. 
 
 The effect of the sky-line of this berg is marvellously 
 beautiful. An overhanging precipice on this side, and 
 steep slopes on the other, give a thin and notched ridge, 
 with an almost knife-like sharpness, and the transparency 
 and tint of sapphire, a miracle of beauty along the heights 
 of the dead white ice, over which the sight darts into the 
 spotless ultramarine of the heavens. On the right and 
 left shoulders of the berg, the slopes fall off" steeply this 
 way, having the folds and the strange purity peculiar 
 to snow-drifts. One who has dwelt pleasantly upon 
 draperies in marble, — upon those lovely swellings and 
 depressions, — those sweet surfaces and lines of grace and 
 beauty of the human form, perfected in the works of 
 sculptors, will appreciate the sentiment of the ices to 
 which I point. 
 
 At the risque of being thought over-sentimental and 
 extravagant, I will say something more of the great iceberg 
 of Cape St. John, now that we are retiring from it, and 
 giving it our last look. Of all objects an iceberg is in the 
 highest degree multiform in its eifects. Changeable in its 
 colors as the streamers of the northern sky, it will also 
 pass from one shape to another with singular rapidity. 
 As we recede, the upper portions of the solid ice have a 
 
THE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 127 
 
 light and aerial effect, a description of which is simply 
 impossible. Peaks and spires rise out of the strong and 
 apparently unchanging base with the light activity of 
 flame. A mighty structure on fire, all in ice ! 
 
 Cape St. John ! — As we slowly ghde away toward the 
 north, and gaze back upon its everlasting cliffs, confront- 
 ed by these wonderful icebergs, the glorious architecture 
 of the polar night, I think of the apostle's vision of per- 
 manent and shining walls, " the heavenly Jerusalem," 
 "the city which hath foundations, whose builder and 
 maker is God." 
 
 " The good south wind " blows at last with strength, 
 and we speed on our way over the great ocean, darkly 
 shining in all its violet beauty. Pricking above the hori- 
 zon, the peak of a berg sparkles in the glowing daylight 
 
 of the west like a silvery star, C has painted with 
 
 great effect, notwithstanding the difficulty of lines and 
 touches from the motion of the vessel. If one is curious 
 about the troubles of painting on a little coaster, lightly 
 ballasted, dashing forward frequently under a press of 
 sail, with a short sea, I would recommend him to a good, 
 stout swing. "While in the enjoyment of his smooth and 
 sickening vibrations, let him spread his pallet, arrange 
 his canvas, and paint a pair of colts at their gambols in 
 some adjacent field. 
 
128 THE SPLENDID ICEBERGS OF CAPE ST. JOHN. 
 
 Tlie novelty and grandeur of these Newfoundland 
 seas and shores have busied the pencil so completely as to 
 exclude much interesting matter, especially such as Cap- 
 tain Knight is continually contributing in his conversa- 
 tion. As we have been, for some time past, crossing the 
 fields of the sealer, and as the Captain himself has a 
 large experience in that adventurous business, seals and 
 sealing have legitimately a small place, at least, in this 
 recital. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 THE SEAL FIELDS.— SEALS AND SEALING.— CAPTAIN KNIGHT'S 
 SUIPWKECK. 
 
 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 Con- 
 ception 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 
 upon which the seals travel : at another time, without 
 the displacement of a block, this grand pavement of the 
 sea rolls with its billows, rising and falling with such 
 perfect order, that the men run along the ridges and 
 down the hollows of the swells in safety. But this order 
 
 goes into confusion in a storm, presenting in the succeed- 
 6* 
 
130 SEALS AND SEALING. 
 
 ing calm a waste of ruins, masses of ice thrown into a 
 thousand forms. In the long, starry nights, or the moon- 
 light, or in the magic brilliancy of the aurora-borealis, 
 the splendor of the scene, — dark avenues and parks of 
 sleeping water, the silent glittering of mimic palaces and 
 temples, sparkling minarets and towers, is almost super- 
 natural. As will be seen at once, both the beauties and 
 the perils incident to the ice, in calm and tempest, enter 
 largely into the experience of the sealers. To-night, 
 their vessel may repose in a fairy land or fairy sea, of 
 which poets and painters may dream without the least 
 suspicion that any mortal ever beholds the reality, and 
 to-morrow night, it may encounter the double dangers of 
 ice and storm. 
 
 Upon the fields just mentioned, the seals come from 
 the ocean, in the depth of winter, and bring forth their 
 young by thousands. There, while their parents come 
 and go, the young things lie on the ice, fattening on their 
 mothers' milk with marvellous rapidity, helpless and 
 white as lambs, with expressive eyes almost human, and 
 with the piteous cries of little children. In March, 
 about as soon as the voyagers can reach them, they are of 
 suitable age and size for capture, which is effected by a 
 blow on the head with a club, a much more compassion- 
 ate way of killing these poor lambs of the sea than by the 
 
CAPTAIN knight's SHIPWRECK. 131 
 
 gun, which is much used in taking the old ones. Occa- 
 sionally they are drawn bodily to the vessel, but usually 
 skinned on the spot, the fat, two or three inches deep, 
 coming ofif from the tough, red carcass with the hide, 
 which, with several others is made into a bundle, dragged 
 in by a rope, and thrown upon deck to cool. After 
 a little, they are packed away as solidly as possible, to 
 remain until discharged in port. Five, six, and seven 
 thousand skins are frec[uently thus laid down, loading 
 the vessel to the water's edge. An accident to which the 
 lucky sealer was formerly liable, was the melting of the 
 fat into oil from the sliding of the skins, caused by the 
 rolling of the ship in stormy weather. To " such an ex- 
 tent was this dissolving process sometimes carried, as to 
 reduce the cargo to skins and oil, half filling cabin and 
 forecastle, driving the crew on deck, rendering the vessel 
 unmanageable in rough weather, and requiring it to be 
 abandoned. This is now securely guarded against by 
 numbers of upright posts, which crib, and hold the cargo 
 from shifting. 
 
 Several years ago, Captain Knight, while beset with 
 the kind of ice, described as so beautiful in the bright 
 nights, encountered, with many others, a terrific gale, to 
 this day, a mournful remembrance to many people. If 
 I am not mistaken, some eighty sail were wrecked, at the 
 
I.*i2 (JAl'TAiJS KJSllUllT'B BinrVVKEOlv. 
 
 tinio, ulonp; tlicso iron shores. In i'act, very few that 
 were out esuaped. Several crows loft their vessels and fled 
 to land over the rolling ice-fields, tho inoro prudent way. 
 A forlorn hope was to put to sea, tlio course adoj)ted by 
 Captain Knight. By skill and coolness ho slipped from 
 tho teeth of destruction, and in tho faco of tho tempest 
 escaped into the broad ocean. It was hut an escape, 
 just the next thing to a wreck. One single sea, tho 
 largest ho over experienced in numerous voyages along 
 this dreadful coast, swept his deck, and nearly made a 
 wreck of him in a moment, carrying overboard ono man, 
 nine boats, every soaling-boat on board, and every thing 
 else that could bo wrenclied away. Another gigantic 
 roller of tho kind would havo destroyed him. But ho 
 triumphed, and returned to St. Johns in time to refit, 
 and start again. 
 
 Captain Knight was less fortunate, no later than last 
 April, when ho lost a fiuo brig with a costly outfit for a 
 seaHng voyage, under tho following circumstances ; Im- 
 mersed in tho densest fog, and driven by the gale, ho was 
 running down a narrow lane or opening in tho ice, when 
 tho shout of breakers ahead, and tlio crash of the bows 
 upon a roof, came in tho same moment. Instantly, ovor- 
 boanl they sprang, forty men of them, and saw their 
 strong and beautiful vessel almost imiuediatoly buried in 
 
CAPTAIN knight's SHIPWRECK. 133 
 
 tho ocean. There they stood, on the heaving field of ice, 
 gazing in mournful silence upon the great, black billows as 
 they rolled on, one after another, bursting in thunder on 
 tho sunken cliffs, a tremendous display of surf where tho 
 trembling spars of the brig had disappeared forever. To 
 the west of them were tho precipitous shores of Capo Bo- 
 navista, lashed by the surge, and the dizzy roost of wild 
 sea-birds. For this, the nearest land, in single file, with 
 Captain Knight at their head, they commenced at sunset 
 tlicir dreadful, and almost hoj^eless march. All night, 
 without refreshment or rest, they went stumbling and 
 plunging on their perilous way, now and then sinking 
 into the slush between the pans or ice-cakes, and having 
 to be drawn out by tlicir companions. But for their 
 leader and a few bold spirits, the party would have 
 sunk down with fatigue and despair, and perished. At 
 daybreak, they were still on the rolling ice-fields, be- 
 clouded with fog, and with nothing in prospect but tho 
 terrible Cape and its solitary chance of escape. Thirsty, 
 fiimislied, and worn down, they toiled on, all the morn- 
 ing, all the forenoon, all tho afternoon, more and more 
 slowly, and with increasing silence, bewildered and lost 
 in tho dreadful cloud travelling along parallel with the 
 coast, and passing the Cape, but without knowing it at 
 the time. But for some remarkable interposition of 
 
134 CAPTAIN knight's shipwkeck. 
 
 Divine Providence, the approacHng sunset would be their 
 last. Only tlie most determined would continue th.e 
 marcli into the next night. The worn-out and hopeless 
 ones would drop down singly, or gather into little groups 
 on the cold ice, and die. As the Captain looked back on 
 them, a drawn-out line of suffering men, now in the hol- 
 low of the waves, and then crossing the ridge, the last of 
 them scarcely seen in the mist, he prayed that Grod would, 
 interpose, and save them. A man who prays in fair 
 weather, may trust God in the storm. So thought Cap- 
 tain Knight, when he thought of home, and wife and 
 children, and the wives and the children of his men, and 
 made his supplication. They had shouted until they 
 were hoarse, and looked into the endless, gray cloud until 
 ±hey had no heart for looking any longer. Wonderful to 
 tell ! Just before sundown they came to a vessel. A 
 few rods to the right or to the left, and they must have 
 missed it, and been lost. It was owing to this disaster 
 that Captain Knight was at leisure in St. Johns upon our 
 arrival, and found it agreeable to undertake, for a few 
 weeks, our guidance after the icebergs. 
 
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 soutli 
 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 cloth- 
 ing, and have that pleasant tingling in the veins which 
 one feels in a brisk walk on a frosty autumnal morning. 
 We are abreast of South Belle Isle, high lands fronting 
 the ocean, with huge precipices, the fashion of most of the 
 eastern coast of Newfoundland. With all their same- 
 ness, their rugged grandeur and the ceaseless battle of 
 the waves below make them ever interesting. Imagine 
 
136 AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSIONS. 
 
 the Palisades of the Hudson, and the steeper parts of the 
 Highlands exposed to the open Atlantic, and you will 
 have no imperfect picture of these shores. They have no 
 great bank of earth and loose rocks heaped up along their 
 base, but step at once into the great deep ; so deep that 
 the icebergs, several of which are in sight, float close in, 
 and seem to dare their very crags. 
 
 Afternoon. We have a pleasant custom of coming 
 up, after dinner, and eating nuts and fruits on deck. It 
 is one of the merry seasons of the day, when John Bull 
 and Jonathan are apt to meet in those pleasant encoun- 
 ters which bring up the past, and draw rather largely 
 upon the future, of their history. John is always the 
 greatest, of course, and ever will be, secula seculorum. 
 Jonathan, "considering," is greater than John. To be 
 sure he is thinner, and eats his dinner in a minute ; but 
 then he has every thing to do, and the longest roads on 
 earth to travel, in the shortest time. In fact, he has 
 many of the roads to make, and the least help and the 
 shortest purse of any fellow in the world that undertakes 
 and completes grand things. John's first thousand years 
 is behind him ; Jonathan's, before him. One's work is 
 done ; the other's begun. John's fine roads were made by 
 his forefathers ; Jonathan is the forefather himself, and 
 is making roads for his posterity. In fact, Jonathan is a 
 
AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSIONS. 137 
 
 youth only, and Jolin an old man. When the lad gets 
 his growth, he will he everywhere, and the old logy, by 
 that time, comparatively nowhere. Jonathan insists that 
 he is up earlier in the morning than John, and smarter, 
 faster, and more ingenious. He contends that he has 
 seen his worst days, and John his very best. The longer 
 the diverging lines of the dispute continue, the further they 
 get from any end ; and wind up finally with one general 
 outburst of rhetoric, distinguished for its noise, in which 
 each springs up entirely conscious of a perfect victoiy. 
 In the comphcated enjoyment of almonds, figs, and victory, 
 we betake ourselves to reading, the pencil and the brush. 
 We are coasting along the extreme northern limb of 
 Newfoundland, bound with its endless girdle of adamant, 
 upon which the white lions of old Neptune are perpetu- 
 ally leaping, but which they will never wrench away. 
 The snow lies in drifts along the heights, a novel, but 
 rather dreary decoration for a summer landscape. Be- 
 tween us and the descending sun stands a berg, church- 
 like in form. The blue shadows in contrast with the 
 pure white, have a deep, cloud-like, and grand appear- 
 ance. It is certainly a most superb thing, rising out of 
 the blue-black waves, now gleaming in the slant sunlight 
 like molten silver. So vast and varied is the scene, at 
 this moment, that many pencils and many pens would 
 
138 FIEST VIEW OF LABRADOR. 
 
 fail to keep pace with the rapid description of the 
 mind. 
 
 Directly west, is the Land's End of Newfoundland, 
 Cape Quirpon — in the seaman's tongue, Carpoon, which 
 wo now shoot past. A few miles to the north, as if it 
 might have been split off from the Cape, lies Belle Isle. 
 The broad avenue of dark sea, extending westward be- 
 tween the cape and the island, opens out into the Strait 
 of Belle Isle, and carries the eye to the shore of Labra- 
 dor, our first view of that bony and starved hermit of a 
 country. In this skeleton sketch, as it shows on paper, 
 there is nothing very remarkable ; but with the flesh and 
 the apparel of nature upon it, it is more beautiful than 
 language can paint to the reader's eye. The entire cast 
 is curtained by one smooth cloud, of the hue called the 
 ashes-of-roses. FuU against It, an iceberg rises from the 
 ocean, after the figure of a thunderhead, and of the color 
 of a newly-blown rose of Damascus — a gorgeous spectacle. 
 The waters have that dark violet, with a silvery surface, 
 lucent like the face of a mirror, and a complexion in the 
 deeps reminding one of the soft, dusky hues of a Claude 
 Lorraine glass. The painter is busy with his colors, 
 and all are silently opening mind and heart to the uni- 
 versal beauty. We move on over the lovely sea with a 
 quiet gracefulness, in harmony with the visible scene and 
 
ICEBEEGS. 139 
 
 with our emotions. Wo are looking for unusual splen- 
 dors, at the approaching sunset. I close the note-book, 
 and give myself entirely to the enjoyment of the lonely 
 and still magnificence. 
 
 The book is open to record. The sun on the rugged 
 hills of Labrador, a golden dome ; Belle Isle, a rocky, 
 blue mass, with a wavy outline, rising from the purple 
 main pricked with icebergs, some a pure white, others 
 flaming in the resplendent sunset like red-hot metal. 
 We are sailing quietly as an eagle on the still air. Our 
 English friends are heard singing while they walk the 
 deck, and look off upon the lonesome land where their 
 home is waiting for them. 
 
 All that we anticipated of the sunset, or the after- 
 sunset, Is now present. The ocean with its waves of 
 Tyrian dye laced with silver, the tinted bergs, the dark- 
 blue inland hills and brown headlands underlie a sky of 
 unutterable beauty: The west is all one paradise of 
 colors. Surely, nature, if she follows as a mourner on the 
 footsteps of the fall, also returns jubilant and glorious to 
 the scenes of Eden. Here, between the white light of 
 day and the dark of the true evening, shade and bright- 
 ness, like Jacob and the angel, now meet and wres- 
 tle for the mastery. Close down along the gloomy 
 purple of the rugged earth, beam the brightest lemon 
 
140 THE OCEAN AND THE SUNSET. 
 
 hues, soon deepening into the richest orange, with scat- 
 tered tints of new straw, freshly "blown lilacs, young- 
 peas, pearl and blue intermingled. Above are the 
 royal draperies of the twilight skies. Clouds in silken 
 threads and skeins ; broad velvet belts and ample folds 
 black as night, but pierced and steeped and edged with 
 flaming gold, scarlet and crimson, crimson deep as blood ; 
 crimson fleeces, crimson deep as blood ; plumes tinged 
 with pink, and tipped with fire, white fire. And all this 
 glory lies sleeping on the shore, only on the near shore of 
 the great ethereal ocean, in the depths of which are melted 
 and poured out ruby, sapphire and emerald, pearl and 
 gold, with the living moist blue of human eyes. The 
 painter gazes with speechless, loving wonder, and I whis- 
 per to myself : This is the pathway home to an*^mmor- 
 tality of bliss and beauty. Of all the days in the year, 
 this may be the birth-day of the King-of-day, and this 
 efl'ulgence an imperial progress through the grand gate of 
 the west. How the soul follows on in quiet joy, dreaming 
 of lovely ones, waiting at home, and lovely ones departed, 
 waiting with Christ ! Here come those wondrous lines 
 of Goethe, marching into the memory with glowing 
 pomp : 
 
 . . . . " Tho sotting Sun ! IIo bonils and sinks— tho day is over- 
 lived. Yonder ho liurrios ojff, and qnickons other life. Oh ! that I 
 
THE OCEAN AND TlIK f^UNSKT. 141 
 
 luivo no wiiiii; (o lift mo from (ho j;rouiul, to struggle after, forever 
 after him I I slioulil see, in everlnsting evening beams, the stilly world 
 nt my feet, — every height on fire, — every vale in repose, — the silver 
 brook llowing into golden streams. The rugged mountain, -with all 
 its dark defiles, would not then break my god-liko course. Already 
 the sea, with its heated hays, opens on my enraptured sight. Yet tlio 
 god seems at last to sink away. ]hit the new impulse wakes. I hurry 
 on to drink his everlasting light, — the day before mo and the night 
 behind, — the heavens above, and under me the waves. A glorious 
 dream! as it is passing, ho is gone." 
 
 Horo como tlio last touclics of tlio living coloring, 
 tinging the purplo waves around tho vessel. Under the 
 icebergs hang their palo and spectral images, i)iercing the 
 depths with their mimic sj)ires, and giving them a lus- 
 trous, aerial appearance. Tho wind is lulling, and we rise 
 and fall gracefully on tho rolling plain, " The day is 
 fading into the later twilight, and ihe twilight into tho 
 solemn darloiess." No, not into darkness ; for in these 
 months, the faint llamo flickering all night above the 
 white ashes of day from tho west circling around to tho 
 north and east, tho moonlight and the starlight and tho 
 northern-light, all conspire to make the night, if not 
 " more beloved than day," at least very lovely. A gloomy 
 duskiness drapes tho cape, beneath tho solitary elilfs of 
 wliich lies half entombed a shattered iceberg, a ghostly 
 wreck, around whoso dead, white ruins the mad surf 
 springs up and flings abroad its ghastly arms. Softly 
 
142 THE OCEAN AND THE SUNSET. 
 
 comes its sad moaning and blends witli tlie plaintive 
 melodies of tlie ocean. Hark ! a sullen roar booms 
 across tlie dusky sea — nature's burial service and the 
 funeral guns. A tower of tbe old iceberg of the cape bas 
 tumbled into the billows. We gather presently into the 
 cabin for prayer, and so the first scene closes on the coast 
 of Labrador. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT LOOK-OUT FOEWAKD.— A STORMY NIGHT.— THE 
 COMEDY IN THE CABIN. 
 
 Past Midnight. I have been up and watching for- 
 ward for mora 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 
 leaned, and looked over the bow, " there is something in 
 all this, familiar as it is to many, very grand and awful, 
 as we rise upon the black seas, and plunge into the dark- 
 ness, rushing on our gloomy, strange way. We seem to 
 be above the very ' blackness of darkness,' and riding 
 upon the bosom of the night. The sounding foam, sweep- 
 
144 THE MIDNIGHT LOOK-OUT FOEWAED. 
 
 ing forward from beneatli our bows, looks like a cloud of 
 supernatural brightness^ its whiteness filled, as it is, with 
 the fire and electric scintillations of the sea. One could 
 easUy imagine himself sailing on the breeze through the 
 night, with sparks of lightning and a cloud at his vessel's 
 bow." The wind freshens to a gale nearly, and all hands 
 are called on deck. We are rolling in a most uncomfort- 
 able manner, and I have retreated to my cabin, and will 
 creep back to my berth. 
 
 Thuesday Noon, July 7. A few scrawls of the pen- 
 cil will serve to give an outline of our experience for the 
 last twelve hours. A dense fog, high wind and a heavy 
 swell. As a matter of couree, our little ship has been in 
 great commotion, and we, miserably sea-sick, regardless 
 of breakfast, absent from the cold, wet deck, and rolled 
 up below, dull and speechless in bed. "We have been 
 gradually creeping up into the world, of late, sipping a 
 little coffee and nibbling at crackers. We are off Cape 
 St. Louis, the most eastern land of the continent. The 
 few turns on deck have sufficiently electrified the brain 
 to enable me to get on thus far with my notes, and to 
 venture upon a short description of a cabin-scene, at a 
 very late hour last night. 
 
 Three sides of our cabin, a room some ten feet by 
 twelve, and barely six feet under the beams, are taken up 
 
A STORMY NIGHT. 145 
 
 by four roughly-made berths ; one on each, side, and two 
 extending crosswise, with a space between them, fitted 
 up with shelves, and used for the flour-barrel, and as a 
 cupboard. Beneath the berths are trunks, tubs, bags, 
 boxes and bundles, most of our choicest stores. From 
 the centre, and close upon the steep, obtrusive stairs, 
 covered witb a glossy oil-cloth, of a cloudy brown and yel- 
 low, our table looks round placidly upon this domestic 
 scene, so indicative of refreshment and repose. With 
 this little sketch of our sea-apartment, the stage upon 
 which was enacted our last night's brief play, I will un- 
 dertake its description, promising a brevity tbat rather 
 suggests, than paints it. 
 
 After the midnight look-out forward for ice, and the 
 retreat to the cabin, I soon joined in the general doze, 
 rather suifered than enjoyed. In the uproar above, sharp 
 voices and the rusk of footsteps over the deck, occasion- 
 ally stamping almost in our very faces, we were too fre- 
 quently called back to full consciousness, to' escape away 
 into any thing better than the merest snatch, of a dream. 
 In my own case, the stomach, as usual, indulged itself in 
 taking the measure of those motions, so disastrous to its 
 peace and equipose ; those rollings, risings, sinkings, 
 divings, flings and swings, in which there is the sense of 
 falling, and of vibrations smooth and oily. Where one's 
 
146 THE COMEDY IN THE CABIN. 
 
 mind's eye is perpetually looking down in upon tlie poor 
 remains of his late departed dinner, there is no possibility 
 for the outter eye to sink into any true and honest slum- 
 ber. The shut lid is a falsehood. It is not sleep. The 
 live, wakefal eye is under it, looking up against the 
 skinny veil. Occasionally the veil is lifted just to let the 
 dark out ; occasionally the dumb blackness falls in upon 
 the retina like a stifling dust, and dims it, for a moment, 
 to a doze. But the fire of wakefulness soon flashes up 
 from the cells of the brain, and throws out the sleepy 
 darkness, as the volcanic crater throws out its smoke and 
 ashes. 
 
 Through some marine manoeuvre, thought necessary 
 by the master spirit on deck, and which could be ex- 
 plained ' by a single nautical word, if I only knew what 
 the word is, we began to roll and plunge in a manner 
 sufficiently violent and frightful to startle from its staid 
 quiet almost every movable in the cabin. Out shot 
 trunks and boxes — off slid cups and plates with a smash 
 — back and forth, in one rough scramble with the luggage, 
 trundled the table, followed by the nimble chairs. At 
 this rate of going on, our valuables would soon mix in one 
 common wreck. Determining to interfere, I sprang into 
 the unruly confusion, and succeeded in lighting a candle 
 just in time to join in the rough-and-tumble, at the risk 
 
THE COMEDY IN TPIE CABIN. 147 
 
 of ribs and limbs, and the object of mingled merriment 
 and alarm to tlie more prudent spectators. Botswood, 
 an experienced voyager, sbouted me back to my berth in- 
 stantly, if I would not have my bones broken at the next 
 heavy lurch of the vessel. I was beginning to feel the 
 force of the counsel, when another roll, almost down upon 
 the beam-ends, overturned the butter-tub and a box of 
 loaf-sugar, and brought their contents loose upon the jSeld 
 of action. They divided themselves between the legs of 
 the table and the individual, and so, candle in hand and 
 adorned in modest white, he sat flat down upon the floor 
 among them, at once their companion in trouble and 
 their protector. The marble-white sugar and the yellow 
 butter, our luxuries and indispensable necessaries, there 
 they were, on the common floor, and disposed for once to 
 join in a low frolic with plebeian boots and shoes and 
 scullion trumpery. 'With an earnest resolve to prevent 
 all improprieties of the kind, one hand grasped, knuckle 
 deep, the golden mellow mass, of the size of a good Yan- 
 kee pumpkin, and held on, while the other was busy in 
 restoring, by the rapid handful, the sugar to the safety of 
 its box. The candle, in the mean time, encouraged by 
 the peals of laughter in the galleries, slid back and forth 
 in the most trifling manner possible. When we tipped 
 one way, then I sat on a steep hill- side, looking down to- 
 
148 THE COMEDY IN THE CABIN, 
 
 ward the painter, roaring in his happy valley : away slid 
 the candle in her tin slippers, and away the barefooted 
 butter wanted to roll after, encouraged to indulge in the 
 foolish caper by a saucy trunk jumping down from be- 
 hind. When we tipped the other way, then I sat on the 
 same hill-side, legs up, looking up, an unsatisfactory 
 position : back slid the candle, followed by a charge of 
 sharp-pointed baggage, and off started the butter with 
 the best intentions toward the tub, waiting prostrate and 
 with open arms, Notwithstanding the repetition and 
 sameness of this performance, the beholders applauded 
 with the same heartiness, as if each change back and forth 
 was a novel and original exhibition. What heightened 
 the effect of the scene, and gave it a suspicion of the 
 tragic, was a keg of gunpowder, which evinced, by several 
 demonstrations of discontent in the dark corner where it 
 tumbled about, a disposition to come out and join the 
 candle. By a hapjiy lull, not unusual in the very midst 
 of these cabin confusions during a brush at sea, the pow- 
 der did not enter, and I was enabled to pitch the butter 
 into the tub, and finally myself, after some few prelimi- 
 naries with a towel, into my berth, where, in the course 
 of the small remnant of the night, I fell into some broken 
 slumbers. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 THE CAPE AND BAY OF ST. LOUIS.-THE ICEBEEG.-CATJBOO ISLAND. 
 —BATTLE UAEBOK AND ISLAND.-TUE ANCUOKAGE.— TUE MIS- 
 8I0NAEIES. 
 
 Five o'clock, P. M. What a pleasing contrast ! 
 Wo have heen tossing nearly all day upon a rough, in- 
 clement 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 sum- 
 mer, almost as suddenly as we come out of the fog, at 
 times— burstmg out of it into the clear air, as an eagle 
 breaks out of a cloud. It is fairly a luxury to bask in 
 this delicious sunshine, and smell the mingled perfume of 
 flowers and the musky spruce. Mr. Hutchinson is filled 
 with delight to find himself once more on this beautiful 
 bay. The rocky hill-country along the western shores, 
 nine or ten miles distant, is not the mainland, lie tells 
 
150 THE ICEBEEG. 
 
 US, but islands, separated from the mainland, and from 
 each other, by narrow waters, occasionally expanding into 
 lakes of great depth, and extending more than forty miles 
 from the sea. Were these savage hills and cliffs beauti- 
 fied with verdure, and sprinkled with villages and dwell- 
 ings, this would class among the finest bays of the world. 
 Across it to the south, some seven miles, and partly out 
 to sea, lies a cluster of pictufesc[ue islands, where is Bat- 
 tle Harbor, the home of the missionaries, and the prin- 
 cipal port on the lengthy coast of Labrador. 
 
 A fine iceberg, of the fashion of a sea-shell, broken 
 open to the afternoon sun, and unfolding great beauty, 
 lies in the middle of the bay. We are sailing past it, on 
 our passage to the harbor, just near enough for a good 
 view. It gleams in the warm sun like highly-burnished 
 steel, changing, as we pass it, into many complexions — 
 changeable silks and the rarest china. The suj)erlatives 
 are the words that one involuntarily calls to his aid in 
 the presence of an iceberg. From this bright creation 
 floating in the purple water, I look up to the bright 
 clouds floating in the blue air, and easily discover like- 
 nesses in their features, ways and colors. 
 
 The coast of Labrador is the edge of a vast solitude 
 of rocky hills, split and blasted by the frosts, and beaten 
 by the *waves of the Atlantic, for unknown ages. Every 
 
CARIBOO ISLAND. 151 
 
 form into which rocks can be washed and broken, is visible 
 along its almost interminable shores. A grand headland, 
 yellow, brown and black, in its horrid nakedness, is ever 
 in sight, one to the north of you, one to the south. Here 
 and there upon them are stripes and patches of pale 
 green— mosses, lean grasses, and dwarf shrubbery. Oc- 
 casionally, miles of precipice front the sea, in which the 
 fancy may roughly shape all the structures of human art, 
 castles, palaces and temples. Imagine an entire side of 
 Broadway piled up sohdly, one, two, three hundred feet in 
 height, often more, and exposed to the charge of the great 
 Atlantic rollers, rushing into the churches, halls, and 
 spacious buildings, thundering through the doorways, 
 dashing in at the windows, sweeping up the lofty fronts, 
 twisting the very cornices with snowy spray, falling back 
 in bright green scrolls and cascades of silvery foam. And 
 yet, all this imagined, can never reach the sentiment jof 
 these precipices. 
 
 More frequent, though, than headlands and perpen- 
 dicular sea-fronts are the sea-slopes, often bald, tame, and 
 wearisome to the eye, now and then the perfection of all 
 that is picturesque and rough, a precipice gone to pieces, 
 its softer portions dissolved down to its roots, its flinty 
 bones left standing, a savage scene that scares away all 
 thoughts of order and design in nature. If I am not 
 
152 OAUIBOO ISLAND. 
 
 juiBLukon, Llioro Jiro limes when a slo\)c o( iJio kiiulj a milo 
 1)1' iiioro in length, mul in places some hundreds of feet in 
 breadth iVoni the tide uy) to the highest lino of ^Yashing, 
 JH one of the niot^t toriibly hoautiful ol' oooau t^ights. In 
 nil oilstorly gale, the billows roll \l\^ out of the level of llio 
 oeean, and >vreek themselves npon ilieso crags, rushmg 
 back through gulfs und chasms in a way at onco awfully 
 brilliant jvud I err! fie. 
 
 'IMvis is (ho rosy time of Labrador. The blue interior 
 hills, and Iho slonv valt^s tliat wind up among them IVoni 
 the sea, iiave a. summer-liko and ]deasant air. I find 
 myself poeidin;!; Ihese regions, and dotting their hills, 
 vjilleys, and wild sliores with human habitations. A 
 second tln)nghl. and a. n\ouinfnl one it is, tells mo that 
 iu> men toil in (he lii^Kls away Iheve ; no women keej> the 
 house otf theu^ ; there no ehildreu play by the brooks, or 
 shout around the eeuntry sehool-liouse : no bees oomo 
 home to llu* hive ; no smoke enrls fron\ tlie larm-houso 
 i'hininev ; no orehard blooms; no bleating sheep lleck 
 the mountain-sides wit Iv whiteness; and uo heifer lows 
 in the t\vili!\ht. There is nobody Ihere ; there never was 
 but a. miserable ai\d seattered few, und there never will 
 be. It is a u'l'eat. and lerrihle wilderness of a thousand 
 miles, autl lonesome lo (he very wild animals and birds. 
 Left to (ho still visitations of (he light fixnn the sttu, 
 
BATTLE lIARBOll AND ISLAND. 153 
 
 moon, aiul stars, and llio auroral liros, it is only lit to 
 look upon, and tlion Lo given over to its primeval soli- 
 tariness. But for the living things of its waters, the cod, 
 tho salmon and the seal, whicli bring thousands of ad- 
 venturous fishermen and traders to its hleak shores, Lab- 
 rador would be as desolate as Greenland. 
 
 Wo are now entering Battle Harbor, a most romantic 
 nook of water, or Strait rather, between the islands form- 
 ing the south side of tho bay St. Louis. Cariboo Ishind 
 fronts to tho north on tho bay, five or six miles, I shtnild 
 guess, and is a rugged mountain-pile of dark gray rock, 
 rounded in its upper masses, and slashed along its shores 
 with abrupt cluisms. It drops short off, at its eastern 
 extremity, several hundred feet, into a narrow gulf of 
 deep water. This is Battle Harbor. The billowy pile of 
 igneous rock, perhaps two hundred and fifty feet high, 
 lying between this quiet water and tho broad Atlantic, is 
 Battlo Island, and tho site of tho town. We pass a 
 couple of wild islets, lying seaward, as we glide gently 
 along toward our anchorage. There is little to bo seen 
 but hard, iron-bound bay, and yet wo aro all out, gazing 
 abroad with silent curiosity, as if wo were entering tho 
 Golden Horn. Up runs tho Union Jack, and flings its 
 ancient crosses to tho sun and breeze, and tho fishermen 
 
 look down upon us from their rude dwellings perched 
 
 7* 
 
154 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 among the crags, and wonder who, and from whence we 
 are. For the moment, nothing seems to be going on but 
 standing still and looking, men, women, and children. 
 And now they will look and wonder still more : up run 
 the Stars and Stripes, higher up than all, and overfloat 
 the flag of England, and salute the sun and cliffs of Lab- 
 rador. The missionary waves his handkerchief — waves 
 his hat — calls pleasantly to a group upon the nearest 
 shore. They look, and hearken, in the stillness of uncer- 
 tainty. Instantly there is a movement of recognition. 
 The people know it is their pastor. The intelligence has 
 caught, and runs from house to house. Down drop the 
 sails, rattling down the masts ; the anchor plunges, and 
 the cable runs, runs rattling and ringing from its coil. 
 Bound the vessel swings in line with the breeze, and 
 comes to its repose. We congratulate the missionary on 
 his safe return, while he points us feelingly to the little 
 church and parsonage, just above us on the mossy hill- 
 side, and bids us welcome as long as we shall find it 
 agreeable to remain. With light and thankful hearts, 
 and pleasant anticipations, we prepare to go ashore, and 
 take our first run upon the hills. 
 
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, all compose a picture of singular 
 novelty and grandeur ; at the present moment, wonder- 
 fully heightened in beauty and spirit by a distant shower, 
 itself a spectacle of brilliancy and darkness sweeping up 
 from the north. Mr. Hutchinson here joins us, looking 
 all the pleasure that he feels, and points out what is visi- 
 
156 BATTLE ISLAND AND ITS SCENERY. 
 
 ble of tlie lengthy^ but narrow field of Hs religious 
 labors. The harbor, with its vessels and various build- 
 ings, lies quite below. One could very nearly throw a 
 stone over the little church spire, and shoot a rifle ball 
 into the cliffs opposite. The air is spiced with the most 
 delicate odors, which invites us to a short ramble in 
 search of flowers, after which we descend to the parson- 
 age for tea. 
 
 I have stolen out upon the small front piazza 
 with a chair, to enjoy the warm sunshine and the 
 sights of a Labrador village. The parsonage, which has 
 been closed for more than a year past, has been cleaned 
 and put in order by some kind Esquimaux parishioners, 
 
 and looks neat and comfortable. H has taken us all 
 
 through, from room to room — to the kitchen, pantry, bed- 
 rooms, parlor, which serves also for dining-room, library 
 and study, to the school-room up stairs, which is used at 
 times as a chapel. As we passed the house clock, the 
 pointer still upon the hour where it stopped more than 
 eighteen months ago, the painter wound it up, and gave it 
 a fresh start and the true time, which it began to measure 
 by loud and cheerful ticks, as if conscious that life and 
 spirit had returned again to the vacant dwelling. On 
 the shelf, over the fireplace, lay a prayer-book, the gift 
 of Wordsworth to his nephew, with an affectionate in- 
 
BATTLE ISLAND AND ITS SCENERY. 157 
 
 scrip tioa on a fly-leaf, in Lis own handwriting, wWle 
 near by stood a couple of small pictures of the poet and 
 his wife. 
 
 As some fishermen are now drawing in their capelin 
 seine, we are going to run down and see the sight. And 
 quite a pretty sight it was. Not less than a barrel or 
 two were inclosed, which they dipped with a small scoop- 
 net into their boat, where they lay for a moment, flutter- 
 ing like so many little birds of gaudy plumage under the 
 fowler's net. The males and females of these delicate 
 fishes, are called here, very comically, cocks and hens. As 
 our boat, just then, came across from the vessel, the 
 fishers gave us a mess for breakfast, all of half a bushel, 
 which we carried over at once. At the sight of several 
 fine salmon, on the fishing-flake close by, fresh from the 
 net, the poor little capelin sank into immediate contempt. 
 We must have a salmon or two. It was a question 
 whether we could not eat several. It resulted in the 
 purchase of one of sixteen pounds, at the cost of a dollar. 
 We were pulled back immediately in order to sup with 
 Mr. Hutchinson, and spend the remainder of the long, 
 light evening in running over Battle Island. I shall not 
 yield to the temptation to dwell upon the brilliant sunset 
 which we saw from the summit rocks. Its glories were 
 reflected in the bay, and shed upon the grim wilderness, 
 
158 BATTLE ISLAND AND ITS SCENERY. 
 
 dissolving all its gloomy ruggedness into softest beauty. 
 No language can depict the still and solemn splendor of 
 the icebergs, reposing upon the burnished waters. Tem- 
 ples and mausoleums of dazzling white, warming into 
 tints of pink, or deepening on their shaded side into the 
 sweetest azure, seemed to be standing upon a mighty 
 mirror with their images below. I thought of that stand- 
 ing on the sea of glass, in the glorious visions of St. 
 John, and was filled with emotions of wonder and admi- 
 ration. The words of the psalmist could hardly fail to 
 be remembered : " These men see the works of the Lord, 
 and his wonders in the deep." 
 
 One would think that all is couleur de rose in these 
 lands beyond the reach of fashionable summer tourists. 
 Let him remember that nature here blooms, beautifies, 
 and bears .for the entire year, in a few short weeks. We 
 are in the very flush of that transient and charming time. 
 Believe me, when I speak of the plants and flowers, 
 shrubbery and mosses. At this moment, the rocky isle, 
 bombarded by the ocean, and flayed by the sword of the 
 blast for months in the year, is a little paradise of beauty. 
 There are fields of mossy carpet that sinks beneath the 
 foot, with beds of such delicate flowers as one seldom 
 sees. 
 
 There is a refined delicacy in the odor, which the 
 
BATTLli ISLAND AND ITS SCENEltY. 159 
 
 ordiuary flora of warmer climes seldom has. Some raro 
 exotic, reared with cost, and pampered by all the ap- 
 pliances of art, may suggest the subtle S2)irit of these 
 tiny blossoms. It steals upon the sense of smell with the 
 indescribable tenderness of the music of the a3olian harp 
 upon the ear. As I enjoy it, I know that I cannot paint 
 it to the reader, and that I shall probably never " look 
 upon its like again." It is very likely that the cool and 
 very pure air, a refinement of our common atmosphere, 
 has much to do with it. 
 
 In our stroll, we found banks of snow still sleeping in 
 the fissures above the showering of the surf, and peeping 
 out from beneath their edges were clusters of pretty flowers. 
 As wo returned in the twilight, upon the mournful still- 
 ness of which broke the voice of the surge, I lingered 
 upon the clifi's to listen to the wood-thrush, the same 
 most plaintive and sweet bird that sings in the Catskill 
 mountain woods, at dusk and in the early morning. The 
 pathos of its wild melody stole in upon the heart, waking 
 " thoughts too deep for tears," and calUng up a throng of 
 tender memories of Cole and others, with whom the 
 songster, the hour, and mountain scenery are forever 
 associated. Startled by the voices of my companions, 
 one a nephew of the famous poet, and the other a 
 pupil of the painter scarcely less renowned, I hastened 
 
160 BATTLE ISLAND AND ITS SCENERY. 
 
 to join them at the humble parsonage below the cliffs, 
 when we went across to the vessel, and united, for the 
 last time in the cabin, in those pleasant devotions which 
 we had enjoyed, morning and evening, since our depar- 
 ture from St. Johns. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 MOSSES, ODOES AND FLOWEKS. — A DI N NE E-P AKT Y. 
 
 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 neighbor- 
 hood, 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, or nearly all the flowers were in Florida. 
 Along the brook-banks under the CatskiUs — to me about 
 the loveliest banks on earth, in the late spring and early- 
 summer days — I have never seen such fairy loveliness as 
 I find here upon this bleak islet, where nature seems to 
 
162 MOSSES^ ODOKS AND PLOWEES. 
 
 have been playing at Switzerland. Green and yellow 
 mosses, ankle-deep and spotted with blood-red stains, car- 
 pet the crags and little vales and cradle-like hollows. 
 Wonderful to behold ! flowers pink and white, yellow, 
 red and blue, are countless as dew-drops, and breathe out 
 upon the pure air that odor, so spirit-like. Such surely 
 was the perfume of Eden around the footsteps of the 
 Lord, walking among the trees of the garden in the cool 
 of the day. What grounds these, for such souls as write, 
 " The moss supplicateth for the poet," and the closing 
 lines of the " Ode, Intimations of Immortality from recol- 
 lections of early Childhood." The Painter, passionately 
 in love with the flowers of the tropics, lay down and 
 rolled upon these soft, sweet beds of beauty with delight. 
 Little gorges and chasms, overhung with miniature preci- 
 pices, wind gracefully from the summits down to meet 
 the waves, and are filled, where the sun can warm them, 
 with all bloom and sweetness, a kind- of wild greenhouse. 
 We run up them, and we run down them, fall upon the 
 cushioned stones, tumble upon their banks of softness as 
 children tumble upon deep feather-beds, and dive into 
 the yielding cradles embrddered with silken blossoms, 
 WiUows with a silvery down upon the leaves, willow-trees 
 no larger than fresh lettuce, and the mountain laurel of 
 the size of knitting-needles, with pink flowers to corre- 
 
A DINNER PARTY. 163 
 
 spond, cluster here and there in patches of a breadth to 
 suit a sleeping child. 
 
 After our ramble, we returned on board, arranged the 
 cabin, now become quite roomy from the departure of our 
 friends, and prepared for dinner, to which a small com- 
 pany is invited. Our cook, a young Sandy, excelling in 
 good nature, but failing in all the essentials of his art, 
 was suspended, for the time, from the exercise of all duties 
 about the caboose, except those of the mere lackey, and 
 two more important personages self-inducted into his 
 place. Some pounds of fresh salmon bagged in linen, a 
 measure of peeled potatoes, a pudding of rice well shotted 
 with raisins, one after another, found their way to the 
 oven and the boilers ; from which, in due time and order, 
 they emerged in a satisfactory condition, and, with appro- 
 priate sauce and gravy, descended in savory procession to 
 the cabin, to which they were unexpectedly welcomed by 
 a whole dress circle of fashionable dishes seated in the 
 surrounding berths, jelly-cake, sponge-cake, raspberry- 
 jam, nuts, figs, almonds and raisins, and a corpulent 
 pitcher, sweating in his naked white, filled with iceberg 
 wat^. It is not necessary to dwell upon the fact, that 
 the cooks subsided into the more quiet character of hosts, 
 and made themselves, and endeavored to make their 
 guests, merry at their own expense. Whether the Queen 
 
104 A DINMKU TAKTY. 
 
 of England, or ilio rroBidcnt of tlio United States will bo 
 pleased, it never oceuiTod to us at the time, wlien, with- 
 out thinking of cither, we drank to their health in the 
 transparent vintage of Greenland. 
 
OllAPTEU XXXIV. 
 
 OUK BOAT FOR TIIK irKT!KU(JS.— AFTKU THE ALPINE RERO.-STUDY 
 OF ITS WKSTKKN FACE. 
 
 After dinner. Mr. Ilutcbinson has placed at our ser- 
 vice liis parish vessel, at once a schooner and a row-boat, 
 of wliich Captain Knight, of course, is master, and our 
 men the sailors. Wo 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 wa- 
 ters, south of Battle Harbor, close to a berg selected from 
 the heights this morning. Wo drop sails, and row rapidly 
 around it, for the best point of observation in tho present 
 light. Tho intention is to study tho ices of these waters, 
 at aU points, and in all lights, with great care. From 
 tills, tlic western side, now glittering in the face of tho 
 sun, at six o'clock, it is alpino in its form, with ono 
 crowning jioak, RUjiportcd by ]iiiinaclos and bnttrossos, 
 
166 AFTER THE ALPINE BERG. 
 
 with intervening gulfs and hollows, each with its torrent 
 hissing along down in white haste over glassy cliffs and in 
 alabaster channels, until it comes spouting into the sea 
 from an overhanging precipice, varying from six, to twenty 
 feet in height. Between the upper edge of this ice-coast 
 and the great steeps of the berg, lies a broad slope, smooth 
 as ivory, a paradise for the boys of a village school. We 
 are actually tempted to land at a low place, and have a 
 run. Without skates, or some arming of the boots, how- 
 ever, we guess it would bo rather perilous sport ; in short, 
 simply impossible. Wo content ourselves with catching 
 a panfull of water, fresh from the great Humboldt gla- 
 cier, quite likely, and cold and pure it is. While we are 
 busy at the fountain, we amuse ourselves with looking 
 down through the clear, green water — right under us, 
 clear almost as air — at the roots and prongs of the moun- 
 tain mass. They shoot out into the dark sea below far 
 beyond our boat, not a pleasing vision to dwell upon, when 
 we reflect, that these very prongs and spurs only wait to 
 take their turn in the sunshine, under the aspect of up- 
 right towers. A heavy fall of ice, which may happen in 
 a minute, on the opposite side of the berg, instantly 
 gives the preponderance to this, wlicn over this way 
 slowly rolls the alpine peak, down sinks all this precipice, 
 juid nft(M- it, all tho planting field above ; then on rushes 
 
AFTER THE ALPINE BERG. 1G7 
 
 the sea in curling Weaves, and wo arc swept on with them. 
 Before we can get Lack, and get away to a safe distance, 
 by the force of mere saUor power, back rolls the berg, up 
 rises the broad slope, followed quickly by the precipices 
 rising up, up, and up into lofty cliffs, with a foreground, 
 a new revelation of ice ; in a word, the prongs and 
 spurs now below us in the transparent deep. In all 
 this play of the iceberg and the sea, what will be our 
 part ? And who knows whether the moment is not now 
 close upon us for this sparlding planet of the main to 
 burst asunder, a common process by which the mother 
 berg throws off her little ones, rather, resolves herself 
 entirely into a shoal of small icebergs ? Should that mo- 
 ment really come while we arc in this fearful proximity, 
 you need not ask any questions about us, except those 
 which you yourself can answer. There are the dead in 
 these very waters, I believe, whose last earthly experience 
 was among the final thunders of these ices. 
 
 I am struck with the rapid rate at which the bergs 
 are perishing. They are dissolving at every point and 
 pore, both in the air and in the sea. One sheet of water, 
 although no thicker than a linen sheet, covers the entire 
 alp. It trickles from every height, yonder glimmering 
 like a distant window in the sunset, here cutting into the 
 glassy surface and working out a kind of jewelry, which 
 
1{)S M'liOY OV ri'S WKSTKKN KAOK. 
 
 sparkles with points oi' omrniKl niul ruby. It nihis iVoiu 
 ovoH uiul piblos, coviucHvs iuul balrouios, iiiul ispouts iVom 
 gutters. All nnnmd, thoro is ilio pattoriti;;' oi' a showor 
 on till" son, aiul tlio shar{\ motallio rinpjiug of ^roat drops, 
 similar to what is hcarJ arouiul a. poiul in tlu> still avoihIs, 
 wluMi (ho ilow-ilrops tall iVom (ho ovorliaiigiug boughs. 
 r>olo\v, (ho cxirrents, now pouotrated witli tlio suininor 
 \Yannthj are washing it away. Around the surtaeo-liuo, the 
 ever-busy waves avo ]H>]islung the uewly-brolvon corners, 
 and cutting lutder, and mining tboir way in, with deceitful 
 rapidity. Unceasingly theyboix> and drill, without holi- 
 day (u- s<abbath, or rest at night, as the perpetual thun- 
 dei-s of (heir blasting testify. Thus their ruin is hourly 
 hastening to a oousnnunation, and (lie thingor oi' ny- 
 proaohing them made more and nuno inu\unon(. UMie 
 iceberg in winter, in the Arotie regimis, ami even here, is 
 a different affair. In the cold, they are tolerably safe and 
 sound. r>ut now, in these coraparatively tepid seas, and 
 in this warm atmosphere, lone wanderer, it finds no 
 merey. Motionless as this and several bergs ap}H\ir, they 
 are all slowly moving in towaixl the Strtiit of Belle Isle, 
 borne forwanl by the great Initlin current, a sti'cara of 
 which bends aroimd Capo St. Ijouis and these adjacent 
 isles, and sets along tho shoiv of Labrador into the Cvidf 
 "of St. Tiawrenee 
 
CTTArTF/Il XXXV. 
 
 TirW AM'INK nKI!(!. -STIM)IKS OP ITR POUTIIEUN I'MJONT.-FlMdllTKUh 
 KXI'KOHION AND I'Wl.l. OK lOIO. HTUDIKH Ol-' 'IMIM WKSTKKN HUH';. 
 — OUK I'LAY Wll'll 'I'lIK MOOSI", lloiiNS. 'I'llM S1'I-I:N Doi: ol" 'rilM 
 RF.Un IN Till'; HllNSK'l'. 
 
 Wk lu-o now lying imtler o:u-h, riding quietly on Mio 
 swollw, cliHtiuil;, Hiiy, ii ImndriHl yiirclH Hoiiili of llio berg, 
 \vlii(!li liiiH )i visiblo, porpondioulur (Voiil, of live; liiindrcd, 
 by oiu! hiiiidrod and fifty foot or iiioro dcviilion. I(, ni- 
 scmblcs a procipioo of nowly- broken jiorcchiin, wel, and 
 dripping, its vast laco of dead white tinged with green, 
 here and there, from the reflection of the green watci- at 
 its baso. Wo aro in its shadow, whieh rcacheH oil' on (ho 
 sunny sea, a long, dark track. The outline of the hcM-g is 
 one edge of dazzling brightnoHS, a kind of iirc^iilur, {low- 
 ing frame, gilt witli snnliglit, which eonicH ])onring ov(m- 
 ill full tide from Ix^liind. VVliorci the ieo hIiooIh n\\ inio 
 
 thin spoar-pointH, or runs alony; a Hcnii-lrunspaicnl, bliulo, 
 8 
 
170 STUDIES OF ITS SOUTIIKIIN FKONT. 
 
 tlio liglit shines through, and gives the tint of flame, with 
 a greenish hand below, and lovr^er still, a soft hlue, pres- 
 ently lost in the broad white. In these ices, never think 
 of any such as you sec at home, from Kockland and Cats- 
 kill. Frozen under enormous pressure^ and frozen to dry 
 and flinty hardness, it lias all the sparkle of minutest 
 crystallization, and resembles, as I have said already, 
 freshly broken statue-marble or porcelain, as you see it on 
 the edge newly snapped. The surface of this ice is in 
 itself a study singularly complex and subtle. How the 
 mere passer-by, at a distance, is going to know any thing 
 of value to a jiaintcr, I cannot tell. The flict is, he knows 
 just nothing at all. A portrait-painter might as well 
 pretend to have a knowledge of flesh, from seeing people 
 at a distance. I think if I could study just here, for 
 hours, I should bo able to speak more correctly. Of 
 course, the Painter, whoso eye is trained to look into tlio 
 texture of surfaces, sees all more readily. I am looking 
 up to rough crags, and enormous bulges, where the recent 
 fracture would seem to have an almost painful sharpness 
 to the touch. Where the surfaces have been for a time 
 exposed to the weather, they have the flesh-finish of a 
 statue. Along the lower portion, where you see the glass- 
 ing effects of the waves, there it resembles the rarest 
 Sevres vase, or oven pearl itself, so exquisitely fine is 
 
STUDIES OF ITS SOUTHERN FRONT. I7l 
 
 the polish. It is almost mirror-like. You perceive the 
 dim images of passing objects, shadowy ships and shores. 
 Where the light pours over it in its strength, it shines 
 like burnished steel in the sunshine. 
 
 Under the manifold effects of atmosphere, light and 
 shade, none can imagine, through the medium of mere 
 description, the grandeur and glory of these moving Alps 
 of ice. Here now, is one simple feature, whicli our dan- 
 gerous proximity alone enables us to view, the wondrous 
 beauty of which — beauty to the feelings as well as to the 
 eye — I cannot find any language to paint. I may talk 
 of it through a hundred periods, and yet you will never 
 feel and see a tithe of what you would in a moment, were 
 you here upon the spot. The berg, in the deep shadow 
 of which we now sit painting and writing, as I have inti- 
 mated, is in form a mountain pinnacle, split down from 
 the summit square, and the split side toward our boat. 
 What has became of the lost half, the Great Builder of 
 icebergs only knows. We are under the cliffs, from which 
 that unknown part burst off and fell away. It is an 
 awful x)recipice, with all tho features of precipices, sucli 
 as are seen about capes, headlands and ocean shores. 
 Here it swells out, there it sinks in, masses have sliddcn 
 out, and left square-headed doorways opening into tho 
 solid porcelain, ridges run off, and hollows run in and 
 
172 EXPLOSION AND FALL OF ICE. 
 
 around. In these very hollows and depressions is the 
 one feature of which I am speaking. And, after all, what 
 is it ? It is simply shadow. Is that all ? That is 
 all : only shadow. All the grand fa9ade is one shadow, 
 with a rim of splendor like liq[uid gold leaf or yellow 
 flame, but in those depressions is a deeper shadow. 
 Shadow under shadow, dove-colored and blue. Thus 
 there seems to be drifting about, in the hollow lurking- 
 places of the dead "white, a colored atmosphere, the 
 warmth, softness, and delicate beauty of which no mind 
 can think of words to express. So subtle is it and evan- 
 escent, that recollection cannot recall it when once gone, 
 but by the help of the heart and the feelings, where the 
 spirit of beauty last dies away. You can feel it, after you 
 have forgotten what its complexion precisely is, and from 
 that emotion you may come to remember it. You would 
 remember nothing more beautiful. 
 
 Any doubt that I may have entertained about the 
 danger of lying under the shadow of this great ice-rock is 
 now wholly dispelled. We have just witnessed what was, 
 for the moment, a perfect cataract of ice, with all its mo- 
 tion, and many times its noise. Quick as lightning and 
 loud as thunder, when bolt and thunder come at the 
 same instant, there was one terrific crack, a sharp and 
 silvery ringing blow upon the atmosphere, which I shall 
 
o 
 
 EH 
 
 O 
 
 i — I 
 
 
EXPLOSION AND FALL OF ICE. 173 
 
 never forget, nor ever be able to describe. It shook mc 
 tlirough, and struck the very heart. The only response on 
 my part, and I was not alone in the fright, was a convul- 
 sive spring to the feet, and a shout to the oarsmen, of 
 fierce command, " Row back ! row back ! " The specta- 
 cle was nearly as startling as the explosion. At once, the 
 upper face of the berg burst out upon the air, as if it had 
 been blasted, and swept down across the great chflf, a huge 
 cataract of green and snowy fragments, with a wild, 
 crashing roar, followed by the heavy, sullen thunder of 
 the plunge into the ocean, and the rolling away of tho 
 high-crested seas, and the rocking of the mighty mass 
 back and forth, in the eifort to regain its equilibrium. 
 I dreaded the encounter ; but our whale-boat was quite 
 at home, and breasted the lofty swells most gracefully. 
 But how fearfully impressive is all this ! I recall tho 
 warning of the Bishop of Newfoundland, and recollect the 
 conversation of the Eev. Mr. "Wood, the rector of St. 
 Thomas'. 
 
 We now pass round to the other side of the berg, and 
 take a position between it and the sun. Upon our first 
 circumnavigation, we found this edge of the ice, in its 
 lowest part, about six feet above the sea, with a caver- 
 nous hollow running all round, into which the waves were 
 playing with their strange and many sounds. Now, from 
 
IV-I BTllhllOH Oil' 'I'lli; Wiai'PMKN HIDIO. 
 
 Mi(^ ii'ci'iil. loMM dl" it't^ oil llio oppoMil.o lu'iL;;h(,M, idl iJi'iH ('(1}.!{0 
 Ikih Sim!': (tclow Mk^ whach, Iciiviii^- only un Iiicliiicd |il)iiu'. 
 Kwcc^piii!.'; up (Voiii Uui \va.i(U''M (hIjj;'0 I^o (ho Hl.iu'por jiiirtHol' 
 l\ic bor,",', id. uii a,iij;lo ol' ahoiil, 'JO dogroofl. l*\uu!y ii nlid) 
 ol' llaJiiiii niarI)lo, I'oiir a,iid livo liimdr(Ml (bid. in Avidl.li, 
 oxtondhig iVom l.lio oa,V(';i ol' dlio ('i|,y Hull, Now York, 
 linH-way ov iiioro down iJio park. I llnnk you will luivo 
 a iolonihlo notion of llio slo]»o now luduru uh. Up lliin 
 Bli]>])ory iiold of ivory lia,iHliuvst4 roll Mio wavos, ilark an 
 .nij;'ld. uidil (lu\y nlriko Mio ioi>, w lion, in a (laMli, thoy 
 iurn into lliai lovi'ly <:;i\hmi of (lio wa, and uTliM-ward 
 Ibi'Oalc in Ion;;- linoM of tutnidiiioiiH Coain. Tlio spoclaclo 
 in |)orlvclly mag'iiificonl. A noaiu of ico, apparonlly six 
 inidioM in dianudi'r, of (ho liuo ol' n. Ha.pphin\, cuIh (lu^ lu>i'<.»; 
 from ilH voiy lop (K)\vn, aiul doubtloHS cuts through (ho 
 (Miiiro Huhinarino body. 'TliiH jowid of Mio ii!ol)Org is a 
 Wdnd(Mfiil l»i\udy, Sparkles of light Booni to como from 
 its Idiio, (nuuspa.rout dojdhs. What, at first, np})oar8 mii- 
 gular is, that tlioso bluo veins aro muoli softer tluin the 
 STirrouiuling ieo, inoltiiig faBtor, and so boeoming cliannols 
 in wlTu'li little torroiits glitter as tlioy run. At iirst, avo 
 AvcMo at a. loss io know how they originated, but juvsently 
 ■felt satiHliod, (hai llu>y were ca-aoks filled with water, and 
 frozen wIumi (lu^ Ixa;;;- was a j,<;laeier, This indelible mark 
 of [)riinitivo broakago and repair indicates with some eor- 
 
oiui ri.AY WITH 'I'lii'; imoohm iioknm. 175 
 
 nH'liu'HM 111" (>ri;!;iii.'il |ii'i|i(Mi(|icul;u' ol' lliii ice. Accdidin;'; 
 |,() (.li(> l»lii«i I'itiiil ill Hid Ixt;;; imw hcloro mm, il, iw ()cc.ii|)y- 
 ingvory 11(111 riy lln' poHil.ion il.wiiM in wIkmi i(, wjui ji, linHUio 
 or (MHivaHHo (if llin ^lacior. Long iirocuHHioiifil IIih'm of 
 broken i(;o ii,ro <M)iil,iiiii.'!Jly lloii.llii,"; off (Votii l,lio piucnl. 
 borg, \vl»i(;Ii, in llio proccKtt ol' molting, hhhihiio many 
 curious hIiii|>('m, liiijni Jiiil.ldni of Uio moor.o luid oil:, uiul 
 Hcu-Ibwl, gooHo .'iml (liicIvM, <»r i;igfintit! liguro. Wo liiivo 
 juHl-, Huccoodod ill iiocuring oiio ol' thoso untlorM, and a 
 morry timo wo liad. IV-foro roaching it, wo HuppoHud ono 
 ronld bond over iMiil lil'l, il. oul, of tlio watur ait cjinily an 
 lio Ht()()|iH niiil |tl('lui ii|) :i, Imck'n Ikud (UiI, of llm prairio 
 gniHH. I(. wa;i a iiiii.lcli (iir iJirco ol" mi, nnd cMcapi'd (till, 
 of our liaiiih niid !M'iii;i rrpc'iJcdly, t;lip|)ing back iiil.M llio 
 wav('H, mid ri'(|iiiriii|'; mi lo nmiid lo ii.!';ain juid a;!;;i,iii Ixiloro 
 W(! fairly li.id it. Am il, in llio liardcHJ. and llio lioaviuHJ, 
 HO il. iM Hid iiiomI. Mlippcry of a.II iccM, and certainly it H(jonm 
 to mo tlio (K>ldoHl, thing ii|ioii wliicli liiuiian liandH woro 
 over laid. Onr RuinnKn- oakcH, liand(Ml in l»y tlio ico-man, 
 are warm, I fancy, in compariHon. I do not wonder that 
 Iho face of icebergH bnrnt olf, under tlio oxpanwion of tlio 
 lieat they reccivo in thcuo duly dayM. The Mirfaco of this 
 horn \h not l.ho Icaitt ciiiIoiih fcatnn^ of il. : it in nndted 
 into circular dcproHwionH about thu dcplh !i,nd mI/.o of a 
 largo watcli-cryHtaJ, all cutting into each other with Buch 
 
176 SPLENDOR OP THE BEEG AT SUNSET. 
 
 regularity that their angles fall into lines parallel and 
 diagonal in the most artistic manner. Now that we have 
 it in the boat, it resembles a pair of mammoth moose- 
 horns sculptured from water-soaked alabaster. We see 
 several of them now, five or six feet tall, rocking and 
 nodding on the swells as if they were the living append- 
 ages of some old moose of the briny deep, come up to 
 sport a little in the world of warmth and sunshine. 
 
 C finds great difficulty in painting, from the 
 
 motion of the boat ; but it is the best thing in the ser- 
 vice, after all, for the men can take a position^ and keep 
 it by the help of oars, in spite of the waves and currents 
 which beset an iceberg. The moments for which we have 
 been waiting are now passing, and the berg is immersed 
 in almost supernatural splendors. The white alpine peak 
 rises out of a field of delicate purple, fading out on one 
 edge into pale sky-blue. Every instant changes the 
 quality of the colors. They flit from tint to tint, and 
 dissolve into other hues perpetually, and with a rapidity 
 impossible to describe or paint. I am tempted to 
 look over my shoulder into the north, and see if the 
 " merry dancers " are not coming, so marvellously do the 
 colors come and go. The blue and the purple pass uj) 
 into peach-blow and pink. Now it blushes in the last 
 look of the sun-red blushes of beauty — tints of the 
 
SPLENDOE OF THE BERG AT SUNSET. 177 
 
 roseate birds of the south — the complexion of the roses 
 of Damascus. In this delicious dye it stands embalmed 
 — only for a minute, though ; for now the softest dove- 
 colors steal into the changing glory, and turn it all into 
 light and shade on the whitest satin. The bright green 
 waves are toiling to wash it whiter, as they roll up from 
 the violet sea, and explode in foam along the broad 
 alabaster. Power and Beauty, hand in hand, bathing the 
 bosom of Purity. I need not pause to explain how all 
 this is ; but so it is, and many times more, in the pass- 
 ing away of the sunshine and the daylight. It is wonder- 
 ful ! I had never dreamed of it, even while I have been 
 reading of icebergs well described. As I sit and look at 
 this broken work of the Divine fingers, — only a shred 
 broken from the edge of a glacier, vast as it is — I whisper 
 these words of Eevelation : " and hath washed their 
 robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." 
 It hangs before us, with the sea and the sky behind it, 
 like some great robe made in heaven. Where the flow- 
 ing folds break into marble-like cliffs, on the extreme 
 wings of the berg, an inward green seems to be pricking 
 through a fine straw tint, sj)angled with gold. Weary, 
 chilly, and a little sea-sick, I am glad to find the Painter 
 giving the last touches to a sketch, and to hear him give 
 
 the word for return. The men, who in common with 
 8* 
 
178 BrLKNDOU OF THE BEKG AT SUNSET. 
 
 all thoso people of this noitluM-u t^oa liavo a terror of ieo- 
 bergs, gladly lift tlie sails, and so, with Captain Knight 
 at the holm, we are speeding over the waves for Battle 
 Harbor. 
 
CIIArTEU XXXVl. 
 
 KAMBLE AMONG TIIK FLOWKIJS OP BATTLE ISLAND.-A VISIT TO 
 THE riSllEUMKN.-WALK AMONO THE HILLS OP 0AU115OO. 
 
 Satuhday, July 9. Wo aro abroad again on (ho 
 rocky hills, fanned with tho soft^ BUinmcr wind, and 
 blossod with tho lovoliost sunshiuo. Tho mossos sparkle 
 wi(h their sweet-scouted hlossoms of purple, white, ami 
 red, and tho wood-thrush is pouring out its plaintive 
 molody over tho bleak crags, and tho homes of fishermen, 
 around whoso doors I sco tho children playing as merrily 
 as tho children of fortune in more ftivorcd lands, llow 
 many a tender parent, now watching over a sick child in 
 the wealthy city, would bo glad to have tho sufterer hero, 
 to be the playfellow of those simple boys and girls, if he 
 could have their health and promise of life. Captain 
 Knight comes with his hands full of flowers, not unlike the 
 daisy ; and here come Hutchinson and the Painter. We 
 
180 A VISIT TO THE FISHEKMEN. 
 
 meet around this moss-covered crag, where I am sitting 
 with my "book and pencil, and resolve at once to go down, 
 and visit an islet of the harbor, where a few families have 
 a summer residence during the fishing season. 
 
 Here we are among the huts and dogs, and English 
 people, with the ways of Labrador. A kind woman, with 
 whom I have been talking about the deprivations of her 
 lot in life, has offered to bake bread for us when we can 
 send the flour. The Painter is out sketching this summer 
 nest upon the bleak, surf-washed rocks, about as wild- 
 looking as the nesting-place of sea-birds. Generous- 
 hearted people ! I am pleased with their simple ways, 
 and their affectionate, but most respectful manner 
 toward their pastor. Well, indeed, they may be both, 
 respectful and affectionate. His life is a sacrifice for 
 them and their children. What but the love of Christ 
 and of men could lead one here, and keep him here, who 
 can ornament and bless the most cultivated society ? 
 I thank Grod, that He gives us witness, in such men, of 
 the power and excellency of His grace upon the human 
 heart. We sail across the harbor to a cove, or chasm in 
 the lofty sea-wall, with the intention of a walk over the 
 hills of Cariboo, while Hutchinson visits a few of his pa- 
 rishioners thereabouts. 
 
 After a pleasant ramble, during which we were often 
 
WALK AMONG THE HILLS OF CARIBOO. 181 
 
 tempted to run and jump with very delight along the 
 spongy, springy moss, hlushing here and there with its 
 sweet bloom, we sit down on the top of a high hiU, and 
 look off upon the ocean and the bay of St. Louis, extend- 
 ing: far into the desolate interior like a series of blue lakes. 
 All the beauteous apparel of summer has been stripped 
 off, and the brown and broken bones of the sad earth are 
 bleaching in the wind and sun. You would be delighted, 
 though, with the little vales, notched and shelved with 
 craggy terraces that catch and hold the sunshine. They 
 have the sultry warmth and scent of a conservatory, and 
 are frequently rich with herbage, now in flower. It seems 
 a pity that these nooks of verdure and floral beauty 
 should thus '' waste their sweetness on the desert air." 
 For a few days, the woolly flocks of New England would 
 thrive in Labrador. During those few days, there arc 
 thousands of her fair daughters who would love to tend 
 them. I prophesy the time is coming when the invaUd 
 and tourist from the States will be often found spending 
 the brief, but lovely summer here, notwithstanding its rug- 
 gedness and desolation. Upon reflection, a broad and an- 
 cient solitude like this has a sadness in it which no bloom, 
 no sun can dispel. Never, never, in all my life, have I 
 beheld a land like this, the expression and sentiment of 
 which are essentially mournful and melancholy. The 
 
182 WALK AMONG THE HILLS OF CARIBOO. 
 
 sunshine, skies, "the pomp and circumstance of" ocean, 
 sweet smells, and sounds, and one's own joyous, healthy- 
 feelings, flowing out and washing out as they flow the nat- 
 ural sadness of the soul, cannot take away nor cover up 
 that which really and everlastingly is, and ever will he, 
 namely, the sentiment of mournfulness. Nature here is 
 at a funeral forever, and these beauties, so delicately 
 fashioned, are but flowers in the coffin. 
 
 It is a coincidence a little curious that I should have 
 written these periods above, and then have plunged into 
 just the most lonesome little valley in all the world to 
 hit upon a graveyard. But there it was, a gloomy, silent 
 field, enclosed with the merest dry skeleton of a fence, for 
 no purpose to tee-p a creature out where no creature is, 
 but just to make a scratch around the few narrow beds 
 where the dead repose, unpraised and unnamed, under 
 the lightest possible covering of dust, as undisturbed as 
 in the deeps of the Atlantic. From the tombless ceme- 
 tery, our way back to the vessel over the hills resembled 
 the crossing of mountains just below the line of perpetual 
 snow. Upon the summit we encountered a small lake 
 and marshes with water-plants and flowers. At the east- 
 ern extremity of the island, where the rocks break off 
 steeply some hundreds of feet, we saw every object of the 
 port nearly beneath, and apparently within stone's throw. 
 
WALK AMONG THE HILLS OF CARIBOO. 183 
 
 A novel sight to us was tlie bottom of the harbor^ seen 
 tlirough the clear, greenisk water with considerable dis- 
 tinctness almost from end to end. Patches of sea-weed, 
 dark rocks, and wliito gravel, seemed to be lying in the 
 bottom of a shallow mirror, across which small fishes, 
 large ones in reality, were wandering at their leisure. 
 This was a picturesque revelation. Upon the surface of 
 the harbor, the depth of water very nearly shuts out all 
 view of the bottom. I am beginning to think that a few 
 thousand feet above the ocean, in a bright day, would 
 enable the eye to pierce it to an extraordinary depth. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 AFTEE THE BAT ST. LOUIS ICEBERG.— WINDSOE CASTLE ICEBEEG.— 
 FOUNDEES SUDDENLY.— A BEILLIANT SPECTACLE. 
 
 After dinner, upon tlie 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 Green- 
 land, 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 toward the bay, with a front of 
 great elevation and extent, finely adorned with projec- 
 tions and massive towers not unlike those of the regal 
 structure of which it reminds me. I see by the 
 watch it is nearly 4 P. m., the time set for our de- 
 parture to a Bay St. Louis berg. Pencil and note-book 
 
AFTER THE BAY ST. LOUIS ICEBERG. 185 
 
 must be pocketed, and haste be made with my vegetable 
 gatherings. 
 
 Pencil and note-book reappear, and the sketch recom- 
 mences. Half-way to the chosen iceberg, in the mouth 
 of the bay, rowing slowly over the glassy, low swells, as 
 they move in from sea. These are the swells for me : 
 broad, imperial swells, full of majesty, dignity, and grace ; 
 placid and serene of countenance ; solemn, slow, and si- 
 lent in their roll. They are the swells of olden time, 
 royal and aristocratic, legitimately descended from those 
 that bore the ark upon their bosom, and used to bear the 
 unbroken images of the orbs of heaven. Keplete with 
 gentleness and love and power, they lift us lightly, and 
 pass- us over tenderly from hand to hand, and toss us 
 pleasantly and softly from breast to breast, and roll us 
 carefully from lap to lap, and smile upon us with their 
 shining smiles. Grand and gracious seas ! With you I 
 love the ocean. With you I am not afraid. And with 
 you, how kind and compassionate of you, ye old patrician 
 billows ! with you I am not sea-sick. Save us from 
 those plebeian waves, that rabble-rout of surges, that 
 democratic " lop," lately born, and puffed into noisy 
 importance ! They scare me, and, worst of all, make 
 me sick and miserable. 
 
 Every few minutes we hear the artillery of the ice- 
 
186 WiJ^DSUli CASTLE ICEJiEKG. — rOUNBEliS. 
 
 bergs, and arc on the watcli for fine displays, this warm 
 
 afternoon. C is sketching hastily, with the pencil, 
 
 Windsor Castle berg, now in complete view, and distant, 
 I should guess, five miles. It is a mighty and imposing 
 structure. 
 
 Between making my last dot and now — an interval 
 of ten minutes — Windsor Castle has experienced the 
 convulsions of an earthquake, and gone to ruin. To use 
 the term common hero, it has " foundered." A maga- 
 zine of powder fired in its centre, could not more 
 effectually, and not much more quickly, have blown it 
 up. While in the act of sketching, C suddenly ex- 
 claimed : when, lo ! walls and towers were falling 
 asunder, and tumbling at various angles with apparent 
 silence into the ocean, attended with the most prodigious 
 dashing and commotion of water. Enormous sheaves of 
 foam sprung aloft and burst in air ; high, green waves, 
 crested with white-caps, rolled away in circles, mingling 
 with leaping shafts and fragments of ice reappearing 
 from the deep in all directions. Nearly the whole of 
 this brilliant spectacle was the performance of a minute, 
 and to us as noiseless as the motions of a cloud, for a 
 length of time I had not expected. When the uproar 
 reached us, it was thunder doubled and redoubled, roll- 
 ing upon the car like the quick successive strokes of a 
 
A BUILLIANT SPECTACLE. 187 
 
 (Iruni, or volleys of the largest ordnance. It was awfully- 
 grand, and altogether the most startling exhibition I 
 ever witnessed. At this moment, there is a large field of 
 ruins, some of them huge masses like towers prone along 
 the waters, with a lofty steeple left alone standing in the 
 midst, and rocking slowly to and fro. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 SUNDAY IN LABEADOE.— EVENING WALK TO THE GEATEYAED.— TUE 
 EOCKY OCEAN SHOEE. 
 
 Sunday evening, July 10. We have had a heaii- 
 tifiil and interesting day. Early in the morning, flags 
 were flying from tlie shijjping, and from the taU staff in 
 front of the church, the only bell-tower of the town. 
 Boats, with people in their Sunday hest, soon came row- 
 ing in from difierent quarters, for the services of the day, 
 in which I had the pleasure of assisting. The house, 
 seating about two hundred people, was crowded, morning 
 and afternoon, with a devout and attentive congregation, 
 responding loudly, and singing very spiritedly. 
 
 Before sunset, we left the parsonage for a quiet 
 walk. Falling into a crooked path, we followed it to 
 the burying-ground in the bottom of a narrow, deep 
 hollow, where time has gathered from the surrounding 
 
EVENING WALK TO THE GRAVEYARD. 189 
 
 rocks a depth of earth sufficient for shallow graves. 
 While yet the sunshine was bright upon the high, over- 
 hanging cliffs, dotted with lichens and tufted with their 
 summer greenery, the little vale below, with its brown 
 gravestones nearly lost in the rank verdure, was im- 
 mersed in cool and lonesome shadows. An unavoid- 
 able incumbrance of the sacred field was several lare-e 
 bowlders, among which the long grass, and weeds and 
 tablets were irregularly dispersed. 
 
 It is the custom of the English church to consecrate 
 burying-grounds. Eleven years ago. Bishop Field conse- 
 crated this. It was a pleasant Sunday morning, and the 
 procession, with the bishop at its head clothed in his offi- 
 cial robes, descended by the winding path, and performed 
 the appointed service. Nearly the whole population of 
 the region was present, either in the jDrocession, or look- 
 ing down with silent admiration from the rocky galleries 
 around. A better resting-place, when one lies down 
 weary from the tasks and troubles of the present life, 
 could not well be imagined. Its perpetual solitude, 
 never profaned by the noisy feet of the busy world, 
 draped alternately with snowy fleeces and blooming 
 verdure, is always made musical by the solemn mur- 
 murs of the ocean. I found by the inscriptions, that 
 England was the native country of most of those whose 
 
190 THE ROCKY OCEAN SHORE. 
 
 bones repose below, and whose names are gatbering moss 
 and lichens, while the sea, close by, sings their mournful 
 requiem. 
 
 From this lone hamlet of the dead, we picked our 
 way among broken rocks out to the sea shore, all white 
 with the sounding surf, and gazed with silent pleasure 
 on the blue Atlantic, the dark headlands, and the ice- 
 bergs glittering in the sunset. Glittering in the sunset ! 
 They glowed with golden fire — pointed, motionless, and 
 solid flames. 
 
 Battle Island, had there never been any bloody con- 
 test of angry men, would be an appropriate name. The 
 whole northeastern shore, once a lofty precipice, no 
 doubt, but now a descent of indescribable ruggedness, is 
 an extended field, whereon for ages flinty rocks and 
 mighty waves have contended in battle. A favorite 
 walk of Hutchinson's, during the wintry tempests, is 
 along the height overlooking this mighty slope or glacis. 
 His quiet description of the terrible grandeur of the 
 scene, was truly thrilling. In the course of our walk, we 
 came upon the verge of a fissure, which looked like an 
 original intention to split the island through its centre. 
 Banks of snow stiU lay in the nooks and closets of its 
 gloomy chambers, through which, every now and then, 
 boomed the low thunder of the plunging surf. 
 
THE ROCKY OCEAN SHORE. 191 
 
 Upon our return, late in the evening, although quite 
 light, we wandered over tracts of the elastic, flowering 
 moss. The step is rendered exceedingly bouyant, and 
 invites you to skip and hound through the richly car- 
 peted hollows. After prayer at the parsonage, wo 
 returned to the vessel, and talked in our berths until 
 slumber made us silent, past midnight. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 THE SAIL TO FOX IIAKBOK.— A DAT WITH THE ESQUIMAUX, AND 
 OUR EETURN. 
 
 Monday, July 11. After icebergs in St. Micliael'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 see the 
 glaciers themselves, of which these bergs are merely the 
 chippings. What has suddenly caused this change in 
 our plans is an approaching storm. It will never do for 
 us to be out at sea in a cold northeaster, if it possibly can 
 be avoided. The painter and I are so given over to sea- 
 sickness, in rough weather, that nothing can be enjoyed, 
 
THE SAIL TO FOX HARBOR. 193 
 
 and nothing clone with pen or pencil. The work and 
 
 play of the day are finally determined. C with the 
 
 Captain will cruise southerly among the bergs of Belle 
 Isle, and I will go with Mr. Hutchinson and Botwood 
 north, across St. Louis water to Fox Harbor, one of 
 the points of this extended parish. 
 
 We leave, past noon a little, sailing very pleasantly 
 by the ices, which appear to be in considerable motion. 
 Several are going to sea, and may reach the track of New 
 Yorkers voyaging to Europe, and be thought very won- 
 derful and fine ; and so indeed they will be, should they 
 lose half of their present bulk. There appears to be no 
 end to the combinations of these icy edifices. They 
 mimic all the styles of architecture upon earth ; rather, 
 all styles of architecture may be said to imitate them, 
 inasmuch as they were fl.oating here in what we please to 
 call Greek and Gothic forms long before Greek or Goth 
 were in existence. Yonder, now, is a cluster of Gothic 
 cottages. I trace out a multitude of peaked gables and 
 low porches, and think of Sunny Side upon the Hudson. 
 
 Two hours have slipped away, and we approach the 
 northern shore, attended by no less a travelling com- 
 panion than a small whale. Now he blows just behind 
 us, disappears, and blows again upon our right. There 
 
 lie blows ahead of us. Here he is close upon our left. 
 
 
194 A DAY "WITH THE ESQUIMAUX. 
 
 The fellow is diving under us. All this may he very 
 pretty sport for the whale, but with all the merry re- 
 marks of Hutchinson, respecting the good nature of our 
 twenty-foot out-rider, I confess I am relieved to find that 
 he is gradually enlarging the field of his amusements. 
 
 The mouth of Fox Harbor all at once discovers itself, 
 and lots us in upon a small sheet of water, not unlike a 
 mountain lake with its back-ground of black, wild hills. 
 A few huts, a wharf, and fish-house appear upon the 
 margin of the narrow peninsula that lies between the 
 harbor and the bay. The people are pure Esquimaux 
 and English, with a mixture from intermarriage. The 
 patriarch of the place, perhaps sixty years of age, with 
 his wife, and, I believe, the elder members of the family, 
 are natives of a high latitude, and a good specimen of 
 the arctic race. They are now members of the English 
 Church, and for piety and virtue compare w^ell with 
 Christians anywhere. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, their pastor held 
 divine service, and administered the sacrament of bap- 
 tism. There were between twenty and thirty present, 
 old and young, some of whom had prayer-books and 
 responded. The sermon, which I was invited to preach, 
 I made as simple and practical as possible, and found 
 f^irnest and lioncst listeners. After an examination of 
 
OUR RETURN. 195 
 
 furs and snow-shoes, reindeer liorns, and seal-skin, fresh 
 from the seal, and still loaded with its fat or blubber, we 
 had an exhibition of the kayak. It was light and tight, 
 and ringy as a drum, and floated on the water like a 
 bubble. Under the strokes of the kayaker, it darted for- 
 ward over the low swells with a grace and fleotness un- 
 known to the birch bark canoe. After tea, and a very 
 good tea, too ; in foot, after two teas, we bade the 
 Esquimaux farewell and sailed away, taking one of their 
 number along with us, who had formerly been a servant, 
 and was now to resume her old jdaco as such, in the 
 parsonage. About half way across the bay, a squall from 
 sea struck us with startling suddenness. But our bold 
 young sailing-master, Mc Donald, the mate and owner 
 of our vessel, managed the boat admirably, and wo fairly 
 flew through the white-caps to the smooth water of our 
 harbor. In the evening we gathered in at the parsonage, 
 taking tea, made and served by the Esquimaux woman, 
 telling the adventures of the day, botli north and south, 
 and returning at midnight to our cabin. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A MOENING EAMBLE OVEK CAEIBOO.— EXCUESIGN ON THE EAT, AND 
 THE TEA-DEINKING AT THE SOLITAET EISHEEMAN'S. 
 
 Tuesday, July 12. Cold as November, and a gale 
 outside. After a late breakfast, we roam the hills of 
 Cariboo, under the cliifs 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 in these, to us, almost inter- 
 minable days. But for the necessity of it, I believe that 
 we should not sleep at all, but work and play right on 
 from midnight into morning, and from morning down to 
 midnight. We have a large afternoon excursion before 
 us. Previous to that, however, the Captain and myself 
 are going upon an exploring expedition. 
 
EXCUKSION ON THE BAY, 197 
 
 Coasting the soutliern shores of St. Louis water, 
 having a little private amusement by ourselves. The 
 breeze, in from sea, gives us about as much as we can 
 manage. Gives iis about as much as ice can manage ! 
 " Us " and " We " have not a great deal to do with it. 
 This half of the "us" and the "we," the Me and the 
 subjective I, as your Kantian philosopher calls his essen- 
 tial self, sits here about midship, bear-skinned in with 
 a fleecy brown coat, holding on, and dodging the spray 
 that cuffs him on the right and left ; while the other, 
 and vastly larger half, in the shape of the captain, 
 holds all the reins of this marine chariot in his own single 
 hand — ropes, rudder and all, and holds them, too, well 
 and wisely. But we enjoy the freedom of these spirited, 
 though harmless seas, and dash along through most 
 charmingly. 
 
 What coasts these are ! " Precipitous, black, jagged 
 rocks," savage as lions and tigers showing their claws 
 and teeth, and foaming at the lips. Here is a chasm 
 called a . cove, up which the green water runs in the 
 shape of a scimetar or horn — the piercing and the goring 
 of the sea for unknown centuries. Away in the extreme 
 hollow of this horn is a fishing-flake, and half-way up, 
 where the sea-birds would naturally nest, a Scotch fisher- 
 man has his summer-home. We are going in to see liim. 
 
198 THE FISHEKMAN. 
 
 He met us at the water's edge, and welcomed us witli 
 a fisherman's welcome — none heartier in the world — and 
 sent us forward hj a zigzag path to the house hidden 
 away among the upper rocks. In the very tightest place 
 of the ascent, there swept down upon us an avalanche 
 of dogs furiously barking — a kind of onset for which I 
 have had a peculiar disrelish ever since I was overthrown 
 by a ferocious mastiff in my childhood. I sprang to the 
 tip of a crag, and stood out of their reach, while they 
 bristled and barked at the Captain, vv^ho coolly main- 
 tained his ground. The shout of the fisherman's wife, 
 who now appeared on the edge of the scene above, in- 
 stantly stilled the uproar, and invited us up with the 
 cheering assurance that they seldom bit anybody, and 
 were rather glad than angry that we had come. The 
 language of dogs being very much the same in all 
 countries, I took occasion to doubt any pleasure that 
 Bull, Brindle, and Bowse were thought to have felt at 
 our presence. The rascals smelt closely at my heels 
 and hands, with an accompaniment of bristling backs 
 and tails, and deep-throated growls. We were no 
 sooner in the house and seated than the goodman him- 
 self arrived, and ordered the kettle to the fire for a " bit 
 of tea." " It would do us good," he said. " When 
 strangers came, he commonly had a bit of tea." His 
 
THE FJSHEUMAiV. 199 
 
 life had been a struggle for food and raiment : such was 
 the tenor of his brief history. Four children were with 
 him ; four were in a better world. Forty years he had 
 been a fisherman. Thirty, on these shores. They came 
 up yearly from Carbonear in the early days of June, 
 cleared the house of ice and snow, and got ready for the 
 fish. Their dogs, which are their only team in New- 
 foundland, would be lo^ if left behind, and so they 
 brought them along to save them. After tea, a fine 
 game-cock took possession of the floor, walking close in 
 front, looking up sideways in an inquisitive and comical 
 manner, and crowing very spiritedly. Hard by, in a box 
 beneath a bed, I caught a glimpse of the red comb of a 
 hen, his only mate. A little, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed 
 girl ran and brought her out as something to surprise 
 and delight us. And so with cock and hen, and chil- 
 dren, the fisherman and his wife, mariner and minister, 
 we were a social party. Thus the human heart spins 
 out its threads of love, and fastens them even to the 
 far-distant rocks of cold and barren Labrador, They took 
 us through their fish-house, which hung like a birdcage 
 among the crags, and afterwards followed us down to 
 the water, and gave our bark a kindly push," and thus 
 we parted." 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 PAINTING THE CAVERN OF GREAT ISLAND, AND QUE SAIL HOME- 
 WARD IN A GALE. 
 
 Two o'clock p, M. The wind lias moderatedj and 
 blows from the land. We sail out upon the eastern or 
 ocean side of G-reat Island. This is not precisely the ex- 
 cursion proposed in the morning, which was to an iceberg 
 in the bay. It is the bestj 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 single blow. 
 It pounced upon us, as it swept over the lofty ridge of the 
 island, in puffs and gusts quite frightful. At one mo- 
 ment, the sails would be without a breath ; at another, 
 the wonder is that they were not burst from their fasten- 
 ings. As the Captain turned into the wind, the boat 
 would jump as if going out of the water. Some training 
 
PAINTING THE CAVERN OF GREAT ISLAND. 201 
 
 is necessary for your landsman to bear this with perfect 
 coolness. After landing us, the Captain, with a couple 
 of men, plays off and on between a fishing-fleet and shore, 
 
 while C paints the particular part of the coast for 
 
 which we have come. 
 
 It consists of what once might have been a grand cav- 
 ern, but now fallen in, and all its cragged gulf opened to 
 the day. Into the yawning portal of this savage chasm 
 plunge the big waves of the Atlantic. In an easterly 
 gale, there is performed in this gloomy theatre no farce 
 of the surges, but the grandest tragedy. In fact, this 
 whole coast, a thousand miles or more, is built up, rather 
 torn down, on the most stupendous scale — vast and shat- 
 tered — terrifically rough — tumult and storm all in horrid 
 stone. It would well pay the painter of coast scenery to 
 spend a fall and mnter upon these shores. The breaking 
 of the waves upon such rocks as these must be an aston- 
 ishing spectacle of power and fury. The charge and the 
 retreat of billows upon slopes of rock so torn and shat- 
 tered, for miles and miles at the same moment, Mr. 
 Hutchinson repeatedly declares, is one of the most bril- 
 liant and imposing sights on earth. Wliile C is 
 
 painting, I have been writing these periods, and clamber- 
 ing the mossy cliffs for plants and flowers. Half-past 7, 
 and Captain Knight below, waiting for us near the mouth 
 
202 OlUi t^All, 110J\1K\VAU1> IN A UALK. 
 
 o( tlu> olmsm. The lLshiiii;--lloct is ditiiporsing, hoiuoward- 
 bouiul, ninl \vo aro now ready to put up paiut and pencil, 
 ami join in llio i;'ouoral run. 
 
 TluMV is notliinj; like a (lasll of pori] to Nvako one up. 
 Now llial, 1 am quielly t^itlin;;- by (lie eabin t-andlesi, I 
 will .^keteh you our passage in. These uoies are usually 
 taken on (he spot ; \\\)on llie occasion (U' Avhieli I am at 
 present speaking, my not e-book was bulUnied in prelly 
 ligbdy in its poeket. 
 
 !( was blowing a gale, but, fortunately for us, from 
 the laud, lu fioui sea., (he same wind would liavo driven 
 all inio the surf Olosc-reefed as wo were, and under the 
 island, with a. eapital craft, and Captain Knight, the 
 very best i)f sailors, it was quite enough for us. We were 
 almost over at limes. The sliarji, short seas thumped 
 our bows like slodge-hanuners. Tlie spray flashed aeross 
 like water iVom an engine, Tliere were the hum and 
 trenddiug of a swiftly revolving wheel. AVhen she eamo 
 into tlu'wind for a taek, all sliook and eraeked again, and 
 then sang on shrill and wildly as shuttle-like we shot to 
 tlie next point of turning. A few small islands make a 
 net-work of channels. Throuo-h this entauirlement we 
 and the fisliing-fleet were now making our way home, 
 crossing and reerossing, shooting here and there, singly 
 and in pairs, with siuls black, white, and red — a lively and 
 
OlJIt HAIL IKJMhWAItl) IN A OAI.K. 203 
 
 picturcBquc bi^ht, and jiiHt tlio pretticHt j»l;iy ju all l,h<; 
 world, in a narrow nt.rait Icadi/i^ i/ilo Uio jiarbor, wc 
 wcro nearly bafllc(i. Tho tempest, for to hucIi it liad in- 
 creaHcd, at Horno moments, seemed to fall iijjon us from 
 above, flattening the swells, and sweeping the spray about 
 as a whirlwind sweeps the dust. Back and f'^rlh we dart- 
 ed between tlie iron shores, wheeling in tlic nick of time, 
 
 and losing nearly as often as wo gained. C and J 
 
 lay close b(;low tlie booms, and watched the strife as one 
 might watch a battle round the comer of a wall. Wrap- 
 pod in heavy overcoats, and wet and chilly, we came, not- 
 withstanding, to enjoy it vastly. C fairly overflowed 
 
 with fun and humor. But what admirable sailors arc 
 these northern seamen, in their schooner whalelxjats 1 
 tlie veiy Tartars and Camanches of the ocean ! They go 
 off to tlio fishing-grounds in stormy weather, and stay 
 with unconquerable patience at their hard and dangerous 
 labor. Under tlio cliffs of Cariboo we glided into calm 
 water, and looked back at the dark and troubled deep, in 
 broad contrast with the clouds and icebergs resplendent 
 with rosy sunlight. 
 
GHAPTEK XLII. 
 
 AFTEK THE ICEBERG OF BELLE ISLE— THE EETEEAT TO CAET- 
 WEIGHT'S TICKLE— BEIDGET KENNEDY'S COTTAGE, AND THE 
 LONELY STEOLL OVEE CAEIBOO. 
 
 Wednesday, July 13. We rise with the inten- 
 tion of spending the day in Belle Isle water to the 
 south, around what we call the Grreat 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 j^as- 
 sage into the south water. We have slipped through 
 that, and are now scudding before a pleasant north- 
 easter, directly toward the castle, and the northern cape 
 of Bell Isle. We are having a long ground-swell, rough- 
 ened with a "lop" or short sea, and the promise of 
 • high wind. The fishing boats, more out to sea, are put- 
 ting in — a signal for our retreat. We confess ourselves 
 beaten for the day, and run for Cartwright's Tickle, a 
 
THE RETREAT TO CARTV/RIGHT'S TICKLE, 205 
 
 small inlet, a mile or so distant. And a merry run of it 
 we are having ; a kind of experience to "wliich we were 
 put yesterday afternoon. Wet witli sjDray, and chilly, 
 we are glad to jump ashore at. Mrs. Bridget Kennedy's 
 fishing-flake. 
 
 Kind woman, she was on the spot to ask us up 
 " to warm, and take a drop of tea," although no later 
 than 10 o'clock. Mrs. Kennedy, a smart Irish widow of 
 Newfoundland, is '' the fisherman ; " and has men and 
 maidens in her employ. While the tea was really 
 refreshing, and the fire acceptable, the smoke was ter- 
 rible — a circumstance over which I wept bitterly, 
 wiping away the tears with one hand, while I j)liGd 
 the hot drink with the other. From this painfully 
 affecting scene I was presently fain to retire to a sunny 
 slope near by, where I was soon joined by my companion 
 in suffering, who indulged himself, perhaps too freely, in 
 remarks that reflected no great credit on the architect 
 and builder of Mrs. Kennedy's summer-house and chim- 
 ney, I cannot say that we wasted, but we whiled away, 
 not overwillingly, the best part of two hours, looking 
 around — looking across a bight of water, at a nest of 
 flakes and huts on the hill-side, to which Swiss cottages 
 are tame — looking over upon the good woman's garden, 
 the merest spot of black, in which there is nothing but 
 
206 BEIDGET KENNEDY'S COTTAGE. 
 
 soil slightly freckled with vegetation, fenced in with old 
 fish-net to keep out the fowls, and a couple of goats — 
 looking at the astonishment of our sailors over a syphon, 
 made from the pliant, hollow stalk of a sea-weed, 
 through which water flowed from the" surface of the sea 
 into a basin placed upon the beach ; quite a magical per- 
 formance they fancied it, until explained. 
 
 Tired of waiting for the wind to lull sufficiently for 
 an escape back by sea, I resolved to foot it over the hiUs 
 to Battle Harbor, and have come off alone. I am sit- 
 ting on the moss, out of the breeze, on the warm side of 
 a crag, " basking in the noontide sun ; disporting here 
 like any other fly." A part of the aforesaid amusement 
 consists in scribbling these notes, and especially the ones 
 relating our enjoyments and trials at hospitable Bridget 
 Kennedy's. 
 
 From the hill-top above rae I had a wide prospect 
 of the dark, rough ocean ; and of darker and rougher 
 land. Looking westerly, what should I discover but the 
 painter, silent and motionless, looking out from another 
 hiU-top .? Beyond him, far inland, is a chain of purple 
 mountains, lording it over the surrounding tumult of 
 brown and sterile hills, in the mossy valleys of which, 
 they say, are dwarf woods of birch and spruce, pretty 
 brooks, and reaches of blue sea- water. 
 
THE LONELY STROLL OVER CARIBOO. 207 
 
 I have turned my walk back to the vessel, into a 
 regular holiday stroll, jotting down from time to time 
 whatever happens to please me. These deep amphi- 
 theatres opening out of the hills to the sea, are quite 
 charming, and novelties in landscape. And how almost 
 painfully still they arc ! But for the dull roar of the 
 surf, they would he silent as paintings. The cloudless 
 sun, pouring its July brightness into them, gives them a 
 hot-house sultriness ; and, in their moist places, almost 
 a hot-house growth. The universal moss, the turf of the 
 country, carpets their depths and graceful slopes, and 
 lies upon their shelves like the richest rugs ; bright red, 
 green, and yellow, and sprinkled with small, sweet- 
 smelling flowers. Along the margin of the sea all is 
 cracked and slashed, and has no pretty beach. Here 
 now is a fast little brook, eagerly driving its spirited 
 steed down one of these rocky cuts. Pleased with its 
 speed, it hurras and cracks its whip, and swings its 
 white-plumed cap, all in its way, as if rivers were look- 
 ing on, and cataracts were listening with delight. Silly 
 rivulet ! it sounds like water in a mill-wheel, and will in 
 a moment more be lost in the great deep. Here again, 
 a few steps higher up the vale, the rill expands into a 
 pool, daintily cushioned round its edges. I lie down 
 and drink ; kneel down and wash my hands ; wash my 
 
208 THE LONELY STROLL OVER CARIBOO. 
 
 handkercliief and spread it in tlie sun to dry. Poor little 
 fishes ! They dart and dodge about^ as if they had never 
 felt before the look of a human face. Over there is a 
 bed of grass, luxuriant as grain, witb a sprinkling of those 
 cotton-tufted rushes. And I sing, as I sang in my boy- 
 hood : 
 
 " Green grow the rushes, ! 
 'Tis neither you nor I do know, 
 How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow." 
 
 After this lyrical feat, I straighten up, and look all 
 around, to see if any one hears me, but only catch a 
 glimpse of a tiny waterfall ; a little virgin all in white, 
 spinning her silvery thread, as she looks out of her cham- 
 ber window among the rocks above. For all the world ! 
 Here comes a fly — one of our own house flies — the same 
 careless, familiar fellow, whose motto is : " The dwelling 
 owes me a living." Now what do you espect, you self- 
 complacent little vagabond, standing here on my hand, 
 and rubbing your head at this rate, looking me in the 
 face, with all the thousand eyes you have, and none of 
 the modesty of bugs finely dressed, and vastly your supe- 
 rior ? I do suppose myself the first Yankee here, and 
 here you are. Away with you ! I have a mind to run 
 up yonder soft and sunny hill-side, and roll over and over 
 to the bottom. I did run up the hill-side, but not to roll 
 
THE LONELY STEOLL OVER CARIBOO. 209 
 
 back to the foot of it, on this most springy of all turfs. 
 I sat down and panted, wiping the moisture from my 
 forehead, and breathing the cool ocean breeze. A half 
 hour's walk brought me over to the brow of the moun- 
 tain, with the harbor and its vessels at my feet. 
 
CHAPTEE XLIII. 
 
 THE ICEBEEG OF THE EIGUEE-HEAD.— THE GLOEY AND THE MUSIC 
 OP THE SEA AT EVENING. 
 
 Late in the afternoon^ and tlie breeze gone down. 
 We are ofif on tlie gentle rollers of tlie Bay of St. Louig^ 
 after a low, broad iceberg, covering, say, an acre of sur- 
 face, 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 fragments is white, with tints 
 of green, touched here and there with what seems to be 
 the most delicate bronze and gilding ; every crevice, 
 where there is a shadow lurking, is a blue, the purity 
 and softness of which cannot be described nor easily 
 imagined. To one who has any feeling for color, it has 
 a sentiment as sweet as any thing in all visible nature. A 
 pure, white surface, like this fine opaque ice, seen through 
 
THE ICEBERG OF THE FIGURE-HEAD. 211 
 
 deep shade produces blue, and such a blue as oue sees 
 in the stainless sky when it is full of warmth and light. 
 It is quite beyond the rarest ultramarine of the painter. 
 The lovely azure appears to pervade and fill the hollows 
 like so much visible atmosphere or smoke. One almost 
 looks to see it float out of the crystal ceils where it re- 
 poses, and thin away into colorless air. 
 
 We have just been honored by a royal salute from 
 the walls of the alabaster fortress. Our kind ans-els will 
 keep us at a safer distance than we are disposed to keep 
 ourselves. A projecting table has fallen with that pecu- 
 liarly startling crack, quick as lightning and loud as 
 thunder. It seems impossible for my nerves to become 
 accustomed to the shock. I tremble, in spite of myself, 
 as one does after a fright. The explosion unquestionably 
 has the voice of the earthquake and volcano. To my 
 surprise, I find myself with cold feet and headache — those 
 unfaihng symptoms of sea-sickness. By the jDainful ex- 
 pression of his face, I suspect the painter is even worse 
 off than myself. It is impossible to avoid feeling both 
 vexed and amused at this companionship in misery. In 
 his case, the climax has been attained. Laying down 
 bcx and brushes with uncommon emphasis, he made a 
 rapid movement to the edge of the boat, and looked over 
 at his own image reflected in the glassy, oily-rolling 
 
212 GLORY AND MUSIC OF THE SEA AT EVENING. 
 
 swell, with loud and violent demonstrations of disagree- 
 ment with himself. After this unhappy outbreak, he 
 wiped away the tears, and returned suhdued and com- 
 posed to the gentler employment of the paint-box. 
 
 It is nearly nine o'clock in the evening, with the 
 downiest clouds dropped around the retiring sun. What 
 light must be behind them to fill them with such wealth 
 of color, and dye their front with such rich and varied 
 red ! The very waves below bloom with a crimson 
 
 splendor. C has finished his pictures, and we row 
 
 around the berg, a singularly irregular one, both above 
 and below the surface. The surrounding water, to the 
 eye nearly black, is irradiated, star-like, with tracts of 
 the clear, tender green. The effect upon us is inde- 
 scribably fine. I think of deep down caverns of light 
 shining up through the dark sea. The blocks and bowl- 
 ders, wrecks of former towers, which lie scattered and in 
 heaps upon the main berg, are like the purest alabaster 
 on their outer and upper sides, but of that heavenly 
 azure in their fissures and spaces, although wrapped in 
 the one great shade of evening. We now pause at the 
 corner of the ice, and look down both its northern and 
 western fronts ; the upper stories, to all appearance, in 
 rough marble — the lower, polished as a mirror. Almost 
 over us, a Grreek-like figure-head, sculptured from shin- 
 
GLOKY AND MUSIC OF THE SEA AT EVENING. 213 
 
 ing crystal, gazes with serene majesty uiDon the white 
 daylight in the northwest. Possessed with the mournful 
 and nearly supernatural beauty, we forget the dangers of 
 this intimacy. There is a strange fascination, and par- 
 ticularly at this hour, that draws like the fabulous music 
 of the Sirens. We are headed homeward, riding silently 
 over the glassy waves. The surf rings in the hollows of 
 the iceberg, and sounds upon the shores like the last 
 blows of the weary day. 
 
CHAPTBE XLIV. 
 
 CAPE ST. CHAELES.— THE EIP VAN WINKLE BEKG.— THE GKEAT 
 CASTLE BEEG.— STUDIES OF ITS DIFFERENT FRONTS. 
 
 Thuksday, 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 crystalliza- 
 tions, and tinged with green and yellow mosses soft as 
 plush, the' rocks are frequently very heautiful. Foremost 
 along the coast, reaching southwest into the straits of 
 Belle Isle, is Cape St. Charles, a brown promontory, rising, 
 as it recedes from the sea, into rocky hills tinged with a 
 pale green, the moss-pastures of the reindeer. Beyond the 
 cape is a bay with mountain shores, not unlike those of 
 Lake G-eorge. The fine smoke-like shadow along their 
 

 L^v^ 
 
 O 
 
 W 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 .1—1 
 
 w 
 oq 
 w 
 o 
 
THE KIP VAN WINKLE BERG. 215 
 
 sides is dapj)led with olive-green and yellowish tracts of 
 moss and shrubbery. The annual expenditure of nature, 
 on those poor mountains, for clothing and decoration is 
 very small. She furnishes holiday suits of cheap and 
 flimsy cloud, and the showy jewelry of the passing show- 
 ers, but refuses any bounteous outlay for the rich and 
 sumptuous apparel of green fields and forests. Beneath 
 those sunny but desolate heights, there slumbers, in the 
 purple, calm waters, an iceberg with a form and expression 
 that harmonize with the landscape. I would call it the 
 Rip Van Winkle iceberg. It seems to have been lying 
 down, but now to be half up, reposing upon its elbow. 
 Its head, recently pillowed on the drowsy swells, wears a 
 shapeless, peaked hat, from the tip of which is dropping 
 silvery rain through the warm, dreamy air. Between the 
 calm and the currents, our oarsmen are having a warm 
 time of it, I lay hold and labor until my hands smart, 
 and I feel that hot weather has come at last to Labrador. 
 We rest in front of the Great Castle Berg, the grand 
 capitol of the city of icebergs now in the waters of Belle 
 Isle, and, if I except the Windsor Castle Berg which we 
 saw founder, the largest we have seen, and, what is most 
 likely, the largest we ever shall see. We merely guess at 
 tlic dimensions. Sailing up the Niagara, in the little 
 steamer, how wide should you judge the fiills to be from 
 
216 THE GREAT CASTLE BERG. 
 
 Table Eock across to the liorse-shoe tower ? I judge 
 this ice-front to be two-thirds that width, and quite as 
 high, if not higher, than the cataract. If this were float- 
 ed up into that grand bend of Niagara, I think it would 
 fill a large part of it very handsomely, with a tower rising 
 sufficiently above the brink of the fall to be seen from the 
 edge of the river for some distance above. Imagine the 
 main sheet, reaching from Table Eock toward the Horse- 
 shoe, to be silent ice, and you will have no very wrong no- 
 tion of the ice before us at this moment. I do not mean 
 to say that it has the bend of the great cataract, for it is 
 on this side quite devoid of flowing lines, and abounds 
 with, the perpendicular and horizontal for about fifty feet 
 from the water, when the long and very level lines begin 
 to be crossed by a fluted surface, resembling the folds 
 of carefully arranged drapery hanging gracefully from the 
 serrated line at the top. No other side will present this 
 view at all. Change of XDOsition gives an iceberg almost 
 as many appearances as a cumulous cloud assumes at sun- 
 set in the summer sky. 
 
 We have rounded an angle to the southern front, and 
 look upon a precipice of newly broken alabaster crowned 
 with a lofty peak and pinnacles. A slight sketch seems 
 to satisfy the painter, and so we pass round to the eastern 
 or ocean side, at which Captain Knight, an experienced 
 
STUDIES OF ITS DIFFERENT FRONTS. 217 
 
 iceberger, expresses both delight and surprise. It is a 
 cluster of Alpine mountains in miniature : peaks, preci- 
 pices, slopes and gorges, a wondrous multitude of shining 
 things, the general effect of which is imposing and sub- 
 lime. We have been looking out from Battle Island 
 upon this for days, and never dreamed of all this world 
 of forms so grand and beautiful. Besides the main, there 
 are two smaller bergs, but all nothing more than the 
 crowning towers and spires of the great mass under the 
 sea. Here is quite a little bay with two entrances, in 
 which the pale emerald waves dash and thunder, washing 
 the pearly shores, and wearing out glassy caverns. The 
 marvellous beauty of these ices prompts one to speak in 
 language that sounds extravagant. Had our forefathers 
 lived along these seas, and among these wonders, we 
 should have had a language better fitted to describe 
 tliem. I can easily suppose that there must be a strong 
 descriptive element in the Icelandic, and even in the 
 Greenlandic tongues. I am quite tired of the words : 
 emerald, pea-green, pearl, sea-shells, crystal, porcelain and 
 sapphire, ivory, marble and alabaster, snowy and rosy, 
 Alps, cathedrals, towers, pinnacles, domes and spires. I 
 could fling them all, at this moment, upon a large descrip- 
 tive fire, and the blaze would not be sufficiently brilliant 
 
 to light the mere reader to the scene. I will give it up, 
 10 
 
218 STUDIES OF ITS DIFFERENT FEONTS. 
 
 at least for the present, and remark merely that we have 
 received what the French newspapers occasionally receive 
 — a warning. It came in the shape of a smart cracking 
 of rifles in some large reverberating hall. There is un- 
 douhtedly at hand the finest opportunity one could wish 
 of witnessing an ice-fall. As it is now nearly 8 o'clock 
 p. M., and the painting done, we shall take a hasty leave, 
 and content ourselves with a distant view of ice- exhibi- 
 tions, tame as they arc, when contrasted with those more 
 dangerously close by. Our men have had some trouble 
 in keeping the boat up to the berg in the right place for 
 painting, (so powerful is the current on this side setting 
 away,) and are glad of a change. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE SAIL FOR ST. CHAELES MOUNTAIN.— THE SALMON FISIIEE9.— 
 THE CAVEPvN OF THE ST. CHAELES MOUNTAIN.— BUETONS COT- 
 TAGE.— MAGNIFICENT SCENE FEOM ST. CHAELES MOUNTAIN.— 
 THE PAINTING OF THE EIP VAN WINKLE BEKG.— THE ICE-VASE, 
 AND THE EETUEN BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Our sails are up, and wo glide landward, stopping to 
 warm at a hut on a rocky islet. Two young fellows, en- 
 gaged here in the salmon fishery, welcomed us to their 
 cabin, and soon made their rusty old cooking-stove hot 
 enough. The salmon are taken veiy much like our river 
 shad, in nets set in sheltered waters. We have frequent- 
 ly sailed past them, and seen the salmon entangled in the 
 meshes at quite a depth in the clear sea water, where 
 they have the singular appearance of yellow serpents 
 writhing and bounding in the folds of the seine — an op- 
 tical illusion caused by the distorting and magnifying 
 effects of the rolling surface. These young fishermen 
 
-2'10 THE OAVKRN OF ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN. 
 
 havo several hogsheads lillod, and are about closing up 
 for the season. Thoy wore not. a little amused with the 
 idea of onr ooniing so tar to visit icebergs, but expressed 
 surprise that ayo woulil rnn the risk of being close about 
 them in such warm weather. After a walk over their 
 island, the merest ci*est of rough rocks, in a storm washed 
 very nearly froifii end to end, we set oif for St. Charles 
 Mountain, quite lofty and rising perpendicularly from the 
 sea. It is gashed and pierced with black chasms, some 
 of which arc whitened with a kind of snowy glacier. Wo 
 are now approaching a cavern to all appearance spacious 
 enough for the dusk of a very pretty little twilight, with 
 a doorway fifty feet in Avidth and a clear three hundred 
 feet hisrh. The summit of the hill is six hundred and 
 twenty feet above the tide, and the square-headed portal 
 reaches all but half-way up. The ocean goes deep homo 
 to the precipice, and so we sail right in. With the wet, 
 black walls and the chilly shade behind, we look back 
 upon the bright, sparkling sea and the sinning icebergs. 
 The sound of the waves rings and rolls tlirough the huge 
 space like the deep bass of a mighty organ. We retreat 
 slowly, rising antl sinking on the dark, inky swells ccdning 
 in, and steer for Mr. Burton's, the sole inhabitant of the 
 sniall bay close by, whore we hope for supper. 
 
 Between onr landing and ihe snp]ier, two luturs 
 
BCENE Fi;OM HT. CJIAJiLliB MOUNTAIN. 221 
 
 passed, during which C painted the Kip Van Winkle 
 
 berg, and 1 ascended the mountain. Crossing a little 
 dell to the west of the house, through which flow a 
 couple of tinkling rills bordered with rank grass, and 
 sheeted with flowers white and fragrant, I struck the 
 foot of a small glacier, or chasm filled with perpetual 
 snow, and commenced the ascent. At first I was 
 pleased with the notion of climbing this rner-dc-neige, 
 and went up right merrily, crossing and recrossing, 
 stepping sharjjly into the thawing surface in order 
 to secure a good foothold. But as I wound my way 
 up the cold track, beginning to bo walled in by savage 
 crags, it seemed so lonesome, and sounded so hollow 
 below, and looked so far down and steep behind me, 
 that I became suspicious, and afraid, and timidly crept 
 out upon its icy edge, and leaped to the solid cliff. By 
 this time I was too warm with a heavy overcoat, and left 
 it hanging upon a rock against my return. Cold and 
 windy as it was, I was glowing with heat when I 
 reached the top. 
 
 The prospect was a new one to me, although long 
 accustomed to mountain views, and more impressive 
 than any thing of the kind I can remember. Rather 
 more than half of the great circle was filled with the 
 ocean ; the remainder was Labrador, a most desolate 
 
222 SCENE EllOM ST. ClIAllLES MOUNTAIN. 
 
 extent of small rocky mountains, faintly tinted here and 
 there with a greenish gray, and frequently slanting down 
 to lakes and inlets of the sea. It may be said that 
 Neptune, setting his net of blue waters along this 
 solitary land, sprung it at last and caught it full of 
 these hony hills, so hopelessly hard and barren, that 
 he, poor old follow, appears to have thought it never 
 worth his trouble to look after either net or game. 
 Quite in the interior were a few summits higher than 
 the St. Charles, the one upon which I was standing. 
 The sun was looking red and fiery through long lines 
 and bars of dun clouds, and shed his rays in streams 
 that bathed the stern and gloomy -waste with wonder- 
 ful brightness. Seaward, the prospect exceeds any power 
 of mine at description, I have no expectation of wit- 
 nessing again any such magnificence in that field of 
 nature. Poets and painters will hereafter behold it, 
 and feel how suggestive it is of facts and truths, past, 
 present, and to come. The coast — that irregular and 
 extended lino far north, and far away south and west, 
 upon which the ocean and the continent embrace and 
 wrestle — with its reefs and islets, inlets, bays, and capes, 
 waves breaking into snowy foam, twilight shadows 
 streaming out upon the sea from behind the headlands, 
 and the lights of sunset glancing through the gorges and 
 
SCENE FliOM ST. CHAKLES MOUNTAIN, 223 
 
 valleys of the shore, all combined to weave a fringe of 
 glory both for land and ocean. The sky over the ocean 
 was of great extent, and gave a wonderful breadth and 
 vastness to the water. There was truly " the face of 
 the deep." And a most awful, yet a glorious counte- 
 nance it was, and most exquisitely complexioned, re- 
 flecting faintly both the imagery and the hues of heaven, 
 the bright, the purple and the blue, the saffron and the 
 rosy. Belle Isle, with its steep shores reddening with 
 light, lay in the south, lovely to look upon but desolate 
 in reality, and often fatal to the mariner. Looking 
 farther south and southwest, a dark line lay along the 
 sky — the coast of Newfoundland. I was lookirig up the 
 straits of Belle Isle. All the sea in that quarter, under 
 the last sunlight, shone like a pavement of amethyst, 
 over which all the chariots of the earth might have 
 rolled, and all its cavalry wheeled with ample room. 
 Wonderful to behold ! it was only a fair field for the 
 steepled icebergs, a vast metropolis in ice, pearly white 
 and red as roses, glittering in the sunset. Solemn, still, 
 and half-celestial scene ! In its presence, cities, tented 
 fields, and fleets dwindled into toys. I said aloud, but 
 low : " The City of God ! The sea of glass ! the plains 
 of heaven " ! The sweet notes of a wood-thrush, now 
 lost in the voices of the wind, and then returning 
 
224 SCENE FEOM ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN, 
 
 with soft murmurs of the surf, recalled me from the 
 reverie into which I had lapsed unconsciously, and I 
 descended carefully the front of the mountain until I 
 stood just above the portal of the lofty cavern into which 
 we had sailed. The fishing-boats in a neighboring cove, 
 moored for the night, appeared like corks upon the dark 
 water, and Burton's house like the merest box. He was 
 just ashore from his salmon-nets, and was tossing the 
 shining fishes from his boat to the rocks. I counted 
 seven. 
 
 Coming round upon the northern slope, I was 
 tempted by the mossy footing to try the reindeer 
 method, and went bounding to the right and left until 
 I was brought up waist-deep in a thicket of crisp and 
 fragrant evergreens. When I say thicket, do not fancy 
 any ordinary cluster of shrubs, such as is common, for 
 example, among the Catskills, This, of which I am 
 speaking, and which is found spotting these cold hill- 
 sides, is a perfect forest in miniature, covering a space 
 twenty or thirty feet across, compact as a phalanx of 
 soldiery, and from three feet to six inches high. In fact, 
 it reminds me of a train-band standing straight and trim, 
 and bristling with bayonets. The little troop looked as 
 if it was marching up the mountain, the taller ones in 
 front, and the little inch-fellows following in the rear, all 
 
SCENE FROM ST. CHARLES MOUNTAIN. 225 
 
 keeping step and time. There are gentlemen on the 
 Hudson and around our cities, that would give a thou- 
 sand dollars for such a tiny little wood. It is an ex- 
 quisite curiosity, and must excel the dwarf shrubbery 
 of the Japanese. The little trees — no mere yearhngs 
 playing forest — are venerable with moss and lichens, 
 and bear the symbols of suffering and experience. All 
 are well-developed, complete trees, mimicking the forms 
 and the ways of majestic firs. The lower boughs droop 
 with a sad, mournful air, and their pointed tops look up 
 into the sunshine and down upon the minute shrubbery 
 below, with the gloomy repose of dark, old pines. It 
 made me laugh. As I waded through the pigmy woods, 
 running my fingers through the loftier tops, as I would 
 run them through the hair of a curly-headed child, and 
 stepping over hills and dales of green forest, I was 
 highly amused, both at the little woodlands and the 
 moral of the thing. Cutting an armful of the sweet- 
 scented branches, and thinking of the children at home 
 as I dinted the mossy pincushions bright as worsted- 
 work all over the ground, I hastened to regain my coat, 
 and get down to the fisherman's. The painter soon 
 came in, when we sat down to an excellent supper of 
 tea and fried salmon, and presently set sail by moon- 
 light. 
 
 10* 
 
226 PAINTING THE lilP VAN WINKLE BERG. 
 
 Among the incidents of painting the berg, C~ 
 
 related one of some novelty. It was in deep water, 
 but close to the shore, and so nicely poised that it 
 was evidently standing tiptoe-like on some point, and 
 vibrating largely at every discharge of ice. Near by as 
 it was, ho could paint from the shore with security — a 
 rare chance in summer. A heavier fall than usual 
 from the part fronting the land was followed by corre- 
 spondingly large vibrations, leaving the berg, after it 
 had settled to rest, leaning toward the sea with new 
 exposures of ice. Among these was an isolated mass 
 i-esembling a superbly fashioned vase. Quite ajjart from 
 the parent berg, and close to the rocks, it first appeared 
 slowly rising out of the sea like some work of enchant- 
 ment, ascending higher and higher until it stood, in the 
 dark waters before him, some twenty feet in height — a 
 finely proportioned vase, pure as pearl or alabaster, and 
 shining with the -tints of emerald and sapphire through- 
 out its manifold flutings and decorations. It was act- 
 ually startling. As it was ascending from the sea, the 
 water in the Titanic vase, an exquisite 23ale green, 
 spouted in all directions from the corrugated brim, and 
 the waves leaped wp and covered its pedestal and stem 
 with a drift of sparkling foam. While in the process of 
 painting this almost magical and beautiful apparition, 
 
THE ICK-VASE, AND THE llETUUN BY MOONLIGHT. 227 
 
 nearly one half of the bowl burst off with the crack of a 
 rifle, and fell with a heavy plunge into the sea. How 
 much in olden times would have been made of this ! In 
 the twilight of truth it is easy to see that there is but 
 a step, an easy and a willing step, from plain facts into 
 wild and fanciful forms of superstition. On our way 
 back to harbor, wo passed the Kip Van Winkle iceberg, 
 and saw his broken goblet pale and spectral in the moon- 
 light. How lengthy will be the slumbers of the ven- 
 erable wanderer beneath the shadows of the mountain, 
 there is none but the hospitable Burtons to report. 
 For their sakcs, whose salmon-nets his ponderous move- 
 ments along shore have greatly disturbed, it is to be 
 hoped he will speedily perish and be buried where he is, 
 or wake up and be off to sea with the dignity befitting 
 an iceberg of so much character. 
 
CHAPTEE XLVI. 
 
 AFTER OUE LAST ICEBEEG.— THE ISLES.— TWILIGHT BEAUTIES OF 
 ICEBEEGS.— MIDNIGHT ILLUMINATION. 
 
 Feiday, 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 loiter- 
 ing 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 attended with 
 their pains as well as pleasures. From .the tenor of my 
 pages one would think that all was joyous and interest- 
 ing. Let him reflect, that for his sake I record the joy- 
 ous and the interesting, and pass by the dull and the 
 vexatious. I flit from frowning cffff to cliff where the 
 surf thunders and Leviathan spends his holiday among 
 the capelin, and linger in the sunshine and shadow of 
 
AFTER OUR LAST ICEBERG, 229 
 
 an iceberg, the clioicest among fifty, but give you but a 
 suspicion of the common things between. The spark- 
 ling points of the life of this novel voyage are for the 
 reader's eye ; the chill and the weariness, and the sea- 
 sickness, and the mass of things, lumpish and brown in 
 " the light of common day," are for that tomb of the 
 Capulets away back in the fields of one's own memory. 
 But to return : this kind of life begins to wear upon us, 
 to wear upon the nerves, and suggests the importance of 
 keeping dull and still awhile. 
 
 I find myself looking towards home, looking that way 
 over the sea from the hill-tops, and rather dreading the 
 rough and tumble and chances of the journey. I regret 
 that time will not permit a continuation of the voyage, 
 at least as far as Sandwich Bay, where the mountains 
 are now covered with snow. We shall visit, this after- 
 noon and evening, our last iceberg, and mainly for some 
 experiments with lights. The rocks here, among which 
 I saunter, are a kind of gallery tufted with wild grass 
 and herbage, up to which a few goats climb from the 
 dwellings near our vessel, and upon a patch of which I 
 lounge and scribble. If there were any spirit in me, the 
 fine prospect, although somewhat familiar, would awaken 
 some fresh thoughts and feelings. One thought comes 
 swelling up from the sluggish depths — it is this : There 
 
230 AFTER OUR LAST ICEBERG. 
 
 is a fascination in these northern seas, with their ices and 
 their horrid shores. The arctic voyagers feel and act 
 under its impulse. I can understand their readiness to 
 return to polar scenes. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, sailing up the hay, after an 
 ugly iceherg of no particular shape or remarkahle at- 
 traction. In New York Bay, it would be thought a 
 most splendid thing, and so indeed it would be ; but here, 
 in contrast with the great berg of Belle Isle "water, and 
 many others, it is a small matter, a harmless and dull 
 specimen of its kind. Its merit is its convenience. 
 And yet, let me tell you, we pause in our approach at 
 a distance of seventy yards. I am not willing to go 
 any nearer upon this, the cliff side. The agent, Mr. 
 Bendle, told us this morning, that when he first came 
 from England to these shores, he was fond of playing 
 about icebergs, and once rowed a boat under a lofty arch, 
 passing quite through the berg, a thing that he could not 
 now be persuaded to attempt. The wind blows rather 
 strongly, and we lie to the leeward of the ice, rolling 
 quite too much for painting. There is no accounting for 
 these currents which flow in upon, and flow away from 
 these bergs. The submarine ice so interferes with the 
 upper and lower streams that the surface water rolls and 
 whirls in a manner upon which you cannot calculate. 
 
THE ISLES. 231 
 
 Under the leeward here, one would naturally suppose 
 that the current would set toward the ice, and req[uire an 
 effort on our part to keep away. The contrary is the 
 case. Two good oars arc busy in order to hold us up to 
 our present position. The wind and the swell increase, 
 and so we make sail and scud to some small islands dis- 
 tant half a mile. We moor our boat under the shelter 
 of the rocks and clamber up, look around upon the ruins 
 washed and rusty, and take a run. 
 
 At seven o'clock I sit down on the warm side of a 
 crag, and look about with the intention of seeing what 
 there is worth looking at in a spot to which one might 
 flee who was tired of seeing too much. Upon the word 
 of a quiet man, I find myself in the very middle of the 
 beautiful, and ought to be thankful that we are here, 
 and wish that we might be sufiered to come again. And 
 what is there here ? Wise men have written volumes 
 over less. I do not know but here are groups of the 
 South Sea Isles in miniature. For example, separated 
 from us by a narrow gulf of water, and such clear, bright 
 water, is an islet with a ridge, a kind of half-moon crest, 
 carpeted with olive-tinted moss, over which the lone sun 
 pours a stream of almost blinding light. What glory 
 the God of nature sheds upon these rugged outworks of 
 the earth ! The painter that could faithfully repeat 
 
232 THE ISLES. 
 
 upon canvas this one effect of light would leave Claude 
 and Cole, and the like, far enough behind to be forgotten. 
 The wind is lulling ; the sun touches and seems to burn 
 the crest of the island opposite, after eight o'clock. 
 
 C is finishing a sketch ; the Captain and "I have 
 
 been hunting the sea-pigeons' nests, a pair of which keep 
 flying off and on ; and now the men are making the boat 
 ready for our twilight and evening play around "the 
 ugly iceberg." How glad the poor little family of ducks 
 must be, from whose home we have driven them, that we 
 are going away. They have been pretending to swim off, 
 and yet have managed to keep back near enough to watch 
 us over the shoulder, ever since we arrived. Timid, 
 cunning feUows, how much they appear to know ! A 
 stone disperses them, some to the wing and some to the 
 bottom ; and now here they are again, all riding the 
 same swell, and seeming to swim away while they watch 
 our motions, continually turning their slick, black heads 
 quickly over the shoulder. 
 
 If you would look upon the perfectly white and pure, 
 see an iceberg between you and the day's last red 
 heavens. If you would behold perfect brilliancy, gaze 
 at the crest of an iceberg cutting sharply into those 
 same red heavens. To all appearance it will burn and 
 scintillate like a crown of costly gems. In all its 
 
TWILIGHT BEAUTIES. 233 
 
 notched, zigzag and flowing outline, it palpitates and 
 glitters as if it were bordered with the very lightning. 
 He that watches the Andean clouds of a July sunset, 
 and beholds them rimmed, now with pink and rose-hues, 
 and now with golden fire, will see the edges of an iceberg 
 when it stands against the sky glowing with the yellow 
 and orange blaze of sunset. We go to the skies for pure 
 azure ; you will find it at twilight in these wonderful 
 Greenland ices. I am looking now upon what mimics 
 the ruins of a tower, every block of which, in one light, 
 gleams like crystal ; in another, as if they had been 
 quarried from the divinest sky. Cloud-like and smoke- 
 like, they look light as the cerulean air. This, as I have 
 said already, is the eifect of perfect white seen through 
 deep, transparent shadow. True azure is the necessary 
 result. More than enough, it would seem, has been said 
 of these forms and colors. But really the eye never 
 wearies of these arctic palaces so grandly corniced and 
 pillared ; these sculptures so marvellously draped. As 
 we gaze at them, even in this meagre and common berg, 
 under this delicate light veiled with the dusk of evening, 
 they are astonishing in their beauty. I look at them 
 with joyful emotions, with wonder and with love. Why 
 do they not rustle with a silken, satin rustle ? 
 
 After dark, we sailed round to the northern ex- 
 
234 MJDNJCiJi'r ILLUMll^ATJON. 
 
 trcmily, where Iroin the lowncss of the ice it was more 
 Kiife to approaeli it, ami dropped Bail iu order to experi- 
 ment with the blue lights furnished us by the governor. 
 Kowiiig up qiiito closely, within eight yards perhaps, 
 
 C , wlu) Htood ready upon the bow, fired a conple. 
 
 In tho smoke and glare " we were a ghastly crew," while 
 the berg was rather obscured than beautified. Wo then 
 rowed round to tho side where the current was sotting 
 rapidly towards tlie ice, and launched a flaming tar- 
 barrel. With a stone for ballast, it kept upright, and 
 iloated ill line style directly into the fiice of tho berg — 
 an irregular clilf t)f sixty feet, pierced with caverns. It 
 was kept for some time under a succession of the bright- 
 est flashes of pink light. Upon one slope of tlio swells 
 the slieaf of red flames gushing from the barrel would be 
 turned from, on tho otlicr, toward the ice. Thus tho 
 whole eastern front was kept changing from light to 
 darkness, from darkness to light. As the brightness was 
 flung back and forth from tho sea to the berg, and from 
 the berg to the sea, tho cfl'cct was exceedingly novel and 
 beautiful. When the swells bore the full-blown torcb 
 into a cave, and its ruddy tongues were licking the green, 
 glassy arches, avo hoisted sail and went gaily bounding 
 ba.ek (o liarbor. For a Avhile, the fire shot its fitful 
 rays over the lonely waters, and gleamed " like a star in 
 
MIDNIGHT ILLUMINATION. 235 
 
 tlic midst of tlic ocean." At last it was qucuclicd in the 
 distant gloom. A ghostly figure with dim outline was 
 all tliat was visihle, and our work and play with icebergs 
 were over — over forever. It was midnight and past, when 
 Ave dropped sails alongside the vessel, after a quick run, 
 enlivened, as we entered the harbor, by a sudden display 
 of the northern-liirht. 
 
CHAPTEK XLVII. 
 
 FAEEWELL TO BATTLE HAEBOE.— THE STEAITS OP BELLE ISLE.— 
 LABEADOE LANDSCAPES.— THE WEECK OF THE FISHEEMEK 
 
 Satueday, 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 formally parted yesterday, as well as from 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bendle, of whose hospitality we bear away 
 agreeable recollections. 
 
 And now the broad Atlantic is before, and Cape 
 St. Louis, its waters and its ices, behind the intervening 
 islands. The signal staffs of Battle and Cariboo Islands 
 are yet visible from the high rocks that overlook that 
 busy nest of fishermen, with its steepled church and par- 
 
FAREWELL TO BATTLE HARBOR. 237 
 
 sonage. God's love abido with the man that lives there. 
 
 and ministers to the religious wants of men, women, and 
 children, who have little else than respect and affection 
 to make his home comfortable and happy. While kind 
 hearts, and none kinder than those of the Esquimaux, 
 throb beneath rough manners and uncomely raiment, 
 there are wicked spirits there, no doubt, as everywhere, 
 that hurt and hinder, and never help, and render the 
 solitary path among the rocks insufferably lonesome and 
 painful. The remembrances of famous and beloved kin- 
 dred, of old and honored Cambridge, and of the quiet 
 rectory under the Malvern Hills, are much to a cultivated 
 and sensitive nature ; the bliss that flows from daily 
 duties cheerfully done with an habitual resignation to the 
 will of God, and with hopes of glory in the future, is 
 more than recollections, to a heart whose motive powers 
 are Christian faith and love. But amid all the sweetest 
 memories, and the brightest hopes, and the comforting 
 satisfaction of believing well and doing well, it is a fear- 
 ful thing for cultivated man to toil in solitude and de- 
 privation. Although heaven is above him, and his path- 
 way certainly upward, yet a double portion of all those 
 good and perfect gifts coming from above, be awarded to 
 the man whose parish is in Labrador ; who, when he 
 leaves the still companionship of books for the toils of the 
 
238 THE STRAITS OF BELLE ISLE. 
 
 gospel from door to door, must take down either Ms oars 
 or his snow-shoes, and sweep over the snow-drift or the 
 billow. 
 
 We now beat slowly up the straits of Belle Isle for the 
 Gulf of St. Lawrence, hoping to pass these dangerous 
 waters by daylight. They are very fair to look upon at 
 this time of day, studded in all directions with those shin- 
 ing palaces of ice seen from the top of St. Charles Moun- 
 tain. Tlie coast hills have a graceful outhne, and slant 
 quite smoothly down, abutting on the sea in low broken 
 cliffs. They resemble the hills of Maine and Canada 
 after April thaws, while the heavier snow-drifts yet re- 
 main, and the yellow brown sod is patched with faint 
 green. Forsaken country ! if that can be called forsaken 
 which appears never to have been possessed. Doleful and 
 neglected land ! Chilly solitude keeps watch over your 
 unvisited fields, and frightens away the glory of the fruit- 
 ful seasons. The loving sunshine and the healing warmth 
 wander hand in hand tenderly abroad, calling upon the 
 lowly moss to wake up and blossom, and to the tiny, 
 half-smothered, flattened willows to rise and walk along 
 tlio brook banks. But the white-coated police of winter, 
 the grim snow-drifts, watch on the craggy battlements 
 of desolation, and luxuriance and life peep from their 
 (hirk colls only \o sink back pale and spiritless. To a 
 
LABRADOR LANDSCAPES. 239 
 
 traveller there is real beauty on the tawny desert ami the 
 wild prairie ; but there is to nie an awful louesomcncss 
 and gloom in these houseless wastes where the eye with 
 an insane perverscness will keep looking for cottage 
 smokes and pasture fences. I think of landscapes drying 
 off after the flood. 
 
 The bergs are in part behind us, and wc are rocking 
 on the easy swells of llenly Harbor, where wo can glean 
 no more signs of human " toil and trouble " than arc just 
 enough to tio a name to, and quite a pretty name too. 
 The lazy sails flap idly in the sunshine, and the cold air 
 cuts with the sharpness of a frosty October morning. I 
 sit in the July heat with overcoat, and cloak over the over- 
 coat, woollen mittens and woollen stockings, and with 
 cold feet at that. And yet this miserable shore has, in 
 its cod and salmon, attractions for thousands of people 
 during the transient summer. Even the long and almost 
 arctic winter with its seals and foxes detains hundreds. 
 But, as a fisherman told me one day, while tossing upon 
 the dock with his pitchfork a boat-load of cod, " It is a 
 poor trade." It is a little trying to patience to be rolling 
 in this idle way, with the creak of spars and the rattling 
 of blocks and rigging, especially as a breeze has been 
 winging the blue water for an hour not more than a milo 
 ahead of us. Wo, do move a little, just a little, enough 
 
240 THE "WRECK OF THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 to keep the hope breathing that we shall soon move off 
 with reasonable speed. 
 
 The current is almost a river stream^ and we are drift- 
 ing rapidly, which is not a pleasant thing to be thinking 
 about, with these waters scouring the very banks, and a 
 short cable. I am gazing back upon the southern point 
 of Belle Isle with a mournful interest. It was only the 
 night of the second, the same night we ran into Twillin- 
 gate to escape a gale, that a vessel was lost there, and all, 
 or nearly all, on board perished. At this moment there 
 is a faint line of white, but not a murmur. All looks 
 quiet there and peaceful, as if the lion was going up to 
 lie down with the lamb. 
 
CO 
 o ■ 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 SiCETCniNO THE PASSING BEKGS.— Till'; STORY OF AN ICEBEnO. 
 
 The painter is a model of industry, sketching and 
 painting the bergs as we pass them. They arc now clus- 
 tered on the northern horizon, with a few exceptions. 
 We have Lccn for some time near one, out of which 
 might he cut an entire Mock of Broadway buildings, evi- 
 dently 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 remained long near any mass of earth 
 higher than itself, for there is not a stone or particle of 
 dust or earthy stain upon it. It is as spotless as a cloud 
 " after the tempest." How beautiful is the sentiment of 
 it ! It carries the imagination away to those heavenly 
 walls depicted in Revelation, and sends it back upon the 
 
 track of its own story. 
 11 
 
242 . THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 
 
 The story of an iceberg ! yes, indeed ; and a most 
 wonderful tale would it be, could it be truthfully written. 
 It would run up into, and become lost in the story of the 
 great glaciers of Greenland ; the half of which science it- 
 self has not learned, profoundly as it has penetrated the 
 mysteries of the Alpine glaciers. 
 
 There are valleys reaching from the interior to the 
 coast, filled with glaciers of great depth and breadth, 
 which move forward with an imperceptible but regular 
 motion. The continent, as one might call Greenland, 
 does not shed the bulk of its central waters in fluid rivers, 
 but discharges them to the ocean in soHd, crystalline, slow- 
 ly progressing streams. They flow, or rather march, with 
 irresistible, mighty force, and far-resounding footsteps, 
 crossing the shore line, a perpetual procession of block- 
 like masses, flat or diversified with hill and hoUow on the 
 top, advancing upon the sea until too deeply immersed 
 longer to resist the buoyant power and pressure of the 
 surrounding waters, when they break upwards, and float 
 suspended in the vast oceanic abyss. The van of the gla- 
 cial host, previously marked ofl" by fissures into ranks, 
 rushes from the too close embrace of its new element, and 
 wheels away, an iceberg — the glistening planet of the sea, 
 whose mazy, tortuous orbit none can calculate but Him 
 who maps the unseen currents of the main. 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 243 
 
 When and where, on the lengthy Greenland coast, 
 did this huge block make the grand exchange of ele- 
 ments ? Which, if any of these great buildings " not 
 made with hands," now whitening the blue fields of Nep- 
 tune, followed or preceded it ? What have been its sol- 
 emn rounds ? Through v/hat winters has it slept, and 
 caught the snows upon the folds of its sculptured draper- 
 ies ? How many summers has it bared its spotless bosom 
 to the sun and rains ? What nights of auroral splendors 
 have glassed their celestial countenance in its shining mir- 
 rors ? What baths and vases of blue water have opened 
 their pure depths to moon and stars ? What torrents 
 and cascades have murmured in its glassy chasms, crystal 
 grottoes, Alpine dells ? And who shall count its battles 
 with the waves and tempests, when with the surf about 
 its shoulders and among its locks, and the clouds around 
 its brow, it stood far up from the unsounded valleys of 
 ocean " tiptoe on the mountain top " ? 
 
 In the defiles and gorges of the Arctic coast are pro- 
 digious accumulations of ice — the congelation of small 
 streams flowing from the adjacent mountains — the glaciers 
 of the coast range, in short. These gradually encroach 
 upon, and overhang the sea ; and are continually breaking 
 off, from the undermining of the waves which beat at their 
 base. Such is the depth of water, that the hugest ava- 
 
244 THE STORY OF AN ICEBEKC. 
 
 lanclie of ice can fall with, safety to itself, and float 
 away, 
 
 Wlien, and in wliat bay or inlet, may this Great 
 Northern liave been launched ? Out of what gloomy 
 fiord may have rolled the billows, after its icy fastenings 
 were loosed, and it slid, with the thunder of an earth- 
 quake, down its slippery ways, and plunged into the black 
 deep ? 
 
 Until science have her beaten pathway over polar 
 waves and hills, and measure the rain-falls and the snow- 
 falls, and the freezings of the one and the compactings 
 of the other, the story of the glacier and the iceberg, in 
 their native land and seas, will be left, in part, to the 
 imagination — a faculty, after all, that will ever deal with 
 those wonderful ices about, as satisfactorily as the faculty 
 that judges according to the sense, as Bishop Leighton 
 calls the mere scientific faculty. The truth of this is 
 illustrated by the very icebergs about us. Emphatically 
 as they speak to the naturalist with his various instru- 
 mentalities, they speak, at the same moment, with mar- 
 vellous eloc[uence to the poet and the painter. There are 
 forces, motions, and forms, voices, beauties, and a senti- 
 ment, which escape the touch of science, and are scarcely 
 caught by the subtle, poetic mind. Icebergs, to the 
 imaginative soul, have a kind of individuality and life. 
 
THE STOEY OF AN ICEBEllG. 245 
 
 They startle, frigliten, awe ; they astonish, excite, amuse, 
 delight and fascinate ; clouds, mountains and structures, 
 angels, demons, animals and men spring to the view of 
 the beholder. They are a favorite playground of the 
 lines, surfaces and shapes of the whole world, the heavens 
 above, the earth and the waters under : of their sounds, 
 motions and colors also. These are the poet's and the 
 painter's fields, more than they are the fields of the mere 
 naturalist, much as they are his. Do not these fifty 
 bergs, in sight from any crag frowning in its iron strength 
 above the surf, speak more a living language to the crea- 
 tive, than to the mensural faculty 7 Let us sec. 
 
 They have a daily experience, and a current history 
 more remarkable now than ever. Whatever may have 
 been the wonders of their conception, birth and growth ; 
 however lengthy and devious their voyage, they are present 
 in these strange seas, in these tepid waters and soft airs, 
 to undergo their last, fatal changes, and dissolve forever 
 into their final tomb. There are fifty icebergs, more or 
 less. Apparently similar in appearance, yet each differs 
 widely from all others. Exhibiting similar phenomena, 
 yet each has complexions, movements, sounds and won- 
 ders of its own. If we choose, though, to add to the per- 
 formances of to-day, those of yesterday and to-morrow, 
 we shall find that the experience of any one berg closely 
 
246 TIIK HTOKY OK AN lOKBliniti. 
 
 resembles ihiil; of ull. Tlio entire circle of its looks and 
 doinj^s corresponds with the circle of nearly every other 
 "berg, and so of ull together, diflering merely in the mat- 
 tor of time — as to 'ioIk'H the changes take place. The de- 
 scription npon wliicli I will venture, and which might be 
 gleaned from the foregoing pages, is, therefore, strictly 
 true, except that the phases and accidents arc supposed 
 to occur in rapid succession. In a word, what you would 
 behold in all of these lifty, within twenty-four hours, you 
 are to fancy of one, in the course of an afternoon. 
 
 I have before me, in my mind's eye, the Windsor 
 Castle berg, fresh fioui the north, and the Great Castle 
 berg, of nolle Isle water, which it entered early last May, 
 and n,s larjve, at the iime of its arrival, as both of them 
 at present coinl)inod. And so 1 am looking at a verita- 
 ble berg of Capo St. Louis, small, though, in comparison 
 with the berg of Cape St. Francis, "a vast cathedral of 
 dazzling white ice, with a front of 250 feet perpendicular 
 from the sea," visited by the Bishop of Newfoundland in 
 the sunmier of 1853. 
 
 1 will describe, hrst, the figure of the berg. It is a 
 ctMubinalion of Alp, castle, mosque, Parther^on and cathe- 
 dral. It lias peaks and slopes ; clifts, crags, chasms and 
 caverns ; lakes, streams and waterfalls. It has towers, 
 battlements and portals. It has minarets, domes and 
 
THE STOllY OF AN ICEBEllG. 247 
 
 steeples ; roofs and gables ; balustrades and balconies ; 
 fronts, sides and interiors ; doors, windows and porches ; 
 steps and entrances ; columns, pilasters, capitals and en- 
 tablatures ; frieze, architrave and cornice ; arches, clois- 
 ters, niches, statuary and countless decorations ; flutings, 
 corrugations, carvings, panels of glassy polish and in the 
 rough ; Greek, Koman, Gothic, Saracenic, Pagan, Sav- 
 age. It is crested with blades and needles ; heaped here 
 and there with ruins, blocks and bowlders, splintered and 
 crumbled masses. This precipice has a fresh, sharp frac- 
 ture ; yonder front, with its expanse of surface beautifully 
 diversified with sculptured imagery and other ornament, 
 has the polish of ivory — the glassy polish of mirrors — the 
 enamel of sea-shells — the fierce brightness of burnished 
 steel — the face of rubbed marble — of smoothest alabaster 
 — of pearl — porcelain — lily-white flesh — lily-white wax — 
 the -flesh-finish of beauty done in "the spotless stone of 
 Italy. This, though, is but the iceberg of the air ; the 
 head and crown only of the iceberg of the deep sea. 
 
 From the figure of the berg, I will come to describe 
 an important feature of its life and history : its motion ; 
 not its movement from place to place, but upon its cen- 
 tre — its rotation and vibration. Where the berg is not 
 grounded — in which case it only beats and sways to and 
 fro, vibrating through the arc of a circle like an inverted 
 
24o THE STOKY OF AN ICEBERG. 
 
 pendulum — when it is not grounded, it must be supposed 
 to hang suspended at the surface — all but the topmost 
 part — just binder the surface of the ocean, very much as 
 a cloud, a great white thunder-head, hangs suspended in 
 the upper air. Balanced around its heart, far down in 
 the deep, and in its cold solidity " dry as summer dust " 
 — poised upon its centre with perfect exactness, it is 
 evident that the loss of a single ton of ice shifts that cen- 
 tre, shifts it an ounce-notch on the bar of the mighty 
 scale, destroys the equilibrium, and subjects the whole to 
 the necessity of some small movement in order to regain 
 its rest. When, instead of one ton, thousands fall oif, it 
 sets a rolling the whole cliftcd and pinnacled circumfer- 
 ence. 
 
 And here begins that exhibition of novel forms and 
 shapes, and of awful force, and the sublimity of stupen- 
 dous masses in motion, that so impresses, awes, startles, 
 and fascinates the beholder. A berg in repose, wondrous 
 as it is to him that dares to linger in its presence, differs 
 from itself in action, as a hero in his sleep differs from 
 himself upon the field of battle. 
 
 With regard to the motions of the berg, it must be 
 borne in mind, that, from the fact of its centre being not 
 on a level with the surftice of the sea, but at depths 
 below, they are quite different from what might at first 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 249 
 
 be imagined. A rough globe, revolving upon its axis, 
 with but a small portion of its bulk, say a twelfth, above 
 the water ; or, better still, the hub and spokes merely 
 of a common wagon wheel, slowly rolling back and forth, 
 will serve for illustration. The uppermost spoke, in its 
 vibrations to the right and left, describes a line of some 
 extent along the surface, not unlike an upright stick 
 moving to and fro, and gradually rising and sinking as 
 it moves. In this movement back and forth, the two 
 adjacent spokes will be observed to emerge and disappear 
 correspondingly. In this v^ay, a berg of large diameter, 
 instead of falling over upon the sea like a wall or pre- 
 cipice, appears to advance bodily, slowly sinking as it 
 comes, with a slightly increasing inclination toward you. 
 In its backward roll, this is reversed. It seems to be 
 retreating, slowly rising as it floats away, with a slightly 
 increasing inclination from you. In these grand vibra- 
 tions, projecting points and masses of opposite sides 
 correspondingly emerge and disappear, rising apparently 
 straight up out of the sea on this side, going down as 
 straight on the other. 
 
 From the figure and motion of the berg, I come to 
 describe the motive j)Ower, rather the explosive power, 
 through which the delicate balance is destroyed, and mo- 
 tion made a necessity in order to gain again equilibrium 
 11* 
 
250 THE STOKY OF AN ICEBEKG. 
 
 and rest. Whatever may be the latent heat of ice, is a 
 question for the professed naturahst. Two things are 
 evident to the unlearned observer : an iceberg is as solid 
 as ivory, or marble from the lowest depths of a quarry, 
 and cold apparently as any substance on the earth can 
 bo made. This compact and perfectly frozen body, im- 
 mersed in the warm seas of summer, and warmer atmos- 
 phere, finds its entire outside, and especially that portion 
 of it which is exposed to the July sun, expanding under 
 the influence of the penetrating heat. The scrutiny of 
 science would, no doubt, find it certain that this heat, in 
 some measure, darts in from all sides in converging rays 
 to the very heart. The expanding power of heat be- 
 comes at leogth an explosive force, and throws off", with 
 all the violence and suddenness of gunpowder, in suc- 
 cessive flakes, portions of the surface. The berg, then, 
 bursts from expansion, as when porcelain cracks with 
 sharp report, suddenly and unequally heated on the 
 winter stove. Judge of the report when the porcelain 
 of a great clijff cracks and falls, or when the entire berg 
 is blasted asunder by the subtle, internal fire of the 
 summer sun ! If you would hear thunders, or whole 
 broadsides and batteries of the heaviest ordnance, come 
 to the iceberg then. 
 
 Speaking incidentallv of noises, reminds me of the 
 
THE STOKY OF AN ICEBERG. 251 
 
 hues and tints of the iceberg. Solomon in all his glory- 
 was not clothed like the flowers of the field. Would you 
 behold this berg apparelled with a glory that eclipses 
 all floral beauty, and makes you think, not only of the 
 clouds of heaven at sunrise and sunset, but of heaven 
 itself, you must come to it at sunrise and at sunset. 
 Then, too, you would hear its voices and its melodies, 
 the deep and mournful murmuring of the surf in its 
 caverns. Hark ! In fancy I hear them now, half thun- 
 der, and half the music of some mighty organ. 
 
 And this reminds me of the sea, which shares with 
 the iceberg something of the glory and the power. In 
 the first place, from the white brightness of the ice, the 
 eye is tuned to such a high key, or so stimulated and be- 
 dazzled, that the ocean is not only dark by contrast, but 
 dark in reality. It is purple, so deep as to amount al- 
 most to blackness — an evening violet I would call it, a 
 complexion magnificent and rich exceedingly in the blaze 
 of noon, and at late and early hours when the skies are 
 full of brilliant colors. What heightens the efiect of 
 this dye of the ocean, is the pale emerald water around 
 the berg, and in which it floats as in a vast bath, the 
 loveliness, clarity and divine beauty of which no language 
 can paint in a way to kindle the proper feeling and 
 emotion. From ten to fifty feet in breadth, it encircles 
 
252 THE STORY OF AN ICEBEKG, 
 
 the berg, a zone or girdle of sky-green, that most deli- 
 cate tint of the sunset heavens, and lies, or plays with a 
 kind of serpent play, between the greenish white ice and 
 the violet water, as the bright deeps of air lie beyond the 
 edge of a blue-black cloud. There is no perceptible 
 blending, but a sharp line which follows, between the 
 bright and the dark, the windings of the berg, across 
 which you may, if you have the temerity, row the bow 
 of your whale-boat, and gaze down, down the fearfully 
 transparent abyss, until the dim ice-cliifs and the black 
 deeps are lost in each other's awful embrace, 
 
 I have spoken of the figure, motion, and the breaking 
 of the iceberg, incidentally mentioning its sounds, its 
 colors, and the surrounding waters. You are now ready 
 to go with us, and spend the afternoon about it. Early 
 in the morning, and for the last hour, all but its heights 
 and peaks has been wrapped in cloud-like fog. That, 
 you discover, is thinning off, and will presently all pass 
 away. The breeze is fresh from the north, and we will 
 sail down upon the north-eastern side, until we have it 
 between us and the 3 o'clock sun. We are upon sound- 
 ings, and, as we glide from the broad sunny tract into the 
 shadow of the berg, the ocean should be green, a deep 
 green. But we have been sailing with the white ice in 
 our eyes, and you see the ocean a dark purple. The 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 253 
 
 captain drops sail, and sets the men at their oars. As 
 the current sets back from the berg — the reverse of the 
 current below — you notice that they arc pulling slowly^ 
 but steadily forward without any perceptible advance. 
 We are distant a good hundred yards, as near again as 
 we ought to be for safety. But this is the jiosition for 
 the painter, and it will be the care of the captain to keep 
 it, the required time, as nearly as ]50ssible. 
 
 As the broad roller lifts us lightly and gracefully, and 
 leaves us sinking on its after-slope, how majestic is the 
 silent march of it, the noiseless flight of it ! But look ! 
 — look ! — as it flees in all its imposing breadth of dark- 
 ness, see the great, green star upon its breast — a spangle 
 green as grass, as the young spring grass in the sunshine, 
 gleaming like some skylight of the deep, some emerald 
 window in the dome of the sea-palace, letting up the 
 splendor. What do you suppose that is ? It is ice, a 
 point of the berg pricking up into the illuminated sur- 
 iace and reflecting the light. You will understand that 
 better, perhaps, by and by. But wait an instant. 
 Now ! — now ! — Beauty strikes the billow with her 
 magic rod, and, presto — change ! — all is glittering 
 green. A thousand feet of purple, cloud-like wave 
 passes, in the twinkling of an eye, into the brightness 
 of an emerald gem, and thus rolls up and smites the 
 
254 THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 
 
 iceberg. And thus, like night perpetually bursting into 
 tbe splendid noon, roll up tbe billows, and strike the 
 minutes of the hour. How beautiful is the transfigura- 
 tion ! See them split upon this angle of the castle ; 
 and as they run along the walls, with the whispery, 
 hissing sound of smoothly sliding waters, mark how high 
 they wash, and sweep them with their snowy banners, 
 here and there bending over, and curling into long scrolls 
 of molten glass, which burst in dazzling foam, and 
 plunge in many an avalanche of sparkling jewelry. 
 Into the great porch of yonder Parthenon they rush 
 in crowds, and thunder their applause upon the steps. 
 
 Is not all this very grand and beautiful ? Have 
 you ever seen the like before ? The like of it is not to 
 be seen upon the planet, apart from the icebergs. With 
 cold, fixed, white death, life — warm, elastic, palpitating, 
 glorious, powerful life — is wrestling, and will inevitably 
 throw. Do you see " the witchery of the shadows '' ? 
 Pray look aloft. Castle, temple, chff, all built into one, 
 are draped with shadows softer than the tint of doves, 
 the morning's early gray, dappled with the warm pearly 
 blues of heaven, and edged with fire. The sun is behind 
 the ice, and the light is pouring over. A flood of light 
 is pouring over. All is edged with fire, streaming with 
 lightning ; all its notched and flowing edges hemmed 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 255 
 
 with live, scintillating sunshine, ruby, golden, green, and 
 blue. See you below that royal sepulchre through its 
 crystal door ? Beauty hangs her lamp in there, and the 
 sky-blue shadow looks like the fragrant smoke of it. Now 
 teU me, was there ever any thing more lovely ? Have 
 the poets dreamed of rarer loveliness ? The surf springs 
 up like an angel from the tomb, and, with a shout 
 of triumph, strikes it with its silvery wings. Ha ! 
 you start. But do not be frightened. It was only 
 the cracking of the iceberg. But was there ever 
 such a blow ? — quick — tremulous — ringing — penetrat- 
 ing. Why, it jarred the sea, and thrilled the heart like 
 an electric shock. One feels as if the berg had dropped, 
 instantly dropped an inch, and cracked to the very core. 
 Captain Knight, shall we not fall back a little ? we are 
 surely getting too close under. 
 
 While I have been talking, the painter, who sits 
 midship, with his thin, broad box upon his knees, 
 making his easel of the open lid, has been dashing 
 in the colors. The picture is finished, and so, at the 
 word, the men pull heavily at their oars, and we come 
 round upon the south-eastern, or the cathedral front, as I 
 will call it, from the fact that the general appearance is 
 architectural, and the prevailing style, the Gothic. A 
 dome and minaret, curiously thrown in upon one wing 
 
256 THE STORY OF AN ICEBESG. 
 
 of the berg, and some elaborately cut arcbes opening 
 through the water-line into the cloister-like cavern, 
 would suggest the Saracenic, But the pointed and 
 the perpendicular prevail, springing up full of life and 
 energy, vivid and flame-like in their forms. 
 
 As the berg faces, we are getting the last glances of 
 the 4 o'clock sun, and have broad sheets of both light 
 and shadow. You see how spirited the whole thing is. 
 It is fuU of brilliant, strong effects, "While the hollows 
 and depressions harbor the soft, slaty shadows, points and 
 prominences fairly blaze and sparkle with sunshine. The 
 current now, you discover, sweeps us past the ice, and 
 compels us to turn about and row up the stream. Here 
 is the point where all is strong and picturesque, and here 
 they hold on for the painter. Let us sit upon the little 
 bow-deck, and look, and listen to the noises of the waves 
 at play in the long, concealed, under-sea piazza. How 
 they slap the hollow arches ! Hisses, long-drawn sighs, 
 booming thunder-sounds, mingle with, low muttering, 
 plunging, rattling, and popping — a bedlam of all the 
 lunatic voices of the ocean. We appear to be at the 
 edge of a shower, such a sprinkling and spattering of 
 drops. All abroad, and all aloft, from every edge and 
 gutter the iceberg spouts, and rains, and drips. Over 
 the entire face of the ice is flowino; swiftlv down one 
 
THE STOKY OF AN ICEBEKG. 257 
 
 noiseless river thin as glass, looking, for all the world, 
 like the perpetual falling of a transparent veil over the 
 richest satin. Here and there, the delicate stream cuts 
 into the silvery enamel, and engraves, in high relief, 
 brilliant shields of jewelry, diamonds, rubies, amethysts, 
 emeralds and sapphires. But yonder is a rare touch of 
 the enchanter. Pray, look at it carefully. It is a 
 glistening blue line of ice, threading the whiteness 
 from top to bottom, a good two hundred feet. It looks 
 as if the berg were struck, not with lightning, but with 
 sapphire. It is simply transparent ice, and may be com- 
 pared to a fissure filled with pellucid spring-water, with 
 depths of darkness beyond the visible, illuminated edge. 
 Darkness below the pure light flowing in, and reflecting 
 from the inner sides of the white ice, gives us the blue. 
 You understand the process by which so beautiful a re- 
 sult is effected ? Well, the glacier of which this berg is 
 a kind of spark, is mainly comj)acted snows, compressed 
 to metallic hardness in the omnipotent grasp of nature. 
 As it slides on the long, inland valley slope, it bends 
 and cracks. The surface-water fills the crevice, and is 
 frozen. Thus the glacier is mended, but marked forever 
 with the splendid scar which you see before you. You 
 fancy it has the hardness of a gem ; it is softer than the 
 flinty masses between which it seems to have been run 
 
258 THE STORY OF AN ICEBEEG. 
 
 like a casting. On tlie opposite slope of the berg, you 
 will find it the channel of a torrent, melting and wearing 
 faster than the primitive ice. 
 
 How terribly startling is tliis explosion ! It re- 
 sounded like a field-piece. And yet you perceive only a 
 small bank of ice floating out from below where it burst 
 off. Small as it is, the whole berg has felt it, and is 
 slightly rolling on its deep down centre. You perceive 
 that it is a perfectly adjusted pair of scales, and weighs 
 itself anew at the loss of every pound. At the loss of 
 every ounce, the central point, around which millions of 
 tons are balanced, darts aside a very little, and calls 
 upon the entire bulk to make ready and balance all 
 afresh. You see the process going on. There, the water- 
 line is slowly rising ; and you peep into the long, green- 
 ish-white hollow, polished and winding as the interior of 
 a sea-shell. Now it pauses, and returns. So will it rise 
 and sink alternately until it stands like a headland of 
 everlasting marble. 
 
 Again the painter wipes his brushes, puts away his 
 second picture, and tacks a fresh pasteboard within the 
 cover of his box, and gives the word to pull for the south- 
 western side. How finely nature sculptures her decora- 
 tions ! Would not Palmer, Powers, and others of that 
 company, whose poetic language is in spotless stone, love 
 
THE STOEY OF AN ICEBERG. 259 
 
 to be with us ? Mark the high rehefs, and the deep, fine 
 fluting of this angle, as we pass from the Temple front 
 to the clifted. Here you see less to please, and more to 
 terrify. A word or so describes it : It is a precipice of 
 sparkhng, white ice, freshly broken. The edge of newly 
 broken china is nearest like it, with the suspicion of 
 green for forty feet or. more up, the reflection of that 
 lovely pale green water. Now the currents recoil and 
 roll in upon the huge wall in whirling eddies, requiring 
 steady toil at the oars, to keep off a plump two hundred 
 yards, the proper distance for sketching so large a per- 
 pendicular mass. 
 
 If we except the quality and texture of the fracture, 
 there is little to paint in all this blaze of sunlight. The 
 outline of the berg, though, is worth remembering. It 
 cuts the blue vault like the edge of a bright sword, and 
 pricks it with flashing spears. The eye darts from point 
 to point along its lengthy, zig-zag and flowing thread, and 
 sweeps from the sea upward and over to the sea again. 
 How persistently the treacherous current labors to bear 
 us in upon the cliff' ! Let alone the oars five minutes, 
 and we should be among the great rain-drops slipping 
 from the overhanging crags. 
 
 Horrible ! The berg is burst. The whole upper 
 front is coming. There it is — gone in the sea. Keep 
 
260 THE STOKY OF AN ICEBEKG. 
 
 still ! — Keep still ! — Don't be frightened ! The captain 
 will manage it. Here come the big swells. Hurra ! 
 Look out for the next ! Here we go — splendid ! l^ovi 
 for the third and last. How she combs as she comes. 
 Hurra ! — Hurra ! Here we are — all safe — inside of them. 
 See them go ! — racing over the ocean, circles of plumed 
 cavalry. Now for the berg. He'll make a magnificent 
 roll of it, if he don't go to pieces. Should he, then put 
 us half a mile away. See it rise ! — The water-line — 
 rising — rising — up — up. It looks like a carriage-way. 
 Hark ! — Crack — crack — crack. Quick ! — quick ! Look 
 at the black water here ! — all spots and spangles of 
 green. Something is coming ! There it comes ! The 
 very witchcraft of the deep — Neptune's half-acre, bowers, 
 thrones, giants, eagles, elephants, vases spilling, fountains 
 pouring, torrents tumbling, glassy banks. Look at the 
 peaks slanting off into the blue air, and the great slant 
 23recipice. Hah ! Don't you see ? It is coming again — 
 slowly coming ! Crack — crack — crack. Down sinks the 
 garden — on roll the swells — down go bowers, thrones, stat- 
 uary — lost amid the tumult and thunder of the surf. Over 
 bends the precipice — this way over — frightfully over — in 
 roll the waves — roaring, thundering in — dashing, lashing 
 crag and chasm. Wonderful to see ! "Waterfalls bursting 
 into light above — plunging in snowy columns to the sea. 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 261 
 
 How terrible — terrible all this is ! But 0, bow beau- 
 tiful ! Who, that does not witness it, knows any thing 
 of the bursting of an iceberg ? It comes with the crash 
 of a thunderbolt. But how can one tell the horrible, 
 shocking noise ? A pine split by lightning has the point, 
 but not the awful breadth and fulness of the sound. 
 Air, ocean, and the berg, all fairly spring at the power of 
 it. And then the ice-fall, with its ringing, rumbling, 
 crashing roar, and the heavy, explosion-like voice of the 
 final plunge, followed by the wild, frantic dashing of the 
 waters. You see the whole upper face of the ice, yards 
 deep, and scores of them in width, all gone. All was 
 blasted off instantly, and dropped at once, a stupendous 
 cataract of brilliant ruins. 
 
 Here we are, at last, where the painter will revel — 
 between the glories of sunset and the iceberg. What 
 shall we call all this magnificence, clustered in a square 
 quarter of a mile .? The Bernese Alps in miniature. A 
 dark violet sea, and Alps in burnished sUver, with the 
 colors of the rainbow dissolving among them. Lofty 
 ridges, of the shape of flames, have the tint of flame ; 
 out of the purity of lilies bloom the pink and rose ; sky- 
 blue shadows sleej) in the defiles ; I will not say cloth of 
 gold drapes, but water of gold washes — water of ^reen, 
 of orange, scarlet, crimson, purple, wash the crags and 
 
262 THE STORY OF AN ICEBEEG. 
 
 steeps ; strange metallic tints gleam in tlie sliaggy 
 caverns — copper, bronze, and gold. Endless grace of form 
 and outline ! — endless, endless beauty ! Its shining image 
 is in the deep, hanging there as in a molten looking-glass. 
 Look down and see it. Now the last rays of day strike 
 the berg. How the hues and tints change and flit, flush 
 and fade ! A very mirror for the fleeting glories of the 
 sunset, or the fitful complexions of the northern light. 
 Prodigal Nature ! Is she ever wasting splendors at this 
 rate ? Watch them on this broad, slanting park of 
 lily-white satin. White ! — It has just a breath of pink. 
 Pink ? — It is the richest rose — rose deepening into pur- 
 ple — purple trembling into blue, pearly blue, skirted 
 with salmon-tints and lilac. Where are the train-bearers 
 of this imperial robo ? There they are, the smooth, 
 black swells, one, two, three, rolling up, and changing 
 into green as they roll up — far up, and break in spai-k- 
 ling diamonds on the bosom of the lustrous alabaster. 
 
 Do you hear the music ? what power in sound ! 
 Clothed in green and silver, the royal bands of the great 
 deep are playing at every portal of the iceberg. Hark ! 
 Half thunder, and half the harmony of grand organs. 
 
 " "Waters, iu the still magnificence, 
 • Their solemn cymbals beat." 
 
 The painter's work is over. And now for harbor — aU 
 
THE STORY OF AN ICEBERG. 263 
 
 sails spread — a downy pressure on them, and the twilight 
 ocean. Indomitable pencil ! If the man is not at it 
 again ! — A last, flying sketch in lead. Let us take one 
 more look at the berg — a farewell look. It is a beautiful 
 creation — superlatively beautiful. It is more — sublime 
 and beautiful — fold upon fold — spotless ermine — caught 
 up from the billows, and suspended by the fingers of 
 Omnipotence. 
 
 The Merciful One ! It is falling ! — Cliffs and pinna- 
 cles bursting — crashing — tumbling with redoubling thun- 
 ders. — Pillars and sheaves of foam leap aloft. — Wave 
 chases wave, careering wild and high. — Columns and 
 splintered fragments spring from the deep convulsively, 
 toppling and plunging. — A multitude of small icebergs 
 spot the dusky waters. One slender obelisk, slowly rock- 
 ing to and fro, stands a monument among the scattered 
 ruins. 
 
CHAPTEE XLIX. 
 
 DRIFTING- IN THE STRAITS.— EETEEAT TO TEMPLE BAT.— PICTU- 
 RESQUE SCENERY.— VOYAGERS' SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 We are drifting to the north shore in spite of all that 
 can he done, and positively have not heen hefore in so 
 great danger. Our anchor, with all the cable we have, 
 would he 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 vessel Our hope is that some one of the 
 flaws of wind, now ruffling the water every little while 
 in various directions, will catch our sails, and allow us to 
 escape into Temple Bay, a land-locked harbor close by. 
 My anxiety to return home makes this delay a little 
 vexatious, and galls my thin-skinned j^atience. We had 
 every reason to hope, this morning, that we should be 
 
PICTURESQUE SCENERY. 265 
 
 througli these perilous narrows and upon the broad gulf 
 by midnight. 
 
 The breeze touches us at the last moment, and we 
 are gliding through the narrow pass between high craggy 
 banks, over a comparatively shallow bottom, visible from 
 the deck, into what appears to be a lake surrounded by 
 mountains not unlike those about West Point, barring 
 their fine woods. Eeally Labrador can show us, at last, 
 a little forest greenery. Without a point of grandeur, 
 this is the most picturesq[ue scenery we have found on 
 the coast. The greenish waters, tinted by the verdure 
 reflected from their surface, expand to the breadth of a 
 mile by six or seven in length, with a depth of fifty 
 fathoms or more. We glide past the village — a knot of 
 fish-houses, flakes and dwellings, in the bight to the 
 left or south, and drop anchor within pistol-shot of the 
 spruces and a mountain brook. Here we are, till next 
 week, like a lonely fly on this mirror of the mountains, 
 and must make the most of our shadows and reflections, 
 sunshine and solitude, and see what they will bring us. 
 
 I sit upon deck and look about upon the wild, noise- 
 less scene, and say : What a Idhely Saturday afternoon ! 
 The weary week is just lying down to ruminate in these 
 solemn shades. A few scattering sounds, the finishing 
 
 strokes of the axe and hammer, and the low wail of the 
 12 
 
266 voyagers' Saturday night. 
 
 surf beyond the coast-ridge break the rest of the cool, 
 bracing air. The upper end of the lake, as I call the 
 bay or fiord, is hidden behind a headland, reminding me 
 of our Hudson Butter HiU. Notliing would be pleasanter 
 than a small voyage of discovery by twilight. Below the 
 stern of the schooner, which swings near the beach, are the 
 timbers of a ship peeping above water, and full of story, 
 no doubt, as so many old salts. We have had a most 
 agreeable tea-time, the Captain entertaining us with in- 
 cidents of his life upon these northern seas. My regret, 
 not to say vexation, that we had to leave the strait and 
 retreat to the safety of this lovely fold, provided by the 
 Good Shepherd of the deep, is quite dissipated after a 
 little sketch of the perils to which v^e should have been 
 subjected among the currents, becalmed and immersed in 
 fog, banks of which I see already peeping over the hills 
 along the shore. Sunset and twilight and the dusk of 
 evening have come and gone. The stars are out in mul- 
 titudes, Arcturus among them high in the great arch, 
 and the depths, above which we seem to hang suspended, 
 are thickly sown with their trembling images. 
 
CHAPTER L. 
 
 SUNDAY IN TEMPLE BAT.— KELIGIOUS SERVICES.— THE FISHERMAN'S 
 DINNER AND CONVERSATION.— CHATEAU.— THE WRECK.— WINTERS 
 IN LABRADOR.— ICEBERGS IN THE WINTER.— THE FRENCH OFFI- 
 CERS' FROLIC WITH AN ICEBERG.— THEORY OF ICEBERGS.— CUR- 
 RENTS 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 tlie town, and found 
 that we were not traders from Newfoundland, as they 
 supposed, but visitors merely, and direct from Mr. 
 Hutchinson, their minister, of whose return they were 
 delighted to hear tidings. It was soon settled that I 
 should be their clergyman for the day, notice of which 
 was given very quickly upon their going back to the 
 village, by sending from house to house, and flying the 
 Sunday flag, a white banner with a red cross. Our men, 
 in holiday clothes, were prompt at their oars, and soon 
 placed us on the l^each, where wc were met by Mr. 
 
268 THE pishekman's dinner and conveesation. 
 
 Clark, one of the city fathers, who politely invited us to 
 his house, and afterward attended us to the place of 
 worship, a small rude building, which was crowded, the 
 children gathering close about me. After the. usual 
 Church of England service, I preached extempore on our 
 need of redemption, and the sufficiency and. freeness of 
 that which has been graciously provided. After a brief 
 intermission, all returned to the evening service and 
 sermon, which concluded the religious exercises of the 
 day. We dined at Mr. Clart's, on fisherman's fare, gar- 
 nished with salted duck, a new dish to us, and requiring 
 the discipline of use and a rough life in order to relish 
 very well. 
 
 While at dinner and after, our host entertained us in 
 a simple, sketchy way with incidents and adventures illus- 
 trating the story of the place, and of his own life. Cha- 
 teau, the name of the village, is more ancient than the old 
 French and English war, during which it suffered pillage 
 and burning. The wreck beneath our stern, of which I 
 spoke, was that of an English vessel with a cargo of furs, 
 fish and oil, and was there run aground and fired by the 
 captain, to prevent her falling into the hands of the 
 enemy. Even these remote rocks and waters have his- 
 toric associations of thrilling interest. 
 
 According to the custom of those who live perma- 
 
WINTEUS IN LABRADOll. 269 
 
 nently in Labrador, Clark and a few of his neiglibors 
 remove, in autumn, to the evergreen woods along the 
 streams at the head of the bay, and spend more than 
 half of the year in hunting and sealing, and getting tim- 
 ber and firewood for the summer. In some respects, it is 
 a holiday time, and compensates for the unremitting toil 
 of the fishing season. 
 
 The experience of years with icebergs has not made 
 them common things, like the waves and hills, but rather 
 increased the sense of their terrible j)Ower and grandeur. 
 They frequently arrive covered with earth and stones, an 
 indication of their recent lapse from the land, and of the 
 brevity of their time upon the sea. During the cold 
 months they are deeply covered with snow, and have a 
 rounded, heavy, and drowsy aspect. It is the warm 
 weather that gives them their naked brilliancy, and 
 melts them into picturesque forms, and rolls and ex- 
 plodes them in the magnificent style, I have attempted to 
 describe. They are seen to move occasionally at the 
 same rate of speed, whether through the densely packed 
 ice or the open sea. Wind, current and tide, and the 
 ocean crowded with ice as far as sight can reach, all fre- 
 quently set in one direction, and the bergs in another. 
 On they move, majestic and serene, tossing the crystal 
 masses from their shaggy breasts, cracking, crashing. 
 
270 FRENCH officers' FROLIC WITH AN ICEBERG. 
 
 thundering along. There are spaces of dark water spot- 
 ting the white expanse. It makes no difference ; all move 
 on alike. None hastens in the open'water ; none pauses 
 at the heaped-up banks. All on the surface of the deep 
 is only so much froth before the Alp whose foundations 
 are immersed in the great submarine currents. 
 
 He told us a story illustrating the danger of icebergs, 
 and the temerity of making familiar with them. A few 
 years ago, while a French man-of-war was* lying at 
 anchor in Temple Bay, the younger officers resolved on 
 amusing themselves with an iceberg, a mile or more 
 distant in the straits. They made sumptuous prepara- 
 tions for a pic-nic upon the very top of it, the myste- 
 ries of which they were curious to see. All warnings 
 of the brown and simple fishermen, in the ears of the 
 smartly dressed gentlemen who had seen the world, were 
 quite idle. It was a bright summer morning, and the 
 jolly boat with a showy flag went off to the berg. By 
 twelve o'clock the colors were flying from the icy 
 turrets, and the wild midshipmen were shouting from its 
 walls. For two hours or so they hacked, and clambered 
 the crystal palace ; frolicked and feasted ; drank wine to 
 the king and the ladies, and laughed at the thought of 
 peril where all was so fixed and solid. As if in amaze- 
 ment at such rashness, the grim Alp of the sea made 
 
THEORY OF ICEBERGS. 271 
 
 neither sound nor motion. A profound stillness watched 
 on his shining pinnacles, and hearkened in the hlue 
 shadows of liis caves. When, like thoughtless children, 
 they had jDlayed themselves weary, the old alabaster of 
 Greenland mercifully suffered them to gather up their 
 toys, and go down to their cockle of a boat, and flee away. 
 As if the time and the distance were measured, he 
 waited until they could see it and live, when, as if his 
 heart had been volcanic fire, he burst with awful thun- 
 ders, and filled the surrounding waters with his ruins. 
 A more astonished little party seldom comes home to tell 
 the story of their panic. It was their first, and their last 
 day of amusement with an iceberg. 
 
 It seems rather late in the day for persons of some 
 experience in these regions, to be ignorant of the origin 
 of icebergs. I asked our friend, as I had others, how he 
 supposed that they were formed. He imagined that they 
 were merely the accumulations of loose ice, snow and 
 frozen spray, in the intensely cold regions of the arctic 
 ocean. Piles of broken ice, driven together, and cemented 
 by the heavy snows and the repeated dashing t)f the surf, 
 would in time become the huge and solid islands that 
 we see. Such is the theory of their formation with all 
 whom I have heard express themselves on the subject, 
 and I believe the one very generally received. When 
 
272 CUERENTS OF THE STKAIT. 
 
 this explanation was objected to, and tlie facts stated 
 that icebergs were glaciers, first formed on the land, and 
 then launched into the sea, our kind host expressed his 
 doubts more modestly than some others had done of less 
 intelligence and experience. 
 
 Speaking of the currents in the straits, he said he 
 could not well conceive any in the world more dangerous. 
 While exceedingly powerful, they were shifting. What 
 rendered this perilous to the last degree, was the exces- 
 sively deep water and the boldness of the shores. One 
 could toss a bullet into water frequently too deep for the 
 ancliorage of smaller vessels. In times of calm, and in 
 connection with the dense fogs peculiar to those coasts, a 
 vessel could not drift about in the straits without the risk 
 of being thrown upon the rocks and lost. When we were 
 lying becalmed off Temple Bay, on Saturday afternoon, 
 he was watching us from a hill-to|), and remarked to a 
 neighbor, that he was sorry for the skipper out there, and 
 feared, unless the wind came to his relief before dark, he 
 would get ashore. 
 
 He remarked that fresh water may be dipped in 
 winter, from small open spaces in the bay — a fact I do not 
 remember to have read of in the pages of arctic voyagers. 
 I concluded that this only is true, where the water is 
 undisturbed below, and where the open spaces are small, 
 
THE KETUKN TO THE VESSEL. 273 
 
 and hemmed in with ic3 in a way to break off the wind. 
 It is simply rain-water, I suppose, resting upon the sur- 
 face of the heavier salt water. In the course of the con- 
 versation, he stated that there was, at some distance back 
 in the interior, a remnant of the red Indians so called, 
 once a savage and troublesome tribe in Newfoundland. 
 Driven from thence on account of their hostile and un- 
 tamable nature, they had finally taken refuge in the remote 
 vales of Labrador, where they now live, as is commonly 
 reported, nursing their ancient enmity, but too prudent 
 to reappear among the whites, or let their exact habita- 
 tion be known. 
 
 Pleased with the talk of the fisherman of Chateau, 
 we bade him and his family good-by, and returned on 
 board to a second dinner, a little more to our taste. 
 
 12* 
 
CHAPTEE LI. 
 
 EVENING WALK TO TEMPLE BAT MOUNTAIN.— THE LITTLE ICEBERG. 
 — TBOUBLES OF THE NIGHT AND PLEASUEES OF THE MOENING.— 
 UP THE 8TEAITS.— THE PINNACLE OF THE LAST lOEBEEG.— THE 
 GULF OF ST. LAWEENCE. 
 
 After dinner and a pleasant conversation on deck, 
 we found time to slip ashore, and thread our way througli 
 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 that was quite 
 frightful. I turned from the margin where, head and 
 face covered with handkerchiefs, I was fishing, and ran 
 to a woodman's hut. The same flies swarmed about us 
 on the mountain of Temple Bay, and drove us down 
 through its evergreens with all the speed it was prudent 
 to make. 
 
 In the edge of the twilight, the Captain went across 
 the bay to a little mouse of a berg, that had been all day 
 
THE LITTLE ICEBEKG. 275 
 
 creeping in from sea, to get a few cakes of ice ; and asked 
 our company. Our mouse, as might be expected, turned 
 out to be a lion. We rowed alongside, notwithstanding, 
 and sprung upon his white, glassy back melted all over 
 into a roughness that resembled the rippled surface of a 
 pond. In attempting to walk to a fairy-like bowl, full of 
 that lovely blue water, the painter slipped up, and 
 came near sliding oif altogether. But for the Captain, 
 at whose legs he caught as he was going by, he would 
 have had a fine plunge and a ducking. Our chick of a 
 berg, only ten or twelve feet across with a few minute 
 pieces of sculpture in the shape of vases and recumbent 
 animals, lay in its pale green bath like a burr or star, its 
 white points visible at quite a depth — a fact which served 
 to corroborate some experiments we had been making 
 with respect to the parts of an iceberg under water. 
 Here was a mass, with the exception of a few trifling 
 spurs, only a little above the surface, but with a bulk, 
 the extreme points of which were too far below to be dis- 
 covered. To conclude several amusing liberties we were 
 taking with it, the Captain proceeded to spHt off a kind 
 of figure-head attached to the main body by a sort of 
 horse-neck, which no sooner fell into the water than our 
 bantling began to imitate the motions of the tallest giant 
 of the icebergs. In making the grand swing, however, it 
 
276 TROUBLES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 rolled completely over, and came within an ace of catch- 
 ing lis upon one of its horns. Anticipating the chance of 
 danger from below, I looked over the side of the hoat, 
 when, sure enough, a prong was coming up in a way to 
 give us a toss that would he no sport. A lucky push off 
 saved us. Like the spoke of a big wheel it rolled up, giv- 
 ing us a blow in the ribs as it passed, and a good rocking 
 on the swash. One would scarcely think that there was 
 any excitement in so trifling an incident, but there was, 
 and enough of it to make me resolve to meddle no more 
 with a thing of the kind larger than a lamb. When it 
 settled to rest, it was exactly upside down, and presented 
 a curious specimen of the honey-comb work of the waters. 
 It may occur to some that -we were sporting upon the 
 Lord's Day. Upon reflection I confess that we .were, 
 although we might plead the privilege of voyagers, and 
 the long day which touches hard upon our midnight. 
 
 Upon our return we found the musquitoes, a pecu- 
 liarly hungry and poisonous species, coming down from 
 the woods in numbers. We determined to crush that 
 mischief in the bud, and did it most effectually, by fill- 
 ing the cabin with the dense smoke of spruce boughs, and 
 then, upon its escape, coveiing the entrance with a sheet. 
 One only came feebly and timidly singing about my face 
 before I got to sleep. About one o'clock, there were 
 
PLEASURES OF THE MORNING. 277 
 
 sounds above : sliaking of blocks and cordage, now and 
 then a thump with a creak of booms, and jerking of the 
 rudder. I went up ; there was no watch ; all were soundly 
 sleeping. The ship's cat was out on the rail, running 
 from place to place, and mewing mournfully. The sky 
 looked ominous, and there was the roar of wind outside. 
 The waters and the woods of the bay, so prettily named, 
 were gloomy as the crypt ' of a temple. I crept to my 
 dreams, out of which in no long time I was startled by 
 the painter. He was getting up to have his look. Ho 
 reported breezes, but in the wrong direction, and without 
 comment felt his way back to bed. At two, the voice of 
 the Captain put an end to slumbers, fore and aft. Ho 
 was calling all hands to the deck, where presently all 
 was noise and bustle, hoisting sail, and heaving at the 
 anchor. The old motion was soon perceptible, and wo 
 knew that we were taking leave of Temple Bay — a fact 
 of which we were assured by the Captain, who peeped in 
 upon us, by lifting a corner of the musquito-sheet, and 
 announced the good tidings that the wind, northeast, was 
 blowing briskly, and that the straits would give us no 
 further trouble. 
 
 No sooner were we clear of the " tickle," or narrows, 
 than " Iceberg ahead ! " — " Ice on the Ice bow ! " was 
 cried by the man forward. It was no more to our pur- 
 
278 THE GULF OF ST. LAWKENCE. 
 
 poso to go up and look at ices. It Avas a comfortable 
 reflection that we were now bidding them farewell. By 
 way of a parting salute, one of the bergs burst asunder 
 Avith a great noise, before that we wore out of the reach 
 of its shells. But its thunder fell but faintly on oiu- 
 practised ears, and rather encouraged than disturbed our 
 disposition to sleep. When daylight was broad upon the 
 straits, wc were over the worst, and the last iceberg, like 
 the top of some solitary mausoleum of the desert, was 
 sinking below the horizon. The high wind and sea were 
 after us, and we ran with speed and comparative stillness. 
 By noon wo were fairly through ; with Forteau, the last 
 of Labrador, on the north — to the south, the coast of New- 
 foundland, and the broad gulf of St. Lawrence expanding 
 before us. "Wo felt that ayo might then breathe freely. 
 The breeze most surely did, and we sped on our way 
 southward toward Capo Breton. 
 
CHAPTEK LII. 
 
 COAST SCENEEY. — FAKEWELL TO LABRADOK. 
 
 The coast of Labrador was really fine, all tlio fore- 
 noon, and sometimes strikingly grand. It has lost some- 
 thing of the desolate and savage character it has about 
 the Capes St. Louis and St. Charles, and seems more 
 like a habitable land. There arc long and graceful 
 slopes and outlines of pale green hills slanting down to 
 the sea, along which is the craggy shorc-hne, black, 
 brown and red. The last few miles, and which is near 
 the Canadian border, the red sandstone shore is exceed- 
 ingly picfurcsquc. It has a right royal presence along 
 the deep. Lofty, semicircular promontories descend in 
 regidar terraces nearly down, then sweep out gracefully 
 with an ample lap to the margin. No art could produce 
 better effect. The long, terraced galleries are touched 
 with a tender green, and the well-hollowed vales, now 
 
280 COAST SCENERY. 
 
 aud then occurring, and ascending to the distant horizon 
 between ranks of rounded hills, look green and pasture- 
 like. All, you must bear in mind, is treeless nearly, and 
 utterly lonely. Here and there are small detachments of 
 dwarf firs, looking as if they were either on their re- 
 treat to the woodlands of a warmer clime, or on their 
 march from it, in order to get a foothold, and make a 
 forest settlement remote from the woodman's axe. Any- 
 way, in their lonesome and inhospitable halt, they darken 
 the light greens and the gray greens with very lively effect. 
 The Battery, as sailors call it, is a wall of red sand- 
 stone, of some two or three miles in extent, with hori- 
 zontal lines extending from one extreme to the other, 
 and perpendicular fissures resembling embrasures and 
 gateways. Swelling out with grand proportions toward 
 the sea, it has a most military and picturesque appear- 
 ance. At one point of this huge citadel of sohtude, 
 there is the resemblance of a giant portal, with stupen- 
 dous piers two hundred feet or more in elevation. They 
 are much broken by the yearly assaults of the frost, and 
 the eye darts up the ruddy ruins with surprise. If there 
 was anything to defend, here is a Gibraltar at hand, with 
 comparatively small labor, whose guns could nearly cross 
 the strait. Beneath its precipitous cliffs the debris 
 slopes like a glacis to the beach, with both smooth and 
 
COAST SCENEKY. 281 
 
 broken surfaces^ and all very handsomely decorated with 
 rank herbage. Above the great walls, there is a range 
 of terraces ascending Tvith marked regularity for quite a 
 distance. Miles of ascending country, prairie-like, greet 
 the eye along tliis edge of Labrador. " Arms of gold " — 
 is it ? Possibly these promontories, golden in the rising 
 and the setting sun, may have suggested to Cabot or 
 some other explorer, before or since, the propriety of christ- 
 ening this dead body of a country by some redeeming 
 name. 
 
 Among the very pretty and refreshing features of the 
 coast are its brooks, seen occasionally falling over the 
 rocks ill white cascades. Harbors are passed now and 
 then with small fishing fleets and dwellings. Forteau 
 has a church-spire pointing heavenward among its white 
 buildings and brown masts, and is the most eastern place 
 in the diocese of Newfoundland visited by Bishop Field. 
 It is not unlikely that he is now there engaged in the 
 sacred duties of his office, and certainly would have at- 
 tracted us thither, could we have spared a day. On the 
 point from which we took our final departure from the 
 north shore, stands a high lighthouse, erected at great 
 cost, and around its base are clustering the greens of a 
 kitchen garden ! Adieu, bleak Labrador ! They tell 
 me that the warmest of summers is now upon thy honey- 
 
282 FAEEWELL TO LABRADOE. 
 
 less and milkless land. If this is thy July — I say it 
 under an overcoat of the deepest nap — spare me thy 
 December. 
 
 But why, at parting, should I speak roughly unto 
 thee, and whet the temper to talk ill of thee, in the 
 presence of rich gardens, yellow fields, and ruddy or- 
 chards ? Hast not thou thy horned cariboo, the reindeer, 
 thy fox of costly fur, and thy wild-fowl of wintry plu- 
 mage ? Hast not thou thy bright-eyed salmon, graced 
 with lines as delicate and lovely as those of beauty's arm, 
 and complexioned like the marigold " damasked by the 
 neighboring rose " ? — thy whales and seals to fill with oil 
 the hghthouse lamp, to fill with starry flame the lighthouse 
 lantern ? — thy pale green capelin, silvery-sided myriads 
 that allure the " fish," calling their millions to the hooks 
 and seines of thy toiling fishermen — ^hardy, hospitable 
 people, whose kentles of white-fleshed cod buy the ruby 
 wine and yellow fruits of Cuba and Oporto ? Hast thou 
 not dealt kindly with us, and shown us these thy fat 
 things, and all thy richer, nobler treasures ? Hast thou 
 not uncurtained thy resplendent pictures of the sky, the 
 ocean, and the land ? And have we not gazed delight- 
 ed and awe-struck upon the grandeur of a great and 
 terrible wilderness, upon the gloom of its shadowy atmos- 
 phere, upon the brilliancy of its sunlight ? Have we 
 
FAREWELL TO LABRADOR. 283 
 
 not heard the footsteps of the billows inarching to their 
 encampment in the grottoes of the cliffs ; and seen the 
 silent, inshore deeps ; the imprisoned islands and grim 
 headlands armed with impenetrable granite ; the vales 
 and deUs, and hill-sides with their mosses and their 
 flowers, sweet odors, and sweet melodies ? — most beau- 
 tiful, most wonderful of all, thine icebergs, and thy twi- 
 light heavens ? All these, and more, of thy greatness 
 and thy glory, have we looked upon, and they will have 
 their reflections, and their echoes in the memory forever. 
 Beauty may watch, and supphcate, and weep sometimes 
 upon the crags now receding from our view, but she is 
 surely there, and native to the wildest pinnacle and 
 cavern. And wliile to the careless eye and thoughtless 
 heart thou art verily dark and bleak, yet art thou neither 
 barren nor unfruitful. Old Labrador, farewell ! 
 
CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 WESTERN NEWFOUNDLAND.— THE BAT, TEE ISLANDS, AND THE 
 HIGHLANDS OF ST. JOHN.— INGOENACHOIX BAT. 
 
 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. 
 John, the loftiest, I believe, in the island, and boucd the 
 bay called by the same lovely name. 
 
 What a region for romantic excursion ! Yonder are 
 wooded mountains with a sleepy atmosphere, and at- 
 tractive vales, and a fine river, the river Castor, flowing 
 from a country almost unexplored ; and here are green 
 isles spotting the sea — the islands of St. John. Be- 
 hind them is an expanse of water, alive with fish and 
 fowl, the extremes of which are lost in the deep, un- 
 troubled wilderness. A month would not suffice to find 
 
THE HIGHLANDS OF ST. JOHN. 285 
 
 out and enjoy its manifold and picturesque beauties, 
 througli which wind the deserted trails of the Ecd 
 Indian, now extinct or banished. Why they should have 
 left, with all these unappropriated breadths of solitude for 
 their inheritance, I do not precisely understand. There 
 are mournful tales told of their wrongs and their revenges, 
 the old story of contests between the civilized and the 
 savage. 
 
 Yonder, at the termination of the highlands, is a 
 cape, no matter what is its French name, since directly 
 bebind it is a bay with an Indian name tough enough to 
 last one round a dozen capes — the Bay of Ingornachoix, 
 noted for its harbors, inlets, and pretty streams, another 
 fine region for the summer tourist. Beyond the woody 
 distances rising in the east, there lies a lengthy lake, the 
 centre of a little world of interest to the lovers of nature 
 and the picturesque. It is no great distance across the 
 island here to the shores of White Bay, a remote expanse 
 of waters, to whicb few but fishermen have any occasion 
 to penetrate. 
 
 As the evening advances the wind strengthens, and 
 bears us rapidly along the coast. Thus we are encircling 
 Newfoundland, and finding spots of beauty, to which, if 
 we may not return ourselves, we can direct others of like 
 taste and sentiment. We come down from the cold air, 
 
286 INGOENACHOIX BAY. 
 
 and from looking at a fine aurora now playing in the 
 skies, and gleaming by reflection in tlie waves, and sit by 
 the cabin lights, and talk and write, inspect the sketches, 
 and listen to the roar of winds and surges — rather melan- 
 choly music. 
 
CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 SLOW SAILING BY TIIK BAY OF ISLANDS.— THE lUVEU IIUMBEU.— 
 ST. GEORGE'S RIVER, CAPE, AND BAY. -A BRILLIANT SUNSET. 
 
 Tuesday, July 19. Wc 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 our perplexity. "We advance with 
 insufferable slowness, notwithstanding the considerable 
 speed of our rounded bows, through the water. " That is 
 the Bay of Islands," they said, early in the morning. It 
 is the Bay of Islands still. We are a long time sailing 
 by the Bay of Islands. But it gives us time to look, 
 and talk about it with the Captain. Beyond the forest- 
 covered hills which surround it^ arc lakes as beautiful, 
 
288 ST. geokge's eivee, cape, and bat, 
 
 and larger than Late Greorge, the cold, clear waters of 
 which flow to the bay under the name of the river 
 Humber. It has a valley like Wyoming, and more 
 romantic scenery than the Susquehanna. The Bay of 
 Islands is also a bay of streams and inlets, an endless 
 labyrinth of cliffs and woods and waters, where the 
 summer voyager would delight to wander, and which is 
 worth a volume sparkling with pictures. 
 
 How fine a blue the waters of the gulf are in this 
 light ! We seem to be upon the broad Atlantic. What 
 a realm of seas and shores, islands, bays and rivers, is 
 this St. Lawrence world, in the midst of which we now 
 are, and of which our people know so little ! Where are 
 our young men, who have the time and money to skip, 
 from summer to summer, in the fashionable rounds of 
 travel, that they do not seek this virgin scenery ? One 
 long, loud yell of the black loon, deep diver of these lakes 
 and fiords, pealing through the silent evening, would ring 
 in their recollection long after the music of city parks 
 abroad had been forgotten. 
 
 Late in the day, and Cape St. George in view, a bold 
 and cliffced point pushed out from the mainland twenty 
 miles or more, and commanding extensive prospects both 
 inland and along the coast. A month would not suffice 
 for all its many landscapes. St. Greorge's Eiver is a wild, 
 
A BRILLIANT SUNSET. 289 
 
 rapid stream, and St. George's Bay is quite a little sea, 
 deep, and darkened by the shadows of fine mountains, 
 and broad woodlands. Like the Bay of Islands, it is a 
 paradise for the huntsman, and the fisher. Awake, ye 
 devotees of the fishing-rod and rifle, and the red camp- 
 fire beneath the green-wood trees, and know that to visit 
 St. George's cape and bay and river, and all that is St. 
 George's, is better late than never. 
 
 The sun is in the waves, and yonder we have those 
 wonderful heavens again. The west is all one bath of 
 colors, colors of the rainbow. And clouds like piled-up 
 fleeces, and like fleeces pulled apart and scattered, and 
 fleeces spun into soft and woolly threads, and again those 
 threads woven into downy fabrics, are weltering in the 
 glory. The wind has fallen, and the waves have put out 
 all their white, flashing lights, and now mould themselves 
 into the flowing lines and the sweetest forms of beauty. 
 We go down with glad hearts, and ask protection for the 
 nio'ht. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTEK LV. 
 
 FOUL WEATHER.— CAPE ANGUILLE. — THE CLEAKING OFF.— THE 
 FEOLIO OF THE POKPOISES.— THE NEW COOKS.— THE SHIP'S 
 GAT. 
 
 Wednesday, July 20. We have a misty morning, 
 and a contrary wind. If tliere 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, hut, like the red Ind- 
 ians, in single file. If Progress walk before. Patience is 
 close behind, which order of march now happens to pre- 
 vail, and a good deal to our discomfort. In the mean time, 
 in company with this leisurely and quiet maid, we are 
 beating in and out from land, in long and tedious 
 stretches, with large gains upon one tack, and nearly as 
 large losses on the other. 
 
 Peeping through the rainy atmosphere is Cape An- 
 
THE FKOLIC OF THE TORPOISES. 291 
 
 giiille, the neighboring heights of which are five hun- 
 dred feet above the tide, and sweep off in dim and 
 lengthy lines. The strong head-wind is blowing away 
 the mists, the seas are up in arirs, crested with snowy 
 plumes, flashing and sparkling. Clouds, in white uniform, 
 at quick-time march in long battalions, moving inland 
 and leaving the defenceless shores to sunshine and the 
 dashing surf. The sails mutter a deep, low bass. The 
 " puffpigs," classic name for porpoise, are playing a thou- 
 sand pranks about us, and we are partners in the frolic ; 
 watching, laughing at, and pelting them, all of whicli 
 they seem to regard as the merest nonsense of only a 
 tubfuU of helpless creatures in the upper air. They ap- 
 pear to be in the very highest glee, a party of fast young 
 fellows, well bred and fed, and in holiday fin and skin. 
 Like swallows round a barn, they play about our bows, 
 wheeling, plunging, darting to the surface, spouting, 
 splashing, every tail and rolling back of them full of fun 
 and laughter. After a spell of this ground and lofty 
 tumbling in the shadow of our jib, away they trip it, like 
 so many frisky buffalo calves, side by side, in squads and 
 couples, crossing and recrossing, kicking up their heels 
 and turning summersets — a kind of rollicking good-by. 
 Not a bit of it : round they come again, by tens and 
 twenties, wild with merriment, on a perfect gallop, and 
 
292 THE NEW COOKS. 
 
 dive below the vessel. Up they pop with puff and snort 
 on all sides and ends, and dart away like shuttles, with a 
 thread of light behind them, to go over and over again 
 the gamesome round. 
 
 Sandy, whose coarse good nature has been dropping 
 from his very finger ends in the way of stones thrown at 
 the jolly fishes, has the smallest possible aptitude for the 
 domestic art he is practising. Neither does his fancy 
 take at all to the fair ways of neatness. Beyond frying 
 pork and fish in one pan, and boiling potatoes in one pot, 
 and making tea in one kettle, as a housewife steeps her 
 simples, and every separate vessel, fakir-like, to sit from 
 meal to meal in undisturbed repose, wrapped in the 
 dingy mantle of its own defilement, Sandy has no ambi- 
 tion. Indignant, his superiors have read him several 
 homilies to the point. But the lessons have fallen upon 
 his attention like the first drops of a shower upon a 
 duck's back. The painter even went so far as to indulge 
 himself in a brief, emphatic charge, in the end of which 
 there darted out a stinging threat, anent washing and 
 scouring. Across the cloud of Sandy's unhappy brow a 
 faint smile was, at length, seen to pass, and charge and 
 threat dropped like pebbles into the muddy deeps of his 
 forgetfulness. Sandy, therefore, has virtually been de- 
 posed, and now occupies the lowly position of a mere 
 
THE NEW COOKS. 293 
 
 lackey to cooks of character. There are now, instead of 
 one indifferent, three pre-eminent cocks : a painter, a 
 captain, and a writer. They employ, divert, and fre- 
 quently disappoint themselves in the several dishes they 
 attempt. Not that the dishes in themselves are so 
 bad, but that they fall so far short of the ideal of the 
 excellent. 
 
 When I was a lad, spruce-beer and gingerbread were 
 the nectar and ambrosia at general trainings. I wanted 
 some ambrosia. The cooking-stove was instantly fired, 
 and so was the painter, on the important occasion, who, 
 from his skill in combining pigments on his pallet, had 
 suspicions of ability in compounding ingredients for the 
 pan and oven ; and therefore, nothing loth, was persuaded 
 to undertake, with the secrecy of some hoar alchemist of 
 old, in the dim retirement of the cabin, the conglomera- 
 tion from flour and ginger, sugar, salt, soda and hot 
 water, of a tremulous mass that should emanate, under 
 his plastic hand, in a generous and tempting cake. To 
 the large surprise of both mariner and author, order at 
 length arose out of that chaos in a milk-pan, and appear- 
 ed in upper day, when, with conscious but with a modest 
 air of triumph, it was passed into the hands of the chief- 
 baker, who roasted both it and himself, for a sultry and 
 smoky hour, with entire success. Hot as metal from a 
 
294 THE NEW COOKS. 
 
 furnacej and of a rich Potawatomie red, it was tasted, 
 and found nearly as hot with ginger, and then prudently 
 laid away to cool and petrify. The history of the decline 
 and fall of that memorable loaf will probably never be 
 written. It is enough to say, that, although the disin- 
 tegrating process was at first a little difficult, owing to 
 some doubt about the proper instrumentalities, yet it is 
 now easily dissected with a saw. It is unnecessary to 
 remark, that but one such batch of the ruddy bread 
 is needed on a pleasure-voyage. The painter has 
 fresh reason to congratulate himself that in all his 
 works he succeeds in imparting an element of per- 
 petuity. 
 
 Our great difficulty is the smallness of the caboose 
 and the stove, which will not permit the carrying on of 
 all operations at the same time — a circumstance which is 
 apt to leave no more than a kindly warmth, if not a 
 decided coolness, in all dishes but the last in hand. We, 
 the landsmen of the cuhnary trio, have also a dreadful 
 foe to fight, and, in any thing like a severe battle, are 
 sure to fall. It is ever lurking near our outposts, and is 
 sure to rush upon us in rough weather. They called it 
 sea-sickness, I dare say, as early as when they voyaged 
 for the golden fleece. Its effects are described in a lan- 
 guage more venerable than that of Greece : " They reel 
 
THE ship's cat. 295 
 
 to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at 
 their wits' end." That describes our case exactly. It 
 lays Loth dishes and ourselves completely on the shelf. 
 Forthwith tea, cakes and coffee, meats, vegetables, fruits, 
 and fish are allowed a play-spell, perhaps a long yellow 
 holiday, and may go on a pic-nic, a bathing, or a fishing, 
 or a shooting frolic under the table, among the baggage, 
 or around the cabin floor, as the bend of things incline. 
 The Captain, however, is apt to interpose in such dis- 
 orders, and discipline the wild wares much to his own, 
 and often to our relief. 
 
 We arc amused, annoyed, and distressed at the 
 ship's cat. She is an incorrigible thief and pick-shelf, 
 and bent on making the most of us while we last. The 
 painter is down upon her, and will not endure her for a 
 moment. The cabin was recently the field of a bloodless 
 battle, the din whereof was startling as far off as the 
 caboose, in the smoke of which I was weeping over 
 the remains of the late breakfast. Loud shouting, in- 
 terspersed with shocks of irate bodies, boots, broom, 
 cane, against barrels and amongst boxes came upon the 
 peaceful ear, and warned me to hasten to the edge of 
 things and look down. Tantaene animis celestibus iree ! 
 There was no consciousness of a spectator of the militant 
 manoeuvres, but a mighty thrashing and furious thrust- 
 
2UG Till'; suit's cat. 
 
 iiij^-, ami Avliijiiiiug of a scraj;-s;y i^])ruco-boui;'li aiuoui;- tubs, 
 Jiii;s, atul cans, aiul away bcluiul. There was a steady 
 lire ill (lie face, uiul a i)istol-sliot sliarpness in the 
 "seat." (Iriiualkiii answered Avilh a terrible wauling, 
 and linally with fixod tail inaile a dash past the enemy, 
 esea})ini;' n\) (he steps into my fuco and eyes almost, and 
 rotroatiug to the bowsprit. Pnss is a hold sailor. She 
 fdvips upon the talVrail, elin\bs the shroiuls, sits with caso 
 and dignity upon the boom, yawns and stretches among 
 the rigging. Poi>r Tnssy, she is not a silken-haired, 
 daintily-fed i-al, but a creature of baclcbono and ribs, 
 coated with fnr unru'hed and scorched, indicative of 
 kichs and a. meagre cu])hoaril. iShe treads no downy 
 bed, and ]Mns in no loved tlanghter's lap. As she comes 
 mewing gingerly abont my i'cet, and coils herself in a 
 sunny twist of rope, 1 think oi' onr own household tabby, 
 and call her by all the t'eline names ex})ressive of good- 
 will and tenderness. 
 
 How the brcczo pipes ! IToarso music this, played 
 ujion the cordage of onr light littlo schooner. Old Saint 
 Laurent, tliy winds and waves aro not always symbols of 
 a martyr's gentleness. A few seasons agx), just hero in 
 sight of yoi\der lulls and vallevs now dreaming under an 
 atmosphere of quiet, raptain Knight experienced a most 
 appalling sea. While there is nothing terrible in theso 
 
THE ship's cat. 297 
 
 now bieukinjj;" over our barricrn every few jiiinuieH, yeL 
 they ellectually iipHct the stomach, and licncc all com- 
 fort. We lie upon the slant deck in tlic sunshine, 
 sheltered near the helm, and see the spray fly over us, 
 and watch the idle nourishing of the topmast. 
 
 la* 
 
CHAPTEE LVI. 
 
 ST. PAUL'S ISLAND.— CAPE NORTH.— COAST OF CAPE BEETON.— SYD- 
 NET LIGHT AND HAEBOE.— THE END OF OUE VOYAGE TO LAB- 
 EADOE, AND ABOUND NEWFOUNDLAND. 
 
 Thursday, July 21. After a boisterous niglit we 
 are on deck again, and find a pleasant cliange in the 
 wind. It is gray and rainy, but tlien 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, it appears to me, have been 
 gifted with the ruggedest odds and ends. Wherever, on 
 all these cast-iron shores, there is a flinty promontory, 
 upon which Prometheus himself would have shuddered 
 to be chained, there the name of an apostle has been 
 transfixed. Yonder is Cape North, the stony arrow- 
 head of Cape Breton, a headland, rather a multitudinous 
 
COAST OF CAPE BRETON. 2^9 
 
 group of mountain headlands, draped with gloomy gran- 
 deur, against the black cliffs of which the surf is now 
 firing its snowy rockets. How is it they have not called 
 it Cape St. Mary or St. John ? All in all, this is a fine 
 termination of the picturesc[ue isle. Steep and lofty, its 
 summits are darkened by steepled evergreens, and its 
 many sides gashed with horrid fissures and ravines. 
 
 Here we part from the broad gulf, and enter the 
 broader ocean, passing between the promontories of Cape 
 Breton and the last capes of Newfoundland, Cape An- 
 guille, and Cape Kay with its rocky domes and tables. 
 Thus have we fairly encompassed this Ireland of Amer- 
 ica, in all but climate. White seabirds, with long wings 
 tipped with black, sweep the air. We speed onward and 
 homeward past the many-folded mountains. The eye 
 slides along their graceful outlines, and follows their 
 winding shores. Through the deep valleys we look 
 upon the landscapes interior, softened by a purple at- 
 mosphere. Clouds are breaking around the woody sum- 
 mits, seas of forest-tops are smiling in the sunshine, and 
 shadows are filling the rocky gorges with a kind of 
 twilight. At last the sun is sinking behind the distant 
 heights, and leaving his red footsteps on the clouds. 
 
 C is painting his last picture, and these are the last 
 
 pencillings of the voyage, We hail the cliffs of Sydney — 
 
300 ' END OF OUR VOYAGE TO LABKADOK. 
 
 those remarkable cliffs that sat upon the horizon like 
 tinted sea-shells, on the Sunday afternoon we were on 
 our way to St. Johns. And yonder is the Sydney light 
 twinkling through the dusk of evening. Our summer 
 sail to Labrador and around Newfoundland is over. 
 Where the anchor brings the vessel to a pause, there 
 shall we leave the brave little pinkstern. May her 
 wanderings in the future under the Union Jack be as 
 happy as those of the xDresent have been under the Stars 
 and Stripes. Thankful for the Divine care, we will ask 
 protection for the night, and guidance home, the final 
 haven where we would be. 
 
CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 FAEEWELL TO CAPTAIN KNIGHT.— ON OUE WAT ACKOSS CAPE 
 BEETON.— A MEEKT EIDE, AND THE EUSTIC LOVEE. 
 
 Friday, July 22. Sydney harbor. A bright morn- 
 ing, 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 depart in the 
 next steamer for St. Johns, and we start for Halifax by 
 an inland route. 
 
 Here we are, on our way across the Island of Cape 
 Breton, bound for Nova Scotia. Our baggage — trunks, 
 carpet-bags, reindeer-horns, snow-shoes, plants, and 
 mosses — in a one-horse wagon, goes ahead ; we follow 
 
302 OUR WAY ACROSS CAPE BRETON. 
 
 in another. We are delighted with the change from 
 rolling" waves to rolling wheels. "We are delighted with 
 our spirited nag. We are delighted with the scenery, 
 which, however, is in no way remarkable. I believe that 
 we should be delighted if we were riding through a 
 smoky tunnel. The truth is the delight is in us, and 
 will flow out, and would, be the world about us what it 
 might. Every thing amuses us, even the provoking trick 
 our pony has of slightly kicking up, every time the 
 breeching cuts into his hams upon going down hill. As 
 may be supposed, said pony is a creature of importance 
 to us, now that he is our motive power. We do not look 
 at the clouds now, and watch the temper of the atmos- 
 phere ; our eyes are upon the body and legs of the httle 
 fellow wrapped in this brown slrin. After the first effer- 
 vescence of spirit upon starting, with which, of course, 
 we were much delighted, lie began to lag a trifle, and to 
 raise suspicions that he was not the horse good-natured 
 Mr, D earing, his master, said he was. We are pleased 
 to find ourselves mistaken. Our very blunders are sat- 
 isfactory. The longer he goes the smarter he grows, giv- 
 ing us symptoms of a disposition to run away, when or- 
 dinarily we might look for any thing else. Let him run. 
 We can ride as fast, and come in not a length behind, at 
 the end of our thirty-two miles, the distance to a tavern. 
 
A MERRY RIDE, AND THE RUSTIC LOVER. 303 
 
 The ride along the shore of Sydney harbor, over a 
 smooth, hard road, was really charming, and would have 
 been to travellers of ill temper. Wild roses incensed the 
 fresh air, and the sunshine was bright upon the clover- 
 fields. On the steamer down from Halifax to Sydney, 
 I became acquainted with a tradesman, an intelligent 
 Scotch Presbyterian. Who should come running out of 
 a little country store by the road-side, with a shout that 
 brought our nag down upon his haunches, but our friend ! 
 He, too, was delighted, and shook us heartily by the hand, 
 asking after " the Labrador," the icebergs, and our voyage 
 in general. Set in the midst of our pleasure was one 
 regret : our want of time to visit Louisburg, or the ruins 
 of it. We talked it over, and then dismissed both the 
 ruins and the regret. 
 
 From the bay of Sydney the way is wonderfully 
 serpentine for a main road, winding about apparently for 
 the mere love of winding, and when there seems no 
 more real necessity for it than for a brook in a level 
 meadow. We have liked it all the better, though, run- 
 ning, as it does, around the slightest hills, wooded with 
 the perpetual spruce, intermingled with the birch and 
 maple, crossing with a graceful twist little farms, and 
 coming around garden fences, by the farmers' doors, under 
 the willows and the apple trees. The native Indians, 
 
304 A MEKRY 1U1>K, A]S;i> THE KHSTIC LOVEli. 
 
 tviokod mil, with cheap, i^liowy finery, whoso hiitsaro scon 
 lazily smoking among the bushes, wero occasionally met, 
 aiul ehatloil wilh. A young Me. something, upon whose 
 sleepy faee was the moonshine ot' a. smih^^ was found 
 trotting liis chestnut filly close hehind our wagon. The 
 persistenee in (he thing was becoming disagreeable, and 
 wo looked round several limes with an exjwession which 
 said phiinly : '' Please keep a little back." Mc. was in no 
 humor to take the hint. When our pace quickened, the 
 click of his horse's shoes, and the breath of his steed, which 
 carried a high head, wei-e close upon us ; a sudden slack- 
 ening of our speed brought him, horse-head and all, as 
 suddenly into our midst. Presently he changed his 
 tactics, and dashed by, brushing the wlieels with his 
 stirrn{\ and so trotting on ahead, taking occasion to twist 
 himseh" on the saddL\ when a, walk permitted, and look 
 back. The fellow was a character, although of the softer 
 kind, and we struck up an acquaintance, during which, 
 in the elfort to sustain his part of the conversation, ho 
 rode aromid iis in all possible waAS. A particularly 
 lavorito position was in the gutter at our side, wheiv, in 
 spite of our united care, lie would now and then bo 
 literally run np a stump, or a bank. Whether on the 
 lead, or tollowing, we kept liim frequently at break-neck 
 speed, during which the conversation was mostly con- 
 
A MEIUIY UIDK, AND TIIK liUSTlU LOVEK. 305 
 
 linod (o moiiosyllublos — loiul ami low — and, wliou loi- 
 Wixrd, dischiirgod now ovor ono, and (hen over (ho 
 other shoulder. Mo. was a Cannor, and livoil with " (ho 
 old folks at lionio." Ho had boon on a courting ex- 
 pcditiou, in whioli ho considered himself successful. In 
 fact, ho nuido n clean breast of it, and told us tho 
 pleasant story of his love, and tho fine qualities of tho 
 lass of -whom lie was enamored. Although she might 
 not be thought handsome by a great many, yet she 
 Avas handsome to him. Never errant knight rehearsed 
 a softer tale in shorter periods, Avid) a louder voice, 
 or ha}ipier heart. Ho was full oi^ il, and it mattered 
 little to whom, or how he uttered it. For what dis- 
 tance he was intending to bear us company, I have no 
 notion. The house of an acquaintance, at the gate of 
 which were several persons, who seemed at once to under- 
 stand him, and whoso faces were so many open doors of 
 curiosity, finally relieved us of him. It was evidently 
 undesigned, and he pulled up, I thought, somewhat 
 reluctantly. 
 
CHAPTEE LVIII. 
 
 EVENING KIDE TO MES. KELLY'S TAVERN— THE SUPPEE, AND THE 
 
 LODGING. 
 
 At a sort of half-way liouse, tlie driver of tlie bag- 
 gage-wagon stopped to feed and water, and I walked on 
 alone, leaving the painter with his sketch-hook. For a 
 mile or more, the road wound its way through thick 
 woods, mostly spruce, and " I whistled as I went," cer- 
 tainly 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 sil- 
 very, metallic ring, often made me pause and listen. 
 Eed raspberries, pendent from the slender bushes, 
 tempted me frequently to spring up the broken, earthy 
 bank, where, to my surprise I met the first strawberries 
 coming on from the juicier climes. Euby darlings, they 
 had got only thus far along, and looked timid and dis- 
 heartened, dropping wearily into the mossy turf, where 
 
EVENING KIDE TO MRS. KELLY'S TAVERN, 307 
 
 they trembled like drops of blood. And so I loitered 
 along the lonely highway, up which the sweetest of all 
 the fruits were coming, and over which the wild birds 
 were pouring forth their songs, and felt that I was only 
 very, very happily going on toward heaven, taking home 
 and loving, and beloved ones by the way. In the middle 
 of the forest, I met a tall, thin Indian in ragged, Eng- 
 lish dress. He passed me by silently, and with an air 
 of bashfulness. I was a little disappointed. When 
 I saw him approaching, I proposed to myself a rest upon 
 a log near by, and a talk with the man about his people. 
 The wagons came up presently, and I resumed the reins, 
 having, at the outset, been voted by a small majority 
 much the better whip. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, we came upon the shores of 
 Bras D'or, a fiord or inlet extending in from the ocean, 
 and winding for many miles among hills, farms and 
 woodlands in a manner exceedingly picturesque. The 
 ride was lovely, too lovely for the merriment in which we 
 had been freely indulging. Ebullitions of mirth gave 
 way to thoughts and emotions arising from the beauty 
 of the scenery and the hour. Clouds of dazzling flame, 
 and a rosy sunset were reflected in the purple waters. 
 As we came on at a rapid pace through the twilight and 
 the succeeding darkness, rounding the hills abutting on 
 
308 EVENING EIDE TO MKS. KELLY'S TAVERN. 
 
 the water, and thridding bits of wood, we settled into a 
 stillness as unbroken as if we had been riding alone. It 
 was nearly ten o'clock when we arrived at oiir inn, 
 none the worse for our drive of thirty-two miles, good 
 measure. 
 
 Our inn ! Imagine, if you will, a long, low-roofed, 
 dingy white house, with a front piazza, and hard by a 
 sign swinging from the limb of a broad shade tree, 
 creaking harsh plaints to the lazy breeze, and, in dark 
 letters, asserting from year to year that this is the 
 traveller's home. If it be your pleasure to indulge in 
 such imaginings, let me at once assure you that in our 
 Cape Breton Inn there is no corresponding reality. In- 
 stantly extinguish from your mind said white house, 
 tree and sign, and put in the place of them a log cabin 
 of the old school, in the naked arms of the weather, 
 backed by a stumpy field and weedy potato-patch, and 
 fronted by a couple of rickety log sheds. That antique 
 mensuration accomplished by the swinging of a cat would 
 very nearly decide the whole extent of the interior, one 
 side of which is a fire-place and fire, around which re- 
 volve, as primary orb, the hostess, Mrs. Kelly, and as 
 satellites, a son and daughter and maid-servant. With 
 all these powers, and with ample time, you may guess 
 that we sat down at last to a savory and generous sup- 
 
THE SUPPER AND LODGING. 309 
 
 per. There was tea, somewhat intimate, to be sure, with 
 the waterpot, and there was bread, nice as the Queen her- 
 self ever gets at Balmoral. The butter, alas ! was afflicted 
 with that ailment which seems to be chronic throughout 
 these her majesty's dominions, rancidity and salt. But 
 the milk was creamy, and the eggs fresh as newly-cut 
 marble, and the berry-pie, served at the hands of the 
 daughter, a neat and modest girl with pretty face and 
 figure, was a becoming finish to the meal. 
 
 Mrs. Kelly is a Highland widow, of whom a story 
 may be told, not indeed of the tragic character of Sir 
 "Walter's Highland Widow, but sufficiently mournful. 
 She walked back and forth before the door, and seemed 
 to take a melancholy pleasure in relating it. Two fine 
 boys had been tempted to leave her, of whom she had 
 not heard a syllable for years, but for whom, even then, 
 she was looking with the hope and yearning love of 
 Margaret in Wordsworth's " Excursion." Her husband, 
 kind man, was in the grave. Her two children and her 
 little farm were much to be thankful for. But then it 
 was not Scotland. A sad day for her when they were 
 persuaded to leave "home." The land here was not 
 productive, and the winters were so long and snowy. 
 There was, however, a bright side to her fortunes, and I 
 tried to make her see it. At the conclusion of the talk. 
 
310 THE SUPPER AND LODGING. 
 
 she asked me in to read a chapter, and offer the evening 
 prayer. 
 
 It was getting late, and I asked to retire. I found 
 that we had retired. We were sitting in our private 
 chamher. and the closely-curtained bed behind us, a 
 match for one in an opposite corner, too long and too 
 wide for a lad in his teens, was the appointed couch for 
 two of us, and all ready. There were nine or ten of us, 
 all told, and among them the daughter's lover, a good- 
 looking and very well-appearing young man. Now that 
 we were provided for, it was certainly no concern of ours 
 how and where the others were to lodge, although I could 
 not avoid feeling some interest in the matter. To hasten 
 things to a conclusion, I rose, wound my watch, took off 
 my boots, my coat and vest, demonstrations of my inten- 
 tion of going at once to bed that were not mistaken. Im- 
 mediately all walked out of the house, and remained out, 
 talking in the open air, until we were snugly packed away 
 and pinned in behind the scant curtains, when they re- 
 turned, and noiselessly went to rest in some order peculiar 
 to the household, dividing between them the other bed, 
 the floor, and the small chamber under the roof When, 
 in her native land, an ebony lady entertained Mungo Park, 
 she and her maids lightened their nocturnal labors — spin- 
 ning cotton — by singing plaintive songs, the burden of 
 
THE SUPPER AND LODGING. 311 
 
 which, was " the poor white man who came and sat under 
 our tree," Thus our two ipaidens lightened both their 
 labors and our slumbers, but by a less poetic process. 
 While they busied themselves with sweeping the house, 
 and washing dishes until after midnight, they kept a con- 
 tinual whispering, the subject of which was, in part, the 
 poor sunburnt men who came to sleep under their curtains 
 — but could not do it. Considering that the daughter had 
 a sweetheart in the house, the sibilant disturbances of the 
 girls were meekly suffered until they naturally whispered 
 and swept their way to bed. After this we had a fair 
 field, and did our best to improve it. The room being 
 warm and smoky, I unpinned the curtain, and started for 
 fresh air, stealing out as quietly as possible. Treach- 
 erous door ! When I had succeeded in hitting upon the 
 wooden latch, up it came with a jerk and a clack that 
 went, it seemed to me, to the ears of every sleeper. I 
 waited till I thought the effect of the noise had passed 
 away, when I began slowly opening the door. It 
 squealed like a bagpipe, startling the dreamers from 
 their pillows, and arousing suspicions of a rogue creeping 
 in, while it was only the restless traveller creeping out. 
 There had been a kitten mewing at the door for some 
 time. With tail erect, she whipped in between my feet. 
 There was a puppy outside also, and some pigs ; each in 
 
312 THE SUPPER AND LODGING. 
 
 its way promising to keep up till daylight the serenade of 
 barking and grunting, witli whichj from an earlier hour, 
 they had entertained us. It was starlight, and I could see 
 my ground, as I thought. I determined to have satisfaction 
 "by setting the dog upon the pigs, and then flogging the dog. 
 Eapping one over the head with a bean-pole, by way of 
 prelude to rapping the other, the puppy instantly joined 
 in the assault, which, but for an unlucky stubbing of my 
 naked toes, would have proved successful. 'I flung down 
 my bean-pole with disgust, and beat, instead of the 
 young rascal of a dog, an inglorious retreat. For the rest 
 of the night, it was a triumph with the enemy, reinforced 
 by some goslings and quacking ducks. If there was 
 needed any more rosin on the bow that kept sawing 
 across my tightly tuned nerves, two or three fleas sup- 
 plied it at short intervals. The bite of the little villains 
 made me jump like sparks of fire. There was, also, 
 toward the chilly morning hours, a tide in our affairs, a 
 regular ebb and flow of bed-clothes, and a final cataract 
 of them, the entire sheet descending into some abyss, 
 from which we never succeeded in recovering hardly any 
 thing more than some scanty edges and corners of a 
 blanket. It was a wonder to me how my companion in 
 arms could sleep as he did, a pleasure he declares he did 
 not enjoy ; but in his restlessness was surprised that I 
 
THE SUPPER AND LODGING. 313 
 
 could slumber on so soundly, and snore througli so many 
 troubles — a dulness from which, of course, 1 tried stoutly 
 to clear myself. Thus, as frequently happens, each imag- 
 ined the other to have slept, and himself to have been 
 wakeful all night. Undoubtedly, both waked and slum- 
 bered, and magnified the several small annoyances. 
 
 When we were ready to get up, which was disa- 
 greeably early, the household was stirring. But a peep 
 through the crevice of the curtains, which had been care- 
 fully pinned together again by some fingers unknown, 
 while we were dreaming, gave the needful hint, when out 
 they went again among the ducks and goslings. We 
 sprang out of bed, and dressed with all reasonable dis- 
 patch — an exercise in which we were slightly interrupted 
 by a younger puppy, the pestilent animal persisting, in 
 spite of a kick or two, in springing at and nibbling our 
 feet. 
 
 14 
 
CHAPTEK LIX. 
 
 SUNDAY AT DAVID MUKDOCH'S.— THE SCENEET OF BRAS D'OE. 
 
 Saturday, July 23. We were off betimes, and 
 trundling riglit 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 convey- 
 ances, 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 on the table, the look of the 
 landlady, and the general air of things, promises uncom- 
 monly well. From this frequent mention of the quality of 
 our dinner, it may be thought that I think them of great 
 importance. I do think them of very great importance ; 
 not so much because good meals are necessary and the 
 best on mere sanatory grounds, but because they are an 
 
THE SCENERY OF BRAS d'OR. 315 
 
 allowable luxury, especially at a time when one is apt to 
 have a sharp appetite and good digestion. A man is 
 something of an animal, and likes excellent eating for 
 the comfort of it, and the stomach's sake, and that lihe 
 is defensible on good moral grounds. I need not add, 
 that the indulgence of it should have upon it the bit and 
 curb of moderation ; in the application of which moral 
 force consists temperance, a virtue that stands not in 
 the scantiness, the meanness, or the entire absence of 
 things drank and eaten, but in the strong, controUifig 
 will. After this brief apology for the hungry traveller's 
 love of bountiful dinners well and neatly served, I will 
 return to the sylvan nook where ours, for to-day and to- 
 morrow, are to be cooked and eaten. 
 
 We are at the foot of a high, broad hill, verdant with 
 meadows and pastures, and checkered with woods and 
 orchards, around the lake-end of which the road comes 
 gracefully winding down to the creek and the bridge 
 close by. The expanse of water lying off to the west, as 
 you might have guessed, is named St. Peter's Bay, and 
 the buildings, a mile or more distant along the spruce 
 and pine-covered shore, is St. Peter's itself, a village. 
 The accommodations of Mr. Murdoch are ampler than 
 those of the Widow Kelly ; and the brown, wooden house 
 stands backed into the thick evergreen forest, the front 
 
316 SUNDAY AT DAVID MUKDOCH'S. 
 
 door dressing to the right and left, with its square- 
 toed stone step in Hne with the trees along the street. 
 We have each a neat room, softened under foot with 
 a rag carpet, and dimmed by a "small window and 
 its clean white curtain. The narrow feather-heds are 
 freshened with the cleanest linen. We have seen the 
 last of our driver, who returns to-day as far as the 
 Widow Kelly's. 
 
 With one horse attached to the hinder end of the 
 forward wagon, he went over the bridge and up the hill, 
 " an hour and a half ago." 
 
 Sunday, July 24. We rest according to the com- 
 mandment, and have religious service in the family, the 
 members of which, like most of the Scotch of Cape 
 Breton, are Presbyterians. In the afternoon, we saun- 
 tered through the adjoining woods and fields, picking a 
 few strawberries, and giving to ourselves a practical illus- 
 tration of the ease with which people slip into the habit 
 of Sabbath-breaking, who live in out-of-the-way places, 
 distant from the parish church, and beyond the restraints 
 of a well-ordered community. In the course of our walk, 
 we came out upon the beach, and looked at the beautiful 
 evening sky across the water. Bountiful Providence ! 
 Where hast thou not sown the seeds of loveliness, and 
 
SUNDAY AT DAVID MUKDOCH'8. 317 
 
 made tlie flowers of glory bloom ? Celestial colors arc 
 also beneath the foot. The swells that fretted, and 
 left their froth along the sloping sand, were freighted 
 with the jelly-fish, several of which were of the most 
 exquisite purple. 
 
CHAPTEK LX. 
 
 OFF FOE THE STKAIT OF CAJTSO.— ST. PETEE'S AND THE COHNTET.— 
 DAVID MUEDOCH'S HOESES, AND UIS DEIVING.— AEEIVE AT 
 PLASTEE COVE. 
 
 Monday, July 25. We are out " by tlie 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, sandy- 
 whiskered farmer, innkeeper, stage-proprietor, and driver, 
 all in one, is exactly the man for his vocation. Quick in 
 his motions, intelligent and good-tempered, he is entirely 
 to our purpose. He starts his Cape Bretons, a span of 
 light, wiry animals, upon a canter, in our opinion an in- 
 discreet pace. We pass St. Peter's, a superlative place — 
 superlatively minute, the smallest city in the world. It 
 
ST. Peter's. 319 
 
 had, for several years, one house, but has of late been in 
 a more thriving condition. It has now a name on the 
 map, a population of some nine or ten souls, and two 
 houses, a large public work in the shape of a beach, and 
 a little shipping, not able to say how much exactly, as it 
 is all absent but a skiff and a bark canoe, and the wreck 
 of a schooner, in a poor and neglected condition. How 
 long, at this rate of progress, it will take for St. Peter's to 
 grow out of existence, is a fair question of arithmetic, 
 left for the statist of the island to cipher out. Wo 
 pause for a moment only, and that in front of a mer- 
 cantile establishment, if ono may guess from a tin-foil- 
 covered paper of tobacco, and astride of it a couple of 
 pipes in the window, but dash through its suburbs, a 
 pig-pen and a hen-roost, and pass the gates of a calf-pen 
 and a potato-patch, and gain the open country, a wild 
 and lonesome tract, half-wooded, and the other half 
 weeds, brush, and stumps of all calibre and colors, 
 from rotten-red and brown down to coal-black, and all 
 torn to pieces, and tangled into one briery "wilderness, 
 just fit for the fires that occasionally scour through. 
 
 We were mistaken about the indiscretion of David, in 
 his driving, and add two mere to the list of those imperti- 
 nent travellers who hastily pass judgment upon persons 
 and things of which they are quite ignorant. David is 
 
320 DAVID Murdoch's horses, and driving. 
 
 the Jehu of the road, and his steeds are chosen, and fitted 
 to their master. Like locomotives, they work with the 
 greater ease and spirit as they wax hotter. For three 
 hours they trotted, galloped, ran, as if something more 
 than horse was in them, and something worse than man 
 was in their driver. There was ; as we knew by the flame 
 in his face and about his nostrils, and by his breath that 
 had spirit in it. Around the hills, and at their foot, 
 over bridges, and through the bushy dales, the road 
 described many a Hogarth's line of beauty, and many a 
 full-blooded S. In whirling through these graceful sinu- 
 osities, now strongly on the right wheels, then heavily on 
 the left, flirting the dust or mud into the air, we seemed 
 to swim or fly on the oily brim of peril. Expostulation 
 flashed out upon the lips in vain. A shake of the head, 
 and a knowing smile, sharpened off by the crack of the 
 whip, restored assurance, and fairly straightened all things 
 out. But all went well, and passengers as well as driver 
 became rash and brave, and foolishly came to like and 
 applaud what at first they were disposed to protest 
 against. 
 
 A change of horses has enabled David to persist in 
 this extraordinary driving, which brings us to Plaster 
 Cove at nooUj where we part with both the mercurial 
 little Scotchman, and Cape Breton. Thus have we 
 
ARRIVE AT PLASTER COVE. 321 
 
 coasted, and crossed this British Island, in which, with 
 all that is repulsive and desolate, nature has done much, 
 especially in the picturesque, and where agriculture and 
 commerce have large jS.elds for improvement. To the 
 tourist that loves nature, and who, for the manifold 
 beauties by hill and shore, by woods and waters, is happy 
 to make small sacrifices of personal comfort, I would 
 commend Cape Breton. Your fashionable, whose main 
 object is company, dress, and frivolous pleasure with the 
 gay, and whose only tolerable stopping-place is the grand 
 hotel, had better content himself with reading of this 
 Island. 
 
 14* 
 
CHAPTEK LXI. 
 
 ADIEU TO DAVID AND CAPE BKETON.— THE STEAIT OF CANSO.— OUE 
 NOVA SCOTIA COACH.— ST. GEORGE'S BAT, AND THE EIDE INTO 
 ANTIGONISH. 
 
 Plaster Cove^ a small village, and our dining-place, is 
 at tlie 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 rockj channel, overlooked by cliffs and high- 
 lands. Directly opposite, the hills rise into quite a 
 mountain, thickly wooded, down the sides of which is a 
 broad clearing for the telegraphic wire connecting with 
 the Atlantic cable. At first a very high tower of timber 
 was erected on this, the Cape Breton side, in order to 
 carry the wire above the highest mast, but it was soon 
 abandoned and left to fall into ruin. The wire is now 
 submerged, and enters the water in the form of a sub- 
 stantial iron rope strong enough for the anchor of a man- 
 of-war. 
 
THE STRAIT OF CANSO. 323 
 
 Two o'clock, P. M., we crossed the strait in a small sail- 
 boat, and encountered quite a disagreeable sea, enough so 
 to give us a few dashes of salt water, and frighten tlie 
 women that were in company. We have a two-horse 
 post-coach, of queer shape and uncomfortable dimensions, 
 being short and narrow in the body, but tall enough to 
 serve for a canopy at the head of a procession. One could 
 easily spread his umbrella overhead, and find some incon- 
 venience in disposing of it closed down below. To Anti- 
 gonish, the town for which we start in this — I am at a loss 
 to determine whether antique, or an anticipation of the 
 future — carriage, it is thirty-sis miles, and not greatly 
 different from as many miles lately passed over, if I may 
 guess from what I can see for a mile ahead. Our fellow- 
 sufferers in this strait jacket of a carriage are Scotchmen, 
 and think in Gaelic before they speak, I imagine, as have 
 many of them that we have met. They are much 
 amused at the humour of the painter, of whose vocation 
 and standing in the world they have not the remotest 
 notion. 
 
 " St. George, he was for England, 
 St. Denis was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense," 
 
 is the refrain of Master John Grubb, of Christ Church, 
 Oxford, his ballad, rehearsed at the anniversary feast of 
 
324 ST. GEOKGE'S bay, and ride to ANTIGONISH. 
 
 St. George's club, on St, George's Day, the 23d of April. 
 And now for the reason that I have been humroino- this 
 classic nonsense, or rather that I should have thought of it : 
 To the north of us is a blue expanse, dotted and bordered 
 by inlands^ headlands, and the warm blue heights of Cape 
 Breton, It is a land of azure reticule, or pocket of the 
 Gulf, and was early christened, by whom I cannot tell, 
 St. George's Bay. This is the second Bay in honor of the 
 martyr of Nicomedia, the patron Saint of England, to 
 repeat a popish fancy, that we have encountered within 
 a few days. And truly, could the old religious hero revisit 
 these earthly scenes, he would own that they had given 
 his name to a very fine extent of water, whose purple 
 hills to the northeast stand at the opening of the Strait 
 of Canso, Due north, a vessel would touch, in a few 
 hours' sail, the eastern cape of Prince Edward's Island, 
 the garden of all the Gulf, another region for the summer 
 traveller. 
 
 These landscapes of island, sky, and water are softly 
 beautiful in the afternoon and sunset lights, but scarcely 
 picturesque, and never grand. The country is dull and 
 wearisome, gently diversified with hill and dale, wood- 
 lands and farms, in no very high state of culture, and 
 thinly populated. There is some advantage, however, 
 resulting from this dulness of scenery : it drives us to 
 
ST. GEORGF/S bay, and ride to ANTIGONISH. 325 
 
 ourselves for entertainment. A merrier time I do not 
 remember than that lately passed on the driver's seat. 
 The theme was scarecrows — a peculiar walk of art, in 
 which the painter, during a recent stay in a remote part 
 of the country, became sufficiently adept to frighten, not 
 only the little creatures that pulled up the corn, but 
 even the larger ones that planted it. To such perfection 
 did he finally carry old clothes and straw, that, like the 
 statue of Pygmalion, his images became indued with life, 
 and ended with running after the astonished rustics of 
 the neighborhood. We ride into Antigonish, a thriving 
 village, with pretty white houses and spreading shade- 
 trees, at dusk, and alight at a comfortable tavern, where 
 we sup on salmon, and rest until after midnight. 
 
CHAPTEE LXII. 
 
 NEW GLASGOW.— THE EIDE TO TRUEO.— THE EAILWAY EIDE TO 
 HALIFAX.— PAETING WITH THE PAINTEE. 
 
 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 ther oar of cars, merely coal- 
 cars, however. Tide-water is close by, setting in from 
 the Strait of Northumberland, the lengthy water lying 
 between the mainland and Prince Edward's Island. We 
 are all ready for our ride to Truro, on Mines Bay, or a 
 spur of it, an eastern reach of the Bay of Fundy, and 
 distant forty miles, where we take the cars for Halifax, 
 
THE RAILWAY RIDE TO HALIFAX. 327 
 
 or all the world. Those wonderful cars ! Why, at 
 Truro, I shall hegin to feel at home, a point more remote 
 than Europe, in the day of only sails and horse-power. 
 
 The ride is cheering, as we take it on the coach-toj) 
 in the breezy, bright day. Broad farms, with barns and 
 dwellings, grass and grain and orchards, cattle and bleat- 
 ing sheep spread out upon the hills, and stretch along the 
 valleys. The plain of Truro has many of the features of 
 a populous and well-cultivated county. Its groves and 
 trees and wide meadows, waiting for the mower, form a 
 pretty and extended landscape. The town itself, reached 
 at three o'clocli:, with its central square and grass and 
 shades, is too much like a village of New England to need 
 further mention. While at dinner, the v/histlc of the 
 locomotive indicated the direction of the station, a wel- 
 come call, which we obeyed with rather more than ordi- 
 nary alacrity. The ride to Halifax, which occupied from 
 four o'clock until dusk, was by no means at Yankee 
 speed, and took us through a thinly inhabited country, 
 somewhat broken, and interspersed with woods and 
 waters — a region that makes no very definite or lasting 
 impression, and yet one that the traveller looks out upon 
 with some pleasure. The last few miles along the banks 
 of the river flowing into Halifax Bay was a lovely valley 
 ride. Rounded hills and bluffs green and bowery, and 
 
328 PARTING WITH THE PAINTER. 
 
 handsome residences looking out between pretty groves 
 and down grassy lawns, never appeared more attractive. 
 Had we been going the other way, perhaps they would 
 not have seemed deserving of more than a passing look. 
 In the weary hours, and along the torrid portions of the 
 path of life, I am sure that I shall remember the quiet, 
 refreshing scenery of that river, and wish myself among 
 its graceful and placid beauties. From the noisy station 
 we trundled in an omnibus through the narrow streets of 
 an old-fashioned, hill-side city, crowned with a fortress 
 looking off south upon a bay and the distant ocean, and 
 alighted at a hotel of stories and many windows, where 
 we heard a gong, instrument of Pandemonium, and took 
 tea with the relish of medicine, and talked over the con- 
 clusion of our journey. As haste was more requisite on 
 my part, I resolved to post across the province to Wind- 
 sor, that night, and leave the painter to wend his way 
 homeward at his leisure. 
 
CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 COACH EIDE AT NIGHT FROM HALIFAX TO WINDSOE.— THE PEINCE 
 EDWAED'S MAN, AND THE GENTLEMAN FEOM NEWFOUNDLAND. 
 
 Immersed in fog, and shut np 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 even- 
 ing until six next morning. The country, I conclude — if 
 a man may have any conclusiong, who rides with his eyes 
 fast shut, and sleeps and nods — is a succession of hills 
 and dales. From the bridges, over which we rumbled, 
 and from the crowing of the cocks at midnight and at 
 dawn, I argue that there v/ere farms and streams. My 
 companions were agreeable. Being partners in the en- 
 terprise, at the cost of twenty-two dollars and a half for 
 an eight hours' drive, we had feUow-feelings on all things 
 in general, and upon the expensiveness of night travel- 
 
330 THE PKIKCE EDWAHD'S MAN. 
 
 ling in Nova Scotia in particular. The Prince Edward's 
 man, a tradesman, was on his first visit to the States, 
 in fact to the great world, and was a modest, thoughtful 
 person, who talked as men of merely home experience 
 are apt to talk, sajnng nothing to object to, nothing to 
 startle, and some little to remember concerning the 
 climate, the society, and products of his native isle. The 
 gentleman from Newfoundland had seen the world to 
 his soul's content, and now was a most passionate lover 
 of wild nature. He had dined with nobility and gentry, 
 and could talk of them and of cities, from the end of his 
 tongue ; but of the pleasures of the sportsman in British 
 America, out of his very heart. A more genial com- 
 panion the lonely traveller could not easily light upon. 
 I had seen him before, but forgot to mention it. It was 
 at Murdoch's, on the last Sunday, which I was sorry to 
 recollect of him. He drove up about noon, in wood- 
 man's dress partly ; washed, dined, and departed in great 
 haste for Pictou, in order to reach Halifax in time for 
 the very steamer that we were hoping to catch. With 
 all his speed he missed it as well as we. Hinc illae 
 lachrymee. In his conversation you heard the crack of 
 the rifle, and the roar of the forest and the ocean. He 
 was often reeling in the largest salmon and the finest 
 trout, and bringing down with a crash in the brushwood 
 
THE GENTLEMAN EllOM NEWFOUNDLAND, 331 
 
 the fattest of all bucks. The light of his nut-brown 
 pipe, a costly article, flashing faintly on his well-marked 
 face, reminded me of the red blaze of camp-fires in the 
 woods, on the banks of mountain brooks, and the shores 
 of solitary lakes. From one of a nature so companion- 
 able you part, on the road, after no longer than a day's 
 acquaintance, with genuine regret. He was a character 
 for the novelist, with a head and countenance both for 
 painter and sculjDtor. 
 
CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 WINDSOK.— THE AVON AND THE TIDE.— THE STEAMER FOK ST. JOHN'S, 
 NEW BEUNSWICK.— MINES BASIN.— COAST SCENEET.— THE SCENE 
 OF EVANGELINE.— PAESBOEO.— THE BAT OP FUND T.— NOVA SCOTIA 
 AND NEW BEUNSWICK SHOEES.— ST. JOHNS.— THE MAINE COAST, 
 AND GEAND MANAN. 
 
 Wednesday, July 27. Windsor, N. S. Soon after 
 our arrival, I walked down to the Avon, an arm of Mines 
 Bay, itself an expanded inlet of the great Bay of Fundy, 
 to view tlie wonderful tide. It was not coming in, as I 
 had hoped, but quite out, leaving miles of black river- 
 bottom entirely bare, with only a small stream coursing 
 through in a serpentine manner. A line of blue water 
 was visible on the northern horizon. After an absence 
 of an hour or so, I loitered back, when, to my surprise, 
 there was a river like the Hudson at Catskill, running up 
 with a powerful current. The high wharf, upon which, 
 but a short time before, I had stood and surveyed the 
 black, unsightly fields of mud, was now up to its middle 
 
MINES BASIN. 333 
 
 in the turbid and whirling stream, and very nearly in, 
 the steamer from St. Johns, N. B. 
 
 In the course of an hour more I was on board, and 
 waiting for the turn of the tide, upon which, of necessity, 
 the boat takes her departure. I had missed, after all, 
 seeing the first approach of the tidal wave, and had to 
 content myself with what I have described, and with a 
 short walk in the town, of late esteeming itself note- 
 worthy on account of being the birthplace of General 
 Williams, the hero of Kars, of whose fine personal ap- 
 pearance I have spoken. 
 
 We are now at the opening of the Avon into Mines 
 Bay or Basin, as they call this small sea, and look upon 
 scenes of which Longfellow speaks in the first pages of 
 his Evangeline. It is simply a pleasant-looking farming 
 country, checkered with fields of green, now of a yellow 
 tint and then of a blue. Shores of reddish rocks and 
 sand make a pretty foreground line along the west, and 
 rise to the picturesque as they wind away northward. 
 Headlands of gray and red rocks in slopes and precipices 
 stand out in bold relief crowned with underwood and 
 loftier trees. The clouds are clearing away before the 
 breeze, and letting us have a sparkling sea, a fine blue 
 sky, and landscapes dappled with light and shadow. 
 
 Parsboro, a village on the north shore of the Basin, 
 
334 \ COAST SCENERY. 
 
 enjoys more tlian its share of broad, gravelly beacli, over- 
 hung with, clifted and woody bluffs. One fresh, from the 
 dead walls of a great city would be delighted with the 
 sylvan shores of Parsboro. The beach, with all its 
 breadth, a miracle of pebbly beauty, slants steeply to the 
 surf, which is now rolling up in curling clouds of green 
 and white. Here we turn westward into the great bay 
 itself, going with a tide that rushes like a mighty river 
 toward a cataract, whirhng, boiling, breaking in half 
 moons of crispy foam. Behind us is the blue reach of 
 Chignecto Bay, the northern of the two long and winding 
 horns of the main body of water, up which it would be 
 play for a fortnight to hunt romantic scenery, and wit- 
 ness the "bore," that most brilHant of all tidal disj)lays. 
 
 Here is a broad sea, moving with strange velocity for 
 a sea. The prospect to the south is singularly fine. 
 Nova Scotia, sloping from the far-off sky gently down to 
 the shores, its fields and villages and country dwellings 
 gleaming in the warm noon-day, or darkening in the 
 shadow of a transient cloud — a contrast to the northern, 
 New Brunswick coast, iron-bound and covered with dark 
 forests. Drops from a coming shower are wasting their 
 sweet freshness upon the briny deep, an agreeable discord 
 in the common music of the day, and chime in, among 
 pleasant incidents, with the talk of the Prince Edward's 
 
THE MAINE COAST. 335 
 
 man, and the sparkling conversation of the Newfoundland 
 gentleman. "And so sail we" into the harbor of St. 
 Johns, the last of the waters of this divine apostle, in 
 time for supper and a pleasant ramble about the city. 
 You might call it the city of hills. 
 
 Thuksday, July 28, 1859. St. Johns, N. B. This 
 is my last date, and I write it out in full, in the light of 
 a fine morning, on the deck of the steamer for Portland. 
 The coast of Maine, truly picturesque as it is, with its 
 rocky points, lake-like bays, and islands bristling in their 
 dark evergreens like porcupines, and particularly Mount 
 Desert Island and Frenchman's Bay, is the mildest form" 
 of Newfoundland scenery as you see it on the Atlantic 
 side, with an additional dressing of forest and vegetation, 
 sparsely studded with towns and habitations. 
 
 Speaking of Mount Desert Island, recalls Cole to 
 memory, who was, I believe, the first landscape painter 
 of our country that visited that picturesque region. I 
 remember with what enthusiasm he spoke of the coast 
 scenery — the fine surf upon Sand Beach — the play of 
 the surge in the caverns of Great Head — the j9Egean 
 beauty of Frenchman's Bay — the forests, and the wild, 
 rugged mountains, from the tops of which he could count 
 a multitude of sails upon the blue ocean, and follow the 
 
336 GRAND MAN AN. 
 
 rocky shores and sparkling breakers for many and many 
 a mile. Familiar to me as all that has long since he- 
 come, I shall not pass it to-day without emotion. 
 
 Grand Manan, a favorite summer haunt of the 
 painter, is the very throne of the bold and romantic. 
 The high, precipitous shores, but for the woods which 
 beautify them, are quite in the style of Labrador. I look 
 upon its grand old cliffs with double interest from the 
 fact that he has made me familiar with its people and 
 scenery. As it recedes from my view, and becomes a dot 
 in the boundless waters, I will put the period to this 
 record. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 _Nov_UJfe61 J 
 
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