The Grand Portage into New Brunswick—Lake Timiscouta—The Madawaska River.

On the Madawaska. July.

The traveller, who would go from Quebec to Halifax by the recently established Government route, will have to take a steamer for one hundred and twenty miles down the great river, and cross the Grand Portage road which commences at River Du Loup, and extends to Lake Timiscouta, a distance of thirty-six miles.

With the village of Du Loup I was well pleased. It contains about twelve hundred inhabitants, and a more general mixture of English, Scotch, and French than is usually found in the smaller towns of Canada. The place contains an Episcopal Church, which must be looked upon as a curiosity in this Roman Catholic country, for it is the only one, I believe, found eastward of Quebec. The situation of the village is romantic to an uncommon degree. It commands an extensive prospect of the St. Lawrence, which is here upwards of twenty miles wide, and bounded on the opposite shore by a multitude of ragged mountains. The river is studded with islands, and ships are constantly passing hither and thither over the broad expanse, and when, from their great distance, all these objects are constantly enveloped in a gauze-like atmosphere, there is a magic influence in the scenery. The principal attraction is a waterfall, about a mile in the rear of the village. At this point, the waters of the rapid and beautiful Du Loup dance joyously over a rocky bed, until they reach a picturesque precipice of perhaps eighty or a hundred feet, over which they dash in a sheet of foam, and, after forming an extensive and shadowy pool, glide onward through a pleasant meadow, until they mingle with the waters of the St Lawrence.

But as I intend to take you over the Grand Portage, it is time that we should be off. The first ten miles of this road are dotted with the box-looking houses of the Canadian peasantry; but the rest of the route leads you up mountains and down valleys, which are all as wild and desolate as when first created. The principal trees of the forest are pine, spruce and hemlock, and the foundation of the country seems to be granite. This region is watered by many sparkling streams, which contain trout in great abundance. The only curiosity on the road is of a geological character, and struck me as something remarkable. Crossing the road, and running in a northerly direction, and extending to the width of about two miles, is a singular bed of granite boulders. The rocks are of every size and form, and while from a portion of them rises a scanty vegetation, other portions are destitute of even the common moss. In looking upon this region, the idea struck me that I was passing through the bed of what was once a mighty river, but whose fountains had become for ever dry. This is only one, however, of the unnumbered wonders of the world, which are constantly appearing to puzzle the philosophy of man.

In passing over the Grand Portage, the traveller has to resort to a conveyance which presents a striking contrast with the usual national works of her Ladyship, the Queen. It is the same establishment which conveys the Royal Mail from Quebec to Halifax, and consists of a common Canadian cart, a miserable Canadian pony, and a yet more miserable Canadian driver. Such is “the way they order things in Canada,” which, I fancy, is not exactly the way they do in France. The Grand Portage Road itself is all that one could desire, and as there is a good deal of summer and winter travelling upon it, it is surprising that the Government cannot afford a more comfortable conveyance.

The eastern termination of the Grand Portage road, is at Lake Timiscouta, where is situated a pleasant hamlet of Canadians, and a picketed fort, which is now abandoned. The views from this spot are unique and exceedingly beautiful, particularly a western view of the lake, when glowing beneath the rays of the setting sun. The Indian word, Timiscouta, signifies the winding water, and accurately describes the lake, which has a serpentine course, twenty-four miles long, and from two to three wide. Excepting the cluster of houses already mentioned, there is not a single cabin on the whole lake; and the surrounding mountains, which are, perhaps, a thousand feet high, are the home of solitude and silence. The only vessels which navigate this lake are Indian canoes, paddled by Canadians. Not only does the isolated settler depend upon them for the transportation of his provisions, but even the English nobleman, when travelling in this region, finds it necessary to sit like a tailor in their straw-covered bottoms.

The only outlet to Lake Timiscouta, is the Madawaska River, which is but a contraction of the same water, but reduced to the width of a stone’s throw, and leading to the St. John’s, a distance of some forty miles. The meaning of Madawaska, as I am informed, is, never frozen; and the river obtained this name from the fact that certain portions, on account of the current, are never ice-bound. The scenery of the river is precisely similar to that of its parent lake, only that it is occasionally a little cultivated. The waters of both are clear, but not very deep or cold. They abound with fish, of which the common trout, the perch, and pickerel, (not pike), are the more valuable varieties.

The manner in which I sailed through Timiscouta and Madawaska, was exceedingly pleasant, if not peculiar and ridiculous. My canoe was manned by a couple of barbarous Canadians; and while they occupied the extreme stern and bow, I was allowed the “largest liberty” in the body thereof. It was an exceedingly hot day when I passed through; and having stripped myself of nearly all my clothing, I rolled about at my own sweet will, not only for the purpose of keeping cool, but that I might do a good business in the way of killing time. At one moment I was dipping my feet and hands in the water, “humming a lightsome tune of yore,” and anon sketching the portrait of a mountain or a group of trees. Now I lay flat upon my back; and while I watched the fantastic movements of the clouds, as they crossed the blue of heaven, I attended to the comforts of the inner man, by sucking maple sugar. Now I called upon the boat-men to sing me a song: and while they complied with my request, I fixed myself in the poetical attitude of a Turk, and smoked a cigar. At one time we halted at a mountain spring, to obtain a refreshing drink; and at another, the men pulled up to some rocky point, that I might have the pleasure of throwing the fly. Thus “pleasantly the days of Thalaba went by.”

My voyage down the Madawaska was not without a characteristic incident. There was a fleet of canoes descending at the same time; some of them laden with women and babies, and some with furs, tin kettles, and the knapsacks of home-bound lumbermen. Two of the canoes were managed by a Canadian and a Scotchman, who seemed to cherish a deep-rooted passion for racing. They paddled a number of heats; and as they were alternately beaten, they both finally became angry, and began to bet extravagantly. The conclusion of the whole matter was, that they went ashore on a bushy point, among the mountains, and settled their difficulty by a “private fight.” They fought like brave men, “long and well;” and by the time one had a tooth knocked out of his head, and the other had nearly lost an eye, they separated, and quietly resumed their way. These were the only wild animals that I saw in the Madawaska wilderness.