The Explanation Is Invariably "Fires In The
Canada Woods"; And Here, In This "Cool, Sequestered Vale", We Have An
Opportunity Of Seeing Forest Fires Before We Take Our Departure For
Other Fields Of Observation.
After sunset we are apparently almost
surrounded by volcanoes, as the lurid flames leap up into the deepening
blackness of the night; and when we lovers of Nature, distressed
afterwards by seeing vast tracts all scarred and desolate, exclaim,
"Why didn't they stop it?
Why did they allow it?" echo answers, "Why?"
One day we learn that a mill on L'Équille is threatened, and expect that
there will be some excitement; but a very old-fashioned fire engine,
with clumsy hand power pumps, goes lumbering by, followed by men and
boys, who walk in a leisurely and composed manner. The mill is saved by
some means, however; and we rejoice, as it is, so to speak, historical,
standing in a place favored for such purposes since Lescarbot's time;
even Argall (in 1613), when demolishing other buildings of the village,
having spared the mill which occupied the site of the present one.
In our various wanderings we visit the Indian settlement at the head of
this crooked stream, but find its residents too civilized to be very
picturesque. We are interested in learning what the Canadian Government
does for their welfare, and wish a similar policy could be instituted
in the States. Here, as with us, liquor is their curse. The once famous
chief of the Micmacs lives at Bear River, and is addicted to the bottle.
One day a young girl, who was a summer guest at this place, sat down on
an overturned canoe which this chief (now known as James Meuse) had
just completed; and, as the bark bent with her weight, the wily Indian
pretended that the boat was irretrievably ruined.
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