41. Baddeck to Mabou and Port Hood. - St. Patrick's Channel and Whycocomagh.

This route is traversed by the Royal mail-stage on Monday and Wednesday, leaving Baddeck at noon, and reaching Whycocomagh after 4 o'clock, and Mabou at 9 P. M. The distance is about 50 M.; the fare is $2.50. The Royal mail-stage on this route is a one-horse wagon with a single seat, so that the accommodations for travel are limited.

Mr. Warner thus describes the road between Whycocomagh and Baddeck: "From the time we first struck the Bras d'Or for thirty miles we rode in constant sight of its magnificent water. Now we were two hundred feet above the water, on the hillside skirting a point or following an indentation; and now we were diving into a narrow valley, crossing a stream, or turning a sharp corner, but always with the Bras d'Or in view, the afternoon sun shining on it, softening the outlines of its embracing hills, casting a shadow from its wooded islands. Sometimes we opened upon a broad water plain bounded by the Watchabaktchkt hills, and again we looked over hill after hill receding into the soft and hazy blue of the land beyond the great mass of the Bras d'Or. The reader can compare the view and the ride to the Bay of Naples and the Cornice Road; we did nothing of the sort; we held on to the seat, prayed that the harness of the pony might not break, and gave constant expression to our wonder and delight."

St. Patrick's Channel is 20 M. long by 1-3 M. wide, and is made highly picturesque by its deep coves, wooded points, and lofty shores. Its general course is followed by the highway, affording rich views from some of the higher grades. After leaving Baddeck the road strikes across the country for about 5 M. to the Baddeck River, in whose upper waters are large trout. Beyond this point the road swings around the blue expanse of Indian Bay, approaching a bold hill-range 650 ft. high, and crosses the Middle River, at whose mouth is an Indian reservation. Frequent glimpses are afforded of St. Patrick's Channel, well to the 1. across the green meadA range of lofty heights now forces the road nearer to the water, and it passes within 2 M. of the remarkable strait known as the Little Narrows, about which there are 150 inhabitants.

Ows.

A road leads N. W. 5 M. into Ainslie Glen, and to the great Ainslie Lake, which covers 25 square miles, and is the source of the Margaree River. Its shores are broken and rugged, and are occupied by a hardy population of Highlanders. Petroleum springs have been found in this vicinity (see page 169).

Beyond the Little Narrows is a magnificent basin, 15 M. long and 3-5 M. wide, into whose sequestered and forest-bound waters large ships make their way, and are here laden with timber for Europe. On his second trip up this Basin, the Editor was startled, on rounding a promontory, at seeing a large Liverpool ship lying here, at anchor, with her yard-arms almost among the trees. The road runs around the successive spurs of the Salt Mt., a massive ridge on the N. shore of the Basin, and many very attractive views are gained from its upper reaches. The water is of a rich blue, partly owing to its depth, which is from 3 to 20 fathoms.

Whycocomagh (Inverness House) is a Scottish Presbyterian hamlet, situated at the N. W. angle of the Basin, and surrounded by pretty Trosachlike scenery. There are about 400 inhabitants in this neighborhood,

whence small cargoes of produce are annually shipped to Newfoundland. Near this point is a marble cave, with several chambers 6-8 ft. high; and foxes are often seen among the hills. It is claimed that valuable deposits of magnetic and hematitic iron-ore have been found in this vicinity. Stages run 30 M. S. W. from Whycocomagh to Port Hastings, on the tame and uninteresting road known as the Victoria Line.

"What we first saw was an inlet of the Bras d'Or, called by the driver Hogamah Bay. At its entrance were long, wooded islands, beyond which we saw the backs of graceful hills, like the capes of some poetic sea-coast. .... A peaceful place, this Whycocomagh. The lapsing waters of the Bras d'Or made a summer music all along the quiet street; the bay lay smiling with its islands in front, and an amphitheatre of hills rose beyond." (WARNER'S Baddeck.)

On leaving Whycocomagh the quaint double peaks of Salt Mt. are seen in retrospective views, and the road soon enters the Skye Glen, a long, narrow valley, which is occupied by the Highlanders. The wagon soon reaches the picturesque gorge of the Mabou Valley, with the mountainous mass of Cape Mabou in front. The Mull River is seen on the 1., glittering far below in the valley, and erelong the widenings of the sea are reached, and the traveller arrives at the wretched inn of Mabou. The stage for Port Hood (10 M. S.) leaves about midnight, reaching Port Hastings at 9 A. M. (see Route 42).

The steamer Neptune ascends St. Patrick's Channel to Whycocomaglı every week, on its alternate trips passing around from Sydney to the Channel by way of the Great Bras d'Or (Sydney to Whycocomagh, $2). This route is much easier for the traveller than that by the stage, and reveals as much natural beauty, if made during the hours of daylight. The passage of the Little Narrows and the approach to Whycocomagh are its most striking phases.

42. The West Coast of Cape Breton. - Port Hood and Margaree.

The Royal mail-stage leaves Port Hastings (Plaster Cove) every morning, after the arrival of the Halifax mail. Fare to Port Hood, $3.

Distances. Port Hastings; Low Point, 7 M.; Creignish, 9; Long Point, 14; Judique, 18; Little Judique, 24; Port Hood, 28; Mabou, 38; Broad Cove Intervale, 56; Margaree Forks, 68; Margaree, 76; Cheticamp, 88.

The first portion of this route is interesting, as it affords frequent pleasant views of the Strait of Canso and its bright maritime processions. The trend of the coast is followed from Port Hastings to the N. W., and a succession of small hamlets is seen along the bases of the highlands. Just beyond Low Point is the Catholic village of the same name, looking out over the sea. The road now skirts the wider waters of St. George's Bay, over which the dark Antigonish Mts. are visible. Beyond the settlements of Creignish and Long Point is the populous district of Judique, inhab

ited by Scottish Catholics, who are devoted to the sea and to agriculture. The Judiquers are famous throughout the Province for their great stature, and are well known to the American fishermen on account of their pugnacity. Yankee crews landing on this coast are frequently assailed by these pugilistic Gaels, and the stalwart men of Judique usually come off victorious in the fistic encounters. The district has about 2,000 inhabitants.

Port Hood (two inns) is the capital of Inverness County, and is a picturesque little seaport of about 800 inhabitants. The American fishermen in the Gulf frequently take shelter here during rough weather, and 400 sail have been seen in the port at one time. There are large coal-deposits in the vicinity, which, however, have not yet been developed to any extent. The town was founded by Capt. Smith and a party of NewEnglanders, in 1790. "This port affords the only safe anchorage on the W. coast of Cape Breton to the N. of the Gut of Canso," and is marked by a red-and-white light, near the highway, on the S. Off shore is Smith's Island, which is 2 M. long and 210 ft. high, beyond which are the high shores of Henry Island. The Magdalen-Islands steamer touches at Port Hood (see Route 49) and a stage-road runs N. E. to Hillsborough, where it meets the road from Mabou, and thence passes E. to Whycocomagh (see page 167).

Mabou (uncomfortable inn) is 10 M. N. E. of Port Hood, and is reached by a daily stage passing along the shore-road. It is at the mouth of the broad estuary of the Mabou River, amid bold and attractive scenery, and contains about 800 inhabitants. To the N. E. is the highland district of Cape Mabou, averaging 1,000 ft. in height, and thickly wooded. The Gulf-shore road to Margaree runs between this range and the sea, passing the marine hamlets of Cape Mabou and Sight Point. There is an inland road, behind the hills, which is entered by following the Whycocomagh road to the head of the estuary of the Mabou and then diverging to the N. E. This road is traversed by a tri-weekly stage, and leads up by the large farming-settlement at Broad Cove Intervale, to the W. shores of Lake Ainslie (see page 167), which has several small Scottish hamlets among the glens.

"The angler who has once driven through Ainslie Glen to the shores of the lake, launched his canoe upon its broad waters, and entered its swiftly running stream, will never be content to return until he has fished its successive pools to its very mouth."

A road leads out from near the W. shore of the lake to the village of Broad Cove Chapel, on the Gulf coast, traversing a pass in the highlands. The stage runs N. between the hills and the valley of the Margaree (S. W. Branch), one of the most romantic and best stocked salmon-rivers in the world." Beyond the settlement of Broad Cove Marsh, a road runs out to the Gulf abreast of Sea-Wolf Island, on whose cliffs is a fixed light, 300 ft.

high. Margaree Forks is a rural village at the junction of the N. E. and S. W. Branches of the famous Margaree River, where salmon abound from June 15 until July 15.

"In Cape Breton the beautiful Margaree is one of the most noted streams for seatrout, and its clear water and picturesque scenery, winding through intervale meadows dotted with groups of witch-elm, and backed by wooded hills over a thousand feet in height, entitle it to pre-eminence amongst the rivers of the Gulf."

There are several small hamlets in this region, with a total population of over 4,000. Margaree is on the harbor of the same name, near the Chimney-Corner coal-mines, 48 M. from Port Hood, and has a small fleet of fishing-vessels. A shore-road runs N. E. 12 M. to Cheticamp, a district containing about 2,000 inhabitants, most of whom are of the old Acadian It is a fishing station of Robin & Co., an ancient and powerful commercial house on the Isle of Jersey; and was founded by them in 1784, and settled by Acadian refugees from Prince Edward Island. The harbor is suitable for small vessels, and is formed by Cheticamp Island, sheltering the mouth of the Cheticamp River. There is a powerful revolving white light on the S. point of the island, 150 ft. high, and visible for 20 M.

race.

at sea.

N. E. and E. of Cheticamp extends the great highland-wilderness of the N. part of Cape Breton (see page 163), an unexplored and trackless land of forests and mountains. There are no roads above Cheticamp, and the most northerly point of the Province, Cape St. Lawrence (see page 159), is 30 M. N. E. by E. ¿ E. from the N. part of Cheticamp Island.

The terrible storm which swept the Gulf of St. Lawrence in August, 1873, and wrecked hundreds of vessels, attained its greatest force around the island of Cape Breton and in the narrow seas to the W., towards Prince Edward's Island and the Magdalen Island. It lasted only a few hours, but was fearfully destructive in its effects, and strewed all these coasts with drowned mariners The following spirited poem is inserted here, by the kind permission of its author, Mr. Edmund C. Sted

man.

The

Lord's-Day Gale.

In Gloucester port lie fishing craft,-
More staunch and trim were never seen:
They are sharp before and sheer abaft,

And true their lines the masts between.
Along the wharves of Gloucester Town
Their fares are lightly landed down,

And the laden flakes to sunward lean.
Well know the men each cruising-ground,
And where the cod and mackerel be:
Old Eastern Point the schooners round
And leave Cape Ann on the larboard lee:
Sound are the planks, the hearts are bold,
That brave December's surges cold

On George's shoals in the outer sea.
And some must sail to the banks far north
And set their trawls for the hungry cod,-
In the ghostly fog creep back and forth

By shrouded paths no foot hath trod;
Upon the crews the ice-winds blow,
The bitter sleet, the frozen snow,-
Their lives are in the hand of God!

New England! New England!

Needs sail they must, so brave and poor,
Or June be warm or Winter storm,

Lest a wolf gnaw through the cottage-door!
Three weeks at home, three long months gone,
While the patient good-wives sleep alone,
And wake to hear the breakers roar.

The Grand Bank gathers in its dead,-
The deep sea-sand is their winding-sheet;
Who does not George's billows dread

That dash together the drifting fleet?
Who does not long to hear, in May,
The pleasant wash of Saint Lawrence Bay,
The fairest ground where fishermen meet?
There the west wave holds the red sunlight
Till the bells at home are rung for nine:
Short, short the watch, and calm the night;
The fiery northern streamers shine;
The eastern sky anon is gold,
And winds from piny forests old,
Scatter the white mists off the brine.

1

The Province craft with ours at morn
Are mingled when the vapors shift;
All day, by breeze and current horne,
Across the bay the sailors drift;
With toll and seine its wealth they win,-
The dappled, silvery spoil come in

Fast as their hands can haul and lift.

New England! New England!

Thou lovest well thine ocean main !
It spreadeth its locks among thy rocks,
And long against thy heart hath lain;
Thy ships upon its bosom ride
And feel the heaving of its tide;

To thee its secret speech is plain.

Cape Breton and Edward Isle between,
In strait and gulf the schooners lay;
The sea was all at peace, I ween,

The night before that August day;
Was never a Gloucester skipper there,
But thought erelong, with a right good fare,
To sail for home from Saint Lawrence Bay.

New England! New England!

Thy giant's love was turned to hate! The winds control his fickle soul,

And in his wrath he hath no mate. Thy shores his angry scourges tear, And for thy children in his care

The sudden tempests lie in wait.

The East Wind gathered all unknown,-
A thick sea-cloud his course before;

He left by night the frozen.zone

And smote the cliffs of Labrador;
He lashed the coasts on either hand,
And betwixt the Cape and Newfoundland
Into the Bay his armies pour.

He caught our helpless cruisers there
As a gray wolf harries the huddling fold;
A sleet a darkness filled the air,

A shuddering wave before it rolled :
That Lord's-Day morn it was a breeze,—
At noon, a blast that shook the seas,-
At night a wind of Death took hold!

It leaped across the Breton bar,

A death-wind from the stormy East!
It scarred the land, and whirled afar
The sheltering thatch of man and beast;
It mingled rick and roof and tree,
And like a besom swept the sea,

And churned the waters into yeast.

From Saint Paul's Light to Edward's Isle
A thousand craft it smote amain;
And some against it strove the while,

And more to make a port were fain:
The mackerel-gulls flew screaming past,
And the stick that bent to the noonday blast
Was split by the sundown hurricane.

Woe, woe to those whom the islands pen!
In vain they shun the double capes;
Cruel are the reefs of Magdalen ;

The Wolf's white fang what prey escapes?
The Grin stone grinds the bones of some,
And Coffin Isle is craped with foam;-

On Deadman's shore are fearful shapes!
O, what can live on the open sea,
Or moored in port the gale outride?
The very craft that at anchor be

Are dragged along by the swollen tide!
The great storm-wave came rolling west,
And tossed the vessels on its crest:

The ancient bounds its might defied!
The ebb to check it had no power;
The surf ran up to an untold height;
It rose, nor yielded, hour by hour,

A night and day, a day and night;
Far up the seething shores it cast
The wreck of hull and spar and mast,

There were twenty and more of Breton sail
The strangled crews, a woful sight!
Fast anchored on one mooring-ground;
Each lay within his neighbor's hail,

When the thick of the tempest closed them
round:

All sank at once in the gaping sea, -
Somewhere on the shoals their corses be,

The foundered hulks, and the seamen
drowned.

On reef and bar our schooners drove
Before the wind, before the swell;

By the steep sand-cliff's their ribs were stove,-
Long, long their crews the tale shall tell!
Of the Gloucester fleet are wrecks threescore;
Of the Province sail two hundred more
Were stranded in that tempest fell.

The bedtime bells in Gloucester Town
That Sabbath night rang soft and clear;
The sailors' children laid them down,-
Dear Lord! their sweet prayers couldst thou
hear?

'Tis said that gently blew the winds;
The good-wives, through the seaward blinds,
Looked down the bay and had no fear.

New England! New England!

Thy ports their dauntless seamen mourn;
The twin capes yearn for their return

Who never shall be thither borne ;
Their orphans whisper as they meet;
The homes are dark in many a street,

And women move in weeds forlorn.
And wilt thou fail, and dost thou fear?
Ah, no! though widows' cheeks are pale,
The lads shall say: "Another year,

And we shall be of age to sail!"
And the mothers' hearts shall fill with pride,
Though tears drop fast for them who died
When the fleet was wrecked in the Lord's-

Day gale.