Extracts from a Journal of a Voyage of Visitation in the Hawk, 1859 | Page 9

hill, similarly covered with trees; on

either side of which you may enter into a valley, between lofty rocks,
and through which probably a small river or brook conveys the surplus
water of some lake or lakes lying farther up the country. The solemn
effect of the scenery was heightened by the absence of all traces and
signs of men or other animals; and the occasional scream of a gull
looking down upon us, made the general silence and solitude more
impressive. How prodigal is nature of her beauties and glories, thus
repeated and renewed in places where there is no one to admire, and
very few to see them!
Tuesday, July 19th. Seal Cove, and at sea.--The wind was not more
favourable to day than yesterday, except that it was not so strong; but
we thought it better to go out in the hope of some change, in the mean
time beating to windward. After standing across the bay and back, a
distance of nearly thirty miles (fourteen or fifteen each way), we found
we had only gained a mile and a half, and the next tack only advanced
us about as much more. The next time we stood across, the wind tailed
us altogether. This was trying work, especially to my companions, who
all felt the direful effect of the beating, and were recumbent nearly the
whole day, and sometimes worse; I, happily, was able to read and write,
and only grieved by the sad delay.
Wednesday, July 20th. At sea.--Dead calm nearly the whole day, with
occasional interludes of head-wind, which enabled us to run across the
bay, and make the unpleasant discovery that we had advanced, or
gained, only about five miles since we left our anchorage yesterday!
During the greater part of the day we were lying almost motionless.
Eight o'clock P.M. found us just where eight o'clock A.M. had left us.
A lesson in patience.
Thursday, July 21st. At sea, and Hooping Harbour.--After being
becalmed all night, a light breeze sprung up in our favour at four
o'clock A.M. (being then just off Little Cat Arm), which sufficed to
carry us into Hooping Harbour (about thirty-five miles) by three o'clock
P.M. Here are two families only, all the members of which, four in one,
and eight in the other, were fortunately at home. One of the mothers is
a Wesleyan, with all the scruples of her denomination. She had taught

her children the Lord's Prayer, but could not teach them the Creed,
because "it would be wrong for them to say, 'I believe in God,' when
they did not believe in Him, which she perceived they did not." The
truth, I imagine, was, she could not say it herself. She did not like to be
godmother to her neighbour's children, because "she had sins enough of
her own to answer for; and she could not make a promise she knew she
should not perform." As she was the only grown-up woman in the place,
except the one whose children, with her own, were to be baptized, it
was necessary to overcome, if possible, these scruples, which was no
easy matter. And here were fresh complications. Some of the children
of both families had been baptized by a French priest, and no one could
say "with what words." Some had been baptized by a woman, some by
a fisherman. Painful it was to witness, or be certified of, such
complications and irregularities, more so to be in any degree
answerable for them, most of all to be expected to unravel and rectify
them in one visit of a few hours' duration, knowing too that they must
all be renewed and repeated. This is the only harbour in White Bay
where there are any French, and these, it is worthy of notice, have come
here within the last five years, since the two English families
established themselves in the place. On their arrival this year, the
French took up the Englishman's salmon nets, and prevented his fishing
for three weeks, until they were informed by the officer sent from St.
John's, that things were to remain this year as in the preceding, and
until matters were settled by the authorities. The poor Englishman
complains bitterly of being deprived of his three best weeks' fishery,
which, if they had been only as good as the subsequent ones, must have
been a serious loss. This day he took in his nets about a hundred
salmon, and speaks of this as an ordinary catch--and his nets are not
large or numerous. It would be very sad and shameful if this branch of
the fishery, which clearly was not contemplated in the treaties, should
be given up, either wholly or in part, to the French. This is the last
harbour in White