The pappooses are worth seeing. They are so old-fashioned and wise-looking that one is tempted to think they are born with all the knowledge and wisdom they ever possess, and merely require time for the purpose of acquiring a larger growth. They never cry, and would probably starve to death without a single whimper. With their dark complexions, jet black eyes and severe expressions, they very much resemble scheming imps of darkness.
The rapids are delightful as an experience of steamboat travel, and a more exciting episode is a descent of them on a raft of timber, and a still more exciting and certainly foolhardy event is to run them in a canoe, as has been done on several occasions. It is, however, regarded in much the same light as an attempt to swim through the Niagara rapids. It is exciting enough, and yet not too dangerous to persons of cool temperament to take what is known as a “dug-out” and a French-Canadian pêcheur and have a day’s bass-fishing in the rapids. The “dugout,” somewhat out of date now, is merely a log hollowed out to form a canoe, and it is fully as treacherous as a bark canoe. No paddle is used; a pole is the arm of progression, and it is really wonderful with what skill one of these French-Canadian fishermen will take you from eddy to eddy, in and out between the rocks and across mad currents. The crude boat seems to be part of himself. Other boats are used ordinarily of a safer description, made more like a punt, from which one can throw a fly with some security and with little fear of taking a “header” and being swept toward the ocean. The bass fishing is excellent, and splendid sport can be had during the proper season. Dory (pickerel) can be caught here with the minnow, and though they are not game-fish, they are excellent eating.
But the sport at the foot of the Lachine Rapids is spearing fish, i. e., sturgeon, carp and eels.
In June the large red-finned carp, known locally as the “carpes des rois,” weighing from three to fifteen pounds each, ascend the river; the eels are present in large numbers, and the sturgeon come in-shore to feed.
A flat-bottomed boat is secured and an arrangement for the light put in place. This usually consists of an open basket made of a few strips of hoop-iron. In this pine and cedar knots are burned, emitting a pleasant odor and a somewhat fitful glare over the water. Another means of lighting is to split cedar rails in long, thin strips six or eight feet in length, and make them into bundles, a boy in the boat holding them at the required position over the water. The boat is allowed to float broadside on down the river over the best places, the torch of pine burning with its crackling noise. The spear usually consists of either five or seven barbs and those used by the French-Canadian fishermen are frequently made by themselves out of hammered iron, and are clumsy instruments, which when they strike a fish sometimes almost cut it in two.
The best plan is to have one made out of No. 4 wire, or buy one of the light steel spears; and with a light ash handle about one inch in diameter and ten feet in length, an exciting time can be had, especially if one has never been out before. One misjudges the distance so as the boat floats on, and is fortunate if no upset occurs. A waving weed is mistaken for a huge eel, and a frantic dart ends only in disappointment, or an eel is thought to be a useless weed, and annoyances ensue at the mistake. But the art or knack is soon learnt, and then the enjoyment is keen. Round about, on the same purpose bent, are other boats, each with their blaze of light, like some huge red Cyclops.
The night is dark and one floats on, darting at each successive finny denizen, missing some and lifting many a fine fellow with the cruel barb into the boat sans cérémonie. A huge eel, four feet in length, is speared and with some difficulty hauled into the boat, and his wriggling form gives one the shudders.
Then a large sturgeon that appears to weigh thirty pounds is seen lazily moving his tail and merely maintaining himself against the current. C’est un gros—“He’s a big fellow,” and every one is stilled into expectancy. The spear is held in the water till the time for striking is come—down goes the spear, and as you press on it you feel the points are crushing through bone and flesh and are firmly fixed. There is a cruel joy or satisfaction as you thus fix the spear in him; he turns, and you hold on like grim death; the boat swings end on in the struggle; you have to go with the current and the fish, resisting as firmly as you can. And so the struggle continues; your boatman has been gradually poling nearer and nearer to the shore. The water is only two feet deep here, and shouting to you to look out, the boatman is in the water and has the sturgeon by the gills, and with a few steps is on terra firma. You follow, regardless of wet feet, and find you have speared the largest one of the season, so far. Your spear has to be cut out, so firmly are the points imbedded, and the sturgeon’s sufferings are over. He is weighed, and tips the scales at 651⁄2 pounds.
This is picturesque work—the swarthy, indistinct forms in a circle of flickering light, looking for all the world, with their spears, like attendants of some fresh-water Neptune. The boats float slowly down stream, the shores are invisible in the gloom, and all is still. A splash, and another fish is secured, and so the night draws on. There is an end to all things, and the evening’s spearing is over.
One drives back to the village hotel in the quaint town of Laprairie, or else “bunks” with a friendly French-Canadian, paying him trente sous for the accommodation. In many cases no charge will be made, but some gratuity ought to be given, and for this nothing is better than tobacco.