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Tadoussac Biographies Alexander, James (Jim) Okeden An avid sportsman, Jimmy's life as an RAF pilot was cut short in a bombing raid during World War 2 Full Biography Aylan-Parker (Alexander) Jean Mary A strong churchwoman and honoured volunteer, Jean spent much of her life bettering the lives of other people Full Biography Ballantyne, Tim A tireless volunteer, Tim was devoted to his family and to Tadoussac Full Biography Barnston, George Factor of the Hudson's Bay Post in the 1840s Full Biography Beattie, James R. & Anne Macfarlane James and Anne loved their home in Chambly and their summer-long vacations in Tadoussac. Full Biography Burns Louisa Jane Out of 107 memorials, Louisa is the mystery about whom we know the least! Full Biography Campbell, Barbara (Bar) Alexander (Hampson) 1919 - Coming to Tad in her teens, Bar found her future husband within minutes of her arrival! Full Biography Campbell, James (Jim) Kenneth A true gentleman and avid golfer, Jim and Sheila built Taighmor Full Biography Campbell, Robert Peel A school friend of the Rhodes boys whom he met at BCS, which led to many visits in Tadoussac Full Biography Cid, Pierre & Famille The Cid family and their magasin général were central to Tadoussac for decades La famille Cid et son magasin général ont été au cœur de Tadoussac pendant des décennies Full Biography Coad, Barbara Elisabeth Sarah (Price) Sally lived abroad with her military family before settling in England with her husband and four children Full Biography Craig, George & Micheline (Caron) Frequent visitors to Tadoussac who stayed at Bayview Cottage with Lex and Mary Smith Full Biography Dale, Henry & daughter Katrine Third owner of Dufferin House who also bought Dale park, later to be called Parc Languedoc Full Biography Dawson, May Remembered with love, May was Doris Molson's aunt Full Biography Dewart, The Reverend Russell and Ann (Stevenson) A descendant of the Russell family, Ann and Russell served in the Tadoussac Chapel for many years Full Biography Dobson, Marion Sarah (Smith) Born in Canada but settled in England, Mally was very involved in politics in her adopted country Full Biography Evans, Katherine (Kae) Kae lived a life of caring for her aging parents and often was made welcome in the Trevor Evans house in Tadoussac Full Biography Evans, Lewis and Betty (Morewood) Both descended from Tadoussac families, Lewis and Betty wanted to be nowhere else in the summertime Full Biography Evans, Rhodes Bethune (Tim) A keen sailor and golfer, Tim and Claire loved their summers at the family cottage Full Biography Evans, Thomas Frye Lewis, Marie Bethune, Emily Bethune & Cyril The Anglican Dean of Montreal and the first of the Evans families to come to Tadoussac Full Biography Evans, Trevor Ainslie & Dorothy (Rhodes) Trevor and Dorothy bought Ivanhoe Cottage which has served five generations to date Full Biography Evans, Trevor Lewis Armitage & Gillian Leslie (Jill) (Murray) From Jill’s painting and drawing, to Buckey’s photography and woodworking, and their collaborative breeding of Great Danes they were a multi-talented couple. Full Biography Glassco, Willa (Price) Daughter of William Price, Willa lived a full and long life centered first in Quebec, and later in Ontario Full Biography Glassco, William (Bill) Theatre director and translator, Bill loved Tadoussac from childhood and shared it with theatre artists from around the world Full Biography Goodings, The Right Reverend Allen Allen served for many years in the Tadoussac Chapel and in as Bishop of the Diocese of Quebec Full Biography Humphrys, Phyllis Frances Friend and frequent visitor to Adele Languedoc and Grace Scott Full Biography Imbeau, Armand Entrepreneur et Constructeur de goélettes Contractor and Goelette builder Full Biography Janes, Mary Francis Russell After a very difficult start to life, Tadoussac was very likely a place to heal Full Biography Kane, Mathieu Mathieu's life was cut short in action during World War 2 in Belgium Full Biography Languedoc, Adele Adele had a very successful career as a librarian that led her to the National Archives of Canada Full Biography Languedoc, Erie (Janes) & George de Guerry Erie was a third generation Russell who bought and developed Parc Languedoc Full Biography Leggat, Robert William Leggat A glowing personality whose life was all too short Full Biography Leggat, Stephanie Jane A keen equestrian, Stephanie loved her family, her horses, her dogs, and her times in Tadoussac Full Biography McCarter, Douglas A devoted husband and father, Doug loved coming to Tadoussac during the summer Full Biography Molson, Charles Robin Carington An incurable lover of boats, Robin became the second president of Canadian Heritage of Quebec Full Biography Molson, Doris Amelia Carington (Smith) & Colin John (Jack) Grasset Molson Jack and Doris loved history and did much to conserve properties and artefacts on the lower St. Lawrence Full Biography Morewood, Frank & Carrie (Rhodes) Frank Morewood was an architect and designed several cottages in Tadoussac including his own, Windward. Full Biography Morewood, Gertrude Isobel (Billy) Everyone's "Aunt Bill", she loved children and was like a second mother to her nephews, Harry and Frank Morewood Full Biography Palmer, Noeline (Pixie) Winnifred Smith Pixie was known as a very creative contributor to life in Ottawa as well as travelling a great deal in Europe Full Biography Phee, William Harold William had many interests and a lot to offer in his tragically short life Full Biography Piddington, Alfred Avid sportsmen, Alfred, his brother, Sam, and their sister, Eliza, brought the Bailey family to Tadoussac Full Biography Powel, Henry Baring Henry and Edith's marriage connected the Tadoussac Powel and Smith families Full Biography Powel, Herbert de Veaux Herbert was in the second generation of the Powel family and was killed in World War 1 at Ypres Full Biography Powel, Julia Full of fun, Julia Powel was great friends with the Rhodes and Russell children Full Biography Powel, Robert Hare Tadoussac's third summer resident who built the Bailey house Full Biography Price, Colonel H. Edward (Teddy) C. & Mary Winifred (Hampson) Teddy had a very successful career in the military that took him and Mary around the world Full Biography Price, Coosie & Ray (Scott) Son of William and Blanche Price, Coosie and Ray were central to Tadoussac's life in the summer Full Biography Price, Frederick Courtnay & Llewellyn Two brothers whose lives were far too short Full Biography Price, Helen Florence The eldest daughter of Henry and Helen Price, Helen was a huge help to her ten siblings and their children Full Biography Price, Henry Edward & Helen Muriel (Gilmour) Born in Chile, Henry came to Canada with brother William to help run Price Brothers Lumber Full Biography Price, Henry Ferrier The prodigal Price brother(!) who settled in Chile rather than join the Price Brothers Lumber Company Full Biography Price, Llewellyn Evan The youngest of Henry and Helen Price's children, Evan died in a plane crash near Baie St. Paul. Full Biography Price, Sir William & Amelia Blanche (Smith) Born in Chile, Sir William and his brother Henry came to Canada to run the family's Price Brothers Lumber Full Biography Price, William Gilmour Henry Price's oldest son, Gilmour was tragically killed in an industrial accident at the age of 30 Full Biography Radford, Joseph & Isabella (White) The first English-speaking full-time resident of Tadoussac and a prominent citizen. Full Biography Ransom, Howard Henry A Montreal businessman who used to bring his family to Bayview Cottage in the summers Full Biography Rhodes, Armitage & Phebe Ida (Alleman) & Catherine (Katie) (von Iffland) Col. Rhodes' and Anne Dunn's eldest son. Full Biography Rhodes, Caroline Anne (Nan) & The Right Reverend Lennox Williams Consecrated Bishop of Quebec in 1915, Lennox Williams and his wife Nan Rhodes loved to relax in Tadoussac in the summer Full Biography Rhodes, Col. William and Anne Catherine (Dunn) First generation summer residents of Tadoussac and builders of the first summer cottage Full Biography Rhodes, Lily Bell Artist, and lover of all things natural (including children!), Lily Bell was loved by everyone Full Biography Rhodes, Monica Granddaughter of William and Anne Rhodes, Monica worked in the church and was a frequent visitor to Tadoussac Full Biography Robbins, Susan Ann (Smith) The life of the party, Sue spent many summers at Bayview Cottage with her parents, Lex and Mary Smith Full Biography Rowe, Lucille Elizabeth (Beth) (Dewart) Beth had a fabulous childhood in the Languedoc Park, with a love for nature that always brought her back to Tadoussac Full Biography Russell, Mary Frances Mary's mother died shortly after her birth and she and her sister Erie were brought up by their grandparents, Willis and Rebecca Russell, spending their summers in Spruce Cliff. Full Biography Russell, William Edward & Fanny Eliza (Pope) William sadly died at a young age leaving his 37 year old wife, Fanny, with 5 children to raise Full Biography Russell, Willis & Rebecca Page (Sanborn) First generation summer residents who built Spruce Cliff Cottage Full Biography Russell, Willis Robert Grandson of the original Willlis Russell, this Willis had a tragically short life Full Biography Scott, Frances Grace Owner of Spruce Cliff Cottage, Grace was a churchwoman and teacher, and a long-time president of the Tadoussac Chapel Full Biography Scott, Mabel Emily (Russell) & Charles Cunningham Scott Mabel was a third generation Russell who inherited Spruce Cliff Cottage, leaving it to her daughter Grace Full Biography Skutezky, Ernie & Phoebe (Evans) After serving in World War 2, Ernie fell in love for life with Phoebe and Tadoussac Full Biography Smith, Amelia Jane (LeMesurier) Matriarch of the Smith family in Tadoussac as her son, Robert Harcourt Smith, bought Dufferin House Full Biography Smith, Arthur Carington "Uncle Art" was a legendary character and sailor Full Biography Smith, Charles Carington & Aileen (Dawson) Charles was an avid athlete and he and Aileen were the parents of Doris Molson Full Biography Smith, Edmund Harcourt Carington Athletic and single Edmund enjoyed his summers in Tadoussac Full Biography Smith, George Carington George's daughters were long-time visitors to Tadoussac Full Biography Smith, George Herbert Carington An avid sportsman and sailor, Herbie's career in the military is unparalleled Full Biography Smith, George Noel Carington George was a great sportsman and had a very successful military career that took him around the world Full Biography Smith, Gordon Carington A career military officer, Gordon served in Italy and in the liberation of France during World War 2 Full Biography Smith, Herbert Carington A career military officer, Herbert lost his life in World War 1 in the Battle of Gallipoli Full Biography Smith, Lex & Mary Isabelle (Atkinson) 1911 - 1984 Lex and Mary owned Bayview Cottage in the 1960s where they entertained many people Full Biography Smith, Robert Guy Carington, Isobel (Price) & Jean (McCaig) Guy lived all over the world working in the Canadian Diplomatic Corps Full Biography Smith, Robert Harcourt Carington Robert Harcourt was the first of the Smith family to own Dufferin House, buying it in 1911 Full Biography Stairs, Dennis & Sue Very athletic, Dennis and Sue loved to be outdoors with their many children Full Biography Stephen, William Davidson and Dorothy Ainslie Bill and Ainslie lived in the same Tadoussac cottage at different times, met in Montreal, and married! Full Biography Stevenson, Florence Louisa Maude "Nonie" (Russell) & Dr James Dr. and Mrs. Stevenson were well-known in Tadoussac for providing medical care to the local people Full Biography Tremblay, Pierre For many years Pierre was the much appreciated caretaker of the summer cottages in Tadoussac. Pendant de nombreuses années, Pierre a été le gardien très apprécié des chalets d’été de Tadoussac Full Biography Turcot, Percy & Marjorie (Webb) Built the “Turcot House” in 1946 which they loved sharing with family and friends, especially hosting teas on the lawn. Both were decorated for their service in WW1. Full Biography Turcot, Peter Alfred His love of Tadoussac started at a young age. At 21 he built the path to the beach, enjoyed canoeing, picnicking, golfing and supporting many community organizations. Full Biography Urquhart, Alexander One of our first summer residents who converted and lived in what is now the Hotel Georges Full Biography Wallace, Michael Sydney An award-winning sportsman and family man with a great love for Tadoussac Full Biography Watt, Frances McIntosh Early summer residents about whom little is known Full Biography Whitley, Lt.-Col. Frederick Whitley & Jessie (Chouler) & daughter Jessie Margaret Whitely A family most remembered for the 3 front windows of the church in memory of their infant daughter, Jessie Full Biography William Harold Phee William had many interests and lots to offer in a tragically short life Full Biography Williams, Caroline Anne (Rhodes) & The Right Reverend Lennox Williams Lennox and Nan worked hard in their church and played hard in their holidays in Tadoussac! Full Biography Williams, Jim & Evelyn (Meredith) Eldest son of Lennox and Nan Williams, Jimmy was killed at the Somme at 28 years old Full Biography Williams, The Reverend Sidney & Enid (Price) An avid sportsman and churchman, Sidney and Enid served the Tadoussac Chapel for many years Full Biography

William had many interests and lots to offer in a tragically short life William Harold Phee William had many interests and lots to offer in a tragically short life Back to ALL Bios William Harold Phee May 25,1990 - July 21, 2011 William was born in Montreal, Quebec, son of Catherine Williams. Many happy summers were spent in Tadoussac staying at ‘The Barn’ our cottage that has seen 5 generations of our family. The connection with family and summer friends was something he always looked forward to. He loved Tadoussac and all it entailed. This unique and special place and its incredibly supportive community continues to bring our family peace and we see William everywhere. William grew up in Ottawa, where he attended elementary school, high school and finally Algonquin College. In high school, he developed a passion for film and spent many a happy hour filming The Friday Show, a segment for the Colonel By Secondary School. One can still find these videos on Youtube. William’s sense of humour and zest for life shine through in each and every show. The annual Film Festival was renamed The William Phee Film Festival in his honour. William attended Algonquin College for Radio and Television broadcasting, but changed his focus to the Cabinetmaking Program, in which he excelled. We hosted an annual fundraiser for 5 years and with the proceeds established the William Phee Bursary at Algonquin College for students entering the Cabinetmaking Program. William was a natural athlete, playing competitive hockey for most of his formative years. He loved a good game of golf. He was a thinker and had a ‘why not’ attitude towards life which had him trying many things, from guitar playing to sky diving, fine art to motorcycle lessons. As was said at his memorial service here at the Tadoussac Protestant Chapel, life is about choices. The things we choose to do can sometimes have devastating effects on those around us. William made that kind of choice. His death, as a result of an accidental overdose, has rippled through our family and has changed us forever. That being said, William will always be remembered for his wonderful sense of humour, his innate curiosity, and his loyalty to his friends and family. Back to ALL Bios

William had many interests and a lot to offer in his tragically short life Phee, William Harold William had many interests and a lot to offer in his tragically short life Back to ALL Bios William Harold Phee May 25,1990 - July 21, 2011 William was born in Montreal, Quebec, son of Catherine Williams. Many happy summers were spent in Tadoussac staying at ‘The Barn’ our cottage that has seen 5 generations of our family. The connection with family and summer friends was something he always looked forward to. He loved Tadoussac and all it entailed. This unique and special place and its incredibly supportive community continues to bring our family peace and we see William everywhere. William grew up in Ottawa, where he attended elementary school, high school and finally Algonquin College. In high school, he developed a passion for film and spent many a happy hour filming The Friday Show, a segment for the Colonel By Secondary School. One can still find these videos on Youtube. William’s sense of humour and zest for life shine through in each and every show. The annual Film Festival was renamed The William Phee Film Festival in his honour. William attended Algonquin College for Radio and Television broadcasting, but changed his focus to the Cabinetmaking Program, in which he excelled. We hosted an annual fundraiser for 5 years and with the proceeds established the William Phee Bursary at Algonquin College for students entering the Cabinetmaking Program. William was a natural athlete, playing competitive hockey for most of his formative years. He loved a good game of golf. He was a thinker and had a ‘why not’ attitude towards life which had him trying many things, from guitar playing to sky diving, fine art to motorcycle lessons. As was said at his memorial service here at the Tadoussac Protestant Chapel, life is about choices. The things we choose to do can sometimes have devastating effects on those around us. William made that kind of choice. His death, as a result of an accidental overdose, has rippled through our family and has changed us forever. That being said, William will always be remembered for his wonderful sense of humour, his innate curiosity, and his loyalty to his friends and family. Back to ALL Bios

Sally lived abroad with her military family before settling in England with her husband and four children Coad, Barbara Elisabeth Sarah (Price) Sally lived abroad with her military family before settling in England with her husband and four children Back to ALL Bios Sally Coad - 23 September, 1944 - 20 August, 2008 Barbara Elisabeth Sarah Price was the 4th child of Mary & Ted Price (and thus grandchild of Harry & Muriel Price). Always known as Sally (after the dog as she would tell you) she was the little sister of Greville, Ginny & Tim. All were born in England whilst Ted fought with the Canadian Army in Europe, but returned as soon as peace was declared with Sally sleeping in a drawer in Mary’s cabin. The family lived in Ottawa but came every year to Tad, where she remembered vividly Grandad Harry taking all his grandchildren for an ice cream at 12.45 - just in time to spoil their appetites for lunch “Oh Harry ...” as Granny Price would say! They came on the CSL boats but also with Ted driving on the ‘washboard’ gravel roads east of Quebec. Mary especially loved Tad and came for three months every year - June through to Labor Day whenever possible. Ted’s Army career required numerous postings across Canada and in London before Dar e Salaam and finally as Military Attache in Washington. Sally, having been ‘badly educated following the flag’, left Mt Allison University in Nova Scotia to join her parents in Tanzania for two years working as a secretary for the Sisal Board. On their return she took a job as a medical secretary to a heart research consultant at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal. Always expected by her family to ‘marry an English man’ it was in Montreal in 1970 that Sally met Ross Coad. They married in Ottawa 26th June, 1971, and after a honeymoon in New York City and a weekend in Tadoussac (naturally!) they set up home in Somerset, England. Tori, Jonathan, Gilly and Struan were Sally’s contribution to Ted and Mary’s 16 grandchildren following from Uncle Guy Smith’s wedding telegram: There was a young man named Coad, Who took on quite a load For in marrying our Sally They’ll add to the tally For the Prices are prone to explode! Sally was distinctly a Price - mahogany red hair, a steely will and wonderfully loving. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” was an adage of Mary’s that Sally took as her own (not that she didn’t have some very clear perceptions!). Much involved with South Petherton Infants School in England whose governors she chaired, her family and friends endowed the building of Kasenei School in Kenya in her memory. Sally died 20th August 2008 after nearly 3 years of struggle with ovarian cancer, alert and clear-headed right to the very end. She left 7 grandchildren when she died, Isaac, Annapurna, Jacob, Dexter, Zara, Verity and Robyn; with a further 7 since: Scarlett, Barney, Eddy, Pippa, Grace, Annabel and Archie. Tadoussac was most definitely her spiritual home and if you feel quietly relaxed and warmed by the love & friendship in this place - you will understand why! Back to ALL Bios

Tadoussac Ferry Photos since the late 1800's / Traversiers sur le Saguenay depuis plus de 100 ans The Ferries - Des Traversiers Tadoussac < > Baie Sainte Catherine In the early 1900's the Price Tugboats "Muriel" and the "Mahone" carried passangers between Riviere du Loup, Baie Sainte Catherine, and Tadoussac, and other places. Au début des années 1900, les remorqueurs "Muriel" et le "Mahone" de l'entreprise Price ont transporté des passangers entre Riviere du Loup, Baie Ste Catherine et Tadoussac, et d'autres endroits. MURIEL Many of these photos are from the Facebook Page "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" (Fans of Ferries in Quebec) Thanks to all the contributors! Amateurs de Traversiers au Quebec Plusieurs de ces photos proviennent de la page Facebook "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" Merci à tous les contributeurs! MAHONE L'équipage du "Mahone" Capitaine Johnny DesLauriers The "Mahone" at Anse à L'Eau, Tadoussac. The "Thor", one of the most powerful tugs of the Price Company, was used on the Saguenay for several years for the refueling of shipyards and the transportation of employees. In 1911, the Trans-Saint Laurent Ltee puts the Thor into operation, between Riviere-du-Loup and Tadoussac. Built in Lévis in 1881, this side-paddlewheel steamer is only used during the summer season and for Sunday excursions, it will be sold in 1916. The Thor at Anse à L'Eau, Tadoussac. THOR Le "Thor", l'un des plus puissants remorqueurs de la compagnie Price, a été utilisé pendant plusieurs années sur le Saguenay pour le ravitaillement en carburant des chantiers et le transport des employés. En 1911, le Trans-Saint Laurent Ltee met en service le Thor, entre Rivière-du-Loup et Tadoussac. Construit à Lévis en 1881, ce paquebot à roue à aubes latérale n’est utilisé que pendant la saison estivale et pour les excursions du dimanche, il sera vendu en 1916. Le Thor à l'Anse à l'Eau, Tadoussac. February 15, 1909 ICE BRIDGE The last cold of January contributed to form the ice bridge between Tadoussac and Baie Ste Catherine. The first to venture there was M. Gabriel Boulianne of Tadoussac, on February 7th, M. Boulianne was accompanied by his two nephews. ÉMÉRILLON 1920's Ferry? No photos PIXIE B These boats travelled between the wharves in Baie Ste Catherine and Tadoussac when the road from Quebec City was still a dangerously twisted unpaved road, and most people traveled to Tadoussac by ship. The "Pixie B" Painting by Frank Morewood, about 1930. The goelette at the wharf in Tadoussac is the Pixie B and it towed the barge which could carry two cars. Wreck of the Pixie B. It finished its career next to the Bar Orace in Ile aux Coudres early 80's photo Éric Desbiens And the Pixie B in the Drydock in the 1940's with the "Noroûa" La "Pixie B" Painting par Frank Morewood, circa 1930. La goélette au quai de Tadoussac est le Pixie B et remorquer le chaland qui pourrait transporter deux voitures. Épave du Pixie B. Il finit sa carrière à coté du bar Chez Orace à l'Ile aux Coudres au début 80 photo Éric Desbiens Ces bateaux circulaient entre les quais de Baie Sainte-Catherine et Tadoussac lorsque la route de Québec était encore une route non pavée dangereusement sinueuse, et la plupart des gens se rendaient à Tadoussac en bateau. Et le Pixie B en cale sèche dans les années 40 avec le « Noroûa » N.B.T. The "N.B.T." (Noel Brisson Transport) Built by Armand Imbeau in 1939?, 75' long, carried up to six cars on deck. Note the gap in the far gunwale for the cars, and the two ramps on deck. Le "N.B.T." (Noel Brisson Transport) Construit par Armand Imbeau en 1939?, 75' long, porté jusqu'à six voitures. Notez l'écart de l'autre côté pour les voitures, et les deux rampes sur le pont. Text describing the Tadoussac-Baie Ste Catherine crossing in the late 30's in the biography of Jean-Louis Gendron, former NCB Bank employee. On another trip, there was a storm. We had been waiting for three days in Tadoussac for a schooner that was making the crossing from Tadoussac to Baie Ste-Catherine. The docks of these two municipalities were covered with a layer of ice more than a foot thick. The postilion and I had crossed the Saguenay River from Tadoussac to Baie Ste-Catherine in a gasoline-powered boat through the ice. The tide being low, we were able to get on the wharf at Baie Ste-Catherine by means of a small cable attached to it by a coachman whom we had hired by telephone from Tadoussac! || It was hard to travel and work under such conditions in those days, but fortunately working conditions have improved considerably since then. Texte décrivant le passage frontalier Tadoussac-Baie Ste Catherine à la fin des années 30 dans la biographie de Jean-Louis Gendron, ancien employé de NCB Bank. Lors d'un autre voyage, il y avait eu tempête. Nous attendions depuis trois jours à Tadoussac une goélette qui faisait la traversée de Tadoussac à Baie Ste-Catherine. Les quais de ces deux municipalités étaient recouverts d'une couche de glace de plus d'un pied. Le postillon et moi avions traversé la rivière Saguenay, de Tadoussac à Baie Ste-Catherine, en chaloupe à gazoline, à travers les glaces. La marée étant basse, nous avons pu monter sur le quai, à Baie Ste-Catherine, au moyen d'un petit câble attaché à ce dernier par un cocher que nous avions engagé par téléphone de Tadoussac! || était pénible de voyager et de travailler dans de telles conditions en ce temps-là, mais heureusement les conditions de travail se sont sensiblement améliorées depuis ce temps. JACQUES CARTIER Au quai d'Anse à l'Eau, Tadoussac . The "Jacques Cartier" The first real car ferry, until 1958, carried 12 cars. Le "Jacques Cartier" Le premier vrai ferry, jusqu'en 1958, place pour 12 voitures Le Jacques Cartier et un bateau CSL Baie Ste Catherine Circa 1952 Une belle photo de Jack Molson At right, the Morewood family, Bill, Betty (my mother) and their mother Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood. Vehicles are getting bigger in the 1950's! Larger ferries are coming soon. Both trucks are PUIZE TRANSPORT. Les véhicules grossissent dans les années 50! Des ferries plus importants arrivent bientôt. Les deux camions sont PUIZE TRANSPORT August 1950, the CSL Quebec burned at the wharf, and the Jacques Cartier came over to help. En août 1950, la CSL Québec a brûlé au quai et la Jacques Cartier est venue aider. What happened to the Jacques Cartier after 1958? Some where on the St Lawrence, not sure of the dates. These photos are NOT in Tadoussac! Qu'est-il arrivé au Jacques Cartier après 1958 ? Somewhere on the St Lawrence, not sure of dates. Ces photos ne sont PAS à Tadoussac! SORELOIS THE SORELOIS: Steel ferry built in 1899 in Montreal, and used along with Jacques Cartier between Baie-Sainte-Catherine and Tadoussac. LE SORELOIS: Traversier en acier construit en 1899 à Montréal et utilisé avec Jacques Cartier entre Baie-Sainte-Catherine et Tadoussac. Many of these photos are from the Facebook Page "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" (Fans of Ferries in Quebec) Thanks to all the contributors! Amateurs de Traversiers au Quebec Plusieurs de ces photos proviennent de la page Facebook "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" Merci à tous les contributeurs! SAGUENAY and CHARLEVOIX The "Saguenay" 21 cars and the "Charlevoix" 27 cars. 1958 to 1980 La "Saguenay" 21 voitures and la "Charlevoix" 27 voitures. 1958 à 1980 1962 on the ferry in winter My mother Betty Evans admiring the ice on the anchor winch. My brother Lewis Evans in the ski mask (it was cold!) 1962 sur le ferry en hiver Ma mère Betty Evans admirant la glace sur le treuil d'ancre. Mon frère Lewis Evans dans le masque de ski (il faisait froid!) 1964 The Royal Yacht "Brittania" escorted by the destroyer "HMCS Restigouche" 1964 Le yacht royal "Britannia" escorté par le destroyer "NCSM Restigouche" 1960's The ferry trying to pull the "St Lawrence" off the sandbar (see the SHIPWRECKS page) 1960's One of many construction projects on the ferry wharf at Anse à L'Eau 1960 Le ferry en essayant de tirer le "Saint-Laurent" hors du banc de sable (Voir la page SHIPWRECKS) 1960 Un des nombreux projets de construction sur le quai du traversier à Anse à L'Eau circa 1975 Forest Fire on La Boule The other ferry is probably the "Pierre de Saurel" in service from 1974 circa 1975 Feu de forêt sur La Boule L'autre traversier est probablement la "Pierre de Saurel" en service à partir de 1974 circa 1972 We used to "see people off" saying goodbye to Tadoussac at the end of the summer at the ferry wharf, probably the McCarters. Evan Ballantyne, Guy and Jean Smith, Susie Scott (Bruemmer), David Younger, Trevor Williams , Steven Webster, (Belle Ballantyne (Corrigan), David Williams (kneeling), Jennifer Williams, Cinny Price and her pet duck (who has a pet duck?), Alan Evans, Gwen Skutezky, Enid (Price) Williams, Sally Williams, Mary Fowler, Penny Younger circa 1972 Nous dirions adieu aux personnes qui quittent Tadoussac à la fin de l'été au quai du traversier Wait! That's not the right way! Where are you going? Attendez! Tu ne vas pas dans le bon sens! Où allez-vous? Sketch of the proposed bridge across the Saguenay It would be the 10th longest span in the world and the largest in the western hemisphere. The latest study locates the bridge at La Boule, 8 km up the Saguenay, unlike these images. Croquis du pont proposé pour traverser le Saguenay Ce serait la 10e plus longue dans le monde et le plus grand de l'hémisphère occidental La dernière étude situe le pont à La Boule, à 8 km du Saguenay, contrairement à ces images. MV Armand-Imbeau (capacity 367 passengers and 75 vehicles) MV Jos-Deschênes (capacity 367 passengers and 75 vehicles) MV Félix-Antoine-Savard (capacity 376 passengers and 70 vehicles) 2016 New Ferries are scheduled to arrive! 2016 Nouveaux Ferries devraient arriver! Many of these photos are from the Facebook Page "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" (Fans of Ferries in Quebec) Thanks to all the contributors! Amateurs de Traversiers au Quebec Plusieurs de ces photos proviennent de la page Facebook "Amateurs de Traversiers au Québec" Merci à tous les contributeurs! 88

Canoes, Punts, Rowboats Canots, Punts, Chaloupes Birchbark Canoe 1910 Canot d'écorce 1910 Godfrey, Lily, and Catherine Rhodes Plage Tadoussac Beach 1901 Godfrey Rhodes, Minnie (Rhodes) Morewood, Dorothy (Dorsh) Rhodes (Evans), ?, Billy Morewood, Carrie Rhodes (Morewood) 1901 Nancy Morewood, Catherine Rhodes (Tudor-Hart), Frank E Morewood K Ewart holding on tight K Ewart tenant serré Dean Lewis Evans et Marjorique pêchent près du Lark Reef 1910 Dean Lewis Evans and Marjorique fishing near Lark Reef, 1910 1900's The "WHITE BOAT" circa 1910 at the Marguerite Dressed all in white and pulling the boat to the shore of the Saguenay, 1917 Tout de blanc vêtu et en tirant le bateau à la rive de la rivière Saguenay, 1917 Nan (Rhodes) and Lennox Williams Lily and Frances Rhodes Mary Williams (Wallace) in the "White Boat" Pte a la Croix 1910's Lennox Williams Sydney Williams Adele Languedoc Mary Williams (Wallace) ? Lily Rhodes Nan (Rhodes) Williams Marjorie Gagnon helped my father, Lewis Evans with his model of a Lower St Lawrence Yawl, about 1918. In 1951 Lewis Evans bought a very old yawl and restored it, the "Bonne Chance" shown at right in a painting by Tom Roberts. Majorque Gagnon a aidé mon père, Lewis Evans avec son modèle d'un Yole Bas-St Laurent , vers 1918. En 1951, Lewis Evans a acheté un yole très vieux et le restaura, le "Bonne Chance" illustré à droite dans un tableau de Tom Roberts. 1920's "Explorer" Jean Alexander (Aylan-Parker) and Jim Alexander Lewis Evans & Harry Dawson Baude River above the dam Bill Morewood, ?, Jack Wallace 1930's Bill and Frank E Morewood Ainslie Evans (Stephen) Betty Morewood (Evans) Phoebe Evans (Skutezky) Robin and Doris Molson Jack, Verity and Robin Molson 1930's Susan Williams (Webster), ?, Joan Williams (Ballantyne), Jim Williams, ?? Joan Williams (Ballantyne), ?? Harry Morewood, Jimmy Williams, Simon Wallace (friend), Joan Williams (Ballantyne), Frank Morewood, Susan Williams (Webster), Jennifer and Delia Tudor-Hart, Bobby Morewood Sheila Williams (Campbell), Penny Smith (Younger) 1942 Jimmy Williams, Susan Williams (Webster) 1942 Alan Findley, Betty, Anne and Lewis Evans, and dog Smitty in the punt! No Life Jackets 1950 Alan Findley, Betty, Anne and Lewis Evans, et le chien Smitty dans le punt! Pas de gilets de sauvetage 1950 Jim and Ted Aylan-Parker Jean (Alexander) Aylan-Parker 1955 ? & Willie Leggatt 1964 44

Historic photographs of Tadoussac Quebec in the 1800's and 1900's. A rich history of a beautiful place. TidesofTadoussac.com TABLE DES MATIÈRES & DATES importantes en bas de cette page search! cherchez! TABLE OF CONTENTS & Key DATES at the bottom of this page DATES TADOUSSAC the oldest photos Maps & Images Hudson's Bay Station Anse à L'Eau Buildings Disappeared Main Street Rue Principale Golf View from High Up Drydock - La Cale Sèche Molson Museum Horses, Buggies and Cars The Dunes Shipwrecks The Old Wooden Wharf Yawls & Small Boats BOATS & SHIPS Canoes,Punts,Rowboats Ferries Ma rina Goelettes Dallaire's Boat Rivière SAGUENAY River Geology Moulins du Saguenay Saguenay Mills Cap a Jack Anchorages Lark Reef, La Toupie Endroits Intéressants 1930's 1950's High Tide Club Charlevoix Crater Houses/Maisons à Tadoussac et Québec Benmore, Quebec Rhodes Cottage Spruce Cliff Radford Fletcher Lilybell Rhodes ART Paintings by Tom Evans RHODES FAMILY Rhodes - Family Tree William Rhodes&Ann Smith William Rhodes & Anne Dunn Uncle James Rhodes Armitage Rhodes Godfrey Rhodes William Rhodes Jim Williams Rhodes Grandchildren EVANS FAMILY Francis Evans EVANS Dean Lewis Evans & May & Emily Bethune Betty and Lewis Evans RUSSELL William Russell & Fanny Eliza Pope CONTACT PAGE At the confluence of the St. Lawrence and Saguenay rivers, Tadoussac and its surrounding area were a meeting place and a crossroads for trade between First Nations people that have been here for 8000 years. These two major waterways enabled European explorers and traders to enter into the continent. Natives traded with Basques whalers and Breton cod fishermen as early as the 14th Century. As he was sailing up the St. Lawrence in 1535, Jacques Cartier was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the area and dropped anchor in the bay to visit. Pierre de Chauvin built a fur-trading post in 1600, the first building in New France. In May of 1603, Samuel de Champlain sealed an alliance between the French and the First Nations near Tadoussac. It was a commercial, military and foundational agreement that would lead to the establishment of Québec City five years later. After having lived off the fur trade, fishing and whaling, and then the forest industry, in 1864 the village built its first hotel to accommodate summer vacationers. Since then, tourism has been the pillar of local and regional socioeconomic life. Please email me more DATES to add to this list 1535 Jacques Cartier discovers the Saguenay Fjord 1600 Construction of a house and establishment of a fur trading post by Pierre de Chauvin 1647&1747 Chapel built 1838 Price Sawmill built 1848 Price Sawmill closed 1859 Hudson's Bay Post closed 1860 Brynhyfryd built 1861 Spruce Cliff built 1861 Molson Beattie house built 1862 Tadalac built 1864 Tadoussac Hotel built 1864 Powel/Bailey House built 1864 Cid's built 1865 Price Row built 1867 Protestant Chapel built 1869 A rudimentary road links Les Escoumins to Tadoussac 1870 Hudson's Bay Post Demolished 1873 (Spring) The Governor General of Canada, the Marquis Dufferin, builds his summer residence in Tadoussac. 1874 Establishment of a salmon fish farm by Samuel Wilmot in the former facilities of William Price at Anse-à-l'Eau. 1885-9 Église de la Sainte-Croix built 1899-1901 Tadoussac Hotel expansion 1912? Wharf built 1914 Piddington built Ivanhoe 1923 Bourgouin & Dumont Fire 1927 A ferry between Baie-Sainte-Catherine and Tadoussac is in service year round 1927 CSL St Lawrence Launched 1928 CSL Tadoussac and Quebec launched 1931 Destruction by fire of Radford House 1932 Destruction by fire of Brynhyfryd, rebuilt the same yea 1932 Maison Molson/Beattie or Noel Brisson built (Moulin Baude) 1936 Windward built 1942 New Hotel Tadoussac built 1942 Maison Chauvin reconstruction 1942 Power Station at Moulin Baude built 1946 Destruction by fire of Église de la Sainte-Croix 1948 Turcot House built 1950 Destruction by fire of the CSL Quebec at the wharf 1966 End of CSL boats 1986 Webster house built À la confluence du Saint-Laurent et de la rivière du Saguenay. Tadoussac et ses proches environs constituaient un lieu de rassemblement et un carrefour d’échanges entre Premières Nations, présentes sur le territoire depuis 8 000 ans. Ces cours d’eau majeurs ont permis aux explorateurs et aux commerçants venus d’Europe de pénétrer le continent. Dès le XIVe siècle, les autochtones ont commercé avec les chasseurs basques de baleines et les pêcheurs bretons de morue. En 1535, alors qu’il remonte le Saint-Laurent, Jacques Cartier est saisi par sa beauté du site et jette l'ancre dans la baie pour le visiter. Pierre de Chauvin y construit un poste de traite de fourrures en 1600, le premier bâtiment de la Nouvelle-France. En mai 1603, Samuel de Champlain scelle tout près de Tadoussac une alliance entre les Français et les peuples autochtones. Il s’agit d’une entente commerciale, militaire et d’établissement qui ouvre la voie à la fondation de Québec cinq ans plus tard. Après avoir vécu du commerce des fourrures, de la pêche et de la chasse à la baleine, puis de l’industrie forestière, c’est en 1864 que le village construit le premier hôtel pour accueillir les villégiateurs estivaux. Depuis, le tourisme constitue un pilier de la vie socioéconomique locale et régionale. S'il vous plaît écrivez-moi plus de DATES à ajouter à cette liste 1535 Jacques Cartier découvre le fjord du Saguenay 1600 Construction d'une maison et établissement d'un poste de traite des fourrures par Pierre de Chauvin 1647&1747 Chapelle construite 1838 Scierie Price construite 1848 Prix Scierie fermée 1859 Fermeture du poste de la Baie d'Hudson 1860 Brynhyfryd construit 1861 Spruce Cliff construite 1861 Maison Molson Beattie construite 1862 Tadalac construit 1864 Tadoussac Hôtel construit 1864 Construction de la maison Powel/Bailey 1864 Cid construit 1865 Price Row construit 1867 Chapelle protestante construite 1869 Une route rudimentaire relie Les Escoumins à Tadoussac 1870 Poste de la Baie d'Hudson démoli 1873 (printemps) Le gouverneur général du Canada, le marquis Dufferin, construit sa résidence d'été à Tadoussac. 1874 Établissement d'une pisciculture de saumon par Samuel Wilmot dans les anciennes installations de William Price à Anse-à-l'Eau. 1885-9 Église de la Sainte-Croix construite 1899-1901 Agrandissement de l'hôtel Tadoussac 1912 ? Quai construite 1914 Piddington construit Ivanhoe 1923 Destruction par le feu Bourgouin & Dumont 1927 Un traversier entre Baie-Sainte-Catherine et Tadoussac est en service à l'année 1927 CSL St Lawrence lancé 1928 CSL Tadoussac and Quebec lancé 1931 Destruction par le feu de Radford House 1932 Destruction par le feu de Brynhyfryd, reconstruit la même année 1932 Maison Molson/Beattie ou Noel Brisson built (Moulin Baude) 1936 Windward construit 1942 Nouvel Hôtel Tadoussac construit 1942 Reconstruction de la Maison Chauvin 1942 Construction de la centrale électrique du Moulin Baude 1946 Destruction par le feu de l'église de la Sainte-Croix 1948 Maison Turcot construite 1950 Destruction par le feu du CSL Québec au quai 1966 Fin des bateaux CSL 1986 Construction de la maison Webster DATES 50

Interesting places on the Saguenay River near Tadoussac La Rivière Saguenay Endroits Intéressants Cool Places on the Saguenay River Pointe à la CROIX Pointe à la Croix Pointe à la Croix L'origine de la croix n'est pas connue, mais il y a des références à la Pointe à la Croix dans 2 livres, de 1889 et 1891. La croix a été remplacée au moins quatre fois ! The origin of the cross is not known, but there are references to Pointe à la Croix in 2 books, from 1889 and 1891. The cross has been replaced at least four times! Circa 1930, tea (with china teacups!) on Pt à la Croix, at center my grandmother Emily Evans, and my father R Lewis Evans Vers 1930, thé (avec des tasses en porcelaine !) sur Pt à la Croix, au centre ma grand-mère Emily Evans, et mon père R Lewis Evans This was the old cross that was mounted on Pointe à la Croix, the little point jutting out into the Saguenay River, from the east below the cliffs between Anse La Barque and La Boule bay. This one fell down and somebody put up another...the cross is dated 1941, the vertical piece on which it stood up supported by a pile of rocks was missing at the time we brought it home, about 1971 (tag by Jack Molson). This cross was replaced by R Lewis Evans and Tom Evans in the early 1970's C'était l'ancienne croix qui était montée sur la Pointe à la Croix, la petite pointe qui s'avance dans la rivière Saguenay, par l'est en contrebas des falaises entre l'Anse La Barque et la baie de La Boule. Celui-ci est tombé et quelqu'un en a posé un autre... la croix est datée de 1941, la pièce verticale sur laquelle elle se tenait soutenue par un tas de rochers manquait au moment où nous l'avons ramenée à la maison, vers 1971 (tag de Jack Molson) . Ce croisement a été remplacé par R Lewis Evans et Tom Evans au début des années 1970 The cross fell down again and was replaced by Tom Evans and friends! 2005 La croix est retombée et a été remplacée par Tom Evans et ses amis ! 2005 more coming soon... 11

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Built in 1861 as a Tadoussac summer residence for Quebec businessman Willis Russell. PREVIOUS Spruce Cliff 1861----> NEXT PAGE Tadoussac 1864 Much of this was written by Lilybell Rhodes (1889-1975), whose family built the house next door, she was a great friend of Grace Scott and often stayed with Grace in the summer. With bits from Grace Scott, Benny Beattie, Susie Bruemmer, Ann Dewart, Brian Dewart. Willis Russell, born 1814, came from Vermont to Quebec City about 1840 in search of lumber interests. Liking Quebec, he sent for his wife Rebecca Page Sanborn and child, who came by stagecoach (under protest), to Quebec. He became very active in the hotel business [the St Louis, the Albion and the Russell Hotels], in municipal affairs, and among other accomplishments, he wrote a 100 page booklet entitled "Quebec As it was and As it is". Willis Russell biography in our Bios section https://www.tidesoftadoussac.com/tadbios/russell%2C-willis-%26-rebecca-page-(sanborn) In Quebec, he became friends with Colonel Rhodes, with whom he used to go fishing at the Marguerite River, where they were founding members of the Ste Marguerite Salmon Fishing Club. When Mr Russell first brought his family to Tadoussac, he rented a house in L'Anse a l'Eau. Doctors had recommended sea air for Wilis' ailing daughter, and the summer was sucessful. Then he, Colonel Rhodes, and Mr Powel of Philadelphia bought adjoining lots. Une grande partie de ceci a été écrite par Lilybell Rhodes (1889-1975), dont la famille a construit la maison voisine. Elle était une grande amie de Grace Scott et restait souvent avec Grace en été. Avec des morceaux de Grace Scott, Benny Beattie, Susie Bruemmer, Ann Dewart, Brian Dewart. Willis Russell, né en 1814, est venu du Vermont à Québec vers 1840 à la recherche d'intérêts forestiers. Aimant Québec, il fit venir sa femme Rebecca Page Sa nbo rn et son enfant, qui vinrent, sous protestation, en diligence à Québec. Il devient très actif dans l'hôtellerie [les hôtels St Louis, l'Albion et le Russell], dans les affaires municipales, et entre autres réalisations, il rédige un livret de 100 pages intitulé "Le Québec tel qu'il était et tel qu'il est". Biographie de Willis Russell dans notre section Bios https://www.tidesoftadoussac.com/tadbios/russell%2C-willis-%26-rebecca-page-(sanborn) À Québec, il se lie d'amitié avec le colonel Rhodes, avec qui il avait l'habitude d'aller pêcher à la rivière Marguerite, où ils étaient membres du Salmon Fishing Club. Lorsque M. Russell a amené sa famille à Tadoussac pour la première fois, il a loué une maison à L'Anse à l'Eau. Les médecins avaient recommandé l'air marin pour la fille malade de Wilis, et l'été a été un succès. Ensuite, lui, le colonel Rhodes et M. Powel de Philadelphie ont acheté des lots adjacents. Willis Russell's name on the screen on the front door! (actually probably his grandson wrote it) We need a photo of him and his wife! Willis Russell a écrit son nom sur l'écran de la porte d'entrée ! Colonel Rhodes was the first to build. Mrs Mary Wallace recently found a letter from Colonel Rhodes to his builder saying that his friend Mr Russell wanted a house built just like his, and "of as good lumber". Thus the two houses were almost identical, with bell cast roofs, the typical French Canadian roof at the time. The two ice houses were built side by side on property which a later survey revealed was on the Rhodes property. Consequently, Mrs Russel built another ice house attached to the kitchen. On the west side, Mr Russell and Mr Powel built their wash houses back to back with a single dividing wall and a single chimney. They were used for storage, and had wash tubs where an Indian woman used to do the laundry. Their respective outhouses were also back to back with a single dividing wall, and it was rumoured that conversations were carried onby various members of both houses through the wall. Grace and her brother were encouraged to visit the outhouse before dark, as a visit after dark necessitated lighting the lantern. Le colonel Rhodes a été le premier à construire. Mme Mary Wallace a récemment trouvé une lettre du colonel Rhodes à son constructeur disant que son ami M. Russell voulait une maison construite comme la sienne, et "d'aussi bon bois". Ainsi, les deux maisons étaient presque identiques, avec des toits en fonte de cloche, le toit typiquement canadien-français de l'époque. Les deux glacières ont été construites côte à côte sur une propriété qui, selon une enquête ultérieure, se trouvait sur la propriété de Rhodes. Par conséquent, Mme Russel a construit une autre glacière attenante à la cuisine. Du côté ouest, MM. Russell et Powel ont construit leurs lavoirs adossés avec un seul mur mitoyen et une seule cheminée. Ils étaient utilisés pour le stockage et avaient des bacs à laver où une femme indienne faisait la lessive. Leurs dépendances respectives étaient également dos à dos avec un seul mur de séparation, et la rumeur disait que des conversations étaient menées par divers membres des deux maisons à travers le mur. Grace et son frère ont été encouragés à visiter la dépendance avant la tombée de la nuit, car une visite après la tombée de la nuit nécessitait d'allumer la lanterne. Left, the original Rhodes Icehouse, which has partially sunk into the hole underneath which was dug for the ice! Right, the back to back washhouses on the Powel side of the property. À gauche, la glacière originale de Rhodes, qui s'est partiellement enfoncée dans le trou en dessous qui a été creusé pour la glace ! À droite, les lavoirs dos à dos du côté Powel de la propriété. When Willis Russell died in 1887, the property was left to his two surviving children, Agnes Ballard and William Edward, who bought out his sister's share. Left a widow in 1893, Mrs William Edward Russell continued spending her summers in Tadoussac. Mrs Russell used to sit on the front gallery at noon to greet golfers and tennis players as they walked home. Mrs Russell sometimes renting the cottage to Dr Johnathon Dwight of New York. [The Dwights created "Dwight Park" between the road and the bank, above Rhodes houses] It is said that one day a cow walked up the front porch right into the living room one afternoon when he was reading quietly. Lorsque Willis Russell mourut en 1887, la propriété fut laissée à ses deux enfants survivants, Agnes Ballard et William Edward, qui rachetèrent la part de sa sœur. Devenue veuve en 1893, Mme Russell continue de passer ses étés à Tadoussac. Mme Russell avait l'habitude de s'asseoir sur la galerie avant à midi pour saluer les golfeurs et les joueurs de tennis alors qu'ils rentraient chez eux. Mme Russell louait parfois le chalet au Dr Johnathon Dwight de New York. [Les Dwights ont créé "Dwight Park" entre la route et la banque, au-dessus des maisons de Rhodes] On raconte qu'un jour, une vache est montée par le porche directement dans le salon un après-midi alors qu'il lisait tranquillement. Left, William Edward Russell and Fanny Eliza Pope Russell In the late 1800's there was a boardwalk and gazebo at the edge of the bank, a great spot for family photos. The bank is not very stable, eventually the gazebo probably slid down the hill! À gauche, William Edward Russell et Fanny Eliza Pope Russell À la fin des années 1800, il y avait une promenade et un belvédère au bord de la rive, un endroit idéal pour les photos de famille. La berge n'est pas très stable, éventuellement le belvédère a probablement glissé en bas de la colline! In the 20th century, the Leslie Russells and the Scotts spent their holidays with Mrs Russell. Upon her death in 1936, the house was left to her four children, Leslie, Frederick, Nonie and Mabel (Mrs Scott) who bought out her brothers and sister. When Mrs Scott died in 1952, she left the house to her daughter Grace. [Nonie married Dr James Stevenson, they had 3 girls Margaret (Reilley), Elizabeth (O'Neill), and Ann (Dewart), who summered in Tadoussac in the Park!] Below Nonie Russell and James Stevenson ~1900 Grace Scott ~ 1930 Right ~1930's Ann, Margaret and Elizabeth Stevenson with their grandmother Mrs Russell Mrs. Russell's daughter in law, Connie (Home) Russell, wife of Frederick Russell, and the two young ones are John Leslie Russell and Lucille (Suzie) Russell, children of Frederick's brother (Leslie Allan Russell) Below right the girls and dogs Au XXe siècle, les Leslie Russell et les Scott passaient leurs vacances avec Mme Russell. À sa mort en 1936, la maison a été léguée à ses quatre enfants, Leslie, Frederick, Nonie et Mabel (Mme Scott) qui ont acheté la propriété à ses frères et sœur. Lorsque Mme Scott est décédée en 1952, elle a laissé la maison à sa fille Grace. [Nonie a épousé le Dr James Stevenson, ils ont eu 3 filles Margaret (Reilley), Elizabeth (O'Neill) et Ann (Dewart), qui ont passé l'été à Tadoussac in the Park!] The family used to bring a cow down with them from Quebec every year and keep it in the 'cow field' across the street, even though the children didn't like to drink 'cowy milk'. Drinking water was obtained from a spring half way down the bank, and was brought up in buckets suspended from a yoke on the maid's shoulders. Washing water was taken from two rain barrels at each corner of the house. Mint growing near the spring down the bank was gathered by the children for roast lamb. Local lamb was plentiful, as was salmon. (From Mrs Russell's account book 1904, salmon cost 10¢ a pound, wild strawberries 5¢ a glass). The property was taken care of by François Deschenes for many years, and then by his son Freddy. After Freddy's death most families chose Gauthier, but Mrs Russell hired his brother Louis as guardian. When the WIlliams house [next door] burned down in 1932, Louis' wife claimed to have saved the house by throwing her rosary on the roof. Before the time of screened porches, a smudge of bark and spruce bits was kept burning in a large iron kettle on the lawn to keep the black flies away. On the front gallery always hung a long tail of seaweed, which by its dryness or dampness indicated the type of weather to expect - or so we thought. Grace remembers that life was more formal in her youth. Everyone went to church on Sunday, and everyone was expected to be on time for meals. Rising bell rang at 8h00, and a breakfast bell at 8h30. A loud bell was rung outside for those on the beach. Kerosene lamps and candles provided light before electricity arrived in 1945. [link to hydro station] Every home had afternoon tea, a wonderful time for entertaining and visiting. Below Mrs Scott, Nonie and Elizabeth O'Neill, Grace Scott Susie (Scott) Bruemmer, Aidan O'Neill, Bobby Scott, Kathrine and Patrick O'Neill La famille avait l'habitude d'amener une vache avec eux du Québec chaque année et de la garder dans le « champ de vache » de l'autre côté de la rue, même si les enfants n'aimaient pas boire du « lait de vache ». L'eau potable provenait d'une source à mi-chemin sur la rive et était amenée dans des seaux suspendus à un joug sur les épaules de la bonne. L'eau de lavage provenait de deux barils de pluie à chaque coin de la maison. La menthe poussant près de la source en bas de la rive était cueillie par les enfants pour l'agneau rôti. L'agneau local était abondant, tout comme le saumon. (D'après le livre de comptes de Mme Russell de 1904, le saumon coûte 10 ¢ la livre, les fraises des bois 5 ¢ le verre). La propriété a été entretenue par François Deschênes pendant de nombreuses années, puis par son fils Freddy. Après la mort de Freddy, la plupart des familles ont choisi Gauthier, mais Mme Russell a embauché son frère Louis comme tuteur. Lorsque la maison Williams [à côté] a brûlé en 1932, la femme de Louis a affirmé avoir sauvé la maison en jetant son chapelet sur le toit. Avant l'époque des porches grillagés, une tache d'écorce et de morceaux d'épinette brûlait dans une grande bouilloire en fer sur la pelouse pour éloigner les mouches noires. Sur la galerie avant pendait toujours une longue queue d'algues qui, par sa sécheresse ou son humidité, indiquait le type de temps à attendre - du moins le pensions-nous. Grace se souvient que la vie était plus formelle dans sa jeunesse. Tout le monde est allé à l'église le dimanche, et tout le monde devait être à l'heure pour les repas. La cloche du lever a sonné à 8h00 et une cloche du petit déjeuner à 8h30. Une cloche bruyante sonnait à l'extérieur pour ceux qui se trouvaient sur la plage. Des lampes à kérosène et des bougies fournissaient de la lumière avant l'arrivée de l'électricité en 1945. [lien vers la centrale hydroélectrique] Chaque maison avait le thé de l'après-midi, un moment merveilleux pour se divertir et visiter. 35 NEXT PAGE

La rivière Saguenay compte plusieurs villes fantômes, où de grandes scieries et des villages entiers ont existé pendant une courte période puis ont complètement disparu. The Saguenay River has a number of ghost towns, where large lumber mills and entire villages existed for a short time and then completely disappeared. Saguenay Mills and Towns Moulins et Villes du Saguenay The Saguenay River has a number of ghost towns, where large lumber mills and entire villages existed for a short time and then completely disappeared. The only remains are some slab-wood walls and rocks and bricks. The history is fascinating. Much of the text here is from the excellent website of Petit-Saguenay, which includes St Etienne, https://petit-saguenay.com/notre-histoire/, below is an english translation. La rivière Saguenay compte plusieurs villes fantômes, où de grandes scieries et des villages entiers ont existé pendant une courte période puis ont complètement disparu. Les seuls vestiges sont des murs en dalles de bois, des pierres et des briques. L'histoire est fascinante. Une grande partie du texte ici provient de l'excellent site Web de Petit-Saguenay, qui comprend St Etienne, https://petit-saguenay.com/notre-histoire/, ci-dessous est une traduction en anglais. ST ETIENNE et la Ville Industrielle/Factory Town 1883-1900 Anse CHEVAL MARGUERITE Mill/Moulin et Wharf/Quai circa 1910 BAIE STE CATHERINE 1902 This photo of the Price Mill in Baie Ste Catherine is from an old copy of the " Saguenayensia" . This would be shortly after the Price Mill at Ste Etienne was destroyed by fire in 1900. Not many trees on the hillside! Also a few detail blowups. Cette photo du moulin Price à Baie Ste Catherine est tirée d'un ancien exemplaire du " Saguenayensia ". Cela se serait passé peu de temps après que le moulin Price à Ste Etienne ait été détruit par un incendie en 1900. Il n'y a pas beaucoup d'arbres sur la colline ! Et aussi quelques agrandissements de détails. ST ETIENNE et la Ville Industrielle/Factory Town 1883-1900 ST ETIENNE et la Ville Industrielle/Factory Town 1883-1900 Anse au Cheval Anse-aux-Petites-Îles Anse de Roche Baie Saint-Marguerite Arrival of the Société des Vingt-et-un in Petit-Saguenay April 25, 1838. The Société des Vingt-et-un prepared a schooner to set off to conquer the Saguenay, then under the Hudson's Bay Company monopoly. This team of 27 men first stopped at Anse-aux-Petites-Îles, between Tadoussac and Anse Saint-Étienne, to unload a group of loggers there, who built the first sawmill on the Saguenay. The expedition thus relieved continued on its way to Anse-au-Cheval, located opposite the Baie Saint-Marguerite, where a second mill was built. They waited for the ice to leave, which takes a month. Then, the rest of the crew continues their journey which brings them to the colonization of L'Anse-Saint-Jean and Baie des Ha! Ha! The first two stops of the Société des Vingt-et-un are therefore in two coves in the territory of Petit-Saguenay. These sawing facilities will be of short duration, since the mills were designed to be easily moved depending on the availability of the resource. At the time, it was pine, which was then abundant in the area, that they felled as a priority. However, these two coves are never permanently inhabited - although they are visited by priests who identify 8 men in Petites-Îles and 2 men in l'Anse-au-Cheval in 1839 - and it is rather at Anse de Petit-Saguenay and Anse Saint-Étienne that future colonization efforts were deployed in Petit-Saguenay. Arrivée de la Société des Vingt-et-un à Petit-Saguenay 25 avril 1838. La Société des Vingt-et-un apprête une goélette pour partir à la conquête du Saguenay, alors sous le monopole de Compagnie de la Baie d'Hudson. Cette équipée de 27 hommes fait d'abord escale à l'Anse-aux-petites-Îles, entre Tadoussac et l'Anse Saint-Étienne, pour y débarquer un groupe de bûcherons, qui y construit le premier moulin à scie sur le Saguenay. L'expédition ainsi délestée poursuit son chemin jusqu'à l'Anse-au-Cheval, située en face de la Baie Saint-Marguerite, où un second moulin est construit. On y attend le départ des glaces, ce qui prend un mois. Puis, le reste de l'équipage poursuit son voyage qui l'amène à la colonisation de L'Anse-Saint-Jean et la Baie des Ha! Ha! Les deux premiers arrêts de la Société des Vingt-et-un se font donc dans deux anses sur le territoire de Petit-Saguenay. Ces installations de sciage seront de courte durée, puisque les moulins étaient conçus pour être facilement déplaçables en fonction de la disponibilité de la ressource. À l'époque, c'est le pin, qui est alors abondant sur le territoire, qu'on abat en priorité. Ces deux anses ne sont toutefois jamais habitées de façon permanente - bien qu'elle soit visitées par des curés qui recensent 8 hommes aux Petites-Îles et 2 hommes à l'Anse-au-Cheval en 1839 - et c'est plutôt du côté de l'Anse de Petit-Saguenay et de l'Anse Saint-Étienne que les futurs efforts de colonisation se déploient à Petit-Saguenay. St Etienne is shown on a map of 1744 1865 The Rhodes family had a summer cottage in Tadoussac, and they would row up the Saguenay and camp and fish! The fishing was very good, and St Etienne was a favourite spot. They also loved swimming and shooting. Godfrey Rhodes wrote about it in his diary from 1865, at age 15. 1865 La famille Rhodes avait un chalet d'été à Tadoussac, et ils ramaient en canot sur le Saguenay, campaient et pêchaient! La pêche était très bonne, et St Etienne était un endroit préféré. Ils aimaient aussi nager et tirer. Godfrey Rhodes a écrit à ce sujet dans son journal de 1865, à l'âge de 15 ans. The text here is from the excellent website of Petit-Saguenay, which includes St Etienne, https://petit-saguenay.com/notre-histoire/, below is an english translation. Construction of a company village at Anse Saint-Étienne At the end of the 1870s, the Price company began to take an interest in the Anse Saint-Étienne site to install a sawmill. The site is favorable for development, because it is well protected from the winds and offers an excellent anchorage. On site, there are at most a few fishing families and the remains of a mysterious sawmill whose owner we do not know. It was in 1882 that the Price company decided to build a real company village there, which would be the first of its kind in the region. The establishment is called a company village, since all the buildings belong to the Price company. The mill is for its part of a considerable size: it works with steam and has a power of 200 forces, which makes it de facto the largest factory of this type in Saguenay. Locks, slabs and docks are built around the mill to facilitate the transport, storage and loading of timber. A steam tug, the Belle, is based on site to facilitate the entry and exit of schooners and other sailing vessels at low tide. The workers and their families are housed in rooming houses near the factory, which makes for a very lively working-class neighborhood. The notables, mostly English-speaking and Protestant, were settled on an upper plateau, in what was called at the time the Anse des Messieurs or the Anse de l'Eglise. The village experienced significant growth and once again placed Petit-Saguenay in the heart of the Price empire in the region. Le texte ici est tiré de l'excellent site Web de Petit-Saguenay, qui inclut St Etienne, https://petit-saguenay.com/notre-histoire/, à gauche est une traduction en anglais. Construction d'un village de compagnie à l'Anse Saint-Étienne À la fin des années 1870, la compagnie Price commence à s'intéresser au site de l'Anse Saint-Étienne pour y installer un moulin à scie. Le site est favorable à l'établissement, parce qu'il est bien protégé des vents et offre un excellent mouillage. Sur place, on retrouve tout au plus quelques familles de pêcheurs et les vestiges d'un mystérieux moulin à scie dont on ne connait pas le propriétaire. C'est en 1882 que la compagnie Price décide d'y construire un véritable village de compagnie, qui sera le premier du genre dans la région. On qualifie l'établissement de village de compagnie, puisque toutes les bâtiments appartiennent à la compagnie Price. Le moulin est pour sa part d'une ampleur considérable : il fonctionne à la vapeur et possède une puissance de 200 forces, ce qui en fait de facto la plus grande usine de ce type au Saguenay. Autour du moulin, on construit des écluses, des dalles et des quais pour faciliter le transport, l'entreposage et le chargement du bois. Un remorqueur à vapeur, le Belle, est basé sur place pour faciliter l'entrée et la sortie des goélettes et autres navires à voile à marée basse. Les ouvriers et leurs familles sont logés dans des maisons de chambre à proximité de l'usine, ce qui constitue un quartier ouvrier très vivant. Les notables, pour la plupart anglophones et protestants, sont quant à eux installés sur un plateau supérieur, dans ce que l'on appelle à l'époque l'Anse des Messieurs ou l'Anse de l'Église. Le village connait un essor important et replace à nouveau Petit-Saguenay au coeur de l'empire des Price dans la région. Development of a modern village in Saint-Étienne Quickly after the founding of the company village of Saint-Étienne, it experienced a significant boom which increased the population to nearly 400 people in 1887, when the decision was made to build a church and set up a cemetery on the spot. To house all these workers and their families, they had to build around 30 homes in the working-class neighborhood and install many services. About ten residences were also built at Anse-des-Messieurs to accommodate the manager and the notables. A 27-kilometer-long telegraph line connected Saint-Étienne to Rivière aux Canards (Baie-Sainte-Catherine) and a colonization path - the maritime path - is opened along this line at the site of the current chemin des Îles. A post office is also set up on site and the post office is delivered twice a week between Saint-Étienne and Tadoussac and between Saint-Étienne and L'Anse-Saint-Jean. A farm is cleared on the surrounding plateaus to provide fresh food to the inhabitants. Two schools are also open for the education of children with teachers Adéla and Cécile Gobeil. Visitors are welcomed in a comfortable hotel. Rumors have it that some of the buildings are even served by electricity produced at the steam mill and a water supply service! Développement d'un village moderne à Saint-Étienne Rapidement après la fondation du village de compagnie de Saint-Étienne, celui-ci connait un essor important qui fait grimper la population à près de 400 personnes en 1887, lorsqu'on décide de construire une église et d'aménager un cimetière sur place. Pour loger tous ces travailleurs et leurs familles, on doit construire une trentaine d'habitations dans le quartier ouvrier et installer de nombreux services. Une dizaine de résidences sont également construites à l'Anse-des-Messieurs pour loger le gérant et les notables. Une ligne de télégraphe de 27 kilomètres de long relie Saint-Étienne à Rivière aux Canards (Baie-Sainte-Catherine) et un chemin de colonisation - le chemin maritime - est ouvert le long de cette ligne à l'emplacement de l'actuel chemin des Îles. Un bureau de poste est également aménagés sur place et la poste est livrée deux fois par semaine entre Saint-Étienne et Tadoussac et entre Saint-Étienne et L'Anse-Saint-Jean. Une ferme est défrichée sur les plateaux environnants pour fournir des aliments frais aux habitants. Deux écoles sont également ouvertes pour l'éducation des enfants avec les institutrices Adéla et Cécile Gobeil. Les visiteurs sont quant à eux accueillis dans un hôtel confortable. Les rumeurs veulent qu'une partie des bâtiments est même desservie par l'électricité produite au moulin à vapeur et un service d'aqueduc! St Etienne 1883-1900 The golden age of Saint-Étienne After several years of operation, the industrial village of Saint-Étienne reached its peak at the turn of the 1890s. It figures prominently among the 3 mills of the Price company on the Saguenay, a company which also has facilities in Chicoutimi and the Baie des Ha! Ha!. At the peak of activities, there was a permanent population of 495 people in 1891, which excludes the 400 to 600 workers who stay on the sites each winter. It was then the most populous village between La Baie and Tadoussac. About a hundred workers operate the sawmill, which processes between 200 and 300,000 logs per year. It was mainly spruce, which replaced pine as the main species, the latter having been completely exploited in the first decades of the colonization of the Saguenay or ravaged by recurring fires. The wood comes mainly from the territory of Petit-Saguenay and Baie-Sainte-Catherine. There were up to twenty logging sites per winter operating in the hinterland to supply the industry. The village began to decline from 1891, however, mainly due to two factors. First, the supply is more and more difficult and they had to harvest the resource further and further to bring it to the mill, which reduces the profitability of operations. Then, a major depression hit the world economy from 1891, which affected the wood exports of the Price company to the United States. However, Saint-Étienne remained a dynamic village until its tragic end in 1900. This photo does NOT show the village on fire, the smoke is from the chimneys! L'âge d'or de Saint-Étienne Après plusieurs années d'opération, le village industriel de Saint-Étienne atteint son apogée au tournant des années 1890. Il figure en bonne place parmi les 3 moulins de la compagnie Price sur le Saguenay, compagnie qui compte également des installations à Chicoutimi et à la Baie des Ha! Ha!. Au sommet des activités, on compte une population permanente de 495 personnes en 1891, ce qui exclut les 400 à 600 travailleurs qui séjournent chaque hiver sur les chantiers. C'est alors le village le plus populeux entre La Baie et Tadoussac. Une centaine de travailleurs fait fonctionner le moulin à scie où transitent entre 200 et 300 000 billots par année. On y scie essentiellement de l'épinette, qui a remplacé le pin comme essence principale, cette dernière ayant été complètement exploitée dans les premières décennies de la colonisation du Saguenay ou ravagée par les incendies récurrents. Le bois vient principalement du territoire de Petit-Saguenay et de Baie-Sainte-Catherine. On opère jusqu'à une vingtaine de chantiers de bûchage par hiver dans l'arrière-pays pour alimenter l'industrie. Le village se met toutefois à décliner à compter de 1891, principalement à cause de deux facteurs. D'abord, l'approvisionnement est de plus en plus difficile et on doit aller récolter la ressource de plus en plus loin pour l'apporter au moulin, ce qui réduit la rentabilité des opérations. Ensuite, une dépression importante frappe l'économie mondiale à compter de 1891, ce qui affecte les exportations de bois de la compagnie Price vers les États-Unis. Saint-Étienne demeure toutefois un village dynamique jusqu'à sa fin tragique en 1900. Cette photo ne montre PAS le village en feu, la fumée vient des cheminées ! Saint-Étienne razed to the ground June 5, 1900. A stubble fire started in the morning by colonist Benjamin Boudreault on the heights of Saint-Étienne spread to the forest thanks to the strong winds. In the space of two hours, the flames reached the village of Saint-Étienne, which was reduced to ashes. Only a handful of buildings were spared, but all the residents were literally thrown into the sea, picked up on board two passing ships. The sawmill, the docks, three ships and the entire wood inventory were lost in the fire. Only the district of Anse-des-Messieurs was spared. The next day, thanks to the generosity of the public and the authorities, aid was sent from Chicoutimi: money, food and clothing were distributed to the grieving families. If the workers got by without too much damage, the Price company must declare a total loss since the establishment is not insured. These losses are estimated at between $ 300,000 and $ 400,000, which equates to between $ 9M and $ 12M today. Faced with the scale of the disaster and taking into account the fact that the establishment had already been declining for a few years because of supply problems, the company decided not to rebuild and instead to open a new sawmill at Baie Sainte-Catherine, a mill which moved again in 1908 to Baie Sainte-Marguerite. L'Anse Saint-Étienne, for its part, was abandoned by the Price company, which hardly did any business there until the land was sold to the municipality in the 1970s. Saint-Étienne rasé par les flammes 5 juin 1900. Un feu d'abattis débuté en matinée par le colon Benjamin Boudreault sur les hauteurs de Saint-Étienne se répand à la forêt à la faveur des forts vents. En l'espace de deux heures, les flammes atteignent le village de Saint-Étienne qui est réduit en cendre. Une poignée de bâtiments seulement sont épargnés, mais tous les résidents sont littéralement jetés à la mer, recueillis à bord de deux navires de passage. Le moulin à scie, les quais, trois navires ainsi que l'ensemble de l'inventaire de bois sont perdus dans l'incendie. Seul le quartier de l'Anse-des-messieurs est épargné. Dès le lendemain, grâce à la générosité du public et des autorités, on achemine de l'aide en provenance de Chicoutimi : de l'argent, des vivres et des vêtements sont ainsi distribués aux famille éplorés. Si les travailleurs s'en sortent sans trop de dommage, la compagnie Price, elle, doit déclarer une perte totale puisque l'établissement n'est pas assuré. Ces pertes sont estimées à entre 300 et 400 000 $, ce qui équivaut à entre 9M$ et 12M$ aujourd'hui. Devant l'ampleur du désastre et compte tenud du fait que l'établissement décline déjà depuis quelques années à cause des problèmes d'approvisionnement, la compagnie décide de ne pas reconstruire et de plutôt ouvrir un nouveau moulin à scie du côté de Baie Sainte-Catherine, moulin qui est déménagé à nouveau en 1908 du côté de Baie Sainte-Marguerite. L'Anse Saint-Étienne est pour sa part abandonnée par la compagnie Price, qui n'y fait plus guère d'activités jusqu'à la vente du terrain à la municipalité dans les années 1970. Great Fire on the Saguenay Forty Families Homeless A dispatch announces that a big fire has ravaged the village of St Etienne, on the Saguenay, and that forty families are homeless. The telegraph office was also set on fire, making it more difficult to obtain full details, the distance being sixteen miles. The captain of the "Saguenay" boat was asked to stop at St-Etienne and transport homeless people to St-Alexis de Chicoutimi. LATER The large establishment of Price Brothers & Co, wood merchants of St-Etienne, was completely destroyed by fire this afternoon. The losses are considerable and include nearly 200,000 feet of trade lumber, stores and most of the docks. A schooner and two boats which were at the wharf were also destroyed. Forty families are homeless as a result of the conflagration and find themselves running out of food and even clothing. Most of the workers were occupied in the sawmills, and came to Chicoutimi. It is believed that the fire was started by reckless settlers. Losses are estimated between $350,000 and $ 400,000. The steamer "Saguenay" * Mill Village Anse-des-Messieurs Today St Etienne is a popular picnic spot, accessible by road, and there are remains of the old wharfs in the stream. Aujourd'hui, St Etienne est un lieu de pique-nique populaire, accessible par la route, et il reste des vestiges des anciens quais dans le ruisseau. Match up the hills! Circa 1890 >> 2020 Associez les collines! Vers 1890 >> 2020 Anse au Cheval Anse au Cheval Price installs debarkers at Anse au Cheval In 1838, the Société des Vingt-et-Un set up its first sawmills in the region at Petit-Saguenay, at Anse aux Petites-Îles and at Anse au Cheval. After a few years of operation, these two mills were sold to William Price, who did not continue to operate for long. L'Anse au Cheval was therefore abandoned for a few decades until Joseph Desgagné, son of the famous schooner builder Zéphirin Desgagné from L'Anse-Saint-Jean, took a lease there from the land agent of Tadoussac in the 1880s or 1890s. The activities of Joseph Desgagné at Anse au Cheval are not known, but we can assume that he does either cutting or sawing, since he regularly transports wood with his schooners. He then transferred his rights to Onésime Gagné of L'Anse-Saint-Jean, who obviously operated a mill there, since when the latter sold his facilities to the Price company in 1902, the notarial contract mentioned a " mill with machines, machine, kettle, shingle machine, carriage complete with saws and other accessories, ridges, edging saws [...], as well as the house [...], booms and docks used to pound the planks and other woods. " A small colony even developed around these installations, with some families affected by the fire in the village of Saint-Étienne in 1900. The Price company, for its part, operates debarkers there in a factory supplied with energy by steam. The pulpwood thus freed from its bark is then exported by ship to pulp and paper mills in Ontario and the United States. The Anse au Cheval mill was thus in operation for several years, until a law came to prohibit the export of pulpwood in 1910 and thus led to the decline of activities on the site. In 1914, the installations were dismantled and the kettle was transferred to Desbins, where the Price company operated one of the five pulp and paper mills in the region at the time. L'Anse au Cheval was abandoned for good. Price installe des écorceurs à l'Anse au Cheval En 1838, la Société des Vingt-et-Un installe ses premiers moulins à scie dans la région à Petit-Saguenay, soit à l'Anse aux Petites-Îles et à l'Anse au Cheval. Après quelques années d'exploitation, ces deux moulins sont vendus à William Price, qui ne continue pas l'exploitation bien longtemps. L'Anse au Cheval est donc abandonnée pendant quelques décennies jusqu'à ce que Joseph Desgagné, fils du fameux constructeur de goélettes Zéphirin Desgagné de L'Anse-Saint-Jean, y prenne un bail auprès de l'agent des terres de Tadoussac dans les années 1880 ou 1890. Les activitéss de Joseph Desgagné à l'Anse au Cheval ne sont pas connues, mais on peut présumer qu'il y fait soit de la coupe ou du sciage, puisque que celui-ci transporte régulièrement du bois avec ses goélettes. Il transfère ensuite ses droits à Onésime Gagné de L'Anse-Saint-Jean, qui y exploite manifestement un moulin, puisqu'au moment où ce dernier vend ses installations à la compagnie Price en 1902, le contrat notarié fait mention d'un "moulin avec machines, engin, bouilloire, machine à bardeaux, carriage complet avec scies et autres accessoires, buttes, scies à déligner [...], ainsi que la maison [...], booms et quais servant à piler les madriers et autres bois." Une petite colonie s'est même développée autour de ces installations, avec quelques familles sinistrées après le feu du village de Saint-Étienne en 1900. La compagnie Price, pour sa part, y exploite des écorceurs dans une usine alimentée en énergie par la vapeur. Le bois de pulpe ainsi libéré de son écorce est ensuite exporté par bateau vers des usines de pâte et papiers d'Ontario et des États-Unis. Le moulin de l'Anse au Cheval est ainsi en opération pendant plusieurs années, jusqu'à ce qu'une loi vienne interdire l'exportation de bois de pulpe en 1910 et mène ainsi au déclin des activités sur le site. En 1914, on démentèle les installations et on transfère la bouilloire à Desbins, où la compagnie Price opère l'une des cinq usines de pâte et papier de la région à l'époque. L'Anse au Cheval est définitivement abandonnée. 2020 there are some remains of the activities in Anse au Cheval. There are probably more remains in the forest. 2020, il y a quelques vestiges des activités à Anse au Cheval. Il y a probablement plus de restes dans la forêt. Marguerite Baie Saint-Marguerite The "MARGUERITE" is a beautiful place. Marguerite Bay is the mouth of the two Marguerite Rivers, which combine a short distance above the head of the bay. The bay is 2km deep and 1km wide. At high tide it is completely flooded, at low tide mostly dry, with the river running down the middle to the Saguenay. La "Marguerite" est un bel endroit. Marguerite Bay est la bouche des deux Rivières-Marguerite, qui se combinent à une courte distance au-dessus de la tête de la baie. La baie est à 2km de profondeur et un kilomètre de large. A marée haute, il est complètement inondée, à marée basse la plus grande partie est sec, avec la rivière qui coule au milieu au Saguenay. The Marguerite Parc Saguenay Visitors Center today Site of the movie set in 1972 Marguerite Rivers join here Ice Caves Petite Rigolette Banc des Messieurs Remains of Wharf and crib Sand Dune Amazing Canal Northwest Corner Remains of the Village The Notch Beach Saguenay River Belugas Village of Sainte Marguerite, built around the sawmill Circa 1910? Village de Sainte-Marguerite, construit autour de la scierie Periode 1910? About 1930's Remains of the town and the wharf, at high tide Environ 1930 Vestiges de la ville et le quai, à marée haute The "Muriel" anchored in the Marguerite, circa 1930 Below the "Hobo" and the "Bonne Chance" in the same location in 1956, the rocks in the background are the same. This is in the middle of the bay, in the river channel, which never dries out at low tide. Le "Muriel" ancrée dans la Marguerite, vers 1930 Ci-dessous le "Hobo" et la "Bonne Chance" au même endroit en 1956, les roches dans le fond sont les mêmes. Ceci est dans le milieu de la baie, dans le chenal de la rivière, qui ne sèche jamais à marée basse. A trip to the Marguerite in about 1935 Bill Morewood (my uncle) looking at the camera Jim Alexander with the crest on his sweater Not sure who the third guy is. Un voyage à la Marguerite en 1935 environ Bill Morewood (mon oncle) en regardant la caméra Jim Alexander avec la crête sur son chandai La "Marguerite" est un bel endroit. Marguerite Bay est la bouche des deux Rivières-Marguerite, qui se combinent à une courte distance au-dessus de la tête de la baie. La baie est à 2km de profondeur et un kilomètre de large. A marée haute, il est complètement inondée, à marée basse la plus grande partie est sec, avec la rivière qui coule au milieu au Saguenay. Putting up a beacon on the old pier at the Marguerite for 'navigation' July 1937 Herbert, Noel, Self (Jack Molson?) This marker (and other ones) stood on the 'crib' for many years. The crib was the pile of rocks that was the remains of the end of the old wharf, where it reached the river channel. Mettre en place un arbre sur le vieux quai de la Marguerite pour «navigation» Juillet 1937 Herbert, Noel, Self (Jack Molson?) Ce marqueur (et autres) se trouvait sur la «crèche» pour de nombreuses années. La crèche était le tas de pierres qui était les vestiges de la fin de l'ancien quai, où il a atteint le chenal de la rivière. Guy Smith and the 'Hobo' and Lewis Evans's 'Bonne Chance' anchored in the Marguerite in 1956 From the log of the "Bonne Chance" August 13th 1956: 4pm Entered Marguerite, schooner "Hobo" on anchorage, she reported having caught 18, and left for the Islets Rouge. Tuesday I fished half flood at dawn on the point above the crip - 4 trout, one a good size. Fished ebb all morning on Banc des Messieurs taking 17, all but 2 on flies. Trevor (Evans) and John (Price) fished Petite Rigolette (the smaller outlet of the Marguerite over the low tide flats), taking 26. Fished afternoon flood, I getting nothing on main channel, Trevor and John 18 on the Petite Rigolette. Sunny and calm. Below they are dumping water from the Nor-Shore Canoe from the deck of the "Hobo" Guy Smith et la «Hobo» et «Bonne Chance» de Lewis Evans ancrée dans la Marguerite en 1956 À partir du journal de la "Bonne Chance« Le 13 Août 1956: 16:00 Entrée Marguerite, goélette "Hobo" sur l'ancrage, elle a déclaré avoir pris 18, et a quitté pour les îlots Rouge. Mardi, je pêche la moitié inondation à l'aube sur le point au-dessus du berceau - 4 truites, une bonne taille. Pêché ebb toute la matinée sur le Banc des Messieurs prenant 17, tous sauf 2 sur les mouches. Trevor (Evans) et John (Price) pêchées Petite Rigolette (la plus petite sortie de la Marguerite sur les bancs de sable à marée basse), en tenant 26. pêché inondation de l'après-midi, je de ne rien obtenir sur le canal principal, Trevor et John 18 sur la Petite Rigolette. Ensoleillé et calme. Ci-dessous, ils déversent l'eau du canot Nor-Shore de la plate-forme de la "Hobo" In 1972 the movie "Journey" was filmed at the Marguerite, and a small village was built at the head of the bay. The movie was directed by Paul Almond and starred Genvieve Bujold. En 1972, le film "Journey" a été filmé à la Marguerite, et un petit village a été construit à la tête de la baie. Le film a été réalisé par Paul Almond et inclus Genvieve Bujold. Remains of the Wharf, 1951 Les vestiges du quai, 1951 Remains of the Wharf, 1970's Les vestiges du quai, 1970's In 2005 Lewis, Tom and Alan Evans spent a night in the Marguerite on Al's boat the "Trillium", a "reenactment" of the many trips we took there with our father. We fished in all the usual spots but did not catch anything. The trout have made a comeback in recent years, but they are smarter than they used to be! En 2005, Lewis, Tom et Alan Evans ont passé une nuit dans la Marguerite sur le bateau de Al le «Trillium», une «répétition» des nombreux voyages que nous avons là-bas avec notre père. Nous avons pêché dans tous les endroits habituels, mais n'a rien attrapé. Les truites ont fait un retour au cours des dernières années, mais ils sont plus intelligents qu'ils étaient! 2014 we visited the "Ice Caves". At the foot of the large rockslide on the nrth side of the bay, ice can be found under the large boulders in July, and even in August the air was very cold. Natural air conditioning! Look for the small stream and follow it up the hill. 2014 nous avons visité les "grottes de glace". Au pied de la grande éboulement sur le côté nord de la baie, la glace peut être trouvé sous les grands rochers en Juillet. même en Août l'air était très froid. Climatisation naturelle! Cherchez le petit ruisseau et suivre jusqu'à la colline. 61

Short Stories by R Lewis Evans R. Lewis Evans was an English Teacher who loved to write. Although his books are quite well-known, his short stories and articles belong mostly to the more distant past. It was during the 1940s and 1950s that magazine short stories were popular and sought after and Dad wrote over 20 of them. Most were published, and many are of interest especially to those of us who know and love the Lower St. Lawrence and Saguenay areas of Quebec, so I decided to get them out of the file and onto the web-site where they can be read once again. I've divided the stories into categories. While he wrote mostly river stories about the Tadoussac area, including some historical fiction, he also wrote 6 stories about World War II (4 of which overlap with our beloved river), and a number of odd inspirations, one biblical, several inspired by newspaper items, and even one (gasp!) Science Fiction. There are also some non-fiction articles which will be coming along later in the year. I love them all partly because he wrote about what he loved and I love it too, but partly because his characters are thoughtful, compassionate and real. I've included a few notes that he kept in the file. Some are news articles he drew his ideas from; others are comments he received from editors either printed in the magazine or sent along to him separately. I've also tried to reproduce the illustrations, duly credited, as all the stories that published were supported by visual art. Only one, Casual Enemy, has no illustrator mentioned. My guess is he drew that one himself. I've read all these stories several times in my efforts to get them up onto the web-site correctly and I've never tired of them. I hope you enjoy them. A fair warning: some readers might recognize a few people! Alan Evans NEXT PAGE R Lewis Evans More Stories "Zeb," he cried. "Zeb, come on up top. Bring your bucket. make it quick." In Case of Fire A Short Story by Lewis Evans (Published in The Standard, October 5th, 1946 - $60.00!) ILLUSTRATED BY MENENDEZ The old hand and the novice found hostility turned to friendship in a battle with death THE windward edge of the fire was below them now, a line that straggled across twenty miles of forest and ate its way in little salients doggedly westwards against the draught. Downwind, ahead of the aircraft, all was confusion for countless square miles—white smoke, and gray and brown, air-borne ashes, and occasionally the peach-glow of flame dimly reflected on the driving smoke. Don Ross, late of the RCAF, held the F-24 on its course, passing over the centre of the vast burning area where thousands of cords of Northern Quebec pulpwood were going up in smoke instead of fulfilling their destiny of providing Canadian and American papers with newsprint. With him in the cabin bronzed, graying Zeb Stearn sat with map on knee, pencilling in the present area of the fire for his report back to the Canadian Forestry Service and the Long Lake, Wolf Lake and River Beyond Pulp and Paper Company, which owned these limits. Old Zeb Stearn concentrated on the job and said nothing. He had been saying just that ever since they had taken off from the North Shore that morning. The northward border of the forest fire seemed to follow the curves of River Beyond, and Don Ross swung the aircraft in that direction. As they approached the river they could see that the fire had already jumped it in several places. Zeb Stearn noted them on his map. Suddenly Don peered at the river beyond the eastern edge of the fire, set the plane on a glide towards it, and then banked on a curve. He pointed, and Stearn followed his finger. A herd of caribou was fording the river to gain the safer north bank. Don turned to smile at Stearn, but the old fellow did not evince interest by even so much as a grunt. He was again working on the map. Don felt rather foolish, as though he had excitedly pointed out the Rhine to a man who had already made many operational tours. THE F-24 was now over the advancing eastern edge, of the fire, and the air was rough. Now and then the thermals rising from the hot earth bounced the plane uncomfortably upwards, and the cabin filled with the raw smell of smoke, making its occupants cough—the first sound Stearn had made so far, Don thought wryly. He started a slow climb to get above the smoke, and suddenly the engine sputtered, livened up again, and quit cold. Don worked at his controls, but nothing happened, and a great appreciation of the multiple engined aircraft he had known overseas was born in him in a flash. He shot a glance at Stearn. The older man’s face betrayed no emotion, but he was peering out at the landscape below — already looking for a spot for a forced landing, Don knew; and Don followed suit. Behind him was River Beyond, but like most northern rivers it was shallow, sown with rocks and seamed with sand and gravel bars—a landing there meant two shattered floats at the very least. To the south, beyond the path of the fire, was Wolf Lake, a perfect landing place, but with a cross wind and his present altitude he didn’t think he could make it. Downwind from the fire was the nearest water—he picked it out between waves of smoke—a tiny lake, almost round, possible for a landing, too small for a take-off. Don tried desperately to make up his mind—take a long chance on Wolf Lake, and maybe not make it and come down in the fire area, or land on this little pond and probably stay there, right in the path of the fire. Stearn grabbed his arm. "Wolf Lake,” he shouted. Don swung the gliding plane towards it, and as soon as he had done so he knew— knew for certain—they couldn’t make it. He shook his head and swung again, losing altitude rapidly. The little round lake appeared and disappeared through the smoke as though it were winking at him. "Okay, honey; here I come,” he murmured, and circled to come at it upwind. The tall spruce round it forced him to glide flatter than he wished, but he almost brushed their tops as he crossed them. The other side of the lake seemed to rush at him, a solid phalanx of dark spruces, but the pontoons took the water with a clumsy splash, the F-24 rocked forward as if she were going to stick her nose down, rocked back, and bucked gently into the matted bushes fringing the shore. “Well,” said Don, “here we are.” “And here we stay till we fry,” commented Stearn. “Why didn’t you try for Wolf Lake, where we could have fixed the engine and had room to take off?” “I knew I couldn’t make it,” said Ross. “It wouldn’t have been any fun putting down in the bush—and the fire.” “It was a chance,” said Stearn. “This is certainty. The fire will be here by tonight.” “We have plenty of water,” said Ross. “We can keep ourselves and the aircraft wet.” ZEB STEARN snorted. “Ever been close to a fire of this size?” he demanded. “Yes,” snapped Ross. “Mannheim.” “You weren’t as close to that as you will be to this, my boy. You try keeping the plane wet, and yourself wet, and breathing at the same time. Take my advice and drown quietly. It’s the more comfortable death.” “Oh, go jump in the lake,” said Don curtly as he opened the door. “I’m going to. I want to find what's wrong with this motor.” He dropped onto a pontoon. “Why?” demanded Stearn. “Even if you fix it you can't get out of here. “I'd feel a lot better if the engine could go, though.” “What're you going to do? Move it on top and take off straight up like a helicopter? We'll get to heaven soon enough without all that trouble.” “Aw, pipe down, and come and help me get this cowling off.” Stearn's reply was to settle back and light his pipe. For ten minutes Ross worked at the engine. The acrid smoke filtering through the bush and bellying out across the lake kept him coughing. Several times he turned the motor over without getting even a kick. At last he opened the cabin door. “Come on and have a crack at this thing,” he pleaded. “The smoke out here tastes much better than that ‘tabac canadien’ you’re inhaling, anyway.” “Fix the thing yourself. You're the pilot,” grunted Stearn. “Oh, come on. You know this engine much better than I do.” “How should I know anything about it?” Stearn's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "I'm too old to know about things like that.” The older man spoke with force, as though he were getting a weight off his chest. Ross stood looking at him for a moment. “Look, Zeb,” he said at length. “Let's have it. What's your gripe?” Stearn's eyes drilled him. “I'm too old – that's what they tell me. For years I fly this bush and never have any trouble—not like this, anyway—” he gestured at the tiny lake. “Then the war's over and they tell me that I’m too old, that young fellows like you must have my job, that I'm on the shelf. On the skids, more like,” he added bitterly. “Who says so?” demanded Ross. “When I got the orders to cover this fire,” said Stearn, “they gave me to understand very plainly that you were the pilot, and I was to leave the flying to you. I was to go just because I knew the country, because I have experience.” THERE was a silence. Don had only come to the base a week ago, but already he had heard the story that Zeb Stearn had learned his flying in World War I, had come to the bush in 1919, and long ago had been forced to reckon his air time in months instead of hours. He felt sorry for the old fellow, and admired his pride and his record. He felt that what he said next—and how he said it—was desperately important. “Well, you may be too old, and you may not—I haven’t seen you fly. But I’ll tell you two things: first, I’ve seen plenty of pilots who were too old at twenty-one; second, I’m darn glad that you’re along.” “Thanks,” said Zeb Stearn dryly. "It’s nice to be wanted on what looks like a fatal journey.” Ross grinned at him. “Come on and play with the engine.” Zeb Stearn climbed out of the cabin, a little stiffly. “Why do you want to fix it?” he demanded. “It’s just work for nothing.” “Feel a lot better when it’s in working order,” said Don, and Stearn snorted. “We can move it to the far side of the lake, keep it wet with buckets, and maybe save it.” Stearn turned on him almost savagely. “You talk a lot of hot air,” he shouted. “Save it for what? A curiosity for the caribou?” He ended up coughing. Ross gestured towards the yellow and black fuselage and the big CF and three more letters on the wing. “That’s the best mark there is for anyone looking for us,” he said shortly. That shot went home, for Zeb Stearn nodded and turned towards the engine. “Air intakes clogged up, I’ll bet,” he said. “Those ashes, maybe.” Inside ten minutes he proved himself right, and the engine exploded into life. Don Ross plunged waist deep into the water and weeds and brush of the lake edge and heaved on a pontoon. Slowly he worked the aircraft round and shoved out from shore. Live sparks were falling round them as they taxied to the down-wind edge of the pond, and when the motor was cut they heard for the first time the actual sound of the fire to the west, a faint menacing roaring that rode on the wind. Zeb Stearn listened to it for a few minutes and shook his head. “There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight” he quoted. “Put on all the clothes you have, get well soaked in the lake, and have a wet rag to tie over your face.” Don nodded. There were a canvas bucket and a galvanized iron one in the plane, and he was tying a length of rope to the handle of each. He got a blanket from a packsack in the cabin, wet it, and draped it over the nose of the aircraft. He climbed onto the wing top and sent a few preliminary buckets full splashing over wing, fuselage and tail, killing several hot sparks. The exertion made him pant a little, and his coughing became steady from then on. IN THE last of the afternoon light he saw a couple of porcupines and a skunk pass along the shore near by, all very intent on their business, which was travel. The faster moving animals and the larger ones must have cleared out long ago, he thought. Smoke snuffed out the last of the daylight, and the fire became visible, like a nearer after-glow of the sunset, silhouetting the tall timber on the west bank of the pond. Right opposite him, across the water, the trees seemed more widely spaced, and Don could see an inferno of flame roaring towards him. Now and then an evergreen ahead of the fire would flare with the roar of a rocket as its branches caught, and then the blackened trunk would be surrounded and hidden by flames. Don had a sudden qualm—the gas in the tank. Perhaps they should have tried to drain it off somewhere, but it was too late for that now. He went on lowering the bucket, dragging it up, sloshing the water on the aircraft. Below him he could hear old Zeb wheezing and coughing as he stumbled waist-deep from side to side underneath the plane, dashing water up at the fuselage and tail assembly. Now and then Don's clothing steamed out and began to feel hot, and he had to climb down and dunk himself in the water. He fought against the temptation to stay in its delightful coolness — each time the climb back seemed tougher, dragging his sodden clothes, and each time the plane was drier and hotter as the first bucketful dashed over it. The hot blast of the wind seared his throat and was painful in the lungs, and coughing was agony that never ceased. His thoughts became disjointed and he knew it and could do nothing to marshal them. In case of fire break glass . . . for use in case of fire . . . those funny axes like tomahawks — if he had one he could chop up the plane and save it from being burnt. Nuts — that was all wrong. Ice — that would be swell, a great big block of it on top the plane, melting and running down all round. Heat, hot as hell, hot air . . . “You talk a lot of hot air." Zeb had shouted . . . hot air bouncing the aircraft upwards — up — hey! wait a minute! Don slithered down into the water and ducked his head under. Hot air — thermals — there must be a lift from all this heat — quite some lift. In the red glare he measured the distance across the water — not enough, of course, but that place where the trees were more widely spaced — even as he looked the branches of the spruces flanking that gap went up with a roar and a fountain of sparks. “With those branches gone and the heat,” he thought, “there’s a chance.” “Zeb,” he croaked. “Zeb, come on up on top. Bring your bucket. Make it quick. He clambered up again, wincing as the heat blasted through the cloth muffling his face. Zeb dragged himself up, and Don told him. “We could hold her while we rev. her up,” he added, “and get a fast start.” Zeb Stearn manipulated his bucket in silence, and squinted at the far bank of the pond. “I don’t like the frying pan,” he said at last. “I'll take a crack at the fire with you." Don left him to sluice her down, and dragged a mooring rope from the cabin. He wrestled it into a sort of bridle on the rear struts of the undercarriage, stumbled ashore with the end, and took a turn round a tree. Already sparks had started fires on this side of the water, he noted. HE GOT up on top again at last, his mind snatching at the problems to be solved. “Go on down, Zeb. Get yourself cooled off, and then start her up. When she’s ripe race her a couple of times and I’ll come down.” Stearn literally fell into the water and Don could hear his coughs bubbling through the wetted mask. Get the blanket off the nose, chuck it in the lake . . . up with a bucket, slosh it on, up with a bucket — the branches seem burned out of that gap . . . the trunks are burning now . . . up with another . . . which pocket's my knife in? . . . got to get it . . . He felt the aircraft heave as Zeb got aboard again, and then the engine started. The slipstream blasted the heat at him and dashed the water away in spray. He couldn’t wait for Zeb to signal. He plunged down, got his head into the cabin door, groped for and found a packsack to wedge it open a bit against the slipstream. “You take her up,” he yelled at Stearn. “No,” shouted Zeb, “You take her — better chance . .” “You gotta take her,” Don yelled. “I’ve got to cut the rope. You couldn’t climb back in — Zeb Stearn nodded. He knew he was too old for that. “Give her the gun,” yelled Don. He had knife in hand now, and crouched on the pontoon, one hand gripping the door jamb, the other holding the blade on the quivering rod-like rope. The engine roared, the aircraft strained, and water squeezed from the taut rope. Don slashed and the plane leapt forward. Water and spray snatched, at his feet, hot air punched and tore at him. Inch by inch, straining and groaning, he fought his way into the doorway. Head and shoulders in, he felt the aircraft lift steeply. He panted and prayed. Zeb Stearn sat like a statue. There were flashes of fire and blackouts of smoke and then, suddenly, he gasped air that was fresh. With a last struggle he got his legs in, kicked the pack out, and the door slammed shut. He lay half on the floor, half on the seat for a minute. Zeb was coughing again, he noted, coughing continually, and he was heavy on the controls. You could feel it. “Take over,” the old man wheezed. “Can’t take it, I guess . . .” They changed places with the supreme care and slow effort of drunken men, and Zeb slumped in his seat. Don Ross settled his course by the stars and shivered. The cold was seeping through his wet clothes, blessed cold. Not good for the old man, though, he thought. “Get out of your clothes, Zeb,” he said. “Get a blanket or something.” Stearn moved slowly and said nothing. He seemed to be trying to stifle his coughing. Don suddenly realized that he was broken by the knowledge that he was too old — too old to climb into a moving plane, yes, but far worse than that — too old to fly it after that tough afternoon. Don eased the plane gently off course, steering a wide arc under the stars. “You sure lifted us out of that frying pan, Zeb,” he said. “Nice piece of judgment. I was glad to be out of that job.” ZEB STEARN said nothing, but went on fumbling with the blanket and coughing sporadically. Don tried again. “Check my course, will you, Zeb?” he asked. “I'm not sure of myself.” Zeb glanced at the sky, and gestured Ross back onto his former bearing. “Thanks,” said Don. “I'm a bit shaky on direction in these parts. You navigate, huh?” Zeb Stearn slowly straightened in his seat and cocked an eye at the sky. “Okay, I'll navigate,” he said. “Steady as you are.” There was a pause, and then Zeb added, “Don't you worry, Don. I'll get us home.” The End Note: 22 years after he wrote this story Dad was interested to find this short article in the Montreal Star, (Sept. 28, 1968) which tells of a similar, if less successful, situation. Team seek to salvage vintage plane from lake Kapuskasing Ontario, Sept. 28 — A federal team will go into a remote lake in this area next week to salvage an ancient seaplane that may be the last of its type in the world. The Curtiss HS-2L has been sitting in the silt in about five feet of water since 1925 or 1927, when the vintage “flying boat” made a crash landing on the lake. Air museums all over North America have sought one of the twin-engined H-boats, used as submarine hunters during the First World War, then as bush planes, but the one on the lake bottom is the world’s only confirmed find. R. W. Bradford, curator of the aviation and space division of the National Museum of Science and Technology, described it in Ottawa today as “a real find.” A team from his division will salvage the plane for the museum. The work may take a year. The HS-2L’s last flight was a colorful combination of ingenuity and farce but not tragedy. Bush Pilot Duke Schiller was forced down by engine failure on the tiny lake or so the story goes. The engine was repaired but to take off from the short lake, Schiller had the seaplane tied to a tree while he revved it up to full throttle. A woodsman was supposed to chop the rope at the appropriate time. The woodsman chopped but the rope was only partially severed. The fearless lumberjack then gave the rope a shake and it broke, hauling him into the lake as the seaplane burst away. Maybe it was the drag of the lumberjack but the plane didn’t gain quite enough altitude to get over the trees. It brushed them, then gently twisted back into the lake. No one was hurt but the plane was written off as a loss. The Fishermen Published in the Quebec Diocesan Gazette, (November, 1968) By Lewis Evans CARRYING the fishing rod, Joe left home at dawn for two reasons: he wanted to be a hero, and he couldn't stand another day of listening to his little brother Johnny whining. He really couldn't blame Johnny for whining, because Johnny was desperately hungry, and not old enough to understand why, or tough enough to be brave about it. Joe was both, because he was seven years old. But he was desperately hungry too, and had been ever since his father had had the accident at the mill, and was still too sick to work. Joe wasn't sure just how he could be a hero, but he figured if he could be the breadwinner even for one day his father would be pleased, and perhaps Johnny would stop whining for a while. The last time his father had gone fishing, on a holiday a week before his accident, he had taken Joe with him, and they had caught nine fat perch. Well, his father had done the actual catching, but Joe had helped by finding some of the worms for bait. As Joe ran down the valley path he had visions of coming home as proudly as his father, with nine perch dangling from a hooked twig. When he came to the place where the stream had undercut the valley side in flood-time, and had caused a small landslide, he stopped and put down the rod and started digging into the soft earth with his fingers. There was a worm - but he was too slow, and got only half of it. Those things could really move. There was another, and this time he was quicker, it took him about half an hour to get a dozen, and he shivered when he felt them wriggling in his pocket. He picked up the rod, and ran on down the valley, which flattened and widened out into grasslands as he neared the shore of the lake. The sun was higher now, and it was going to be hot. Where the stream flowed into the lake and the fishermen’s boats were drawn up it was too shallow for fishing from the shore, but a couple of hundred yards to his right there was a steep bank, and the water there was deeper closer to shore, and shaded at this hour by the height of the bank. Joe scrambled to the very edge of the bank and peered down. The lake water was very calm, and he could see the stones and pebbles dim and wavering on the bottom. He unwound the line from the rod, and impaled a wriggling worm on the hook. There was no barb on the hook, and Joe was afraid the worm would wriggle off, but that was a chance he had to take. He dropped the hook into the lake, and watched it waver down till it was on the bottom. He twisted the rod over and over so that it wound up the line a little and the hook hung about a foot above the pebbles. Then Joe began to learn how hard it was to be a hero. Nothing happened. The sun climbed higher, and it was getting hot. He tried to concentrate on the line where it passed through the surface, watching for any tremor that might be the sign of a bite. He felt a little dizzy, lying there staring down, and his eyes didn't focus very well. He pulled up now and again to check the worm, and twice found it had wriggled off and he had to put on a new one. He began to feel that nothing would ever happen, and he again raised the rod to check the worm. This time something did happen - the line went taut, and there was weight and a wriggle on the end. He scrambled to his feet and raised the tip. The rod bent a little, and there was a flash and then a splash on the surface. Joe heaved back and the perch soared over his head onto the grass behind him. He dropped the rod and fell on the perch, which had come off the hook, finally got hold of it, and banged its head on a stone, bruising his fingers. Triumphant, he laid the perch - it was a very small one - in a shady spot, and baited up. Where there had been one surely there were more. Sure enough, hardly had his hook broken the surface when he felt a tug. He jerked up and thrilled to the pull of the line. He swung the rod up violently, and it cracked and the tip sagged. He dropped it and snatched at the line, pulling hand over hand, and another perch came flipping to him over the edge of the bank. Two! But the rod - it was finished, it wasn't much of a rod really, and his father could make another when he was better, but how could he, Joe, catch more perch? Two little ones wouldn't mean much at home, and without a rod he couldn't get the line far enough out from the bank. He unwound the line from the broken rod, wondering how else he could be a hero. Putting it in his pocket he felt the remaining worms, and thought of throwing them into the water. That would be nice for other perch, but not for the worms. Instead, he dropped them to fend for themselves in the shady spot, and picked up the two perch. They were so small he didn't bother with a twig to carry them, but stuck them in his pocket where the worms had been. He was aching with hunger and discouraged. How could he get something more than two little perch to take home? Suddenly he put his head back and sniffed. A gentle breeze was blowing down the hillside now, and the odour it carried was like an answer to his question. Someone at the little farm had been baking. Perhaps . . . Joe started up the hill, not knowing what he would do, but drawn irresistibly by the smell. There was the squat little farmhouse, and there, off to one side, was the hump of a clay bake-oven. Joe paused in the last cluster of bushes before the open ground around the farmhouse. There was the farmer's wife, laying her baking in a row to cool on a wooden bench in the shade thrown by the house. Joe stared, and his hand crept to find the size of the perch in his pocket. He could hear Johnny's whining, and see his father lying hopelessly on his mattress. The farmer's wife wiped her hand on her apron, took a look at the sky, and went into the house. A moment later she reappeared with a basket of linen, and went round to the back, out of sight. Joe moved forward, and then broke into a tip-toe run. he reached the bench, and snatched up as much bread as he could carry, ramming it under his arm, and darted back to the bushes, he looked back, panting. There was no movement. Crouching, he started away to his right, back towards the valley that led homewards. Keeping among bushes and trees wherever he could, he stumbled along, sweating. He felt the heat of the bread through his shirt, and the smell of it was almost unbearable. Ahead of him was the crest, and beyond was the valley, wide and grassy near its mouth. He reached the crest and stopped dead. The valley was full of people. Joe sank behind a bush and stared, he had never seen so many people in one place in all his life. He had never imagined that there were that many people in the world. What could they be doing there? For a moment the awful thought flashed in his head that they were all waiting for him, to catch him and punish him for stealing the bread. But they weren’t looking at him. They were all in groups of different sizes, some standing, some sitting, some moving about from one group to another, and all, it seemed, talking at once. What in the world could they be talking about? Joe straightened up and moved closer. He had never been more curious. Closer and closer till he was almost up to the nearest group. Why were they there? Suddenly a big strong man, just an ordinary fellow, a fisherman perhaps, turned and looked straight at Joe, and his eyes fell on the bread. He started towards Joe. Joe dropped the bread and turned to run, but in a couple of long strides the man had him by the arm, and swung him to a stop. “Here, my lad,” said the man, “not so fast. You have nothing to fear.” Joe looked up at him trembling. The man did not look angry. He was smiling down at Joe. “Where are you off to with all that bread?” he asked. "I . . . I don't know,” said Joe, and in his confusion he really didn't. “Well,” said the man. “I'll tell you what. How about letting me have the bread? I'll find some way of paying you back for it.” “But I need it,” cried Joe. “That's all right,” said the man. “I'll see you get some more. But right now you just let me have it, will you?” And with that the man stooped, and swept up the bread, took Joe by the arm again, and led him into the midst of the nearest group of people, and up to a tall gentleman in the centre. “What have you there, Andrew?” asked the tall gentleman. “There's a lad with five barley loaves,” answered the man called Andrew, “he is willing to help us.” Some strange impulse sent Joe's hand to his pocket. “I have a couple of fish too,” he said almost proudly, pulling them out. The tall gentleman smiled, and all the people around laughed when they saw the two small fishes. * * * “I think, Joe,” said his father after the men had gone, and Joe had told his story, “you'd better take some of those twelve baskets to the farmer's wife, it may be only fragments of bread and fish, but there is more than you and I and Johnny can use, and, as the gentleman said, it should not be wasted.” The End NOTE: I remember when Dad wrote this story, back in 1968. At chapel that morning at Bishop's College School where he taught, the lesson for the day had been from the Gospel of John, Chapter 6, Verses 1 - 14, The Feeding of the Five Thousand. For some reason Dad took an interest in the actor in the story with the smallest role, and of the smallest size. Dad went back to the staff room and spent every spare minute he had that day writing feverishly and telling his colleagues to go away! I have included the text of the gospel reading below: John 6:1-14 Revised Standard Version (RSV) Feeding the Five Thousand 6 After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, which is the Sea of Tibe′ri-as. 2 And a multitude followed him, because they saw the signs which he did on those who were diseased. 3 Jesus went up on the mountain, and there sat down with his disciples. 4 Now the Passover, the feast of the Jews, was at hand. 5 Lifting up his eyes, then, and seeing that a multitude was coming to him, Jesus said to Philip, “How are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” 6 This he said to test him, for he himself knew what he would do. 7 Philip answered him, “Two hundred denarii[a] would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” 8 One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, 9 “There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two fish; but what are they among so many?” 10 Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was much grass in the place; so the men sat down, in number about five thousand. 11 Jesus then took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. 12 And when they had eaten their fill, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, that nothing may be lost.” 13 So they gathered them up and filled twelve baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten.14 When the people saw the sign which he had done, they said, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world!” Winged Victory PUBLISHED IN THE MONTREAL STANDARD November 1, 1947 ($50.00!) He'd been waiting since last Hallowe'en to show them he wasn't afraid anymore By Lewis Evans ILLUSTRATED BY JEFF CHAPLEAU Pete cowered, and a sob of fear shook him “WELL, I made them for you,” said the old lady, and watched the light of excitement and anticipation flare up in Gordie’s seven-year-old eyes. He bounced off the chair by the kitchen table. “Oh Granny, did you? Can I see them? Can I see them right now?” “They’re upstairs. You’d better come up and try them on, in case they don’t fit.” Gordie shot out of the kitchen into the hall and up the long flight of stairs. The little old lady could hear his restless feet drumming their impatience on the floor above, but, spry as she was, she did hot hurry. “Wings, indeed!” she murmured as she started up the stairs. “What an imagination they have at that age!” When Granny Tompkins reached the top of the stairs she opened a large linen closet, and from the bottom shelf drew out a complicated black object. As she unfolded it it resolved itself into a pair of wings, and, between them, a sort of hood with pointed ears and nose, and slits for eyeholes. Gordie’s round eyes could not take it all in at once. They darted here and there, and his feet danced under him. He recognized parts of two huge old-fashioned black umbrellas — or was it one of them cut in half ? -— that made the framework of the wings and gave them their bat-like trailing edges. He remembered those umbrellas among countless other treasures he had seen in Granny’s marvellous attic. But over the umbrellas was some shiny black stuff, sewn on as though it were feathers, stuff that shook and rustled as the wings were moved, and the same material covered the head and shoulders. “Oh Granny!” cried Gordie. “They’re wonderful! Pete won’t have anything as good as this for his costume. Why — why he may even be scared of me in this!” Gordie became so enthralled at the prospect that his Granny had to shake the wings to recall his attention. “Here,” she said. “You’d better try them on. Why are you so worried about Peter Martin?” "OH,” said Gordie, as he struggled to get his arms into the tight sleeves that ran across the forward edge of the wings, “he thinks he’s pretty good. At the Hallowe’en Party last year he was dressed like a skeleton, and he kept jumping out and scaring people, and—” Gordie paused. “And?” “And he jumped out and scared me when I was passing the cemetery on the way home. I was dressed as a ghost and I tried to run and I fell down and I cried.” “And he’s never let you forget it all year, I suppose?” said Granny. She knew Peter Martin and had some idea of the constant battle Gordie had with him at school. Peter was a year older, but in the same class, and at everything but school-work he was just a little bit better and stronger and quicker than Gordie. “There,” said Granny. “They fit pretty well. How do you like them?” Gordie contorted himself trying to take in the general effect. “Can I go down to the hall and look in the big mirror?” he asked. “Of course,” said Granny. Gordie bounced to the head of the stairs. He was already savouring a triumph over Pete. “Whee! I’m a bat!” he cried, and he spread his wings and jumped down two steps at once. Then he emitted a shrill squeak of surprise and fear, which sounded quite bat-like, for his feet barely grazed the second step down, and he found himself floating swiftly and silently down into the gloom of the big hall below. Granny Tompkins gave a gasp of amazement and started down the stairs at a speed that did not look much like that of a seventy-year-old, but before she was half way down Gordie caught a wing-tip in the hatstand and crashed to the floor. “Gosh, Granny, they work!” he gasped, struggling to his feet. “Are you hurt, boy?” demanded the old lady. “Gee, Granny, you sure are smart. Betcha Pete’s granny can’t make a pair that really work.” Granny Tompkins took Gordie by the shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me,” she said. “They’re not supposed to work. It’s — it’s an accident. You must promise me never to try to fly with them again. You might break your neck, and then what would your mother say? Will you promise?” “Aw, Granny—” began the boy. “Promise!” demanded the old lady. “Or I’ll take them back and break them up.” “I promise,” said Gordie reluctantly, starting at his macabre reflection in the hall mirror. “Very well. Now get along with you to school. I’ll put these away so no one will know, and you can pick them up here on your way to the party.” She watched Gordie go down the path and turn left along the road past the cemetery and the church towards the school. He had not even thanked her, but Granny Tompkins was wise enough to realize that that was a compliment to the magnitude of the thing she had done for him. He would have thanked her for a doughnut, all right. The joyance in his gait was enough thanks for her. Note: This article is the one Dad had pulled from the paper to inspire his reluctant students: The Montreal Gazette. ADVENTUROUS WOMAN MAKES PAIR Of WINGS Virginiatown, Ont., Oct. 2/46. CP. An adventurous Virginiatown housewife has invented a pair of wings which she uses to jump from buildings 20 to 25 feet high. Mrs. Phil Golden, the mother of two children, began working on her wings two years ago after disecting birds in an attempt to learn how they fly. She made the wings of parachute silk and bits of plastic. They look like a mass of gigantic feather-like pockets built onto even larger feathers. These feathers or air pockets flush the air back through the larger feathers on to a plastic back. In so doing, a vacuum is formed underneath the outer feathers. The vacuum together with a movable outer attachment at the wing tips allows for the possibility of propulsion by means of earnest wrist action. Mrs. Golden said a weak heart so far has prevented her from more stringently testing her wings. Up until now she has been jumping from platforms at least 20 to 25 feet in height. Most of her "flying" has been done at night because she is shy of publicity. She started folding up the costume, but then she paused, and stood in the hall staring thoughtfully at the wings. “YAH! Gordie Allen — think you’re smart, eh? We all know you’re Gordie Allen.” The words ripped through Gordie’s disguise, and inside the black hood his face turned scarlet with disappointment and rage. Peter Martin was supposed to be a black cat, and he had a long black tail made of stuffed cotton stockings. Picking it up in one hand he swung it at the bat, and Gordie felt the umbrella ribs buckle under the blow. Powerless to retaliate, he turned to walk away, and another blow curled itself round his ankles and he fell to his knees. “Weren’t you scared to come?” went on the hateful voice. “Bet you went all the way round by Main Street so you wouldn’t pass the graveyard. “Bet you’re scared to pass it going home. Remember last year?” “I am not scared,” exploded Gordie, forgetting his incognito. “I’ll go past it any old time,” and he moved away, followed by Pete’s unbelieving laughter. There were witches on broomsticks and owls and ghosts and all sorts of spooky creatures in the big assembly hall, and the decorations were all orange and black, and there was even orange coloured stuff to drink and black candies that tasted much as they looked, and were probably designed to induce dreams of “things that go bump in the night.” GORDIE forgot all about Pete Martin for a while and began to enjoy himself again, but all of a sudden his stomach felt empty and his heart dropped into the void. Pete was nowhere to be seen! Gordie knew what that meant. The party was nearly over. Pete had gone to hide in the cemetery. When Gordie went past he would jump out and scare him. If Gordie detoured it he would broadcast the fact that he was afraid to pass it. Miserable, Gordie lingered in the coatroom as the children left. Finally, last of them all, he started homeward, his battered costume clutched under his arm. As he passed the church his steps slowed, and his ears and eyes strained to catch some forewarning of Pete’s onslaught. The tombstones loomed grey in the darkness to his right, and his footsteps grated loudly on the road. Suddenly, far ahead of him, there was a piercing shriek. He stopped, frozen stiff. Then there came the sound of running footsteps, pounding down the road towards him. He couldn’t move. “Gordie! Gordie!” It was Pete Martin, white-faced and panting. He grabbed Gordie by the arm and cowered behind him. “You should’ve seen it. It flew down out of the sky and landed right beside me . . . it was like a great big black bat with big black wings . . .” GORDIE tried to steady his voice. “Where were you?” he asked. “In the cemetery.” “Yeah — down at the end near the old Tompkins place, where there aren’t so many gravestones. I—I was waiting for you. . . . Come on, Gordie— go round by Main Street with me.” In all his confusion Gordie’s mind was able to realize that this was his great opportunity, if he only had the nerve to use it. “There’s nothing to be scared of in a cemetery,” he said stoutly. “Come on, Peter. I’ll take you past.” He gripped Pete’s arm, which made him feel a little braver himself, and set out. “We’re nearly past,” he whispered to the dragging Pete as the black shape of the Tompkins place loomed against the night sky ahead, and the tombstones on their right thinned out. Pete’s fingers sank into his arm. “Look,” he breathed, and pointed. Silhouetted over the roofline appeared a winged creature, and suddenly it launched itself into space, floating down towards the cemetery. Pete cowered, and a sob of fear shook him. Gordie braced himself. If it was Granny Tompkins practising flying with the wonderful wings she had hit upon, he wasn’t scared of her. If it wasn’t—well, they were nearly past, and the street lamps began in another hundred yards. “Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” And he led Pete on. NEXT morning Gordie fell in beside Granny Tompkins as they came out of church. “Enjoy your party?” she demanded. “Sure did,” said Gordie, and told her all, ending in triumph with the victory over Pete. “You sure are a wonderful grandmother,” he added. “I bet not many guys have grannies that can fly.” Granny Tompkins made no rejoinder, and after a short pause he clutched her arm. “It was you, Granny, wasn’t it? It was you who flew?” The old lady hesitated, and then glanced round to make sure no one else could hear them. “Yes,” she said. “It was your Granny, all right. Thought I’d scare that Pete for good and all. But don’t you breathe a word of it, Gordie.” She shot a frightened glance at the long line of respectable neighbours filing out of church. “Just think how folk would talk!” “He’d never go by it again, day or night,” she added to herself, “if I told him the truth.” She had gone to bed with a headache last night — right after supper. THE END Short Story 3300 words DEAD MAN STEERING by Lewis Evans UNPUBLISHED (Dad always said there was no accounting for publishers who couldn't recognize sheer genius when they saw it!) AHEAD in the darkness, a pair of red and green running lights, canted at a sharp angle, told Pete that a sailing vessel was beating up the Sound towards him. He stuck his head down the cabin companionway and called to his wife. “Ann, there's a yacht about a quarter of a mile ahead. Want to have another try at a night photo?” “Sure.” Ann left the supper she was fixing in the galley, grabbed up the necessary equipment, and came out into the cockpit. “Careful going forward,” warned Pete. “There's a fair sea running.” They took most of their photos from the forward deck of the cabin cruiser in order to keep their own wake out of the pictures. Pete had built a sort of sword-fisherman's pulpit just aft of the anchor bitts. “Don't worry about me,” said Ann, climbing round the edge of the bridge deck. “Concentrate on getting me a good angle and distance.” Pete altered course to pass close to the yacht on her leeward side, so that her angle of heel would present her deck to the camera. Experience had taught him that most yachtsmen liked to see all their favourite gadgets in a photo, and most of these were on deck. Pete cut down the speed, and the little cabin cruiser's exhaust made bobbling noises as her stern squatted and lifted in the quartering seas. He hoped that the motion of the boat wasn't too difficult for Ann's aim, and that their speed in passing the yacht wouldn't be too much for Anne's camera. It would have been better to turn and run with the yacht, but it was too late for that. The green starboard light was abeam, and the flashbulb went off. Pete got a momentary impression of a yawl under plain sail smashing along close-hauled, and then the blackness of the night contrasting with the white flesh left him blind. He closed his eyes tight for a moment, and then opened them, and could pick out once more the flashing lights of buoys and the shore lights a mile away. Ann clambered back into the cockpit. “Not bad,” she commented. “I got it at the end of a roll, so I don’t think the camera was moving too much.” She went below and back to her job as cook, and Pete advanced the throttle and steered for their anchorage at Porthaven, twenty minutes away. The worst of this racket, he thought, was that it looked to the outsider as if his wife did all the work. And so she did, as far as the photography went, but he was learning the job fast and had some outstanding pictures to his credit already. And the boat was his responsibility - its maintenance and navigation, and the selling end of the business too. He had become engaged to Ann during the war, when he was in the Navy and she was a photographer for a small town newspaper. He remembered the first date they'd had after he'd been demobilized. He remembered the canned music in the little restaurant, and the cuba libra on the table, and that he had had to drink it with his left hand because his right was gripping Ann's under the tablecloth. He remembered too how desperately they wanted to get married, and how they had got the idea that had made it possible. “Got a break last week,” Ann had told him. “Had to cover a sailing race for my paper - it was for a trophy the paper puts up every year. I was lucky and got a really perfect picture of the winner crossing the line, and now one of those boating magazines wants to buy it for a cover, and the owner of the yacht wants a dozen big prints.” “Yachtsmen love to have pictures of their boats,” Pete had said. “Guess it's because it gives them something to dream over through the winter.” “Yes, and they never can take them themselves, because they’re always aboard the boat at the most photogenic moments,” added Ann, and Pete had got the idea. “Look,” he cried. “We want to get married and have somewhere to live - the only thing I know is boats, the only thing you know is photography - “ “Not the only thing, Pete,” murmured Ann. “Well,” continued Pete after a pause while his eyes answered that one, “we get a boat out of what I saved in the Navy, and live on it, and follow the regattas and races and sell photos of their craft to owners. Why, we could go South in the winter and keep right on with the job.” And so it had worked out. “Sea-Photos, Inc.” was well established, and the thirty foot cabin cruiser Photofoam was beginning to be recognized and welcomed at regattas and yacht clubs. Pete eased the cruiser into the anchorage, put her into the wind and cut her way, and went forward to drop the anchor. After supper the cabin became a darkroom, and the day’s take was developed and printed. Later, when Pete had worked over Lloyd's Yacht Register and other lists, small prints were mailed to owners, with a price list of enlargements. “That flashlight job we took on the way home looks good on the negative,” said Ann. “I'm going to enlarge it right away.” Night photos were an experiment they were trying out - the novelty might be good advertisement. So far their attempts had been disappointing. He bent over the developer tray with Ann. He still got a kick out of watching a picture emerge on the white paper like a ship breaking out of a fog bank. Slowly the photograph materialized - much the same as the split second impression he had got at the moment of the flash. He made out the yacht's name, Mistress Mine , on a ring lifebuoy on the shrouds. Suddenly Ann drew in her breath sharply, plucked the enlargement out of the developer, slid it into the hypo, and pointed. Her finger indicated the only figure visible on the yacht - the helmsman in the cockpit. “Look, Pete, look!” she breathed. Pete bent closer. The man sat with the long tiller tucked under his arm, and his bare head was slumped forward and to one side, presenting his right profile to the camera. Down his cheek ran a dark smear. “That man's dead,” whispered Ann, and her voice shook. “Get a magnifying glass and turn up the light.” Pete took the lens and peered through it. He couldn't be sure, but it certainly looked as if that dark smear started from a round dark spot on the helmsman's temple - a spot that could be a bullet hole. “But Pete, it's impossible - the yacht sailing straight on like that....” “No, it's not. With a yawl close-hauled and well balanced, and the hold he has on the tiller, even if he is dead - that's what would happen. She'll plough straight on till the wind shifts or she piles into something.” Ann sat down suddenly. “But who – what....?” she began. “Look up Mistress Mine in the register,” ordered Pete. “I'm getting the hook up.” “But Pete,” cried Ann, “you can't handle this. Go ashore and phone the police.” “Meanwhile the yawl piles up and the evidence is lost.” He scrambled forward and hove on the ground tackle. In three minutes the Photofoam was at full speed, bucking the chop in the Sound. Ann came to his side at the wheel, the register in her hands and a flashlight to read it by. “'Mistress Mine , yawl, built 1938 by....'” “Skip that,” cut in Pete. “Who's the present owner?” “'Joseph D. Bartram,'” read Ann. “Oh, Pete, I know who he is - he's 'Little Joe' - he's a sort of successful racketeer. The paper I worked for used to have a lot to say about him. He's always mixed up in something shady like gambling and the black market, but he always keeps just out of trouble.” “Just the sort of guy who'd get himself bumped off,” commented Pete. “But who - ?” began Ann and her voice suddenly lowered. “Pete, the murderer might still be aboard.” “Uh-huh,” said her husband. “But why should we stick our necks out? If it's 'Little Joe' he probably got what was coming to him, and I'm not crazy to meet his murderer.” “Listen, Ducky,” said Pete; “our picture is very dramatic, but it might be a picture of a suicide, not a murder. If we find the Mistress Mine as she was in the picture, and no gun in Joe’s hand or on the cockpit floor, we know it was murder. Personally, I think we may find the yawl, but I don’t think we’ll find Joe.” “Why?” “Seems to me the murderer would plan to tip Joe overboard with a weight to keep him down, and leave the yacht drifting, as though he’d been knocked overboard by the boom in the dark. That has been known to happen to men sailing single-handed. No body, no crime - and no Joe. A perfect set-up.” “How does the murderer get away from the yacht himself, though?” asked Ann. “Maybe we'll be in time to find out,” said her husband. “The yawl carries a dinghy, but that would be missed. To make it a perfect crime he would have to be taken off by a pal in another boat, or better still sail the yawl in close to shore and swim. Then no one need know he was there.” There was a pause while Ann thought it over. “Pete,” she said, “if you're right the murderer must have been aboard when we took the photo.” “He must have been somewhere below,” said Pete. “My guess is he hid aboard, waited till Joe sailed her well offshore, and shot him from the darkness of the cabin.” “Well, what about our flash?” demanded Ann. “What would he think of that?” “I don't know. He wouldn’t see much from inside, especially when the portholes on the side near us were heeled 'way down almost to the water. I don't think he could help seeing a bit of a flash wherever he was. He might have thought we'd raked him with a spotlight for a second. I don't think anyone would think of a photoflash.” There was another pause, and again the girl broke it. “You'll be careful. Darling? If we find the yawl, I mean?” “Of course. You're the only wife I've got.” “I don't know why I married such a madman,” sighed Ann. “If there was any truth in what you said when you proposed,” said Peter quickly, “you couldn't resist my good looks and you were dying to get your hands on my money.” Ann let him have a left jab to the ribs and Pete slid an arm round her and sought safety in a clinch. The Photofoam ran down the Sound on long zig-zags. The breeze was moderating and the water calmer. It was after midnight now, and most pleasure craft were snug in anchorages, so Pete was not surprised when the first running lights he picked up turned out to be those of the Mistress Mine . As the cabin cruiser closed the distance between them Pete switched on his spotlight and caught the yawl in its beam. She was hove to, fore reaching a few yards and then luffing and falling off. “There's a man moving about in the cockpit,” he said. “Get your photoflash and give it to me. We'll be friendly and pretend we think it's 'Little Joe' - what's his other name?” “Bartram,” breathed Ann. Pete leaned beyond the side wing of the bridge and hailed. “Mistress Mine , ahoy! Do you need any help?” “Sounds just too romantic,” he heard Ann murmur behind him, and his brain took a split second off to think what a swell girl she was. “What boat's that?” demanded the man on the yawl sharply. “Take us alongside,” Pete told Ann, “and give me that camera.” He slung it round his neck and clambered forward. “Photofoam , of Sea-Photos, Inc.,” he shouted. “We saw you hove to, and thought you might be in trouble. Mr. Bartram, isn't it?" The direct beam of the spotlight was off him now, but Pete could make out the man steadying himself with his left hand on the cockpit coaming. His right was below its edge; Pete could guess what that hand held. “No trouble, thank you,” the man replied, and Pete felt he could almost hear the fellow's brain racing to explain his position. At length the explanation came out. “I am cruising single-handed,” he said, “and I was cold, so I hove to to go and get myself some warmer clothes and a drink.” He paused, and then asked as if he couldn't resist it, “How do you know my name?” “It's our business to know yachts and who owns them,” said Pete. “We take photos of them, you know. Mind if I take one now?” “Portrait of a murderer,” Pete's brain quoted at him. The flash was over and he was blinded again before the man's reply started. In the blackness Pete moved quickly to one side. He was afraid of a shot. “No - I don't mind a bit.” The words came smoothly and slowly, and Pete's impression was that the man on the yawl had everything figured out now. “How many have you aboard?” the voice went on. “Can't see a thing after that flash.” “Two,” replied Pete. “Myself and my wife.” Only a yard or two separated the craft now. “Come aboard and join me in a drink,” the smooth tones continued. “The boats will be okay alongside each other - there’s little wind now. Come along.” The last two words were edged with insistence. “Hell,” thought Pete. “I'm behind the eight ball now. He’s got to have the camera....” His stomach contracted as his mind added, “and he’s got to have us, too. We're too close - he can get us both if we try to scram.” The boats bumped gently. “Play along, play along with him,” Pete’s mind kept telling him. “Maybe you'll get a chance to slug him or something.” He moored the cruiser fore and aft and helped Ann out of the cockpit. She slipped and he caught her to him. “It’s 'Little Joe',” she breathed. Pete's brain reeled. 'Little Joe' was the murderer, not the victim. Who, then, was the corpse? Bartram was awaiting them in the cockpit, his right hand in the huge side pocket of the heavy canvas hunting jacket he wore. He motioned them down the companionway ahead of him. “Whisky, rum, gin?” he asked. “Glad to have someone to drink with. Sit down, won't you?” Pete sat on a transom on one side of the central table, and Ann beside him. Joe moved past the table on its other side towards the door in the bulkhead at the forward end of the cabin. Beyond it was the galley, Pete guessed. “Whisky for me,” said Pete. “Ann?” “The same, thanks,” said Ann. She looked at her husband, and for a second her eyes crossed. Pete felt that his senses were leaving him, and then he got her warning - 'Little Joe' would probably fix those drinks, the two of them would go out like lights, and he would dispose of them and their films as he wished. Bartram was standing in the doorway, his left shoulder towards the cabin. Pete could bet that the gun was out of that right side pocket now and handy to grab. Bartram smoothly small-talked about the delights of night sailing and his sentences were punctuated by the clink of bottles on glasses. They couldn't refuse the drinks - that would just bring the gun out. They must drink, and go out like lights - out like lights - like a flash.... Pete remembered the way the photoflash had blinded him twice already that evening. He unslung the camera from his neck, and leaned over Ann as he put the sling over her head. “Here, Honey,” he said, “why don't you try a snap of this cabin? It's a swell job.” And he added under his breath, “You flash, I switch 'em.” Bartram placed the drinks on th e table, Ann's, Pete's, his own at the end nearer the galley. Ann stood up. “How about a picture, Mr. Bartram?” she smiled. “'The skipper at home' - that sort of thing.” She raised the camera. There was a pause and Pete imagined Bartram thinking, “One more doesn't matter - camera and all will be at the bottom of the Sound in a few minutes.” “Okay,” said 'Little Joe', leaning back against the side of the doorway, glass in left hand and his right in that side pocket again. Pete's heart sank, but Ann came through. “Put the drink down, if you don't mind. They spoil a photoflash - er - reflections, you know.” 'Little Joe' placed the glass on the table. “Ready?” asked Ann. “One, two, three....” Pete knew she was counting for his benefit and on three he shut his eyes. The flash was still perceptible through his eyelids, and he opened them quickly, reached out both hands, and switched his drink and Joe's. Then he looked up to find Joe passing a hand over his eyes and blinking. Pete copied him. “Some flash, eh, Mr. B?” he laughed. “Well, here's cheers.” He picked up his glass and knocked back about half of it. Thank Heaven it was whisky too - had 'Little Joe' decided on something different that gun would be out with his first sip. He was glad to see Ann fussing with the camera, not drinking. “Mud in your eye,” said Bartram, and to Pete it sounded as though, he meant it. The Sound had a muddy bottom. 'Little Joe' drained half his glass, and noticed Ann's preoccupation with her camera. “Drink up, lady,” he invited. He raised his glass to her. “Here's luck.” With that his knees folded and he crashed down across the table. Pete leapt on him to pinion his arms and yelled the one word “Rope” at Ann. Their haste was from fright rather than from necessity, for 'Little Joe' was out cold. In two minutes they had him trussed up, and Pete broke open the gun he had taken from his pocket. “One shell fired,” he commented. “But who at?” “At whom,” corrected Ann automatically. She was crumpled on a transom, white and shaking. Pete raised her head and kissed her. “Stick with me a little longer. Darling,” he said. “Pull yourself together.” He pointed forward. “There's a big sail-locker in the forepeak - that's probably where Joe hid when the other guy sailed the boat out into the Sound. But who was that other guy?" His eyes fell on a club bag on the port side berth. He started pulling out shirts, a toilet case, an opened envelope. “Ann,” he said, “ever heard of anyone called Victor Marsh?” “Sure,” said Ann. “He's an associate of 'Little Joe's'. He was up on a gambling rap last year. Got off with a fine or something, though.” “Listen.” Pete had the letter out of the envelope. “'Dear Vic: In reference to our conversation yesterday, about your borrowing the Mistress Mine next week end, you can pick her up at her moorings in Flounder River any time Saturday afternoon or evening. Have a good cruise, and don't worry about being single-handed - she handles very easily. Drop into the office Monday and tell me all about it. Joe.'" “Exit Vic,” commented Ann. “Don't let me hurry you, but don't you think we'd better scram? We're not close enough to land for Joe to swim ashore, so he must have been waiting for a pal to come and take him off.” Pete sprang into action. He lowered the yawl's sails, left them lying unfurled, and took her in tow. When they were some three miles on their course to Porthaven he caught a glimpse of a speedboat's white bow and red sidelight as she whipped by a mile away. Perhaps she was going to pick up 'Little Joe'.” By five in the chill dawn a sleepy Porthaven policeman was in charge of the yawl Mistress Mine and her passenger, police headquarters had been notified, and detectives were on their way. Once more the Photofoam dropped her hook. Pete yawned and stretched. “Bed, bed, beautiful bed!” he exulted. “Pete I'm going to develop those last two pictures first. If they're good we're famous.” “Aw Ann,” expostulated her husband, “for Pete's sake-” Ann smiled at him. “Okay; I'll come – for Pete's sake.” The End (Short Short Story) 1000 words (Date unknown. Sometime in the late 1970s or 1980s.) (Unpublished) FLASH POINT by Lewis Evans We on the planet Nereus, who have through these many aeons communicated with each other by thought-transmission, find it limiting to try to express ideas in the antiquated medium of language. However, as my report concerns the planet which calls itself ’Earth' (but which we know as The Flasher) it would seem appropriate, and an interesting exercise, to express the report, this time, in an 'Earth' language. I have chosen the language they called English, for it was, perhaps, used by most of the people responsible for the recent incident on their planet, though had the incident been delayed for a few of their years the Russian and Asiatic tongues might well have been by then the sole surviving languages. It is with this incident that my report is mainly concerned. We have, of course, been expecting it for some time, for these things generally run true to pattern, but the thing happened while the attention of most Nereans was centred on the Millenium Peace Celebrations on The Blusher (which in 'Earth' parlance, ironically enough, is called Mars after, of all things, a war god), and I was, by chance, the only close observer on this planet. My attention was first attracted to 'Earth' by my happening to notice the detonation on that planet of two nuclear explosions in short succession, evidence that the inhabitants had developed their intelligence and ability to the point where they had discovered and begun to make use of that type of energy. These first two explosions, which occurred at almost the same spot on the 'Earth's' surface, were shortly followed by others, of different intensity and at varying intervals and widely separated points. Assuming that the inhabitants of various parts of 'Earth's' surface were, as usual, at war with each other, I thought it might be interesting, and useful for our records, to have detailed information about the steps leading up to the inevitable climax of a nuclear competition, and so, through our normal channels, I arranged to obtain this information. I dispatched, therefore, a thought-conveyor of moderate size to 'Earth' from an orbit where it had been cruising until needed. It landed successfully in a good central position, and immediately went into action, receiving significant thought emanations from various parts of 'Earth', and relaying them to our receiving recorders here. The accuracy and delicacy of this thought-conveyor were well attested, by the way, almost as soon as it got there, by the fact that it immediately absorbed and passed on to Nereus the news of its own arrival. I record the actual item here as a quaint insight into 'Earth' lore, though, of course, it is scientifically ridiculous: “Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (an English language place name): Scientists here announced today that a meteorite ('Earth' name for our thought-conveyors) is believed to have fallen in barren lands near the northern borders of the province. An expedition under the leadership of Professor Hegstein is being organized to ascertain the exact locality of its crater and other scientific data.” (Though hardly credible to us, there is a widely accepted belief on 'Earth' that certain large circular declivities on the planet's surface mark the landing places of what they call meteorites. We, of course, know what really created these ancient craters, and the latest ones as well.) As soon as I began to correlate the information which came in from our thought-conveyor, I realized that my first conjecture had been wrong. The widely spread and sporadic detonations of a nuclear nature were merely the proving of scientific products by various inhabitants of 'Earth' who were, apparently, working independently of each other, and against 'Earth' time. It seems that each group felt that the more powerful and more numerous the items of nuclear energy it had, the less likely would any other group be to use its own stock against them. This state of affairs, with each group afraid of provoking the other, and yet equally afraid of falling behind in stock and power of nuclear energy, continued for some 'Earth' years, until I was almost convinced that the moments I devoted to its observation and record were being wasted, since the outcome was a foregone conclusion. However, curiosity as to the exact manner of the actual impulse which would promote the final incident prompted me to persevere in my observation. The primary impulse was one that appears to be second nature to the inhabitants of 'Earth', and one without which they do not seem able to survive for any extended period of their time – war. A trifling dispute between two small groups over the control of a small area of solid surface surrounded by liquid - or it may have been over a small area of liquid surrounded by solid, for the thought-conveyor did not seem to be able to gather the details, or perhaps did not consider them worth gathering - and all inhabitants of the planet ranged themselves in one or other of the two camps. Some desultory campaigning with antiquated weapons ensued, but each side existed in fear of the other initiating the use of nuclear energy. This situation might have continued until I was sure that the subject was not worth my momentary attention, had not the secondary impulse suddenly occurred. A single individual of one of the opposing groups, while controlling an air-borne vehicle on patrol over a large liquid area, feeling, no doubt, weary of the situation in general and of his own activity in particular, yawned uncontrollably. His primitive pressurized garment became disarranged, he made a sudden movement to adjust it, and triggered a nuclear item which his vehicle carried as a precaution against the surprise use of such by the other group. This item was detonated in the water area without damage to any inhabitants of the planet, but the detonation was recorded by both sides. At once each side assumed that the other had initiated a nuclear competition, and threw all its most potent weapons into the action. The result was an interesting - even spectacular - sight, and I was glad that I had not desisted from my observation a few moments earlier. First one and then another area of The Flasher, or 'Earth', was momentarily illuminated by the comparatively brilliant flashes that inspired our name for it. Beautifully patterned cloud formations occasionally obscured the play of light, and the emanations from our thought-conveyor became weak, confused, and distorted. Undoubtedly some of the larger detonations meant that the surface of the planet was again being pitted by large craters, and it amused me to conjecture that perhaps they in their turn would be explained by 'Earth' inhabitants of the future as the landing places of 'meteorites'. Hardly had it begun when all such activity ceased completely. The surface of the Flasher reappeared, unobscured by cloud or vapour, its well known features hardly altered, but with no illumination of any sort in any place. Needless to add, there was no communication whatever from our thought-conveyor, for a thought-conveyor cannot convey thoughts when there are none to convey. Such is my report of the most recent of such incidents on 'Earth'. Since we Nereans have been equipped to observe that planet, our records show that this is the fifth time that life on 'Earth' has destroyed itself, and, if the established pattern is repeated, in several Nerean years (or 'Earth' aeons) infinitesimal and primitive forms of life will gradually develop, and finally attain to the intellectual standard which is the prerequisite to the 'invention' of nuclear energy. Almost immediately, control of this medium will be lost, and it will once more destroy all life on the planet. If I thought that there was any hope that the pattern might be changed when next the inhabitants of The Flasher approached the flash point, I would be willing to take the time to observe the course of events. It would be an interesting study if they learned to live with and by what they have evolved, and it might even result in our having to discontinue the name The Flasher as inappropriate. (Short Short Story) (1000 words, Unpublished. Date unknown.) THE PLOTTER by Lewis Evans A great B-47 of a June-bug droned in through the open window of the class-room and started making bombing runs at the chandelier. Flak in the shape of Johnny Calder's Geometry book whizzed up and the dazed insect crashed on my desk. He was still alive, so I swept him into my pocket for future reference and was hard at work, like everyone else, when the master on duty stuck his head in at the door to see what the disturbance was. I wondered whether this particular bug was fast on his feet. The night before I had won thirty-five cents in the dormitory when my June-bug had been the first to crawl from the centre to the circumference of a circle chalked on the floor. Then I had sat on him by mistake at Prayers that morning, and so had to build up a new racing stable. The blank pages of the exercise book on my desk caught my eye. Old Hawk-eye, the English master, a guy with the most extraordinary ideas, had been teaching us the short short story in class, and we were supposed to have one written for him by next day. A thousand words to write, and I had not even the first glimmerings of a plot. I could remember most of his lesson, though. “Short first paragraph,” he had told us; “jump right into the middle of action at the beginning. Get some dialogue on your first page if you can. And don’t forget that somewhere in the first third of your story there must be a clue to your surprise ending - your 'kick in the tale'.” That was one of Hawk-eye’s little jokes - the same every year, they tell me. He had droned on about development of tension up to a crisis where everything was right for the crooks or the communists, or wrong for the cops or the Yanks or the British, and then the sudden twist. Oh, I could remember all that, but my mind was still as blank as the pages. The only thing I could think of was how I hated evening preparation in springtime, with the windows wide open and the smell of fresh leaves and grass coming in from the playing fields. “Hey, Johnny,” I whispered. “Lend me a cigarette? I’m going out for a smoke.” Johnny looked impressed - smoking is against the law at our school for some ridiculous reason. He found a battered butt in his pocket and chucked it across. I waited till the master - it was Davies, the Science man, and he's a bit vague or I wouldn't have thought of skipping out - went past again in the classroom corridor, and then I whipped over the window-sill. There was an eight foot drop to the ground, but I knew there was an old plank near by that I could lean against the wall to help me back. I had found it near the carpentry shop and brought it over for just such an occasion. I ran across the quadrangle, keeping out of the splashes of light from the windows, and ducked round behind the dark mass of the gym. There I sat down and lighted Johnny's weed and tried to enjoy life, but that blasted story was still on my mind. Perhaps if I started with the crisis I might get somewhere, I thought. Let's see - the good guy has to be in a jam. His plane's on fire and he has left his parachute at home - no, that's too tough; I'd never get him out of that. Well, he's a paratrooper, and on his way down. He realizes that he is going to land in the shark-infested sea, so what does he do? I don't know. Let's make him drift down over a volcano, and just when he thinks he's done for the hot air from the cone sends him up again; kind of hard to persuade old Hawk-eye there wasn't too much accident in that, though.... Oh, the heck with it. The cigarette was down to the last half inch so I stamped it out and started back. Half way across the quadrangle a familiar voice from the school steps said, “Johnson, come here." It was Hawk-eye in person, having a pipe in the fresh air - a good idea too, if I know his pipes. I started thinking fast and getting nowhere, except closer to him. “What are you doing outside the building during preparation?” he demanded. “Well, sir,” I began, and then I had an idea, a poor thing, but mine own, as someone said before I did. “Well, sir, Mr. Davies told us all to bring a specimen of insect life to his biology class in the morning.” “Yes?” “Well, sir, that's why I'm out here. I suddenly remembered I didn't have one.” “And have you succeeded in getting your - er - specimen, Johnson?” “Yes, sir,” I said, and produced the June-bug from my pocket. “Get back to your class-room,” ordered Hawk- eye. It was too dark to see the expression on his face, but his voice sounded amused. I don't think he liked Davies much. That meant I had to go back by the corridor instead of through the window, but Davies was quelling a noise in another class-room, and I made it without being seen. “Okay?” asked Johnny Galder. “Hawk-eye pinched me in the quad,” I whispered, “but I talked my way past him. I'm all right if he doesn't check with Davies.” As I turned to the blank pages of my English exercise book the bell went for the end of preparation. The next morning in English period old Hawk- eye made us read out our stories. The first two were passable, in a comic-book sort of way; lots of screaming jets and chattering guns spitting death, and stuff like that. Johnny was the third boy he asked, and he had summarized a de Maupassant story in the hopes that Hawk-eye didn't know any French. He did, though, and an afternoon dropped out of Johnny's life forever. Then it was my turn. “I'm sorry, sir,” I apologized, “but I couldn't think of a plot.” Hawk-eye chose to be sarcastic. “You couldn't have written a story with a June-bug as the hidden clue, I suppose?” he suggested in honeyed tones. And as he measured out my doom I thought, “My gosh! I could have, at that!” The End Dad did submit this story for publication but it was soundly rejected with the following note. I include it because Dad thought the note was very funny and he always kept it clipped to the top of his manuscript. NEXT PAGE