Almost needless to state, there are many other legends and tales of the Indians in connection with their villages that are on the banks of the St. John above and below Fredericton. The whole district is so full of beauty, has so many attractions for the vacationist and nature lover, and is such a superb centre for hunting, fishing, boating, canoeing, etc., that no one may hope to exhaust its possibilities, even if a lifetime of summers should be spent in the exploration and unfolding of all that it contains.
[Illustration: Reversing Fall, St. John River]
_The City of St. John and Lower St. John River_
Leaving Fredericton at 8 o’clock in the morning, a start is made on the trip down the river to the city of St. John, the commercial centre of the province and greatest shipping port on the Bay of Fundy.
The journey is full of interest and variety. There are numerous stops on each side of the river, and few daylight trips of eight or nine hours can be taken elsewhere that will compare with this in pleasure. As the boat cleaves the waters of the winding and continually-widening waterway, new incidents mark each mile of its progress.
Here is a small tug whose engine capacity is out of all proportion to its size. It is towing a huge raft of timber, and, notwithstanding the heavy pull, is making good progress upstream and against the current. Now, the deep and wide Oromocto River is reached, and a busy scene is enacted at the wharf as all hands on the steamer are pressed into the work of loading produce of every kind on board.
We go only a short distance across stream before reaching another landing, where squash, cucumbers and other vegetables by the barrel, and in immense quantities, are loaded on the lower decks.
Now a wharf is neared where, it so happens, there are no passengers awaiting the steamer, and none to get off. A man puts off in a small boat and makes fast to our boat, well out in the river, transfers some crates of tomatoes—the vessel still in motion and pushes back to the shore.
Nearing a spot where meadow and rolling upland mark a particularly rich agricultural district, a great flat barge or hay-boat is almost ahead, and the steamer slows up to give the boat an opportunity for coming alongside. She is loaded with fine-looking pressed hay, fresh from the fields and done up in the usual bales which are piled on the low boat to such a height as almost to be level with the decks of the large river steamer. No sooner is the barge made fast than men pour out on to the hay, and, while we are still proceeding on our downward course the product of the meadow is quickly stowed away below. It seems only a minute or two before the empty float rises high out of the water, and saluting the two men with a wave of the hand as they cast off, we go ahead under full steam.