“I understand you play the violin Mr. MacDonald. Please do for me; I’d love to hear you.” “Oh no, people around here don’t go for my kind of music very much; they just like the come-all-ye’s.”

With a little bit of “Blarney” I finally persuaded Frank Bell to play a few bars. “That was lovely, Mr. MacDonald, what is the name of it?” “That piece was brought out from Scotland by ear by the first MacDonald to settle here and carried down by ear from generation to generation. It’s called ‘Lovely Flora’.” With my best flattery I urged him to give us some more violin music. This time he played at considerable length and then, “That was beautiful too, Mr. MacDonald, (I really meant it). What is the name of that piece?” “Lovely Flora”, was the short reply as Frank Bell put his violin away and refused to play any more. Moral: If you can’t recognize a tune even when it’s well played, keep your mouth shut.

From Rocka Barra next day I continued on past Clearspring (home of the rum runners in the “good old days”) and Naufrage (0r Shipwreck) Point to Monticello, and there the wind and the surf rising, I decided in discretion to go ashore. Turning the canoe over about six feet from the water’s edge, I spread out the ground-sheet, pillows and blanket under the canoe, crawled in and, weary, quickly dropped off to sleep.

Next morning I was awakened at peep-o-day by the water lapping within inches of the canoe, somewhat to my surprise. After moving Tota higher up the beach for safety, I started to walk west along the bank going about a mile. Turning back, I could see the ghostly revolving light at Shipwreck Point, the moon shining over the empty Gulf and nothing else “across the weary moor”. With day- light, hundreds of Curlew flew twittering along the barrens near the

shore, — a weird and desolate scene. Though “barrens” seems a proper word, actually there were a few twisted wind—bent stunted spruce and great quantities of huge blueberries — like marbles — a

quart or so of which supplied an early breakfast.

Leaving the canoe well up from the high-tide mark, I set off away from the shore and after about a mile arrived at a group of houses facing either side of the north-shore road, sheltered by large

trees and far enough back to be “out of the winds’ and the waves’ riot”.

23