Saguenay Geology The Saguenay River Geology[edit ] The geological origins of Saguenay Fjord National Park can be traced to the Grenville orogeny during the Precambrian era. This event is considered to be the beginnings to the Laurentian mountains . Around 200 million years ago, a rock basal complex between a north fault and a south fault collapsed, creating the Saguenay Graben . The graben was 250 kilometres (160 mi) long and 50 kilometres (31 mi) wide. During the last glacial period , the region was covered by ice sheets two to three kilometers deep. The ice sheets cut deep into the Saguenay graben, gouging the fjord in the process. The weight of the ice sheets also caused the region to sink. When the claciers melted around 10,000 years ago, the graben was flooded by seawater. The subsequent post-glacial rebound lifted the terrain, shaping the fjord valleys in the process. Saguenay Graben From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia I've always wondered about the Geology of the Saguenay. There's lots on the internet, this is from Wikipedia! Géologie Les origines géologiques du parc national du Fjord-du-Saguenay remontent à l'orogenèse de Grenville au cours de l'ère précambrienne. Cet événement est considéré comme le début des montagnes laurentiennes. Il y a environ 200 millions d'années, un complexe basal rocheux situé entre une faille nord et une faille sud s'est effondré, créant le graben du Saguenay. Le graben mesurait 250 kilomètres (160 mi) de long et 50 kilomètres (31 mi) de large. Au cours de la dernière période glaciaire, la région était recouverte de calottes glaciaires de deux à trois kilomètres de profondeur. Les calottes glaciaires ont entaillé profondément le graben du Saguenay, creusant ainsi le fjord. Le poids des calottes glaciaires a aussi causé l'affaissement de la région. Lors de la fonte des glaciers, il y a environ 10 000 ans, le graben a été inondé par l'eau de mer. Le rebond postglaciaire qui a suivi a soulevé le terrain, façonnant ainsi les vallées des fjords. The Saguenay Graben is a rift valley or graben in the geological Grenville Province of southern Quebec , Canada . It is an elongated flat-bottomed basin 250 km (155 mi) long and 50 km (31 mi) wide, bounded by normal faults running parallel to its length. Formation of the Saguenay Graben The time of formation of the faults related to the Saugenay Graben is still under debate because it is difficult to accurately measure the age of faulting. Evidence suggests it was either the opening of the Iapetus Ocean (600-400 Ma), or the opening of the Atlantic Ocean (195-170 Ma) that caused the faulting. During the opening of one of these oceans, fragmentation of the landmass occurred creating two fault planes, one to the North and one to the South. The resulting bedrock between dropped down along the normal faults, creating the Saguenay Graben. The extent of these faults are only known at the surface and therefore their extension and shape at depth is unknown. The faults associated with the Saguenay Graben have been the source for earthquakes , including the 1988 Saguenay earthquake . Glaciations The area was covered by ice sheets several times throughout the Pleistocene . The graben was located relatively parallel to the ice sheet movement and therefore caused it to become a preferred travel pathway for ice. The glaciers cut into the graben and widened it in some places as well as making it considerable deeper in others. After the retreat of the final ice sheet, there was considerable isostatic rebound . The total amount of rebound varied from 140 m on the north side and 120 m on the south side. Present day geography The lowlands within the graben have an altitude of between 100 and 200 m. To the east there is the Kenogami threshold which is characterized by having an altitude of 200 to 260 m. This threshold splits the graben into two physiographic regions; the Lac Saint-Jean region to the west and the Saguenay region to the east. The plateau around the Graben is between 200 and 800 m in altitude. The Saguenay River as well as the Lac Saint-Jean are both contained within the Saguenay Graben. Le Graben du Saguenay est une vallée du Rift ou graben située dans la province géologique de Grenville, dans le sud du Québec, au Canada. Il s'agit d'un bassin allongé à fond plat de 250 km (155 mi) de long et 50 km (31 mi) de large, délimité par des failles normales parallèles à sa longueur. Formation du Graben du Saguenay L'époque de formation des failles liées au graben de Saugenay fait encore l'objet de débats, car il est difficile de mesurer avec précision l'âge des failles. Les preuves suggèrent que c'est soit l'ouverture de l'océan Iapetus (600-400 Ma), soit l'ouverture de l'océan Atlantique (195-170 Ma) qui a causé la faille. Lors de l'ouverture de l'un de ces océans, la fragmentation de la masse continentale s'est produite, créant deux plans de failles, un au nord et un au sud. Le substrat rocheux résultant s'est effondré le long des failles normales, créant le Graben du Saguenay. L'étendue de ces failles n'est connue qu'en surface et donc leur extension et leur forme en profondeur sont inconnues. Les failles associées au graben du Saguenay ont causé des tremblements de terre, dont le tremblement de terre du Saguenay en 1988. Glaciations La région a été recouverte de calottes glaciaires à plusieurs reprises tout au long du Pléistocène. Le graben était situé relativement parallèlement au mouvement de la calotte glaciaire et en faisait donc une voie de déplacement privilégiée pour la glace. Les glaciers ont creusé le fossé et l'ont élargi à certains endroits et l'ont rendu considérablement plus profond à d'autres. Après le retrait de la dernière calotte glaciaire, un rebond isostatique considérable s'est produit. La quantité totale de rebond variait entre 140 m du côté nord et 120 m du côté sud. Géographie actuelle Les basses terres du graben ont une altitude comprise entre 100 et 200 m. À l'est se trouve le seuil de Kenogami qui se caractérise par une altitude de 200 à 260 m. Ce seuil divise le graben en deux régions physiographiques ; la région du Lac Saint-Jean à l'ouest et la région du Saguenay à l'est. Le plateau autour du Graben est situé entre 200 et 800 m d'altitude. La rivière Saguenay ainsi que le lac Saint-Jean sont tous deux contenus dans le graben du Saguenay.

PREVIOUS Goelettes NEXT PAGE Listen to the Foghorn in the 1970's! Click on the button to hear Tadoussac Harbour Sounds recorded by Patrick O'Neill Waves and Foghorns! Foggy Night at the Beach - Partick O'Neill 00:00 / 00:00 Cliquez sur le bouton pour entendre Sons du Port de Tadoussac enregistré par Patrick O'Neill Des Vagues et des Cornes de Brume! Two terrific photographs from the 1940's. Above, one goelette down to its ribs and others that may be still in use. Lots of boats, canoes, and interesting buildings along the beach. Right, the cover of a book by Camille Pacreau who took many great photos of Tadoussac. Is it the same wreck, if so it has rotated 90 degrees!? Deux superbes photographies des années 40. Ci-dessus, une goelette détériorée et d'autres qui peuvent être encore utilisées. Beaucoup de bateaux, de canoës et de bâtiments intéressants le long de la plage. À droite, la couverture d'un livre de Camille Pacreau qui a pris de très belles photos de Tadoussac. Est-ce la même épave, si c'est le cas, elle a tourné de 90 degrés ! My father, Lewis Evans, was fascinated by the boats in Tadoussac, especially the goelettes. He wrote this magazine article in 1979. Mon père, Lewis Evans, était fasciné par les bateaux de Tadoussac, en particulier les goelettes. Il a écrit cet article de magazine en 1979. JEAN RICHARD The JEAN RICHARD was the last goélette to be built, and one of the biggest. There was an NFB film made about the construction. It often wintered in the dry dock in Tadoussac. The remains can still be found, in Ottawa ! Read on>> Le JEAN RICHARD fut la dernière goélette à être construite et l’une des plus grandes. Un film de l'ONF a été réalisé sur la construction. Il hivernait souvent à la cale sèche de Tadoussac. On peut encore trouver l'épave, à Ottawa! Lire la suite >> The best collection of photos of Goelettes is the Facebook page "Amateur Goelette de Bois du Quebec" (use the button). I've included a few photos and screen shots from this great site! Thanks to everyone for the photos La meilleure collection de photos de Goelettes est la page Facebook "Goelette amateur de Bois du Québec" (utilisez le bouton). J'ai inclus quelques photos et captures d'écran de ce site formidable! Merci à tous pour les photos! Amateur Goelette de Bois du Quebec Paul-Emile Carré, on the left and Philippe Lavoie during the launch of the last schooner of the St. Lawrence: JEAN RICHARD in 1959 JEAN RICHARD, built in Petite-Riviere-Saint-Francois in 1958, was the last Goelette from Charlevoix la JEAN RICHARD, construite a Petite-Riviere-Saint-Francois en 1958, fut la derniere goelette provenant de Charlevoix In 1965 I went to Tadoussac with my family and of course we visited the dry dock, that's me and my brothers on the left, photos by Lewis Evans. The Jean Richard is the biggest! En 1965, je suis allé à Tadoussac avec ma famille et, bien sûr, nous avons visité la cale sèche, c’est moi et mes frères à gauche, des photos de Lewis Evans. Le Jean Richard est le plus gros! JEAN RICHARD was renamed VILLE DE VANIER and used as a tour boat on the Ottawa River. Eventually it sank and was dumped in a stream off the Ottawa River, in Lac Leamy Park. JEAN RICHARD a été renommé VILLE DE VANIER et utilisé comme bateau-mouche sur la rivière des Outaouais. Finalement, il a coulé et a été déversé dans un ruisseau au bord de la rivière des Outaouais, dans le parc du lac Leamy. JEAN RICHARD is still there! Photos from Google Earth JEAN RICHARD est toujours là! Photos de Google Earth If you want to see it, it's easy! Park at the entrance to the graveyard on Boulevard Fournier in Gatineau (Hull). Cross the road and then the pedestrian Bridge , and walk along the shore to the site. It's not visible from the bridge, you have to go through a small forest. It's very impressive! (Summer or Fall is best, when water levels are low) Si vous voulez le voir, c'est facile! Garez-vous à l'entrée du cimetière du boulevard Fournier à Gatineau (Hull). Traverser la route puis le pont piétonnier et longer le rivage jusqu'au site. Ce n'est pas visible depuis le pont, il faut traverser une petite forêt. C'est très impressionnant! (L’été ou l’automne est préférable lorsque les niveaux d’eau sont bas) I went there and took these photos, in SEPTEMBER 2019. There was this object sitting on the bank, VERY heavy, probably lead ballast? That's probably why the Jean Richard has stayed in one place for 30 years. J'y suis allé et j'ai pris ces photos, en septembre 2019. Il y avait cet objet assis sur la rive, TRÈS lourd, probablement du lest de plomb? C'est probablement pourquoi le Jean Richard est au même endroit depuis 30 ans. NFB Film about the construction and launch of JEAN RICHARD. It is 30 minutes long but very interesting. Check out 25:25 for the launch JEAN RICHARD Film de l'ONF sur la construction et le lancement de JEAN RICHARD. C'est 30 minutes mais très intéressant. Départ à 25h25 pour le lancement H.A.B. The H.A.B. rested against the Tadoussac wharf in the late 1960's, where many photos were taken, several by me! The bottom of the boat can still be found on the beach near the Clay Cliffs at low tide. Le H.A.B. reposé contre le quai de Tadoussac à la fin des années 1960, où de nombreuses photos ont été prises, plusieurs par moi! Le fond du bateau peut encore être trouvé sur la plage près des Clay Cliffs à marée basse. Port Alfred, Saguenay, circa 1960 The H.A.B. in the dry dock at Tadoussac, with the yawl of Lewis Evans, circa 1965. Le H.A.B. en cale sèche à Tadoussac, avec le yawl de Lewis Evans, vers 1965. LOUIS G. In about 1958 the "Jamboree" (seen in the corner) cruised the St Lawrence with Lewis Evans, Coosie and Harold Price. Crossing the river in fog on the return trip they followed this goelette for a while, but it turned upriver and they had to strike out to Tadoussac alone in the fog, blowing! a manual foghorn. They were almost hit by a russian freighter that mistook them for a buoy, but lived to tell the tale and bring us the photo. Painting by Tom Evans Vers 1958, le «Jamboree» (vu dans le coin) a navigué le Saint-Laurent avec Lewis Evans, Coosie et Harold Price. En traversant la rivière dans le brouillard lors du retour, ils ont suivi cette goelette, mais ils se sont dirigés et ils ont dû frapper à Tadoussac seul dans le brouillard, soufflant! un brouillard manuel! Ils ont été presque frappés par un cargo russe qui les a trompés pour une bouée, mais a vécu pour raconter l'histoire et nous apporter la photo. Peinture de Tom Evans Below Louis G & CSL Bateaux Blancs ALYS In 1972 I was in Tadoussac with some friends, and two of them were travelling on to the Maritimes via the ferry at St Simeon. On the way to the ferry I took them down to Port au Persil, and we found the Goelette ALYS there on the beach. I had a RolleiFlex 2 1/4 camera and took these photos. En 1972, j'étais à Tadoussac avec des amis, et deux d'entre eux allaient dans les Maritimes par le ferry de Saint-Simeon. Sur le chemin nous sommes descendus à Port au Persil, et nous avons trouvé le Goelette ALYS là sur la plage. J'ai eu un RolleiFlex 2 1/4 appareil photo et a pris ces photos. Above, Aida and Peter Below, Peter and Tom Evans (moi même!) Sheila St Simeon 1972 St Simeon 1972 When signs were bilingual We had my Dad's Ford Station Wagon! Thanks Dad! We had fun! St Simeon 1972 Quand les signes étaient bilingues Nous avions le Ford Station Wagon de mon père! Merçi papa! Nous nous sommes amusés! The best collection of photos of Goelettes is the Facebook page "Amateur Goelette de Bois du Quebec" (use the button) where I found several earlier photos of ALYS in operation which I have included. La meilleure collection de photos de Goelettes est la page Facebook "Goelette amateur de Bois du Québec" (utilisez le bouton) où j'ai trouvé plusieurs photos d'ALYS en opération que j'ai inclus. Amateur Goelette de Bois du Quebec

Grandchildren of William Rhodes, Quebec & Tadoussac, Quebec MORE of Tadoussac Grandchildren of William Rhodes and Anne Dunn Keep going! Lots more photos, more or less in chronological order, of the 18 Grandchildren, mostly in Tadoussac. Hopefully you can recognize them now! 1890 Frank and John Morewood, Lilybell Rhodes, Nancy Morewood, Carrie Rhodes (Morewood) and 3 babies 1891 Carrie Rodes (Morewood) and her mother Carrie Rhodes, Minnie (Rhodes) Morewood with Nancy and Frank, at Benmore 1890 Frank and Nancy Morewood, Jim Williams 1891 Jim Williams, Frank and Nancy Morewood, Lilybell Rhodes, at Brynhyfryd 1891 John and Frank Morewood, Carrie Rhodes (Morewood) (30 years later she married Frank...) 1892 Five Women (2 on left probably "help") and six kids on the beach below Brynhyfryd, what a zoo it must have been! 1892 Nancy Morewood and Jimmy Williams with Granny Anne Rhodes 1893 Charlie Rhodes and Uncle James Rhodes (William's brother) at Benmore 1893 Granny's 70th birthday (Col William died 2 years ago). Its a big family, 11 grandchildren in the picture. 1893 Granny's 70th birthday, same day. Kneeling in front is William Rhodes, Jr, Carrie's father. He lost his arm in an accident with a locomotive he was delivering to Mexico. Maybe he took the photo above, and Godfrey took this one? 1893 CharlieRhodes, Minnie Morewood, John Morewood, Carrie Rhodes mother and Carrie daughter, not sure, Frank Morewood in Tadoussac at Brynhyfryd, an amazing photo 1893 Jim and Mary Williams, Nancy, Frank and John Morewood, Carrie and 2 babies! You can see right through Brynhyfryd to the hills Three photos probably all at Benmore, 1894 GrannyCharlieDorothyNanMaryJim 1894 CharlieLilyJimmyMary?inWhite 1894 GrannyFrankJimmyCharlieMary For some reason no photos for 3 years, the next are 1897, kids are going up! 1897 Frank, John and Billy Morewood and Charlie Rhodes 1897 back Dorothy Rhodes (Evans), Nancy and Billy Morewood front Gertrude Williams (Alexander) Mary Williams (Wallace) The Williams kids 1899 Jimmy 11, Gertrude 8, Mary 9, Sidney the baby 1899 Bobby Morewood, Frank Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes 1899 back Nancy, Catherine, Mary middle Dorothy, Billy, Gertrude front Jimmy, Bobby, Bob Campbell Bob Campbell was a family friend who lived opposite Benmore in Quebec 1899 adults maybe Nan (Rhodes) Williams, maybe Katie (VonIffland) Rhodes, for sure Minnie (Rhodes) Morewood kids Billy Morewood Mary Williams (Wallace) Dorothy Rhodes (Evans) Nancy Morewood Bobby Morewood Fabulous outfits, hats 2 dolls 1899 Dorothy and Billy with Hem who was a friend of Granny's and spent a lot of time with the family 1899 Charlie, Nancy, Dorothy, Billy (same day) 1899 Nancy and Mary with their dolls 1899 Gertrude, Nancy, Dorothy 1899 Nancy Catherine Mary Billy Dorothy Gertrude 1902 Frank Morewood and Jim Williams Gertrude and Dorothy with the horse and buggy at Benmore Nancy Morewood, Catherine Rhodes, Frank Morewood circa 1901 2 photos from the same picnic on the beach at the far end of Moulin Baude. There was a sawmill up the hill and for a while there was a dock built out of slab wood from the mill. above back row Frank and john Morewood, Lily and Frances with their father Francis Rhodes, Dorothy with her father Army Rhodes front Nancy, Catherine and Charlie at right Nancy and Catherine, note the 2 others in the distance! A Fishing Expedition Lennox Williams and M. Poitras Jimmy, Charlie and John All they caught was 2 small fish? left Carrie Rhodes (Morewood) and others below Brynhyfryd below Catherine and Nancy It's a cool day on the Saguenay, on Therrien's yawl "Laura" back Charlie Rhodes, John Morewood, Phillippe Therrien, Jim Williams, Army Rhodes front Gertrude Williams, Billy Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes, Catherine Rhodes, Nancy Morewood 1902 Brynhyfryd back Carrie Rhodes and her mother Carrie, ?, Mr Jamison, Nancy Morewood, Hem Irvine, Bob Campbell, Lily Rhodes (Godfrey's wife) middle Granny Anne Dunn Rhodes front Billy Morewood, Nattalie Dodds, Dorothy Rhodes, Catherine Rhodes, Bobby Morewood NEXT PAGE How do I know who's who? It helps when I get this, thanks to somebody for writing the date and names! Who's in both photos? Bobby, Billy and Nancy Morewood, and Bob Campbell! 1902 back Frank Morewood, Bob Campbell, Sidney Williams, Minnie Morewood, her kids Bobby and Billy, Katie and Army Rhodes, Nan and Lennox Williams front Charlie Rhodes, unknown person, Nancy Morewood and Mary Williams on Donat Therrien's yacht "Laura" Note! 3 kids in the front row have cameras! Where are those photos? Charlie Rhodes, Jim Williams Billy Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes and a friend 1902 Godfrey Rhodes, Minnie Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes, unknown, Billy Morewood, Carrie Rhodes Pretending to launch a norshore canoe 1902 Brynhyfryd back John Morewood, Granny, Katie Rhodes, Hem, Mary Williams middle Minnie, Nancy, Bobby Morewood, Army Rhodes front unknown, Gertrude, Sidney and Nan Williams, Charlie Rhodes ~1905 Dorothy Rhodes, Jim, Nan and Lennox Williams, Minny and Bobby Morewood, unknown, Mary Williams front Sidney and Gertrude Williams, Granny, Nancy Morewood Frank, Bobby, Minnie Morewood, at the seawall below Brynhyfryd Lennox Williams, Dorothy Rhodes, Gertrude and Jim Williams, Bobby Morewood, Nan and Syd Williams ~1904 Bob Campbell, MaryWilliams, CarrieRhodes, Nancy Morewood on the street in Tadoussac Bobby and Nancy Morewood with Carrie Rhodes 1904 NancyMorewood and Mary Williams 1904 Mary Bob Sid Gertrude Nancy Mary Williams and Harriet Ross 1905 BillyMorewood, ??? Carrie Rhodes, Gertrude Williams, John Morewood 1905 Billy, Dorothy, Gertrude 1905 Billy, Mary, Dorothy, Minnie, Nancy 1905 Charles Jenning who is Catherine Rhodes (Tudor Hart)'s actual brother, she was adopted by Godfrey and Lily Rhodes. Nancy Morewood and Catherine are visiting the Jennings family somewhere in the US. Nancy Morewood, HarrietRoss, BobCampbell ~1905 Nancy, Catherine, Harriet Ross ~1905 Minny Gertrude Granny Nancy Catherine, Godfrey, Nancy Swimming in the bay! Cool looking boats in the background 1905 right Monica Rhodes and Gertrude Williams below Army Rhodes, Frank Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes, Granny Rhodes, Monica Rhodes, Mary Williams, Nancy Morewood at Brynhyfryd ~1906 Dorothy Rhodes, HarrietRoss, Billy Morewood, Lilybell Rhodes ~1908 Monica Rhodes, Sidney and Gertrude Williams, Katie, Dorothy and Charlie Rhodes Katie is Armitage Rhodes' second wife, Monica their daughter, Dorothy and Charlie his older children 1908 Sept 7 Granny Anne Rhodes' 85th at Benmore? back Lennox Williams 49. his son Jim 20, Nancy Morewood 20, Mary Williams 18 and her mother Nan 47, Billy Morewood 17, her mother Minny 51 and brother Frank Morewood 22 front Gertrude 17 and Sidney Williams 9, Hem, Granny 85, Bobby Morewood 11, Monica Rhodes 4 and her dad Army 60, Dorothy Rhodes 16 All 6 of the Williams family, 5 Morewoods missing dad Harry and oldest son John, Army with 2 of his children but not his wife. Harriet Ross, William Rhodes, Gertrude Williams. Billy Morewood, Sidney Williams, Minny Morewood, Mary Williams Prayers on the porch at Brynhyfryd! back Lennox and Sidney Williams front Nan Williams, , Dorothy Rhodes, Gertrude Williams, Evelyn Meredith (Jim's future wife) Mary Williams Mary, Lennox, Gertrude, Dorothy left Mary Williams, Carrie Rhodes, Nancy Morewood below Billy Morewood, Gertrude Williams, Punting Dorothy Rhodes, Gertrude Williams and others, probably Jim Williams at right Dorothy Rhodes and Harriet Ross Minny Morewood, Dorothy Rhodes, and Mrs Ross (Shirt's mother, if you know who Shirt is) Catherine Rhodes with Monica and baby Armitage (Peter) and their grandmother Mrs Von Iffland Siblings Frank, Bobby and Nancy Morewood with Sidney Williams in the foreground, lunch on the beach! 1905 Monica Rhodes and Gertrude Williams Harriet Ross, Dorothy Rhodes, Catherine and her father Godfrey Rhodes, together on a trip to Europe! The girls are all sidesaddle. Carrie Rhodes, Dorothy Rhodes, Billy Morewood l to r 1910 Dorothy (Dorsh) Rhodes (Evans) 18, Carrie Rhodes (Morewood) 29, Billy 19 and Nancy 22 Morewood 1910 Lennox and his kids Mary, Gert and Sid Williams, on the beach, they had a great seawall! Gone now ~1911 Monica, Dorothy, Katie and Peter Rhodes with Rachel Webb (Stairs) somewhere ~1914 Monica Rhodes, Nancy Morewood, Peter Rhodes, Gertrude Williams Dorothy and Gertrude and others and a couple of rowboats, somewhere on the Saguenay ~ 1910 Rachel Webb (Stairs), Gertrude Williams (Alexander) and Dorothy Rhodes (Evans) According to Ainslie (Evans) Stephen these 3 were at school together and this was how the Stairs family started coming to Tadoussac. More info if you have it please! ~1914 The Williams family Mary, Sid, Jim, Lennox, Nan and Gertrude, with Jim's future wife Evelyn Meredith (sitting, with the tie) and cousin Bobby Morewood. The Merediths had a summer place in St Patrice (near Riviere du Loup). Fun having a second photo taken at the same time, with the addition of an unknown lady (probably a maid) and 2 dogs! 1917 Nan Williams with Lilybell and her sister Gertrude Rhodes, the only photo I have of Gertrude 1917 Nan and Lennox Williams with Lily and Frances and May in the White Boat! The next 15 photos are from an album put together by Sidney Williams, starting in 1917 when he was 18, and he's in many of them. Bobby Morewood on the left, Sid on the right below Gertrude Williams and Lilybell Rhodes The photo below was taken at Cap a Jack, a cabin 10 miles up the Saguenay belonging to Dean Lewis Evans, who is on the right. They would have travelled in the Evans motorboat "Minota" 1917 WillaLennSidAdeleMay?NanLilyBellStCathBay 1918SydDoroLilyRachelGert right ~1923 Billy Morewood, Althea, Gertrude (Williams) below Bobby and Billy Morewood, Deane, Althea, MissYoung, Gertrude and Ron Alexander right Carrie Rhodes and Sid, Carrie's parents William and Carrie in the back seat below Phoebe Evans (Skutezky) and Nancy Morewood ~1923 Saguenay boat trip on Therrien yacht right Gertrude and Ron Alexander, Bobby Morewood below Sidney, friend, Gertrude and Lilybell ~1924 Katie Rhodes, Lilybell and Frances Rhodes, and Katie's daughter Armitage/Peter ~1926 Frances Rhodes, Billy Morewood, Jack, Nan and their mother Mary (Williams) Wallace ~1926 the guys are Lex Smith (Guy's brother) Bobby Morewood and Sidney Williams the girls are Althea, Ruth, and friend right ~1930 Dr McLean (who sold Tivoli to Dewarts), Erie Languedoc (mother of Adele, cousin of Russells, Stevensons) and Frank Morewood below 1932 Totie (Le Moine) Rhodes,Frances and Lilybell, Monica Rhodes ~1935 on the porch of Brynhyfryd back row Jean and Jim Alexander, Sidney Williams, Gertrude and Ron Alexander, Percy Tudor-Hart, Jack Wallace front row Mary and Michael Wallace, Catherine Tudor-Hart, Lennox and Nan Williams Brynhyfryd again, a year later? 1936? Perhaps the entire Williams Family? back row Jack Wallace, Jim and Ron Alexander, Jack Wallace middle row Mary Wallace, Nan Williams, Jean Alexander, Nan Wallace (Leggat), Enid (Price) Williams, Lennox Williams, Gertrude Alaxander front row Jim, Sid and Susan Williams (Webster), probably Ronnie Alexander, Joan Williams (Ballantyne), Michael Wallace ~1938 back not sure, Lilybell Rhodes, Jean Alexander (Aylan-Parker) front Ainslie Evans (Stephen), Betty Morewood (Evans). Phoebe Evans (Skutezky) teenagers! ~1936 with some Prices back unknown, Frank Morewood, Jim & Gertrude Alexander, unknown, Sidney Williams middle Nan Williams, Henry and ? Price, Lennox Williams, Enid (Price) Williams with Susan front Nan Wallace, Joan Williams, Mary Wallace, and probably Ronnie Alexander 1943 Brynhyfryd Photos taken with different cameras! l to r Jack Wallace, Billy Morewood, Ronnie Alexander, Mary Wallace, Sheila Williams (Campbell). The two kids behind Lennox Williams are war refugees, Simon Wallace and Sylvia Dixon, not related. Joan Williams (Ballantyne), Enid and Sidney Williams, holding a camera. Below Susan Williams (Webster) has joined the photo on the left, so she probably took the first photo, she has a camera! Ronnie looks a bit less unhappy, and Jack has switched sides, Sid has gone to take the picture. Lennox has put on his hat for the sun. ~1945 Phoebe Evans (Skutezky), Dorsh (Rhodes) Evans, Ainslie Evans (Stephen) at the cottage in Tadoussac. Billy, Monica, Lily ~1950 Sidney Williams (2nd from left) with the Morewood Family, Margaret, Bobby, Harry and Frank. ~1955 Billy Morewood, Anne Hargreaves (Cumyn), Frances Rhodes, and Anne's mother Armitage/Peter (Rhodes) Hargreaves ~1951 Gertrude Rhodes (Williams), Lilybell Rhodes, Jean (Alexander) and John Aylan-Parker, Joan Williams (Ballantyne), Nan (Wallace) Leggat, her mother Mary (Williams) Wallace and grandfather Lennox Williams Circa 1957 Our Aunt Bill was always cracking jokes, that's me Tom Evans and brother Alan, sister Anne, Granny Carrie on the Bonne Chance. Anne's friend Jane Kirkpatrick in the lower photo. ~1960 we have colour! Nora Ellwood, Mary and Lennox, Lilybell, Jean, son Ted and Mike Wallace on the wharf in Tadoussac. Leaving on the boat? 1961 My Granny Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood 80th Birthday party. Only 3 of the Rhodes grandchildren are there but familiar faces from the 1960's. That's me Tom Evans and my brother Alan giving her a birthday card before the party! below Grace Scott, Dorsh (Rhodes) Evans, Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood, Sidney Williams right Jack Molson and Sidney Williams Enid (Price) Williams, Mrs Turcot (background), Doris Molson, Rachel (Webb) Stairs, Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood Phoebe (Evans) Skutezky, Betty (Morewood) Evans, Ainslie (Evans) Stephen, and my parents Betty and Lewis Evans A nippy day on the Saguenay on the Bonne Chance! Miss Maloney (from BCS) with Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood and Billy Morewood Cousins getting together in a favourite spot! Dorothy (Dorsh) (Rhodes) Evans, Billy Morewood, and Carrie (Rhodes) Morewood Well done you made it to the end!! Remember that this was all about the 18 RHODES GRANDCHILDREN? Of course they are all gone now, here's the list in order of DOD. Jimmy Williams 1888-1916 28 Gertrude Rhodes 1896-1926 30 John Morewood 1884-1944 60 Frank Morewood 1886-1949 63 Nancy Morewood 1888-1946 58 Charley Rhodes 1890-? Gertrude Williams Alexander 1891-? Bobby Morewood 1897-1964 67 Armitage (Peter) Rhodes Hargreaves 1909-1969 60 Catherine Rhodes 1888-1972 84 Carrie Rhodes Morewood 1881-1972 91 Sidney Williams 1899-1972 73 Lily Bell Rhodes 1889-1975 86 Frances Rhodes 1892-1976 84 Isobel (Billy) Morewood 1891-1977 86 Dorothy Rhodes Evans 1892-1977 85 Monica Rhodes 1904-1985 81 Mary Williams Wallace 1890-1989 99 132 Please send me a note if you made it to the end and it made any sense! This hit counter counts hits on this page!

Shipwrecks, Fires, and other mishaps in Tadoussac area Shipwrecks around Tadoussac Naufrages près de Tadoussac Shipwrecks are unfortunate but fascinating, especially when photographs can be found. This page is looked at more than any other on this website. Naufrages sont malheureux, mais fascinant, surtout quand les photos peuvent être trouvés. Cette page est regardé plus que tout autre sur ce site. Click "Quebec" Fire 1950 Click "Lively Lady" Wreck 1958 Last night, at one o'clock in the morning, the Carolina, shrouded in mist, ran into a rocky point at a place called Passe Pierre,10 miles up the Saguenay from Tadoussac. The shock was terrible. The electric lights were broken and the darkness added to the horror of the situation. A terrible panic occurred among the 300 passengers on board the Carolina. Terrible scenes of despair took place. But little by little, seeing that the steamer was not sinking, the passengers calmed down. At first light, everyone was reassured to see that the steamer was on the shore. The castaways were picked up a few hours later by the Thor, which took them to Tadoussac and Chicoutimi. It is reported that the hull of the Carolina is smashed. Hier soir, à une heure du matin, le Carolina, enveloppé de brume, s'est heurté à une pointe rocheuse au lieu-dit Passe Pierre, à 10 milles en amont du Saguenay depuis Tadoussac. Le choc fut terrible. Les lumières électriques étaient brisées et l'obscurité ajoutait à l'horreur de la situation. Une terrible panique s'est produite parmi les 300 passagers à bord du Carolina. De terribles scènes de désespoir se produisirent. Mais peu à peu, voyant que le paquebot ne coulait pas, les passagers se calmèrent. Aux premières lueurs du jour, tout le monde fut rassuré de constater que le paquebot était sur le rivage. Les naufragés sont récupérés quelques heures plus tard par le Thor qui les emmène à Tadoussac et Chicoutimi. On rapporte que la coque du Carolina aurait été brisée. R&O "Carolina"wrecks on Passe Pierre, Saguenay River August 19, 1903 We have from Mr. Arthur-H. Caron, agent for the Richelieu and Ontario company at the Tadoussac dock, interesting details about the event. It was August 19, 1903. That day the dock agent was absent and I was responsible for seeing the arrival and departure of the Company's boats in Tadoussac. It had rained in the day and there was mist, which, however, did not prevent the Carolina, commanded by Captain William Riverin, from reaching the dock, although late. Clearing up, the rain and the wind had stopped. I cannot say at what time the boat left the dock, but it must not have been far from eleven o'clock when I cast off the moorings. At that time the mist was not very thick and I believed that he would go to Chicoutimi easily, but he must have found poor visibilty in the Saguenay. Around nine o'clock the next morning, the first launch arrived in Tadoussac from the S.S. Carolina. On board were the boatswain, Wilfrid Gagné, who was later captain on one of the Company's boats, as well as the cashier, named Poulin, and other sailors who rowed the boat. These gentlemen came to communicate with the company authorities by telegraph, because there was no telephone in Tadoussac at the time. I was therefore one of the first to hear the news of the shipwreck. I learned that there were 325 passengers on board, apart from the crew, and that the boat had climbed onto the tip of the point at Passe Pierre. A third of its length was submerged, while the front was completely dry, being held in this position by a section of rock on which the hull had torn quite deeply and was hanging on. It was in this position that it remained until its refloating. After being in communication with the rest of the world, we chartered the Thor, a steamboat from the Price company, which brought back the passengers and part of the crew, with the little luggage they had saved. Not a single passenger or crew member was missing. Some were crying, others were laughing, but everyone seemed happy to still be alive. There were a few passengers that I knew by sight and I remember in particular the surveyor Elzéar Boivin, a well-known businessman in the region, who told us with humor about his adventure. He was in bed in one of the aft cabins, which were submerged; he was not sleeping at the time of the accident. He hastened to collect his things, but he did not have time to get dressed before the water had invaded his cabin. Having only one hand, he could only put on his shoes without tying them; in the dark, he put them on backwards and he lost one, which was not found until the next day, which amused him greatly. There was also a Miss Proulx, who spent her summers in Tadoussac and who was on board with a group of women of her caliber; to maintain the appearance of shipwrecked women, they remained in their nightgowns and carried their clothes on their arms, although several hours had elapsed and would have allowed them to dress like all the other ladies who were on board did. Several had lost their luggage, but all were clothed. As soon as we could organize the disembarkation, all the passengers were lowered onto the rock, where a fire was made with chairs, furniture and various debris. During the night, the crew did not know exactly where they were. It was only at daylight that they recognized the place where we were stranded. The report of another elder, Mr. Arthur Harvey, adds that the pilot, Joseph Desmeules, and the second, Wilfrid Gagné, would have hesitated, because of the fog, to undertake the climb of the Saguenay, but that Captain Riverin, more confident, ordered them to leave. The accident was due to an error in calculation or observation by the "wheel man", who did not believe he had reached that far and took too long to change direction. In the “Memoirs of Old Men”, we find the testimony of Mr. François Belley (1855-1936) and Mrs. Delphine Gilbert (1858-1944), his wife, recounting the sinking of the “Carolina”. However, as some facts differ, we emphasize that no source corroborates their story. It was in August in the year 1903 around four in the morning. At that time I lived in Battures, where Napoléon Bergeron lives today. I was looking after my last baby, who was seriously ill. Suddenly I heard a loud noise. I ran to wake up my husband and my daughter Laura by telling them: “Get up to see the “Carolina” which is docked here ahead.” We thought they were figurations. My husband got up and went down to the beach. It was still dark and he could not see anything, but he could clearly hear the noise and the cries of the passengers. Wanting to get some light, he lit the cord of wood that was on the shore and, to his great surprise, he saw the “Carolina” stranded a few feet from where he was. We went to the shore, the children and I. The passengers cried out when they saw us: “Can we disembark?” We launched the boats and proceeded to disembark. Several took refuge with us, waiting for cars from Bagotville to come pick them up. The others were picked up by the “Thor”, Price’s boat. The “Carolina” was wrecked when it failed. To take it to Bagotville for repairs, we blocked the holes with blankets and rugs. This accident was attributed to the poor conduct of the captain and pilot Jos Riverin (my first cousin). They say they were drunk. What we do know is that they both lost their jobs. My daughter Laura, who lives here in La Batture, still has a fiber rug and a “Carolina” soap dish. These objects were left on the shore. “Memoirs of old people”, notes taken by Béatrice Tremblay, December 1934 You should know that at that time there were no beacon lights, at Boule nor at Passe-Pierre. The shock, suffered at full speed, was so violent that the vessel climbed the rock on the point so that the bow rose about ten feet, the stern sinking deeply below the level of the water, as you can see in the photographs. The first operation was obviously to save the passengers; this was the function of the boatswain, Wilfrid Gagné, who took charge of the boat, in a difficult position, Captain Riverin having suffered a nervous shock. As soon as he had noted the position of the vessel on the rock and the extension of it dry, he had the passengers lowered there by the crew and made a fire to protect them against the cold and to signal their presence. Passenger transportation the next day was operated by the Thor, a Price company steamboat. The second operation was to work on refloating the boat. It was entrusted to engineers and the crew of the Stratcona under the direction of Captain Johnson. According to witnesses, we began by building a sort of box fitting the point of rock, in order to be able to lift the front of the giant a little and close the wound. This work could only be done at low tide, when the broken part was dry. Afterwards "we pumped the water from the inside and passed a reinforcement under the keel to prevent it from breaking in two", after which we tried to pull it afloat, but we did not succeed. Three weeks after the accident, the Montreal JOURNAL said: The Carolina, vessel of the Richelieu company, which ran aground a couple of weeks ago near Tadoussac, is lost. Mr. Rodolphe Forget, to whom we spoke yesterday, received a dispatch from Tadoussac declaring that there is no longer any hope. He got in touch with Captain Johnson, who has been working on refloating since the accident. Mr. Johnson had managed to completely empty and close the Carolina, but the tug Stratcona, owned by Mr. Déry, could not remove it from its bad position. It is highly likely that the Company will remove everything inside the ship and abandon the hull. Nothing, however, has yet been decided. There will be a special meeting of the directors of the company on this subject at 2:30 this afternoon. The losses amount to $63,000 However, we did not give up the game and, no doubt with the cooperation of higher tides. we end up saving the ship. On October 9, Le PROGRES was able to announce: The steamer Carolina, which had run aground at Passe-Pierre near Tadoussac, was refloated on Tuesday, at 2:30 a.m., by the crew of the Algerian and the sailors of the Carolina under the orders of Captain Johnson, who monitored the work. The Carolina is currently in the bay of Tadoussac. From Tadoussac, the vessel was taken to Sorel, where it was repaired by almost completely rebuilding it, so much so that it was no longer recognizable when it was put back into service. Previously driven by paddle wheels, it was fitted with a propeller; its superstructure was completely changed, as were its furniture and the layout of the cabins and lounges. In addition, the Virginia was also put in dry dock in the fall, which also underwent notable transformations. The names of both were changed and in the spring of 1904 they resumed service under the names Saint-Irénée and Murrav Bay. Which one was the old Carolina? Only the initiated knew, and those who, after the shipwreck, had sworn never to embark on board again could no longer find it to escape it. In fact, it was the transformed Carolina which was called Murray Bay and which became, a few years later, Cap Diamant. Written by Victor Tremblay. Several photographs were provided by Mr. Roland Gagné, of Pointe-au-Pic. curator of the Laure-Conan Museum, son of Wilfrid Gagne. who was second on board the Carolina and whose conduct in this circumstance earned him promotion to captain in 1904. The other photos are from the archives of the Société historique du Saguenay. Some text from "Saguenayensia" published October 1968 (available on-line) and Musée du Fjord Facebook post August 2020. Nous recevons de M. Arthur-H. Caron, agent de la compagnie Richelieu et Ontario au quai de Tadoussac, détails intéressants sur l'événement. C'était le 19 août 1903. Ce jour-là, l'agent du quai était absent et j'étais chargé de voir à l'arrivée et au départ des bateaux de la Compagnie à Tadoussac. Il avait plu dans la journée et il y avait de la brume, ce qui n'empêcha cependant pas le Carolina, commandé par le capitaine William Riverin, d'atteindre le quai, bien que tardivement. Le temps s'éclaircissant, la pluie et le vent s'étaient arrêtés. Je ne peux pas dire à quelle heure le bateau a quitté le quai, mais il ne devait pas être loin de onze heures lorsque j'ai largué les amarres. À ce moment-là, la brume n'était pas très épaisse et je croyais qu'il se rendrait facilement à Chicoutimi, mais il a dû trouver une mauvaise visibilité au Saguenay. Vers neuf heures le lendemain matin, la première vedette arrive à Tadoussac en provenance du S.S. Carolina. À bord se trouvaient le maître d'équipage, Wilfrid Gagné, qui fut plus tard capitaine d'un des bateaux de la Compagnie, ainsi que le caissier, nommé Poulin, et d'autres marins qui ramaient le bateau. Ces messieurs venaient communiquer par télégraphe avec les autorités de la compagnie, car il n'y avait pas de téléphone à Tadoussac à cette époque. Je fus donc un des premiers à apprendre la nouvelle du naufrage. J'apprends qu'il y a 325 passagers à bord, hors équipage, et que le bateau est monté sur la pointe de la Passe Pierre. Un tiers de sa longueur était immergé, tandis que l'avant était complètement sec, retenu dans cette position par un tronçon de rocher sur lequel la coque s'était déchirée assez profondément et s'accrochait. C'est dans cette position qu'il resta jusqu'à son renflouement. Après avoir été en communication avec le reste du monde, nous avons affrété le Thor, un bateau à vapeur de la compagnie Price, qui ramenait les passagers et une partie de l'équipage, avec le peu de bagages qu'ils avaient économisés. Pas un seul passager ou membre d’équipage ne manquait. Certains pleuraient, d’autres riaient, mais tout le monde semblait heureux d’être encore en vie. Il y avait quelques passagers que je connaissais de vue et je me souviens notamment de l'arpenteur Elzéar Boivin, un homme d'affaires bien connu dans la région, qui nous a raconté avec humour son aventure. Il était couché dans l'une des cabines arrière, qui étaient submergées ; il ne dormait pas au moment de l'accident. Il s'empressa de récupérer ses affaires, mais il n'eut pas le temps de s'habiller avant que l'eau n'envahisse sa cabane. N'ayant qu'une main, il ne pouvait que mettre ses chaussures sans les attacher ; dans le noir, il les enfila à l'envers et il en perdit une, qu'on ne retrouva que le lendemain, ce qui l'amusait beaucoup. Il y avait aussi une demoiselle Proulx, qui passait ses étés à Tadoussac et qui était à bord avec un groupe de femmes de son calibre; pour conserver l'apparence des naufragées, elles restaient en chemise de nuit et portaient leurs vêtements sur leurs bras, même si plusieurs heures s'étaient écoulées et leur auraient permis de s'habiller comme le faisaient toutes les autres dames qui étaient à bord. Plusieurs avaient perdu leurs bagages, mais tous étaient habillés. Dès que nous avons pu organiser le débarquement, tous les passagers ont été descendus sur le rocher, où un feu a été allumé avec des chaises, des meubles et divers débris. Pendant la nuit, l’équipage ne savait pas exactement où il se trouvait. Ce n'est qu'à la lumière du jour qu'ils reconnurent l'endroit où nous étions bloqués. Le rapport d'un autre aîné, M. Arthur Harvey, ajoute que le pilote, Joseph Desmeules, et le second, Wilfrid Gagné, auraient hésité, à cause du brouillard, à entreprendre l'ascension du Saguenay, mais que le capitaine Riverin, plus confiant , leur a ordonné de partir. L'accident est dû à une erreur de calcul ou d'observation de "l'homme au volant", qui ne croyait pas être arrivé aussi loin et mettait trop de temps à changer de direction. Dans les « Mémoires des vieillards », on retrouve le témoignage de M. François Belley (1855-1936) et de Mme Delphine Gilbert (1858-1944), son épouse, relatant le naufrage du « Carolina ». Cependant, comme certains faits diffèrent, nous soulignons qu’aucune source ne corrobore leur récit. C'était en août 1903, vers quatre heures du matin. J'habitais à cette époque à Battures, où habite aujourd'hui Napoléon Bergeron. Je m'occupais de mon dernier bébé, qui était gravement malade. Soudain, j'ai entendu un grand bruit. J'ai couru réveiller mon mari et ma fille Laura en leur disant : "Lève-toi pour voir le "Carolina" qui est amarré ici devant." Nous pensions qu'il s'agissait de figurations. Mon mari s'est levé et est descendu à la plage. Il faisait encore sombre et il ne voyait rien, mais il entendait clairement le bruit et les cris des passagers. Voulant avoir un peu de lumière, il alluma la corde de bois qui se trouvait sur le rivage et, à sa grande surprise, il aperçut le « Carolina » échoué à quelques mètres de là où il se trouvait. Nous sommes allés à terre, les enfants et moi. Les passagers ont crié en nous voyant : « Pouvons-nous débarquer ? Nous avons mis les bateaux à l'eau et avons procédé au débarquement. Plusieurs se sont réfugiés chez nous, attendant que les voitures de Bagotville viennent les chercher. Les autres ont été récupérés par le « Thor », le bateau de Price. Le « Carolina » a fait naufrage lorsqu’il est tombé en panne. Pour l'emmener à Bagotville pour réparation, nous avons bouché les trous avec des couvertures et des tapis. Cet accident a été attribué à la mauvaise conduite du capitaine et pilote Jos Riverin (mon cousin germain). Ils disent qu'ils étaient ivres. Ce que nous savons, c'est qu'ils ont tous deux perdu leur emploi. Ma fille Laura, qui habite ici à La Batture, possède encore un tapis en fibre et un porte-savon « Caroline ». Ces objets ont été abandonnés sur le rivage. « Mémoires de personnes âgées », notes prises par Béatrice Tremblay, décembre 1934 Il faut savoir qu'à cette époque il n'y avait pas de balises lumineuses, ni à Boule ni à Passe-Pierre. Le choc, subi à pleine vitesse, fut si violent que le navire escalada le rocher sur la pointe de telle sorte que la proue s'élevait d'une dizaine de pieds, la poupe s'enfonçant profondément au-dessous du niveau de l'eau, comme on peut le voir sur les photographies. La première opération fut évidemment de sauver les passagers ; c'était la fonction du maître d'équipage, Wilfrid Gagné, qui prenait en charge le bateau, dans une position difficile, le capitaine Riverin ayant subi un choc nerveux. Dès qu'il eut noté la position du navire sur le rocher et l'extension de celui-ci à sec, il y fit descendre les passagers par l'équipage et alluma un feu pour les protéger du froid et signaler leur présence. Le lendemain, le transport des passagers était assuré par le Thor, un bateau à vapeur de la compagnie Price. La deuxième opération a consisté à travailler au renflouement du bateau. Elle fut confiée aux ingénieurs et à l'équipage du Stratcona sous la direction du capitaine Johnson. D'après des témoins, on a commencé par construire une sorte de caisson s'adaptant à la pointe du rocher, afin de pouvoir soulever un peu le devant du géant et refermer la plaie. Ces travaux ne pouvaient être effectués qu'à marée basse, lorsque la partie cassée était sèche. Ensuite "nous avons pompé l'eau de l'intérieur et passé un renfort sous la quille pour éviter qu'elle ne se brise en deux", après quoi nous avons essayé de le remettre à flot, mais nous n'y sommes pas parvenus. Trois semaines après l'accident, le JOURNAL de Montréal disait : Le Carolina, navire de la compagnie Richelieu, échoué il y a quelques semaines près de Tadoussac, est perdu. M. Rodolphe Forget, à qui nous avons parlé hier, a reçu une dépêche de Tadoussac déclarant qu'il n'y a plus d'espoir. Il a pris contact avec le capitaine Johnson, qui travaille au renflouement depuis l'accident. M. Johnson avait réussi à vider et fermer complètement le Carolina, mais le remorqueur Stratcona, propriété de M. Déry, n'a pu le sortir de sa mauvaise position. Il est fort probable que la Compagnie enlève tout ce qui se trouve à l’intérieur du navire et abandonne la coque. Mais rien n’est encore décidé. Il y aura une réunion spéciale des administrateurs de la société à ce sujet à 14h30 cet après-midi. Les pertes s'élèvent à 63 000 $ Pour autant, nous n’avons pas abandonné le jeu et, sans doute avec la collaboration des marées supérieures. nous finissons par sauver le navire. Le 9 octobre dernier, Le PROGRES pouvait annoncer : Le paquebot Carolina, qui s'était échoué à Passe-Pierre près de Tadoussac, a été renfloué mardi, à 2 h 30, par l'équipage de l'Algérien et les marins du Carolina sous les ordres du capitaine Johnson, qui surveillait les travaux. Le Carolina se trouve actuellement dans la baie de Tadoussac. De Tadoussac, le navire fut transporté jusqu'à Sorel, où il fut réparé en le reconstruisant presque entièrement, à tel point qu'il n'était plus reconnaissable lorsqu'il fut remis en service. Auparavant entraîné par des roues à aubes, il était équipé d'une hélice ; sa superstructure a été complètement modifiée, tout comme son mobilier et l'agencement des cabines et des salons. Par ailleurs, le Virginia a également été mis en cale sèche à l'automne, qui a également subi des transformations notables. Les noms des deux furent modifiés et au printemps 1904 ils reprirent du service sous les noms de Saint-Irénée et Murrav Bay. Laquelle était l'ancienne Caroline ? Seuls les initiés le savaient, et ceux qui, après le naufrage, avaient juré de ne plus jamais embarquer à bord ne parvenaient plus à y échapper. En fait, c'est la Caroline transformée qui s'appela Murray Bay et qui devint, quelques années plus tard, Cap Diamant. Écrit par Victor Tremblay. Plusieurs photographies ont été fournies par M. Roland Gagné, de Pointe-au-Pic. conservateur du Musée Laure-Conan, fils de Wilfrid Gagné. qui était second à bord du Carolina et dont la conduite dans cette circonstance lui valut d'être promu capitaine en 1904. Les autres photos proviennent des archives de la Société historique du Saguenay. Quelques textes de "Saguenayensia" publiés en octobre 1968 (disponibles en ligne) et publication Facebook du Musée du Fjord en août 2020. THOR to the rescue! Anse à L'Eau, Tadoussac THOR à votre secours ! Anse à L'Eau, Tadoussac Amazing, they have lifted the ship from it's precarious position and repaired the damage! Incroyable, ils ont soulevé le navire de sa position précaire et réparé les dégâts ! R&O Algerian helped with the restoration R&O Algérien aidé à la restauration Carolina became the Murray Bay La Caroline est devenue la Murray Bay Later the name was changed to Cape Diamond Plus tard, le nom a été changé pour Cape Diamond Passe Pierre, Saguenay Catherine Rhodes, Katherine Mclennan, et Mary Stuart étaient dans la voiture quand il a dérapé et a tourné la tortue. Aucun des trois n'avait la moindre égratignure. À Cataraquai, Québec, Janvier 1920 SS Linkmoor of London on Vache Reef 1922 <<Note Canoe 1924 - CSL Saguenay on Vache Reef. When I (Patrick O'Neill) asked my mother (Elizabeth Stevenson O'Neill) how the ship came to be on the beach, she said that it got lost in the fog and made a wrong turn. She said the ship was pulled off the beach at high tide. It would have been a different story if the ship had run up on the rocks The Saguenay must have been holed below the water line, because (above) clearly it did not float the first time the tide came in, and the water came IN. 1924 - CSL Saguenay Vache Reef. Quand j'ai (Patrick O'Neill) demandé à ma mère (Elizabeth Stevenson O'Neill) comment le navire est venu pour être sur la plage, elle a dit qu'il s'est perdu dans le brouillard et fait un mauvais virage. Elle a déclaré que le navire a été retiré de la plage à marée haute. Il aurait été une autre histoire si le navire avait heurté les rochers. Le Saguenay doit avoir été percé au-dessous de la ligne d'eau, parce que (ci-dessus) clairement il n'a pas flotté à la première marée haute, et l'eau est entrée au bateau! The next photo is beautiful. The collection of vessels tied together in Tadoussac Bay was a mystery, until the following explanation! This is very likely the rescue of the CSL Saguenay from the shipwreck above in 1924! Jean-Pierre Charest: A rescue. On the left, the rescue schooner G.T.D., second of this name. It is next to the tug LORD STRATHCONA, in service since 1903. If this event is later than 1915, the rescue duo belongs to Quebec Salvage & Wrecking Ltd, formerly owned by Geo. T. Davie. I note the presence of steam between the tug Lord Strathcona and the ship. There would be at least one rescue boiler running to operate a pump, which could mean damage to the hull and water infiltration. La photo suivante est belle. La collection de navires attachés ensemble dans la baie de Tadoussac était un mystère, jusqu'à l'explication suivante! C'est très probablement le sauvetage du CSL Saguenay du naufrage au dessus en 1924! Jean-Pierre Charest: Un sauvetage. À gauche, la goélette de sauvetage G.T.D., deuxième de ce nom. C'est à côté du remorqueur LORD STRATHCONA, en service depuis 1903. Si cet événement est postérieur à 1915, le duo de sauvetage appartient à Québec Salvage & Wrecking Ltd, anciennement propriété de Geo. T. Davie. Je note la présence de vapeur entre le remorqueur Lord Strathcona et le navire. Il y aurait au moins une chaudière de secours fonctionnant pour faire fonctionner une pompe, ce qui pourrait causer des dommages à la coque et à l'infiltration d'eau. Noroua almost on the rocks! Noroua presque sur les rochers! In the late 1930's, Lewis Evans (Dad) was too close to the rocks when a ship went by, and he was swept onto the rocks. Luckily the Noroua landed in this pool, missing the rocks, and he was trapped there until the tide fell and rose again. Photo on the left by Camille Pacreau. Dans la fin des années 1930, Lewis Evans (papa) était trop près des rochers quand un bateau passait, et il a été emporté sur les rochers. Heureusement, le Noroua atterri dans cette piscine, manquant les rochers, et il y est resté coincé jusqu'à ce que la marée est tombé et a de nouveau augmenté. Photo sur la gauche par Camille Pacreau. CSL Tadoussac (Not a shipwreck) Tadoussac Church burned in 1940's (Pas un naufrage) Eglise Tadoussac brûlé dans les années 1940 (Thanks to Francis Lapointe) Collision of 10 June 1950 SS St Lawrence and Maria Perlina G Declaration of Paul Lapointe Tadoussac Cte Saguenay I have a fishery almost at Pointe Rouge, but slightly below. The evning of June 10, 1950, just before dinner, I was on the water in my boat, near my fishery, there was a thick fog. I heard for some time the foghorn of the St Lawrence. The St Lawrence blew regularly at short intervals. It seemed that the St Lawrence was coming up on the side where I was. I heard about three foghorn signals from a steamer coming down the Saguenay river. Before the collision, the St Lawrence gave three or four foghorn signals without response from the steamer. I heard the noise of the collision which seemed to be near the red "can" buoy, off the Pointe aux Vaches reef. I have read what is written here and I declare that it is the truth. Tadoussac, June 27 1950 Paul Lapointe Anchor 1 CSL Quebec Burns at the Wharf August 14, 1950 Although no one was ever prosecuted, the fire was believed to be arson, and seven people died. The tragedy could have been much worse but for the actions of the master, Cyril Burch. He decided against launching lifeboats out in the St Lawrence, instead sailing the ship to the dock in Tadoussac and disembarking the passengers. This fanned the flames and sealed the fate of the ship, but probably saved lives. CSL Québec brûlures au niveau du quai de Tadoussac 14 août 1950. Même si personne n'a jamais été poursuivi, le feu a été considéré comme un incendie criminel, et sept personnes sont mortes. La tragédie aurait pu être bien pire, mais pour les actions du maître, Cyril Burch. Il a décidé de ne lancer des canots de sauvetage dans le Saint-Laurent. Il a navigué le navire au quai de Tadoussac et le débarqué les passagers. Cette attisé les flammes et a scellé le sort du navire, mais a probablement sauvé des vies. Passengers being rescued - at first they only had one ladder, and a lot of people waiting to get off, but the photo at right is in a new location, another ladder was found. Les passagers étant sauvés - au début, ils n'avaient qu'une seule échelle, et beaucoup de gens qui attendent pour descendre, mais la photo à droite est dans un nouveau lieu, une autre échelle a été trouvé. View from Brynhyfryd - many people who were in Tadoussac in August 1950 have said they remember the event clearly, even if they were very young. Vue de Brynhyfryd - le nombre de personnes qui étaient a Tadoussac en Août 1950 ont dit qu'ils se souviennent clairement de l'événement, même si ils étaient très jeunes. The next day Photos by Jack Molson Le prochain jour And a short movie! http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ev07_ss-quebec-au-quai-de-tadoussac_news?GK_FACEBOOK_OG_HTML5=1 http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ev07_ss-quebec-au-quai-de-tadoussac_news?GK_FACEBOOK_OG_HTML5=1 August 15th, 1950, Ray Bailey and his family were driving to Tadoussac. As they drove along the north shore, they saw a column of smoke and wondered what it was. In those days the ferry left from Baie Ste Catherine, and when they got out on the Saguenay they saw the Quebec burning in the wharf at Tadoussac, and took a picture. Le 15 août 1950, Ray Bailey et sa famille conduisaient à Tadoussac. Ils ont conduit le long de la côte nord, ils ont vu une colonne de fumée et se sont demandés ce que c'était. A cette époque, le ferry quittait la baie Sainte-Catherine, et quand ils sortaient sur le Saguenay, ils virent le Québec brûler dans le quai à Tadoussac et ils prennent une photo. The next day, with a tug along side and a seaplane in the bay. Then the aerial photo and an article in TIME August 28, 1950 Le lendemain, avec un remorqueur le long du côté et un hydravion dans la baie. Puis la photo aérienne et un article dans TIME 28 août 1950 CSL Tadoussac ended up buried in the sand in Dubai, eventually scrapped. CSL Tadoussac fini enterré dans le sable à Dubaï, finalement abandonné. Merci Pat Desbiens pour cette photo, circa 1955? Anchor 2 1958 The "Lively Lady" an American schooner, ended up on Lark Reef in 1958. After running aground in fog, the tide went out and the boat lay down on its side, rocks punching holes in the hull. With help from many boaters from Tadoussac, the masts were cut off and the boat was righted and brought into the wharf in Tadoussac. I remember going to look at it (what a mess). The story we heard was that it was returned to Chicago and repaired, and was later destroyed by fire. (Photos by Lewis Evans and Scott Price) Le "Lively Lady" une goélette américaine, a frappé Lark Reef environ 1962. Après s'échouer dans le brouillard, la mer s'est retirée et le bateau couché sur le côté, roches percer des trous dans la coque. Avec l'aide de nombreux plaisanciers de Tadoussac, les mâts ont été coupés et le bateau a été redressé et mis en quai de Tadoussac. Je me souviens d'aller à regarder (quel gâchis). L'histoire que nous avons entendu, c'est qu'il a été retourné à Chicago et réparé, et a ensuite été détruit par un incendie. (Photos par Lewis Evans et Scott Price) From the Log of the Bonne Chance The first efforts to right the boat, setting up a boom to provide leverage, and putting barrels alongside (they leaked). Les premiers efforts pour soulever le bateau, la mise en place d'une boom un effet de levier, et de mettre de barils sur le côté (ils fuites). Coosie Price & the "Jamboree" Photos like this are full of information! The "Lively Lady" is on the sandbar, today this would be deep water. There's a souvenier shop, some 50's cars and trucks including Scott's station wagon, and Mr. Peck's "Redwing" and another boat that helped in the rescue. Photos comme cela sont plein d'informations! La «Lively Lady" est sur le barre de sable, aujourd'hui ce serait eau profonde. Il ya une boutique de souvenier, les voitures et les camions de 1950, et "Redwing" de M. Peck et un autre bateau qui a contribué au sauvetage. Le yacht d'un visiteur en vacances à Tadoussac a fait le reste Comme pour le Lucky Lady, bonne chose les habitants de Tadoussac a permis d'apprécier le challenge et l'aventure de la libérant de récif, car ils ont essentiellement aucun remerciement. Alors disons MERCI et bien fait Scott Price Lewis Evans Coosie Price Capt. Hovington Phillippe Therrien et M. Peck (Comme les enfants nous rimait "M. Peck par Heck va à la Wreck") et d'autres? As for the Lucky Lady, good thing the residents of Tadoussac were enjoying the challenge and the adventure of getting her off the reef because they essentially got no thanks. So let's say THANKS and Well Done to Scott Price Lewis Evans Coosie Price Capt. Hovington Phillippe Therrien and Mr. Peck (As kids we rhymed "Mr. Peck by Heck is going to the Wreck") and others? Circa 1960 CSL St Lawrence The St Lawrence on the sandbar! Remember when the CSL St Lawrence ran aground on the beach in Tadoussac? I was on the "Bonne Chance" coming down the Saguenay with Dad (so probably mid-1960s), and the St Lawrence was coming into the wharf. We waited for them (being smaller) so we were coming around behind them as they arrived at the wharf. We could hear the engines as they hit reverse to stop the boat as was the usual procedure, but instead of reverse the water shot out backwards from the props! The CSL boat shot forward and then stopped suddenly as it hit the sand bar. There was a slight pause and then a crash of broken glass as the dishes in the dining room hit the floor. Thanks to Susie & Patrick for the photo! There we are in the Bonne Chance!! This was taken shortly after it happened. The captain has it full reverse, but he's hard aground. The steam/smoke from the ship has created a rainbow! Le Saint-Laurent sur le banc de sable! Rappelez-vous quand la CSL St -Laurent s'est échoué sur la plage de Tadoussac ? J'étais sur la " Bonne Chance " descendre le Saguenay avec papa (probablement milieu des années 1960), et le Saint-Laurent venais dans le quai. Nous avons attendu pour eux (étant plus petit) afin que nous arrivions autour derrière eux comme ils sont arrivés au quai. Nous pouvions entendre les moteurs comme ils ont frappé inverse pour arrêter le bateau était la procédure habituelle, mais au lieu de renverser l'eau éjectés vers l'arrière des hélices! Le bateau de CSL tourné vers l'avant , puis s'arrêta brusquement comme il a frappé la barre de sable . Il y avait une légère pause, puis un accident de verre brisé comme les plats dans la salle à manger touchent le sol. Merci à Susie & Patrick pour la photo ! Nous voilà à la Bonne Chance !! Cela a été pris peu de temps après que le bateau ait échoué à terre. Le capitaine a fait marche arrière à fond, mais il est durement échoué. La vapeur/fumée du navire a créé un arc-en-ciel ! Les ferries sont venus pour essayer de la retirer, mais la marée est en baisse et il n'y avait pas d'espoir. Un autre bateau de CSL ( Richelieu ) est arrivé plus tard et a fait un accueil intelligent en arrière, de sorte que les bateaux étaient poupe à poupe , et bien faire la fête a suivi. Nous sommes allés à la plage à marée basse, ce soir-là et j'ai essayé de tailler nos initiales dans le fond . Au matin, il avait disparu, flottant au large à marée haute dans la nuit, pas de mal a été fait. The ferry came over to try to pull her off, but the tide was dropping and there was no hope. Another CSL boat (the Richelieu) arrived later and did a clever backwards docking, so the boats were stern-to-stern, and much partying ensued. We went down to the beach at low tide that evening and tried to carve our initials in the bottom. By morning it was gone, floating off at high tide in the night, no harm done. Again, not a shipwreck, but a forest fire on La Boule, 1960-70's?. Note two different ferries. Encore une fois, pas un naufrage, mais un feu de forêt sur La Boule, 1960-1970?. Remarque deux ferries différents. On September 24, 1999, the passenger ship ⁠Norwegian Sky ran aground on a sandbar/shoal near Tadoussac, Quebec, in the St. Lawrence River while turning to watch whales. The ship carried 1,924 passengers and 787 crew, refloated after three hours, and went to drydock for propeller and rudder repairs. https://www.tsb.gc.ca/eng/rapports-reports/marine/1999/m99l0098/m99l0098.html Le 24 septembre 1999, le paquebot Norwegian Sky s'est échoué sur un banc de sable près de Tadoussac, au Québec, sur le fleuve Saint-Laurent, alors qu'il effectuait un virage pour observer les baleines. Le navire, qui transportait 1 924 passagers et 787 membres d'équipage, a été renfloué après trois heures et mis en cale sèche pour des réparations de l'hélice et du gouvernail. Not a shipwreck, but a car wreck from a ship! They said it was the first time they can remember losing a car, as if they'd forget? Pas un naufrage, mais un accident de voiture à partir d'un navire! Ils disaient que c'était la première fois qu'ils se souviennent de perdre une voiture, pensez-vous qu'ils oublient? Sometimes shipwrecks happen when one is preoccupied cooking hamburgers at Pte a la Croix and the tide is falling! Rescuers took some picnicers home while others waited until midnight, no damage done! August 2015 Parfois naufrages se produisent lorsque l'on est occupé à cuisiner des hamburgers à Pte à la Croix et la marée est en baisse! Certains ont été sauvés tandis que d'autres ont attendu jusqu'à minuit, aucun dommage fait! Août 2015 Very sad the fire at the ROSSY store in Sacre Coeur, it's never been the same! C'est vraiment triste, l'incendie du magasin ROSSY à Sacré-Cœur ; ça n'a plus jamais été pareil ! Unknown grounding on Vache Reef, gone the next day Échouement inconnu sur le récif de Vache, disparu le lendemain The Grosse Ile which was seen in Tadoussac a few years ago, was sailed by owner Didier Epars to the Caribbean, and was forced ashore in a storm in Cuba, the account of the event here https://www.facebook.com/groups/amateursgoelettesqc/search/?query=didier&epa=SEARCH_BOX La Grosse Ile qui a été vue à Tadoussac il y a quelques années, a été emmenée par le propriétaire Didier Epars dans les Caraïbes, et a été jetée à terre dans une tempête à Cuba, le compte rendu de l'événement ici https://www.facebook.com/groups/amateursgoelettesqc/search/?query=didier&epa=SEARCH_BOX There are many images of Goelettes in their last days, here's one on Pointe de l'Islet (Indian Rock) on the Saguenay River. The drawing is by Lilybell Rhodes, the 2 colour photos come from a NFB film about the Jean Richard. This goelette is as yet unidentified! Il existe de nombreuses images de goelettes dans leurs derniers jours, en voici une sur la Pointe de l'Islet (Indian Rock) sur la rivière Saguenay. Le dessin est de Lilybell Rhodes, les 2 photos couleur proviennent d'un film de l'ONF sur le Jean Richard. Cette goelette n'est pas encore identifiée! August 7, 2021 FOREST FIRE ON "THE COUP" Reportedly caused by careless campers who didn't put their fire out properly. The fire was extinquished by local firefighters and two water bombers that made multiple passes, VIDEO below! 7 août 2021 – Incendie de forêt à « The Coup » L'incendie aurait été provoqué par des campeurs négligents qui n'ont pas correctement éteint leur feu. Il a été maîtrisé par les pompiers locaux et deux avions bombardiers d'eau ayant effectué plusieurs passages ; vidéo ci-dessous ! 121

Paintings by Tom Evans, Tadoussac and the Saguenay River Tom Evans Paintings 367 Festival de la Chanson Tadoussac (Les Lunatiques) Oil 14 x 18" La plupart de mes peintures représentent Tadoussac et la rivière Saguenay. Les peintures disponibles sont au début. tomfevans@icloud.com Most of my paintings are of Tadoussac and the Saguenay River. Available paintings are at the beginning. tomfevans@icloud.com 357 TennisClubColour $450 16x20" 356 ConnaisseurChipStand $400 16x20" 355 AnsedeRoche2 $250 11x14" 336 Drydock 1964 $200 12"x16" 329 GibardReflections $300 16x24" 323 PointeRouge $400 20x20" 319 MicroBrasserie $300 14x18" 290 Loading pulplogs $350 16x20" 276 Kayaks 12x16" $200 363 LaBoule 4"x5" 361 Gulls in Tiderip 18x36" 359 WinterStUrbain 14x18" 354 AnsedeRoche1 11x14" 358 Bon Desir 353 Sunset&Moon TadBay 7x10" 350 1868 TadoussacBay 349 NS Canoe & W2 8"x8" 348 FerryintheIce 347 Sunset and Sailboat 346 BrynUpstairs 345 WinterMainStreet 16"x20" 344 Marina Evening 342 Horse and Buggy 16"x20" 340 Windward light at Night 14x18" 339 Cid's Roof 8x10 338 TrilliumatFlatRocks 337 Marguerite Low Tide 334 KidsinStream 333 CaleSeche 20x30" 332 Ferry on the Saguenay 331 Tadoussac! 20x30" 330 Passe Pierre Inlet 12x16" 327 RedCottage on the Beach 16x20" 324 Gulls over Water 322 Kids on PEI Beach 321 Red Canoe 16x20" 320 Tadoussac Bay 16x20" 318 WaitingfortheCSLBoat 1920's 24x30" 316 Bergeronnes1950 16x20 313 Girls waving at Freighter 12x16" 312 Whitboat Haulout 311 BiblioPlage 310 Village in Winter 16x20" 309 Cliff & Sailboat 308 Red Chairs & Sunset 307 Tadoussac Market 306 Webbling 304 Evening on the Bay 303 Hovington Farm $400 16x20" 301 Riptide 300 BonaparteGullsoffTadoussac 299 Webbling 298 TennisClub2 297 Sunset on Saguenay 296 Beach at Tadoussac August 2020 295 Cale Seche Houses ~1930's 294 Nor-Shore Canoe and Dory 293 TennisClub withSteps 292 View of Tadoussac 289 Goelette &CSLBoat2 288 Goelette &CSLBoat 16x20" 287 Houses onIndianRock 16x20" 285 HousesinCaleSeche 284 PointeBlancinYellowLight 281 Crack boat in the Bay 279 GibardMusiciansatNight 278 Jean Yvan rounding the point 277 Cid'satNight 274 Clouds over La Boule 273 HAB loading at Grosse Roche 272 Dufferin in Fall Colours 271 Cale Seche Boats and Houses 11x14 270 Cale Seche Houses&Laundry 269 Yawl Laura with Relatives 268 PassePierrePicnic 10x14" 267 Girl and dog at the lake 266 Tennis Club with players 262 Freighter at speed 261 ChapelHotelAptsBoardwalk 260 KidsStreetLaGreve 11x14" 259 Canoe at Cap a Jack 258 CSL Boat passing the Point 256 Belugas 255 Marina Boats and Tadoussac 254 Kids&BoatsatPetitsIsles 252 DebatPetitsIsles 250 Riptide Patio 249 Bonne Chance with LE & kids 248 Trillium with dingy 246wipSaguenayPointwithRays 246 Saguenay Point with Rays 245 CSL Landing 244 Tad Main Street 1930's 243 CoopViewHouses&TallShip 242 SaguenayRockswithLight 240 MauiBeach 239 StCatherine'sBay 238 Snowy Bank #2 237 StairsinFreighterCanoe 236 PinkRocksandSandDunes 235 3Boats & RedRoofs 231 Winter TadBeach1965 230 HoboEnteringDrydock 229 Caleche & CSL Boat 226 MicroBrasserie &people 225 Noroua&CSL 16x20" 224 SmallDunesKids&Dogs 223 Brynhyfryd (2) 222 Freighter (stern) 219 JacquesCartier 217 SnowyBank 215 TadStreetRedsGreens 212 Rocks&Iris 207 PilotHouse1950 206 wipFreighteratSpeed 205 YellowRowboat 203 HousesnearCoop2 202 AnsedeRocheGoelette 200 TadStreet&Market 199 SnowonPtRouge 198 TennisClubandBarn 197 FishingBoat&Hotel 194 GoeletteinFog 192 BayEvening&Lights 179 GoeletteAnsedeRoche 178 SeeingPeopleoffonCSL 176 SailboutTroudelaBoule 172 Windy Beach 169 Spruce Cliff Door Mural 167 Minke Whale on Windward 165 Ice on the Saguenay 164 Bonne Chance in Drydock 159 Tad from Indian Rock 1930's 158 New Cottage in Winter.jpg 155 Cid's.jpg 154 Black Duck (2).jpg 154 Black Duck Mosaic 2012.jpg 153 PointeNoir through Trees.jpg 152 St Catherine's Bay.jpg 151 lesgarsquiontconstruit lamaison1936.jpg 150 Rocks on Saguenay in Sun 149 Evan Landing at PtealaCroix.jpg 147 Cid's_Church inWinter.jpg 144 1860's Boats on Beach 142 SaguenayPointAutumn.jpg 141 Goelettes in Drydock.jpg 140 Tivoli.jpg 138 TadoussacHillside.jpg 133 Tile Mosaic Tad Bay & Saguenay 126 Houses near Coop with colour.jpg 113 Brynhyfryd in Sun.jpg 111 Pointe Noire and Freighter.jpg 110 Boats and Folks on Beach.jpg 109 Betatakin 2007.jpg 106 Tadoussac Village from Indian Rock 2007.jpg 104 Houses on the Bank 2007.jpg 102 Sunset Portugal.jpg 100 Two Red Boats2007.jpg 88 TadBayTilePanorama 86 Hockey Sunday mornings at Glendale.jpg 85 Poppies in Provence.jpg 83 Red Wall in Provence.jpg 81 McKenzie King Ruins.jpg 80 Provence Village.jpg 77 Thunderstorm over Dunes.jpg 69 St Irenee from hill.jpg 66 Red Boat Peggy's Cove.JPG 64 Algonquin Park Waterfall.jpg 62 Sailing the Trillium.jpg 59 Hotel in Quebec City with Red Roof.jpg 57 Saguenay Point below Cliffs #2.jpg 46 Indian Rock 2001.jpg 45 St Tite des Caps.jpg O 25 Walkers Red Rocks and Clay Cliffs.jpg 23 Old Wharf in Nova Scotia.jpg 21 Sandcastle Circle on the Beach in Tad.jpg 20 Cons'tn Navale dans la Cale Seche 1940 2003.jpg 17 Julia and Matt on Beach in Christian Island.jpg 16 Baccaro.jpg

PREVIOUS Benmore Quebec NEXT PAGE 1848-1948 Col. Rhodes bought the house in 1848. He died in 1892, his wife Granny Ann Rhodes lived there until 1911. Their daughter Minnie Rhodes Morewood (died 1942) and Henry (Harry) Morewood (died 1916) lived there with their children John, Frank, Nancy, Billy, and Bobby Morewood. Frank Morewood writes: It was a great house to me (not a mansion like Cataraqui but I loved spending time at Benmore and I did spend a lot of time there). My parents were living there when I was born, as my father (Bobby) had lost his job in the depression and he went home to his mother's place with his whole family. At that time it housed my father's mother, two sisters, one of his two brothers and two maids. Benmore was in the family from 1848 to 1948. Colonel Rhodes a acheté la maison en 1848. Il est mort en 1892, son épouse Granny Ann Rhodes y vécut jusqu'en 1911. Leur fille Minnie Rhodes Morewood (mort en 1942) et Henry (Harry) Morewood (mort en 1916) a vécu dans la maison avec leurs enfants John, Frank, Nancy, Billy, et Bobby Morewood. Frank Morewood écrit: C'était une grande maison pour moi (pas une manoir comme Cataraqui mais j'ai adoré passer du temps à Benmore et j'ai fait passer beaucoup de temps là-bas). Mes parents vivaient là quand je suis né, mon père (Bobby) avait perdu son emploi dans la dépression et il rentra chez lui pour la place de sa mère avec toute sa famille. A cette époque, il abritait la mère de mon père, deux sœurs, l'une de ses deux frères et deux servantes. Benmore était dans la famille de 1848 à 1948. Frank Morewood (my grandfather) Vue sur la St-Laurent Minnie and Harry Morewood Billy, Minnie and Bobby Morewood 1890's Carrie and her mother Caroline Rhodes, Minnie Morewood, Billy and Frank, about 1893 Granny (1890's) with Frank Morewood & Jimmy Williams Charlie Rhodes Mary Williams Wallace Armitage Rhodes driving, Godfrey's wife Lily, Minnie and Bobby Morewood, Granny at the back, about 1910. Benmore Tennis C ourt Just two stories, 3rd floor added in 1864 Seulement deux étages, 3ème étage a été ajouté en 1864 View of the St Lawrence The horse's name is Jack Le cheval est appelé Jack I took the photo above in 2001 Granny and Hem on the porch around 1900. Next door, Godfrey's house Cataraquai, that's Godfrey with the dog, about 1920's. Juste à côté, la maison de Godfrey Cataraquai, c'est Godfrey avec le chien, environ 1920. Back to Home Page NEXT PAGE

Wedding picture of Fanny Eliza Pope and William Edward Russell. Quebec City 1874. Their children were Florence Loisa Maud, Willis, Fredercik, Leslie and Mabel Emily. William Edward Russell 1850-1893 & Fanny Eliza Pope NEXT PAGE PREVIOUS Fanny Eliza Pope on a bench in the backyard of Spruce Cliff.

Horses, Buggies and Cars Chevaux, Buggies et Voitures Circa 1890 Anse a L'Eau In front of the Rhodes Cottage, luggage loaded for the boat trip, circa 1890 En face de la Rhodes Cottage, les bagages chargés pour le voyage en bateau, vers 1890 At the Poitras farm near Rivière Aux Canards Godfrey Rhodes and John Morewood on the steps about 1895 À la ferme de Poitras près de Rivière Aux Canards Godfrey Rhodes et John Morewood sur les marches environ 1895 The five Morewood Siblings, Billy, Nancy, Bobby, Frank (my grandfather) and John 1899 A car in 1917 Bobby Morewood on left Sidney Williams on right Armitage (Peter) Rhodes circa 1920 Harvesting the Hay at Moulin Baude circa 1920 Récolte du foin à Moulin Baude circa 1920 Sur le Pont Caron, Tadoussac, 1925 Betty Morewood (Evans) (my mother) on the left side of the wagon Lewis Evans (my father) on a horse in Tadoussac circa 1930 Betty Morewood (Evans) (ma mère) sur le côté gauche du wagon Lewis Evans (mon père) sur un cheval Tadoussac circa 1930 Early 1930's CSL Richelieu arriving at the Tadoussac Wharf Début 1930 CSL Richelieu arrivant au quai de Tadoussac 1910's 1930's 1950's The wagon below is bringing the wood to build our cottage "Windward" in 1936 from the goelette in the wharf. circa 1940 Le wagon ci-dessous apporte le bois pour construire notre chalet "Windward" en 1936 de la goelette dans le quai. From a postcard D'une carte postale circa 1940 circa 1950 Verity Molson 1952 Molson Museum L’Héritage Canadien du Québec Dewarts and O'Neills at Moulin Baude 1950's 41

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

Tadoussac Historical Photos and Stories - Buildings Disappeared - Batiments Disparu Bâtiments qui ont disparu Buildings that have disappeared La PISCINE D'EAU SALÉE a été construite en même temps que le nouvel Hôtel Tadoussac, en 1942. De nombreuses personnes se souviennent de s'être baignées dans la piscine étant enfants. La photo est probablement une photo de tourisme de CSL. La piscine a été remplacée par la piscine actuelle devant l'hôtel, vers 1958. La charpente en ciment est toujours là, comblée et utilisée pour les tables de pique-nique et la biblio-plage de Tadoussac. The SALT WATER POOL was built at the same time as the new Hotel Tadoussac, in 1942. Numerous people remember swimming in the pool as children. The photo is probably a CSL tourism photo. The pool was replaced by the present pool in front of the hotel, around 1958. The cement frame is still there, filled in and used for picnic tables and the Tadoussac Beach Library. from a Williams photo album 1950's There's a video! on Youtube/ReelLife (Sorry ads...) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmRgMGTP2FQ look at 3:35 1.5 minutes Il y a une vidéo ! sur Youtube/ReelLife (Désolé annonces...) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmRgMGTP2FQ regardez à 3:35 1,5 minutes Vers les années 1940, la piscine semble en construction Circa 1940's the pool look like it is under construction Plus tard, des huttes de changement ont été ajoutées Later, change huts have been added Comments (Facebook) Finally, I am happy to see this swimming pool, in operation! Magnificent ! I had never seen this mythic swimming pool My brothers and I loved that pool By 1958 we were signed up to use the present pool I remember when it was empty with a lot of broken glass, 1960? That is where I learned to swim ... maybe one of those little kids? I remember this pool but thought I imagined it. We had a nice thing in Tadoussac Ho! The site of the biblio-plage! Definitely a spot predestined for projects that are out of the ordinary! Wow beautiful this pool and also I see the cruise ships arriving at the dock beautiful memory My parents met there - so the story goes ... at the pool? Yes. At the pool. Dad playfully tossed her bathing cap into the bay. A study had been carried out to assess the feasibility of bringing it back into office but the structure would have needed too many repairs. It should come back, it is great a little idea for the new mayor We should create a new one. Seawater and heated, it would be an attraction for Tadoussac If we managed to operate a seawater swimming pool in 1950, 71 years later what is stopping us from taking up the challenge? Thank you for this photo, for a long time I have imagined this saltwater pool ... I see it finally! We were born in the wrong era Commentaires (Facebook) Enfin, je suis content de voir cette piscine, en fonction ! Magnifique ! Je n'avais jamais vu cette piscine mythique Mes frères et moi avons adoré cette piscine En 1958, nous nous sommes inscrits pour utiliser la piscine actuelle Je me souviens quand c'était vide avec de verre brisé, 1960 ? C'est là que j'ai appris à nager... peut-être un de ces petits gamins?? Je me rappelle de cette piscine mais je pensais que j'avais imaginé. On s'est bien amusé à Tadoussac Ho ! Le site de la biblio-plage! Décidément un spot pré-destiné aux projets qui sortent de l'ordinaire ! Wow magnifique cette piscine et aussi je vois le bateaux de croisière qui arrivent au quai beau souvenir Mes parents se sont rencontrés là-bas, donc l'histoire se passe... à la piscine ? Oui. À la piscine. Papa a joyeusement jeté son bonnet de bain dans la baie. Une étude avait été menée pour évaluer la faisabilité de sa remise en fonction mais la structure aurait nécessité trop de réparations. Ça devrait revenir comme ça c'était super une petite idée pour le nouveau maire On devrait en creer une nouvelle. À l’eau de mer et chauffée, elle serait toute une attraction pour Tadoussac Si on a réussi à exploiter une piscine à l'eau de mer en 1950, 71 ans plus tard qu'est-ce qui nous empêche de relever le défi? Merci pour cette photo, depuis le temps que j'imagine cette piscine d'eau salée... Je la vois enfin! On est nées dans la mauvaise ère Left and above, 1950-1960, below 2022 4-5' more sand on the beach!! 4-5' de sable en plus sur la plage !! RESTAURANT de GOLFE Circa 1940 & 50's Un ancien restaurant de Tadoussac à côté du quai dirigé par Johnny Audet. Ses filles ont épousé Simard, Deschênes, Harvey, Gagné, il a également eu un fils Joseph dont la femme travaillait également au restaurant. C'était autrefois notre spot de billard préféré. Ce restaurant auquel j'ai beaucoup fréquenté dans les années 1950 était très occupé par les équipages des lignes de Canadian Steamship et nos armateurs. (Paulin Hovington) GULF RESTAURANT Circa 1940's & 50's An early Tadoussac restaurant beside the wharf run by Johnny Audet. His daughters married Simard, Deschenes, Harvey, Gagné, he also had a son Joseph whose the wife also worked at the restaurant. Used to be our favorite pool spot. This restaurant I attended a lot in the 1950's was very busy with the Canadian Steamship lines crews and our shipmen.. (Paulin Hovington) Il y avait aussi une cabane de pêcheur autour du coin sur le point où nous avons acheté du saumon! La dalle de ciment est toujours là. There was also a fisherman's hut around the corner on the point where we bought salmon! The cement slab is still there. HOTEL TADOUSSAC The largest building to have disappeared in Tadoussac is the Hotel Tadoussac! It was originally built in 1864. It was lengthened and then towers were added in about 1900. It was demolished in about 1942 to make way for the present Hotel Tadoussac. Le plus grand bâtiment à avoir disparu à Tadoussac est l'Hôtel Tadoussac! Il a été construit en 1864. Il a été rallongé, puis des tours ont été ajoutées vers 1900. Il a été démoli vers 1942 pour faire place à l’hôtel Tadoussac. Original Hotel original 1864-1900 Expanded Hotel élargie 1900-1942 Hotel Demolition 1942 THE HYDROELECTRIC POWER STATION The rebuilding of the hotel in 1942 likely provided an impetus for the town to build its hydro station. By then many Québec towns and villages smaller than Tadoussac and beyond the grids of the major power companies had electricity, so no doubt local residents would have been agitating for power for some years. The HydroElectric Power Station at Moulin a Baude, with water coming down a large pipe from the dam on the Baude River. Built in the early 1940's, it was enlarged to accommodate a second turbine and generator in 1954. The original station had one generator of about 200 kilowatts. A 450-kilowatt unit was added as demand for power grew. (Thanks to Gary Long, retired geographer in Sault Ste. Marie, studies the history of early hydroelectric development in Canada) Paulin Hovington: My grandpa Noel Brisson developed this electrical power and built the stone house at that time. LA CENTRALE HYDROELECTRIQUE La reconstruction de l'hôtel en 1942 a probablement incité la ville à construire sa centrale hydroélectrique. À l’époque, beaucoup de villes et de villages québécois plus petits que Tadoussac et au-delà des réseaux des grandes entreprises d’électricité disposaient de l’électricité. Les habitants de la région auraient sans doute agité depuis quelques années. La centrale hydroélectrique de Moulin a Baude, avec de l’eau descendant par un grand tuyau du barrage sur la rivière Baude. Construite au début des années 1940, elle a été agrandie pour accueillir une deuxième turbine et un groupe électrogène en 1954. La centrale originale avait un groupe électrogène d'environ 200 kilowatts. Une unité de 450 kilowatts a été ajoutée à la demande croissante d’électricité. (Merci à Gary Long, géographe à la retraite à Sault Ste. Marie, étudie l'histoire des premiers aménagements hydroélectriques au Canada) Paulin Hovington: Mon grand-papa Noel Brisson a déveloper ce pouvoir électrique et a construit la maison de pierres à cette occasion. A pipeline approximately 225 metres long ran from the dam to the powerhouse. The head of water on the turbines was 50.3 metres (165 feet). The Québec government nationalized electricity in 1963, and by 1966, Hydro-Québec had apparently closed the Moulin-a-Baude hydro station. Un pipeline d'environ 225 mètres de long reliait le barrage à la centrale. La tête d’eau des turbines était de 50,3 mètres (165 pieds). Le gouvernement du Québec nationalisa l'électricité en 1963 et, en 1966, Hydro-Québec avait apparemment fermé la centrale hydroélectrique de Moulin-à-Baude. In the photo below there is a Sawmill! More photos of the sawmill on the "Dunes" page. (click the arrow) Sur la photo ci-dessous il y a une scierie ! Plus de photos de la scierie sur la page "Dunes". (cliquez sur la flèche) POINTE ROUGE AND JESUIT GARDENS between Pointe Rouge and the Clay Cliffs circa1950 POINTE ROUGE ET DES JARDINS DES JÉSUITES entre Pointe Rouge et les falaises d'argile There was a navigation beacon on Pointe Rouge, probably circa 1900 Il y avait une balise de navigation sur Pointe Rouge, probablement vers 1900 Today Aujourd'hui Lionel and Elizabeth O'Neill FIRST NATIONS This drawing must be very old, showing native teepees on the plateau where Dufferin House now stands, and the small church and the Hudson's Bay Post in the background. The hotel is not built, maybe 1840. PREMIÈRES NATIONS Ce dessin doit être très ancienne, montrant des tipis indigènes sur le plateau où Dufferin House est maintenant, et la petite église et la Hudson's Bay Post sur le fond. L'hôtel n'est pas construit, peut-être 1840. 1887 Theodore Gagne, Huron of Loretteville opened a boutique of Amerindian souveniers near the wharf 1887 Theodore Gagne, Huron de Loretteville a ouvert une boutique de souvenirs amérindiens près du quai THE BEACH Many buildings on the beach have come and gone, not surprising considering the 17 foot tidal range, and the ice in the winter. Below, late 1860's, the Hotel Tadoussac, and the Hudson's Bay Post in front of the hotel. Boatbuilding on the beach, only one house on the main street, no church, no Cid store. LA PLAGE De nombreux bâtiments sur la plage sont venus et ont disparu, ce qui n'est pas surprenant compte tenu de l'amplitude des marées de 17 pieds et de la glace en hiver. Ci-dessous, fin des années 1860, l'Hôtel Tadoussac, et le Poste de la Baie d'Hudson devant l'hôtel. Construction de bateaux sur la plage, une seule maison sur la rue principale, pas d'église, pas de magasin Cid. Circa 1880's Circa 1920's These boathouses were there until about the 1960's, my father Lewis Evans used the one on the right. Ces hangars à bateaux étaient là jusqu'à environ les années 1960, mon père Lewis Evans a utilisé l'un sur la droite. Robin Molson When I was a kid my Dad had an old yawl, the "Bonne Chance" on a buoy on the bay. We often parked the car at the top by the old church and came down those stairs to the beach, to get at the punt. There was a chain around the yard at the top made entirely of bottle caps strung together, 1000's of them. A few years ago (late 1990's?) there was a fundraising effort to buy the building which was very successful, and the building was demolished. Quand j'étais jeune, mon père avait un vieux yawl, la "Bonne Chance" sur une bouée dans la baie. Nous avons souvent garé la voiture au sommet pres de la vieille église et sommes descendus les escaliers à la plage. Il y avait une chaîne autour de la cour en haut entièrement en capsules de bouteilles enfilées, 1000 d'entre eux. Il y a quelques années (fin des années 1990?) il y avait un effort de collecte de fonds pour acheter le bâtiment qui était très réussie, et le bâtiment a été démoli. 1950 the house is one floor raised on stilts against the tide. Below the house is growing! Also the remains of the swimming pool. 1950 la maison est d'un étage sur pilotis. En dessous la maison s'agrandit ! Aussi les restes de la piscine. David & Lois Evans Artiste inconnu ! Photos by Harold Price These cottages perched on the school wall for a brief period in the 1960's. Below that's Alan Evans tying his sailing dingy to the buoy, demonstrating safe boating technique. The punt was built by Lewis Evans, it had wheels to pull it up the beach. Ces chalets perchés sur le mur de l'école pour une brève période dans les années 1960. Ci-dessous, c'est Alan Evans attachant sa lugubre de la voile à la bouée, ce qui démontre la technique de la sécurité nautique. Le 'punt' a été construite par Lewis Evans, il avait des roues à tirer vers le haut de la plage. HOUSES ON INDIAN ROCK Pilot House is visible above on the right, it's the only one of these houses still in place. MAISONS SUR LE POINT D'ISLET Maison de Pilote est visible en haut à droite, il est le seul de ces maisons encore en place. Late 1800's Note from Lewis Evans: Les Maisons sur Pointe de l'Islet La plus proche de Pilot House, Johnnie Hovington, Capitaine de "Jamboree", Nicolas, Donat Therrien, Morneau Quand CSL les a expulsés en 1911 ils ont reconstruit autour de la cale sèche et derrière la cale sèche Dominique Desbiens Souvenir de Tadou!! Maisons de (squatters) vers 1900. Parmie les familles residentes de l'Islet, Maher, Caron, Boulianne, Gagnon; il y avait la Famille Morneau de mes Ancetres du coté de ma Grand Maman Maternelle (Florence Martel) sa Maman était une Morneau qui fesait partie de ces Familles qui furent expropriées (expulsées) graduellement entre 1890 et 1920. Ceux-ci partirent s'établirent aux Milles-Vaches et d'autres a S-C, Bergeronne, Escoumins Houses at the top of the hill, 1890's. Possibly one of these houses was moved into the park, now known as "Tivoli". Maisons en haut de la colline, 1890's. Peut-être l'une de ces maisons a été déplacé dans le parc, maintenant connu sous le nom "Tivoli". Rhodes Cottage Brynhyfryd, Tadoussac On Rue des Pionniers, built 1861, burned in 1932 and replaced the same year Rue des Pionniers, construit 1861, brûlé en 1932 et a remplacé la même année Rhodes Cottage Page Click/Cliquez Hudson's Bay Post, Tadoussac In front of the hotel, built about 1821, demolished about 1870 En face de l'hôtel, construit vers 1821, démoli vers 1870 Hudson's Bay Post Page Click/Cliquez Radford House, Tadoussac Built in the mid-1800's, enlarged in the 1870's, burned in 1932, home of Joseph Radford Construit au milieu des années 1800, agrandie dans les années 1870, brûlé en 1932, la maison de Joseph Radford Radford House Page Click/Cliquez 83

PREVIOUS EVANS Arrival in Canada NEXT PAGE This page is about My great-grandfather Francis Evans 1801-1858, who came to Canada from Ireland with his wife Maria Lewis in 1842. They had 12 children, and lived near Simcoe in southern Ontario. Their 11th child was Thomas Frye Lewis Evans 1846-1919, my grandfather, who spent many summers in Tadoussac (see next page). According two other people's research, we are descended from a Welsh Prince of 1000 years ago, and two brothers who moved from Wales to Ireland in the 1400's. Francis Evans 1803-1858 The Evans family house in Ireland The Evans family house is in the middle of Ireland! From the Dictionary of Canadian Biography (slightly abridged) EVANS, FRANCIS, Church of England clergyman and educator; b. 1 Jan. 1801 in Lough Park, an estate near Castlepollard, County Westmeath (Republic of Ireland), son of Francis Evans; m. c. 1825 Maria Sophia Lewis, and they had six sons and six daughters; d. September 1858 in County Westmeath, and was buried in Castlepollard. Francis Evans, a graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, arrived in Lower Canada in 1824, intent on entering the Anglican ministry. His decision to emigrate may have been influenced by the presence in the Canadas of his uncle, Thomas Evans , a soldier. Shortly after arriving he went back to Europe to marry, and then returned to the colony. On 11 Nov. 1826 he became a deacon, was appointed curate two days later to the Reverend Robert Quirk Short at Trois-Rivières, and was ordained priest on 27 Oct. 1827 by Bishop Charles James Stewart . Evans did well at Trois-Rivières, reporting in 1827 that his congregation had grown by one-third since his arrival even though there had been no increase in population. Nevertheless, he accepted a missionary posting to Upper Canada sponsored by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. In October 1828 he took his young, growing family to Norfolk County where St John’s, near the village of Simcoe in Woodhouse Township, became his home church. He was the first Anglican clergyman to settle in Woodhouse, even though his parishioners, largely United Empire Loyalists and their descendants, had built the church some years before in anticipation of a permanent appointment. Like most Anglican clerics, Evans concentrated his efforts by ministering regularly to a few settled charges. He attempted, however, to preach occasionally in “every place that it is in my power to visit.” He found his labours well received. In 1830 he reflected, “It is particularly gratifying to perceive that the prejudices against our Establishment which were very prevalent are disappearing most rapidly.” None the less, the privileged position of the Church of England ensured it and its servants a host of enemies. William Lyon Mackenzie , for one, twice publicly portrayed Evans as unfeeling and uncaring, characteristics allegedly typical of Anglican clergymen. In 1836 Evans found himself in the public eye again when Lieutenant Governor Sir John Colborne responded to the critics of the church’s claims to establishment by endowing 44 Anglican rectories, one of which went to Evans. The rectories, and Anglican pretensions generally, certainly helped bring about the Upper Canadian rebellion, which affected Evans dramatically. In December 1837 Charles Duncombe and Eliakim Malcolm, responding to rumours that rebels had taken Toronto, mustered some 400 to 500 insurgents southwest of Brantford. On the night of 12 December Evans led a little loyalist band bearing messages through rebel lines to Brantford. The next day the rector bravely went to the insurgent camp “to expostulate,” as a fellow priest recorded, “with the deluded schismatics.” Evans brought news of the governor’s proclamation promising pardon for those returning peacefully home. For his efforts, he was detained. Fortunately, release came soon when the rebels dispersed upon discovering that Mackenzie had been defeated in Toronto and that forces, led by Allan Napier MacNab , were marching against them. But Evans could not escape controversy. In the trials that followed he testified against several prominent insurrectionists, thereby earning further ill will. On 2 Oct. 1838 a mob occupied the Congregational church in Burford Township to prevent his preaching there. Eventually the clamour faded, and Evans settled back into an all too penurious routine. As was the custom with other clerics he had to supplement his meagre income by teaching. He first operated a boarding-school and began teaching at the district grammar school in Simcoe when it opened in 1839. As a teacher he took special interest in aspiring clergymen. He also laboured earnestly at his regular pastoral duties, establishing some 14 congregations in the surrounding district. He toiled for the Upper Canada Bible Society and spread the temperance message. At the time of his death he was an archdeacon and rural dean of Norfolk County. These toils exhausted Evans. In 1855 Bishop John Strachan , who thought him “an active and zealous Missionary,” warned him that a continuance of his “usual labours” would be too much for him, and he was right. In a futile effort to recover his health Evans holidayed in Ireland in 1858 but died there between 5 and 7 September after spending only a week with a brother and sister. In Canada he left a monument of solid if unspectacular work and a large, well-educated family. Colin Frederick Read AND let's not forget his wife, Maria Sophia Lewis, who probably had a lot to do with the large, well-educated and successful family! She was b orn in Martock, Somerset, England on 1804 to Thomas Fry Lewis and Charlotte Georgina Forter. She passed away on 29 Jul 1881 in (interestingly) Québec City. St. John's Church, Woodhouse, just south of Simcoe Ontario #6 "Another son b 1845" is Thomas Frye Lewis Evans, the Dean who ended up in Tadoussac!>> This document at left was created in the 1950's, and has lots of information about the Evans and Lewis families and descendants. Several excerpts have been shown above if you don't want to read the whole thing! (The document at left is 38 pages and it's a pdf so you can read it - I made page 35!) NEXT PAGE

The Parents of the William Rhodes who came to Canada and Tadoussac The RHODES Family Back in time, in England... Retour dans le temps, en Angleterre... William Rhodes 1791-1869 and Ann Smith ~1795-1827 Lived at Bramhope Hall, near Leeds, Yorkshire, England. The house no longer exists. Married 1817. Children Caroline 1818, James 1819, Ann 1820, William 1821 , Godfrey 1823, Francis 1825, and then Ann died in 1827. Everybody on the Rhodes family tree is descended from these two. These lovely paintings of Ann Smith and William Rhodes are from about 1820, before photography was invented! Thanks to Ainslie Stephen and Lew Evans. Ils ont vécu à Bramhope Hall, près de Leeds, dans le Yorkshire, en Angleterre. La maison n'existe plus. Mariage en 1817. Enfants : Caroline (1818), James (1819), Ann (1820), William (1821), Godfrey (1823), Francis (1825), puis Ann est décédée en 1827. Tous les membres de la famille Rhodes descendent de ce couple. Ces magnifiques portraits d'Ann Smith et William Rhodes datent d'environ 1820, avant l'invention de la photographie ! Merci à Ainslie Stephen et Lew Evans. These are the PARENTS of William Rhodes (1821-1892) who immigrated to Quebec City, married Anne Dunn, had 9 children, and built the original Brynhyfryd in Tadoussac in 1860. Ann Smith died in 1827, 2 years after her 6th child was born. William lived a further 42 years, and never remarried. He wrote many letters back and forth with son William in Canada, and over 100 letters between them and other family members (between 1836 & 1890) have been compiled (with illustrations & photographs) in a 300 page book! I have printed and distributed about 20 copies, if you would like to get in on the next printing let me know! William (the father) lived in England his whole life, but he did come to Canada once, as he was a military man, and he fought for the British in the War of 1812, mainly in the Eastern Townships/Richelieu River area. He helped Canada stay out of the hands of our southern neighbours! Well done GGGGrandPa! Voici les parents de William Rhodes (1821-1892), qui a immigré à Québec, a épousé Anne Dunn, a eu neuf enfants et a construit le premier Brynhyfryd à Tadoussac en 1860. Ann Smith est décédée en 1827, deux ans après la naissance de son sixième enfant. William vécut encore 42 ans et ne se remaria jamais. Il a eu une correspondance abondante avec son fils William, resté au Canada. Plus de 100 lettres échangées entre eux et d'autres membres de la famille (entre 1836 et 1890) ont été rassemblées (avec illustrations et photographies) dans un livre de 300 pages ! J'en ai imprimé et distribué une vingtaine d'exemplaires. Si vous voulez vous procurer le prochain tirage, n'hésitez pas à me contacter ! William (le père) a vécu toute sa vie en Angleterre, mais est venu une fois au Canada, car il était militaire. Il a combattu pour les Britanniques durant la guerre de 1812, principalement dans la région des Cantons-de-l'Est et de la rivière Richelieu. Il a aidé le Canada à échapper à l'influence de nos voisins du Sud ! Bravo 4x-arrière-grand-père ! This is the pdf file of the book! Click the link below and read it! Please tell me if you have looked at it! (Sorry only in english, but look for a Translate Icon on your computer!) Voici le fichier PDF du livre ! Cliquez sur le lien ci-dessous et lisez-le ! Merci de me dire si vous l'avez consulté ! (Désolé, c'est seulement en anglais, mais cherche l'icône de traduction sur ton ordi !) https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/dsz6l540xdt429x0bb5tl/RHODES-LETTERS-MASTER-July2026.pdf?rlkey=flkyx1gsd4kwg81edpilx0kwt&st=261qwvlj&dl=0 Bramhope is just north of Leeds inEngland 8