I hardly like to relate this last incident because, strange as it was, no explanation of it was forthcoming. I had long heard of the Hare Bay rivers, which I am convinced are among the most prolific Atlantic salmon-rivers in the world. Hare Bay lies on the east coast of Newfoundland high up in the northern peninsula. To reach it from the west in a vessel, we were obliged to circumnavigate the northern tip of the island, a region containing many icebergs and much visited by f og in summer. For two days when off Cape Bauld we were so blinded by fog that we did not dare attempt to enter a harbor, but stood on and off the coast within sound of that cape's great siren, which blew at brief intervals for seventy-two hours. What rendered our position precarious was the presence of many invisible icebergs and the fact that we were on the edge of the course of ocean liners which pass to the north of Newfoundland through the Straits of Belle Isle on the way to Quebec.

            On the third day the fog was dissipated, but a heavy rain fell and a strong wind blew. We sailed up Hare Bay nearly to the end where we found a small island, behind which we ran for shelter and cast anchor. On the following day, it poured so heavily that I hardly went on deck. Thus the weather continued until six o'clock the next morning when the rain ceased, the sun shone, and not a breath blew. With a friend, Doctor William J. Long, and Mattie, I set off immediately after breakfast to explore the best of these rivers. That day I had the greatest single day of salmon fishing I have ever enjoyed in my life. I hooked and played thirty-five fish, saving twenty and losing fifteen, and, as I was using small flies, I considered this a fair average. Doctor Long did about as well.

            The salmon of Hare Bay are not large, averaging from ten to twelve pounds, but neither are the salmon of most Newfoundland rivers. The size of salmon depends almost entirely on the geographical formation of the rivers the fish frequent, their depth, swiftness of current, the nature of their rapids and waterfalls. Most of the rivers of Newfoundland are rough and rapid, and some of them almost tumble off the mountains. Hence their fish are comparatively small. As Doctor Jordan puts it, "Salmon are 'geared' to the rivers they inhabit." This means that, by the law of survival, the river sustains the fish which are best able to mount its most difficult falls and rapids and to deposit their eggs in quiet places far up the river where they will hatch. The slower, deeper rivers of Newfoundland, such as the Humber, the Codroy and the Little Codroy, the Castor, and a few others, contain larger salmon, as do a good many rivers of northern Labrador. In Labrador I made a singular discovery. On some of the rivers the salmon will take the fly freely. On others, only a few miles distant, they will not take a fly at all. I should hesitate to make this statement from my own limited experience, but Sir Charles Dashwood, who had fished these rivers for years, once told me the same thing, namely, that on some of the Labrador rivers salmon are quite indifferent to the fly.

            We returned from our wonderful fishing, laden with the salmon we had kept. I was cold, tired, hungry, and wet from wading in the river all day and I went to my cabin to change my clothes and get ready for supper. Captain Hilliard joined me looking grave and troubled. He said, "A very curious thing has happened since you went away which you ought to look into and we must be careful what, we say about it, or we shall lose our crew and Mattie too. They are greatly excited over it." He then proceeded to tell me the following story.

            Soon after he and the crew had eaten their midday meal, Michael Gillis, the cook, had proposed to him that they take one of the schooner's dories and explore the little island behind which the vessel was anchored. The atmosphere was perfectly still, the bay like a mirror. The sun was shining, and after their long confinement on the schooner they felt a desire to stretch their legs and to walk in the woods. They had with them one of the sailors to row the dory. The island was, as I remember it, less than a mile long, pointed at both ends, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide at the broadest part. It lay less than half a mile off shore, at the head of the bay, and our vessel lay between it and the mainland. Its interior was shaggy with trees and bushes, and its surface was rough, containing many large rocks which would serve well as a hiding place.

            I must revert to the conditions of the weather preceding the event I am narrating, otherwise the incident would have little significance. We had come up the bay two days before in a furious rain-storm, which had continued until about six o'clock that morning when the sailors were on deck. In such a place not the smallest event could happen without attracting attention. If a seal lifted his head above the water he would be noticed by some one. In other words, it would have been strictly impossible for a man to paddle a canoe or row in a boat to the island in daylight after we had cast anchor without our seeing him. And yet a man was on the island and he had performed an act that he could not have done until the wind and rain had ceased.

            As the Captain and Michael were walking along the shore on the edge of the woods, something shining among the trees caught their eyes. They hastened to it and there, securely set on a big horizontal branch of a fir tree, a large church candle was burning. To persons who have never left their homes this may seem a trifling occurrence. But men who have dwelt in the wilderness will understand the overwhelming amazement and fear with which they regarded this strange spectacle. The candle was about an inch and a half in diameter, and, when they first saw it, it was about eighteen inches tall. They tasted it, and it was made of wax. The branch on which it stood had been carefully squared with a sharp knife. The candle, as they could judge from its drippings, had not been burning long. How had it got there, hundreds of miles from any church, on an island, in a section of country at that time totally devoid of inhabitants? Above all, what did it signify? What was the meaning of a lighted candle in this desolate spot? Why was it burning in the daytime, and where was the man who had lighted it? In all probability, he was still hiding on the island quite near them. So the captain and Michael began to halloo and to call on this man, whoever he was, to come out and show himself, promising to do him no harm. But no voice answered, and no strange form appeared.

            By this time both men were nonplussed and not a little frightened, while the sailor who accompanied them was absolutely terrified. He insisted on returning to the schooner, which they did. After talking the matter over, Captain Hilliard took one of my rifles and returned with Michael and found the candle still burning. He fired several shots, and again they called and entreated the hiding man to come forth, but there was no reply.

            This was the story the captain told me in my cabin. I called Doctor Long and Mattie and we stepped into our canoe, which was still trailing, and with Captain Hilliard we paddled over. The candle was still burning, though it was now not more than an inch long. I wished to take it with me as a souvenir, but the captain told me that if I took it on board not a man would remain on the schooner, that they would desert me as soon as an opportunity offered. The most curious psychical reaction to this event was the effect it produced on the mind of the Indian, who regarded the scene with silent horror. It was too dark to make a search of the island that night. In such an attempt Mattie's faculties were infinitely better than ours) and I said to him, "We can't do anything tonight, but tomorrow I want you to call Doctor Long and me at daylight and we'll go ashore and ransack that island from one end to the other till we find that man -unless he gets away tonight." As we had seen no boat or canoe, this did not seem probable.

            The Indian looked at me darkly and said: "I never put foot on dat island again. I know dis country, I travel through it since I was a boy. Never see nutten like dat afore. Dat candle wasn't put dere by human hands. It's a sign, a sign dat all you fellows is goin' to be drowned. I won't go on dat schooner again. I go home." Nor could any argument dissuade him. Mattie lived on the west coast at Bonne Bay and though the northern end of Newfoundland is not wide, yet with its lakes and forests and rivers, it would prove very difficult for an ordinary man to traverse without a canoe, and, moreover, Mattie was accompanied on this trip by his son Laurence, a lad of fourteen. I pointed out these difficulties to the Indian, but he merely said: "You give me four spikes. I cross anything in Newfoundland' on four spikes." I saw that he referred to a raft of logs which he could tie together by two stringers spiked down.

            With difficulty I persuaded Mattie to return to the schooner for the night by the promise of provisions for his journey. Early the next morning he and Laurence departed with an axe, a rifle, and all the food they wished to carry. When I saw them a fortnight later, they still bore traces of the hardships of their long walk. Their shoes were worn out, and their clothing was tattered. Mattle, however, was in much better spirits. On the way he had killed a beaver and a caribou, and had found several good pearls which he presented to me.

            At the time of which I am writing, Newfoundland was patrolled by two small British war vessels, one on either coast. My curiosity in regard to the candle was so great that I did not wish to leave the mystery unsolved. Finding that I could get no help from my men, who were anxious to be gone, I sailed about fifty miles farther south and found the war-ship in harbor. The captain received Doctor Long and me courteously and he was so much interested in our story that he summoned his officers and engaged us in conversation for more than two hours. He knew Mattie well, and as the Indian had guided him on several hunting and fishing excursions, he respected him highly. He ascribed his desertion to superstition. I asked the English captain if any of his men had deserted, but he denied this. I begged him to return with me to the bay and to help me to make a thorough search for the hidden man. He told me he could not leave his present station for another ten days. "After that, Sir," he added, "you may be sure that I shall ransack the whole country. Such a problem as this must be solved." I asked him if he could form any conjecture as to who the man was, what he was doing, how he got onto the island, and how he had escaped. The captain replied: "This whole matter is beyond my comprehension and outside my experience of the people on this island. The man may be a criminal who is hiding from justice. All these people are Catholics. He must have come from a distance, and he may have stolen the candle from a church and have lighted it with the thought of atoning for his crime. He must have been on the island when you arrived, or you would have seen him cross. He probably had a canoe which he concealed in the bushes. It puzzles me to understand why he should have lighted the candle while you were about. Perhaps he thought that your men would not go ashore on this island. Perhaps he wished to frighten you away, as he seems to have succeeded in doing. If you will give me your address, I will inform you if I learn anything further and you can depend on me to bring the whole matter to light if I can do so. I don't like to have such things happen on my beat, especially as I fish the Hare Bay rivers a good deal myself. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

            I never heard from this captain, and the whole matter remained a mystery. The next winter when Doctor Grenfell came to Emmanuel Church to preach, the first question he asked me was, "Did you ever learn who lighted the candle?" I replied, "No, how do you know about it?" He said, "That story has gone all over the North, and I have heard it told in a dozen places." I asked him if any clue to the mystery had ever been discovered. "None whatever and I guess that the problem will never be solved. If Mattie hadn't behaved so badly, you and he might have found the man who must have been hiding on the island at the time, but when Captain ____ came with his sailors not a trace remained."