every direction, as
if in play. Often have I been startled by one as it rose, suddenly, and
with a loud snort, close by the little yacht, while we lay at anchor for
the night. I was told here, that the calf, or young, of this whale
utters a kind of bleating cry, and that the mother whales frequently
carry their young ones upon their backs. Some few years ago I had an
opportunity of verifying the truth of these statements by observing the
habits of a white whale and her calf that were exhibited by Mr. Cutter,
of Boston, at Jones's Wood, near New York. The calf used to throw itself
upon the back of its dam, with a peculiar squeal, and remain there till
carried several times round the tank. Brush wears are built by the
inhabitants of these coasts for the capture of this kind of whale, which
is generally called the white porpoise here. These wears are merely
hedges of stiff brushwood, arranged so as to enclose a wedge-like space,
with its wide end open to the river. The whales wander up into them,
when they soon become embarrassed by the obstacles on either side,
losing their reckoning at last, and "coming to grief" by being stranded
upon the beach when the tide ebbs. They are not uncommonly from sixteen
to twenty feet in length, and specimens have occasionally been captured
which had attained the great length of forty feet. One of average size
will yield about a hundred gallons of oil. A soft and excellent leather,
well adapted for shoemakers' and other work, is now manufactured from
their skins, which were first discovered to be available for this
purpose by an enterprising Canadian named Tetu, residing, I think, at
Kamouraska, on the southern bank of the river.

The chase of the _pourcil_--a small species of whale, not often
exceeding five or six feet in length, and of a sooty color--affords good
sport, hereabouts, to those who are skilful and hardy enough to follow
it. In calm, clear weather only the hunter dares to pursue this creature
in his frail canoe, and even then he runs the risk of being caught in
one of the squalls that arise so suddenly on this part of the St.
Lawrence. One hunter sits in the stern of the canoe, and paddles, while
the other, armed with a long duck-gun, loaded with buck-shot, kneels in
the bow. Now and then the _pourcil_ emerges partly from the water, and
the canoe is kept swiftly upon his course until a chance offers for a
shot. Sometimes the creature is killed by the shot, but more frequently