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Updated: May 26, 2025
Two year ago I camp on Tignish Lun. Make basket, catch trout, shoot flover. Go hevery Sunday to mass, that same place, take squaw, papoose, boy, girl, all folks. Know that bell, sure. To-day Sunday, and folks going into chapel." "He must be right," said La Salle, "but we are now near the berg, and from its top we shall see if we are indeed near the North Cape.
Isn't it too bad that the strait is sometimes frozen over in winter? It is. Some people cross to New Brunswick on ice boats from Cape Traverse; that must be exciting and rather cold. She thought so too. Did she come from Charlottetown? No. Out Tignish way? Yes; halfway from Charlottetown to Tignish. Queen's County? Good apple country?
"I hear the sound of a church bell. We must be near the land." "It must be from the tower of the Tignish Chapel, then," said La Salle, "for no other land save the North Cape lies in our course." Again a blast came whistling among the defiles, and again a calm succeeded.
All listened in breathless silence, and again the wished-for sound which spoke of the proximity of human society and Christian worship, came pealing across the desolate wastes, deserted of everything having life, and impressing the fancy of the beholder as does the desolation of long-forgotten cities, or the shattered marbles of the unremembered dead. "I know that place. That bell Tignish Chapel.
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