In the meantime, bitter struggles with the French had been going on. The French recognized in Newfoundland a key to their possessions in Canada along the Gulf and River of St. Lawrence. They succeeded in gaining a foothold on the south shore of Newfoundland, and from there frequently attacked the English settlements to the north, until the Treaty of Utrecht compelled them to give up their holdings. All that remains of French possessions in this part of the world are the islands of Miquelon and St. Pierre just south of Newfoundland. With the prohibition wave that swept over North America, the port of St. Pierre has had a great boom as headquarters of the bootlegging fleets of the North Atlantic. It has grown rich by taxing the liquor traffic, so much so, in fact, that St. John’s is casting envious eyes at its island neighbour, and making plans to get into this profitable trade. I had my first glimpse of the native cod as I entered St. John’s harbour. Just as our steamer passed a motor dory lying off shore, one of the men in her caught a big fish. He pulled it out of the water, and after holding it up to our view, clubbed it on the head and threw it into the boat. To-day I visited one of the fishing villages, where I saw the day’s catches landed and talked with the fishermen. I took a motor in St. John’s and drove out to Waterford Valley, up over the gray rocky hills into the back country. On the heights I found a blue pond, just below it another, and then another, like so many steps leading from the heights down to the sea. The last pond ended in a great wooden flume running down the rocky gorge to a little power station that supplies electricity to the city of St. John’s.