THE RIVER OF HOCHELAGA.
It was about three hours before the _Corsican_ emerged from the last
labyrinth of foliage-clad, pine-crested islands, and came in sight of
the little town of Brockville. The banks of the river, as they
approached, varying from a high table-land to a low, rocky shore, were
lined with summer cottages, where holiday makers were evidently
enjoying themselves with a prodigality of hunting and an ample supply
of skiffs. Here and there, they came upon a little flotilla of boats,
setting out for an all-day excursion, whose passengers waved their
hats and cheered, as if they had been the first Indians who beheld the
white man's "winged canoes." A ferry boat was busily plying up and
down, embarking and disembarking passengers at the little piers that
fringed the shore, and an air of holiday brightness seemed to pervade
the scene. There was a short stoppage at Brockville, and then the
_Corsican_ was off again, and the last of the "Thousand Islands" were
soon left far behind.
It was a still, soft, dreamy August day, and the sail down the calm,
broad stretch succeeding was almost sleepy in its tranquillity.
Prescott and its neighboring windmill elicited some historic
reminiscences from Mrs. Sandford concerning the time when poor rash
Von Schultz held his extemporized fortress against an unequal force,
only to be overpowered at last, and to expiate his reckless credulity
on a scaffold at Fort Henry, which they had so recently seen.
Then there were the _Galops_ Rapids, and a little later the small
Rapid Du Plat, and then the historic associations of Chrysler's Farm.
Afterwards the steamer began to heave and plunge as the snowy crests
of the great white coursers of the _Long Sault_ gleamed before them,
rising like ocean breakers to meet the gallant vessel, which plunged
in upon them with almost conscious pride, and rode triumphantly over
them with an exultant swaying movement, more like the bounding of a
spirited steed than of a piece of inanimate matter. Hugh was delighted
beyond expression, and so were May and Flora. It was even grander than
either had anticipated, and both breathed a deep sigh of regret when
the last buoyant leap was over, and the steamer floated, with her
ordinary motion, into the calm expanse in front of the town of
Cornwall. And now there were blue hills to be seen on the horizon to
their right, as they passed down the quiet sweep of river, with a few
green islands dotting the channel, on which they could catch, here and
there, glimpses of summer cottages and camping parties that reminded
them of the "Thousand Islands," though with a considerable difference,
for here was nothing like the same scope for boating or variety of
scenery as in that enchanted region. Then there was the long, sleepy
afternoon sail across the wide Lake St. Francis, during which Mrs.
Sandford retired to her state-room to make up for her lost morning
slumber, and the three girls drowsed over the books they were
professing to read. May had brought out her cherished copy of "The
Chance Acquaintance," which she had with her, but had kept in reserve
till now, that she might revive her recollections of its fascinating
pictures, and enjoy in advance the grey old city, which she had
already seen so often in imagination; and was now, at length, to
behold with her bodily eyes. As she dropped the book at last, overcome
by the sleepy influence of the afternoon, Hugh took it up, and had
become much interested in its fascinating pages, when the whistle of
the steamer, on arriving at Coteau Du Lac, startled the girls out of
their nap, and woke them up, laughing over the oblivion which had
swallowed up the last two hours. The little French village of "The
Coteau," with its long pier, and the little brown houses and big
church, gave the travellers a first glimpse into French Canada, quite
in keeping with the spirit of the little book; and the succeeding
scenery, growing every moment more picturesque, was to May idealized
with a touch of poetry reflected from Mr. Howells' charming little
romance. After leaving the Coteau village, they passed the short
Coteau Rapids, and then the drowsy old village of Beauharnois, with a
pastoral landscape of green uplands and bowery orchards behind
it,--after which they saw before them, beneath a richly wooded shore, a
glittering stretch of interwoven blue and silver. And soon the steamer
began to pitch herself forward, as she was swiftly hurried down the
rapid incline, past cedar-covered points and islets,--so swiftly that
it seemed as if they could scarcely take in the striking beauty of the
scene till it had been left behind and the rapid was past. And thus in
quick succession they passed "The Cascades" with its white breakers
glittering in the sun, and the "Split Rock" with its great black
jagged boulders, past which they flew like a flash; after which, as
the afternoon sunshine began to slant softly on the water, they glided
out on the great placid reach of Lake St. Louis. The distant blue
range of the Adirondacks had remained on their right for a
considerable portion of their way, but now, before them, rose the
soft, cloud-like vision,--apparently triple in its conformation, which
Kate announced was Cartier's "Mont Royal," at the feet of which lay
the city of Montreal. It held their eyes with a spell of fascination
as they crossed the lake, growing more and more distinct until they
could distinguish its various divisions and the masses of woodland
that clothed it, and even the large buildings which here and there
gleamed out from its darker mass.
And now they were passing the Indian village of Caughnawaga, with its
long line of little French-looking houses fringing the shore, while on
their left lay Lachine, with the glorious green mountain--a mass of
verdure from top to bottom, rising behind the straggling white
village, flanked by its grey stone church and _Presbytere_, while the
western sun shed a flood of golden glory over the shining lake. Then
came the descent of the Lachine Rapids, the most exciting of all, and
the three travellers who saw it for the first time, held their breath
as the steamer rushed on, within a hair-breadth, as it seemed, of
striking the jagged rocks, that raised their rough black heads above
the white breakers. There was not the mass and the thunder of water of
the Long Sault, nor the silvery beauty and rush of the Cedars and
Cascades, but the black rocks and ledges that seemed lying in wait,
like black monsters, to crush the vessel between their cruel teeth,
recalled to Hugh the old fable of Scylla and Charybdis. It was grandly
exciting to see the steamer, like a living thing, dart shuddering by
them, and rush at headlong speed through the boiling surges, with the
long wooded stretch of Nun's Island nestling, as it seemed, amid the
tossing waves, while the long spans of the Lachine and Victoria
bridges loomed up in front of them, and the bold mountain summits of
Bel[oe]il and Boucherville assumed exquisite violet hues under the magic
touch of the rapidly setting sun, which also lighted up the massive
city before them. There was hardly time to take in the full beauty of
the _coup d'[oe]il_ before the steamer was under Victoria Bridge, the
height of which they could not realize till they saw that the tall
masts could pass under it without being lowered. Presently they were
in the Canal Basin, amid what seemed a forest of masts and shipping,
and May, to her delight, could distinguish the great black hulls of
some ocean steamers lying in port. The long lines of massive grey
store-houses and docks also much impressed her unaccustomed eye; but
these were soon left behind as they drove rapidly up to the Windsor
Hotel, where they were to spend the next day. They were all hungry
enough, after their long afternoon in the open air, to enjoy heartily
the late dinner in the spacious dining-room of the Windsor, with its
glittering lights, its long rows of tables and lively groups of
guests. After dinner, the girls wandered through the long corridors
and sumptuous drawing-rooms, till May, at least, who had never been in
so large a hotel in her life, was quite bewildered by all the
grandeur. Then they sat on a balcony looking out on the long twinkling
ranks of electric lights, contrasting with the silvery radiance of the
moonlight, while Kate described to them vividly the glories of a
winter carnival she had seen, and the pure white, translucent beauty
of the wondrous Ice Palace which had silently risen in the Square
before them, and had afterwards, as it seemed, dissolved like a dream,
under the gentle touch of approaching spring.
Next morning they were all assembled at breakfast so early that they
had the dining-hall pretty much to themselves. A carriage had been
ordered for nine o'clock, as they did not wish to lose any of the
bright morning, and they drove for some hours--first, through the
old-fashioned French streets, past Notre Dame and the old Gray Nunnery
and the Bonsecours market, and the point where the first settlement of
Ville Marie was inaugurated, as Parkman has so graphically described
it. They looked at the old Bonsecours church, which recalled to Hugh
and Flora similar old churches in Normandy, then drove up St. Denis
street, past Our Lady of Lourdes and the other ecclesiastical
buildings which cluster around it, and finished their morning with a
glimpse at the pretty Art Gallery.
After luncheon they again set off, and drove along Sherbrooke Street
and through McGill College grounds, inspecting its groups of fine
buildings, and through the bosky avenues that run upward to "the
mountain," and then up to "the mountain" itself, enjoying the
magnificent views, from the Mountain Park drive, of plain and river
and distant hills, quite as much as did Champlain, who could not see,
even in a vision, the stately city that now replaces the Indian
wigwams and maize-fields, which then bore the name of Hochelaga. They
ascended to the very brow of the noble hill, taking in, as they went,
the whole sweep of view, from the winding course towards Quebec on the
left, to the extreme right, where they could catch a glimpse of the
Lachine Rapids, flashing white in the sunshine.
The day passed only too swiftly in this pleasant sight-seeing, and
they had to be at their hotel for a six o'clock dinner, in order to be
ready to leave for Quebec at seven. When at last they drove off, Kate
gave the order, "to the Quebec boat!" May heaved a deep sigh of
pleasure. It seemed as if her cup was now indeed full.
They found the large double-decked steamer filling up rapidly with
parties of tourists, some of them evidently--from their piles of
luggage--_en route_ for Murray Bay, or Metis, or some other
watering-place on the Gulf. Quebec was to them an everyday affair, and
they talked of it in a careless and cursory fashion which to May, with
her enthusiastic veneration for its associations, seemed little less
than sacrilege.
As they passed down the smooth winding river, while the twilight was
falling, silvered by the brightening moon, Flora began to talk of Mr.
Winthrop, and to express her regret at his inability to come on with
them. "It was too bad," she added, "that Hugh forestalled him, in
going to Kate's rescue, was it not? I'm afraid he will hardly forgive
Hugh in a hurry."
"But Hugh couldn't have waited for him," said May.
"What are you two talking about?" asked Kate, whose ear had been
caught by the words, while talking to her aunt and Hugh.
"Oh, we were only talking about poor Mr. Winthrop," replied Flora,
"and his vexation with Hugh for getting before him in rescuing you."
"Why should he have _let_ Hugh get before him, then?" she asked.
Hugh looked up with a half-puzzled air; then it seemed as if something
had dawned upon him--previously unthought of--and, in a few explicit
words, he explained the whole situation, doing ample justice to Mr.
Winthrop. Kate listened attentively, and though she was very quiet all
the rest of the evening, May fancied that her face was cleared of a
shadow that had clouded it before. She took up May's "Chance
Acquaintance" and soon became absorbed in it,--not laying it down till
she had rushed through it to the last page.
"Wasn't it too bad," said Flora, "that Kitty sent off Mr. Arbuton like
that?"
"_I_ think it was too bad that Mr. Arbuton didn't _come back_,"
retorted Kate. "If he only had done _that_, a few days after, Kitty
would have forgiven him and he could have made a fresh start."
"I feel sure that he _did_, in the end," asserted May, dogmatically.
"I mean to write a sequel to it some day!" and then they all went off
to their berths.
The three girls were up almost by daylight in the morning, watching
the brightening sunshine flush the red rock of Cap Rouge, and then the
gradual unfolding of the river panoramas as they passed headland after
headland, each opening a fair, new vista beyond. Soon a glittering
church steeple gleamed out from the southern shore, rising
protectingly over white villages nestling at their feet. Curving
recesses of the wooded bank, outlined by one long, picturesque French
village street, followed the bend of the shore to the left. "That is
Sillery," said Kate, in reply to May's eager enquiries.
"Oh," said May, "that is the place where the old Jesuit residence
was,--that Kitty and Mr. Arbuton went to see."
After the point of Sillery was rounded, there rose, at last, before
their delighted eyes, the historic grey rock of Quebec, with its
mural-crowned rampart and bastions, and the houses and convents and
great churches of the old city climbing up its sides or rambling along
the plateau at its foot.
"Oh, that is the citadel!" exclaimed May, breathless with delight.
"And that is Dufferin Terrace, with the straight line of railing and
the little pavilions," explained Kate, while the grim old grey houses
above them recalled to Hugh and Flora memories of the old French towns
they had seen abroad. As soon as they could disengage themselves from
the bustle and confusion of the crowded quay, Kate, who had declared
that a _caleche_ was as much "the thing" in Quebec as a gondola in
Venice, signalled to two _caleche_ drivers, and the junior members of
the party were soon perched on their high seats, while Mrs. Sandford
and the luggage went up more comfortably in a commonplace cab. As they
rattled over the rough pavements and through the tortuous narrow
streets, which--as Kate remarked to Flora--"are just like Europe, I'm
sure," they drove up Mountain Hill, passing the spot where Prescott
Gate used to be of old, and catching a glimpse of the Basilica, or
cathedral, _en route_. They clattered rapidly over the hard paved
streets of the upper town, and drove, to May's delight, through a
massive old gate with deep, round arches, which the smiling driver
announced as "Porte St. Jean." Just outside it they passed a little
French marketplace, and then, after passing one or two crowded
streets, they were finally set down in front of a tall, three-story
stone house with a red door.
The travelers were, of course, expected, and received with kind
courtesy by their hostess, Mrs. Dale, who took them at once up two
flights of stairs. "If they _are_ high, they have the better view,"
she said, smiling. And so they had. The girls broke out into
exclamations of delight, as they gazed from the old-fashioned open
windows. In front they looked across streets and houses to the
_glacis_ of the Citadel, crowned by its line of ramparts, and could
follow, for some distance, the city wall without. The back window
commanded a glorious picture. Across a dusky mass of brown,
steep-roofed houses, only half lighted up yet by the morning sun, they
looked out on a green, undulating champaign country, flecked with
patches of deep green woodland, and little white villages clustering
here and there round their great church spires; while, for background,
rose a grand range of hills, stretching far away in interminable blue
vista--all grey and violet in shadow and silvery blue in the sunlight,
as the morning mists drifted away, and a wandering sunbeam caught and
glorified a tiny white hamlet nestling in the folds of a wooded hill.
Just where the sunbeams straggled away into the green country a silver
stream wound glittering in the sun, making a bright loop round a
point, on which, amid some trees, stood a large stone building.
"That is the St. Charles, you know," explained Kate, "and there, where
you see it twisted like a silver loop, is the place where stood the
first mission house of the Recollets, and the Jesuits afterwards."
"Oh!" said May quickly, "I know! Notre Dame des Anges, was it not? So
_that_ was the place where they had their thatched log cabin and where
they used to be half frozen in winter, when they were trying to learn
the Indian language from their interpreter, while their biggest wood
fires could not keep them warm, or their ink from freezing!"
"And, just a little farther down is the place where they suppose
Jacques Cartier laid up his ships, when he first came; as you were
reading to us the other day, Hugh."
"Ah, and so that is the place where they went through so much
suffering, that terrible winter, when the ships and masts and rigging
were all cased in ice, like ghostly ships at the North Pole, and when
the cold and the scurvy were killing them off so fast, that it seemed
as if none of them would be left to see the spring. How they must have
welcomed its coming at last!"
Then Kate pointed out the green, low-lying meadow beyond the St.
Charles, called _La Canardiere_, because wild ducks used there to
abound, and their eyes followed the long white line of the village of
Beauport, running between the grand Laurentian hills and the green
slopes that edged the blue St. Lawrence, studded with white sails, and
winding away between the Island of Orleans and the northern shore;
while, far down the high river bank, they could just distinguish the
dark purple cleft of the Montmorency Falls. But they were presently
reminded that breakfast was waiting, and, after their early start they
were quite ready thoroughly to enjoy the fresh rolls and eggs and
delicious raspberries and cream, while they planned their day's
sight-seeing, so as to accomplish the utmost that could be done in the
hours before them.
They determined first of all to scale the Citadel, taking Dufferin
Terrace on their way. They went round by the new Parliament buildings,
entering the city by the St. Louis gate, with its new Norman towers
and embrasures. Kate, to whom the place was familiar of old, grew
indignant over the ravages made in the solid old fortifications just
outside the walls, and thought the fine new Parliament buildings did
not by any means make up for it. "One could see new buildings any day,
but that wasn't what one came to Quebec for," she remarked. They
passed by the Esplanade and the winding ascent to the Citadel, and the
sedate old-fashioned houses of St. Louis Street, and the little
steep-roofed wooden cottage near the hotel, now a saloon, where once
lay the body of the brave Montcalm. Presently they came to the "Ring,"
as the old _Place d'Armes_ is often called--the scene, as May reminded
them, of so many interesting events in the old French _regime_.
"For there, you know," she said, "the gate of the old Chateau St.
Louis fronted the square, and here there used to be state receptions
of the Indians, when treaties were concluded; and here, too, they let
the poor Hurons build a fort when they had been almost exterminated by
the Iroquois."
Hugh was much interested, as they passed on, in the sight of the old
Chateau near the shady walks of the Governor's Gardens, and in the
monument erected to the joint memory of the two brave heroes, Wolfe
and Montcalm. And then they came out on the long promenade, now known
as Dufferin Terrace, and stopped to take in the magnificent panorama,
the wide river, with the picturesque heights of Levis immediately
opposite, and the crowded shipping below; and then, immediately
beneath them, they looked down into the depths of the Lower Town at
their feet, in which May was eager to discover the site of the old
"_Abitation_" of Champlain.
"I think it was just about where the Champlain Market is now," Kate
replied--"that open space with all the market-carts of the _habitans_,
and all the people doing their marketing."
Then they gazed down into the narrow alleys of Little Champlain
Street, with the tall, grimy houses that rose up just below them,
which, as Flora said, reminded her so much of some of the old "wynds"
of Edinburgh; and were shown the little old church, "_Notre Dame des
Victoires_," which played so important a part in the early history of
Quebec. May could have remained all day dreaming over these old
historic associations, nor did Hugh Macnab seem much inclined to tear
himself away from the fascinating scene. But Kate was determined to
keep them up to "schedule time," and she and her watch were
relentless, so they reluctantly tore themselves away, being promised a
still finer view from above, and mounted a long steep stair rising
from the end of the Terrace. They could not resist the temptation of
looking around from time to time as the view widened at every step,
till at last, drawing a deep breath, they stood at the top of the
_glacis_ and gazed at the superb view around them, the closely built
Lower Town, the forest of shipping, the steamboats darting to and fro,
the opposite heights, fringed with steep-roofed, balconied houses and
sprinkled with distant white villages creeping up their receding
sides, and large, stately convents peeping out of clustered and
embosoming trees; while just beneath their feet a black ocean steamer
was getting up her steam to sail away down the great river to the sea.
Walking back along the _glacis_, they reached the winding ascent to
the Citadel, which they followed, between its high stone-faced banks,
till they reached the ancient, curiously-woven chain gates, said to be
impregnable, and leading into the wide green ditch. Then they passed
through the massive portals of Dalhousie Gate, with its guardrooms and
casemates built into the solid walls on either side, where the
warlike-looking sentries politely saluted the ladies and put them
under the charge of a soldier guide. He led them first across the wide
court-yard to the King's Bastion by the flagstaff, from whence they
could feast their eyes on such a view as May, at least, had never seen
before. All about them lay the city, mapped out with its walls and
ramparts, its church towers and steeples; at their feet, far below
them, the Terrace on which they had been recently standing; and below
that again, the grim old town, the docks and shipping and flitting
boats diminished to the size of playthings; then the green heights
opposite, and the bold blue outline of the Isle of Orleans, and the
calm broad river stealing silently away through the vista of distant
hills. It seemed like a dream that held them in its spell, till the
French soldier, to whom the view was an every-day affair, shrugged his
shoulders and said, "_allons_."
They continued their walk past the Officers' Quarters, in one of which
was the Governor General's summer residence;--past the magazine and
stables, where many little dogs were playing about, and came out at
last on what they thought the most glorious view of all,--that from the
Prince's Bastion, so called, because a Prince's feather, carved in
stone on the wall, marks the spot where the Prince of Wales once laid
his hand when visiting Quebec. From it they could see, far away to the
south, rank after rank of distant blue hills, some of them in Maine
and Vermont. To westward they could follow the river till it was
hidden behind a green projecting point which shut in the Bay of
Sillery, while away to the west and north stretched a long succession
of blue hills, with white villages gleaming among their wooded sides,
amidst which, too, they could trace the silvery ribbon of the St.
Charles, winding its way down out of the shadowy recesses of the
distant mountains.
The travellers found no words adequate to express the delight awakened
by the glorious picture, and gazed on in silence, while light mists
floated away from the summits of the hills, and sudden glints of
sunshine gave them an added touch of glorious beauty.
But they could not stay there all day, and all too soon they turned
away from the beautiful picture, which they would often hereafter see
before the inner eye; and returned along the walls, past little piles
of cannon balls and gun-mounted embrasures, till they came down again
into the court-yard and the wide, green ditch, on the slope of which
sleek cows were peacefully grazing, close to the now harmless guns.
Whither should they go next? They would just have time, Kate said, to
take in the Basilica and the Ursuline convent before luncheon.
Thither, accordingly, they went, meeting long-robed ecclesiastics and
bright-eyed academy boys in their trim gray uniforms;--pretty French
nurse-maids and British orderlies, hurrying along laden with packages
of official papers, all just as it had been described in "A Chance
Acquaintance." The Basilica, or great French Cathedral, they found
rather disappointing within, for the impression of massiveness made by
the exterior seemed incongruous with the gaudy white and gold of the
interior decorations.
"It seems rather out of keeping," said Hugh, a little discontentedly,
"with what one reads of its history, in those stormy old times, when
the French colonists used to come here to pray for deliverance from
Iroquois raids, or to offer up thanksgiving for some timely succor."
"But you know, it has been rebuilt more than once since those old
times," said Kate; and May tried to recall in imagination the great
bare-raftered building of those old days, and found much satisfaction
in the high porcelain stoves at the entrance, which gave a "foreign
look" to the building at once.
To the Ursuline chapel they went next, and, after application made at
a grated window of the convent, a tranquil-faced nun opened the great
door, and they passed into the quiet little chapel, so dainty in all
its arrangements, and looked at the great picture, by Champlain, of
Christ at the house of Simon, the Pharisee,--at the tablet to the
memory of Montcalm, whose skull is still preserved there;--and then,
with still more interest at the tiny jet of flame in the glass
chandelier, kept alight, for a hundred and fifty years, in memory of a
young French girl who took the veil all those years ago, and whose
brothers made provision to preserve in perpetuity this touching
tribute to her memory. But the rosy-faced, contented looking s[oe]ur, who
acted as guide, would by no means let them pass out without special
attention to the elaborate flower painting on velvet which adorned the
altar, and testified at least to the skill and industry of the present
nuns.
Just as they came out, Kate had an unexpected _rencontre_ with an old
school-mate visiting Quebec on her wedding tour. As they were about to
part,--after a hundred rapid questions and answers had been
exchanged,--Kate's friend exclaimed:
"And where do you think I am boarding? At the very house where Kitty
in 'A Chance Acquaintance,' stayed; and if you will just come with me
you shall look from the very window of Kitty's room and see the view
of which the book gives such a lively description."
May was enchanted, and the girls were soon looking into the garden of
the Ursuline convent from the window at which her favorite heroine was
supposed to have stood, looking down at the shady walks below. Kate
and Flora declared that it did not look quite so poetical as in Mr.
Howell's pages, but May would not entertain the idea of
disappointment, and tried to see all Kitty saw, though encroaching
buildings have a good deal spoiled the quaint old garden, amid whose
lilacs and tall hollyhocks that young lady used, on moonlight nights,
to evolve the shades of Madame de la Peltrie and the first heroic
tenants of the convent.
After the morning's adventures the early dinner was very welcome, as
well as a little rest, with the view from their fascinating windows
before them; after which they strolled along the Grand Battery and
quiet Esplanade, and penetrated into the quaintly picturesque grounds
of the Artillery Barracks, and looked from the weather-beaten old
arsenal on the wall, at the beautiful glimpse, across docks and grimy
old suburbs, of the fair green valley of the St. Charles, with
Charlesbourg opposite, sitting royally on her hilltops.
"And, beyond it, you know," said May, mixing up fact and fiction, "are
the ruins of the old Chateau Bigot, where the wicked Intendant had his
pleasure-parties and carousals, and where Kitty and Mr. Arbuton went
for a picnic,--don't you recollect?"
They did not find time to go to see it, however, but explored the city
pretty thoroughly, finding in the name of every street a bit of
crystallized history, recalling some name or incident connected with
its past. There was Donnacona Street,--recalling the kidnapped Indian
chief, and Breboeuf Street, reminding them of the two heroic Jesuit
martyrs,--and Buade Street, associated with the haughty and energetic
Governor, Louis Buade de Frontenac, under whom the French _regime_ saw
its proudest days. They walked along the ramparts as far as the new
"improvements," then in progress, would let them and sighed over the
ruthless demolition of the old gates--Prescott Gate and Palace Gate,
and the picturesque old Hope Gate, so graphically described by Mr.
Howells, and even over the renovation of the others, which had lost
all their historic interest. They spent some hours in diving into the
recesses of the old town, its marketplace and churches and curious old
alleys, dignified by the name of streets, and walked along the Saulx
Aux Matelots, trying to fix the very place where Arnold fell, on that
miserable December morning of 1775; and looked long at the "Golden
Dog"--_Chien d'or_--above the Post Office, whereby hangs a tragic tale.
And they had a quiet Sunday for resting, with those lovely glimpses of
distant hills meeting their eyes wherever they turned; and attended a
service in the quaint old-fashioned English Cathedral, which, with the
equally old-fashioned Scottish church and Manse, have such a quaint
old-world air, like everything else in Quebec.
But of course they drove to Montmorency Falls, devoting to it a whole
delightful afternoon. Their course lay across Dorchester Bridge, and
then between meadows of emerald green, stretching down to the river
and fringed with graceful elms and beeches, with pretty old-fashioned
country houses here and there, which the girls of course called
_chateaux_, and then down the long village street of Beauport,--the
steep-roofed little houses in bright variety of color succeeding each
other for several miles, with their long garden-like strips of farm
extending down to the river on one side, and upwards towards the hills
on the other. Bright flowers grew in front of the windows, and trim,
dark-eyed French girls sat at the doors and on the little balconies,
sewing or knitting away busily, while they chattered in their native
tongue. In the middle of the village stood the great stone church,
with its bright tin-covered steeples, seen ever so many miles off.
After passing Beauport the scenery grew wilder, and soon they rattled
over a wooden bridge, below which the foaming Montmorency brawled over
the brown rocks, at this late season partially dry. A little farther
on stood the inn, where carriages wait, and they had only to pass
through a gate and walk along the high river bank to the dizzy stair
down the cliff, from whence they could see to the best advantage the
beautiful fall, plunging in one avalanche of foam from the giddy
height above, crowned by deep green woods that contrasted strongly
with the glittering sheet of foam and spray, while a few beautiful
little outlying cascades trickled over the dark brown rock in braided
threads of silver.
"How delightful it would be," said May and Flora together, "to stay a
whole month at that little inn, and come every day to sit here; and
look and look, till one was satisfied!" And the others sighed
regretfully as the fast descending sun warned them that it was time to
return to the inn where they had left the carriage, and drive home
past the bright little gardens and picturesque cottages of
Beauport--brighter in the slanting rays of the evening sun,--and
rejoiced in the golden glory which the sunset threw over the tin roofs
of Quebec, glittering with an intense golden radiance out of the grey
setting of rock and misty distance.
But May thought their morning at Sillery the climax of all the
delights of Quebec. They went by one of the steamboats which are
always darting up and down the river, so that from its deck, they had
another fine view of the quaint grey town rising, tier above tier, to
the Terrace above, where the people looked like Lilliputian figures
out of a doll's house. Then they steamed slowly past the crowded
docks, the great black steamships and stately sailing vessels, some of
them bearing strange Swedish or Norwegian names,--past the root of Cape
Diamond, crowned by the Citadel, on the rocky side of which they could
distinctly read the inscription: "Here Montgomery Fell;" past the long
street of French houses that lines the shore below the plains; past
fine wooded heights with stately white country houses gleaming through
the deep green foliage; till, on turning a point of the leafy cliff,
they saw before them the curve of Sillery Bay, with its fringe of many
colored cottages and yellow rafts and lumber piles; while opposite,
the great stone church with its gleaming steeple towered over the
flourishing village of New Liverpool. Stepping out upon the wooden
pier, the travellers walked on past the anchored rafts on which men
were busy squaring timber with practised strokes, and up to where the
gracefully curving village street began. And there May had a
delightful surprise. A dilapidated weather-worn old cottage stood
before them, and above it, from an overhanging elm, hung a board on
which they read the inscription: "_Emplacement du convent des
Religieuses Hospitalieres_."
"There!" exclaimed May, "that is the place where the nuns of the Hotel
Dieu lived when they first arrived with Madame de la Peltrie, before
they could make up their minds to build on the rough rocky site they
gave to them in Quebec." They all stood for a little while, looking at
the shabby old cottage, trying to imagine what that first Canadian
hospital looked like; and then they walked up the quaint old-fashioned
street, with its gambrel-roofed houses, each having its gay little
flower-garden in front, till they came to a gray stuccoed, two-story
house, standing a little way back from the street, with a square
enclosure just opposite, in which stood a plain white monument.
"There it is!" May exclaimed, with breathless delight; "the old Jesuit
residence! And that square opposite is the place where their little
church stood, just as it was all described."
They opened the stiff gate with some difficulty, and walked into the
little enclosure, where they read the inscription in French and
English,--one commemorating the rude little church where the Jesuits
and their Algonquin converts had worshipped, about two hundred and
fifty years ago; and the other dedicated to the memory of the first
missionary who died there--Pere Enemond Masse--the Pere utile, as he was
called, because he could do anything, from saying mass to
ship-building, or even tending the pigs of the establishment, thinking
nothing beneath him that needed to be done, and being such a favorite
with all that he was always chosen to accompany their expeditions as
Father Confessor. Most of this May was able to tell the rest of the
party, as they stood beneath the two maples that shaded the enclosure.
Then they took a look at the outside of the old residence, which,
however, has been renewed more than once since the substantial inner
framework was built, and tried to imagine the strange solitary life
that its inmates must have lived, especially in bitter winter weather,
shut out from all society, except that of a few Algonquins and
trappers.
That afternoon was their last in Quebec. They drove in from Sillery by
the pretty St. Louis road, fringed with shady country seats, and
commanding, at many points, glorious glimpses of the grand mountain
panorama on both sides of the city. As they passed the "Plains of
Abraham" they stopped once more to look at the rather forlorn-looking
monument which commemorates Wolfe's death, and the victory for Great
Britain, which secured half a continent; and tried to trace the lines
of advance up the rugged cliffs by which the hero had surprised the
unsuspecting French. This was, appropriately enough, their last
sight-seeing in Quebec, and the evening following was spent on
Dufferin Terrace watching the exquisite sunset tints melt away from
the river and the distant hills, with a pathetic touch which seemed to
them like the memories they would always cherish of the romantic old
town.