_QUEBEC FOUNDED, JULY 3,_ 1608.
Fancy borne on the outspread wings of memory occasionally loves to soar
o'er the dull, prosaic present, far away into the haunted, dream-land of a
hazy but hopeful past.
Let us recall one year, in the revolving cycle of time--one day above all
days--for dwellers in Champlain's eyry keep pre-eminently sacred that
auspicious 3rd of July, 1608, when his trusty little band, in all twenty-
eight, founded the city destined soon to be the great Louis's proud forta-
lice,--the Queen city of the French western world.
On that memorable July day, would you, kind reader, like to ascend the
lofty slope of Cape Diamond, at the hour when the orb of light is shedding
his fierce, meridian rays on the verdant shores and glancing waters below,
and watch with bated breath the gradually increasing gap in the primeval
forest, which busy French axes are cleaving in order to locate the
residence--"L'ABITATION"--of a loved commander, Samuel de Champlain?
Or else would you, in your partiality for the cool of the evening, prefer
from the dizzy summit, where now stands our citadel, to gaze--which would
be more romantic--over the silent strand at your feet, pregnant with a
mighty future, at the mystic hour of eve, when the pale beams of Diana
will lend incomparable witchery to this novel scene. Few indeed the
objects denoting the unwelcome arrival of Europeans in this forest home of
the red man: the _prise de possession_ by the grasping outer barbarian--
for such Champlain must have appeared to the descendants of king
Donnacona. In the stream, the ripple of the majestic St. Lawrence caresses
the dark, indistinct hull of an armed bark: in Indian parlance, a "big
canoe [6] with wings"; on an adjoining height waves languidly with the
last breath of the breeze the lily standard of old France; on the shore, a
cross recently raised: emblems for us of the past and of the present:
State and Church linked together.
Such the objects decernible amid the hoary oaks, nodding pines, and green
hemlocks, below Cape Diamond, on that eventful 3rd of July, 1608.
THE DWELLING OF CHAMPLAIN.
"Above the point of the Island of Orleans," says Parkman, "a constriction
of the vast channel narrows it to a mile; on one hand, the green heights
of Point Levi; on the other, the cliffs of Quebec. Here, a small stream,
the St. Charles, enters the St. Lawrence, and in the angle betwixt them
rises the promontory, on two sides a natural fortress. Land among the
walnut-trees that formed a belt between the cliffs and the St. Lawrence.
Climb the steep height, now bearing aloft its ponderous load of churches,
convents, dwellings, ramparts, and batteries,--there was an accessible
point, a rough passage, gullied downward where Prescott Gate (in 1871)
opened on the Lower Town. Mount to the highest summit, Cape Diamond, [7]
now zig-zagged with warlike masonry. Then the fierce sun fell on the bald,
baking rocks, with its crisped mosses and parched lichens. Two centuries
and-a-half have quickened the solitude with swarming life, covered the
deep bosom of the river with barge and steamer and gliding sail, and
reared cities and villages on the site of forests; but nothing can destroy
the surpassing grandeur of the scene.
"Grasp the savin anchored in the fissure, lean over the brink of the
precipice, and look downward, a little to the left, on the belt of woods
which covers the strand between the water and the base of the cliffs. Here
a gang of axe-men are at work, and Point Levi and Orleans echo the crash
of falling trees.
"These axe-men were pioneers of an advancing host,--advancing, it is true,
with feeble and uncertain progress: priests, soldiers, peasants, feudal
scutcheons, royal insignia. Not the Middle Age, but engendered of it by
the stronger life of modern centralization; sharply stamped with parental
likeness, heir to parental weakness and parental force.
"A few weeks passed, and a pile of wooden buildings rose on the brink of
the St. Lawrence, on or near the site of the market-place of the Lower
Town of Quebec. The pencil of Champlain, always regardless of proportion
and perspective, has preserved its semblance. A strong wooden wall,
surmounted by a gallery loop-holed for musketry, enclosed three buildings,
containing quarters for himself and his men, together with a court-yard,
from one side of which rose a tall dove-cot, like a belfry. A moat
surrounded the whole, and two or three small cannon were planted on
salient platforms towards the river. There was a large magazine near at
hand, and a part of the adjacent ground was laid out as a garden."
(_Pioneers of France in the New World_, p. 301.)
CHIEF DONNACONA.
On the 14th of September, 1535, under the head "Shipping News, Port of
Quebec," history might jot down some startling items of marine
intelligence; the arrival from sea of three armed vessels--the "Grande
Hermine," the "Petite Hermine," and the "Emerillon." One would imagine
their entrance in port must have awakened as much curiosity among the
startled denizens of Stadacona--the Hurons of 1535--as did the anchoring
in our harbour, in August, 1861, of Capt. Vine Hall's leviathan, the
"Great Eastern." Were the French fleet the first European keels which
furrowed the Laurentian tide under Cape Diamond? We like to think so. Let
the Basques make good their assumed priority: let them produce their
logbook, not merely for the latitude of Newfoundland or Tadoussac, but
also an undisputed entry therein, for the spot where, a century later,
Samuel de Champlain lived, loved, and died. Had the advent of the St. Malo
vikings been heralded by watchful swift-footed retainers to swarthy king
Donnacona, the ruler of the populous town of Stadacona, and a redoubtable
agouhanna of the Huron nation? 'Tis not unlikely.
An entry occurs in the diary of Jacques Cartier, commander of the flagship
"Grande Hermine," to the effect that Donnacona, escorted by twelve canoes,
had met the foreign craft several miles lower than Quebec, where he had
parleyed with his fellow-countrymen, Taiguragny and Domagaya, kidnapped
the year previous at Gaspé and just brought back by Cartier from France;
that, dismissing ten of his twelve canoes, the agouhanna had invited and
received the French commander in his canoe of state, harangued him, and
readily accepted from him a collation of bread and wine, which the captain
of the "Grande Hermine" (thoughtful host) had brought with him.
The meeting over, Donnacona steered for home; and Jacques Cartier ordered
his boats to be manned and ascended the river to seek for a safe anchorage
for his ships. He soon found what he sought, entered then the river Saint
Charles, by him called the St. Croix, landed, crossed the meadows, climbed
the rocks, and threaded the forest. On his return, when he and his party
were rowing for the ships, they had to stand another harangue from the
bank, from an old chief, surrounded by men, boys and some merry squaws, to
whom they gave as presents glass beads, &c., when they regained their
vessels.
What took place at the interview between the French commander and the
Huron potentate? What were the thoughts, hopes, fears of the grim
chieftain on that fateful September day which brought in across the
Atlantic the first wave of foreign invasion--the outer barbarian to his
forest abode?
One would fain depict king Donnacona roaming, solitary and sad; mayhap, on
the ethereal heights of Cape Diamond, watching, with feelings not
unmingled with alarm, the onward course of the French ships--to him
phantoms of ill-omen careering over the dreary waters--until their white
shrouds gradually disappeared under the shadow of the waving pines and
far-spreading oaks which then clad the green banks of the lurking,
tortuous St Charles.
Chief Donnacona, beware! O beware!