village of Hochelaga, which was visited by Jacques Cartier, and was
later the domain belonging to old "Burnside Hall." Its cheerful fire
many a time shone out under the shadow of Mount Royal, when were
gathered around its board Simon McTavish, Duncan McGillivray, Sir John
Franklin and Joseph Frobisher. With them was frequently seen Thomas
Douglas, Earl of Selkirk, who formulated the scheme of populating the
prairies of the North-West with poverty-stricken and down-trodden
tenants from older lands, many of whom lie in the old grave-yard of the
Kildonan settlement on the Red River of the North, a few miles from the
City of Winnipeg. Their descendants with their Scotch thrift form the
backbone of that progressive province of such magnificent possibilities.
Their weary journeys overland, toilsome _portages_ and struggles with
want and isolation are now mere matters of history, for the overflow
population of the crowded centres of Europe are carried in a few days
from sea to sea with every possible convenience and even luxury. The
great Canadian transcontinental line has spanned the valleys and crossed
the mountains, literally opening up a highway for the thousands who from
the ends of the earth are yearly crowding into these vast fertile plains
and sub-arctic gold fields.
Franklin lies in an unknown grave among Northern snows, lost in his
attempt, at the age of sixty, to find the North Pole. He was last seen
moored to an iceberg in Baffin's Bay, apparently waiting for a
favourable opportunity to begin work in what is known as the Middle Sea.
The problem of his fate long baffled discovery, although many an earnest
searching party, in the Polar twilight, has sought him in that region of
ice and snow, in a silence broken only by the howl of the arctic blast,
the scream of sea-fowl or the thundering report of an ice-floe breaking
away from the mainland.
One party sent out by the Hudson Bay Co. in 1853 found traces of the
expedition in some bits of metal and a silver plate engraved with the
name Franklin. Another, fitted out partly by Lady Franklin, and partly
by public subscription, and commanded by McClintock, afterwards Sir
Leopold McClintock, learned from an Eskimo woman that she had heard of a
party of men, whom it was said "fell down and died as they walked." With
the exception of these faint traces, their fate is still wrapped in
obscurity.
[Illustration]
INTERESTING SITES.
Few visitors to the city, as the Palace cars of the Canadian Pacific
Railway carry them into the mammoth station on Dalhousie Square, realize
the historic associations which cling around this spot. In the
magnificently equipped dining-room of the Company's Hotel, as delicacies
from the most distant parts of the earth are laid before the traveller,
he should call to remembrance the lives of deprivation and uncomplaining
endurance which have made the ground now crowned by the beautiful
edifice full of the most tragic interest, and filled with memories which
will be immortal as long as courage and stout-heartedness are honoured.
Two hundred and fifty years ago the sound of hammer and saw here awoke
the echoes of the forest. Workmen who had learned their craft in old
French towns, when Colbert, the great statesman and financier, was
developing the architecture and industries, revenues and resources of
the kingdom, here reared a wind-mill, the first industrial building in
Montreal.
The winds of these autumns long ago turned the fans and ground the seed
of harvests toilsomely gathered from corn-fields, among whose furrows
many a time the arrow and tomahawk spilt the blood of reaper and sower.
The old mill with its pastoral associations of peaceful toil in time
passed away, and was succeeded by a structure dedicated to the art of
war, for on the same spot stood _la Citadelle_. This stronghold, though
primitive in its appointments, was important during the French
occupation and evacuation of New France, being the last fortification
held by French troops on Canadian soil.
This old earthen Citadel, a relic of mediaeval defence, was, about
seventy years ago, removed, its material being used in the leveling and
enlargement of the Parade Ground, or, as it is called, the
"_Champ-de-Mars._" Its demolition might be regretted were it not that in
an age of progress even sentiment must give way before advance. The
grand Hotel Viger, although built to promote the comfort of the people
of the Dominion, has not destroyed the pathetic interest of the early
struggles and heroism which still clothes its site, and which heightens
the present appreciation of a civilization of which the old mill and
fort were the pioneers.
The hospitable hearth of James McGill, graced by his noble-minded
French-Canadian wife, has also long since disappeared; but through his
endowment, and the prince-like gifts of William Molson, Peter Redpath,
Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, Sir Wm. Macdonald and many others, the
torch of education has been lighted here, which shall shine a beacon for
ages to come. Although but three-quarters of a century old, yet the
University of McGill compares favourably with older institutions, its
Mining Building being the most perfectly fitted up in the world. Its
sons take rank with the most cultured minds in Europe and America,
influencing to a most marked degree the educational thought of the day.
The year 1896 marked an epoch in its history, when a graduate of the
class of '68 was elected to the Presidency of the British Medical
Association, one of the most august and learned corporations in the
world. In calling a Canadian, Dr. T. G. Roddick, M.P., to this eminent
position, a signal honour was conferred, it being the first time the
office was held by a Colonial member. Thirty-five years ago, a
French-Canadian youth, slight in form, with broad brow and eyes full of
deep thoughtfulness, stood before the Faculty and friends as the
valedictorian of his class. That slender boy is to-day the great
Canadian Premier, Sir Wilfrid Laurier, the eloquent Statesman and the
honoured of Her Majesty the Queen.
[Illustration]
FAMOUS NAMES.
[Illustration: Brant]
Conspicuous among the portraits of soldiers, heroes and navigators which
adorn the walls of the different rooms of the Chateau, is one, a full
size painting of an old Highland Chief, a veritable Rhoderick Dhu, in
Scotch bonnet and dirk, who, with the call of his clan, and the pipes
playing the airs of his native glen, led the charge of Bunker Hill. He
was Sir John Small, who came to Canada with his regiment, the famous
"Black Watch," and served under Abercrombie in the battle of Carillon.
One of his descendants, visiting Boston early in the century, found on
the walls of a museum, and where it may still be seen, a painting of the
battle of Bunker Hill with General Small on his white horse, rallying
his men to the attack. It was to the credit of the successors of those
who fought that day, although only thirty or forty years had elapsed
since their forefathers had met in mortal combat, that the most gentle
courtesy and kindness were shown on both sides by their descendants.
A fine picture of a full-blooded Indian is that of Brant, the great
Mohawk Chief, an ally of the English and a cruel and ruthless foe; on
one occasion having, it is said, slain with his own hand, forty-four of
his enemies. Other portraits of Jacques Cartier, Champlain, Vaudreuil,
Montcalm, deLevis, Dorchester, deSalaberry and Murray are also there to
be seen and admired.
[Illustration: Sir John Small
British Leader in the Battle of Bunker Hill.]
Many of the streets of Montreal, such as Dorchester, Sherbrooke, Wolfe,
d'Youville, Jacques Cartier, Guy, Amherst, Murray, Vaudreuil, de
Lagauchetiere, Olier, Mance, Longueuil, and others equally well named,
will carry down to future generations the memory of those who were
prominent in the making and moulding of Canada. It is strange that one
of the most insignificant streets in the city, a mere lane, of a single
block in length, should bear the name of Dollard, the hero of one of
the most illustrious deeds recorded in history, an event which has
rightly been called the Thermopylae of Canada. The facts were as
follows:--In 1660 the Colony was on the eve of extinction by the
Iroquois, the whole of the tribes being on the war-path with the
intention of sweeping the French from the St. Lawrence. Dollard des
Ormeaux and sixteen young men of Montreal determined upon a deed which
should teach the savages a lesson. They bound themselves by an oath
neither to give nor take quarter. They made their wills and took the
sacrament in the Chapel of the _Hotel-Dieu_, and then started up Lake
St. Louis. They were not accustomed to the management of the frail
canoes of bark, and day after day struggled to pass the currents of St.
Anne's, at the head of the island, where now the pleasure yacht spreads
its white sails to the breezes of summer, and on whose shores the
huntsmen and hounds gaily gallop when in the woods of autumn the leaves
turn crimson and gold under the mellow hunter's moon. At last, after a
week had been thus spent, they entered the Ottawa River, proceeding by
the shores until they descried the remains of a rough palisaded fort
surrounded by a small clearing. It was only a circle enclosed by trunks
of trees, but here they "made their fire and slung their kettles. Being
soon joined by some friendly Hurons and Algonquins they bivouacked
together. Morning, noon and night they prayed, and when at sunset the
long reaches of forest on the opposite shore basked peacefully in the
level rays, the rapids joined their hoarse music to the notes of their
evening hymn." As their young voices floated through the forest glades,
and they lay down to sleep under the stars of the sweet May skies, they
thought of the bells tinkling in the still air of their loved
_Ville-Marie_, where those they had come to die for sent up for them
_Aves_ around hearth and altar. In the words of a Canadian poet, it is
thus described:--
"Beside the dark Uttawa's stream, two hundred years ago,
A wondrous feat of arms was wrought, which all the world should know.
'Tis hard to read with tearless eyes this record of the past,
It stirs our blood, and fires our souls, as with a clarion blast.
What, though beside the foaming flood untombed their ashes lie,--
All earth becomes the monument of men who nobly die.
Daulac, the Captain of the Fort, in manhood's fiery prime
Hath sworn by some immortal deed to make his name sublime,
And sixteen soldiers of the Cross, his comrades true and tried,
Have pledged their faith for life or death, all kneeling side by side.
And this their oath, on flood or field, to challenge face to face
The ruthless hordes of Iroquois,--the scourges of their race.
No quarter to accept nor grant, and loyal to the grave.
To die like martyrs for the land they'd shed their blood to save.
And now these self-devoted youths from weeping friends have passed,
And on the Fort of _Ville-Marie_ each fondly looks his last.
Soft was the balmy air of spring in that fair month of May,
The wild flowers bloomed, the spring birds sang on many a budding spray,
When loud and high a thrilling cry dispelled the magic charm,
And scouts came hurrying from the woods to bid their comrades arm.
And bark canoes skimmed lightly down the torrent of the _Sault_,
Manned by three hundred dusky forms, the long-expected foe.
Eight days of varied horrors passed, what boots it now to tell
How the pale tenants of the fort heroically fell?
Hunger and thirst and sleeplessness, Death's ghastly aids, at length.
Marred and defaced their comely forms, and quelled their giant strength.
The end draws nigh,--they yearn to die--one glorious rally more
For the sake of _Ville-Marie_, and all will soon be o'er.
Sure of the martyr's golden crown, they shrink not from the Cross;
Life yielded for the land they love, they scorn to reckon loss.
The fort is fired, and through the flame, with slippery, splashing tread,
The Redmen stumble to the camp o'er ramparts of the dead.
Then with set teeth and nostrils wide, Daulac, the dauntless, stood,
And dealt his foes remorseless blows 'mid blinding smoke and blood,
Till hacked and hewn, he reeled to earth, with proud, unconquered glance,
Dead--but immortalized by death--Leonidas of France;
True to their oath, his comrade knights no quarter basely craved,--
So died the peerless twenty-two--so Canada was saved."
The historian says:--"It was the enthusiasm of honour, the enthusiasm of
adventure and the enthusiasm of faith. Daulac was the _Coeur-de-Lion_
among the forests and savages of the New World." The names and
occupations of the young men may still be read in the parish registers,
the faded writing illumined by the sanctity of martyrdom. The "Lays of
Rome" recount among her heroes none of greater valour than these by the
lonely rapids in the silence of the Canadian forest.
[Illustration]
ECHOES FROM THE PAST.
Near a modern window in the gallery leans an old spinning-wheel, which
was found in the vaults. By its hum in winter twilights, a hundred years
ago, soft lullabies were crooned, and fine linen spun for dainty brides,
over whose forgotten graves the blossoms of a century of summers have
fallen. In hoop and farthingale they tripped over the threshold of the
old church of _Notre Dame de Bonsecours_. They plighted their troth as
happily before the altar of the little chapel, as do their descendants
in the stately church of _Notre Dame_, with the grand organ pealing
through the dim arches and groined roof.
The old, old wheel is silent, and the fingers that once held distaff and
spindle have crumbled into dust, but the noble deeds and glorious names
of those days gone by are carven deep in the monument of a grateful
country's memory.
Over an archway in the picture gallery is an enormous oil painting,
dark with age, of the British Coat of Arms, which, it is whispered, was
brought over hurriedly from New York during the American Revolution.
The museum of the Chateau is daily receiving donations of interesting
relics, and has already a fine collection of coins, medals, old swords
and historical mementoes--some of the autograph letters of Arnold,
Champlain, Roberval, Vaudreuil, Amherst, Carleton, the de Ramezay family
and many others, being of great interest.
These early days have passed away forever. The whirr of the
spinning-wheel, or shout of the hunter, no longer sound along the banks
of the St. Lawrence. No canoe of the painted warrior now glides silently
by the shore; for Montreal with its three thousand inhabitants when
Vaudreuil beat his retreat, to its present population of 300,000, has
thrown its magnificent civilization around these spots hallowed by the
footprints of the great men whose feet have walked her ancient streets.
"She has grown in her strength like a Northern queen,
'Neath her crown of light and her robe of snow,
And she stands in her beauty fair between
The Royal Mount and the river below."
The two nationalities live harmoniously side by side in commercial and
social life, both retaining their racial and distinctive
characteristics. The old _chansons_ of Brittany are still heard from the
hay-carts and by the firesides, and up and down the rivers ring out the
same songs as when the "fleet of swift canoes came up all vocal with the
songs of _voyageurs_, whose cadence kept time among the dipping
paddles."
The Chateau de Ramezay has suffered many changes and modifications in
the various hands through which it has passed since its foundation
stones were laid, but the citizens of Montreal, revering its age and
associations, are restoring it as much as possible to its original state
and appearance; and the thousands who yearly pass through it testify to
the romance surrounding the walls of the old Chateau, _Ville Marie's_
grandest relic of an illustrious past--a past which belongs equally to
both French and British subjects, and which has developed a patriotism
well expressed in the words of the eloquent churchman, Bruchesi,
Archbishop of Montreal, who says:
"I know the countries so much boasted of where the myrtles bloom, where
the birds are lighter on the wing, and where gentler breezes blow. I
have passed quiet days on the beach at Sorrento, where the Mediterranean
rolls its blue waves to the foot of the orange tree. I have seen Genoa,
the superb and radiant Florence, and Venice, the Queen of the Adriatic.
More than once I have gazed upon the beauty of Naples glittering with
the fires of the setting sun. I have sailed upon the azure waves of the
Lake of Geneva. I have tasted the charm of our sweet France. My steps
have trodden the blessed soil of Rome, and I have trembled with
unspeakable gladness. But all these noble sights, all these undying
memories, all this sublime poetry, all these enchantments of nature did
not take the place in my heart of Canada, my Fatherland, which I have
never ceased to regard with enthusiasm and admiration.
What nation can boast of a purer or more glorious origin? May the future
of Canada be worthy of its noble past. May charity, true charity, reign
among all our citizens as among the children of the same mother. Let us
have none of those intestine divisions which enfeeble us,--none of those
unhappy jealousies capable of compromising the most sacred interests."
Our fathers' battle-cries are hushed,
The ancient feuds are gone;
Canadians now and brothers,
With God we're marching on.
With spears to ploughshares beaten,
The furrowed land is won.
Through bannered fields of waving corn
In peace we're marching on.
The North wind through the pine woods
Swells out our paean song,
To the music of its harping
We bravely march along,
And join the trampling millions,
In chorus deep and strong.
To drum-beats of a nation's heart,
We proudly march along.
O, fair, blue skies, and mountain streams
Whose flashing sands run gold,
No standard but the Triple-Cross
Thy breezes shall unfold.
With roaring surge of circling seas
We shout our patriot song
For Home and Queen and Canada,
With God we're marching on.
On, marching on, while brave the colours float
From sea to sea, with cheer and song,
This watchword pass the ranks along,
Our Land is marching on!
[Illustration]