QUEBEC IN 1859-60.
I resided for eighteen months in the old, picturesque and many-memoried
city. My house was a three-story cedar log building known as the White
House, near the corner of Salaberry Street and Mount Pleasant Road. It
was weather-boarded outside, comfortably plastered and finished within,
and was the most easily warmed house I ever occupied. The windows were
French, double in winter, opening both inwards and outwards, with
sliding panes for ventilation. It had a good garden, sloping northerly
at an angle of about fifteen degrees, which I found a desolate place
enough, and left a little oasis of beauty and productiveness. One of my
amusements there was to stroll along the garden paths, watching for the
sparkle of Quebec diamonds, which after every rainfall glittered in the
paths and flower-beds. They are very pretty, well shaped octagonal
crystals of rock quartz, and are often worn in necklaces by the Quebec
demoiselles. On the plains of Abraham I found similar specimens
brilliantly black.
Quebec is famous for good roads and pleasant shady promenades. By the
St. Foy Road to Spencer Wood, thence onward to Cap Rouge, back by the
St. Louis Road or Grande Allee, past the citadel and through the
old-fashioned St. Louis Gate, is a charming stroll; or along the by-path
from St. Louis Road to the pretty Gothic chapel overhanging the Cove,
and so down steep rocky steps descending four hundred feet to the mighty
river St. Lawrence; or along the St. Charles river and the country road
to Lorette; or by the Beauport road to the old chateau or manor house of
Colonel Gugy, known by the name of "Darnoc." The toll-gate on the St.
Foy Road was quite an important institution to the simple _habitans_,
who paid their shilling toll for the privilege of bringing to market a
bunch or two of carrots and as many turnips, with a basket of eggs, or
some cabbages and onions, in a little cart drawn by a little pony, with
which surprising equipage they would stand patiently all morning in St.
Anne's market, under the shadow of the old ruined Jesuits' barracks, and
return home contented with the three or four shillings realized from
their day's traffic.
One of the specialties of the city is its rats. In my house-yard was a
sink, or rather hole in the rock, covered by a wooden grating. A large
cat, who made herself at home on the premises, would sit watching at the
grating for hours, every now and then inserting her paw between the bars
and hooking out leisurely a squeaking young rat, of which thirty or
forty at a time showed themselves within the cavity. I was assured that
these rats have underground communications, like those of the rock of
Gibraltar, from every quarter of the city to the citadel, and so
downward to the quays and river below. Besides the cat, there was a
rough terrier dog named Caesar, also exercising right of occupancy. To
see him pouncing upon rats in the pantry, from which they could not be
easily excluded by reason of a dozen entrances through the stone
basement walls, was something to enchant sporting characters. I was not
of that class, so stopped up the rock with broken bottles and mortar,
and provided traps for stray intruders.
The Laurentine mountains, distant a few miles north of the city, rise to
a height of twenty-five hundred feet. By daylight they are bleak and
barren enough; but at night, seen in the light of the glorious Aurora
Borealis which so often irradiates that part of Canada, they are a
vision of enchanting beauty. This reminds me of a conversation which I
was privileged to have with the late Sir William Logan, who most kindly
answered my many inquisitive questions on geological subjects. He
explained that the mountains of Newfoundland, of Quebec, of the height
of land between the St. Lawrence and Lake Nipissing, and of Manitoba and
Keewatin in the North-West, are all links of one continuous chain, of
nearly equal elevation, and marked throughout that vast extent by
ancient sea-beaches at an uniform level of twelve hundred feet above the
sea, with other ancient beaches seven hundred feet above the sea at
various points; two remarkable examples of which latter class are the
rock of Quebec and the Oak Ridges eighteen miles north of Toronto. He
pointed out further, that those two points indicate precisely the level
of the great ocean which covered North America in the glacial period,
when Toronto was six hundred feet under salt water, and Quebec was the
solitary rock visible above water for hundreds of miles east, west and
south--the Laurentides then, as now, towering eighteen hundred feet
higher, on the north.
In winter also, Quebec has many features peculiar to itself. Close
beside, and high above the little steep roofed houses--crowded into
streets barely wide enough to admit the diminutive French carts without
crushing unlucky foot-passengers,--rise massive frowning bastions
crowned with huge cannon, all black with age and gloomy with desperate
legends of attack and defence. The snow accumulates in these streets to
the height of the upper-floor windows, with precipitous steps cut
suddenly down to each doorway, so that at night it is a work of no
little peril to navigate one's way home. Near the old Palace Gate are
beetling cliffs, seventy feet above the hill of rocky debris which forms
one side of the street below. It is high carnival with the Quebec
_gamins_, when they can collect there in hundreds, each with his frail
handsleigh, and poising themselves on the giddy edge of the "horrent
summit," recklessly shoot down in fearful descent, first to the sharp
rocky slope, and thence with alarming velocity to the lower level of the
street. Outside St. John's Gate is another of these infantile
race-grounds. Down the steep incline of the glacis, crowds of children
are seen every fine winter's day, sleighing and tobogganing from morning
till night, not without occasional accidents of a serious nature.
But the crowning triumph of Quebec scenery, summer and winter, centres
in the Falls of Montmorenci, a seven mile drive, over Dorchester bridge,
along the Beauport road, commanding fine views of the wide St. Lawrence
and the smiling Isle of Orleans, with its pilot-inhabited houses painted
blue, red and yellow--all three colours at once occasionally--(the
paints wickedly supposed to be perquisites acquired in a professional
capacity from ships' stores)--and so along shady avenues varied by
brightest sunshine, we find ourselves in front and at the foot of a
cascade four hundred feet above us, broken into exquisite facets and
dancing foam by projecting rocky points, and set in a bordering of
lovely foliage on all sides. This is of course in summer. In winter how
different. Still the descending torrent, but only bare tree-stems and
icy masses for the frame-work, and at the base a conical mountain of
snow and ice, a hundred and fifty feet high, sloping steeply on all
sides, and with the frozen St. Lawrence spread out for miles to the
east. He who covets a sensation for life, has only to climb the gelid
hill by the aid of ice-steps cut in its side, and commit himself to the
charge of the habitant who first offers his services, and the thing is
soon accomplished. The gentleman adventurer sits at the back of the
sleigh,--which is about four feet long--tucks his legs round the
habitant, who sits in front and steers with his heels; for an instant
the steersman manoeuvres into position on the edge of the cone, which
slightly overhangs--then away we go, launching into mid-air, striking
ground--or rather ice--thirty feet below, and down and still down, fleet
as lightning, to the level river plain, over which we glide by the
impetus of our descent fully half-a-mile further. I tried it twice. My
companion was severely affected by the shock, and gave in with a bad
headache at the first experiment. The same day, several reckless young
officers of the garrison would insist upon steering themselves, paying a
guinea each for the privilege. One of them suffered for his freak from a
broken arm. But with experienced guides no ill-consequences are on
record.
An appalling tragedy is related of this ice-mountain. An American
tourist with his bride was among the visitors to the Falls one day some
years back. They were both young and high-spirited, and had immensely
enjoyed their marriage trip by way of the St. Lawrence. Standing on the
summit of the cone, in raptures with the cataract, the cliffs
ice-bedecked, the trees ice-laden, their attention was for an instant
diverted from each other. The young man, gazing eastward across the
river, talking gaily to his wife, was surprised at receiving no reply,
and looking round found himself alone. Shouting frantically, no
answering cry could be distinguished,--the roaring of the cascade was
loud enough to drown any human voice. Hanging madly over the edge next
the Falls, which is quite precipitous, there was nothing to be seen but
a boiling whirlpool of angry waters. The poor girl had stepped
unconsciously backward,--had slipped down into the boiling surf,--had
been instantaneously carried beneath the ice of the river.
Another peculiarity of Quebec is its ice-freshets in spring. Near the
vast tasteless church of St. John, on the road of that name, a torrent
of water from the higher level crosses the street, and thunders down the
steep ways descending to the Lower Town. At night it freezes solidly
again, and becomes so dangerously slippery, that I have seen ladies
piloted across for several hundred feet, by holding on to the
courteously extended walking stick of the first gentlemanly stranger to
whom they could appeal for help in their utter distress and perplexity.
These freshets flood the business streets named after St. Peter and St.
Paul on the level of the wharves. To cross them at such times, floating
planks are put in requisition, and no little skill is required to escape
a wetting up to the knees.
The social aspects of the city are as unique as its natural features.
The Romish hierarchy exercises an arbitrary, and I must add a
beneficial, rule over the mixed maritime and crimping elements which
form its lowest stratum. Private charity is universal on the part of the
well-to-do citizens. It is an interesting sight to watch the numbers of
paupers who are supplied weekly from heaps of loaves of bread piled
high on the tradesmen's counters, to which all comers are free to help
themselves.
The upper classes are divided into castes as marked as those of
Hindostan. French Canadian seigniors, priestly functionaries of high
rank, government officials of the ruling race, form an exclusive, and it
is said almost impenetrable coterie by themselves. The sons or nephews
of Liverpool merchants having branch firms in the city, and wealthy
Protestant tradesmen, generally English churchmen, constitute a second
division scarcely less isolated. Next to these come the members of other
religious denominations, who keep pretty much to themselves. I am sorry
to hear from a respected Methodist minister whom I met in Toronto
lately, that the last named valuable element of the population has been
gradually diminishing in numbers and influence, and that it is becoming
difficult to keep their congregations comfortably together. This is a
consequence, and an evil consequence, of confederation.
Another characteristic singularity of Quebec life arises from the
association, without coalescing, of two distinct nationalities having
diverse creeds and habits. This is often ludicrously illustrated by the
system of mixed juries. I was present in the Recorder's Court on one
occasion, when a big, burly Irishman was in the prisoner's dock, charged
with violently ejecting a bailiff in possession, which I believe in
Scotland is called a deforcement on the premises. It appeared that the
bailiff, a little habitant, had been riotously drunk and disorderly,
having helped himself to the contents of a number of bottles of ale
which he discovered in a cupboard. The prisoner, moved to indignation,
coolly took up the drunken offender in his arms, tossed him down a
flight of steps into the middle of the street, and shut the door in his
face. The counsel for the complainant, a popular Irish barrister,
lamented privately that he was on the wrong side, being more used to
defending breaches of the laws than to enforcing them--that there was no
hope of a verdict in favour of authority--and that the jury were certain
to disagree, however clearly the facts and the law were shown. And so it
proved. The French jurors looked puzzled--the English enjoyed the
fun--the judge charged with a half smile on his countenance--and the
jury disagreed--six to six. On leaving the court, one of the jurors
whispered to the discharged prisoner, "Did you think we were agoing to
give in to them French fellows?"