The Sabbath is their great holiday, and always decidedly the noisiest day of the week. Their general deportment, however, is inoffensive, and often highly praiseworthy. They are seldom guilty of committing atrocious crimes, and do not often engage in personal conflicts, which are so prevalent in the United States. They treat all men with kindness, and in their language and manners are remarkably polite. The little girl, playing with her doll in her father’s door, would think her conduct highly improper should she omit to drop you a courtesy as you passed along; and even the rude boy, when playing ball or driving his team, invariably takes off his hat to salute the traveller.
The Habitans are particularly fond of the river St. Lawrence, and their settlements extend from Montreal about two hundred miles with the river on the north shore, and perhaps three hundred and fifty miles on the southern shore. Their principal roads run parallel with the river, are about half a mile apart, and generally completely lined with rural dwellings.
The political opinions of the Habitans are extremely liberal, and not much in accordance with the spirit of Canadian institutions. They hate England by nature and the advice of their priesthood, and scruple not to declare themselves actually in love with what they call the American Government. They complain that Englishmen treat them as if they were slaves, while the people of the United States always hail them as brothers. They are an unlettered race, but believe that their condition would be much happier were they the subjects of a President instead of a Queen. That is a matter I consider questionable.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Grand Portage into New Brunswick—Lake Timiscouta—The Madawaska River.
On the Madawaska. July.
The traveller, who would go from Quebec to Halifax by the recently established Government route, will have to take a steamer for one hundred and twenty miles down the great river, and cross the Grand Portage road which commences at River Du Loup, and extends to Lake Timiscouta, a distance of thirty-six miles.
With the village of Du Loup I was well pleased. It contains about twelve hundred inhabitants, and a more general mixture of English, Scotch, and French than is usually found in the smaller towns of Canada. The place contains an Episcopal Church, which must be looked upon as a curiosity in this Roman Catholic country, for it is the only one, I believe, found eastward of Quebec. The situation of the village is romantic to an uncommon degree. It commands an extensive prospect of the St. Lawrence, which is here upwards of twenty miles wide, and bounded on the opposite shore by a multitude of ragged mountains. The river is studded with islands, and ships are constantly passing hither and thither over the broad expanse, and when, from their great distance, all these objects are constantly enveloped in a gauze-like atmosphere, there is a magic influence in the scenery. The principal attraction is a waterfall, about a mile in the rear of the village. At this point, the waters of the rapid and beautiful Du Loup dance joyously over a rocky bed, until they reach a picturesque precipice of perhaps eighty or a hundred feet, over which they dash in a sheet of foam, and, after forming an extensive and shadowy pool, glide onward through a pleasant meadow, until they mingle with the waters of the St Lawrence.
But as I intend to take you over the Grand Portage, it is time that we should be off. The first ten miles of this road are dotted with the box-looking houses of the Canadian peasantry; but the rest of the route leads you up mountains and down valleys, which are all as wild and desolate as when first created. The principal trees of the forest are pine, spruce and hemlock, and the foundation of the country seems to be granite. This region is watered by many sparkling streams, which contain trout in great abundance. The only curiosity on the road is of a geological character, and struck me as something remarkable. Crossing the road, and running in a northerly direction, and extending to the width of about two miles, is a singular bed of granite boulders. The rocks are of every size and form, and while from a portion of them rises a scanty vegetation, other portions are destitute of even the common moss. In looking upon this region, the idea struck me that I was passing through the bed of what was once a mighty river, but whose fountains had become for ever dry. This is only one, however, of the unnumbered wonders of the world, which are constantly appearing to puzzle the philosophy of man.
In passing over the Grand Portage, the traveller has to resort to a conveyance which presents a striking contrast with the usual national works of her Ladyship, the Queen. It is the same establishment which conveys the Royal Mail from Quebec to Halifax, and consists of a common Canadian cart, a miserable Canadian pony, and a yet more miserable Canadian driver. Such is “the way they order things in Canada,” which, I fancy, is not exactly the way they do in France. The Grand Portage Road itself is all that one could desire, and as there is a good deal of summer and winter travelling upon it, it is surprising that the Government cannot afford a more comfortable conveyance.