How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

by F. S. Brereton

With that Steve had to banish all thought of help from his friends, and resigned himself to a long imprisonment in Quebec. A few weeks later the frosts broke up, the sun melted the ice, and ere long the green of a gorgeous country began to be seen again.

"We will make for the headquarters of our Government," said the colonel, now promoted to a chair outside the hut, where he could bask in the spring sunshine and listen to the twitter of the birds. "Anything will be better than to remain here, unable to stir a foot, while others are active and busy. For you, Steve, I fear it means removal from friends. But then it is inevitable."

Ten days later Steve and the colonel were carried by road to Crown Point, at the foot of Lake Champlain, and from there were conveyed by canoe to the reaches of the Richelieu river. An escort of Indians paddled beside them, and swept their own craft along at a pace which very soon brought them to the mighty St. Lawrence. They turned into the river, and in due course sighted the promontory on which the city of Quebec is built, then a small and straggling place made up of private residences and churches, and of numerous batteries, barracks, and forts. As Steve's eyes rested on what is now, and was even then, a queen of cities, bathed in the spring sunshine, he realized what Wolfe and many another was to realize after him, namely, that this was no trading place, a mart given over to business men and the trade of the country. It was a stronghold devoted to the military and to the church, for the predominant features were barracks and batteries, spires and belfries, all clinging like flies to the steep cliff.

"A jewel than which there is none more beautiful in the crown of France," said the colonel, as he pointed out the various places to Steve. "Quebec is the most regal-looking city I have ever seen, and I never know whether she looks best as we see her now, with the spring sunshine smiling on her, or in the winter, when she is clad in her mantle of white. Monsieur, this struggle between our two nations may end in victory for England, but whatever happens, this jewel I am showing you will never fall. Quebec is impregnable. Look east and west and you will see why I am so confident."

It seemed indeed as if no other opinion could have been given, for as Steve approached this fair Canadian city he, too, declared to himself that nothing but starvation could cause it to surrender. For Quebec stands on a steep promontory, as has been described, and has to its immediate east the river St. Charles, and beyond that again a long ridge continuing for some six miles and ending abruptly in the beautiful falls of Montmorency, at that time of the year in their full grandeur, for the melted snow and ice had added to the volume of the river. This ridge, which was the southern extremity of an upland plateau, fell sheer into the river, and a glance at it was sufficient to discover the obstacles which would at once confront any foe bold or rash enough to attempt to clamber to the top. Standing on that same ridge on many a day after, Steve looked down upon the garden of Canada, the Isle of Orleans, which the first navigator of the mighty St. Lawrence had called the Island of Bacchus.

To the west Quebec is even more strongly protected by natural obstacles, for the ridge on the edge of which the fair city is built runs westward for many miles, falling almost perpendicularly into the river, while the St. Lawrence, just opposite the town, is suddenly constricted by a projecting spit of land, known as Point Lévis, which narrows the bed till it is barely three-fourths of a mile across, a distance which the French rightly considered could be commanded by their batteries.

"This will be your prison, Steve," said the colonel, kindly, as the canoes made in for the wooden stage, "and I think that you could come to no more charming spot. I shall take you to see Montcalm, our military leader, and shall advise you to give him your promise not to attempt an escape. No. Do not refuse, I beg of you," he went on, seeing Steve pull a long face. "After all, you can but try it for a time, and can then formally declare your intention not to remain on parole any longer. It will make all the difference to you just now, for if you give your word, you will be allowed much liberty, and you will be therefore out in the open. On the other hand, you will be placed in confinement, which will be irksome, to say the least of it, and not the best thing for your health. Then, too, consider the circumstances. Miles and miles of forest now lie between you and your friends, and there is not the smallest chance of your getting down to them, or they up to you, for the country swarms with our backwoodsmen and Indians. Such an attempt would be sheer madness. You must wait, my lad, and, later, if your friends beat us back, perhaps it will be worth your while to withdraw your parole and make that attempt of which all prisoners dream. There, I am honest with you, am I not? If matters were in my hands I should aid you to escape."

He laughed heartily, patted Steve on the back, and then held out his hand for our hero to help him ashore. For Steve had become indispensable to the wounded colonel, and was more like his son than anything else.

"I suppose you are right, colonel," said the lad some little while later, when they were ascending the steep hill. "I will give my parole and try the arrangement for a time."