“The navigation on Lake St. Peter is so difficult, that we were obliged to lie at anchor all night. On the 23d, we passed the Three Rivers, a handsome town, on the three mouths of a respectable river; and at five o’clock in the evening arrived at Quebec, 180 miles from Montreal. As we approached the town we passed close under the plains of Abraham, and the precipitous rocks which our gallant hero scaled; and after straining our eyes to reach the fortifications, which seem to frown destruction to any hostile force which might have the temerity to approach, we were pleased, on looking round us, to find ourselves in the middle of British shipping. I cannot tell you with what satisfaction I renewed my acquaintance with old Cumberland brigs, which in England I should not condescend to notice. As soon as we landed, an English friend and I procured a calèche, and drove off to the Falls of Montmorency, nine miles distant, which we reached just at sunset. Our beautiful summer evening closed in upon us before we had seen the Falls from the most favourable situation. The full moon, however, soon rose, and threw her light upon the broken torrent, which precipitates itself from a height of 220 feet, while the dark shadows of the rocks and trees, which overhang the waters below, contributed greatly to heighten the grandeur of the scene. Our conductor was an interesting little peasant girl, nine years of age, whose pretty French was most agreeable. The ride home was delightful, the full moon ‘walking in brightness,’ and throwing her horizontal rays across the river as she rose. The fortresses of Quebec were constantly in sight, and did, indeed, seem impregnable by human force. It would be difficult even to imagine a more commanding site, and I could not help admiring the skill with which the French had chosen their northern post, which they evidently intended to connect with New Orleans, by a series of intermediate forts, which might confine the British within a narrow strip on the Atlantic. Reflections on their system of policy were the more interesting to me, from having so lately visited the southern extremity of their trans-Atlantic dominions, and having in the interval passed through so many of the immense forests which lie between them. We stopped at Malhrot’s, the best inn in Quebec; but an unwillingness to intrude on the present occupiers of my bed decided me to prefer a chair, in which I sat till after three o’clock, looking on the beautiful moonlight prospect before me. At five o’clock we set out in a calèche on our way to Loretto, an Indian village of the Hurons, nine miles from Quebec. They have a neat catholic church, and speak French; but, from what I could gather from the chief, they have no land, and support themselves by fishing and hunting. In that case they are not so well off as my friends the Choctaws and Cherokees, or the Caughnawagas, whom we saw nine miles from Montreal, who have a handsome catholic church, and cultivate the land.
“In the course of our ride we were often reminded of home by the rich little meadows and thickly settled country on every side. The distant mountains were very fine. We reached our inn at nine o’clock, having accomplished, after six o’clock the preceding night, what usually occupies two days. After breakfast I devoted myself to business; and, declining an invitation from Judge —— to accompany him to the ‘military mess’ to dinner, I set off to the Falls of the Chaudière, seven miles distant, intending to drink tea on our return with a gentleman who lives on the way. It was so dark, however, when we reached his house, five or six miles from Quebec, and had begun to rain so heavily, that we thankfully accepted his offer of a bed. The Falls of the Chaudière were highly interesting, even after Niagara. In the deep seclusion of a thick wood, the river, nearly 250 yards wide, precipitates itself a hundred feet into a rocky channel, which appears to have been rent asunder by some dreadful convulsion of nature, by which the rock has been broken into huge masses, that combine with the surrounding objects to impart an air of most magnificent wildness to this extraordinary scene. On our return we had several fine views of Quebec down the river.
Bridge near Quebec.
The Chaudière Bridge,
near Quebec.
“The next day we went into town early, and I was again engaged in business till afternoon, when I walked round the fortifications with my old military friend and his wife. At five o’clock I went to dine at Judge ——’s, where I met several gentlemen, and where I staid till it was nearly time to embark in the steam-boat, which was to set sail at midnight for Montreal.
“I think you will be amused by the following extract from the journal of one of my fellow-travellers, who left me at Montreal to visit Quebec, and on his return found on board the steam-boat one of the Indian chiefs, belonging to the village of Loretto, to which I have alluded.
“‘We have on board one of the Indian chiefs who walked in the procession at Loretto, and his daughter, a genteel young woman. He speaks the English language. He said he knew General Washington, and had dined with him twice; and that the general had made him a present of a very good horse. ‘I told General Washington,’ said he, ‘that your horse; he tell me to call one of his aids, and he say, Col. Trumbull, write order for Vincent, (that my name,) for that horse; so I keep him. He very good horse.’ The story of the horse was thus explained. Vincent commanded a body of Indians at the capture of Burgoyne, and was made a prisoner with that general. The horse had been taken by him from the Americans; and hence he called him not his own, but Washington’s. This information I obtained from others on board. Taking me aside, he said, ‘I saw you Loretto.’ C. ‘I was there, and saw you walking at the head of the procession.’ V. ‘Yes, I walk.’ C. ‘What was that the priest carried?’ V. ‘What religion you?’ C. ‘I am a protestant.’ V. ‘Then you very good man; priest carry image Virgin Mary. This is all nonsense. He tell us poor Indians we must believe, or be condemned, that Virgin Mary was taken up into heaven—soul and body; you believe that?’ C. ‘I do not understand it: what is your opinion?’ V. ‘I do not believe; I do not read that in Scripture. Priest tell us poor ignorant Indians that we must worship her, and saints, and images. I do not find that in Scripture neither; but I read, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou worship. Thou shalt make no graven image, nor worship them: that my belief. I think it wicked to worship images; but God is merciful. Priest tell us ignorant Indians we must have mass; fetch out purgatory our fathers, dead hundred years ago; and we pay sometimes one, sometimes two dollars each mass. Brother, you believe there is a purgatory?’ C. ‘I have no knowledge of such a place. What is your opinion?’ V. ‘I don’t believe; and tell you my opinion. I believe if our heart be not purge in this life, it never will purge.’ On my assenting to his doctrine, he asked, ‘Where do you think is hell?’ I told him I did not know. Then added he, ‘I’ll tell you where I think it is: it is in the sun.’ I felt some surprise at all this; and, asking him where he had been educated, he replied at Hampshire. He then asked me to drink a glass of grog; and on my declining, he bid me good bye, and walked to the forecastle to sip it by himself. On observing a young Indian on board very attentive to the chief’s daughter, I told Vincent I supposed this man was courting her; on which he replied with much warmth, ‘No; him Mohawk.’