Canada; its Defences, Condition, and Resources / Being a third and concluding volume of "My Diary, North and South"

by Sir William Howard Russell

Before I speak of the defence of Montreal in connection with the general military position of the Canadian frontier, I shall continue my brief narrative of my tour through Canada.

CHAPTER VII.

First view of Quebec—Passage of the St. Lawrence—Novel and rather alarming situation—Russell’s Hotel—The Falls of Montmorenci, and the “Cone”—Aspect of the City—The Point—“Tarboggining”—Description of the “Cone”—Audacity of one of my companions—A Canadian dinner—Call on the Governor—Visit the Citadel—Its position—Capabilities for defence—View from parapet—The armoury—Old muskets—Red-tape thoughtfulness—French and English occupation of Quebec—Strength of Quebec.

It was early in the morning when the train from Montreal arrived at Point Levi on the right bank of the St. Lawrence, a little above Quebec. The impression produced on us by the heights of Abraham, by the frowning citadel, by the picturesque old city glistening in the sun’s rays, and by the great river battling its way through the fields of ice and the countless miniature bergs, which it hustled upwards with full-tide power, can never be effaced.

It required some faith to enable one to believe the passage could be made by mortal boat of that vast flood from which the crash of ice sounded endlessly, as floes and bergs floating full speed were dashed against each other—flying fast as clouds in a wintry sky up the river, the banks of which resembled the sheer sides of an Alpine crevasse. The force of the stream is so great as to rend through and rupture the coat of ice which is thickened daily, and the masses thus broken, tossed into all sorts of singular shapes, jagged and quaint, are borne up and down by the flood till they are melted by the increasing warmth of spring. An ice bridge is occasionally formed by the concentration of the ice in such masses as to resist the action of the water, and then sleigh horses cross by a path which is marked out by poles or twigs stuck in the snow, but it more usually happens that the river opposite Quebec remains unfrozen, and offers the singular spectacle of the ice rushing up and down every day as the tide rises and falls, to the great interest and excitement of strangers who have to cross from one side to the other.

At first the attempt seems impracticable. The deep blue of the St. Lawrence can be only seen here and there through the bergs and floes, like the veins beneath a snowy skin, but those glints are for ever varying as the ice passes on. The clear spaces are no sooner caught by the eye than they are filled up again, and every instant there are fresh rifts made in the shifting surface, which is at once as solid as a glacier and as yielding as water. In this race the bergs are carried with astonishing force and rapidity, and a grating noise; and a grinding, crashing sound continually rises from the water.

At the station there was a goodly crowd of men in ragged fur coats and caps, pea jackets, and long boots, of an amphibious sort, who did not quite look like sailors, and who yet were not landsmen. These were clamouring for passengers, and touting with energy in a mixture of French and English. “Prenez notr’ bateau, M’sieu’—La Belle Alliance! Good boat, Sar! Jean Baptiste, M’sieu’: I well known boat-man, Sir.” “The blue boat, Sir, gentleman’s boat, Mon Espoir,” “L’Hirondelle,” and so on at the top of their voices. And sure enough there, drawn up on the snow near the station, was a range of stout whale boats, double planked on the sides, and provided with remarkably broad keels.

We selected, after a critical inspection, the captain of one of these—a merry-eyed, swarthy fellow, with a big beard and brawny shoulders—as our Charon, and following his directions we were stowed away in a sort of well between the steersman and the stroke oar, where we sat down with our legs stretched out very comfortably, and were then covered up to the chin with old skins, furs, and great coats. When all was ready, a horse was brought forward with a sling bar, to which a rope was attached from the bow, and we glided forward along the road towards the most favourable point for crossing at that stage of the tide. The boat was steadied and guided by the crew, who ran alongside with their hands on the gunwales. Houses by the roadside snowed up—shop windows with French names—sallow-faced, lean people looking out of the grimy windows—some large ships on the stocks, roughly placed on the river bank—these met the eye as we passed over the snow road towards the point opposite the city now looming nearer. With cheap timber and labour it is not surprising that the shipbuilding trade of Quebec flourishes.

For more than a mile and a half the boat careered eastwards, in active emulation with several other boats which were in our track, and the citadel on the opposite shore already lay behind us, before the horse was detached at the side of a deep incline leading to the river, and in another moment the boat was gliding down the bank and rushing for a blue rent in the midst of the heavy surface, into which we splashed as unerringly as a wild duck drops into a moss hole. The moment the bow touched the water, all the crew, some seven or eight in number, leaped in and seized their oars, which they worked with a will, whilst the skipper, standing in the bow, directed the course of the steersman.