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

by Sir William Howard Russell

There is a wonderful calm in the conversation of the Canadians, perhaps a little too much so, but it is a relief from the ambitious restlessness of the common American. The Canadian mind suffers as the mind of every country which is not a nationality must suffer, and caution assumes the place of enterprise. If the Americans knew the business of diplomacy a little better, and could but restrain the democratic vice of boastful threatening and arrogant menace, they could have alienated Canada from our cold rule long ago, even though Canada would have lost by the change many privileges and a cheap protection to her industry, commerce, and social expansion.

February 10th.—To-day I paid my respects to His Excellency the Governor, Viscount Monck, and proceeded to visit the citadel, which is now occupied by a battalion of the 60th Rifles under Colonel Hawley. Independently of the historical associations which attach to this commanding-looking work, I was attracted to it by the consideration that it has twice saved Canada to Great Britain. I am bound to say that, in my poor opinion, it will never do so again, if left in its present condition. The works, once strong, have lost much of their importance since the introduction of long-range artillery, and the armament is in a very imperfect condition, consisting of old-fashioned pieces of small calibre, which could furnish no reply to a battery established on the heights across the St. Lawrence.

The citadel itself has in its construction some of the points of a regular fortress after Vauban, and on the river side the parapets tower aloft from a steep rock, which puts one in mind of the site of the platform at Berne; but on the east side it is hampered by houses and by the suburbs of the city; and it could be approached without much difficulty from the other side, as soon as a lodgment could be effected on the heights of Abraham. The fosses and ditches were partially filled with snow, which obscured the ground and the adjacent country, if such whiteness can obscure anything. Colonel Hawley was good enough to show us over the works and point out the objects of interest as far as they could be discerned. Among them were some ancient iron guns on which Great Britain ought not to rely for very effective service in the defence of the place.

But some new heavy guns have recently been mounted, others are to follow, and as the ordnance stores in Canada will soon be replenished with the best description of pieces, there then need be no apprehension for Quebec on the score of weak artillery: or for a position that is the key of Quebec, which is most emphatically the master-key of Canada.

The outworks of the citadel itself, however, are not by any means in a satisfactory condition; even the high parapet overlooking the lower town might be crumbled away and expose the interior of the place; in one particular part of this work the guns are masked by blocks of houses, the windows of which actually look into the interior of the citadel, and the fire of the place could be so impeded, and the defence so cramped by the existing enceinte, that I very much doubt whether it would not be better to remove the latter altogether.

We trudged patiently around the long lines of parapet in the snow, now looking down upon the river clamorous with its burden of ice, and on the tortuous streets of the old-fashioned town. In summer and in the open months the St. Lawrence is thickly studded with ships; and dense forests of masts line the course of its banks; but now the only specimen of commercial enterprise on its bosom consisted of a few canoes struggling backwards and forwards through ice and water with their scanty freights.

Inside the citadel, cherry-cheeked riflemen were playing like schoolboys in the snow. In spite of temptation the regiment was in good condition; and although in modern days some objection might be taken to the closeness of their quarters in summer, the British soldiers who served under Wolfe would have been greatly astonished if they could have seen the comforts enjoyed by, and the cares bestowed on, their descendants. Even those much-neglected, injured Penelopes, the soldiers’ wives, are tolerably well off in their quarters, somewhat too crowded, it is true, but still more comfortable than at Aldershot or the Tower.

After a long march along the parapet, in which I stumbled across more rotting gun-carriages, useless mortars, and bad platforms than I care to mention, we visited the Armoury, which is near the parade-ground of the citadel. The stock of firearms is arranged with great taste, and the cleanliness and effectiveness of all the material reflected credit on the storekeeper.

Some of the contents consisted of very interesting rifles of renowned makers in former days, with carved stocks, flint locks, and barrels encrusted with gold, intended as presents to Indian chiefs and warriors of tribes sufficiently strong to cause us injury by their hostility or render us service by their alliance. Old flint-lock muskets of inferior quality, with barrels like so many feet of cast-iron piping, intended for the indiscriminate destruction of friend or foe; horse-pistols of the fashion in vogue one hundred years ago, and the like, were to be found in the same spacious apartment, which contained specimens of the most recent improvements in firearms. Formerly flint pistols were served out to the frontier patrols, but of course percussion locks have, for many years, been given to all those employed in the service of the Crown in a military capacity. Some worthy official at home, however, still continues to send out barrels of flints with laudable punctuality, as he has not been relieved by superior order from the necessity of keeping up the supply of these articles. We have all heard of the forethought evinced by the home authorities, when they sent out water-tanks for our lake flotilla, forgetting that they were borne on an element quite fit for drinking. But I heard in the citadel of a still more remarkable instance of thoughtfulness.

A ship arrived at Quebec some time ago with an enormous spar reaching from her bowsprit to her taffrail consigned to the storekeeper. It had been the plague of the ship’s company, it had been in everybody’s way, and had nearly caused the loss of the vessel in some gales of wind. The whole resources of the quarter-master-general’s department were taxed to get it safely on shore, and transport it to the heights. And what was it? A flag-staff for the citadel. And what was it made of? A stout Canadian pine, which had probably been sent from the St. Lawrence in a timber ship to the government officials at home; who, having duly shaped and pruned it into a flag-staff, returned it to the land of its birth at some considerable expense to John Bull.