Chapter III: The "ancient Capital." (7)

General Arnold's soldiers having during the winter of 1775 established
themselves in and near the French Intendant's Palace, facing the St.
Charles, Governor Carleton decided to sacrifice the stately pile of
buildings in order to dislodge the enemy. A lively fire was in
consequence opened from the guns on the ramparts, near Palace Gate,
and the magnificent structure was soon riddled with shot. It stood in
rear of Vallière's furniture factory and Boswell's brewery. Thus was
acquired the Jesuits' Barrack, and thus perished the Intendant's
Palace."--(_Chronicle_, 27_th Dec._, 1871.)

D'Auteuil street, bounded to the west by an open space--the Esplanade-- lined on one side by shade trees, on the other by the verdant slopes of the glacis and city walls, deserves a passing notice. Bouchette describes it thus:--"The Esplanade, between St. Louis and St. John's Gate, has a length of 273 yards, by an average breadth of 80, except at the Ste. Ursula bastion, where it is 120 yards. It is tolerably level, in some places presenting a surface of bare rock. This is the usual place of parade for the troops of the garrison, from whence every morning in summer the different guards of the town are mounted; in winter the Jesuits' Barracks drill ground is generally used for parades. The musters and annual reviews of the militia belonging to the city are held there. [78]

The Esplanade is still used as a parade ground, if not by our city militia by our provincial troops. Right well can we recall the manly form of the Commander of the "B" Battery, Lieut.-Colonel T. B. Strange, bestriding a noble charger, putting his splendid, though not numerous corps, through their drill on the Esplanade. We have also sometimes caught sight there of our gay Volunteers. Occasionally these grounds are used by the divers lacrosse clubs for their athletic games--the _doyen_ of our city _littérateurs_, the Hon. P. J. O. Chauveau, in a graphic portraiture of the "Quebec of the Past," has most feelingly retraced the vanished glories, the military pageants, the practical jokers, the City Watch, the social gatherings, which his youthful eyes witnessed of yore on the Esplanade and on Durham Terrace. We have attempted to render in English a striking chapter of this sparkling effusion:--

_OLDEN TIMES IN THE ANCIENT CAPITAL._

"There is not only the quaint city of Champlain--of Montmagny--of
Frontenac--of Bishop Laval--of Governor de Vaudreuil and Montcalm--of
Lord Dorchester and Colonel Dambourges--that is rapidly fading away;
there is not merely the grim fortress of the French _régime_, the
city of early English rule, disappearing piecemeal in the dissolving
shadows of the past. A much more modern town--newer even than that so
graphically pictured by our old friend Monsieur de Gaspé--the Quebec
of our boyhood--of our youth--the Quebec embalmed in the haunted
chambers of memory prior to 1837--it also each day seems retreating--
crumbling--evanescing.

Where are those dashing regiments which every Sunday at 4 p.m. (we
were not such Puritans then as now) paraded in the open space facing
the Esplanade walls, under the approving eye of the beauty and fashion
of all Quebec, assembled from outside and from inside of the walls--
the men proud of their bottle-green or dark-blue coats and white duck
pants--all the vogue then--while the softer sex and juveniles were
apparelled in the gayest of toilettes--brightest of colors--loudest of
contrasts: white--pink--green! How densely packed, our Esplanade!
Little boys and girls crowding in every corner of the lovely
precipitous lawn which, amphitheatre-like, stretches down--a hanging
garden of verdure and beauty. The splendid regimental bands of music,
the gaudily uniformed staff officers curvetting on their chargers,
with nodding plumes and heavy, glittering epaulettes (alas! the navy
now seems to have monopolised the gold lace for their shoulder-
straps), and those irresistible sappers with their bushy beards
heading the pageant, and those incomparable drum-majors, who could
fling high in the air their _batons_, and catch them so gracefully in
their descent. How their glittering coats did enrapture the crowd! All
these wondrous sights of our youth, where will we now find them?

The mounting guard, the _Grand Rounds_ at noon, when one of the
regimental bands (there were here nearly always two, and an honorable
rivalry existed between them) struck up a martial strain, whilst every
sentry in the city was relieved. What a treat this was to every one,
without forgetting the Seminary Externes (pupils), with their blue
coats and sashes of green or of variegated tints.

More than one of those lithesome youths came to grief for having
rushed away from the _Gradus ad Parnassum_ to those Elysian Fields,
ostensibly to hear the band--possibly to cast a sly glance at "sweet
sixteen" chatting with the _Militaires_ off duty. Here,
too, was the spot where amateurs came to hear new pieces of music--the
latest from London. Durham Terrace was the favoured locality from
whence the new waltz--the fashionable march--the latest opera--was
launched into city existence; from thence it found its way to the
_salons_ of the wealthy: such the history of _Di tanti palpiti_ and
other sweet emanations of great masters.

Where, now, are those squads of jolly tars, in navy blue,
irrepressible in their humors when on shore, far from the quarterdecks
of the trim frigates anchored under Cape Diamond: upsetting the cake-
stands, the spruce beer kegs--helping open-handed to the contents the
saucy street urchins, or, handing round, amidst the startled
wayfarers, pyramids of horse cakes, trays of barley-sugar and
peppermints, like real princes dispensing the coin of the realm. Where
are those noisy gangs of swaggering raftsmen--those _voyageurs_ from
the _pays d'en haut_, with their glittering costumes--hats festooned
with red or blue ribbons, sashes of variegated colors, barred shirts--
tightly wedged, three by three, in _calèches_, like Neapolitans--
patrolling the streets--interlarding a French song occasionally with
an oath, tolerably profane--at all times to be met, whether in the
light of day or the still hours of night. No police in those halcyon
days; but with the thickening shades of evening issued forth that
venerable brotherhood, the City Watch.

The watch, did we say? Where are now these dreamy wanderers of the
night, carolling forth, like the muezzin in Eastern cities, their
hourly calls, "All's well!" "Fine night!" "Bad weather!" as the case
might be--equally ready with their rattles to sound the dread alarm of
fire, or with their long _bâtons_ to capture belated midnight
brawlers, that is, when they saw they had a good chance of escaping
capture themselves. Their most formidable foes were not the thieves,
but the gay Lotharios and high-fed swells of the time, returning from
late dinners, and who made it a duty, nay, a crowning glory, to thrash
the Watch! Where now are those practical jokers who made collections
of door-knockers (the house-bell was not then known), exchanged sign-
boards from shop-doors, played unconscionable tricks on the simple-
minded peasants on market-days--surreptitiously crept in at suburban
balls, in the guise of the evil one, and, by the alarm they at times
created, unwittingly helped _Monsieur le Curé_ to frown down upon
these mundane junkettings.

One of these escapades is still remembered here. [79]

Four of these gentlemanly practical jokers, one night, habited in
black like the Prince of Darkness, drove silently through the suburbs
in a _cariole_ drawn by two coal-black steeds, and meeting with a
well-known citizen, overcome by drink, asleep in the snow, they
silently but vigorously seized hold of him with an iron grip; a
_cahot_ and physical pain having restored him to consciousness,
he devoutly _crossed_ himself, and, presto! was hurled into another
snow-drift. Next day all Quebec had heard in amazement how, when and
where Beelzebub and his infernal crew had been seen careering in state
after nightfall. Oh! the jolly days and gay nights of olden times!

But the past had other figures more deserving of our sympathy. The
sober-sided sires of the frolicsome gentry just described: the
respected tradesmen who had added dollar to dollar to build up an
independence--whose savings their children were squandering so
recklessly; those worthy citizens who had filled without stipend
numerous civic offices, with a zeal, a whole-heartedness seldom met
with in the present day--at once churchwardens, justices of the peace,
city fathers, members of societies for the promotion of agriculture,
of education, for the prevention of fires; who never sat up later than
nine of the clock p.m., except on those nights when they went to the
old Parliament Building to listen in awe to fiery Papineau or eloquent
Bourdages thunder against the _Bureaucracy_; who subscribed and
paid liberally towards every work of religion, of charity, of
patriotism; who every Saturday glanced with trembling eye over the
columns of the _Official Gazette_, to ascertain whether Government had
not dismissed them from the Militia or Commission of the Peace, for
having attended a public meeting, and having either proposed or
seconded a motion backing up Papineau and censuring the Governor.
Thrilling--jocund--simple war-like time of 1837, where art thou
flown?"

The "sunny Esplanade," the "Club," the "Platform," in those days "rather small," the "Rink," "Montmorency Falls," "Lake Charles," the "Citadel" and its "hog's-back," it would appear, inspired the bard of the 25th King's Own Borderers--for years forming part of our garrison--on this favourite regiment embarking for England, to waft to the old Rock the following poetic tribute.

_FAREWELL TO QUEBEC._

Adieu, ye joys of fair Quebec!
We've got what's coarsely termed the sack.
Adieu, kind homes that we have entered;
What hopes and joys are around ye centered!
Adieu, ye flights of Lower Town stairs!
To mount you often, no one cares.
Adieu, that Club, with cook whose skill
Makes none begrudge his dinner bill.
Adieu, O sunny Esplanade!
You suit us loungers to a shade.
Adieu, thou Platform, rather small,
For upper-ten, the band and all.
And Music Hall! adieu to thee!
Ne'er kinder audiences we'll see;
There on each 'Stadacona' night,
'Ye antient citie' proves its right
To boast of beauty, whose fair fame,
To us at Malta even came.
Adieu, O Rink, and 'thrilling steel,'
Another sort of thrill we feel,
As eye entranced, those forms we follow,
And see the Graces beaten hollow.
Adieu, John's Gate! your mud and mire
Must end in time, _as does each fire_!
Adieu, that pleasant four-mile round,
By bilious subs so useful found.
Adieu, Cathedral! and that choir,
All eye and ear could well desire.
Adieu, that service--half-past three
And chance walks after, home to tea.
And 'city fathers,' too, adieu!
Sorry we shan't know more of you.
Adieu, your daughters passing fair,
In dancing, skating, who so rare?
Adieu, too soon, O Citadel!
Adieu, hogs-back, we like thee well,
Though when on _poudré_ days we've crossed,
Noses and ears we've all but lost.
Adieu, to Montmorency's Fall!
Adieu, ye ice-cones large and small!
Who can forget the _traîneau's_ leap
From off that icy height, so steep;
It takes your breath as clean away
As plunge in air--at best you may
Get safely down, and borne along,
Run till upset; but ah! if wrong
At first, you take to turning round,
The _traîneau_ leaves you, and you're found
Down at the bottom, rolling still,
Shaken and bruised and feeling ill.
Adieu, ye lakes and all the fishing!
To cast a fly we've long been wishing.
One last adieu! sorry are we
That this must be our p.p.c.!
Folly to think we'll feel resigned
In leaving you, who've proved so kind.
Our bark of happiness goes wreck,
In quitting you, far-famed Quebec!
_--P.P.C., of the 25th K.O.B._

Our thoroughfares, our promenades, even in those dreary months, when the northern blast howls over the Canadian landscape, have some blithsome gleams of sunshine. Never shall we forget one bright, frosty January afternoon, about four o'clock, in the year 1872, when solitary, though not sad, standing on Durham [80] Terrace, was unveiled to us "a most magnificent picture, a scene of glorified nature painted by the hand of the Creator. The setting sun had charged the skies with all its gorgeous heraldry of purple and crimson and gold, and the tints were diffused and reflected through fleecy clouds, becoming softer and richer through expansion. The mountain tops, wood-crowned, where the light and shadow appeared to be struggling for mastery, stood out in relief from the white plain, and stretching away in indistinct, dreamy distances finally seemed to blend with the painted skies. The ice-covered bay was lit up with glowing shades, in contrast with the deep blue of the clear water beyond; from which the island rose, and into which the point jutted with grand picturesqueness; the light played through the frost-adorned, but still sombre pines, and spread out over deserted fields. Levis and the south shore received not so much of the illumination, and the grimness of the Citadel served as a contrast and a relief to the eye bewildered with the unaccustomed grandeur. But as the sun sank deeper behind the eternal hills, shadows began to fall, and the bright colours toned down to the grey of dusk, stars shone out, the grey was chased away, and the azure, diamond-dotted skies told not of the glory of sunset which had so shortly before suffused them."--(_Morning Chronicle_.)

We have just seen described the incomparable panorama which a winter sunset disclosed from the lofty promenade, to which the Earl of Dufferin has bequeathed his name. Let us now accompany one of our genial summer butterflies, fluttering through the mazes of old Stadacona escorting a bride; let us listen to W. D. Howells in the WEDDING JOURNEY. "Nothing, I think, more enforces the illusion of Southern Europe in Quebec than the Sunday-night promenading on the Durham (now Dufferin) Terrace. This is the ample span on the brow of the cliff to the left of the Citadel, the noblest and most commanding position in the whole city, which was formerly occupied by the old Castle of St. Louis, where dwelt the brave Count Frontenac and his splendid successors of the French _régime_. The castle went the way of Quebec by fire some forty years ago (23rd January, 1834), and Lord Durham levelled the site and made it a public promenade. A stately arcade of solid masonry supports it on the brink of the rock, and an iron parapet incloses it; there are a few seats to lounge upon, and some idle old guns for the children to clamber over and play with. A soft twilight had followed the day, and there was just enough obscurity to hide from a willing eye the Northern and New World facts of the scene, and to leave in more romantic relief the citadel dark against the mellow evening, and the people gossiping from window to window across the narrow streets of the Lower Town. The Terrace itself was densely thronged, and there was a constant coming and going of the promenaders, and each formally paced back and forth upon the planking for a certain time, and then went quietly home, giving place to new arrivals. They were nearly all French, and they were not generally, it seemed, of the first fashion, but rather of middling condition in life; the English being represented only by a few young fellows, and now and then a red-faced old gentleman with an Indian scarf trailing from his hat. There were some fair American costumes and faces in the crowd, but it was essentially Quebecian. The young girls, walking in pairs, or with their lovers, had the true touch of provincial unstylishness, the young men had the ineffectual excess of the second-rate Latin dandy, the elder the rude inelegance of a _bourgeoisie_ in them; but a few better-figured _avocats_ or _notaires_ (their profession was as unmistakable as if they carried their well-polished door-plates upon their breasts), walked and gravely talked with each other. The non-American character of the scene was not less vividly marked in the fact, that each person dressed according to his own taste, and frankly indulged private shapes and colours. One of the promenaders was in white, even to his canvas shoes; another, with yet bolder individuality, appeared in perfect purple. It had a strange, almost portentous effect when these two startling figures met as friends and joined with each other in the promenade with united arms; but the evening was beginning to darken round them, and presently the purple comrade was merely a sombre shadow beside the glimmering white.

The valleys and the heights now vanished; but the river defined itself by the varicolored light of the ships and steamers that lay, dark, motionless hulks upon its broad breast; the lights of Point Levis swarmed upon the other shore; the Lower Town, two hundred feet below them, stretched an alluring mystery of clustering roofs and lamp-lit windows, and dark and shining streets around the mighty rock, mural-crowned. Suddenly a spectacle peculiarly Northern and characteristic of Quebec revealed itself; a long arch brightened over the northern horizon; the tremulous flames of the aurora, pallid violet or faintly tinged with crimson, shot upward from it, and played with a vivid apparition and evanescence to the zenith. While the stranger looked, a gun boomed from the Citadel, and the wild, sweet notes of the bugle sprang out upon the silence."

_THE LOWER TOWN._

On bidding adieu to the lofty plateau which constitutes the Upper Town, on our way to an antiquarian ramble in the narrow, dusty, or muddy thoroughfares of the Lower (as it was formerly styled) the Low Town, we shall cast a glance, a glance only, at the facade of the City Post Office, on the site of which, until razed in 1871, stood that legendary, haunted old house, "LE CHIEN D'OR." Having fully described it elsewhere, [81] let us hurry on, merely looking up as we pass, to the gilt tablet and inscription and its golden dog, gnawing his bone, pretty much as he appeared one hundred and twenty-two years ago, to Capt. John Knox, of the 43rd Regt., on his entering Quebec, after its capitulation on the 18th September, 1759. History has indeed shed very little light on the Golden Dog and its inscription since that date, but romance has seized hold of him, and Kirby, Marmette, Soulard and others have enshrined both with the halo of their imagination. In 1871 the corner stone of the "Chien d'Or" was unearthed; a leaden plate disclosed the following inscription:--

"NICOLAS LAQUIN
Dit PHILIBER,
_M'a posé le 2e Aoust,_
1735."

We clip the following from KNOX'S JOURNAL, of the siege of Quebec in 1759, at which he was both an actor and an eye-witness:--

"On the right of the descent, leading to the low town, stands a
stately old house, said to be the first built of stone in this city
(Quebec), and over the front door of it is engraved a dog gnawing a
large, fleshy bone, which he has got under and between his fore-feet,
with the following whimsical inscription:--

"Je suis le chien qui ronge l'os,
Sans en perdre an seul morceau;
Le temp viendra, qui n'est pas venu,
Je mordrai celui, qui m'aura mordû."

"The true meaning of this device I never could learn, though I made
all possible inquiries, without being gratified with the least
information respecting its allusion. I have been informed that the
first proprietor of the house was a man of great natural abilities,
and possessed a plentiful fortune, which he, after many
disappointments and losses in trade, had scraped together by means of
the most indefatigable industry. Now, whether the foregoing device had
any reference to these particulars of his own private affairs, or that
we may rather suppose the bone with flesh on it to resemble Canada,
and the dog an emblem of fidelity, to represent the French settled
there as if determined faithfully to defend that colony for their King
and country against the savage natives, who may perhaps be alluded to
by the two last lines of the inscription, I will not take upon me to
determine, but submit it to the more penetrating capacity of the
curious reader."--(KNOX'S JOURNAL, Vol. II., p. 149.)

There are two ways of arriving at this El Dorado of commerce: an easy, expeditious, and, it is believed a safe passage, originated by our enterprising fellow-townsman, W. A. G. Griffith, Esq.--the _Terrace Elevator_. The ascent or descent by the elevator occupies fifty seconds of time, at the moderate cost of three cents per head. The elevator, opened to the public on 10th February, 1880, was erected at a cost of about $30,000. Whether it is placed in the most suitable spot remains to be seen.

_THE ELEVATOR._

"The elevator is worked by the weight of water; this necessitates
there always being a sufficient supply in the tank at the top of the
incline, which is pumped by a 12-horse-power steam pump from a large
tank at the foot. The _modus operandi_ is as follows: Suppose a
person enters the car at the foot of the incline to be carried to the
top, the bell-boy at once rings a bell to notify the brakesman to go
ahead; weight is required to bring the car and passenger from the foot
to the top, and both cars being built on tanks with necessary valves
for the entrance of the water from the upper tank and for the exit of
the same water when it reaches the bottom of the track, which the
large tank below receives, the brakesman proceeds to open one of the
water valves and allows sufficient water to enter the car tank until
it outweighs the car and passengers at the foot; the cars are now
supposed to be in motion, with the bell-boy at the foot and brakesman
at the top of the incline, who duties are to watch that everything
runs smoothly and that the track is clear of all obstructions. Nothing
can happen inside the cars during the transit that is not noticed by
the employés; now let us suppose that while in motion one of the
cables breaks, there is a second cable to take all the strain, which
is never over five tons, and each cable will lift at least 30 tons,
but should it happen by some extraordinary oversight that there
existed flaws in the cables which had not been noticed, so that first
one cable broke and then the second also broke, it would probably be
thought that an accident must occur. No such catastrophe would happen,
because under the cars and out of sight there are two enormously
strong chisels bolted to the iron tank, and running within half an
inch of the trestle work; immediately the strain is taken off the
cables, or immediately the two cables break, the two chisels would
enter the strong wooden beams that support the iron rails and hold the
cars firmly in position. Finally, let us suppose that these chisels
also gave way, it must be said surely an accident is now inevitable;
but no, for at the top as well as at the foot of the track there are
two air buffers, against which the cars strike on their ascent and
descent. So nicely adjusted are they, and so ingeniously are they
constructed, that although the cars may descend with great force
against these air buffers, the resistance being gradually developed as
the air compresses, there will be but little, if any, extra shock.
Should the brakesman happen to be absent from his post, we are
informed by the Manager that no irregularities would occur in
consequence, as a governor regulates the speed at which the cars are
to go, and on their arrival the air buffers come into play and receive
them. So well has the brakesman the cars under his control that at one
stroke of the bell he can stop them instantaneously wherever they may
be on the track. The brakes are arranged in such a way that it would
seem to be quite impossible for both of them to be out of order at the
same time; but even if they were, nothing could happen, as the air
buffers would check the force of any extra shock. It may be thought
that an enormous quantity of water must be used to work this
machinery, seeing that there is a 5,000 gallon water-tank at the top
of the incline and a 10,000 gallon tank at the foot, but such is not
the case, the water which is pumped up from the lower to the upper
tank returns again to the lower one, and so the same water is used
over and over again; indeed, the amount of water wasted is not nearly
as much as is consumed by a private family. In confirmation of this
statement, only a halt-inch tap is used to supply the tanks, and the
Manager informs us that frequently for days together the tap is not
turned on either at night or day."

How our worthy grandfathers would have shrugged their shoulders had such an innovation been mooted eighty years ago. The other mode of penetrating into the Lower Town is through that steep and tortuous hill--called Mountain Hill by the English, Côte de la Montagne by the French.

This is the hill which has re-echoed the tread of so many regiments, on which so many Governors, French and English, have, on divers occasions, heard themselves enthusiastically cheered by eager crowds; the hill which Viceroys of France and of England, from the ostentatious Marquis de Tracy to the proud Earl of Durham, ascended on their way to Government House, surrounded by their brilliant staffs and saluted by cannon and with warlike flourish of trumpets! In earlier times the military and religious display was blended with an aroma of literature and elaborate Indian oratory, combining prose and poetry.

Francis Parkman will tell us of what took place on the arrival, on the 28th July, 1658, of the Viscount D'Argenson, the Governor of the colony:-- "When Argenson arrived to assume the government, a curious greeting had awaited him. The Jesuits asked him to dine; vespers followed the repast; and then they conducted him to a hall where the boys of their school-- disguised, one as the Genius of New France, one as the Genius of the Forest, and others as Indians of various friendly tribes--made him speeches by turn, in prose and in verse. First, Pierre du Quet, who played the Genius of New France, presented his Indian retinue to the Governor, in a complimentary harangue. Then four other boys, personating French colonists, made him four flattering addresses, in French verse. Charles Denis, dressed as a Huron, followed, bewailing the ruin of his people, and appealing to Argenson for aid. Jean François Bourdon, in the character of an Algonquin, next advanced on the platform, boasted his courage, and declared that he was ashamed to cry like the Huron. The Genius of the Forest now appeared, with a retinue of wild Indians from the interior, who, being unable to speak French, addressed the Governor in their native tongues, which the Genius proceeded to interpret. Two other boys in the character of prisoners just escaped from the Iroquois, then came forward imploring aid in piteous accents; and in conclusion the whole troop of Indians from far and near laid their bows and arrows at the feet of Argenson, and hailed him as their chief.

Besides these mock Indians, a crowd of genuine savages had gathered at Quebec to greet the new "Ononthio." On the next day--at his own cost, as he writes to a friend--he gave them a feast, consisting of seven large kettlesful of Indian corn, peas, prunes, sturgeon, eels and fat, which they devoured, he says, after having first sung me a song, after their fashion."

Probably one of the most gorgeous displays on record was that attending the arrival of the great Marquis of Tracy, in 1665. He came with a brilliant staff, a crowd of young nobles; and accompanied by two hundred soldiers, to be followed by a thousand more of the dashing regiment of Carignan-Salières. He sailed up the St. Lawrence, and on the 30th of June, 1665, anchored in the basin of Quebec. The broad, white standard, blazoned with the arms of France, proclaimed the representative of royalty; and Point Levi and Cape Diamond and the distant Cape Tourmente roared back the sound of saluting cannon. All Quebec was on the ramparts or at the landing place, and all eyes were strained at the two vessels as they slowly emptied their crowded decks into the boats alongside. The boats at length drew near, and the Lieutenant-General and his suite landed on the quay with a pomp such as Quebec had never seen before.

Tracy was a veteran of sixty-two, portly and tall, "one of the largest men I ever saw," writes Mother Mary (Marie de l'Incarnation), but he was sallow with disease, for fever had seized him, and it had fared ill with him on the long voyage. The Chevalier de Chaumont walked at his side, and young nobles surrounded him, gorgeous in lace and ribbons, and majestic in leonine wigs. Twenty-four guards in the King's livery led the way, followed by four pages and six valets; [82] and thus, while the Frenchmen shouted and the Indians stared, the august procession threaded the streets of the Lower Town, and climbed the steep pathway that scaled the cliffs above. Breathing hard, they reached the top, passed on the left the dilapidated walls of the Fort and the shed of mingled wood and masonry which then bore the name of the Castle de St. Louis; passed on the right the old house of Couillard and the site of Laval's new Seminary, and soon reached the square betwixt the Jesuit College and the Cathedral.

The bells were ringing in a frenzy of welcome. Laval in pontificals, surrounded by priests and Jesuits, stood waiting to receive the Deputy of the King, and as he greeted Tracy and offered him the holy water, he looked with anxious curiosity to see what manner of man he was. The signs were auspicious. The deportment of the Lieutenant-General left nothing to desire. A _prie-dieu_ had been placed for him. He declined it. They offered him a cushion, but he would not have it, and fevered as he was, he knelt on the bare pavement with a devotion that edified every beholder. _Te Deum_ was sung and a day of rejoicing followed. [83]

In our day, we can recall but one pageant at all equal: the roar of cannon, &c., attending the advent of the great Earl of Durham, [84] but there were noticeable fewer "priests," fewer "Jesuits," and less "kneeling" in the procession. There was something oriental in the vice- regal pageantry. Line-of-battle ships--stately frigates, twelve in number --the _Malabar_, _Hastings_, _Cornwallis_, _Inconstant_, _Hercules_, _Pique_, _Charybdis_, _Pearl_, _Vestal_, _Medea_, _Dee_ and _Andromache_ visited that summer our shores, a suitable escort to the able, proud, humane, [85] but unlucky Viceroy and High Commissioner, with his clever advisers--the Turtons, Bullers, Wakefields, Hansomes, Derbyshires, Dunkins, _cum multis aliis_. The Dictator was determined to "make a country or mar a career." He has left us a country.

That warlike, though festive summer of 1838, with our port studded with three-deckers and spanking frigates, was long remembered in the annals of the _bon ton_. Some men-of-war were in especial favour. A poetical lament by the Quebec ladies was wafted to the departing officers of H. M. frigate _Inconstant_, the words by the Laureate of the period, George W. Wicksteed, of Ottawa. This effusion includes the names of every vessel in the fleet _in italics_, and of several of the officers.

_THE LADIES' ADDRESS TO THE INCONSTANTS._
_Written by G. W. Wicksteed._

We saw the _Hastings_ hasting off,
And never made a fuss.
The _Malabar's_ departure waked
No malady in us.

We were not piqued to lose the _Pique_;
Each lady's heart at ease is,
Altho' the _Dees_ are on the seas,
And gone the _Hercules_--es.

Our parting with the _Andromache_
Like Hector's not at all is;
Nor are we Washingtons to seek
To capture a _Cornwallis_.

And no _Charybdis_ ever caught
Our hearts in passion's whirls;
There's not a girl among us all
Has ever fished for _Pearls_.

The _Vestals_ with their sacred flame
Were not the sparks we wanted;
We've looked _Medeas_ in the face,
And yet were not enchanted.

But when our dear _Inconstants_ go,
Our grief shall know no bounds,
The dance shall have no joy for us,
The song no merry sounds.

All dismal then shall be the waltz,
The dull quadrille as bad,
And wearily we'll hurry through
The joyless galopade.

We'll gaze upon each changeful cloud
As through the air it skims,
We'll think of fickle fortune's wheel,
And fashion's turns and whims--

Sweet emblems of _Inconstancy_
In each of these we'll find,
And our _Inconstants_ constantly
We'll fondly bear in mind.

And spite of Durham's fetes and balls,
We'll pine and mourn and mope
Our long, long winter season through,
As girls without a _Hope_.

And when the spring shall come again,
Our hearts, to pleasure dead,
Shall sigh for spring without an S,
And wish for _Pring_ instead.

Unless, indeed, sweet spring with _Hope_
Those hearts again should bless,
And bring our dear _Inconstants_ back,
And spring without an S.
Quebec, 6th July, 1838.

(From _Waifs in Verse_, by G. W. Wicksteed, Q.C., Law Clerk, House of Commons of Canada, 1878.)

To which melting address the "Inconstants," on their way to Britain, feelingly replied. Our space allows us to insert but a few stanzas of this poetical lament.

All language fails to tell how much
We value your address,
Or say how deeply we partake
The feelings you express.

Those _Hastings_ are a hasty set,
And left you in a hurry;
Those _Malabars_ are malapert,
And hot as Indian curry.

Be true, and then the breath of May
Shall fill our sails and bring
Our willing steps and eager hearts,
And _Spring_--and _Pring_--and _Ring_.

And each of you for one of ours
Shall change her maiden name,
And as we are all _Inconstants_, you
Of course will be the same.
Kamouraska, August, 1838.

Here we stand on the principal artery of the commerce of the city, St. Peter street, having a width of only twenty-four feet. St. Peter street is probably not so ancient as its sister, Sault-au-Matelot street. St. Peter street was so named in memory of Messire Pierre le Voyer d'Argenson, who, in 1658, came to Quebec as successor to M. de Lauzon. M. d'Argenson was, in 1661, succeeded by the Baron d'Avaugour.

On the site on which the Quebec Bank [86] was erected in 1863, there stood the offices, the vaults, and the wharf of the well-known merchant, John Lymburner. There were three Lymburners: John, lost at sea in the fall of 1775, Mathew, and Adam, the most able of the three; they were, no doubt related to each other. The loyalty of Adam, towards the British Crown, in 1775, was more than suspected; his oratorical powers, however, and his knowledge of constitutional law, made him a fit delegate to England in 1791, to plead the cause of the colony before the Metropolitan authorities. His speech on the occasion is reported in the _Canadian Review_, published at Montreal in 1826.

Colonel Henry Caldwell states that, in 1775, Governor Guy Carleton had ordered a cannon to be pointed from the wharf on which stood Lymburner's house, with the intention to open fire upon the _Bostonais_, should they attempt a surprise on the Sault-au-Matelot quarter. Massive and strongly built stone vaults (probably of French origin), are still extant beneath the house adjoining, to the south of this last, belonging to the heirs Atkinson.

On the site of the offices of Mr. McGie stood, in 1759, the warehouse of M. Perrault, _l'aîné_, from a great number of letters and invoice-bills found in the garret, and which a friend [87] has placed at our disposal, it would seem that M. Perrault had extensive commercial relations both in Canada and in France. A curious letter to M. Perrault, from Bigot's notorious councillor, Estebe, then in Bordeaux, was found in this tenement. It discloses a sad state of things in Old France. This old document dates of 24th February, 1760, a few months subsequent to the Battle of the Plains and a few weeks prior to that of Ste. Foye, in April, 1760.

"BORDEAUX, 24th February, 1760.

"_To Monsieur Perrault,_

Quebec:

"SIR,--It was with heartfelt pleasure I received your favour of the
7th November last, since, in spite of your misfortunes, it apprized me
of the fact that both you and your lady were well.

"I feel grateful for the sympathy you express in our troubles during
our passage from Quebec to Bordeaux. I wish I could as easily forget
the misfortunes of Canada as I do the annoyances we suffered on the
voyage.

"We learned, _via_ England, by the end of October last, the
unfortunate fate of Quebec. You can imagine how we felt on hearing of
such dreadful news I could contain neither my tears nor my regrets on
learning the loss of a city and country to which I owe everything, and
to which I am as sincerely attached as any of the natives. We
flattered ourselves that the silence the English had kept during all
last summer on their operation was of good omen for us, and that they
would be ignominiously compelled to raise the siege; we had even an
indistinct knowledge of the repulse they had met with at Montmorency
(31st July, 1759); we knew that our troops followed them closely
wherever they attempted to land. We have erred like you in the hopes
we cherished. What fatality, what calamity and how many events unknown
to us have led to your downfall? You do not know, my dear Sir, of the
extent of your misfortunes. You imagine that the loss of the remainder
of the colony is close at hand. You are right. This cannot be
otherwise, since the relief which is sent to you from France cannot
prevent that. The small help which Canadians expected from the payment
of some Treasury notes is taken away from them; none are paid since
the 15th of October last. This, then, is the overwhelming blow to all
our hopes! The Treasury notes of the other colonies are generally in
the same predicament; the King pays none, and the nation groans under
taxation. No credit, no confidence, anywhere; no commerce nor
shipments; a general bankruptcy in all the cities of France. The
kingdom is in the greatest desolation possible. Our armies have been
beaten everywhere; our navy no more exists--our ships have been either
captured or burnt on the coasts where the enemy has driven them
ashore, Admiral de Conflans having been defeated in getting out of the
harbor of Brest. In one word, we are in a state of misery and
humiliation without precedent. The finances of the King are in fearful
disorder; he has had to send his plate to the Mint. The _Seigneurs_
have followed his example, and private individuals are compelled to
sell their valuables in order to live and pay the onerous taxes which
weigh on them. At the present moment, by Royal order, an inventory is
being taken of the silver of all the churches of the kingdom. No doubt
it will have to be sent to the Mint, and payment will be made when
that of the Treasury notes takes place--that is, _when it pleases
God_. Such is a summary of what now occurs here. How I regret, my dear
Sir, the merry days I spent in Canada! I would like to be there still
if matters were as formerly. I could own a _turn-out_ there, whereas I
go on foot, like a dog, through the mud of Bordeaux, where I certainly
do not live in the style I did in Quebec. Please God this iron age may
soon end! We flattered ourselves this winter that peace would soon be
proclaimed; it is much talked of, but I see no signs of it. It will,
it is said, require another campaign to complete the ruin, and to
postpone more and more the payment of the Treasury notes. What will be
the ultimate fate of these bills is very hard to say. It is unlikely
any settlement of them will be made before peace is concluded. My
opinion is that nothing will be lost on the bills, which are
registered, but I cannot say the same of the exchange, which is not
registered, since payment has been stopped. The Government has refused
to register any bills, even some which had been sent to me, and which
were payable in 1758. I negotiated some registered ones here and in
Paris at 50 per cent. discount. Non-registered ones are valueless, and
you get few purchasers even for registered bills. Four richly laden
vessels belonging to the West India Company (_Compagnie des Indes_)
have arrived lately. This was very opportune, as the Company was
rather shaky. However, it never failed to pay the "Beaver Bills," and
has even accepted those which had not yet fallen due. Our affairs on
the coast of Coromandel are like the rest--in a bad way. Fears are
entertained for Pondicherry. The English are arming a large expedition
for Martinique. That island will have the same fate as Guadeloupe. The
succor sent out to you, if ever it reaches you, of which I doubt,
consists in six merchant ships, laden with 1,600 tons of provisions,
some munitions of war, and 400 soldiers from Isle Royal. I believe
this relief is sent to you more through a sense of honour than from
any desire (as none exists) to help you. Many flatter themselves you
will retake Quebec this winter. I wish you may, but I do not believe
you will. This would require to be undertaken by experienced and
determined men, and even then such attempts fail. [88] Remember me to
your dear wife. Kiss my little friend (your boy) for me. I reserve him
when he comes to France a gilt horse and a silver carriage. My wife
and family beg to be remembered.

Yours, &c.,

(Sd) ESTEBE.

P.S.--Your brother is always at La Rochelle. Since I am at Bordeaux,
out of 80 vessels which left South America, one only has arrived here.
You can fancy how trade stagnates. A singular distrust exists
everywhere. The exchange of ---- and other good houses is refused.
Those who want to remit to Paris have to get their specie carried.

6th March, 1760.

The hospital of Toulouse is just short of nine millions. Bankrupts
everywhere merchants and others.

St. Peter street has become the general headquarters of the most important commerce, and of life insurance and fire assurance offices. The financial institutions are there proudly enthroned: the Bank of Montreal (founded in 1818 and incorporated in 1828), Bank of Quebec (founded in 1817), the Union Bank (founded in 1865), the Banque Nationale (founded in 1873), the Bank of British North America (founded in 1836, incorporated in 1840, opened at Quebec in 1837), the Merchants' Bank (founded in 1861).

In this street resided, in 1774, the Captain Bouchette, who, in the following year, in his little craft, _Le Gaspé_, brought us back our brave Governor, Guy Carleton; M. Bouchard, merchant, M. Panet, N.P. (the father of His Lordship, Bishop B.C. Panet), as also M. Boucher, Harbor Master of Quebec, "(who was appointed to that post by the Governor, Sir R. S. Milnes, on the recommendation of the Duke of Kent.)." [89] Boucher had piloted the vessel, having on board the 7th Regiment, (the Duke's), from Quebec to Halifax.

The office in which the _Quebec Morning Chronicle_ has been published since 1847, belonged in 1759 to M. Jean Taché, "President of the Mercantile Body," "an honest, and sensible man," as appears by _Mémoirs sur le Canada_, (1749-60). One of our first poets, he composed a poem "_On the Sea_." The ancestor of the late Sir E. P. Taché, and of the novelist, Jos. Marmette and others, he possessed, at that period, extensive buildings on the Napoleon wharf, which were destroyed by fire in 1845, and a house in the country, on the Ste. Foye road, afterwards called "Holland House," after Major Samuel Holland, our first Provincial Surveyor-General, whose services as surveyor and engineer were subsequently so conspicuous at Quebec and at Prince Edward Island.

The _Chronicle_ building, during nearly half a century, was a coffee house, much frequented by sea-faring men, known as the "Old Neptune" Inn. The effigy of the sea-god, armed with his formidable trident, placed over the main entrance, seemed to threaten the passers-by. We can remember, as yesterday, his colossal proportions. "Old Neptune" [90] has disappeared about thirty years back.

_THE OLD NEPTUNE INN._

"Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inn."
--_Shakespeare_.

"The Golden Fleece was the oldest tavern in Corinth. It had been the
resort of sea-faring men from the remotest period."--(_Travels of
Herodotus in Greece_, 460 _B.C._)

When the brilliant Henry Ward Beecher pronounced Quebec an _Old
Curiosity Shop_, we are induced to think that amidst its accumulated
antiquarian relics, its church pictures and madonnas, its famous
battle-fields, its historical monuments, massive fortifications and
wondrous scenery,--more than one of the quaint French dwellings with
their peaked gables, and walls four feet thick, must have caught his
observant eye. However striking Ward Beecher's word-painting may be,
it would I opine, have required the marvellous pencil of the author of
"_The House with the Seven Gables_," Nathaniel Hawthorne, becomingly
to portray all the _arcana_ of such a building as the _Chien d'Or_
(the old Post Office), with its ghastly memories of blood and revenge.

The legendary moss clustering round these hoary piles, is not,
however, always dark and gloomy. Love, war, adventure, occasionally
lend them their exciting or their soft glamour. Sometimes the annals
of commerce entwine them with a green wreath--a sure talisman against
the rust of oblivion. It is one of the land marks of commerce we
purpose here briefly to describe.

At the foot of Mountain Hill, lies our chief emporium of news,
labelled for more than a quarter of a century, _Morning Chronicle_
Office. These premises stand on a very conspicuous site, viz., at the
foot of Mountain Hill, the highway from the port to the Upper Town,
direct to the old _Château_ and Citadel--a few rods only from the spot
where Champlain, in 1608, laid the foundations of his extensive
warehouses and dwelling, and close to where, in 1615, he had his
famous gardens. This business stand, for many years past, was owned by
the late Hon. Henry Black; at present it belongs to Hon. Geo. Okill
Stuart, Judge of the Court of Vice Admiralty. Its beginnings brings us
back to the era of the Bourbon sovereigns of Canada, to the
unregretted time (1758), when Intendant Bigot's shoddy _entourage_
held high carnival in famine-stricken Quebec.

In those blighting days, in which Madame de Pompadour reigned in
France, and Madame Pean in Quebec, _rings_ and public robbery
flourished in Canada; but among high officials, all were not corrupt.
There were some memorable exceptions. One of these exceptions was the
worthy, witty, and honest warden of the Quebec merchants, Jean Taché,
"_homme probe et d'esprit_," say old memoirs. Mr. Taché, the "_syndic
des marchands_," was not only an upright and wealthy merchant, he was
also gifted with the poetical fire; he, it was, who wrote the first
French poem issued in Canada, "_Le Tableau de la Mer_."

Jean Taché was also an extensive holder of real estate in and round
Quebec, warehouses (_des voûtes_) on the Napoleon wharf; a country
seat on the Ste. Foye road, subsequently the property of Surveyor-
General Samuel Holland--Holland Farm; lastly, the well-known business
stand, where, in 1847, Mr. St. Michel printed James Bell Forsyth's
news sheet, the _Morning Chronicle_.

Commercial ruin overtook the worthy Lower Town magnate, Monsieur
Taché; his ships and cargoes, during the war of the conquest, like the
rest of poor, deserted Canada, fell into English hands, being captured
at sea; out of the disaster Jean Taché saved naught but his honourable
name.

We fail to trace for a time the fortunes of his Mountain Hill Counting
House. At the dawn of this century the premises were used as a famous
coffee-house, the "Neptune" Inn, [91] a noted place of resort for
merchants, masters and owners of ships. Like the Golden Fleece Tavern
of Corinth, which seems to have sheltered the father of History--
Herodotus--in the year 460 B.C., its "banqueting saloon" was roomy,
though every word uttered there also smacked of the salt water. The
old "Neptune" was probably occasionally looked up in 1807 by the Press
Gang, which, in those days, was not a thing to be laughed at. Witness
the fate of poor Latresse, shot down for refusing to surrender to
Lieut. Andrel, R.N., on trying to make his escape from a tavern in St.
John's suburbs, where he had been attending a dancing party. [92]

Singularly enough, sixty years ago, the leading Lower Town merchants
met in this old tenement of the former "_Syndic des Marchands_"
to establish the first Exchange. Of the resolutions passed at the
meeting thereat, held in 1816, and presided over by an eminent
merchant, John William Woolsey, Esq., subsequently President of the
Quebec Bank, we find a notice in the _Quebec Gazette_, of 12th
December, 1816. [93] They decided to establish a Merchant's Exchange
in the lower part of the "Neptune" Inn. Amongst those present, one
recognizes familiar names--John Jones, George Symes, James Heath,
Robert Melvin, Thomas Edward Brown, &c.

Why was the place called "Neptune" Inn? For the obvious reason that a
large statue of the god of the sea, bearing in one hand a formidable
iron trident, stood over the main entrance in a threatening attitude.
This conspicuous land-mark was known to every British ship-captain
frequenting our port. Right well can the writer of these lines
remember the truculent trident.

But if, even in the days of that excellent landlady, Mrs. Hammond, it
meant to the wearied mariner boundless cheer, the latest London
papers, pipes and soothing rum punch mixed by a comely and cheerful
bar-maid, to the unsophisticated Canadian peasant, attracted to the
Lower Town on market days, it was of evil portent.

With honest Jean Baptiste, more deeply read in the _Petit Catéchisme_
than in heathen mythology, the dreaded god of the sea and his
truculent trident were ominous, in his simple eyes, they symbolised
the Prince of Darkness, "_Le diable et sa fourche_," the terrors of a
hereafter.

This did not, however, prevent Neptune from standing sentry, in the
same exalted spot, for close on forty years, until in fact, having
fallen to pieces by natural decay, it was removed about the time the
Old Neptune Inn became the _Morning Chronicle_ office; the whereabouts
of its _dejecta membra_ are now a dead secret.

The origin of the famed statue had defied the most recondite searchers
of the past. For the following we are indebted to the retentive memory
of that eminently respected authority, the "oldest inhabitant." The
statue of Neptune, says the octogenarian, Robert Urquhart, so well
remembered at the foot of Mountain Hill, was presented to the landlord
of the hotel, George Cossar, formerly butler to Hon. Matthew Bell, who
then owned the St. Lawrence Chambers. It had been the figure-head of
the _Neptune_, a large king's ship, stranded in 1817 on Anticosti.
Would the stranded _Neptune_ of 1817 be the same as the flagship of
Admiral Durell in 1759, the _Neptune_ of 90 guns, to whom the large
bell bearing the word "_Neptune_, 1760," inscribed on, belonged? This
bell, which formerly stood on the Royal Engineers' workshop at Quebec,
was recently taken to Ottawa. The wreck had been bought by John
Goudie, of St. Roch suburb, then a leading ship builder, and, having
to break it up, the figure-head was brought to Quebec, and presented
as above stated.

The following respecting press gangs and the presence of Lord
Nelson, whilst at Quebec in 1782, was contributed by one of the
"oldest inhabitants" to QUEBEC PAST AND PRESENT, but reached too
late for insertion:--

_MY RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PAST._

J. M. LEMOINE, Esq., _Spencer Grange_.

DEAR SIR,--I have much pleasure in acceding to your request to
send you a note of some circumstances connected with the city, in
which seventy-one years of my life--now verging towards eighty--
have been spent. I am familiar with no part of Nelson's career,
except what I heard from my mother's own lips respecting this
brave man. My mother was gifted with a remarkable memory, and
recollected well having herself seen Captain Nelson, when in 1782,
he commanded at Quebec the sloop-of-war Albemarle. "He was erect,
stern of aspect and wore, as was then customary, the _queue_
or pigtail," she often repeated. Her idea of the Quebec young lady
to whom he had taken such a violent fancy, was that her name was
Woolsey--an aunt or elder sister, perhaps, of the late John W.
Woolsey, Esq., President for some years of the Quebec Bank, who
died in 1852, at a very advanced age. According to her, it was a
Mr. Davidson who prevented the imprudent marriage contemplated.