Quebec.
Quebec.
Quebec, June.
I came from Montreal to this city in the day time, and, consequently, had an opportunity of examining this portion of the St. Lawrence. The river opposite Montreal runs at the rate of six miles per hour, and is two miles wide; it preserves this breadth for about sixty miles, and then expands into the beautiful and emerald-looking lake of St. Peter, after which it varies from one to five in width until it reaches Quebec, which is distant from Montreal one hundred and eighty miles. Above St. Peter the shores vary from five to fifteen feet in height, but below the lake they gradually become more elevated until they measure some three hundred feet in the vicinity of Quebec. The country between the two Canadian cities is well cultivated, and on either side may be seen a continued succession of rural cottages.
Our steamer approached Quebec at the sunset hour, and I must say that I have never witnessed a more superb prospect than was presented by the lofty citadel city, the contracted St. Lawrence, the opposite headland called Point Levi, and the far distant land which I knew to be Cape Tourment. A stiff breeze was blowing at the time, and some twenty ships were sailing to and fro, while we had to make our way into port by winding between and around some three hundred ships which were at anchor.
I have seen much in this goodly city which has made a deep impression on my mind. The promontory called Cape Diamond upon which it stands, is formed by the junction of the St. Charles and St. Lawrence rivers, and rises to the height of three hundred and fifty feet above the water. The city is built from the water’s edge along the base of the cliff, and from thence, in a circuitous manner, ascends to the very border of the citadel and ramparts. There is but one street leading from the lower to the upper town, and that is narrow and very steep, and the gateway is defended by a number of large cannon. The city is remarkably irregular, and, as many of the buildings are quite ancient, its appearance is picturesque and romantic. The fortifications cover an area of forty acres, and beneath them are many spacious and gloomy vaults for the reception of ammunition and stores during a time of war.—Receding into the interior, from the very brow of the fortress, are the plains of Abraham, which are covered with a rich green sod, and planted with unnumbered cannon. Their historical associations are numerous, and, as they would fill a chapter in themselves, I will refrain from dwelling upon them, at this time.
The religious establishments of Quebec are quite numerous, and belong mostly to the Roman Catholics: like those of Montreal, they are quite ancient and well endowed; but they did not interest me, and I am sure my description of them would not interest my reader. As a matter of course, I visited the French Cathedral. It seems to be as old as the hills, and yet all the windows of the principal tower are roughly boarded up. On entering the edifice, which is crowded with gilded ornaments, I could not fix my eye upon a single object which suggested the idea of richness. The sculpture, the paintings, and even the gilding, are all without merit; and what greatly added to my disgust was, that I could not obtain a civil answer from a single one of the many boorish men and boys who were fussing about the church.
In the front of an extensive promenade, just below the citadel, stands the monument erected to the memory of Montcalm and Wolfe. The gentleman who contributed the largest sum for its erection was Lord Dalhousie. It is a handsome obelisk, and was designed by a military gentleman named Young. Theprincipalinscription on the column is characteristic of the English nation, and is what a shrewd Yankee would call “a puff of Dalhousie”—even though it be chiselled in Latin. The annoying effect of this inscription, however, is counteracted by another, which is also in Latin, and very beautiful. It was composed by J. C. Fisher, Esq., founder of the Quebec Gazette, and is as follows:
“Military virtue gave them a common death,History a common fame,Posterity a common monument.”
“Military virtue gave them a common death,History a common fame,Posterity a common monument.”
“Military virtue gave them a common death,History a common fame,Posterity a common monument.”
“Military virtue gave them a common death,
History a common fame,
Posterity a common monument.”
The Golden dog is another curiosity which will attract the attention of the visitor to Quebec. It is the figure of a dog, rudely sculptured in relievo, and richly gilded, which stands above the entrance of an ancient house, which was built by M. Phillibert, a merchant of this city, in the time of M. Bigot, the last intendant under the French government. Connected with it is the following curious story, which I copy from an old record:—
“M. Phillibert and the intendant were on bad terms, but, under the system then existing, the merchant knew that it was in vain for him to seek redress in the colony, and determining at some future period to prefer his complaint in France, he contented himself with placing the figure of a sleeping dog, in front of his house, with the following lines beneath it, in allusion to his situation with his powerful enemy:
“Je suis un chien qui ronge l’os,En le rongeant je prends mon repos—Un terme viendra qui n’est pas venuQue je mordrai qui m’aura mordu.”
“Je suis un chien qui ronge l’os,En le rongeant je prends mon repos—Un terme viendra qui n’est pas venuQue je mordrai qui m’aura mordu.”
“Je suis un chien qui ronge l’os,En le rongeant je prends mon repos—Un terme viendra qui n’est pas venuQue je mordrai qui m’aura mordu.”
“Je suis un chien qui ronge l’os,
En le rongeant je prends mon repos—
Un terme viendra qui n’est pas venu
Que je mordrai qui m’aura mordu.”
“This allegorical language was, however, too plain for Mons. Bigot to misunderstand it. A man so powerful easily found an instrument to avenge the insult, and M. Phillibert received, as the reward of his verse, the sword of an officer of the garrison through his back, when descending the Lower Town Hill. The murderer was permitted to leave the colony unmolested, and was transferred to a regiment stationed in the East Indies. Thither he was pursued by a brother of the deceased, who had first sought him in Canada, when he arrived here to settle his brother’s affairs. The parties, it is related, met in the public street of Pondicherry, drew their swords, and, after a severe conflict, the assassin met a more honorable fate than his crime deserved, and died by the hand of his antagonist.”
I know not that there are any other curiosities in Quebec really worth mentioning, and I willingly turn to its natural attractions. The fortress itself is undoubtedly one of, if not the most formidable on the continent; but I fell in love with it on account of itsobservatoryfeatures. To ramble over its commanding ramparts, without knowing, or caring to know a solitary individual, has been to me an agreeable and unique source of entertainment. At one time I leaned upon the balustrade, and looked down upon the Lower Town. It was near the hour of noon. Horses and carriages, men, women and children, were hurrying through the narrow streets, and ships were in the docks discharging their cargoes. I looked down upon all these things at a single glance, and yet the only noise I heard was a hum of business. Even the loud clear shout of the sailor, as he tugged away at the mast-head of his ship, could hardly be heard stealingupwardon the air. Doves were flying about, high above the roofs; but they were so far below my point of vision, that I could not hear the beating of their wings.
But the finest prospect that I have enjoyed in this city was from the summit of the Signal House, which looms above the citadel. I visited this spot just as the sun was setting, and everything was enveloped in a golden atmosphere. Beneath me lay the city, gradually lulling itself to repose; on the west, far as the eye could reach, faded away the valley of the upper St. Lawrence; towards the north, winding its way between high and well-cultivated hills, was the river St. Charles; towards the eastward, rolling onwards, in its sublimity like an ocean, across the continent, was the flood of the lower St. Lawrence, whitened by more than a hundred sails; and towards the south reposed a picturesque country of hills and dales, beyond which I could just discern some of the mountain peaks of my own dear “Father Land.” Strange and beautiful beyond compare was the entire panorama, and how was its influence upon me deepened, as a strain of martial music broke upon the silent air, and then melted into my very heart! I knew not whence it came, or who were the musicians, but I “blessed them unaware,” and as my vision again wandered over the far-off hills, I was quite happy.
The population of Quebec is estimated at thirty thousand, and the variety is as great as in Montreal. A large proportion of the people whom you see parading the streets are soldiers, and chief among them I would mention the Scotch Highlanders, who are a noble set of men, and dress in handsome style.
Quebec, upon the whole, is a remarkable place, and well worth visiting. The environs of the city are also interesting; and a ride to the Falls of Montmorency, seven miles down the river, and back again by an interior road, will abundantly repay the tourist for all the trouble and expense to which he may be subjected.
A sail down the St. Lawrence—Sword-fish chasing a whale.
A sail down the St. Lawrence—Sword-fish chasing a whale.
Tadousac, June.
I have not visited Canada for the purpose of examining her cities, and studying the character of her people, but solely with a view of hunting up some new scenery, and having a little sport in the way of salmon fishing. I am writing this chapter at the mouth of probably the most remarkable river in North America. But before entering upon a description of my sojourn here, it is meet, I ween, that I should give you an account of my journey down the St. Lawrence.
On reaching Quebec, I was informed that there was no regular mode of conveyance down the great river, and that I should have to take passage in a transient ship or schooner, which would land me at my desired haven. This intelligence had a tendency to dampen my spirits, and I had to content myself with sauntering about the citadel city. Among the places I visited was the fish market, where it was my good fortune to find a small smack which had brought a load of fresh salmon to market, and was on the point of returning to the Saguenay for another cargo. In less than thirty minutes after I saw him, I had struck a bargain with the skipper, transferred my luggage on board the smack, and was on my way to a region which was to me unknown.
We hoisted sail at twelve o’clock, and were favored by a stiff westerly breeze. Everything, in fact, connected with the voyage was beautifully accidental, and I had “a glorious time.” In the first place, our craft was just the thing—schooner-rigged, a fast sailer, and perfectly safe. The skipper—named Belland—was a warm-hearted and intelligent Frenchman, whose entire crew consisted of one boy. The day was superb, and the scenery of the river appeared to me more like the work of enchantment than nature.
The appearance of Quebec, from the eastward, is imposing in the extreme. Standing as it does upon a lofty bluff, its massive ramparts and tin-covered roofs, domes, and cupolas suggest the idea of immense power and opulence. Just below the city, the St. Lawrence spreads out to the width of three or four miles, while from the margin of either shore fades away a continued succession of hills, which vary from five hundred to fifteen hundred feet in height. Those upon the north shore are the highest, and both sides of the river, for a distance of some twenty miles below the city, are plentifully sprinkled with the white cottages of the Canadian peasantry. As you proceed, however, the river gradually widens, the hills upon the north shore become more lofty, reaching the elevation of two thousand feet; and, while you only occasionally discover a farm house upon their summits, the southern shore continues to bear the appearance of a settled country, where the spire of a Catholic church is frequently seen looming above a cluster of rural residences. In descending the river, the first pictorial feature which attracts attention is the Fall of Montmorency, pouring the waters of a noble tributary immediately into the St. Lawrence. Just below this fall the river is divided by the island of Orleans, which measures about twenty miles in length, and five in breadth. It is partly covered with forest, and partly cultivated; and, though the shores are rather low, it contains a number of points which are a hundred feet high. At the eastern termination of this island is the parish of St. Lawrent, a remarkably tidy French village, whose inhabitants are said to be as simple in their manners, as they are virtuous, and ignorant of the world at large. On a smaller island, which lies some thirty miles below Quebec, and directly opposite a noble cape called Tourment, is located the quarantine station for the shipping of the river; and when I passed this spot, I counted no less than forty-five ships at anchor, nearly all of which were freighted with foreign paupers, who were then dying of the ship fever, at the rate of one hundred and fifty individuals per day. I might here mention that the vessels usually seen on this part of the St. Lawrence are merchant ships and brigs, which are chiefly and extensively employed in the lumber and timber trade. Another island in this portion of the St. Lawrence, which attracts attention from its peculiar sylvan beauty, is called Goose Island, and owned by a sisterhood of Nuns, who have cultivated it extensively. The eastern portion of it is covered with forest; the channels on either side are not far from ten miles wide, and it is distant from Quebec about fifty miles.
We landed here at sunset; and while my companions were building a watch-fire, and cooking a supper of fish, pork and onions, I amused myself by taking sundry observations. I found the vegetation of the island quite luxuriant, the common hard woods of the north prevailing, but its foundation seemed to be composed of two distinct species of slate stone. Both varieties were of the finest grain, and while one was of a rich Indian red, the other was a deep blue. This portion of the St. Lawrence is a good deal blocked up by extensive reefs, composed of these identical slate stones, and at one point they extend so nearly across the river as to render ship navigation extremely dangerous. On subsequently examining the high hills on the north shore, I found them to be of solid granite, veined with red marble and extensive beds of quartz, and covered with a stunted forest of pine and hemlock. But this geological dissertation is keeping my pen from describing a night picture which it was my privilege to witness on this beautiful but badly-named island, where, for sundry reasons, we concluded to spend the night.
Our supper was ended, and the skipper had paid his last visit to the little craft, and, with his boy, had smoked himself to sleep by our camp fire. The sky was without a cloud, but studded with stars, and the breeze which kissed my cheek was soft and pleasant as the breath of one we dearly love. I had seated myself upon a rock, with my face turned towards the north, when my attention was attracted by a column of light, which shot upward to the zenith behind the distant mountains. The broad expanse of the St. Lawrence was without a ripple, and the mountains, together with the column of light and the unnumbered stars, were distinctly mirrored in its bosom. While looking upon this scene, the idea struck me that the moon was about to rise, but I soon saw a crimson glow stealing up the sky, and knew that I was looking upon the fantastic performances of the Northern Lights. Broad, and of the purest white, were the many rays which shot upward from behind the mountains, and at equal distances, between the horizon and the zenith, were displayed four arches of a purple hue, the uppermost one melting imperceptibly in the deep blue sky. On again turning my eyes upward, I discovered that the columns and arches had all disappeared, and that the entire sky was covered with a crimson color, which resembled a lake of liquid fire, tossed into innumerable waves. Strange were my feelings as I looked upon this scene, and thought of the unknown wilderness before me, and of the Being whose ways are past finding out, and who holdeth the entire world, with its cities, mountains, rivers, and boundless wildernesses, in the hollow of His hand. Long and intently did I gaze upon this wonder of the North; and at the moment it was fading away, a wild swan passed over my head, sailing towards Hudson’s Bay, and as his lonely song echoed along the silent air, I retraced my steps to the watch-fire and was soon a dreamer.
That portion of the St. Lawrence extending between Goose Island and the Saguenay is about twenty miles wide. The spring tides rise and fall a distance of eighteen feet; the water is salt, but clear and cold, and the channel very deep. Here it was that I first saw the black seal, the white porpoise, and the black whale. But speaking of whales, reminds me of “a whaling” fish story. A short distance above the Saguenay river, there shoots out into the St. Lawrence, to the distance of about eight miles, a broad sand bank, which greatly endangers the navigation. In descending the great river, we had to double this cape, and it was at this place that I first saw a whale. The fellow had been pursued by a sword-fish, and when we discovered him, his head was turned towards the beach, and he was moving with great rapidity, occasionally performing a most fearful leap, and uttering a sound that resembled the bellowing of a thousand bulls. The whale must have been forty feet long, and his enemy nearly twenty; and as they hurried on their course with great speed, the sight was, indeed, terrible. Frantic with rage and pain, it so happened that the more unwieldy individual forgot his bearings, and in a very few minutes he was floundering about on the sand bar, in about ten feet of water, when the rascally sword immediately beat a retreat. After a while, however, the whale concluded to rest himself, but as the tide was going out, his intentions were soon changed, and he began to roll himself about, and slap the water with his tail for the purpose of getting clear. His efforts, in a short time, proved successful, and when we last saw him, he was in the deepest part of the river, moving rapidly towards the gulf, and spouting up the water, as if congratulating himself upon his narrow escape.
In about two hours after witnessing this incident, our boat was moored at the mouth of the Saguenay; and of the comparatively unknown wilderness which this stream waters, my readers will find some information in the next chapter.
The Saguenay River—Storm picture—The Hudson’s Bay Company—Eminent merchant—The Mountaineer Indians—Tadousac—Ruin of a Jesuit establishment.
The Saguenay River—Storm picture—The Hudson’s Bay Company—Eminent merchant—The Mountaineer Indians—Tadousac—Ruin of a Jesuit establishment.
Tadousac, July.
About one hundred and fifty miles north of the St. Lawrence, and on one of the trails leading to Hudson’s Bay, lies a beautiful lake called St. John. It is about forty miles long, and surrounded with a heavily timbered, and rather level country. Its inlets are numerous, and twelve of them are regular rivers. Its waters are clear, and abound in a great variety of uncommonly fine fish. The principal outlet to this lake is the Saguenay River, which takes a southerly direction, and empties into the St. Lawrence. It is the largest tributary of the great river, and unquestionably one of the most remarkable on the continent. Its original Indian name was Chicoutimi, signifyingdeep water; but the early Jesuit missionaries, who have scattered theirSaint-anicnames over this entire country, thought proper to give it the name which it now bears, and the roundabout interpretation of which is,Nose of the sack. This name suggests to the world that the nose of St. John must have been a very long nose, and may be looked upon as a unique specimen of French poetry.
The scenery of the Saguenay is wild and romantic to an uncommon degree. The first half of its course averages half a mile in width, and runs through an untrodden wilderness of pine and spruce-covered hills; it abounds in waterfalls and rapids, and is only navigable for the Indian canoe. A few miles below the most southern fall on the river, is located the village of Chicoutimi, where an extensive lumber business is transacted, and the Hudson’s Bay Company have an important post. The village has an ancient appearance, and contains about five hundred inhabitants, chiefly Canadian French. The only curiosity in the place is a rude Catholic church, which is said to have been built by Jesuit missionaries upwards of one hundred years ago. It occupies the centre of a grassy lawn, surrounded with shrubbery, backed by a cluster of wood-crowned hills, and commands a fine prospect, not only of the Saguenay, but also of a spacious bay, into which there empties a noble mountain stream, now known as Chicoutimi River. In the belfry of this venerable church hangs a clear-toned bell, with an inscription upon it which the learning of Canada (with all its learned and unnumbered priests,) has not yet been able to translate or expound. But, great as is the mystery of this inscription, it is less mysterious to my mind than are themotivesof the Romish Church in planting the cross in the remotest corners of the earth, as well as in the mightiest of cities.
About ten miles south of Chicoutimi, there recedes from the west bank of the Saguenay, to the distance of ten miles, a beautiful expanse of water called Grand Bay. The original name of this bay was “Ha, Ha,” descriptive of the surprise which the French experienced when they first entered it, supposing that it was the Saguenay, until their shallop grounded on the north-western shore. At the head thereof is another settlement, similar to Chicoutimi. Between these two places the Saguenay is rather shallow, (when compared with the remainder of its course,) and varies in width from two and a half to three miles. The tides of the ocean are observable as far north as Chicoutimi, and this entire section of the river is navigable for ships of the largest class.
That portion of the Saguenay extending from Grand Bay to the St. Lawrence, a distance of sixty miles, is greatly distinguished for its wild and picturesque scenery. I know not that I can better portray to my reader’s mind the peculiarity of this river, than by the following method. Imagine, for a moment, an extensive country of rocky and thinly-clad mountains, suddenly separated by some convulsion of nature, so as to form an almost bottomless chasm, varying from one to two miles in width; and then imagine this chasm suddenly half-filled with water, and that the moss of centuries has softened the rugged walls on either side, and you will have a pretty accurate idea of the Saguenay. The shores of this river are composed principally of granite, and every bend presents you with an imposing bluff, the majority of which are eight hundred feet high, and many of them upwards of fifteen hundred. And, generally speaking, these towering bulwarks are not content to loom perpendicularly into the air, but they must needs bend over, as if to look at their own savage features reflected in the deep. Ay, and that worddeepbut tells the simple truth; for the flood that rolls beneath is black and cold as the bottomless pit. To speak without a figure, and from actual measurement, I can state that many portions of the Saguenay are one thousand feet deep; and the shallowest parts not much less than one hundred. In many places, too, the water is as deep five feet from the rocky barriers as it is in the centre of the stream. The feelings which filled my breast, and the thoughts which oppressed my brain, as I paddled by these places in my canoe, were allied to those which almost overwhelmed me when I first looked upward from below the fall to the mighty flood of Niagara. Awful beyond expression, I can assure you, is the sensation which one experiences in sailing along the Saguenay, to raise his eye heavenward, and behold hanging, directly over his head, a mass of granite, apparently ready to totter and fall, and weighing, perhaps, a million tons. Terrible and sublime, beyond the imagery of the most daring poet, are these cliffs; and while they proclaim the omnipotent power of God, they, at the same time, whisper into the ear of man that he is but as the moth which flutters in the noontide air. And yet, is it not enough to fill the heart of man with holy pride and unbounded love, to remember that the soul within him shall have but commenced its existence, when all the mountains of the world shall have been consumed as a scroll?
It is to the Saguenay that I am indebted for one of the most imposing storm pictures that I ever witnessed. It had been a most oppressive day, and, as I was passing up the river at a late hour in the afternoon, a sudden gust of wind came rushing down the stream, causing my Indian companion to bow, as if in prayer, and then to urge our frail canoe towards a little rocky island, upon which we immediately landed. Soon as we had surmounted our refuge, the sky was overcast with a pall of blackness, which completely enveloped the cliffs on either side, and gave the roaring waters a death-like hue. Then broke forth, from above our heads, the heavy roar of thunder, and as it gradually increased in compass, and became more threatening and impetuous, its volleys were answered by a thousand echoes, which seemed to have been startled from every crag in the wilderness, while flashes of the most vivid lightning were constantly illuminating the gloomy storm-made cavern which appeared before us. Down upon his knees again fell my poor Indian comrade, and, while I sat by his side, trembling with terror, the thought actually flew into my mind that I was on the point of passing the narrow gateway leading to hell. Soon, however, the wind ceased to blow, the thunder to roar, and the lightning to flash; and, in less than one hour after its commencement the storm had subsided, and that portion of the Saguenay was glowing beneath the crimson rays of the setting sun.
From what I have written, my reader may be impressed with the idea that this river is incapable of yielding pleasurable sensations. Sail along its shores, on a pleasant day, when its cliffs are partly hidden in shadow, and covered with a gauze-like atmosphere, and they will fill your heart with images of beauty. Or, if you would enjoy a still greater variety, let your thoughts flow away upon the blue smoke which rises from an Indian encampment hidden in a dreamy-looking cove; let your eye follow an eagle sweeping along his airy pathway near the summit of the cliffs, or glance across the watery plain, and see the silver salmon leaping by hundreds into the air for their insect food. Here, too, you may always discover a number of seals, bobbing their heads out of water, as if watching your every movement; and, on the other hand, a drove of white porpoises, rolling their huge bodies along the waters, ever and anon spouting a shower of liquid diamonds into the air. O yes, manifold, indeed, and beautiful beyond compare, are the charms of the Saguenay.
Although my description of this river has, thus far, been of a general character, I would not omit to mention, as perfect gems of scenery, Trinity Point, Eternity Cape, The Tableau, and Le Tête du Boule. The peculiarities of these promontories are so well described by their very names, that I shall refrain from attempting a particular description of my own.
The wilderness through which this river runs is of such a character that its shores can never be greatly changed in their external appearance. Only a small proportion of its soil can ever be brought under cultivation; and, as its forests are a good deal stunted, its lumbering resources are far from being inexhaustible. The wealth which it contains is probably of a mineral character; and if the reports I hear are correct, it abounds in iron ore. That it would yield an abundance of fine marble, I am certain; for, in passing up this stream, the observing eye will frequently fall upon a broad vein of an article as pure as alabaster.
How is it, many people are led to inquire, that so little has been known of the Saguenay country, until quite recently? The question is easily solved. It is a portion of that vast territory which has heretofore been under the partial jurisdiction of the Hudson’s Bay Company. I say partially, for the right of that powerful monopoly, as I understand the matter, extended only to the protection and use of its wild animals; but it has endeavored to convince the would-be settler that it was the sole proprietor of the immense domain, and that he had no right to live thereon. Its Posts on the Saguenay and St. Lawrence, so far as collecting furs is concerned, are a dead letter, and the journeys of its distinguished Governor are hereafter to be confined to the extreme north.
The man who deserves the most credit for encroaching upon the so-called possessions of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and proving to the world that its power is not without limit, is William Price, Esq., of Quebec. All the saw-mills located on the Saguenay and the lower St. Lawrence were established by him, and are now conducted at his expense. He gives employment to some two or three thousand men, and sends to England annually about one hundred ship loads of lumber, in the shape of deals. He is a thorough-going business man, and, did I not know the fact to be otherwise, I should set him down (with regard to his enterprise), as a full-blooded native of the Union. Many of the ships alluded to ascend the Saguenay to obtain lumber, as far as Chicoutimi, and it struck me as singularly paradoxical to see ships winding up that river whose legitimate home would seem to be the broad ocean. The current of the Saguenay flows, in some places, at the rate of seven miles per hour, but when there is any wind at all, it blows quite heavily directly from the north or south, so that, with the assistance of the tide, the upward bound ships or brigs manage to get along without much difficulty. The only steamboat which navigates this river is the Pocahontas, and is the property of Mr. Price. She is commanded by a gentleman who understands his business; and I can assure the lovers of scenery everywhere that a sail up the Saguenay, in this steamer, would be an event they could not easily forget. For the benefit of summer-tourists, I would here mention the fact, that, for about three months in the year, a Quebec steamer makes an occasional trip to the mouth of the Saguenay, by way of the river Du Loup, which is on the Canadian route to Halifax.
In speaking of the Saguenay, I must not omit to mention its original proprietors, a tribe of Indians, who are known as the Mountaineers. Of course it is the duty of my pen to record the fact that, where once flourished a large nation of brave and heroic warriors, there now exists a little band of about one hundred families. Judging from what I have heard and seen, the Mountaineers were once the very flower of this northern wilderness, even as the Chippewas were once the glory of the Lake Superior region. The Mountaineers of the present day are sufficiently educated to speak a smattering of French; but they know nothing of the true God, and are as poor in spirit as they are indigent with regard to the necessaries of life. The men of this nation are rather short, but well-formed; and the women are beautiful. They are proud in spirit, intelligent, and kind-hearted; and many of them, it is pleasant to know, are no longer the victims of the baneful “fire-water.” For this blessing they are indebted to the Romish priesthood, which fact I record with great pleasure. The Mountaineers are a particularly honest people, and great friends to the stranger white man. They are also distinguished for their expertness in hunting, and take pleasure in recounting the exploits of their forefathers. And their language, according to a Catholic missionary, Pierre de Roche, is one of the oldest and purest Indian languages on the continent. It abounds in Latin words, and is capable of being regularly constructed and translated. The qualities, in fine, which make the history of this people interesting, are manifold; and it is sad to think of the rapidity with which they are withering away, even as the leaves of a premature autumn.
But it is time that I should give you a brief description of Tadousac, where I have been spending a few days, and whence I date my chapters. The meaning of that word is a French corruption of the Indian word Saguenay. It is situated directly at the mouth of the Saguenay, and commands a fine prospect of that river, as well as of the St. Lawrence, which, at this point, is nearly thirty miles in width. Immediately at the base of the hill upon which the hamlet stands, is a beautiful bay, hemmed in with mountains of solid rock. The place is composed of houses belonging to an Indian trading-post, and another dwelling, occupied by a worthy Scotchman, named Ovington, who is a pilot by profession. The door of my friend’s cabin is always open to the admission of the tourist, and if others who may chance to stop here are as kindly treated as I was, they will be disposed to thank their stars. In front of the trading-post are planted a few cannon, and directly beside them, at the present time, is a small Indian encampment. In a rock-bound bay, about half a mile north of my temporary residence, is an extensive lumbering establishment, belonging to William Price. This spot is the principal port of the Saguenay, and the one where belongs the Pocahontas steamboat. About a dozen paces from the table, where I am now writing, is the ruin of a Jesuit religious establishment, which is considered the great curiosity of this region. The appearance of the ruin is not imposing, as you can discover nothing but the foundations upon which the ancient edifice rested; but it is confidently affirmed that upon this spot once stood the first stone and mortar building ever erected on the continent of North America. And this statement I am not disposed to question, for from the very centre of the ruin has grown a cluster of pine trees, which must have been exposed to the wintry blasts of at least two hundred years. The fate, and the very names of those who first pitched their tents in this wilderness, and here erected an altar to the God of their fathers, are alike unknown. Who, who can tell what shall be on the morrow?
The salmon—Several adventures.
The salmon—Several adventures.
Tadousac, July.
I intend to devote the present chapter to the acknowledged king of all the finny tribes, the lithe, wild and beautiful salmon. He pays an annual visit to all the tributaries of the St. Lawrence lying between Quebec and Bic Island, (where commences the Gulf of St. Lawrence,) but he is most abundant on the north shore, and in those streams which are beyond the jurisdiction of civilization. He usually makes his first appearance about the twentieth of May, and continues in season for two months. Nearly all the streams in this region abound in waterfalls, but those are seldom found which the salmon does not surmount in his “excelsior” pilgrimage; and the stories related of his leaps are truly wonderful. It is not often that he is found,man boundat the head of the streams he may have ascended; but when thus found and captured, his flesh is white, skin black, and his form, “long, lank, and lean as is the ribbed sea-sand.” His weight is commonly about fifteen pounds, but he is sometimes taken weighing full forty pounds. The salmon is an important article of export from this region, and is also extensively used by the Indians. The common mode for taking them is with a stationary net, which is set just on the margin of the river, at low water. It is customary with the salmon to ascend the St. Lawrence as near the shore as possible, and their running time is when the tide is high; the consequence is, that they enter the net at one tide, and are taken out at another; and it is frequently the case, that upwards of three hundred are taken at one time. The Indian mode for taking them is with the spear, by torchlight. Two Indians generally enter a canoe, and while one paddles it noiselessly along, the other holds forth the light, (which attracts the attention of the fish, and causes them to approach their enemy,) and pierces them with the cruel spear. This mode of taking the salmon is to be deprecated; but the savage must live, and possesses no other means for catching them. It is but seldom that the Indian takes more than a dozen during a single night, for he cannot afford to waste the bounties which he receives from Nature. For preserving the salmon, the Canadians have three modes:—First, by putting them in salt for three days, and then smoking them; secondly, by regularly salting them down as you would mackerel; and, thirdly, by boiling and then pickling them in vinegar. The Indians smoke them; but only to a limited extent.
I must now give you some account of my experience in the way of salmon-fishing with the fly, of which glorious sport I have recently had an abundance. If, however, I should indite a number of episodes, you will please remember that “it is my way,” and that I deem it a privilege of the angler to be as wayward in his discourse as are the channels of his favorite mountain streams.
My first salmon expedition of the season was to the St. Margaret River. I had two companions with me; one, an accomplished fly-fisher of Quebec, and the other, the principal man of Tadousac, a lumber manufacturer. We went in a gig-boat belonging to the latter, and, having started at nine o’clock, we reached our place of destination by twelve. We found the river uncommonly high, and a little rily. We made a desperate effort, however, and threw the line about three hours, capturing four salmon, only one of which it was my privilege to take. He was a handsome fellow, weighing seventeen pounds, and in good condition; he afforded my companions a good deal of fun, and placed me in a peculiar situation. He had taken the hook when I was wading in swift water up to my middle, and soon as he discovered his predicament, he made a sudden wheel, and started down the stream. My rod bent nearly double, and I saw that I must allow him all the line he wanted; and having only three hundred feet on my reel, I found it necessary to follow him with all speed. In doing so, I lost my footing, and was swept by the current against a pile of logs; meantime my reel was in the water, and whizzing away at a tremendous rate. The log upon which I depended happened to be in a balancing condition, and, when I attempted to surmount it, it plunged into the current, and floated down the stream, having your humble servant astride of one end, and clinging to it with all his might. Onward went the salmon, the log, and the fisherman. Finally the log found its way into an eddy of the river, and, while it was swinging about, as if out of mere deviltry, I left it, and fortunately reached the shore. My life having been spared, I was more anxious than ever to take the life of the salmon which had caused my ducking, and so I held aloft the rod, and continued down the stream, over an immense number of logs and rocks, which seemed to have been placed there for my especial botheration. On coming in sight of my fish, I found him in still water, with his belly turned upward, and completely drowned. I immediately drew him on a sand-bank near by, and, while engaged in the reasonable employment of drying my clothes, my brother fishermen came up to congratulate me upon my success, but laughing, in the mean time, most heartily. The lumber merchant said that the log I had been riding belonged to him, and it was his intention to charge me one shilling for my passage from the rift where I had hooked the salmon, to the spot where I had landed him, which was in full view of the Saguenay; and my Quebec friend remarked, that he knew the people of Yankee-land had a queer way of doing things, but he was not acquainted with their peculiar mode of taking salmon. As may be readily imagined, we retraced our steps back to the log shanty where we had stopped, and, having carefully stowed away our salmon, we laid aside our fishing tackle, and made arrangements for a little sport of another kind.
The hamlet of St. Margaret, where we spent the night, contains some eight or ten log shantees, which are occupied by about twenty families, composed of Canadians, Indians, and half-breeds. They obtain their living by “driving” logs, and are as happy as they are ignorant. Anxious to see what we could of society among this people, we sent forth a manifesto, calling upon the citizens generally to attend a dance at the cabin of a certain man whom we had engaged to give the party, at our expense. Punctual to the appointed hour, the assembly came together. Many of the men did not take the trouble even to wash their hands, or to put on a coat before coming to the party; but the women were neatly dressed with blue and scarlet petticoats, over which were displayed night-gowns of white cotton. The fiddler was an Indian, and the dancing hall (some twelve feet square), was lighted with a wooden lamp, supplied with seal oil. The dance was without any particular method; and, when a gentleman wished to trip the light fantastic toe he had only to station himself on the floor, when one of his friends would select his partner, and lead her up for his acceptance. The consequence was, that, if a man wished to dance with any particular lady, he was obliged to make a previous arrangement with his leading-up friend. The fiddler not only furnished all the music, but also performed a goodly portion of the dancing,—fiddling and dancing at the same time. The supper was laid on the table at ten o’clock, and consisted principally of dried beaver tail, and cariboo meat, fried and boiled salmon, (which was cooked out of doors, near the entrance to the cabin,) rye bread, maple molasses, and tea.
The party broke up at twelve o’clock, when we retired to the cabin, where we had secured lodgings, and it is an actual fact that our sleeping room on that night was occupied, not only by ourselves, but by two women, one man, and four children, (divided into three beds,) all members of the same family with whom we had succeeded in obtainingaccommodations. On the following morning we rose at an early hour, and again tried our luck at salmon fishing, but only killed a few trout, whereupon we boarded our gig, and started down the romantic Saguenay, telling stories and singing songs.
Another river, in this region, which affords good salmon fishing, is the Esquemain. It empties into the St. Lawrence, about twenty miles east of Saguenay. It is a cold, clear and rapid stream, abounding in rapids and deep pools. At its mouth is located a saw-mill, but its water-works are so managed as not to interfere with the salmon. The fish of this stream ascend to a great distance, and, though rather small, are exceedingly abundant. The best fishing in the river is at the foot of the water-fall, which forms a sheet of foam, about one mile above the mouth. My Quebec friend accompanied me to this place, and though we only threw the fly about six hours, (three in the evening and three in the morning,) yet we killed thirteen salmon, without losing a single line, and with the loss of only three flies. Owing to the bushy shores of the stream, we were compelled to fish standing upon boulders, located in its centre; and whenever we hooked a fish, there was no alternative but to plunge into the current, and trust to fortune. For some unaccountable reason, (of course, it could not have beenourfault,) we lost more than half of those we hooked. But it was worth a moderate fortune to see the magnificent leaps which the fish performed, not only when they took the fly, but when they attempted to escape. There was not one individual that did not give us a race of at least half a mile. The largest taken, during this expedition, was killed by my companion, and caused more trouble than all his other prizes. Not only did the fellow attempt to clear himself by stemming the foam of a rapid, and rubbing his nose against a rock, to break the hook, but he also swept himself completely round a large boulder, poked his head into a net, and ran, with the speed of lightning to the extreme end of his line. It took my friend forty minutes to land this salmon, and I assure you he was particularly pleased when he found that his fish weighed one pound more than the largest I had taken. The fact was our rods were almost precisely alike, in length and strength, and as two countries were represented in our persons, the strife between us was quite desperate. I will acknowledge that the Canada gentleman took the largest salmon, but the States angler took them in the greatest number. Notwithstanding all the fine sport that we enjoyed on the Esquemain, I am compelled to state that it was more than counterbalanced by the sufferings we endured from the black fly and musquetoe. The black fly is about half as large as the common house fly, and, though it bites you only in the day time, they are as abundant in the air as the sand upon the sea shore, and venomous to an uncommon degree. The musquetoe of this region is an uncommonly gaunt, long-legged, and hungry creature, and his howl is peculiarly horrible. We had been almost devoured by the black flies, during the afternoon, and as soon as darkness came, we secured a couple of beds in a Frenchman’s house, and, as we tumbled in, congratulated ourselves upon a little comfortable repose. It was an exceedingly sultry night, and though we were both in a complete fever, from the fly poison circulating in our veins, the heat excelled the fever, and our bodies were literally in a melting condition. We endeavored to find relief by lying upon the bare floor, with no covering but a single sheet, and this arrangement might have answered, had it not been for the flood of musquetoes which poured into the room, as one of us happened to open a window to obtain fresh air. Every spot on our bodies which the flies had left untouched, was immediately settled upon by these devils in miniature. They pierced the very sheets that covered us, and sucked away at our blood without any mercy. Unwilling to depart this life without one effort more to save it, we then dressed ourselves, and sauntered into the open air. We made our way towards a pile of lumber, near the saw-mill, and without a particle of covering, endeavored to obtain a little sleep; but the insect hounds soon found us out, and we bolted for another place. Our course now lay towards the rude bridge which spans the Esquemain, just above the mill. Our intentions at the time, though not uttered aloud, I verily believe were of a fearful character. On reaching the bridge, however, a refreshing breeze sprung up, and we enjoyed a brief respite from our savage enemies. We now congratulated each other upon our good fortune, and had just concluded to be quite happy, when we discovered a number of Indians on the river, spearing salmon by torch light, and, as it was after midnight, and the heathens were spearing on our fishing ground, we mournfully concluded that our morning’s sport was at an end. But while in the very midst of this agreeable mood of mind, a lot of skylarking musquetoes discovered our retreat, and we were again besieged. We now endeavored to find relief on board the boat which had brought us from the Saguenay; and here it was that we spent the two last hours of that most miserable night. Though not exactly in a fitting condition to throw the fly with any degree of comfort, we made an effort after salmon in the morning, and succeeded in killing a portion of the thirteen already mentioned. That we enjoyed the good breakfast which we had prepared for our especial benefit, and that we departed from Esquemain as soon as possible, are facts which I consider self-evident.
The mouth of the Saguenay, as I have before remarked, is completely hemmed in with barriers of solid rock, and, when the tide is flowing in from one of these points, first rate salmon fishing may occasionally be enjoyed. I have frequently had the pleasure of throwing the fly on the point in question, and, on one occasion, was so carried away with the sport, that I took no notice of the rising tide. It was near the sunset hour, and on preparing for my departure home, I discovered that I was completely surrounded with water, and that my situation was momently becoming more dangerous. The water was bitter cold, and turbulent, and the channel which separated me from the main shore was upwards of a hundred yards wide. I was more than half a mile from the nearest dwelling, and could not see a single sail on the Saguenay, or the still broader St. Lawrence, excepting a solitary ship, which was ten leagues away. My predicament, I assure you, was not to be envied. I could not entertain the idea that I should lose my life; and, though I felt myself to be in danger, my sensations were supremely ridiculous. But something, I was persuaded, must be done, and that immediately; and so I commenced throwing off my clothes for a final effort to save my life. I had stripped off everything but shirt and pantaloons, and to a flock of crows, which were cawing above my head, I must have presented an interesting picture. I thought of the famous swimming adventures of Leander and Lord Byron, and, also, of the inconveniences of being drowned, (as Charles Lamb did of being hanged,) but just as I was about to make the important plunge, an Indian in his canoe came gliding around a neighboring point, and I was rescued, together with one salmon and some dozen pounds of trout.
But I have not finished my story yet. On the night following this incident I retired to bed in rather a sober mood, for I could not banish the recollection of my narrow escape from a ducking, if not from a watery grave. The consequence was, that, in my dreams, I underwent ten times as much mental suffering as I had actually endured. I dreamed that, in scaling the rocks which lead to the point alluded to, I lost my footing, and fell into the water. While in this condition, drinking more salt water than I wanted, floundering about, like a sick porpoise, gasping for breath, and uttering a most doleful moan, I was suddenly awakened, and found my good landlord at my side, tapping me on the shoulder, for the purpose of summoning me—from the back of thenightmareI had been riding.
As I may not have another opportunity of alluding to this portion of the Saguenay, and the rocky point already alluded to, I must give my reader another, and a remarkable incident connected with them. Some years ago, the Hudson’s Bay Company had in its employ, as clerk at Tadousac, an intelligent and amiable young man, whose name was McCray. For some unaccountable reason, he became deranged; and, on one occasion, a cold and stormy winter night, he took it into his head to cross the Saguenay upon the floating ice, which was coming down at the time. When first discovered, he was half way across the stream, and making frightful leaps of ten and fifteen feet from one block of ice to another. His friends followed in close pursuit, with a boat, as soon as possible, but on reaching the opposite shore, the unhappy man was not to be found. On the day following, however, certain people, who were hunting for him in the woods, discovered him, perched in the crotch of a tree, almost frozen to death, and senseless as a clod of the valley. He was taken home, the circulation of his blood restored, and he is now an inmate of the Quebec Lunatic Asylum. The mind of this worthy man was thought to be of a high order; and it is certain that he possessed an extensive knowledge of botany and geology. From remarks that escaped him subsequently to the wonderful feat he performed, it is supposed that, at the time of starting across the river, he was thinking of a particular book which he wished to obtain, and had been told could be purchased at Quebec, towards which place (unattainable by land), he had set his face. It is worthy of record that poor McCray is the only man that ever crossed the deep and angry Saguenay on the ice, as it is never solidly frozen; and it is almost certain that the feat he performed can never be again repeated.
But to return to my piscatorial remarks. Next to the salmon, the finest sporting fish of this region is the trout. Of these I have seen two species,—the salmon and the common trout. Of the former, I believe there is but one variety, but that is an exceedingly fine fish for sport, or the table, and is found in the lower tributaries of the St. Lawrence, from five to fifteen pounds. They are taken chiefly in the salt water, and possess a flavor which the trout of our western lakes do not. Of the common trout, I have seen at least six varieties, differing, however, only in color; for some are almost entirely white, others brown, some blue, some green, some black, and others yellow. These are taken everywhere in the St. Lawrence, and in all its tributaries. Those of the Saguenay are the largest, most abundant, and of the rarest quality. Upon the whole, I am inclined to set this river down as affording the finest trout-fishing that I have ever enjoyed, not even excepting that which I have experienced at the Falls of St. Mary, in Michigan. Almost every bay or cove in the Saguenay is crowded with trout, and, generally speaking, the rocks upon which you have to stand afford an abundance of room to swing and drop the fly. In some of the coves alluded to, I have frequently taken a dozen two-pound trout during the single hour before sunset. Trout-fishing in this region possesses a charm which the angler seldom experiences in the rivers and lakes of the United States, which consists in his uncertainty as to the character of his prize before he has landed him, for it may be a common or salmon trout, or a regular-built salmon, as these fish all swim in the same water. It is reported of a celebrated angler of Quebec, that he once spent a week on the Esquemain, and captured within that time, seventy salmon, and upwards of a hundred trout. This is a very large story, but I have faith enough to believe it true.
And now for a few remarks upon the fish of the lower St. Lawrence generally. Cod are taken to a very great extent, and constitute an important article of commerce. Herring and mackerel are abundant; also the halibut and sardine. Shad are also taken, but not in sufficient quantities to export. The lobster, flounder and oyster are also found in this river, and, with a few unimportant exceptions, these are the only fish that flourish in this portion of the great river. The sea bass, the striped bass, the blue fish, and the black fish, for which I should suppose these waters perfectly adapted, are entirely unknown.