Summer Provinces by the Sea
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Title: Summer Provinces by the Sea
Author: Intercolonial Railway
Prince Edward Island Railway
Release date: April 24, 2015 [eBook #48774]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48774
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMER PROVINCES BY THE SEA ***
_Summer Provinces
by the Sea_
A description of the Vacation Resources of Eastern Quebec and the
Maritime Provinces of Canada, in the territory served by the Canadian
Government Railways:—
INTERCOLONIAL RAILWAY
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND RAILWAY
[Illustration]
_CONTENTS_
Page
1. Introductory 5
2. Historic Quebec 28
3. Summer Resorts of the Lower St. Lawrence 68
4. Across the Base of the Gaspé Peninsula; and Some Superb Fishing
Streams 105
5. The Bay of Chaleur 120
6. The Miramichi River and Nashwaak Valley Districts 142
7. Fredericton, and the Upper St. John River 153
8. The City of St. John, and Lower St. John River 173
9. St. John to Moncton and Point du Chene 192
10. Prince Edward Island 203
11. Moncton to the Atlantic, over the Halifax Division 229
12. Halifax, an Ocean Gateway 246
13. Nova Scotia, North and East 260
14. Cape Breton Island 271
15. Where to Go—Recommended Places 299
[Illustration: Chateau Frontenac, Quebec]
_INTRODUCTORY_
[Illustration]
One glance at a map of the Western Hemisphere is all that is needed to
show the splendid situation of Eastern Quebec and the Maritime Provinces
of Canada as the natural summer recreation centres for the people of a
continent.
Communicating with the world’s greatest system of inland waterways;
washed by the salt spray of the rolling Atlantic; blessed with
innumerable lakes, majestic rivers, dashing waterfalls and sparkling
brooks; clothed with noble forests; featured by towering mountain
chains, and swept by cool health-bringing breezes—these delightful
domains are surely the summer provinces of all America.
Who has not read with fascination and delight the thrilling pages of
Canada’s romantic history; or has not been stirred with deep emotion
over the adventures of that trio of great explorers: Cabot, Cartier and
Champlain!
The desperate struggles of the early colonists with the savage Iroquois
Indians; the long and fluctuating conflict for supremacy between France
and Great Britain; the incursions of the New England Colonists; the
mixed settlement of Colonial Loyalists, French, English, Scotch and
Irish; the Acadian Expulsion—all have combined to make Quebec and the
Maritime Provinces a field that is rich in interest and quite unlike any
other part of the continent.
Here buried treasures of legend and story are on every hand, promising
rich reward to the happy discoverers.
[Illustration]
There is a fascination in seeing places where the people of long ago
have lived, and where epoch-making events have occurred; for there we
may learn at first hand and from personal observation many things that
cannot be read in the printed page.
[Illustration]
How delightful to stand where Jacques Cartier planted his symbolic cross
with its emblazoned shield bearing the royal lilies of France, and to
remember that here his banners were first unfurled to the breezes of
this western land. And while the loyal sons of St. Denis saluted the
fluttering flags as the guns were discharged in joyful salvo to mark the
birth of an empire beyond the seas did the wondering Indians understand
the full meaning of the ceremony, or realize that this handful of men
was but the advance guard of a mighty host propelled by a still mightier
force—the power of civilization—that would compel the poor “sons of the
forest” to give way before the irresistible onrush?
This sixteenth century invasion of Canada seems very remote to us; but
long before Columbus, Cabot or Cartier set foot on the Western
Continent, other Europeans had visited it.
From the first contact of the white man with his red brother, the
Aboriginal tribes living along the North Atlantic coast had well defined
and century-old traditions of a wonderful ship that had been cast ashore
manned by strange white men who were all drowned. In Norse history,
also, there is the Saga of Eric the Red relating to the discovery of the
east coast of North America, before the Christian Era was a thousand
years old. Whittier refers to this in his legendary verses, “The
Norsemen”:
“What sea-worn barks are those which throw
The light spray from each rushing prow?
Have they not in the North Sea’s blast
Bowed to the waves the straining mast?
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Onward they glide,—and now I view
Their iron-armed and stalwart crew,
Joy glistens in each wild blue eye,
Turned to green earth and summer sky;
Each broad, seamed breast has cast aside
Its cumbering vest of shaggy hide;
Bared to the sun and soft warm air,
Streams back the Norseman’s yellow hair.”
[Illustration: Riviere Ste. Anne]
The Vikings are believed to have had a fishing station at Gaspé in the
tenth century, and it is almost certain that in the few following
centuries Norman and Basque fishermen sailed up and down the waters of
the St. Lawrence.
But early history, although interesting to those who would know
something of the land in which they sojourn, is only a background for
the natural beauty and other material features of the provinces.
Beginning, therefore, with Quebec,—which although ocean-swept and
geographically maritime, is not one of the Maritime Provinces,—and
proceeding east, a brief survey is now made of New Brunswick, Prince
Edward Island, and Nova Scotia inclusive of Cape Breton.
[Illustration]
The Province of Quebec is highly diversified and mountainous, and full
of ever-changing pictures of great beauty. Its eastern borders are famed
for their fine highland scenery, picturesque lakes and romantic glens.
In many parts the scenery is majestic, with everything on a grand scale;
and the mountains, woods, lakes, rivers, precipices and waterfalls all
combine to make the country one of the grandest in the world. Canada’s
beautiful Mediterranean, the noble St. Lawrence, traverses the province
from south-west to north-east, and receives as tributaries the great
rivers Ottawa, Richelieu, St. Maurice and the Saguenay, as well as a
multitude of other rivers of considerable size.
“What river is this?”.....asked Cartier of his Indian pilot, when first
he sailed over the broad expanse of the St. Lawrence. With impressive
dignity came the reply, “A river that has no end.” How apt this
conception was is apparent when we remember that in its widest sense—for
the great lakes are but river beds of the Ice Age—the St. Lawrence
system is over 2200 miles long.
It is interesting to remember that all the early navigators sailed up
the St. Lawrence with the hope of thus reaching China and the Indies. It
was this quest for a direct western seaway to the Orient that led to the
discovery of the North American continent. Indeed, in Roman times and
many centuries before the Norse discovery of a thousand years ago,
Iberian shipping, bound west, is believed to have reached the St.
Lawrence as far as Tadousac and the Saguenay River. All of these daring
navigators believed that the Western shores reached by them were the
bold headlands of the Asiatic continent.
The value of Cabot’s discovery of the Western continent in early days—or
the niggardly character of the ‘royal’ Henry—may be inferred from the
following entry in the expenditure account, for the year 1497, still to
be seen in the British Museum: “August 10th........To hyme that founde
the new Isle........£10.”
The great Champlain, in his search for a western waterway to China,
penetrated as far as the lake in the State of New York that now bears
his name.
[Illustration]
There is such a wealth of scenic beauty in the Province of Quebec, and
such a delightful, old-time life is found in its many quaint villages,
that a tour in any part of the province is full of very pleasant
surprises. Without much imagination you may believe you are in a
province of Old France. Thoreau, the naturalist, thought it appeared as
old as Normandy itself, enabling him to realize much that he had heard
of Europe and the Middle Ages. When you leave the United States you
travel in company with the saints, for the names of villages such as St.
Fereol, Ste. Anne, The Guardian Angel, and of mountains such as Belange
and St. Hyacinthe are all along your route. The names “reel with the
intoxication of poetry”—Chambly, Longueuil, Pointe aux Trembles,
Bartholomy, etc. Like Thoreau you will “dream of Provence and the
Troubadours.”
The beauties of Tadousac, and the grandeur of the “Dread Saguenay, where
eagles soar”—will be of deep interest to all who reach Rivière du Loup
on the opposite shore by Intercolonial Railway, and who cross over on
the steamships of the Trans-St. Laurent Company.
There are few places in the world where such a delightful trip of
two-and-a-half hours can be taken across a great waterway. Probably the
best view of the whole north shore is that seen from here. The blue
water, the gorgeous clouds, the great mountain ranges and the ‘tang’ of
the sea air will ever be remembered.
“I saw the East’s pale cheek blush rosy red
When from his royal palace in the sky,
The sun-god, clothed in crimson splendor, came
And lit the torch of day with sudden flame,
While morning on white wings flew swiftly by
Bringing a message that the night was dead.”
Picturesque Tadousac,—with its delightful life—the tremendous chasms of
the Saguenay, the majestic capes, the noble mountain stream of the
Chicoutimi, the great lake of St. John, and the perpendicular cliffs and
roaring rapids of the Marguerite; all show nature in her grandest
aspect.
[Illustration]
All along the south shore of the St. Lawrence are numerous pleasant
summer resorts; and from Rivière Ouelle Junction on the Intercolonial
Railway the train may be taken to the riverside wharf from whence the
steamship Champlain makes a pleasant trip to the trio of splendid
resorts on the north shore: Murray Bay with its sublime Alpine scenery,
rugged Cap à l’Aigle, and charming St. Irénée.
And then Quebec, the old-world city, the capital of the province, the
historic centre of Canada and all America, the city of Wolfe and
Montcalm! Surely the thought of her glories brings a flush of pride to
the faces of French and British alike. No city in all America is more
famous than this.
“Near her grim citadel the blinding sheen
Of her cathedral spire triumphant soars,
Rocked by the Angelus, whose peal serene
Floats over Beaupré and the Lévis shores.”
Seen from the river, Quebec is noble, grand, and superb. Its cupolas,
minarets, steeples and battlements give it the appearance of an Oriental
city. Some find here a resemblance to Angoulême, Innspruck and
Edinburgh; and the surrounding scenery has been likened to the
unsurpassed views of the Bosphorus. The whole prospect of mountain,
river and citadel-capped city cannot be surpassed in any part of the
world.
The great interest excited by a near approach to the old capital is
heightened as one steps ashore, thrilled by the novelty and beauty of
all the surroundings. It is a city of striking contrasts; and full of
the quaint and curious sights that make Old World travel so delightful.
The environs, too, and the whole surrounding country are rich with
historic, romantic and picturesque interest.
It is related that a touring party in an automobile arrived recently at
Quebec at 8.30 in the morning. They had breakfast, ‘did’ the city and
surrounding country, had luncheon and were off for other parts by 1.30.
This is surely a ‘record’; but...... poor Quebec! or rather, poor
travellers! ........ for pity should be theirs.
A stay of a month will bring daily joys to the one that loves legend and
romance, and all that is quaint and beautiful. The walks and drives and
boating trips, the numerous pretty lakes, the fine rivers Chaudière and
Jacques Cartier, as well as the Ste. Anne and smaller streams, supply
constant incitement for healthful exercise; and above all there is the
story of Quebec that will call him daily in every direction to drink at
the fountain head of historic lore.
[Illustration: Trout Creek, Sussex]
If haply the visitor can remain for several months, he will find ample
occupation in this rich and inexhaustible locality; and if his
heart-chords are those of the poet, the scholar, the man of letters, the
artist, the soldier, the student, or the lover of the beautiful, he will
leave the city with deep regret; and with sad heart, a moist eye, and
broken utterance will the words “Farewell to dear Old Quebec” be said.
[Illustration: A Summer Camp]
In such a large, well-wooded and splendidly watered province as Quebec,
the facilities for camping, boating, hunting and fishing are some of the
best the world affords; and with a river as vast as an ocean, and
widening out grandly until it meets the Atlantic, there is an unlimited
choice of bathing and summer life at almost any reasonable temperature.
The peninsula of Gaspé, too, with its legends and tales of adventure, is
one of the world’s choicest fishing and hunting regions; while the far
northern shores of the River and Gulf of St. Lawrence are watered by
splendid rivers, with merely a fringe of settlement, so that the
untrodden interior will give real occupation for naturalists, sportsmen
and explorers for many a year to come.
In the sylvan province of New Brunswick none should go thirsty; for such
a prodigality of rivers, streams, cascades, brooks, rivulets and
springs, all sparkling like crystal, was never seen. In addition to its
network of waterways, the province borders on the great deep; so that
from any part of the interior it is easy to reach the St. Lawrence, the
Bay of Chaleur and the Bay of Fundy. Nearly all of the principal rivers
are intimately connected with each other, either by communicating
streams or short portages.
[Illustration]
De Monts and Champlain were the pioneer explorers who were sent by King
Henry IV. of France at the opening of the seventeenth century to
colonize Acadia, in which old-time domain New Brunswick was included.
Stirring events have taken place, and many a clash of arms has been
heard on the St. John River. The story of the gallant Charles La Tour
and his brave wife Frances, “the Heroine of Acadia,” is a thrilling one.
It is an episode of which all Canada is justly proud.
“But what of my lady?”
Cried Charles of Estienne:
On the shot-crumbled turret
Thy lady was seen:
Half-veiled in the smoke-cloud,
Her hand grasped thy pennon,
While her dark tresses swayed
In the hot breath of cannon!
* * * * *
Of its sturdy defenders,
Thy lady alone
Saw the cross-blazoned banner
Float over St. John.
[Illustration]
The St. John River is the chief member of that great system of lakes and
rivers that has won for this province the distinction of being “the most
finely watered country in the world.” It is one of the most delightful
waterways known, and it is questionable whether any part of America can
exhibit greater beauty than that seen in a cruise over its entrancing
waters. Steamers may navigate a hundred miles from its mouth, and canoes
may go up another hundred miles without other obstruction than an
occasional rapid.
The city of St. John is full of commercial and shipping activity, and is
the natural centre of a very extensive and attractive country. It enjoys
the proud distinction of having the great reversing fall, the only one
in the world.
The woods and rivers of New Brunswick are so famous that they lure
sportsmen and nature-lovers from all parts of the world. Who has not
heard of the Restigouche River? a truly noble and stately stream,
receiving a number of fine tributaries, and which has been termed “all
things considered, the finest fishing-river in the world.”
Then the enticing Upsalquitch, the murmuring Matapedia or “Musical
River,” the charming Miramichi River with its hills of verdure and
valleys of green, and the wild Nepisiguit, leading to a marvellous
hunting country; these rivers, with others, are Nature’s highways
leading to the haunts of bear, moose and caribou, and to pellucid depths
and sparkling falls where the lordly salmon struggles so bravely against
capture.
[Illustration]
This province is the natural home of the canoe, and to the native
Indians we owe that bird of the wave with its birch-bark wings. In every
direction towns, villages, lakes and streams are met that still retain
their musical Indian names. Who would wish them changed? Scattered
through the forests and by the side of many a river may be found the
obliging Micmac and Maliceet Indians, skilled in canoeing and woodcraft,
and with some of whom for guides delightful outdoor vacations may be
enjoyed.
“If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows that thou wouldst forget,
If thou would read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills!—no tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.”
Prince Edward Island was first named L’Isle St. Jean by Champlain when
he visited it in the early years of the seventeenth century. Cabot is
supposed to have called there some fifteen years earlier, but there is
no definite record of such a visit.
The Island is very pleasantly placed in the southern part of the Gulf of
St. Lawrence, and has deep water on every side. It was formerly covered
with dense forest growth, but this has nearly all been cut down, and the
whole island is under cultivation and is very fertile. It presents a
striking appearance on a near approach from the sea, because of its red
soil and the abundance of sandstone. The air is delightful, and the
climate somewhat milder than that of New Brunswick.
Prince Edward is the Rhode Island of Canada, for with a total population
of not one-third of that of Toronto, and much less than a fifth of that
of Boston, the little province is self-governing, and it has a governor,
a legislature and its own premier and cabinet, etc.
[Illustration]
This pleasant and sunny little isle is well provided with attractive
names. Because of its delightful situation, its balmy air and prolific
soil it is known far and wide as the “Garden of the Gulf.” Many of the
Micmac Indians made it their home in the early times, and from them has
come the beautiful name, musical as well as poetical, Abegweit or
“Resting on the Wave.”
[Illustration: A Prince Edward Island Beach]
“A speck of green in the restless sea,
Its edge girt around with red,
Fanned by the sea-breeze wand’ring free—
A clear blue sky o’erhead.”
There is a pastoral simplicity and freshness about the island that has a
fascination for those who visit its shores each year in such numbers.
The early settlement by French peasantry from Bretagne, Picardy and
Normandy, the Acadian French from Nova Scotia, and the English and
Scotch settlers who followed, all give the pleasant little towns and
villages an interesting character. There are good and safe harbors on
the south side; but on the north it is difficult to find one, unless it
be where:
[Illustration]
“When nearing home the reapers go,
And Hesper’s dewy light is born:
Or Autumn’s moonbeams soft and slow
Draw dials round the sheaves of corn,
Southward o’er inner tracts and far
Mysterious murmurs wander on—
The sound of waves that waste the bar,
The sandy bar by Alberton.”
The miniature rivers of the province have a character all their own; and
while the land is not one of “mountain and torrent,” the rippling
streams, wooded banks, and smiling verdure on every hand make walks,
drives, and boating and canoeing pastimes of happiness and delight.
Numerous and picturesque brooks and mill-streams are quite noticeable
features in journeying over the land; and artists, nature-lovers, and
those who admire the beautiful will surely linger in many a tranquil and
secluded spot on this happy “isle of the summer sea” to drink deep of
scenes that are both choice and unique.
“And one still pool as slow the day declines,
Holds close the sunset’s glory in its deeps
In colors that no mortal tongue could name.”
[Illustration]
Nova Scotia and Cape Breton may be termed the sea-walls of the Maritime
Provinces, for they are on the outer edge or Atlantic front where they
receive the first violent shock of the turbulent rollers that later
sweep into the Gulf and inner waters with rapidly lessening force, spent
and defeated after their struggle with the giant headlands of granite.
As would naturally be expected, the scenery gradually changes as Quebec
and Northern New Brunswick are left behind, not in the sense that it
deteriorates, however—it simply alters its character. There are
districts, such as the Wentworth Valley, that have become famous for
their loveliness; and, as is now well known, Cape Breton has a wild and
rugged beauty—like to that of the Scottish Highlands—that gives it a
first place in the estimation of many. Indeed, in relation to travel
interest generally, it is remarkable what great variety or diversity of
scene is found in going from one part to the other of the Maritime
Provinces. It may truly be said that each province has its own distinct
features of beauty, and those who go to one district for the mountains
will have their counterpart in others who will seek the sea and the open
shore.
[Illustration]
Over the cool green wall of waves advancing
Glistens a crested line of feathery foam,
Till along the beach the billows scatter, glancing
A mist of spray as over the waters comb,
Then fades the white-capped crest all slowly sinking
Where silent, shadowy sands are ever drinking, drinking.
Over the sea, miles out, a ship is riding,
Threading the ocean paths with oaken keel,
And under her bow the baffled waves are sliding
As over her sails the rising breezes steal,
And in her wake a foamy track is lying
As northward far she sails still flying, flying.
[Illustration: Canoeing on the East River, near New Glasgow]
[Illustration]
Nova Scotia proper—for Cape Breton, once a separate province, is now
included politically with the Atlantic peninsula—is almost an island,
being connected to New Brunswick by an isthmus that is only eight miles
wide in its narrowest part. It is well watered by rivers and lakes, and
has many fine harbors. The climate is mild and delightful, and makes it
one of the most desirable places in which to spend a summer. Although
there is no lack of sunshine, the Atlantic breeze is so refreshing, and
the Arctic current that sets in against the shore is so cooling that no
one can suffer from the heat. This gives a delightful stimulus to all
outdoor recreation and sport, for, no matter how active the employment,
there is no discomfort or lassitude as a result.
[Illustration: Regatta Day—North West Arm, Halifax]
The climate of this province is, therefore, a glorious natural heritage
of inestimable value; and, as the years go by, the truth of this
statement will become more and more apparent as the country becomes
better known by summer-suffering millions to the south.
This is the province where fine deep-sea fishing may be had at so many
places along the coast, and where the giant leaping-tuna, and huge,
darting swordfish may be caught—royal sport, indeed!
De Monts and Champlain enter into the history of the province, as do the
La Tours, father and son. Annapolis Royal, the old Port Royal of French
days, has been the scene of many a conflict in which French, English and
New England Colonials took part. The Acadian French were quite numerous
here previous to the time of their expulsion. It is a mistake, however,
to presume that the whole Acadian interest centres in one part of the
Bay of Fundy side of the province. Such is not the case; for Acadian
families and villages may be found in many parts of the Maritime
Provinces.
The City of Halifax—the Cronstadt of America—has become the Mecca for
annual thousands of visitors from all parts of the world. With its
quaint and old-time appearance, its military and naval interests, its
magnificent situation, its World-Harbor, its picturesque environs,
lakes, forests and grand water privileges for yachting and boating,
Halifax is unique as a centre of attraction. Moreover, it is the most
convenient place from which to start for excursions down the romantic
south-shore, as well as for the Annapolis Valley, and for all the great
fishing rivers and hunting districts that lie east between the Atlantic
and the line of the Intercolonial Railway, and extend as far as Guysboro
and the Strait of Canso.
Nor must the beautiful country around Truro, and east and west of it, be
forgotten; nor that along the northern water front of the province from
Tidnish to Tracadie, with all the restful shore places included in that
water-bow.
Nova Scotia is indeed a summer country, _par excellence_. It has
splendid woodland and a fine system of rivers and lakes. Go where you
will in any part of it and you are never more than thirty miles from the
shore. Sea life is, therefore, a prominent feature, and with all the
forms of recreation and amusement so bountifully provided, summer days
passed in the Atlantic province go all too quickly by.
[Illustration]
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.”
Cape Breton was originally called L’Isle Royale by the French in the
time of the Grand Monarch, Louis XIV. Its history is an eventful one.
At Louisbourg on the east coast, once known as the Dunkirk of America,
titanic conflicts have taken place. Its fortifications erected there in
the early part of the eighteenth century, from plans by Vauban the
celebrated military engineer, took over twenty years in construction.
Citadel, massive stone bastions, a protective moat and huge gun
batteries once existed there; and powerful fleets have battled in front
of it for New-World supremacy.
As in other parts of the Maritime Provinces, the New England Colonials
have left their impress on the history of Cape Breton. Here, too, are
many Acadian settlements, made up of the descendants of those who fled
from the mainland while this land of refuge was still a French
possession.
[Illustration]
It would be difficult to find a summer climate more agreeable than that
of Cape Breton. The days are bright and sunny, tempered by cool and
refreshing sea-breezes. There is no scorching heat at any time, and it
affords a delightful contrast with the torrid conditions that prevail in
districts a few hundred miles to the south.
[Illustration: House Boat on the Bras d’Or Lake]
It is the land of the mountain and the sea, and has been aptly likened
to the Scottish Highlands in its general character.
“Two voices are there—one is of the sea,
One of the mountains—each a mighty voice.”
The great salt-water lake known as the Bras d’Or, or ‘Arm of Gold,’ runs
through the whole extent of the island, with many ramifications; and it
has connection with the Atlantic by two narrow channels. It is almost a
‘tideless ocean,’ for before the water can lower itself to any
appreciable extent, the Atlantic low tide has turned and is becoming
high again. It is therefore an ideal place for yachting and motor
boating; while in the pretty rivers and lagoons are found choice waters
for boating and canoeing.
Fine mountain ranges and magnificent scenery make Cape Breton a
delightful country for summer pleasures. A drive along the ‘Arm of
Gold,’ and in almost any part of the island, is a delightful experience.
Baddeck, Whycocomagh, Arichat, Louisbourg, the Sydneys, Ingonish and
Mabou, as well as the Margaree and Middle Rivers, are all places of
delight for vacationists. Fine forests of oak, birch, maple and ash,
with plenty of the woods more commonly seen, are here in great
profusion.
A climb up the great height of Old Smoky, the _Cap Enfumé_ of the
French, lands one almost in the clouds; and on a clear starlit night
when the moon is in the heavens, a view is spread out below that can
never be forgotten. The walks and drives in the lovely valleys, with
towering mountains ever visible—the white gypsum at their base—a
shimmery halo above; they, too, take a deep and fond hold on the memory.
[Illustration]
“Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.”
The Intercolonial Railway forms the greater part of the system known as
the Canadian Government Railways. With the road known as the Prince
Edward Island Railway, together with other shorter branch lines
gradually coming under Government control, to their betterment, the
whole system gives ready access to all of Central and Eastern Quebec and
the Maritime Provinces.
This system may truly be called the fairy godmother of the Maritime
Provinces, for with outstretched arm it has placed the five extended
fingers of a fostering hand over the important commercial centres of
Montreal, Quebec, St. John, Halifax and Sydney, causing them to pulsate
with life, and bringing them into intimate relation with the great
centres of the sister provinces from Atlantic to Pacific.
Merely to sit in one of the numerous comfortable trains, and observantly
tour the main line, is a novel experience, a revelation of beauty and an
education in itself; but if to that is added a sojourn in one or more of
the localities best suited for the individual preference of the
traveller, the result will be satisfactory and exhilarating.
While it is true, in a measure, that almost any part of the
Intercolonial summer country will amply satisfy all general requirements
for vacation pleasures, it should be remembered that an intelligent
choice should be made of a district that is rich in those things
essential for the enjoyment of those who intend going there.
To this end the present book has been written. It will be found accurate
and reliable; and a careful perusal of its contents will give full
information on all points of interest. Through its pages are distributed
Indian legends, Acadian tales, and stories of hunting, fishing, boating,
canoeing, and camp, tent and bungalow life, etc., embodied in the
description of the districts to which such incidents properly belong.
The natural history, or nature-interest, in animal, bird, fish and
wild-flower life is a feature of the book that must give pleasure to
those who go to a country like that described to enjoy life in the open.
A comprehensive index is also provided of events, subjects, districts,
places, persons and things. When the reader has completed the first
reading of the book, this index will afford ready means for turning to
those subjects that linger in the memory, that enlighten travel and that
enhance the pleasure of it; while as a practical and every-day guide for
things it is necessary to know, the same index is sure to be helpful in
looking up all necessary information from time to time.
[Illustration: All Aboard!]
Swinging through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains
Buzzing o’er the vale,—
Bless me! this is pleasant
Riding on the rail!
[Illustration: Soldier’s Monument, St. Louis Gate, Quebec]
_Historic Quebec_
[Illustration]
It is undoubtedly best to approach Quebec by way of the south shore; the
city, as is generally known, being on the north side of the St.
Lawrence. Whether coming from Montreal and the south-west, or St. John,
Halifax and the east, the Intercolonial Railway brings the traveller to
the most convenient point, Lévis, immediately opposite Quebec.
Here, taking one of the ferries, and with a seat under the awning of the
upper deck, a splendid view is had of the further shore as the steamer
makes its way across the river. No need to ask, “What place is this?” or
“Is this Quebec?” Such a question would be absurd, for here in all its
grandeur is the great St. Lawrence River, there clusters Quebec around
the grim old rock, and yonder, high up, where proudly floats the flag of
empire in the active breeze, is the King’s Bastion, with the old
citadel, the Château Frontenac and all the spires, peaks and towers that
make this place like an ancient picture from the Old World.
What a delightful experience it is to look upon sights and scenes that
are novel and beautiful, full of charming local color, and permeated
with that atmosphere of grandeur and power that quickens the pulse and
causes the thrill of emotion to telegraph its way through the nerve
centres. As soon as Quebec is approached it becomes immediately apparent
that it is rich in all those things that excite human interest; and if
the opinion of others is needed, the testimony of that galaxy of the
great, famous in geography, literature, science and art—that long
procession of renowned men and women that has taken its way hither in
unbroken pilgrimage through the past centuries—is all based on the one
majestic keynote of wonder, admiration, reverence and love for all that
Quebec typifies for the people of two hemispheres.
How pleasant to sit and view the magnificent prospect up and down the
noble river, and see the great mountains that tower and then disappear
in the distant blue haze. What glorious clouds; and what beautiful
effects of light and shade the bright sun paints on the broad outspread
canvas of nature that surrounds us! It needs but the sight of Quebec in
its grand setting of striking beauty and the simple melodies of the
people heard from violins and harp amidships, to transport the mind in a
delightful reverie of the past.
[Illustration]
In fancy we see the Henrys, the Edwards, Good ‘Queen Bess,’ James, poor
Charles, the sturdy Lord Protector, Cromwell, and all the long line of
crowned heads whose history is woven in with that of Eastern Canada. And
then the French King Francis, the two _Henri_, and the four _Louis_,
with Champlain, Jacques Cartier and Frontenac; the noble missionaries
who came here to teach the savage Indians—murdered, or burnt at the
stake for their devotion; the great captains, including England’s
Nelson, the brave soldiers down to Wolfe and Montcalm, and since; the
Norman and Basque peasant settlers, the _coureurs du bois_, the
buccaneers, privateers and adventurers; all these have figured in
Quebec’s remarkable history.
A bump at the landing dock recalls us to the present, and as we step
ashore it is with reverence akin to that which we feel when standing
under the towering Norman greatness of Durham Cathedral, or when in the
sacred precincts of Westminster Abbey where lie buried the genius and
achievement of centuries.
And now Quebec is reached, and some of the things that will ever be in
mind after this memorable visit are now before us; and weeks of happy
experiences are about to unfold their treasure to our admiring gaze.
There is no better way of understanding and appreciating what the old
city holds in store than that of first rambling about in every direction
on foot. With occasional car trips and with a drive now and again in a
_caleche_, the plan of the city and its environs becomes gradually
clear. The sight of the quaint streets and of the many old features that
are so novel on the new continent will be enjoyed because seen without
guide or premeditation. The process known to our English cousins as
‘knocking about,’ which is to saunter where you will, on foot and
without haste, is the best way in Old Quebec. It is on foot that
terrestrial things are seen intimately, and when we have made a dozen
‘rounds’ of the lower town, walked along the ramparts again and again,
rambled in the citadel, promenaded on Dufferin Terrace, quenched our
thirst at the Frontenac, climbed the glacis, walked the parapets, viewed
the majestic scene from the King’s Bastion, sauntered over the Plains of
Abraham, and circled the city until every spot is known; then, and not
until then, shall we drink in enough of the atmosphere, and be in a
condition to take an intelligent view of all that surrounds us, awaiting
the keen examination that cannot be made in a hasty or superficial
manner.
[Illustration]
Of the general appearance of Quebec it will be enough to quote from the
words of three of its famous visitors. Thoreau wrote: “I rubbed my eyes
to be sure I was in the nineteenth century.” Dickens recorded: “The
impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar of America, its giddy
heights, its citadel suspended, as it were, in the air; its picturesque,
steep streets and frowning gateways; and the splendid views which burst
upon the eye at every turn, is at once unique and lasting;” while Henry
Ward Beecher set down these as his impressions: “Curious, old
Quebec!...... of all the cities on the continent of America, the
quaintest...... We rode about as if we were in a picture book, turning
over a new leaf at each street!”
A brief survey of the history of New France, or Eastern Canada, is a
necessary preliminary for the full enjoyment of all those things for
which Quebec is famed.
Commissioned by Henry VII. of England, Cabot sailed west in search of a
route to China and India, and discovered America. This new land he set
down as the coast of China. The discovery was not immediately followed
up by further exploration or settlement, and not until the year 1534 did
Jacques Cartier, the St. Malo navigator, make a voyage of discovery for
the French sovereign Francis I. The intrepid sailor succeeded in
reaching the western continent, or New France, and landed at Gaspé,
where he erected a cross with an inscription on it claiming the country
for the King of France.
Winter approaching, he made his way home again. Before leaving he had
entrapped two natives, and these he took with him as evidence of his
success.
In the year 1535 Cartier made a second western voyage, and this time he
sailed up the great river which he named the St. Lawrence. At that time
the fish were so plentiful that the progress of the little flotilla of
three tiny ships was often greatly impeded. Bears, also, were very
numerous, and quite expert in catching the fish for their food. It was a
common sight to see Bruin plunge into the water, fasten his claws in a
great fish and drag it ashore.
[Illustration]
The native Indians were also seen, in canoes, hunting seals and catching
white whales. Alarmed by the approach of the strange men in their
marvellous vessels, the savages paddled off with haste; but on being
addressed in their own tongue by the two returned captives on Cartier’s
vessel, they abandoned their flight and returned to gaze with
astonishment and child-like wonder at all they saw.
Cartier was informed of the existence of an Indian village of
considerable size at Stadacona, quite near to Quebeio or Quelibec, and
there he met the great chief Donnacona, the ‘Lord of Canada.’
There is no complete agreement on the origin and meaning of the name
‘Quebec.’ Some have traced its derivation from the word ‘Kepek,’ the
aboriginal equivalent for ‘come ashore,’ supposed to have been addressed
to Jacques Cartier when he hove-to near Stadacona. Others have surmised
that it sprang from the exclamation of a Norman sailor on first seeing
the great cape—“Quelbec!” (“What a cape!”) Again, the Abenaquis word
‘Quelibec,’ meaning ‘narrowing’ or ‘closed,’ is supposed to be the real
derivation; while a very strong claimant for recognition is the Indian
word ‘Kebeque,’ which means ‘a narrowing of the waters.’
Learning of another large native village on the St. Lawrence, a
considerable distance above Stadacona, Jacques Cartier determined to
proceed there with one of his vessels. The chief Donnacona, a shrewd old
savage, did not favor further penetration of his domains, and calling to
his aid some of his tribe dressed as ‘devils,’ he hoped to frighten the
bold navigator with the frightful whoopings and noisy invocation to the
demons who were supposed to inhabit the forests.
[Illustration]
Cartier pushed on, however, and leaving his vessel near the place now
known as St. Maurice, and proceeding in the ship’s boats, reached
Hochelaga, the site of the present Montreal. The village was circular in
form, with a strong palisade surrounding it. The one entrance was well
guarded by removable barriers, and platforms were erected inside from
which stones could be showered on possible assailants. The square or
assembly-ground was in the centre, having grouped around it the
birch-bark wigwams or houses. Their weapons and implements were of rock,
and their simple life was communal.
The impression made by the advent of the white-faced men from another
land had a pathetic side; for the diseased and blind were carried out
from their rude shelters in order that the great White Chief should cure
their infirmities by the ‘laying on of hands.’ But alas! the white man
was not divine—and the poor Indians were consoled by presents of
hatchets, knives and beads, etc., followed by the thrilling sound of a
‘flourish of trumpets.’
During Cartier’s absence a fort and winter camp had been constructed at
Stadacona by his men, the site of which may be seen on the River St.
Charles. Cartier gave the name of Mount Royal to the mountain
overlooking Hochelaga village, and this name has survived in the
Montreal of Canada’s commercial capital.
Early next Spring Cartier, and all the remnant of his band that survived
after a severe attack of scurvy, sailed for France. A serious blemish in
Cartier’s character is shown by the record of his having carried off by
force—torn from their homes and country—poor old Donnacona, ‘Lord of
Canada,’ and other chiefs. They died in captivity, far from their kin,
and with the sad memory of their great river and noble forests ever with
them to the end.
Cartier returned to New France a third time after some five years; but
the seed of distrust was sown in the minds of the natives by the absence
of their stolen chiefs, and it was not long before the fruit of hatred
and strife developed and gradually grew until it steeped the country in
continual war and bloodshed. Cartier again set out to proceed up the
river to Hochelaga, but finding the natives had been warned and were
becoming hostile he turned back to Stadacona. He eventually returned
with Roberval to France, and died in his native St. Malo about the
middle of the sixteenth century.
It is interesting to learn that Roberval’s titles were Viceroy and
Lieutenant-General of Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland,
Belleisle, Labrador and Baccalaos.
France was now seeing stormy times in her home affairs, and no
well-directed effort was made to follow up Cartier’s work—although other
explorers and fur-traders crossed the stormy seas in their endeavor to
make a settlement in the New World.
[Illustration: QUEBEC]
1. Montmorency Falls
2. City Hall Park
3. Chateau Frontenac
4. Government House, Spencer Wood
5. Boating on the Lorette
6. Upper Fall, Montmorency
[Illustration]
At last the brave and capable Champlain sailed from Harfleur in 1608,
and reached Stadacona or Kebec in safety. Here at the foot of the rock
where the quaint street Sous le Fort has since been made, a settlement
was laid out which Champlain called ‘l’Abitation de Kébec,’ and which
consisted of three lodgings and a store-house, all fenced in and
surrounded by a ditch.
Champlain made several trips to France, each time bringing back
missionary-priests and settlers. He built, a fort on the height above
his ‘Abitation,’ on the spot where his statue has since been erected.
The little colony commenced to grow, and soon numbered some fifty
people. And now began the troubles that were to shake the infant
settlement, rumblings of more desperate encounters, for a hostile
British fleet arrived, and Quebec was compelled to capitulate. Champlain
again sailed for France, where he remained until Charles I. of England
gave back Quebec to King Louis.
The founder of Quebec at last, returned to the beloved home of his
adoption, where the work of building had to be done a second time—fire
having destroyed both ‘Abitation’ and fort, as well as other buildings.
With energy and skill, supported in the main by the love and esteem of
his fellow colonizers, Champlain toiled on; his noble character showing
in all he did. To keep on good terms with the neighboring Algonquins and
Hurons he took part in their struggles with the fierce Iroquois, and
penetrated inland as far as the Georgian Bay and southern shore of Lake
Ontario. The greatest vigilance was now more than ever necessary, for
the savage Iroquois crossed the great lakes in their war canoes, came
down the St. Lawrence and lurked in the woods, ever ready to cut off and
scalp the French when found in small numbers. In addition, the
inexperienced Colonists were quite unprepared for the severe winters,
and they were often on the verge of starvation.
Other serious troubles came. The British appeared in naval force, and
again Quebec capitulated—Champlain being taken to England as a prisoner
of war.
The political kaleidoscope now took another turn, and Quebec was once
more given back to France by Charles I. of England.
[Illustration]
For the last time Champlain again returned to Quebec, this time as
governor, and his customary energy was shown in all that related to the
welfare of the colony. In the fulness of time, rewarded by the success
of his labors and beloved by his fellows, the great man breathed his
last. He is justly considered to have been the ablest and best of all
the early explorers and governors.
The new governor Montmagny was a worthy and capable man. He greatly
improved Quebec and commenced the stone construction of Fort
Saint-Louis. It is interesting to note that during his incumbency the
Jesuits built their college. It was commenced in the year 1638, which
makes it the oldest institution of learning in North America, antedating
Harvard College by one year. A few years after this the Château
Saint-Louis was built within the walls of the fort.
Frontenac next ruled the destinies of Quebec with a firm hand. Excepting
Champlain he was perhaps the ablest governor, although his character was
marred by arrogance and sell-will. He, perhaps better than any,
understood how to hold the Indians in check. The brave d’Ibberville ably
seconded the aggressive governor during his second term of
office—recalled to stem the victories of the Iroquois and to repel the
threatened attack on Quebec by a British fleet. This fleet arrived and
anchored off the Isle of Orleans. To the haughty summons from Admiral
Phipps, to surrender within an hour, came the proud reply of Frontenac,
“It is through the mouth of my guns that your general will hear my
reply.” The attack was a failure—so well did the guns talk. After that
the able Frontenac strengthened the defences of Fort Saint-Louis to such
an extent as to convert it into a real citadel.
[Illustration]
Towards the close of the seventeenth century Frontenac passed away. The
troubles of Quebec were not by any means ended. A great army and fleet
under the British Admiral Walker was sent out to reduce and occupy
Quebec. In going up the St. Lawrence River during a dense log, a number
of the transports were wrecked on Egg Island. More than a thousand men
were drowned. This calamity saved the threatened city, for the officers
of the expedition became disheartened and abandoned the project.
[Illustration: Governor’s Garden, Quebec]
As a sequel to that terrible loss of life in the great outer waters of
the St. Lawrence there has survived one of those traditions of which the
story of ‘The Flying Dutchman’ is the prototype. In the words of Moore:
“There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore
Of cold and pitiless Labrador
Where, under the moon upon mounts of frost,
Full many a mariner’s bones are tossed.
Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew.
To Deadman’s Isle in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman’s Isle she speeds her fast;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl’d,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!”
The Treaty of Utrecht brought peace to France and Great Britain in a
division of the land for which they had contended. It was agreed that
Canada, Isle Royal (Cape Breton) and l’Isle St. Jean (Prince Edward
Island) should belong to France; while Great Britain received Nova
Scotia, Newfoundland and the Hudson Bay Territory.
In the succeeding years the two countries again drifted into war, and by
the year 1759 it was apparent that Quebec was once more to be attacked.
Before the year was half over, a British fleet bearing 18,000 men
dropped anchor near the eastern end of the Isle of Orleans. Troops were
landed to the east of Montmorency River, and batteries were erected
there and at Point Lévis opposite Quebec. A bombardment lasting two
months soon followed. The ensuing land struggle, known as the battle of
Montmorency, brought face to face the two great leaders, Montcalm and
Wolfe, upon whom France and Britain respectively depended in the contest
for supremacy on the North American continent.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Wolfe was studying his plan of attack, and making feints in several
directions to confuse the enemy. Finally on the last day of July the
British troops forded the Montmorency River, and with the guns of the
fleet shelling the enemy’s trenches the attacking force made a
concentrated rush on the western bank to carry the position by assault.
The French were well placed, and the plan of defense was excellent. The
lines had previously been strengthened at every favorable attacking
point by the able general Montcalm, and he had a picked reserve at hand
ready to hurl it in whatever direction it should be most needed.
The British lost heavily, and Wolfe abandoned the attack in that
direction and recalled his troops across the river.
This trial of strength was the prelude to more serious work. Wolfe,
weakened by illness—and against the counsels of his officers who were
almost unanimous that the siege should be abandoned—persisted in his
determination to reduce Quebec. More than a month passed by before new
plans were perfected, but at last towards the middle of September a new
assault was commenced.
Soon after midnight the boats of the British stole quietly along the
Sillery shore under cover of the darkness. In the foremost boat was a
Highland officer who spoke the French language. “Qui Vive!” rang out the
challenge, as a sentry detected the shadowy boat making inshore. Fortune
surely favored the British, for the Scotchman had no difficulty in
passing himself off as a French officer in charge of a detachment
bringing expected supplies for Quebec. Some of the boats had drifted
further east beyond the inlet now known as Wolfe’s Cove. Here what had
always been regarded as an impossible ascent was found practicable by
the sturdy mountain-climbing Highlanders. Swarming up the unprotected
height they immediately overmastered the scattered sentries, captured in
his tent the sleeping officer in charge, and sent back word to General
Wolfe that the ground was clear. The troops were disembarked at once,
and the dawn of day revealed the British lines on the Plains of Abraham,
their right wing extending to the heights and their left on the St. Foye
Road.
Montcalm was not aware of the momentous occurrence until the heights had
been occupied in force. His troops were at Beauport, some miles away,
and before they could be brought up to resist the advance of the
invading force the morning was well in progress. As soon as it was known
that the British were making entrenchments, the French general decided
upon an immediate attack to prevent them from strengthening their
position.
[Illustration]
Soon after ten o’clock on the bright September morning, Montcalm
advanced impetuously to the charge. Down the ravine the French rushed,
the formation of the ground causing some confusion. They stopped to
re-form within a few hundred yards of the advancing British, but ere
they could climb the hill a frightful volley, hitherto held in reserve,
now wrapped the advancing host in a death-flame that caused terrible
havoc. Montcalm was in the forefront, heroically urging forward his
wavering troops; while Wolfe on the right of the British advance was in
the thick of the deadly fray.
A bullet struck the British general on the wrist. It was hastily bound
with a handkerchief. At the head of the Louisbourg grenadiers he pressed
eagerly forward, when he was struck a second time and dangerously
wounded. His bright uniform made him a mark for every sharpshooter. And
now a bullet entered his breast. He staggered. Alas! the wound was
mortal. “Support me,” he hastily cried, “my brave men must not see me
fall.” He was carried to one side and laid on the grass. “A surgeon!”
cried a grenadier officer. “It is useless,” faintly uttered the gallant
Wolfe, “I am done for.” He was gradually lapsing into unconsciousness.
[Illustration]
“They fly,” came eager comments from the sad group surrounding the dying
general. “Who?” quickly uttered Wolfe, arousing himself by one last,
painful effort. “The enemy!” came the glad reply, “they are yielding in
every direction.” Wolfe immediately gave the important order to speed to
the St. Charles River, capture the bridge and thus cut off the enemy’s
retreat. He turned on his side, and, as he murmured, “the Lord be
praised, I die in peace!” his dauntless spirit took its wing, leaving
the dead hero a victor, and the founder of an empire that great then,
and greater now, is yet only in the infancy of its splendid course.
The ‘Great Commoner’ of England, William Pitt, has well said: “The
horror of the night, the precipice scaled by Wolfe, the empire he with a
handful of men added to England, and the glorious catastrophe of
contentedly terminating his life where his fame began ........Ancient
story may be ransacked, and ostentatious philosophy thrown into the
account, before an episode can be found to rank with Wolfe’s.”
On the French side the gallant Montcalm in vain tried to rally his
retreating forces. The path of defeat led him towards the gate of
Saint-Louis, but ere he could enter he was twice wounded. He was
assisted inside, but his injury was soon seen to be mortal. To those
around him weeping the brave Montcalm spoke: “It is nothing, kind
friends; pray do not weep over me.” When told by the attending surgeon
that he had only a few hours to live, he replied, “I am glad of it, I
shall not see the surrender of Quebec.” Before morning his earthly
struggles were over.
Subsequent efforts to retake Quebec from the British failed, and ere
long it was seen that the ‘Battle of the Plains’ was final in its
results.
The monument to Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham is erected where the
great general breathed his last; while the joint memorial to Montcalm
and Wolfe, erected in the Governor’s Garden overlooking Dufferin
Terrace, fittingly marks the great struggle that has joined two races in
one empire of happy union and effort.
As the coming centuries go by, this battle will not only rank equal to
that of Waterloo in importance—it will far surpass it on account of the
momentous bearing it will have on the future of the British Empire and
the progress of the world’s true civilization.
[Illustration]
Time passed on, and in the troublous days of the American War of
Independence the much-tried city of Quebec was destined to besiegement
for the fifth time in its history. This time the attack came from New
England; a daring one it must be admitted, for the whole of the
invader’s forces were brought over the Kennebec and Chaudière Rivers in
the face of many obstacles. Arnold and Montgomery, after a siege of two
months, planned to capture the citadel by a bold, surprise attack.
[Illustration: Sous le Fort Street, Quebec]
The defense, however, was an alert one, and when Montgomery advanced
with his force—as he thought, unawares—and was almost within the walls,
a frightful volley was fired in their very faces. This discharge killed
the revolutionary general and many of his followers. The others fled.
Nor was Arnold more successful, although he escaped with his life; a
life that if there ended, like Montgomery’s, would have terminated more
gloriously for the able but misguided American than did his after years.
Many prisoners were taken, the remainder escaped and returned to New
England, and the siege was raised.
Since then no alarm of War has been heard in Old Quebec; and although
the War of 1812 brought suffering to many parts of Canada, none of the
various struggles came nearer than Montreal.
The foregoing outline is intended to provide some knowledge of historic
events as an aid to the appreciation of scenes, incidents and sketches
in connection with people and places that have been prominent in bygone
years. All such details now follow in the description of those parts of
the country to which they properly belong.
One of the first things to claim the visitor’s attention will surely be
the fortifications of the city. Because these are unique and peculiar to
Quebec, not being found elsewhere on the American continent, they
command the greater interest. Leaving out of consideration their many
picturesque features, the fact that they represent in all the glory of
almost perfect preservation a system of defense that is centuries old,
and that here—one of the few such places in the world—we may tread on
the undisturbed spot and in the very streets and houses where great,
stirring events have taken place, gives a never-failing and absorbing
interest to the outer walls and inner places of Old Quebec.
The advent of heavy ordnance on disappearing carriages, or in
wrought-iron turrets, the strength given to concealed batteries through
the use of smokeless gunpowder, the improvement of harbor defense by the
use of mines, torpedoes, submarine boats and electric light, and the
imminent use of aerial explosives; all these have united to sound the
knell of the old style of fortification. The day of the hand-to-hand
conflict has almost gone by, and probably we may never again read of
assault and repulse at outer walls, never hear of the carrying of outer
defenses, of the desperate struggle from one inner defense to the other,
or of the last glorious stand around the colors on the bastion or keep.
No! for man fights now more with brain and eye than with hand. Science
and invention in future will destroy or annihilate the strongest
defenses, and whole armies will walk out and surrender without a blow.
This was so at Metz.
[Illustration]
If the old days and ideas are gone, and the picturesque defenses of
moat, rampart, bastion, keep and inner stronghold will never again be
constructed, how important it is that we should admire and enjoy to the
full their splendid survival in Quebec, before the lapse of time and the
inevitable encroachments of modern city life shall destroy these dearly
beloved monuments of the past.
The Citadel, Fortification Walls and Gates of Quebec now invite
examination. Starting from the convenient point where stands Champlain’s
monument, near the Château Frontenac, do not forget that a fort was
first constructed by Champlain on the very spot where the monument now
stands; and that Montmagny replaced the wooden walls of his predecessor
with substantial stone work. Frontenac extended the defensive lines
considerably, and added forts and bastions. Later the fortifications
were again extended and solidified under a comprehensive plan drawn up
by the great Vauban.
Damaged by sieges, and imperfectly repaired from time to time, the
important stronghold was often neglected; but at the end of the
eighteenth century the present works were finished by the English. The
plans were approved by the ‘Iron Duke’ himself, and the construction
cost an enormous sum. The solid stone facings, the batteries behind the
glacis, the loopholed walls that seem strong enough to defy everything
but dynamite, the ditches, gateways, underground passages, magazines,
etc.; and all the accessories of a great defensive system are present.
Even during their first construction by the French so much money had
been required that Louis XIV. once asked if the fortifications of Quebec
were made of gold.
The citadel covers about forty acres, and access to it is gained by the
solid Dalhousie Gate. There is also a great chain gate. The soldiers’
quarters are well protected against gun-fire, and the more important
buildings are bomb-proof. The view from the King’s Bastion is one of the
most beautiful it is possible to imagine. The Royal Canadian Garrison
Artillery have their quarters in the barracks within the citadel. They
muster a strength of from three to four hundred men.
By means of the halyards of the flagstaff on the King’s Bastion, from
which floats the ‘Union Jack,’ two American prisoners once escaped after
they had succeeded in drugging the sentry. The height above the river is
350 feet, and a look over the bastion at the drop below will show the
daring nature of the venture.
Great guns command all the landward approaches. The waterway can also be
swept by powerful cannon, while on the Lévis side of the river are
strong batteries that dominate the river and both shores.
The Governor-General’s residence is on the Citadel Square, and not far
away is the interesting Artillery Museum.
That portion of the defenses known as Grand Battery is at the eastern
end of Dufferin Terrace, on the edge of the cliff that runs from the top
of Mountain Hill towards Palace Gate. Here a number of guns are disposed
in crescent form. In addition to this, and not counting those in the
citadel, the following batteries may be seen: Assembly, Half-Moon, Hope
Gate, Montcalm, Nunnery Nos. 1 and 2, Wolfe’s Grand Battery, and,
finally, two that are smaller and unnamed.
The ponderous old gates that gave security to those within the citadel
walls no longer exist. In French days there were three of these: St.
Louis, St. John and Palace. The two gates added by the British in later
days have also disappeared. These were known as Hope and Prescott Gates.
What a pity that, all five were not allowed to remain as they were! What
an irreparable loss!
Walking around the ramparts and beginning with the picturesque modern
gateway or arch that stands where stood the former gate whose name, St.
Louis, it bears, it will be well to remember that the old gate was
venerable with age. It was built in the year 1694. Through this outlet
sorties must frequently have been made against attacking Iroquois, and
through this gate the brave and dying Montcalm with many of his soldiers
passed into the city after the defeat on the Plains of Abraham. The
handsome arch with its graceful Norman spire, now known as the St. Louis
Gate, is mainly due to the keen interest that Lord Dufferin took in all
that related to the improvement of Quebec.
Proceeding north along the ramparts, Kent Gate is reached. No gate
existed here in olden days, and the cut in the fortifications was made
necessary by the desire for increased traffic facilities. The effect of
the structure is a pleasing one, and considerable interest attaches to
it because it is a memorial to Edward, Duke of Kent, father of Canada’s
well beloved Queen Victoria. Added interest will be found in the fact
that the Princess Louise participated in the perfection of the artistic
design.
[Illustration]
Just a short distance north is the site of the old St. John Gate. There
is now neither gate nor arch here, but the portal demolished was as old
as the St. Louis Gate. In Montcalm’s day the old gate swung open to
allow some of his defeated troops to pass in, and it was against this
gate that part of the American effort was directed in the futile attempt
of 1775.
There are no remains of the old gate on the busy Palais thoroughfare
that leads from St. John Street, down towards the River St. Charles, nor
has any memorial tower been erected yet to mark the site. The street
took its name from the palace or residence of the French intendants, and
the ruins of that building may still be seen at the foot of the hill.
The old Palais Gate had many memories attached to it, and it withstood
frequent attacks from besieging foes.
The comparatively modern gates of convenience, Hope and Prescott, have
both been demolished in the demand for unobstructed streets, but it is
proposed to some day mark their sites by suitable memorials. Hope Gate
was on the north side, while the Prescott Gate commanded the steep
Mountain Hill on the eastern water front.
Champlain’s ‘Abitation’ was near the foot of Mountain Hill, but right
out on the water. The place where he landed in 1608, and from which the
founding of Quebec dates, was about two hundred yards to the south-west,
where King’s Wharf now is. Champlain’s Old Fort, stood on the very spot
where now stands the fine monument to his memory as founder of Quebec.
Close by, on the site now occupied by that magnificent hostelry, the
Château Frontenac, once stood the Château St. Louis, in which Champlain,
Frontenac and Carleton successively lived. The cellar of the former
building still remains under the terrace platform. The Old Fort extended
back and included what is now known as the Place d’Armes or Ring.
The old Château St. Louis was once the seat of a power that ruled from
the Mississippi River to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It was destroyed by
fire in the year 1834, and thus was lost a priceless relic of the past.
The unsurpassed view from Dufferin Terrace and the pretty retreat known
as the Governor’s Garden are the magnets that compel instant admiration
from all comers. Every resident of Quebec is justly proud of the
Dufferin Promenade. It is the very heart of its social and recreational
life.
In a ramble, or by taking a car along the Grande Allée, the martello
towers erected about a hundred years ago may be seen, and a little
further west is the shaft erected to the memory of the immortal Wolfe.
Near these towers there were several fierce struggles when the British
advance came that way—Wolfe lying mortally wounded only about a quarter
of a mile distant.
The monument to Wolfe marks the spot where he died. He received his
fatal wound a few hundred feet nearer the city, but was carried back
here to breathe his last in comparative peace. His body was interred in
the family vault at Greenwich, England, a national memorial of him was
erected in Westminster Abbey, and by special proclamation a day of
thanksgiving for his great victory was appointed throughout the British
Empire.
It is well worth while to extend the walk west to Wolfesfield, for on
the riverside is Wolfe’s Cove where the British landed in 1759; and the
difficulties of the steep and narrow path up the face of the rocky
height, and the midnight ascension to fame, and death, will come vividly
to mind.
The “Monument aux Braves” on the Ste. Foye Road may be reached by the
St. Louis and Belvedere Roads. Here was fought the Battle of Ste. Foye
between the French and English under De Lévis and Murray respectively.
Murray was defeated. It was a sanguinary conflict, for over four
thousand brave dead are here buried. The struggle brought no advantage
to France; it was evident by this time that the British were too firmly
rooted to release their hold.
A very interesting monument is that to Wolfe and Montcalm in the
Governor’s Garden near the Château Frontenac. The English translation of
the Latin inscription is:
“Valor gave them a common death, history a common fame, and posterity a
common monument.”
This beautiful dedication is surely an evidence of that happy union of
French and British that has resulted in the enlightened and practically
independent Canada of to-day.
The brave Montcalm was buried in the Ursuline Convent, and here may be
seen the French and British monuments to that gallant general.
General Montgomery, who fell in the American attack on Quebec, was
buried in a small enclosure near the ramparts by the St. Louis Gate. The
British consenting, his remains were removed to New York after an
interval of over forty years, and were interred in St. Paul’s Church
there. A tablet with the inscription, ‘Here Montgomery Fell, Dec. 31,
1775,’ now marks the scene of his death. The tablet to ‘Her Old and New
Defenders’ who ‘unitedly guarded and saved Canada’ by defeating Arnold,
should by no means be overlooked. It is placed on the Molson’s Bank near
the Sault-au-Matelot where the barricade then stood that was so ably
defended.
The last of Quebec’s great historic monuments is that to Jacques Cartier
on the way to Lake Beauport, to the left of the Charlesbourg Road, and
about a mile from the city. Here the St. Malo navigator wintered in the
year 1535-6, built his first fort, and erected a large cross inscribed
with the name of King Francis I. and bearing the royal arms of that
ruler. Here was also erected a few years later the first Jesuit
monastery of New France.
There yet remain to be seen four monuments of general interest. The
first, that to Queen Victoria in the Victoria Park over the St. Charles
River; the second, to Bishop de Laval near to the Post Office; the
third, on the Grande Allée, to the memory of Short and Wallick, who lost
their lives in the work of checking the great fire of 1889; and the
Soldiers’ or South African Monument, which stands on the Esplanade,
close by the St. Louis Gate.
This last monument was erected by the citizens of Quebec to the young
heroes who lost their lives defending the British flag in the Boer War.
On a tablet is inscribed:
“Not by the power of commerce, art or pen, shall
our great Empire stand; nor has it stood,
but by noble deeds of noble men—
heroes’ outpoured blood.”
A walk along the Grande Allée, and on St. John and St. Valier Streets
will be rich in interest. Palace Hill, too, and the old streets of St.
Paul and St. Peter are full of character; while in the cluster of
old-town streets, alleys and passageways that extend from below the
eastern ramparts to Little Champlain below Dufferin Terrace, the visitor
will find the quaintest sights the new world has to show. Mountain Hill,
Sous-le-Fort and Sous-le-Cap are streets the like of which may be seen
nowhere out of Quebec. St. Louis Street, the Esplanade and St. Roch’s
will repay close intimacy and examination.
[Illustration: Sous-le-Cap Street, Quebec]
In a ramble that has for its object an inspection of the chief public
and historical buildings of the city, the ruins of the Intendant Bigot’s
old palace claim attention. They are at the foot of Palace Hill and are
now used as ale and porter vaults.
Bigot was a high-placed scamp of the worst description. The times in
which he lived were somewhat loose, but even then he excited much
unfavorable criticism by living with a woman to whom he was not married.
One evening he got drunk, a not infrequent event with him. Stumbling
homewards he lost his way in the woods, where he slumbered away some of
his drunken stupor. Unfortunately for her a pretty French-Algonquin
maiden was passing when he awoke. He saw and admired her, and like more
than one of the royal masters of France he built a bower for his
Caroline in the woodland depths. It is claimed she was his unwilling
prisoner. The Intendant’s pseudo wife soon learned she had a rival
hidden away somewhere. Driven mad by jealousy she stealthily followed
the unsuspecting Bigot and found his retreat. She returned to the city
and said nothing, but soon after that a scream aroused the sleeping
Intendant while spending the night in his sylvan bower. He rushed to
Caroline’s room and found her lying there, murdered, with a knife in her
heart. There are many versions of this terrible affair, and in this
connection the novel of William Kirby is well worth reading.
Over the Post Office there is an effigy known as the ‘Chien d’Or,’ or
‘Golden Dog,’ which has excited much interest on account of its
enigmatical inscription, a translation of which here follows:
“I am a dog gnawing a bone,
While I gnaw I take my repose.
The time will come, though not yet,
When I will bite him who now bites me.”
The stone tablet bearing this effigy and inscription was originally in
the walls of the old house owned by one Philibert, which house formerly
stood on the post office site. When the old house was demolished, the
tablet was saved and incorporated in the new building. A story of murder
and revenge appears to be connected with the strange inscription, but
like most of the old traditions it is a matter of dispute. Kirby’s
‘Golden Dog’ gives one version that makes interesting reading.
A beautiful maiden of Quebec was nearly the cause of closing the naval
career of the great Nelson. Had it not been for the interposition of a
true friend, the young sailor, who visited here in the _Albemarle_,
man-of-war, at the outset of his great and glorious life, would probably
have been lost to England, and Trafalgar would have been unfought.
Fortunately the insane determination of the young sailor to stay and woo
his _inamorata_, and abandon his ship when it was ordered to India, was
overruled by Davison, his true friend. Whether persuasion or bodily
force brought about the result, after Nelson—having said ‘good-bye’ to
his distinguished and lovely young sweetheart—secretly stole ashore
again, is uncertain. What is known is that he was persuaded to adhere to
his duty—and the world knows the sequel.
[Illustration]
The Parliament Buildings are on the Grande Allée, and a splendid view of
the fine pile may be had from almost any point, so well chosen is the
site. From the main tower of the building the grand view of the superb
surroundings should be seen. The interior corridors and chambers are
very attractive, while the bronze groups and heroic figures of the great
in Canadian history, by Hebért, in recesses along the façade are
splendid in conception and execution. There is an excellent library
where valuable archives of olden times are preserved. Americans will be
interested in the two hickory trees sent from General Andrew Jackson’s
old home in Tennessee and which are growing on the Grande Allée to the
south.
[Illustration]
Spencer Wood, with its leafy, winding roads and shady avenues, is at the
extreme western end of the city’s suburban extension, not far from
Wolfe’s Cove. The delightful, old roomy mansion to be seen there was
formerly used as a Governor-General’s residence. It is now occupied by
the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province.
The Château Frontenac stands on a site of such prominence, and commands
such a glorious view, that few places in the world may compare with it.
The delightful architectural presentment of all that is picturesque and
graceful in old-time buildings, carries us easily back to the fourteenth
century, and even to prior times. From its turrets, dormers, pierced
towers and hundreds of windows a prospect meets the eye that is
uplifting and irresistible in its appeal to those who love that rare
combination, man’s work at its best and nature in her grandest mood. The
panorama of the great river carrying its proudly floating ships to and
from the ocean, the Lévis shore, the citadel, the terrace with its
ever-varying throngs, the old town away below in the giddy depths, the
mountains, the distant country dotted with its white houses, the fleecy
clouds, the shimmering haze and the far away perspective of varied
beauty; all these make a picture upon which the gaze may be intently
turned, without weariness, again and again.
As is befitting, the plan of the structure is irregular, and, in the
olden way, the principal entrance is through an interior court of
considerable size. The Château is built of Scottish brick and grey
stone, roofed with copper. Over the main entrance is a shield bearing
the arms of Frontenac who lived in the old Château St. Louis—as did
Champlain and others—that stood on this very site. In plan it is more
homelike and comfortable than the usual palatial hotel, and there is an
absence of the customary annoying rush, public promenading in corridors,
etc., found in the large hostelries of the American continent. In fact
the general plan is that of a sumptuous and princely castle-mansion of
olden times, sufficiently modernized to give all necessary comforts for
those who stay here. The interior decorations, panel effects,
tapestries, heraldic and symbolic ornamentations, and the artistic
furnishings will commend themselves to all. There is so much to be seen,
that all visitors to Quebec should introduce themselves to the courteous
management and take the opportunity of making a thorough examination of
the Château interior. Do not hurry; avoid the modern detestable rush and
indigestion of sights, scenes and ideas. Make a preliminary tour of all
public places in the building, and then go through it at leisure, making
notes of all the numerous features that in themselves, alone, are an
education.
Laval University is famous for its treasures of art and splendid
library. It has a fine picture gallery and museums. A beautiful and
extended view of the surrounding country may be had from the promenade
on the roof of the building. In the smaller seminary adjoining were
confined the American officers who were taken prisoners at the time of
Arnold and Montgomery’s attack on Quebec in 1775. The buildings contain
many things of interest for the general visitor, and here a whole day
may profitably be spent.
The Ursuline Convent, Hotel Dieu, and Cardinal’s Palace are also places
of great interest. In the chapel of the convent the remains of the brave
Montcalm are interred. Here may be seen the monument erected to his
memory, bearing an inscription prepared by the French Academy. A second
memorial, erected by Lord Aylmer, has an inscription of which the
translation reads:
“Honor to Montcalm!
Fate in depriving Him of Victory
Rewarded Him by a Glorious Death!”
The Hotel Dieu, or hospital, is the oldest institution of the kind in
all America. It was founded in 1689 by the Duchess d’Aguillon, who was a
niece of the great Cardinal Richelieu. Some of the oldest houses in
Canada originally stood in this locality. The Hotel Dieu contains some
very excellent paintings and valuable relics of the early Jesuit
missionaries who were martyred by the Indians. While in Quebec read the
story of this terrible martyrdom, and learn what incredible suffering
was endured by those brave men who assisted in opening up the heritage
we now enjoy so complacently.
The Cardinal’s Palace at the crest of Mountain Hill Street is worthy of
a visit to inspect its fine apartments and reception chamber.
The English Cathedral and the Basilica are the two principal churches of
the city, although there are, of course, many other churches well worthy
of a visit. On the site where now stands the English Cathedral formerly
stood the ancient church and convent of the Recollêt Fathers. The last
survivor was pensioned by the British Government. He was well known for
his wit. It is recorded that he was once asked if he knew that a priest
had arrived in town who was noted for his appreciation of the good
things of the table, but who, ever ready to be a guest, never
entertained others. The good old Father replied. “I saw him to-day,
‘going about seeking whom he may devour.’”
The Cathedral contains splendid monuments, a fine chancel window and a
silver communion service of exquisite design and superior workmanship.
It was a present from King George III. What is frequently seen in
Europe, but rarely in America, is the decoration of a church interior
with old battle-torn regimental flags, and here the former colors of the
69th British regiment are draped over the chancel. In the Cathedral
enclosures once stood a precious elm under which Jacques Cartier is
believed to have assembled his followers on their first arrival in this
part of Canada. It was blown down over a half-century ago. The treasures
contained in the Cathedral will be appreciated by all who wish to
understand Quebec and its past.
The Basilica is venerable with age, dating back to the year 1647. Two
years previous to that, twelve hundred and fifty beaver skins had been
set aside to commence a fund for the building of this Cathedral.
Although it has suffered much from fire and siege, the foundations and
parts of the walls are those of two-and-a-half centuries ago.
Champlain’s ‘Chapelle de la Recouvrance’ was in the rear of the
Basilica, and traces of its walls are still visible. The edifice
contains many beautiful paintings and it is also rich in memorials of
great historic value. In fact many of the works of art seen here are
almost priceless. Rare gifts from the ‘Grand Monarch,’ Louis XIV. may
here be seen; and the building contains enough of interest to occupy a
good portion of a rainy day.
[Illustration]
Many pleasant spots are in the immediate neighborhood of Quebec, and
some that are also intimately connected with events of the past. A drive
through the pretty village of Charlesbourg and beyond, and some four
miles east, may terminate at the ruins of the Château Bigot, known as
Beaumanoir, and also called the ‘Hermitage.’ It was here the tragedy in
connection with the beautiful maiden of French and Algonquin extraction
took place; for it will be remembered that this was the woodland bower
or country house of the infamous Intendant Bigot whose city residence
was the palace at the foot of Palais Hill. The building was originally a
very extensive one, with many secret passages. Until within recent years
the burial place of poor Caroline was marked with a flat stone that had
the letter ‘C’ chiselled on it.
[Illustration]
Indian Lorette may be reached by carriage, or by a short run on the
Quebec and Lake St. John Railway. The country through Charlesbourg is
very pretty, mountainous and splendidly wooded. There is a grand fall of
water at the Indian village where the Lorette courses along a romantic
bed and dashes madly through wild and rocky gorges. Huge masses of stone
have fallen from the cliffs, and in places small trees have gained a
foothold on the apparently bare tops of these rocks. They often assume
odd forms, and particularly so when they grow sidewise from the
perpendicular clefts in the face of the rocky banks. The bottom of the
gorge is rugged and striking. Huge table rocks slant upwards, and the
torrents of water dashing against them rear up and pass over or around
the obstructions. The volume of water precipitated over the fall is very
great, and the whole scene as the eye follows the river bed is most
striking. It is a novel experience to stand or sit on a ledge fronted by
a huge boulder in the middle of the narrow channel or gorge. The Lorette
gaining here in depth rushes down with great force, and as the river is
deflected it rises up a seething pillar of water, so that, at only
arm’s-length the curious sight may be viewed. Nearly everyone feels the
fascination of a waterfall like this, with its ever-changing form and
merry, boisterous song. The romantic descent into the ravine is
something to be remembered—nothing could be wilder or so touched with
Nature’s art. Just above the village is the Château d’Eau, from in front
of which the water is conveyed by conduits to Quebec. The scenery on the
river above the Château is charming, and a boat or canoe trip may be
taken to Lake St. Charles through a most delightful sylvan country.
[Illustration]
The Hurons live in the Indian village. They are industrious and
peaceable, carrying on the manufacture of snowshoes, moccasins, and
basket work, etc. In the height of the summer a good number migrate to
the populous resorts of Murray Bay and the Lower St. Lawrence.
There is a fine view to be obtained by going up the eminence on which
stands the attractive French village of Lorette.
Lakes St. Charles and Beauport, the Jacques Cartier River, Lake St.
Joseph, and the river Ste. Anne are all delightful objectives, and they
are within convenient reach of the city.
Quebec is fortunate in the possession of beautiful environs, and at
Montmorency Falls there is a spectacle of grandeur that in itself is
worthy of a pilgrimage of hundreds of miles to behold. Montmorency is
about eight miles from the city, and it may be reached by carriage over
the St. Charles River and by way of Beauport, or by the electric
railway. The cataract has a fall of over 250 feet. The roar of the
waters, the fascination of the billowy masses of white foam, and the
rainbow-like play of colors in the dashing spray all hold the spectator
spellbound. A fine general view is obtained from the station of the
electric railway; but no adequate conception of the real grandeur of the
sight may be formed until the view is taken from the observation
platforms. A full descent should be made to the bottom of the steps that
have been provided, and the view should be seen from the upper platforms
or terraces as well.
The piers of the old suspension bridge are still standing near the brink
of the falls. The bridge gave way and swept to destruction a farmer and
his family who were driving across at the time.
Another good view of the falls may be obtained by crossing the
Montmorency Bridge to the park on the eastern side of the river.
The natural steps in the solid rock of the river bed, about a mile above
the falls, are no longer visible since the height of the river at that
point has been much increased by the dam below. They were hewn out by
the action of the rushing water of past centuries. While they were
visible thousands of people were attracted there to wonder over the
strange sight. The Fairy River nearby should also be seen, and a walk
through the fields to the power-house will bring a reward in the grand
view of towering rocky banks and the bridal-veil of water that falls
over the height.
[Illustration: STE. ANNE DE BEAUPRÉ]
1. Main Street
2. Pilgrims Buying Relics
3. Church of Ste. Anne de Beaupré
4. Waterworks at Lorette
5. Ste. Anne River
[Illustration]
Near where Montmorency village stands was fought the first battle
between Montcalm and Wolfe, this engagement being the prelude to the
great attack on Quebec that resulted in the death of both illustrious
generals and the permanent addition of Canada to the British Empire.
Governor Haldimand’s fine old mansion, the Kent House, where the Duke of
Kent once lived, is now a delightful hostelry of that ideal kind where a
semblance of home life may be enjoyed amidst restful and picturesque
surroundings. There is a glorious view in every direction from the
breezy highlands, and no one should miss the picture of Quebec seen from
this vantage ground.
The Falls of Montmorency have not the breadth or extent of the
celebrated Falls of Niagara. Their height, however, is much greater; and
the rural and picturesque environment, as well as the graceful and lofty
character of the waterfall, combine in a splendid prospect that has no
equal anywhere.
Of the pleasant recreations in and about Montmorency, the Zoological
Gardens maintained by Holt, Renfrew & Co., of Quebec, afford
never-ending occupation for young and old alike. The numerous animals,
etc., are well arranged for purposes of observation, and the interesting
collection shows animal life in a way that is sure to bring many hours
of enjoyment to those who ramble along the pleasant paths that have been
laid out in various directions.
Everyone has heard of Ste. Anne de Beaupré, the quaint and medieval
village, some twenty miles from Quebec, where the celebrated Church of
La Bonne Ste. Anne is situated to which pilgrimages are ever being made
by the faithful, and which is so full of interest and local color for
those who merely go there to enjoy a pleasant excursion.
If an early riser, it is a good plan to take the electric limited train,
known as the “Fast Pilgrimage,” at 6 a.m. This train stops first at the
Church of La Bonne Ste. Anne and discharges nearly everyone of its
passengers at the pretty little park-station in front of the church. The
train then runs on a few hundred yards to the village of Ste. Anne de
Beaupré, where that particular run terminates. Those who go to worship
will, of course, pass into the church at once in time for the early
mass. As they do so they will not fail to notice that nearly every
passenger goes direct to the church. One or two sightseers—for the hour
is early—will saunter about and enjoy the delightful air and very
foreign surroundings to pass away the time before having a country
breakfast at one of the numerous hostelries with which the neighborhood
is provided.
The Church of Ste. Anne presents a fine appearance, both within and
without. The style of architecture is very pleasing, and the church
stands in the midst of beautiful and well-kept surroundings. The
interior, with many quaint decorations and numerous little chapels, is
especially interesting, while a never-failing attraction for all is the
huge pile of crutches and other appurtenances of bodily suffering or
infirmity that have been thrown away by their happy owners who, it is
stated, were miraculously cured here after making their devotions at the
shrine of the celebrated Ste. Anne.
There is so much that is novel to be seen here—indeed it is the only
place of the kind in the whole continent—so much beauty in the
surroundings, and so much of the grandeur of nature everywhere, that he
whose heart is not actively stirred must be too dead and inert for the
wonderful appeal to move him.
With no stretch of the imagination the district may be called American
Alpine, and almost equal to the Swiss Alps in real interest. In fact
this is an older civilization, and all the accessories of race, customs
and manners, and country lend themselves naturally to the production of
the strangest effects. What quaint narrow streets are here; and see the
overhanging balconies at almost every story of the foreign-looking
houses that are placed at the foot of the steep hills, nestling close to
them.
[Illustration]
Almost every building in the village is a hotel, restaurant, or store
for the sale of relics, curios, novelties and souvenirs. Everything
contributes to the general _fete_ or holiday-like appearance of the
place.
In addition to the constant stream of visitors coming from Quebec, etc.,
by electric trains, special trains arrive at Lévis and Quebec that come
from all parts of the provinces, quite frequently. Sometimes as many as
four and five trainloads will be here in one day—all brought out to the
church by the comfortable electric cars.
There is no better way of seeing the beautiful valley of Beaupré than by
walking from the Church of Ste. Anne to the village of St. Joachim, a
distance of something less than five miles. The high mountain-sides are
liberally wooded with noble trees to near the roadway, where banks that
are clear of wood slope more gradually, and not too steep to climb with
a little effort. The daisies are so profuse in many places that the
effect is nearly like that of a snowstorm. Particularly so where the
young orchard is springing up, the spaces between the rows of trees
being quite white.
No country could be richer in waterfalls of all sizes, from the
precipitous and mighty fall of Montmorency down to the dashing cascade
that starts out from the mountain side. In some places they may be heard
but not seen, until in looking beyond the road a tiny stream is seen to
be making riverwards, and further examination reveals a charming fall in
some leafy copse on the other side of the road. The tones of these
waterfalls, cascades, rivulets and springs are musical, grateful and
soothing to ear and spirit beyond the power of words to describe; while
the water, sparkling and clear, is pure and refreshing to the thirsty
wayfarer.
Wildflowers are very prolific, sweet-scented and a constant joy to the
eye.
[Illustration]
“In the cool and quiet nooks,
By the side of running brooks;
In the forest’s green retreat,
With the branches overhead—”
will be found the iris, violet, trillium, water lily, and, at times,
delicately colored orchids; while crowning the neat white fence of many
a humble cottage festoons of trailing roses gladden the way.
There is a pleasant walk at Château Richer, up to the mill by the bend
of the rippling Rivière à la Puce. The still water above, the dark shade
and the peaceful calm, all repay the little _detour_ necessary to visit
this charming spot. This is surely the land of the waterfall, for the
falls of St. Fereol, Ste. Anne, Seven Falls and the fall of La Puce are
all romantic and wonderfully picturesque. Though difficult of access,
they are like hidden jewels—well worth the effort necessary to reach
them.
[Illustration]
So precipitous are the mountain heights hereabouts, and so well wooded,
that although there are houses on the very brinks above the roadways,
nothing can be seen of many of them from below save chimney tops and
curling wreaths of smoke. A near view of the chimneys shows them to be
of generous size, and in appearance like the old-fashioned stoves or
ranges with the lids off—the orifices, however, being oblong, and not
round.
Bake-ovens of huge proportions are often found in the gardens, under the
protection of a few boards to give shelter to the cook from rain and
sunshine. Owing to frequent subdivisions of the farms, as sons grew up
and had a strip allotted to them by their fathers, some of the fields
are so narrow that there is barely room to allow a horse and plough to
turn.
All along the road the prevailing feature is the Alpine-like scenery,
the towering heights and the white houses nestling in the mountain side
at dizzy heights. Many houses are approached from the road by steps and
a narrow walk between two habitations. On the next rise the same rule
prevails, and so on up to the highest point. There is seldom an attempt
at a hill-side street—it would be useless, because impossible to ascend
without steps. A substitute for steps, however, is sometimes found in a
sloping pathway that passes obliquely from the front of one house to the
rear of the next, and so on until it reaches the top.
The old manner of laying out or planning a house still prevails. The
kitchen generally runs the whole length and breadth of the house—often a
kind of half-basement effect is seen, open in front on the road, but
closed entirely by the hill behind. Here cooking, washing, spinning,
sewing and the general household work of the industrious _habitants_ is
carried on, and here is where dinner is generally served. The whole
activity of indoor life centres here; and so much was this the case in
one house that a dog and five puppies occupied the hearthstone, a cat
sat in the window nipping the green leaves of a plant, and a playful pet
lamb frisked about unrebuked while four people were in the midst of
preparations for serving the dinner. The houses are generally of
substantial construction, and capacious barns are a noticeable feature
in passing along the country side.
[Illustration: Montmorency Falls]
[Illustration: Riviere Ste. Anne]
A favorite trip for those living or staying in Quebec is that on the
ferry steamers to the Isle of Orleans, originally called _Isle de
Bacchus_ by Jacques Cartier on account of the rich clusters of grapes
that lined its shores when he cast anchor near. The island was occupied
by Wolfe at the time of the fall of Quebec. There are many summer
residences here, and it is a favorite place in summer for many who like
to enjoy the cool river breezes.
[Illustration]
The Falls of the Chaudière, not far from the railway junction of that
name, should be seen by everyone coming anywhere near this locality.
They are within easy reach of Quebec by steamboat or railway, being only
about nine miles from the city.
The river has a considerable width and falls gently over the dam in a
long line of silver. Passing then towards its lower channel it falls
beautifully in two, and sometimes three, cascades into the depths below.
There is a great volume of water in motion, and the swelling sound of
the roaring and foaming plunge makes pleasant music. A climb down into
the deep channel is very novel, and the additional views thus obtained
are quite striking. Here is slate enough to supply schoolboys the world
over for many a century to come. There is a good foothold, when once in
the river bed, on the inclined and shelving stratification; and by going
to the edge of the principal fall, the war of waters against rock may be
seen in all its intensity, and, in addition, the seething depths below
will cause a shudder as the full meaning of the word Chaudière, “the
cauldron,” comes to mind.
The country is beautiful and well wooded. There is a charm in the whole
view when seen from the high bank from under the shade of the noble
trees: it can never be forgotten. Enough has not been made of this
district and all that it contains. It has been overlooked in the wealth
of beauty that surrounds Quebec. It is so easily reached from either
Quebec or Lévis that everyone should include the Chaudière in their
round of beautiful sights. Nothing could be more enjoyable on a fine day
than to take a luncheon and enjoy a picnic in the fine woods by these
famous falls.
It was by the valley of the Chaudière that Montgomery came from New
England when he made his disastrous attempt on Quebec.
Instead of returning to Quebec by steamer or railroad, the electric car
to St. Romuald and Lévis may be taken. The Church of St. Romuald is one
of the most important on the whole St. Lawrence River. It has some
magnificent paintings, fine altars and choice wood carving.
As the car speeds along, the freshness of the verdure and the bright
gold of the buttercups will call for notice. It would be impossible to
toss a cent out of the window without causing it to lodge in one of
those gorgeous yellow cups. Nature asserts her sway over man’s inroads,
for the railway embankments are covered with beautiful _parterres_ of
purple, white, yellow, and blue blooms, with here and there a cluster of
rich, wild lupine. No more beautiful country could be found, and the
view of the great St. Lawrence, the village-capped heights, the gentle
sloping mounds nestling for protection under the shelter of the high
mountain chain, and the romantic cuttings through the chain of hills
nearby—all these make a strong appeal to lovers of the beautiful. The
little river running off to the south-east is the Etchemin, and in it
there is a pretty waterfall.
[Illustration: Scenes in the Militia Camp at Lévis]
From the opposite shore of Lévis one of the finest views of Quebec may
be had. In fact, for miles up and down the south shore some of the
grandest standpoints for extensive views may be found. The massive forts
at Lévis, auxiliary to the fortifications of Quebec in the general
scheme of defence, are worth seeing. It was from the Lévis heights that
Wolfe’s artillery destroyed Quebec previous to its capture. The three
solid structures that now constitute a strong line of defence are said
to be very similar to the celebrated forts of Cherbourg. The Government
Graving Dock is well worth a visit, especially at a time when a large
vessel is docked there; for by descending the steps, walking along the
bottom and then looking up at the great mass above, some adequate idea
may be formed of the huge proportions of the modern “leviathan of the
deep.”
Too much cannot be said of the grandeur of scene, the beautiful wood and
dale, and the extensive panorama of country to be viewed from the
vicinity of the Engineer’s Camp at St. Joseph de Lévis. The
characteristic and charming view of the Montmorency Falls, with the
beautiful St. Lawrence in the foreground, should be seen by everyone.
A military camp for general drill and evolutions is held here every
summer, and in an amphitheatre of finely-wooded hills and gentle slopes
running down to an almost level campus or plain, the citizen soldiers
have ample room for comfortable quarters and extensive operations.
On a recent occasion six regiments of militia were encamped here, the
17th, 18th, 61st, 87th, 89th and 92nd. No better spot for the purpose
could well be imagined. The tents on the slopes, open at the side for
the air, and disclosing tastefully-grouped flags and other interior
decorations, were all well placed to take advantage of shade and other
natural advantages. In the officers’ quarters were mess tables
comfortably placed in an annex or wing. The tents of the men gradually
reaching down and on to the margin of the plain, the groups amusing
themselves, preparing for the afternoon muster, fixing and cooking
rations, etc.; and the orderlies and others passing from group to group
all made a busy picture. An impromptu concert was in progress on a shady
knoll where an artist on the accordeon was sweeping the air in long
curves as he sent music in every direction. Men were playing quoits, or
reading books and writing letters under the cool shade of the maple
trees. The post office at the entrance of the encampment, the sentinel,
the quarters of the staff below, the clean hospital, and, at the foot,
the view of the broad St. Lawrence with its receding background of bold
mountains, all made the scene a stirring and well-remembered one.
[Illustration: Group of Officers, Militia Camp, Lévis]
The energetic Colonel-Commander and his efficient aides had plenty of
work before them in conducting the evolutions, and the men—many of whom
were doubtless in camp for the first time—did very well indeed. And now
the band formed, some regiments closed up their ranks, formed columns
and marched off up the slope for skirmishing and outpost drill; while
lower down other troops going through manual drill sent gleams of light
from their gun barrels into the dark fir trees as the sun’s rays were
deflected with brilliant effect. That persistent waving of flags on
yonder distant knoll has its explanation in the corresponding signals
that are being transmitted across the width of the broad amphitheatre
from the edge of a clump of maples just behind us.
Colors were to be presented to one of the regiments, and a preliminary
drill was being held for that occasion on the morrow. The ceremony, a
very impressive one, takes place in the centre of a hollow square, the
troops facing in; and to the imposing and patriotic strains of the
national anthem the colors are unfurled.
To write that a peregrination through this whole country is beautiful
and inspiring is to feebly express the charm of it all. The pleasure,
too, of spending a day in the field with our citizen soldiery in the
midst of such magnificent and heart-stirring scenery is great; and it
brings a satisfaction and uplift to the mind that should cause thousands
to visit this neighborhood.
Those who sojourn in Quebec, whether for weeks or months, will find no
want of varied amusements. There are walks too numerous to mention where
wild flower, the song of the bird and the music of the gushing rill and
rocky fall enliven every step of the way. Boating may be carried on
almost everywhere, and canoes may be placed on dozens of waters that are
either quiet or rippling; according to choice. The interior lands of
this district are the very best for hunting purposes; and many of the
larger rivers are splendid salmon waters. In all of the surrounding
streams and in the pure waters of the adjacent lakes lovers of trout
fishing will find ample occupation and unstinted reward. Motor-boating,
automobiling, golf, tennis, and all the sports of the field may be
enjoyed here to their full; while as a centre or starting place for
railroad and steamboat trips and tours in every direction Quebec
assuredly takes first place.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Murray Bay River]
_Summer Resorts of the Lower St. Lawrence_
[Illustration]
From the town of St. Croix, west of Quebec, where the river is three
miles wide, to Sillery Cove and the outlet of the Chaudière, the St.
Lawrence gradually narrows to a width of less than one mile. After
passing Quebec, however, and through the double channel that includes
the Isle of Orleans, it broadens considerably, until opposite Baie St.
Paul the great river has a width of over sixteen miles. Where the
Saguenay empties it is eighteen miles across, at Little Metis it is over
thirty-six miles, and finally to the west of Anticosti, where it meets
the waters of the Gulf, it has a breadth of over one hundred miles.
The St. Lawrence carries an amount of water to the ocean that is
exceeded by no other river on the globe save the Amazon. Its tributaries
are all clear trout and salmon streams, and no water system can compare
with it for purity. It has well been said that “Its waters shake the
earth at Niagara; and the Great Lakes are its camping grounds, where its
hosts repose under the sun and stars in areas like that of states and
kingdoms.”
Long before it reaches the end of its course the river has become as
saline as the sea, its tide like that of the ocean, its atmosphere about
as breezy as that of the open Atlantic; and in the various resorts that
are found on both shores—but principally or altogether on the south
shore after easting from Tadousac and Les Escoumains—considerable
variety of climate will be found.
From Quebec to Cape Breton, and Baie des Chaleurs to Halifax a
geographical quadrangle is bounded that includes a diversity of scene
and climate, and range of temperature, that cannot be found elsewhere;
and this great variety of climatic condition enables the Canadian
Government Railways to provide on its own system congenial places to
meet requirements that are widely different in character.
The whole area of Eastern Quebec and the Maritime Provinces is much
cooler than the New England States, and cooler also than Ontario and the
West. It will be understood that Eastern Quebec is cooler than Western,
and that a still cooler climate than that found in Eastern Quebec is
obtained by going to the Atlantic Seaboard on the east side of Cape
Breton or Nova Scotia. East and South-East New Brunswick are cooler
parts than North, and North-West and West. Prince Edward Island occupies
a middle ground in temperature between Quebec and Cape Breton or Eastern
Nova Scotia; while in Cape Breton and Nova Scotia themselves the eastern
or Atlantic front is cooler than the western or protected side.
In considering summer resorts the matter of climate and temperature is
very important. What will suit one will not satisfy another. The broad
and just statement may therefore be made that differences in temperature
between various parts of the Maritime Provinces are more equalized after
sundown. At night it is cool everywhere. Compared with the country to
the south and west it is cool in any part of the Maritime Provinces,
even at high noon. In the east the thermometer cannot rise high because
of the cooling sea breezes. The temperature in the west is therefore a
few degrees higher, and on that account the western and middle parts are
often preferred by those unaccustomed to the bracing sea air of the open
Atlantic coast.
The St. Lawrence in its progress oceanwards passes many a fair island on
its way. Some of the most charming views may be obtained on and from
these islands, and many of them are choice spots for picnic and
camping-out parties. The most of these islands will be found opposite
such places as Montmagny, Cap St. Ignace, L’Islet, Baie St. Paul, St.
Alexandre de Kamouraska, Rivière du Loup, Isle Verte, Trois Pistoles and
Bic, etc.
“I love to gaze upon those river isles,
Where beauty sleeps, and blooming verdure smiles;
Or view the nodding ships with swelling sails,
Borne onward by the tide and gentle gales;
Those winds that bring the vessel’d stores of wealth
Bear on their wings the healing balm of health.”
[Illustration]
Proceeding east over the Intercolonial Railway along the south shore we
pass in turn the prosperous towns of Montmagny, Cap St. Ignace, L’Islet,
St. Jean Port Joli and Ste. Anne de la Pocatière opposite Baie St. Paul
and the Isle au Coudres. Montmagny is fairly near the railway station,
but the other places are on the river front and a drive of a mile or two
is necessary from each station to reach a town.
Baie St. Paul, on the north shore, is a place of call for the St.
Lawrence steamboats, and is within easy reach of Quebec. In a country
where the grandeur of nature is visible on every hand, it is difficult
to do justice to all the beautiful sights without seeming to overpraise
them. And yet in this romantic little resort is a wealth of beauty that
must be seen if all that is lovely in nature is not to be slighted. It
is French through and through, and therefore delightful. Looking up the
valleys of the two rivers, Gouffre and Moulin, there is a fine view of a
mountain range that fades away in the far distance in different shades
of blue. Following the rapid course of the Gouffre there is a road from
which many charming views may be seen. The beautiful groves of trees,
the bright cottages, and the water falling over the precipice in long,
silvery bands are pleasant features of the landscape. There is a grand
view from the top of Cap au Corbeau, after the birds that make this
place their haunt have been frightened away. It was off Les Eboulements
that Jacques Cartier’s three little vessels, the _Grande Hermine_,
_Petite Hermine_ and _Emerillon_, anchored in the bay, near the end of
Isle aux Coudres, when he made his second voyage to the West.
Isle aux Coudres is even more French than Baie St. Paul. Here Jacques
Cartier landed on his second voyage to New France. He gave to the island
the name it has since retained, a name derived from the numerous hazel
trees he found here. It is recorded that in 1663 a mountain was lifted
by an earthquake and cast bodily over the water on to this island. It
was thus made much larger than before. At present the inhabitants are
content with their acreage, and have no desire for further additions of
this kind. A survival of the old Norman life is here, and for this and
the view of island and mainland it is worth a visit. Small white whales
are often caught near here in great abundance.
[Illustration]
A quartette of famous north-shore resorts is brought within pleasant
reach by the Canadian Government Steamship _Champlain_. There is a hotel
here where people from nearby places stay in the summer time to enjoy
the cool river air. The steamship _Champlain_ leaves the wharf twice
daily for north-shore resorts, making connection on its return with
trains going east and west each morning and afternoon. On Sundays the
boat goes to and returns from Pointe à Pic only, but as the other
resorts are only a few miles from that place, it is easy to reach them
by carriage. Stopping at Rivière Ouelle Junction, taking the train there
to the wharf and boarding the smart river steamship, an enjoyable run of
about sixteen miles brings up at St. Irénée, from which place the
_Champlain_ passes on eastward to Pointe à Pic and Murray Bay, and
thence to Cap à l’Aigle. On alternate trips the order of calls is
reversed; the _Champlain_ proceeding first to Cap à l’Aigle and then
going west calls in inverse order at the other points.
The four resorts are entirely different in character, and to some extent
in scenery. The name Murray Bay is frequently applied to the whole
district reaching from Pointe à Pic to Murray Bay, a distance of about
three miles. This causes some confusion in addressing and receiving
letters, and it is well to remember that the steamboat landing is at
Pointe à Pic, that the Manoir Richelieu, most of the hotels, and the
heart of the resort, all within easy driving distance of the wharf, are
included in the Pointe à Pic postal district; while the name Murray Bay
properly belongs to the postal district surrounding the old village on
the Murray Bay River some three miles distant.
Pointe à Pic is a beautiful summer resort much in favor with wealthy
people. It is decidedly fashionable in its general tone, and there are
many handsome residences and bungalows on the heights and down along the
cliffs and sloping fields of the Bay shore. Carriage-driving, tennis,
golf and boating are the chief amusements. Murray Bay, by which is meant
the old French village near the river bridge, is a quaint place, less
fashionable, much more compact and town-like, and where the
hotels—smaller and not so expensive as those at Pointe à Pic—are in the
midst of the busy little main street, but within a stone’s throw of the
open country on both sides of the river. St. Irénée is smaller and
quieter than either of the foregoing places. It is about six miles south
of Pointe à Pic. Here a delightful life may be enjoyed at a quiet family
hotel right on the beach, in the midst of a charming country side for
walks and rambles. Cap à l’Aigle is the quietest resort of all. It is
about three miles east of Murray Bay. There are no hotels, but the roomy
farm houses on the cliffs have been adapted for the reception of
visitors, and the summer life is altogether rural and free from
fashion’s trammels.
[Illustration: ST. IRÉNÉE]
1. Habitant’s House
2. Where the Brook Meets the Tide
Pointe à Pic is gay, lively and fashionable; Murray Bay, town-like and
not lonely; St. Irénée, a beach resort for quiet people who take with
them their own amusements; while Cap à l’Aigle is suited for those who
like farm and country life, with good air and walks along the cliffs and
through country fields. Pointe à Pic and Murray Bay are nearly
connected; and as St. Irénée and Cap à l’Aigle are just a few miles
south and east, there is plenty of occupation, even for those who live
in the quiet outer resorts; for the St. Lawrence steamboats call at all
the wharves, and it is easy to go from one place to the other by
steamer, as well as by carriage. Summer costumes from nearly every part
of the world make gay the long wharf at Pointe à Pic, and with the
hundreds of carriages drawn up for the reception of visitors and guests
arriving by steamer the scene is animating, lively and full of interest.
The scenery of St. Irénée is very fine. The shore is green and fresh.
There are no unsightly landslides, and no bare rock. The elevation is a
bold one, with high mountains behind fading into grey and blue. The
gentle-sloping shore dotted with white cottages runs to a point at the
south that is shaped like the bastion of a fort. The shore is of rock
and gravel, with sand in some places. A stone road extends along the
shore and makes a pleasant promenade. A short distance from the wharf,
north and south—in fact directly at the wharf—is the open country where
the _habitants_ still live the simple life of other days. St. Irénée is
essentially a summer place—there is neither town nor village. The main
road to Pointe à Pic makes a very enjoyable course for a country ramble,
as it abounds in by-roads and quiet paths that lead through hill and
dale where may be heard the merry music of many a dashing cascade and
sprightly rill. The bungalows are all prettily placed at varying
heights—always in choice spots that command a direct view of the water
and shore. There is no obtruding village life, and no place where
‘shopping’ may be done. All the signs of life are contributed by the
summer residents. There is little or no formality. Ladies and children
lounge on the hotel piazza, saunter along the hillside and country
roads, or form sociable groups on the shore as they do fancy-work and
sewing, or write letters—the children taking their fill of pleasure from
the shore with spade and pail.
A few tied-up schooners float lazily at the wharf, awaiting their next
period of activity. River steamboats between Quebec, Murray Bay and
Tadousac call here, and it is also a port of call for the Government
Steamship _Champlain_.
[Illustration]
The pleasant residences of the Forget family are prominent on the
shelving hillside. The balustraded promenade, high up, with its
projecting bastion or observation terrace, its garden, walks, seats and
prettily arranged grounds, is a delightful point from which to enjoy a
commanding view of the shore, the wharf and the broad vista of waters. A
short walk from each end of the main or shore promenade brings out at
little hamlets or groupings of cottages of the native residents. They
present many points of interest for visitors, and pleasant rambles may
thus be enjoyed by those who would see how quaint a life the people of
remote parts in this province still enjoy.
A short distance to the north of the wharf there is a fine stretch of
clean sand, backed by rocks and turf. There are generally low piles of
newly-sawn lumber, stacked up near the wharf end of this beach, where
children may have jolly times playing ‘hide-and-seek,’ or climbing and
building houses on the shore from drift-wood, ‘ends’ and cuttings. A
walk of but half a mile leads to the attractive little stream that here
falls into the St. Lawrence, and meets real waves as it plunges into its
seaward goal. Across the little stream the stray logs that have
grounded, the rocks, the cottages on the hill, the rustling trees, the
soaring height of the near-hills, the bright green of the small point,
the darker green of the great cape beyond, the dim outline of the
far-away mountain range and the broad stretch of cool waters dotted with
gracefully floating vessels; all these make ideal summer surroundings.
It is a pleasant spot. A great charm for many will be the simplicity of
all, unspoiled by crowds—fashion left out. Children may here realize all
the joys of early youth; and adults, as they rest on the beach, will
live over again the joyous days of the care-free long ago. Few who roam
the delightful strand would know it was not the seashore. It is salt
water, of course; and it may be called an inner sea without the decided
range of temperature experienced on the open Atlantic coast.
Pointe à Pic (Murray Bay, South) is known the world over for its
magnificent landscapes and the rugged grandeur of the scenery with which
nature has endowed it. Precipice, gorge and cloud-capped peaks are
everywhere, and the general view, Alpine, Scottish and wild, is superb.
[Illustration: Cape Blanc, Murray Bay]
Champlain called here, and it was he who named it Malbaie on account of
its rapid tide. The native French still use that name; for the words
Murray Bay are difficult to pronounce, and when they do use this name it
sounds like Mooriebay with a long ‘Moore’ and a short ‘bay.’ Pointe à
Pic, on the other hand, rolls off their tongues with a delightful
piquancy; no wonder they prefer to use it.
There is fishing, boating, sailing and bathing of a very enjoyable kind.
Aquatic life has not been developed as much as it should have been with
so many choice privileges right at hand. Carriage driving, tennis, and,
particularly, golf are supreme. Perhaps this is not to be wondered at
when the splendid and inexhaustible drives the neighborhood affords are
considered; and the golf links are so beautiful and in such a splendid
situation that the popularity of this healthful recreation is easily
understood.
There are hundreds of pleasant cottages, many spacious bungalows and not
a few country mansions. These are dotted in long picturesque lines by
the shore of the Bay and on the cliffs that follow the bend of the
water. These houses are to the right and left of the long road that runs
from Point à Pic to the bridge at Murray Bay River, on which street or
roadway the village houses, rented cottages and some of the hotels are
placed. Many of the bungalows have charming situations right on the
water, with pleasant gardens and decorative stone walls between main
road and shore. Others are embowered in the hilly land that follows the
contour of the Bay, where with breezy porches, enjoyable gardens and
delightful air, the roofs and gables are all that show from the lower
road. Rustic gates, zigzag steps up the grassy heights, handrails of
saplings with the bark unstripped, and arbour-covered terraces or
‘rests’ with shady seats on the way up, all mark the country-like aspect
of the surroundings.
There are many alluring drives in this neighborhood; few anywhere can
compare with them. A more romantic trip than that to the Upper and Lower
Falls of the Fraser River could hardly be imagined. Leaving the
carriage, exploring the wood and descending into the ravine, a beautiful
view is seen. The upper fall descends in two drops to a depth of two
hundred and ninety feet, and the lower fall has a descent of one hundred
and fifty feet. The Thou, Chute, Desbiens, and the Nearn Fall with its
salmon leap, are favorite objectives for enjoyable driving excursions.
[Illustration]
The long wharf at Point à Pic is a bustling centre when steamboats are
coming in or going out. Rows of carriages are backed in compact lines as
far as the eye can see. It is almost equally lively at night, and
presents a gay sight with its strings of electric light and clusters of
summer people congregating on the wharf to meet the coming and speed
departing friends. Everyone comes to see the boats arrive and depart.
Furniture, cots, etc., are being unloaded rapidly, and there, as a box
is passed ashore the strong electric light shows it is addressed
to—Cabot; historic name! The busy scene on steamer and wharf, the plash
of the water, the bustle of the moving carriages, the long line of the
pier thrown out from the stern cliff, the beautiful air and the
fascination of a St. Lawrence sunset with its fairy panorama of
fantastic cloud, silver tinted under the influence of the rising
moon—these things constitute a scene that is truly delightful.
[Illustration: A Home in the Woods, St. Irénée]
[Illustration]
Owing to the fine drives in the neighborhood, carriages are very
numerous. Almost every house of a _habitant_ has its stable, and whether
he be a grocer, a shoemaker or what not, his _voiture_ may be seen
emerging from its lane by the trim little cottage to meet every
steamboat that calls at the wharf.
The life at Murray Bay is very pleasant; and it is sure to be enjoyed by
all who like driving, walking, boating, bathing, tennis, golf, etc.; all
of which recreations may be followed here to their full in the midst of
ideal surroundings.
Cap à l’Aigle may be described as a farm-village resort. It has a
pleasant little strip of shale and gravel beach. It has a waterfall,
where, although the volume of water passing over it is small, the view
is very picturesque. Beach life is not prominent in any of the Murray
Bay resorts, unless it is at St. Irénée. This is because of the
wonderful attraction the surrounding country has for walks, drives, and
other outdoor recreations. A few houses cluster at the top of the road
leading up from the wharf at Cap à l’Aigle, and farm houses extend along
the tops of the cliffs in the direction of St. Fidèle and St. Simeon.
There are numerous pleasant walks along the breezy heights, and the road
to Murray Bay River and village is an enjoyable one. Cap à l’Aigle has a
quiet, restful, and simple life that suits it for those who desire to
spend the summer not too near to a town; and in addition, it has the
advantage of being within reasonable distance of the busy summer centre
at Murray Bay.
On the south shore of the St. Lawrence, almost opposite Cap à l’Aigle,
lies bright and picturesque Kamouraska, with its white houses lining the
river, and its five verdant islands reposing within convenient reach for
the enjoyment of boating, bathing and fishing. There are summer cottages
here pleasantly placed along the banks, and a number of stopping-places
for visitors are found on the quiet streets. Driving, walking, and
tennis are the recreations, with the usual social life found in country
vacation centres. The village is very prettily laid out; and the
enjoyable stretches of beach, with the abundant tree-growth of the
neighborhood, make this a favorite spot. Kamouraska is near the
Intercolonial Railway station of St. Paschal, from which place it is
reached by a carriage drive of about six miles.
[Illustration: MURRAY BAY]
1. Bungalow
2. Cape Fortin
3. Lower Fraser Falls
4. Bungalow
[Illustration]
Rivière du Loup, some twenty-three miles down the St. Lawrence from
Kamouraska, is a growing city of considerable importance. It took its
name from the seals, once very numerous by the mouth of the river. It
has a pleasant situation on high land, and on that account it has cool
air. The long main street stretches continuously to Fraserville, and
follows the channel of the river for some distance. It is a natural
tourist centre; and the hotel accommodation is good. The hotels at the
Fraserville end are particularly suited to those making a stay in the
neighborhood; for some are large and roomy, with nice gardens and a fine
view of the river from the quiet porches and balconies on the St.
Lawrence side. There are pleasant drives to Notre Dame du Portage
village, Cacouna, etc.; and enjoyable trips may be made over the lines
of the Intercolonial and Temiscouata Railways, as well as on the river
in various directions. Lake Temiscouata, or ‘Winding Water,’ the Touladi
River and Lake, the Madawaska, or ‘Never-Frozen’ River and the Acadian
village of Edmundston are all reached by going over the line of the
Temiscouata Railway. These places are all in the heart of a good fishing
and hunting country.
At ‘The Point’ on the river, numerous cottages have been built for the
enjoyment of cool river breezes, and here, too, good summer hotels are
found where gay companies spend happy days in boating and other
amusements. The wharf with its promenade 2,500 feet long is a favorite
spot at all times, and from this point the steamers of the Trans St.
Laurent Company leave for Tadousac and the Saguenay, almost immediately
opposite on the north shore some twenty-five miles across.
The celebrated Falls of the Rivière du Loup are still beautiful,
although mills, etc., have made sad inroads on their beauty. They are
seen to best advantage by crossing the Intercolonial Railway bridge and
walking through the fields to a point down stream where a high bank
commands a full view of the river bed and the fall above.
Rivière du Loup is the centre of an interesting district; its stores are
very attractive, and its streets shady and well kept; while the
Fraserville district and the summer resorts of ‘The Point’ affords
attractive opportunities for passing many a restful week in the summer
days. From this point, too, may be had one of the best views of the
north shore mountains found along the whole river.
[Illustration: The Falls, Rivière du Loup]
No more pleasant a way of reaching Tadousac and the world-famous
Saguenay River can be imagined than that enjoyed by taking a steamer of
the Trans St. Laurent Company from Rivière du Loup wharf. It is a
delightful trip of about two hours and a half, and it is doubtful
whether any other way of approaching the Saguenay gives the pleasure and
breadth of prospect that this commands.
Near where the steamboat lies at the starting wharf, great three-masted
merchantmen anchor to discharge and take on freight, and tied up by the
wharf itself huge steam barges receive their freight of pulp wood for
the U. S. A.
[Illustration: Scenes at CAP À l’AIGLE]
1. On the Beach
2. On the Rocks
As the crossing is made, numerous craft of all kinds come into view.
Boats, launches, barges, yachts, schooners, steamships, ocean liners and
naval vessels all pass by. The air is delightful and invigorating, and
the salt breeze from the ocean is both perceptible and stimulating. The
water is smooth, with just a gentle swell. There is hardly a ripple to
be seen, save here and there where without apparent reason a tiny
wavelet bursts on the surface and spreads its milky froth around for a
brief second or two, and then becomes lost to the sight in the general
silvery calm that prevails. The sky overhead is clear, while near the
horizon beautiful clouds of grey and sun-lit white lend enchantment to
the distant mountain range on the north, now drawing nearer and nearer
and gradually becoming distinguishable. To the west a barge is crossing
south, and its long trail of black smoke reaches down to the Hare
Islands where it mingles with the white fleece of the cloud horizon and
reflects a glint of sunshine over the island slopes.
[Illustration]
To the far west the Allan liner that passed by an hour before is
mingling its smoke and vapor with that of the barge, and building
strange and fantastic castles in the air. To the east Red Island looks
like a long pontoon craft calmly sailing over the waters. Before us the
mountain range that erstwhile was dark, and dimly visible, is now
clearing and coming within view, and shows light and shade of green
fields and darker woodland.
As if by magic, the water has suddenly taken on a deep blue, and the
effect is to make the distant hills further off than they seemed before.
Now we pass through a river of molten silver, the wake of a vessel that
went by long ago. Gliding through, we reach a lake-like expanse,
cerulean in hue, and St. Catharines comes into view over the bow of our
vessel, with Tadousac beyond on the right.
We are now nearing the famous Saguenay, where the mariners of ten
centuries ago tarried after their long voyage to the ‘Ultima Thule’ of
those remote days.
That which appeared to be a huge cloud bank over the rent in the
mountain range, where pours out the river in a mighty flood, is now
assuming form as a second and greater range beyond, dwarfing more and
more the high riparian hills into comparative insignificance.
But Tadousac is near, its grand prospect is spread out for our gaze on
every side, and we are making fast to a wharf in a romantic, rocky
cove—both wharf and cove presenting the appearance of having dropped out
of some picture-book in the clouds, so charming and striking is the
whole scene.
[Illustration: Tadousac]
Tadousac was named by the native Montagnais Indians, the word meaning
mounds, or, as in this case, mountains. It has been said that the
village is placed like a nest in the midst of granite rocks that
surround the mouth of the Saguenay. It is built on a crescent-like
terrace, backed and flanked by mountains, and has a fine view over the
harbor, river, and distant shore of the St. Lawrence. The whole life of
the place is so tranquil and uncommercial that it does not intrude on
the visitor’s pleasure. It does not follow from this that there is an
absence of life here—quite the contrary, for Tadousac is a favorite
resort of thousands; but what is meant is that throngs are rarely seen
on the streets or roads. A thousand people may arrive on one of the
great steamboats, and for a while a scene of activity prevails at the
wharf; but in a short time they disperse for the roads, woods, lakes,
park, shore and hotels, and soon the usual tranquility prevails. There
is nothing to mar the repose of the slumbering little Chapel of the
Jesuits on the heights; and its bell, over three centuries old, still
rings true. The Government Piscicultural Station, or salmon hatchery, is
beautifully placed and kept, overlooking the wharf and rocky cove. Here
the little creek Anse a l’Eau makes out, and the tiny waterfall, the
lake, the platform walks, the summer house, and climbing on the rocky
slopes, attract many to a quiet enjoyment of their beauties.
[Illustration: Milking Time]
Golf, tennis, walks, boating, etc., are the chief amusements, and
children find plenty of occupation playing on the fronting sand beach,
or in climbing the rocks and hills. There is a pleasant promenade in
front of the principal hotel. It faces south-east, commands one of the
noblest prospects ever seen, and is immediately above the beach and open
to the cool summer breeze. Summer houses or pergolas dot the walk on the
top of the cliff, and there is no lack of pleasant walks in many
directions. There are places where the first thought on arrival is, “how
can I occupy my time?” The thought that immediately comes to mind here
is, “how can I see what is to be seen here in a few days—a week—or a
month?”
The display of the Aurora Borealis is often magnificent in this region.
The Indians call this the reflection of the Camp Fires in the Happy
Hunting-Grounds. On a night when the sky is cloudless, and brilliant
with stars, it is a joyous experience to camp out. Possibly there is
just enough of a breeze to fan the flickering flame of the camp fire.
The broad expanse of the St. Lawrence is unruffled by a single ripple,
and as the gaze follows its surface the glorious stars are mirrored like
shining jewels. Looking to the mountains, great rays of white shoot
upward from behind their far-away heights. Stupendous arches of purple
mount into the blue sky, transient, evanescent; for soon the dream-like
fabric crumbles and disappears, to be followed by red or crimson flames
and a suffused glow as of some cosmic conflagration in far-off space.
[Illustration]
The white porpoise is hunted with harpoons on the Saguenay and St.
Lawrence rivers. A length of fifteen feet for this fish is not uncommon.
They are not unlike the whale in appearance and are often mistaken for
their more unwieldy brother. Much art is used to draw sufficiently near
to make a good ‘strike.’ A boat with a white bottom has been used for
this purpose, with a wooden porpoise, or decoy, painted slate-color in
imitation of the young fish. Fenced enclosures, formed like a trap, are
quite common in many parts of the river. The fish enter, become confused
in seeking an outlet, and are easily caught when the tide lowers. Seals
are also caught in this locality, and even small whales are harpooned at
times.
A broad sand-bank reaches out into the St. Lawrence just a short
distance above the Saguenay. It is related that here a whale was pursued
by a swordfish. The fish, provided by nature with its sharp weapon of
offence, was chasing the unlucky whale, which moved with great rapidity
in the direction of the shore, making huge leaps out of the water and
giving out loud bellowing sounds as it sped along. The whale was all of
forty feet in length, and its enemy was fully grown and must have
measured twenty feet over all.
Confused by the near approach of its dread enemy, the whale went too
close to the sand-bar and was soon floundering about in only ten feet of
water. The swordfish now made off, possibly alarmed by the tremendous
splashing and the too-near approach to land. As the tide was rapidly
going out—it falls some eighteen feet here—there was danger for the
whale in being stranded high and dry. It lashed out with its tail and
churned the water with billowing foam. At last after repeated rolls
towards deep water it got off, and soon its joyful spouting could be
seen in the distance as it escaped and made its way down the Gulf.
[Illustration]
Seals are also caught with the harpoon. To get near them unperceived,
Indians have made holes in the sands at low tide. Here they hide under a
blanket and imitate the cry of the seal. The seals down by the water’s
edge are attracted from their native element, and gradually draw near.
They make very slow progress on the land, and when too far away to
escape back to the water the Indians pounce out and kill dozens with
blows from their hatchets.
The Saguenay River is possibly the chief tributary of the St. Lawrence.
In every way it is remarkable. Deep, bold, and with headlands of awful
height, a trip over its waters from Tadousac to Chicoutimi is an unique
experience; for nowhere else can similar scenes be found. The source of
the river is in those streams that empty into the head waters of
Pikouagami, or Lake St. John, the principal of which are the Peribonka
and Mistassini rivers. The Metabetchouan, an important stream, also
flows into Lake St. John; and these rivers with the Chicoutimi,
Marguerite, Ha-Ha, and numerous smaller rivers, all unite to swell the
great flood of the almost bottomless Saguenay. There are numerous lakes
north and south of the river, and, almost needless to state, the whole
district abounds in mountain, gorge, and waterfall scenery of the
wildest kind. Tumultuous rapids are everywhere; and the awful contrast
with them of cloud-capped mountain and the silent, still and deep,
unfathomable water below is almost overpowering.
It has been said of the Saguenay that it is not properly a river. It is
a tremendous chasm like that of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea,
cleft for sixty miles almost in a straight line through the heart of a
mountain wilderness. There is not a part of the river that does not
impress one with its grandeur and sublimity. The Indians, in their usual
direct nomenclature, called the river Saggishsekuss, ‘a river whose
banks are precipitous’; and from that name the more pronounceable
Saguenay has been derived. Jacques Cartier and Champlain both sailed on
this river, and tradition has it that Roberval penetrated far inland and
never returned.
Shallow water in the lower Saguenay must not be expected, and even at
the head of navigation a name is found that signifies ‘deep water.’ This
is Chicoutimi, a delightful village where Scandinavian vessels come to
load up with lumber. Some claim that the name of the village is derived
from the Indian word Ishkotimew, meaning ‘up to here the water is deep.’
Be that as it may, it is a picturesque place, where many of the cottages
are roofed with birch-bark, and where trim flower gardens, and cottage
doors festooned with climbing vines, may be seen. The dashing mountain
stream Chicoutimi, which has a wild descent of near 500 feet in seven
miles, enters the Saguenay just above the village, and puts on a white
bridal-fall in honor of its union with the stern Saguenay.
[Illustration]
On the way from Tadousac to Chicoutimi, the mouth of the Marguerite
River is passed. This river is distant from Tadousac about 14 miles, and
it has a beauty of its own claimed by some to compare with that of the
larger river, but, of course, on a smaller scale. The scenery is
romantic in the extreme. Swirling eddies and foaming rapids turn sharply
around the high cliffs, which are water-worn and smooth below from the
action of the dashing foam. Here and there are quiet pools, deep and
silent; and some are in almost perpetual shade from overhanging cliff
and woodland.
Some seventeen miles above stands Cape Eternity, with Eternity Bay
between it and the giant twin-brother Cape Trinity. Many have felt that
here the ‘climax of the awe-inspiring scenery of the Saguenay is
reached.’ A huge wall of limestone here towers up and projects boldly
over the river. Those who pass beneath it give a shudder of apprehension
as they realize that a fall would mean annihilation for all below. The
great column has been likened to a colossal stairway of three enormous
treads, fit ascension to the clouds for the giant gods of the early
Indian’s dream. Cape Eternity is 1700 feet high, and Cape Trinity 1500
feet. These enormous bulwarks of rock are stern and grand in the awful
majesty of their height and power. As the eye soars upward, the
pine-trees that have gained a foothold in the fissures serve to
accentuate the prodigious heights, for onward and upward they loom until
lost as specks of nothingness.
As Chicoutimi is gradually neared, the water of Ha-Ha Bay opens up on
the south. It received its odd name from the peals of laughter indulged
in by the early French explorers who took it for the main channel of the
river, and who found their mistake when they reached the end of the
cul-de-sac.
[Illustration]
In and about Chicoutimi and the neighboring villages are numerous places
of great interest; and doubtless many who visit this district will wish
to go part or all the way to Lake St. John for the pleasure of returning
by canoe, and of enjoying the lively sport of shooting the rapids in
care of two skilful Indian guides. At Portage de l’Enfant an Indian
child managed to perform a feat that few could be likely to imitate
successfully: that of going over the 50-foot fall in a canoe, and
escaping uninjured. For lovers of the curious, the church at Chicoutimi
contains an ancient bell with an inscription on it that no one has been
able to decipher.
If so minded, the traveller who finds himself in this delightful
district may go by rail from Chicoutimi to Roberval at the south-western
end of Lake St. John. Here, in more open country, another series of
excursions may be had, and, not forgetting the pleasure of a stay at
Roberval as a centre, those who are fond of steamboat trips, driving,
walking, boating and canoeing may go in many directions.
The steamboat trip from Roberval to the Grand Discharge and ‘Thousand
Isles of the Saguenay’ is a favorite one. There is nothing similar to it
elsewhere. The drives to Ouiatchouan Falls, picturesque and nearly 300
feet high, and the Montagnais village of Pointe Bleue are full of
interest and novelty. Many other trips are possible.
Much of the country to the north of the lake is unexplored. The same
remark applies to the rivers of the northern district, or rather to
their upper waters. Across Lake St. John, therefore, is ground where the
experienced huntsman or nature-lover may find ample occupation in new
fields.
The happy sojourner in these regions will soon become accustomed to the
Indian names, and, if the use of ‘fire-water’ is eschewed, words like
Chamouchouan and Ashuapmouchouan will roll trippingly from the tongue.
And now for an Indian legend. Tonadalwa was an Indian maid beautiful to
look upon, and desired by every young brave of her tribe. Her eyes were
dark and lustrous, her form was lithe, supple and beautifully moulded,
words from her lips were sweeter than honey, and her song was like unto
that of the bird that soars joyously in the sky at the first flush of
the rosy dawn.
Tonadalwa’s heart had never quickened its tender fluttering under the
glances of her dusky wooers. One only, Po-kwa-ha, had any place in her
affections. He had saved her from drowning, years before, and it filled
her memory. In a canoe as light as a feather, that her lover had made
for her, and with the stroke she had learned from him, she would take
her way over the water, skimming the white-crested waves with a grace
and speed beautiful to behold.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
One day as the soft summer air played languidly in and out of the
quivering tree branches, while the sun poised over the horizon and
assumed its dying robe of crimson, Tonadalwa’s canoe glided out from the
village shore and took its way down the great river. Taking only an
occasional stroke to keep in mid-channel, the maiden floated on. The
faint musical ripple of the gliding canoe and the gentle swish of the
paddle made a fitting accompaniment for girlish fancies that lightly
came and went on the wings of thought, and soon the soul of Tonadalwa
was deep in communion with nature, and her paddle rested motionless over
the water.
But a sound from the shore interrupts her reverie. She listens. Yes, it
is her lover’s voice. He calls her, as he has done before. She waits to
see if his canoe puts out, but it does not. Again his voice is heard,
and, this time quickly immersing her paddle, she speeds for the shore.
But it is a cruel ruse of a rejected suitor, for when too late she sees
the hated brave dash out in his canoe, and the thing she has dimly
dreaded from the evil glance of Ka-wis is about to happen. She screams
and turns to flee. The dastard brave drops his paddle, springs to his
feet, and, knowing that the maiden will escape in her light canoe, sends
an arrow on its deadly errand of revenge. But Tonadalwa’s eye was quick
and her action fleet, for she dropped prostrate ere the arrow sped where
she had stood a moment before. Alas! she had lost her paddle in the
quick movement, and as she drifted down, not daring to look up, she soon
heard the roar of the dreaded fall below.
All too soon she realized her peril. A cry now reaches her ear. The cry
rings true this time, her heart tells her, and, springing up, she looks
to the bank, sees that Ka-wis has fled and that her brave Po-kwa-ha is
running rapidly as he tries to overtake her. Ere he can draw near to
take the plunge of desperation and love, the whirling eddies have caught
the Indian maid in their grasp, the seething rapids toss her canoe from
billow to billow, and Death seizes her in his cold embrace as the frail
bark is dashed over the foaming cataract.
[Illustration]
Po-kwa-ha sees the dreadful catastrophe, as for one brief moment the
beloved form of Tonadalwa is outlined clearly against the evening sky;
and then, with one last involuntary cry for help, she extends her arms
to her lover—and she has gone.
With his loved one torn from his very grasp, with despair in his heart,
and all desire for life extinguished at one stroke, the poor lover
rushes madly to the brink and plunges over the cataract to his death.
But the Good Manitou is kind to the brave, the good, the pure, and the
true; shadowy forms, spirits of dead braves, rise from the foaming
depths below, and ere the hungry waters can overwhelm the Indian maid,
she is borne up, rescued, and returned to life.
Nor was the lover to meet the death he sought; for the same arm that had
rescued the maiden now held up the form of the young brave, and placing
her in his arms, Tonadalwa and Po-kwa-ha were united in life; and,
bearing her tenderly to her home and safety, they were soon united in
happy matrimony amidst the rejoicing of the whole tribe.
Ka-wis was seen no more. When he shot the arrow, he, too, lost his
paddle, and was swept over the dreaded falls. As he sank in the terrible
abyss below no pitying spirits upbore him, and Death claimed him as its
own.
As we make our way back to Chicoutimi and towards the St. Lawrence, we
cannot fail to be impressed by some of the amazing features of the
Saguenay River. By actual soundings many parts of the river are over one
thousand feet in depth, and none are less than one hundred feet. In
places it is as deep five feet from the shore as in the middle of the
channel. To boat or canoe on such waters and in the midst of such
majestic and sublime surroundings is the one thrilling experience of a
lifetime. The stoutest heart must pay involuntary homage to nature when
gliding beneath boldly over-hanging masses of rock that must weigh
millions of tons.
In addition to such scenes, there are softer effects that appeal to all
lovers of the beautiful. Picture the scene when on a fine, clear day,
with just a gauzy haze on the topmost heights of the cliffs, a boat
passes out of the shadows into the full light of the beaming sun. The
blue smoke wreathing gently upwards is from an Indian encampment just
behind yon hill. Here are fine salmon leaping bodily out of the water;
above is a soaring eagle showing like a mere speck against the sun,
while on the surface of the water seals are showing their dog-like heads
and lazy porpoises are playfully spouting sparkling fountains of spray.
[Illustration: Tadousac, the Harbor]
The oldest and purest Indian dialect is that of the Montagnais, or
‘mountaineers.’ They were the original inhabitants of those sky-reaching
regions, but of late they have gradually retired in the direction of
Hudson’s Bay. Indian dialects, as a rule, are very musical, and the
manner in which Indians in general express themselves is full of poetry
and imagery. Most of the legends that have survived of these people are
grotesque in character—of the Glooscap kind. The romantic tales and
fancies will soon be lost unless some effort is made to gather and
preserve them.
But the line of the Intercolonial Railway sends a strong call from the
opposite St. Lawrence shore, and severing present connection with all
the attractions of Tadousac and the Saguenay and Lake St. John district,
Rivière du Loup is regained and the journey north-east is resumed.
A drive of between two and three miles from the railway station at
Cacouna leads to the pleasant resort of that name.
Cacouna has been called the Brighton of Canada, its bathing on smooth
beach, tennis, boating, walking and driving attracting many here to
spend the whole summer. It is a dangerous place for bachelors, so great
is the display of youth and beauty. In the words of the French-Canadian
gradually mastering the intricacies of the English language:
[Illustration]
“You can pass on de worl’ w’erever you lak,
Tak’ de steamboat for go Angleterre,
Tak’ car on de State, an’ den you come back,
An’ go all de place, I don’t care——
Ma frien’ dat’s a fack, I know you will say,
Wen you come on dis countree again,
Dere’s no girl can touch, w’at we see ev’ry day,
De nice little Canadienne.”
There are many pretty cottages of summer residents along the high and
wooded banks, and there is plenty of accommodation at the hotels and
boarding places. Pleasant excursions are enjoyed to the nearby lake in
the hills, as well as along the country and river roads, and there are
enjoyable drives to St. Arsène and St. Modeste. The view of the St.
Lawrence from the heights is very beautiful, and the air is cool and
pleasant. The sunset views enjoyed here are famous. The quiet and
enjoyable social life of Cacouna is its distinct feature.
[Illustration: BIC]
1. Bic
2. Bic Falls
3. Woodland Falls, Little Metis Beach
[Illustration: Interior of Church, Trois Pistoles]
The name of the village is Indian, and signifies ‘the turtle,’ from the
shape of the great mass of rock connected to the mainland here by a low
isthmus.
Passing Isle Verte, the old village of Trois Pistoles is reached. A very
pretty fishing-river, with tributaries, is here; and summer cottages
have been built for the enjoyment of the fine scenery and good air. A
beautiful church interior may be seen in this quiet village. The church
is near the centre of the village and is known as Notre Dame des Neiges,
or ‘Our Lady of the Snows.’ To see it is worth a trip of hundreds of
miles. The village itself is quaint, and full of old-time atmosphere.
Who was it exclaimed, “I wish I were Queen of Bic!” and in that short
sentence expressed a just appreciation of all the beauties in which this
district abounds? Along Alpine heights the Intercolonial Railway takes
its way, and the approach, far and near, is exquisite for the varied and
magnificent panorama of scenery. At one point the train threads a
mountain gorge hundreds of feet in the air, and, as it winds along, most
charming kaleidoscopic effects are displayed to the admiring gaze.
Long years ago an old inn existed by the wayside, in connection with
which gruesome tales are told of travellers and their strange
disappearance. The village was originally known as Pic. Jacques Carrier
entered and named the harbor Islet St. Jean. At one time it was intended
to make it a harbor for French war vessels, and to make it a grand
outpost in the general scheme for the defense of Quebec. A long wharf
into deep water is now under construction.
Bic is just the place for those who do not care for town life at the
shore. The village is very interesting and well situated, and there are
many good walks through varied and picturesque country. The land-locked
bay is very pleasant at high tide. At the outlet there is a wharf and a
cluster of summer cottages. The new wharf for steamers of deep draught
leads right under frowning cliffs, the points of which have been blasted
away to give room for the new construction. Here the general scene is
bold and striking, and the water view is very pleasing. The cottages are
well placed for those who would enjoy a quiet vacation amidst pleasant
surroundings.
Hattee Bay nearby has a fine stretch of sand, with a few bungalows on
the overlooking heights.
A story of massacre has caused one of the Bic islands to be named
‘L’Islet au Massacre,’ or Massacre Island, from a terrible deed of blood
that took place in a cave there. It is related by M. Tachê in the
‘Soirées Canadiennes’:—Two hundred Micmac Indians were camping there for
the night; the canoes had been beached and a neighboring recess or
cavern in the lofty rocks which bound the coast offered an apparently
secure asylum to the warriors, their squaws and papooses. Wrapped in
sleep, the redskins quietly awaited the return of day to resume their
journey; they slept, but not their lynx-eyed enemy, the Iroquois; from
afar, he had scented his prey. During the still hours of night, his
silent steps had compassed the slumbering foe. Laden with birch-bark
fagots and other combustible materials, the Iroquois noiselessly
surround the cavern; the fagots are piled around it, the torch applied.
Kohe! Kohe! Hark! the fiendish well-known warwhoop! The Micmacs,
terror-stricken, seize their arms; they prepare to sell dearly their
lives, when the lambent flames and the scorching heat leave them but one
alternative, that of rushing from their lurking place.
One egress alone remains; wild despair steels their hearts; men, women
and children crowd through the narrow passage amidst the flames; at the
same instant a shower of poisoned arrows decimates them; the human hyena
is on his prey. A few flourishes of the tomahawk from the Iroquois, and
the silence of death soon invades the narrow abode.
[Illustration]
Now for the trophies; the scalping, it seems, took some time to be done
effectually.
History mentions but five, out of the two hundred victims, who escaped
with their lives.
The blanched bones of the Micmac braves strewed the cavern, and could be
seen until some years back.
Those who escaped travelled day and night to reach a large Huron camp
some distance away. A rapid march was then made by the whole Huron force
to the track by which the Iroquois would return. Not expecting an attack
the Iroquois were in turn taken by surprise, and tradition has it that
they were slaughtered to a man.
The pleasures of Bic are not exhausted by the recounting of its
water-joys, air, scenery and social life. The walks and drives are a
grand feature of summer existence, and moreover they are full of
variety. How delightful to take a river drive in either direction.
Possibly a walk is preferred, and, with a swinging step adapted to a six
or seven mile excursion, a start is made in the direction of the bridge
over the South-West River. Passing up the long main street, the varied
character of the buildings is noticeable; and the quaint and foreign
appearance causes the walk to be arrested at many a spot. Towering
woodland heights on the left, beautiful islands on the right and
haze-capped sugar-loaf mountains before, it is not long before street
merges into country lane. Soon are passed the clustering cottages and
gardens, and neat-appearing farms are at hand. Here where the
Intercolonial Railway is high up on an observation terrace cut in the
side of the mountain, the country road leads down hill, and, with many a
pleasurable incident on the further way, and an occasional
English-French chat with the _habitants_, the bridge is reached.
But dark clouds begin to build up moist tire-laden pyramids, and low
rumblings of distant thunder are beginning to be heard. A St. Lawrence
thunderstorm in this mountainous locality is a thunderstorm, and when it
rains, it rains. Right-about-face—Quick, March! and off we go. A few
miles are covered, but the storm is imminent. Several _cartiers_ pass
uttering their monotonous and plaintive cry, “_Marche donc_”—a sort of
querulous question, ‘why don’t you go on?’ addressed to their patient
horses. You decline the oft-repeated proffer of a ride—and a wetting—and
execute a double-quick run for the shelter of a friendly cottage. Your
energetic knock is quickly answered by a young girl of seventeen summers
who has in her engaging face all the sweet characteristics of the
daughters of France.
“May I shelter here until the storm has passed,” you ask, stepping in.
“_Pardon, Monsieur?_” comes the reply, as the door is hastily closed
against the pelting rain.
Your linguistic powers are varied, yet limited; having been acquired by
brief residences in four or five different countries. You manage to
remark, “_Un jour de pluie_,” and as the young girl smiles indulgently
over this very obvious fact, while rain dashes against the
window,—lightning flashing and thunder rolling—you manage to explain
“_un abri_.” “_Avec plaisir, Monsieur_,” is the reply in liquid and
sweet intonation.
Removing your rain-coat you gratefully repose in the solid arm-chair,
and examine with keen interest all the fittings, ornaments and family
souvenirs of what you plainly see is an old-time French interior. Your
amiable hostess has gone for a moment, but soon reappears, followed by
father, mother, grandfather, brother and sister. You rise, bow politely,
and shake hands all round, not forgetting your ‘good angel of the
storm,’ whose ingenuous eyes reflect the pleasure of having a visitor
from the outer world. “_C’est un grand plaisir_,” you remark; and then
indicating her, you add, “_Ma bonne ange de l’orage_.”
At this all laugh heartily, and none more so than _‘la bonne ange’_
herself. “I hev bin in de State,” the oldest, a son, remarks, as all the
family smile proudly over his knowledge of English. The elder daughter
now invites you to sit near her on the settee while she leafs over the
album of family portraits for your entertainment. You are immediately
surrounded by the others; all leaning over, pointing out the portraits
and relating choice bits of family history. Everyone talks at once, and
your frail linguistic bark founders in the deep sea of voluble
conversation.
And now a blinding flash of lightning is followed immediately by a
tremendous crash of thunder. The house is shaken by the concussion. ‘_La
Bonne Ange_’ quickly runs to the old-fashioned cupboard in the corner,
takes out a bottle and sprinkles _l’eau benite_ over the door lintel and
window frame. Her sister having run out of the room after the alarming
thunder-peal, ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ shares your settee and explains that the
little ceremony she has just performed is to keep lightning out of the
room. She goes out and brings back a French-English conversation
lexicon. She turns to one of the sentences arranged in parallel columns,
speaks the French and asks you to pronounce the English. This done, you
exchange; she speaks the English and you speak the French—each
correcting the pronunciation of the other until both are right. The
others look on eagerly, and smile encouragement over your progress.
Every time you speak without the necessity for correction, all cry out
delightedly, “_Oui, Oui, Monsieur_.”
[Illustration]
At last ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ closes the book, and makes you understand that
without looking at it you are to address her in French.
The thunder has ceased, the clouds have passed, and the returning light
illumines the room and the kindly faces about you. A golden sunbeam
casts an aureole around the head of ‘_La Bonne Ange_,’ and turning to
her you say, “_Vous etes tres jolie, mademoiselle_!” A peal of happy
laughter from the family greets your remark, followed by a clapping of
hands; and as she looks down demurely, ‘_La Bonne Ange_’ replies, “_Vous
parlez français tres bien, Monsieur_;” at which we all laugh more
heartily than before.
You rise to go, expressing your thanks for shelter the while. A kind and
hearty invitation to remain and sup is given; but this you reluctantly
decline, explaining that duty calls you away by the evening train. All
press around to bid you good-bye, and as you leave and turn the bend of
the road all the members of the family salute you from the porch with
waving hands, while in their midst, fluttering her handkerchief, stands
‘_La Bonne Ange de l’Orage_.’
[Illustration]
Proceeding down the St. Lawrence, St. Germain de Rimouske, or Rimouski,
is reached, a thriving town and pleasant summer resort, with good
hotels, a fine river and attractive scenery. The beach at Sacré Coeur, a
few miles away, is a good one. There is a fine Government wharf here.
Father Point, a ‘Wireless’ station and place of call for large
ocean-going vessels, may be reached from here, or from the next station,
St. Anaclet, on the Intercolonial Railway. Passing Ste. Flavie, from
which a short connecting railroad runs to Métis Beach, Matane and
Matane-Sur-Mer, and going by St. Octave with its fine fall on the Grand
Métis River, the station of Little Métis is reached, from which a drive
of about six miles terminates at the well-known St. Lawrence resort,
Métis Beach.
[Illustration: On the Links, Metis Beach]
This delightful watering-place with its combined charm of country and
shore is a favorite summer place for all who love quiet and restful
surroundings, with walks and drives in a country that is full of
interest. It has been termed the ‘Bride’s Mecca’ or nearest mundane
approach to the groves of paradise. It is one of those nice spots
favored by people of quiet tastes and avoided by lovers of glare and
noise.
Boating, bathing, golf, tennis, walking and driving, are the chief
amusements. There is also an enjoyable social life. The summer cottages
are delightfully situated, being almost hidden in the trees: each has
its own outlook over the broad St. Lawrence, here some forty miles wide.
The Golf Links are most beautifully situated amidst ideal surroundings.
The hotels are right on the water, with plenty of shade from the
generous tree-growth so noticeable in this district.
[Illustration: On the River, Matane]
The beach, one of the best along the St. Lawrence shore, is not used as
much as it should be. It is of pebble and sand, with clusters of rock
that have fallen from the bold cliff. A very romantic waterfall cascades
through a rocky defile and falls on to the beach near one of the
principal hotels of the resort; and this waterfall—so accessible, so
enticing—is surely one of the most charming pictures that could possibly
be imagined. After it reaches the beach it courses down over the pebbles
in miniature rapids and foaming rills. No greater fun for children could
be found than that of wading in the dashing and sparkling streams that
make their way down the beach and out into the salt St. Lawrence.
Rambling along the beach here, under the shade of the trees, is very
enjoyable; and rocky knolls with nooks and shelters are conveniently
near.
About eighteen miles down the river, Matane-Sur-Mer is reached, a very
pleasant spot that has recently been opened up by a short railroad that
connects with the Intercolonial Railway at Ste. Flavie. Near the
lighthouse, and the lighthouse-keeper’s cheerful home adjoining,
bungalows and cottages are being built on a nicely-wooded elevation that
overlooks a long strip of pebble beach. It commands a fine view of the
broad St. Lawrence, and is a good situation for those who like perfect
rest and quiet.
A very enjoyable walk leads to the river Matane, at the mouth of which
the bright and busy village of Matane is placed. Large lumber shipments
are made here, and the place promises to grow steadily as the St.
Lawrence lower coast trade develops. Matane stands on a well-chosen
site, and it has good facilities for bathing, boating, etc. There are
many fine views from the surrounding heights, and the walks in and about
the village, as well as in the adjacent country, are very enjoyable.
[Illustration: Matapedia Valley]
_The Country Across The Base of The Gaspé Peninsula, and Some Superb
Fishing Streams_
[Illustration]
Saying ‘Good-bye’ to the hospitable shore of the St. Lawrence, and with
mind well stored with pleasant memories of happy days and joyous hours,
a course across the base of the Gaspé Peninsula is now taken by the line
of the Intercolonial Railway, which here makes a south-easterly dip to
reach Matapedia at the head of the Baies de Chaleurs.
Regaining Little Métis station a good view of interesting country is
obtained on the way to Kempt. Mountain ranges rise on each side, with
high table land, bold slopes, and lines of hills running off to the
north. The woods are beautiful, the white birches brightening up the
various shades of forest green. Beyond Kempt the hills broaden out at
times into wide plains marked by gentle undulations of rich green. Rocky
cuttings, protected by high snow-fences, are passed, and soon a
well-defined valley is reached that is quite narrow in places. At the
left, for some distance, runs the river. Other rocky cuttings are
entered, beyond which another valley, with the still-flowing river, is
reached, After passing the little lumbering village of St. Moise the
road again leads through the hills; higher and higher, with dense forest
on every hand, and soon it is necessary to cut through their very midst.
[Illustration]
At Sayabec the region of beautiful Lake Matapedia is reached, and at
Cedar Hall is the most convenient stopping-place for seeing the lake and
its scenery. Together with Amqui and Lac au Saumon these places are
small lumbering centres. They all have fine surroundings, but the
district has not been fully opened up, and only moderate accommodation
can be found.
The course now leads by the murmuring Matapedia River, and at Causapscal
is found an ideal spot for a restful vacation. It is only suited for
those who have quiet tastes and a love for the beautiful, or for those
who can enjoy woodland and river walks. It is one of the most beautiful
and restful little spots ever seen. It is a picture from Switzerland,
and more. No matter how extended the journey, a stay of a few days
should be made at Causapscal to drink in some of its soothing balm.
The Matapedia courses right through the village—one of the cleanest in
all Quebec, by the way—and one may stop at a comfortable little
hostelry, look right out on the river just across the highway, and be
lulled to calm slumber by its gentle murmur. Here the houses are built
only on one side of the road, and this gives a pleasant view of grassy
sward and rippling stream from any part of the village. There are fine
views on every hand. The Causapscal River unites with the beautiful
Matapedia quite nearby, and along the banks of both streams many choice
walks may be enjoyed.
The junction of the two rivers is between high banks, and here is a
favorite fishing-haunt for those who own the fishing rights. The
Matamajaw Salmon Club House is on the top of the bank, close by.
Beau Rivage is a peaceful hamlet, framed by the far-reaching hills that
are here broadened out to a considerable extent. Those who would see the
beauties of the famed Matapedia Valley will find ample occupation as the
train speeds along.
The Matapedia, or ‘Musical’ River, flows along with soothing murmur and
sings a song of peace the while. The rows of cedar logs piled high on
the bank, for shipment over the railroad, are turning grey under the
summer sun and they blend harmoniously in the landscape effect. Flowers
are springing up everywhere, and the tall lambkill is beautiful to
behold. How glorious is the country with its absence of formalism and
inane repetition of stereotyped patterns! Here the river narrows and
throws up two long islands of white and grey pebbles. The water,
confined to small channels for the time, dashes forward and springs up,
leaping and foaming. How joyful its music! The course now bends
suddenly, just where the current is foaming and descending in a noisy
rapid. The clear water breaks in rippling waves of snow-white foam, and
passes in well-marked ridges for some distance, until the widening
channel permits it to resume its erstwhile tranquil way.
Now it passes under the shade of a high and beautifully-wooded mountain,
and immediately the water is tinged with a darkening shade—the sun
eclipsed by the overhanging trees. On many of the mountains so thick is
the foliage that not one tree-trunk can be seen uncovered, excepting,
here and there, a white birch sapling.
[Illustration: Restigouche Valley]
The scenery of the river and valley between Assametquaghan and Glen Emma
is particularly bold and grand, and most enchanting views of the winding
Matapedia meet the gaze at every turn of its sinuous course. The
mountains rise higher and higher, and as the train turns in and out,
far-away glimpses of the silvery stream are frequently caught. Just
below the railroad a mass of rocks has fallen from the mountain side
into the bed of the river, almost closing the way. Leaning out of the
window, as we slow up, the spray is almost at hand.
At times the stream broadens considerably, and the mountains run to
foot-hills that diminish to gentle slopes at the river’s brink. Looking
along the valley at such points, a grand panorama of mountain, hill,
dale, valley and winding stream enchants the artistic eye. There a long
line of beautiful trees is seen on an islet, once part of the mainland.
As the train goes down stream the island seems to come up under full
sail to meet it; and all around, in valley, on mound and hill, and up
the steep sides of the mountains, the gorgeous pink bloom of the
prolific rhododendron gives joy to the senses.
[Illustration]
Here the Matapedia has changed its pebble bed for one of rock, and as
there is a considerable fall,—which is also quite noticeable on account
of the easy running of the train—the churning waves and dashing foam
show beautifully below. At a point where the stream deepens and flows on
with darker hue and unruffled surface the train crosses again to the
left bank and approaches Millstream—the smallest of hamlets in the most
ideal situation that could well be imagined.
On the shore of the river, not far away, is an encampment of happy
vacationists, with tent, and shack for cooking; their boat moored below,
and the stream singing of health and cool summer joys as it dashes gaily
by.
The village of Matapedia has a choice and romantic situation at the
confluence of the Matapedia and Restigouche Rivers, known as ‘the
meeting of the waters.’ A railroad runs from here along the south shore
of the Gaspé Peninsula. The surrounding country is magnificent, and a
wealth of beauty is found in the river scenery and fine walks of the
neighborhood. It is one of the choice spots of Canada, and numerous
sites for cottage retreats and river bungalows will be found along the
valley of the Matapedia River, above and below the village.
The canoeing waters of this lovely district are exceedingly choice.
Very nearly all of the country traversed hitherto has been rich in
rivers and streams. In addition to the great inland sea of the St.
Lawrence, and all the numerous rivers previously named, the district
bordered by the Matapedia River has excellent water privileges that
cover a wide area. That fine river, the Rimouski, and the charming
little Neigette are within easy reach of the Métis River, indeed the
smaller river runs into the Métis; and the Métis itself is almost
touched by the Patapedia which runs on and connects with the Restigouche
and Matapedia Rivers.
Rich as Quebec is in watercourses, the province of New Brunswick, into
which we are about to pass, is endowed to even a more extraordinary
extent with those supreme additions to the beauty of a landscape; and
which provide, when communicating, such pleasant and convenient means
for going from one part of the country to the other.
[Illustration: Matapedia, Looking over the Restigouche River]
The system of nearly-connecting rivers just traced extends through New
Brunswick in a wonderful manner; for over the Upsalquitch, Nepisiguit,
Miramichi and other rivers, and by means of the Madawaska and Tobique,
and over the widely ramifying waters of the noble St. John, a grand
highway of water travel is provided. In addition, there is an almost
countless number of tributary streams that intersect the country in
every direction, and which serve to bring remote inner districts into
communication with the seaboard. As has been seen, some of the rivers
are very rapid—dashing headlong through rocky gorges and over stony
beds. Others are wide and tranquil, and some ripple a quiet way over
sandy beds.
Nor must the myriad streams of smaller proportions be forgotten—the
cascade, the brook, the clear and sparkling waters where fish abound.
Surely the whole of this beautiful country is that of which the poet of
olden days wrote:
[Illustration: MATAPEDIA VALLEY]
1. Meeting of the Waters, Causapscal
2. Tunnel near Matapedia
3. Meeting of the Waters, Matapedia
“The lofty woods, the forests wide and long,
Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and greene
In whose cool hours the birds with chaunting song
Do welcome with their Quire the Summer’s Queene;
The meadows faire, where Flora’s gifts among
Are intermixt the verdant grass between,
The silver skaled fish that softly swimme
Within the brookes and cristal wat’ry brimme.”
The Matapedia, or ‘Musical,’ River received its name from the sound made
by the wind in the branches of the trees as it courses over and through
the numerous ravines. The river rises in Lake Matapedia, and is over
sixty miles long. Its principal tributaries are the Causapscal and the
Kassimiguagan. It runs a rapid course between two extensive mountain
ranges, and terminates in the Restigouche at a point some twenty miles
south-west of Matapedia village.
Along the Tobique River are mountains and mountain ranges of great
beauty. Bald Head, on the Riley Brook, near the Northern Forks, is
nearly 2,300 feet above sea-level. The Blue Mountains of the Tobique
Valley are very picturesque—some rise as high as 1,200 feet above the
river level. The loftiest heights are attained on the south branch of
the Nepisiguit, between Nictor and Nepisiguit Lakes and the eastern
branch of the Tobique. Here a height is attained of 2,600 feet above the
sea-level. There are several odd-looking mountains on the portage from
Nepisiguit River to Upsalquitch Lake, and a good view of the surrounding
country is obtained by climbing one of these heights.
The Tobique is considered by many to be the most picturesque stream in
all New Brunswick. The fishing is fine and the scenery beautiful. Nictor
Lake is well worth the journey necessary to reach it, and the whole trip
up and down the river is a unique woodland and water experience. Near
the high land separating the Tobique waters from those of the Miramichi
and Nepisiguit, the highest lakes of New Brunswick are found, many of
them being over 1,200 feet above the level of the sea. The whole
province abounds in lakes. Those off the regular travel routes are
seldom visited, although they are quite attractive.
The Restigouche has been called the ‘noblest salmon river of the world.’
It is navigable for 130 miles or more above Campbellton. It has bold and
rugged shores as well as scenes of softer beauty. The country on both
sides of the river is exceedingly grand and impressive. There are huge
lofty mountains, often of irregular shape, covered with tall pines and
rich hardwood. Its chief tributaries are the Matapedia, the Upsalquitch,
the Patapedia, and the Quatawamkedgewick, or ‘Tom Kedgewick.’ The head
waiters are within fifteen miles of the St. John, and that river may be
reached by canoe with a portage of only three miles along the Grand
River connection.
[Illustration: The Meeting of the Waters]
The length of the Restigouche is over 200 miles. It flows generally over
a north-east course, and broadens gradually as it nears its mouth at the
Bay of Chaleur. It is the first large river to be met that is entirely
free of rapid and fall not practicable for a canoe. It is full of
windings and abrupt turns which add to the beauty of its scenery, and
where pools are so often found in which fish like to lie. There are
places where the flow of the water is so tranquil that it can hardly be
noticed. Others there are where gay and frothy little rapids bubble and
dance as they toss their white crests in the air, but here a canoe may
be poled through with ease. Even in those places where swirling eddies
and foaming waters are found, little difficulty is experienced in making
a way through to the quiet water above. In the quiet and still parts of
the river the fish are to be seen swimming about many feet below the
surface, and this is true, also, of the Green River, which connects with
the upper forks of the Restigouche.
[Illustration]
The Upsalquitch is a stream of many tributaries and sparkling branches.
It abounds in salmon and trout. It is related that on one journey over
this river the fish were so plentiful that considerable effort was
necessary to force a way through with the canoe. On another trip down to
the Restigouche a pool was passed through where not less than two
hundred salmon jumped and darted in every direction when they were thus
disturbed. These fish would only average about twenty pounds each; but
others weighing over forty pounds are frequently caught.
From Campbellton over the line of the International Railway to St.
Leonard’s, many districts of the Upsalquitch, Kedgewick, Restigouche,
Tobique and St. John Rivers may be reached.
The Nepisiguit, or ‘River of Foaming Waters,’ is a fine fishing stream.
But great as this attraction is, it has even a greater, for its scenery
is rugged, romantic and exquisitely varied. The picturesque Pabineau
Fall is a lovely sight, and the Grand Falls of the Nepisiguit, about
twenty miles from Bathurst, should be seen by every one. Connection is
made by a short railroad with the line of the Intercolonial Railway at
Nepisiguit Junction, near Bathurst. The Grand Falls tumble precipitately
in four descents through a huge rocky gorge. The roar of the water, the
foaming curtain of the descending torrent and the spray that floats some
distance down—all combine to make a striking scene; while the sight of
the river rolling away in the shuddering depths below has a strong
fascination for all. Above the Grand Falls there are picturesque rapids
where by walking over the great rocks—and over giant tree trunks that
have lodged in immovable positions in their descent of the river from
the lumbering region higher up—a good view of river and hilly banks may
be obtained. By going down the railroad for about one quarter of a mile,
and climbing up on to a bluff, a full view of the gorge, the fall and
the foaming depths far below may be had.
Pabineau Fall takes its name indirectly from the small stream Pabineau
that falls into the Nepisiguit a short distance below the Fall. It was
once called Pabina, and had the English name of Cranberry Falls as well.
Although the word is of Indian origin, its present form is believed to
be Acadian French, meaning the Highbush Cranberry. The Indians used to
spear a canoe-load of salmon at a time by the Pabineau Fall in the days
before fishery wardens were appointed to patrol the river.
[Illustration]
There are splendid trout lakes on the upper waters of the Nepisiguit,
and the whole region is one of the choicest for sportsmen, lovers of
nature, and those who do not mind being away from the towns. To see the
river at its best, it is necessary to camp out with guides accustomed to
the management of canoes, and who are also skilled in woodcraft. There
are many such guides living all along the lower part of the river. There
are some excellent private fishing-club houses, as well as a few where
guests are received.
Theodore Roosevelt, who, in addition to his other qualifications, is a
genuine nature-lover, scout, woodsman and Nimrod, is always at home in
the upper waters of the Nepisiguit. Of this country he wrote: “Goodbye,
lovely Nepisiguit, stream of the beautiful pools, the fisherman’s
elysium; farewell to thy merry, noisy current, thy long quiet stretches,
thy high bluffs, thy wooded and thy rocky shores. Long may thy music
lull the innocent angler into day-dreams of happiness. Long may thy
romantic scenery charm the eye and gladden the heart of the artist, and
welcome the angler to a happy sylvan home.”
The country just described is perhaps the best in all North America for
hunting and fishing. Some details and incidents relating to this region
will therefore be of interest.
The hibernating or marvellous winter sleep of bears is doubtless well
known to all. A large bear crawled out one April from under a bridge of
logs in the Upsalquitch district over which timber had been hauled
noisily all winter without arousing him from his long, deep sleep.
Bruin plays queer antics. A bear broke into a lumber camp, turned the
tap of the molasses barrel, rolled over and over in the sticky syrup,
broke open a flour barrel with one stroke of the paw and then rolled
about in the flour until he looked like a polar bear.
[Illustration]
An Indian without a gun was once chased by an infuriated she-bear, whose
cub he had stolen. His only refuge was a hollow tree, down which he
lowered himself with the cub. The old bear descended bear fashion, tail
first. The Indian seized her by the stumpy tail, whereupon he was drawn
to the top, and giving the bear a thrust off on top of the stump, master
of the situation.
A bear caught in a trap on the Patapedia by an Indian was met by the
hunter, marching around with the trap on one foot and shouldering the
pole to which it was attached, biting savagely at the knots and boughs
of trees he passed and inflicting terrible wounds on the defenceless
wood. Knowing there was a bounty of three dollars a bear on the New
Brunswick side of the boundary, the Indian succeeded in driving him
across the dividing brook. This done, he shot him and got his bounty.
Another wily Indian cut off the snouts of two large Newfoundland dogs,
and producing them to the magistrate demanded the bounty money. Being
asked for the customary oath, he said, ‘Swear me in Indian, me no
understand English well.’ ‘All right,’ said the unsuspecting justice.
The guileless Indian then swore in the Indian tongue that he had killed
two large black dogs—and pocketed the six dollars.
A story showing the humor of a Maliceet Indian, who was a great
snuff-taker, is the following: “One time I go huntem moose, night come
dark, rain and snow come fast; no axe for makum wig-wam; gun wet, no get
um fire; me bery tired, me crawl into large hollow tree; I find plenty
room, almost begin sleep. By-and-by me feelum hot wind blow on my face,
me know hot bear’s breath. He crawl into log too; I takeum gun, she no
go; I think me all same gone, all eat up. Then me thinkum my old
snuff-box. I take some snuff and throw ’em in bear’s face, and he run
out, not very much likeum. I guess me lay still all night, he no come
again, little while, bear he go O-me sneezum, over and over, great
times. Morning come, me fixeum gun and shoot ’em dead; he no more
sneezum, no more this time.”
When an Indian catches a bear in a trap, he apologizes to the animal,
and asks that vengeance shall not be taken for his death. He promises to
respect his bones, and this promise he keeps; for Indians burn bears’
bones instead of giving them, like other bones, to the dogs.
Bruin is often very wily. A bear once dropped to the fire of a hunter’s
rifle. Carefully reloading, the hunter advanced and poked the animal to
make sure it was not shamming. The bear was motionless. The gun was laid
down and a sheath knife drawn to prepare Mr. Bruin for the camp bearers.
Just as the hunter grasped the forepaw the bear raised up, and a
terrible struggle ensued. A son of the hunter was commanded by the
father to shoot, but the boy was too nervous to risk a shot. Finally the
hunter was worsted and succumbed to his injuries just as the son gained
command of himself and lodged a bullet in Bruin’s head. A singular part
of the story is the positive statement that only one bullet was found in
the bear’s body—and that was the son’s bullet that killed the animal at
the last.
Another story of a bear shamming has a happier ending, for in this case
the hunter reloaded and approached by stealth after seeing Bruin drop
like a stone to his rifle shot. This time the bear ‘came to life’ too
soon. He was found standing, and ready to give battle, until a second
shot really hit him and ended all shamming.
Fish stories are always in order in a fishing country; and when that
country is the best the world has to offer, the stories may properly be
of fair proportions.
[Illustration]
On the Nepisiguit River a 45-pound salmon has been known to leap from
the water into a canoe. This reverses the usual practice of suicides;
and perhaps it will be well to explain that as a fish has to jump out of
water to commit felo-de-se, the salmon in question took the easiest
course.
Squirrels in swimming across a river are sometimes swallowed by trout.
As trout have often been caught weighing six pounds, this story seems
quite credible:
On a trouting excursion in this region so many fish were caught that the
fishermen became completely exhausted through the incessant labor of
hauling in the fish. On the homeward journey they reached a place where
large trout poked their heads out of the water, but the fishermen had
not enough energy left to throw a line.
[Illustration: In Camp]
In good fishing waters, strange as it may seem, two trout have been
caught on the same hook with one cast of the line.
It may be well to remark that in Quebec and New Brunswick the system of
private leases of fishing privileges prevails. That is to say, the
fishing rights on a stream are either owned by those who have bought
land with river frontages, or they are leased outright by the Government
to fishing clubs of wealthy sportsmen who can afford to have the river
patrolled by fishery guards. A privilege may include the right to cast a
line in one pool, in a stretch of water a mile or two in length, or over
the course of the river for a distance of fifty or even a hundred miles.
Club-houses are built at the principal spots where the best fishing may
be had, and there wealthy fishermen make their stay in comfortable
quarters during the salmon season. At Matapedia, Campbellton, etc., may
be seen whole truck loads of large boxes some four feet long, each box
having one or more fine salmon packed in snow for transportation to
friends of the anglers at New York and other distant points.
The expense of maintaining the club-house, buying fishing rights,
employing fish guardians, etc., is borne by the members of the club; and
all things considered the sport of salmon-fishing is a royal amusement
costing a considerable amount of money.
The best rights are all bought up; but there are still some places, as
on the Upsalquitch River, where fair salmon-fishing may be had at ten
dollars a day and the cost of the fishing permit added. In some streams,
where fish do not abound, the cost is much less. Sportsmen should bear
these facts in mind before planning a fishing trip. If really good sport
with fine fish is desired, the best plan is to communicate with the I.
C. R. Agent at the nearest point to the centre selected, and he will
procure all the information required. If planning a trip in June and
July, do not wait until the fishing-rights are let out and all the
guides and boats are engaged—write in good time, not later than the
month of April or May, and have definite arrangements made well in
advance, including the important detail of where to stay. Some of the
best places for fish have neither cabin nor camp anywhere near. In
selecting a spot like this, arrangements for tents and supplies, teams
and guides, etc., should be made at least some months ahead.
[Illustration: Bungalow at Charlo, Bay of Chaleur]
_The Bay of Chaleur_
[Illustration]
Jacques Cartier entered and named La Baie des Chaleurs in the year 1535,
but before that time the unnamed waters had been frequented by European
fishermen, drawn there by the splendid fishing for which this bay has
long been known. The name ‘Bay of Heats’ was probably given to mark the
genial temperature of these waters as compared with that of the more
frigid waters of the Newfoundland shore. In very early maps it is termed
La Baie des Espagnols, or ‘Spanish Bay’, from the fact that many of the
early fishers were from Spain. The Indian name, Ecketuam Nemaache, the
English of which is ‘Sea of Fish,’ is quite appropriate, too; but the
use of the name Bay of Chaleur is now universal.
The Bay is more than ninety miles long, and receives the waters of fully
sixty rivers and streams. Sea and brook trout are found in nearly all of
these tributaries, and in many of them the finest salmon are caught. It
is rarely stormy, on account of the protection afforded by the
projecting peninsulas, and the outlying islands, Shippegan and Miscou.
The air is clear and pleasant, and fog is comparatively unknown. The
tides, also, are quite moderate.
American fishing fleets visit these waters every year. They may be seen
in the spacious harbor of Miscou Island when they come there from the
outer waters for shelter in stormy weather. The Bay of Chaleur has
always been a favorite fishing-ground for New Englanders; for it was a
Yankee captain of whom Whittier wrote in his “Skipper Ireson’s Ride,”
describing the punishment meted out to that hard-hearted man for his
cruelty in abandoning to its fate a sinking craft manned by his
fellow-townsmen.
“Small pity for him!—He sailed away
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,—
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town’s people on her deck!
‘Lay by! lay by!’ they called to him.
Back he answered, ‘Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!’
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!”
The land on the north side of the bay is very bold, and considerably
varied. The Shickshock Mountains, running through the centre of the
peninsula, attain a height of nearly 4,000 feet. The southern shore is
much lower, with occasional elevations. The outlying parts of Chaleur
Bay and much of the coast may be seen to advantage by taking a steamer
from Montreal or Quebec down the St. Lawrence and into the bay. The
boats of the Gaspé Steamship Co. run from Montreal to Gaspé and Port
Daniel, calling at Matane and many other parts of the south shore of
Gaspé Peninsula. The boats of the Quebec Steamship Co. also run from
Montreal to Gaspé and other parts of the Maritime Provinces.
A very good plan is to go from Campbellton to Gaspé by the _Canada_ of
the Campbellton and Gaspé Steamship Co. The boat puts in at many of the
places along the north shore of Chaleur Bay, and affords an excellent
opportunity for viewing the coast scenery. If preferred, the return
journey may be made over the line of the Quebec Oriental Railway from
Gaspé, its present terminus, calling at Douglastown, Barachois and Cape
Cove, etc.; or it may be varied by taking the steamship from Gaspé to
Grand River, to see the eastern Gaspesian coast by daylight, and making
the remainder of the western journey by train from Grand River. The
railway touches the towns and villages along the coast, connects with a
ferry for Campbellton, and terminates at Matapedia. On the return trip a
stop-off may be made at the principal places along the line. This trip
may be reversed and changed as may be found most convenient.
Presuming it has been decided to go all the way to Gaspé by steamship,
and to return by way of Grand River and the railway to Campbellton, a
description of the country traversed now follows:
Leaving Campbellton at about 11 a.m. and putting in at Dalhousie on the
south shore, the steamship calls at Carleton, New Richmond, Bonaventure,
New Carlisle, Port Daniel, Grand River, and Percé, etc., arriving at
Gaspé the next morning at 9 o’clock.
[Illustration]
The Bay of Gaspé is both long and wide, being about twenty miles in
length, with a width of five miles or more in its widest part. Rather
more than half-way in a small peninsula makes out from the sandy beach
to the south, and another from the northern shore. These afford
admirable protection for the upper water or harbor, where there is room
for a great fleet to ride at anchor. The view from the water approach to
the town is delightful.
“The mountains of Gaspé are fair to behold,
With their fleckings of shadow and gleamings of gold.”
Several rivers empty into the bay and harbor, there are noble hills
around, and behind the town the high mountains rise. A goodly fleet of
whalers and fishing schooners leaves from this port, and the smaller
craft with the numerous boats, etc., add greatly to the pleasant view
that meets the eye on entering the port. No better spot could be
selected for enjoying yachting, boating and fishing; while the cool air
and splendid scenery leave nothing lacking for the enjoyment of those
who come here. There are many visitors in the summer, and the life is a
pleasant and social one.
It was at Gaspé that Jacques Cartier landed, took possession of the
country in the name of his king, and erected a cross thirty feet high
adorned with the fleur-de-lis of France. Here, also, a great naval
engagement took place between the French and English, and here, too, in
later years a great English fleet arrived and captured the village. The
Gaspé Peninsula was formerly a province, with its seat of government in
this very town of Gaspé. It is now part of the Province of Quebec. In
this part also there survives a distinct tradition of the Norse
discovery of America.
The early Indians of this region are said to have been the most
intelligent of all the North American tribes or peoples. They were far
advanced in civilization, and had a fair knowledge of geography and
astronomy. In connection with the visits of the Spaniards Velasquez and
Gomez, and their meetings with the Gaspesian Indians, a fanciful
tradition survives in relation to the origin of the word ‘Canada.’
[Illustration]
The oft-repeated remark, “aca nada,” or ‘there is nothing here,’ made by
the Castilian adventurers when disappointed in their search for gold,
was judged to be of importance by the Indians, who frequently repeated
it to Jacques Cartier. Cartier is supposed to have mistaken this
oft-heard expression for the name of the new country. A more likely
derivation, however, is found in the Indian compound word
Caugh-na-daugh, or ‘village of huts;’ and this, it is thought, has
gradually settled into the euphonious and easily pronounced name of
‘Canada.’
In later years the Micmac Indians were along the shores of the Gaspé
Peninsula in large numbers, but more recently they have almost deserted
the region, and are to be found in New Brunswick, etc.
It is related that when Lord Aylmer was Governor-General he once went on
an excursion to Gaspé. Micmac Indians to the number of nearly 500
flocked to welcome the ‘great chief.’ When the governor landed with a
brilliant staff, he was met by Peter Basket, the great Micmac Chief, at
the head of the aboriginal deputation. The chief, a fine, powerful man,
and surrounded by his principal warriors, at once commenced a long
oration in the usual solemn, singsong tone, accompanied with frequent
bowings of the head.
It happened that a vessel had been wrecked in the Gulf some months
previously, and the Indians proving themselves ready and adroit wreckers
had profited largely by the windfall. Among other things they had seized
for personal adornment was a box full of labels for decanters, marked in
conspicuous characters, ‘Rum,’ ‘Gin,’ ‘Brandy,’ etc.
The chief had his head liberally encircled with the usual ornaments,
and, in addition, had dexterously affixed to his ears and nose some of
the labels as bangles.
At first they were not particularly noticeable amid the general novelty
of the spectacle, but while listening to the prolonged harangue of the
chief, the governor began to scrutinize his appearance and dress; and
then his ears and nose with the labels inscribed ‘Brandy.’ ‘Gin,’ ‘Rum,’
etc. Glancing towards his staff he could no longer maintain his gravity,
and was joined in a hearty but indecorous burst of unrestrainable
laughter.
[Illustration: GASPÉ PENINSULA]
1. Carleton
2. New Carlisle
3. Gaspé
The indignant chief, with his followers, immediately withdrew, and would
neither be pacified nor persuaded to return, although the cause of the
ill-timed merriment was explained to him.
Sunrise on the Gaspé is a beautiful sight. The long stretch of sandy
beach, the opposite shore with the pine and fir trees in the far
background, the houses of the fishermen, the boats on the strand, the
waving fields of grain, the ever-brightening sun tinting all with
increasing light, and in the distant offing the dark hull of a vessel
that has not yet passed into the bay; all make a new picture.
“What a delightful haven of rest Gaspé is for the overworked and
sleepless New Yorker!” remarked a Gothamite who makes this his summer
home. Another, on his return from mackerel fishing exclaimed, “What a
glorious spot to recuperate exhausted nature! No noise, no telegrams, no
trusts, no bank troubles, no corporation frauds, no boodlers, no
presidential elections!...... Instead, sleep, bracing air and
incomparable landscapes.”
No one is in a hurry here. They get up when they like. They do not
rush—they saunter. No feverish haste to do anything. If a thing is not
done to-day—very good, it may be done tomorrow. Idle older people smoke
all day, gossip a bit, take a walk, and otherwise amuse themselves. They
retire early and sleep soundly, undisturbed by civilization’s din.
A characteristic little story is related by Lemoine in his excellent
‘Maple Leaves,’ or Explorati
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