Knox's Journal of the
Siege of Quebec, and read therein how, in front of that very spot
where you now stand, along that identical road, over which you emerged
from the city, war once threw her sorrows, ask this brave British officer
to retrace one of those winter scenes he witnessed here more than one
hundred years ago: the howling blast of the north sighing through the few
remaining gnarled pines and oaks spared by Albion's warriors; add to it
tired teams of English troops, laboriously drawing, yoked eight by eight,
long sledges of firewood for Murray's depressed, harassed garrison, and
you have something like John Knox's tableau of St. Foye Road on the
7th December, 1759. -
"Our garrison, now undergo incredible fatigue, not only within but also
without the walls, being obliged to load and sleigh home firewood from the
forest of St. Foy, which is near four miles distant, and through snow of a
surpassing depth, eight men are allowed to each sleigh, who are yoked to
it in couples by a set of regular harness, besides one man who guides it
behind with a long stout pole, to keep it clear of ruts and other
obstructions. We are told that M. de Levis is making great preparations
for the long-meditated assault on this place (Quebec) with which we are
menaced. Christmas is said to be the time fixed for this enterprise, and
Monsieur says, 'if he succeed he shall be promoted to be Marechal de
France, and if he fail, Canada will be lost, for he will give it up.'"
[277]
Do not, dear reader, however fear for the old rock, it is tolerably secure
so long as Fraser's Highlanders and British Grenadiers garrison it.
We have here endeavored to contrast the smiling present with the dreary
past; peace, progress, wealth, as we find it to-day in this important
appendage of the British Crown, ready to expand into an empire, with the
dismal appearance of things when it was scantily settled, and in those
dark days when war stalked through our land. Hamwood takes its name from
that of the paternal estate of the Hamiltons, county of Meath, Ireland,
and without pretending to architectural excellence, it is one of the
loveliest spots on the St. Foye road. It belongs to Robert Hamilton, Esq.,
a leading merchant of Quebec.
BIJOU.
And I have heard the whispers of the trees,
And the low laughter of the wandering wind,
Mixed with the hum of golden-belted bees,
And far away, dim echoes, undefined, -
That yet had power to thrill my listening ear,
Like footsteps of the spring that is so near.
- (Wood Voices, KATE S. McL.)
Shall we confess that we ever had a fancy for historical contrasts? It is
our weakness, perhaps our besetting sin; and when, on a balmy June day, at
the hour when the king of day it sipping the dew-drops from the flowers,
we ride past this unadorned but charming little Canadian home, next to
Westfield, on the St. Foye heights, as it were sunning itself amidst
emerald fields, fanned by the breath of the fragrant morn, enlivened by
the gambols of merry childhood; memory, in spite of us, brings back the
ghastly sights, the sickening Indian horrors, witnessed here on the 28th
April, 1760. There can be no doubt on this point; the mute, but eloquent
witnesses of the past are dug up every day: shot, shell, bullets, old
bayonets, decayed military buttons, all in the greatest profusion.
"The savages," says Garneau, "who were nearly all in the woods behind
during the fight, spread over the battle-field when the French were
pursuing the enemy, and killed many of the wounded British, whose scalps
were afterwards found upon neighboring bushes. As soon as De Levis was
apprised of the massacre, he took vigorous measures for putting a stop to
it. Within a comparatively narrow space nearly 2,500 men had been struck
by bullets. The patches of snow and icy puddles on the ground were so
reddened with the blood shed, that the frozen ground refused to absorb,
and the wounded survivors of the battle were immersed in pools of gore and
filth, ankle deep."
Such was the deadly strife in April, 1760, on the identical spot on
which, reader, you and we now stand on the St. Foye heights. Such is
now the smiling aspect of things as you see them at Bijou, which
crowns the heights over the great Bijou marsh, etc., the dwelling of
Andrew Thomson, Esq., (now President of the Union Bank of Quebec.) Some
natural springs in the flower garden, in rear of the dwelling, and slopes
of the ground, when turned to advantage, in the way of terraces and
fountains, bid fair to enhance materially the beauty of this rustic spot.
ANECDOTE OF WOLFE'S ARMY (1760). - QUEBEC.
By a volunteer (J. T.).
"At the Battle of the Plains of Abraham we had but one Piper, and
because he was not provided with Arms and the usual other means of
defence, like the rest of the men, he was made to keep aloof for
safety: - When our line advanced to the charge, General Townshend
observing that the Piper was missing, and knowing well the value of
one on such occasions, he sent in all directions for him, and he was
heard to say aloud. "Where's the Highland Piper?" and "Five pounds for
a Piper;" but devil a bit did the Piper come forward the sooner.
However, the charge, by good chance, was pretty well effected without
him, as all those that escaped could testify. For this business the
Piper was disgraced by the whole of the Regiment, and the men would
not speak to him, neither would they suffer his rations to be drawn
with theirs, but had them serv'd out by the Commissary separately, and
he was obliged to shift for himself as well as he could.
The next spring, in the month of April, when the Garrison of Quebec
was so madly march'd out, to meet the French, who had come down again
to attack us, and while we were on the retreat back to the Town, the
Highlanders, who were a raw undisciplin'd set, were got into great
disorder, and had become more like a mob than regular soldiers.
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