We left the cholera in England, we met it again in Scotland,
and, under the providence of God, we escaped its fatal visitation
in Canada.
Yet the fear and the dread of it on that first day caused me to
throw many an anxious glance on my husband and my child. I had been
very ill during the three weeks that our vessel was becalmed upon
the Banks of Newfoundland, and to this circumstance I attribute my
deliverance from the pestilence. I was weak and nervous when the
vessel arrived at Quebec, but the voyage up the St. Lawrence, the
fresh air and beautiful scenery were rapidly restoring me to health.
Montreal from the river wears a pleasing aspect, but it lacks the
grandeur, the stern sublimity of Quebec. The fine mountain that
forms the background to the city, the Island of St. Helens in
front, and the junction of the St. Lawrence and the Ottawa - which
run side by side, their respective boundaries only marked by a
long ripple of white foam, and the darker blue tint of the former
river - constitute the most remarkable features in the landscape.
The town itself was, at that period, dirty and ill-paved; and the
opening of all the sewers, in order to purify the place and stop
the ravages of the pestilence, rendered the public thoroughfares
almost impassable, and loaded the air with intolerable effluvia,
more likely to produce than stay the course of the plague, the
violence of which had, in all probability, been increased by these
long-neglected receptacles of uncleanliness.
The dismal stories told us by the excise-officer who came to
inspect the unloading of the vessel, of the frightful ravages of
the cholera, by no means increased our desire to go on shore.
"It will be a miracle if you escape," he said. "Hundreds of
emigrants die daily; and if Stephen Ayres had not providentally
come among us, not a soul would have been alive at this moment in
Montreal."
"And who is Stephen Ayres?" said I.
"God only knows," was the grave reply. "There was a man sent from
heaven, and his name was John."
"But I thought this man was called Stephen?"
"Ay, so he calls himself; but 'tis certain that he is not of the
earth. Flesh and blood could never do what he has done - the hand of
God is in it. Besides, no one knows who he is, or whence he comes.
When the cholera was at the worst, and the hearts of all men stood
still with fear, and our doctors could do nothing to stop its
progress, this man, or angel, or saint, suddenly made his appearance
in our streets. He came in great humility, seated in an ox-cart,
and drawn by two lean oxen and a rope harness.
