I Went To The
Window, Expecting That A Vision Of Beauty Would Burst Upon My Eyes.
All
that I saw might be summed up in very few words - a few sticks placed
vertically, which might be masts, and some tin spires looming through a
very yellow, opaque medium.
This was my first view of Quebec; happily,
on my last the elements did full justice to its beauty. Other objects
developed themselves as we steamed down to the wharf. There were huge
rafts, some three or four acres in extent, which, having survived the
perils which had beset them on their journey from the forests of the
Ottawa, were now moored along the base of the lofty cliffs which, under
the name of the Heights of Abraham, have a world-wide celebrity. There
were huge, square-sided, bluff-bowed, low-masted ships, lying at anchor in
interminable lines, and little, dirty, vicious-looking steam-tugs twirling
in and out among them; and there were grim-looking muzzles of guns
protruding through embrasures, and peripatetic fur caps and bayonets
behind parapets of very solid masonry.
Above all, shadowing all, and steeping all, was the thickest fog ever seen
beyond the sound of Bow-bells. It lay thick and heavy on Point Diamond,
dimming the lustre of the bayonets of the sentinels as they paced the
lofty bastions, and looked down into the abyss of fog below. It lay yet
heavier on the rapid St. Lawrence, and dripped from the spars and rigging
of ships. It hung over and enveloped the town, where, combined with smoke,
it formed a yellow canopy; and damp and chill it penetrated the flag of
England, weighing it down in heavy folds, as though ominous of impending
calamity.
Slowly winding our tortuous way among multitudinous ships, all vamped in
drizzling mist, we were warped to the wharf, which was covered with a
mixture of mud and coal-dust, permeated by the universal fog. Here
vehicles of a most extraordinary nature awaited us, and, to my great
surprise, they were all open. They were called calashes, and looked
something like very high gigs with hoods and C springs. Where the dash-
board was not, there was a little seat or perch for the driver, who with a
foot on each shaft looked in a very precarious position. These conveyances
have the most absurd appearance; there are, however, a few closed
vehicles, both at Montreal and Quebec, which I believe are not to be found
in the civilized world elsewhere, except in a few back streets of Lisbon.
These consist of a square box on two wheels. This box has a top, back, and
front, but where the sides ought to be there are curtains of deer-hide,
which are a very imperfect protection from wind and rain. The driver sits
on the roof, and the conveyance has a constant tendency backwards, which
is partially counteracted by a band under the horse's body, but only
partially, and the inexperienced denizen of the box fancies himself in a
state of constant jeopardy.
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