Let Us Now Follow
The French Governor Of 1666, Heading His Light-Hearted Soldiers Along The
St. Louis Road, All On Snow-Shoes, Each Man, His Excellency Included,
Carrying On His Back From 25 To 30 Lbs.
Of biscuit, &c. The little army is
bound towards the frontiers of New Holland (the State of New York)
On a
900 miles' tramp (no railroads in those days), in the severest season of
the year, to chastise some hostile Indian tribes, after incorporating in
its ranks, during its march, the Three Rivers and Montreal reinforcements.
History tells of the intense suffering [185] experienced during the
expedition by these brave men, some of them more accustomed to Paris
salons than to Canadian forest warfare on snow-shoes, with spruce
boughs and snow-drifts for beds. But let us not anticipate. We must be
content to accompany them on that day to the Sillery settlement, a march
quite sufficient for us degenerate Canadians of the nineteenth century.
Picture to yourself, our worthy friend, the hurry and scurry at the
Missionary residence on that day - with what zest the chilled warriors
crowd round the fires of the Indian wigwams, the number of pipes of peace
they smoked with the chiefs, the fierce love the gallant Frenchmen swore
to the blackeyed Montagnais and Algonquin houris of Sillery, whilst
probably His Excellency and staff were seated in the residency close by,
resorting to cordials and all those creature comforts to be found in
monasteries, not forgetting Grande Chartreuse, to restore circulation
through their benumbed frames!
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