Le Chien dOr | Page 8

jovial monk, wearing the gray gown and sandals of
the Recollets, was renowned throughout New France for his wit more
than for his piety. He had once been a soldier, and he wore his gown, as
he had worn his uniform, with the gallant bearing of a King's

Guardsman. But the people loved him all the more for his jests, which
never lacked the accompaniment of genuine charity. His sayings
furnished all New France with daily food for mirth and laughter,
without detracting an iota of the respect in which the Recollets were
held throughout the colony.
Father Glapion, the Superior of the Jesuits, also accompanied the
Bishop. His close, black soutane contrasted oddly with the gray, loose
gown of the Recollet. He was a meditative, taciturn man,-- seeming
rather to watch the others than to join in the lively conversation that
went on around him. Anything but cordiality and brotherly love reigned
between the Jesuits and the Order of St. Francis, but the Superiors were
too wary to manifest towards each other the mutual jealousies of their
subordinates.
The long line of fortifications presented a stirring appearance that
morning. The watch-fires that had illuminated the scene during the
night were dying out, the red embers paling under the rays of the rising
sun. From a wide circle surrounding the city the people had come
in--many were accompanied by their wives and daughters--to assist in
making the bulwark of the Colony impregnable against the rumored
attack of the English.
The people of New France, taught by a hundred years of almost
constant warfare with the English and with the savage nations on their
frontiers, saw as clearly as the Governor that the key of French
dominion hung inside the walls of Quebec, and that for an enemy to
grasp it was to lose all they valued as subjects of the Crown of France.
CHAPTER II.
THE WALLS OF QUEBEC.
Count de la Galissonière, accompanied by his distinguished attendants,
proceeded again on their round of inspection. They were everywhere
saluted with heads uncovered, and welcomed by hearty greetings. The
people of New France had lost none of the natural politeness and ease
of their ancestors, and, as every gentleman of the Governor's suite was

at once recognized, a conversation, friendly even to familiarity, ensued
between them and the citizens and habitans, who worked as if they
were building their very souls into the walls of the old city.
"Good morning, Sieur de St. Denis!" gaily exclaimed the Governor to a
tall, courtly gentleman, who was super-intending the labor of a body of
his censitaires from Beauport. "'Many hands make light work,' says the
proverb. That splendid battery you are just finishing deserves to be
called Beauport. What say you, my Lord Bishop?" turning to the
smiling ecclesiastic. "Is it not worthy of baptism?"
"Yes, and blessing both; I give it my episcopal benediction," replied the
Bishop, "and truly I think most of the earth of it is taken from the
consecrated ground of the Hôtel Dieu--it will stand fire!"
"Many thanks, my Lord!"--the Sieur de St. Denis bowed very low--
"where the Church bars the door Satan will never enter, nor the English
either! Do you hear, men?" continued he, turning to his censitaires, "my
Lord Bishop christens our battery Beauport, and says it will stand fire!"
"Vive le Roi!" was the response, an exclamation that came
spontaneously to the lips of all Frenchmen on every emergency of
danger or emotion of joy.
A sturdy habitan came forward, and doffing his red tuque or cap,
addressed the Governor: "This is a good battery, my Lord Governor,
but there ought to be one as good in our village. Permit us to build one
and man it, and we promise your Excellency that no Englishman shall
ever get into the back door of Quebec while we have lives to defend it."
The old habitan had the eye of a soldier--he had been one. The
Governor knew the value of the suggestion, and at once assented to it,
adding, "No better defenders of the city could be found anywhere than
the brave habitans of Beauport."
The compliment was never forgotten; and years afterwards, when
Wolfe besieged the city, the batteries of Beauport repelled the assault
of his bravest troops, and well-nigh broke the heart of the young hero
over the threatened defeat of his great undertaking, as his brave

Highlanders and grenadiers lay slain by hundreds upon the beach of
Beauport.
The countenances of the hardy workers were suddenly covered with
smiles of welcome recognition at the sight of the well-known Superior
of the Recollets.
"Good morning!" cried out a score of voices; "good morning, Father de
Berey! The good wives of Beauport send you a thousand compliments.
They are dying to see the good Recollets down