A mighty promontory, rugged
and bare, thrust its scarped front into the surging current. Here,
clothed in the majesty of solitude, breathing the stern poetry of the
wilderness, rose the cliffs now rich with heroic memories, where the
fiery Count Frontenac cast defiance at his foes, where Wolfe, Montcalm,
and Montgomery fell. As yet, all was a nameless barbarism, and a cluster
of wigwams held the site of the rock-built city of Quebec. Its name was
Stadacone, and it owned the sway of the royal Donnacona.
Cartier set out to visit this greasy potentate; ascended the river St.
Charles, by him called the St. Croix, landed, crossed the meadows,
climbed the rocks, threaded the forest, and emerged upon a squalid
hamlet of bark cabins. When, having satisfied their curiosity, he and
his party were rowing for the ships, a friendly interruption met them at
the mouth of the St. Charles. An old chief harangued them from the bank,
men, boys, and children screeched welcome from the meadow, and a troop
of hilarious squaws danced knee-deep in the water. The gift of a few
strings of beads completed their delight and redoubled their agility;
and, from the distance of a mile, their shrill songs of jubilation still
reached the ears of the receding Frenchmen.
The hamlet of Stadacone, with its king, Donnacona, and its naked lords
and princes, was not the metropolis of this forest state, since a town
far greater--so the Indians averred--stood by the brink of the river,
many days' journey above.
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