Golden Dog

William Kirby

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. TO THE PUBLIC: In the year 1877 the first edition of "The Golden Dog" (Le Chien d'Or) was brought out in the United States, entirely without my knowledge or sanction. Owing to the inadequacy of the then existing copyright laws, I have been powerless to prevent its continued publication, which I understand to have been a successful and profitable undertaking for all concerned, except the author, the book having gone through many editions.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819942863
• Langue: English

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THE GOLDEN DOG.
(LE CHIEN D'OR. )
By William Kirby
AUTHOR'S PREFATORY NOTE.
TO THE PUBLIC: In the year 1877 the first edition of“The Golden Dog” (Le Chien d'Or) was brought out in the UnitedStates, entirely without my knowledge or sanction. Owing to theinadequacy of the then existing copyright laws, I have beenpowerless to prevent its continued publication, which I understandto have been a successful and profitable undertaking for allconcerned, except the author, the book having gone through manyeditions.
It was, consequently, a source of gratification tome when I was approached by Messrs. L. C. Page & Company, ofBoston, with a request to revise “The Golden Dog, ” and re-publishit through them. The result is the present edition, which I havecorrected and revised in the light of the latest developments inthe history of Quebec, and which is the only edition offered to myreaders with the sanction and approval of its author.
WILLIAM KIRBY. Niagara, Canada, May, 1897.
THE GOLDEN DOG.
(LE CHIEN D'OR.)
CHAPTER I. MEN OF THE OLD RÉGIME.
“'See Naples, and then die! ' That was a proudsaying, Count, which we used to hear as we cruised under lateensails about the glorious bay that reflects from its waters thefires of Vesuvius. We believed the boast then, Count. But I saynow, 'See Quebec, and live forever! ' Eternity would be too shortto weary me of this lovely scene— this bright Canadian morning isworthy of Eden, and the glorious landscape worthy of such asun-rising. ”
Thus exclaimed a tall, fair Swedish gentleman, hisblue eyes sparkling, and every feature glowing with enthusiasm,Herr Peter Kalm, to His Excellency Count de la Galissonière,Governor of New France, as they stood together on a bastion of theramparts of Quebec, in the year of grace 1748.
A group of French and Canadian officers, in themilitary uniforms of Louis XV. , stood leaning on their swords, asthey conversed gaily together on the broad gravelled walk at thefoot of the rampart. They formed the suite in attendance upon theGovernor, who was out by sunrise this morning to inspect the workdone during the night by the citizens of Quebec and the habitans ofthe surrounding country, who had been hastily summoned to laborupon the defences of the city.
A few ecclesiastics, in black cassocks, dignitariesof the Church, mingled cheerfully in the conversation of theofficers. They had accompanied the Governor, both to show theirrespect, and to encourage, by their presence and exhortations, thezeal of the colonists in the work of fortifying the capital.
War was then raging between old England and oldFrance, and between New England and New France. The vast region ofNorth America, stretching far into the interior and southwest fromCanada to Louisiana, had for three years past been the scene offierce hostilities between the rival nations, while the savageIndian tribes, ranged on the one side and on the other, steepedtheir moccasins in the blood of French and English colonists, who,in their turn, became as fierce, and carried on the war asrelentlessly, as the savages themselves.
Louisbourg, the bulwark of New France, projectingits mailed arm boldly into the Atlantic, had been cut off by theEnglish, who now overran Acadia, and began to threaten Quebec withinvasion by sea and land. Busy rumors of approaching danger wererife in the colony, and the gallant Governor issued orders, whichwere enthusiastically obeyed, for the people to proceed to thewalls and place the city in a state of defence, to bid defiance tothe enemy.
Rolland Michel Barrin, Count de la Galissonière, wasremarkable no less for his philosophical attainments, that rankedhim high among the savans of the French Academy, than for hispolitical abilities and foresight as a statesman. He felt stronglythe vital interests involved in the present war, and saw clearlywhat was the sole policy necessary for France to adopt in order topreserve her magnificent dominion in North America. His counselswere neither liked nor followed by the Court of Versailles, thensinking fast into the slough of corruption that marked the closingyears of the reign of Louis XV.
Among the people who admired deeds more than wordsthe Count was honored as a brave and skilful admiral, who had bornethe flag of France triumphantly over the seas, and in the face ofher most powerful enemies— the English and Dutch. His memorablerepulse of Admiral Byng, eight years after the events hererecorded, — which led to the death of that brave and unfortunateofficer, who was shot by sentence of court martial to atone forthat repulse, — was a glory to France, but to the Count broughtafter it a manly sorrow for the fate of his opponent, whose deathhe regarded as a cruel and unjust act, unworthy of the Englishnation, usually as generous and merciful as it is brave andconsiderate.
The Governor was already well-advanced in years. Hehad entered upon the winter of life, that sprinkles the head withsnow that never melts, but he was still hale, ruddy, and active.Nature had, indeed, moulded him in an unpropitious hour forpersonal comeliness, but in compensation had seated a great heartand a graceful mind in a body low of stature, and marked by aslight deformity. His piercing eyes, luminous with intelligence andfull of sympathy for everything noble and elevated, overpoweredwith their fascination the blemishes that a too curious scrutinymight discover upon his figure; while his mobile, handsome lipspoured out the natural eloquence of clear thoughts and noblesentiments. The Count grew great while speaking: his listeners werecarried away by the magic of his voice and the clearness of hisintellect.
He was very happy this morning by the side of hisold friend, Peter Kalm, who was paying him a most welcome visit inNew France. They had been fellow-students, both at Upsal and atParis, and loved each other with a cordiality that, like good wine,grew richer and more generous with age.
Herr Kalm, stretching out his arms as if to embracethe lovely landscape and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed withfresh enthusiasm, “See Quebec, and live forever! ”
“Dear Kalm, ” said the Governor, catching the fervorof his friend, as he rested his hand affectionately on hisshoulder, “you are as true a lover of nature as when we sattogether at the feet of Linnaeus, our glorious young master, andheard him open up for us the arcana of God's works; and we used tofeel like him, too, when he thanked God for permitting him to lookinto his treasure-house and see the precious things of creationwhich he had made. ”
“Till men see Quebec, ” replied Kalm, “they will notfully realize the meaning of the term, 'God's footstool. ' It is aland worth living for! ”
“Not only a land to live for, but a land to die for,and happy the man who dies for it! Confess, Kalm, — thou who hasttravelled in all lands, — think'st thou not it is indeed worthy ofits proud title of New France? ”
“It is indeed worthy, ” replied Kalm; “I see here ascion of the old oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will shelterthe throne of France itself in an empire wider than Caesar wrestedfrom Ambiotrix. ”
“Yes, ” replied the Count, kindling at the words ofhis friend, “it is old France transplanted, transfigured, andglorified, — where her language, religion, and laws shall be handeddown to her posterity, the glory of North America as themother-land is the glory of Europe! ”
The enthusiastic Galissonière stretched out hishands and implored a blessing upon the land entrusted to hiskeeping.
It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risenover the hilltops of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of gold,purple, and crimson. The soft haze of the summer morning wasfloating away into nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dewand magnified in the limpid purity of the air.
The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, wasstill partially veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and thereby the tall mast of a King's ship or merchantman lying unseen atanchor; or, as the fog rolled slowly off, a swift canoe might beseen shooting out into a streak of sunshine, with the first news ofthe morning from the south shore.
Behind the Count and his companions rose the whiteglistening walls of the Hôtel Dieu, and farther off the tall towerof the newly-restored Cathedral, the belfry of the Recollets, andthe roofs of the ancient College of the Jesuits. An avenue of oldoaks and maples shaded the walk, and in the branches of the trees aswarm of birds fluttered and sang, as if in rivalry with the gayFrench talk and laughter of the group of officers, who waited thereturn of the Governor from the bastion where he stood, showing theglories of Quebec to his friend.
The walls of the city ran along the edge of thecliff upwards as they approached the broad gallery and massivefront of the Castle of St. Louis, and ascending the green slope ofthe broad glacis, culminated in the lofty citadel, where, streamingin the morning breeze, radiant in the sunshine, and alone in theblue sky, waved the white banner of France, the sight of which senta thrill of joy and pride into the hearts of her faithful subjectsin the New World.
The broad bay lay before them, round as a shield,and glittering like a mirror as the mist blew off its surface.Behind the sunny slopes of Orleans, which the river encircled inits arms like a giant lover his fair mistress, rose the bold, darkcrests of the Laurentides, lifting their bare summits far awayalong the course of the ancient river, leaving imagination towander over the wild scenery in their midst— the woods, glens, andunknown lakes and rivers that lay hid far from human ken, or knownonly to rude savages, wild as the beasts of chase they hunted inthose strange regions.
Across the broad valley of the St. Charles, coveredwith green fields and ripening harvests, and dotted with quaint oldhomesteads, redolent with memories of Normandy and Brittany, rose along mountain ridge covered with primeval woods, on the slope ofw