Departure from Niagara · Lake Ontario · Toronto · Highlanders

The 4 June 1842 was the day of our farewells to the falls of Niagara. We passed, leaning on our elbows on the gallery of the hotel, the last hour left to us to contemplate a scene we would never see again. A little railway, following a steep incline, carried us to the foot of the monument of Brookes. There a carriage, braving a descent steeper still, brought us to the landing-stage of Queenstown. The steamboat Transit was about to leave for Toronto, a town situated on the opposite shore of Lake Ontario. The Niagara at its mouth is commanded on one side by an American fort, opposite by the village. Red English sentinel on the left. Blue American sentinel on the right = The aspect of Lake Ontario was that of the sea in a dead calm. We set off, without seeing before us, the coast where we are to land. From time to time a white sail showed itself on the horizon, standing out against the azure of the waves.

Our crossing took 6 hours. We had time to admire the limpidity of the waters we sailed on, and the beauty of the sky, which was that day of an incomparable purity. The steamboat Transit was English. Our captain, adorned with formidable mustaches, gave himself airs of great importance. He acquitted himself marvelously of presiding at dinner — and of taking part in it. Beer (pale ale) circulated freely; we were no longer in an American hotel vowed to temperance and pure water. The English porcelain service was elegant.

We arrived at Toronto at 7 h in the evening; the shores of Lake Ontario are quite insignificant round about. The town rises at the head of a gulf that forms a kind of natural harbor. Skirting the coast we caught sight of a band of hunters shooting wild ducks on a long sandbank. It seems the hunting is never closed in this country here. We learned on landing that we were to stay in Toronto until the day after next. The following day was a Sunday, and the Kingston boat, respecting the Sabbath, did not leave until Monday. We had to resign ourselves.

Toronto is the principal town of Upper Canada. It consists, in great part, of sheds and barracks. We were told later that an agreeable and distinguished English society was to be found there. I am quite willing to believe it. The feverish activity that reigns in the least of United States towns was there entirely unknown; shops were few and poorly stocked. The harbor held only the English mail packets and 5 or 6 schooners.

The population looked ragged and miserable. The houses were like those of our faubourgs. Soldiers abounded on every side, with all the accessories of a garrison town.

Our hotel, the best in town, was comparable only to the bad inns of France; it was full of English actors, who seemed fond of rest and good cheer.

We heard mass the next day, Sunday, in a church of the most miserable appearance; Irish made up the great majority of the congregation.

We then strolled through the town, admiring the Highlanders, Scottish soldiers in full dress. It is a regiment composed of very handsome men whose uniform is original. Big fur bonnet with plume trimmed with duck tails. Red coat with short tails with white brandebourgs [frogging]; little Scottish cloak fastened at the collar of the coat; short pleated Scottish skirt replacing the trousers; cartridge-pouch of boar skin on the belly; bare legs; white and red stockings; buckled shoes.

There were two other regiments at Toronto, we heard the bands of one of them. It was worse than mediocre but it sufficed to draw all the idlers of the town onto the barracks esplanade.

In the afternoon we explored the surroundings of Toronto. After crossing some pretty little valleys and a great forest of firs, we came near a handsome country house. The garden — or rather the park — well kept, showed that the owner was a gentleman. Circle round it as we might, even up under the windows, no friendly face appeared to satisfy our curiosity and enliven our boredom. Moving away from this mysterious dwelling, we found a snake crawling at our feet in the meadow. To split a switch, to fix the animal in it, adding our visiting cards was the work of a moment; we joined to it a little note scribbled in pencil, congratulating ourselves on having rendered this modest service to the fair unknown who lived in that place. She was perhaps an old Englishwoman in spectacles. In any case, it was impossible to be more chivalrous.

The next day at 2 h we were aboard the steamboat leaving for Kingston, a town at the north of Lake Ontario. The passage takes 20 hours; one follows the coasts. The lake's shores are monotonous: endless hills covered with dense fir woods. What game there must be in these wild places!

The weather was magnificent; the sunset reflected in the lake's waters was of the finest effect. We stopped opposite several villages that looked like those of France. While we loaded wood to feed our fires, the peasants came running. The boat's arrival was an event.

The passengers were few: an English cavalry captain, a few Canadians, and 16 Protestant ministers of I know not what sect, dressed all in black and bound for the great lakes to evangelize the Indians.

Several of them were of colossal stature. The one who seemed to enjoy the greatest renown was about 40 years old. He had an austere face. At dinner he raised his arms to heaven, reciting a Benedicité [grace before the meal].

I was traveling with Walter Scott's puritans, among the missionaries figured an Indian, recently converted. We also had as traveling companions 16 horses destined for the English cavalry. They had been bought in the interior by the remount captain at the modest price of 7 dollars each (35 fr). Their keeping was entrusted to two old troopers with long mustaches. Their stamping and their fights threw the whole forepart of the vessel into commotion. We passed the night on the lake. Red curtains separated the beds. The Dwellings, situated at the stern were very low, and we could not keep ourselves from laughing at the sight of an enormous Canadian who could not get into the hole that had fallen to him as his share.

We slept lightly. The engine's jolts chased away dreams. Next morning, a fine disorder: boots mixed up, ministers shaving, the captain of hussars swearing, other ministers reading the bible, the Indian motionless as a stump.

We went up on deck. The morning was beautiful. The trees of the shore leaned their dew-wet branches over the still water.

We arrived at Kingston in time to see the town and breakfast before boarding the vessel on which we were to descend the St Laurent [the St Lawrence] =

Kingston, though belonging to Upper Canada, has an almost French look. It was not without pleasure that we saw again houses and markets as in France. At some distance one perceives fortifications bristling with cannon.

We left again at nine o'clock, in the company of half a dozen ladies and young ladies who, like us, were going to Montreal.