Life in the high latitudes of Canada would present a clean-cut contrast to tropical Barbadoes, but it was out of harmony with his ambition, and, judging by his spirits, he might have been embarking for penal servitude at Botany Bay rather than for the land which was to bring him lasting fame.  Even the attentions of the devoted Dobson, who had just filled his pipe, did not serve to arouse him.  Brock’s depression was short-lived.  His optimism and faith banished gloomy thoughts.  The ship had hardly dropped the last headland of the Irish coast when the winds bred in Labrador awoke the Viking strain in him and filled his soul with hope.  The swinging seas of this northern ocean revived thoughts of the long-ago exploits of Sebastian Cabot, the discoverer of Newfoundland, and of his own sea-dog ancestors, those rough-riders of the sea who had defied the banks of Sable Island and returned to St. Peter’s Port with their rich cargoes of contraband, looking innocent as kittens, while the ship was bursting with fur, fin and feather.  So, pipe in mouth, with the frigate close-hauled, watching her bows splintering the sea into a million jewels, he left care behind, and thenceforward his busy brain was forming plans that would soften his exile in that land of chilling promise he was approaching.

He had been told to expect magnificent scenery, but was quite unprepared for the picture that the Gulf of St. Lawrence unfolded.  The Straits of Belle Isle, the Magdalen Islands, the brazen bosom of the Bay of Chaleur that had allured Jacques Cartier 265 years before, the might of the noble river and the glorious vista of the citadel and frowning heights of Quebec, where Wolfe and Montcalm fell—­the ancient Stadacona framed in the sunset—­amazed him.  A presage of coming conflict crowded his brain.

* * * * *

“Manfully tell me the truth.”

* * * * *

Carr, an educated soldier of the 49th, was hesitating.  Desertions had been frequent at Quebec, and discipline must be restored.  Stepping up, with hand clenched, the officer continued, “Don’t lie!  Tell the truth like a man.  You know I have ever treated you kindly.”  The confession of intended desertion followed.  “Go, then,” said Colonel Brock,—­“go and tell your deluded comrades everything that has passed here, and also that I will still treat every man of you with kindness, and then you may desert me if you please.”

During the three years of his command at Montreal, York, Fort George and Quebec, though mutiny was epidemic in both Europe and America, Brock had lost but one man by desertion.  He had won the loyalty of the rank and file.  FitzGibbon said of him that “he created by his judicious praise the never-failing interest of the men in the ranks.”  His accurate knowledge of human nature served him in the graver experiences of life which followed.  His stay in Quebec was short.  A study of the ancient citadel