The winter of 1666 was marked by a novel incident in the annals of the settlement. On the 9th of January, [183] 1666, the Governor of the colony, M. de Courcelles, with M. du Gas as second in command, and M. de Salampar, a volunteer, together with two hundred colonists who had volunteered, and three hundred soldiers of the dashing regiment of Carignan, [184] which the viceroy, the proud Marquis de Tracy, had brought over from Europe, after their return from their campaign in Hungary, sallied forth from the capital on snow-shoes. A century and a half later one might have met, with his gaudy state carriage and outriders, on that same road, another viceroy--this time an English one, as proud, as fond of display, as the Marquis de Tracy--with the Queen's Household Troops, the British Grenadiers, and Coldstream Guards--the Earl of Durham, one of our ablest, if not one of the most popular of our administrators. Let us now follow the French Governor of 1666, heading his light-hearted soldiers along the St. Louis road, all on snow-shoes, each man, His Excellency included, carrying on his back from 25 to 30 lbs. of biscuit, &c. The little army is bound towards the frontiers of New Holland (the State of New York) on a 900 miles' tramp (no railroads in those days), in the severest season of the year, to chastise some hostile Indian tribes, after incorporating in its ranks, during its march, the Three Rivers and Montreal reinforcements. History tells of the intense suffering [185] experienced during the expedition by these brave men, some of them more accustomed to Paris _salons_ than to Canadian forest warfare on snow-shoes, with spruce boughs and snow-drifts for beds. But let us not anticipate. We must be content to accompany them on that day to the Sillery settlement, a march quite sufficient for us degenerate Canadians of the nineteenth century. Picture to yourself, our worthy friend, the hurry and scurry at the Missionary residence on that day--with what zest the chilled warriors crowd round the fires of the Indian wigwams, the number of pipes of peace they smoked with the chiefs, the fierce love the gallant Frenchmen swore to the blackeyed Montagnais and Algonquin houris of Sillery, whilst probably His Excellency and staff were seated in the residency close by, resorting to cordials and all those creature comforts to be found in monasteries, not forgetting _Grande Chartreuse_, to restore circulation through their benumbed frames!--How the reverend fathers showered down the blessings of St. Michael, the patron saint of the parish, on the youth and chivalry of France!--How the Sillery duennas, the _Capitainesses_, closely watched the gallant sons of Mars lest some of them [186] should attempt to induce their guileless neophytes to seek again the forest wilds, and roam at large--the willing wives of white men!