In spite of the earnest entreaties of his young wife, the said Tam Grant, who was the most mercurial fellow in the world, would insist upon going on shore to see all the lions of the place.  “Ah, Tam!  Tam! ye will die o’ the cholera,” cried the weeping Maggie.  “My heart will brak if ye dinna bide wi’ me an’ the bairnie.”  Tam was deaf as Ailsa Craig.  Regardless of tears and entreaties, he jumped into the boat, like a wilful man as he was, and my husband went with him.  Fortunately for me, the latter returned safe to the vessel, in time to proceed with her to Montreal, in tow of the noble steamer, British America; but Tam, the volatile Tam was missing.  During the reign of the cholera, what at another time would have appeared but a trifling incident, was now invested with doubt and terror.  The distress of the poor wife knew no bounds.  I think I see her now, as I saw her then, sitting upon the floor of the deck, her head buried between her knees, rocking herself to and fro, and weeping in the utter abandonment of her grief.  “He is dead! he is dead!  My dear, dear Tam!  The pestilence has seized upon him; and I and the puir bairn are left alone in the strange land.”  All attempts at consolation were useless; she obstinately refused to listen to probabilities, or to be comforted.  All through the night I heard her deep and bitter sobs, and the oft-repeated name of him that she had lost.

The sun was sinking over the plague-stricken city, gilding the changing woods and mountain peaks with ruddy light; the river mirrored back the gorgeous sky, and moved in billows of liquid gold; the very air seemed lighted up with heavenly fires, and sparkled with myriads of luminous particles, as I gazed my last upon that beautiful scene.

The tow-line was now attached from our ship to the British America, and in company with two other vessels, we followed fast in her foaming wake.  Day lingered on the horizon just long enough to enable me to examine, with deep interest, the rocky heights of Abraham, the scene of our immortal Wolfe’s victory and death; and when the twilight faded into night, the moon arose in solemn beauty, and cast mysterious gleams upon the strange stern landscape.  The wide river, flowing rapidly between its rugged banks, rolled in inky blackness beneath the overshadowing crags; while the waves in mid-channel flashed along in dazzling light, rendered more intense by the surrounding darkness.  In this luminous track the huge steamer glided majestically forward, flinging showers of red earth-stars from the funnel into the clear air, and looking like some fiery demon of the night enveloped in smoke and flame.