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MARGUERITE DE ROBERVAL

_A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF JACQUES CARTIER_

By

T. G. MARQUIS


TORONTO
THE COPP CLARK COMPANY LIMITED
1899




MARGUERITE DE ROBERVAL




CHAPTER I


"These narrow, cramped streets torture me! I must get out of this place
or I shall go mad. The country, with its rolling fields and great
stretches of calm sky helps a little, but nothing except the ocean will
satisfy my spirit. Five years have gone now, and I am still penned up in
this miserable hole, with no power to go abroad, save for a cruise up
the Channel, or a run south along the coast. If matters do not change, I
think I shall quietly weigh anchor on La Hermine and slip across the
Atlantic without leave of King or blessing of priest. I tell you,
Claude, it would be rare sport to go that way, without a good-bye word
to friend or lover. Gold is there in plenty, and diamonds are there, and
a road to the Indies; and if we should bring back riches and new
discoveries the King would forgive our boldness."

The speaker was a middle-aged man, with jet-black hair and beard, and
piercing black eyes. He was as straight as a mid-forest pine, and tanned
and wrinkled with years of exposure to sun and wind, but was a
handsome, commanding fellow withal. His name was Jacques Cartier. He was
the most famous seaman in France, and had already made two trips across
the stormy Atlantic in boats in which nineteenth-century sailors would
fear to cross the Channel.

His companion was Claude de Pontbriand, a young man of gentle birth, who
had been with him on his second voyage. He was as dark as Cartier, with
a lion-like neck and shoulders, a resolute mouth and chin, and a kindly
eye, whose expression had a touch of melancholy. Among his companions he
was known as their Bayard; and the purity of his life, the generosity of
his disposition, and his dauntless courage made the title a fitting one.

The two men were walking along one of the winding thoroughfares of the
French seaport of St Malo, on a glorious moonlight evening in the autumn
of 1539. The hour, though still early, was an unusual one in those days
for anybody to be abroad simply for pleasure; and the little town was
quiet and deserted save for an occasional pedestrian whom business, of
one kind or another, had compelled to leave his home.

There was a short silence after Cartier's remarks, before De Pontbriand
replied:

"I thought you had had enough of the New World."

"Enough!" exclaimed Cartier. "That New World is mine. I first took
possession of it. My cross still stands guarding my interests at Gaspe,
and my memory is still dear to the red men from Stadacona to Hochelaga."

"I am not so certain of the friendship of the Indians," interrupted his
companion. "If we had not carried off old Donnacona and his
fellow-chiefs it might have been so, but now that they are dead you will
have some difficulty in inventing a story that will regain you the
confidence of their tribesmen. Ah! Cartier, I warned you then; and now I
only regret that I did not oppose your action with my very sword. Poor
devils! It was pitiful to see them droop and droop like caged birds, and
finally die one by one. Poor old Donnacona! I expect we shall find his
spirit back on the heights of Stadacona if we ever cross the ocean
again."

"That was a mistake," replied Cartier, "but one never knows just what
will be the results of an action. I did it for the best. I thought the
Indians would enjoy a visit to Europe as much as did the two lads I
brought over on my first voyage. They were too old, however, and seem to
have been rooted to the soil. I am afraid we shall have to invent a way
of explaining their absence should we return to Hochelaga. Would it not
be well to marry them to noble ladies, and give them dukedoms in France
to govern?"

"A good idea, with the one drawback that it is false; and there are
enough false men already in France without an honest seaman swelling
their numbers. But my impression of the savages is, that you will have a
hard time to make them believe your story. They are a deep people, and,
as we found them, a generous people; and once deceived, you will find
that they will never again have perfect confidence in their betr