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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 betrayers."

"Perhaps so; I daresay you are right. But why borrow trouble that is
years and leagues away from us? We are here in old France, and likely to
stay here."

"I am not so sure of that."

"What!"

"I am not so sure of that. I had a long _tete-a-tete_ with Jean Francois
de la Roque to-day, and he is wavering. He has much influence in
Picardy, and King Francis is greatly indebted to him. He declares that
if he wants a ship, or indeed a fleet, he can have it. He professes to
be anxious to win souls in the new land of darkness, as he calls it; but
do not lay too much stress on the darkness when you meet him. The gold
and the diamonds and the furs will touch his heart much quicker than
anything else. He is a shrewd fellow, and if you can get him
enthusiastic over your New World you will soon be at your beloved
Stadacona, and have a chance to stay there too. His idea is to plant a
colony there, develop the resources of the country, and, I have no
doubt, save the souls of the inhabitants at his leisure. I wish we could
get together some of our old friends. A few of the men who pulled safely
through the scurvy would be a great help on another such expedition."

"Where is Charles de la Pommeraye?" interrupted Cartier.

"De la Pommeraye! Have you not heard the last news of him?"

"No; what fresh scrape has he been getting into? There is no braver
fellow alive; and if he does get into a few more quarrels than the rest
of us, it is merely because of his excessive gallantry. A petticoat will
always bring him to his knees. Why man, at Hochelaga he doffed his
plumed hat to every fair savage who attracted his eye. If I get a chance
to go again I will find him, though I have to search every hole and
corner in France."

"I am much afraid you will have some trouble in finding him. The last
report I had of him was, that he was seen lying in the streets of Paris
with several daggers gracing his breast. He was my friend, as you know,
and, despite his foolhardiness and follies, the only man in whom I could
ever have perfect confidence. I had always expected he would meet just
such an end; but I have shed more tears for him than I ever thought to
shed for any man."

"Charles de la Pommeraye dead!" exclaimed Cartier. "I cannot believe
it!"

"Neither can I!" interrupted a sturdy voice that made both men leap back
and lay their hands on their weapons. "Neither can I! And if any one
doubts my word, here's my sword to prove it!"

"La Pommeraye!" cried Claude. "Where in Heaven's name did you spring
from?" and the two men seized the hands of the young giant who, in the
attire of a fashionable gallant of the day, with gay- doublet
and hose, richly plumed hat, and surtout trimmed with gold lace, stood
laughing before them.

"Paris, where I was seen lying dead in the streets. How long is it,
Claude, since you have had such a poor opinion of me? I have been put to
strange straits in my day, but I have never yet slept in the streets. Be
thankful I did not leave the two of you to be carried out of this
square in the morning. I came here spoiling for a fight, and had my
sword all ready to begin carving you when Cartier's voice struck me like
a whiff of bracing, salt-sea air. But what great enterprise have you on
hand? Your serious looks bespeak some weighty scheme. Whatever it is, my
sword is at your service."

"I doubt if it would be wise to take such a fire-eating duellist into
our confidence," said Claude, regarding his friend with a smile.

"Now, Claude, that is hardly fair. You know I am no duellist. I merely
fight when I am compelled to, and never without just provocation. For
instance, I had a delightful passage-at-arms last night, but it was no
fault of mine. I was coming across the Sillon when a pretty girl came
towards me with a leisurely step that seemed to say: "I have just been
watching for you." She had a face like a flower, in the moonlight, and I
could not resist snatching a kiss. That was all: but it acted like a
match in a powder magazine. She started back with a cry. Evidently she
had not been waiting for me; and before I could apologise, or take back
the kiss, her lover swooped down upon me with drawn sword."

"I trust," exclaimed Claude, "he let a little of the impudence out of
your gallant hide."

"Not a drop. I know the danger of kissing pretty girls in the public
thoroughfare, and never do it without having my hand on my sword-hilt.
He sprang forward, and I sprang back. The girl was between us, and in
his haste to spit me, he pushed her roughly aside. The slight pause
gave me time to draw my sword. He came at me, blind with fury, but I
was on my guard. A pass or two showed me that I could disarm the fellow
in five minutes. The fair one stood by, mutely wringing her hands, and
as I wished to stand well in her opinion, I resolved to show her what I
could do. I have been learning some cuts and thrusts and guards in
Paris, and now was my chance to put them in practice. I bewildered the
fellow, and when I thought her highness must have seen that I was the
better man, and the more worthy, I let out with a rapidity rarely seen
in musty old St Malo, and my opponent's sword went clanging against the
wall.

"The man was no coward. No sooner was his sword out of his hand than he
tore open his shirt, crying: 'Stab, villain, insulter of women!' But if
I had attempted to take him at his word, and punch a hole or two in him,
I could not have done so, for even while he spoke his beloved sprang
between us, and hissing the epithet 'Coward!' in my face, flashed a
dagger towards my breast. So quick was the stroke that I am afraid only
a miracle could have prevented a woman from at last making a permanent
impression on the heart of Charles de la Pommeraye, but I was once more
to be saved from the base designs of the sex. My antagonist seized her
hand from behind with a vice-like grip; and there we all stood--a most
interesting group of enemies. He was the first to speak.

"'Put up your toy,' he said sternly to the girl, who, except for that
one word 'Coward!' had never uttered a sound since the beginning of the
struggle. 'Put up your toy; my life is in his hand. He has won it with
the sword.'

"'Charles de la Pommeraye,' I answered, 'never strikes a weaponless man.
Take up your sword, my friend, and let us give this fair Amazon a little
more worthy entertainment.'

"But he would not even look at the weapon that had failed him.

"'Here it is,' said I, lifting it from the ground. 'But I am very much
afraid we shall both have to sheathe our swords for to-night. Yours has
lost a good foot. That wall has excellent granite in it. But meet me
here to-morrow with a fresh weapon, and we can finish our little