Transcriber's Note:
A Table of Contents has been added
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
"These narrow, cramped streets torture me! I must get out of this placeor I shall go mad. The country, with its rolling fields and greatstretches of calm sky helps a little, but nothing except the ocean willsatisfy my spirit. Five years have gone now, and I am still penned up inthis miserable hole, with no power to go abroad, save for a cruise upthe Channel, or a run south along the coast. If matters do not change, Ithink I shall quietly weigh anchor on La Hermine and slip across theAtlantic 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 wordto friend or lover. Gold is there in plenty, and diamonds are there, anda road to the Indies; and if we should bring back riches and newdiscoveries the King would forgive our boldness."
The speaker was a middle-aged man, with jet-black hair and beard, andpiercing black eyes. He was as straight as a mid-forest pine, and tannedand wrinkled with years of exposure to sun and[Pg 6] wind, but was ahandsome, commanding fellow withal. His name was Jacques Cartier. He wasthe most famous seaman in France, and had already made two trips acrossthe stormy Atlantic in boats in which nineteenth-century sailors wouldfear to cross the Channel.
His companion was Claude de Pontbriand, a young man of gentle birth, whohad been with him on his second voyage. He was as dark as Cartier, witha lion-like neck and shoulders, a resolute mouth and chin, and a kindlyeye, whose expression had a touch of melancholy. Among his companions hewas known as their Bayard; and the purity of his life, the generosity ofhis disposition, and his dauntless courage made the title a fitting one.
The two men were walking along one of the winding thoroughfares of theFrench seaport of St Malo, on a glorious moonlight evening in the autumnof 1539. The hour, though still early, was an unusual one in those daysfor anybody to be abroad simply for pleasure; and the little town wasquiet and deserted save for an occasional pedestrian whom busines