Crusaders of New France | Page 8

entered, early in June, the harbor of what is now St. John's,
Newfoundland. There, according to Hakluyt, the Breton navigator and
his belated viceroy, Roberval, anchored their ships side by side,
Roberval, who had been delayed nearly a year, was now on his way to
join Cartier at Quebec and had put into the Newfoundland harbor to
refit his ships after a stormy voyage. What passed between the two on
the occasion of this meeting will never be known with certainly. We
have only the brief statement that after a spirited interview Cartier was
ordered by his chief to turn his ships about and accompany the
expedition back to Quebec. Instead of doing so, he spread his sails
during the night and slipped homeward to St. Malo, leaving the viceroy
to his own resources. There are difficulties in the way of accepting this
story, however, although it is not absolutely inconsistent with the
official records, as some later historians seem to have assumed.[1]
[Footnote 1: Justin Winsor, _Narrative and Critical History of
America_, vol. iv., 58.]
At any rate it was in no pleasant humor that Roberval now proceeded to
the St. Lawrence and up to Cap Rouge, where he took possession of
Carrier's post, sowed some grain and vegetables, and endeavored to
prepare for the winter. His company of followers, having been recruited
from the jails of France, proved as unruly as might have been expected.
Discipline and order could only be maintained by the exercise of great
severity. One of the malefactors was executed; others were given the
lash in generous measure. The winter, moreover, proved to be terribly
cold; supplies ran low, and the scurvy once again got beyond control. If
anything, the conditions were even worse than those which Cartier had
to endure seven years before. When spring arrived the survivors had no
thought of anything but a prompt return to France. But Roberval bade
most of them wait until with a small party he ventured a trip to the
territory near what is now Three Rivers and the mouth of the St.
Maurice. Apparently the whole party made its way safely back to

France before the autumn, but as to how or when we have no record.
There is some evidence that Cartier was sent out with a relief
expedition in 1543, but in any case, both he and Roberval were in
France during the spring of the next year, for they then appeared there
in court to settle respective accounts of expenses incurred in the badly
managed enterprise.
Of Carrier's later life little is known save that he lived at St. Malo until
he died in 1557. With the exception of his journals, which cover only a
part of his explorations, none of his writings or maps has come down to
us. That he prepared maps is highly probable, for he was an explorer in
the royal service. But diligent search on the part of antiquarians has not
brought them to light. His portrait in the town hall at St. Malo shows us
a man of firm and strong features with jaws tight-set, a high forehead,
and penetrating eyes. Unhappily it is of relatively recent workmanship
and as a likeness of the great Malouin its trustworthiness is at least
questionable. Fearless and untiring, however, his own indisputable
achievements amply prove him to have been. The tasks set before him
were difficult to perform; he was often in tight places and he came
through unscathed. As a navigator he possessed a skill that ranked with
the best of his time. His was an intrepid sailor-soul. If his voyages
resulted in no permanent establishment, that was not altogether
Cartier's fault. He was sent out on his first two voyages as an explorer,
to find new trade routes, or stores of gold and silver or a rich land to
exploit. On his third voyage, when a scheme of colonization was in
hand, the failure of Roberval to do his part proved the undoing of the
entire plan. There is no reason to believe that faint-heartedness or lack
of courage had any place in Carrier's sturdy frame.
For sixty years following the ill-starred ventures of 1541-1542 no
serious attempts were made to gain for France any real footing in the
regions of the St. Lawrence. This is not altogether surprising, for there
were troubles in plenty at home. Huguenots and Catholics had ranged
themselves in civil strife; the wars of the Fronde were convulsing the
land, and it was not until the very end of the sixteenth century that
France settled down to peace within her own borders. Norman and
Breton fishermen continued their yearly trips to the fishing-banks, but

during the whole latter half of the sixteenth century no vessel, so far as
we know, ever made its way