The Mariner of St Malo | Page 4

shore was impossible.
The whole coastline was blocked with the 'great store of ice' that lay
against it. The ships ran southward and took shelter in a little haven
about five leagues south of the cape, to which Cartier gave the name St
Catherine's Haven, either in fond remembrance of his wife, or, as is
more probable, in recognition of the help and guidance of St Catherine,
whose natal day, April 30, had fallen midway in his voyage. The
harbourage is known to-day as Catalina, and lies distant, as the crow
flies, about eighty miles north-westward of the present city of St John's
in Newfoundland. Here the mariners remained ten days, 'looking for
fair weather,' and engaged in mending and 'dressing' their boats.
At this time, it must be remembered, the coast of Newfoundland was,
in some degree, already known. Ships had frequently passed through
the narrow passage of Belle Isle that separates Newfoundland from the
coast of Labrador. Of the waters, however, that seemed to open up
beyond, or of the exact relation of the Newfoundland coastline to the
rest of the great continent nothing accurate was known. It might well be
that the inner waters behind the inhospitable headlands of Belle Isle
would prove the gateway to the great empires of the East. Cartier's
business at any rate was to explore, to see all that could be seen, and to
bring news of it to his royal master. This he set himself to do, with the
persevering thoroughness that was the secret of his final success. He

coasted along the shore from cape to cape and from island to island,
sounding and charting as he went, noting the shelter for ships that
might be found, and laying down the bearing of the compass from point
to point. It was his intent, good pilot as he was, that those who sailed
after him should find it easy to sail on these coasts.
From St Catherine's Harbour the ships sailed on May 21 with a fine
off-shore wind that made it easy to run on a course almost due north.
As they advanced on this course the mainland sank again from sight,
but presently they came to an island. It lay far out in the sea, and was
surrounded by a great upheaval of jagged and broken ice. On it and
around it they saw so dense a mass of birds that no one, declares Cartier,
could have believed it who had not seen it for himself. The birds were
as large as jays, they were coloured black and white, and they could
scarcely fly because of their small wings and their exceeding fatness.
The modern enquirer will recognize, perhaps, the great auk which once
abounded on the coast, but which is now extinct. The sailors killed
large numbers of the birds, and filled two boats with them. Then the
ships sailed on rejoicing from the Island of Birds with six barrels full of
salted provisions added to their stores. Cartier's Island of Birds is the
Funk Island of our present maps.
The ships now headed west and north to come into touch with land
again. To the great surprise of the company they presently met a huge
polar bear swimming in the open sea, and evidently heading for the
tempting shores of the Island of Birds. The bear was 'as great as any
cow and as white as a swan.' The sailors lowered boats in pursuit, and
captured 'by main force' the bear, which supplied a noble supper for the
captors. 'Its flesh,' wrote Cartier, 'was as good to eat as any heifer of
two years.'
The explorers sailed on westward, changing their course gradually to
the north to follow the broad curve of the Atlantic coast of
Newfoundland. Jutting headlands and outlying capes must have
alternately appeared and disappeared on the western horizon. May 24,
found the navigators off the entrance of Belle Isle. After four hundred
years of maritime progress, the passage of the narrow strait that

separates Newfoundland from Labrador remains still rough and
dangerous, even for the great steel ships of to-day. We can imagine
how forbidding it must have looked to Cartier and his companions from
the decks of their small storm-tossed caravels. Heavy gales from the
west came roaring through the strait. Great quantities of floating ice
ground to and fro under the wind and current. So stormy was the
outlook that for the time being the passage seemed impossible. But
Cartier was not to be baulked in his design. He cast anchor at the
eastern mouth of the strait, in what is now the little harbour of Kirpon
(Carpunt), and there day after day, stormbound by the inclement
weather, he waited until June 9. Then at last he was able to depart,
hoping, as