Having left his niece and her companions on the Isle of Demons, Roberval
had steered his course for the Hochelaga, and about the middle of June
the rocky heights of Stadacona loomed up before him. His tyrannical
severity on the voyage had made all his men stand in awe of him, and his
lightest word of reproof would make the most dogged villain on his
vessel tremble for his neck. All were indeed glad when the anchors were
dropped off Cap Rouge, and none more so than Roberval himself.
The narrow limits of his vessel's deck had preyed upon his ambitious
spirit; and the horrors of the voyage, caused by his own self-will and
stubbornness, stood before him like a nightmare. Scarcely had the Isle
of Demons sunk from sight on the horizon, when his conscience began to
prick him; and he would have returned for the women whom he had set on
shore, but he feared lest his followers should think that there was in
him the milk of human kindness.
Most of all he dreaded Gaillon. He knew that he had placed himself to a
certain extent at the man's mercy, and that fact alone was enough to
awaken in him a deadly hatred of the cringing scoundrel, who dogged his
footsteps like a shadow. He resolved to get rid of him at the earliest
possible moment; and yet he dreaded to take any steps towards removing
him. He remembered the sudden and mysterious death of the young Picard
sailor; he remembered also Gaillon's offer to rid him silently and
surely of all his enemies. The man was a poisoner, a demon who worked in
the dark, without soul, without honour. On board ship Roberval felt more
or less assured of safety; but as his destination drew nigh he made up
his mind that, once on land, Gaillon must be put out of the way, or he
would not be free one moment from the terror of assassination.
Gaillon himself was quick to divine all that passed in Roberval's mind.
His vigilant eye took notice of the slightest signs which revealed the
nobleman's attitude towards him; but no change in his own manner and
bearing could have been observed, except that he was, if possible, more
servile and obsequious than ever.
Matters were in this state when the vessels passed up the Hochelaga, and
the towering heights of Stadacona loomed up, majestic and strong, before
them. De Roberval's quick eye noted at once what a magnificent place
this would be for headquarters for his colony; but as he skirted the
high cliffs, a shower of flint-headed arrows fell on his deck, and
warned him that the red men welcomed him as an enemy. To terrify them,
he sent a broadside from his guns against the huge natural fortress,
which re-echoed with the unwonted sound, and the frightened Indians
fled far inland to escape the unusual thunder.
At Charlesbourg Royal the French landed without opposition. Busy hands
soon made habitable the rude dwellings which Cartier had left; from the
first streaks of dawn till the sun sank behind the hills of the St
Lawrence, the shouts of men, the singing of saws, and the clanging of
hammers resounded over the broad river. A somewhat pretentious village
rose on the heights; and in the centre of it, in place of the flimsy
structure designed by Cartier as a gallows, stood a strong, black
erection, ominously awaiting a victim.
It had not to wait long. The more devoted and cringing Gaillon became,
the more did Roberval's uneasiness and distrust of him increase. Anxiety
and remorse had actually disturbed the balance of the nobleman's mind.
He realised that he was not himself, but felt convinced that he could
never regain his self-control, or know a moment's peace of mind, till he
had got rid of the vile wretch whom he had in a manner taken into his
confidence, and who haunted his sleeping and waking hours. Chance placed
an opportunity in his way.
Although the colonists had brought plenty of powder and ball with them,
they were ill provided with food for a protracted season. They had
expected that Cartier would have an abundant crop growing round his
establishment, but they found that he had not even broken the soil that
year. They found, too, that the Indians held aloof, and would do naught
to help them. The few stragglers whom they could attract by "firewater,"
had no stores of food, as they were too inert to till the soil, and
depended merely on game and fish; feasting while it was abundant, and
starving when it was scarce.
Roberval was a man of shrewd foresight. He carefully gauged his
supplies, and saw just how much could be allowed each man to carry him
through the long autumn and winter months; then he sent forth an order
that any man taking more than his allowance would meet with severe
punishment. Shortly after the order had been issued, it was discovered
that some one had entered the stores by night, and taken a quantity of
provisions. A watch was secretly set, and a few nights afterwards the
thief was caught, and proved to be no other than Gaillon.
Seeing the direction Roberval's thoughts were taking, and that his
schemes for advancement were hopeless, the man had resolved to desert
the colony; and to that end had begun to secrete a supply of food
sufficient to support him till he could join one of the wandering bands
of Indians further up the country. He was brought before Roberval, who
immediately ordered him to the gallows. The wretch fell on his knees,
but Roberval was deaf to entreaties and curses alike.
"To the gallows with him!" he repeated. "We are well rid of such a
villain."
Gaillon's character was well known, and no one pitied his fate. Scarcely
a man in the colony did not breathe more freely when he knew that it
was beyond his power to work any further mischief; but they shuddered
as they looked upon his dangling form, and wondered who next among them
would meet a similar fate.
In the meantime, De Roberval had not forgotten his promise to return for
his niece. But he had greatly miscalculated the distance and the time it
would take a ship to go and return. In the present condition of the
colony it would be utterly out of the question for him to be absent in
person for so long a period. He had no difficulty, however, in finding
one or two of the young noblemen who were willing to undertake the
expedition; but an obstacle presented itself on which he had not
counted. Not a man among the sailors could be found who was willing to
return to the dreaded spot. Threats, commands, persuasions were alike in
vain; no power on earth could have induced the crews to venture near the
place where they had seen with their own eyes the flames of hell, and
the demons hastening to claim their victims.
Roberval dared not attempt force. Able-bodied seamen were too few and
too precious to risk the loss of even one. He was obliged to give up the
attempt, and to resign himself to all the horrors of remorse. Whatever
he may have felt he kept it to himself, and no man dared open his lips
on the subject.
Winter set in, and proved a terrible one for the inhabitants of
Charlesbourg Royal. They suffered keenly from the cold; and their
miseries were greatly increased by the scarcity of food. Few dared go
beyond the walls to seek supplies, as the prowling savages were ever
ready to cut them off. They lived, too, in constant dread of De
Roberval's iron rule; and for the slightest offences they were brought
to the whipping-post, cast into the guardhouse, chained hand and foot,
or led shivering to the gallows. Scurvy, too, broke out, and no Indian
could be found to direct them to the tree whose virtues had once saved
the remnants of Cartier's crew. They fell like the brown leaves before
the frosts of autumn; and the feeble arms of their suffering and
half-starved comrades made the walls resound with the dull thud of the
pick, as they almost daily cut into the hard, frozen ground, to make
ready graves. Those of gentler blood had nearly all succumbed, and no
priest was left to give the last rites to the dead. When spring came,
almost half the colony had disappeared, and those who survived were
naught but living skeletons.
When the ice had left the river, and the snows the land, Roberval
determined to make an effort to explore the great inland seas which had
been depicted on Cartier's map, and if possible to find the spot where
the nugget of gold had been discovered. But he had no idea of the
distances in this vast continent; and after a month's struggling up
turbulent rivers, and over rugged stretches where the foot of white man
had never before trod, he returned disheartened to his settlement. Here
he found that the men he had left in charge had been taking advantage of
his absence to hold high revels, and the wildest confusion reigned in
the fort. Disgusted and hopeless, he resolved to break up his colony and
return to France, his ambition thwarted, his hopes rudely shattered,
and his dreams of glory and renown in the New World faded into nothing
but bitter memories and unvailing regrets.
As he sailed down the Gulf of St Lawrence with the handful of men who
were left to him, he resolved to make one more effort to return to the
Isle of Demons, and learn, at any rate, what he could of the fate of the
three women--though he had no thought of the possibility that they might
have survived. But when the crew learned whither they were bound, they
rose in a body and mutinied. A few of those on board stood by Roberval
in his resolve, but they were overborne, some of them struck down; and
De Roberval, seeing his own life in danger, ordered Jehan Alfonse, who
had returned to his allegiance, a sadder and a wiser man--like his
commander--to steer away for France.
And thus, while Charles skirted the north of Newfoundland, De Roberval
was leaving the mouth of the Hochelaga; and, sailing westward past the
island of Cape Breton, kept on his steady way across the ocean.
On his arrival at La Rochelle, he let the mutineers go unmolested,
fearing lest the story of his niece might be noised abroad. When he
returned to court he reported that both girls had died in the New World.
Rumours of the truth went up and down the land; but the court and the
Church were silent, for the King stood in need of De Roberval. The high
esteem in which he was held led all who learned the tale to believe
that if he had been cruel, his cruelty must have been but the just
punishment of guilt; and for the sake of the ancient and honourable name
of his house, no one dared ask him any questions.
De Roberval threw himself and all his energies into the new war which
was in progress, and in the clash of arms and the excitement of battle
tried to drown the nightmare conscience that gave him no rest by night
or day.
In the meantime La Pommeraye had arrived at Charlesbourg Royal with the
results already narrated. His buoyant nature sank in despair when he
became convinced that he and the nobleman had passed each other on the
broad Atlantic. He had come three thousand miles over dangerous seas to
look upon Marguerite, and now he must re-travel the same weary distance
alone. He bade adieu to Agona, who would have had the fair giant stay
with him, and accompany him and his tribe far past the "leaping waters,"
as they called the rapids at Lachine, for he had planned a great hunting
expedition to the inland seas. La Pommeraye would fain have gone with
him, but even though he thought Marguerite safe in France, he could not
bring himself to stay away from where she was an hour longer than he
could help.
So he sailed down the Hochelaga; and as he wished to bring some return
for his voyage back to France with him, he turned his vessel's head
towards the Saguenay, intending to get a supply of furs from the Indians
of that deep, dark river. The rocky heights, based with rolling
stretches of barren sand, soon rose before him. Far up, he saw the
granite bluffs rising step above step, and he had a strong desire to
follow where they might lead; but Marguerite drew him away. Fortunately
a cluster of wigwams studded the shores about Tadousac, and La
Pommeraye, who had spent a month in that region, with these very tribes,
had little trouble in loading his vessel, at small cost, with a valuable
cargo of furs. From these Indians, too, he heard tales of Roberval's
colony; and as they related in their grave, stoical way the sufferings
the French had endured, and the number of men who had fallen beneath the
iron hand of De Roberval, his heart was moved with pity for his
fellow-countrymen. Of Claude and Marguerite he could learn nothing.
According to the Indians' accounts no women at all answering to Charles'
descriptions had been with De Roberval; and several Montagnais warriors,
who had known Claude when he crossed with Cartier in 1535, and who well
remembered the reserved, dark-eyed young Frenchman, declared that he,
too, had not been at the colony.
This news greatly troubled Charles, and as soon as his vessel was well
loaded, clapping on all sail, he once more sped on his way across the
great northern ocean, which had now lost all its terrors for him.
It was September before his ship reached St Malo, and, after leaving her
in the hands of the merchants who had put money into the enterprise, he
hurried to Cartier, who was in Paris on business, and laid before him
all he had seen and heard.
Cartier had more than a suspicion of the reasons which had induced
Charles first to come back to France, and then to be in such mad haste
to return to Canada. He was a shrewd observer, and had drawn his own
conclusions, but discreetly kept them to himself. He now stood looking
at his stalwart, handsome young friend and fellow-voyager with a great
pity at his heart, and wondered how he could break to him the news of
the rumours he had heard.
"La Pommeraye," he said at last, "my arm is not as strong as it once
was, or I should be more than tempted to strike a blow at a man whom we
once called friend."
"Whom do you mean?" cried Charles, a vague anxiety roused within him at
the sight of Cartier's face.
"I mean De Roberval."
"Why, what has he done? Is there bad news? Tell me at once, I beg of
you! What have you heard?"
"I do not know what he has done. I have seen no one since his return who
was with him at Charlesbourg Royal; but it is rumoured in Paris that
neither Mdlle. de Roberval nor Claude de Pontbriand ever reached
Canada."
For the first time, as he heard those two names coupled together, a
dawning suspicion of the truth rose in La Pommeraye's mind, only to be
swallowed up in the undefined and horrible fear suggested by Cartier's
final words. He rose, with a face like death, and laid his hand on
Cartier's arm.
"Tell me at once what you mean!" he said.
"I know nothing accurately. The only thing certain is, that they did not
return with him. I have heard wild tales, with I know not how much truth
in them, that he put his niece and her companion ashore at Cape Breton
or Newfoundland, and that De Pontbriand, who could not prevent his
dastardly act, threw himself into the sea, and tried to swim to the
shore, but sank ere he reached it."
Charles swore a great and fearful oath. Then he walked over to the
window, and stood with his back to Cartier, looking out into the street.
When he turned round, his face was twenty years older.
"Where is he?" was all he said.
"Act not rashly," said Cartier gently. "It may be mere rumour. I have
tried to verify the tale, but each time I have heard it, it has been
from some one who was never out of France, and it has been told with so
many variations that I have begun to hope that, after all, it has but a
very small foundation in fact."
"I have known that all was not right," replied Charles, "ever since I
left the Indians at Tadousac. Tell me at once where De Roberval is! I
leave no stone unturned till I have found out the truth. Would to God I
had killed him that night on the Sillon!"
"The last I heard of him was that he was in Picardy," returned Cartier.
"But if there is any truth in the story, you are not likely to hear it
from his lips. He landed in Rochelle. Some of his crew are likely to be
found in that town; and, at all events, you will be able to trace some
of them, and learn the facts before you do anything further."
The advice was undoubtedly wise; nothing could be gained by confronting
Roberval with vague accusations. Without a moment's loss of time La
Pommeraye hastened to La Rochelle; but he could find no trace of any one
who had been with Roberval. The sailors had all gone to sea again; and
those of the colonists who were not already in prison once more were on
their way to the seat of war. To the front also had gone the one or two
gentlemen who were known to have returned from the ill-fated expedition.
Strange as it may seem, Charles could obtain absolutely no more definite
information than the vague reports which he had already heard.
He learned that Roberval had taken a number of his men back to Picardy
with him, and was there doing yeoman service for King Francis. La
Pommeraye had done enough travelling in the past few weeks to exhaust a
man of ordinary strength; but he seemed incapable of fatigue. Once more
his horse was saddled, and once more he set off on the familiar road to
Picardy. The long journey was at last accomplished, and he arrived at
the castle as the bleak November winds were sweeping across the land
from the English Channel. Roberval was with a small army five miles
away; but La Pommeraye recognised in one of the servants, Etienne Brule
by name, the man who had escaped uninjured from the famous encounter
with Pamphilo de Narvaez, and who had ever afterwards regarded La
Pommeraye as a being of a supernatural order. This man had been with De
Roberval on his voyage, and from him, after an hour's cross-questioning,
La Pommeraye at last elicited the truth. The remembrance of the horrors
through which he had passed, and his terror of De Roberval's wrath if it
were discovered that he had related the story of the desertion of
Marguerite, seemed to have muddled the poor fellow's wits, and his tale
was wild and incoherent. But he stuck manfully to his assertion that he
had seen Claude reach the shore.
"The others laughed me to scorn," he said, "and some went so far as to
say that they saw the demons drag him down, but I know better. My
eyesight is stronger than theirs, and I saw him rescued and dragged
ashore by the women. But Monsieur will not speak to the Sieur de
Roberval of these things? He foams at the mouth if his niece's name is
so much as mentioned; and he would kill me if he found that I had told
you about her."
Charles heeded not the man's words. Before his eyes he saw a great
pillar of smoke rising up and spreading far over the ocean; he saw his
pilot seize the helm and steer away from the dreaded spot. As the vision
rose before him he cried aloud in the bitterness of his heart, "O God!
Thou art too cruel, too cruel!"