THE FIRST VOYAGE--THE GULF OF ST LAWRENCE
On June 25 Cartier turned his course away from Newfoundland and sailed
westward into what appeared to be open sea. But it was not long before
he came in sight of land again. About sixty miles from the Newfoundland
shore and thirty miles east from the Magdalen Islands, two abrupt rocks
rise side by side from the sea; through one of them the beating surf
has bored a passage, so that to Cartier's eye, as his ships hove in
sight of them, the rocks appeared as three. At the present time a
lighthouse of the Canadian government casts its rays from the top of
one of these rocky islets, across the tossing waters of the Gulf.
Innumerable sea-fowl encircled the isolated spot and built their nests
so densely upon the rocks as to cover the whole of the upper surface.
At the base of one of these Bird Rocks Cartier stopped his ships in
their westward course, and his men killed great numbers of the birds so
easily that he declared he could have filled thirty boats with them in
an hour.
The explorers continued on their way, and a sail of a few hours brought
them to an island like to none that they had yet seen. After the
rock-bound coast of the north it seemed, indeed, a veritable paradise.
Thick groves of splendid trees alternated with beautiful glades and
meadow-land, while the fertile soil of the island, through its entire
length of about six miles, was carpeted with bright flowers, blossoming
peas, and the soft colours of the wild rose. 'One acre of this land,'
said Cartier, 'is worth more than all the New Land.' The ships lay off
the shore of the island all night and replenished the stores of wood
and water. The land abounded with game; the men of St Malo saw bears
and foxes, and, to their surprise they saw also great beasts that
basked upon the shore, with 'two great teeth in their mouths like
elephants.' One of these walruses,--for such they doubtless were,--was
chased by the sailors, but cast itself into the sea and disappeared. We
can imagine how, through the long twilight of the June evening, the
lovely scene was loud with the voices of the exultant explorers. It was
fitting that Cartier should name this island of good omen after his
patron, the Seigneur de Brion, admiral of France. To this day the name
Brion Island,--corrupted sometimes to Byron Island,--recalls the
landing of Jacques Cartier.
From this temporary halting-place the ships sailed on down the west
coast of the Magdalen Islands. The night of June 28 found them at
anchor off Entry Island at the southern end of the group. From here a
course laid to the south-west brought the explorers into sight of
Prince Edward Island. This they supposed to be, of course, the mainland
of the great American continent. Turning towards the north-west, the
ships followed the outline of the coast. They sailed within easy sight
of the shore, and from their decks the explorer and his companions were
able to admire the luxuriant beauty of the scene. Here again was a land
of delight: 'It is the fairest land,' wrote Cartier, 'that may possibly
be seen, full of goodly meadows and trees.' All that it lacked was a
suitable harbour, which the explorers sought in vain. At one point a
shallow river ran rippling to the sea, and here they saw savages
crossing the stream in their canoes, but they found no place where the
ships could be brought to anchor.
July 1 found the vessels lying off the northern end of Prince Edward
Island. Here they lowered the boats, and searched the shore-line for a
suitable anchorage. As they rowed along a savage was seen running upon
the beach and making signs. The boats were turned towards him, but,
seized with a sudden panic, he ran away. Cartier landed a boat and set
up a little staff in the sand with a woollen girdle and a knife, as a
present for the fugitive and a mark of good-will.
It has been asserted that this landing on a point called
Cap-des-Sauvages by Cartier, in memory of the incident, took place on
the New Brunswick shore. But the weight of evidence is in favour of
considering that North Cape in Prince Edward Island deserves the
honour. As the event occurred on July 1, some writers have tried to
find a fortunate coincidence in the landing of the discoverer of Canada
on its soil on the day that became, three hundred and thirty-three
years later, Dominion Day. But the coincidence is not striking. Cartier
had already touched Canadian soil at Brest, which is at the extreme end
of the Quebec coast, and on the Magdalen Islands.
Cartier's boats explored the northern end of prince Edward Island for
many miles. All that he saw delighted him. 'We went that day on shore,'
he wrote in his narrative, 'in four places, to see the goodly sweet and
smelling trees that were there. We found them to be cedars, yews,
pines, white elms, ash, willows, With many other sorts of trees to us
unknown, but without any fruit. The grounds where no wood is are very
fair, and all full of peason [peas], white and red gooseberries,
strawberries, blackberries, and wild corn, even like unto rye, which
seemed to have been sowed and ploughed. This country is of better
temperature than any other land that can be seen, and very hot. There
are many thrushes, stock-doves, and other birds. To be short, there
wanteth nothing but good harbours.'
On July 2, the ships, sailing on westward from the head of Prince
Edward Island, came in sight of the New Brunswick coast. They had thus
crossed Northumberland Strait, which separates the island from the
mainland. Cartier, however, supposed this to be merely a deep bay,
extending inland on his left, and named it the Bay of St Lunario.
Before him on the northern horizon was another headland, and to the
left the deep triangular bay known now as Miramichi. The shallowness of
the water and the low sunken aspect of the shore led him to decide,
rightly, that there was to be found here no passage to the west. It was
his hope, of course, that at some point on his path the shore might
fold back and disclose to him the westward passage to the fabled
empires of the East. The deep opening of the Chaleur Bay, which
extended on the left hand as the ships proceeded north, looked like
such an opening. Hopes ran high, and Cartier named the projecting horn
which marks the southern side of the mouth of the bay the Cape of Good
Hope. Like Vasco da Gama, when he rounded South Africa, Cartier now
thought that he had found the gateway of a new world. The cheery name
has, however, vanished from the map in favour of the less striking one
of Point Miscou.
Cartier sailed across the broad mouth of the bay to a point on the
north shore, now known as Port Daniel. Here his ships lay at anchor
till July 12, in order that he might carry on, in boats, the
exploration of the shore.
On July 6, after hearing mass, the first boat with an exploring party
set forth and almost immediately fell in with a great number of savages
coming in canoes from the southern shore. In all there were some forty
or fifty canoes. The Indians, as they leaped ashore, shouted and made
signs to the French, and held up skins on sticks as if anxious to enter
into trade. But Cartier was in no mind to run the risk of closer
contact with so numerous a company of savages. The French would not
approach the fleet of canoes, and the savages, seeing this, began to
press in on the strangers. For a moment affairs looked threatening.
Cartier's boat was surrounded by seven canoes filled with painted,
gibbering savages. But the French had a formidable defence. A volley of
musket shots fired by the sailors over the heads of the Indians
dispersed the canoes in rapid flight. Finding, however, that no harm
was done by the strange thunder of the weapons, the canoes came
flocking back again, their occupants making a great noise and
gesticulating wildly. They were, however, nervous, and when, as they
came near, Cartier's men let off two muskets they were terrified; 'with
great haste they began to flee, and would no more follow us.' But the
next day after the boat had returned to the ships, the savages came
near to the anchorage, and some parties landed and traded together. The
Indians had with them furs which they offered gladly in exchange for
the knives and iron tools given them by the sailors. Cartier presented
them also with 'a red hat to give unto their captain.' The Indians
seemed delighted with the exchange. They danced about on the shore,
went through strange ceremonies in pantomime and threw seawater over
their heads. 'They gave us,' wrote Cartier, 'whatsoever they had, not
keeping anything, so that they were constrained to go back again naked,
and made us signs that the next day they would come again and bring
more skins with them.'
Four more days Cartier lingered in the bay. Again he sent boats from
the ships in the hope of finding the westward passage, but to his great
disappointment and grief the search was fruitless. The waters were
evidently landlocked, and there was here, as he sadly chronicled, no
thoroughfare to the westward sea. He met natives in large numbers.
Hundreds of them--men, women, and children--came in their canoes to see
the French explorers. They brought cooked meat, laid it on little
pieces of wood, and, retreating a short distance, invited the French to
eat. Their manner was as of those offering food to the gods who have
descended from above. The women among them, coming fearlessly up to the
explorers, stroked them with their hands, and then lifted these hands
clasped to the sky, with every sign of joy and exultation. The Indians,
as Cartier saw them, seemed to have no settled home, but to wander to
and fro in their canoes, taking fish and game as they went. Their land
appeared to him the fairest that could be seen, level as a pond; in
every opening of the forest he saw wild grains and berries, roses and
fragrant herbs. It was, indeed, a land of promise that lay basking in
the sunshine of a Canadian summer. The warmth led Cartier to give to
the bay the name it still bears--Chaleur.
On July 12 the ships went north again. Their progress was slow.
Boisterous gales drove in great seas from the outer Gulf. At times the
wind, blowing hard from the north, checked their advance and they had,
as best they could, to ride out the storm. The sky was lowering and
overcast, and thick mist and fog frequently enwrapped the ships. The
16th saw them driven by stress of weather into Gaspe Bay, where they
lay until the 25th, with so dark a sky and so violent a storm raging
over the Gulf that not even the daring seamen of St Malo thought it
wise to venture out.
Here again they saw savages in great numbers, but belonging, so Cartier
concluded, to a different tribe from those seen on the bay below. 'We
gave them knives,' he wrote, 'combs, beads of glass, and other trifles
of small value, for which they made many signs of gladness, lifting
their hands up to heaven, dancing and singing in their boats.' They
appeared to be a miserable people, in the lowest stage of savagery,
going about practically naked, and owning nothing of any value except
their boats and their fishing-nets. He noted that their heads were
shaved except for a tuft 'on the top of the crown as long as a horse's
tail.' This, of course, was the 'scalp lock,' so suggestive now of the
horrors of Indian warfare, but meaning nothing to the explorer. From
its presence it is supposed that the savages were Indians of the
Huron-Iroquois tribe. Cartier thought, from their destitute state, that
there could be no poorer people in the world.
Before leaving the Bay of Gaspe, Cartier planted a great wooden cross
at the entrance of the harbour. The cross stood thirty feet high, and
at the centre of it he hung a shield with three fleurs-de-lis. At the
top was carved in ancient lettering the legend, 'VIVE LE ROY DE
FRANCE.' A large concourse of savages stood about the French explorers
as they raised the cross to its place. 'So soon as it was up,' writes
Cartier, 'we altogether kneeled down before them, with our hands
towards heaven yielding God thanks: and we made signs unto them,
showing them the heavens, and that all our salvation depended only on
Him which in them dwelleth; whereat they showed a great admiration,
looking first at one another and then at the cross.'
The little group of sailors kneeling about the cross newly reared upon
the soil of Canada as a symbol of the Gospel of Christ and of the
sovereignty of France, the wondering savages turning their faces in awe
towards the summer sky, serene again after the passing storms,--all
this formed an impressive picture, and one that appears and reappears
in the literature of Canada. But the first effect of the ceremony was
not fortunate. By a sound instinct the savages took fright; they
rightly saw in the erection of the cross the advancing shadow of the
rule of the white man. After the French had withdrawn to their ships,
the chief of the Indians came out with his brother and his sons to make
protest against what had been done. He made a long oration, which the
French could not, of course, understand. Pointing shoreward to the
cross and making signs, the chief gave it to be understood that the
country belonged to him and his people. He and his followers were,
however, easily pacified by a few gifts and with the explanation,
conveyed by signs, that the cross was erected to mark the entrance of
the bay. The French entertained their guests bountifully with food and
drink, and, having gaily decked out two sons of the chief in French
shirts and red caps, they invited these young savages to remain on the
ship and to sail with Cartier. They did so, and the chief and the
others departed rejoicing. The next day the ships weighed anchor,
surrounded by boat-loads of savages who shouted and gesticulated their
farewells to those on board.
Cartier now turned his ships to the north-east. Westward on his left
hand, had he known it, was the opening of the St Lawrence. From the
trend of the land he supposed, however, that, by sailing in an easterly
direction, he was again crossing one of the great bays of the coast.
This conjecture seemed to be correct, as the coastline of the island of
Anticosti presently appeared on the horizon. From July 27 until August
5 the explorers made their way along the shores of Anticosti, which
they almost circumnavigated. Sailing first to the east they passed a
low-lying country, almost bare of forests, but with verdant and
inviting meadows. The shore ended at East Cape, named by Cartier Cape
St Louis, and at this point the ships turned and made their way
north-westward, along the upper shore of the island. On August 1, as
they advanced, they came in sight of the mainland of the northern shore
of the Gulf of St Lawrence, a low, flat country, heavily wooded, with
great mountains forming a jagged sky-line. Cartier had now, evidently
enough, come back again to the side of the great Gulf from which he had
started, but, judging rightly that the way to the west might lie beyond
the Anticosti coast, he continued on his voyage along that shore. Yet
with every day progress became more difficult. As the ships approached
the narrower waters between the west end of Anticosti and the mainland
they met powerful tides and baffling currents. The wind, too, had
turned against them and blew fiercely from the west.
For five days the intrepid mariners fought against the storms and
currents that checked their advance. They were already in sight of what
seemed after long searching to be the opening of the westward passage.
But the fierce wind from the west so beat against them that the clumsy
vessels could make no progress against it. Cartier lowered a boat, and
during two hours the men rowed desperately into the wind. For a while
the tide favoured them, but even then it ran so hard as to upset one of
the boats. When the tide turned matters grew worse. There came rushing
down with the wind and the current of the St Lawrence such a turmoil of
the waters that the united strength of the thirteen men at the oars
could not advance the boats by a stone's-throw. The whole company
landed on the island of Anticosti, and Cartier, with ten or twelve men,
made his way on foot to the west end. Standing there and looking
westward over the foaming waters lashed by the August storm, he was
able to realize that the goal of his search for the coast of Asia, or
at least for an open passage to the west, might lie before him, but
that, for the time being, it was beyond his reach.
Turning back, the party rejoined the ships which had drifted helplessly
before the wind some twelve miles down the shore. Arrived on board,
Cartier called together his sailing-master, pilots, and mates to
discuss what was to be done. They agreed that the contrary winds
forbade further exploration. The season was already late; the coast of
France was far away; within a few weeks the great gales of the equinox
would be upon them. Accordingly the company decided to turn back. Soon
the ships were heading along the northern shore of the Gulf, and with
the boisterous wind behind them were running rapidly towards the east.
They sailed towards the Newfoundland shore, caught sight of the Double
Cape and then, heading north again, came to Blanc Sablon on August 9.
Here they lay for a few days to prepare for the homeward voyage, and on
August 15 they were under way once more for the passage of Belle Isle
and the open sea.
'And after that, upon August 15,' so ends Cartier's narrative, 'being
the feast of the Assumption of our Lady, after that we had heard
service, we altogether departed from the port of Blanc Sablon, and with
a happy and prosperous weather we came into the middle of the sea that
is between Newfoundland and Brittany, in which place we were tossed and
turmoiled three days long with great storms and windy tempests coming
from the east, which with the aid and assistance of God we suffered:
then had we fair weather, and upon the fifth of September, in the said
year, we came to the port of St Malo whence we departed.'