"May it please your Majesty," said Charles, "there are no riches there, save a few furs and fish. These might serve to give a St Malo or Roch.e.l.le merchant enough wealth to retire on, and provide for his daughters, but would not go very far towards fitting out a battalion. I had had great hopes of the enterprise, but the experiences of last winter have taught me that nothing is to be gained by our struggles to colonise the barren North. The n.o.ble fellows who are wasting their lives in that sterile land, with only murderers and robbers as companions, would be far better in France, protecting her sh.o.r.es from foreign invasion."

"There is truth in what you say," answered the King, after a moment's pause. "We are much in need of De Roberval. The Picards worship the 'Little King of Vimeu,' and if he does not return, we fear we shall get but scant funds and few troops from the st.u.r.dy men of his province. But what is it that you would have?"

"A ship, Sire," promptly replied La Pommeraye, "manned and provisioned for a voyage to Canada, and permission to Cartier to return in it, and recall Roberval to France."

"_Parbleu!_" said the King, "a modest request! Well, we will consider the matter, and see what course it will be best to take."

"But, Sire," said Charles, his distress and anxiety getting the better of his diplomacy, "the winter draws near, and unless we start at once we shall not be able to reach Charlesbourg Royal till spring."

As he finished speaking, the Duke of Guise, who had been conversing aside with some one near him during the last few sentences, turned to the King.

"May it please you, Sire," said he, "this mad nephew of mine is desirous of a favour at your hands. It seems he owes his life to this gallant gentleman, and he prays me to entreat you to grant him whatever he requests."

As he spoke, Charles recognised in the gay young cavalier, who now came forward, his discomfited antagonist of the adventure on the road to Picardy.

"We have met before," said he, bowing to La Pommeraye. "Sire, this is none other than the redoubtable swordsman whose deeds have been buzzed through the court for a week--to the lasting chagrin of Jules Marchand.

Uncle, if you love me, you owe him a debt of grat.i.tude. That I am not at this moment in heaven, praying for your soul, is due solely to his generosity."

"Nay," interrupted La Pommeraye, "my generosity saved you not; it was the silver star you wore on your breast. I had intended to run you through; but that sparkling bauble caught my eye, and I could not resist the novel experience of tilting at you with my rapier."

A hearty laugh, in which the King joined, rang out from those who stood near, for all knew of the adventure which the mirth-loving Henri of Guise had related with due embellishment.

"We have not had so good a joke since we came to Paris," said Francis, "as that encounter has furnished us. Your doughty deeds deserve a reward. The ship is yours, and Cartier has our permission to go; but we shall not compel him to leave France unless he wishes. And as for manning the vessel, you will have to find some other means, for every son is needed to protect France from our Spanish foes."

So it came about, that at the end of September La Pommeraye found himself once more crossing the Sillon, with power to purchase a ship and start at once to bid Roberval return to France. His first proceeding was to seek out Cartier, and inform him of his successful mission.

He found, however, that the experienced and wary seaman was not to be persuaded into undertaking the voyage before the spring. He displayed small warmth over the concessions of the King; and declared that, owing to the unforeseen delays which had r.e.t.a.r.ded them on the voyage home, it was now so late that it would be madness to attempt to cross the ocean before the winter set in.

"In any case," he said, "De Roberval cannot do otherwise than we have done. This winter will prove to them that their efforts are in vain; they will be forced to return in the spring."

"But," said La Pommeraye, "think of the n.o.ble women with them! The winter will kill them!"

"I did not know they were with Roberval," said Cartier. "I supposed he would have had the good sense to leave them behind."

"I have been in Picardy and in Paris," returned Charles, "and I have learned beyond a doubt that they went with him. We must reach them at once, or the scurvy, cold, or Indians will surely destroy them."

"We shall have to trust to Providence till spring, at all events,"

replied Cartier. "We could not reach the Gulf of St Lawrence before the ice makes. It would be October before we should get under way, and you remember the Hochelaga was bridged just one month later last year. No vessel need hope to make the arduous journey across the Atlantic in less than six weeks."

La Pommeraye, in his impulsiveness, had not thought of this; and as the truth of the sailor's words flashed upon him, he felt that his friends were doomed.

He accepted the inevitable with what stoicism he could, and unable to stay in St Malo, he returned to Paris to fill up his time as best he might until spring arrived. But the gay life about the court had no fascination for him. Dice and the wine-cup failed to attract him, and women marvelled at the handsome young Hercules who displayed such indifference to all their charms. Excitement of a manlier sort he must have; and although there were no battles of any great importance to be fought, the frontier engagements gave abundant opportunity for such swords as his. His old renown soon returned to him; and tales of his wondrous daring found their way to Fontainebleau, to be marvellously enlarged on by his staunch friend and admirer, Henri of Guise.

But he never swerved from his purpose, and as soon as the March sun began to warm the soil, he turned his horse's head towards St Malo.

On his arrival there, he found to his surprise that Cartier was no more enthusiastic over the expedition than he had been in the autumn. That insatiable wanderer seemed at last to have had enough of adventures by sea and land. He had received his patent of n.o.bility from the King, and since the sufferings and discouragements of his last voyage, the prospect of comfort and honours in France seemed to hold more inducements for him than the idea of once more facing the dangers of the deep. His limbs were not so st.u.r.dy as of old, his eye had lost something of its keenness, and the hardships and anxieties of the last winter had left their mark upon him. He had money enough to support him to the end of his days, and he had purchased the seignorial mansion of Limoilou--that ancient stone house which is still pointed out with pride by the Malouins as the residence of their great sailor. When Charles arrived, he was just about to instal himself and his family in his new abode.

He was willing to sell him his good ship, _L'Emerillon_, and to do all in his power to further the success of his efforts, but he was so evidently reluctant to tear himself away once more from the peaceful home, whose comfort he was only beginning to appreciate, that Charles resolved not to keep him to the letter of his promise, but to undertake the voyage alone. A capable sailing-master, Gaspard Girouard, was found, _L'Emerillon_ was soon fitted out; and as she was ostensibly merely going to Canada to bring back a load of furs, more hardy seamen than were necessary flocked to join her on her voyage.

The April breezes wafted them across the Atlantic without mishap. They intended to take the southern pa.s.sage, but a savage spring gale blew them far out of their course, and they steered away for the Straits of Belle Isle. The sailors saw, as they skirted the Newfoundland coast, a distant rocky island on the horizon. As Charles gazed upon it he noticed smoke curling upwards.

"What strange places," he said, turning to Girouard, "these naked savages select to abide in! I have wandered much in the wilds of Canada, but never came on a place that seemed too desolate for them."

"No savages make those fires," said an old sailor who was standing by.

"Yonder is the smoke of h.e.l.l. That is the Isle of Demons."

La Pommeraye laughed at the absurd superst.i.tion, and kept his eye fixed on the distant point of land with the column of smoke, which seemed to grow larger with each moment. But darkness soon fell upon the ocean, and the dim outline of the island at last faded from his view.

Had he but known! That smoke was a signal from the weary watchers on the island, who, on one of the unhappiest and saddest days of their desolate lives, saw in that distant sail hopes of release from their cruel prison. Eagerly they heaped up a huge fire to attract the pa.s.sing craft, little thinking that it was in search of them that she was speeding on her white-winged way.

In a few days _L'Emerillon_ had pa.s.sed from the Bay of St Lawrence into the river of Hochelaga. A favouring wind bore her on past the deep, black mouth of the Saguenay, and soon the Isle of Bacchus was spread before the sailors' weary eyes, green, beautiful, and fresh, with the high Falls of Montmorenci leaping wildly down on the opposite sh.o.r.e. On to Charlesbourg Royal they sailed; and a horrible dread seized La Pommeraye as he approached the place. A dead silence reigned on the steep banks of the broad river. A substantial structure now stood where Cartier had had his rude fort, and its two towers loomed up before the eyes of the Frenchmen. Other buildings could be seen here and there, but no living soul appeared in sight; and in the anchorage, where he had looked for the ships of the colonists, not even a canoe could be seen.

Could they have grown tired of the life here, and started further up the stream--to Hochelaga, perhaps? But no time was to be lost. When the silent sh.o.r.e was within a stone's throw the anchor was run out, and the vessel rested from her long journey. A boat was lowered, and La Pommeraye went on sh.o.r.e and explored the castle-like structure that crowned the heights, the empty halls and chambers, the gaping shelves and bins in the storehouses, the deep and vacant cellars, the great ovens, and the two silent watermills, all told him of the hopes which had filled the heart of De Roberval. Everything had been carefully removed from the place, and there were evident traces of Indians; but as there were no marks of a struggle, and no dead to be seen, Charles concluded that they had merely visited the place to pick up whatever the whites had chanced to leave behind.

A rude plot of ground, with several new-made graves, told him that King Death had visited the young colony, and the high gallows in the square hinted that the stern-willed n.o.bleman had helped the cold and scurvy to lessen the population.

Charles would not return without making sure that his friends had left the New World, and so, after a fruitless search for natives, who seemed to have betaken themselves to better hunting-grounds, he boarded his ship, weighed anchor, and rested not till he was within the shadow of Mont Royal. Here he met a chieftain, Agona by name, whom he had formerly known, and who had taken the place of old Donnacona. From him he learned of De Roberval's sufferings and failure. He could learn nothing definite about Claude or Marguerite, but as there had been other n.o.blemen in the colony, he did not so much wonder at that. But there was no doubt that they had all departed. His journey had been in vain; and with a heavy heart he set about retracing once more all those weary miles which lay between him and the woman he loved.

CHAPTER XII

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 p.r.i.c.k him; and he would have returned for the women whom he had set on sh.o.r.e, 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 a.s.sured 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 a.s.sa.s.sination.

Gaillon himself was quick to divine all that pa.s.sed in Roberval's mind.

His vigilant eye took notice of the slightest signs which revealed the n.o.bleman's att.i.tude 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.bleman'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 quant.i.ty 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.