The popular estimate of French character dwells overmuch upon the levity or gaiety which undoubtedly marks the Gallic race. {144} France could not have accomplished her great work for the world without stability of purpose and seriousness of mood. Nowhere in French biography are these qualities more plainly illustrated than by the acts of Champlain. The doggedness with which he clung to his patriotic and unselfish task is the most conspicuous fact in his life. Coupled therewith is his fortitude, both physical and moral. In times of crisis the conscript sets his teeth and dies without a murmur. But Champlain enlisted as a volunteer for a campaign which was to go on unceasingly till his last day. How incessant were its dangers can be made out in full detail from the text of the _Voyages_. We may omit the perils of the North Atlantic, though what they were can be seen from Champlain's description of his outward voyage in the spring of 1611. The remaining dangers will suffice. Scurvy, which often claimed a death-roll of from forty to eighty per cent in a single winter; famine such as that which followed the failure of ships from home to arrive at the opening of navigation; the storms which drove the frail shallop on the rocks and shoals of Norumbega; the risk of mutiny; the chances of war, whether against the Indians or the English; the rapids {145} of the wilderness as they threatened the overloaded canoe on its swift descent; the possible treachery of Indian guides--such is a partial catalogue of the death-snares which surrounded the pathway of an explorer like Champlain. Every one of these dangers is brought before us by his own narrative in a manner which does credit to his modesty no less than to his fortitude. Without embellishment or self-glorification, he recites in a few lines hairbreadth escapes which a writer of less steadfast soul would have amplified into a thrilling tale of heroism. None the less, to the discriminating reader Champlain's _Voyages_ are an Odyssey.