The Mariner of St. Malo : A chronicle of the voyages of Jacques CartierLeacock, Stephen
History
The Mariner of St. Malo : A chronicle of the voyages of Jacques Cartier
Leacock, Stephen
America -- Discovery and exploration -- French; Cartier, Jacques, 1491-1557; New France -- Discovery and exploration
The Indians were most friendly. When, on September 14, the French had
sailed into the St Charles, Donnacona had again met them, accompanied
by twenty-five canoes filled with his followers. The savages, by their
noisy conduct and strange antics, gave every sign of joy over the
arrival of the French. But from the first Cartier seems to have had his
misgivings as to their good faith. He was struck by the fact that his
two Indian interpreters, who had rejoined the ranks of their
countrymen, seemed now to receive him with a sullen distrust, and
refused his repeated invitations to re-enter his ships. He asked them
whether they were still willing to go on with him to Hochelaga, of
which they had told him, and which it was his purpose to visit. The two
Indians assented, but their manner was equivocal and inspired Cartier
with distrust.
The day after this a great concourse of Indians came again to the river
bank to see the strangers, but Donnacona and his immediate followers,
including Taignoagny and Domagaya, stood apart under a point of land on
the river bank sullenly watching the movements of the French, who were
busied in setting out buoys and harbour-marks for their anchorage.
Cartier, noticing this, took a few of his sailors, fully armed, and
marched straight to where the chief stood. Taignoagny, the interpreter,
came forward and entered upon a voluble harangue, telling the French
captain that Donnacona was grieved to see him and his men so fully
armed, while he and his people bore no weapons in their hands. Cartier
told Taignoagny, who had been in France, that to carry arms was the
custom of his country, and that he knew it. Indeed, since Donnacona
continued to make gestures of pleasure and friendship, the explorer
concluded that the interpreter only and not the Indian chief was the
cause of the distrust. Yet he narrates that before Donnacona left them,
'all his people at once with a loud voice cast out three great cries, a
horrible thing to hear.' The Indian war-whoop, if such it was, is
certainly not a reassuring sound, but Cartier and Donnacona took leave
of one another with repeated assurances of good-will.
The following day, September 16, the Indians came again. About five
hundred of them, so Cartier tells us, gathered about the ships.
Donnacona, with 'ten or twelve of the chiefest men of the country,'
came on board the ships, where Cartier held a great feast for them and
gave them presents in accordance with their rank. Taignoagny explained
to Cartier that Donnacona was grieved that he was going up to
Hochelaga. The river, said the guide, was of no importance, and the
journey was not worth while. Cartier's reply to this protest was that
he had been commanded by his king to go as far as he could go, but
that, after seeing Hochelaga, he would come back again. On this
Taignoagny flatly refused to act as guide, and the Indians abruptly
left the ship and went ashore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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