Marguerite De Roberval: A Romance of the Days of Jacques Cartier

by Thomas Guthrie Marquis

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.