Jacques Cartier's Voyages
The closing quarter of the fifteenth century in Europe has
usually been regarded by historians as marking the end of the Middle
Ages. The era of feudal chaos had drawn to a close and states were
being welded together under the leadership of strong dynasties. With
this consolidation came the desire for expansion, for acquiring new
lands, and for opening up new channels of influence. Spain,
Portugal, and England were first in the field of active exploration,
searching for stores of precious metals and for new routes to the
coasts of Ormuz and of India. In this quest for a short route to the
half-fabulous empires of Asia they had literally stumbled upon a new
continent which they had made haste to exploit. France, meanwhile,
was dissipating her energies on Spanish and Italian battlefields. It
was not until the peace of Cambrai in 1529 ended the struggle with
Spain that France gave any attention to the work of gaining some
foothold in the New World. By that time Spain had become firmly
entrenched in the lands which border the Caribbean Sea; her galleons
were already bearing home their rich cargoes of silver bullion.
Portugal, England, and even Holland had already turned with zeal to
the exploration of new lands in the East and the West: French
fishermen, it is true, were lengthening their voyages to the west;
every year now the rugged old Norman and Breton seaports were
sending their fleets of small vessels to gather the harvests of the
sea. But official France took no active interest in the regions
toward which they went. Five years after the peace of Cambrai the
Breton port of St. Malo became the starting point of the first
French voyageur to the St. Lawrence. Francis I had been persuaded to
turn his thoughts from gaming and gallantries to the trading
prospects of his kingdom, with the result that in 1534 Jacques
Cartier was able to set out on his first voyage of discovery.
Cartier is described in the records of the time as a corsair--which
means that he had made a business of roving the seas to despoil the
enemies of France. St. Malo, his birthplace and home, on the coast
of Brittany, faces the English Channel somewhat south of Jersey, the
nearest of the Channel Islands. The town is set on high ground which
projects out into the sea, forming an almost landlocked harbor where
ships may ride at ease during the most tumultuous gales. It had long
been a notable nursery of hardy fishermen and adventurous
navigators, men who had pressed their way to all the coasts of
Europe and beyond.
Cartier was one of these hardy sailors. His fathers before him had
been mariners, and he had himself learned the way of the great
waters while yet a mere youth. Before his expedition of 1534 Jacques
Cartier had probably made a voyage to Brazil and had in all
probability more than once visited the Newfoundland fishing-banks.
Although, when he sailed from St. Malo to become the pathfinder of a
new Bourbon imperialism, he was forty-three years of age and in the
prime of his days, we know very little of his youth and early
manhood. It is enough that he had attained the rank of a
master-pilot and that, from his skill in seamanship, he was
considered the most dependable man in all the kingdom to serve his
august sovereign in this important enterprise.
Cartier shipped his crew at St. Malo, and on the 20th of April,
1534, headed his two small ships across the great Atlantic. His
company numbered only threescore souls in all. Favored by steady
winds his vessels made good progress, and within three weeks he
sighted the shores of Newfoundland where he put into one of the many
small harbors to rest and refit his ships. Then, turning northward,
the expedition passed through the straits of Belle Isle and into the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. Coasting along the northern shore of the Gulf
for a short distance, Cartier headed his ships due southward,
keeping close to the western shore of the great island almost its
whole length; he then struck across the lower Gulf and, moving
northward once more, reached the Baie des Chaleurs on the 6th July.
Here the boats were sent ashore and the French were able to do a
little trading with the Indians. About a week later, Cartier went
northward once more and soon sought shelter from a violent gulf
storm by anchoring in Gaspe Bay. On the headland there he planted a
great wooden cross with the arms of France, the first symbol of
Bourbon dominion in the New Land, and the same symbol that
successive explorers, chanting the "Vexilla Regis", were in time to
set aloft from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the Gulf of Mexico. It
was the augury of the white man's coming.
Crossing next to the southerly shore of Anticosti the voyageurs
almost circled the island until the constant and adverse winds which
Cartier met in the gradually narrowing channel forced him to defer
indefinitely his hope of finding a western passage, and he therefore
headed his ships back to Belle Isle. It was now mid-August, and the
season of autumnal storms was drawing near. Cartier had come to
explore, to search for a westward route to the Indies, to look for
precious metals, not to establish a colony. He accordingly decided
to set sail for home and, with favoring winds, was able to reach St.
Malo in the early days of September.
In one sense the voyage of 1534 had been a failure. No stores of
mineral wealth had been discovered and no short route to Cipango or
Cathay. Yet the spirit of exploration had been awakened. Carrier's
recital of his voyage had aroused the interest of both the King and
his people, so that the navigator's request for better equipment to
make another voyage was readily granted. On May 19, 1535, Cartier
once more set forth from St. Malo, this time with three vessels and
with a royal patent, empowering him to take possession of new lands
in his sovereign's name. With Cartier on this voyage there were over
one hundred men, of whom the majority were hardened Malouins,
veterans of the sea. How he found accommodation for all of them,
with supplies and provisions, in three small vessels whose total
burden was only two hundred and twenty tons, is not least among the
mysteries of this remarkable voyage.
The shipbuilders old measure for determining tonnage was to multiply the length of a vessel minus three-quarters of the beam by the beam, then to multiply the product by one-half the beam, then to divide this final product by 94. The resulting quotient was the tonnage. On this basis Cartier's three ships were 67 feet length by 23 feet beam, 57 feet length by 17 feet beam, and 48 feet length by 17 feet beam, respectively. |
The trip across the ocean was boisterous, and the clumsy caravels
had a hard time breasting the waves. The ships were soon separated
by alternate storms and fog so that all three did not meet at their
appointed rendezvous in the Straits of Belle Isle until the last
week in July. Then moving westward along the north, shore of the
Gulf, they passed Anticosti, crossed to the Gaspe shore, circled
back as far as the Mingan islands, and then resumed a westward
course up the great river. As the vessels stemmed the current but
slowly, it was well into September when they cast anchor before the
Indian village of Stadacona which occupied the present site of Lower
Quebec.
Since it was now too late in the season to think of returning at
once to France, Cartier decided to spend the winter at this point.
Two of the ships were therefore drawn into the mouth of a brook
which entered the river just below the village, while the Frenchmen
established acquaintance with the savages and made preparations for
a trip farther up the river in the smallest vessel. Using as
interpreters two young Indians whom he had captured in the Gaspe
region during his first voyage in the preceding year, Cartier was
able to learn from the Indians at Stadacona that there was another
settlement of importance at Hochelaga, now Montreal. The navigator
decided to use the remaining days of autumn in a visit to this
settlement, although the Stadacona Indians strenuously objected,
declaring that there were all manner of dangers and difficulties in
the way. With his smallest vessel and about half of his men,
Cartier, however, made his way up the river during the last
fortnight in September.
Near the point where the largest of the St. Lawrence rapids bars the
river gateway to the west the Frenchman found Hochelaga nestling
between the mountain and the shore, in the midst of "goodly and
large fields full of corn such as the country yieldeth." The Indian
village, which consisted of about fifty houses, was encircled by
three courses of palisades, one within the other. The natives
received their visitors with great cordiality, and after a liberal
distribution of trinkets the French learned from them some vague
snatches of information about the rivers and great lakes which lay
to the westward "where a man might travel on the face of the waters
for many moons in the same direction." But as winter was near
Cartier found it necessary to hurry back to Stadacona, where the
remaining members of his expedition had built a small fort or
"habitation" during his absence.
Everything was made ready for the long season of cold and snow, but
the winter came on with unusual severity. The neighboring Indians
grew so hostile that the French hardly dared to venture from their
narrow quarters. Supplies ran low, and to make matters worse the
pestilence of scurvy came upon the camp. In February almost the
entire company was stricken down and nearly one quarter of them had
died before the emaciated survivors learned from the Indians that
the bark of a white spruce tree boiled in water would afford a cure.
The Frenchmen dosed themselves with the Indian remedy, using a whole
tree in less than a week, but with such revivifying results that
Cartier hailed the discovery as a genuine miracle. When spring
appeared, the remnant of the company, now restored to health and
vigor, gladly began their preparations for a return to France. There
was no ardor among them for a further exploration of this
inhospitable land. As there were not enough men to handle all three
of the ships, they abandoned one of them, whose timbers were
uncovered from the mudbank in 1843, more than three centuries later.
Before leaving Stadacona, however, Cartier decided to take
Donnacona, the head of the village, and several other Indians as
presents to the French King. It was natural enough that the
master-pilot should wish to bring his sovereign some impressive
souvenir from the new domains, yet this sort of treachery and
ingratitude was unpardonable. Donnacona and all these captives but
one little Indian maiden died in France, and his people did not
readily forget the lesson of European duplicity. By July the
expedition was back in the harbor of St. Malo, and Cartier was
promptly at work preparing for the King a journal of his
experiences.
Cartier's account of his voyage which has come down to us contains
many interesting details concerning the topography and life of the
new land. The Malouin captain was a good navigator as seafaring went
in his day, a good judge of distance at sea, and a keen observer of
landmarks. But he was not a discriminating chronicler of those
things which we would now wish to understand--for example, the
relationship and status of the various Indian tribes with which he
came into contact. All manner of Indian customs are superficially
described, particularly those which presented to the French the
aspect of novelty, but we are left altogether uncertain as to
whether the Indians at Stadacona in Cartier's time were of Huron or
Iroquois or Algonquin stock. The navigator did not describe with
sufficient clearness, or with a due differentiation of the important
from the trivial, those things which ethnologists would now like to
know.
It must have been a disappointment not to be able to lay before the
King any promise of great mineral wealth to be found in the new
territory. While at Hochelaga Cartier had gleaned from the savages
some vague allusions to sources of silver and copper in the far
northwest, but that was all. He had not found a northern Eldorado,
nor had his quest of a new route to the Indies been a whit more
fruitful. Cartier had set out with this as his main motive, but had
succeeded only in finding that there was no such route by way of the
St. Lawrence. Though the King was much interested in his recital of
courage and hardships, he was not fired with zeal for spending good
money in the immediate equipping of another expedition to these
inhospitable shores.
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