Cartier's Second Voyage
Not for five years after his return in 1536, therefore, did
Cartier again set out for the St. Lawrence. This time his sponsor
was the Sieur de Roberval, a nobleman of Picardy, who had acquired
an ambition to colonize a portion of the new territory and who had
obtained the royal endorsement of his scheme. The royal patronage
was not difficult to obtain when no funds were sought. Accordingly
in 1540 Roberval, who was duly appointed viceroy of the country,
enlisted the assistance of Cartier in carrying out his plans. It was
arranged that Cartier with three ships should sail from St. Malo in
the spring of 1541, while Roberval's part of the expedition should
set forth at the same time from Honfleur. But when May arrived
Roberval was not ready and Cartier's ships set sail alone, with the
understanding that Roberval would follow. Cartier in due course
reached Newfoundland, where for six weeks he awaited his viceroy. At
length, his patience exhausted, he determined to push on alone to
Stadacona, where he arrived toward the end of August. The ships were
unloaded and two of the vessels were sent back to France. The rest
of the expedition prepared to winter at Cap Rouge, a short distance
above the settlement. Once more Cartier made a short trip up the
river to Hochelaga, but with no important incidents, and here the
voyageur's journal comes to an end. He may have written more, but if
so the pages have never been found. Henceforth the evidence as to
his doings is less extensive and less reliable. On his return he and
his band seem to have passed the winter at Cap Rouge more
comfortably than the first hibernation six years before, for the
French had now learned the winter hygiene of the northern regions.
The Indians, however, grew steadily more hostile as the months went
by, and Cartier, fearing that his small following might not fare
well in the event of a general assault, deemed it wise to start for
France when the river opened in the spring of 1542.
Cartier set sail from Quebec in May. Taking the southern route
through the Gulf he entered, early in June, the harbor of what is
now St. John's, Newfoundland. There, according to Hakluyt, the
Breton navigator and his belated viceroy, Roberval, anchored their
ships side by side, Roberval, who had been delayed nearly a year,
was now on his way to join Cartier at Quebec and had put into the
Newfoundland harbor to refit his ships after a stormy voyage. What
passed between the two on the occasion of this meeting will never be
known with certainly. We have only the brief statement that after a
spirited interview Cartier was ordered by his chief to turn his
ships about and accompany the expedition back to Quebec. Instead of
doing so, he spread his sails during the night and slipped homeward
to St. Malo, leaving the viceroy to his own resources. There are
difficulties in the way of accepting this story, however, although
it is not absolutely inconsistent with the official records, as some
later historians seem to have assumed. (Justin Winsor, "Narrative
and Critical History of America", vol. iv., 58.)
At any rate it was in no pleasant humor that Roberval now proceeded
to the St. Lawrence and up to Cap Rouge, where he took possession of
Cartier's post, sowed some grain and vegetables, and endeavored to
prepare for the winter. His company of followers, having been
recruited from the jails of France, proved as unruly as might have
been expected. Discipline and order could only be maintained by the
exercise of great severity. One of the malefactors was executed;
others were given the lash in generous measure. The winter,
moreover, proved to be terribly cold; supplies ran low, and the
scurvy once again got beyond control. If anything, the conditions
were even worse than those which Cartier had to endure seven years
before. When spring arrived the survivors had no thought of anything
but a prompt return to France. But Roberval bade most of them wait
until with a small party he ventured a trip to the territory near
what is now Three Rivers and the mouth of the St. Maurice.
Apparently the whole party made its way safely back to France before
the autumn, but as to how or when we have no record. There is some
evidence that Cartier was sent out with a relief expedition in 1543,
but in any case, both he and Roberval were in France during the
spring of the next year, for they then appeared there in court to
settle respective accounts of expenses incurred in the badly managed
enterprise.
Of Cartier's later life little is known save that he lived at St.
Malo until he died in 1557. With the exception of his journals,
which cover only a part of his explorations, none of his writings or
maps has come down to us. That he prepared maps is highly probable,
for he was an explorer in the royal service. But diligent search on
the part of antiquarians has not brought them to light. His portrait
in the town hall at St. Malo shows us a man of firm and strong
features with jaws tight-set, a high forehead, and penetrating eyes.
Unhappily it is of relatively recent workmanship and as a likeness
of the great Malouin its trustworthiness is at least questionable.
Fearless and untiring, however, his own indisputable achievements
amply prove him to have been. The tasks set before him were
difficult to perform; he was often in tight places and he came
through unscathed. As a navigator he possessed a skill that ranked
with the best of his time. His was an intrepid sailor-soul. If his
voyages resulted in no permanent establishment, that was not
altogether Cartier's fault. He was sent out on his first two voyages
as an explorer, to find new trade routes, or stores of gold and
silver or a rich land to exploit. On his third voyage, when a scheme
of colonization was in hand, the failure of Roberval to do his part
proved the undoing of the entire plan. There is no reason to believe
that faint-heartedness or lack of courage had any place in Cartier's
sturdy frame.
For sixty years following the ill-starred ventures of 1541-1542 no
serious attempts were made to gain for France any real footing in
the regions of the St. Lawrence. This is not altogether surprising,
for there were troubles in plenty at home. Huguenots and Catholics
had ranged themselves in civil strife; the wars of the Fronde were
convulsing the land, and it was not until the very end of the
sixteenth century that France settled down to peace within her own
borders. Norman and Breton fishermen continued their yearly trips to
the fishing-banks, but during the whole latter half of the sixteenth
century no vessel, so far as we know, ever made its way beyond the
Saguenay. Some schemes of colonization, without official support,
were launched during this interval; but in all such cases the
expeditions set forth to warmer lands, to Brazil and to Florida. In
neither direction, however, did any marked success attend these
praiseworthy examples of private initiative.
The great valley of the St. Lawrence during these six decades
remained a land of mystery. The navigators of Europe still clung to
the vision of a westward passage whose eastern portal must be hidden
among the bays or estuaries of this silent land, but none was bold
or persevering enough to seek it to the end. As for the great
continent itself, Europe had not the slightest inkling of what it
held in store for future generations of mankind.
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