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Nearly four centuries ago, in the spring of the year, the banks of the river Thames from Windsor to Greenwich were lined with a multitude of gaily-dressed lieges. Artisans and their wives, tradesmen and apprentices, farmers in smock frocks, gentlemen in doublets and hose, and ladies in farthingales, all came out to snatch a peep of a brave spectacle. From lip to lip ran the news that at last the royal barge in its crimson and gold trappings had set out from Windsor. Bluff "King Hal," as the people affectionately termed their monarch, and his new queen, Anne Boleyn, were that day making their first voyage together down the Thames to the royal palace at Greenwich.

Glance at this spectacle but a moment, for, if an English reader and more familiar with English than with Canadian history, it will serve to fix the date of my story's opening firmly in your mind. The banks are re-echoing with loyal cheers, the State bargemen are plying their oars and the State trumpeters their trumpets, while poor Anne Boleyn, little dreaming of the fate awaiting her, smiles and nods merrily at the crowds who wave their silken kerchiefs in the sunshine. So this first water pageant of the season passes along.

Now, History borrowing something of Romance, has so ordered it that on this self-same day, the 20th of April 1534, when the English King was setting out on the river journey with his new queen, on the other side of the English Channel another and very different embarkation was taking place, and a very different voyage was begun.

The object of this enterprise was far indeed from pleasure, and its consequences were very important and far-reaching, not only to the King of France, but to King Henry the Eighth's successors, the English people and the British Empire of our own day. Different as it was, there was here, too, cheering and waving of caps and cries of "Vive le Roi!" as the soldiers, sailors, and townsfolk on the dock at St. Malo bade lion-hearted Jacques Cartier godspeed on his adventurous voyage to the New World.

At this time, you must bear in mind, more than forty years had elapsed since Christopher Columbus had returned to Spain with tidings of his glorious discovery on the other side of the Atlantic. When Jacques Cartier, son of a Breton mariner, was born, all Europe was still ringing with the news. As the child grew up he heard tales of how often famous mariners had in turn sailed boldly to the west and claimed for Spain, Portugal, and England the lands which might lead to India and serve as gateway to the Spice Islands of the East. Amongst these sailors were John Cabot and his son Sebastian, who, although themselves Venetians, sailed from the port of Bristol and flew the English flag. In 1498 the Cabots explored the whole coast of North America from Labrador to South Carolina, and were the first Europeans actually to land in the country we to-day know as Canada. After the Cabots, who claimed the whole northern lands for England, came, a quarter of a century later, a Florentine navigator, named Verrazano, who declared the entire region annexed to the French Crown. And now, because of Verrazano's claim, King Francis of France was sending Jacques Cartier forth from St. Malo with two little ships and 120 men to explore inland and set up the French flag and a French colony in a New France beyond the sea. So this Frenchman, valiant, lean, and rugged, with his little band of compatriots, sailed away on that April day while Bluff King Hal of England was merrymaking on the Thames, well content with his little isle of England, giving no thought to Empire or distant deeds of discovery and conquest amongst the savage nations of the earth.

Straight towards the setting sun steered Cartier and his men. As they were not buffeted greatly by the waves, in twenty days' time, on the 10th of May, they reached the straits which led to the gulf and river of St. Lawrence. How their hearts leapt when they sighted land! On their left they saw the great island of Newfoundland and on the right Labrador's bleak shores stretched before them. "Surely," cried Cartier, "this is Cain's portion of the earth!" But their spirits rose when they sailed into the Gulf and came to rich forests of pine, maple, and ash, with abundance of blossom and wild berries on every hand. They had been afraid that the interior was as desolate as their first glimpse of Labrador. The few Indians on the banks gazed upon them with a wondering but friendly eye. The explorers were unprepared, too, for the great heat which overtook them. By day the land was bathed in intense sunshine, and at night a gorgeous moon lit up the broad waters, while owls and bats wheeled in air heavily perfumed with wild shrubs and flowers. A bay in which he anchored Cartier called Baie des Chaleurs. Sailing on, he came to a promontory, which he christened Cape Gaspé, where he landed and set up a cross 30 feet high. On its front was a shield with the arms of France. As you travel through Eastern Canada to-day you will frequently come upon crosses by the wayside, where the country folk kneel and say their prayers. This at Gaspé was the first cross erected in New France. While the pious sailors were erecting it a number of red-men flocked near and surveyed the proceeding jealously, as if the white newcomers were about to charm away their land; but Cartier explained as best he could to their medicine-men and distributed amongst them some knives and trinkets, of which he had brought out hither a goodly store.

Having quieted their suspicions, Cartier lured two of the young red-men into his ship, wishing to show them, on his return, to the King. Cartier had meant to continue his voyage much farther westward, but adverse winds met him, wherefore, abandoning this resolution, and taking counsel with his officers and pilots, he decided to set sail for France. As truly as Columbus he had discovered a new world, and from the two natives whom he bore away Jacques Cartier had learnt of the existence of the great river St. Lawrence. So much interest was awakened in France by Cartier's narrative of his voyage, that there was no difficulty about procuring the money for another expedition. The French Court and people were filled with enthusiasm about Canada, and so they continued to be for more than two centuries. How their hope and confidence were rewarded we shall see in due time.

When Jacques Cartier again took his departure from St. Malo, in May 1535, he commanded three ships and 110 sailors. A number of nobles and gentlemen, moreover, belonging to some of the proudest families in France, went with him, eager for adventure. They thought, as marine adventurers often thought in those days, that this time surely they would find the gateway to the passage of Cathay and win wealth untold. But they were not so lucky as at first; the winds were so bad that seven weeks elapsed before Cartier reached the Straits of Belle Isle. From this point the squadron steered for the Gulf St. Lawrence, so named by Cartier in honour of the saint upon whose day it was discovered. Keeping on, as his Indian interpreters bade him do, he sailed up that stream which the Indians called "The Great River of Canada."

Can you wonder at Cartier and his attendant nobles feeling a thrill of excitement as the landscape no white man had ever seen before slowly unfolded itself to view? Opposite the great mouth of the mysterious Saguenay red-men in birch bark canoes came to greet them. Their two interpreters could exchange language with these, although their many months' residence in France had made them very different in appearance from their brother savages of Canada. They wore now slashed crimson doublets and brilliant striped hose, while the massive feathers in their heads caused the Canadian Indians to regard them as chiefs of great renown. Cartier led his ships on to what the natives called "The Kingdom of Canada," which stretched along the St. Lawrence as far as the Island of Montreal, where the King of Hochelaga held his sway. To the fertile Isle of Orleans, which Cartier reached on the 9th of September, he gave the name of Isle of Bacchus, on account of the abundant grape vines growing upon it. From here the explorer could see on the north bank of the great river a towering promontory lit up by the morning sun. This was Cape Diamond, at whose base there crouched the Indian village of Stadacona. Cartier anchored here his little fleet, and the chief of the neighbouring tribe, Donacona, came to greet him, with twelve canoes full of warriors. After a speech of welcome, the women of the tribe, or squaws, danced and sang without ceasing, standing in water up to their knees.

Jacques Cartier was delighted with the country he had discovered, and lost no time in deciding to proceed up the river as far as Hochelaga. Donacona and the other chiefs, on hearing this, did their utmost to dissuade him by inventing stories about the dangers of the river. Perceiving these made little impression on the sturdy sailor, three Indians were forthwith dressed as devils, "with faces painted as black as coal, with horns as long as the arm, and covered with the skins of black and white dogs." Cartier was told that these devils were the servants of the Indian god at Hochelaga, who warned the European strangers that "there was so much snow and ice that all would die." To their astonishment, however, Cartier only laughed at such tricks, and told them that "their god was a mere fool, and that Jesus would preserve them from all danger if they would believe in Him." Wishing also to impress upon them his own great power, he ordered several pieces of artillery to be discharged in the presence of the chief and his warriors; whereupon they became filled with astonishment and dread. Never before had they heard such terrible sounds. What were these strangers who could produce thunder at will? To reassure them, the "pale-face" chief distributed trinkets, small crosses, beads, pieces of glass, and other trifles amongst them and sailed on boldly up the river.

In a fortnight a town, consisting of about fifty large huts or cabins surrounded by wooden palisades, came into view; 1200 souls belonging to a tribe called the Algonquins dwelt here in Hochelaga. The whole population assembled on the banks and gave the visitors friendly welcome. All that night the savages remained on the shore, burning bonfires, dancing, and crying out "Aguaze!" which was their word for welcome and joy. The poor Indians took Cartier and his men for gods. He distributed gifts amongst them and professed to heal their ailments.

Jacques Cartier and the Red-skins

Near the town of Hochelaga was a mountain, to which the Indians conducted their visitors. From the summit this first band of Europeans in Canada gazed down at the wonderful panorama spread before their eyes, glistening rivers, green meadows, and forests of maple brilliant in autumn scarlets and yellows. Naming this lofty eminence Mount Royal, Jacques Cartier and his companions returned to Stadacona. Having decided to spend the winter in Canada, a fort was forthwith built on the shore, but before the little colony could be more than half prepared, a fierce Canadian blizzard was upon them. Never had they known such cold and such tempests. From their lack of fresh food, scurvy rioted amongst them, and out of 110 men 25 died. When the disease was at its height an Indian told them that they could be cured by the juice of a spruce tree. Out of their fort they ran with the axes, and so quickly did they drink the juice that in six days the whole of a great tree had been consumed.

Thus was the little colony made well again. Lest the Indians should know how weak they were during that terrible winter, they continued to dread; but no attack was made upon them, and in the spring Cartier made ready to return to France. This time Donacona and four other chiefs were seized by stratagem and taken on board ship. A cross 30 feet high, with the fleur-de-lys fastened to it, was set up on the shore, and in the middle of May the waters of the St. Lawrence began to bear them down to the Gulf and the open Atlantic. Exactly one month later Cartier was being greeted by the cheers of the people of his native St. Malo.

Alas! Donacona and the other Indian braves whom the French had borne away never returned to Stadacona and their forest haunts. Before Cartier was ready to make another voyage to Canada, five years later, all had pined away and died. It was then that the Sieur de Roberval, a nobleman of Picardy, was appointed by King Francis as lieutenant, with the high-sounding titles of Governor of Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great Bay, and of Baccalaos, as well as Lord of Norembaga, which latter country existed only in imagination. Roberval meant to have gone out with Cartier, but was detained until the following year. On his third voyage Jacques Cartier visited Hochelaga and tried to pass up the river beyond the village, but the dangerous rapids of Lachine caused him to pause. When he returned to France a year later, he took with him some small transparent stones which he supposed were diamonds, but which were really only quartz crystals; he also carried away what he deemed to be gold ore, but which turned out to be merely mica. On the way back he met the Sieur de Roberval, who afterwards built a fort on the St. Lawrence and explored the surrounding country. But Roberval wrought nothing, and famine at length reduced the survivors to a state of abject dependence upon the natives. In vain Roberval entreated the King to come to his rescue with supplies of colonists, food, and ammunition. Instead of acceding to this petition, King Francis despatched orders for his lieutenant to return home to France. Roberval reluctantly obeyed, and thus this first attempt to establish a French colony on the banks of the St. Lawrence ended in failure.

Cartier was allowed by the King to bear always the title of "Captain." He undertook no more voyages into unknown lands, but died about 1577 in his own manor-house close to St. Malo. While he was thus spending his later years in an enforced retirement, eating his heart out for want of adventure, a daring Spaniard, De Soto, was facing dangers at the other and southern end of the Continent, close to the triple mouths of the Mississippi, which he had discovered.

King Francis of France, years before, had been stricken by death, and thereupon his country became plunged in unhappy civil war. Catholic and Huguenot dipped their blades in each other's blood; but in the midst of the long and deadly strife Canada was not wholly forgotten. Frenchmen still spoke with pride of the valiant Cartier and the flag of the lilies which he had unfurled in the Western world.