Читать книгу Samuel de Champlain - Francine Legaré - Страница 13

2 Tourist in Mexico

Of all arts most useful and excellent, navigating has always seemed to me to take first place: while hazardous and fraught with a thousand perils and shipwrecks, it is also worthier than any other, being completely unsuitable to those lacking courage and assurance.

In Samuel de Champlain's time, an Atlantic crossing from Europe to America could take over two months, subjecting ships to all sorts of dangers and offering the sea its share of victims. Storms, lightning, fog, ice, reefs, pirates, and typhus and cholera epidemics were almost the norm on these trips. Madame de Champlain did not recover quickly. “I'll never climb aboard one of those ships again!” she declared to her husband, thinking she had made up her mind for good. And yet, one day she must have had a change of heart because, four years later, she chose to face the horrors of the ocean once more, and return to Paris rather than endure another solitary winter.

But what kind of stuff was her husband made of, he who took regularly to the sea for several weeks, calmly and confidently, the way a peaceful horse is led down a country lane?

His father before him had also been a seagoing captain. Antoine de Champlain, husband of Marguerite Le Roy, had only one son, Samuel, born around 1567. The family lived in Brouage, on the west coast of France, in Saintonge. The small, walled city was then renowned for its salt marshes, among the largest in Europe, and for its prosperous seaport. All year long, French and foreign ships would stop off to pick up a cargo of salt. More than a simple seasoning, salt then played a key role in conserving food. These were heady times for Brouage, and Samuel's youth was filled with the constant coming and going of sailors addressing each other in foreign languages and setting off for distant lands. In port, other ships were leaving for America: local fishermen frequented the cod banks off the coast of Newfoundland and brought back, along with their heavy catch, boastful tales of the islands and unexplored territories. Their nets, filled to the brim, spilled a little of the New World over onto the docks of Brouage. All this was in full sight of the young Champlain.

The sea's presence permeated the city. It ruled the lives of his father and his family, and Samuel, from a very young age, believed that what counted most in life was linked to tides and currents, to setting sail, long absences and exotic new surroundings. His future would be spent sailing the open seas and discovering distant shores. That much was certain.

Among those close to him, an uncle named Guillaume Hallène personified an attainable ideal. An experienced seaman from Marseilles, he had sailed down the coasts of Africa and South America, besides having encountered high adventure as a ship's captain.

“You too, nephew, will experience the swell of tropical waters and the sweet scent of the Brazilian coast. When you're a little more grown up, I'll take you on board.”

The child protested.

“But I'm already big enough to travel with you…”

“When you're a little older. The sea will wait. In a few years it will be your oyster. As far as I'm concerned, there's no other life quite like it.”

Between his trips, the heroic uncle, also called “Captain Provençal,” transported Champlain into a future that couldn't come quickly enough. All the while, he forged links with the boy, links as solid as a ship's moorings.

At this time France was the scene of the Wars of Religion. Catholics and Protestants killed each other relentlessly. Some of the bloodiest confrontations took place in Brouage. In 1585, Champlain was fifteen years old in a city reduced to famine by the Prince de Condé, a fervent Protestant. The struggle intensified: salt was then in great demand, and the victors would control the famous marshes. Epidemics added to the misery. Bombardments spread the terror. Peace seemed a thing of the past.

Given these circumstances, the lure of the sea became even stronger for Champlain. Even the worst storm seemed less cruel than repeated persecution and massacre. For a few years, Samuel worked as a sailor aboard various ships.

In 1593 he enlisted in the army of Henri IV. The League representing Catholic interests fiercely opposed Henri's accession to the throne as a Protestant monarch. Henri benefited from England's help in this new battle, while Phillip II of Spain supported the Catholics because he coveted the French crown for his own daughter. When Champlain joined the army, the French king had just converted to Catholicism, sealing France's unanimity in confronting Spain.

Champlain first served under Maréchal d'Aumont, an authoritarian determined to impose ironclad discipline in the chaos of battle. One day he had thirty of his own men executed for disobedience. The scene left the young soldier with an image of authority of which he only half approved! Certainly being firm-handed was indispensable for imposing order, but firmness could be exercised in other ways than by killing insub-ordinates!

Later he became a billet master, in charge of supplies and barracks for the troops. Obliged to see to daily necessities in the midst of the horror of war, Champlain developed skills that subsequently proved useful when, in the middle of nowhere, he would have to use his ingenuity to find ways to house and feed the colony's first inhabitants.

In 1598, the royal armies won the final victory. Throughout the five previous years, Champlain had had the opportunity to demonstrate his aptitudes and loyalty to his superiors. Influential military chiefs thus introduced him to Henri IV. Samuel was awarded not only a pension in recognition of his services, but more important, the respect and ear of the King.

The war was over. Champlain had been a man of action. Now approaching thirty, how would he use his seafaring and soldiering skills?

Like any mother who loved her son, Marguerite tried to keep Samuel close to her by mapping out a more peaceful future for him than the one he had known until then.

“You could live in Brouage, and farm the land,” she suggested to him innocently.

“I don't think the land would appreciate being mistreated by me,” Champlain retorted, laughing – he who had never shown the slightest interest in how things grew.

“Where will you head off to, then?”

He didn't know exactly. But Marguerite would have been even more worried had she known what was going on in her son's mind. For Champlain's goals were lofty and encompassed discovering the world.

After this war in which Champlain distinguished himself, peace accords allowed Spain to repatriate its numerous soldiers taken prisoner. Waiting to return to their country, the men were detained at Port Blavet, in Brittany. Who should be found there, pacing the docks of the port, but the famous uncle? Captain Provençal was not only a well-known navigator in his own country, but had also made his mark abroad. The King of Spain entrusted him with the mission of bringing back the prisoners aboard his ship, the St. Julien. The uncle informed his nephew he was welcome to come along, and Samuel accepted with alacrity.

On July 15, 1598, the St. Julien, an imposing vessel that had already sailed to Newfoundland, lifted anchor. Champlain learned the ropes during the voyage, which included several perilous episodes: they struck some rocks in the fog and were completely immobilized for several days. After six weeks, the ship arrived at the Spanish port of Cadiz.

“Finally!” proclaimed Captain Provençal on deck, opening his arms wide, glad to be back in this city where he had his second residence. “Stay as long as you like, Samuel. Here you are at home!” The offer came at just the right time. After the harshness of army life, the vineyards, olive trees, and flower banks of Spain were entrancing in the autumn sunshine.

The nephew spent four months in Cadiz and in Seville, to the north. He toured the area, made contacts, drew maps of the cities he was discovering. He went where he pleased and sometimes would join his uncle. One day, they were meandering together down a small, bustling street in Cadiz, where the fish market gave off its smell of the sea in the morning air.

“Would you be willing to go back on board?” Guillaume Hallène suddenly asked in a mysterious tone.

Samuel looked at him inquiringly.

“Say… to the West Indies?”

“Are you really asking me?” Samuel replied, picturing himself there that very minute.

The name “West Indies” had been given to the islands explored one hundred years earlier by Italian navigator Christopher Columbus and other discoverers searching for a passage to India; at this time, the islands were under Spanish rule. Reportedly, they were laden with gold, silver, rare varieties of trees and exotic fruit. Yet these reports were more than just stories: by the shipload, Spain was stripping its colonies of riches. The European powers fiercely disputed Spain's right to these possessions. The ships' cargoes were frequently plundered by pirates from England, France, and Holland.

As for the two men making their plans, they were now discussing the island of Puerto Rico, then besieged by an English fleet. In response to the attack, the King of Spain was preparing to send over two thousand men and twenty ships. The St. Julien would be among them.

“Will you come with me?” asked the shipowner.

Champlain, dumbfounded, took time to reflect on what was happening to him. Barely freed from his military obligations, he was being asked to cross the Atlantic for the first time, on behalf of a country he had come to appreciate during the last weeks. The setting would be the Caribbean: he had always hoped to see such places of conquest for himself, the most intoxicating imaginable. He pictured himself over there. He would keep a journal to inform the King of each expedition and its outcome. He would discuss in detail the geographical particularities of the coasts and draw precise navigational maps. Decidedly, for Champlain, who dreamed of something other than planting cabbage in his native land, the offer was enticing.

Reining in his emotion before the start of such an adventure, he kept his expression solemn, befitting the man he had become, the officer he had been, and the experienced navigator he promised he soon would be.

“It seems a reasonable prospect,” he conceded.

Soon after this conversation, it was discovered that Puerto Rico had indeed fallen into English hands. From then on, mobilization of troops was halted. The fleet remained in port and the St. Julien went nowhere. With regret, Champlain saw the string of Caribbean islands disappear.

Not long after, a Spanish admiral named Francisco Coloma took note of the uncle's ship: the vessel seemed rapid, trustworthy, and likely to join the fleet that cast off every year and headed for the West Indies. Don Coloma called upon Captain Provençal, who said he would be happy to accompany the mission. In the days before setting sail, a new difficulty arose: the uncle was called away on an urgent matter. How would that affect his nephew's role in the venture? Without his sailmaster, Samuel was not sure he would be allowed to leave.

“Providence seems to be holding me back!” Champlain bemoaned, nervously pacing up and down Guillaume Hallène's garden.

“Let me convince Don Coloma that you'd be an asset to me!” the captain reassured him.

His powers of persuasion were successful. In February 1599, Champlain departed with the admiral's fleet. Two months later, the islands were in sight. Passing one island after another, they reached San Juan, the gateway to Puerto Rico. The conquering English were no longer there; yellow fever, spreading wildly, had forced them to flee. Beforehand, they had burned houses and made off with a precious booty of leather, sugar, ginger, and silver. Pleased nonetheless by this outcome, the Spanish remained in Puerto Rico for a month.

Champlain, already at work on reporting his mission, drew geographical maps and sketched tropical plants and fruit trees. He made observations on the earth's fertility and the appearance of the ports. As befitting a Frenchman, he also took inventory of what he ate: unusually large lemons, delicious papayas, heart-shaped fruit that tasted like sweet cream. In Puerto Rico he drew one of the local reptiles, labelled the drawing a chameleon, and addéd it to his thorough explanations. These creatures disconcerted him. He had been told that they lived simply off the air they breathed, which he doubted.

Later, Champlain stopped off at other islands, such as Santo Domingo, today the territory of the Dominican Republic and Haiti, and the Cayman Islands. From time to time, they had to defend themselves against pirates. The voyage continued on to Mexico.

Mexico… This country of apparently inexhaustible riches had long fascinated Champlain. However, his stay in the Aztec homeland showed him both the best and worst of it.

First the marvel of discovery! He wrote in his journal that no one could imagine a country more beautiful than this kingdom of New Spain. The forests there were the most majestic imaginable and featured a remarkable variety of birds. The uniformly gentle and green countryside was dotted with flocks of animals that fed year round on cool grass in this Eden-like climate, watered just enough by nighttime dew. The fruit was beautiful, luscious, abundant.

All this filled Champlain with a deep sense of contentment. The experience culminated with the sight of Mexico City. He raved that it was superbly filled with beautiful temples, palaces, and magnificent houses! The main roads were well planned and bordered with luxurious shops. As for the population of Mexico City, Champlain estimated that about fifteen thousand Spaniards and almost a hundred thousand native people lived there, along with numerous black slaves brought over from Africa.

However, his fascination was mingled with shame: here he was associated with a colonial power that, following the conquest, had ruled as a cruel invader. Becoming more familiar with Mexico, he realized that behind the facade of great homes and gardens of the rich lay the fear that consumed the indigenous communities. For them, Spain's intrusion into their land and mountains had ushered in death and slavery.

“The stories of the people who survived such barbarity is pitiful. Some of the methods used fill me with disgust,” Samuel de Champlain declared angrily while discussing the subject with one of the high-ranking officers of the Spanish squadron. “I have seen them of late, harshly forced to adopt a religion not their own.”

“They will grow accustomed to it, Master Champlain,” the other replied haughtily. “Spain is at home in this country.”

“They are converting, you're right. And it saddens them. I see it in their eyes. Is that the will of the Church?”

Native people reduced to this condition had told him that they never missed mass. Not even once. For if they did, they would be beaten or killed. Fervent Catholic that he was, Champlain was convinced, like all the missionaries working in this country, that only one faith existed. But the French visitor could not help but think that there existed more humane methods of illuminating the way for ignorant souls.

The stay in Mexico drew to a close. Champlain remained there a month. On one of the last nights, when he couldn't sleep, he strolled through a forest. From time to time, the moon emerged from a cover of cloud and he discerned what he thought were palms, cedars, laurels, and wild guava trees. Suddenly, in total darkness, he stared in fascination at a mysterious phenomenon.

Was the sailor hallucinating or was he truly seeing hundreds of tiny, flickering lights? Surprised, he watched. The sight continued, silently.

Thoroughly intrigued, the nocturnal stroller was treated, for the first time, to a dance of fireflies.

There is a kind of little animal, as large as a beetle; they fly at night, and light up the air so brightly that they resemble small candles. If a man had three or four of these little creatures, no bigger than hazelnuts, he could read at night just as well as with a candle.