the seignorial mansion of
Limoilou--that ancient stone house which is still pointed out with pride
by the Malouins as the residence of their great sailor. When Charles
arrived, he was just about to instal himself and his family in his new
abode.

He was willing to sell him his good ship, _L'Emerillon_, and to do all
in his power to further the success of his efforts, but he was so
evidently reluctant to tear himself away once more from the peaceful
home, whose comfort he was only beginning to appreciate, that Charles
resolved not to keep him to the letter of his promise, but to undertake
the voyage alone. A capable sailing-master, Gaspard Girouard, was found,
_L'Emerillon_ was soon fitted out; and as she was ostensibly merely
going to Canada to bring back a load of furs, more hardy seamen than
were necessary flocked to join her on her voyage.

The April breezes wafted them across the Atlantic without mishap. They
intended to take the southern passage, but a savage spring gale blew
them far out of their course, and they steered away for the Straits of
Belle Isle. The sailors saw, as they skirted the Newfoundland coast, a
distant rocky island on the horizon. As Charles gazed upon it he
noticed smoke curling upwards.

"What strange places," he said, turning to Girouard, "these naked
savages select to abide in! I have wandered much in the wilds of Canada,
but never came on a place that seemed too desolate for them."

"No savages make those fires," said an old sailor who was standing by.
"Yonder is the smoke of hell. That is the Isle of Demons."

La Pommeraye laughed at the absurd superstition, and kept his eye fixed
on the distant point of land with the column of smoke, which seemed to
grow larger with each moment. But darkness soon fell upon the ocean, and
the dim outline of the island at last faded from his view.

Had he but known! That smoke was a signal from the weary watchers on the
island, who, on one of the unhappiest and saddest days of their desolate
lives, saw in that distant sail hopes of release from their cruel
prison. Eagerly they heaped up a huge fire to attract the passing craft,
little thinking that it was in search of them that she was speeding on
her white-winged way.

In a few days _L'Emerillon_ had passed from the Bay of St Lawrence into
the river of Hochelaga. A favouring wind bore her on past the deep,
black mouth of the Saguenay, and soon the Isle of Bacchus was spread
before the sailors' we