ere to play the principal
part for the next two centuries and a quarter.

Every text-book tells us that Jacques Cartier was the great French
pioneer and explains his general significance in the history of Canada.
But no books explain his peculiar significance from the nautical point
of view, though he came on the eve of the most remarkable change for
the better that was ever made in the art of handling vessels under
sail. He was both the first and the last mediaeval seaman to appear on
Canadian inland waters. Only four years after his discovery of the St
Lawrence, an Englishman, Fletcher of Rye, astonished the seafaring
world of 1539 by inventing a rig with which a ship could beat to
windward with sails trimmed {47} fore and aft. This invention
introduced the era of modern seamanship. But Cartier has another, and
much more personal, title to nautical fame, for he was the first and
one of the best of Canadian hydrographers, and he wrote a book
containing some descriptions worthy of comparison with those in the
official 'Pilots' of to-day. This book, well called his _Brief Recit
et Succincte Narration_, is quite as easy for an Englishman to read in
French as Shakespeare is for a Frenchman to read in English. It
abounds in acute observations of all kinds, but particularly so in its
sailing directions. Compare, for instance, his remarks on Cumberland
Harbour with those made in the latest edition of the _St Lawrence
Pilot_ after the surveys of four hundred years. Or take his few,
exact, and graphic words about Isle-aux-Coudres and compare them with
the entries made by the sailing masters of the British fleet that used
this island as a naval base during the great campaign for the winning
of Canada in 1759. In neither case will Cartier suffer by comparison.
He was captain, discoverer, pilot, and surveyor, all in one; and he
never failed to make his mark, whichever role he undertook.

Like all the explorers, Jacques Cartier had his {48} troubles with his
crews. The average man of any time cannot be expected to have the
sustained enthusiasm, much less the manifold interest, which inspires
his leader. Nearly every commander of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and
seventeenth centuries had to face mutiny; and, even apart from what
might be called natural causes, men of that time were quite ready to
mutiny for what seem now the most absurd of reasons. Some crews would
not sail past the point of Africa for fear of turning blac