sand,--so that the
place where the ships struck across for the south shore became known as
Blanc Sablon (White Sand). Squalls drove Cartier up the Bay of Islands
on the west shore of Newfoundland, and he was amazed to find this arm of
the sea cut the big island almost in two. Wooded mountains flanked each
shore. A great river, amber with forest mold, came rolling down a deep
gorge. But it was not Newfoundland Cartier had come to explore; it was
the great inland sea to the west, and to the west he sailed.

July found him off another kind of coast--New Brunswick--forested and
rolling with fertile meadows. Down a broad shallow stream--the
Miramichi--paddled Indians waving furs {11} for trade; but wind
threatened a stranding in the shallows. Cartier turned to follow the
coast north. Denser grew the forests, broader the girths of the great
oaks, heavier the vines, hotter the midsummer weather. This was no land
of Cain. It was a new realm for France. While Cartier lay at anchor
north of the Miramichi, Indian canoes swarmed round the boats at such
close quarters the whites had to discharge a musket to keep the three
hundred savages from scrambling on decks. Two seamen then landed to
leave presents of knives and coats. The Indians shrieked delight, and,
following back to the ships, threw fur garments to the decks till
literally naked. On the 18th of July the heat was so intense that
Cartier named the waters Bay of Chaleur. Here were more Indians. At
first the women dashed to hiding in the woods, while the painted warriors
paddled out; but when Cartier threw more presents into the canoes, women
and children swarmed out singing a welcome. The Bay of Chaleur promised
no passage west, so Cartier again spread his sails to the wind and
coasted northward. The forests thinned. Towards Gaspe the shore became
rocky and fantastic. The inland sea led westward, but the season was far
advanced. It was decided to return and report to the King. Landing at
Gaspe on July 24, Cartier erected a cross thirty feet high with the words
emblazoned on a tablet, _Vive le Roi de France_. Standing about him were
the painted natives of the wilderness, one old chief dressed in black
bearskin gesticulating protest against the cross till Cartier explained
by signs that the whites would come again. Two savages were invited on
board. By accident or design, as they stepped on deck, their skiff was
upset and set adrift. The astonished nativ