nt was tried. The
sick men drank copiously of the healing draught,--so copiously indeed
that in six days they drank a tree as large as a French oak. Thus
vigorously assailed, the distemper relaxed its hold, and health and hope
began to revisit the hapless company.

When this winter of misery had worn away, and the ships were thawed
from their icy fetters, Cartier prepared to return. He had made notable
discoveries; but these were as nothing to the tales of wonder that had
reached his ear,--of a land of gold and rubies, of a nation white like
the French, of men who lived without food, and of others to whom Nature
had granted but one leg. Should he stake his credit on these marvels? It
were better that they who had recounted them to him should, with their
own lips, recount them also to the King, and to this end he resolved
that Donnacona and his chiefs should go with him to court. He lured them
therefore to the fort, and led them into an ambuscade of sailors, who,
seizing the astonished guests, hurried them on board the ships. Having
accomplished this treachery, the voyagers proceeded to plant the emblem
of Christianity. The cross was raised, the fleur-de-lis planted near it,
and, spreading their sails, they steered for home. It was the sixteenth
of July, 1536, when Cartier again cast anchor under the walls of St.
Malo.

A rigorous climate, a savage people, a fatal disease, and a soil
barren of gold were the allurements of New France. Nor were the times
auspicious for a renewal of the enterprise. Charles the Fifth, flushed
with his African triumphs, challenged the Most Christian King to single
combat. The war flamed forth with renewed fury, and ten years elapsed
before a hollow truce varnished the hate of the royal rivals with a thin
pretence of courtesy. Peace returned; but Francis the First was sinking
to his ignominious grave, under the scourge of his favorite goddess, and
Chabot, patron of the former voyages, was in disgrace.

Meanwhile the ominous adventure of New France had found a champion in
the person of Jean Francois de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval, a nobleman
of Picardy. Though a man of high account in his own province, his past
honors paled before the splendor of the titles said to have been now
conferred on him, Lord of Norembega, Viceroy and Lieutenant-General
in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt,
Labrador, the Great Bay, and Baccalaos. To this windy gift of ink and
parchment w