They replied, that the god Coudonagny had
sent to warn the French against all attempts to ascend the great river,
since, should they persist, snows, tempests, and drifting ice would
requite their rashness with inevitable ruin. The French replied that
Coudonagny was a fool; that he could not hurt those who believed in
Christ; and that they might tell this to his three messengers. The
assembled Indians, with little reverence for their deity, pretended
great contentment at this assurance, and danced for joy along the beach.
Cartier now made ready to depart. And, first, he caused the two larger
vessels to be towed for safe harborage within the mouth of the St.
Charles. With the smallest, a galleon of forty tons, and two open boats,
carrying in all fifty sailors, besides Pontbriand, La Pommeraye, and
other gentlemen, he set out for Hochelaga.
Slowly gliding on their way by walls of verdure brightened in the
autumnal sun, they saw forests festooned with grape-vines, and waters
alive with wild-fowl; they heard the song of the blackbird, the thrush,
and, as they fondly thought, the nightingale. The galleon grounded; they
left her, and, advancing with the boats alone, on the second of October
neared the goal of their hopes, the mysterious Hochelaga.
Just below where now are seen the quays and storehouses of Montreal, a
thousand Indians thronged the shore, wild with delight, dancing,
singing, crowding about the strangers, and showering into the boats
their gifts of fish and maize; and, as it grew dark, fires lighted up
the night, while, far and near, the French could see the excited savages
leaping and rejoicing by the blaze.
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