Cartier glanced at the blue
autumn sky and smiled. No one is quicker than an Indian to read faces.
Daghnacona saw that the white chief intended to go, all the same.
Cartier decided to leave the larger ships where they were, and proceed
up the great river to Hochelaga with a forty-ton pinnace, two boats, and
about fifty men. Early in the morning, before he was quite ready to
start, a canoe came down stream, in which were three weird figures
resembling the devils in a medieval miracle-play. Their faces were jet
black, they were clothed in hairy skins, and on their heads were great
horns. As they passed the ships they kept up a monotonous and appalling
chant, and as their canoe touched the beach all three fell upon their
faces. Indians, rushing out of the woods, dragged them into a thicket,
and a great hubbub followed, not a word of which was understood by the
white men, for the Indian interpreters were there with the rest.
Presently the interpreters appeared on the beach yelling with fright.
"Pierre! Kadoc!" the annoyed commander called from his quarter-deck,
"what is all this hullabaloo about?"
"News!" gasped Pierre. "News from Canghyenye! He says white men not come
to Hochelaga!" And Kadoc chimed in eagerly, "Not go! Not go!"
"Coudouagny?" Cartier repeated to Maclou, completely mystified.
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