"--_Page_ 176]
It was now the first week in October, and the rapids in the river above
Hochelaga blocked further exploration with a sailing vessel. As for
going on foot, that was out of the question with winter so near. The
party returned to Stadacona and went into winter quarters. While they
had been gone their comrades had built a palisaded fort beside the
little river where the ships lay moored. They were hardly settled in
this rude shelter before snow began to fall, and seemed as if it would
go on forever, softly blanketing the earth with layer on layer of cold
whiteness. It was waist-deep on the level; the river was frozen solid;
the drifts were above the sides of the ships, and the ice was four
inches thick on the bulwarks. The glittering armor of the ice incased
masts, spars, ropes, and fringed every line of cordage with icicles of
dazzling brightness. Never was such cold known in France. Maclou
thought, whimsically, while his teeth chattered beside the fire, of a
tale he had once told Marguerite of the palace of the Frost King. That
fierce monarch, and not the guileless Indian chief, was the foe they
would have to fight for this kingdom.
Their provisions were those of any ship sent on a voyage into unknown
lands in those days--dried and salted meat and fish, flour and meal to
be made into cakes or porridge, dried pease, dried beans.
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