Old Jacqueline had
said that they needed "room to breathe," and Lescarbot was taking no
chances on this unknown American product.
October came; the Indians showed the white men how to grind corn, and
the carpenters planned a water-mill to be constructed in the spring, to
take the place of the tedious hand-mill worked by two men. Wild geese
flew overhead, recalling to the Frenchmen the legends of Saint Gabriel's
hounds. The forests robed themselves in hues like those of a priceless
Kashmir shawl, and the squirrels, martens, beavers, otters, weasels,
which the hunters brought in were in their winter coats. But the
exploring party had not returned. Lescarbot, who had occupied spare
moments in preparing a surprise for them when they did return, and
carefully drilled the men in their parts, began to be secretly anxious.
But on the morning of November 14, old Membertou, who had appointed
himself an informal sentinel to patrol the waters near the fort,
appeared with the news that the chiefs were coming back.
All was excitement in a moment, although Lescarbot privately had to
admit that he could not even see a sail, to say nothing of recognizing
the boat or its occupants. But the long-sighted old sagamore was right.
The party of adventurers, their craft considerably the worse for the
journey, steering with a pair of oars in place of a rudder, reached the
landing-place and battered, weary and dilapidated, came up to the fort.
Pages:
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317