River City Read Online Free

its access beyond this river island, had seduced him? He had paused in Stadacona only a few days—compelled by the weather, but more importantly by a sense of destiny, a compulsion to prove the island and speak to the Indians there, hear from their lips tales of the marvels over which their island stood guard.
    From the outset, Gastineau had been skeptical of the voyage, reticent to accept the potential of a land beyond the sea. Sailors were impudent liars by nature, clever with a tall tale or an outlandish claim of riches calculated to inspire a king’s investment. The most resilient among them if confronted by a disappointment, Cartier was also the most persistent, both as an explorer and as a spokesman for his cause. Not a trustworthy combination in Gastineau’s mind, an opinion shaken in recent days as a land of astounding scale had arisen before his eyes. The broad hills, the majestic waterway—in all of Europe no river of similar breadth existed. He had already participated in perplexing adventures and conceded that Cartier had never overstated his impressions gleaned from previous voyages. If anything, he should be judged deficient at invoking the continent’s majesty and wonders. Upon reflection, Gastineau had come to believe that he now knew why—for no speech could summon thisdominion to life. What words could recreate its wild enchantment, pay homage to its particular glory?
    Such wonders. Seals by the hundreds of thousands barked at their passage. Whales cavorted in a river far inland from the sea. Seabirds by the millions, their cries louder than the roar of armies. Fish in such thick abundance, at times they reversed a ship’s progress.
    The shape of the world was being forever transformed.
    And what of those they called sauvages? Severe in their smoky tepees, asquat in animal skins, gazing coldly upon him, they stank. Such a foul odour that his eyes watered and he veered towards faint. He had no standing in their midst—he could not announce the king’s name to assure his passage—yet he had been obliged to sit among them, mindful of protocol. On this side of the sea, his very life, he had come to understand, had to be entrusted to the care and acumen of Cartier.
    “Last summer,” spoke the captain of the Émérillon, and he possessed a slow manner of speech, each word carefully considered, which indicated to Gastineau that he had either to be plotting something or maintaining a rigorous mental diary of his lies, “at the approach of autumn, I stood on an island out to sea. I felt the flow of water between my fingers, observed its ripple despite the tide. This confirmed stories told by Indians of a great river. Now we have sailed its upper portion. My friend, the river will continue for miles without end, through what riches? Ask yourself, how vast a land must exist to provide for such a river? The tributaries, the lakes? Together, all the lakes and streams of Europe are no more than puddles and creeks compared to this river! No man has seen its end, the Indians say. So, we are not passing through a narrow barrier to the Orient, the one Verrazano envisioned. He was searching for what he saw in his mind, failing to comprehend what his eyes could plainly see. What lies beyond us is what the Iroquois say: a land without measure. A land, as you may advise our king, rich in diamonds, abundant in gold.”
    The king’s man nodded and continued to watch down the river for the occasional infinitesimal flicker of fire. With the fall of darkness, he could feel the continent rising in his mind, as though to mirror the immensity of the starry space above them, equally as mysterious and unknown. He felt that henow understood why the captain had named his ship after Merlin, a sorcerer. Yet he was a practical man, and checked himself before he was fully undermined by the poetry of this boundless space. “My dear Jacques, my mind has been opened to the girth of the land, yes. But God has not entrusted my eyes with