The Conquest of Canada, Vol. 1

CHAPTER I.

The philosophers of remote antiquity acquired the important knowledge of the earth's spherical form; to their bold genius we are indebted for the outline of the geographical system now universally adopted. With a vigorous conception, but imperfect execution, they traced out the scheme of denoting localities by longitude and latitude: according to their teaching, the imaginary equatorial line, encompassing the earth, was divided into hours and degrees.

Even at that distant period hardy adventurers had penetrated far away into the land of the rising sun, and many a wondrous tale was told of that mysterious empire, where one third of our fellow-men still stand apart from the brotherhood of nations. Among the various and astounding exaggerations induced by the vanity of the narrators, and the ignorance of their audience, none was more ready than that of distance. The journey, the labor of a life; each league of travel a new scene; the day crowded with incident, the night a dream of terror or admiration. Then, as the fickle will of the wanderer suggested, as the difficulties or encouragement of nature, and the hostility or aid of man impelled, the devious course bent to the north or south, was hastened, hindered, or retraced.

By such vague and shadowy measurement as the speculations of these wanderers supplied, the sages of the past traced out the ideal limits of the dry land which, at the word of God, appeared from out the gathering together of the waters.

The most eminent geographer before the time of Ptolemy places the confines of Seres--the China of to-day--at nearly two thirds of the distance round the world, from the first meridian. Ptolemy reduces the proportion to one half. Allowing for the supposed vast extent of this unknown country to the eastward, it was evident that its remotest shores approached our Western World. But, beyond the Pillars of Hercules, the dark and stormy waters of the Atlantic forbade adventure. The giant minds of those days saw, even through the mists of ignorance and error, that the readiest course to reach this distant land must lie toward the setting sun, across the western ocean. From over this vast watery solitude no traveler had ever brought back the story of his wanderings. The dim light of traditionary memory gave no guiding ray, the faint voice of rumor breathed not its mysterious secrets. Then poetic imagination filled the void; vast islands were conjured up out of the deep, covered with unheard-of luxuriance of vegetation, rich in mines of incalculable value, populous with a race of conquering warriors. But this magnificent vision was only created to be destroyed; a violent earthquake rent asunder in a day and a night the foundations of Atlantis, and the waters of the Western Ocean swept over the ruins of this once mighty empire. In after ages we are told, that some Phoenician vessels, impelled by a strong east wind, were driven for thirty days across the Atlantic: there they found a part of the sea where the surface was covered with rushes and sea-weed, somewhat resembling a vast inundated meadow. The voyagers ascribed these strange appearances to some cause connected with the submerged Atlantis, and even in later years they were held by many as confirmation of Plato's marvelous story.

In the Carthaginian annals is found the mention of a fertile and beautiful island of the distant Atlantic. Many adventurous men of that maritime people were attracted thither by the delightful climate and the riches of the soil; it was deemed of such value and importance that they proposed to transfer the seat of their republic to its shores in case of any irreparable disaster at home. But at length the Senate, fearing the evils of a divided state, denounced the distant colony, and decreed the punishment of death to those who sought it for a home. If there be any truth in this ancient tale, it is probable that one of the Canary Islands was its subject.

Although the New World in the West was unknown to the ancients, there is no doubt that they entertained a suspicion of its existence; the romance of Plato--the prophecy of Seneca, were but the offsprings of this vague idea. Many writers tell us it was conjectured that, by sailing from the coast of Spain, the eastern shores of India might be reached; the length of the voyage, or the wonders that might lie in its course, imagination alone could measure or describe. Whatever might have been the suspicion or belief of ancient time, we may feel assured that none then ventured to seek these distant lands, nor have we reason to suppose that any of the civilized European races gave inhabitants to the New World before the close of the fifteenth century.

To the barbarous hordes of Northeastern Asia America must have long been known as the land where many of their wanderers found a home. It is not surprising that from them no information was obtained; but it is strange that the bold and adventurous Northmen should have visited it nearly five hundred years before the great Genoese, and have suffered their wonderful discovery to remain hidden from the world, and to become almost forgotten among themselves.

In the year 1001 the Icelanders touched upon the American coast, and for nearly two centuries subsequent visits were repeatedly made by them and the Norwegians, for the purpose of commerce or for the gratification of curiosity. Biorn Heriolson, an Icelander, was the first discoverer: steering for Greenland, he was driven to the south by tempestuous and unfavorable winds, and saw different parts of America, without, however, touching at any of them. Attracted by the report of this voyage, Leif, son of Eric, the discoverer of Greenland, fitted out a vessel to pursue the same adventure. He passed the coast visited by Biorn, and steered southwest till he reached a strait between a large island and the main land. Finding the country fertile and pleasant, he passed the winter near this place, and gave it the name of Vinland, from the wild vine which grew there in great abundance. The winter days were longer in this new country than in Greenland, and the weather was more temperate.

Leif returned to Greenland in the spring; his brother Thorvald succeeded him, and remained two winters in Vinland exploring much of the coast and country. In the course of the third summer the natives, now called Esquimaux, were first seen; on account of their diminutive stature the adventurers gave them the name of Skraelingar. These poor savages, irritated by an act of barbarous cruelty, attacked the Northmen with darts and arrows, and Thorvald fell a victim to their vengeance. A wealthy Icelander, named Thorfinn, established a regular colony in Vinland soon after this event; the settlers increased rapidly in numbers, and traded with the natives for furs and skins to great advantage. After three years the adventurers returned to Iceland enriched by the expedition, and reported favorably upon the new country. Little is known of this settlement after Thorfinn's departure till early in the twelfth century, when a bishop of Greenland went there to promulgate the Christian faith among the colonists; beyond that time scarcely a notice of its existence occurs, and the name and situation of the ancient Vinland soon passed away from the knowledge of man. Whether the adventurous colonists ever returned, or became blended with the natives, or perished by their hands, no record remains to tell.

Discoveries such as these by the ancient Scandinavians--fruitless to the world and almost buried in oblivion--can not dim the glory of that transcendant genius to whom we owe the knowledge of a New World.

The claim of the Welsh to the first discovery of America seems to rest upon no better original authority than that of Meridith-ap-Rees, a bard who died in the year 1477. His verses only relate that Prince Madoc, wearied with dissensions at home, searched the ocean for a new kingdom. The tale of this adventurer's voyages and colonization was written one hundred years subsequent to the early Spanish discoveries, and seems to be merely a fanciful completion of his history: he probably perished in the unknown seas. It is certain that neither the ancient principality nor the world reaped any benefit from these alleged discoveries.

In the middle of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries, the Venetian Marco Polo and the Englishman Mandeville awakened the curiosity of Europe with respect to the remote parts of the earth. Wise and discerning men selected the more valuable portions of their observations; ideas were enlarged, and a desire for more perfect information excited a thirst for discovery. While this spirit was gaining strength in Europe, the wonderful powers of the magnet were revealed to the Western World. The invention of the mariner's compass aided and extended navigation more than all the experience and adventure of preceding ages: the light of the stars, the guidance of the sea-coast, were no longer necessary; trusting to the mysterious powers of his new friend, the sailor steered out fearlessly into the ocean, through the bewildering mists or the darkness of night.

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