the oakum
became loose in the seams; and on the second day out it was found that
the vessel had sprung a leak. Pump as they would, they could not lessen
the water in the hold; and though La Pommeraye would fain have held on
his way, discretion compelled him to turn his vessel's head about, and
run for the port he had just left.

When he reached harbour, the deck of the ship was almost to the water's
edge. There was nothing to do but to run her ashore. When the water was
pumped out of her, it was found that she was in a badly strained
condition, and that several planks in her hull were completely
worm-eaten. She had to be drawn up high and dry, and carpenters set to
work to give her a thorough overhauling. By the time she was again ready
for sea, the January snows had begun to whiten the fields about St Malo.
Nothing daunted, La Pommeraye determined to venture again, and Etienne
stood by him; but when they came to look for their crew, they found that
the fellows had all fled St Malo, and could not be found. No other men
were willing to take their places; and through the winter, La Pommeraye,
like one distraught, went up and down the streets seeking seamen. But
none would join his expedition. The inhabitants of the town came to look
upon him as mad, and wondered what evil influence there could be in the
New World dragging him to it. Even the merchants regretted the money put
into the venture; but Cartier would not let them withdraw.

It was not until spring that the _Marie_, for so the little craft was
called, was ready for sea, fully manned once more. Just when the March
showers were beginning to rejuvenate the earth she drew away from the
town; and Cartier, who stood on the wall watching her go forth, wondered
what the end would be. It could only be tragic. No company could live
through two dreary winters on a lonely island without losing some of
their number, and he doubted not that all were dead. He half regretted,
as he watched his friend's sail drop down beneath the horizon, that he
had not gone with him. But the three disappointments the New World had
already given him made him dread its shores, and he shuddered as he
thought of the gruesome tidings which must await La Pommeraye on that
lonely northern isle. He shuddered, too, as he thought of De Roberval.
Fate is sometimes slow-footed, but he felt certain that it must at last
rush with unerring speed to the destruction of the man who had wrecked
so many lives.