I have resolved to keep a journal of my travels. This will be a record of the places I will see and some of the people I will meet. It is my hope that, in undertaking this endeavour, I will have some token to pass down to my children, and perhaps they to their children. It has been some weeks since I left home and I think of my family often. I sometimes wish that I could be back at home with them, but I have now reached the age of sixteen and I must make my own way in the world as a man. I trust that God will show me the way.
When I was a child I played with my friends on the wharves along the waterfront and I watched as the ships came back to port laden with furs from the land called Canada. I listened with awe to the tales of adventures on the high seas recounted by Uncle when he returned from months away at sea and I marvelled at the legends told to him by the strange people who live in that far off land. I recall how my mother looked at him with a disapproving frown when he told his tales and how she accused him of filling my head with fantasies. Mother told me they were just stories concocted by Uncle’s overworked imagination and warned me not to take them seriously. She worried that I might one day follow in his footsteps.
Mother wanted me to dedicate my life to the Church and become a priest. Father Morissette had that in mind for me as well. I have always performed well in my schooling and my lessons came easily to me. Not at all like Philippe, who loves to bake breads and pies with Papa but always regarded his lessons as a special form of torture. But the life of a priest is not for me. I want to see new sights and travel to strange new places. I could never take a vow to live my life in poverty and obedience to the Church. Nor, for that matter, could I settle for the life of a lowly baker - even though, as the oldest son, the bakery would be passed on to me. I long for a life of freedom. I want to savour what life has to offer and I do not want someone else to decide which path I will take.
I grew up with a desire to go to that mystical land that Uncle described, and my desire to do so has gotten stronger as I have gotten older. My heart yearns to go to the New World and to see things I would never otherwise have the opportunity to see. I managed to find employment as a cook’s assistant on a ship bound for New France. I am on board one of the ships owned by a Monsieur de Chauvin de Tonnetuit, who was a captain in the French navy for many years. King Henry recently awarded him a fur trading monopoly in New France in honour of his distinguished military career. He plans to set up a permanent trading post in a place called Tadoussac.
My ship is named Don-de-Dieu. Monsieur de Chauvin himself is its captain. Together with his partner, Monsieur Francois Gravé Du Pont, he also owns three other ships: the Espérance, the Bon-Espoir and the Saint-Jean. All four ships set sail from Honfleur two weeks ago.
Monsieur de Chauvin is a good ship’s captain; of that there is no doubt. But he is a hard man who demands absolute obedience from his crew, and I do not wish to ever fall into his bad graces. I suppose a ship’s captain has to be harsh in order to command a crew of rough seamen, but already I have seen men flogged for not carrying out their tasks to his exacting standards. Nevertheless, there are men on this ship who have sailed with him into battle and he has earned their respect and loyalty. In fact, to a man, they all claim they would follow him to the gates of Hell and back again. If those men who fought and risked their lives alongside him trust him absolutely, then I suppose I should as well.
Meanwhile, I shall take great care to avoid his critical eye. I shall pay close attention to my tasks and perform them to the best of my ability, for I do not wish to feel the lash of the boatswain’s whip.