On The 19th Of September, We Hoisted Sail In The Pinnace Accompanied By
Two Of Our Boats, The Captain Taking Most Of His Officers And Fifty
Mariners Along With Him, Intending To Go Up The River Towards Hochelega
With The Tide Of Flood.
Both shores of the river, as far as the eye
could see, appeared as goodly a country as could
Be desired, all
replenished with fine trees, among which all along the river grew
numerous vines as full of grapes as they could hang, which, though quite
natural, seemed as if they had been planted. Yet, as they were not
dressed and managed according to art, their bunches were not so large,
nor their grapes so sweet as ours. We also saw many huts along the
river, inhabited by fishers, who came to us with as much familiarity and
kindness as if we had been their countrymen, bringing us great
quantities of fish and such other things as they had, for which we paid
them in trifles to their great contentment. We stopped at the place
named Hochelay, 25 leagues above Canada,[47] where the river becomes
very narrow with a rapid current, and very dangerous on account of
certain stones or rocks. Many canoes came off to us, in one of which
came the chief man of the place, who made us a long oration, explaining
by signs and gestures that the river became more dangerous the higher we
went, and advising us to take good care of ourselves.
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