Nobody slept that night. About ten o'clock the Admiral, gazing from the top of the castle built up on the poop of the Santa Maria, thought that far away in the warm darkness he saw a glancing light.

"Pedro," he said to the boy near him, "do you see a light out there? Yes? Call Senor Gutierrez and we will see what he makes of it. I have come to the pass where I do not trust my own eyes."

Gutierrez saw it, but when Sanchez of Segovia came up, the light had vanished. It seemed to come and go as if it were a torch in a fishing-boat or in the hand of some one walking. But at two in the morning a gun boomed from the Pinta. Rodrigo de Triana, one of the seamen, had seen land from the mast-head.

The sudden sunrise of the tropics revealed a green Paradise lapped in tranquil seas. The ships must have come up toward it between sunset and midnight. No one had been able to imagine with any certainty what morning would show. But this was no seaport, or coast of any civilized land. People were coming down to the shore to watch the approach of the ships, but they were wild people, naked and brown, and the sight was evidently perfectly new to them.

The Admiral ordered the ships to cast anchor, and the boats were manned and armed. He himself in a rich uniform of scarlet held the royal banner of Castile, while the brothers Pinzon, commanders of the Pinta and the Nina, in their boats, had each a banner emblazoned with a green cross and the crowned initials of the sovereigns, Fernando and Ysabel. The air was clear and soft, the sea was almost transparent, and strange and beautiful fruits could be seen among the rich foliage of the trees along the shore. The Admiral landed, knelt and kissed the earth, offering thanks to God, with tears in his eyes; and the other captains followed his example. Then rising, he drew his sword, and calling upon all who gathered around him to witness his action, took possession of the newly-discovered island in the name of his sovereigns, and gave it the name of San Salvador (Holy Savior).

The wild people, terrified at the sight of men coming toward them from these great white-winged birds, as they took the ships to be, ran away to the woods, but they presently returned, drawn by irresistible curiosity. They had no weapons of iron, and one of them innocently took hold of a sword by the edge. They were delighted with the colored caps, glass beads, hawk-bells and other trifles which were given to them, and brought the strangers great balls of spun cotton, cakes of cassava bread, fruits, and tame parrots. Pedro went everywhere, and saw everything, as only a boy could. Later, when the flagship was cruising among the islands, and the Admiral, worn out by long anxiety, lay asleep in his cabin, the helmsman, smothering a mighty yawn, called Pedro to him.

"See here, young chap," he said, "we are running along the shore of this island and there is no difficulty—take my place will you, while I get a nap?"

The boy hesitated. He would have asked his master, but his master was asleep, and must not be awakened. This helmsman, moreover, was one of the men who had been kind to him, ready to answer his questions regarding navigation, and loyal to the Admiral. Moreover it was not quite the first time that Pedro had been allowed to take this responsibility. He accepted it now. The man staggered away and lost himself in heavy sleep almost before he lay down.

It was one of the still, breathless nights of the tropic seas. Pedro's small strong hands had not grasped the helm for a half-hour before the wind freshened, and then a tremendous gust swept down upon the flagship hurling her right upon the unknown shore. Pedro strove desperately with the fearful odds, but before the half-awakened sailors heard his call the Santa Maria was past repair. No lives were lost, but the Admiral decided that it would be necessary to leave a part of the men on shore as the beginning of a settlement. He would not have chosen to do this but for the disaster, for the men who made up these crews were not promising material for a colony in a wild land. But he had no choice in the matter. The two smaller ships would not hold them all. Pedro, shaken with sobs, cast himself at the feet of his master and begged forgiveness.

"No one blames you, my son," said the Admiral, more touched than he had been for a long time. "Be not so full of sorrow for what cannot be helped. The wild people are friendly, the land is kind, and when we have sailed back to Spain with our news there will be no difficulty in returning with as many ships as we may need. Nay, I will not leave thee here, Pedro. I think that now I could not do without thee."

NOTE

[1] The name of Columbus took various forms according to the country in which he lived. In his native Genoa it would be Cristofero Colombo. In Portugal, where he dwelt for many years, it would be Cristobal Colombo, and in Spanish Christoval or Cristobal Colon. In Latin, which was the common language of all learned men until comparatively recent times, the name took the form Christopherus Columbus, which has become in modern English Christopher Columbus. In each story the discoverer is spoken of as he would have been spoken of by the characters in that particular story.



THE QUEEN'S PRAYER

In this Thy world, O blessed Christ, I live but for Thy will, To serve Thy cause and drive Thy foes Before Thy banner still.

In rich and stately palaces I have my board and bed, But Thou didst tread the wilderness Unsheltered and unfed.

My gallant squadrons ride at will The undiscover'd sea, But Thou hadst but a fishing-boat On windy Galilee.

In valiant hosts my men-at-arms Eager to battle go, But Thou hadst not a single blade To fend Thee from the foe.

Great store of pearls and beaten gold My bold seafarers bring, But Thou hadst not a little coin To pay for Thy lodging.

The trust that Thou hast placed in me, O may I not betray, Nor fail to save Thy people from The fires of Judgment Day!

Be strong and stern, O heart, faint heart— Stay not, O woman's hand, Till by this Cross I bear for Thee I have made clean Thy land!



V

THE MAN WHO COULD NOT DIE

"Nombre de San Martin! who is that up there like a cat?"

"Un gato! Cucarucha en palo!"

"If Alonso de Ojeda hears of your calling him a cockroach on a mast, he will grind your ribs to a paste with a cudgel (os moliesen las costillas a puros palos)!" observed a pale, sharp-faced lad in a shabby doublet. The sailor who had made the comparison glanced at him and chuckled.

"Your pardon—hidalgo. I have been at sea so much of late that the comparison jumped into my mind. Is he a caballero then?"

"One of the household of the Duke of Medina Coeli. He is always doing such things. If he happened to think of flying, he would fly. Every one must be good at something."

The performance which they had just been watching would fix the name of Ojeda very firmly in the minds of those who saw. Queen Ysabel, happening to ascend the tower of the cathedral at Seville with her courtiers and ladies, remarked upon the daring and skill of the Moorish builders. Everywhere in the newly conquered cities of Granada were their magnificent domes and lofty muezzin towers, often seeming like the airy minarets of a mirage. The next instant Alonso de Ojeda had walked out upon a twenty-foot timber projecting into space two hundred feet above the pavement, and at the very end he stood on one leg and waved the other in the air. Returning, he rested one foot against the wall and flung an orange clean over the top of the tower. He was small, though handsome and well-made, and he had now shown a muscular strength of which few had suspected him.

It was natural that the sailor should be interested in the people of the court, for he had business there. The Admiral of the Indies was making his arrangements for his second voyage, and he had desired Juan de la Cosa to meet him at Seville. As the pilot stood waiting for the Admiral to come out from an interview with Fonseca he had a good look at many of the persons who were to join in this second expedition.

"There will be no unlocking the jail doors to scrape together crews for this fleet, I warrant you," thought the old sailor exultantly as he stood in the shadow of the Giralda watching Castile parade itself before the new hero. Here were Diego Colon, a quiet-looking youth, the youngest brother of the Admiral; Antonio de Marchena the astronomer, a learned monk; Juan Ponce de Leon, a nobleman from the neighborhood of Cadiz with a brilliant military record; Francisco de las Casas with his son Bartolome; and the valiant young courtier whom all Seville had seen flirting with death in mid-air.

"Oh, it was nothing," La Cosa heard Ojeda say when Las Casas made some kindly compliment on his daring. "I will tell you," he added in a lower voice, pulling something small out of his doublet, "I have a sure talisman in this little picture of the Virgin. The Bishop gave it to me, and I always carry it. In all the dangers one naturally must encounter in the service of such a master as mine, it has kept me safe. I have never even been wounded."

The Duke of Medina Coeli was in fact a stern master in the school of arms. He was always at the front in the wars just concluded between Spaniard and Moor, and where he was, there he expected his squires to be. There was no place among the youths whose fathers had given him charge of their military training, for a lad with a grain of physical cowardice. Ojeda moreover had a quick temper and a fiery sense of honor, and it really seemed to savor of the miraculous that he had escaped all harm. At any rate he had reached the age of twenty-one with unabated faith in the little Flemish painting.

"These youngsters—" the veteran seaman said to himself as he looked at the straight, proud, keen-faced squires and youthful knights marching along the streets of the temporary capital, "now that the Moors are vanquished what won't they do in the Indies! I think the golden days must be come for Christians. And shall you be a soldier also, my lad?" he asked of the sharp-faced boy, who still stood near him.

"My father says not. He wants me to be a lawyer," said the youngster indifferently. Then he slipped away as some companions of his own age, or a little older, came by, and one said enviously,

"Where have you been, Hernan' Cortes? Lucky you were not with us. My faith—" the speaker wriggled expressively, "we caught a drubbing!"

"Told you so," returned the lad addressed, with cool unconcern. "Why can't you see when to let go the cat's tail?"

"He has a head on him, that one," the seaman chuckled. "There is always one of his sort in every gang of boys. But that young gallant Ojeda! A fine young fellow, and as devoted as he is brave." Juan de la Cosa had conceived at first sight an admiration and affection for Ojeda which was to last as long as they both should live.

The fleet that stately sailed from Cadiz on September 25, 1493, was a very different sight from the three shabby little caravels that slipped down the Tinto a year and a half before. The Admiral now commanded fourteen caravels and three great carracks or store-ships, on board of which were horses, mules, cattle, carefully packed shoots of grape-vines and sugar-cane, seeds of all kinds, and provisions ready for use. The fleet carried nearly fifteen hundred persons,—three hundred more than had been arranged for, but the enthusiasm in Spain was boundless. It carried also the embittered hatred of Fonseca. The Bishop, having been the Queen's confessor, naturally became head of the Department of the Indies in order to forward with all zeal the conversion of the native races. But when he tried to assert his authority over the Admiral and appealed to Fernando and Ysabel to support him, he was told mildly but firmly that in the equipment and command of the fleet Colon's judgment was best. This royal snub Fonseca never forgave, and he was one of those persons who revenge a slight on some one else rather than the one who inflicted it. It was also his nature never to forgive any one for succeeding in an undertaking which he himself had prophesied would fail.

All seemed in order on the morning of the embarkation. At this time of year storms were unlikely, and there was no severity of climate to be feared. Half Castile and Aragon had come to see the expedition off. The young cavaliers' heads were filled with visions of rich dukedoms and principalities in the golden empire upon whose coast the discovered islands hung, like pendants of pearl and gold upon the robe of a monarch.

The first incident of the voyage was not, however, romantic. The fleet touched at the Canary Islands to take on board more animals—goats, sheep, swine and fowls, for the Admiral had seen none of these in any of the islands he had visited. In fact the people had no domestic animal whatever except their strange dumb dogs. The cavaliers, glad of a chance to stretch their legs in a space a little greater than the deck of a crowded ship, strolled about discussing past and future with large freedom.

Ojeda was asking Juan de la Cosa about the nature of the country. It seemed to him the ideal field for a man of spirit and high heart. How glorious a conquest would it be to abolish the vile superstitions of the barbarians and set up the altars of the true faith!

The pilot was a little amused and somewhat doubtful; he knew something of savages, and Ojeda and the priests on board did not. It was not, he suggested, always easy to convert stubborn heathen. A pig was a small animal, but Ojeda would remember that to the Moslem it was as great an object of aversion as a lion.

"Ho!" said Ojeda superbly, "that is quite—" He was interrupted by a blow that knocked his legs out from under him and landed him on the ground in a sitting position with his hat over his eyes.

"Who did that?" he cried, leaping to his feet, hand on sword.

"Only a pig, my lord," the sailor answered choking with half-swallowed laughter. It was a pig, which the sailors had goaded to such a state of desperation that it had bolted straight into the group as a pig will, and was now galloping away, pursued by a great variety of maledictions and persons. "They have got the creature now," he added, "You are not hurt?" for Ojeda was actually pale with indignation and disgust.

"No," sputtered the youth, "but that pig—that p-pig—" He looked around him with an eye which seemed to challenge any beholder of whatever condition, to laugh and be instantly run through. Fortunately most of those on the wharf had been too much occupied to see Ojeda fall before the pig, and just then the trumpets blew, and all hastened to get back on board ship.

When an expedition is composed largely of hot-headed youths trained to the use of arms, each of whom has a code of honor as sensitive as a mimosa plant and as prickly as a cactus, the lot of their commanders is not happy. It may have been Ojeda's treasured talisman which saved him from several sudden deaths during the following weeks, but Juan de la Cosa privately believed it was partly the memory of the pig. The young man had what might in another time and civilization have developed into a sense of humor. It would not do for a hero with the world before him to get himself sent back to Spain because of some trivial personal quarrel.

On reaching Hispaniola the adventurers found plenty of real occupation awaiting them. The little colony which the Admiral had left at Navidad on his first voyage had been wiped out. The natives timidly explained that a fierce chief from the interior, Caonaba, had killed or captured all the forty men of the garrison and destroyed their fort. Colon was obliged to remodel all his plans at a moment's notice. Instead of finding a colony well under way, and in control of the wild tribes or at least friendly with them, he found the wreck of a luckless attempt at settlement, and the kindly native villagers turned aloof and suspicious, and living in dread of a second raid by Caonaba. He chose a site for a second settlement on the coast, where ships could find a harbor, not far from gold-bearing mountains which the natives described and called Cibao. This sounded rather like Cipangu.

Ojeda led an exploring party into the mountains, and found gold nuggets in the beds of the streams. In March a substantial little town had been built, with a church, granary, market-square, and a stone wall around the whole. The Admiral then organized an expedition to explore the interior.

On March 12, 1494, Colon with his chief officers went out of the gate of the settlement, which had been named for the Queen, at the head of four hundred men, many of whom were mounted, and all armed with sword, cross-bow, lance or arquebus. With casques and breastplates shining in the sun, banners flying, pennons fluttering, drums and trumpets sounding, they presented a sight which should have brought ambassadors from any monarch of the Indies who heard of their approach. But although a multitude of savages came from the forest to see, no signs of any such capital as that of the Great Khan appeared. At the end of the first day's march they camped at the foot of a rocky mountain range with no way over it but a footpath, winding over rocks and through dense tropical jungles. There appeared to be no roads in the country.

But this was not an impossible situation to the young Spanish cavaliers, for in the Moorish wars it had often been necessary to construct a road over the mountains. A number of them at once volunteered for the service, and with laborers and pioneers, to whom they set an example by working as valiantly as they were ready to fight, they made a road for the little army, which was named in their honor El Puerto de los Hidalgos, the Gentlemen's Pass. When they reached the top of this steep defile and could look down upon the land beyond they saw a vast and magnificent plain, covered with forests of beautiful trees, blossoming meadows and a network of clear lakes and rivers, and dotted here and there with thatch-roofed villages. Near the top of the pass a spring of cool delicious water bubbled out in a glen shaded by palms and one tall and handsome tree of an unknown variety, with wood so hard that it turned the ax of a laborer who tried to cut a chip of it. Colon gave the plain the name of the Vega Real or Royal Plain.

Of all the events, exploits and intrigues of those first years in the Spanish Indies, no one historian among those who accompanied the expedition ever found time to write. Where all was so new, and every man, whether priest, cavalier, soldier, sailor, clerk or artisan, had his own reasons and his own aims in coming to this land of promise, nothing went exactly according to anybody's plans. The Admiral was soon convinced that in Hispaniola at least no civilized capital existed. To their amazement and amusement the Spaniards found that the savages feared their horses more than their weapons. It was discovered after a while that horse and rider were at first supposed to be one supernatural animal. When the white men dismounted the people fled in horror, believing that the ferocious beasts were going to eat them.

It became evident that with the fierce chief Caonaba to reckon with, military strength and capacity would be the only means of holding the country. The commander could not count on patriotism, religious principle or even self-interest to keep the colonists united. In this tangled situation one of the few persons who really enjoyed himself was Alonso de Ojeda. Instead of spending his time in drinking, quarreling or getting himself into trouble with friendly natives, the young man seemed bent on proving himself an able and sagacious leader of men. A little fortress of logs had been built about eighteen leagues from the settlement, in the mining country, defended on all sides but one by a little river, the Yanique, and on the remaining side by a deep ditch. Gold dust, nuggets, amber, jasper and lapis lazuli had been found in the neighborhood, and it was the Admiral's intention to send miners there as soon as possible, protected by the fort, which he called San Tomas. Ojeda happened to be in command of the garrison, in the absence of his superior, when Caonaba came down from his mountains with an immense force of hostile tribes. The young lieutenant in his rude eyrie, perched on a hill surrounded by the enemy, held off ten thousand savages under the Carib chief for more than a month. Finally the chief, whose people had never been trained in warfare after the European fashion, found them deserting by hundreds, tired of the monotony of the siege. Ojeda did not merely stand on the defensive. He was continually sallying forth at the head of small but determined companies of Spaniards, whenever the enemy came near his stronghold. He never went far enough from his base to be captured, but killed off so many of the best warriors of Caonaba that the chief himself grew tired of the unprofitable undertaking and withdrew his army. During the siege provisions ran short, and when things were looking very dark a friendly savage slipped in one night with two pigeons for the table of the commander. When they were brought to Ojeda, in the council chamber where he was seated consulting with his officers, he glanced at the famine-pinched faces about him, took the pigeons in his hands and stroked their feathers for an instant.

"It is a pity," he said, "that we have not enough to make a meal. I am not going to feast while the rest of you starve," and he gave the birds a toss into the air from the open window and turned again to his plans. When some one reported the incident to the Admiral his eyes shone.

"I wish we had a few more such commanders," he said.

Caonaba's next move was to form a conspiracy among all the caciques of Hispaniola, to join in a grand attack against the white men and wipe them out, as he had wiped out the little garrison at Navidad. A friendly cacique, Guacanagari, who had been the ally of the Admiral from the first, gave him information of this plot, and the danger was seen by Colon's acute mind to be desperate indeed. He had only a small force, torn by jealousy and private quarrels, and a defensive fight at this stage of his enterprise would almost surely be a losing one. The territory of Caonaba included the most mountainous and inaccessible part of the island, where that wily barbarian could hold out for years; and as long as he was loose there would be no safety for white men. To the Admiral, who was just recovering from a severe illness, the prospect looked very gloomy.

Pedro the Vizcayan cabin-boy, who was his confidential servant, was crossing the plaza one day with a basket of fruit, when Alonso de Ojeda stopped him to inquire after his master's health.

"His health," said Pedro, "would improve if I had Caonaba's head in this basket. I wish somebody would get it."

Ojeda laughed, showing a flash of white teeth under his jaunty mustachios. Then he grew thoughtful. "Wait a moment, Pedro," he said. "Will you ask the Admiral if he can see me for a few minutes, this morning?"

When Ojeda appeared Colon detected a trace of excitement in the young man's bearing, and tactfully led the conversation to Caonaba. He frankly expressed his perplexity.

"Have you a plan, Ojeda?" he asked with a half smile. "It has been my experience, that you usually have."

Ojeda felt a thrill of pleasure, for the Admiral did not scatter his compliments broadcast. He admitted that he had a plan.

"Let me hear it," said Colon.

But as the youthful captain unfolded his scheme the cool gray eye of the Genoese commander betrayed distinct surprise. It seemed only yesterday that this youngster had been a little monkey of a page in the great palace of the Duke of Medina Coeli, when he was entertained there, on arriving in Spain.

"You see," Ojeda concluded, "I have observed in fighting these people that if their leader is killed or captured, they seem to lose their heads completely. I think that with a dozen men I can get Caonaba and bring him in. If I do not—the loss will not be very great."

"I should not like to lose you," said the Admiral, with his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Go, if you will,—but do not sacrifice your own life if you can help it."

Ojeda had faith in his talisman, and he also believed that if any man could go into Caonaba's territory and come back alive, he was that man. He knew that he himself, in the place of the chief, would respect a man whom he had not been able to beat.

With ten soldiers he rode up into the mountains, his blood leaping with the wild joy of an adventure as great as any in the Song of the Cid. To be sure, Caonaba would not in his mountain camp have any such army as when he surrounded the fort, for then he commanded whole tribes of allies. In case of coming to blows Ojeda believed that he and his men with their superior weapons could cut their way out. Still, the odds were beyond anything that he had ever heard of.

He found the Carib chief, and began by trying diplomacy. He said that his master, the Guamaquima or chief of the Spaniards, had sent him with a present. Would he not consent to make a visit to the colony, with a view of becoming the Admiral's ally and friend? If he would, he should be presented with the bell of the chapel, the voice of the church, the wonder of Hispaniola.

Caonaba had heard that bell when he was prowling about the settlement, and the temptation to become its owner was great. He finally agreed to accompany Ojeda and his handful of Spaniards back to the coast. But when they were ready to start, the force of warriors in Caonaba's escort was out of all proportion to any peaceful embassy. Ojeda turned to his original plan.

He proposed that Caonaba, after bathing in the stream at the foot of the mountain, and attiring himself in his finest robe, should put on the gift the Spanish captain had brought, a pair of metal bracelets, and return to his followers mounted with Ojeda on his horse. The chief's eyes glittered as he saw the polished steel of the ornaments Ojeda produced. He knew that nothing could so impress his wild followers with his power and greatness as his ability to conquer all fear of the terrible animals always seen in the vanguard of the white men's army. He consented to the plan, and after putting on his state costume, and being decorated with the handcuffs, he cautiously mounted behind the young commander, and his followers, in awe and admiration, beheld their cacique ride.



Ojeda, who was a perfect horseman, made the horse leap, curvet and caracole, taking a wider circuit each time, until making a long sweep through the forest the two disappeared from the view of the Carib army altogether. Ojeda's own men closed in upon him, bound Caonaba hand and foot, behind their leader, and thus the chief was taken into the Spanish settlement. The conspiracy fell to pieces and the colony was saved.

Caonaba showed no respect to Colon or any one else in the camp while a prisoner there, except Ojeda. When Ojeda entered he promptly rose to his feet. They had many conversations together, and Caonaba, who evidently rather admired the stratagem by which he had been captured, agreed with his captor that Ojeda was The Man Who Could Not Die.

NOTE

The career of Alonso de Ojeda is one of the most picturesque and adventurous in early Spanish-American history, and his character is typical of the young Spanish cavalier of the age just following the discovery of America. The episodes here used, with many others quite as dramatic, are described at length in Irving's "Life of Columbus."



THE ESCAPE

Why do you come here, white men, white men? Why do you bend the knee When your priests before you, singing, singing, Lift the cross, the cross of tree?

Flashing in the sunlight, rainbows waking, Move your mighty oars keeping time. Sailors heave your anchors, chanting, chanting Some strange and mystic rime.

Pearls and gold we bring you, feathers of our wild birds, Glowing in the sunshine like flowers. Houses we will build you, food and clothing find you, You shall share in all that is ours.

Why do you frighten us, white men, white men? Can you not be friends for a day? Souls are like the sea-birds, flying, flying, Borne by the sea-wind away.

Why do you chain us in the mines of the mountains? Why do you hunt us with your hounds? We who were so free, are we evermore to be Prisoned in your narrow hateful bounds?

One escape is left us, white men, white men,— You cannot forbid our souls to fly To the stars of freedom, far beyond the sunset,— We whom you have captured can die!



VI

LOCKED HARBORS

"But of what use is a King's patent," said Hugh Thorne of Bristol, "if the harbors be locked?"

The Italian merchant glanced up from his papers and smiled, which was all the answer the Englishman seemed to expect, for he stormed on, "Here have we better fleeces than Spain, better wheat than France, finer cattle than the Netherlands, the tin of Cornwall, the flax of Kent and Durham, and our people starve or live rudely because of the fettering of our trade."

"'T is a sad misfortune," said the merchant. "In a world so great as this there is surely room for all to work and all to get reward for their labor. But so long as the English merchant guilds wear away their time and substance in fighting one another I fear 't will be no better."

Thorne flung his cloak about him with an impatient gesture. "That's true," he answered, "the Spaniards hold by Spain, and all the Hanse merchants by one another, but our English go every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. I speak freely to you, friend, because you have cast in your lot with us West Country folk and are content to be called John Cabot."

The other smiled again, his quick childlike smile, and went with his guest to the door. When he entered again his small private room a dark-eyed boy of five was crawling out from under the table.

"Dad," he inquired solemnly, "vat is a locked harbor?"

John Cabot laughed and swung his little son to his shoulder. "That is a great question for a little brain," he said fondly. "But see thee here; suppose I put thee in the chest and shut the lid and turn the key; thou art locked in and canst not get out—so! But now I put thee out of door and set the bandog to guard it; thou art locked out though the door be wide open, seest thou? And when I forbid thee to pick up the plums that fall on the grass from the Frenchman's damson tree, they are as safe as if I locked them in the dresser here, are they not? So 't is when the King forbids his people to send their goods to some harbor; it is the same as if a great chain were stretched across that harbor with a great lock upon it. Now run and play with Ludovico and Santo, Sebastiano mio, and be glad thou art free of a pleasant garden."

But Sebastian still hung back, his dark head rubbing softly against his father's shoulder. "When I am a great merchant," he announced, "the King will let me send my ships all over the world."

John Cabot stroked the wavy dark hair with a lingering, tender touch. "God grant thee thy wish, little one," he said. And Sebastian, with a shout in answer to a call from the sunny out-of-door world, scampered away.

John Cabot, who had been born in Genoa, married while a merchant in Venice, and had now lived for many years in Bristol, felt sometimes that the life of a trader was like that of a player at dice. And the dice were often loaded.

He was a good navigator, or he would not have been a true son of the Genoese house of Caboto—Giovanni Caboto translated meant John the Captain, and in a city full of sea-captains a man must know more than a little of the sea to win that title. He had made a place for himself in Venice as Zuan Gaboto, and now he was a known and respected man in the second greatest seaport of England, with a house in the quarter of Bristol known as "Cathay," the only part of the city where foreigners were allowed to live. It had its nickname from the fact that the foreign trade of Bristol was largely with the Orient.

English trade in those days was hampered by a multitude of restrictions. There were monopolies, there were laws forbidding the export of this and that, or the making of goods by any one outside certain guilds, there were arrangements favoring foreign traders who had got their foothold during the War of the Roses,—when kings needed money from any source that would promise it. The Hanse merchants at the Steelyard alone controlled the markets of more than a hundred towns. Their grim stone buildings rose like a fort commanding London Bridge, and they paid less both in duties and customs than English merchants did. They employed no English ships, and could underbuy and undersell the English manufacturer and the English trader. Their men were all bachelors, with no families to found or houses to keep up in England. The farmer might get half price for his wool and pay more than one price for whatever he was obliged to buy. There was plenty of private exasperation, but no open fighting, against this ruling of the London markets by Hamburg, Luebeck, Antwerp and Cologne. Cabot's clear head and wide experience plainly showed him the enormous waste of such a system, but he did not see how to unlock the harbors. Neither, at present, did the King, whose shrewd brain was at work on the problem.

Henry Tudor had the thrift of a youth spent in poverty, and the turn for finance inherited from Welsh ancestors, but his kingdom was not rich, and his throne not over-secure. He was prejudiced against doing anything rash, both by nature and by the very limited income of the crown. He had given an audience to Bartholomew Columbus while the older brother was still haunting the court of Castile with his unfulfilled plans, and had gone so far as to tell the Genoese captain to bring his brother Christopher to England that he might talk with him. Had it not been for Queen Isabella's impulsive decision England instead of Spain might have made the lucky throw in the great game of discovery. But by the time Bartholomew could get the message to his brother the matter had been settled and the expedition was already taking shape. Henry VII. always kept one foot on the ground, and until he could see some other way to bring wealth into the royal treasury he let the monopolies go on.

In 1495 he took a chance. He gave to John Cabot and his sons a license to search "for islands, provinces or regions in the eastern, western or northern seas; and, as vassals of the King, to occupy the territories that might be found, with an exclusive right to their commerce, on paying the King a fifth part of the profits."

It will be noted that this license did not say anything about the southern ocean. Already troops of Spanish cavaliers were pouring into the seaports, eager to make discoveries by the road of Columbus, and Spain would regard as unfriendly any attempt to send English ships in that direction. Whatever could be got from the Spanish territories Henry would try another way of getting. The year before he had arranged to have Prince Arthur, the heir to his throne, marry the fourth daughter of the King of Aragon, Catherine, then a little Princess of eleven. Prince Arthur died while still a boy, and Catherine became the first wife of Henry, afterward Henry VIII. With a Spanish Princess as queen of England, there might be an alliance between the two countries. That would be better than quarreling with Spain over discoveries which were at best uncertain. If Cabot really found anything valuable in the northern seas the move might turn out to be a good one. It would make England a more powerful member of the Spanish alliance, without taking anything which Spain appeared to value.

In May, 1497, properly furnished with provisions and a few such things as might show what England had to barter, the little Matthew sailed from Bristol under the command of John Cabot with his nineteen-year-old son Sebastian and a crew of eighteen—nearly all Englishmen, used to the North Atlantic. The King's permission was for five ships, but the wise Cabot had heard something of the hardships of the first expeditions to Hispaniola, and preferred to keep within his means, and sail with men whom he could trust.

But on this voyage they found locked harbors not closed by the order of any King but by natural causes,—harbors without inhabitants or means of supporting life, and so far north as to be blocked by ice for half the year. They sailed seven hundred leagues west and came at last to a rocky wooded coast. Now in all the books of travel in Asia, mention had been made of an immense territory ruled by the Grand Cham of Tartary, whose hordes had nearly overrun Eastern Europe in times not so very long ago. The adventures of Marco Polo the Venetian, in a great book sent to Cabot by his wife's father, had been the fairy-tale of Sebastian and his brothers from the time they were old enough to understand a story. In this book it was written how Marco Polo and his companions passed through utterly uninhabited wilds in the Great Khan's empire, and afterward came to a region of barbarians, who robbed and killed travelers. These fierce people lived on the fruits and game of the forest, cultivating no fields; they dressed in the skins of wild animals and used salt for money. Could this be the place? If so it behooved the little party of explorers to be careful. As yet, nobody dreamed that any mainland discovered by sailing westward from northern Europe could be anything but Asia.

Cautiously they sailed along the rugged shore, but not a human being was to be seen. It was the twenty-fourth of June, when by all accounts the people of any civilized country should be coasting along from port to port fishing or engaged in traffic. The sun blazed hot and clear, but the inquisitive noses of the crew scented no cinnamon, cloves or ginger in the air. All of these, according to Marco Polo, were in the wilderness he crossed, and also great rivers. On crossing one of these rivers he had found himself in a populous country with castles and cities. Were there no people on this desolate shore—or were they lying in wait for the voyagers to land, that they might seize and kill them and plunder the ship?

One thing was certain, the air of this strange place made them all more thirsty than they ever had been in England, and their water-supply had given out. Sebastian and a crew of the younger men tumbled into a boat, cross-bow and cutlass at hand, and went ashore to fill the barrels, while John Cabot kept an anxious eye on the land. Sebastian himself rather relished the adventure.

They found a stream of delicious water,—pure, cold and clear as a fountain of Eden. Among the rocks they found creeping vines with rather tasteless, bright red berries, in the woods little evergreen herbs with leaves like laurel and scarlet spicy berries, dark green mossy vines with white berries—but no spice-trees. The forest in fact was rather like Norway, according to Ralph Erlandsson, who was a native of Stavanger. Sebastian, who was ahead, presently came upon signs of human life. A sapling, bent down and held by a rude contrivance of deerhide thong and stakes, was attached to a noose so ingeniously hidden that the young leader nearly stepped into it. He took it off the tree and looked about him. A minute later, from one side and to the rear, a startled exclamation came from Robert Thorne of Bristol, who had stepped on a similar snare and been jerked off his feet. This was quite enough. The party retreated to the ship. On the way back they saw trees that had been cut not very long since, and Sebastian picked up a wooden needle such as fishermen used in making nets, yet not like any English tool of that sort.



They saw nothing more of the kind, although they sailed some three hundred leagues along the coast, nor did they see any sort of tilled land. This certainly could not be Cipangu or Cathay with their seaports and gilded temples. Whatever else it was, it was a land of wild people, savage hunters. John Cabot left on a bold headland where it could not fail to be seen, a great cross, with the flag of England and the Venetian banner bearing the lion of Saint Mark.

There was wild excitement in Bristol when it was known that the little Matthew had come safely into port, after three months' voyaging in unknown seas. August of that year found the two Cabots at Westminster with their story and their handful of forest trophies, and the excited and suspicious Spanish Ambassador was framing a protest to the King and a letter to Ferdinand and Isabella.

Henry VII. fingered the wooden needle, pulled the rawhide thong meditatively through his fingers, and ate a little handful of the wintergreen berries and young leaves. Their pungent flavor wrinkled his long nose. This was certainly not any spice that came from the Indies.

"This country you found," he remarked at last, "is not much like New Spain."

"Nay, Sire," answered John Cabot simply.

"And I understand,"—the King put the collection of curiosities back into the wallet that had held them, "that this represents one fifth at least of the gains of the voyage."

Cabot bowed. As a matter of fact there had been no profits.

"My lord,"—the King handed the wallet over to the uneasy Ambassador, who had been invited to the conference, "you have heard what our good Captain says. If, as you say, Spain claims this landfall, we willingly make over to you our—ahem!—share of the emolument." And the Spaniard, looking rather foolish, saw nothing better to do than to bow his thanks and retire from the presence.

The King turned again to the Cabots.

"Nevertheless," he went on meditatively, "we will not be neglectful of you. In another year, if it is still your desire to engage in this work, you may have—" a pause—"ten ships armed as you see fit, and manned with whatever prisoners are not confined for—high treason. Fish, I think you said, abound in those waters? Bacalao—er—that is cod, is it not? Now it seems to me that our men of Bristol can go a-fishing on those banks without interference from the Hanse merchants, and we shall be less dependent on—foreign aid, for the victualing of our tables. And there may be some way to Asia through these Northern seas—in which case our brother of Spain may not be so nice in his scruples about trespass. The Spice Islands are not his but Portugal's. And for your present reward,—" the King reached for his lean purse and waggled his gaunt foot in its loose worn red shoe "this, and the title of Admiral of your new-found land."

He dropped some gold pieces into the hand of John Cabot. In the accounts of his treasurer for that year may be seen this item:

"10th August, donation of L10 to him that found the new isle."

In May of the next year another voyage was undertaken by Sebastian, John Cabot having died. This time there was a small fleet from Bristol with some three hundred men. Sebastian sailed so far north as to be stopped by seas full of icebergs, then turning southward discovered the island of Newfoundland, landed further south on the mainland, and went as far toward the Spanish possessions as the great bay called Chesapeake. Meanwhile shoals of little fishing boats, from Bristol, Brittany, Lisbon, Rye, and the Vizcayan ports on the north of Spain, crept across the gray seas to fish for cod. They held no patent and carried no guns, but they made a floating city off the Grand Banks for a brief season, settling their own disputes. The people at home found salt fish good cheap and wholesome. When Sebastian told the Bristol folk that the fish were so thick in these new seas that he could hardly get his ships through, they would not believe it. But when Robert Thorne and a dozen others had seen the little caplin, the fish which the cod feeds upon, swimming inshore by the acre, crowded by the cod behind them, and by seal, shark and dogfish hunting the cod, when cod were caught and salted down and shown in Bristol, four and five feet long, then Bristol swallowed both story and cargo and blessed the name of Cabot.

Sebastian Cabot shook the dust of Bristol off his restless feet more than once in the years that followed. Within five years after his voyage to the Arctic regions he was cruising about the Caribbean. In 1517 he was at the entrance of the great bay on the north coast of Labrador. In 1524 he was in the service of Spain, and coasting along the eastern shores of South America ascended the great river which De Solis had named Rio de la Plata, came within sight of the mountains of Peru. But for orders from Spain, where Pizarro had secured the governorship of that land, Cabot might have been its conqueror. In 1548, after some years spent in Spain as pilot major, he came back to England, where he was appointed to the position of superintendent of naval affairs. It was his work to examine and license pilots, and make charts and maps, and some ten years later he died, having founded the company of Merchant Adventurers in 1553. This company was entitled to build and send out ships for discovery and trade in parts unknown. By uniting merchant traders in one body, governed by definite rules, and backed by their combined capital, it broke the monopoly of the Hanseatic League and finally drove the Hanse merchants out of England. Sebastian Cabot was its first governor, holding the office until he died, and has rightly been called the father of free trade. He had unlocked the harbors of the world to his adopted country, England.

NOTE

The rules drawn up by Cabot for the merchant adventurers, to be read publicly on board ship once a week, are interesting as showing the character of the man and the great advance made in welding English trade into a company to be guided by the best traditions. For the first time captains were required to keep a log, and this one thing, by putting on record everything seen and noted by those who sailed strange waters, made an increasing fund of knowledge at the service of each navigator. Some of the points in the instructions are as follows:

7. "That the merchants and other skilful persons, in writing, shall daily write, describe and put in memorie the navigation of each day and night, with the points and observations of the lands, tides, elements, altitude of the sunne, course of the moon and starres, and the same so noted by the order of the master and pilot of every ship to be put in writing; the captain-general assembling the masters together once every weeke (if winde and weather shall serve) to conferre all the observations and notes of the said ships, to the intent it may appeare wherein the notes do agree and wherein they dissent, and upon good debatement, deliberation and conclusion determined to put the same into a common ledger, to remain of record for the companie; the like order to be kept in proportioning of the cardes, astrolabes, and other instruments prepared for the voyage, at the charge of the companie.

12. "That no blaspheming of God, or detestable swearing, be used in any ship, or communication of ribaldrie, filthy tales, or ungodly talk to be suffered in the company of any ship, neither dicing, tabling, nor other divelish games to be permitted, whereby ensueth not only povertie to the players, but also strife, variance, brauling, fighting and oftentimes murther.

26. "Every nation and region to be considered advisedly, and not to provoke them by any distance, laughing, contempt, or such like; but to use them with prudent circumspection, with all gentleness and courtesie."

These and other instructions form an ideal far beyond anything found in the merchant shipping of any other land at that time, and the wisdom which inspired them undoubtedly laid the foundation of the fine and noble tradition which formed the best officers of the navy not yet born. There was no British navy in the modern sense until a hundred years after Cabot's day. In time of war the King impressed all suitable ships into his service, if they were not freely offered by private owners. In time of peace the monarch was a ship-owner like any other, and such a thing as a standing navy was not thought of. Hence the brave, generous, and courteous merchant adventurer, when such a man was abroad, was the upholder of the honor of his country as well as the upbuilder of her commerce.



GRAY SAILS

Gray sails that fill with the winds of the morning, Out upon the Channel or the bleak North sea, Neither cross nor fleur-de-lis goes to your adorning,— Arctic frost and southern gale your tirewomen shall be. Yet when you come home again—home again—home again, Gray sails turn to silver when the keel runs free.

Gray sails of Plymouth, 'ware the wild Orcades, Gray sails of Lisbon, 'ware the guns of Dieppe. Cross-bows of Genoa, 'ware the wharves of Gades,— You that sail the Spanish Seas may neither trust nor sleep. Yet when you come home again—home again—home again, You shall make the covenant for Kings to keep!

Gray sails are crowding where the sea-fog sleeping Masks the faces of the folk that throng and traffic there. When the winds are free again and the cod are leaping, All the tongues of Pentecost wake the laughing air. And when they come home again—home again—home again, They shall bring their freedom for the world to share!



VII

LITTLE VENICE

"Translators," observed Amerigo Vespucci, "are frequently traitors. Now who is to be surety that yonder interpreter does not change your words in repeating them?"

Alonso de Ojeda touched the hilt of his poniard. "This," he said. "Toledo steel speaks all languages."

The Florentine's black eyebrows lifted a little, but he did not pursue the subject. Ojeda was not the sort of man likely to be convinced of anything he did not believe already, and Vespucci was having too good a time to waste it in argument.

This middle-aged, shrewd-looking individual had for half his life been chained to the desk, for he had been many years a clerk in the great merchant houses of the Medici. Until he was forty years old he had hardly gone outside his native city. In the latter half of the fifteenth century each Italian city was a little world in itself, with its own standards, customs and traditions. The fact that Vespucci spent most of his leisure and all of his spare ducats in the collection and study of maps and globes and works on geography, was regarded as a proof of mild insanity. When he paid one hundred and thirty gold pieces for a particularly fine map made by Valsequa in 1439, even his intimate friend Soderini called him a fool. Vespucci was himself an expert mapmaker. This may have been a reason why, about 1490, the Medici sent him to Barcelona to look after their interests in Spain. In Seville he secured a position as manager in the house of Juanoto Berardi, who fitted out ships for Atlantic voyages. In 1497 he himself sailed for the newly discovered islands of the West, and spent more than a year in exploration. This taste of travel seemed to have whetted his appetite for more, for he was now acting as astronomer and geographer in the expedition which Ojeda had organized and Juan de la Cosa fitted out, to the coast which Colon had discovered and called Tierre Firme. In the seven years since the first voyage of the great Admiral it had become the custom to have on board, for expeditions of discovery, a person who understood astronomy, the use of the astrolabe and navigation in general, and the making of charts and maps. Vespucci was exactly that sort of man. However queer it might seem to the young Ojeda to find in a clerk forty years old such a fresh and youthful delight in travel, both he and La Cosa knew that they had in him a valuable assistant. It was generally understood that he meant to write a book about it all.

Vespucci was in fact thinking of his future book when he made that speech about translators. He was planning to write the book not in Latin, as was usual, but in Italian, making if necessary another copy in Latin.

The party had sailed from Puerto Santa Maria on May 20, 1499, taking with them a chart which Bishop Fonseca, head of the Department of the Indies, furnished. It had been the understanding when Colon received the title of Admiral of the Indies that no expedition should be sent out without his authority. This understanding Fonseca succeeded in persuading the King and Queen to take back, and another order was issued, to the effect that no independent expedition was to go out without the royal permission. This, practically, meant Fonseca's leave. The Bishop signed the permit for Ojeda's undertaking with double satisfaction. He was doing a favor for his friend, Bishop Ojeda, cousin to this young man, and he was aiming a blow at the hated Genoese Admiral, whose very chart he was turning over to the young explorer. All sorts of stories had been set afloat about the unfitness of the Admiral to hold such an important office. Fonseca had managed to influence the Queen so far against him that one Bobadilla had been sent to Hispaniola with power to depose Colon and treat him as a criminal,—so cunningly were his instructions framed. When the great discoverer was actually thrown into prison and sent to Spain manacled like a felon, it might have added a few drops of bitterness to his reflections if he had known what Ojeda was doing. This youth, whom he had trusted and liked, was now looking forward to the conquest of the very region which the Admiral had discovered, and using what was supposed to be the Admiral's private chart to guide him.

It is not likely, however, that the fiery and impatient Ojeda gave any thought to the feelings of the older man. Juan de la Cosa was a leader in the expedition, many sailors were enlisted, who had served in former voyages of discovery, and above all, Fonseca approved. Ojeda would never have dreamed of setting up any personal opinion contrary to the views of the Church.

In twenty-four days the fleet arrived upon a coast which no one on board had ever seen. It was in fact two hundred leagues further to the south than Paria, where the Admiral had touched. The people were taller and more vigorous than the Arawaks of Hispaniola, and expert with the bow, the lance and the shield. Their bell-shaped houses were of tree-trunks thatched with palm leaves, some of them very large. The people wore ornaments made of fish-bones, and strings of white and green beads, and feather headdresses of the most gorgeous colors. The interpreter told Ojeda that the Spaniards' desire of gold and pearls was very puzzling to these simple folk, who had never considered them of any especial value. In a harbor called Maracapana the fleet was unloaded and careened for cleaning. Under the direction of Ojeda and La Cosa a small brigantine was built. The people brought venison, fish, cassava bread and other provisions willingly, and seemed to think the Spaniards angels. At least, that was the version of their talk which reached Ojeda. It was here that Amerigo Vespucci made that remark about translators. He had not studied accounts of Atlantic voyages for the last few years without drawing a few conclusions regarding the nature of savages. When it was explained that the natives had neighbors who were cannibals, and that they would greatly value the strangers' assistance in fighting them, Vespucci came very near making a suggestion. He finally made it to Juan de la Cosa instead of to Ojeda. The old pilot chuckled wisely.

"I've got past warning my young gentleman of danger ahead," he said good-naturedly. "He can do without fighting just as well as a fish can do without water. If I die trying to get him out of some scrape he has plunged into head-first, it will be no more than I expect."

Ojeda was, in fact, spoiling for adventure, and joyfully set sail in the direction of the Carib Islands. Seven coast natives were on board as guides, and pointed out the island inhabited by their especial enemies. The shore was lined with fierce-faced savages, painted and feathered, armed with bows and arrows, lances and darts and bucklers. Ojeda launched his boats, in each of which was a paterero, or small cannon, with a number of soldiers crouching down out of sight. The armor of the Spaniards protected them from the Indian arrows, while the cotton armor of the savages and their light shields were no defense against cannon-balls or crossbow-bolts.

When the barbarians leaped into the sea and attacked the boats the cannon scattered them, but they rallied and fought more fiercely on land. The Spaniards won that day's battle, but the dauntless islanders were ready to renew the fight next morning. With his fifty-seven men Ojeda routed the whole fighting force of the tribe, made many prisoners, plundered and set fire to the villages, and returned to his ships. A part of the spoil was bestowed on the seven friendly natives. Ojeda, who had not received so much as a scratch, anchored in a bay for three weeks to let his wounded recover. There were twenty-one wounded and one Spaniard had been killed.

Sailing westward along the coast the fleet presently entered a vast gulf like an inland sea, on the eastern side of which was a most curious village. Ojeda could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. Twenty large cone-shaped houses were built on piles driven into the bottom of the lake, which in that part was clear and shallow. Each house had its drawbridge, and communicated with its neighbors and with the shore by means of canoes gliding along the water-ways between the piles. The interpreters said it was called Coquibacoa.

"That is no proper name for so marvelous a place," said Ojeda after he had tried to pronounce the clucking many-syllabled word. "Is it like anything you have seen, Vespucci?"

The Italian had been comparing it with a similar village he had seen on his first voyage, on a part of the coast called Lariab. He had an instinct, however, that it would not be well to mix his own discoveries with those of the present expedition.

"It is rather like Venice," he said demurely.

"That is the name for it," cried Ojeda in high delight,—"Venezuela—Little Venice!"

"It would be interesting," observed Vespucci, "to know what names they are giving to us. How they stare!"

The people of the village on stilts were evidently as much astonished at the strangers as the strangers were at them. They fled into their houses and raised the draw-bridges. The men in a squadron of canoes which came paddling in from the sea were also terrified. But this did not last long. The warriors went into the forest and returned with sixteen young girls, four of whom they brought to each ship. While the white men wondered what this could mean, several old crones appeared at the doors of the houses and began a furious shrieking. This seemed to be a signal. The maidens dived into the sea and made for the shore, and a storm of arrows came from the canoemen. The fight, however, was not long, and the Spaniards won an easy victory, after which they had no further trouble. They found a harbor called Maracaibo, and twenty-seven Spaniards at the earnest request of the natives were entertained as guests among the inland villages for nine days. They were carried from place to place in litters or hammocks, and when they returned to the ships every man of them had a collection of gifts—rich plumes, weapons, tropical birds and animals—but no gold. The monkeys and parrots were very amusing, but they did not make up, in the minds of some of the crew, for the gold which had not been found.

Ojeda returned from an exploring journey one day with a ruffled temper. "A gang of poachers," he sputtered,—"rascally Bristol traders. We shall have to teach these folk their place."

"What really happened?" Vespucci inquired privately of Juan de la Cosa. The old mariner's eyes twinkled.

"It was funny. You see, we were coming down to the shore, ready to return to the ships, when we spied an English ship and some sailors on the beach, dancing after they'd caught their fish and eaten 'em. Up marches our young caballero with hand on hilt and asks whose men they are. But they answered him in a language he can't understand, d'ye see, and after some jabbering he makes them understand that he wants to go on board to see their captain. I went along, for I'd no mind to leave him alone if there should be trouble.

"So soon as I set eyes on the captain I knew him for a chap I'd seen years ago in Venice. He did me a good turn there, too, though he was but a lad. I knew he was a Bristol man, but I hadn't expected to see him or his ship so far from home. He could talk Spanish nearly as well as you do.

"'What are you doing here?' asks our worshipful commander.

"'Looking at the sky,' said the other man, cool as a cucumber. 'I think we are going to have a storm.'

"'Don't bandy words with me,' says Ojeda. 'You are trespassing on my master's dominions.'

"'Your master is the Admiral of the Indies, no?' says the stranger, and that pretty near shut our young gentleman's mouth for a minute, for between you and me I think he knows that Colon has not been well treated. But he only got the more furious.

"'Do you insult me?' says he, and whips out his Toledo blade and bends it almost double, to show the quality.

"'Wait a minute, my young hornet,' says the captain—he wasn't much more than a boy, himself,—'didn't your master the Duke of Medina Coeli teach you better than to irritate a man on the deck of his own ship? Mine can sail two leagues to your one, and I'm just leaving for home, so, unless you would like to go with me, perhaps you will let this conversation end without any more pointed remarks. If I chose, you know, I could drop you overboard in sight of your men, to swim ashore. My guns would stave your longboat all to pieces. But I've stayed long enough to give the lads a chance to have a good meal and a bit of fun—nothing's better than dancing, for the spirits, dad always said it was better than either fighting or dicing on shipboard. Before we part, though, I'm going to give you one piece of advice. Don't stir up these coast natives too often. If you do, they'll eat you. They use poisoned arrows in some of these parts, and there's no cure for that but a red-hot iron.'

"The caballero's temper is like gunpowder—it flashes up in a second, or not at all. He must ha' seen that the captain meant him kindness. Anyway, he slips his sword back in the scabbard and says cool as you please,

"'Senor, pardon my hasty conclusion. You have of course a perfect right to look at the sky, and to dance, if that is your diversion. I should be extremely sorry to interfere with your departure. But you will understand that when a commander in the service of the sovereigns of Aragon and Castile finds intruders within their territory it is his duty to make it his affair. I thank you for your warning. Adios,' and he makes a little stiff bow and goes over the side, me after him. I looked back just as I went over the rail, and the skipper was watching me, and I may be mistaken but I believe he winked. I tell you, our little captain can do things that would get him run through the body if he were any other man."

Vespucci smiled thoughtfully. But this incident may have had something to do with his later decision to part company with Ojeda. Vespucci continued to explore the coast, and Ojeda sailed northward to the islands, where he kidnaped some Indians for slaves. When he returned to Cadiz the young adventurer found to his intense disgust that after all expenses were paid there remained but five hundred ducats to be divided among fifty-five men. This was all the more mortifying because, two months before, Pedro Alonso Nino, a captain of Palos, and Christoval Guerra of Seville, had come in from a trading voyage in the Indies with the richest cargo of gold and pearls ever seen in Cadiz.

Vespucci wrote his book some years later, and as it was the first popular account of the new Spanish possessions and was written in a lively and entertaining style it had a great reputation. It gave to the natives of the country the name which they have ever since borne—Indians. A German geographer who much admired the work suggested that an appropriate mark of appreciation would be to name the new continent America, after Vespucci, and this was done. Vespucci described all that he saw and some things of which he heard, using care and discretion, and if he suspected that the captain of the Bristol ship was Sebastian Cabot, later pilot-major of Spain, he did not say so.

NOTE

Amerigo Vespucci has been unjustly accused of endeavoring to steal the glory of Columbus, but there is no evidence that he ever contemplated anything of the kind. It was a German geographer's suggestion that the continent be named America.



THE GOLD ROAD

O the Gold Road is a hard road, And it leads beyond the sea,— Some follow it through the altar gates And some to the gallows tree. And they who squander the gold they earn On kin-folk ill to please Go soon to the grave, but he toils in the grave— The miner upon his knees.

The Gold Road is a dark road— No bird by the wayside sings, No sun shines into the canons deep, No children's laughter rings. They are slaves who delve in the stubborn rocks For the pittance their labor brings. Their bread is bitter who toil for their own, But they starve who toil for Kings.

The Gold Road is a small road,— A man must tread it alone, With none to help if he faint or fall, And none to hear his groan. The weight of gold is a weary weight When we toil for the sake of our own— But our masters are branding our hearts and souls With a Christ that is carved in stone!



VIII

THE DOG WITH TWO MASTERS

"They fight among themselves too much. They need the man with the whip."

"Bough! wough!"

"Yar-r-rh! arrh!—agh!"

A spirited and entertaining dog-fight was going on just outside the house of the governor of Darien. The deep sullen roar of Balboa's big hound Leoncico was as unmistakable as the snarling, snapping, furious bark of Cacafuego, who belonged to the Bachelor Enciso. The two hated each other at sight, months ago. Now they were having it out. The man with the whip evidently came on the scene, for there was a final crescendo of barks, yelps and growls, followed by silence.

Pizarro's remark, however, did not refer to the dogs but to the settlers, who had been rioting over the governorship of the colony. The outcome of this disturbance had been the practical seizure of the office of captain-general by Vasco Nunez de Balboa. Pizarro himself, and Juan de Saavedra, to whom he addressed his comment, had supported Balboa. Saavedra did not commit himself further than to answer, with a shrug, "Balboa can use the whip on occasion, we all know that. Ah, here he comes now."

The man and the dog would have attracted attention anywhere, separately or together. The man was well-made and vigorous, with red-brown hair and beard, and clear merry eyes, a leader who would rather lead than command. The dog was of medium size but very powerful, tawny in color with a black muzzle, and the scars on his compact body recorded many battles, not with other dogs but with hostile Indians. He had been his master's body-guard in several fights, and Balboa sometimes lent him to his friends, the dog receiving the same share of plunder that would have been due to an armed man. Leoncico is said to have brought his captain in this way more than a thousand crowns.

"You called him off, eh, General?" Saavedra asked, bending to stroke the terrible head. He and Vasco Nunez had been friends for years; in fact it was Saavedra who had managed the smuggling of Balboa on board the ship in a cask, to escape his creditors, when the expedition set out. They were intimate, as men are intimate who are different in character but alike in feeling and tradition. Pizarro was an outsider and knew it.

"Yes; Enciso's dog would be better for a whipping, perhaps, but I had no mind to make the Bachelor any more an enemy than he is. Pizarro,—" he turned to the soldier of fortune, with a frank smile, "I have work for you to do. It is dangerous, but I know that you do not care for that. Pick out six good men, and be ready to see if there is any truth in those stories about the Coyba gold mines."

Pizarro's black brows unbent. Nothing could have suited him better than just these orders. He was, like Balboa, a native of the province of Estremadura in Spain, and being shut out by his low birth from advancement in his own land, had come to the colonies in the hope of gaining wealth and position by the sword. His reckless courage, iron muscle, and a certain cold stubbornness had given him the reputation of an able man, but though nearly ten years older than Balboa, he had never held any but a subordinate position. He had nearly made up his mind that his chance would never come. These hidalgos wanted all the glory as well as all the power for themselves. He could not see why Balboa should turn the possible discovery of a rich new province over to him, but if the gold should be there, Pizarro would get it. He bowed, thanked the general, and took his leave.

"General," said Saavedra, "I never like to put my neck in a noose, but if you were only Vasco Nunez I would ask you why you made exactly that choice."

Balboa laughed and pulled the ears of Leoncico, who had laid his head in full content on his master's knee. "I am always Vasco Nunez to you, amigo," he said easily, "as you very well know. Pizarro is a bulldog for bravery, and he has a head on his shoulders. Also he is ambitious, and this will give him a chance to win renown."

"And keeps him out of mischief for the time being," put in Saavedra dryly.

Balboa laughed again. "Why do you ask me questions when you know my mind almost as well as I do? You see, now that Enciso is about to go, we shall have some freedom to do something besides quarrel among ourselves. Gold is an apology for whatever one does, out here. If there is as much of it as they say, in this Coyba, the King may be able to gild the walls of another salon, and if he puts Pizarro's portrait in it in the place of honor I shall not weep over that. There is glory enough for all of us, who choose to earn it."

Pizarro and his men had not gone ten miles from Darien before they ran into an ambush of Indians armed with slings. The seven Spaniards charged instantly, and actually put the enemy to flight, then beat a quick retreat. Every man of them despite their body armor had wounds and bruises, and one was left disabled upon the field. Balboa met them as they limped painfully in. His quick eye took in the situation.

"Only six of you? Where is Francisco Hernan?"

"He was crippled and could not walk," answered Pizarro sulkily; he saw what was coming. Balboa's eyes blazed.

"What! You—Spaniards—ran away from savages and left a comrade to die? Go back and bring him in!"

Pizarro turned in silence, took his men back over the road just traversed, and brought Hernan safely in.

This was one of the many incidents by which the colony learned the mettle of the new captain-general. Under his direction exploration of the neighboring provinces was undertaken. Balboa with eighty men made a friendly visit to Comagre, a cacique who could put three thousand fighting men in the field. Comagre and his seven sons entertained the white men in a house larger and more like a palace of the Orient than any they had before seen. It was one hundred and fifty paces long by eighty paces broad, the lower part of the walls built of logs, the floors and upper walls of beautiful and ingenious wood-work. The son of this cacique presented to Balboa seventy slaves, captives taken by himself, and golden ornaments weighing altogether four thousand ounces. The gold was at once melted into ingots, or bars of uniform size, for purposes of division. One-fifth of it was weighed out for the Crown, the rest divided among the members of the expedition. The young cacique stood by watching with scornful curiosity as the Spaniards argued and squabbled over the allotment. Suddenly he struck up the scales with his fist, and the shining treasure tumbled over the porch floor like spilt corn.

"Why do you quarrel over this trash?" he asked. "If this gold is so precious to you that you leave your homes, invade the land of peaceable nations and endure desperate perils, I will tell you where there is plenty of it."

The Spaniards' attention was instantly caught and held. The young Indian went on, with the same careless contempt, "You see those mountains over there? Beyond them is a great sea. The people who dwell on the border of that sea have ships almost as big as yours, with sails and oars as yours have. The streams in their country are full of gold. The King eats from golden dishes, for gold is as common there as iron is among you,"—he glanced at the cumbrous armor and weapons of his guests. Indeed the panoply of the Spaniards, made necessary by the constant possibility of attack, and the weight of their cross-bows and other weapons, was a source of continual wonder to the light and nimble Indians, and of much weariness and suffering to themselves. Many in time adopted the quilted cotton body armor of the natives, and used pikes when they could in place of the musketoun, which was like a hand-cannon.

This was not the first time that Balboa and many of the others had heard of the Lord of the Golden House, but no one else had told the story with such boldness. The young cacique said that to invade this land, a thousand warriors would be none too many. He offered to accompany Balboa with his own troops, if the white men would go.

Here indeed was an enterprise with glory enough for all. Balboa returned to Darien and began preparations. Valdivia, the regidor of the colony, had been sent to Hispaniola for provisions, but the supply he brought back was absurdly small. One of the serious difficulties encountered by all the first settlers in the New World was this matter of provisioning the camps. For the Indians the natural fruits and produce of the country were sufficient, and they seldom laid up any great store. The small surplus of any one chief was soon exhausted by a large body of guests. Moreover, the country had no cattle, swine, fowls, goats, no domestic food animals whatever, no grain but the maize. The supply of meat and grain was thus very small until Spanish planters could clear and cultivate their estates. On the march the troops could and did live off the country with less trouble.

Balboa decided to send Valdivia back to Hispaniola for more supplies. He also sent by him a letter to Diego Colon, son of the great Admiral and governor of the island, explaining his need for more troops in view of what he had just learned about a new and wealthy kingdom not far away. He frankly requested the Governor to use his influence with the King to make this discovery possible without delay.

Weeks passed, and Valdivia did not come back. Provisions again became scarce. Then a letter from Balboa's friend Zamudio, who had gone to Spain in the same ship with the Bachelor Enciso, in order to defend Balboa's course. Everything, it seemed, had gone wrong. The King had listened to the eloquence of the Bachelor, and would probably send for Balboa to come to Spain to answer criminal charges. It was said that he meant to send out as governor of Darien, in the place of Balboa, an old and wily courtier, one of Fonseca's favorites, named Pedro Arias de Avila, and usually called Pedrarias.

"That," said Balboa, handing the letter over to Saavedra to read, "seems to mean that the fat has gone into the fire."

"What shall you do?"

"If the King's summons arrives," said Balboa reflectively, "I think I will be on the top of that mountain range looking for the sea the cacique spoke of."

"I will go at once and make my preparations," assented the other. "Did you know that Pizarro has adopted that dog—the Spitfire—Enciso's brute?"

"Has the dog adopted him?" laughed Balboa, extracting a thorn with the utmost care from the paw of Leoncico.

"That is a shrewd question. You know I have a theory that a man is known by his dog. This beast seems to have changed character when he changed masters. When Enciso had him he was little more than a puppy, and then he was thievish and cowardly. Now he will attack an Indian as savagely as Leoncico himself. Pizarro must have put the iron into him."

"Pizarro can," said Balboa carelessly. "He does it with his men. I think there is more in that fellow than we have supposed. We shall see—this expedition will be a kind of test."

Saavedra, as he went to his own quarters, wondered whether Balboa were really as unconscious and unsuspicious as he seemed.

"Like dog, like master," he said to himself. "Cacafuego shifted collars as easily as any mongrel does—as readily as Pizarro himself would. I think that Leoncico, left here without Balboa, would die. Neither a dog or a man has any business with two masters. I wonder whether in the end we shall conquer this land, or find that the land has conquered us?"

Balboa set forth with one hundred and ninety picked men and a few bloodhounds. Half the company remained on shore at Coyba to guard the brigantine and canoes, and with the others Balboa began the ascent of the range of mountains from whose heights he hoped to view the sea.

In no other time and country have discoverers encountered the obstacles and dangers which confronted the Spaniards who first explored Central America. Precipitous mountains, matted jungles, barren deserts, deep and swift streams, malarious bogs, and hostile natives often armed with poisoned weapons, all were in their way, and they had to make their overland journeys on foot, fully armed and often in tropical heat. Even when accompanied by Indians familiar with the country, they could count on little or nothing in the way of game or other provisions. Balboa's friendly ways with the natives had secured him Indian guides and porters, but it was difficult work, even so. In four days they traveled no more than ten leagues, and it took them from the sixth to the twenty-fifth of September to cover the ground between the coast of Darien and the foot of the last mountain they must climb. One-third of the men had been sent back from time to time, because of illness and exhaustion. The party remained for the night in the village of Quaraqua at the foot of the mountain, and at dawn they began their ascent, hoping to reach the summit before the hottest time of the day. About ten o'clock they came out of the thick forest on a high and airy slope of the mountain, and the Indians pointed out a hill, from which they said the sea was visible.

Then Balboa commanded the others to rest, while he went alone to the top.

"And this," muttered Pizarro to the man next him, "is the man who is always saying that there is enough glory for all!"

Saavedra's quick ear caught the remark. He smiled rather satirically. He, and he alone, knew the true reason for this action of Balboa's.

"Juan," the commander had said to him while they were wading through their last swamp, "when we are somewhere near the summit I shall go on alone. I want no one with me when I look down the other side of that range. Whether I see a mere lake, which these savages may call a sea, or—something greater, I am not sure I shall be able to command my feelings. I will not be a fool before the men."

Balboa's heart was thumping as he climbed, more with excitement than exertion. No one but Saavedra had so much as an inkling of the importance his success or failure would have for him personally. The whole of his future lay on the unknown other side of that hill. He shut his eyes as he reached the top—then opened them upon a glorious view.

A vast blue sea sparkled in the sunshine, only a few leagues away. From the mountain top to the shore of this great body of water sloped a wild landscape of forest, rock, savanna and winding river. Balboa knelt and gave thanks to God.

Then he sprang to his feet and beckoned to his followers, who rushed up the hill, the great hound Leoncico bounding far ahead. When all had reached the summit Father Andreas de Varo, motioning them to kneel, began the chant of Te Deum Laudamus, in which the company joined. The notary of the expedition then wrote out a testimonial witnessing that Balboa took possession of the sea, all its islands and surrounding lands, in the name of the sovereign of Castile; and each man signed it. Balboa had a tall tree cut down and made into a cross, which was planted on the exact spot where he had stood when he first looked upon the sea. A mound of stones was piled up for an additional monument, and the names of the sovereigns were carved on neighboring trees. Then Balboa, leading his men down the southern slope of the mountain, sent out three scouting parties under Francisco Pizarro, Juan de Escaray and Alonso Martin to discover the best route to the shore. Martin's party were first to reach it, after two days' journey, and found there two large canoes. Martin stepped into one of them, calling his companions to witness that he was the first European who had ever embarked upon those waters; Blas de Etienza, who followed, was the second. They reported their success to Balboa, and with twenty-six men the commander set out for the sea-coast. The Indian chief Chiapes, whom Balboa had fought and then made his ally, accompanied the party with some of his followers. On Michaelmas they reached the shore of a great bay, which in honor of the day was christened Bay de San Miguel. The tide was out, leaving a beach half a league wide covered with mud, and the Spaniards sat down to rest and wait. When it turned, it came in so fast that some who had dropped asleep found it lapping the bank at their feet, before they were fairly roused.

Balboa stood up, and taking a banner which displayed the arms of Castile and Leon, and the figure of the Madonna and Child, he drew his sword and marched into the sea. In a formal speech he again took possession, in the names of the sovereigns, of the seas and lands and coasts and ports, the islands of the south, and all kingdoms and provinces thereunto appertaining. These rights he declared himself ready to maintain "until the day of judgment."

While another document was receiving the signatures of the members of the expedition, Saavedra, who was standing near the margin of the bay, took up a little water in his hand and tasted it. It was salt.

In the excitement of actually reaching the coast of so broad and beautiful a sea, no one had happened to think of finding out whether the water was fresh or salt. This discovery made it certain that they had found, not a great inland lake, but the ocean itself.

Pizarro scowled; he wished that he had not missed this last chance of fame. Since he had discovered nothing it was not likely that his name should be mentioned in Balboa's report to the King, at all. But Balboa, high in expectation of the change which this fortunate adventure would make in his career, went on triumphantly exploring the neighboring country, gaining here and there considerable quantities of gold and pearls. Saavedra, who had inherited an estate in Spain just before the expedition started, and expected on his return to Darien to go home to look after it, watched Pizarro with growing distrust and anxiety.

"I think you are ready to accuse him of witchcraft," said Balboa lightly when Saavedra hinted at his suspicions. "You have not given me one positive proof that the man is anything but a rather sulky, unhappy brute who has had ill luck."

"He is ill-bred, I tell you," said Saavedra stubbornly. "He is making up to the Indians, and that is not like him. We shall have trouble there yet."

Balboa laughed and went to his hut, there to fling himself into a hammock and take a much-needed nap. Saavedra, coming back in the twilight, spied an Indian creeping through the forest toward a window in the rear of the hut. He was about to challenge the man when there was a yelp from the bushes, and Cacafuego leaped upon the prowler and bore him to earth, tearing savagely at his throat and receiving half a dozen wounds from the arrows the Indian carried in his hand and in his belt. He had been trained by Pizarro to fly at an Indian, and made no distinctions. Within an hour or two the poison in the arrow-points began to take effect, and the dog died. Whether he had been prowling about in search of food—for Pizarro kept him hungry with a view to making his temper more touchy—or was looking for his old enemy Leoncico, no one would ever know. Balboa looked grave and said nothing.

"The dog is dead—that is all that is absolutely certain," said Saavedra grimly. "I wish it had been his master."

NOTE

It is recorded that when Pizarro met Balboa with the order for his arrest Balboa thus addressed him: "It is not thus, Pizarro, that you were wont to greet me!" Pizarro's jealousy and ill-will are evident in the recorded facts, though he does not appear to have been actually guilty of treachery to his general.



COLD O' THE MOON

Alone with all the stars that rule mankind Ruy Faleiro sought to read the fate Of his close friend—now by the King's rebuke Sent stumbling out of Portugal to seek His fortune on the sea-roads of the world. But when Faleiro read the horoscope It seemed to point to glory—and a grave Beyond the sunset.

When Magalhaens heard The prophecy, he smiled, and steadfastly Held on his way to that young Emperor, The blond shy stripling with the Austrian face, And in due time was Admiral of the Fleet To sail the seas that lay beyond the world.

Mid-August was it when the fleet set forth, December, when in that Brazilian bay, Santa Lucia, they dropped anchor,—then Set up a little altar on the beach And knelt at Mass in that gray solitude.

Carvagio the pilot knew the place, And said the folk were kindly,—brown, straight-haired, Wore feather mantles, used no poisoned flints, And only ate man's flesh on holidays. Whereat a little daunted, not with fear, The mariners met them running to the shore, Bought swine of them, and plantains, cassava, And for one playing card, the king of clubs, The wild men gave six fowls! There were brown roots Formed like the turnip, chestnut-like in taste And called patata in ship-Spanish—cane Wherefrom is made the sugar and the wine Of Hispaniola, and the pineapple That was like nectar to their sea-parched throats. And thus they feasted and were satisfied.

Like an enchanted Eden seemed the land, For birds on dazzling many-colored wings Made the trees blossom—parrots red, green, blue, Humming-birds like live jewels in the air, Strange ducks with spoon-shaped bills,—and overhead Like some fantastic frieze of living gold, The little yellow monkeys leaped and swung Chattering of Setebos in their unknown tongue.

The old men lived beyond their sevenscore years— Or so the people said. They made canots Of logs that they carved out with heated stones. They slept in hamacs, woven cotton swings. Their chiefs were called cacichas—you may find All this put down in the thrice precious book Written by Pigafetta of Vicenza For a queen's pleasure when the voyage was done.

Then from that shore they sailed, and southward bent, And as the long days lengthened, till the nights Were but star-circled midnight intervals, They wondered of what race and by what seas They should find kings at the antipodes.

Where a great river flowed into the sea They found sea-lions,—on another isle Strange geese, milk-white and sable, with no wings, Who swam instead of flying, and they called The place the Isle of Penguins.

Then they found A desolate harbor called San Juliano, Where the fierce flame of mutiny broke forth, Spaniard on Portuguese turned treacherously Till in the red midwinter sunrise towered The place of execution, and an end Was made of the two traitors. Outward flashed the sail And left the sea-birds there to tell the tale.

Beyond there lay a bleak and misty shore, And in the fog a wild gigantic form White-haired, a savage, called a greeting to them. Friendly the huge men were, and took these men, Bearded and strange, for kinfolk of their god, Setebos, from his home beyond the moon, And from their great shoes filled with straw for warmth Magalhaens named them men of Patagonia.

Westward they steered, and buffeted by winds, They found a narrow channel, where the fleet Halted for council. One returned to Spain Laden with falsehood and with mutiny. On sailed the others valiantly, their hearts Remembering their Admiral's haughty words Flung at his craven captain, "I will see This great voyage to the end, though we should eat The leather from the yards!" And thus they reached The end of that strait path of Destiny, And saw beyond the shining Western Sea.

Northward the Admiral followed that long coast Past Masafuera—then began his flight Across the great uncharted shining sea. And surely there was never stranger voyage. The winds were gentle toward him, and no more The dreadful laughter of the tempest shrilled, Or down upon them pounced the hurricane. Therefore Magalhaens, giving thanks to God, Named it Pacific, and the lonely sea. Still bore him westward where his heart would be.

Alone with all the stars of Christendom He set his course,—if he had known his fate Would he have stayed his hand? Before the end Fate the old witch, who often loves to turn A man's words on him, kept the ships becalmed Even to thirst and famine; when instead They fed on leather, gnawed wood, and ate mice As did the Patagonian giants, when They begged such vermin for a savage feast. Then Fate, her jest outworn, blew them to shore On the green islands called the Isles of Thieves, And brought them to more islands—and still more, A kingdom of bright lands in sunny seas. Here did the Admiral land, and raise the Cross Above that heathen realm,—and here went down In battle for strange allies in strange lands.

So ended his adventure. Yet not so, For the Victoria, faithful to his hand That laid her charge upon her, southward sailed Around the Cape and westward to Seville. El Cano brought her in, and her strange tale Told to the Emperor. "And the Admiral said," He ended, "that indeed these heathen lands God meant should all be Christian, for He set A cross of stars above the southern sea, A passion-flower upon the southern shore, To be a sign to great adventurers. These be two marvels,—and upon the way We gained a kingdom, but we lost a day!"



IX

WAMPUM TOWN

"Elephants' teeth?"

"A fair lot, but I am sick of the Guinea coast. The Lisbon slavers get more of black ivory than we do of the white."

The good Jean Parmentier, who asked the question, and the youth called Jean Florin, who answered it, were looking at a stanch weather-beaten little cargo-ship anchored in the harbor of Dieppe. She had been to the Gold Coast, where wild African chiefs conjured elephants' tusks out of the mysterious back country and traded them for beads, trinkets and gay cloth. In Dieppe this ivory was carved by deft artistic fingers into crucifixes, rosaries, little caskets, and other exquisite bibelots. African ivory was finer, whiter and firmer than that of India, and when thus used was almost as valuable as gold.

But within the last ten years the slave trade had grown more profitable than anything else. A Portuguese captain would kidnap or purchase a few score negroes, take them, chained and packed together like convicts, to Lisbon or Seville and sell them for fat gold moidores and doubloons. The Spanish conquistadores had not been ten years in the West Indies before they found that Indian slavery did not work. The wild people, under the terrible discipline of the mines and sugar plantations, died or killed themselves. Planters of Hispaniola declared one negro slave worth a dozen Indians.

"I do not wonder that the cacique Hatuey told the priest that he would burn forever rather than go to a heaven where Spaniards lived," said Jean Florin. "To roast a man is no way to change his religion."

"Some of our folk in Rochelle are of that way of thinking," agreed Captain Parmentier dryly. "What say you to a western voyage?"

"Not Brazil? Cabral claims that for Portugal."

"No; the northern seas—the Baccalaos. Of course codfish are not ivory, and it is rough service, but Aubert and some of the others think that there may be a way to India. Sebastian Cabot tried for it and found only icebergs, but Aubert says there is a gulf or strait somewhere south of Cabot's course, that leads westward and has never been explored."

"I am tired of the Guinea trade," the youth repeated; "Cape Breton at any rate is not Spanish."

"Not yet," said Jean Parmentier with emphasis.

Thus it came about that when Aubert, in 1508, poked the prow of his little craft into open water to the west of the great island off which men fished for cod, there stood beside him a young man who had been learning navigation under his direction, and was now called Jean Verassen. His real name was Giovanni Verrazzano, but nobody in Dieppe knew who the Florentine Verazzani might be, and during his apprenticeship there he had been known as Florin—the Florentine. In his boyhood the magnificent Medici, the merchant princes, had ruled Florence. After the fall of Constantinople he had seen the mastery of the sea pass from Venice to Lisbon. When he left Florence he followed the call of the sea-wind westward until now he had cast his lot with the seafarers of northern France, the only bit of the Continent that was outside the shadow of the mighty power of Spain. That shadow was growing bigger and darker year by year. The heir to the Spanish throne, Charles, grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella, would be emperor of Germany, ruler of the Netherlands, King of Aragon, Castile, Granada and Andalusia, and sovereign of all the Spanish discoveries in the West; and no one knew how far they might extend. France might have to fight for her life.

Meanwhile Norman and Breton fishermen went scudding across the North Atlantic every year, like so many petrels. Honfleur, Saint Malo, La Rochelle and Dieppe owed their modest prosperity to the cod. Baccalao, codfish or stockfish, all its names referred to the beating of the fish while drying, with a stick, to make it more tender; it was cheaper and more plentiful than any other fish for the Lenten tables and fast-days of Europe. The daring French captains found the fishing trade a hard life but a clean one.

From the fishermen Aubert and Verrazzano had learned something of the nature of the country. Bears would come down to steal fish from under the noses of the men. Walrus and seal and myriads of screaming sea-gulls greeted them every season. The natives were barbarous and unfriendly. North of Newfoundland were two small islands known as the Isles of Demons, where nobody ever went. Veteran pilots told of hearing the unseen devils howling and shrieking in the air. "Saint Michael! tintamarre terrible!" they said, crossing themselves. The young Florentine listened and kept his thoughts to himself. He had never seen any devils, but he had seen men go mad in the hot fever-mist of African swamps, thinking they saw them.