Chapter X.
TUDOR TIMES.
JOHN AND SEBASTIAN CABOT.
“The white man landed;—need the rest be told?
The New World stretched its dusk hand to the Old;
Each was to each a marvel, and the tie
Of wonder warmed to better sympathy.”
OW the procession halts, while a momentous scene is enacted before our eyes. We are in the old seaport of Bristol, on a May morning in the year 1497, treading the rough cobbles of the quay whereat the good ship Matthew and her consort lie. Stout, staunch vessels they are, fitted out and provisioned for the most adventurous voyage ever undertaken by Bristol ships. The royal blazon glistens on their mainsails, the flag of England flies from their mastheads. Some of the boldest and most skilful mariners in the land are on board, busy making everything ship-shape, “Bristol fashion,” for the voyage which is to begin to-day. Now you see a procession approaching. The Lord Mayor in his robes of state, with his chain of office about his neck, leads the way, and behind him troop the city fathers; then comes the bishop, with his attendant train of priests; and behind them, the observed of all observers, you see a father and his three sons. They are John, Lewis, Sebastian, and Santius Cabot—the father a citizen of Venice, the sons men of Bristol. The old city is saying farewell to them to-day, and the lusty cheers that greet them as they traverse the narrow streets show how deeply every Bristol man is interested in their enterprise. What is this enterprise? Whither are they bound?