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UNDER

THE LILY AND THE ROSE

CHAPTER I
COLUMBUS AND CABOT

Table of Contents

Once upon a time, it matters not when, I made a vow that I would write a short history of Canada for children. It matters not why. And now I have written the book and fulfilled my vow.

Once upon a time, about four hundred and fifty years ago, there was a great awakening throughout the civilized countries of Europe. It was the close of a brilliant epoch, the dawn of glorious enterprise and experiment. Art and literature flourished, and the printing press was replacing the hand-written volume. But perhaps the most remarkable achievement of the age was in the field of exploration, and especially the triumph of Columbus, which had placed within the grasp of the Old World the untold treasure of the New.

For fifteen centuries of the Christian era Canada and the whole of the American continent was unknown to the Old World. And now men were beginning to whisper of the discovery of a mysterious land beyond the sea. There were no telegraphs nor cables in those days; but soon, very soon, the news reached England and caused much excitement at the Court of Henry VII, where the achievement was spoken of as “a thing more divine than human.”

The glory of this great discovery belonged to Spain. And what Spain could do surely England, France or Portugal could accomplish. So thought the rival nations at that time. The merchants of Bristol, always eager to embrace opportunities for enterprise and profit, became keenly interested and speculation ran high.

Exploration, however, was a costly experiment, and the merchants were cautious. And so was the King. Fortunately for England there lived in Bristol, in 1493, a bold and skilful navigator named John Cabot. He was a fellow-countryman of Columbus, and, like Columbus, he believed in the “roundness of the earth.” Now I am sure that any girl in Canada would smile if her teacher told her seriously that the earth was flat. In the dark days of which I write, it was different. The teachers and the learned men, with few exceptions, believed that the world was flat and they scoffed at the representation of the earth as a huge ball.

From the Painting in the Public Archives of Canada

COLUMBUS TURNED AWAY FROM THE CONVENT OF ST. STEPHEN

Ofttimes, no doubt, you think that you know better than your teacher, but you would not think it prudent to say so. In that age, far removed, it was not only imprudent but positively dangerous to advance theories which were opposed to accepted dogmas.

Cabot, like Columbus, had often pleaded his cause before the learned, and failed. Sometimes he was dismissed in anger and sometimes in pity. The picture facing page 2 shows Columbus being turned away from the convent of St. Stephen. You will notice the expression of scorn on the faces of some of the learned men, and the look of pity of the good father, who was half inclined to accept the theories of the persistent navigator. But a brighter day had dawned. Scholars were forced to revise their knowledge of geography. The success of Columbus was convincing.

No enterprise could be undertaken without the authority of the King, and when Henry VII visited Bristol in the winter of 1495-6 he became interested in the project of Cabot. We have no exact account of what took place, but Cabot, no doubt, told the story of his several voyages to the East and his visit to Mecca, “whither the spices are brought by caravan from distant countries, and those who brought them, on being asked where they grow, answered that they did not know, but that other caravans came with this merchandise to their homes from distant countries.” Whatever the argument, the King seems to have been pleased with the plan and, in due course, Cabot received the Royal authority on the 5th March, 1496, “to sail to all parts, regions and coasts of the Eastern, Western and Northern Sea under our banners and flags.”

The prospect of receiving the merchandise of the East, and perchance rich spoil, was indeed enticing. Nevertheless the King was careful to ordain that the cost of the enterprise should be borne by Cabot, while a goodly share of the profit should pass into the Royal Treasury.

The objective of Cabot’s voyage was Cathay, where was the City of Cambuluc, the residence of the Grand Khan.

Full of hope, Cabot sailed from England, passed the shores of Ireland, and finally touched at some part of the island of Cape Breton. It was June, the weather was fine and warm and Cabot persuaded himself that he had reached the north-eastern extremity of Asia. No people were seen, and he may have had some doubts; nevertheless he returned to England and received the sum of £10 for having found the new isle. With money in his pocket he purchased a silk doublet and hose. The merchants made much of him, for he “demanded the honours of a prince.”

The King also must have been impressed, for Cabot was permitted to set out on his second voyage in 1497. This time the first sight of land was on the east coast of Greenland. To a man in search of a passage to the elusive land whence came the silks and spices to the mart at Mecca, the appearance of the barren coast of Greenland must have been a terrible disappointment; nor is it surprising that the crew refused to sail farther north. There was no other course open than to return, and so brave Cabot was forced to set sail for France. This time it was not a pleasing story that he had to relate. Only a record of failure and disappointment. For honest effort uncrowned by success appeals not to the soul of commerce.

The fate of Cabot is unknown. His grave is unmarked. But his discovery of the mainland of North America thirteen months before Columbus discovered the mainland of the South brought honour to the name of England, and posterity has not been unmindful of his memory.

A building depends for its strength and stability upon its foundations, and yet foundation stones are always out of sight. And so in like manner, in the world, and in Canada in which we live, many of the things which contribute to our happiness rest upon the efforts and sacrifices of those whose names are hardly remembered or, perchance, wholly forgotten.