Читать книгу The Story of Newfoundland - Earl of Frederick Edwin Smith Birkenhead - Страница 10

"If this should be lost," said Sir Walter Raleigh of Newfoundland, "it would be the greatest blow that was ever given to England." The observation was marked by much political insight. Two centuries later, indeed, the countrymen of Raleigh experienced and outlived a shock far more paralyzing than that of which he was considering the possible effects; but when the American colonies were lost the world destiny of England had already been definitely asserted, and the American loyalists were able to resume the allegiance of their birth by merely crossing the Canadian frontier. When Raleigh wrote, Newfoundland was the one outward and visible sign of that Greater England in whose future he was a passionate believer. Therefore, inasmuch as Newfoundland, being the oldest of all the English colonies, stood for the Empire which was to be, the moral effects of its loss in infancy would have been irretrievably grave. How nearly it was lost will appear in the following pages.

Newfoundland, as was fitting for one of the largest islands in the world, and an island, too, drawing strategic importance from its position, was often conspicuous in that titanic struggle between England and France for sea power, and therefore for the mastery of the world, which dwarfs every other feature of the eighteenth century. Nor did she come out of the struggle quite unscathed. Ill-informed or indifferent politicians in the Mother Country neglected to push home the fruits of victory on behalf of the colony which the struggle had convulsed, and the direct consequence of this neglect may be seen in the French fishery claims, which long distracted the occasional leisure of the Colonial Office. Newfoundland has indeed been hardened by centuries of trial. For years its growth was arrested by the interested jealousy of English merchants; and its maturity was vexed by French exactions, against which Canada or Australia would long ago have procured redress. Newfoundland has been the patient Griselda of the Empire, and the story of her triumph over moral and material difficulties—over famine, sword, fire, and internal dissension—fills a striking chapter in the history of British expansion.

That keen zest for geographical discovery, which was one of the most brilliant products of the Renaissance, was slow in making its appearance in England. Nor are the explanations far to seek. The bull (1494) of a notorious Pope (Alexander VI.)—lavish, as befits one who bestows a thing which he cannot enjoy himself, and of which he has no right to dispose—had allocated the shadowy world over the sea to Spain and Portugal, upon a fine bold principle of division; and immediately afterwards these two Powers readjusted their boundaries in the unknown world by the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494), which could not, however, be considered as binding third parties. The line of longitude herein adopted was commonly held to have assigned Newfoundland to Portugal, but the view was incorrect. England was still a Catholic country, and for all its independence of the Pope in matters temporal, the effects of such a bull must have been very considerable. Nor did the personal character of Henry VII. incline him to the path of adventure; and on the few occasions when he was goaded to enterprise, almost in spite of himself, we are able to admire the prudence of a prince who was careful to insert two clauses in his charter of adventure: the first protecting himself against liability for the cost, the second stipulating for a share of the profits. It is to the robust insight of Henry VIII. into the conditions of our national existence that the beginnings of the English Navy are to be ascribed, and it was under this stubborn prince that English trade began to depend upon English bottoms. But the real explanation of Anglo-Saxon backwardness lies somewhat deeper. Foreign adventure and the planting of settlements must proceed, if they are to be successful, from an exuberant State; neither in resources, nor in population, nor, perhaps it must be added, in the spirit of adventure, was the England of King Henry VII. sufficiently equipped. Hence it happened that foreign vessels sailed up the Thames, or anchored by the quays of Bideford in the service of English trade, at a time when the spirit of Prince Henry the Navigator had breathed into the Portuguese service, when Diaz was discovering the Cape, and the tiny vessels of Da Gama were adventuring the immense voyage to Cathay.

It is now clearly established that the earliest adventurers in America were men of Norse stock. More than a thousand years ago Greenland was explored by Vikings from Iceland, and a hundred years later Leif Ericsson discovered a land—Markland, the land of woods—which is plausibly identified with Newfoundland. Still keeping a southern course, the adventurer came to a country where grew vines, and where the climate was strangely mild; it is likely enough that this landfall was in Massachusetts or Virginia. The name Vinland was given to the newly-discovered country. The later voyages of Thorwald Ericsson, of Thorlstein Ericsson—both brothers of Leif—and of Thorfinn Karlsefne, are recounted in the Sagas. The story of these early colonists or "builders," as they called themselves, is weakened by an infusion of fable, such as the tale of the fast-running one-legged people; but with all allowances, the fact of Viking adventure on the American mainland is unquestioned and unquestionable, though we may say of these brave sailors, with Professor Goldwin Smith, that nothing more came of their visit, or in that age could come, than of the visit of a flock of seagulls.

It has been asserted by some writers that Basque navigators discovered the American continent a century before Cabot or Columbus; but evidence in support of such claims is either wanting or unconvincing. "Ingenious and romantic theories," says a critic of these views, "have been propounded concerning discoveries of America by Basque sailors before Columbus. The whale fishery of that period and long afterwards was in the hands of the Basques, and it is asserted that, in following the whales, as they became scarcer, farther and farther out in the western ocean, they came upon the coasts of Newfoundland a hundred years before Columbus and Cabot. No solid foundation can be found for these assertions. The records of the Basque maritime cities contain nothing to confirm them, and these assertions are mixed up with so much that is absurd—such as a statement that the Newfoundland Indians spoke Basque—that the whole hypothesis is incredible."[4]

The question has been much discussed whether Columbus or Cabot in later days rediscovered the American mainland. It does not, perhaps, much matter whether the honour belongs to an Italian employed by Spain or an Italian employed by England; and it is the less necessary to ask whether Cabot explored the mainland before Columbus touched at Paria, that in any event the real credit of the adventure belongs to the great Spanish sailor. It is well known that Columbus thought, as Cabot thought after him, that he was discovering a new and short route to India by the west. Hence was given the name West Indies to the islands which Columbus discovered; hence the company which administered the affairs of Hindostan was distinguished as the East India Company. Hence, too, the spiritual welfare of the Great Khan engaged the attention of both Columbus and Cabot, whereas, in fact, this potentate (if, indeed, he existed) was secluded from their disinterested zeal by a vast continent, and thousands of miles of ocean. These misconceptions were based on a strange underestimate of the circumference of the world, but they add, if possible, to our wonder at the courage of Columbus. Sailing day after day into the unknown, with tiny ships and malcontent crews, he never faltered in his purpose, and never lost faith in his theory. When he landed at Guanahana (Watling's Island) he saw in the Bahamas the Golden Cyclades, and bethought him how he might convey to the Great Khan the letters of his Royal patron. He saw in the west coast of Juana the mainland of Cathay, and in the waters which wash the shores of Cuba he sought patiently, but vainly, for the Golden Chersonese and the storied land of the Ganges.

John Cabot inherited both the truth and the error of Columbus. His career is one of those irritating mysteries which baffle the most patient inquiry. Born at Genoa, and naturalized in 1476 at Venice after fifteen years' residence, he seems to have settled in England eight or nine years before the close of the fifteenth century. Already his life had been an adventurous one. We catch glimpses of him at long intervals: now at Mecca, pushing curious inquiries into the region whence came the spice caravans; now in Spain, under the spell, perhaps, of the novel speculations of Toscanelli and Columbus; now plying his trade as a maker of charts in Bristol or on the Continent. The confusion between John Cabot and his son Sebastian adds to the uncertainty. Those who impute to Sebastian Cabot a cuckoo-like appropriation of his father's glory are able to support their opinion with weighty evidence. The most astounding feature of all is that the main incidents of a voyage which attracted as much attention as the first voyage of John Cabot should so soon have passed into oblivion.

Marking the boundary as clearly as possible between what is certain and what is probable, we find that on March 5th, 1496, Henry VII. granted a charter in the following terms:

"Be it known to all that we have given and granted to our well-beloved John Cabot, citizen of Venice, and to Lewis, Sebastian, and Sanctus, sons of the said John, and to their heirs and deputies … authority to sail to all parts, countries, and seas of the East, of the West, and of the North, under our banner and ensigns, with five ships, and to set up our banner on any new found land, as our vassals and lieutenants, upon their own proper costs and charges to seek out and discover whatsoever isles … of the heathen and infidels, which before the time have been unknown to all Christians. … "

No sooner was the patent granted than the vigilant Spanish ambassador in London wrote to his master King Ferdinand, that a second Columbus was about to achieve for the English sovereign what Columbus had achieved for the Spanish, but "without prejudice to Spain or Portugal." In reply to this communication Ferdinand directed his informer to warn King Henry that the project was a snare laid by the King of France to divest him from greater and more profitable enterprises, and that in any case the rights of the signatory parties under the Treaty of Tordesillas would thereby be invaded. However, the voyage contemplated in the charter was begun in 1497, in defiance of the Spanish warning and arrogant pretensions. It will be noticed that the charter extends its privileges to the sons of John Cabot. It is better, with Mr. Justice Prowse, to see in this circumstance a proof of the prudence of the adventurer, who prolonged the duration of his charter by the inclusion of his infant sons, than to infer in the absence of evidence that any of them was his companion. According to one often quoted authority, Sebastian Cabot claimed in later life not merely to have taken part in the expedition, but to have been its commander,[5] and placed it after his father's death. Against this claim, if it was ever made, we must notice that in the Royal licence for the second voyage the newly found land is said to have been discovered by John Cabotto. It is impossible to say with certainty how many ships took part in Cabot's voyage. An old tradition, depending upon an unreliable manuscript,[6] says that Cabot's own ship was called the Matthew, a vessel of about fifty tons burden, and manned by sixteen Bristol seamen and one Burgundian. It is probable that the voyage began early in May, and it is certain that Cabot was back in England by August 10th, for on that date we find the following entry in the Privy Purse expenses of Henry VII., revealing a particularly stingy recognition of the discoverer's splendid service, which, however, was soon afterwards recognized less unhandsomely:

"1497, Aug. 10th.—To hym that found the New Isle, £10."[7]

The only reliable contemporary authorities on the subject of John Cabot's first voyage are the family letters of Lorenzo Pasqualigo, a Venetian merchant resident in London, to his brother, and the official correspondence of Raimondo di Raimondi, Archpriest of Soncino. The latter's account is somewhat vague. He says, in his letters to Duke Sforza of Milan, August 24th, and December 18th, 1497, that Cabot, "passing Ibernia on the west, and then standing towards the north, began to navigate the eastern ocean, leaving in a few days the north star on the right hand, and having wandered a good deal he came at last to firm land. … This Messor Zoanni Caboto," he proceeds, "has the description of the world in a chart, and also in a solid globe which he has made, and he shows where he landed." Raimondo adds that Cabot discovered two islands, one of which he gave to his barber and the other to a Burgundian friend, who called themselves Counts, whilst the commander assumed the airs of a prince.[8]

We have from the Venetian, Pasqualigo, a letter, dated August 23rd, 1497, which was probably a fortnight or three weeks after the return of Cabot. According to this authority, Cabot discovered land 700 leagues away, the said land being the territory of the Great Khan (the "Gram cham"). He coasted along this land for 300 leagues, and on the homeward voyage sighted two islands, on which, after taking possession of them, he hoisted the Venetian as well as the English flag. "He calls himself the grand admiral, walks abroad in silk attire, and Englishmen run after him like madmen."[9] It is easy to overrate the reliability of such letters as those of Pasqualigo and Raimondo, and Pasqualigo's statement that Cabot sailed from Bristol to this new land, coasted for 300 leagues along it, and returned within a period of three months, is impossible to accept. At the same time, the accounts given by these writers occur, one in the frank intimacy of family correspondence, the other in the official reports of a diplomatic representative to his chief. They are both unquestionably disinterested, and are very much more valuable than the later tittle-tattle of Peter Martyr and Ramusio, which has plainly filtered through what Mr. Beazley would call Sebastianized channels.