NOW 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?

Any urchin in the streets will tell you. “Why, master, have you not heard of the Genoese seaman, Christopher Columbus?—he who five years ago set sail from Palos in three ships, and sailed to the west’ard across the ocean, seeking a new sea-road to far-off India and Cathay. Do you not know that he lighted on marvellous new lands, which he seized in the name of Spain, and then returned home to tell the wondrous news? There’s gold by the bucketful across the Western Ocean, and we Bristol folks mean to have our share of it. So we have fitted out the Matthew and the other ship which you see yonder, and this very day John Cabot and his sons are to set sail. Would that I could sail with them too!” Many an English lad, in many a seaport, echoes his wish.

And now the procession halts on the quay, and the mariners kneel while the bishop with uplifted hand blesses them and their enterprise. John Cabot, he with the brown face and the close-cropped white hair, proudly unfolds the scroll which he carries, and begins to read his royal commission:——

So the letters-patent of his gracious Majesty King Henry the Seventh run. The reading is finished. The last farewells are taken. The wives and children of the adventurous mariners weep aloud. The Lord Mayor clasps John Cabot warmly by the hand, and the captain goes on board. Deafening cheers are raised as the hawsers are cast off and the good ships are warped out. Now you see them threading the deep gorge of the Avon. Anon they will be out on the heaving waters of the Bristol Channel; then sail will be made, and in the golden sunset glow they will fade away into the unknown.

For months there will be sad hearts in many a humble Bristol home, and white-faced women will haunt the quay, eagerly questioning incoming sailors for news of their husbands and sons who have sailed with the Cabots. Then one glad day the blazoned sails, torn and worn with tempestuous winds and the rough usage of the sea, appear again in the Avon, and all England rings with the story of the marvellous voyage. The Bristol bells ring out merry peals; the city fathers feast the returning adventurers in the Council chamber; and every lad in the good old city holds his head high because of the new fame that Bristowe men have won. What visits are paid to the Matthew and her consort! The Church of St. Mary Redcliffe is thronged with eager citizens gaping at the whale’s rib which Sebastian Cabot has deposited there in memory of his voyage.

Here is one of the heroes of the expedition. Let us buttonhole him and bid him spin his yarn. Like the true sailor that he is, he readily consents. “Marry, sirs, ’twas a long and dull voyage outward; but the winds were fair, and in two moons we reached a sea with monstrous great lumps of ice floating about like fairy castles. And mark ye, the sun set not, and there was daylight all the clock round. On the twenty-fourth day of June we sighted land. Prima Vista the captain called it, that being the Latin lingo, so I’m told, for ‘first seen.’ ’Twas an island, thick covered with woods, lying out from the mainland. We went ashore right speedily, and now there’s a bit of England seven hundred leagues to the west’ard across the great ocean.

“The men of that land are savages dressed in skins of beasts. They carry bows and arrows, wooden clubs and slings; and fine hunters they be, every man of them. Their land is barren, and no fruits grow, but there are big white bears in plenty and stags that would make two of ours. Off the island the sea swarms with fish, some as much as an ell long, and sea-wolves, such as ye may see now and then in Bristol Channel.

“The birds are black-hawks and partridges and eagles. When we left the isle we coasted a dreary shore for three hundred leagues, and ’tis my belief, comrades, that we have discovered a rich, new continent, with mines of copper and wonders untold. We sail again next year, and when we come back—if God wills—I’ll tell ye more about it. And now come along with me and see the three savages that the captain has brought home with him to show the king.”

There will be no lack of adventurers now to dare the Western Ocean. Ship after ship will push across the “black waters,” and every year will bring the New World into closer touch with the Old. Pass on, ye great pilots of Bristowe! Your flag is struck, your sails are furled, your ship is beached, but your work is done. In centuries to come the vast continent which ye have revealed shall be peopled by a great race, largely sprung from British loins, and speaking the brave English tongue. “Westward the star of Empire takes its way,” and ye are the first of our seamen to follow the star!