o his
brother kings. Verrazano, sea rover of Florence, is commissioned to
explore the New World seas; but Verrazano goes no farther north in 1524
than Newfoundland, and when he comes on a second voyage he is lost--some
say hanged as a pirate by the Spaniards for intruding on their seas.

In spite of the loss of the King's sea rover, the fisher folk of France
continue coming in their crazy little schooners, continue fishing in the
fogs of the Grand Banks from their rocking black-planked dories, continue
scudding for shelter from storm . . . here, there, everywhere; into the
south shore of Newfoundland; into the long arms of the sea at Cape
Breton, dyed at sundawn and sunset by such floods of golden light, these
arms of the sea become known as Bras d'Or Lakes--Lakes of Gold; into the
rock-girt lagoons of Gaspe; into the holes in the wall of Labrador . . .;
till there presently springs up a secret trade in furs between the
fishing fleet and the Indians. The King of France is not to be balked by
one failure. "What," he asked, "are my royal brothers to have _all_
America?" Among the Bank fishermen were many sailors of St. Malo.
Jacques Cartier, master pilot, {8} now forty years of age, must have
learned strange yarns of the New World from harbor folk. Indeed, he may
have served as sailor on the Banks. Him the King chose, with one hundred
and twenty men and two vessels, in 1534, to go on a voyage of discovery
to the great sea where men fished. Cartier was to find if the sea led to
China and to take possession of the countries for France. Captain,
masters, men, march to the cathedral and swear fidelity to the King. The
vessels sail on April 20, with the fishing fleet.

[Illustration: Jacques Cartier]

Piping winds carry them forward at a clipper pace. The sails scatter and
disappear over the watery sky line. In twenty days Cartier is off that
bold headland with the hole in the wall called Bona Vista. Ice is
running as it always runs there in spring. What with wind and ice,
Cartier deems it prudent to look for shelter. Sheering south among the
scarps at Catalina, where the whales blow and the seals float in
thousands {9} on the ice pans, Cartier anchors to take on wood and water.
For ten days he watches the white whirl driving south. Then the water
clears and his sails swing to the wind, and he is off to the north, along
that steel-gray shore of rampart rock, between the white-slab islands and
the reefy coast.