In 1496 a patent was granted to John Cabot and his sons, Lewis,
Sebastian, and Sancius. This patent is interesting as the earliest
surviving document which connects England with the New World. It gave
the patentees full authority to sail with five ships under the royal
ensign, and to set up the royal banner on any newly found land, as the
vassals and lieutenants of the king. They were bound on their return
to sail to Bristol and to pay a royalty of one-fifth upon all clear
gain. The direction of the voyage, the cargo and size of the ships,
and the mode of dealing with the natives, are all left to the
discretion of the commander.

Of the details of the voyage itself, so full of interest for every
Englishman, we have but the scantiest knowledge. In this respect the
fame of Sebastian Cabot has fared far worse than that of the great
discoverer with whom alone he may be compared. We can trace Columbus
through every stage of his enterprise. We seem to stand by the side of
the great admiral in his difficulties, his fears, his hopes, his
victory. We can almost fancy that we are sharing in his triumph when
at last he sails on that mission whose end he saw but in a glass
darkly, victorious over the intrigues of courtiers, the avarice of
princes, and the blindness of mere worldly wisdom. Our hearts once
more sink as the cowardice of his followers threatens to undo all, and
the prize that had seemed won is again in danger. We feel all the
intensity of suspense as night after night land is promised and the
morning brings it not. When at length the goal is reached, we can
almost trick ourselves with the belief that we have a part in that
glory, and are of that generation by whom and for whom that mighty
work was wrought.