“There is something in what you say,” assented Francis lightly.  “If we get the treasure of the Indies without owning the Indies we are certainly rid of much trouble.  I never heard of Father Adam making any will dividing the earth between our brother of Spain and our brother of Portugal.  Unless they can find such a document—­” the laughing face hardened suddenly into keen attention, “we may as well take what we can get where we can find it.  And now about this road to India; what have you to suggest?”

Verrazzano outlined his plans in brief speech and clear.  The proposed voyage might have two objects; one, the finding of a route to Asia if it existed; the other, the discovery of other countries from which wealth might be gained, in territory not yet explored.  Verrazzano pointed out the fact that, as the earth was round, the shortest way to India ought to be near the pole rather than near the equator, yet far enough to the south to escape the danger of icebergs.

“Very well then,”—­the King pondered with finger on cheek.  “Say as little as possible of your preparations, use your own discretion, and if any Spaniards try to interfere with you—­” the monarch grinned,—­“tell them that it is my good pleasure that my subjects go where they like.”

The Spanish agents in France presently informed their employer that the Florentine Verrazzano was again making ready to sail for regions unknown.  Perhaps he did not himself know where he should go; at any rate the spies had not been able to find out.

Two months later news came that before Verrazzano had gone far enough to be caught by the squadron lying in wait for him, he had pounced on the great carrack which had been sent home by Cortes loaded with Aztec gold.  In convoying this prize to France he had caught another galleon coming from Hispaniola with a cargo of gold and pearls, and the two rich trophies were now in the harbor of La Rochelle, where the audacious captain was doubtless making ready for another piratical voyage.

Verrazzano made a second start a little later, but was driven back by a Biscay storm.  Finally, toward the end of the year 1523, he set out once more with only one ship, the Dauphine, out of his original fleet of four, and neither friend nor foe caught a glimpse of him during the voyage.  In March, 1524, having sailed midway between the usual course of the West Indian galleons and the path of the fishers going to and from the Banks of Newfoundland, he saw land which he felt sure had not been discovered either by ancient or modern explorers.

It was a low shore on which the fine sand, some fifteen feet deep, lay drifted into hillocks or dunes.  Small creeks and inlets ran inland, but there seemed to be no good harbor.  Beyond the sand-dunes were forests of cypress, palm, bay and other trees, and the wind bore the scent of blossoming trees and vines far out to sea.  For fifty leagues the Dauphine followed the coast southward, looking for a harbor,