and the Minion, in the time of Henry the
Eighth, the troubles were chiefly on dry
land; but they arose mainly from the
insufficient victualling of vessels sent out
on an exploratory voyage to new regions.
There were strange notions in those days
about the American coast, and the
probability of a short and easy passage round
northward to the great Pacific. Men of
station often fitted out expeditions, with
dreams of untold wealth as a possible
reward. One of them, Mr. Hore, a gentleman
of London, inducing others to join
him, fitted out the ships above named,
engaged a crew, and provided a certain
inadequate supply of food and other stores.
The ships started from Gravesend in April,
1536, worked their way round the southern
coast, and then steered boldly across the
Atlantic. What knowledge they possessed
of the latitudes of any places in the far
north regions of the American continent,
is not now ascertainable; but after two
months' absence from land of any kind,
they found themselves on the coast of
what is now called Cape Breton.
Impelled by the rapid exhaustion of their
provisions, they shot penguins, and ospreys,
and bears whenever they could, and tried
whether the sea would yield them fish;
but somehow these resources failed, and
the men grubbed up herbs and roots along
the coast. Hunger and discontent bred
insubordination; and the officers found that,
of the boats' crews who landed each day,
one after another disappeared. At last the
terrible truth became revealed, that some of
the men had been shot by others, and
appropriated as food. The captain exhorted;
but the sailors, desperate with hunger,
resolved to cast lots who should die next.
Providentially, a French ship hove in
sight, and supplied Hore and his
companions with sufficient food to enable them
to return to England. One of the sailors
lived to narrate this story to Hakluyt, fifty
years afterwards.

In the case of the Jacques, the troubles
arose out of the general unseaworthiness
of the ship. She left Brazil for France, in
January, 1558, with a cargo of dye woods.
Twenty-five officers and crew, and twenty
passengers, were on board. Seven days
after the start, a leak was discovered, and
was patched up in a temporary way with
grease, lead, and cloths. After a consultation,
five of the passengers resolved to
make a boat voyage back to the coast; the
carpenter urged the captain to take the
ship back also, as being too old and
worm-eaten to brave the ocean in her
present state; but this being refused the voyage
recommenced. The ship was tossed about,
during the remainder of January and the
whole of February, with difficulty answering
her helm, and entailing much labour in
pumping to keep down the leakage. One
day, a quarrel occurring between the pilot
and the mate, both neglected their duty;
the ship went over on her beam-ends
during a squall; and although she righted
again, some of her planks started, the water
rushed in, the passengers ran to the boat
in terror, and all was confusion. The
pilot, cutlass in hand, prevented any one
from lowering the boat—possibly foreseeing
that drowning would be the almost
inevitable result of such a proceeding. The
carpenter kept at work, stopping the leaks
as well as he could. So passed March,
and so passed April, by which time almost
every scrap of food on board was gone,
notwithstanding short allowance and great
economy. Parrots and monkeys, brought
by the passengers as curiosities from Brazil,
were killed and eaten; the sweepings of
the bread room were made into dirty dough
for cakes; and all the skins and furs of
animals on board were carefully husbanded.
Old leather jackets and shoes, old
hornplates of lanterns, old coverings of trunks,
bits of candle, and drops of oil, were
converted into food in some form or other.
The rats and mice were so hungry that
they left their holes to forage about the
ship; and the people hunted them with the
avidity of cats. One of the passengers gave
a sailor four crowns for a single mouse. The
surgeon, who had caught two mice, refused
a new suit of clothes in exchange for one of
them. There was no wine, no water; the
only beverage was a little cider, of which a
wineglass was given to each person per day.
When rain occasionally fell it was collected
with much care on sheets and tarpaulins,
hollowed down in the middle by a few
shot. Two of the crew died early in May.
Lèry, one of the passengers, who lived to
write a narrative of the voyage, said:
"When Philip, the chief of the passengers,
was thus employed," [trying to gnaw bits
of Brazil wood] "he said, with a deep sigh,
'Lèry, my friend, four thousand livres are
owing to me in France, which I would
gladly relinquish for a loaf of bread and a
glass of wine! ' Peter Richer, our minister,
had now almost expired of want; stretched
out in his cabin, he prayed as long as he
was able; at length his voice ceasing, life
departed a short time afterwards." At
last the joyous cry, "Land!" was heard;
the coast of Brittany was reached; and