Johns, Newfoundland, which name Cabot was already learning to
pronounce as do its inhabitants--Newfund-_land_--and after leaving it
the ship was again headed for the open across the wide mouth of the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. Thus far the weather had been fine, the sea
smooth, and nothing had occurred to break the pleasant monotony of the
voyage. Its chief interests lay in sighting distant sails, the
tell-tale smoke pennons of far-away steamers, the plume-like spoutings
of sluggishly moving whales, the darting of porpoises about the ship's
fore-foot, the wide circling overhead of gulls, or the dainty skimming
just above the wave crests of Mother Carey's fluffy chickens.
"Who was Mother Carey," asked Cabot, "and why are they her chickens?"
"I have been told that she was the _Mater Cara_ of devout Portuguese
sailors," replied Captain Phinney, "and that these tiny sea-fowl are
supposed to be under her especial protection, since the fiercest of
gales have no power to harm them."
"How queerly names become changed and twisted out of their original
shape," remarked Cabot meditatively. "The idea of _Mater Cara_
becoming Mother Carey!"
"That is an easy change compared with some others I have run across,"
laughed the captain. "For instance, I once put up at an English
seaport tavern called the 'Goat and Compasses,' and found out that its
original name, given in Cromwell's time, had been 'God Encompasseth
Us.
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