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CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

BY EMILIO CASTELAR.

VI. THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE.

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OLUMBUS determined to leave some thirty-nine men in Fort Nativity, in order that he might the better sail homeward with the rest. His friend Arana, a kinsman of Beatrice, was left in command of the improvised fort and its slender garrison. A royal chamberlain was appointed to succeed the commander in case of need, and a Segovian to replace the chamberlain. A surgeon, a carpenter, a ship-calker, an armorer, a tailor, and a gunner were also left to ply their callings if required. Columbus had brought with him so abundant a stock of provisions that he was able to leave wine, biscuits, and supplies for a whole year. To these he added arms for their defense, and seeds wherewith to cultivate the fruitful soil. Having thus furnished all the necessary stores, he supplied them also with wise counsel. First of all he enjoined submission to their commander, since without a head all would be vain, while obedience would foster good will and concord among them. He said that, if obedient and in close fellowship with one another, they would obtain the mastery over the Indian tribes and country, not by an unnecessary show of force, but by the natural ascendancy of their virtues and intelligence. Cordiality in their relations with the natives, respect for the latter's customs, with purity of life, would justify the Indian's good estimate of the Spanish character, while submission to temporary exile would find its reward in benefits to come, and in the glory of being the first to rule the new-found land. All this seemed plain sailing to Columbus because of the skill these men had shown in overcoming the difficulties of the well-nigh fabulous enterprise. The cacique deeply regretted the parting from his friend, as did the little band of Spaniards from their far-sighted leader. Tearful were the leave-takings, although the admiral fired joyful salutes to banish forebodings and instil new hopes.

On January 4, 1493, Columbus set sail, and on the 5th he hove to before a great rock that towered like a mighty cathedral, to which he gave the name of Monte Cristo. January 6, he met Martin Alonso Pinzon. The Indians had already reported having seen his bark in VOL. XLIV.-120.

the bays of Haïti; and although scarce believing the good news, Columbus had written him friendly letters as though nothing amiss had happened, being naturally apprehensive of a rupture which might turn to open animosity and defeat all his plans, especially as he himself was at the mercy of the commander of the Niña, the brother of his rival. These letters had never reached Martin Alonso's hands. So, when they met Columbus made no reproaches and accepted as sufficient the puerile excuse that stress of winds and waves had divided them, when he well knew that Pinzon had yielded to the tempting tales of abundant gold in those regions. The latter had indeed found much gold, two thirds of which he had divided among his sailors, keeping the rest for himself. Imbued with the conviction that he had been predestined from his cradle to this supernatural mission, Columbus attributed the conduct of his lieutenant to the wily scheming of Satan for his destruction. But, being a good mystic and a Franciscan of the third degree, he deemed it expedient for his ends to balk the infernal plot by the most exemplary patience, and so remained silent, being assured of the untruth of Pinzon's story, and resolved to punish him for it when he should get him safely back to Spain. This meeting with Martin Alonso hastened the return, Columbus being apprehensive lest some offered chance might add a graver wrong to Pinzon's desertion. The daily marvels of the voyage allured him in vain, siren-like fishes, turtles as big as bucklers, rivers with sands of gold, Eden-fields, sculptured promontories, placid harbors, and beauteous islands, hardy natives, abundant signs of gold like a ceaseless mirage enthralling his will with promises of wealth. In vain were stupendous tales told him of two islands hard by in those waters, one inhabited only by men, and the other by women, who visited but once in each year; in vain the conflict of five sailors, who went ashore at Monte Cristo, with the warlike natives, whose attempt to capture them led to the first shedding of Indian blood

Columbus was in haste to return to Spain without further delay, and on the 17th of January, 1493, the shores of his new-found world sank from his sight.

Good weather and a fresh breeze favored

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this homeward course until the 11th of February. On that day they fancied themselves near some land, for many birds were seen. They knew not for certain where they were. Some said they must be off the Azores; others Madeira; others that they were nearing the mouth of the Tagus and the lovely rock of Cintra. But, unfortunately, they were on the edge of a fearful storm, that burst upon them on the next day, February 12. It was in truth a new and strange experience for them. Afloat since their departure from Palos, the discoverers of the New World had suffered no other mishap than the loss of their flag-ship on the Haïtian reefs owing to heedlessness and slumber, through over-confidence, on a glassy sea and in a gentle breeze; and even that had found compensation in the noble friendship of Guacanagarí, and in the opportunity to explore the richest gold-country they had yet seen. From the dawning of August 3, 1492, until daybreak of February 12, 1493, it seemed as though every beneficent influence had sped them on their way. The steadiness of the winds, which seemed to blow ever from the same quarter, was fancied by the explorers to be an obstacle to their return to Spain. How often had the admiral likened the face of ocean to the bosom of Guadalquivir, its fragrance to orange-blossoms, and its skies to those of Andalusia, lacking only the nightingale's song to complete the voluptuous joys of Seville. If, on their homeward course, spurred by the eager wish to tell the tale of their discoveries, they were thus smitten by a dreadful tempest, it could only be, according to Columbus, because of the continued machinations of Satan himself, warring against the discovery of these new lands and the conversion of their inhabitants to Christianity. The storm was the more appalling, inasmuch as the caravels were leaky and unballasted. Science then knew nothing of the world revealed by the microscope, and so those sailors could not know that tropical animalcula were burrowing the timbers of their barks and weakening them day by day. Wormeaten and lacking ballast, the caravels sped like arrows amid the blasts and the seething billows. All poets vie in depicting the fury of the ocean tempest. Columbus very soberly describes the terrible tempests he himself had passed through, unlike Vergil, who pictured, with poetic heightenments, the storms he had never experienced. The historian of to-day, lacking personal knowledge of such a tempest as broke upon Columbus, may yet appreciate it by conning the pages of his journal. After much lightning and high winds on the three preceding nights, the gale increased on the night of the 14th. Suddenly there lowered upon those frail caravels a thick ashen and leaden

cloud; the waves raged beneath the hulls, meeting in awful shock, as though driven by contrary currents; upon the sails and rigging fell a deluge, as though the waters of the ocean were above them as beneath; beetling mountains seemed to rise from the eternal darkness that yawned below like the shades of hell, and jagged lightning-peaks glared above them as the storm-clouds changed their form; while whirlwinds as conflicting as the currents of the sea threatened to swallow them up. In vain they took in all canvas and lay under bare poles; death faced the terrified sailors. It being impossible for the Pinta to withstand the hurricane, she was soon driving before it. Lights were shown from the Niña all night, but at daybreak the Pinta was not in sight.

Columbus gave himself up for lost. His discovery seemed about to sink forever in the silent depths, leaving naught but the superstitions of old to bar the ocean-wastes from all such mad ventures as his, upon which heaven's wrath was thus visited. His sons, to whom he was bearing the hereditary rank of admiral and a domain such as mortal had never won, wrested by a miracle of genius from kings and pontiffs by the son of a humble woolcarder, were to be left orphaned and in want. The benevolent monarchs and the mighty magnates who had been his patrons would never welcome him, as in dreams he had so often pictured, with open arms and hail him as a conqueror. The acclaim of proud cities, the gratitude of kings, the gifts of fortune, unparalleled riches, power, and name for him and his, were all to be swallowed up in the abyss. Memories, too, came thronging of the dear companion whose love had enthralled him in Cordova, and brought him joy and forgetfulness amid the horrors of his darkest trials. Possessing all a sailor's faith, Columbus implicitly trusted in the efficacy of vows, as suited also his intimate beliefs and cast of mind. To appease the divine wrath he offered a humble public penance and a pilgrimage—in his shirt, and upon his knees-from his ships to the sanctuary nearest the spot where he might land. The crew all asked to be admitted to share in the act of penance, even as they were sharers of the awful chastisement. Beans were shaken in a cap, one for each man on board, one of them being marked with a deep-cut cross, so that he who drew it should make a penitential pilgrimage to Guadalupe. Columbus drew the cross-marked bean. Lots were cast for a pilgrim to go to Loretto, and it fell to Pedro Villa, a sailor of Puerto Santa Maria. They next drew for one to go to Santa Clara of Moguer, and the lot again fell upon Columbus, who, being thus burdened by the caprice of chance with two penances, felt greatly con

soled, deeming his choice a special grace of heaven. This duty to his Maker being performed, Columbus turned his attention to men; and, in order that the memory of the discovery might not perish, he wrote it down amid the storm, and, wrapping his scroll in a waxed cloth, sealed it up in a keg, which he cast overboard, trusting that, by God's grace, his precious secret might float to shore, and somewhere fall into good hands.

On the 15th of February they sighted land, but what coast they knew not. However, seeing land and landing were, under the circumstances, by no means the same thing. The sea still ran very high, and, as Las Casas says, the ships could only tack with the utmost difficulty. On closer examination they supposed themselves to be near one of the Azores. Columbus by this time was worn to a shadow by fasting, loss of sleep, and exposure, sustaining life by the sheer force of fevered excitement, although well nigh exhausted by the wet and cold. From the 15th to the 18th they stood off and on without being able to run inshore; but on this latter day they landed, and found that the island was called Santa María. Columbus naturally looked for a hearty welcome from its people. Saved as by a miracle from the dashing billows, the land he saw seemed to him almost supernatural. His newly discovered islands, opening fresh fields for the islanders of that region, assured him of triumph, and not repulse. Indeed, the first demonstrations were friendly and joyful, and the islanders showed the greatest delight on hearing of the discovery and beholding the discoverer. But beneath their show of glad welcome lurked a base treachery. Notwithstanding Castile had made peace with Portugal, the Portuguese king could not resign himself to the thought that so great an enterprise had slipped from his grasp. As, on the setting out of the expedition, it had been reported that he was resolved to prevent the exploration, so now, on its return, the fruits of the resentment born of his own want of insight and judgment became apparent. But in all that the Lusitanian monarch did in this regard is noticeable a spirit of indecision that explains his failures, for great resolves demand not only firmness of will, but fixity of purpose and clearness of plan. Dom John could not rightfully ascribe to Columbus the burden of his own error; mute indeed was the conscience of such a man not to confess the true responsibility for the irreparable blunder, which in the sight of history rests only on the king himself. Columbus sent three men ashore, and they did not return, being detained by the eagerness of the islanders to hear their marvelous story; but two messengers from the captain of the island came to the caravel, bringing fowls and other fresh sup

plies for the crew. The admiral showed them great courtesy and told them how, in fulfilment of a vow, half his crew would go the next morning in solemn penance to the nearest hermitage. They so went, but, to their keen surprise, were assailed by the Portuguese, who, gathered on foot and on horseback, invaded the sanctuary during the mass, with threatening gestures and ribald cries, and seized as enemies their allies and guests. An equal surprise was in store for Columbus. While awaiting the return of the pilgrims in order that he might himself perform the like duty, the Portuguese captain put out in a boat, and told how he had imprisoned them all. Indignant at this incredible outrage, and after announcing his titles of admiral and viceroy, and exhibiting the letters patent of his sovereigns calling upon all friends and allies to lend customary aid to him, Columbus wound up by threatening the offenders with the wrath of Castile, mighty to avenge wounded honor, until not one stone should be left upon another. Fearing lest his moorings should be cut by the rocky bottom, Columbus determined to quit the spot. He had no ballast, however, having been obliged to make use instead of casks filled with sea water; nor even sailors enough, for all his ablest seamen were prisoners on shore. The thick horizon and swollen sea, and the reduction of his able-bodied crew to three skilled sailors, were enough to dismay Columbus, and to make him turn with longing eyes to the fair islands he had quitted, as to an earthly paradise. The sea rolled furiously inshore, and so tossed the ships as to add bodily discomfort to mental anguish. Yet he gave thanks to God even now, for had he been forced to encounter heavy cross-seas instead of broadside rollers, he would inevitably have foundered. The admiral went in search of better shelter at an island called San Miguel, but could not find it. He dreaded to return to Santa María, yet, despite the injuries there suffered, he put back, whereupon several men called to him from the craggy shore, and begged to be taken on board. Soon a skiff put out, manned by five sailors, two priests, and a notary, who asked to see the royal letters and commissions of which he had spoken. Columbus refused, distrusting their intentions; but not having evil means at command, he resorted to good, and, exhibiting the letters, demanded the restoration of the prisoners, which was at length accomplished, to the great satisfaction of all concerned and to his own keen relief. Once a prisoner of the Portuguese king, as Columbus averred he would have been, when could he have regained freedom? Unbounded, indeed, must have been his gratitude to God for having thus happily escaped this fresh affliction.

Taking his men aboard, he turned prow to

ward Castile on Sunday, the 24th of February. He encountered variable weather until the first days of March, when a violent tornado again struck him, and brought him within two fingers' breadth of loss and ruin. He vowed more pilgrimages to various shrines of the Virgin, while to his God he offered the sacrifice of patient submission to the divine decrees. The mountainous waves, whose fury no poetic trope can depict, overtook and dashed madly upon the frail bark, tossing it aloft as though to crush it, and again hurling it down into the depths. He sighted land amid the thick pall of inky clouds lit by the lightning-bolts, and gave orders to shorten sail, since it was exceedingly dangerous to be offshore in such a storm and darkness. The gale soon blew itself out, and on one hand appeared the white dunes that hem the harbor-mouth of Lisbon, in front lay the broad emboguement of the Tagus girt with golden sands and white with the lacery of the surges, while near by was the picturesque port of Cascaes, an intermingling of cabins and skiffs, of fishing-nets and plows; and, greater than all, the lovely Rock of Cintra, damascened with gardens, bright with flowers, and fragrant with balsamic odors. Columbus would much rather have hit upon lands where floated the banner of Castile, for he was inspired with slender confidence in a state whose authorities had so rudely treated him in its outlying possessions, and whose king had sworn to charge upon others acts for which a right conscience I could himself hold alone accountable. But he could not avoid anchoring in the Tagus. The crested waves still pursued him, and storms violent beyond the experience of man prevailed, so that in those days some five and twenty ships of Flanders with many trusty seamen were swallowed up. On entering the mouth of the river, fearing an attack by the people of the shore, Columbus asked permission to moor in front of Lisbon itself. There he found at anchor a powerful royal ship, of heavy tonnage and armament, under command of that skilful master Bartolomé Diaz, who came in his long-boat to the caravel, and bade him follow whither he would take him. Columbus resisted this command, as befitted his exalted rank and powers, merely exhibiting the letters patent in virtue whereof he might enter at will the ports of any state in alliance or amity with Castile. His high office being made known, every courtesy was shown him. The captain of the Lusitanian ship visited him, attended by musicians and in great pomp, paying him much attention and sharing in his rejoicing; the folk of Lisbon crowded to see and to acclaim him for having dispelled so vast a mystery by his daring, and for revealing to the world so strange a land by bringing back with him liv

ing examples of its primitive race. Dom Martin de Noronha, a Portuguese hidalgo, brought him a letter from Dom John II., inviting him to the court, where he was notably welcomed; the villagers of Sacamben, where he passed a night on his way to the king's seat, greeted him with all sorts of festivities; the prior of Crato, the foremost personage of the neighborhood, entertained him as a guest in obedience to Dom John's orders; the king seated him at his own table with the greatest respect, and listened attentively to the narrative of his discoveries; and even the queen, then temporarily sojourning in the convent of San Antonio, would not permit him to depart without hearing from his own lips that epic of the sea, marvelous beyond any fancied and sung by poets in their loftiest flights; and thus he who had quitted Portugal as a poor madman returned thither to be reverently hailed as a demigod. This contrast, more than all else, wounded the heart of Dom John. Every new report of the discoverer stung him like an envenomed dart, and the conviction of his frustrated grandeur racked his brain. The thought that all those pearl-seas and golden lands, those spice-islands fair and stainless as a newfound paradise, might have been his, and had been lost through his heeding not the man to whom he now listened with envy, filled his bewildered mind with plans impossible of realization, and schemes of recklessness and violence strove for the mastery in his halting will. In the course of his conversation with the admiral, the rash thought possessed him that the new islands might belong in reality to him, the conqueror of Bojador and Guinea, in virtue of old treaties with Castile and of papal bulls. But Columbus readily met such arguments with the masterful skill of one in whom the divinations of genius were joined to learning and research. Some assert that in secret, and baffling the scrutiny of Columbus as far as he might, Dom John brought from the caravel an Indian native of the first-discovered island, and bade him show by means of stones and pebbles set in due order the number and position of the islands of that beauteous archipelago. When he saw the great group of the Bahamas and the vast and fabulously fertile Cuba, with Española large as Portugal, beyond reef-girt Salvador, Fernandina with its thrifty tribes, and the poetic isles of Concepcion and Isabella, all coral-rooted in the sea and rearing their crowns of palms heavenward, he was smitten with such despair that he turned against the discoverer all the reproach that he himself alone deserved. Deep, indeed, must his rage have been when his courtiers, ever on the alert to pander to what they divined to be the royal desire, plotted to assassinate Colum

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