 | CHAPTER XIII. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.”
Bryant's Translations.
The instant of departure at length arrived. The moment
so long desired by the Genoese was at hand, and
years of poverty, neglect, and of procrastination, were all
forgotten at that blessed hour; or, if they returned in any
manner to the constant memory, it was no longer with the
bitterness of hope deferred. The navigator, at last, saw
himself in the possession of the means of achieving the
first great object for which he had lived the last fifteen
years, with the hope, in perspective, of making the success
of his present adventure the stepping-stone towards effecting
the conquest of the Holy Sepulchre. While those
means with which ends so great were to be attained, or
were struck aghast at the apparent temerity of an undertaking
that seemed to defy the laws of nature, and to set at
nought the rules of Providence, he had grown more tranquil
as the time for sailing drew nearer, and his mind was
oppressed merely by a feeling of intense, but of sobered,
delight. Fray Juan Perez whispered to Luis, that he could
best liken the joy of the admiral to the chastened rapture
of a Christian who was about to quit a world of woe, to
enter on the untasted, but certain, fruition of blessed immortality.
This, however, was far from being the state of mind of
all in Palos. The embarkation took place in the course of
the afternoon of the 2d of August, it being the intention of
the pilots to carry the vessels that day to a point, off the
town of Huelvas, where the position was more favourable
to making sail, than when anchored in front of Palos.
The distance was trifling, but it was the commencement of
the voyage, and, to many, it was like snapping the cords
of life, to make even this brief movement. Columbus,
himself, was one of the last to embark, having a letter to
send to the court, and other important duties to discharge.
At length he quitted the convent, and, accompanied by Luis
and the prior, he, too, took his way to the beach. The
short journey was silent, for each of the party was deeply
plunged in meditation. Never before this hour, did the enterprise
seem so perilous and uncertain to the excellent
Franciscan. Columbus was carefully recalling the details
of his preparations, while Luis was thinking of the maid
of Castile, as he was wont to term Mercedes, and of the
many weary days that must elapse before he could hope to
see her again.
The party stopped on the shore, in waiting for a boat to
arrive, at a place where they were removed from any
houses. There Fray Juan Perez took his leave of the two
adventurers. The long silence that all three had maintained,
was more impressive than any ordinary discourse could
have been; but it was now necessary to break it. The
prior was deeply affected, and it was some little time before
he could even trust his voice to speak.
“Señor Christoval,” he at length commenced, “it is now
many years since thou first appeared at the gate of Santa
Maria de Rabida—years of friendship and pleasure have
they proved to me.”
“It is full seven, Fray Juan Perez,” returned Columbus,
—“seven weary years have they proved to me, as a solicitor
for employment;—years of satisfaction, father, in all
that concerneth thee. Think not that I can ever forget the
hour, when leading Diego, houseless, impoverished, wanderers,
journeying on foot, I stopped to tax the convent's
charity for refreshment! The future is in the hands of
God, but the past is imprinted here,”—laying his hand on
his heart—“and can never be forgotten. Thou hast been
my constant friend, holy prior, and that, too, when it was
no credit to favour the nameless Genoese. Should my estimation
ever change in men's opinions—”
“Nay, Señor Almirante, it hath changed already,”—
eagerly interrupted the prior. “Hast thou not the commission
of the queen—the support of Don Fernando—the
presence of this young noble, though still as an incognito
—the wishes of all the learned? Dost thou not go forth, on
this great voyage, carrying with thee more of our hopes
than of our fears?”
“So far as thou art concerned, dear Juan Perez, this may
be so. I feel that I have all thy best wishes for success; I
know that I shall have thy prayers. Few in Spain, notwithstanding,
will think of Colon, with respect, or hope,
while we are wandering on the great desert of the ocean,
beyond a very narrow circle. I fear me, that, even at this
moment, when the means of learning the truth of our theories
is in actual possession, when we stand, as it might be,
on the very threshold of the great portal which opens upon
the Indies, that few believe in our chances of success.”
“Thou hast Doña Isabella of thy side, Señor!”
“And Doña Mercedes!” put in Luis, “not to speak of
my decided and true-hearted aunt!”
“I ask but a few brief months, Señores,” returned Columbus,
his face turned to heaven with uncovered head, his
grey hair floating in the wind, and his eye kindling with
the light of enthusiasm,—“a few short months, that will
pass away untold with the happy—that even the miserable
now dispose of this question. Prior, I have often quitted
the shore feeling that I carried my life in my hand, conscious
of all the dangers of the ocean, and as much expecting
death as a happy return; but, at this glorious moment
no doubts beset me; as for life, I know it is in the keeping
of God's care; as for success, I feel it is in God's wisdom!”
“These are comfortable sentiments, at so serious a moment,
Señor, and I devoutly hope the end will justify them.
But, yonder is thy boat, and we must now part. Señor,
my son, thou knowest that my spirit will be with thee in
this mighty undertaking.”
“Holy prior, remember me in thy prayers. I am weak,
and have need of this support. I trust much to the efficacy
of thy intercessions, aided by those of thy pious brotherhood.
Thou wilt bestow on us a few masses?”
“Doubt us not, my friend; all that La Rabida can do with
the blessed Virgin, or the saints, shall be exercised, without
ceasing, in thy behalf. It is not given to man to foresee
the events that are controlled by Providence; and, though
we deem this enterprise of thine so certain, and so reasonable,
it may nevertheless fail.”
“It may not fail, father; God hath thus far directed it,
and he will not permit it to fail.”
“We know not, Señor Colon; our wisdom is but as
a grain of mustard seed, among the sands of this shore, as
compared with his inscrutable designs. I was about to say,
as it is possible thou may'st return a disappointed, a defeated
man, that thou wilt still find the gate of Santa Maria
open to thee; since, in our eyes, it is as meritorious to
attempt nobly, as it is often, in the eyes of others, to achieve
successfully.”
“I understand thee, holy prior; and the cup and the
morsel bestowed on the young Diego, were not more grateful
than this proof of thy friendship! I would not depart
without thy blessing.”
“Kneel, then, Señor; for, in this act it will not be Juan
Perez de Marchena that will speak, and pronounce, but the
minister of God and the church. Even these sands will be
no unworthy spot to receive such an advantage.”
The eyes of both Columbus and the prior were suffused
with the emotions natural to a moment so solemn. The
first loved the last, because he had proved himself a friend,
when friends were few and timid; and the worthy monk
had some such attachment for the great navigator as men
are apt to feel for those they have cherished. Each, also,
respected and appreciated the other's motives, and there
was a bond of union in their common reverence for the
Christian religion. Columbus kneeled on the sands, and
received the benediction of his friend, with the meek submission
of faith, and with some such feelings of reverence
as those with which a pious son would have listened to a
blessing pronounced by a natural father.
“And thou, young lord,” resumed Fray Juan Perez, with
a husky voice—“Thou, too, wilt be none the worse for the
prayers of an aged churchman.”
Like most of that age, Luis, in the midst of his impetuous
feelings, and youthful propensities, had enshrined in his
heart an image of the Son of God, and entertained an habitual
respect for holy things. He knelt without hesitation,
and listened to the trembling words of the priest with thankfulness
and respect.
“Adieu, holy prior,” said Columbus, squeezing his friend's
hand. “Thou hast befriended me when others held aloof;
but I trust in God that the day is not now distant, when
those who have ever shown confidence in my predictions,
will cease to feel uneasiness at the mention of my name.
Forget us in all things but thy prayers, for a few short
months, and then expect tidings that, of a verity, shall exalt
Castile to a point of renown which will render this Conquest
of Granada but an incident of passing interest amid the
glory of the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella!”
This was not said boastfully, but with the quiet earnestness
of one who saw a truth, that was concealed from most
eyes, and this with an intensity so great, that the effect on
his moral vision produced a confidence equalling that
which is the fruit of the evidence of the senses in ordinary
men. The prior understood him, and the assurance thus
given cheered the mind of the worthy Franciscan long after
the departure of his friend. They embraced and separated.
By this time, the boat of Columbus had reached the
shore. As the navigator moved slowly towards it, a
youthful female rushed wildly past him and Luis, and regardless
of their presence, she threw her arms around a
young mariner who had quitted the boat to meet her, and
sobbed for a minute on his bosom, in uncontrollable agony,
or as women weep in the first outbreak of their emotions.
“Come, then, Pepe,” the young wife at length said, hurriedly,
and with low earnestness, as one speaks who would
fain persuade herself that denial was impossible—“come,
Pepe; thy boy hath wept for thee, and thou hast pushed
this matter, already, much too far.”
“Nay, Monica,” returned the husband, glancing his eye
at Columbus, who was already near enough to hear his
words—“thou knowest it is by no wish of mine that I am
to sail on this unknown voyage. Gladly would I abandon
it, but the orders of the queen are too strong for a poor
mariner like me, and they must be obeyed.”
“This is foolish, Pepe,” returned the woman, pulling at
her husband's doublet to drag him from the water-side—“I
have had enough of this; sufficient to break my heart.
Come, then, and look again upon thy boy.”
“Thou dost not see that the admiral is near, Monica,
and we are showing him disrespect.”
The habitual deference that was paid by the low to the
high, induced the woman, for a moment, to pause. She
looked imploringly at Columbus, her fine dark eyes became
eloquent with the feelings of a wife and mother, and then
she addressed the great navigator, himself.
“Señor,” she said, eagerly, “you can have no further
need of Pepe. He hath helped to carry your vessels to
Huelva, and now his wife and boy call for him at home.”
Columbus was touched with the manner of the woman,
which was not entirely without a show of that wavering of
reason which is apt to accompany excessive grief, and he
answered her less strongly, than, at a moment so critical,
he might otherwise have been disposed to do to one who
was inciting to disobedience.
“Thy husband is honoured in being chosen to be my
companion in the great voyage,” he said. “Instead of bewailing
wife, in exulting in his good fortune.”
“Believe him not, Pepe. He speaketh under the Evil
One's advice to tempt thee to destruction. He hath talked
blasphemy, and belied the word of God, by saying that the
world is round, and that one may sail east by steering west,
that he might ruin thee and others, by tempting ye all to
follow him!”
“And why should I do this, good woman?” demanded
the admiral. “What have I to gain, by the destruction of
thy husband, or by the destruction of any of his comrades?”
“I know not—I care not—Pepe is all to me, and he
shall not go with you, on this mad and wicked voyage. No
good can come of a journey that is begun by belying the
truths of God!”
“And what particular evil dost thou dread, in this, more
than in another voyage, that thou thus hang'st upon thy
husband, and usest such discourse to one who beareth their
Highnesses' authority for that he doeth. Thou knewest he
was a mariner when thou wert wedded, and yet thou
would'st fain prevent him from serving the queen, as becometh
his station and duty.”
“He may go against the Moor, or the Portuguese, or the
people of Inghleterra, but I would not that he voyage in
the service of the Prince of Darkness. Why tell us that
the earth is round, Señor, when our eyes show that it is
flat? And if round, how can a vessel that hath descended
the side of the earth for days, ever return? The sea doth
not flow upward, neither can a caravel mount the waterfall.
And when thou hast wandered about for months in
the vacant ocean, in what manner wilt thou, and those with
thee, ever discover the direction that must be taken, to return
whence ye all sailed? Oh! Señor, Palos is but a little
town, and once lost sight of, in such a confusion of ideas,
it will never be regained.”
“Idle and childish, as this may seem,” observed Columbus,
turning quietly to Luis, “it is as reasonable as much
that I have been doomed to hear from the learned, during
the last sixteen years. When the night of ignorance obscures
the mind, the thoughts conjure arguments a thousand
that it fancies so unreasonable. I will try the effect
of religion on this woman, converting her present feelings
on that head, from an enemy into an ally.—Monica,” calling
her kindly and familiarly by name, “art thou a Christian?”
“Blessed Maria! Señor Almirante, what else should I
be? Dost think Pepe would have married a Moorish girl?”
“Listen, then, to me, and learn how unlike a believer
thou conductest. The Moor is not the only infidel, but this
earth groaneth with the burthen of their numbers, and of
their sins. The sands on this shore are not as numerous
as the unbelievers in the single kingdom of Cathay; for,
as yet, God hath allotted but a small portion of the earth to
those who have faith in the mediation of his Son. Even
the sepulchre of Christ is yet retained by infidel hands.”
“This have I heard, Señor; and 'tis a thousand pities
the faith is so weak in those who have vowed to obey
the law, that so crying an evil hath never been cured!”
“Hast thou not been told that such is to be the fate of
the world, for a time, but that light will dawn when the
word shall pass, like the sound of trumpets, into the ears
of infidels, and when the earth, itself, shall be but one vast
temple, filled with the praises of God, the love of his name,
and obedience to his will?”
“Señor, the good fathers of La Rabida, and our own
parish priests, often comfort us with these hopes.”
“And hast thou seen nought of late to encourage that
hope—to cause thee to think that God is mindful of his people,
and that new light is beginning to burst on the darkness
of Spain?”
“Pepe, his excellency must mean the late miracle at the
convent, where they say that real tears were seen to fall
from the eyes of the image of the holy Maria, as she gazed
at the child that lay on her bosom.”
“I mean not that,” interrupted Columbus, a little sternly,
though he crossed himself, even while he betrayed dissatisfaction
at the allusion to a miracle that was much too
vulgar for his manly understanding—“I mean no such questionable
wonder, which it is permitted us to believe, or not,
as it may be supported by the church's authority. Can thy
which the power of God, as exercised to the advancement
of the faith, hath been made signally apparent to believers?”
“He meaneth the expulsion of the Moor, Pepe!” the
woman exclaimed, glancing quickly towards her husband,
with a look of pleasure, “that hath happened of late, they
say, by conquering the city of Granada; into which place,
they tell me, Doña Isabella hath marched in triumph.”
“In that conquest, thou seest the commencement of the
great acts of our time. Granada hath now its churches;
and the distant land of Cathay will shortly follow her example.
These are the doings of the Lord, foolish woman;
and in holding back thy husband from this great undertaking,
thou hinderest him from purchasing a signal reward in
heaven, and may unwittingly be the instrument of casting
a curse, instead of a blessing, on that very boy, whose
image now filleth thy thoughts more than that of his Maker
and Redeemer.”
The woman appeared bewildered, first looking at the admiral,
and then at her husband, after which she bowed her
head low, and devoutly crossed herself. Recovering from
this self-abasement, she again turned towards Columbus,
demanding earnestly—
“And you, Señor—do you sail with the wish and hope
of serving God?”
“Such is my principal aim, good woman. I call on
Heaven itself, to witness the truth of what I say. May my
voyage prosper, only, as I tell thee nought but truth!”
“And you, too, Señor?” turning quickly to Luis de
Bobadilla; “is it to serve God that you also go on this unusual
voyage?”
“If not at the orders of God, himself, my good woman,
it is, at least, at the bidding of an angel!”
“Dost thou think it is so, Pepe? Have we been thus
deceived, and has so much evil been said of the admiral
and his motives, wrongfully?”
“What hath been said?” quietly demanded Columbus.
“Speak freely; thou hast nought to dread from my displeasure.”
“Señor, you have your enemies, as well as another, and
not been slow to give vent to their feelings. In the first
place, they say that you are poor.”
“That is so true and manifest, good woman, it would be
idle to deny it. Is poverty a crime at Palos?”
“The poor are little respected, Señor, in all this region.
I know not why, for to me we seem to be as the rest, but
few respect us. Then they say, Señor, that you are not a
Castilian, but a Genoese.”
“This is also true; is that, too, a crime among the
mariners of Moguer, who ought to prize a people as much
renowned for their deeds on the sea, as those of the superb
republic?”
“I know not, Señor; but many hold it to be a disadvantage
not to belong to Spain, and particularly to Castile,
which is the country of Doña Isabella, herself; and how
can it be as honourable to be a Genoese as to be a Spaniard?
I should like it better were Pepe to sail with one who is a
Spaniard, and that, too, of Palos or Moguer.”
“Thy argument is ingenious, if not conclusive,” returned
Columbus, smiling, the only outward exhibition of feeling
he betrayed — “but cannot one who is both poor and a
Genoese serve God?”
“No doubt, Señor; and I think better of this voyage
since I know your motive, and since I have seen you and
spoken with you. Still, it is a great sacrifice for a young
wife to let her husband sail on an expedition so distrusted,
and he the father of her only boy!”
“Here is a young noble, an only son, a lover, and that
too of impetuous feelings, an only child withal, rich,
honoured, and able to go whither he will, who not only
embarketh with me, but embarketh by the consent—nay, I
had better say, by the orders of his mistress!”
“Is this so, Señor?” the wife asked, eagerly.
“So true, my good woman, that my greatest hopes depend
on this voyage. Did I not tell thee that I went at the
bidding of an angel?”
“Ah! these young lords have seductive tongues! But,
Señor Almirante, since such is your quality, they say,
moreover, that to you this voyage can only bring honours
and good, while it may bring misery and death on your
of the queen; and some think that the Venetian galleys
will be none the more heavily freighted, should you meet
them on the high seas.”
“And in what can all this harm thy husband? I go
whithersoever he goeth, share his dangers, and expose life
for life with him. If there is gold gained by the adventure,
he will not be forgotten; and if heaven is made any nearer
to us, by our dangers and hardships, Pepe will not be a
loser. At the last great reckoning, woman, we shall not
be asked who is poor, or who is a Genoese.”
“This is true, Señor; and yet it is hard for a young
wife to part from her husband. Dost thou wish, in truth,
to sail with the admiral, Pepe?”
“It matters little with me, Monica: I am commanded to
serve the queen, and we mariners have no right to question
her authority. Now I have heard his excellency's discourse,
I think less of the affair than before.”
“If God is really to be served in this voyage,” continued
the woman, with dignity, “thou should'st not be backward,
more than another, my husband. Señor, will you
suffer Pepe to pass the night with his family, on condition
that he goeth on board the Santa Maria in the morning?”
“What certainty have I that this condition will be respected?”
“Señor, we are both Christians, and serve the same God
—have been redeemed by the same Saviour.”
“This is true, and I will confide in it. Pepe, thou canst
remain until the morning, when I shall expect thee at thy
station. There will be oarsmen enough, without thee.”
The woman looked her thanks, and Columbus thought
he read an assurance of good faith in her noble Spanish
manner, and lofty look. As some trifling preparations
were to be made before the boat could quit the shore, the
admiral and Luis paced the sands the while, engaged in
deep discourse.
“This hath been a specimen of what I have had to overcome
and endure, in order to obtain even yonder humble
means for effecting the good designs of Providence,” observed
Columbus, mournfully, though he spoke without acrimony.
“It is a crime to be poor—to be a Genoese—to be aught
themselves to be! The day will come, Conde de Llera,
when Genoa shall think herself in no manner disgraced,
in having given birth to Christofero Colombo, and when your
proud Castile will be willing to share with her in the dishonour!
Thou little know'st, young lord, how far thou
art on the road to renown, and towards high deeds, in
having been born noble, and the master of large possessions.
Thou seest me, here, a man already stricken in
years, with a head whitened by time and sufferings, and
yet am I only on the threshold of the undertaking that is
to give my name a place amongst those of the men who
have served God, and advanced the welfare of their fellow-creatures.”
“Is not this the course of things, Señor, throughout the
earth?—Do not those who find themselves placed beneath
the level of their merits, struggle to rise to the condition to
which nature intended them to belong, while those whom
fortune hath favoured through their ancestors, are too often
content to live on honours that they have not themselves
won? I see nought in this but the nature of man, and the
course of the world.”
“Thou art right, Luis, but philosophy and fact are different
matters. We may reason calmly on principles,
when their application in practice causeth much pain.
Thou hast a frank and manly nature, young man; one
that dreadeth neither the gibe of the Christian, nor the lance
of the Moor, and wilt answer to any, in fearlessness and
truth. A Castilian thyself, dost thou, too, really think one
of thy kingdom better than one of Genoa?”
“Not when he of Genoa is Christoval Colon, Señor, and
he of Castile is only Luis de Bobadilla,” answered the
young man, laughing.
“Nay, I will not be denied—hast thou any such notion
as this, which the wife of Pepe hath so plainly avowed?”
“What will you, Señor Christoval?—Man is the same
in Spain, that he is among the Italians, or the English. Is
it not his besetting sin to think good of himself, and evil of
his neighbour?”
“A plain question, that is loyally put, may not be answered
with a truism, Luis.”
“Nor a civil, honest reply confounded with one that is
evasive. We of Castile are humble and most devout Christians,
by the same reason that we think ourselves faultless,
and the rest of mankind notable sinners. By San Iago, of
blessed faith and holy memory! it is enough to make a
people vain, to have produced such a queen as Doña Isabella,
and such a maiden as Mercedes de Valverde!”
“This is double loyalty, for it is being true to the queen
and to thy mistress. With this must I satisfy myself, even
though it be no answer. But, Castilian though I am not,
even the Guzmans have not ventured on the voyage to
Cathay, and the House of Trastamara may yet be glad to
acknowledge its indebtedness to a Genoese. God hath no
respect to worldly condition, or worldly boundaries, in
choosing his agents, for most of the saints were despised
Hebrews, while Jesus, himself, came of Nazareth. We
shall see, we shall see, young lord, what three months will
reveal to the admiration of mankind.”
“Señor Almirante, I hope and pray it may be the island
of Cipango, and the realms of the Great Khan; should it
not be so, we are men who can not only bear our toils,
but who can bear our disappointments.”
“Of disappointments in this matter, Don Luis, I look for
none, — now that I have the royal faith of Isabella, and
these good caravels to back me; the drudge who saileth
from Madeira to Lisbon is not more certain of gaining his
port, than I am certain of gaining Cathay.”
“No doubt, Señor Colon, that what any navigator can
do, you can do and will perform; nevertheless, disappointment
would seem to be the lot of man, and it might be well
for all of us to be prepared to meet it.”
“The sun that is just sinking beyond yon hill, Luis, is
not plainer before my eyes than this route to the Indies.—
I have seen it, these seventeen years, distinct as the vessels
in the river, bright as the polar star, and, I make little doubt,
as faithfully. It is well to talk of disappointments, since
they are the lot of man; and who can know this better
than one that hath been led on by false hopes during all the
better years of his life; now encouraged by princes, statesmen,
and churchmen; and now derided and scoffed at, as
him!”
“By my new patron, San Pedro! Señor Almirante, but
you have led a most grievous life, for this last age, or so.
The next three months will, indeed, be months of moment
to you.”
“Thou little knowest the calmness of conviction and confidence,
Luis,” returned Columbus, “if thou fanciest any
doubts beset me as the hour of trial approacheth. This day
is the happiest I have known, for many a weary year; for,
though the preparations are not great, and our barks are
but slight and of trifling bulk, yonder lie the means through
which a light, that hath long been hid, is about to break
upon the world, and to raise Castile to an elevation surpassing
that of any other Christian nation.”
“Thou must regret, Señor Colon, that it hath not been
Genoa, thy native land, that is now about to receive this
great boon, after having merited it by generous and free
gifts, in behalf of this great voyage.”
“This hath not been the least of my sorrows, Luis. It
is hard to desert one's own country, and to seek new connections,
as life draweth to a close, though we mariners, perhaps,
feel the tie less than those who never quit the land.
But Genoa would have none of me; and if the child is
bound to love and honour the parent, so is the parent
equally bound to protect and foster the child. When the
last forgets its duty, the first is not to be blamed if it seek
support wherever it may be found. There are limits to
every human duty; those we owe to God alone, never ceasing
to require their fulfilment, and our unceasing attention.
Genoa hath proved but a stern mother to me; and though
nought could induce me to raise a hand against her, she
hath no longer any claims on my service. Besides, when
the object in view is the service of God, it mattereth little
with which of his creatures we league as instruments.
One cannot easily hate the land of his birth, but injustice
may lead him to cease to love it. The tie is mutual, and
when the country ceaseth to protect person, character, property,
or rights, the subject is liberated from all his duties.
If allegiance goeth with protection, so should protection go
with allegiance. Doña Isabella is now my mistress, and,
henceforth my country.”
At this moment it was announced that the pinnace waited,
and the two adventurers immediately embarked.
It must have required all the deep and fixed convictions
of an ardent temperament, to induce Columbus to rejoice
that he had, at length, obtained the means of satisfying his
longings for discovery, when he came coolly to consider
what those means were. The names of his vessels, the
Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña, have already been
mentioned, and some allusions have been made to their size
and construction. Still, it may aid the reader in forming
his opinions of the character of this great enterprise, if we
give a short sketch of the vessels, more especially that in
which Columbus and Luis de Bobadilla were now received.
She was, of course, the Santa Maria, a ship of nearly twice
the burthen of the craft next her in size. This vessel had
been prepared with more care than the others, and some
attention had been paid to the dignity and comfort of the
Admiral she was destined to carry. Not only was she
decked in, but a poop, or round-house, was constructed on
her quarter-deck, in which he had his berth. No proper
notion can be obtained of the appearance of the Santa Maria,
from the taunt-rigged, symmetrical, and low-sterned
ships of the present time; for, though the Santa Maria had
both a poop and top-gallant-forecastle, as they would be
termed to-day, neither was constructed in the snug and unobtrusive
manner that is now used. The poop, or round-house,
was called a castle, to which it had some fancied resemblance,
while the top-gallant-forecastle, in which most of
the people lived, was out of proportion large, rose like a
separate structure on the bows of the vessel, and occupied
about a third of the deck, from forward aft. To those who
never saw the shipping that was used throughout Europe,
a century since, it will not be very obvious how vessels so
small could rise so far above the water, in safety; but this
difficulty may be explained; many very old ships, that had
some of the peculiarities of this construction, existing within
the memory of man, and a few having fallen under our own
immediate inspection. The bearings of these vessels were
at the loaded water-lines, or very little above them, and they
decks nearly if not quite a fourth. By these precautions,
their great height out of the water was less dangerous than
might otherwise have been the case; and as they were uniformly
short ships, possessing the advantages of lifting
easily forward, and were, moreover, low-waisted, they
might be considered safe in a sea, rather than the reverse.
Being so short, too, they had great beam for their tonnage,
which, if not an element of speed, was at least one of security.
Although termed ships, these vessels were not rigged
in the manner of the ships of the present day, their standing
spars being relatively longer than those now in use, while
their upper, or shifting spars, were much less numerous,
and much less important than those which now point upwards,
like needles, towards the clouds. Neither had a
ship necessarily the same number of spars, in the fifteenth
century, as belong to a ship in the nineteenth. The term
itself, as it was used in all the southern countries of Europe,
being directly derived from the Latin word navis, was applied
rather as a generic than as a distinctive term, and by
no means inferred any particular construction, or particular
rig. The caravel was a ship, in this sense, though not
strictly so, perhaps, when we descend to the more minute
classification of seamen.
Much stress has been justly laid on the fact, that two of
the vessels in this extraordinary enterprise were undecked.
In that day, when most sea voyages were made in a direction
parallel to the main coasts, and when even those that
extended to the islands occupied but a very few days, vessels
were seldom far from the land; and it was the custom
of the mariners, a practice that has extended to our own
times, in the southern seas of Europe, to seek a port at the
approach of bad weather. Under such circumstances,
decks were by no means as essential, either for the security
of the craft, the protection of the cargo, or the comfort of
the people, as in those cases in which the full fury of the
elements must be encountered. Nevertheless, the reader
is not to suppose a vessel entirely without any upper covering,
because she was not classed among those that were
decked; even such caravels, when used on the high seas,
usually possessing quarter-decks and forecastles, with connecting
similar preventives, to exclude the wash of the sea from
injuring their cargoes.
After all these explanations, however, it must be conceded,
that the preparations for the great undertaking of
Columbus, while the imaginations of landsmen probably
aggravate their incompleteness, strike the experienced seaman
as altogether inadequate to its magnitude and risks.
That the mariners of the day deemed them positively insufficient
is improbable, for men as accustomed to the ocean
as the Pinzons, would not have volunteered to risk their
vessel, their money, and their persons, in an expedition that
did not possess the ordinary means of security.
| CHAPTER XIII. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay | |