University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

As Columbus sought his apartment, soon after he reached
the deck of the Holy Maria, Luis had no farther opportunity
to converse with him that night. He occupied a
part of the same room, it is true, under the assumed appellation
of the admiral's secretary; but the great navigator
was so much engaged with duties necessary to be discharged
previously to sailing, that he could not be interrupted, and
the young man paced the narrow limits of the deck until
near midnight, thinking, as usual, of Mercedes, and of his
return, when, seeking his mattress, he found Columbus
already buried in a deep sleep.

The following day was Friday; and it is worthy of remark,
that the greatest and most successful voyage that has
ever occurred on this globe, was commenced on a day of
the week that seamen have long deemed to be so inauspicious

to nautical enterprises, that they have often deferred
sailing, in order to avoid the unknown, but dreaded consequences.
Luis was among the first who appeared again
on deck, and casting his eyes upward, he perceived that
the admiral was already afoot, and in possession of the
summit of the high poop, or castle, whose narrow limits,
indeed, were deemed sacred to the uses of the privileged,
answering, in this particular, to the more extended promenade
of the modern quarter-deck. Here it was that he,
who directed the movements of a squadron, overlooked its
evolutions, threw out his signals, made his astronomical
observations, and sought his recreation in the open air.
The whole space on board the Santa Maria might have
been some fifteen feet in one direction, and not quite as
much in the other, making a convenient look-out, more
from its exclusion and retirement, than from its dimensions.

As soon as the admiral—or Don Christoval, as he was
now termed by the Spaniards, since his appointment to his
present high rank, which gave him the rights and condition
of a noble—as soon as Don Christoval caught a glance of
Luis's eye, he made a sign for the young man to ascend,
and take a position at his side. Although the expedition
was so insignificant in numbers and force, not equalling, in
the latter particular, the power of a single modern sloop of
war, the authority of the queen, the gravity and mien of
Columbus himself, and, most of all, its own mysterious
and unwonted object, had, from the first, thrown around it
a dignity that was disproportioned to its visible means. Accustomed
to control the passions of turbulent men, and
aware of the great importance of impressing his followers
with a sense of his high station and influence with the
court, Columbus had kept much aloof from familiar intercourse
with his subordinates, acting principally through the
Pinzons and the other commanders, lest he might lose some
portion of that respect which he foresaw would be necessary
to his objects. It needed not his long experience to
warn him that men crowded together in so small a space,
could only be kept in their social or professional stations,
by the most rigid observance of forms and decorum, and
he had observed a due attention to these great requisites, in
prescribing the manner in which his own personal service

should be attended to, and his personal dignity supported.
This is one of the great secrets of the discipline of a ship,
for they who are incapable of reasoning, can be made to
feel, and no man is apt to despise him who is well entrenched
behind the usages of deference and reserve. We
see, daily, the influence of an appellation, or a commission,
even the turbulent submitting to its authority, when they
might resist the same lawful commands, issuing from an
apparently less elevated source.

“Thou wilt keep much near my person, Señor Gutierrez,”
said the admiral, using the feigned name, which Luis
affected to conceal under that of Pedro de Muños, as he
knew a ship was never safe from eaves-droppers, and was
willing that the young noble should pass as the gentleman
of the king's bedchamber; “this is our station, and here
we must remain, much of our time, until God, in his holy
and wise providence, shall have opened the way for us to
Cathay, and brought us near the throne of the Great Khan.
Here is our course, and along this track of pathless ocean
it is my intention to steer.”

As Columbus spoke, he pointed to a chart that lay spread
before him on an arm-chest, passing a finger calmly along
the line he intended to pursue. The coast of Europe, in
its general outlines, was laid down on this chart, with as
much accuracy as the geographical knowledge of the day
would furnish, and a range of land extended southward as
far as Guinea, all beyond which region was terra incognita
to the learned world at that time. The Canaries and the
Azores, which had been discovered some generations earlier,
occupied their proper places, while the western side of the
Atlantic was bounded by a fancied delineation of the eastern
coast of India, or of Cathay, buttressed by the island of
Cipango, or Japan, and an Archipelago, that had been represented
principally after the accounts of Marco Polo and
his relatives. By a fortunate misconception, Cipango had
been placed in a longitude that corresponded very nearly
with that of Washington, or some two thousand leagues
east of the position in which it is actually to be found.
This error of Columbus, in relation to the extent of the
circumference of the globe, in the end, most probably saved
his hardy enterprise from becoming a failure.

Luis, for the first time since he had been engaged in the
expedition, cast his eyes over this chart, with some curiosity,
and he felt a noble desire to solve the great problem
rising within him, as he thus saw, at a glance, all the vast
results, as well as the interesting natural phenomena, that
were dependent on the issue.

“By San Gennaro of Napoli!” he exclaimed—The only
affectation the young noble had, was a habit of invoking
the saints of the different countries he had visited, and of
using the little oaths and exclamations of distant lands, a
summary mode of both letting the world know how far
he had journeyed, as well as a portion of the improvement
he had derived from his travels—“By San Gennaro, Señor
Don Christoval, but this voyage will be one of exceeding
merit, if we ever find our way across this great belt of water;
and greater still, should we ever manage to return!”

“The last difficulty is the one, at this moment, uppermost
in the minds of most in this vessel,” answered Columbus.
“Dost thou not perceive, Don Luis, the grave and
dejected countenances of the mariners, and hearest thou the
wailings that are rising from the shore?”

This remark caused the young man to raise his eyes
from the chart, and to take a survey of the scene around
him. The Niña, a light felucca in fact, was already under
way, and brushing past them under a latine foresail, her
sides thronged with boats filled with people, no small portion
of whom were females and children, and most of whom
were wringing their hands and raising piteous cries of despair.
The Pinta was in the act of being cast; and, although
the authority of Martin Alonzo Pinzon had the effect
to render their grief less clamorous, her sides were surrounded
by a similar crowd, while numberless boats plied
around the Santa Marin herself; the authority and dignity
of the admiral alone keeping them at a distance. It was
evident that most of those who remained, fancied that they
now saw their departing relations for the last time, while no
small portion of those who were on the eve of sailing, believed
they were on the point of quitting Spain for ever.

“Hast looked for Pepe, this morning, among our people?”
demanded Columbus, the incident of the young sailor
recurring to his thoughts, for the first time that morning;

“if he prove false to his word, we may regard it as an evil
omen, and have an eye on all our followers, while there is
a chance of escape.”

“If his absence would be an omen of evil, Señor Almirante,
his presence ought to be received as an omen of good.
The noble fellow is on this yard, above our heads, loosening
the sail.”

Columbus turned his eyes upwards, and there, indeed,
was the young mariner in question, poised on the extreme
and attenuated end of the latine yard, that ships even
then carried on their after-masts, swinging in the wind,
while he loosened the gasket that kept the canvass in
its folds. Occasionally he looked beneath him, anxious to
discover if his return had been noted; and, once or twice,
his hands, usually so nimble, lingered in their employment,
as he cast glances over the stern of the vessel, as if one
also drew his attention in that quarter. Columbus made a
sign of recognition to the gratified young mariner, who instantly
permitted the canvass to fall; and then he walked to
the taffrail, accompanied by Luis, in order to ascertain if any
boat was near the ship. There, indeed, close to the vessel,
lay a skiff, rowed by Monica alone, and which had been
permitted to approach so near on account of the sex of its
occupant. The moment the wife of Pepe observed the form
of the admiral, she arose from her seat, and clasped her
hands towards him, desirous, but afraid, to speak. Perceiving
that the woman was awed by the bustle, the crowd of
persons, and the appearance of the ship, which she was almost
near enough to touch with her hand, Columbus addressed
her. He spoke mildly, and his looks, usually so
grave, and sometimes even stern, were softened to an expression
of gentleness that Luis had never before witnessed.

“I see that thy husband hath been true to his promise,
good woman,” he said, “and I doubt not that thou hast told
him it is wiser and better manfully to serve the queen, than
to live under the disgrace of a runaway.”

“Señor, I have. I give Doña Isabella my husband, without
a murmur, if not cheerfully, now I know that you go
forth to serve God. I see the wickedness of my repinings,
and shall pray that he may be foremost, on all occasions,

until the ears of the Infidel shall be opened to the words of
the true faith.”

“This is said like a Spanish wife, and a Christian woman!
Our lives are in the care of Providence, and doubt
not of seeing Pepe, in health and safety, after he hath visited
Cathay, and done his share in its discovery.”

“Ah! Señor—when?” exclaimed the wife, unable, in
spite of her assumed fortitude, and the strong feelings of
religious duty, to suppress the impulses of a woman.

“In God's time, my good — how art thou named?”

“Monica, Señor Almirante, and my husband is called
Pepe; and the boy, the poor fatherless child, hath been
christened Juan. We have no Moorish blood, but are pure
Spaniards, and I pray your Excellency to remember it, on
such occasions as may call for more dangerous duty than
common.”

“Thou may'st depend on my care of the father of Juan,”
returned the Admiral, smiling, though a tear glistened in
his eye. “I, too, leave behind those that are dear to
me as my own soul, and among others a motherless son.
Should aught serious befal our vessel, Diego would be an
orphan; whereas thy Juan would at least enjoy the care
and affection of her who brought him into the world.”

“Señor, a thousand pardons!” said the woman, much
touched by the feeling that was betrayed by the Admiral in
his voice. “We are selfish, and forget that others have
sorrows, when we feel our own too keenly. Go forth, in
God's name, and do his holy will — take my husband with
you; I only wish that little Juan was old enough to be his
companion.”

Monica could utter no more, but dashing the tears from
her eyes, she resumed the oars, and pulled the little skiff
slowly, as if the inanimate machine felt the reluctance of
the hands that propelled it, towards the land. The short
dialogue just related, had been carried on in voices so loud
as to be heard by all near the speakers; and when Columbus
turned from the boat, he saw that many of his crew
had been hanging suspended in the rigging, or on the yards,
eagerly listening to what had been said. At this precise
instant the anchor of the Santa Maria was raised from the
bottom, and the ship's head began to incline from the direction

of the wind. At the next moment, the flap of the large
square foresail that crafts of her rig then carried, was heard,
and in the course of the next five minutes, the three vessels
were standing slowly but steadily down the current of the
Odiel, in one of the arms of which river they had been anchored,
holding their course towards a bar near its mouth.
The sun had not yet risen, or rather it rose over the
hills of Spain, a fiery ball, just as the sails were set, gilding
with a melancholy glory, a coast that not a few in
the different vessels apprehended they were looking upon
for the last time. Many of the boats clung to the two
smaller craft until they reached the bar of Saltes, an hour
or two later, and some still persevered until they began to
toss in the long waves of the breathing ocean, when, the
wind being fresh at the west, they reluctantly cast off, one
by one, amid sighs and groans. The liberated ships, in the
mean while, moved steadily into the blue waters of the
shoreless Atlantic, like human beings silently impelled by
their destinies towards fates that they can neither foresee,
control, nor avoid.

The day was fine, and the wind both brisk and fair.
Thus far the omens were propitious; but the unknown future
threw a cloud over the feelings of a large portion of
those who were thus quitting, in gloomy uncertainty, all
that was most dear to them. It was known that the admiral
intended making the best of his way towards the
Canaries, thence to enter on the unknown and hitherto untrodden
paths of the desert ocean that lay beyond. Those
who doubted, therefore, fixed upon those islands as the
points where their real dangers were to commence, and
already looked forward to their appearance in the horizon,
with feelings akin to those with which the guilty regard the
day of trial, the condemned the morning of execution, or
the sinner the bed of death. Many, however, were superior
to this weakness, having steeled their nerves and prepared
their minds for any hazards, though the feelings of
nearly all fluctuated; there being hours when hope, and
anticipations of success, seemed to cheer the entire crews;
and then, moments would occur, in which the disposition
was to common doubts, and a despondency that was nearly
general.

A voyage to the Canaries, or the Azores, in that age,
was most probably to be classed among the hardiest exploits
of seamen. The distance was not as great, certainly,
as many of their more ordinary excursions, for
vessels frequently went, even in the same direction, as far
as the Cape de Verdes; but all the other European passages
lay along the land, and in the Mediterranean the seaman
felt that he was navigating within known limits, and was
apt to consider himself as embayed within the boundaries
of human knowledge. On the contrary, while sailing on
the broad Atlantic, he was, in some respects, placed in a
situation resembling that of the aeronaut, who, while floating
in the higher currents of the atmosphere, sees beneath
him the earth as his only alighting place, the blue void of
untravelled space stretching in all other directions about
him.

The Canary Isles were known to the ancients. Juba,
the king of Mauritania, who was a contemporary of Caesar,
is said to have described them with tolerable accuracy,
under the general name of the Fortunate Isles. The work
itself has been lost, but the fact is known through the evidence
of other writers; and by the same means it is known
that they possessed, even in that remote age, a population
that had made some respectable advances towards civilization.
But in the process of time, and during the dark
period that succeeded the brightness of the Roman sway,
even the position of these islands was lost to the Europeans;
nor was it again ascertained until the first half of the fourteenth
century, when they were discovered by certain fugitive
Spaniards who were hard pressed by the Moors. After
this, the Portuguese, then the most hardy navigators of the
known world, got possession of one or two of them, and
made them the starting points for their voyages of discovery
along the coast of Guinea. As the Spaniards reduced
the power of the Mussulmans, and regained their
ancient sway in the peninsula, they once more turned their
attention in this direction, conquering the natives of several
of the other islands, the group belonging equally to those
two Christian nations, at the time of our narrative.

Luis de Bobadilla, who had navigated extensively in the
more northern seas, and who had passed and repassed the

Mediterranean, in various directions, knew nothing of these
islands except by report; and as they stood on the poop,
Columbus pointed out to him their position, and explained
their different characters; relating his intentions in connection
with them, dwelling on the supplies they afforded,
and on their facilities as a point of departure.

“The Portuguese have profited much by their use of
these islands,” said Columbus, “as a place for victualling,
and wooding, and watering, and I see no reason why Castile
may not, now, imitate their example, and receive her
share of the benefits. Thou seest how far south our neighbours
have penetrated, and what a trade, and how much
riches, are flowing into Lisbon, through these noble enterprises,
which, notwithstanding, are but as a bucket of water
in the ocean, when compared with the wealth of Cathay
and all the mighty consequences that are to follow from
this western voyage of ours.”

“Dost thou expect to reach the territories of the Great
Khan, Don Christoval,” demanded Luis, “within a distance
as small as that to which the Portuguese hath gone southwardly?”

The navigator looked warily around, to ascertain who
might hear his words, and finding that no one was within
reach of the sound of his voice while he used a proper
caution, he lowered its tones, and answered in a manner
which greatly flattered his young companion, as it proved
that the admiral was disposed to treat him with the frankness
and confidence of a friend.

“Thou know'st, Don Luis”—the navigator resumed —
“the nature of the spirits with whom we have to deal. I
shall not even be certain of their services, so long as we
continue near the coast of Europe; for nought is easier
than for one of yonder craft to abandon me in the night,
and to seek a haven on some known coast, seeking his justification
in some fancied necessity.”

“Martin Alonzo is not a man to do that ignoble and unworthy
act!” interrupted Luis.

“He is not, my young friend, for a motive as base as
fear,” returned Columbus, with a sort of thoughtful smile,
which showed how truly and early he had dived into
the real characters of those with whom he was associated.

“Martin Alonzo is a bold and intelligent navigator,
and we may look for good service at his hands, in all that
toucheth resolution and perseverance. But the eyes of the
Pinzons cannot be always open, and the knowledge of all
the philosophers of the earth could make no resistance
against the headlong impetuosity of a crew of alarmed
mutineers. I do not feel certain of our own people, while
there is a hope of easy return; much less of men who are
not directly under my own eye and command. The question
thou hast asked, Luis, may not, therefore, be publicly
answered, since the distance that we are about to sail over
would frighten our easily alarmed mariners. Thou art a
cavalier; a knight of known courage, and may be depended
on; and I may tell thee, without fear of arousing
any unworthy feelings, that the voyage on which we are
now fairly embarked hath never had a precedent on this
earth, for its length, or for the loneliness of its way.”

“And yet, Señor, thou enterest on it with the confidence
of a man certain of reaching his haven?”

“Luis, thou hast well judged my feelings. As to all
those common dreads of descents, and ascents, of the difficulties
of a return, and of reaching the margin of the
world, whence we may glide off into space, neither thou,
nor I, shall be much subjected.”

“By San Iago! Señor Don Christoval, I have no very
settled notions about these things. I have never known of
any one who hath slidden off the earth into the air, it is
true, nor do I much think that such a slide is likely to befal
us and our good ships; but, on the other hand, we have as
yet only doctrine to prove that the earth is round, and that
it is possible to journey east, by sailing west. On these
subjects, then, I hold myself neuter; while, at the same
time, thou may'st steer direct for the moon, and Luis de
Bobadilla will be found at thy side.”

“Thou makest thyself less expert in science, mad-brained
young noble, than is either true or necessary; but
we will say no more of this, at present. There will be
sufficient leisure to make thee familiar with all my intricate
reasons and familiar motives. And is not this, Don Luis,
a most heavenly sight? Here am I in the open ocean,
honoured by the two sovereigns with the dignity of their

viceroy and admiral; with a fleet that is commissioned by
their Highnesses to carry the knowledge of their power
and authority to the uttermost parts of the earth; and,
most of all, to raise the cross of our blessed Redeemer
before the eyes of Infidels, who have never yet even heard
his name, or, if they have, reverence it as little as a Christian
would reverence the idols of the heathens!”

This was said with the calm but deep enthusiasm that
coloured the entire character of the great navigator, rendering
him, at times, equally the subject of distrust and of
profound respect. On Luis, as indeed on most others who
lived in sufficient familiarity with the man to enable them
to appreciate his motives, and to judge correctly of the uprightness
of his views, the effect, however, was always
favourable, and probably would have been so, had Mercedes
never existed. The young man himself, was not
entirely without a tinge of enthusiasm, and, as is ever the
case with the single-minded and generous, he best knew
how to regard the impulses of those who were influenced
by similar qualities. This answer was consequently in
accordance with the feelings of the admiral, and they remained
on the poop several hours, discoursing of the future,
with the ardour of those who hoped for every thing, but in
a manner too discursive and general to render a record of
the dialogue easy or necessary.

It was eight o'clock in the morning when the vessels
passed the bar of Saltes, and the day had far advanced
before the navigators had lost sight of the familiar eminences
that lay around Palos, and the other well-known
land-marks of the coast. The course was due south, and,
as the vessels of that day were lightly sparred, and spread
comparatively very little canvass, when considered in connection
with the more dashing navigation of our own times,
the rate of sailing was slow, and far from promising a
speedy termination to a voyage that all knew must be long
without a precedent, and which so many feared could never
have an end. Two marine leagues, of three English miles,
an hour, was good progress for a vessel at that day, even
with a fresh and favourable wind; though there are a few
memorable days' works set down by Columbus himself,
which approach to a hundred and sixty miles in the twenty-four

hours, and which are evidently noted as a speed of
which a mariner might well be proud. In these days of
locomotion and travelling, it is scarcely necessary to tell
the intelligent reader this is but a little more than half the
distance that is sailed over by a fast ship, under similar
circumstances, and in our own time.

Thus the sun set upon the adventurers, in this celebrated
voyage, when they had sailed with a strong breeze, to use
the words of Columbus's own record, some eleven hours,
after quitting the bar. By this time, they had made good
less than fifty miles, in a due south course from the place
of their departure. The land in the neighbourhood of
Palos had entirely sunk behind the watery margin of the
ocean, in that direction, and the coast trending eastward,
it was only here and there that the misty summits of a few
of the mountains of Seville could just be discovered by the
experienced eyes of the older mariners, as the glowing ball
of the sun sunk into the watery bed of the western horizon,
and disappeared from view. At this precise moment, Columbus
and Luis were again on the poop, watching, with
melancholy interest, the last shadows cast by Spanish land,
while two seamen were at work near them, splicing a rope
that had been chafed asunder. The latter were seated on
the deck, and as, out of respect to the admiral, they had
taken their places a little on one side, their presence was
not at first noted.

“There setteth the sun beneath the waves of the wide
Atlantic, Señor Gutierrez,” observed the admiral, who was
ever cautious to use one or the other of Luis's feigned appellations,
whenever any person was near. “There the
sun quitteth us, Pero, and in his daily course I see a proof
of the globular form of the earth; and of the truth of a
theory which teacheth us that Cathay may be reached by
the western voyage.”

“I am ever ready to admit the wisdom of all your
plans, expectations, and thoughts, Señor Don Christoval,”
returned the young man, punctiliously observant of respect,
both in speech and manner; “but I confess I cannot see
what the daily course of the sun has to do with the position
of Cathay, or with the road that leads to it. We know
that the great luminary travelleth the heavens without

ceasing, that it cometh up out of the sea in the morning,
and goeth down to its watery bed at night; but this it doth
on the coast of Castile, as well as on that of Cathay; and,
therefore, to me it doth appear, that no particular inference,
for or against our success, is to be drawn from the circumstance.”

As this was said, the two sailors ceased working, looking
curiously up into the face of the admiral, anxious to hear
his reply. By this movement Luis perceived that one was
Pepe, to whom he gave a nod of recognition, while the
other was a stranger. The last had every appearance of a
thorough-bred seaman of that period, or of being, what
would have been termed in English, and the more northern
languages of Europe, a regular “sea-dog;” a term that
expresses the idea of a man so completely identified with
the ocean by habit, as to have had his exterior, his thoughts,
his language, and even his morality, coloured by the association.
This sailor was approaching fifty, was short,
square, athletic, and still active, but there was a mixture of
the animal with the intellectual creature about his coarse,
heavy features, that is very usual in the countenances of
men of native humour and strong sense, whose habits have
been coarse and sensual. That he was a prime seaman,
Columbus knew at a glance, not only from his general appearance,
but from his occupation, which was such as only
fell to the lot of the most skilful men of every crew.

“I reason after this fashion, Señor,” answered the admiral,
as soon as his eye turned from the glance that he,
too, had thrown upon the men; “the sun is not made to
journey thus around the earth without a sufficient motive,
the providence of God being ruled by infinite wisdom. It
is not probable that a luminary so generous and useful
should be intended to waste any of its benefits; and we are
certain already that day and night journey westward over
this earth as far as it is known to us, whence I infer that
the system is harmonious, and the benefits of the great orb
are unceasingly bestowed on man, reaching one spot on
the earth as it quits another. The sun that hath just left
us is still visible in the Azores, and will be seen again at
Smyrna, and among the Grecian Islands, an hour, or more,
before it again meets our eyes. Nature hath designed

nought for uselessness; and I believe that Cathay will be
enlightened by that ball which hath just left us, while we
shall be in the deepest hour of the night, to return by its
eastern path, across the great continent of Asia, and to
greet us again in the morning. In a word, friend Pedro,
that which Sol is now doing with such nimble speed in the
heavens, we are more humbly imitating in our own caravels:
give us sufficient time, and we, too, might traverse the
earth, coming in from our journey by the land of the Tantars
and the Persians.”

“From all which you infer that the world is round,
wherein we are to find the certainty of our success?”

“This is so true, Señor de Muños, that I should be sorry
to think any man who now saileth under my command
did not admit it. Here are two seamen who have been listening
to our discourse, and we will question them, that we
may know the opinions of men accustomed to the ocean.—
Thou art the husband with whom I held discourse on the
sands, the past evening, and thy name is Pepe?”

“Señor Almirante, your excellency's memory doth me
too much honour, in not forgetting a face that is altogether
unworthy of being noticed and remembered.”

“It is an honest face, friend, and no doubt speaketh for
a true heart. I shall count on thee as a sure support, let
things go as they may.”

“His excellency hath not only a right to command me,
as her Highness's admiral, but he hath now the good-will
of Monica, and that is much the same as having gained her
husband.”

“I thank thee, honest Pepe, and shall count on thee, with
certainty, in future,” answered Columbus, turning towards
the other seaman—“And thou, shipmate,—thou hast the
air of one that the sight of troubled water will not alarm—
thou hast a name?”

“That I have, noble admiral,” returned the fellow, looking
up with a freedom that denoted one used to have his
say; “though it hath neither a Don, nor a Señor, to take
it in tow. My intimates commonly call out Sancho, when
pressed for time, and when civility gets the better of haste,
they add Mundo, making Sancho Mundo for the whole
name of a very poor man.”

“Mundo is a large name for so small a person,” said the
admiral, smiling, for he foresaw the expediency of having
friends among his crew, and knew men sufficiently to understand
that, while undue familiarity undermined respect,
a little unbending had a tendency to win hearts. “I wonder
that thou shouldst venture to wear a sound so lofty!”

“I tell my fellows, your excellency, that Mundo is my
title, and not my name; and that I am greater than kings,
even, who are content to take their titles from a part of that,
of which I bear all.”

“And were thy father and thy mother called Mundo,
also? Or, is this name taken in order to give thee an occasion
to show thy smartness, when questioned by thy
officers?”

“As for the good people you deign to mention, Señor
Don Almirante, I shall leave them to answer for themselves,
and that for the simple reason that I do not know how they
were called, or whether they had any names at all. They
tell me I was found, when a few hours old, under a worn-out
basket at the ship-yard gate of old—”

“Never mind the precise spot, friend Sancho,—thou wert
found with a basket for a cradle, and that maketh a volume
in thy history, at once.”

“Nay, Excellency, I would not leave the spot a place of
dispute hereafter—but it shall be as you please. They say
no one here knoweth exactly where we are going, and it
will be more suitable that the like ignorance should rest
over the places whence we came. But having the world
before me, they that christened me gave me as much of it
as was to be got by a name.”

“Thou hast been long a mariner, Sancho Mundo,—if
Mundo thou wilt be.”

“So long, Señor, that it sickeneth me, and taketh away
the appetite to walk on solid ground. Being so near the
gate, it was no great matter to put me into the ship-yard,
and I was launched one day in a caravel, and got to sea in
her, no one knows how. From that time I have submitted
to fate, and go out again, as soon as possible, after I come
into port.”

“And by what lucky chance have I obtained thy services,
good Sancho, in this great expedition?”

“The authorities of Moguer took me under the queen's
order, your Excellency, thinking that this voyage would be
more to my mind than another, as it was likely never to
have an end.”

“Art thou a compelled adventurer, on this service?”

“Not I, Señor Don Almirante, although they who sent
me here fancy as much. It is natural for a man to wish
to see his estates, once in his life, and I am told that we
are bound on a voyage to the other side of the world. God
forbid that I should hold aloof, on such an occasion.”

“Thou art a Christian, Sancho, and hast a desire to aid
in carrying the cross among the heathen?”

“Señor, your Excellency, Don Almirante, it matters little
to Sancho with what the barque is laden, so that she do
not need much pumping, and that the garlic is good. If I
am not a very devout Christian, it is the fault of them that
found me near the ship-yard gate, since the church and the
font are both within call from that very spot. I know that
Pepe, here, is a Christian, Señor, for I saw him in the arms of
the priest, and I doubt not that there are old men at Moguer
who can testify to as much in my behalf. At all hazards,
noble Admiral, I will take on myself to say that I am neither
Jew, nor Mussulman.”

“Sancho, thou hast that about thee, that bespeakest a
skilful and bold mariner.”

“For both of these qualities, Señor Don Colon, let others
speak. When the gale cometh, your own eyes may judge
of the first; and when the caravel shall reach the edge of
the earth, whither some think it is bound, there will be a
good occasion to see who can, and who cannot, look off
without trembling.”

“It is enough: I count both thee and Pepe as among
my truest followers,”—as Columbus said this, he walked
away, resuming the dignified gravity that usually was
seated in his countenance, and which so much aided his
authority, by impressing the minds of others with respect.
In a few minutes he and Luis descended to their cabin.

“I marvel, Sancho,” said Pepe, as soon as he and his
messmate were left alone on the poop, “that thou wilt venture
to use thy tongue so freely, even in the presence of

one that beareth about with him the queen's authority!
Dost thou not fear to offend the admiral?”

“So much for having a wife and a child! Canst thou
not make any difference between them that have had ancestors
and who have descendants, and one that hath no
other tie in the world than his name? The Señor Don
Almirante is either an exceeding great man, and chosen by
Providence to open the way into the unknown seas of which
he speaketh, or he is but a hungry Genoese that is leading
us he knoweth not whither, that he may eat and drink and
sleep, in honour, while we are toiling at his heels, like patient
mules dragging the load that the horse despiseth. In
the one case, he is too great and exalted to heed idle words;
and in the other, what is there too bad for a Castilian to
tell him?”

“Ay, thou art fond of calling thyself a Castilian, in
spite of the ship-yard and the basket, and notwithstanding
Moguer is in Seville.”

“Harkee, Pepe; is not the queen of Castile our mistress?
And are not subjects—true and lawful subjects,
I mean, like thee and me,—are not such subjects worthy
of being their queen's countrymen? Never disparage thyself,
good Pepe, for thou wilt ever find the world ready
enough to do that favour for thee. As to this Genoese, he
shall be either friend or enemy to Sancho; if the first, I
expect much consolation from it; if the last, let him hunt
for his Cathay till doomsday, he shall be never the wiser.”

“Well, Sancho, if words can mar a voyage, or make a
voyage, thou art a ready mariner; none know how to discourse
better than thou.”

Here the men both rose, having completed their work,
and they left the poop, descending among the rest of the
crew. Columbus had not miscalculated his aim, his words
and condescension having produced a most favourable effect
on the mind of Sancho Mundo, for so the man was actually
called; and in gaining one of as ready a wit and loose a
tongue for a friend, he obtained an ally who was not to be
despised. Of such materials, and with the support of such
instruments as this, is success too often composed, it being
possible for the discovery of a world, even, to depend on the
good word of one less qualified to influence opinions than
Sancho Mundo.