University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

The night that succeeded, was one of very varied feelings
among the adventurers. As soon as Sancho secured
the reward, he had no further scruples about communicating
all he knew, to any who were disposed to listen; and
long ere Columbus returned on board the vessel, the intelligence
had spread from mouth to mouth, until all in the little
squadron were apprised of the intentions of the Portuguese.
Many hoped that it was true, and that their pursuers might
be successful; any fate being preferable, in their eyes, to
that which the voyage promised; but, such is the effect of
strife, much the larger portion of the crew were impatient
to lift the anchors and to make sail, if it were only to get
the mastery in the race. Columbus, himself, experienced
the deepest concern, for it really seemed as if a hard fortune
was about to snatch the cup from his lips, just as it
had been raised there, after all his cruel sufferings and delays.
He consequently passed a night of deep anxiety, and
was the first to rise in the morning.

Every one was on the alert with the dawn; and as the
preparations had been completed the previous night, by the
time the sun had risen, the three vessels were under way,
the Pinta leading, as usual. The wind was light, and the

squadron could barely gather steerage way; but as every
moment was deemed precious, the vessels' heads were kept to
the westward. When a short time out, a caravel came flapping
past them, after having been several hours in sight, and
the admiral spoke her. She proved to be from Ferro, the most
southern and western island of the group, and had come
nearly on the route the expedition intended to steer, until
they quitted the known seas.

“Dost thou bring any tidings from Ferro?” inquired
Columbus, as the strange ship drifted slowly past the Santa
Maria; the progress of each vessel being little more than
a mile in the hour. “Is there aught of interest in that
quarter?”

“Did I know whether, or not, I am speaking to Don
Christopher Columbus, the Genoese that their Highnesses
have honoured with so important a commission, I should
feel more warranty to answer what I have both heard and
seen, Señor,” was the reply.

“I am Don Christopher himself, their Highnesses' admiral
and viceroy, for all seas and lands that we may discover,
and, as thou hast said, a Genoese in birth, though a
Castilian by duty, and in love to the queen.”

“Then, noble Admiral, I may tell you that the Portuguese
are active, three of their caravels being off Ferro,
at this moment, with the hope of intercepting your expedition.”

“How is this known, friend, and what reasons have I
for supposing that the Portuguese will dare to send forth
caravels, with orders to molest those who sail as the officers
of Isabella the Catholic? They must know that the
Holy Father hath lately conferred this title on the two sovereigns,
in acknowledgment of their great services in expelling
the Moor from Christendom.”

“Señor, there hath been a rumour of that among the
islands, but little will the Portuguese care for aught of that
nature, when he deemeth his gold in danger. As I quitted
Ferro, I spoke the caravels, and have good reason to think
that rumour doth them no injustice.”

“Did they seem warlike, and made they any pretensions
to a right to interrupt our voyage?”

“To us they said nought of this sort, except to inquire,

tauntingly, if the illustrious Don Christoval Colon, the great
viceroy of the east, sailed on board us. As for preparations,
Señor, they had many lombardas, and a multitude of
men in breast-plates and casques. I doubt if soldiers are
as numerous at the Azores, as when they sailed.”

“Keep they close in with the island, or stretch they off
to sea-ward?”

“Mostly the latter, Señor, standing far towards the west
in the morning, and beating up towards the land, as the
day closeth. Take the word of an old pilot, Don Christopher,
the mongrels are there for no good.”

This was barely audible, for, by this time, the caravels
had drifted past each other, and were soon altogether beyond
the reach of the voice.

“Do you believe that the Castilian name standeth so low,
Don Christopher,” demanded Luis, “that these dogs of
Portuguese dare do this wrong to the flag of the queen!”

“I dread nought from force, beyond detention and frauds,
certainly; but these, to me, at this moment, would be little
less painful than death. Most do I apprehend that these
caravels, under the pretence of protecting the rights of Don
John, are directed to follow us to Cathay, in which case
we should have a disputed discovery, and divided honours.
We must avoid the Portuguese, if possible; to effect which
purpose I intend to pass to the westward, without nearing
the island of Ferro, any closer than may be rendered absolutely
indispensable.”

Notwithstanding a burning impatience now beset the admiral,
and most with him, the elements seemed opposed to
his passage from among the Canaries, into the open ocean.
The wind gradually failed, until it became so calm that the
sails were hauled up, and the three vessels lay, now laving
their sides with the brine, and now rising to the summit of
the ground-swell, resembling huge animals that were lazily
reposing, under the heats of summer, in drowsy indolence.

Many was the secret pater or ave, that was mumbled by
the mariners, and not a few vows of future prayers were
made, in the hope of obtaining a breeze. Occasionally it
seemed as if Providence listened to these petitions, for the
air would fan the cheek, and the sails would fall, in the

vain expectation of getting ahead; but disappointment as
often followed, until all on board felt that they were fated
to linger under the visitations of a calm. Just at nightfall,
however, a light air arose, and, for a few hours, the
wash of the parted waters was audible under the bows of
the vessels, though their way was barely sufficient to keep
them under the command of their helms. About midnight,
however, even this scarcely perceptible motion was lost,
and the craft were again lazily wallowing in the groundswells
that the gales had sent in from the vast expanse of
the Western Ocean.

When the light reappeared, the admiral found himself
between Gomera and Teneriffe, the lofty peak of the latter
casting its pointed shadow, like that thrown by a planet,
far upon the water, until its sharp apex was renewed, in
faint mimicry, along the glassy surface of the ocean. Columbus
was now fearful that the Portuguese might employ
their boats, or impel some light felucca by her sweeps, in
order to find out his position; and he wisely directed the
sails to be furled, in order to conceal his vessels, as far as
possible, from any prying eyes. The season had advanced
to the 7th of September, and such was the situation of this
renowned expedition, exactly five weeks after it had left
Spain; for this inauspicious calm occurred on a Friday, or
on that day of the week on which it had originally sailed.

All practice shows that there is no refuge from a calm
at sea, except in patience. Columbus was much too experienced
a navigator, not to feel this truth, and, after using
the precaution mentioned, he, and the pilots under him,
turned their attention to the arrangements required to render
the future voyage safe and certain. The few mathematical
instruments known to the age, were got up, corrected,
and exhibited, with the double intention of ascertaining
their state, and of making a display before the
common men, that would heighten their respect for their
leaders, by adding to their confidence in their skill. The
admiral, himself, had already obtained a high reputation as
a navigator, among his followers, in consequence of his
reckonings having proved so much more accurate than those
of the pilots, in approaching the Canaries; and as he now
exhibited the instruments then used as a quadrant, and examined

his compasses, every movement he made was
watched by the seamen, with either secret admiration, or
jealous vigilance; some openly expressing their confidence
in his ability to proceed wherever he wished to go, and
others covertly betraying just that degree of critical knowledge
which ordinarily accompanies prejudice, ignorance,
and malice.

Luis had never been able to comprehend the mysteries
of navigation, his noble head appearing to repudiate learning,
as a species of accomplishment but little in accordance
with its wants or its tastes. Still, he was intelligent; and
within the range of knowledge that it was usual for laymen
of his rank to attain, few of his age did themselves more
credit in the circles of the court. Fortunately, he had the
most perfect reliance on the means of the admiral; and
being almost totally without personal apprehensions, Columbus
had not a more submissive or blind follower, than
the young grandee, under his command.

Man, with all his boasted philosophy, intelligence, and
reason, exists the dupe of his own imagination and blindness,
as much as of the artifices and designs of others.
Even while he fancies himself the most vigilant and cautious,
he is as often misled by appearances as governed by
facts and judgment; and perhaps half of those who were
spectators of this calculated care in Columbus, believed
that they felt, in their renewed confidence, the assurances
of science and logical deductions, when in truth their senses
were impressed, without, in the slightest degree, enlightening
their understandings.

Thus passed the day of the 7th September, the night arriving
and still finding the little squadron, or fleet, as it was
termed in the lofty language of the day, floating helplessly
between Teneriffe and Gomera. Nor did the ensuing morning
bring a change, for a burning sun beat, unrelieved by a
breath of air, on the surface of a sea that was glittering like
molten silver. When the admiral was certain, however,
by having sent men aloft to examine the horizon, that the
Portuguese were not in sight, he felt infinitely relieved, little
doubting that his pursuers still lay, as inactive as himself,
to the westward of Ferro.

“By the seamen's hopes! Señor Don Christopher,” said

Luis, as he reached the poop, where Columbus had kept an
untiring watch for hours, he himself having just risen from
a siesta, “the fiends seem to be leagued against us! Here
are we in the third day of our calm, with the Peak of Teneriffe
as stationary as if it were a mile-stone, set to tell the
porpoises and dolphins the rate at which they swim. If
one believed in omens, he might fancy that the saints were
unwilling to see us depart, even though it be on their own
errand.”

“We may not believe in omens, when they are no more
than the fruits of natural laws,” gravely returned the admiral.
“There will shortly be an end of this calm, for a
haze is gathering in the atmosphere that promises air from
the east, and the motion of the ship will tell thee, that the
winds have been busy far to the westward. Master Pilot,”
addressing the officer of that title, who had charge of the
deck at the moment, “thou wilt do well to unfurl thy canvass,
and prepare for a favouring breeze, as we shall soon
be overtaken by wind from the north-east.”

This prediction was verified about an hour later, when
all three of the vessels began, again, to part the waters with
their stems. But the breeze, if any thing, proved more
tantalizing to the impatient mariners, than the calm itself
had been; for a strong head sea had got up, and the air
proving light, the different craft struggled with difficulty
towards the west.

All this time, a most anxious look-out was kept for the
Portuguese caravels, the appearance of which, however,
was less dreaded than it had been, as they were now supposed
to be a considerable distance to leeward. Columbus,
and his skilful assistants, Martin Alonzo and Vicente Yañez,
or the brothers Pinzon, who commanded the Pinta and the
Niña, practised all the means that their experience could
suggest to get ahead. Their progress, however, was not
only slow but painful, as every fresh impulse given by the
breeze, served to plunge the bows of the vessels into the
sea with a violence that threatened injuries to the spars
and rigging. So trifling, indeed, was their rate of sailing,
that it required all the judgment of Columbus to note the
nearly imperceptible manner in which the tall, cone-like
summit of the Peak of Teneriffe lowered, as it might be,

inch by inch. The superstitious feelings of the common
men being more active than usual even, some among them
began to whisper that the elements were admonishing them
against proceeding, and that tardy as it might seem, the
admiral would do well to attend to omens and signs that
nature seldom gave without sufficient reason. These opinions,
however, were cautiously uttered, the grave earnest
manner of Columbus having created so much respect, as to
suppress them in his presence; and the mariners of the
other vessels still followed the movements of their admiral
with that species of blind dependence which marks the submission
of the inferior to the superior, under such circumstances.

When Columbus retired to his cabin for the night, Luis
observed that his countenance was unusually grave, as he
ended his calculations of the day's work.

“I trust all goes to your wishes, Don Christopher,” the
young man gaily observed. “We are now fairly on our
journey, and, to my eyes, Cathay is already in sight.”

“Thou hast that within thee, Don Luis,” returned the admiral,
“which rendereth what thou wishest to see distinct, and
maketh all colours gay. With me it is a duty to see things
as they are, and, although Cathay lieth plainly before the
vision of my mind—thou, Lord, who hast implanted, for
thine own great ends, the desire to reach that distant land,
only knowest how plainly!—although Cathay is thus plain
to my moral view, I am bound to heed the physical obstacles
that may exist to our reaching it.”

“And are these obstacles getting to be more serious than
we could hope, Señor?”

“My trust is still in God—look here, young lord,” laying
his finger on the chart; “at this point were we in the
morning, and to this point have we advanced by means of
all the toil of the day, down to this portion of the night.
Thou seest that a line of paper marketh the whole of our
progress; and, here again, thou seest that we have to cross
this vast desert of ocean, ere we may even hope to draw
near the end of our journey. By my calculation, with all
our exertions, and at this critical moment—critical not only
as regardeth the Portuguese, but critical as regardeth our
own people—we have made but nine leagues, which are a

small portion of the thousand that lie before us. At this
rate we may dread a failure of our provisions and water.”

“I have all confidence in your resources, Don Christopher,
and in your knowledge and experience.”

“And I have all confidence in the protection of God;
trusting that he will not desert his servant in the moment
that he most needeth his support.”

Here Columbus prepared himself to catch a few hours'
sleep, though it was in his clothes, the interest he felt in the
position of his vessels forbidding him to undress. This
celebrated man lived in an age when a spurious philosophy,
and a pretending but insufficient exercise of reason, placed
few, even in appearance, above the frank admission of their
constant reliance on a divine power. We say in appearance,
as no man, whatever may be the extent of his delusions
on this subject, really believes that he is altogether
sufficient for his own protection. This absolute self-reliance
is forbidden by a law of nature, each carrying in his own
breast a monitor to teach him his real insignificance,
demonstrating daily, hourly, at each minute even, that he
is but a diminutive agent used by a superior power in carrying
out its own great and mysterious ends, for the sublime
and beneficent purposes for which the world and all it contains
has been created. In compliance with the usage of
the times, Columbus knelt, and prayed fervently, ere he
slept; nor did Luis de Bobadilla hesitate about imitating an
example that few, in that day, thought beneath their intelligence
or their manhood. If religion had the taint of
superstition in the fifteenth century, and men confided too
much in the efficacy of momentary and transient impulses,
it is certain that it also possessed an exterior of graceful
meekness and submission to God, in losing which, it may
be well questioned, if the world has been the gainer.

The first appearance of light brought the admiral and
Luis to the deck. They both knelt again on the poop, and
repeated their paters; and then, yielding to the feelings
natural to their situation, they arose, eager to watch for
what might be revealed by the lifting of the curtain of day.
The approach of dawn, and the rising of the sun at sea,
have been so often described, that the repetition here might
be superfluous; but we shall state that Luis watched the

play of colours that adorned the eastern sky, with a lover's
refinement of feeling, fancying that he traced a resemblance
to the passage of emotions across the tell-tale countenance
of Mercedes, in the soft and transient hues that are known
to precede a fine morning in September, more especially in
a low latitude. As for the admiral, his more practical gaze
was turned in the direction in which the island of Ferro
lay, awaiting the increase of the light in order to ascertain
what changes had been wrought during the hours he had
slept. Several minutes passed in profound attention, when
the navigator beckoned Luis to his side.

“Seest thou that dark, gloomy pile, which is heaving up
out of the darkness, here at the south and west of us?” he
said,—“it gaineth form and distinctness at each instant,
though distant some eight or ten leagues; that is Ferro, and
the Portuguese are there, without question, anxiously expecting
our appearance. In this calm, neither can approach
the other, and thus far we are safe. It is now necessary
to ascertain if the pursuing caravels are between us
and the land, or not; after which, should it prove otherwise,
we shall be reasonably safe, if we approach no nearer to
the island, and we can maintain, as yesterday, the advantage
of the wind. Seest thou any sail, Luis, in that quarter
of the ocean?”

“None, Señor; and the light is already of sufficient
strength to expose the white canvass of a vessel, were any
there.”

Columbus made an ejaculation of thankfulness, and immediately
ordered the look-outs aloft to examine the entire
horizon. The report was favourable; the dreaded Portuguese
caravels being nowhere visible. As the sun arose,
however, a breeze sprung up at the southward and westward,
bringing Ferro, and consequently any vessels that
might be cruising in that quarter, directly to windward of
the fleet. Sail was made without the loss of a moment;
and the admiral stood to the northward and westward, trusting
that his pursuers were looking out for him on the south
side of the island, which was the ground where those who
did not thoroughly understand his aim, would be most
likely to expect him. By this time the westerly swell had,
in a great measure, gone down; and though the progress

of the vessels was far from rapid, it was steady, and seemed
likely to last. The hours went slowly by, and as the day
advanced, objects became less and less distinct on the sides
of Ferro. Its entire surface next took the hazy appearance
of a dim and ill-defined cloud; and then it began slowly to
sink into the water. Its summit was still visible, as the admiral,
with the more privileged of his companions, assembled
on the poop, to take a survey of the ocean and of the
weather. The most indifferent observer might now have
noted the marked difference in the state of feeling which
existed among the adventurers on board the Santa Maria.
On the poop, all was cheerfulness and hope, the present
escape having induced even the distrustful, momentarily, to
forget the uncertain future; the pilots, as usual, were occupied
and sustained by a species of marine stoicism, while a
melancholy had settled on the crew that was as apparent
as if they were crowding around the dead. Nearly every
man in the ship was in some one of the groups that had
assembled on deck; and every eye seemed riveted, as it
might be by enchantment, on the fading and falling heights
of Ferro. While things were in this state, Columbus approached
Luis, and aroused him from a sort of trance, by
laying a finger lightly on his shoulder.

“It can not be that the Señor de Muños is affected by
the feelings of the common men,” observed the admiral,
with a slight mixture of surprise and reproach; “this, too,
at a moment that all of an intelligence sufficient to foresee
the glorious consequences, are rejoicing that a heaven-sent
breeze is carrying us to a safe distance from the pursuing
and envious caravels! Why dost thou thus regard the people
beneath thee, with a steady eye and unwavering look?
Is it that thou repentest embarking, or dost thou merely
muse on the charms of thy mistress?”

“By San Iago! Don Christopher, this time your sagacity
is at fault. I neither repent, nor muse as you would
imply; but I gaze at yonder poor fellows with pity for their
apprehensions.”

“Ignorance is a hard master, Señor Pedro, and one that
is now exercising his power over the imaginations of the
seamen, with the ruthlessness of a tyrant. They dread
the worst, merely because they have not the knowledge to

foresee the best. Fear is a stronger passion than hope,
and is ever the near ally of ignorance. In vulgar eyes,
that which hath not yet been,—nay, which hath not, in
some measure, become familiar by use,—is deemed impossible;
men reasoning in a circle that is abridged by their
information. Those fellows are gazing at the island, as it
disappears, like men taking a last look at the things of life.
Indeed, this concern exceedeth even what I could have anticipated.”

“It lieth deep, Señor, and yet it riseth to the eyes; for
I have seen tears on cheeks that I could never have supposed
wetted in any manner but by the spray of the ocean!”

“There are our two acquaintances, Sancho and Pepe,
neither of whom seemeth particularly distressed, though
the last hath a cast of melancholy in his face. As for the
first, the knave showeth the indifference of a true mariner;
one who is never so happy as when farthest from the dangers
of rocks and shoals: to such a man, the disappearance
of one island, and the appearance of another, are
alike matters of indifference. He seeth but the visible horizon
around him, and considereth the rest of the world,
temporarily, as a blank. I look for loyal service, in that
Sancho, in despite of his knavery, and count upon him as
one of the truest of my followers.”

Here the admiral was interrupted by a cry from the deck
beneath him, and looking round, his practised and quick
eye was not slow in discovering that the horizon to the
southward presented the usual watery blank of the open
ocean. Ferro had, in fact, altogether disappeared, some
of the most sanguine of the seamen having fancied that
they beheld it, even after it had finally sunk behind the
barrier of waves. As the circumstance became more and
more certain, the lamentations among the people grew less
and less equivocal and louder, tears flowed without shame
or concealment, hands were wrung in a sort of senseless
despair, and a scene of such clamour ensued, as threatened
some serious danger to the expedition from this new quarter.
Under such circumstances, Columbus had all the people
collected beneath the break of the poop, and standing
on the latter, where he could examine every countenance
for himself, he addressed them on the subject of their grief.

On this occasion the manner of the great navigator was
earnest and sincere, leaving no doubt that he fully believed
in the truth of his own arguments, and that he uttered nothing
with the hope to delude or to mislead.

“When Don Ferdinand and Doña Isabella, our respected
and beloved sovereigns, honoured me with the commission
of admiral and viceroy, in those secret seas towards
which we are now steering,” he said, “I considered it as
the most glorious and joyful event of my life, as I now
consider this moment, that seemeth to some among you so
painful, as second to it in hope and cause for felicitation.
In the disappearance of Ferro, I see also the disappearance
of the Portuguese; for, now that we are in the open ocean,
without the limits of any known land, I trust that Providence
hath placed us beyond the reach and machinations
of all our enemies. While we prove true to ourselves,
and to the great objects that are before us, there is no longer
cause for fear. If any person among you hath a mind to
disburthen himself, in this matter, let him speak freely; we
being much too strong in argument to wish to silence doubts
by authority.”

“Then, Señor Don Almirante,” put in Sancho, whose
tongue was ever ready to wag, as occasions offered, “it is
just that which maketh your Excellency so joyful that
maketh these honest people so sad. Could they always
keep the island of Ferro in sight, or any other known land,
they would follow you to Cathay with as gentle a pull as
the launch followeth the caravel in a light breeze and
smooth water; but it is this leaving all behind, as it might
be, earth as well as wives and children, that saddens their
hearts, and uncorks their tears.”

“And thou, Sancho, an old mariner that wast born at
sea—”

“Nay, your Excellency, illustrious Señor Don Almirante,”
interrupted Sancho, looking up with pretended simplicity,
“not exactly at sea, though within the scent of its
odour; since, having been found at the shipwright's gate,
it is not probable they would have made a haven just to
land so small a part of the freight.”

“Well, born near the sea, if thou wilt — but from thee I

expect better things than unmanly lamentations because an
island hath sunk below the horizon.”

“Excellency, you may; it mattereth little to Sancho, if
half the islands in the sea were sunk a good deal lower.
There are the Cape de Verdes, now, which I never wish to
look upon again, and Lampidosa, besides Stromboli and
others in that quarter, would be better out of the way, than
where they are, as for any good they do us seamen. But,
if your Excellency will condescend to tell these honest people
whither it is that we are bound, and what you expect to
find in port, and, more especially, when we are to come
back, it would comfort them in an unspeakable degree.”

“As I hold it to be the proper office of men in authority
to let their motives be known, when no evil followeth the
disclosure, this will I most cheerfully do, requiring the attention
of all near me, and chiefly of those who are most
uneasy concerning our present position and future movements.
The end of our voyage is Cathay, a country that
is known to lie in the uttermost eastern extremity of Asia,
whither it hath been more than once reached by Christian
travellers; and its difference from all other voyages, or
journeys, that may have been attempted in order to reach
the same country, is in the circumstance that we go west,
while former travellers have proceeded east. But this is
effecting our purposes by means that belong only to stouthearted
mariners, since none but those who are familiar
with the ocean, skilful pilots and obedient and ready seamen,
can traverse the waters, without better guides than the
knowledge of the stars, currents, winds, and other phenomena
of the Atlantic, and such aids as may be gleaned from
science. The reason on which I act, is a conviction that
the earth is round, whence it followeth that the Atlantic,
which we know to possess an eastern boundary of land,
must also have a western; and from certain calculations
that leave it almost certain, that this continent, which I hold
will prove to be India, cannot lie more than some twenty-five
or thirty days' sailing, if as many, from our own Europe.
Having thus told when and where I expect to find
the country we seek, I will now touch a little on the advantages
that we may all expect to derive from the discovery.
According to the accounts of a certain Marco Polo, and his

relatives, gentlemen of Venice, and men of fair credit and
good reputations, the kingdom of Cathay is not only one of
the most extensive known, but one that most aboundeth in
gold and silver, together with the other metals of value, and
precious stones. Of the advantages of the discovery of
such a land to yourselves, ye may judge by its advantages
to me. Their Highnesses have dignified me with the rank
of admiral and viceroy, in anticipation of our success, and,
persevering to a successful termination of your efforts, the
humblest man among ye may look with confidence to some
signal mark of their favour. Rewards will doubtless be
rendered in proportion to your merits; he that deserveth
much, receiving more than he who hath deserved less. Still
will there be sufficient for all. Marco Polo and his relatives
dwelt seventeen years in the court of the Great Khan, and
were every way qualified to give a true account of the riches
and resources of those regions; and well were they, simple
Venetian gentlemen, without any other means than could
be transported on the backs of beasts of burthen, rewarded
for their toils and courage. The jewels alone, with which
they returned, served long to enrich their race, renovating
a decayed but honourable family, while they did their enterprise
and veracity credit in the eyes of men.

“As the ocean, for a long distance this side of the continent
of Asia and the kingdom of Cathay, is known to
abound with islands, we may expect first to meet with them,
where, it would be doing nature herself injustice, did we
not anticipate fragrant freights of balmy spices, and other
valuable commodities with which that favoured quarter of
the earth, it is certain, is enriched. Indeed, it is scarce
possible for the imagination to conceive of the magnitude
of the results that await our success, while nought but
ridicule and contempt could attend a hasty and inconsiderate
return. Going not as invaders, but as Christians and
friends, we have no reason to expect other than the most
friendly reception; and, no doubt, the presents and gifts,
alone, that will naturally be offered to strangers who have
come so far, and by a road that hath hitherto been untravelled,
will forty-fold repay you for all your toils and
troubles.

“I say nothing of the honour of being among those who

have first carried the cross to the heathen world,” continued
the admiral, uncovering himself, and looking around him
with solemn gravity; “though our fathers believed it to be
no little distinction to have been one in the armies that contended
for the possession of the sepulchre. But, neither
the church, nor its great master, forgetteth the servitor that
advanceth its interests, and we may all look for blessings,
both here and hereafter.”

As he concluded, Columbus devoutly crossed himself,
and withdrew from the sight of his people among those
who were on the poop. The effect of this address was, for
the moment, very salutary, and the men saw the clouds
that hung over the land disappear, like the land itself, with
less feeling than they had previously manifested. Nevertheless,
they remained distrustful and sad, some dreaming
that night of the pictures that Columbus had drawn of the
glories of the East, and others fancying in their sleep, that
demons were luring them into unknown seas, where they
were doomed to wander for ever, as a punishment for their
sins; conscience asserting its power, in all situations, and
most vividly in those of distrust and uncertainty.

Shortly before sunset, the admiral caused the three vessels
to heave-to, and the two Pinzons to repair on board his
own ship. Here he laid before these persons his orders
and plans for their government, in the event of a separation.

“Thus you will understand me, Señores,” he concluded,
after having explained at length his views: “Your first
and gravest duty will be to keep near the admiral, in all
weather, and under every circumstance, so long as it may
be possible; but, failing of the possibility, you will make
your way due westward, on this parallel of latitude, until
you have gone seven hundred leagues from the Canaries;
after which, you are to lie-to at night, as, by that time, it is
probable you will be among the islands of Asia; and it
will be both prudent and necessary to our objects, to be
more on the alert for discoveries, from that moment. Still,
you will proceed westward, relying on seeing me at the
court of the Great Khan, should Providence deny us an
earlier meeting.”

“This is well, Señor Almirante,” returned Martin Alonzo
raising his eyes, which had long been riveted on the chart;

“but it will be far better for all to keep together, and
chiefly so to us, who are little used to the habits of princes,
if we await your excellency's protection before we rush unheedingly
into the presence of a sovereign as potent as the
Grand Khan.”

“Thou showest thy usual prudence, good Martin Alonzo,
and I much commend thee for it. It were, indeed, better
that thou shouldst wait my arrival, since that eastern potentate
may conceive himself better treated by receiving the
first visit from the viceroy of the sovereigns, who is the
bearer of letters directly from his own royal master and
mistress, than by receiving it from one of inferior rank.
Look thou well to the islands and their products, Señor
Pinzon, shouldst thou first gain those seas, and await my
appearance, before thou proceedest to aught else. How
stand thy people affected on taking leave of the land?”

“Ill enough, Señor; so much so, indeed, as to put me
in fear of a mutiny. There are those in the Pinta who
need to stand in wholesome dread of the anger of their
Highnesses, to prevent their making a sudden and violent
return to Palos.”

“Thou would'st do well to look sharply to this spirit, that
it may be kept under. Deal kindly and gently with these
disaffected spirits as long as may be, encouraging them by
all fair and reasonable promises; but beware that the distemper
get not the mastery of thy authority. And now,
Señores, as the night approacheth, take boat and return to
your vessels, that we may profit by the breeze.”

When Columbus was again alone with Luis, he sate in
his little cabin, with a hand supporting his head, musing
like one lost in reflection.

“Thou hast long known this Martin Alonzo, Don Luis
de Bobadilla?” he at length asked, betraying the current
of his thoughts, by the nature of the question.

“Long, Señor, as youths count time; though it would
seem but a day in the calculations of aged men.”

“Much dependeth on him; I hope he may prove honest;
as yet he hath shown himself liberal, enterprising, and
manly.”

“He is human, Don Christopher, and therefore liable to
err. Yet as men go, I esteem Martin Alonzo far from being

among the worst of his race. He hath not embarked
in this enterprise under knightly vows, nor with any churchman's
zeal; but give him the chance of a fair return for
his risks, and you will find him as true as interest ever
leaveth a man, when there is any occasion to try his selfishness.”

“Then thou, only, will I trust with my secret. Look at
this paper, Luis. Here thou seest that I have been calculating
our progress since morning, and I find that we have
come full nineteen leagues, though it be not in a direct
westerly line. Should I let the people know how far we
may have truly come, at the end of some great distance,
there being no land visible, fear will get the mastery over
them, and no man can foresee the consequences. I shall
write down publicly, therefore, but fifteen leagues, keeping
the true reckoning sacred for thine eye and mine. God
will forgive me this deception, in consideration that it is
practised in the interest of his own church. By making
these small deductions daily, it will enable us to advance a
thousand leagues, without awakening alarm sufficient for
more than seven or eight hundred.”

“This is reducing courage to a scale I little dreamt of,
Señor,” returned Luis, laughing. “By San Luis, my true
patron! we should think ill of the knight who found it
necessary to uphold his heart by a measurement of leagues.”

“All unknown evils are dreaded evils. Distance hath
its terrors for the ignorant, and it may justly have its terrors
for the wise, young noble, when it is measured on a
trackless ocean; and there ariseth another question touching
those great staples of life, food and water.”

With this slight reproof of the levity of his young friend,
the admiral prepared himself for his hammock by Kneeling
and repeating the prayers of the hour.