 | CHAPTER IV. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
Was in those notes, with day's last glory dying
On the flush'd waters—seem'd they not to swell
From the far dust, wherein my sires were lying
With crucifix and sword?—Oh! yet how clear
Comes their reproachful sweetness to my ear!
`Ora'—with all the purple waves replying,
All my youth's visions rising in the strain—
And I had thought it much to bear the rack and chain!”
The Forest Sanctuary.
It may now be well to recapitulate, and to let the reader
distinctly know how far the adventurers had actually advanced
into the unknown waters of the Atlantic; what was
their real, and what their supposed position. As has been
seen, from the time of quitting Gomera, the admiral kept
two reckonings, one intended for his own government,
which came as near the truth as the imperfect means of
the science of navigation that were then in use would
allow, and another that was freely exhibited to the crew,
and was purposely miscalculated in order to prevent alarm,
on account of the distance that had been passed. As Columbus
believed himself to be employed in the service of
God, this act of deception would be thought a species of
pious fraud, in that devout age; and it is by no means probable,
that it gave the conscience of the navigator any
trouble, since churchmen, even, did not hesitate always
about buttressing the walls of faith by means still less
justifiable.
The long calms and light head-winds had prevented the
vessels from making much progress for the few last days;
and, by estimating the distance that was subsequently run
in a course but a little south of west, it appears, notwithstanding
all the encouraging signs of birds, fishes, calms,
and smooth water, that on the morning of Monday, September
24th, or that of the fifteenth day after losing sight
of Ferro, the expedition was about half-way across the
Atlantic, counting from continent to continent, on the
circumstance of the vessels being so far north of the
Canaries, when it is known that they had been running
most of the time west, a little southerly, must be imputed
to the course steered in the scant winds, and perhaps to the
general set of the currents. With this brief explanation,
we return to the daily progress of the ships.
The influence of the trades was once more felt, though
in a very slight degree, in the course of the twenty-four
hours that succeeded the day of the “miraculous seas,”
and the vessels again headed west by compass Birds
were seen as usual, among which was a pelican. The
whole progress of the vessels was less than fifty miles, a
distance that was lessened, as usual, in the public reckoning.
The morning of the 25th was calm, but the wind returned,
a steady gentle breeze from the south-east, when
the day was far advanced, the caravels passing most of the
hours of light floating near each other, in a lazy indolence,
or barely stirring the water with their stems, at a rate
little, if any, exceeding that of a mile an hour.
The Pinta kept near the Santa Maria, and the officers
and crews of the two vessels conversed freely with each
other, concerning their hopes and situation. Columbus
listened to these dialogues for a long time, endeavouring to
collect the predominant feeling from the more guarded expressions
that were thus publicly delivered, and watching
each turn of the expressions with jealous vigilance. At
length it struck him that the occasion was favourable to
producing a good effect on the spirits of his followers.
“What hast thou thought of the chart I sent thee three
days since, good Martin Alonzo,” called out the admiral:
“Dost thou see in it aught to satisfy thee that we are approaching
the Indies, and that our time of trial draweth
rapidly to an end?”
At the first sound of the admiral's voice, every syllable
was hushed among the people; for, in spite of their discontent,
and their disposition even to rise against him, in
their extremity, Columbus had succeeded in creating a profound
respect for his judgment and his person among all
his followers.
“'T is a rare and well-designed chart, Señor Don Christopher,”
answered the master of the Pinta, “and doth a
fair credit to him who hath copied and enlarged, as well as
to him who first projected it. I doubt that it is the work
of some learned scholar, that hath united the opinions of
all the greater navigators in his map.”
“The original came from one Paul Toscanelli, a learned
Tuscan, who dwelleth at Firenze in that country; a man of
exceeding knowledge, and of an industry in investigation
that putteth idleness to shame. Accompanying the chart
he sent a missive that hath much profound and learned
matter on the subject of the Indies, and touching those
islands that thou seest laid down with so much particularity.
In that letter he speaketh of divers places, as being
so many wonderful exemplars of the power of man; more
especially of the port of Zaiton, which sendeth forth no
less than a hundred ships yearly, loaded with the single
product of the pepper-tree. He saith, moreover, that an
ambassador came to the Holy Father, in the time of Eugenius
IV., of blessed memory, to express the desire of the
Great Khan, which meaneth King of Kings, in the dialect
of those regions, to be on friendly terms with the Christians
of the west, as we were then termed; but of the
east, as will shortly be our designation in that part of the
world.”
“This is surprising, Señor!” exclaimed Pinzon: “how
is it known, or is it known at all, of a certainty?”
“Beyond a question; since Paul stateth, in his missive,
that he saw much of this same ambassador, living greatly
in his society, Eugenius deceasing as lately as 1477. From
the ambassador, no doubt a wise and grave personage,
since no other would have been sent so far on a mission to
the Head of the Church;—from this discreet person, then,
did Toscanelli gain much pleasant information concerning
the populousness and vast extent of those distant countries,
the gorgeousness of the palaces, and the glorious beauty
of the cities. He spoke of one town, in particular, that
surpasseth all others of the known world; and of a single
river that hath two hundred noble cities on its own banks,
with marble bridges spanning the stream. The chart before
thee, Martin Alonzo, showeth that the exact distance
nine hundred miles of Italy, or about a thousand leagues,
steering always in a due-west direction.”[1]
“And doth the learned Tuscan say aught of the riches
of those countries?” demanded Master Alonzo—a question
that caused all within hearing to prick up their ears, afresh.
“That doth he, and in these precise and impressive
words—`This is a noble country,' observed the learned
Paul, in his missive, `and ought to be explored by us, on
account of its great riches, and the quantity of gold, silver,
and precious stones, which might be obtained there.' He
moreover describeth Quisay as being five-and-thirty leagues
in circuit, and addeth that its name in the Castilian, is `the
City of Heaven.' ”
“In which case,” muttered Sancho, though in a tone so
low that no one but Pepe heard him, “there is little need
of our bearing thither the cross, which was intended for
the benefit of man, and not of paradise.”
“I see here two large islands, Señor Almirante,” continued
Pinzon, keeping his eyes on the chart, “one of which
is called Antilla, and the other is the Cipango of which your
Excellency so often speaketh.”
“Even so, good Martin Alonzo, and thou also seest that
they are laid down with a precision that must prevent any
experienced navigator from missing his way, when in pursuit
of them. These islands lie just two hundred and
twenty-five leagues asunder.”
“According to our reckoning, here, in the Pinta, noble
Admiral, we cannot, then, be far from Cipango at this very
moment.”
“It would so seem by the reckonings, though I somewhat
doubt their justness. It is a common error of pilots
to run ahead of their reckonings, but in this instance, apprehension
hath brought ye behind them. Cipango lieth
many days' sail from the continent of Asia, and cannot,
therefore, be far from this spot; still the currents have been
near this island, good Martin Alonzo, as thou and thy companions
imagine. Let the chart be returned, and I will
trace our actual position on it, that all may see what reason
there is to despond, and what reason to rejoice.”
Pinzon now took the chart, rolled it together carefully,
attached a light weight, and securing the whole with the
end of a log-line, he hove it on board the Santa Maria, as
a seaman makes a cast with the lead. So near were the
vessels at the moment, that this communication was made
without any difficulty; after which, the Pinta, letting fall
an additional sail or two, flapped slowly ahead, her superiority,
particularly in light winds, being at all times apparent.
Columbus now caused the chart to be spread over a table
on the poop, and invited all who chose to draw near, in
order that they might, with their own eyes, see the precise
spot on the ocean where the admiral supposed the vessels
to be. As each day's work was accurately laid down, and
measured on the chart, by one as expert as the great navigator
himself, there is little question that he succeeded in
showing his people, as near as might be, and subject to the
deduction in distance that was intentionally made, the longitude
and latitude to which the expedition had then reached;
and as this brought them quite near those islands
which were believed to lie east of the continent of Asia,
this tangible proof of their progress had far more effect
than any demonstration that depended on abstract reasoning,
even when grounded on premises that were true;
most men submitting sooner to the authority of the senses,
than to the influence of the mere mind. The seamen
did not stop to inquire how it was settled that Cipango
lay in the precise place where it had been projected on this
famous chart, but seeing it there, in black and white, they
were disposed to believe it was really in the spot it appeared
to be; and, as Columbus's reputation for keeping a
ship's reckoning far surpassed that of any other navigator
in the fleet, the facts were held to be established. Great
was the joy, in consequence; and the minds of the people
again passed from the verge of despair to an excess and
illusion of hope, that was raised only to be disappointed.
That Columbus was sincere in all that related to this
new delusion, with the exception of the calculated reduction
of the true distance, is beyond a doubt. In common with
the cosmographers of the age, he believed the circumference
of the earth much less than actual measurement
has since shown it to be; striking out of the calculations,
at once, nearly the whole breadth of the Pacific Ocean.
That this conclusion was very natural, will be seen by
glancing at the geographical facts that the learned then
possessed, as data for their theories.
It was known that the continent of Asia was bounded on
the east by a vast ocean, and that a similar body of water
bounded Europe on the west, leaving the plausible inference,
on the supposition that the earth was a sphere, that nothing
but islands existed between these two great boundaries of
land. Less than half of the real circumference of the globe
is to be found between the western and eastern verges of
the old continent, as they were then known; but it was too
bold an effort of the mind, to conceive that startling fact, in
the condition of human knowledge at the close of the fifteenth
century. The theories were consequently content
with drawing the limits of the east and the west into a
much narrower circle, finding no data for any freer speculation;
and believing it a sufficient act of boldness to maintain
the spherical formation of the earth at all. It is true,
that the latter theory was as old as Ptolemy, and quite probably
much older; but even the antiquity of a system
begins to be an argument against it, in the minds of the
vulgar, when centuries elapse, and it receives no confirmation
from actual experiment. Columbus supposed his island
of Cipango, or Japan, to lie about a hundred and forty degrees
of longitude east of its actual position; and, as a degree
of longitude in the latitude of Japan, or 35° north,
supposing the surface of the earth to be perfectly spherical,
is about fifty-six statute miles, it follows that Columbus had
advanced this island, on his chart, more than seven thousand
English miles towards the eastward, or a distance
materially exceeding two thousand marine leagues.
All this, however, was not only hidden in mystery as regards
the common men of the expedition, but it far outstripped
the boldest conceptions of the great navigator himself.
detracting from the glory of the vast discoveries that were
subsequently made, since they prove under what moral disadvantages
the expedition was conceived, and under what
a limited degree of knowledge it finally triumphed.
While Columbus was thus employed with the chart, it
was a curious thing to witness the manner in which the
seamen watched his smallest movement, studied the expression
of his grave and composed countenance, and sought
to read their fate in the contraction, or dilation, of his eyes.
The gentlemen of the Santa Maria, and the pilots, stood at
his elbow, and here and there some old mariner ventured
to take his post at hand, where he could follow the slow
progress of the pen, or note the explanation of a figure.
Among these was Sancho, who was generally admitted to
be one of the most expert seamen in the little fleet, in all
things, at least, that did not require the knowledge of the
schools. Columbus even turned to these men, and spoke
them kindly, endeavouring to make them comprehend a
part of their calling, which they saw practised daily, without
ever succeeding in acquiring a practical acquaintance
with it, pointing out particularly the distance come, and
that which yet remained before them. Others, again, the
less experienced, but not the less interested among the
crew, hung about the rigging, whence they could overlook
the scene, and fancy they beheld demonstrations that came
of theories which it as much exceeded their reasoning
powers to understand, as it exceeded their physical vision to
behold the desired Indies themselves. As men become intellectual,
they entertain abstractions, leaving the dominion
of the senses to take refuge in that of thought. Until this
change arrives, however, we are all singularly influenced
by a parade of positive things. Words spoken, seldom produce
the effect of words written; and the praise or censure
that would enter lightly and unheeded into the ear, might
even change our estimates of character, when received into
the mind through the medium of the eye. Thus, the very
seamen, who could not comprehend the reasoning of Columbus,
fancied they understood his chart, and willingly enough
believed that islands and continents must exist in the precise
places where they saw them so plainly delineated.
After this exhibition, cheerfulness resumed its sway
over the crew of the Santa Maria; and Sancho, who was
generally considered as of the party of the admiral, was
eagerly appealed to by his fellows, for many of the little
circumstances that were thought to explain the features of
the chart.
“Dost think, Sancho, that Cipango is as large as the
admiral hath got the island on the chart?” asked one who
had passed from the verge of despair to the other extreme;
“that it lieth fairly, any eye may see, since its look is as
natural as that of Ferro or Madeira.”
“That hath he,” answered Sancho, positively, “as one
may see by its shape. Didst not notice the capes, and
bays, and head-lands, all laid down as plainly as on any
other well-known coast? Ah! these Genoese are skilful
navigators; and Señor Colon, our noble admiral, hath not
come all this distance without having some notion in what
roadstead he is to anchor.”
In such conclusive arguments, the dullest minds of the
crew found exceeding consolation; whilst among all the
common people of the ship, there was not one who did not
feel more confidence in the happy termination of the voyage,
since he had this seeming ocular proof of the existence
of land in the part of the ocean they were in.
When the discourse between the admiral and Pinzon
ceased, the latter made sail on the Pinta, which vessel
had slowly passed the Santa Maria, and was now a hundred
yards, or more, ahead of her; neither going through
the water at a rate exceeding a knot an hour. At the moment
just mentioned, or while the men were conversing of
their newly awakened hopes, a shout drew all eyes towards
their consort, where Pinzon was seen on the poop, waving
his cap in exultation, and giving the usual proofs of extravagant
delight.
“Land!—Land! Señor!” he shouted. “I claim my reward!
Land! Land!”
“In what direction, good Martin Alonzo?” asked Columbus,
so eagerly that his voice fairly trembled. “In
which quarter dost thou perceive this welcome neighbour?”
“Here, to the south-west,” pointing in that direction —
to satisfy the pious longings of the Holy Father himself!”
Every eye turned towards the south-west, and there, indeed,
they fancied they beheld the long-sought proofs of
their success. A faint, hazy mass, was visible in the horizon,
broken in outline, more distinctly marked than clouds
usually are, and yet so obscure as to require a practised
eye to draw it out of the obscurity of the void. This is
the manner in which land often appears to seamen, in peculiar
conditions of the atmosphere; others, under such
circumstances, being seldom able to distinguish it at all.
Columbus was so practised in all the phenomena of the
ocean, that the face of every man in the Santa Maria was
turned towards his, in breathless expectation of the result,
as soon as the first glance had been given towards the
point of the compass mentioned. It was impossible to
mistake the expression of the admiral's countenance, which
immediately became radiant with delight and pious exultation.
Uncovering himself, he cast a look upward in unbounded
gratitude, and then fell on his knees, to return
open thanks to God. This was the signal of triumph, and
yet, in their desolate situation, exultation was not the
prevalent feeling of the moment. Like Columbus, the
men felt their absolute dependence on God; and a sense
of humble and rebuked gratitude came over every spirit,
as it might be simultaneously. Kneeling, the entire crews
of the three vessels simultaneously commenced the chant
of “Gloria in excelsis Deo!” lifting the voice of praise, for
the first time since the foundations of the earth were laid,
in that deep solitude of the ocean. Matins and vespers, it
is true, were then habitually repeated in most Christian
ships; but this sublime chant was now uttered to waves
that had been praising their Maker, in their might and in
their calm, for so many thousand years, for the first time
in the voice of man.
“Glory be to God on high!” sang these rude mariners,
with hearts softened by their escapes, dangers, and success,
speaking as one man, though modulating their tones to the
solemn harmony of a religious rite—“and on earth peace,
good will towards men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we
worship thee, we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for
the Father Almighty!” &c. &c.
In this noble chant, which would seem to approach as
near to the praises of angels as human powers can ever
hope to rise, the voice of the admiral was distinct, and deep,
but trembling with emotion.
When this act of pious gratitude was performed, the men
ascended the rigging to make more certain of their success.
All agreed in pronouncing the faintly delineated mass to be
land, and the first sudden transport of unexpected joy was
succeeded by the more regulated feelings of confirmed security.
The sun set a little north of the dim mountains,
and night closed around the scene, shadowing the ocean
with as much of gloom as is ever to be found beneath a
tropical and cloudless sky. As the first watch was set,
Columbus, who, whenever the winds would allow, had persevered
in steering what he fancied to be a due-west course,
to satisfy the longings of his people, ordered the vessels to
haul up to south-west by compass, which was in fact heading
south-west by south, southerly. The wind increased,
and, as the admiral had supposed the land to be distant
about twenty-five leagues, when last seen, all in the little
fleet confidently relied on obtaining a full and complete
view of it in the morning. Columbus himself entertained
this hope, though he varied his course reluctantly, feeling
certain that the continent would be met by sailing west, or
what he thought to be west, though he could have no similar
confidence as to making any island.
Few slept soundly that night, visions of oriental
riches, and of the wonders of the East, crowding on
the minds of even the least imaginative, converting their
slumbers into dreams rendered uneasy by longings for
gold, and anticipations of the wonders of the unknown East.
The men left their hammocks, from hour to hour, to stand
in the rigging, watching for some new proofs of their proximity
to the much-desired islands, and straining their eyes
in vain, in the hope of looking deeper into the obscurity in
quest of objects that fancy had already begun to invest with
forms. In the course of the night, the vessels ran in a
direct line towards the south-west, seventeen of the twenty-five
leagues that Columbus had supposed alone separated
dawned, every soul in the three vessels was stirring, in the
eager hope of having the panorama of day open on such a
sight, as they felt it to be but a slight grievance to have
come so far, and to have risked so much, to behold.
“Yonder is a streak of light, glimmering in the east,”
cried Luis, in a cheerful voice; “and now, Señor Almirante,
we may unite in terming you the honoured of the
earth!”
“All rests with God, my young friend,” returned Columbus;
“whether land is near us or not, it boundeth the
western ocean, and to that boundary we must proceed.
Thou art right, truly, friend Gutierrez; the light is beginning
to shed itself along the eastern margin of the sea,
and even to rise in an arch into the vault above it.”
“Would that the sun rose, for this one day, in the west,
that we might catch the first glimpse of our new possessions
in that radiant field of heaven, which his coming
rays are so gloriously illuminating above the track we
have just passed!”
“That will not happen, Master Pedro, since Sol hath
journeyed daily round this planet of ours, from east to
west, since time began, and will so continue to journey
until time shall cease. This is a fact on which our senses
may be trusted, though they mislead us in so many other
things.”
So reasoned Columbus, a man whose mind had outstripped
the age, in his favourite study, and who was usually
so calm and philosophical; simply because he reasoned
in the fetters of habit and prejudice. The celebrated
system of Ptolemy, that strange compound of truth and
error, was the favourite astronomical law of the day.
Copernicus, who was then but a mere youth, did not
reduce the just conception of Pythagoras — just in outline,
though fanciful in its connextion with both cause
and effect — to the precision of science for many years
after the discovery of America; and it is a strong proof
of the dangers which attended the advancement of
thought, that he was rewarded for this vast effort of
human reason, by excommunication from the church, the
his body, until within a few years of the present moment!
This single circumstance will show the reader how much
our navigator had to overcome in achieving the great office
he had assumed.
But all this time, the day is dawning, and the light is
beginning to diffuse itself over the entire panorama of
ocean and sky. As means were afforded, each look eagerly
took in the whole range of the western horizon, and a
chill of disappointment settled on every heart, as suspicion
gradually became confirmation, that no land was visible.
The vessels had passed, in the night, those bounds of the
visible horizon, where masses of clouds had settled; and
no one could any longer doubt that his senses had been
deceived by some accidental peculiarity in the atmosphere.
All eyes now turned again to the admiral, who, while he
felt the disappointment in his inmost heart, maintained a
dignified calm that it was not easy to disturb.
“These signs are not infrequent at sea, Señors,” he said
to those near him, speaking loud enough, nevertheless, to
be heard by most of the crew, “though seldom as treacherous
as they have now proved to be. All accustomed
to the ocean have doubtless seen them often; and as physical
facts, they must be taken as counting neither for nor
against us. As omens, each person will consider them as
he putteth his trust in God, whose grace and mercy to us
all, is yet, by a million of times, unrequited, and still would
be, were we to sing Gloria in excelsis, from morn till
night, as long as breath lasted for the sacred office.”
“Still, our hope was so very strong, Don Christopher,”
observed one of the gentlemen, “that we find the disappointment
hard to be borne. You speak of omens, Señor;
are there any physical signs of our being near the land
of Cathay?”
“Omens come of God, if they come at all. They are
a species of miracles preceding natural events, as real
miracles surpass them. I think this expedition cometh of
God; and I see no irreverence in supposing that this late
appearance of land may have been heaped along the horizon
for an encouraging sign to persevere, and as a proof
nevertheless, that any but natural means were used, for
these deceptions are familiar to us mariners.”
“I shall endeavour so to consider it, Señor Almirante,”
gravely returned the other, and the conversation dropped.
The non-appearance of the land, which had been so
confidently hoped for, produced a deep gloom in the vessels,
notwithstanding; again changing the joy of their people
into despondency. Columbus continued to steer due-west,
by compass, or west by south, southerly, in reality,
until meridian, when, yielding to the burning wishes of
those around him, he again altered his course to the south-west.
This course was followed until the ships had gone
far enough in that direction to leave no doubt that the people
had been misled by clouds, the preceding evening. At
night, when not the faintest hope remained, the vessels kept
away due west again, running, in the course of the
twenty-four hours, quite thirty-one leagues, which were recorded
before the crew as twenty-four.
For several succeeding days no material changes occurred.
The wind continued favourable, though frequently
so light as to urge the vessels very slowly ahead, reducing
the day's progress sometimes to little more than fifty of our
English miles. The sea was calm, and weeds were again
met, though in much smaller quantities than before. September
29th, or the fourth day after Pinzon had called out
“land,” another frigate-bird was seen; and as it was the
prevalent notion among seamen that this bird never flew
far from the shore, some faint hopes were momentarily revived
by his passage. Two pelicans also appeared, and
the air was so soft and balmy that Columbus declared
nothing but nightingales were wanting to render the nights
as delicious as those of Andalusia.
In this manner did birds come and go, exciting hopes
that were doomed to be disappointed; sometimes flying in
numbers that would seem to forbid the idea that they could
be straying on the waste of waters, without the certainty
of their position. Again, too, the attention of the admiral,
and of the people, was drawn to the variation of the needle,
all uniting in the opinion that the phenomenon was
length the first day of October arrived, and the pilots of
the admiral's vessel seriously set to work to ascertain the
distance they had come. They had been misled as well as
the rest, by the management of Columbus, and they now
approached the latter, as he stood at his usual post on the
poop, in order to give the result of their calculations, with
countenances that were faithful indexes of the concern
they felt.
“We are not less than five hundred and seventy-eight
leagues west of Ferro, Señor Almirante,” commenced one
of the two; “a fearful distance to venture into the bosom
of an unknown ocean!”
“Thou say'st true, honest Bartolemeo,” returned Columbus,
calmly; “though the farther we venture, the
greater will be the honour. Thy reckoning is even short
of the truth, since this of mine, which is no secret from
our people, giveth even five hundred and eighty-four
leagues, fully six more than thine. But, after all, this
scarce equalleth a voyage from Lisbon to Guinea, and
we are not men to be outdone by the seamen of Don
John!”
“Ah! Señor Almirante, the Portuguese have their islands
by the way, and the old world at their elbows; while we,
should this earth prove not to be really a sphere, are hourly
sailing towards its verge, and are running into untried
dangers!”
“Go to, Bartolemeo! thou talkest like a river-man who
hath been blown outside his bar by a strong breeze from
the land, and who fancieth his risks greater than man ever
yet endured, because the water that wetteth his tongue is
salt. Let the men see this reckoning, fearlessly; and
strive to be of cheer, lest we remember thy misgivings,
beneath the groves of Cathay.”
“The man is sore beset with dread,” coolly observed
Luis, as the pilots descended from the poop with a lingering
step and a heavy heart. “Even your six short leagues
added to the weight on his spirit. Five hundred and
seventy-eight were frightful, but five hundred and eighty-four
became burthensome to his soul!”
“What would he then have thought had he known the
truth, of which, young count, even thou art ignorant?”
“I hope you do not distrust my nerves, Don Christopher,
that this matter is kept a secret from me?”
“I ought not, I do believe, Señor de Llera; and yet one
gets to be distrustful even of himself, when weighty concerns
hang by a thread. Hast thou any real idea of the
length of the road we have come?”
“Not I, by St. Iago! Señor. It is enough for me that
we are far from the Doña Mercedes, and a league more or
less counts but little. Should your theory be true, and the
earth prove to be round, I have the consolation of knowing
that we shall get back to Spain, in time, even by chasing
the sun.”
“Still thou hast some general notion of our true distance
from Ferro, knowing that each day it is lessened before the
people.”
“To tell you the truth, Don Christopher, arithmetic and
I have little feeling for each other. For the life of me, I
never could tell the exact amount of my own revenues, in
figures, though it might not be so difficult to come at their
results, in another sense. If truth were said, however, I
should think your five hundred and eighty leagues might
fairly be set down at some six hundred and ten or twenty.”
“Add yet another hundred and thou wilt not be far from
the fact. We are, at this moment, seven hundred and seven
leagues from Ferro, and fast drawing near to the meridian
of Cipango. In another glorious week, or ten days at most,
I shall begin seriously to expect to see the continent of
Asia!”
“This is travelling faster than I had thought, Señor,”
answered Luis, carelessly; “but journey on; one of your
followers will not complain, though we circle earth itself.”
| CHAPTER IV. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay | |