Columbus was in fact in a very queer way at this time; and what with his

readings and his meditatings and his grievances, and his visits to his

monkish friend in the convent of Las Cuevas, he fell into a kind of

intellectual stupor, of which the work called ‘Libro de las Profecias,’

or Book of the Prophecies, in which he wrote down such considerations as

occurred to him in his stupor, was the result. The manuscript of this

work is in existence, although no human being has ever ventured to

reprint the whole of it; and we would willingly abstain from mentioning

it here if it were not an undeniable act of Columbus’s life. The

Admiral, fallen into theological stupor, puts down certain figures upon

paper; discovers that St. Augustine said that the world would only last

for 7000 years; finds that some other genius had calculated that before

the birth of Christ it had existed for 5343 years and 318 days; adds 1501

years from the birth of Christ to his own time; adds up, and finds that

the total is 6844 years; subtracts, and discovers that this earthly globe

can only last 155 years longer. He remembers also that, still according

to the Prophets, certain things must happen before the end of the world;

Holy Sepulchre restored to Christianity, heathen converted, second coming

of Christ; and decides that he himself is the man appointed by God and

promised by the Prophets to perform these works. Good Heavens! in what

an entirely dark and sordid stupor is our Christopher now sunk--a

veritable slough and quag of stupor out of which, if he does not manage

to flounder himself, no human hand can pull him.

But amid his wallowings in this slough of stupor, when all else, in him

had been well-nigh submerged by it, two dim lights were preserved towards

which, although foundered up to the chin, he began to struggle; and by

superhuman efforts did at last extricate himself from the theological

stupor and get himself blown clean again by the salt winds before he

died. One light was his religion; not to be confounded with theological

stupor, but quite separate from it in my belief; a certain steadfast and

consuming faith in a Power that could see and understand and guide him to

the accomplishment of his purpose. This faith had been too often a good

friend and help to Christopher for him to forget it very long, even while

he was staggering in the quag with Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the Fathers; and

gradually, as I say, he worked himself out into the region of activity

again. First, thinking it a pity that his flounderings in the slough

should be entirely wasted, he had a copy of his precious theological work

made and presented it to the Sovereigns, with a letter urging them (since

he himself was unable to do it) to undertake a crusade for the recovery

of the Holy Sepulchre--not an altogether wild proposal in those days.

But Ferdinand had other uses for his men and his money, and contented

himself with despatching Peter Martyr on a pacific mission to the Grand

Soldan of Egypt.

The other light left unquenched in Columbus led him back to the firm

ground of maritime enterprise; he began to long for the sea again, and

for a chance of doing something to restore his reputation. An infinitely

better and more wholesome frame of mind this; by all means let him mend

his reputation by achievement, instead of by writing books in a

theological trance or stupor, and attempting to prove that he was chosen

by the Almighty. He now addressed himself to the better task of getting

himself chosen by men to do something which should raise him again in

their esteem.

His maritime ambition was no doubt stimulated at this time by witnessing

the departure of Ovando, in February 1502, with a fleet of thirty-five

ships and a company of 2500 people. It was not in the Admiral’s nature

to look on without envy at an equipment the like of which he himself had

never been provided with, and he did not restrain his sarcasms at its

pomp and grandeur, nor at the ease with which men could follow a road

which had once been pointed out to them. Ovando had a great body-guard

such as Columbus had never had; and he also carried with him a great

number of picked married men with their families, all with knowledge of

some trade or craft, whose presence in the colony would be a guarantee

of permanence and steadiness. He perhaps remembered his own crowd of

ruffians and gaol-birds, and realised the bitterness of his own mistakes.

It was a very painful moment for him, and he was only partially

reconciled to it by the issue of a royal order to Ovando under which he

was required to see to the restoration of the Admiral’s property. If it

had been devoted to public purposes it was to be repaid him from the

royal funds; but if it had been merely distributed among the colonists

Bobadilla was to be made responsible for it. The Admiral was also

allowed to send out an agent to represent him and look after his

interests; and he appointed Alonso de Carvajal to this office.

Ovando once gone, the Admiral could turn again to his own affairs.

It is true there were rumours that the whole fleet had perished, for it

encountered a gale very soon after leaving Cadiz, and a great quantity of

the deck hamper was thrown overboard and was washed on the shores of

Spain; and the Sovereigns were so bitterly distressed that, as it is

said, they shut them selves up for eight days. News eventually came,

however, that only one ship had been lost and that the rest had proceeded

safely to San Domingo. Columbus, much recovered in body and mind, now

began to apply for a fleet for himself. He had heard of the discovery by

the Portuguese of the southern route to India; no doubt he had heard also

much gossip of the results of the many private voyages of discovery that

were sailing from Spain at this time; and he began to think seriously

about his own discoveries and the way in which they might best be

extended. He thought much of his voyage to the west of Trinidad and of

the strange pent-up seas and currents that he had discovered there. He

remembered the continual westward trend of the current, and how all the

islands in that sea had their greatest length east and west, as though

their shores had been worn into that shape by the constant flowing of the

current; and it was not an unnatural conclusion for him to suppose that

there was a channel far to the west through which these seas poured and

which would lead him to the Golden Chersonesus. He put away from him

that nightmare madness that he transacted on the coast of Cuba. He knew

very well that he had not yet found the Golden Chersonesus and the road

to India; but he became convinced that the western current would lead him

there if only he followed it long enough. There was nothing insane about

this theory; it was in fact a very well-observed and well-reasoned

argument; and the fact that it happened to be entirely wrong is no

reflection on the Admiral’s judgment. The great Atlantic currents at

that time had not been studied; and how could he know that the western

stream of water was the northern half of a great ocean current which

sweeps through the Caribbean Sea, into and round the Gulf of Mexico, and

flows out northward past Florida in the Gulf Stream?

His applications for a fleet were favourably received by the King and

Queen, but much frowned upon by certain high officials of the Court.

They were beginning to regard Columbus as a dangerous adventurer who,

although he happened to have discovered the western islands, had brought

the Spanish colony there to a dreadful state of disorder; and had also,

they alleged, proved himself rather less than trustworthy in matters of

treasure. Still in the summer days of 1501 he was making himself very

troublesome at Court with constant petitions and letters about his rights

and privileges; and Ferdinand was far from unwilling to adopt a plan by

which they would at least get rid of him and keep him safely occupied at

the other side of the world at the cost of a few caravels. There was,

besides, always an element of uncertainty. His voyage might come to

nothing, but on the other hand the Admiral was no novice at this game of

discovery, and one could not tell but that something big might come of

it. After some consideration permission was given to him to fit out a

fleet of four ships, and he proceeded to Seville in the autumn of 1501

to get his little fleet ready. Bartholomew was to come with him, and his

son Ferdinand also, who seems to have much endeared himself to the

Admiral in these dark days, and who would surely be a great comfort to

him on the voyage. Beatriz Enriquez seems to have passed out of his

life; certainly he was not living with her either now or on his last

visit to Spain; one way or another, that business is at an end for him.

Perhaps poor Beatriz, seeing her son in such a high place at Court, has

effaced herself for his sake; perhaps the appointment was given on

condition of such effacement; we do not know.

Columbus was in no hurry over his preparations. In the midst of them he

found time to collect a whole series of documents relating to his titles

and dignities, which he had copied and made into a great book which he

called his “Book of Privileges,” and the copies of which were duly

attested before a notary at Seville on January 5, 1502. He wrote many

letters to various friends of his, chiefly in relation to these

privileges; not interesting or illuminating letters to us, although very

important to busy Christopher when he wrote them. Here is one written to

Nicolo Oderigo, a Genoese Ambassador who came to Spain on a brief mission

in the spring of 1502, and who, with certain other residents in Spain, is

said to have helped Columbus in his preparations for his fourth voyage:

“Sir,--The loneliness in which you have left us cannot be described.

I gave the book containing my writings to Francisco de Rivarol that

he may send it to you with another copy of letters containing

instructions. I beg you to be so kind as to write Don Diego in

regard to the place of security in which you put them. Duplicates

of everything will be completed and sent to you in the same manner

and by the same Francisco. Among them you will find a new document.

Their Highnesses promised to give all that belongs to me and to

place Don Diego in possession of everything, as you will see. I

wrote to Senor Juan Luis and to Sefora Catalina. The letter

accompanies this one. I am ready to start in the name of the Holy

Trinity as soon as the weather is good. I am well provided with

everything. If Jeronimo de Santi Esteban is coming, he must await

me and not embarrass himself with anything, for they will take away

from him all they can and silently leave him. Let him come here and

the King and the Queen will receive him until I come. May our Lord

have you in His holy keeping.

“Done at Seville, March 21, 1502.

“At your command.

.S.

.S.A.S.

Xpo FERENS.”

His delays were not pleasing to Ferdinand, who wanted to get rid of him,

and he was invited to hurry his departure; but he still continued to go

deliberately about his affairs, which he tried to put in order as far as

he was able, since he thought it not unlikely that he might never see

Spain again. Thinking thus of his worldly duties, and his thoughts

turning to his native Genoa, it occurred to him to make some benefaction

out of the riches that were coming to him by which his name might be

remembered and held in honour there. This was a piece of practical

kindness the record of which is most precious to us; for it shows the

Admiral in a truer and more human light than he often allowed to shine

upon him. The tone of the letter is nothing; he could not forbear

letting the people of Genoa see how great he was. The devotion of his

legacy to the reduction of the tax on simple provisions was a genuine

charity, much to be appreciated by the dwellers in the Vico Dritto di

Ponticello, where wine and provision shops were so very necessary to

life. The letter was written to the Directors of the famous Bank of

Saint George at Genoa.

“VERY NOBLE LORDS,--Although my body is here, my heart is

continually yonder. Our Lord has granted me the greatest favour he

has granted any one since the time of David. The results of my

undertaking already shine, and they would make a great light if the

obscurity of the Government did not conceal them. I shall go again

to the Indies in the name of the Holy Trinity, to return

immediately. And as I am mortal, I desire my son Don Diego to give

to you each year, for ever, the tenth part of all the income

received, in payment of the tax on wheat, wine, and other

provisions. If this tenth amounts to anything, receive it, and if

not, receive my will for the deed. I beg you as a favour to have

this son of mine in your charge. Nicolo de Oderigo knows more about

my affairs than I myself. I have sent him the copy of my privileges

and letters, that he may place them in safe keeping. I would be

glad if you could see them. The King and the Queen, my Lords, now

wish to honour me more than ever. May the Holy Trinity guard your

noble persons, and increase the importance of your very magnificent

office.

“Done in Seville, April a, 1502.

“The High-Admiral of the Ocean-Sea and Viceroy and Governor-General

of the islands and mainland of Asia and the Indies, belonging to the

King and Queen, my Lords, and the Captain-General of the Sea, and a

Member of their Council.

.S.

.S.A.S.

X M Y

Xpo FERENS.”

Columbus was anxious to touch at Espanola on his voyage to the West; but

he was expressly forbidden to do so, as it was known that his presence

there could not make for anything but confusion; he was to be permitted,

however, to touch there on his return journey. The Great Khan was not

out of his mind yet; much in it apparently, for he took an Arabian

interpreter with him so that he could converse with that monarch. In

fact he did not hesitate to announce that very big results indeed were to

come of this voyage of his; among other things he expected to

circumnavigate the globe, and made no secret of his expectation. In the

meantime he was expected to find some pearls in order to pay for the

equipment of his fleet; and in consideration of what had happened to the

last lot of pearls collected by him, an agent named Diego de Porras was

sent along with him to keep an account of the gold and precious stones

which might be discovered. Special instructions were issued to Columbus

about the disposal of these commodities. He does not seem to have minded

these somewhat humiliating precautions; he had a way of rising above

petty indignities and refusing to recognise them which must have been of

great assistance to his self-respect in certain troubled moments in his

life.

His delays, however, were so many that in March 1502 the Sovereigns were

obliged to order him to depart without any more waiting. Poor

Christopher, who once had to sue for the means with which to go, whose

departures were once the occasion of so much state and ceremony, has now

to be hustled forth and asked to go away. Still he does not seem to

mind; once more, as of old, his gaze is fixed beyond the horizon and his

mind is filled with one idea. They may not think much of him in Spain

now, but they will when he comes back; and he can afford to wait.

Completing his preparations without undignified haste he despatched

Bartholomew with his four little vessels from Seville to Cadiz, where the

Admiral was to join them. He took farewell of his son Diego and of his

brother James; good friendly James, who had done his best in a difficult

position, but had seen quite enough of the wild life of the seas and was

now settled in Seville studying hard for the Church. It had always been

his ambition, poor James; and, studying hard in Seville, he did in time

duly enter the sacred pale and become a priest--by which we may see that

if our ambitions are only modest enough we may in time encompass them.

Sometimes I think that James, enveloped in priestly vestments, nodding in

the sanctuary, lulled by the muttering murmur of the psalms or dozing

through a long credo, may have thought himself back amid the brilliant

sunshine and strange perfumes of Espanola; and from a dream of some nymph

hiding in the sweet groves of the Vega may have awakened with a sigh to

the strident Alleluias of his brother priests. At any rate, farewell to

James, safely seated beneath the Gospel light, and continuing to sit

there until, in the year 1515, death interrupts him. We are not any more

concerned with James in his priestly shelter, but with those elder

brothers of his who are making ready again to face the sun and the

surges.

Columbus’s ships were on the point of sailing when word came that the

Moors were besieging a Portuguese post on the coast of Morocco, and, as

civility was now the order of the day between Spain and Portugal, the

Admiral was instructed to call on his way there and afford some relief.

This he did, sailing from Cadiz on the 9th or 10th of May to Ercilla on

the Morocco coast, where he anchored on the 13th. But the Moors had all

departed and the siege was over; so Columbus, having sent Bartholomew and

some of his officers ashore on a civil visit, which was duly returned,

set out the same day on his last voyage.

CHAPTER III

THE LAST VOYAGE

The four ships that made up the Admiral’s fleet on his fourth and last

voyage were all small caravels, the largest only of seventy tons and the

smallest only of fifty. Columbus chose for his flagship the Capitana,

seventy tons, appointing Diego Tristan to be his captain. The next best

ship was the Santiago de Palos under the command of Francisco Porras;

Porras and his brother Diego having been more or less foisted on to

Columbus by Morales, the Royal Treasurer, who wished to find berths for

these two brothers-in-law of his. We shall hear more of the Porras

brothers. The third ship was the Gallega, sixty tons, a very bad sailer

indeed, and on that account entrusted to Bartholomew Columbus, whose

skill in navigation, it was hoped, might make up for her bad sailing

qualities. Bartholomew had, to tell the truth, had quite enough of the

New World, but he was too loyal to Christopher to let him go alone,

knowing as he did his precarious state of health and his tendency to

despondency. The captain of the Gallega was Pedro de Terreros, who had

sailed with the Admiral as steward on all his other voyages and was now

promoted to a command. The fourth ship was called the Vizcaina, fifty

tons, and was commanded by Bartolome Fieschi, a friend of Columbus’s from

Genoa, and a very sound, honourable man. There were altogether 143 souls

on board the four caravels.

The fleet as usual made the Canary Islands, where they arrived on the

20th of May, and stopped for five days taking in wood and water and fresh

provisions. Columbus was himself again--always more himself at sea than

anywhere else; he was following a now familiar road that had no

difficulties or dangers for him; and there is no record of the voyage out

except that it was quick and prosperous, with the trade wind blowing so

steadily that from the time they left the Canaries until they made land

twenty days later they had hardly to touch a sheet or a halliard. The

first land they made was the island of Martinique, where wood and water

were taken in and the men sent ashore to wash their linen. To young

Ferdinand, but fourteen years old, this voyage was like a fairy tale come

true, and his delight in everything that he saw must have added greatly

to Christopher’s pleasure and interest in the voyage. They only stayed a

few days at Martinique and then sailed westward along the chain of

islands until they came to Porto Rico, where they put in to the sunny

harbour which they had discovered on a former voyage.

It was at this point that Columbus determined, contrary to his precise

orders, to stand across to Espanola. The place attracted him like a

magnet; he could not keep away from it; and although he had a good enough

excuse for touching there, it is probable that his real reason was a very

natural curiosity to see how things were faring with his old enemy

Bobadilla. The excuse was that the Gallega, Bartholomew’s ship, was so

unseaworthy as to be a drag on the progress of the rest of the fleet and

a danger to her own crew. In the slightest sea-way she rolled almost

gunwale under, and would not carry her sail; and Columbus’s plan was to

exchange her for a vessel out of the great fleet which he knew had by

this time reached Espanola and discharged its passengers.

He arrived off the harbour of San Domingo on the 29th of June in very

threatening weather, and immediately sent Pedro de Terreros ashore with a

message to Ovando, asking to be allowed to purchase or exchange one of

the vessels that were riding in the harbour, and also leave to shelter

his own vessels there during the hurricane which he believed to be

approaching. A message came back that he was neither permitted to buy a

ship nor to enter the harbour; warning him off from San Domingo, in fact.

With this unfavourable message Terreros also brought back the news of the

island. Ovando had been in San Domingo since the 15th of April, and had

found the island in a shocking state, the Spanish population having to a

man devoted itself to idleness, profligacy, and slave-driving. The only

thing that had prospered was the gold-mining; for owing to the licence

that Bobadilla had given to the Spaniards to employ native labour to an

unlimited extent there had been an immense amount of gold taken from the

mines. But in no other respect had island affairs prospered, and Ovando

immediately began the usual investigation. The fickle Spaniards, always

unfaithful to whoever was in authority over them, were by this time tired

of Bobadilla, in spite of his leniency, and they hailed the coming of

Ovando and his numerous equipment with enthusiasm. Bobadilla had also by

this time, we may suppose, had enough of the joys of office; at any rate

he showed no resentment at the coming of the new Governor, and handed

over the island with due ceremony. The result of the investigation of

Ovando, however, was to discover a state of things requiring exemplary

treatment; friend Roldan was arrested, with several of his allies, and

put on board one of the ships to be sent back to Spain for trial. The

cacique Guarionex, who had been languishing in San Domingo in chains for

a long time, was also embarked on one of the returning ships; and about

eighteen hundred-weights of gold which had been collected were also

stowed into cases and embarked. Among this gold there was a nugget

weighing 35 lbs. which had been found by a native woman in a river, and

which Ovando was sending home as a personal offering to his Sovereigns;

and some further 40 lbs. of gold belonging to Columbus, which Carvajal

had recovered and placed in a caravel to be taken to Spain for the

Admiral. The ships were all ready to sail, and were anchored off the

mouth of the river when Columbus arrived in San Domingo.

When he found that he was not to be allowed to enter the harbour himself

Columbus sent a message to Ovando warning him that a hurricane was coming

on, and begging him to take measures for the safety of his large fleet.

This, however, was not done, and the fleet put to sea that evening. It

had only got so far as the eastern end of Espanola when the hurricane, as

predicted by Columbus, duly came down in the manner of West Indian

hurricanes, a solid wall of wind and an advancing wave of the sea which

submerged everything in its path. Columbus’s little fleet, finding

shelter denied them, had moved a little way along the coast, the Admiral

standing close in shore, the others working to the south for sea-room;

and although they survived the hurricane they were scattered, and only

met several days later, in an extremely battered condition, at the

westerly end of the island. But the large home-going fleet had not

survived. The hurricane, which was probably from the north-east, struck

them just as they lost the lee of the island, and many of them, including

the ships with the treasure of gold and the caravels bearing Roldan,

Bobadilla, and Guarionex, all went down at once and were never seen or

heard of again. Other ships survived for a little while only to founder

in the end; a few, much shattered, crept back to the shelter of San

Domingo; but only one, it is said, survived the hurricane so well as to

be able to proceed to Spain; and that was the one which carried Carvajal

and Columbus’s little property of gold. The Admiral’s luck again; or the

intervention of the Holy Trinity--whichever you like.

After the shattering experience of the storm, Columbus, although he did

not return to San Domingo, remained for some time on the coast of

Espanola repairing his ships and resting his exhausted crews. There were

threatenings of another storm which delayed them still further, and it

was not until the middle of July that the Admiral was able to depart on

the real purpose of his voyage. His object was to strike the mainland

far to the westward of the Gulf of Paria, and so by following it back

eastward to find the passage which he believed to exist. But the winds

and currents were very baffling; he was four days out of sight of land

after touching at an island north of Jamaica; and finally, in some

bewilderment, he altered his course more and more northerly until he

found his whereabouts by coming in sight of the archipelago off the

south-western end of Cuba which he had called the Gardens. From here he

took a departure south-west, and on the 30th of July came in sight of a

small island off the northern coast of Honduras which he called Isla de

Pinos, and from which he could see the hills of the mainland. At this

island he found a canoe of immense size with a sort of house or caboose

built amidships, in which was established a cacique with his family and

dependents; and the people in the canoe showed signs of more advanced

civilisation than any seen by Columbus before in these waters. They wore

clothing, they had copper hatchets, and bells, and palm-wood swords in

the edges of which were set sharp blades of flint. They had a fermented

liquor, a kind of maize beer which looked like English ale; they had some

kind of money or medium of exchange also, and they told the Admiral that

there was land to the west where all these things existed and many more.

It is strange and almost inexplicable that he did not follow this trail

to the westward; if he had done so he would have discovered Mexico. But

one thing at a time always occupied him to the exclusion of everything

else; his thoughts were now turned to the eastward, where he supposed the

Straits were; and the significance of this canoe full of natives was lost

upon him.

They crossed over to the mainland of Honduras on August 15th, Bartholomew

landing and attending mass on the beach as the Admiral himself was too

ill to go ashore. Three days later the cross and banner of Castile were

duly erected on the shores of the Rio Tinto and the country was formally

annexed. The natives were friendly, and supplied the ships with

provisions; but they were very black and ugly, and Columbus readily

believed the assertion of his native guide that they were cannibals.

They continued their course to the eastward, but as the gulf narrowed the

force of the west-going current was felt more severely. Columbus,

believing that the strait which he sought lay to the eastward, laboured

against the current, and his difficulties were increased by the bad

weather which he now encountered. There were squalls and hurricanes,

tempests and cross-currents that knocked his frail ships about and almost

swamped them. Anchors and gear were lost, the sails were torn out of the

bolt-ropes, timbers were strained; and for six weeks this state of

affairs went on to an accompaniment of thunder and lightning which added

to the terror and discomfort of the mariners.

This was in August and the first half of September--six weeks of the

worst weather that Columbus had ever experienced. It was the more

unfortunate that his illness made it impossible for him to get actively

about the ship; and he had to have a small cabin or tent rigged up on

deck, in which he could lie and direct the navigation. It is bad enough

to be as ill as he was in a comfortable bed ashore; it is a thousand

times worse amid the discomforts of a small boat at sea; but what must it

have been thus to have one’s sick-bed on the deck of a cockle-shell which

was being buffeted and smashed in unknown seas, and to have to think and

act not for oneself alone but for the whole of a suffering little fleet!

No wonder the Admiral’s distress of mind was great; but oddly enough his

anxieties, as he recorded them in a letter, were not so much on his own

account as on behalf of others. The terrified seamen making vows to the

Virgin and promises of pilgrimages between their mad rushes to the sheets

and furious clinging and hauling; his son Ferdinand, who was only

fourteen, but who had to endure the same pain and fatigue as the rest of

them, and who was enduring it with such pluck that “it was as if he had

been at sea eighty years”; the dangers of Bartholomew, who had not wanted

to come on this voyage at all, but was now in the thick of it in the

worst ship of the squadron, and fighting for his life amid tempests and

treacherous seas; Diego at home, likely to be left an orphan and at the

mercy of fickle and doubtful friends--these were the chief causes of the

Admiral’s anxiety. All he said about himself was that “by my misfortune

the twenty years of service which I gave with so much fatigue and danger

have profited me so little that to-day I have in Castile no roof, and if

I wished to dine or sup or sleep I have only the tavern for my last

refuge, and for that, most of the time, I would be unable to pay the

score.” Not cheerful reflections, these, to add to the pangs of acute

gout and the consuming anxieties of seamanship under such circumstances.

Dreadful to him, these things, but not dreadful to us; for they show us

an Admiral restored to his true temper and vocation, something of the old

sea hero breaking out in him at last through all these misfortunes, like

the sun through the hurrying clouds of a stormy afternoon.

Forty days of passage through this wilderness of water were endured

before the sea-worn mariners, rounding a cape on September 12th, saw

stretching before them to the southward a long coast of plain and

mountain which they were able to follow with a fair wind. Gradually the

sea went down; the current which had opposed them here aided them, and

they were able to recover a little from the terrible strain of the last

six weeks. The cape was called by Columbus ‘Gracios de Dios’; and on the

16th of September they landed at the entrance to a river to take in

water. The boat which was sent ashore, however, capsized on the sandy

bar of the entrance, two men being drowned, and the river was given the

name of Rio de Desastre. They found a better anchorage, where they

rested for ten days, overhauled their stores, and had some intercourse

with the natives and exploration on shore. Some incidents occurred which

can best be described in the Admiral’s own language as he recorded them

in his letter to the Sovereigns.

“ . . . When I reached there, they immediately sent me two young

girls dressed in rich garments. The older one might not have been

more than eleven years of age and the other seven; both with so much

experience, so much manner, and so much appearance as would have

been sufficient if they had been public women for twenty years.

They bore with them magic powder and other things belonging to their

art. When they arrived I gave orders that they should be adorned

with our things and sent them immediately ashore. There I saw a

tomb within the mountain as large as a house and finely worked with

great artifice, and a corpse stood thereon uncovered, and, looking

within it, it seemed as if he stood upright. Of the other arts they

told me that there was excellence. Great and little animals are

there in quantities, and very different from ours; among which I saw

boars of frightful form so that a dog of the Irish breed dared not

face them. With a cross-bow I had wounded an animal which exactly

resembles a baboon only that it was much larger and has a face like

a human being. I had pierced it with an arrow from one side to the

other, entering in the breast and going out near the tail, and

because it was very ferocious I cut off one of the fore feet which

rather seemed to be a hand, and one of the hind feet. The boars

seeing this commenced to set up their bristles and fled with great

fear, seeing the blood of the other animal. When I saw this I

caused to be thrown them the ‘uegare,’--[Peccary]--certain animals

they call so, where it stood, and approaching him, near as he was to

death, and the arrow still sticking in his body, he wound his tail

around his snout and held it fast, and with the other hand which

remained free, seized him by the neck as an enemy. This act, so

magnificent and novel, together with the fine country and hunting of

wild beasts, made me write this to your Majesties.”

The natives at this anchorage of Cariari were rather suspicious, but

Columbus seized two of them to act as guides in his journey further down

the coast. Weighing anchor on October 5th he worked along the Costa Rica

shore, which here turns to the eastward again, and soon found a tribe of

natives who wore large ornaments of gold. They were reluctant to part

with the gold, but as usual pointed down the coast and said that there

was much more gold there; they even gave a name to the place where the

gold could be found--Veragua; and for once this country was found to have

a real existence. The fleet anchored there on October 17th, being

greeted by defiant blasts of conch shells and splashing of water from the

indignant natives. Business was done, however: seventeen gold discs in

exchange for three hawks’ bells.

Still Columbus went on in pursuit of his geographical chimera; even gold

had no power to detain him from the earnest search for this imaginary

strait. Here and there along the coast he saw increasing signs of

civilisation--once a wall built of mud and stone, which made him think of

Cathay again. He now got it into his head that the region he was in was

ten days’ journey from the Ganges, and that it was surrounded by water;

which if it means anything means that he thought he was on a large island

ten days’ sail to the eastward of the coast of India. Altogether at sea

as to the facts, poor Admiral, but with heart and purpose steadfast and

right enough.

They sailed a little farther along the coast, now between narrow islands

that were like the streets of Genoa, where the boughs of trees on either

hand brushed the shrouds of the ships; now past harbours where there were

native fairs and markets, and where natives were to be seen mounted on

horses and armed with swords; now by long, lonely stretches of the coast

where there was nothing to be seen but the low green shore with the

mountains behind and the alligators basking at the river mouths. At last

(November 2nd) they arrived at the cape known as Nombre de Dios, which

Ojeda had reached some time before in his voyage to the West.

The coast of the mainland had thus been explored from the Bay of Honduras

to Brazil, and Columbus was obliged to admit that there was no strait.

Having satisfied himself of that he decided to turn back to Veragua,

where he had seen the natives smelting gold, in order to make some

arrangement for establishing a colony there. The wind, however, which

had headed him almost all the way on his easterly voyage, headed him

again now and began to blow steadily from the west. He started on his

return journey on the 5th of December, and immediately fell into almost

worse troubles than he had been in before. The wood of the ships had

been bored through and through by seaworms, so that they leaked very

badly; the crews were sick, provisions were spoilt, biscuits rotten.

Young Ferdinand Columbus, if he did not actually make notes of this

voyage at the time, preserved a very lively recollection of it, and it is

to his Historie, which in its earlier passages is of doubtful

authenticity, that we owe some of the most human touches of description

relating to this voyage. Any passage in his work relating to food or

animals at this time has the true ring of boyish interest and

observation, and is in sharp contrast to the second-hand and artificial

tone of the earlier chapters of his book. About the incident of the

howling monkey, which the Admiral’s Irish hound would not face, Ferdinand

remarks that it “frighted a good dog that we had, but frighted one of our

wild boars a great deal more”; and as to the condition of the biscuits

when they turned westward again, he says that they were “so full of

weevils that, as God shall help me, I saw many that stayed till night to

eat their sop for fear of seeing them.”

After experiencing some terrible weather, in the course of which they had

been obliged to catch sharks for food and had once been nearly

overwhelmed by a waterspout, they entered a harbour where, in the words

of young Ferdinand, “we saw the people living like birds in the tops of

the trees, laying sticks across from bough to bough and building their

huts upon them; and though we knew not the reason of the custom we

guessed that it was done for fear of their enemies, or of the griffins

that are in this island.” After further experiences of bad weather they

made what looked like a suitable harbour on the coast of Veragua, which

harbour, as they entered it on the day of the Epiphany (January 9, 1503),

they named Belem or Bethlehem. The river in the mouth of which they were

anchored, however, was subject to sudden spouts and gushes of water from

the hills, one of which occurred on January 24th and nearly swamped the

caravels. This spout of water was caused by the rainy season, which had

begun in the mountains and presently came down to the coast, where it

rained continuously until the 14th of February. They had made friends

with the Quibian or chief of the country, and he had offered to conduct

them to the place where the gold mines were; so Bartholomew was sent off

in the rain with a boat party to find this territory. It turned out

afterwards that the cunning Quibian had taken them out of his own country

and showed them the gold mined of a neighbouring chief, which were not so

rich as his own.

Columbus, left idle in the absence of Bartholomew, listening to the

continuous drip and patter of the rain on the leaves and the water,

begins to dream again--to dream of gold and geography. Remembers that

David left three thousand quintals of gold from the Indies to Solomon for

the decoration of the Temple; remembers that Josephus said it came from

the Golden Chersonesus; decides that enough gold could never have been

got from the mines of Hayna in Espanola; and concludes that the Ophir of

Solomon must be here in Veragua and not there in Espanola. It was always

here and now with Columbus; and as he moved on his weary sea pilgrimages

these mythical lands with their glittering promise moved about with him,

like a pillar of fire leading him through the dark night of his quest.

The rain came to an end, however, the sun shone out again, and activity

took the place of dreams with Columbus and with his crew. He decided to

found a settlement in this place, and to make preparations for seizing

and working the gold mines. It was decided to leave a garrison of eighty

men, and the business of unloading the necessary arms and provisions and

building houses ashore was immediately begun. Hawks’ bells and other

trifles were widely distributed among the natives, with special toys and

delicacies for the Quibian, in order that friendly relations might be

established from the beginning; and special regulations were framed to

prevent the possibility of any recurrence of the disasters that overtook

the settlers of Isabella.

Such are the orderly plans of Columbus; but the Quibian has his plans

too, which are found to be of quite a different nature. The Quibian does

not like intruders, though he likes their hawks’ bells well enough; he is

not quite so innocent as poor Guacanagari and the rest of them were; he

knows that gold is a thing coveted by people to whom it does not belong,

and that trouble follows in its train. Quibian therefore decides that

Columbus and his followers shall be exterminated--news of which intention

fortunately came to the ears of Columbus in time, Diego Mendez and

Rodrigo de Escobar having boldly advanced into the Quibian’s village and

seen the warlike preparations. Bartholomew, returning from his visit to

the gold mines, was informed of this state of affairs. Always quick to

strike, Bartholomew immediately started with an armed force, and advanced

upon the village so rapidly that the savages were taken by surprise,

their headquarters surrounded, and the Quibian and fifty of his warriors

captured. Bartholomew triumphantly marched the prisoners back, the

Quibian being entrusted to the charge of Juan Sanchez, who was rowing him

in a little boat. The Quibian complained that his bonds were hurting

him, and foolish Sanchez eased them a little; Quibian, with a quick

movement, wriggled overboard and dived to the bottom; came up again

somewhere and reached home alive. No one saw him come up, however, and

they thought had had been drowned.

Columbus now made ready to depart, and the caravels having been got over

the shallow bar, their loading was completed and they were ready to sail.

On April 6th Diego Tristan was sent in charge of a boat with a message to

Bartholomew, who was to be left in command of the settlement; but when

Tristan had rounded the point at the entrance to the river and come in

sight of the shore he had an unpleasant surprise; the settlement was

being savagely attacked by the resurrected Quibian and his followers.

The fight had lasted for three hours, and had been going badly against

the Spaniards, when Bartholomew and Diego Mendes rallied a little force

round them and, calling to Columbus’s Irish dog which had been left with

them, made a rush upon the savages and so terrified them that they

scattered. Bartholomew with eight of the other Spaniards was wounded,

and one was killed; and it was at this point that Tristan’s boat arrived

at the settlement. Having seen the fight safely over, he went on up the

river to get water, although he was warned that it was not safe; and sure

enough, at a point a little farther up the river, beyond some low green

arm of the shore, he met with a sudden and bloody death. A cloud of

yelling savages surrounded his boat hurling javelins and arrows, and only

one seaman, who managed to dive into the water and crawl ashore, escaped

to bring the evil tidings.

The Spaniards under Bartholomew’s command broke into a panic, and taking

advantage of his wounded condition they tried to make sail on their

caravel and join the ships of Columbus outside; but since the time of the

rains the river had so much gone down that she was stuck fast in the

sand. They could not even get a boat over the bar, for there was a heavy

cross sea breaking on it; and in the meantime here they were, trapped

inside this river, the air resounding with dismal blasts of the natives’

conch-shells, and the natives themselves dancing round and threatening to

rush their position; while the bodies of Tristan and his little crew were

to be seen floating down the stream, feasted upon by a screaming cloud of

birds. The position of the shore party was desperate, and it was only by

the greatest efforts that the wounded Adelantado managed to rally his

crew and get them to remove their little camp to an open place on the

shore, where a kind of stockade was made of chests, casks, spars, and the

caravel’s boat. With this for cover, the Spanish fire-arms, so long as

there was ammunition for them, were enough to keep the natives at bay.

Outside the bar, in his anchorage beyond the green wooded point, the

Admiral meanwhile was having an anxious time. One supposes the entrance

to the river to have been complicated by shoals and patches of broken

water extending some considerable distance, so that the Admiral’s

anchorage would be ten or twelve miles away from the camp ashore, and of

course entirely hidden from it. As day after day passed and Diego

Tristan did not return, the Admiral’s anxiety increased. Among the three

caravels that now formed his little squadron there was only one boat

remaining, the others, not counting one taken by Tristan and one left

with Bartholomew, having all been smashed in the late hurricanes. In the

heavy sea that was running on the bar the Admiral dared not risk his last

remaining boat; but in the mean time he was cut off from all news of the

shore party and deprived of any means of finding out what had happened to

Tristan. And presently to these anxieties was added a further disaster.

It will be remembered that when the Quibian had been captured fifty

natives had been taken with him; and these were confined in the

forecastle of the Capitana and covered by a large hatch, on which most of

the crew slept at night. But one night the natives collected a heap of

big stones from the ballast of the ship, and piled them up to a kind of

platform beneath the hatch; some of the strongest of them got upon the

platform and set their backs horizontally against the hatch, gave a great

heave and, lifted it off. In the confusion that followed, a great many

of the prisoners escaped into the sea, and swam ashore; the rest were

captured and thrust back under the hatch, which was chained down; but

when on the following morning the Spaniards went to attend to this

remnant it was found that they had all hanged themselves.

This was a great disaster, since it increased the danger of the garrison

ashore, and destroyed all hope of friendship with the natives. There was

something terrible and powerful, too, in the spirit of people who could

thus to a man make up their minds either to escape or die; and the

Admiral must have felt that he was in the presence of strange, powerful

elements that were far beyond his control. At any moment, moreover, the

wind might change and put him on a lee shore, or force him to seek safety

in sea-room; in which case the position of Bartholomew would be a very

critical one. It was while things were at this apparent deadlock that a

brave fellow, Pedro Ledesma, offered to attempt to swim through the surf

if the boat would take him to the edge of it. Brave Pedro, his offer

accepted, makes the attempt; plunges into the boiling surf, and with

mighty efforts succeeds in reaching the shore; and after an interval is

seen by his comrades, who are waiting with their boat swinging on the

edge of the surf, to be returning to them; plunges into the sea, comes

safely through the surf again, and is safely hauled on board, having

accomplished a very real and satisfactory bit of service.

The story he had to tell the Admiral was as we know not a pleasant one

--Tristan and his men dead, several of Bartholomew’s force, including the

Adelantado himself, wounded, and all in a state of panic and fear at the

hostile natives. The Spaniards would do nothing to make the little

fortress safer, and were bent only on escaping from the place of horror.

Some of them were preparing canoes in which to come out to the ships when

the sea should go down, as their one small boat was insufficient; and

they swore that if the Admiral would not take them they would seize their

own caravel and sail out themselves into the unknown sea as soon as they

could get her floated over the bar, rather than remain in such a dreadful

situation. Columbus was in a very bad way. He could not desert

Bartholomew, as that would expose him to the treachery of his own men

and the hostility of the savages. He could not reinforce him, except by

remaining himself with the whole of his company; and in that case there

would be no means of sending the news of his rich discovery to Spain.

There was nothing for it, therefore, but to break up the settlement and

return some other time with a stronger force sufficient to occupy the

country. And even this course had its difficulties; for the weather

continued bad, the wind was blowing on to the shore, the sea was--so

rough as to make the passage of the bar impossible, and any change for

the worse in the weather would probably drive his own crazy ships ashore

and cut off all hope of escape.

The Admiral, whose health was now permanently broken, and who only had

respite from his sufferings in fine weather and when he was relieved from

a burden of anxieties such as had been continually pressing on him now

for three months, fell into his old state of sleeplessness, feverishness,

and consequent depression; and it, these circumstances it is not

wonderful that the firm ground of fact began to give a little beneath him

and that his feet began to sink again into the mire or quag of stupor.

Of these further flounderings in the quag he himself wrote an account to

the King and Queen, so we may as well have it in his own words.

“I mounted to the top of the ship crying out with a weak voice,

weeping bitterly, to the commanders of your Majesties’ army, and

calling again to the four winds to help; but they did not answer me.

Tired out, I fell asleep and sighing I heard a voice very full of

pity which spoke these words: O fool! and slow to believe and to

serve Him, thy God and the God of all. What did He more for Moses?

and for David His servant? Since thou wast born He had always so

great care for thee. When He saw thee in an age with which He was

content He made thy name sound marvellously through the world. The

Indies, which are so rich apart of the world, He has given to thee

as thine. Thou hast distributed them wherever it has pleased thee;

He gave thee power so to do. Of the bonds of the ocean which were

locked with so strong chains He gave thee the keys, and thou wast

obeyed in all the land, and among the Christians thou hast acquired

a good and honourable reputation. What did He more for the people

of Israel when He brought them out of Egypt? or yet for David, whom

from being a shepherd He made King of Judea? Turn to Him and

recognise thine error, for His mercy is infinite. Thine old age

will be no hindrance to all great things. Many very great

inheritances are in His power. Abraham was more than one hundred

years old when he begat Isaac and also Sarah was not young. Thou

art calling for uncertain aid. Answer me, who has afflicted thee so

much and so many times--God or the world? The privileges and

promises which God makes He never breaks to any one; nor does He say

after having received the service that His intention was not so and

it is to be understood in another manner: nor imposes martyrdom to

give proof of His power. He abides by the letter of His word. All

that He promises He abundantly accomplishes. This is His way. I

have told thee what the Creator hath done for thee and does for all.

Now He shows me the reward and payment of thy suffering and which

thou hast passed in the service of others. And thus half dead, I

heard everything; but I could never find an answer to make to words

so certain, and only I wept for my errors. He, who ever he might

be, finished speaking, saying: Trust and fear not, for thy

tribulations are written in marble and not without reason.”

Mere darkness of stupor; not much to be deciphered from it, nor any

profitable comment to be made on it, except that it was our poor

Christopher’s way of crying out his great suffering and misery. We must

not notice it, much as we should like to hold out a hand of sympathy and

comfort to him; must not pay much attention to this dark eloquent

nonsense--merely words, in which the Admiral never does himself justice.

Acts are his true conversation; and when he speaks in that language all

men must listen.

CHAPTER IV

HEROIC ADVENTURES BY LAND AND SEA

No man ever had a better excuse for his superstitions than the Admiral;

no sooner had he got done with his Vision than the wind dropped, the sun

came out, the sea fell, and communication with the land was restored.

While he had been sick and dreaming one of his crew, Diego Mendez, had

been busy with practical efforts in preparation for this day of fine

weather; he had made a great raft out of Indian canoes lashed together,

with mighty sacks of sail cloth into which the provisions might be

bundled; and as soon as the sea had become calm enough he took this raft

in over the bar to the settlement ashore, and began the business of

embarking the whole of the stores and ammunition of Bartholomew’s

garrison. By this practical method the whole establishment was

transferred from the shore to the ships in the space of two days, and

nothing was left but the caravel, which it was found impossible to float

again. It was heavy work towing the raft constantly backwards and

forwards from the ships to the shore, but Diego Mendez had the

satisfaction of being the last man to embark from the deserted

settlement, and to see that not an ounce of stores or ammunition had been

lost.

Columbus, always quick to reward the services of a good man, kissed Diego

Mendez publicly--on both cheeks, and (what doubtless pleased him much

better) gave him command of the caravel of which poor Tristan had been

the captain.

With a favourable wind they sailed from this accursed shore at the end of

April 1503. It is strange, as Winsor points out, that in the name of

this coast should be preserved the only territorial remembrance of

Columbus, and that his descendant the Duke of Veragua should in his title

commemorate one of the most unfortunate of the Admiral’s adventures. And

if any one should desire a proof of the utterly misleading nature of most

of Columbus’s writings about himself, let him know that a few months

later he solemnly wrote to the Sovereigns concerning this very place that

“there is not in the world a country whose inhabitants are more timid;

and the whole place is capable of being easily put into a state of

defence. Your people that may come here, if they should wish to become

masters of the products of other lands, will have to take them by force

or retire empty-handed. In this country they will simply have to trust

their persons in the hands of the savages.” The facts being that the

inhabitants were extremely fierce and warlike and irreconcilably hostile;

that the river was a trap out of which in the dry season there was no

escape, and the harbour outside a mere shelterless lee shore; that it

would require an army and an armada to hold the place against the

natives, and that any one who trusted himself in their hands would

share the fate of the unhappy Diego Tristan. One may choose between

believing that the Admiral’s memory had entirely failed him (although he

had not been backward in making a minute record, of all his sufferings)

or that he was craftily attempting to deceive the Sovereigns. My own

belief is that he was neither trying to deceive anybody nor that he had

forgotten anything, but that he was simply incapable of uttering the bare

truth when he had a pen in his hand.

From their position on the coast of Veragua Espanola bore almost due

north; but Columbus was too good a seaman to attempt to make the island

by sailing straight for it. He knew that the steady west-going current

would set him far down on his course, and he therefore decided to work up

the coast a long way to the eastward before standing across for Espanola.

The crew grumbled very much at this proceeding, which they did not

understand; in fact they argued from it that the Admiral was making

straight for Spain, and this, in the crazy condition of the vessels,

naturally alarmed them. But in his old high-handed, secret way the

Admiral told them nothing; he even took away from the other captains all

the charts that they had made of this coast, so that no one but himself

would be able to find the way back to it; and he took a kind of pleasure

in the complete mystification thus produced on his fellow-voyagers.

“None of them could explain whither I went nor whence I came; they did

not know the way to return thither,” he writes, somewhat childishly.

But he was not back in Espanola yet, and his means for getting there were

crumbling away beneath his feet. One of the three remaining caravels was

entirely riddled by seaworms and had to be abandoned at the harbour

called Puerto Bello; and the company was crowded on to two ships. The

men now became more than ever discontented at the easterly course, and on

May 1st, when he had come as far east as the Gulf of Darien, Columbus

felt obliged to bear away to the north, although as it turned out he had

not nearly made enough easting. He stood on this course, for nine days,

the west-going current setting him down all the time; and the first land

that he made, on May 10th, was the group of islands off the western end

of Cuba which he had called the Queen’s Gardens.

He anchored for six days here, as the crews were completely exhausted;

the ships’ stores were reduced to biscuits, oil, and vinegar; the vessels

leaked like sieves, and the pumps had to be kept going continually. And

no sooner had they anchored than a hurricane came on, and brought up a

sea so heavy that the Admiral was convinced that his ships could not live

within it. We have got so accustomed to reading of storms and tempests

that it seems useless to try and drive home the horror and terror of

them; but here were these two rotten ships alone at the end of the world,

far beyond the help of man, the great seas roaring up under them in the

black night, parting their worn cables, snatching away their anchors from

them, and finally driving them one upon the other to grind and strain and

prey upon each other, as though the external conspiracy of the elements

against them both were not sufficient! One writes or reads the words,

but what does it mean to us? and can we by any conceivable effort of

imagination realise what it meant to this group of human beings who lived

through that night so many hundred years ago--men like ourselves with

hearts to sink and faint, capable of fear and hunger, capable of misery,

pain, and endurance? Bruised and battered, wet by the terrifying surges,

and entirely uncomforted by food or drink, they did somehow endure these

miseries; and were to endure worse too before they were done with it.

Their six days’ sojourn amid the Queen’s Gardens, then, was not a great

success; and as soon as they were able they set sail again, standing

eastward when the wind permitted them. But wind and current were against

them and all through the month of May and the early part of June they

struggled along the south coast of Cuba, their ships as full of holes as

a honeycomb, pumps going incessantly, and in addition the worn-out seamen

doing heroic labour at baling with buckets and kettles. Lee helm! Down

go the buckets and kettles and out run the wretched scarecrows of seamen

to the weary business of tacking ship, letting go, brailing up, hauling

in, and making fast for the thousandth time; and then back to the pumps

and kettles again. No human being could endure this for an indefinite

time; and though their diet of worms represented by the rotten biscuit

was varied with cassava bread supplied by friendly natives, the Admiral

could not make his way eastward further than Cape Cruz. Round that cape

his leaking, strained vessels could not be made to look against the wind

and the tide. Could hardly indeed be made to float or swim upon the

water at all; and the Admiral had now to consider, not whether he could

sail on a particular point of the compass, but whether he could by any

means avoid another course which the fates now proposed to him--namely, a

perpendicular course to the bottom of the sea. It was a race between the

water and the ships, and the only thing the Admiral could think of was to

turn southward across to Jamaica, which he did on June 23rd, putting into

Puerto Bueno, now called Dry Harbour. But there was no food there, and

as his ships were settling deeper and deeper in the water he had to make

sail again and drive eastwards as far as Puerto Santa Gloria, now called

Don Christopher’s Cove. He was just in time. The ships were run ashore

side by side on a sandy beach, the pumps were abandoned, and in one tide

the ships were full of water. The remaining anchor cables were used to

lash the two ships together so that they would not move; although there

was little fear of that, seeing the weight of water that was in them.

Everything that could be saved was brought up on deck, and a kind of

cabin or platform which could be fortified was rigged on the highest part

of the ships. And so no doubt for some days, although their food was

almost finished, the wretched and exhausted voyagers could stretch their

cramped limbs, and rest in the warm sun, and listen, from their safe

haven on the firm sands, to the hated voice of the sea.

Thanks to careful regulations made by the Admiral, governing the

intercourse between the Spaniards and the natives ashore, friendly

relations were soon established, and the crews were supplied with cassava

bread and fruit in abundance. Two officials superintended every purchase

of provisions to avoid the possibility of any dispute, for in the event

of even a momentary hostility the thatched-roof structures on the ships

could easily have been set on fire, and the position of the Spaniards,

without shelter amid a hostile population, would have been a desperate

one. This disaster, however, was avoided; but the Admiral soon began to

be anxious about the supply of provisions from the immediate

neighbourhood, which after the first few days began to be irregular.

There were a large number of Spaniards to be fed, the natives never kept

any great store of provisions for themselves, and the Spaniards were

entirely at their mercy for, provisions from day to day. Diego Mendez,

always ready for active and practical service, now offered to take three

men and make a journey through the island to arrange for the purchase of

provisions from different villages, so that the men on the ships would

not be dependent upon any one source. This offer was gratefully

accepted; and Mendez, with his lieutenants well supplied with toys and

trinkets, started eastward along the north coast of Jamaica. He made no

mistakes; he was quick and clever at ingratiating himself with the

caciques, and he succeeded in arranging with three separate potentates to

send regular supplies of provisions to the men on the ships. At each

place where he made this arrangement he detached one of his assistants

and sent him back with the first load of provisions, so that the regular

line of carriage might be the more quickly established; and when they had

all gone he borrowed a couple of natives and pushed on by himself until

he reached the eastern end of the island. He made friends here with a

powerful cacique named Amerro, from whom he bought a large canoe, and

paid for it with some of the clothing off his back. With the canoe were

furnished six Indians to row it, and Mendez made a triumphant journey

back by sea, touching at the places where his depots had been established

and seeing that his commissariat arrangements were working properly. He

was warmly received on his return to the ships, and the result of his

efforts was soon visible in the daily supplies of food that now regularly

arrived.

Thus was one difficulty overcome; but it was not likely that either

Columbus himself or any of his people would be content to remain for ever

on the beach of Jamaica. It was necessary to establish communication

with Espanola, and thence with Spain; but how to do it in the absence of

ships or even boats? Columbus, pondering much upon this matter, one day

calls Diego Mendez aside; walks him off, most likely, under the great

rustling trees beyond the beach, and there tells him his difficulty.

“My son,” says he, “you and I understand the difficulties and dangers of

our position here better than any one else. We are few; the Indians are

many; we know how fickle and easily irritated they are, and how a

fire-brand thrown into our thatched cabins would set the whole thing

ablaze. It is quite true that you have very cleverly established a

provision supply, but it is dependent entirely upon the good nature of

the natives and it might cease to-morrow. Here is my plan: you have a

good canoe; why should some one not go over to Espanola in it and send

back a ship for us?”

Diego Mendez, knowing very well what is meant, looks down upon the

ground. His spoken opinion is that such a journey is not merely

difficult but impossible journey in a frail native canoe across one

hundred and fifty miles of open and rough sea; although his private

opinion is other than that. No, he cannot imagine such a thing being

done; cannot think who would be able to do it.

Long silence from the Admiral; eloquent silence, accompanied by looks no

less eloquent.

“Admiral,” says Mendez again, “you know very well that I have risked my

life for you and the people before and would do it again. But there are

others who have at least as good a right to this great honour and peril

as I have; let me beg of you, therefore, to summon all the company

together, make this proposal to them, and see if any one will undertake

it. If not, I will once more risk my life.”

The proposal being duly made to the assembled crews, every one, as

cunning Mendez had thought, declares it impossible; every one hangs back.

Upon which Diego Mendez with a fine gesture comes forward and volunteers;

makes his little dramatic effect and has his little ovation. Thoroughly

Spanish this, significant of that mixture of vanity and bravery, of

swagger and fearlessness, which is characteristic of the best in Spain.

It was a desperately brave thing to venture upon, this voyage from

Jamaica to Espanola in a native canoe and across a sea visited by

dreadful hurricanes; and the volunteer was entitled to his little piece

of heroic drama.

While Mendez was making his preparations, putting a false keel on the

canoe and fixing weather boards along its gunwales to prevent its

shipping seas, fitting a mast and sail and giving it a coat of tar, the

Admiral retired into his cabin and busied himself with his pen. He wrote

one letter to Ovando briefly describing his circumstances and requesting

that a ship should be sent for his relief; and another to the Sovereigns,

in which a long rambling account was given of the events of the voyage,

and much other matter besides, dismally eloquent of his floundering in

the quag. Much in it--about Solomon and Josephus, of the Abbot Joachim,

of Saint Jerome and the Great Khan; more about the Holy Sepulchre and the

intentions of the Almighty in that matter; with some serious practical

concern for the rich land of Veragua which he had discovered, lest it

should share the fate of his other discoveries and be eaten up by idle

adventurers. “Veragua,” he says, “is not a little son which may be given

to a stepmother to nurse. Of Espanola and Paria and all the other lands

I never think without the tears falling from my eyes; I believe that the

example of these ought to serve for the others.” And then this passage:

“The good and sound purpose which I always had to serve your

Majesties, and the dishonour and unmerited ingratitude, will not

suffer the soul to be silent although I wished it, therefore I ask

pardon of your Majesties. I have been so lost and undone; until now

I have wept for others that your Majesties might have compassion on

them; and now may the heavens weep for me and the earth weep for me

in temporal affairs; I have not a farthing to make as an offering in

spiritual affairs. I have remained here on the Indian islands in

the manner I have before said in great pain and infirmity, expecting

every day death, surrounded by innumerable savages full of cruelty

and by our enemies, and so far from the sacraments of the Holy

Mother Church that I believe the soul will be forgotten when it

leaves the body. Let them weep for me who have charity, truth and

justice. I did not undertake this voyage of navigation to gain

honour or material things, that is certain, because the hope already

was entirely lost; but I did come to serve your Majesties with

honest intention and with good charitable zeal, and I do not lie.”

Poor old heart, older than its years, thus wailing out its sorrows to

ears none too sympathetic; sad old voice, uplifted from the bright shores

of that lonely island in the midst of strange seas! It will not come

clear to the head alone; the echoes of this cry must reverberate in the

heart if they are to reach and animate the understanding.

At this time also the Admiral wrote to his friend Gaspar Gorricio. For

the benefit of those who may be interested I give the letter in English.

REVEREND AND VERY DEVOUT FATHER:

“If my voyage should be as conducive to my personal health and the

repose of my house as it seems likely to be conducive to the

aggrandisement of the royal Crown of the King and Queen, my Lords,

I might hope to live more than a hundred years. I have not time to

write more at length. I hope that the bearer of this letter may be

a person of my house who will tell you verbally more than can be

told in a thousand papers, and also Don Diego will supply

information. I beg as a favour of the Father Prior and all the

members of your religious house, that they remember me in all their

prayers.

“Done on the island of Jamaica, July 7, 1503.

“I am at the command of your Reverence.

.S.

.S.A.S. XMY

Xpo FERENS.”

Diego Mendez found some one among the Spaniards to accompany him, but his

name is not recorded. The six Indians were taken to row the canoe. They

had to make their way at first against the strong currents along the

northern coast of Jamaica, so as to reach its eastern extremity before

striking across to Espanola. At one point they met a flotilla of Indian

canoes, which chased them and captured them, but they escaped. When they

arrived at the end of the easterly point of Jamaica, now known as Morant

Point, they had to wait two or three days for calm weather and a

favourable wind to waft them across to Espanola, and while thus waiting

they were suddenly surrounded and captured by a tribe of hostile natives,

who carried them off some nine or ten miles into the island, and

signified their intention of killing them.

But they began to quarrel among themselves as to how they should divide

the spoils which they had captured with the canoe, and decided that the

only way of settling the dispute was by some elaborate trial of hazard

which they used. While they were busy with their trial Diego Mendez

managed to escape, got back to the canoe, and worked his way back in it

alone to the harbour where the Spaniards were encamped. The other

Spaniard who was with him probably perished, for there is no record of

what became of him--an obscure life lost in a brave enterprise.

One would have thought that Mendez now had enough of canoe voyages, but

he had no sooner got back than he offered to set out again, only

stipulating that an armed force should march along the coast by land to

secure his safety until he could stand across to Espanola. Bartholomew

Columbus immediately put himself at the head of a large and well-armed

party for this purpose, and Bartolomeo Fieschi, the Genoese captain of

one of the lost caravels, volunteered to accompany Mendez in a second

canoe. Each canoe was now manned by six Spanish volunteers and ten

Indians to row; Fieschi, as soon as they had reached the coast of

Espanola, was to bring the good news to the Admiral; while Mendez must go

on to San Domingo, procure a ship, and himself proceed to Spain with the

Admiral’s letters. The canoes were provisioned with water, cassava

bread, and fish; and they departed on this enterprise some time in August

1503.

Their passage along the coast was protected by Bartholomew Columbus, who

marched along with them on the shore. They waited a few days at the end

of the island for favourable weather, and finally said farewell to the

good Adelantado, who we may be sure stood watching them until they were

well out of sight.

There was not a cloud in the sky when the canoes stood out to sea; the

water was calm, and reflected the blistering heat of the sun. It was not

a pleasant situation for people in an open boat; and Mendez and Fieschi

were kept busy, as Irving says, “animating the Indians who navigated

their canoes, and who frequently paused at their labour.” The poor

Indians, evidently much in need of such animation, would often jump into

the water to escape the intolerable heat, and after a short immersion

there would return to their task. Things were better when the sun went

down, and the cool night came on; half the Indians then slept and half

rowed, while half of the Spaniards also slept and the other half, I

suppose, “animated.” Irving also says that the animating half “kept

guard with their weapons in hand, ready to defend themselves in the case

of any perfidy on the part of their savage companions”; such perfidy

being far enough from the thoughts of the savage companions, we may

imagine, whose energies were entirely occupied with the oars.

The next day was the same: savage companions rowing, Spaniards animating;

Spaniards and savage companions alike drinking water copiously without

regard for the smallness of their store. The second night was very hot,

and the savage companions finished the water, with the result that on the

third day the thirst became a torment, and at mid-day the poor companions

struck work. Artful Mendez, however, had concealed two small kegs of

water in his canoe, the contents of which he now administered in small

doses, so that the poor Indians were enabled to take to their oars again,

though with vigour much abated. Presumably the Spaniards had put up

their weapons by this time, for the only perfidy shown on the part of the

savage companions was that one of them died in the following night and

had to be thrown overboard, while others lay panting on the bottom of the

canoes; and the Spaniards had to take their turn at the oars, although

they were if anything in a worse case than the Indians.

Late in the night, however, the moon rose, and Mendez had the joy of

seeing its lower disc cut by a jagged line which proved to be the little

islet or rock of Navassa, which lies off the westerly end of Espanola.

New hope now animated the sufferers, and they pushed on until they were

able to land on this rock, which proved to be without any vegetation

whatsoever, but on the surface of which there were found some precious

pools of rain-water. Mendez was able to restrain the frantic appetites

of his fellow-countrymen, but the savage companions were less wise, and

drank their fill; so that some of them died in torment on the spot, and

others became seriously ill. The Spaniards were able to make a fire of

driftwood, and boil some shell-fish, which they found on shore, and they

wisely spent the heat of the day crouching in the shade of the rocks, and

put off their departure until the evening. It was then a comparatively

easy journey for them to cross the dozen miles that separated them from

Espanola, and they landed the next day in a pleasant harbour near Cape

Tiburon. Fieschi, true to his promise, was then ready to start back for

Jamaica with news of the safe accomplishment of the voyage; but the

remnant of the crews, Spaniards and savage companions alike, had had

enough of it, and no threats or persuasions would induce them to embark

again. Mendez, therefore, left his friends to enjoy some little repose

before continuing their journey to San Domingo, and, taking six natives

of Espanola to row his canoe; set off along the coast towards the

capital. He had not gone half-way when he learned that Ovando was not

there, but was in Xaragua, so he left his canoe and struck northward

through the forest until he arrived at the Governor’s camp.

Ovando welcomed Mendez cordially, praised him for his plucky voyage, and

expressed the greatest concern at the plight of the Admiral; but he was

very busy at the moment, and was on the point of transacting a piece of

business that furnished a dismal proof of the deterioration which had

taken place in him. Anacaona--the lady with the daughter whom we

remember--was now ruling over the province of Xaragua, her brother having

died; and as perhaps her native subjects had been giving a little trouble

to the Governor, he had come to exert his authority. The narrow official

mind, brought into contact with native life, never develops in the

direction of humanity; and Ovando had now for some time made the great

discovery that it was less trouble to kill people than to try to rule

over them wisely. There had evidently always been a streak of Spanish

cruelty in him, which had been much developed by his residence in

Espanola; and to cruelty and narrow officialdom he now added treachery of

a very monstrous and horrible kind.

He announced his intention of paying a state visit to Anacaona, who

thereupon summoned all her tributary chiefs to a kind of levee held in

his honour. In the midst of the levee, at a given signal, Ovando’s

soldiers rushed in, seized the caciques, fastened them to the wooden

pillars of the house, and set the whole thing on fire; the caciques being

thus miserably roasted alive. While this was going on the atrocious work

was completed by the soldiers massacring every native they could see

--children, women, and old men included--and Anacaona herself was taken

and hanged.

All these things Diego Mendez had to witness; and when they were over,

Ovando still had excuses for not hurrying to the relief of the Admiral.

He had embarked on a campaign of extermination against the natives, and

he followed up his atrocities at Xaragua by an expedition to the eastern

end of Espanola, where very much the same kind of business was

transacted. Weeks and months passed in this bloody cruelty, and there

was always an excuse for putting off Mendez. Now it was because of the

operations which he dignified by the name of wars, and now because he had

no ship suitable for sending to Jamaica; but the truth was that Ovando,

the springs of whose humanity had been entirely dried up during his

disastrous reign in Espanola, did not want Columbus to see with his own

eyes the terrible state of the island, and was callous enough to leave

him either to perish or to find his own way back to the world. It was

only when news came that a fleet of caravels was expected from Spain that

Ovando could no longer prevent Mendez from going to San Domingo and,

purchasing one of them.

Ovando had indeed lost all but the outer semblance of a man; the soul or

animating part of him had entirely gone to corruption. He had no

interest in rescuing the Admiral; he had, on the contrary, great interest

in leaving him unrescued; but curiosity as to his fate, and fear as to

his actions in case he should return to Espanola, induced the Governor to

make some effort towards spying cut his condition. He had a number of

trained rascals under his command--among them Diego de Escobar, one of

Roldan’s bright brigade; and Ovando had no sooner seen Mendez depart on

his journey to San Domingo than he sent this Escobar to embark in a small

caravel on a visit to Jamaica in order to see if the Admiral was still

alive. The caravel had to be small, so that there could be no chance of

bringing off the 130 men who had been left to perish there; and various

astute instructions were given to Escobar in order to prevent his arrival

being of any comfort or assistance to the shipwrecked ones. And so

Escobar sailed; and so, in the month of March 1504, eight months after

the vanishing of Mendez below the eastern horizon, the miserable company

encamped on the two decaying ships on the sands at Puerto Santa Gloria

descried with joyful excitement the sails of a Spanish caravel standing

in to the shore.

CHAPTER V

THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON

We must now return to the little settlement on the coast of Jamaica

--those two wornout caravels, lashed together with ropes and bridged by an

erection of wood and thatch, in which the forlorn little company was

established. In all communities of men so situated there are alternate

periods of action and reaction, and after the excitement incidental to

the departure of Mendez, and the return of Bartholomew with the news that

he had got safely away, there followed a time of reaction, in which the

Spaniards looked dismally out across the empty sea and wondered when, if

ever, their salvation would come. Columbus himself was now a confirmed

invalid, and could hardly ever leave his bed under the thatch; and in his

own condition of pain and depression his influence on the rest of the

crew must inevitably have been less inspiriting than it had formerly

been. The men themselves, moreover, began to grow sickly, chiefly on

account of the soft vegetable food, to which they were not accustomed,

and partly because of their cramped quarters and the moist, unhealthy

climate, which was the very opposite of what they needed after their long

period of suffering and hardship at sea.

As the days and weeks passed, with no occupation save the daily business

of collecting food that gradually became more and more nauseous to them,

and of straining their eyes across the empty blue of the sea in an

anxious search for the returning canoes of Fieschi, the spirits of the

castaways sank lower and lower. Inevitably their discontent became

articulate and broke out into murmurings. The usual remedy for this

state of affairs is to keep the men employed at some hard work; but there

was no work for them to do, and the spirit of dissatisfaction had ample

opportunity to spread. As usual it soon took the form of hostility to

the Admiral. They seem to have borne him no love or gratitude for his

masterly guiding of them through so many dangers; and now when he lay ill

and in suffering his treacherous followers must needs fasten upon him the

responsibility for their condition. After a month or two had passed, and

it became certain that Fieschi was not coming back, the castaways could

only suppose that he and Mendez had either been captured by natives or

had perished at sea, and that their fellow-countrymen must still be

without news of the Admiral’s predicament. They began to say also that

the Admiral was banished from Spain; that there was no desire or

intention on the part of the Sovereigns to send an expedition to his

relief; even if they had known of his condition; and that in any case

they must long ago have given him up for lost.

When the pot boils the scum rises to the surface, and the first result of

these disloyal murmurings and agitations was to bring into prominence the

two brothers, Francisco and Diego de Porras, who, it will be remembered,

owed their presence with the expedition entirely to the Admiral’s good

nature in complying with the request of their brother-in-law Morales, who

had apparently wished to find some distant occupation for them. They had

been given honourable posts as officers, in which they had not proved

competent; but the Admiral had always treated them with kindness and

courtesy, regarding them more as guests than as servants. Who or what

these Porras brothers were, where they came from, who were their father

and mother, or what was their training, I do not know; it is enough for

us to know that the result of it all had been the production of a couple

of very mean scoundrels, who now found an opportunity to exercise their

scoundrelism.

When they discovered the nature of the murmuring and discontent among the

crew they immediately set them to work it up into open mutiny. They

represented that, as Mendez had undoubtedly perished, there was no hope

of relief from Espanola; that the Admiral did not even expect such

relief, knowing that the island was forbidden ground to him. They

insinuated that he was as well content to remain in Jamaica as anywhere

else, since he had to undergo a period of banishment until his friends at

Court could procure his forgiveness. They were all, said the Porras

brothers, being made tools for the Admiral’s convenience; as he did not

wish to leave Jamaica himself, he was keeping them all there, to perish

as likely as not, and in the meantime to form a bodyguard, and establish

a service for himself. The Porras brothers suggested that, under these

circumstances, it would be as well to take a fleet of native canoes from

the Indians and make their own way to Espanola; the Admiral would never

undertake the voyage himself, being too helpless from the gout; but it

would be absurd if the whole company were to be allowed to perish because

of the infirmities of one man. They reminded the murmurers that they

would not be the first people who had rebelled with success against the

despotic rule of Columbus, and that the conduct of the Sovereigns on a

former occasion afforded them some promise that those who rebelled again

would receive something quite different from punishment.

Christmas passed, the old year went out in this strange, unhomelike

place, and the new year came in. The Admiral, as we have seen, was now

almost entirely crippled and confined to his bed; and he was lying alone

in his cabin on the second day of the year when Francisco de Porras

abruptly entered. Something very odd and flurried about Porras; he jerks

and stammers, and suddenly breaks out into a flood of agitated speech, in

which the Admiral distinguishes a stream of bitter reproach and

impertinence. The thing forms itself into nothing more or less than a

hurried, gabbling complaint; the people are dissatisfied at being kept

here week after week with no hope of relief; they accuse the Admiral of

neglecting their interests; and so on. Columbus, raising himself in his

bed, tries to pacify Porras; gives him reasons why it is impossible for

them to depart in canoes; makes every endeavour, in short, to bring this

miserable fellow back to his duties. He is watching Porras’s eye all the

time; sees that he is too excited to be pacified by reason, and suspects

that he has considerable support behind him; and suggests that the crew

had better all be assembled and a consultation held as to the best course

to pursue.

It is no good to reason with mutineers; and the Admiral has no sooner

made this suggestion than he sees that it was a mistake. Porras scoffs

at it; action, not consultation, is what he demands; in short he presents

an ultimatum to the Admiral--either to embark with the whole company at

once, or stay behind in Jamaica at his own pleasure. And then, turning

his back on Columbus and raising his voice, he calls out, “I am for

Castile; those who choose may follow me!”

The shout was a signal, and immediately from every part of the vessel

resounded the voices of the Spaniards, crying out that they would follow

Porras. In the midst of the confusion Columbus hobbled out of his bed

and staggered on to the deck; Bartholomew seized his weapons and prepared

for action; but the whole of the crew was not mutinous, and there was a

large enough loyal remnant to make it unwise for the chicken-hearted

mutineers to do more for the moment than shout: Some of them, it is true,

were heard threatening the life of the Admiral, but he was hurried back

to his bed by a few of the faithful ones, and others of them rushed up to

the fierce Bartholomew, and with great difficulty persuaded him to drop

his lance and retire to Christopher’s cabin with him while they dealt

with the offenders. They begged Columbus to let the scoundrels go if

they wished to, as the condition of those who remained would be improved

rather than hurt by their absence, and they would be a good riddance.

They then went back to the deck and told Porras and his followers that

the sooner they went the better, and that nobody would interfere with

their going as long as they offered no one any violence.

The Admiral had some time before purchased some good canoes from the

natives, and the mutineers seized ten of these and loaded them with

native provisions. Every effort was made to add to the number of the

disloyal ones; and when they saw their friends making ready to depart

several of these did actually join. There were forty-eight who finally

embarked with the brothers Porras; and there would have been more, but

that so many of them were sick and unable to face the exposure of the

voyage. As it was, those who remained witnessed with no very cheerful

emotions the departure of their companions, and even in some cases fell

to tears and lamentations. The poor old Admiral struggled out of his bed

again, went round among the sick and the loyal, cheering them and

comforting them, and promising to use every effort of the power left to

him to secure an adequate reward for their loyalty when he should return

to Spain.

We need only follow the career of Porras and his deserters for the

present far enough to see them safely off the premises and out of the way

of the Admiral and our narrative. They coasted along the shore of

Jamaica to the eastward as Mendez had done, landing whenever they had a

mind to, and robbing and outraging the natives; and they took a

particularly mean and dirty revenge on the Admiral by committing all

their robbings and outragings as though under his authority, assuring the

offended Indians that what they did they did by his command and that what

they took he would pay for; so that as they went along they sowed seeds

of grievance and hostility against the Admiral. They told the natives,

moreover, that Columbus was an enemy of all Indians, and that they would

be very well advised to kill him and get him out of the way.

They had not managed very well with the navigation of the canoes; and

while they were waiting for fine weather at the eastern end of the island

they collected a number of natives to act as oarsmen. When they thought

the weather suitable they put to sea in the direction of Espanola. They

were only about fifteen miles from the shore, however, when the wind

began to head them and to send up something of a sea; not rough, but

enough to make the crank and overloaded canoes roll heavily, for they had

not been prepared, as those of Mendez were, with false keels and

weather-boards. The Spaniards got frightened and turned back to

Jamaica; but the sea became rougher, the canoes rolled more and more,

they often shipped a quantity of water, and the situation began to look

serious. All their belongings except arms and provisions were thrown

overboard; but still, as the wind rose and the sea with it, it became

obvious that unless the canoes were further lightened they would not

reach the shore in safety. Under these circumstances the Spaniards

forced the natives to leap into the water, where they swam about like

rats as well as they could, and then came back to the canoes in order to

hold on and rest themselves. When they did this the Spaniards slashed at

them with their swords or cut off their hands, so that one by one they

fell back and, still swimming about feebly as well as they could with

their bleeding hands or stumps of arms, the miserable wretches perished

and sank at last.

By this dreadful expedient the Spaniards managed to reach Jamaica again,

and when they landed they immediately fell to quarrelling as to what they

should do next. Some were for trying to make the island of Cuba, the

wind being favourable for that direction; others were for returning and

making their submission to the Admiral; others for going back and seizing

the remainder of his arms and stores; others for staying where they were

for the present, and making another attempt to reach Espanola when the

weather should be more favourable. This last plan, being the counsel of

present inaction, was adopted by the majority of the rabble; so they

settled themselves at a neighbouring Indian village, behaving in: the

manner with which we are familiar. A little later, when the weather was

calm, they made another attempt at the voyage, but were driven back in

the same way; and being by this time sick of canoe voyages, they

abandoned the attempt, and began to wander back westward through the

island, maltreating the natives as before, and sowing seeds of bitter

rancour and hostility against the Admiral; in whose neighbourhood we

shall unfortunately hear of them again.

In the meantime their departure had somewhat relieved the condition of

affairs on board the hulks. There were more provisions and there was

more peace; the Admiral, rising above his own infirmities to the

necessities of the occasion, moved unweariedly among the sick, cheering

them and nursing them back into health and good humour, so that gradually

the condition of the little colony was brought into better order and

health than it had enjoyed since its establishment.

But now unfortunately the evil harvest sown by the Porras gang in their

journey to the east of the island began to ripen. The supplies of

provisions, which had hitherto been regularly brought by the natives,

began to appear with less punctuality, and to fall off both in quantity

and quality. The trinkets with which they were purchased had now been

distributed in such quantities that they began to lose their novelty and

value; sometimes the natives demanded a much higher price for the

provisions they brought, and (having by this time acquired the art of

bargaining) would take their stores away again if they did not get the

price they asked.

But even of this device they soon grew weary; from being irregular, the

supplies of provisions from some quarters ceased altogether, and the

possibilities of famine began to stare the unhappy castaways in the face.

It must be remembered that they were in a very weak physical condition,

and that among the so-called loyal remnant there were very few who were

not invalids; and they were unable to get out into the island and forage

for themselves. If the able-bodied handful were to sally forth in search

of provisions, the hulks would be left defenceless and at the mercy of

the natives, of whose growing hostility the Admiral had by this time

discovered abundant evidence. Thus little by little the food supply

diminished until there was practically nothing left, and the miserable

company of invalids were confronted with the alternative of either dying

of starvation or desperately attempting a canoe voyage.

It was from this critical situation that the spirit and resource of

Columbus once more furnished a way of escape, and in these circumstances

that he invented and worked a device that has since become famous--the

great Eclipse Trick. Among his small library in the cabin of the ship

was the book containing the astronomical tables of Regiomontanus; and

from his study of this work he was aware that an eclipse of the moon was

due on a certain date near at hand. He sent his Indian interpreter to

visit the neighbouring caciques, summoning them to a great conference to

be held on the evening of the eclipse, as the Admiral had matters of

great importance to reveal to them. They duly arrived on the evening

appointed; not the caciques alone, but large numbers of the native

population, well prepared for whatever might take place. Columbus then

addressed them through his interpreter, informing him that he was under

the protection of a God who dwelt in the skies and who rewarded all who

assisted him and punished all his enemies. He made an effective use of

the adventures of Mendez and Porras, pointing out that Mendez, who took

his voyage by the Admiral’s orders, had got away in safety, but that

Porras and his followers, who had departed in disobedience and mutiny,

had been prevented by the heavenly power from achieving their object. He

told them that his God was angry with them for their hostility and for

their neglect to supply him with provisions; and that in token of his

anger he was going to send them a dreadful punishment, as a sign of which

they would presently see the moon change colour and lose its light, and

the earth become dark.

This address was spun out as long as possible; but even so it was

followed by an interval in which, we may be sure, Columbus anxiously eyed

the serene orb of night, and doubtless prayed that Regiomontanus might

not have made a mistake in his calculations. Some of the Indians were

alarmed, some of them contemptuous; but it was pretty clearly realised on

both sides that matters between them had come to a head; and probably if

Regiomontanus, who had worked out these tables of figures and

calculations so many years ago in his German home, had done his work

carelessly or made a mistake, Columbus and his followers would have been

massacred on the spot. But Regiomontanus, God bless him! had made no

mistake. Sure enough, and punctually to the appointed time, the dark

shadow began to steal over the moon’s disc; its light gradually faded,

and a ghostly darkness crept over the face of the world. Columbus,

having seen that all was right with the celestial machinery, had retired

to his cabin; and presently he found himself besieged there in the dark

night by crowds of natives frantically bringing what provisions they had

and protesting their intention of continuing to bring them for the rest

of their lives. If only the Admiral would ask his God to forgive them,

there was no limit to the amount of provisions that he might have! The

Admiral, piously thankful, and perhaps beginning to enjoy the situation a

little, kept himself shut up in his cabin as though communing with the

implacable deity, while the darkness deepened over the land and the shore

resounded with the howling and sobbing of the terrified natives. He kept

a look-out on the sky; and when he saw that the eclipse was about to pass

away, he came out and informed the natives that God had decided to pardon

them on condition of their remaining faithful in the matter of

provisions, and that as a sign of His mercy He would restore the light.

The beautiful miracle went on through its changing phases; and, watching

in the darkness, the terrified natives saw the silver edge of the moon

appearing again, the curtain that had obscured it gradually rolling away,

and land and sea lying visible to them and once more steeped in the

serene light which they worshipped. It is likely that Christopher slept

more soundly that night than he had slept for many nights before.

CHAPTER VI

RELIEF OF THE ADMIRAL

There was no further difficulty about provisions, which were punctually

brought by the natives on the old terms; but the familiar, spirit of

sedition began to work again among the unhappy Spaniards, and once more a

mutiny, led this time by the apothecary Bernardo, took form--the

intention being to seize the remaining canoes and attempt to reach

Espanola. This was the point at which matters had arrived, in March

1504, when as the twilight was falling one evening a cry was raised that

there was a ship in sight; and presently a small caravel was seen

standing in towards the shore. All ideas of mutiny were forgotten, and

the crew assembled in joyful anticipation to await, as they thought, the

coming of their deliverers. The caravel came on with the evening breeze;

but while it was yet a long way off the shore it was seen to be lying to;

a boat was lowered and rowed towards the harbour.

As the boat drew near Columbus could recognise in it Diego de Escobar,

whom he remembered having condemned to death for his share in the

rebellion of Roldan. He was not the man whom Columbus would have most

wished to see at that moment. The boat came alongside the hulks, and a

barrel of wine and a side of bacon, the sea-compliment customary on such

occasions, was handed up. Greatly to the Admiral’s surprise, however,

Escobar did not come on board, but pushed his boat off and began to speak

to Columbus from a little distance. He told him that Ovando was greatly

distressed at the Admiral’s misfortunes; that he had been much occupied

by wars in Espanola, and had not been able to send a message to him

before; that he greatly regretted he had no ship at present large enough

to bring off the Admiral and his people, but that he would send one as

soon as he had it. In the meantime the Admiral was to be assured that

all his affairs in Espanola were being attended to faithfully, and that

Escobar was instructed to bring back at once any letters which the

Admiral might wish to write.

The coolness and unexpectedness of this message completely took away

the breath of the unhappy Spaniards, who doubtless stood looking in

bewilderment from Escobar to Columbus, unable to believe that the caravel

had not been sent for their relief. Columbus, however, with a

self-restraint which cannot be too highly praised, realised that Escobar

meant what he said, and that by protesting against his action or trying

to interfere with it he would only be putting himself in the wrong. He

therefore retired immediately to his cabin and wrote a letter to Ovando,

in which he drew a vivid picture of the distress of his people, reported

the rebellion of the Porras brothers, and reminded Ovando that he relied

upon the fulfilment of his promise to send relief. The letter was

handed over to Escobar, who rowed back with it to his caravel and

immediately sailed away with it into the night.

Before he could retire to commune with his own thoughts or to talk with

his faithful brother, Columbus had the painful duty of speaking to his

people, whose puzzled and disappointed faces must have cost him some

extra pangs. He told them that he was quite satisfied with the message

from Ovando, that it was a sign of kindness on his part thus to send them

news in advance that relief was coming, that their situation was now

known in San Domingo, and that vessels would soon be here to take them

away. He added that he himself was so sure of these things that he had

refused to go back with Escobar, but had preferred to remain with them

and share their lot until relief should come. This had the desired

effect of cheering the Spaniards; but it was far from representing the

real sentiments of Columbus on the subject. The fact that Escobar had

been chosen to convey this strange empty message of sympathy seemed to

him suspicious, and with his profound distrust of Ovando Columbus began

to wonder whether some further scheme might not be on foot to damage him

in the eyes of the Sovereigns. He was convinced that Ovando had meant to

let him starve on the island, and that the real purpose of Escobar’s

visit had been to find out what condition the Admiral was in, so that

Ovando might know how to act. It is very hard to get at the truth of

what these two men thought of each other. They were both suspicious,

each was playing for his own hand, and Ovando was only a little more

unscrupulous than Columbus; but there can be no doubt that whatever his

motives may have been Ovando acted with abominable treachery and cruelty

in leaving the Admiral unrelieved for nearly nine months.

Columbus now tried to make use of the visit of Escobar to restore to

allegiance the band of rebels that were wandering about in the

neighbourhood under the leadership of the Porras brothers. Why he should

have wished to bring them back to the ships is not clear, for by all

accounts he was very well rid of them; but probably his pride as a

commander was hurt by the thought that half of his company had defied his

authority and were in a state of mutiny. At any rate he sent out an

ambassador to Porras, offering to receive the mutineers back without any

punishment, and to give them a free passage to Espanola in the vessels

which were shortly expected, if they would return to their allegiance

with him.

The folly of this overture was made manifest by the treatment which it

received. It was bad enough to make advances to the Porras brothers, but

it was still worse to have those advances repulsed, and that is what

happened. The Porras brothers, being themselves incapable of any

single-mindedness, affected not to believe in the sincerity of the

Admiral’s offer; they feared that he was laying some kind of trap for

them; moreover, they were doing very well in their lawless way, and

living very comfortably on the natives; so they told Columbus’s

ambassadors that his offer was declined. At the same time they

undertook to conduct themselves in an amicable and orderly manner on

condition that, when the vessels arrived, one of them should be

apportioned to the exclusive use of the mutineers; and that in the

meantime the Admiral should share with them his store of provisions

and trinkets, as theirs were exhausted.

This was the impertinent decision of the Porras brothers; but it did not

quite commend itself to their followers, who were fearful of the possible

results if they should persist in their mutinous conduct. They were very

much afraid of being left behind in the island, and in any case, having

attempted and failed in the main object of their mutiny, they saw no

reason why they should refuse a free pardon. But the Porras brothers

lied busily. They said that the Admiral was merely laying a trap in

order to get them into his power, and that he would send them home to

Spain in chains; and they even went so far as to assure their

fellow-rebels that the story of a caravel having arrived was not really

true; but that Columbus, who was an adept in the arts of necromancy, had

really made his people believe that they had seen a caravel in the dusk;

and that if one had really arrived it would not have gone away so

suddenly, nor would the Admiral and his brother and son have failed to

take their passage in it.

To consolidate the effect of these remarkable statements on the still

wavering mutineers, the Porras brothers decided to commit them to an open

act of violence which would successfully alienate them from the Admiral.

They formed them, therefore, into an armed expedition, with the idea of

seizing the stores remaining on the wreck and taking the Admiral

personally. Columbus fortunately got news of this, as he nearly always

did when there was treachery in the wind; and he sent Bartholomew to try

to persuade them once more to return to their duty--a vain and foolish

mission, the vanity and folly of which were fully apparent to

Bartholomew. He duly set out upon it; but instead of mild words he took

with him fifty armed men--the whole available able-bodied force, in

fact--and drew near to the position occupied by the rebels.

The exhortation of the Porras brothers had meanwhile produced its effect,

and it was decided that six of the strongest men among the mutineers

should make for Bartholomew himself and try to capture or kill him. The

fierce Adelantado, finding himself surrounded by six assailants, who

seemed to be directing their whole effort against his life, swung his

sword in a berserk rage and slashed about him, to such good purpose that

four or five of his assailants soon lay round him killed or wounded. At

this point Francisco de Porras rushed in and cleft the shield held by

Bartholomew, severely wounding the hand that held it; but the sword.

stuck in the shield, and while Porras was endeavouring to draw it out

Bartholomew and some others closed upon him, and after a sharp struggle

took him prisoner. The battle, which was a short one, had been meanwhile

raging fiercely among the rest of the forces; but when the mutineers saw

their leader taken prisoner, and many of their number lying dead or

wounded, they scattered and fled, but not before Bartholomew’s force had

taken several prisoners. It was then found that, although the rebels had

suffered heavily, none of Bartholomew’s men were killed, and only one

other besides himself was wounded. The next day the mutineers all came

in to surrender, submitting an abject oath of allegiance; and Columbus,

always strangely magnanimous to rebels and insurgents, pardoned them all

with the exception of Francisco de Porras, who, one is glad to know, was

confined in irons to be sent to Spain for trial.

This submission, which was due to the prompt action of Bartholomew rather

than to the somewhat feeble diplomacy of the Admiral, took place on March

20th, and proved somewhat embarrassing to Columbus. He could put no

faith in the oaths and protestations of the mutineers; and he was very

doubtful about the wisdom of establishing them once more on the wrecks

with the hitherto orderly remnant. He therefore divided them up into

several bands, and placing each under the command of an officer whom he

could trust, he supplied them with trinkets and despatched them to

different parts of the island, for the purpose of collecting provisions

and carrying on barter with the natives. By this means the last month or

two of this most trying and exciting sojourn on the island of Jamaica

were passed in some measure of peace; and towards the end of June it was

brought to an end by the arrival of two caravels. One of them was the

ship purchased by Diego Mendez out of the three which had arrived from

Spain; and the other had been despatched by Ovando in deference, it is

said, to public feeling in San Domingo, which had been so influenced by

Mendez’s account of the Admiral’s heroic adventures that Ovando dared not

neglect him any longer. Moreover, if it had ever been his hope that the

Admiral would perish on the island of Jamaica, that hope was now doomed

to frustration, and, as he was to be rescued in spite of all, Ovando no

doubt thought that he might as well, for the sake of appearances, have a

hand in the rescue.

The two caravels, laden with what was worth saving from the two abandoned

hulks, and carrying what was left of the Admiral’s company, sailed from

Jamaica on June 28, 1504. Columbus’s joy, as we may imagine, was deep

and heartfelt. He said afterwards to Mendez that it was the happiest day

of his life, for that he had never hoped to leave the place alive.

The mission of Mendez, then, had been successful, although he had had to

wait for eight months to fulfil it. He himself, in accordance with

Columbus’s instructions, had gone to Spain in another caravel of the

fleet out of which he had purchased the relieving ship; and as he passes

out of our narrative we may now take our farewell of him. Among the many

men employed in the Admiral’s service no figure stands out so brightly as

that of Diego Mendez; and his record, almost alone of those whose service

of the Admiral earned them office and distinction, is unblotted by any

stain of crime or treachery. He was as brave as a lion and as faithful

as a dog, and throughout his life remained true to his ideal of service

to the Admiral and his descendants. He was rewarded by King Ferdinand

for his distinguished services, and allowed to bear a canoe on his

coat-of-arms; he was with the Admiral at his death-bed at Valladolid,

and when he himself came to die thirty years afterwards in the same

place he made a will in which he incorporated a brief record of the

events of the adventurous voyage in which he had borne the principal

part, and also enshrined his devotion to the name and family of

Columbus. His demands for himself were very modest, although there is

reason to fear that they were never properly fulfilled. He was

curiously anxious to be remembered chiefly by his plucky canoe voyage;

and in giving directions for his tomb, and ordering that a stone should

be placed over his remains, he wrote: “In the centre of the said stone

let a canoe be carved, which is a piece of wood hollowed out in which

the Indians navigate, because in such a boat I navigated three hundred

leagues, and let some letters be placed above it saying: Canoa.” The

epitaph that he chose for himself was in the following sense:

Here lies the Honourable Gentleman

DIEGO MENDEZ

He greatly served the royal crown of Spain in

the discovery and conquest of the Indies with

the Admiral Don Christopher Columbus of

glorious memory who discovered them, and

afterwards by himself, with his own ships,

at his own expense.

He died, etc.

He begs from charity a PATERNOSTER

and an AVE MARIA.