Distress of the Admiral on Board of His Ship.--Ultimate Relief of the
Settlement.
[1503.]
While the Adelantado and his men were exposed to such imminent peril on
shore, great anxiety prevailed on board of the ships. Day after day
elapsed without the return of Diego Tristan and his party, and it was
feared some disaster had befallen them. Columbus would have sent on shore
to make inquiries; but there was only one boat remaining for the service
of the squadron, and he dared not risk it in the rough sea and heavy surf.
A dismal circumstance occurred to increase the gloom and uneasiness of the
crews. On hoard of one of the caravels were confined the family and
household of the cacique Quibian. It was the intention of Columbus to
carry them to Spain, trusting that as long as they remained in the power
of the Spaniards, their tribe would be deterred from further hostilities.
They were shut up at night in the forecastle of the caravel, the hatchway
of which was secured by a strong chain and padlock. As several of the crew
slept upon the hatch, and it was so high as to be considered out of reach
of the prisoners, they neglected to fasten the chain. The Indians
discovered their negligence. Collecting a quantity of stones from the
ballast of the vessel, they made a great heap directly under the hatchway.
Several of the most powerful warriors mounted upon the top, and, bending
their backs, by a sudden and simultaneous effort forced up the hatch,
flinging the seamen who slept upon it to the opposite side of the ship. In
an instant the greater part of the Indians sprang forth, plunged into the
sea, and swam for shore. Several, however, were prevented from sallying
forth; others were seized on the deck, and forced back into the
forecastle; the hatchway was carefully chained down, and a guard was set
for the rest of the night. In the morning, when the Spaniards went to
examine the captives, they were all found dead. Some had hanged themselves
with the ends of ropes, their knees touching the floor; others had
strangled themselves by straining the cords tight with their feet. Such
was the fierce, unconquerable spirit of these people, and their horror of
the white men. [168]
The escape of the prisoners occasioned great anxiety to the admiral,
fearing they would stimulate their countrymen to some violent act of
vengeance; and he trembled for the safety of his brother. Still this
painful mystery reigned over the land. The boat of Diego Tristan did not
return, and the raging surf prevented all communication. At length, one
Pedro Ledesma, a pilot of Seville, a man of about forty-five years of age,
and of great strength of body and mind, offered, if the boat would take
him to the edge of the surf, to swim to shore, and bring off news. He had
been piqued by the achievement of the Indian captives, in swimming to land
at a league's distance, in defiance of sea and surf. "Surely," he said,
"if they dare venture so much to procure their individual liberties, I
ought to brave at least a part of the danger, to save the lives of so many
companions." His offer was gladly accepted by the admiral, and was boldly
accomplished. The boat approached with him as near to the surf as safety
would permit, where it was to await his return. Here, stripping himself,
he plunged into the sea, and after buffeting for some time with the
breakers, sometimes rising upon their surges, sometimes buried beneath
them and dashed upon the sand, he succeeded in reaching the shore.
He found his countrymen shut up in their forlorn fortress, beleaguered by
savage foes, and learnt the tragical fate of Diego Tristan and his
companions. Many of the Spaniards, in their horror and despair, had thrown
off all subordination, refused to assist in any measure that had in view a
continuance in this place, and thought of nothing but escape. When they
beheld Ledesma, a messenger from the ships, they surrounded him with
frantic eagerness, urging him to implore the admiral to take them on
board, and not abandon them on a coast where their destruction was
inevitable. They were preparing canoes to take them to the ships, when the
weather should moderate, the boat of the caravel being too small; and
swore that, if the admiral refused to take them on board, they would
embark in the caravel, as soon as it could be extricated from the river,
and abandon themselves to the mercy of the seas, rather than remain upon
that fatal coast.
Having heard all that his forlorn countrymen had to say, and communicated
with the Adelantado and his officers, Ledesma set out on his perilous
return. He again braved the surf and the breakers, reached the boat which
was waiting for him, and was conveyed back to the ships. The disastrous
tidings from the land filled the heart of the admiral with grief and
alarm. To leave his brother on shore would be to expose him to the mutiny
of his own men, and the ferocity of the savages. He could spare no
reinforcement from his ships, the crews being so much weakened by the loss
of Tristan and his companions. Rather than the settlement should be broken
up, he would gladly have joined the Adelantado with all his people; but in
such case how could intelligence be conveyed to the sovereigns of this
important discovery, and how could supplies be obtained from Spain? There
appeared no alternative, therefore, but to embark all the people, abandon
the settlement for the present, and return at some future day, with a
force competent to take secure possession of the country. [169] The state
of the weather rendered the practicability even of this plan doubtful. The
wind continued high, the sea rough, and no boat could pass between the
squadron and the land. The situation of the ships was itself a matter of
extreme solicitude. Feebly manned, crazed by storms, and ready to fall to
pieces from the ravages of the teredo, they were anchored on a lee shore,
with a boisterous wind and sea, in a climate subject to tempests, and
where the least augmentation of the weather might drive them among the
breakers. Every hour increased the anxiety of Columbus for his brother,
his people, and his ships, and each hour appeared to render the impending
dangers more imminent. Days of constant perturbation, and nights of
sleepless anxiety, preyed upon a constitution broken by age, by maladies,
and hardships, and produced a fever of the mind, in which he was visited
by one of those mental hallucinations deemed by him mysterious and
supernatural. In a letter to the sovereigns he gives a solemn account of
a kind of vision by which he was comforted in a dismal night, when full
of despondency and tossing on a couch of pain:----
"Wearied and sighing," says he, "I fell into a slumber, when I heard a
piteous voice saying to me, 'O fool, and slow to believe and serve thy
God, who is the God of all! What did he more for Moses, or for his servant
David, than he has done for thee? From the time of thy birth he has ever
had thee under his peculiar care. When he saw thee of a fitting age, he
made thy name to resound marvelously throughout the earth, and thou wert
obeyed in many lands, and didst acquire honorable fame among Christians.
Of the gates of the Ocean Sea, shut up with such mighty chains, he
delivered thee the keys; the Indies, those wealthy regions of the world,
he gave thee for thine own, and empowered thee to dispose of them to
others, according to thy pleasure. What did he more for the great people
of Israel when he led them forth from Egypt? Or for David, whom, from
being a shepherd, he made a king in Judea? Turn to him, then, and
acknowledge thine error; his mercy is infinite. He has many and vast
inheritances yet in reserve. Fear not to seek them. Thine age shall be no
impediment to any great undertaking. Abraham was above an hundred years
when he begat Isaac; and was Sarah youthful? Thou urgest despondingly for
succor. Answer! who hath afflicted thee so much, and so many times?--God,
or the world? The privileges and promises which God hath made thee he hath
never broken; neither hath he said, after having received thy services,
that his meaning was different, and to be understood in a different sense.
He performs to the very letter. He fulfills all that he promises, and with
increase. Such is his custom. I have shown thee what thy creator hath done
for thee, and what he doeth for all. The present is the reward of the
toils and perils thou hast endured in serving others.' I heard all this,"
adds Columbus, "as one almost dead, and had no power to reply to words so
true, excepting to weep for my errors. Whoever it was that spake to me,
finished by saying, 'Fear not! Confide! All these tribulations are written
in marble, and not without cause.'"
Such is the singular statement which Columbus gave to the sovereigns of
his supposed vision. It has been suggested that this was a mere ingenious
fiction, adroitly devised by him to convey a lesson to his prince; but
such an idea is inconsistent with his character. He was too deeply imbued
with awe of the Deity, and with reverence for his sovereign, to make use
of such an artifice. The words here spoken to him by the supposed voice,
are truths which dwelt upon his mind, and grieved his spirit during his
waking hours. It is natural that they should recur vividly and coherently
in his feverish dreams; and in recalling and relating a dream one is
unconsciously apt to give it a little coherency. Besides, Columbus had a
solemn belief that he was a peculiar instrument in the hands of
Providence, which, together with a deep tinge of superstition, common to
the age, made him prone to mistake every striking dream for a revelation.
He is not to be measured by the same standard with ordinary men in
ordinary circumstances. It is difficult for the mind to realize his
situation, and to conceive the exaltations of spirit to which he must have
been subjected. The artless manner in which, in his letter to the
sovereigns, he mingles up the rhapsodies and dreams of his imagination,
with simple facts, and sound practical observations, pouring them forth
with a kind of scriptural solemnity and poetry of language, is one of the
most striking illustrations of a character richly compounded of
extraordinary and apparently contradictory elements.
Immediately after this supposed vision, and after a duration of nine days,
the boisterous weather subsided, the sea became calm, and the
communication with the land was restored. It was found impossible to
extricate the remaining caravel from the river; but every exertion was
made to bring off the people, and the property, before there should be a
return of bad weather. In this, the exertions of the zealous Diego Mendez
were eminently efficient. He had been for some days preparing for such an
emergency. Cutting up the sails of the caravel, he made great sacks to
receive the biscuit. He lashed two Indian canoes together with spars, so
that they could not be overturned by the waves, and made a platform on
them capable of sustaining a great burden. This kind of raft was laden
repeatedly with the stores, arms, and ammunition, which had been left on
shore, and with the furniture of the caravel, which was entirely
dismantled. When well freighted, it was towed by the boat to the ships. In
this way, by constant and sleepless exertions, in the space of two days,
almost every thing of value was transported on board the squadron, and
little else left than the hull of the caravel, stranded, decayed, and
rotting in the river. Diego Mendez superintended the whole embarkation
with unwearied watchfulness and activity. He, and five companions, were
the last to leave the shore, remaining all night at their perilous post,
and embarking in the morning with the last cargo of effects.
Nothing could equal the transports of the Spaniards, when they found
themselves once more on board of the ships, and saw a space of ocean
between them and those forests which had lately seemed destined to be
their graves. The joy of their comrades seemed little inferior to their
own; and the perils and hardships which yet surrounded them, were
forgotten for a time in mutual congratulations. The admiral was so much
impressed with a sense of the high services rendered by Diego Mendez,
throughout the late time of danger and disaster, that he gave him the
command of the caravel, vacant by the death of the unfortunate Diego
Tristan. [170]