PALOS vanished, we lost the headland of La Rabida, a haze hid Spain.
By nightfall all was behind us. We were set forth from native land,
set forth from Europe, set forth from Christendom, set forth from sea
company and sailors’ cheer of other ships. That last would not be wholly
true until we were gone from the Canaries, toward which islands, running
south, we now were headed. We might hail some Spanish ship going to,
coming from, Grand Canary. We might indeed, before we reached these
islands, see other sails, for a rumor ran that the King of Portugal was
sending ships to intercept us, sink us and none ever be the wiser, it
not being to his interest that Spain should make discoveries! Pedro it
was who put this into my ear as we hauled at the same rope. I laughed.
“Here beginneth the marvelous tale of this voyage! If all happens that
all say may happen, not the Pope’s library can hold the books!”
The _Santa Maria_ was a good enough ship, though fifty men crowded it.
It was new and clean, a fair sailer, though not so swift as the Pinta.
We mariners settled ourselves in waist and forecastle. The Admiral, Juan
de la Cosa, the master, Roderigo Sanchez, Diego de Arana and Roderigo de
Escobedo, Pedro Gutierrez, a private adventurer, the physician Bernardo
Nunez and Fray Ignatio had great cabin and certain small sleeping cabins
and poop deck. In the forecastle almost all knew one another; all ran
into kinships near or remote. But the turn of character made the real
grouping. Pedro had his cluster and Sancho had his, and between swayed
now to the one and now to the other a large group. Fernando, I feel
gladness in saying, had with him but two or three. And aside stood
variations, individuals. Beltran the cook was such an one, a bold,
mirthful, likable man. We had several dry thinkers, and a braggart and
two or three who proved miserably villainous. We had weathercocks and
men who faced forward, no matter what the wind that blew.
The Admiral knew well that he must have, if he could, a ship patient,
contented and hopeful. I bear him witness that he spared no pains.
We had aboard trumpet and drum and viol, and he would have frequent
music. Each day toward evening each man was given a cup of wine. And
before sunset all were gathered for vesper service, and we sang _Salve
Regina_. At night the great familiar stars shone out above us.
Second day passed much like first,--light fickle wind, flapping sails,
smooth sea, cloudless sky. To-day beheld sea life after shore grown
habitual. We might have sailed from Marseilles or Genoa and been sailing
for a month. If this were all, then no more terror from the Sea of
Darkness than from our own so well-known sea! But Fernando said, “It is
after the Canaries! We know well enough it is not so bad this side of
them. Why do they call them Dog Islands?”
“Perhaps they found dogs there.”
“No, but that they give warning like watchdogs! ‘If you go any further
it shall be to your woe!’”
“Aye, aye! Have you heard tell of the spouting mountain?”
This night the wind came up and by morning was blowing stiffly, urging
us landward as though back to Spain. The sky became leaden, with a great
stormy aspect. The waves mounted, the lookout cried that the _Pinta_
was showing signals of distress. By now all had shortened sail, but the
Pinta was taking in everything and presently lay under bare poles. The
Santa Maria worked toward her until we were close by. They shouted
and we back to them. It was her rudder that was unshipped and injured.
Captain Martin Pinzon shouted that he would overcome it, binding it
somehow in place, and would overtake us, the _Pinta_ being faster sailer
than the Santa Maria or the Nina. But the Admiral would not agree, and
we took in all sail and lay tossed by a rough sea until afternoon
when the Pinta signaled that the rudder was hung. But by now the sky
stretched straight lead, and the water ran white-capped. We made no way
till morning, when without a drop of rain all the cloud roof was driven
landward and there sprang out a sky so blue that the heart laughed for
joy. The violent wind sank, then veered and blowing moderately carried
us again southward. All the white sails, white and new, were flung out,
and we raced over a rich, green plain. That lasted through most of the
day, but an hour before sunset the _Pinta_ again signaled trouble. The
rudder was once more worse than useless.
Again it was mended. But when the next morning it happened the third
time and a kind of wailing grumble went through the Santa Maria, there
came pronouncement from the Admiral. “The Canaries lie straight ahead.
In two days we shall sight them. Very good! we shall rest there and make
a new rudder for the _Pinta_. The Nina will do better with square sails
and we can change these. Fresh meat and water and some rambling ashore!”
Beltran the cook had been to the Canaries, driven there by a perverse
wind twenty years ago when he was boatswain upon a big carrack. He said
it was no great way and one or two agreed with him, but others declined
to believe the Admiral when he said that in two days we should behold
the volcano. Some were found to clamor that the wind had driven us out
of all reckoning! We might never find the Canaries and then what would
the _Pinta_ do? Whereas, if we all turned back to Palos--
“If--if!” answered Beltran the cook, who at first seemed strangely and
humorously there as cook until one found that he had an injured leg
and could not climb mast nor manage sail. “‘If’ is a seaman without a
ship!--He’s a famous navigator.”
“Martin Pinzon?”
“Him too. But I meant our Admiral.”
“He hasn’t had a ship for years!”
“He was of the best when he had one! I’ve heard old Captain Ruy tell--”
“Maybe he wasn’t crazy in those days, but he’s crazy now!”
That was Fernando. I think it was from him that certain of the crew
took the word “crazy.” They used it until one would think that for pure
variety’s sake they would find another!
The sixth day from Palos there lifted from sea the peak of Teneriffe.
This day, passing on some errand the open door of the great cabin, I
saw the Admiral seated at the table. Looking up, he saw me, gazed an
instant, then lifted his voice. “Come in here!”
He sat with a great chart spread upon the table before him. Beside
it the log lay open, and he had under his hand a book in which he was
writing. Door framed blue sky and sea, a pleasant wind was singing in
a pleasant warmth, the great cabin which, with the rest of the ship, he
made to be kept very clean, was awash with light and fineness of air.
“Would you like to look at the chart?” he asked, and I came and looked
over his shoulder.
“I made it,” he said. “There is nothing in the world more useful than
knowing how to make maps and charts! While I waited for Kings to make up
their minds I earned my living so.” I glanced at the log and he pushed
it to me so that I might see. “Every day from Palos out.” His strong
fingers touched the other book. “My journal that I keep for myself and
the Queen and King Ferdinand and indeed for the world.” He turned the
leaves. The bulk of them were blank, but in the front showed closely
covered pages, the writing not large but clear and strong. “This voyage,
you see, changeth our world! Once in Venice I heard a scholar learned
in the Greek tell of an old voyage of a ship called _Argo_, whence its
captain and crew were named Argonauts, and he said that it was of all
voyages most famous with the ancients. This is like that, but probably
greater.” He turned the pages. “I shall do it in the manner of Caesar
his Commentaries.”
He knew himself, I thought, for as great a man as Caesar. All said, his
book might be as prized in some unentered future. He did not move where
time is as a film, but where time is deep, a thousand years as a day. He
could not see there in detail any more than we could see tree and house
in those Canaries upon which we were bearing down.
I said, “Now that printing is general, it may go into far lands and into
multitude of hands and heads. Many a voyager to come may study it.”
He drew deep breath. “It is the very truth! Prince Henry the Navigator.
Christopherus Columbus the Navigator, and greater than the first--”
Sun shone, wind sang, blue sea danced beyond the door. Came from deck
Roderigo Sanchez and Diego de Arana. The Admiral made me a gesture of
dismissal.
The Canaries and we drew together. Great bands of cloud hid much of the
higher land, but the volcano top came clear above cloud, standing bare
and solemn against blue heaven. Leaving upon our right Grand Canary we
stood for the island of Gomera. Here we found deep, clear water close
to shore, a narrow strand, a small Spanish fort and beginnings of a
village, and inland, up ravines clad with a strange, leafless bush,
plentiful huts of the conquered Guanches. Our three ships came to
anchor, and the Admiral went ashore, the captains of the _Pinta_ and the
Nina following. Juan Lepe was among the rowers.
The Spanish commandant came down to beach with an armed escort. The
Admiral, walking alone, met him between sea and bright green trees, and
here stood the two and conversed while we watched. The Admiral showed
him letters of credence. The commandant took and read, handed them
back with a bow, and coming to water edge had presented to him the two
captains, Martin and Vicente Pinzon. He proved a cheery old veteran of
old wars, relieved that we were not Portuguese nor pirates and happy to
have late news from Spain. It seemed that he had learned from a supply
ship in June that the expedition was afoot.
The _Santa Maria_ and the Nina rode close in shore. Captain Martin
Pinzon beached the Pinta and unshipped the hurt and useless rudder. Work
upon a new one began at once. The Admiral, the two captains and those
of rank upon the ships supped with the commandant at his quite goodly
house, and the next day he and his officers dined aboard the Santa
Maria. The Admiral liked him much for he was more than respectful toward
this voyage. A year before, bathing one day in the surf, there had come
floating to his hand a great gourd. None such grew anywhere in these
islands, and the wind for days had come steadily from the west. The
gourd had a kind of pattern cut around it. He showed it to the Admiral
and afterwards gave it to him. The latter caused it to pass from hand to
hand among the seamen. I had it in my hands and truly saw no reason why
it might not have been cut by some native of the West, and, carried away
by the tide or dropped perchance from a boat, have at last, after long
time, come into hands not Indian. Asia tossing unthinkingly a ball which
Europe caught.
The _Pinta_ proved in worse plight than was at first thought. The Nina
also found this or that to do besides squaring her Levant sails. We
stayed in Gomera almost three weeks. The place was novel, the day’s task
not hard, the Admiral and his captains complaisant. We had leisure and
island company. To many it was happiness enough. While we stopped at
Gornera we were at least not drifting upon lodestone, equator fire and
chaos!
Here on Gomera might be studied the three Pinzon brothers. Vicente was
a good, courageous captain, Francisco a good pilot, and a courageous,
seldom-speaking man. But Martin Alonso, the eldest, was the prime mover
in all their affairs. He was skillful navigator like his brothers and
courageous like them, but not silent like Francisco, and ambitious far
above either. He would have said perhaps that had he not been so, been
both ambitious and shrewd, the Pinzons would never have become principal
ship-owning, trading and maritime family of Palos and three leagues
around. He, too, had family fortunes and aggrandizement at heart, though
hardly on the grand, imperial scale of the Admiral. He had much manly
beauty, daring and strength. His two brothers worshipped him, and in
most places and moments his crew would follow him with a cheer. The
Admiral was bound to him, not only in that he had volunteered and made
others to go willingly, but that he had put in his ship, the _Nina_, and
had furnished Master Christopherus with monies. That eighth of the cost
of the expedition, whence else could it come? If it tied Martin Pinzon
to the Admiral, seeing that only through success could those monies be
repaid, it likewise made him feel that he, too, had authority, was at
liberty to advise, and at need to become critical.
But the Admiral had the great man’s mark. He could acknowledge service
and be quite simply and deeply grateful for it. He was grateful to
Martin Pinzon who had aided him from his first coming to Palos, and also
I think he loved the younger man’s great blond strength and beauty. He
had all of Italy’s quickness to beauty, be it of land or sea, forest,
flower, animal or man. But now and again, even so early as this, he must
put out hand to check Pinzon’s impetuous advice. His brows drew together
above gray eyes and eagle nose. But for the most part, on Gomera, they
were very friendly, and it was a sight to see Admiral and captains and
all the privileged of the expedition sit at wine with the commandant.
Juan Lepe had no quarrel with any of them. Jayme de Marchena swept this
voyage into the Great Voyage.
The _Pinta_ was nearly ready when there arrived a small ship from Ferro
bringing news that three large Portuguese ships had sailed by that
island. Said the commandant, “Spain and Portugal are at peace. They
would not dare to try to oust us!” He came to waterside to talk to the
Admiral. “Not to fight you,” said the Admiral, “but me! King John wishes
to keep India, Cipango and Cathay still veiled. So he will get time
in which to have from the Holy Father another bull that will place the
Portuguese line west and west until he hath the whole!” He raised his
hand and let it fall. “I cannot sail to-morrow, but I will sail the day
after!”
We were put to hard labor for the rest of that day, and through much of
the moonlit night. By early morning again we labored. At mid-afternoon
all was done. The _Pinta_, right from stem to stern, rode the blue
water; the Nina had her great square sails. The Guanches stored for us
fresh provisions and rolled down and into ship our water casks. There
was a great moon, and we would stand off in the night. Nothing more had
been seen of the Portuguese ships, but we were ready to go and go we
should. All being done, and the sun two hours high, we mariners had
leave to rest ashore under trees who might not for very long again see
land or trees.
There was a grove that led to a stream and the waterfall where we had
filled the casks. I walked through this alone. The place lay utterly
still save for the murmuring of the water and the singing of a small
yellowish bird that abounds in these islands. At the end of an aisle of
trees shone the sea, blue and calm as a sapphire of heaven. I lay down
upon the earth by the water.
Finding of India and rounding the earth! We seemed poor, weak men, but
the thing was great, and I suppose the doers of a great thing are
great. East--west! Going west and yet east.--The Jew in me had come
from Palestine, and to Palestine perhaps from Arabia, and to Arabia--who
knew?--perhaps from that India! And much of the Spaniard had come from
Carthage and from Phoenicia, old Tyre and Sidon, and Tyre and Sidon
again from the east. From the east and to the east again. All our Age
that with all lacks was yet a stirring one with a sense of dawn and
sunrise and distant trumpets, now was going east, was going Home, going
east by the west road. West is home and East is home, and North and
South. Knowledge extendeth and the world above is fed.
The sun made a lane of scarlet and gold across Ocean-Sea. I wondered
what temples, what towns, what spice ships at strange wharfs might lie
under it afar. I wondered if there did dwell Prester John and if he
would step down to give us welcome. The torrent of event strikes us
day and night, all the hours, all the moments. Who can tell with
distinctness color and shape in that descending stream?