In accordance with its policy of presenting to its readers each month
articles that have to do with the history and characteristics of the
month itself, THE SCRAP BOOK herewith reprints the most entertaining
account that has been written of what is, without question, the most
memorable incident of the month of October—the discovery of America by
Christopher Columbus. It is from the pen of Washington Irving, the first
great man of letters produced in the New World.
In the course of a period of travel in Europe, Irving went to Madrid,
Spain, in 1826. There a post as attaché of the United States Legation
was offered to him by Alexander H. Everett, then our minister to the
Spanish court. This offer was accepted. Mr. Everett suggested that
Irving make a translation from the Spanish of Navarrete’s “Voyages of
Columbus.” The suggestion appealed to Irving, but he had scarcely more
than addressed himself to his task when the idea occurred to him to
write an original work on the subject. He searched the Spanish archives
for new material and worked so zealously that in July, 1827, he was able
to place the completed manuscript in the hands of John Murray, the
famous English publisher, who brought out the work, in three volumes, in
1828.
In order that the sketch here given may be the better appreciated by
persons who have allowed the earlier incidents of Columbus’s memorable
voyage to escape their memories, it may be well to say that with funds
supplied by Ferdinand and Isabella, King and Queen of Spain, Columbus
sailed from Palos, Spain, on August 3, 1492. The expedition consisted of
the Santa Maria, a decked ship, with a crew of fifty men, and commanded
by Columbus in person; and of two caravels—the Pinta, with thirty men,
commanded by Martin Pinzon, and the Niña, with twenty-four men, under
Vicente Yañez Pinzon, a brother of Martin. Columbus had the rank of
admiral. The total number of men on the three vessels was one hundred
and twenty. Owing to an accident to the rudder of the Pinta, the
expedition was compelled to put in at the Canary Islands on August 9th.
On September 6th the vessels again weighed anchor and sailed westward
into the mysterious “Ocean Sea.”
The situation of Columbus was daily becoming more and more critical. In
proportion as he approached the regions where he expected to find land,
the impatience of his crews augmented. The favorable signs which
increased his confidence were derided by them as delusive; and there was
danger of their rebelling, and obliging him to turn back when on the
point of realizing the object of all his labors. They beheld themselves
with dismay, still wafted onward, over the boundless wastes of what
appeared to them a mere watery desert surrounding the habitable world.
What was to become of them should their provisions fail? Their ships
were too weak and defective even for the great voyage they had already
made, but if they were still to press forward, adding at every moment to
the immense expanse behind them, how should they ever be able to return,
having no intervening port where they might victual and refit?
In this way they fed each other’s discontents, gathering together in
little knots, and fomenting a spirit of mutinous opposition; and when we
consider the natural fire of the Spanish temperament and its impatience
of control, and that a great part of these men were sailing on
compulsion, we cannot wonder that there was imminent danger of their
breaking forth into open rebellion and compelling Columbus to turn back.
In their secret conferences they exclaimed against him as a desperado,
bent, in a mad fantasy, upon doing something extravagant to render
himself notorious. What were their sufferings and dangers to one
evidently content to sacrifice his own life for the chance of
distinction? What obligations bound them to continue on with him, or
when were the terms of their agreement to be considered as fulfilled?
They had already penetrated unknown seas, untraversed by a sail, far
beyond where man had ever before ventured. They had done enough to gain
themselves a character for courage and hardihood in undertaking such an
enterprise and persisting in it so far. How much farther were they to go
in quest of a merely conjectured land? Were they to sail on until they
perished, or until all return became impossible? In such case they would
be the authors of their own destruction.
On the other hand, should they consult their safety, and turn back
before too late, who would blame them? Any complaints made by Columbus
would be of no weight; he was a foreigner without friends or influence;
his schemes had been condemned by the learned and discountenanced by
people of all ranks. He had no party to uphold him, and a host of
opponents whose pride of opinion would be gratified by his failure. Or,
as an effectual means of preventing his complaints, they might throw him
into the sea, and give out that he had fallen overboard while busy with
his instruments contemplating the stars—a report which no one would have
either the inclination or the means to controvert.
Columbus was not ignorant of the mutinous disposition of his crew; but
he still maintained a serene and steady countenance, soothing some with
gentle words, endeavoring to stimulate the pride or avarice of others,
and openly menacing the refractory with signal punishment should they do
anything to impede the voyage.
On the 25th of September the wind again became favorable, and they were
able to resume their course directly to the west. The airs being light
and the sea calm, the vessels sailed near to each other, and Columbus
had much conversation with Martin Alonzo Pinzon on the subject of a
chart, which the former had sent three days before on board of the
Pinta. Pinzon thought that, according to the indications of the map,
they ought to be in the neighborhood of Cipango and the other islands
which the admiral had therein delineated.
Columbus partly entertained the same idea, but thought it possible that
the ships might have been borne out of their track by the prevalent
currents, or that they had not come so far as the pilots had reckoned.
He desired that the chart might be returned, and Pinzon, tying it to the
end of a cord, flung it on board to him.
While Columbus, his pilot, and several of his experienced mariners were
studying the map and endeavoring to make out from it their actual
position, they heard a shout from the Pinta, and, looking up, beheld
Martin Alonzo Pinzon mounted on the stern of his vessel, crying:
“Land! land! Señor, I claim my reward!”
He pointed at the same time to the southwest, where there was indeed an
appearance of land at about twenty-five leagues’ distance.
Upon this Columbus threw himself on his knees and returned thanks to
God; and Martin Alonzo repeated the _Gloria in Excelsis_, in which he
was joined by his own crew and that of the admiral.
The seamen now mounted to the masthead or climbed about the rigging,
straining their eyes in the direction pointed out. The conviction became
so general of land in that quarter, and the joy of the people so
ungovernable, that Columbus found it necessary to vary from his usual
course and stand all night to the southwest.
The morning light, however, put an end to all their hopes, as to a
dream. The fancied land proved to be nothing but an evening cloud, and
had vanished in the night. With dejected hearts they once more resumed
their western course, from which Columbus would never have varied but in
compliance with their clamorous wishes.
For several days they continued on with the same propitious breeze,
tranquil sea, and mild, delightful weather. The water was so calm that
the sailors amused themselves with swimming about the vessel. Dolphins
began to abound, and flying fish, darting into the air, fell upon the
decks. The continued signs of land diverted the attention of the crews
and insensibly beguiled them onward.
On the 1st of October, according to the reckoning of the pilot of the
admiral’s ship, they had come five hundred and eighty leagues west since
leaving the Canary Islands. The reckoning which Columbus showed the crew
was five hundred and eighty-four, but the reckoning which he kept
privately was seven hundred and seven. On the following day the weeds
floated from east to west, and on the third day no birds were to be
seen.
The crews now began to fear that they had passed between islands, from
one to the other of which the birds had been flying. Columbus had also
some doubts of the kind, but refused to alter his westward course. The
people again uttered murmurs and menaces, but on the following day they
were visited by such flights of birds, and the various indications of
land became so numerous, that from a state of despondency they passed to
one of confident expectation.
Eager to obtain the promised pension, the seamen were continually giving
the cry of land, on the least appearance of the kind. To put a stop to
these false alarms, which produced continual disappointment, Columbus
declared that should any one give such notice, and land not be
discovered within three days afterward, he should thenceforth forfeit
all claim to the reward.
On the evening of the 6th of October Martin Alonzo Pinzon began to lose
confidence in their present course, and proposed that they should stand
more to the southward. Columbus, however, still persisted in steering
directly west. Observing this difference of opinion in a person so
important in his squadron as Pinzon, and fearing that chance or design
might scatter the ships, he ordered that, should either of the caravels
be separated from him, it should stand to the west, and endeavor as soon
as possible to join company again. He directed, also, that the vessels
should keep near to him at sunrise and sunset, as at these times the
state of the atmosphere is most favorable to the discovery of distant
land.
On the morning of the 7th of October, at sunrise, several of the
admiral’s crew thought they beheld land away to the west, but so
indistinctly that no one ventured to proclaim it, lest he should be
mistaken, and forfeit all chance of the reward: the Niña, however, being
a good sailor, pressed forward to ascertain the fact.
In a little while a flag was hoisted at her masthead, and a gun
discharged, being the preconcerted signals for land. New joy was
awakened throughout the little squadron, and every eye was turned to the
west. As they advanced, however, their cloud-built hopes faded away, and
before evening the fancied land had again melted into air.
The crews now sank into a degree of dejection proportioned to their
recent excitement; but new circumstances occurred to arouse them.
Columbus, having observed great flights of small field-birds going
toward the southwest, concluded they must be secure of some neighboring
land, where they would find food and a resting-place. He knew the
importance which the Portuguese voyagers attached to the flight of
birds, by following which they had discovered most of their islands.
He had now come seven hundred and fifty leagues, the distance at which
he had computed to find the island of Cipango; as there was no
appearance of it, he might have missed it through some mistake in the
latitude. He determined, therefore, on the evening of the 7th of
October, to alter his course to the west-southwest—the direction in
which the birds generally flew—and continue that direction for at least
two days.
After all, it was no great deviation from his main course, and would
meet the wishes of the Pinzons, as well as be inspiriting to his
followers generally.
For three days they stood in this direction, and the farther they went
the more frequent and encouraging were the signs of land. Flights of
small birds of various colors, some of them such as sing in the fields,
came flying about the ships, and then continued toward the southwest,
and others were heard also flying by in the night. Tunny fish played
about the smooth sea, and a heron, a pelican, and a duck were seen, all
bound in the same direction. The herbage which floated by was fresh and
green, as if recently from land, and the air, Columbus observed, was as
sweet and fragrant as April breezes in Seville.
All these, however, were regarded by the crews as so many delusions
beguiling them on to destruction; and when on the evening of the third
day they beheld the sun go down upon a shoreless ocean, they broke forth
into turbulent clamor. They exclaimed against this obstinacy in tempting
fate by continuing on into a boundless sea. They insisted upon turning
homeward and abandoning the voyage as hopeless.
Columbus endeavored to pacify them by gentle words and promises of large
rewards; but finding that they only increased in clamor, he assumed a
decided tone. He told them that it was useless to murmur; the expedition
had been sent by the sovereigns to seek the Indies, and, happen what
might, he was determined to persevere until, by the blessing of God, he
should accomplish the enterprise.
Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, and his situation
became desperate. Fortunately the manifestations of the vicinity of land
were such on the following day as no longer to admit a doubt. Besides a
quantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they saw a green fish
of a kind which keeps about rocks; then a branch of thorn with berries
on it, and recently separated from the tree, floated by them; then they
picked up a reed, a small board, and, above all, a staff artificially
carved.
All gloom and mutiny now gave way to sanguine expectation, and
throughout the day each one was eagerly on the watch, in hopes of being
the first to discover the long-sought-for land.
In the evening, when, according to invariable custom on board of the
admiral’s ship, the mariners had sung the _Salve Regina_, or vesper hymn
to the Virgin, he made an impressive address to his crew. He pointed out
the goodness of God in thus conducting them by soft and favoring breezes
across a tranquil ocean, cheering their hopes continually with fresh
signs, increasing as their fears augmented, and thus leading and guiding
them to a promised land.
He now reminded them of the orders he had given on leaving the
Canaries—that, after sailing westward seven hundred leagues, they should
not make sail after midnight. Present appearances authorized such a
precaution. He thought it probable they would make land that very night;
he ordered, therefore, a vigilant lookout to be kept from the
forecastle, promising to whomsoever should make the discovery a doublet
of velvet in addition to the pension to be given by the sovereigns.
The breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea than usual, and they
had made great progress. At sunset they had stood again to the west, and
were plowing the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the lead, from
her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughout the
ships; not an eye was closed that night.
As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the
castle or cabin on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along
the dusky horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch.
About ten o’clock he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a great
distance. Fearing his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to Pedro
Gutierrez, gentleman of the king’s bedchamber, and inquired whether he
saw such a light; the latter replied in the affirmative.
Doubtful whether it might not yet be some delusion of the fancy,
Columbus called Rodrigo Sanchez, of Segovia, and made the same inquiry.
By the time the latter had ascended the round-house the light had
disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterward in sudden and passing
gleams—as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisherman, rising and
sinking with the waves, or in the hand of some person on shore borne up
and down as he walked from house to house.
So transient and uncertain were these gleams that few attached any
importance to them; Columbus, however, considered them as certain signs
of land, and, moreover, that the land was inhabited.
They continued their course until two in the morning, when a gun from
the Pinta gave the joyous signal of land. It was first descried by a
mariner named Rodrigo de Triana; but the reward was afterward adjudged
to the admiral for having previously perceived the light.
The land was now clearly seen about two leagues distant, whereupon they
took in sail and laid to, waiting impatiently for the dawn.
The thoughts and feelings of Columbus In this little space of time must
have been tumultuous and intense. At length, in spite of every
difficulty and danger, he had accomplished his object. The great mystery
of the ocean was revealed; his theory, which had been the scoff of
sages, was triumphantly established; he had secured to himself a glory
durable as the world itself.
It is difficult to conceive the feelings of such a man at such a moment,
or the conjectures which must have thronged upon his mind as to the land
before him, covered with darkness. That it was fruitful was evident from
the vegetables which floated from its shores.
He thought, too, that he perceived the fragrance of aromatic groves. The
moving light he had beheld proved it to be the residence of man. But
what were its inhabitants? Were they like those of the other parts of
the globe, or were they some strange and monstrous race, such as the
imagination was prone in those times to give to all remote and unknown
regions? Had he come upon some wild island far in the Indian Sea, or was
this the famed Cipango itself, the object of his golden fancies?
A thousand speculations of the kind must have swarmed upon him, as, with
his anxious crews, he waited for the night to pass away; wondering
whether the morning light would reveal a savage wilderness, or dawn upon
spicy groves, and glittering fanes, and gilded cities, and all the
splendors of Oriental civilization.