I suppose you think Bobadilla was a very cruel man. He was. But in his
time people were apt to be cruel to one another whenever they had the
power in their own hands. The days in which Columbus lived were not like
these in which we are living. You can never be too thankful for that,
boys and girls. Bobadilla had been told to go over the water and set the
Columbus matters straight. He had been brought up to believe that to set
matters straight you must be harsh and cruel; and so he did as he was
used to seeing other people in power do. Even Queen Isabella did not
hesitate to do some dreadful things to certain people she did not like
when she got them in her power. Cruelty was common in those days. It was
what we call the "spirit of the age." So you must not blame Bobadilla
too much, although we will all agree that it was very hard on Columbus.
So Columbus, as I have told you, sailed back to Spain. But when the
officer who had charge of him and whose name was Villijo, had got out to
sea and out of Bobadilla's sight, he wanted to take the chains off. For
he loved Columbus and it made him feel very sad to see the old Admiral
treated like a convict or a murderer. Let me have these cruel chains
struck off, Your Excellency, he said. No, no, Villijo, Columbus replied.
Let these fetters remain upon me. My king and queen ordered me to submit
and Bobadilla has put me in chains. I will wear these irons until my
king and queen shall order them removed, and I shall keep them always as
relics and memorials of my services.
It always makes us sad to see any one in great trouble. To hear of
a great man who has fallen low or of a rich man who has become poor,
always makes us say: Is not that too bad? Columbus had many enemies in
Spain. The nobles of the court, the men who had lost money in voyages
to the Indies, the people whose fathers and sons and brothers had sailed
away never to return, could not say anything bad enough about "this
upstart Italian," as they called Columbus.
But to the most of the people Columbus was still the great Admiral. He
was the man who had stuck to his one idea until he had made a friend
of the queen; who had sailed away into the West and proved the Sea of
Darkness and the Jumping-off place to be only fairy tales after all; who
had found Cathay and the Indies for Spain. He was still a great man to
the multitude.
So when on a certain October day, in the year 1500, it was spread abroad
that a ship had just come into the harbor of Cadiz, bringing home the
great Admiral, Christopher Columbus, a prisoner and in chains, folks
began to talk at once. Why, who has done this? they cried. Is this the
way to treat the man who found Cathay for Spain, the man whom the king
and the queen delighted to honor, the man who made a procession for us
with all sorts of birds and animals and pagan Indians? It cannot be.
Why, we all remember how he sailed into Palos Harbor eight years ago and
was received like a prince with banners and proclamations and salutes.
And now to bring him home in chains! It is a shame; it is cruel; it is
wicked. And when people began to talk in this way, the very ones who had
said the worst things against him began to change their tone.
As soon as the ship got into Cadiz, Columbus sent off a letter to a
friend of his at the court in the beautiful city of Granada. This letter
was, of course, shown to the queen. And it told all about what Columbus
had suffered, and was, so full of sorrow and humbleness and yet of pride
in what he had been able to do, even though he had been disgraced, that
Queen Isabella (who was really a friend to Columbus in spite of her
dissatisfaction with the things he sometimes did) became very angry at
the way he had been treated.
She took the letter to King Ferdinand, and at once both the king and the
queen hastened to send a messenger to Columbus telling him how angry
and sorry they were that Bobadilla should have dared to treat their
good friend the Admiral so. They ordered his immediate release from
imprisonment; they sent him a present of five thousand dollars and asked
him to come to court at once.
On the seventeenth of December, 1500, Columbus came to the court at
Granada in the beautiful palace of the Alhambra. He rode on a mule. At
that time, in Spain, people were not allowed to ride on mules, because
if they did the Spanish horses would not be bought and sold, as mules
were so much cheaper and were easier to ride. But Columbus was sick and
it hurt him to ride horseback, while he could be fairly comfortable on
an easy-going mule. So the king and queen gave him special permission to
come on mule-back.
When Columbus appeared before the queen, looking so sick and troubled,
Isabella was greatly affected. She thought of all he had done and all he
had gone through and all he had suffered, and as he came to the steps of
the throne the queen burst into tears. That made Columbus cry too, for
he thought a great deal of the queen, and he fell at her feet and told
her how much he honored her, and how much he was ready to do for her, if
he could but have the chance.
Then the king and queen told him how sorry they were that any one should
have so misunderstood their desires and have treated their brave and
loyal Admiral so shamefully. They promised to make everything all right
for him again, and to show him that they were his good friends now as
they always had been since the day he first sailed away to find the
Indies for them and for Spain.
Of course this made Columbus feel much better. He had left Hayti in fear
and trembling. He had come home expecting something dreadful was going
to happen; he would not have been surprised at a long imprisonment; he
would not even have been surprised if he had been put to death--for the
kings and queens and high lords of his day were very apt to order people
put to death if they did not like what had been done. The harsh way in
which Bobadilla had treated him made him think the king and queen had
really ordered it. Perhaps they had; and perhaps the way in which the
people cried out in indignation when they saw the great Admiral brought
ashore in chains had its influence on Queen Isabella. King Ferdinand
really cared nothing about it. He would gladly have seen Columbus put in
prison for life; but the queen had very much to say about things in
her kingdom, and so King Ferdinand made believe he was sorry and talked
quite as pleasantly to Columbus as did the queen.
Now Columbus, as you must have found out by this time, was as quick to
feel glad as he was to feel sad. And when he found that the king and
queen were his friends once more, he became full of hope again and began
to say where he would go and what he would do when he went back again as
Viceroy of the Indies and Admiral of the Ocean Seas. He begged the queen
to let him go back again at once, with ships and sailors and the power
to do as he pleased in the islands he had found and in the lands he
hoped to find.
They promised him everything, for promising is easy. But Columbus had
once more to learn the truth of the old Bible warning that he had called
to mind years before on the Bridge of Pinos: Put not your trust in
princes.
The king and queen talked very nicely and promised much, but to one
thing King Ferdinand had made up his mind--Columbus should never go back
again to the Indies as viceroy or governor. And King Ferdinand was as
stubborn as Columbus was persistent.
Not very much gold had yet been brought back from the Indies, but the
king and queen knew from the reports of those who had been over the
seas and kept their eyes open that, in time, a great deal of gold and
treasure would come from there. So they felt that if they kept their
promises to Columbus he would take away too large a slice of their
profits, and if they let him have everything to say there it would not
be possible to let other people, who were ready to share the profits
with them, go off discovering on their own hook.
So they talked and delayed and sent out other expeditions and kept
Columbus in Spain, unsatisfied. Another governor was sent over to take
the place of Bobadilla, for they soon learned that that ungentlemanly
knight was not even so good or so strict a governor as Columbus had
been.
Almost two years passed in this way and still Columbus staid in Spain.
At last the king and queen said he might go if he would not go near
Hayti and would be sure to find other and better gold lands.
Columbus did not relish being told where to go and where not to go like
this; but he promised. And on the ninth of May, 1502, with four small
caravels and one hundred and fifty men, Christopher Columbus sailed from
Cadiz on his fourth and last voyage to the western world.
He was now fifty-six years old. That is not an age at which we would
call any one an old man. But Columbus had grown old long before his
time. Care, excitement, exposure, peril, trouble and worry had made
him white-haired and wrinkled. He was sick, he was nearly blind, he was
weak, he was feeble--but his determination was just as firm, his hope
just as high, his desire just as strong as ever. He was bound, this
time, to find Cathay.
And he had one other wish. He had enemies in Hayti; they had laughed and
hooted at him when he had been dragged off to prison and sent in chains
on board the ship. He did wish to get even with them. He could not
forgive them. He wanted to sail into the harbor of Isabella and Santo
Domingo with his four ships and to say: See, all of you! Here I am
again, as proud and powerful as ever. The king and queen have sent me
over here once more with ships and sailors at my command. I am still
the Admiral of the Ocean Seas and all you tried to do against me has
amounted to nothing.
This is not the right sort of a spirit to have, either for men or boys;
it is not wise or well to have it gratified. Forgiveness is better than
vengeance; kindliness is better than pride.
At any rate, it was not to be gratified with Columbus. When his ships
arrived off the coast of Hayti, although his orders from the king and
queen were not to stop at the island going over, the temptation to show
himself was too strong. He could not resist it. So he sent word to the
new governor, whose name was Ovando, that he had arrived with his fleet
for the discovery of new lands in the Indies, and that he wished to come
into Santo Domingo Harbor as one of his ships needed repairs; he would
take the opportunity, he said, of mending his vessel and visiting the
governor at the same time.
Now it so happened that Governor Ovando was just about sending to Spain
a large fleet. And in these ships were to go some of the men who had
treated Columbus so badly. Bobadilla, the ex-governor, was one of them;
so was the rebel Roldan who had done so much mischief; and there were
others among the passengers and prisoners whom Columbus disliked or who
hated Columbus. There was also to go in the fleet a wonderful cargo of
gold--the largest amount yet sent across to Spain. There were twenty-six
ships in all, in the great gold fleet, and the little city of Santo
Domingo was filled with excitement and confusion.
We cannot altogether make out whether Governor Ovando was a friend to
Columbus or not. At any rate, he felt that it would be unwise and unsafe
for Columbus to come into the harbor or show himself in the town when so
many of his bitter enemies were there. So he sent back word to Columbus
that he was sorry, but that really he could not let him come in.
How bad that must have made the old Admiral feel! To be refused
admission to the place he had found and built up for Spain! It was
unkind, he said; he must and would go in.
Just then Columbus, who was a skillful sailor and knew all the signs
of the sky, and all about the weather, happened to notice the singular
appearance of the sky, and saw that there was every sign that a big
storm was coming on. So he sent word to Governor Ovando again, telling
him of this, and asking permission to run into the harbor of Santo
Domingo with his ships to escape the coming storm. But the governor
could not see that any storm was coming on. He said: Oh! that is only
another way for the Admiral to try to get around me and get me to let
him in. I can't do it. So, he sent back word a second time that he
really could not, let Columbus come in. I know you are a very clever
sailor, he said, but, really, I think you must be mistaken about this
storm. At any rate, you will have time to go somewhere else before it
comes on, and I shall be much obliged if you will.
Now, among the twenty-six vessels of the gold fleet was one in which
was stored some of the gold that belonged to Columbus as his share,
according to his arrangement with the king and queen. If a storm came
on, this vessel would be in danger, to say nothing of all the rest of
the fleet. So Columbus sent in to Governor Ovando a third time. He told
him he was certain a great storm was coming. And he begged the governor,
even if he was not allowed to come up to Santo Domingo, by all means
to keep the fleet in the harbor until the storm was over. If you don't,
there will surely be trouble, he said. And then he sailed with his ships
along shore looking for a safe harbor.
But the people in Santo Domingo put no faith in the Admiral's
"probabilities." There will be no storm, the captains and the officers
said. If there should be our ships are strong enough to stand it. The
Admiral Columbus is getting to be timid as he grows older. And in spite
of the old sailor's warning, the big gold fleet sailed out of the harbor
of Santo Domingo and headed for Spain.
But almost before they had reached the eastern end of the island of
Hayti, the storm that Columbus had prophesied burst upon them.
It was a terrible tempest. Twenty of the ships went to the bottom. The
great gold fleet was destroyed. The enemies of Columbus--Bobadilla,
Roldan and the rest were drowned. Only a few of the ships managed to get
back into Santo Domingo Harbor, broken and shattered. And the only ship
of all the great fleet that got safely through the storm and reached
Spain all right was the one that carried on board the gold that belonged
to Columbus. Was not that singular?
Then all the friends of Columbus cried: How wonderful! Truly the Lord is
on the side of the great Admiral!
But his enemies said: This Genoese is a wizard. He was mad because the
governor would not let him come into the harbor, and he raised this
storm in revenge. It is a dangerous thing to interfere with the
Admiral's wishes.
For you see in those days people believed in witches and spells and all
kinds of fairy-book things like those, when they could not explain why
things happened. And when they could not give a good reason for some
great disaster or for some stroke of bad luck, they just said: It is
witchcraft; and left it so.