A RAY OF HOPE
Until the Moorish war should end!
Imagine the disappointment of this man who had been trying for years to
prove that lands lay far across the Atlantic, yet no one cared enough
about his grand idea to give him a few ships! Who could tell when the
Moorish war would end? And who could tell whether it would end in favor
of the Spanish? Why, he must have asked himself, should he, no longer
young, wait to see?
Accordingly, in the spring of 1488 he wrote, so he says, to the king of
Portugal asking permission to return. King John not only invited him to
come back, but promised that no one should be allowed to bring any
lawsuit against him. This refers, perhaps, to the sums Columbus had
borrowed for trading purposes and had lost. About the same time came a
message from the English king, whom Bartholomew Columbus had visited.
Neither letter contained any definite promise of assistance; but the
mere fact that other countries were interested caused Ferdinand and
Isabella some anxiety. They must have considered how humiliating it
would be for them to turn away this opportunity that was knocking at
their door, and send it to rival kingdoms. They decided, war or no war,
to have all the learned men of Spain come together and listen to the
Italian's project. If a majority of these wise men thought the voyage
might prove profitable, then they would immediately give Columbus the
necessary ships and men. Accordingly they issued three important orders:
one, bidding Columbus to appear before a learned council in Sevilla;
another, commanding every town through which he might pass in reaching
Sevilla to give him hospitality; a third, commanding Sevilla itself to
give him lodging and to treat him as if he were a government official.
All this must have looked so promising, so much in earnest, that
Columbus willingly put off his return to Portugal. In spite of the
narrow-mindedness he had encountered in the learned men of Salamanca, he
started off, full of hope, to talk to the same sort of learned men of
Sevilla. But it all came to naught. For some reason now unknown the
meeting was postponed; and the summer campaign starting soon after, the
government had other matters to consider.
In August of that year, 1488, Columbus's younger son Fernando, whose
mother was a Spanish woman, was born in Cordova, and soon after the
father appears to have returned to Lisbon.
Here again we do not know what happened; the only proof we have that he
made the journey at all is a memorandum written by him in his copy of
the "Imago Mundi." It is dated Lisbon, December, 1488, and states that
Bartholomew Dias had just rounded southern Africa--the Cape of Good
Hope. Whether Columbus made another fruitless appeal to Portugal we
shall never know. We only know that, instead of going from Lisbon to
England, he went back to procrastinating Spain. That he came back by
King Ferdinand's summons is almost positive, for another royal decree
was issued for every city through which he passed to furnish him with
board and lodging at the king's expense. This was in May, 1489, which
means that another summer campaign was in progress when Columbus entered
Spain. The monarchs who took the trouble to bring him back had no time
for his project after he reached Spain.
For almost two years, that is, till the end of 1491, the waiting
navigator again resided with the Duke of Medina Celi who still had faith
in his proposed explorations.
The duke was by far the most powerful friend Columbus had made in Spain,
for he possessed and governed a large principality that was practically
independent of the Crown. He lived in royal splendor and held court like
a king. When Spain went to war, the duke could fit out a whole army from
his own dominions and send them forth under his own banner to fight for
the king. Columbus must have felt greatly encouraged over retaining the
good will of such a mighty personage; indeed, the duke himself was quite
rich enough to give the necessary ships.
But, somehow, he failed to do so; probably because he feared that the
sovereigns might object to having a private individual steal away the
glory they themselves had no time to reap. Our navigator, again
disheartened because the years were slipping away, announced to his host
that he would start for France. At this the duke wrote to the queen
personally, telling her what a pity it would be to let France have the
profits of such a discovery. Also, he wrote a very kind letter of
commendation for Columbus to take to her Majesty, a letter which is
still preserved; but even with this powerful backing Columbus got no
help, as we shall see.
The monarchs, having conquered most of the Moorish cities, were
preparing to lay siege to the last stronghold, Granada. Columbus craved
an answer from them before the siege began. They requested Bishop
Talavera to immediately obtain opinions from the wisest men he could
reach, and report their verdict. The majority of wise men, it is sad to
relate, again pronounced Columbus's enterprise vain and impossible; the
Atlantic Ocean could not be crossed; but the minority, headed by the
wise monk, Diego de Deza of Salamanca, who was now tutor to young Prince
John, upheld it vigorously, and told the queen that the plan was
perfectly feasible. The poor sovereigns, who were neither scientists nor
churchmen, but merely hard-working soldiers and governors, did not know
which view to take. Again they evaded a positive answer, making the war
their excuse; and again Columbus, indignant at their evasion, determined
to go to France.
Right here we come to one of the most picturesque incidents in this
checkered life,--an incident that takes us again to that hot, dusty,
southwestern corner where we saw him first enter Spain with the child
trudging by his side.
Columbus appears to have decided that, before starting for France, it
would be well to remove Diego from La Rabida and place him with the baby
step-brother Fernando in Cordova, so that Fernando's mother might bring
up the two lads together. With this end in view, he again presented
himself (and again afoot, for he was far too poor to ride a mule) before
the gate of the low, white monastery near Palos. The first time he had
rung that bell it was with hope in his heart; this time he was dejected.
He had no hope, so far as Spain was concerned. The good monk Marchena
had certainly done his best, but it had come to naught. There was
nothing left but to thank them all and get to France as soon as
possible. So mused Christopher sadly as he waited for the gate to open.
But Christopher did not know that there had recently come to La Rabida a
new prior or chief monk. This prior, whose name was Juan Perez
(pronounced Hwan Pair'eth), possessed, fortunately, an imagination and a
certain amount of influence at court. Having imagination, he loved an
occasional bit of news from the outside world. Therefore, when he heard
a stranger talking to the monks in the outer courtyard, he listened.
"That man is no ordinary beggar asking alms," said the sympathetic prior
to himself. "He seems to be a foreigner, and he is talking about the
king and queen, and the conquest of Malaga; and now he is asking for our
little pupil Diego--why, it is the child's father!--I must go and speak
to him myself!" and out he went and joined the group in the courtyard.
And so it came about that as soon as Christopher had greeted his boy,
now grown into a tall, intelligent lad of ten or eleven, he repaired to
the cell of Juan Perez and told all that had happened to him during his
various sojourns at court. At last (for Christopher was very wordy) he
came to his final dismissal. "They say the Atlantic cannot be crossed,"
he cried desperately, "but I say it can! Aye, and I shall do it, too!"
Never had such stirring words rung out in that peaceful little cell. The
prior himself caught their electricity and became quite excited.
Although the monk Marchena appears to have left the convent before
Christopher's second coming, the prior had learned all about the Italian
navigator from the other brothers. The story had interested him greatly,
for he too had studied geography; and now, as the Italian stood before
him, declaring that he would find those western lands, the prior
realized that it would be a pity for Spain to allow the man to carry his
idea off to France.
"Linger yet a few days with us, senor," he urged, "that I may learn from
Pinzon and Doctor Fernandez what they think of your scheme. If they
still regard it favorably, I myself will go to the queen, in your
behalf."
Perhaps just here the senor shook his head sadly and said, "No, no; it
is not worth the trouble. The queen is interested only in the Moorish
war. Not even the great Diego de Deza, nor the Marchioness of Moya, nor
the Duke of Medina Celi, have been able to prevail on her."
And perhaps just here the good prior smiled knowingly and replied
modestly, "I once had the honor of being Queen Isabella's confessor, and
had great influence with her. If"--and here he leaned close to
Christopher and whispered something--"I think I might persuade her."
We did not catch that whispered sentence quite clearly, but we believe
it to have been, "If I tell her the story of the shipwrecked pilot." Up
to this time Christopher had not referred to it in his pleadings, for
fear, perhaps, that it would sound too improbable; but down in this
corner of Spain, where all men followed the sea, the story had got about
(whether through the monk Marchena, or through sailors who had been to
Madeira, is uncertain) and nearly everybody believed it. So now Juan
Perez appears to have persuaded Christopher to use it as a last
argument. This we may reasonably conclude, since the Rabida monk's
intercession with the queen succeeded where all previous efforts had
failed.
Martin Alonzo Pinzon, it turns out, is in Rome; so Christopher has to
wait until his return. Another delay, but he is well used to that.
Meanwhile he turns it to profit by making trips to Palos, Huelva,
Moguer, and other ports where he can question sailors newly returned
from the west. For half a dozen years he has been out of touch with
mariners and their doings, and these trips must have given him deep
pleasure. For this is his true place,--among men who have known the
rough hardships of seafaring life, and not among grandees and courtiers.
He breathes in the salt air and chats with every man he meets. A pilot
of Palos, Pedro de Velasco by name, tells him that he too once thought
of going into the west, but after sailing one hundred and fifty leagues
southwest of Fayal (one of the Azores), and seeing nothing but banks of
seaweed, he turned north and then northwest, only to again turn back;
but he is sure, he adds, that _if only he had kept on_ he would
have found land.
Christopher, also, as we know, is quite sure of it, and says so. Another
day, in a seaport near Cadiz, he meets another pilot who tells him that
he sailed far west from the Irish coast and saw the shores of Tartary!
Christopher probably has some doubts of this, so he merely shrugs his
shoulders and walks off. He is impatient for Martin Alonzo Pinzon to
return. It is disturbing to learn that other men have been getting
nearer and nearer to _his_ land.
At last Pinzon comes and announces, to add to Christopher's uneasiness,
that he has been searching in the Pope's library, in Rome, for
information regarding that enormously rich Asiatic island called
Cipango. As they all sit in the little cell at La Rabida, talking about
the proposed western voyage of discovery, Pinzon cannot help throwing in
a word occasionally about Cipango. He has been reading Marco Polo, and
Japan, or Cipango, is very much on his mind. Perhaps on Christopher's,
also, but _he_ is content to stick to his "western lands." About
this scheme the two men of Palos, Pinzon and Doctor Fernandez, are as
enthusiastic as ever; Martin Alonzo Pinzon repeats his offer to sail as
captain of one of the ships; he even goes further, for he offers to
advance money for the venture in case the Crown is unwilling or unable
to provide the entire sum necessary. All this sounds very promising to
the good prior, who vows that he is willing to speak with the queen if
Christopher will give up forever his idea of going to France. It is a
last ray of hope to the discouraged man, and he agrees.
And so that very day a courier started out from the white monastery
among the dark pine trees to find the queen at Granada, and give her
Friar Juan's letter craving an interview on "an important matter." In
those days it took two weeks, at least, for a courier to ride from Palos
to Granada and back. On the fourteenth day, we may be sure, the prior
and his guest kept scanning the eastern horizon anxiously. That very
evening the man returned. He brought a royal letter granting the monk's
request.
"Splendid!" cried the old monk. "I shall start this very night! Find me
a mule, some one."
So everybody scurried around the neighborhood to see who would lend the
prior a mule; and finally a man of Moguer said he would spare his beast
awhile, though he never would have lent him to any other man than the
good prior of La Rabida! Then he ventured to hope that the prior would
not ride him too hard; as if any one, even an enthusiast helping to
discover America, could ride a mule "too hard"!
By midnight the mule was brought up, and off started the prior, followed
by the good wishes of everybody who was in the secret. Queen Isabella
received him the moment he arrived at her camp of Santa Fe (Holy Faith)
below the walls of Granada. With intense fervor he pleaded Columbus's
cause. The Marchioness of Moya--the lady who had been wounded by the
Moor at Malaga in mistake for the queen--was present, and she added her
persuasions. The result was that Isabella not only commanded Columbus to
appear before her, but she sent him money to buy suitable court raiment
and to travel to Granada in comfort. How happy Friar Juan must have been
when he sent the following letter back by royal courier to the waiting
guest in La Rabida:--
"All has turned out well. Far from despising your project, the queen has
adopted it from this time. My heart swims in a sea of comfort and my
spirit leaps with joy in the Lord. Start at once, for the queen waits
for you, and I more than she. Commend me to the prayers of my good
brethren and of your little boy Diego."
What a dear, human, lovable old gentleman was that Rabida prior! May his
spirit still "leap with joy in the Lord!"
Columbus was buoyed up again. To be sure the queen promised nothing
definite; but she had always told him that she would give him more
attention when the war was over, and the courier declared that things
were going very badly for the beleaguered Moorish city of Granada. It
was the enemy's last citadel and, said he, it could not hold out much
longer. Columbus, perhaps, took the news with moderation, for he was
used to having things go wrong; but if only for the sake of the good
brethren, he must have tried to look happy as he put on his new garments
and rode out of La Rabida for Granada.