Excerpt
Christopher Columbus: The Intrepid Mariner
1
The Captain General
Takes Charge
ONCE AGAIN THE night was mild, the sea was calm, and the giant sailing vessel, the Santa María, raced along. Her captain, Christopher Columbus, was well-pleased with her progress. Since leaving the Canary Islands, an archipelago located off the northwest coast of Africa, the Santa María and her sister ships, the Niña and the Pinta, had made remarkable time. Over the past five days, as Columbus had just finished noting in his ship’s log, the Santa María had maintained an average speed of eight knots. Other ship captains considered five knots in such latitudes to be adequate speed.
Columbus shut the log and placed it in the heavy chest that sailors used to store their belongings while at sea. He looked at his quarters. A similar log, an apparent duplicate of the one he had just finished writing in, lay on top of the crude wooden table that served as his desk. It shared the tabletop with a leather-bound Bible. A crimson ribbon held the Bible open to a page in the Old Testament’s Book of Isaiah, where Columbus had underscored a particular passage: “The isle saw it, and feared; the ends of the earth were afraid, drew near, and came.” In an age characterized by intense religious devotion, the depths of Columbus’s faith made him special. The Biblical passage, like others that he had singled out, provided the captain with solace on his long journey and served as the justification for the extraordinary adventure he was embarked upon.
Next to the Bible was a well-thumbed copy of Imago Mundi, a geographical and theological treatise by the French writer Pierre d’Ailly. Columbus read Imago Mundi most nights, and his confidence was bolstered by the learned Frenchman’s claim that Asia could be reached in a few days by sailing west from Africa. The weighty volume rested atop nautical charts, on which Columbus charted his own progress and consulted the reckonings of other mariners.
Columbus snuffed out the candle that lit his small cabin and stepped forth onto the deck. High above the Santa María’s three masts a thin line of clouds drifted across the face of the full moon. The drifting clouds gave the illusion that the moon, too, was speeding toward the west. Columbus considered it a good omen, one more sign that the heavens themselves favored this journey. Thousands of stars twinkled in the sky. There were more stars by far than could be seen from even the highest rooftop in Genoa, Italy, or Lisbon, Spain, the cities where Columbus had spent most of his days when not at sea. There were more stars, too, than he’d seen on any of his earlier voyages. They stretched all the way to the horizons at all four points of the compass. It was as if, Columbus thought, in journeying to uncharted regions of the earth, he’d been allowed a glimpse of heaven. The star-filled skies might have filled another man with a sense of his own insignificance and of the precariousness of his situation. The Santa María and her sister vessels were now nearly one month’s sailing time beyond the nearest known land. No one knew how many days of sailing there would be before the ships reached land. The three small ships, manned by only ninety sailors, lay adrift on the vast and powerful ocean. But Columbus was reassured by the numberless stars above him, and by the broad and restless expanse of sea that surrounded him. It was not mere bravery that gave him the assurance to continue, but faith. Columbus believed that the awe-inspiring beauty that surrounded him could only be the handiwork of the one true God, and he felt secure in his Lord and Savior’s protection. If only my crewmen shared my belief, Columbus thought. They were devout, of course, and like most Spanish they were good Catholics, faithful in their recitation of their morning prayers. However, they were also superstitious, poorly educated, and fearful.
On board ship, on this night, Columbus’s senses exulted. He delighted in the sting and tang of the salt spray. The creaking of the riggings rang like chimes to his ears. The full-breasted swell of the sails thrilled him more than any great work of art. Even the hardships of shipboard life — the uncomfortable quarters, the unsanitary conditions, the salty water, the monotonous diet of salt-preserved meat, dried peas, and the hard wheat biscuit known as hardtack — did not bother him. Again, it was his faith that gave him the strength to endure such discomforts. As his body grew lean and his skin coarsened from the limited diet, and as his white hair grew long and unruly, he thought of the many saints and martyrs who had suffered for their religious beliefs. Next to their suffering, his own trials seemed unimportant.
However, Columbus’s men did not share his outlook toward suffering. The mission had scared most of them. From the beginning, few believed that one could sail west, across the perilous Ocean Sea, to the East. They did not believe that they could reach the fabled Indies, where, it was said, the Great Khan’s robes were trimmed with precious stones and the palaces were roofed with gold. A few brave sailors had signed on for the glory of the journey, but most had shipped out with Columbus because their desire for wealth had gotten the better of their cowardice. Columbus even had to get the queen’s permission to release criminals from jail and promise them pardons in order to round out the crew!
For the first ten days of the voyage, the ships made brilliant time. The sun shone brightly. The winds were favorable. “What a delight was the savor of the mornings,” Columbus wrote in his log. Soon after, though, the crew became uneasy. They had believed that ten days’ sailing would bring them to Antilia, an island believed to be located in the middle of the Ocean Sea. When they failed to reach the island, the little faith they had in their captain’s mission disappeared.
Columbus noticed that the members of the crew had grown sullen and were slow in obeying his orders. They whispered among themselves, breaking off in silence at his approach. Columbus knew what was going through their minds: that Cathay (China), Cipangu (Japan), and the other mysterious lands of the Indies were not 2,400 miles away, as he had told them, but 10,000 miles away! The most ignorant of them doubted the existence of Asia and believed the earth to be flat. They thought that their ships would fall off the earth if they sailed too close to the edge. Why, Columbus mused, these men knew no more of geography than the mapmakers of the Dark Ages, who decorated the unknown regions of the world with fanciful drawings of hideous creatures and the inscription “Here there be monsters.”
The date that night was October 5, 1492. There had been no sign of land, and fresh water was in short supply. The men were surly and restless. Columbus had been on enough voyages to know the danger of mutiny. It was like a virus or plague that could infect an entire ship in no time. Only the best and the bravest sailors were immune to it. Under its spell even the smallest inconvenience was unbearable, and the defiance of a single sailor could plunge the entire ship into rebellion. Still, there had been no outright disobedience, at least not yet. He had chosen to let the men grumble and mutter, thinking they might blow off steam. That night, however, he sensed that even his top officers were beginning to doubt him. They were better-trained and worthier seamen than the others, but Columbus began to fear that even the loyalty to command that is the supreme law of the sea would hold them for only so long.
For a moment, Columbus was able to put himself in their place and understand their point of view. Why should they believe in him? No one else had. Hadn’t the mightiest monarchs of Europe been reluctant to fund his voyage? Hadn’t the most powerful minds of the age said it was impossible? He had been told the distance was too far, that he wouldn’t be able to carry enough supplies, that the Ocean Sea was unnavigable that far west. Even his friends laughed at his obsession, telling him to give up his dream and get on with his life. Everyone already knew he was a fine sailor, they said, and no one wants to hear about the western route to the Indies. Why couldn’t he be satisfied simply to grow rich in the sea trade with the Canaries and Azores?
Columbus had dismissed his critics’ arguments. They lacked imagination, he told himself. All of them — the nobles, the theologians, the other ships’ captains who’d laughed at him — were timid and cautious, he felt. Their scorn fired his ambition. Riches? They were fools. Didn’t they know that in the Orient there would be enough gold to fill the holds of one thousand ships? Didn’t they know that a man could make ten fortunes trading in the silk, cinnamon, cotton, and jade that could be found there? Didn’t they think that any monarch would reward the man who found the legendary passageway to the East? Why, he would be the most famous man in Christendom, and perhaps the wealthiest. No, Columbus couldn’t blame his sailors for being among the skeptics. Better men than they had doubted him.
Still, Columbus knew that he would have to act soon to quell the incipient uprising. Every day the men grew more uneasy, more outspoken in their discontent. But if they thought they could frighten Columbus, they were mistaken. The trials he had endured to reach this point had only strengthened his determination. Even if the entire crew were to descend on him at once, brandishing weapons and demanding that they turn back, Columbus knew that he would insist on continuing the voyage. His crew would have to pitch him into the sea to get him to stop. The real challenge was to pick the right time and appropriate action to extinguish the mutiny before it gained momentum. The crew could not feel that they were being criticized or treated unfairly, for that would only inflame their resentment. Columbus had to bolster their spirits, make them see that they were engaged in a glorious adventure.
