The career of Columbus was now practically at an end. From the port he went to Seville, where, broken in health as well as in spirit, he was obliged to remain for nearly four months. We find that on the 23d of February, 1505, a royal order was issued to furnish him with a mule, that he might have an easy seat in his journey toward the court at Segovia. He appears in the course of the year to have found his way to Salamanca, and then to have followed the court to Valladolid; but farther he was not able to go.

During the year and a half that was left to him after his return from the fourth voyage, Columbus exerted himself constantly and in various ways to improve his personal interests. He had much leisure for writing; and, fortunately, his letters have been preserved and published in the collection of Navarrete. It would perhaps have been better for his fame if they had not survived; for while the errors and contradictions perplex every thoughtful reader, the spirit breathed throughout is one of petulancy and comprehensive censure. He rehearsed in various forms the story of his early efforts, of his unappreciated labours, of his services in behalf of the Crown, and of failure to receive the proper recognition and reward. Unfortunately, the death of Queen Isabella occurred only a few days after his return. This melancholy event not only withdrew from the service of Columbus the most important of all patrons, but it so absorbed all the attention of the court that his claims received no attention whatever. To his repeated importunities no answer came for some months. The king had always been either indifferent or inimical. The statements of Porras had been received, and they had evidently made an impression unfavourable to Columbus. The inference from the attitude of the court is inevitable that in the course of the two and a half years of the Admiral’s absence during his fourth voyage his popularity had so declined that he had almost ceased to be regarded as a person of importance. It is certain that the complaints against him had now made so strong an impression on the king and on those in authority that there was no disposition to listen to his importunities.

Still, Columbus continued to write. In one letter he arraigned the administration of Ovando, charging it with the same crimes that had so often been alleged against himself. He declared that the governor was detested by all; that a suitable person could restore order in three months; that the abuses should at once be remedied by the appointment of a judicious successor; that new fortresses should be at once built,—“all of which,” he says, “I can do in his Highness’s service; and any other, not having my personal interest at stake, cannot do it as well.” At another time he urges Diego to sue the king for a mandatory letter forcing Ovando to make immediate payment of Columbus’s share of the revenues. Concerning Vespucius, who had already returned from his second voyage and written the famous letter of Sept. 4, 1504, he wrote in the following terms: “Within two days I have talked with Americus Vespucius.... He has always manifested a disposition to be friendly to me. Fortune has not always favoured him, and in this he is not different from many others. His ventures have not always been as successful as he would wish. He left me full of the kindest purposes toward me, and will do anything for me that is in his power. I did not know what to tell him as to the way in which he could help me, because I knew not why he had been called to court. Find out what he can do, and he will do it; but so manage that he will not be suspected of aiding me.” This letter is of most interesting significance, because at the very moment of its date, the letter of Vespucius was making the impression upon Europe which was to eclipse the renown of Columbus and give the name of its author to the western continent. That there was any purpose on the part of Vespucius inimical to the fame of Columbus there is no reason whatever to believe.

The multitudinous letters of Columbus seem to have made no impression. Las Casas says: “The more he petitioned, the more bland the king was in avoiding any conclusion.” The same author further declares that Ferdinand “hoped, by exhausting the patience of the Admiral, to induce him to accept some estates in Castile in place of his powers in the Indies. But Columbus rejected all such offers with indignation.”

During the later months of 1505, and the early months of 1506, it was becoming more and more apparent that preparations for the end must not be long delayed. The mind of the Admiral came to be much occupied with the testamentary disposition of his rights and titles. Property in hand he really seems to have had none; but he still was not without hope that in a final settlement his claims in the Indies would be fully recognized. Accordingly, in his last will, which was duly signed and witnessed on the 19th of May, 1506, he made disposition of his titles and his rights. He confirmed his legitimate son, Diego, his heir; but in default of heirs of Diego, his rights were to pass to his illegitimate son, Fernando. If in this line there should be a like default, his property was to go to his brother, the Adelantado, and his male descendants. If these all should fail, the estate was to go to the female line in a similar succession. Two other provisions of the will are worthy of note. He makes his old scheme of a crusade to recover the Holy Sepulchre contingent upon the income of the estate. He then provides for the maintenance of Beatrix Enriquez, the mother of Fernando, and says: “Let this be done for the discharge of my conscience, for it weighs heavy on my soul,—the reasons for which I am not here permitted to give.”

It was on the 20th of May, 1506, the very next day after signing the will, that the restless soul of Columbus passed away. His death occurred at Valladolid, in a house that is still shown to interested travellers. It is melancholy to add that the event made no impression either upon the city or upon the nation. We are told, as the result of the most careful search, that the only official document that makes mention of the decease of Columbus is one written by the monarch to Ovando, bearing date of the 2d of June. Neither Bernaldez nor Oviedo designates the day of the month. By the chroniclers of the time, as Harrisse has said, the event seems to have passed “completely unheeded.”

Nor is there any certainty as to the place of burial. In the will which Columbus signed just before his death he indicated a desire to have his remains taken to San Domingo. It has generally been supposed, however, that a temporary interment took place in a Franciscan convent at Valladolid. The will of Diego seems to indicate that as early as the year 1513 the coffin containing his remains was conveyed to Seville, where, for nearly or quite thirty years, it rested in the Carthusian convent of Las Cuevas. Royal provisions relating to the removal to San Domingo have been preserved, bearing dates of 1537, 1539, and 1540. From these orders and from the fact that the cathedral at San Domingo was completed in the year 1541, the inference has been drawn that the transfer took place in that year or a little later. There is evidence that the removal had been accomplished before the year 1549.

The controversy that has taken place over the present resting-place of the remains is perhaps enough to justify a somewhat detailed statement of the several points at issue.

Columbus’s son Diego and his grandson Luis died respectively in 1526 and 1572. Their remains were also transferred to the cathedral at San Domingo; though at what date there is considerable uncertainty. Some rather obscure records have been discovered in Spain which have been thought to indicate that the removal took place about the beginning of the seventeenth century. Nearly all that we are justified in asserting without qualification is the fact that, from the period of this removal until near the end of the eighteenth century, the cathedral at San Domingo contained the remains of Columbus as well as those of his son and his grandson.

So far as can now be ascertained, there were no inscriptions on the exterior of any of the vaults. The only guide to the site of the exact resting-place of the Admiral was a memorandum in the records of the cathedral to the effect that the body rested in the chancel at the right of the high altar. But as this memorandum bears date of 1676, it could hardly be regarded as anything more than the record of a tradition. During the long period between the early part of the sixteenth century and the end of the eighteenth, the floors of the cathedral were several times repaired; but, so far as is known, the vaults were not disturbed or even discovered.

In the course of the French Revolution the tumult into which San Domingo was thrown resulted in giving the French so much influence that by the treaty of Basle, signed on the 22d of July, 1795, Spain was obliged to cede to France the western portion of the island. The natural pride of the Spaniards, however, inspired them with a praiseworthy desire to transfer the remains of the discoverer to Spanish soil. Accordingly, explorations were made beneath the floor on the right of the altar of the cathedral. A vault was found and opened, which contained a small leaden box and the remains of a human body. Its situation in the cathedral corresponded with the indications of tradition. The box or casket was in a very dilapidated condition; but so far as could be discovered, there was no inscription upon it. No doubt, however, was entertained in regard to its genuineness. The contents of the vault were placed in a gilded sarcophagus, and with great ceremony, on the 19th of January, 1796, were transported to Havana. Here they were placed near the high altar of the cathedral, where, in 1822, the monument was erected which still adorns the spot and commemorates the discoveries of the Admiral.

For nearly a century no question was raised as to the genuineness of the remains thus exhumed and carried to Havana. But in 1877, in the course of some changes in the chancel of the cathedral at San Domingo, two other graves were opened. Each contained a leaden casket. That on the left side of the altar bore an inscription which, translated into English, runs: “To the Admiral Don Luis Columbus, duke of Jamaica, marquis of Veragua.” The inscriptions on the casket which was discovered on the right of the altar were of far more interest and importance.

But before indicating in detail the significance of this discovery, let us take note of the relative position of the vaults. The one containing the casket with the inscription of Luis upon it, was at the extreme left of the chancel and against the wall; while that containing the one which now appeared to hold the remains of the discoverer was next the wall on the opposite side. Adjoining this newly opened vault, and between it and the altar, was the narrower vault, the contents of which had been taken to Havana in 1796. It is natural to infer that the vault situated next the cathedral wall was the first one constructed, and that the smaller and inner vault was added at a later day.

On the newly discovered casket were three inscriptions rudely cut. On the exterior were the three letters “C.C.A.,”—probably signifying “Cristoval Colon, Almirante.” On the outside of the cover were the abbreviations, “D. de la A. Pre. Ate.,” which have been interpreted as standing for “Descubridor de la America, Primero Almirante,”—“The Discoverer of America, the first Admiral.” On the inside of the cover, in Gothic letters, was an abbreviated inscription which is commonly translated as “The celebrated and extraordinary man, Don Christopher Columbus.”

It is to be noted also that there was lying upon the bottom of the casket a small silver plate about three inches in length by one and a third in breadth. Near the ends of this plate were two small holes corresponding with two holes in the posterior wall of the casket. With the plate were also two screws that corresponded in size with the holes in the box and the plate. Very curiously, the plate was found to have an inscription on either side. One of these was simply “Cristoval Colon,” while the other, in somewhat abbreviated form, was “Ultima parte de los restos del primero Almirante Cristoval Colon, Descubridor,”—“The last remains of the first Admiral, Christopher Columbus, the Discoverer.” The significance of these two inscriptions, as it must have been understood that one of them would be concealed by resting against the wall of the box, has been the subject of many conjectures. But the most rational explanation is the supposition that when the engraver had incised the name “Cristoval Colon” on one side, it was found unsatisfactory, from its brevity, and accordingly the more elaborate inscription was placed on the other side. With the contents of this leaden box there was also found a corroded musket-ball. This bullet is supposed to have been in the body of Columbus at the time of his burial. We have no account of his having been wounded while he was in Portugal or Spain, or in the course of any of his voyages; but in his letter to the king written from Jamaica while on his fourth voyage, he says that his wound “had broken out afresh.” This expression has led Cronau to conjecture that in some of his earlier maritime experiences, the Admiral had received a bullet which he carried in his body to the end of his life.

The discovery of this casket very naturally awakened the greatest interest in San Domingo, and indeed wherever the story of Columbus was known. The bishop of the cathedral, recognizing the importance of the event, invited to a formal inspection of the remains, not only the representatives of the civil government, but also all the foreign consuls that were present in San Domingo. These united in the belief that the bones of the Admiral were still in the cathedral, and that the remains which had been carried to Havana in 1796 were those of his son Diego. Having arrived at this conclusion, the authorities enclosed the casket, with its contents, in a glass case, and locked it with three keys, two of which were to be guarded by members of the Government, and one by the bishop. They then bound the glass case with ribbons, which were carefully sealed, not only with the seals of the cathedral and of the Government, but also with those of all the foreign consuls then at San Domingo. Finally, they placed the sarcophagus containing the box and the remains in a side chapel of the cathedral.

So full an account of this interesting discovery would hardly have been appropriate, but for the controversy which immediately ensued. The Spanish authorities in the mother-country and in Cuba were very naturally reluctant to believe, except upon the most conclusive evidence, that a mistake had been made in 1796. The cry of fraud was soon raised. The inscriptions, a rough fac-simile of which had been made and published by the bishop, were declared to be the work of a modern forger. Pamphlet after pamphlet was issued from the press, until there came to be a voluminous literature on the subject. Against the genuineness of the inscriptions there were only two arguments of any considerable weight. The first was in the assertion that the inscriptions were of too modern and crude a nature to have been placed upon the casket in the sixteenth century by those having in charge the moving of the remains. The other was the presence of the abbreviation which was supposed to stand for America. It was confidently alleged that the Spaniards had refused to adopt the name America until after the time of the removal. In both of these objections there seemed to be considerable force. But they cannot be regarded as conclusive; for in the first place a more careful copying of the inscriptions has revealed the fact that they are not so dissimilar to the prevailing methods of the sixteenth century as was at first supposed; and in answer to the second objection, it is to be said that WaldseemÜller’s book suggesting the name America was published in April of 1507, and that as early as 1520 the name America began to appear on the maps published for common use. It must be conceded that the crudeness of the inscriptions seems incompatible with what we may well conceive to have been the ceremonious nature of a removal of such importance conducted under royal patronage. But no account whatever of the ceremony has been preserved. We simply know that the removal was permitted by royal order; and the fact that no record of the event is now extant would seem to give plausibility to the conjecture that the remains were transported privately by the family alone. If such was the case, the nature of the inscriptions placed upon the leaden box would depend upon circumstances in regard to which we can now have no knowledge whatever.

In the autumn of 1890 the German explorer Rudolf Cronau determined to investigate this vexed question, and if possible remove it from the domain of doubt. Armed with letters of introduction from the German Government, he passed a month in San Domingo for the purpose of examining every phase of the subject. He not only obtained evidence from the workmen who had exhumed the casket in 1877, but he also secured the privilege of conducting a public examination of the inscriptions. In the presence of the consuls of the United States, England, France, Germany, and Italy, as well as the officials of the cathedral and of the city, he conducted the examination on the 11th of January, 1891. Removing the glass case from the side chapel to the nave of the cathedral, he deposited it upon a table prepared for the purpose. The seals placed upon the case in 1877 having been examined and declared to be intact, the surrounding ribbons were then removed, and with the help of the several keys the case was opened.

It is unnecessary to describe all the processes of investigation. It is, however, important to say that all the inscriptions were photographed upon zinc, in order that they might be etched in exact fac-simile. They have since been reproduced in the first volume of Cronau’s “Amerika.” As the result of his examination, the author expresses his confident belief that the inscriptions were cut in the sixteenth century; for the processes of oxidation that have taken place since the inscriptions were made, seem to preclude the possibility of their being the work of a modern hand. He states that a careful investigation of all the circumstances attending the opening of the tomb in 1877 failed to give any trace of opportunity for a forging of the inscriptions. The character of the bishop in charge in 1877 was above reproach. The presence of the bullet is, in the opinion of the author, to be regarded as confirmatory proof of genuineness, inasmuch as it is hardly conceivable that it would have been placed in the casket by any fraudulent intent. In short, it is the opinion of Cronau that the difficulties in the way of supporting the theory of fraud are so much greater than those in the way of supporting the theory of genuineness that the charges of fraud must be dismissed, and the theory of genuineness must be finally and conclusively adopted. It seems probable that this conclusion will be accepted by the most judicious investigators of the subject, and that in consequence the belief will come to prevail that the remains of Columbus are now at San Domingo, and not at Havana.

After the ceremony of inspection was completed, the casket and its contents were replaced in the glass box, and this, after being wound about with red, white, and blue ribbons and put under the seals of the several consuls and of the local authorities, was returned to the side chapel as its permanent resting-place.

It would be a great pleasure if we could know that it is now easy to obtain definite and precise information in regard to those subtile peculiarities of manner and expression which marked and determined the appearance of the Admiral. But it seems to be impossible. Of brief descriptions by personal acquaintances there is an abundance; and in these accounts, moreover, there is substantial agreement. Trevisan, after meeting the Admiral in 1501, says of him: “He was a robust man, with a tall figure, a ruddy complexion, and a long visage.” Oviedo, who knew him with some intimacy, says: “Of good figure and a stature above the medium, Columbus had strong limbs, keen eyes, a well-proportioned body, very red hair, a complexion that was a little ruddy and marked with freckles.” Las Casas, who saw him often and under diverse circumstances, described him in these words: “He had a figure that was above medium height, a countenance long and imposing, an aquiline nose, clear blue eyes, a light complexion tinged with red, beard and hair blond in youth, but early turned to white. He was rough in character, with little amiability of speech, affable, however, when he wished to be, and passionate when he was irritated.”

In the matter of dress Columbus was in the habit of wearing sombre colors, often appearing in the frock of one of the religious orders. Las Casas in one place says: “I saw the Admiral at Seville, on his return from the second voyage, clad as a Franciscan friar.” Bernaldez relates that he saw him in 1496 “bound about with the cord of the Franciscan monks;” and Diego Columbus affirms that his father died “clad in the frock of the Franciscan order, to which he was much attached.”

It is from these descriptions that the numerous portraits which have passed for likenesses of the Admiral have generally been composed. In all the vast number of paintings and engravings bearing his name, there is probably not one that can be regarded as unquestionably authentic; for it is not known that a single painting or drawing of him was ever made by any person that had ever seen him. Harrisse makes the sweeping statement, “as for the portraits painted, engraved, or sculptured, which figure in the collections, in public places, and in prints, there is not one that is authentic; they are all pure fancy.” This learned critic probably means that the numerous pictures have been made, not from life, but from extant descriptions of the Admiral, according to the fancy of the individual artists.

Any one at all familiar with the various portraits that pass, here and there, for likenesses of Columbus, must have been impressed with the fact that, while a few of them present considerable resemblance to one another, they are, almost without exception, lacking in those elements of individuality that are necessary to impress themselves firmly on the attention and memory of the beholder. From the collection as a whole, one is apt to derive a very confused impression as to how Columbus really appeared. If there is to be any exception to this general statement, it should perhaps be made in favour of the portrait by Lorenzo Lotto, recently discovered at Venice. Lotto was quite the most distinguished of the contemporaneous painters whose portraits of Columbus have been preserved. He was absent from Venice during the later years of Columbus’s life, and it is possible that he was in Spain during the winter and spring just before the Admiral set out for his fourth voyage. We know that Columbus was in Granada during the winter and spring of 1501–1502, and that during those winter months the Venetian ambassador Pisani and his secretary Camerino were assiduous in courting and entertaining him, in order to obtain maps, charts, and other information about the newly discovered countries. It is possible that Lotto also was present at Granada and that he had an opportunity to paint the portrait from life. But there is no positive evidence on the subject. After all the possibilities are admitted, there is nothing more than a doubtful conjecture that he ever saw the discoverer; still less is it probable that Columbus sat for his portrait.

The painting by Lotto is said by critics to be a striking example in color and in general treatment of this artist’s early style. As a portrait, it unquestionably has admirable and striking characteristics; though it is impossible to form any positive opinion as to the accuracy of the likeness. It bears a general resemblance to the picture in the Ministry of the Marine at Madrid, as well as to the Capriolo engraving and to the portrait in the collection of Count D’Orchi at Como. It is scarcely too much to say that Lotto, more than any of the others, seems to have succeeded in delineating certain subtleties of feature and expression which reveal unmistakable character. Whatever the opportunities of this artist for knowing the personal appearance of Columbus, it is certain that he was contemporaneous with the Admiral, and that he lived in an Italian city that was greatly moved by the work of the discoverer. It is known, moreover, that the Venetian ambassador and his secretary were at that time sending home glowing accounts of the significance of the recent voyages. The pre-eminent excellence of the painting, the mood and character which it reveals, and its very striking correspondence with the descriptions of the discoverer by his acquaintances, have led to its selection for the frontispiece of this volume. The portrait was purchased in the summer of 1891 by an enterprising art collector of Chicago.

It remains only to say a concluding word in regard to the estimation in which the character and the work of Columbus are finally to be held.

It is not easy to establish a standard by which to judge of a man whose life was in an age that is past. In defiance of all scholarship, the judgments of critics continue to differ in regard to Alexander, Julius CÆsar, and even Frederick the Great, and Napoleon. On the one hand, nothing can be more unjust than to bring to the judgment of the present age a man whose activities were exerted amid surroundings and influences that have long since changed and passed away; while, on the other, nothing is more unsafe than to regard the opinions of contemporaries as the just and final judgment of humanity. Between these two dangers we must seek the basis of a judgment in those eternal verities which are applicable to every age. Since civilization began, good men have ever recognized certain principles of right and justice as applicable to all men and all time. Did his life and his work tend to the elevation of mankind? If so, did these results flow from his conscious purpose? If temporary wrong and injustice were done, were these accessory to the firmer establishment of those broad principles which must underlie all security and happiness? These, or such as these, are the questions which it is necessary to ask when we undertake to form a judgment in regard to any man that has performed a great part or exerted a great influence. If we apply these principles in forming an opinion of Columbus, what will be the result?

In point of character,—considering the term in the largest and broadest possible sense,—we shall probably not find very much to admire. The moral atmosphere which he created about him was not much better or much worse than the general atmosphere of the age in which he lived. He entered no protest against any of the abuses of the time. On the contrary, he was ever ready to avail himself of those abuses whenever he could do so to his own advantage. In his age the most sensitive natures were beginning to revolt against the horrors of the slave-trade. But Columbus, in his letters and his journal describing his first voyage, points out the riches that would result to Spain by filling the slave-markets with captives from the newly discovered islands. He repeatedly urged a policy of slave-catching upon the Government; and gave just offence by persistency in such a policy, after receiving a plain intimation that it could not be adopted. There is no evidence that he ever abandoned the idea that a true policy required that ships in going from the mother-country to the islands should be loaded with cattle, and that the same ships in going back from the islands to the mother-country should be loaded with slaves. His first letters glow with accounts of the gentleness and hospitality of the natives. The Indians regarded the new comers as visitors from heaven. When Columbus’s own vessel was shipwrecked, the inhabitants on the coast not only rendered every possible assistance, but offered to give up everything they had for the accommodation of the unfortunate visitors. Columbus himself testifies that the native cacique shed “tears of sympathy.” Such was the spirit with which the Spaniards were met, and such was the spirit until the policy of kidnapping and devastation was begun. Gradually the Spaniards began to seize the natives as prisoners whenever opportunity offered. Men were found to be less desirable captives than women and children.

Las Casas, the most discriminating and thoughtful, as well as the most humane, of all writers of the time, has in a single sentence described the beginning of the evil. These are his fruitful words: “Since men are never accustomed to fall into a single error, nor into a sin to be committed alone, without a greater one by and by following, so it fell out that the Admiral ... sent a boat with certain sailors to a house that stood on the side of the river toward the west, and they took and carried off seven women, small and great, with three children. This he says he did because Spaniards with women behave themselves better than without them. A genteel excuse has he given to colour and justify a deed so nefarious.” From a general policy, the beginning of which is so significantly described by Las Casas, it came about very naturally that, notwithstanding the noteworthy gentleness of the natives, it was soon discovered that they were not absolutely devoid of the instincts and impulses of human nature. The inevitable result followed. The natives determined to defend their wives and their children. A war of extermination ensued. The number of the inhabitants upon these islands was variously estimated by Las Casas and others of his day. The lowest estimate that can now be reconciled with the original accounts is forty thousand. In the course of the fourteen years between the discovery and Columbus’s death the number had been reduced by fully one half; and it was only a few years later when the last of them, hunted like beasts and torn by bloodhounds, perished from the earth. We are accustomed to regard Cortez and Pizarro as exceptional embodiments of inhumanity and cruelty. But Cortez and Pizarro only followed the example that had already been set.

Nor is it possible to acquit Columbus of responsibility for the course that was taken. His position gave him plenary powers. No man ever had fewer scruples in the exercise of all the authority conferred upon him. It is indeed true that the policy of the Spaniards showed itself at its worst after the authority of Columbus was at an end. But it is also true that this policy in all its most deplorable features was inaugurated by him; and therefore he is to be held responsible at the bar of history for the evil consequences that ensued.

Nor, again, can we say that the end justified the means. Columbus never expected or desired to discover a new country. His motive in urging the support of the voyages was twofold. He desired, on the one hand, to bring back the wealth that would enable his sovereigns to conquer Jerusalem for Christianity; and, on the other, to acquire wealth and fame for himself. The only condition of success was the finding of vast amounts of gold. The reports of John de Mandeville and Marco Polo had filled his mind with confidence that the necessary gold existed and could be acquired, if only it could be found. Hence his restless activity. Never dreaming till the day of his death that the islands he had discovered were not off the coast of Asia, he thought himself not far away from the mines that had brought such wealth to Cipango and Cathay. Everything, therefore, was made to contribute to this fruitless search. No thoughtful person can read the original accounts of the four voyages without being impressed with the fact that he was constantly led on from one thing to another by the alluring reports of gold. This endless and fruitless quest was the cause of the worst features of his misgovernment. The gold mines stubbornly refused to reveal themselves. Recourse was then had to that pitiless system of repartimientos, or enforced labour, which everywhere threw the natives into despair. Then it was that, in the words of Las Casas, “The Admiral went over a great part of the island, making cruel war on all the kings and peoples who would not come into obedience.” Elsewhere the same great authority says: “In those days and months the greatest outrages and slaughter of people and depopulation of villages went on, because the Indians put forth all their strength to see if they could drive from their territories a people so murderous and cruel.” The original authorities prove beyond question that the policy was simply one of unqualified cupidity, cruelly and relentlessly enforced.

We have already seen that the death of Columbus attracted no general attention and awakened no general comment. This remarkable fact was in strict consonance with the spirit of the time, for the exploits of other voyagers had already caught the public ear and monopolized public attention. Americus Vespucius had returned from his second voyage and had aroused the attention of all Europe by means of his glowing accounts of the new continent. The Cabots from England had at least skirted along the coasts of what is now known as North America. The Portuguese had discovered a safe passage to the Indies by sailing to the south and east, and had begun to raise the question of their rights in consequence of the independent discovery of Brazil, in the year 1500, by Pedro Cabral. Pizarro had learned the art of war under the unscrupulous Ojeda, and Cortez had had the schooling of long interviews with Columbus at San Domingo. Balboa and Magellan had already completed their apprenticeship, and were now about to astonish the world by revealing to it the Pacific Ocean. In the very year of Columbus’s death, fishermen from Portugal were already plying their vocation with profit on the banks of Newfoundland; and less than a year later, the Spaniard Velasco had entered the St. Lawrence. Within the short life of one generation the whole coast from Cape Breton to the Straits of Magellan became the scene of maritime activity. In all parts of the Old World, as well as of the New, it was evident that Columbus had kindled a fire in every mariner’s heart. That fire was the harbinger of a new era, for it was not to be extinguished.