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.