ON a bright October noon in 1491 two lads sat in a small tower room in the monastery of La Rabida, talking together with that profound interest which two human beings feel, who have recently met and whose lives will be closely united for some time to come. One of them was Don Felipe de Langara y Gama, already, at sixteen, the head of one of the greatest ducal families in Castile. The other was Diego, the eldest son of the Genoese navigator and map-maker, by name, Christopher Columbus, or, as the Spaniards called him, Christobal Colon.

The lads were fine types of two extremes of station. Diego was a model of sturdy strength for his age. He inherited the piercing blue eyes of the Genoese navigator—those commanding eyes, once seen, were unforgettable. His fair skin was freckled by living much in the open, and his wide, frank mouth expressed resolution as well as a charming gaiety of heart. Diego, however, could be serious enough when occasion required. He had known more in his short life of the rubs of fortune, of hope deferred, of splendid dreams and heartbreaking disappointments, of courts, of camps, of penury, of luxury, than many men know in the course of a long span of years.

Don Felipe, born in a palace and knowing that at sixteen he would inherit the wealth and splendid honors of his dead father, the Duke de Langara y Gama, was yet all simplicity and good sense. His slight figure was more muscular than it appeared, and the softness of his black eyes belied the firmness of his character.

Both lads alike were dressed with extreme plainness, the grandee of Spain wearing no better clothes than the son of the Genoese captain. They were so absorbed in each other that they had no eyes for the glowing scene visible through the iron-studded door, open wide upon the parapet. Below them lay the green gardens and orchards of the monastery. Beyond, stretched the town and the port of Palos, where the masts and hulls of the caravels and other vessels of the time were outlined against the deep sea and blue sky. Some of these vessels were unloading, and others were taking on their cargoes, the sailors singing cheerfully as they worked. Farther off still, the “white horses” of the blue Atlantic dashed wildly over the bar of Saltes, the sun glittering upon the crested waves. Over the whole of the Andalusian coast and the rolling hills beyond was that atmosphere of peace and plenty which made Andalusia to be called the Granary, the Wine Cellar, the Gold Purse, and the Garden of Spain.

The two lads were quite oblivious of all this, and even of the nearness of their instructor, Fray PiÑa, the young ecclesiastic who had charge of them, and who was at that moment leaning over the parapet outside the open door. Fray PiÑa glanced within the room; he could not hear what Diego and Don Felipe were saying, but it was evident from their attitudes—both leaning eagerly across the rough table, strewn with writing implements and the manuscript books of the period—that they were deeply interested in each other.

“They are making acquaintance very fast,” thought Fray PiÑa to himself. “It is best to leave them alone. Don Felipe needs the companionship of just such a boy as Diego, and Diego needs the companionship of just such a boy as Don Felipe.”

It was this very point which the boys were discussing.

“And so,” Don Felipe was saying, “my mother, DoÑa Christina, who is obliged to be much at court, because she is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Isabella, said the court was not a good place in which a youth should be wholly brought up, especially a faithless youth like me. Nor does my mother think it well to have my sister, DoÑa Luisita, at court yet, as she is but fourteen; so Luisita remains with her governess at the castle of Langara when my mother attends the Queen. And my mother asked Fray PiÑa to take charge of me for a year, with another youth of my age, and without rank; and we should be schooled together, and dress plainly, and be disciplined.”

FRAY PIÑA GLANCED WITHIN THE ROOM AND THOUGHT
THEY WERE MAKING ACQUAINTANCE VERY FAST

“I think Fray PiÑa is the man for discipline,” replied Diego, laughing. “And I suppose your lady mother knew that Fray PiÑa would treat us exactly alike—you, a grandee of Spain, and I, the son of the Genoese navigator, Christobal Colon, as the Spaniards call my father. But look you, Don Felipe, I am the son of the greatest man who ever trod Spanish earth, and some day the world will know my father to be that man.”

As Diego said this he straightened up and looked Don Felipe in the eye; he expected his statement to be questioned. Don Felipe, however, surprised him by saying, quietly:

“So Fray PiÑa told DoÑa Christina, my mother.”

A flush of gratified pride shone in Diego’s frank face.

“My father will still be the bravest navigator that ever lived, even if he never returns from his voyage,” continued Diego, proudly. “All the other navigators in the world have been satisfied to creep along the shores, never going out of sight of land. My father means to steer straight into the uncharted seas, sailing due west. He will have but two nautical instruments, a compass and an astrolabe, but he will have the stars by night and the sun by day, and God’s hand to help him—for my father is a man who fears God and nothing else. He will steer due west, and will come to a great continent with vast ranges of mountains, superb rivers, larger and longer than any we know, huge bodies of water, mines of gold and silver and minerals of all sorts, strange birds, animals, and peoples—everything far more splendid than this old Europe. All the seafaring men believe in my father—far more than the learned men do—because the sailors know that my father understands more about the seas than any living man. Already, although my father is not an admiral, the captains and the pilots and the sailors at Palos call him the Admiral. Every mariner in the port of Palos bows low to my father.”

“But he will be an admiral before he sails,” said Don Felipe, catching Diego’s enthusiasm.

“Yes,” answered Diego, “he demands that he shall become the Admiral of the Ocean Seas, Viceroy and Captain-General over all the lands he discovers. And also my father asks, if he goes on this great errand for Spain, that I shall be taken to the court with you and become a page-in-waiting to Prince Juan, the heir to the thrones of Arragon and Castile. Is that much to ask? Well, my father will do ten thousand times more for Spain.”

“Perhaps,” said Don Felipe, after a pause, “that is why we are to be schooled together and then go to court together. Are you frightened at the thought of the court?”

“No,” answered Diego, sturdily.

“I never heard,” said Don Felipe, “of a foreigner and the son of a man without rank being page to a royal prince.”

“It is the first time,” said Diego, calmly, “and it will not often be repeated. If the other pages, sons of the greatest nobles of Castile and Arragon, dare to say anything to me about it I have my answer ready. I will say, ’I am the son of a man who never said or did a base thing in his life, who is courteous to a beggar, and not abashed in the presence of kings and queens—for I have seen my father in the presence of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella—who honors God, and who is the very boldest man that ever sailed blue water.”

“That is right,” said Don Felipe, “but I can tell you, Diego, there are a great many things at court that are not pleasant. You think Fray PiÑa is strict. He is not half as strict as the master of the pages at court. For when anything goes wrong Fray PiÑa will listen to an excuse, but the master of the pages listens to no excuses. The pages of honor are required to be on duty long hours and are not permitted to read or do anything except to watch their royal masters and mistresses. They must rise early and stay up late. They can have no games or amusements except those which are permitted the royal princes. I warrant, Diego, there will be many times when you will long for the fields and orchards of La Rabida, the fishing in the summer, and being able to play with any boy you may like, and to read a pleasant book when so inclined.”

“That may be true,” replied Diego, stoutly, “but we shall have the horse exercise and the sword exercise; we shall see much of soldiers, and we shall enjoy living like men instead of like boys. But, after all,” he cried, laughing, “I am not yet at court. The King and Queen are still considering whether they shall help my father. Only of one thing I am certain—that my father will one day be a great discoverer.”

“I know it, too,” said Don Felipe, with boyish confidence. “The very first time I beheld your father I felt as I never did toward any man before. I watched him, and listened to him, thinking to myself, ’When I am an old man the boys will ask me, “Tell me when did you first see the great Admiral?”’ And I want you to tell me how you first came to this place.”

“I remember it all well enough, although I was but a little lad of seven—just as old as my little brother Fernando is now. I even remember things before that—the life I led with my father, going from place to place on foot, sleeping at the humblest inns and in the huts of peasants, nobody willing to listen to my father. Then my father made for the sea, there to take ship for England, and when we reached the monastery gate I was half dead, I was so hungry and tired. My father rang the bell and asked a little milk for me. It was brought me by Brother Lawrence, the lay brother here; he was a young man then. Oh, you will like Brother Lawrence—he is here still. While I was drinking the milk, the Prior, Juan Perez, passed through the courtyard where we sat and stopped and spoke to my father. I tell you this, Don Felipe, no matter whether people believed in my father or not in those days, they always treated him with personal respect. The Prior got in conversation with my father, and in a little while told Brother Lawrence to take care of me. Oh, what a happy day that was! All day Brother Lawrence took care of me, playing ball in the orchard and teaching me to fish in the fish-pond, and at night he put me to bed on a little pallet in a room where my father was to sleep. All day the Prior had been with my father, and I recollect that I was waked by my father coming into the room, and the Prior followed him. It was as if he could not leave my father. Then I went off to sleep, and in the middle of the night I again waked, and my father and the Prior were still bending over the maps and talking. I remember, however, I was such a little boy, that I thought we should have to leave that happy place at daybreak and take the road once more in weariness. But in the morning my father asked me:

“’Diego, do you like this place?’

“And I said yes, and I was so sorry we were going away, and he said:

“’We shall remain here some days, my little Diego.‘

“That made me so happy! We stayed here fourteen days. I played all day long in the orchard and by the fish-pond with Brother Lawrence. And then there were other boys, the two Pinzons, Martin and Alonzo, and the son of the physician Dr. Garcia, and the sons of the pilot Fernando Rodriguez.”

Diego suddenly stopped talking. He had the instinctive good sense not to talk too much about himself.

“Go on,” cried Don Felipe, “I want to know every word about your father, everything that happened, so when I am an old man I shall be able to tell people about the great Admiral.”

Diego’s eyes shone, and he kept on.

“All the seafaring men in Palos, especially the great ship-owners the Pinzons and the pilot Rodriguez, were called to the monastery by the Prior, and they all listened to my father and wondered and admired, and told the Prior my father was right and by sailing to the westward he would discover land. So, then, the Prior wrote a letter to the great Queen Isabella, whom he knew, and sent it to her by Rodriguez the pilot. Rodriguez came back saying the Queen commanded my father to come to her at Cordova. He went to Cordova, and took me along. I was sorry to leave Brother Lawrence and the boys I played with every day. I do not recollect much about Cordova, I was such a little lad. I thought I should see the great Queen Isabella with her crown on and King Ferdinand with his scepter, and how surprised I was when I saw only a gentle lady, very simply dressed, sitting with the King in a small room. They were, however, on a dais, and I sat down on the steps. Presently I fell asleep, and when I waked up my head was on the Queen’s knee, and she was looking down at me with smiling eyes. I do not remember my own mother; but when I looked into the eyes of Queen Isabella I knew what a mother’s eyes were like. She was ever kind to me later, in all the many times that my father wearily went to court and followed the King and Queen about, even when encamped with their soldiers.”

“When will your father return?” asked Don Felipe.

“I do not know; but it will be soon, I think.”

As Diego spoke there was a sound of clattering hoofs on the stones of the courtyard.

“That is my father!” said Diego.

At that moment Fray PiÑa turned from the parapet and entered the room. Instantly both lads bent over their books as if they had no thought but study. Fray PiÑa smiled slightly; they had not looked at a book since their tutor had been out of the room.

Fray PiÑa took up a treatise on mathematics and began to question the two boys. Neither of them did very well, their thoughts being with the Admiral in the courtyard and the news he might bring from Granada, where the siege of the Moorish city was in progress, and the success he might have had with the Spanish sovereigns. But Fray PiÑa went on relentlessly. Diego felt as if he could scarcely remain in his seat; and Don Felipe’s eyes wandered everywhere, his wits going with his eyes. At last a knock was heard at the door, and the ruddy, good-natured, boyish face of Brother Lawrence, the young lay brother who worked in the garden and milked the cows and attended to the mules, appeared at the door.

“His Excellency Christobal Colon,” he said, giving Columbus the name the Spaniards called him, “has arrived, and begs Fray PiÑa to excuse Diego for an hour.”

“You are excused,” said Fray PiÑa; and the next moment was heard the sound of Diego’s footsteps as he rushed down the stone stairs, two at a time, and dashed into the sunny courtyard.

Standing in the courtyard talking with the Prior, Juan Perez, was Columbus. From him had Diego inherited the tall, slim, but muscular figure. The hair of the great Admiral was quite white; his complexion was weather-beaten; his eyes were the eyes of a man born a captain. All masters of men have the indomitable eye—the eye whose glance conveys the command of a master before the lips can speak the word. In Columbus the power to command was writ large all over him—not only to command others, but to command himself.

Suddenly the little Fernando, seven years old, led by Brother Lawrence, came into the courtyard and ran forward, and at the same moment Diego appeared. Instantly the Admiral’s stern face softened. He took the little boy in his arms, kissing and blessing him, and then clasped Diego to his breast.

Diego caught his father in a strong embrace, and rubbed his smooth, boyish cheek against the Admiral’s bronzed face.

The Admiral, as he was already popularly called, returned warmly the boy’s caress, and then, holding him off at arm’s length, said to him:

“How have you behaved since last I saw you?”

“Not very well,” answered Diego, candidly, looking into his father’s eyes. “It is so hard to study in sunny weather, and Don Felipe and I went fishing and overstayed our time twice.”

The Admiral said nothing; and the Prior, a grave, handsome man, but not unkindly in his aspect, looked hard at Diego.

“Then,” said Diego, after a pause, and forcing himself to speak, “the first day Don Felipe came I found the Prior’s mule at large, and Don Felipe and I got Fray PiÑa’s mule out of the stable and ran races until we were caught and stopped.”

“And punished,” added the Prior, quietly. “But there has been no lying or deceit or anything base in the conduct of your son, Christobal Colon.”

“Then,” answered the Admiral, “the rest is easily forgiven. Return now to your studies, and when I have finished my conversation with the Prior, and when Fray PiÑa will give you leave, then will I speak with you at length.”

The Admiral was more indulgent to the little Fernando, who remained, clinging to his father’s hand.

Diego returned to the tower room quickly. He might have lagged, but he knew that the Admiral’s silent watchfulness followed him. When he sat down again at the table he made an honest effort to concentrate his mind on what Fray PiÑa was saying, and managed to do so until the mathematical lesson was over. Then was it time to go to the refectory for dinner. The refectory was a large, bare room except for a long table at which the monks dined. At the farther end sat the Prior with the Admiral, as the guest of honor, on his right. No conversation was allowed, and after grace was said one of the monks at a reading-desk read aloud from the Scriptures while the simple meal went on. Diego heard not one word of what was being read. He could only fix his eyes upon his father, across whose gray head a beam of sunlight shone like an aureole. The Admiral, however, put strict attention to the reading. It was as if his extraordinary mind, like everything about him, were under the control of his will and, as a revolving light, could be turned at pleasure upon any subject.

When dinner was over, the two youths expected, as usual, to be given an hour’s recreation in the sunny orchard in which was a fish-pond, that was Diego’s delight. But he was bitterly disappointed when Fray PiÑa said to him:

“It was this day a week ago that you and Don Felipe raced the mules. Let us go up to the study now and spend that wasted hour in mathematics.”

Diego and Don Felipe exchanged rueful glances, but said nothing. Fray PiÑa had a deadly ingenuity in paying off for all their pranks, and had no doubt waited for this day when the orchard and the fish-pond and the blue sky called to the lads, “Come and be happy.” Instead, however, of talking and fishing and frolicking, as they usually did at that hour, the two lads spent the time being put through their paces by Fray PiÑa. By the time they had answered one question another was propounded, and the blackboard in the tower room was covered with figures. It was a sort of mental exercise for Fray PiÑa himself, and when the hour was over Diego and Don Felipe were thoroughly tired out with hard work and incessant figuring.

Fray PiÑa himself looked weary, and his black hair lay damp upon his forehead under his skull-cap.

“You have both done well,” he said, “and showed more proficiency than I expected. You may now have two hours’ recreation instead of one. The Prior’s mule and mine are both in the stable, but I apprehend they are both safe.”

Diego and Don Felipe hung their heads at this, but were glad to rush into the fresh, bright air once more.

In the kitchen garden, next the orchard, they found Brother Lawrence, of whom both were fond. One of their favorite amusements was to engage in wrestling bouts with Brother Lawrence. Diego was strong for his age, and Don Felipe was a skilful wrestler; but they were no match for the brawny lay brother, who, with his cassock tucked up, laid the two youths out on the grass at his pleasure.

At last came the message for which Diego had been longing, to go to his father in the Admiral’s room. Diego first ran to the little room which he occupied with Don Felipe, and washed off the stains he had encountered with the green earth, and put on a collar of clean linen—the Admiral was irreproachably neat and always rebuked sternly the least untidiness on the part of Diego. In a few minutes Diego found himself in the guest-chamber with a window looking seaward. The Admiral was gazing out toward the Atlantic with an expression of concentration. His eyesight was extraordinarily strong and clear, and at fifty-three he could see farther than Diego’s young eyes. He turned as Diego entered and clasped the boy in his arms. Grave as was the great Admiral, no man had more in him of tenderness. The Admiral seated himself in a great chair, and Diego, drawing up a stool, put his arm about his father’s neck and prepared to listen.

“The time has come, Diego,” said the Admiral, “when King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella will redeem their promise. They told me that when the end of the war to drive the Moors from Spain was in sight, they would then provide me with ships for my enterprise. The Moors are now in their death struggle in the city of Granada, their last stronghold. The city is encompassed on every side; every gate is commanded and no provisions can enter. Nor can the Moors make any sortie beyond the Vega, because the armies of Castile and Arragon are encamped about them, and the town of Santa FÉ stands guard over the main gate of Granada, called the Gate of Justice. The Moors cannot hold out longer than the first of the year, and I think it well to be upon the spot to remind the King and the Queen of their promise. I have seen and talked with DoÑa Christina de Langara y Gama, the mother of Don Felipe. She is a woman of wisdom and good heart, and she thinks it will be well to have Don Felipe and you go to Santa FÉ. It will be a lesson in learning and valor to you both and will give you the opportunity of seeing great events and greater persons. If my request is granted, that you be made a page of honor to Prince Juan, I would wish that you should see something first of the persons to whom you may be attached. I have great confidence in DoÑa Christina, who has promised to take an interest in you while I am on my voyage. It is arranged that Fray PiÑa and Don Felipe shall spend some weeks at the castle of Langara, and DoÑa Christina has asked that you remain there while I go on to Santa FÉ. I shall go to Santa FÉ alone, not knowing what my plans are until I have an audience with the King and the Queen. DoÑa Christina is now at Langara, but after some days she will proceed to Santa FÉ to attend the Queen.”

Diego could scarcely believe his ears for joy. In an instant he realized the splendid prospect: he was to go to Granada, to witness the end of the siege, to see the King and the Queen, soldiers and statesmen—it seemed like a glorious dream to a spirited and imaginative boy. His face glowed so that his father smiled.

“Does Don Felipe know?” gasped Diego.

“I do not know,” answered the Admiral, smiling; “but I do know that you long to tell him. I had many other things to say to you; but I have not the heart to keep you. Go—”

Before the Admiral could finish his sentence Diego had darted out of the room. He caught sight, as he passed a window, of Don Felipe sitting on a bench near the fish-pond reading a book in the waning afternoon light. The first thing Don Felipe knew Diego had dashed upon him, snatched the book from his hand, and was saying, joyfully:

“Don Felipe! Don Felipe! We are to go to Granada to see the end of the siege! We may see fighting—think of it, Don Felipe! We shall see soldiers, Don Felipe! And make a fine journey! And my father says your mother, DoÑa Christina, has asked that we may stay some weeks at the castle of Langara, Don Felipe!”

The Admiral, passing the same window through which Diego had seen Don Felipe, glanced out and saw the two lads dancing wildly, their arms about each other, Don Felipe’s cap, with the insignia of his rank, on Diego’s head, and Diego’s cap, with no design at all, on Don Felipe’s head. The sight brought a smile to the Admiral’s face.