THE days that followed were crowded with events for all. Even Fray PiÑa was forced to suspend the studies of Diego and Don Felipe, that he might act as secretary to the Admiral. He, the man once avoided, was sought by all. Many adventurous souls, like Ponce de Leon, wished to sail upon the great voyage; but the Admiral was careful in making his choice, not taking all who applied. As in all enterprises of the sort, men of the higher grades were found; but the Admiral feared difficulties in getting foremast men, the sailors to do the actual work of the promised vessels. This problem was postponed until the vessels were purchased and the enlistments were to be made at Palos and Huelva, places renowned for producing a race of hardy mariners.

Every day the Admiral held long conferences with the King and the Queen and their advisers. The high respect with which the sovereigns, and especially Queen Isabella, treated the Admiral won for him that kind of popularity which follows the favor of the great. All who pretended to be scientists or mathematicians were eager to be seen in the company of the Admiral. But Columbus knew human nature too well to value highly this kind of favor and maintained an equal behavior to all. Only those were admitted to his confidence whom he knew well, like Juan Perez, Father de Deza, Alonzo de Quintanilla, Luis de St. Angel, and a few others equally sincere. Among the great dignitaries of the court the Cardinal Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza had always shown a profound esteem for the character and attainments of the Admiral, and to him and certain other learned men the Admiral felt deeply grateful.

The Admiral worked hard at his plans, and every facility was now afforded him. On May 8, 1492, Queen Isabella redeemed her promise concerning Diego by appointing him a page-in-waiting to Prince Juan, giving him the title of Don, and at the same time providing a modest pension for his maintenance at court. Thenceforth Diego was Don Diego. Also Don Felipe, by virtue of his rank and age, was made a page-in-waiting to Prince Juan.

The Admiral, who was to leave Granada in four days, and who then expected to sail within a fortnight, asked that Diego be allowed to remain with him until his departure. To this the Queen readily assented, and Don Felipe, who earnestly desired to witness the sailing of the Admiral, was also permitted to return to La Rabida with Diego. Both youths were to report at the same time to the court. While not yet in attendance upon Prince Juan, Diego and Don Felipe often saw him. He seemed to them the embodiment of honor, courtesy, and modesty.

Although left more to themselves than they had ever dreamed possible, Diego and Don Felipe observed their hours of study without any compulsion. So inspiring is the association with noble characters that young minds thrown with these lofty types of men insensibly become lofty-minded too. It is true that the two youths did not make the same progress in their studies as when regularly schooled; many of their hours were passed in those brilliant dreams of the future which are a part of the heritage of youth. But both became deeply interested in astronomy and mathematics, sciences of which they heard much in those days of preparation, and really did well at them. That which was best, however, was their voluntary regulation of their lives, according to their accustomed rules, when there was no one to compel them.

On the twelfth day of May, 1492, Diego once more crossed the bridge of Pinos on his way to Palos; but in very different case from that in which he had crossed it on the January night when the Admiral was halted and turned back by the Daredevil Knight, Don Tomaso de Gama. Don Tomaso was with them now, as he ardently wished to witness the departure of the Admiral, which it was supposed then to be a matter of a few days. Alonzo de Quintanilla went as the representative of the sovereigns, and Fray PiÑa acted as secretary to the Admiral. Little Fernando and Brother Lawrence completed the party. Both Diego and Don Felipe had hoped for a stop, if of a night only, at the castle of Langara, where DoÑa Luisita had remained in the care of SeÑora Julia. But as it was out of the direct route to Palos, no one thought of it except the two youths. After the sailing of the ships, they were to join the court wherever it might be; and then DoÑa Luisita, being now fifteen, was to be with DoÑa Christina at court.

The May day was bright and beautiful, and all were in high spirits, even the Admiral’s grave face showing a new animation, and his piercing eyes radiated light. As for Diego and Don Felipe, they could scarcely forbear caroling aloud as they trotted along on their spirited horses in the golden morning. The little Fernando, whom Brother Lawrence held before him upon his sturdy mule, laughed, talked, and sung incessantly without being checked by any one. Diego’s confidence that his father would return triumphant became more than ever a fixed conviction. The thought of the separation gave him pain; but the pain was compensated by the anticipation of the glory that awaited the Admiral’s return.

Diego had hung at his saddle-bow the little manuscript volume of the poems of Petrarca, which had been given him by DoÑa Christina. As he rode along he read the soft lines to Don Felipe, who did not understand Italian so well as Diego, whose native tongue it was. Diego became so absorbed in his reading that he let the reins lie upon his horse’s neck, while Don Felipe, equally careless, leaned over, taking one foot out of the stirrup in order to look at the page Diego was reading. Suddenly, Don Felipe’s horse stepped into a deep mud-puddle in the road and came down on his knees. The next thing Don Felipe knew he was floundering in the puddle. Meanwhile, Diego’s horse made a spring to cross the puddle, and Diego, quite unprepared for it, slipped off and went down, even more ignominiously than Don Felipe, on his back with his heels in the air. In an instant both scrambled to their feet, their faces scarlet with mortification, but so covered with mud that their color was unknown. The horses stood still, as if pitying them, and the whole party, led by the Daredevil Knight, burst into laughter at their predicament. Their chagrin was increased by the Daredevil Knight sarcastically advising them to change their horses for old steady-going mules such as ladies rode in traveling. In vain Diego and Don Felipe strove to get the mud off their faces, out of their hair, and from their clothes. Their bath in the mud-puddle by no means improved their appearance. They mounted and rode on, therefore, unable to reply to the jokes and good-natured taunts of the rest of the party. They were exceedingly careful after that and were not again unhorsed, nor did Diego again tie the book of his favorite poet to his saddle-bow.

Every moment of the journey was enjoyed, however, by the two youths, in spite of their misadventure in the mud-puddle. They liked the rapid travel in the soft May air, and at night, instead of sleeping at the inns like their elders, they wrapped themselves in their blankets and cloaks and slept in the open under the palpitating stars. They talked of many things in those two quiet nights spent on the road. They were studying astronomy, and they pictured to themselves the ship of the Admiral ploughing its way along into the wide, unknown ocean, and guided by the planets in their courses. They mutually resolved that when the Admiral went upon his second voyage they would take no denial and would go with him.

At last, at nightfall on a warm May evening, they reached La Rabida. Once more Diego and Don Felipe slept in the little tower room and recalled, before they slept, the great and exciting events which had happened since they left that quiet place seven months back. In the morning they waked early, because on that day at ten o’clock proclamation was to be made from the steps of the Church of St. George in Palos of the commands of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella concerning the voyage.

By sunrise the whole of Palos, of the neighboring towns of Moguer and Huelva, and the country-side with its towns and villages, was astir, palpitating with excitement. For them the voyage meant much. Each family feared and dreaded that some of the adventurous spirits among them would want to go upon the expedition. It was expected that the ships would be found and manned and made ready to sail within a fortnight.

The seafaring people of the Andalusian coast were brave and adventurous; but the proposed voyage appalled them. Never in the history of the world had anything been known like it. The mariners could face ordinary and even extreme danger: but to set forth into the boundless wastes of unknown seas; to meet mysterious dangers, perhaps to be engulfed in great abysses; or to sail on and on until they died of thirst and starvation; to find land, it might be, peopled with savages who would murder them on landing; to encounter frightful monsters on land and sea which might devour them—these and many other horrors terrified the souls of the bravest sailors of the time. Only once in a great period of time a man is born with the stupendous courage of Christopher Columbus.

The whole population of the region had begun pouring into Palos very early in the morning. All classes were represented—mariners and peasants, cavaliers on horseback, great nobles with their retinues, merchants and ecclesiastics on mule-back—all eager to hear the royal proclamation. It was known that the sovereigns had given orders to impress men and ships, and no man knew whether he or some of his family might not be impressed for the voyage or be compelled to furnish the ships or any part of their equipment.

At half-past nine in the brilliant May morning the cavalcade was to set forth from La Rabida; but long before that Diego and Don Felipe, with Brother Lawrence carrying the little Fernando, had started for Palos and had taken their places on the porch of the little stone Church of St. George. Diego held the little Fernando’s hand with a feeling in his heart that for the first time he was to take his father’s place toward the little lad.

The vast and excited multitudes that thronged about the church and crowded all the streets leading to it were in themselves a great picture.

A strange hush fell upon all when the head of the cavalcade from La Rabida appeared at the top of the street leading to the church. First rode the Admiral, wearing the costume of black satin with the black cloak in which he had attended the Queen, and with his sword at his side. On his right rode Alonzo de Quintanilla, the Queen’s accountant, who was to make the proclamation in the name of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. On the Admiral’s left rode his steady friend, Juan Perez, Prior of the monastery. Behind them rode other persons of distinction, including the three Pinzon brothers, wealthy ship-owners, Dr. Garcia, and the pilot Rodriguez, who had been the messenger sent by Juan Perez to Queen Isabella more than nine years before.

The Admiral and his friends dismounted, and were received by the mayor and other officials of the little town of Palos. They then took their places upon the porch of the church; a fanfare of trumpets rang out; and the mayor, commanding silence in the great multitude, ordered attention and obedience to the orders of their Majesties King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, to be read by Alonzo de Quintanilla, their deputy on that occasion. Then De Quintanilla, standing next the Admiral, read in a ringing voice the commands of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. The authorities of Palos were to have two caravels ready for sea within ten days after this notice, and to place them and their crews at the disposal of Columbus, who was empowered to procure and fit out a third vessel. The crews of all three were to receive the ordinary wages of seamen employed in armed vessels and to be given four months’ pay in advance. They were to sail in such direction as Columbus, under the royal authority, should command, and were to obey him in all things, with merely one stipulation, that neither he nor they were to go to St. George la Mina, on the coast of Guinea, nor any other of the lately discovered possessions of Portugal. A certificate of their good conduct, signed by Columbus, was to be the discharge of their obligation to the crown.

Orders were likewise read, addressed to the public authorities and the people of all ranks and conditions in the maritime borders of Andalusia, commanding them to furnish supplies and assistance of all kinds at reasonable prices for the fitting out of the vessels; and penalties were denounced on such as should cause any impediment. No duties were to be exacted for any articles furnished to the vessels; and all civil and criminal processes against the person or property of any individual engaged in the expedition were to be suspended during his absence and for two months after his return.

When the reading was finished it was received with a deep and awful silence by the listening throngs. The mayor of Palos broke this stillness by making the usual official announcement of his readiness to obey the orders of the King and the Queen. Then, with ceremonious farewells, the Admiral and his party, joined by Diego and Don Felipe and Brother Lawrence with the little Fernando, set out toward La Rabida.

As they passed through the crowded streets they could not but observe the fear and dismay which had taken possession of the people. Not until then had they fully realized the desperate nature of the proposed voyage, and the knowledge that force would be used if necessary in order to provide vessels and crews made each one fear that he might be obliged to go upon this appalling voyage. The men of Palos, Moguer, and Huelva, and indeed all that part of the Andalusian coast, were among the boldest mariners of their day; but it was given to but one man, and that man Columbus, to advance without fear into the trackless and unknown ocean. The time, ten days, seemed frightfully short, and had been made so purposely that the people should not have time to become panic-stricken. But panic-stricken they were; and at the first moment of triumph to Columbus, when he stood, in the May morning, on the steps of the Church of St. George, began for him another period of new and dreadful trial which lasted almost three months.

Never had Diego understood the unparalleled steadfastness of his father as in those trying days of La Rabida. Every day some new difficulty arose. Vessels suitable for the service mysteriously disappeared. The sailors and seafaring people of the coast said:

“We are not cowards, but we are not bold enough to sail where no keel has ever before floated, where we know neither winds nor tides nor the country for which we are steering, except that it is on the other end of the world. We can die but once, and we would rather die at home.”

The feeling against Columbus grew so strong that when he appeared in the streets of Palos the people fled from him. Even on those rare occasions when Diego and Don Felipe had the privilege of walking in the town in the evening with the Admiral, and on the seashore, Diego was pointed at, the people saying:

“Poor lad; little good will it do him to be a royal page at court for a while! He is already an orphan, and so will the little boy be fatherless, and he only seven years old.”

But a handful of brave and intelligent men remained staunch to the Admiral, especially the Pinzons, the Prior, Juan Perez, the pilot Rodriguez, and Dr. Garcia. They had not the power, however, to compel compliance with the commands of the Spanish sovereigns. When the July days came there were still neither ships nor men provided, and instead of being able to start early and to return before the winter set in, as the Admiral confidently hoped, it looked as if the whole summer would be gone before the little squadron could be assembled. Early in July Queen Isabella, hearing of the difficulties in the way, sent an officer of her household, Juan de PeÑalosa, with still more peremptory orders; but these were no better obeyed than the first. Then Martin Alonzo Pinzon and his brothers, Vicente and Francisco, all experienced seamen and wealthy ship-owners, accepted an offer to go as commanders under the Admiral and to furnish a share of the equipment. This had some effect in overcoming the fear and opposition, and at last three small vessels were secured—the Santa Maria, which the Admiral chose for his flag-ship, the Pinta, and the NiÑa. Two of these were caravels, open boats with a high poop and stern, and only one of the vessels was decked. Even then there were fresh perplexities. The calkers among the impressed crews did the work badly of calking the ships, and when they were ordered to do it over again they deserted in a body. The Pinzons and a few other high-hearted men were inspired by the dauntless courage of the Admiral; and by almost superhuman efforts, through wearisome nights and days, the three vessels were put in readiness and a hundred and twenty men all told, including a royal notary, a physician, and a surgeon, were secured by the first of August.

In all the anxieties of those terrible preceding months Diego and Don Felipe had apparently led the same secluded and studious life which they had begun in the autumn, for they had resumed their studies under Fray PiÑa; but they lived in a tumult of soul which nothing but strong wills and a stern discipline could have controlled. Each morning they saw persons coming to the monastery to confer with the Admiral, to protest, to complain, to deceive him, and to defy him. Each evening they saw him weary, but not discouraged; saddened, but unshaken of soul. The two youths, from the door of the tower room opening upon the parapet, could see much of what was passing, and it was of a kind to excite and agitate them. They came to feel even a sort of gratitude to Fray PiÑa for the hours of study so rigidly maintained, in which they could for a little while forget some of the painful things surrounding them. A change was perceptible after the Pinzons took the matter in hand; but there was only a melancholy acquiescence, a dogged submission, in the faces of those who were forced to go upon the voyage of deathless glory, so little do men know where honor lies.

The Admiral had fixed upon Wednesday, the first of August, as the day to sail; but on that day it fell dead calm, and there was no prospect of going to sea. On Thursday it remained calm until late in the afternoon, when a breeze sprung up that grew stronger as night fell and gave promise of continuance. Then the Admiral sent forth the order that the ships, which lay outside the bar of Saltes would sail on Friday morning, half an hour before sunrise. Many of the sailors were superstitious about sailing on the Friday; but the Admiral’s strong soul was above such petty and groundless fears, and his order was that every man of the crews should report on board by daybreak. All through that agitating day Diego did not see the Admiral except when they supped together in the refectory, where no word was spoken, as usual, during the meal, except for the reading of the Scriptures. Never had the Admiral appeared calmer or more unshaken. When the simple meal was over and all were leaving the refectory, the Admiral called Diego and said:

“My son, to-night at nine o’clock come to me in my chamber. There will I speak with you.”

All through that day Diego had felt as if he were in a dream. He had not the least doubt of his father’s return, but when the moment of parting came he felt all the sharpness of its pain. Not even Don Felipe could comfort him then. He spent the time from supper until nine o’clock sitting on the parapet outside the tower room, his eyes fixed upon the far-off ocean, illuminated by a great white moon. Don Felipe sat within the room, his heart full of sympathy for Diego, who said nothing to him; but when his eye fell upon his friend a little sense of comfort stole into his heart. It was Don Felipe who came out upon the parapet and said:

“Diego, it is close to nine o’clock.”

Diego rose and went down the long corridor to his father’s room and knocked at the door, which the Admiral immediately opened. The room was in a corner of the monastery, and through its four small windows the moon made patches of white light upon the stone floor. On a little pallet by the Admiral’s bed the little Fernando slept peacefully.

Diego sat down on a bench beside his father, his arm around the Admiral’s neck, and he was not ashamed of the tears that dropped upon his cheeks.

“What I have to say to you is brief,” said the Admiral, “but never to be forgotten, whether I return or not. First, it is that you shall be a Christian; that includes everything—honor, probity, all that makes a man, and especially courage, for God hates a coward. Then I confide to you your brother. You are to set him an example in every way and to be tender with him, remembering that he is so young a child. In my absence he is to remain here under the charge of the Prior, and good Brother Lawrence to take care of him. The noble lady, DoÑa Christina, has promised to keep informed concerning the child, and if he should be ill to take care of him. The Prior is to communicate with her as often as possible concerning the child. The noble lady and the Prior will have a care for the child; but to you, his brother, I intrust him in the end.”

“I swear to you, my father,” answered Diego, “to do as you have commanded by my brother, and I will try to live so that when we next meet, whether it be in this world or in the other, I can look you in the eye, as I do now, and say I have kept my word to you.”

“There speaks my son,” replied the Admiral. “Now, concerning to-morrow, the most important day in my life. I shall confess myself this night to the Prior, and I desire you to do the same, and hope that Don Felipe may do likewise. At daybreak, in the Church of St. George, I desire that you receive Holy Communion with me and with all those who sail with me. We go not as unbelievers, but as men humbly asking God’s help in crossing His oceans, guided by His stars by night and His sun by day, and sustained by His protecting hand. Go now and sleep.”

“Give me your blessing, and I will go,” replied Diego.

Then, kneeling by little Fernando’s pallet, the Admiral blessed both his sons, a hand upon the head of each. Diego rose, soothed and comforted. He felt that he must show the same cool courage as his father, and the Admiral’s words “God hates a coward” remained fixed in his mind.

Diego returned to the parapet outside of the tower room, from which he watched the far-off sea. There was little sleep in the monastery or in Palos that night.

The wind still held, and the August night grew chill; but Diego did not know it. Don Felipe, however, brought his cloak and wrapped it around him. The moon swung high in the dark-blue sky and made a path of glory across the sea that reached to heaven. As Diego heard the chime of the midnight bell of the monastery he saw a dark figure come out of the iron gate and walk quickly down the white road toward the little town. It was the Admiral, who spent the night on his knees in the Church of St. George.

At daybreak Diego and Don Felipe, with Fray PiÑa, the Prior, and all of the monks of the monastery, including the lay brothers, Brother Lawrence carrying the little Fernando in his arms, walked in the cool, sweet dawning to Palos and into the church. Every one of the one hundred and twenty men of all classes who were to sail upon the great voyage was in the church, which was also filled with their relatives and friends, even the church porch being crowded and the narrow street packed with persons. A deep and solemn silence pervaded. The wives and families of the officers, especially the Pinzons, showed calmness and courage in order to sustain the more ignorant and timid. The Prior, Juan Perez, from the steps of the altar within the church, spoke with deep and solemn feeling to those who were to sail within an hour. The Admiral, taking Diego by the hand, advanced at the proper time to the Communion rail, where he received the Blessed Sacrament, as did all of his men and many other persons, with the deepest reverence, including Diego and Don Felipe. When the short religious service was over the men filed out of the church and, after a last farewell to their families and friends, marched straight to the shore; the Admiral wished to make those last painful moments as brief as possible. The vessels were lying in midstream off the bar of Saltes, and their boats were at the quay ready to take the crews out. Hundreds of other boats lay in the stream to accompany them a short distance to sea.

The Admiral, on reaching the quay where his own boat awaited him, was surrounded by his captains, Martin Alonzo Pinzon and Vicente Pinzon, and his three pilots, Sancho Ruiz, Pedro Alonzo NiÑo, and Bartolomeo Roldan.

Every eye was fixed upon the Admiral. All realized that upon him, upon his courage, his science, and his judgment, rested the lives and fortunes of every man with him. Never had the Admiral appeared so serenely great. Fortified by a deep religious faith, conscious of his own powers, he faced the unknown with an indomitable courage. None who beheld him on that day doubted that this man, Columbus, was born a captain.

“Here,” said he, to his companions and pilots, in a clear voice that made itself heard afar, “do I give you my order as your Admiral, and it is to be strictly obeyed. If you should become separated from me and beyond the reach of signals, lay your course due west, and when you have sailed seven hundred and fifty leagues from this port make no more sail after midnight, for there will be land off your quarter. Do you understand?”

“And we will obey,” shouted the captains and the pilots, led by the strong voice of Martin Pinzon.

The boldness of this stern order thrilled and captivated the awed and sullen throngs, and an involuntary cheer broke from them. The Admiral smiled and raised his hat in salute.

He stepped into his boat, followed by Diego and the little Fernando, and led the procession down the bright river to the vessels tugging at their anchors off the bar. As the Admiral’s boat reached the side of the Santa Maria the Admiral stood up and, taking the little Fernando in his arms, kissed and blessed him. Then he clasped Diego in his arms, kissing and blessing him likewise, without agitation on either side. Diego felt as if the wine of courage were pouring into his veins. He was so quiet, so smiling, so at ease, that he seemed worthy to be the son of his father. The little Fernando wept when the Admiral, from the Santa Maria’s poop, waved his hand back at the child; but Diego, taking the boy in his arms, said cheerfully:

“Do not weep, Fernando. Our father will return, bringing you wonderful things never seen before in Spain, and he will at once ask if you have been good and brave. If you weep you will be neither good nor brave.”

The little boy was soothed by Diego’s calmness, and waved his small hand cheerfully back at his father.

The boats returned to the quays, which were crowded with a multitude of persons, who made way respectfully for the sons of the Admiral. The ships then hoisted their sails, and with a fair wind slipped out into the open sea. The sky was glowing, and the earth and sea basked in a rose-red light shot with gold. As the three little vessels became white specks upon the horizon, where the blue sea met the bluer sky, the great sun suddenly burst forth in splendor; the vessels disappeared in the golden light which flooded the world with glory.