THE sight of the monastery and the thought of seeing his little brother and the good Prior and Fray PiÑa filled the heart of Diego with joy. He had an imaginative mind, and he lived over in thought and spoke to Don Felipe of the extraordinary change that had taken place in his fortunes since the day, nearly eight years before, when his father, a poor and unhonored and unsuccessful applicant at the courts of kings, jeered at and disbelieved, and Diego, himself a little ragged and barefooted boy, had stopped at La Rabida to ask for a dole of bread. Now, he was returning as Don Diego, a page-in-waiting to the heir to the thrones of Arragon and Castile; his father returning as Admiral of the Ocean Seas and Viceroy and Captain-General of all lands to the westward, a title far transcending that of any grandee of Spain and second only to the title of royalty, the arrival of this great man breathlessly awaited not only by kings and queens, but by the whole Spanish people. No more amazing picture of the vicissitudes of fortune had ever been presented to the human mind.

The party pushed on rapidly to the monastery and drew up before the courtyard within half an hour. There, all was placid; no hint of the return of the Admiral’s caravel or that of Captain Martin Alonzo Pinzon had reached the neighborhood of Palos. Diego, looking about the silent old stone building, the orchard, and the fish-pond basking in the afternoon glow, and the monks at their business of work or prayer, felt that a thunderbolt was to fall among them.

The Prior, Juan Perez, came out at once when he heard the clattering of the horses’ hoofs. One glance at Diego’s radiant face and De Quintanilla’s look of triumph aroused a strong hope in the Prior’s heart. The Daredevil Knight flung himself off his horse and, courteously greeting the Prior, drew him aside and told in a whisper the news they had heard, and that they had come to await the arrival of the caravel at Palos, which might be expected at any moment. Juan Perez, a man of deep and sincere piety as well as of strong understanding, fell on his knees in the courtyard and gave loud and fervent thanks to God for the news that had been brought. When he arose he sent for Fray PiÑa, who came quickly; and to him the great event was confided. Diego and Don Felipe were glad to see their old instructor once more, and actually had the grace to thank him for his strictness and sternness. They had learned some courtly ways from being at court.

Alonzo de Quintanilla, a prudent man, seizing Juan Perez by the arm, said:

“But no word of this must get abroad in Palos; it would excite the people too much. I bear letters to the families of the three Pinzon brothers telling them of the safe arrival of Captain Martin Alonzo Pinzon at Bayonne; but that is to be kept secret for the present. I shall not go to the houses of the Pinzons to give their families the joyful news until nightfall, so that I may not be recognized and thereby the whole coast be aroused and excited.”

“Then,” said Juan Perez, “you will have time to go with me and the brothers to the chapel, where we shall give thanks to God for the success of this great enterprise.”

Diego asked that the little Fernando be sent for, and soon the boy was seen running along, his little hand within Brother Lawrence’s big paw. Diego took the child in his arms, and kissed him with a heart overflowing with tenderness. He felt then more like a father to little Fernando than an elder brother. The Admiral had never ceased to impress upon Diego his sense of responsibility toward his younger brother, and Diego, whose heart was naturally tender, glowed with affection for the child. Fernando’s first question was:

“Diego, when will our father come back?”

“Very soon,” whispered Diego, “and he will bring you, Fernando, beautiful play-things and strange little animals for pets unlike any you have ever seen before.”

The Prior directed Brother Lawrence to ring the great courtyard bell that all the brothers might assemble in the chapel. When the solemn call of the bell was heard the monks, in their coarse robes and sandals, left their work and marched silently into the little stone chapel where Don Tomaso and Diego, with little Fernando, and Don Felipe and De Quintanilla and the men-at-arms were already assembled. The Prior, speaking from the altar steps, said simply that he had heard good news of great import to Spain, and he desired all to unite in thanks to God for what had been vouchsafed them. Diego joined with a sense of deep gratitude in these thanksgivings; and little Fernando, his hands clasped, whispered in Diego’s ear:

“I prayed every night and morning that our father would return, and now he is coming, so I shall thank God just as you do.”

The quiet monastery was thrilled with subdued excitement; but nothing passed beyond its stone walls.

De Quintanilla waited until the darkness fell before leaving on foot to visit the families of the Pinzons.

Diego and Don Felipe were given the same little tower room in which they had last slept almost a year and a half before. They were no longer pupils of Fray PiÑa; but they had learned to regard his stern justice with respect.

“He was very hard with us,” said Don Felipe; “but not so hard as the master of the pages.”

“No, he was not,” said Diego, laughing.

The last night they had spent together at the monastery Diego had slept scarcely at all, and the long night hours had passed in watching the moonlit sea upon which his father was to set forth at sunrise. This night, too, he spent huddled in his cloak on the parapet. Don Felipe, also wrapped in a long and heavy mantle—for the spring night was sharp—sat with him. The beautiful afternoon had been succeeded by a lowering night in which low-lying black clouds scurried across a pale night sky, veiling the moon and the stars. As the dawn approached, however, the sky cleared beautifully. Diego, going within the room, waked the little Fernando, and with his own hands, willing but awkward, washed and dressed the little boy, saying:

“Fernando, we must go to the seashore now and watch for our father’s vessel.”

Something within Diego seemed driving him to the seashore. As soon as the little boy was dressed Diego said to Don Felipe:

“Come with me, Felipe, and do not leave me during this day, for I feel that great glory for my father and great happiness for my brother and me are impending, and I want to have you near me.”

The two youths, Diego holding the little Fernando by the hand, passed out of the monastery gates just as the pearl and amethyst of the dawn was turning to rose and gold. They walked rapidly, too rapidly for the little boy, whom Diego took in his arms and carried. The town of Palos was awaking, and workmen and sailors were appearing upon the streets, and women were opening their houses. As Diego passed a house a woman recognized him and, pointing to him, cried out angrily:

“There goes the son of Colon, the Genoese who feared neither God nor the devil, and sailed away into the unknown seas taking with him my husband and my brother.”

As she spoke she burst into loud weeping. The passers-by, startled by her passionate sobbing, stopped and gathered about her. Not one consolatory or encouraging word was uttered, and lowering and menacing looks were cast on Diego. An old man cried out, fiercely:

“Yes! Colon the foreigner, Colon the Genoese adventurer, came to this town of Palos, and to Moguer and to Huelva, and by force took away more than a hundred men from us to be lost in an unknown ocean. My son—my only son—was taken. Never shall I see him again!”

Others joined in the imprecations upon the Admiral. Diego, putting down little Fernando on the ground, stood and with crossed arms boldly faced the excited and angry people in the street.

“Yes!” he shouted, in a ringing voice. “The devil is not feared by my father, because my father is an upright man and a Christian; nor does he fear the sea, because he is the boldest and most expert seaman that ever sailed the ocean floors. He fears God alone. He will return, and that soon, with the greatest honor and glory the world has ever seen; and you, men of Palos, who might have gone with him and did not, will regret it all your lives; and the women and the children of Palos and Moguer and Huelva will live to boast that it was these towns chiefly that supplied those who sailed with Christobal Colon, Admiral of the Ocean Seas and Viceroy and Captain-General of all lands to the westward. Do you remember that when my father sailed, he gave the order that when the ships had sailed seven hundred and fifty leagues to the westward no sail should be made after midnight, knowing that land would then be off their quarter? They were the words of a captain who knew how to lay his course and what he should find at the end of it. Look you, I and my brother would not change places to-day with the sons of the greatest man in Spain, for it will soon be seen that we are the sons of the greatest and boldest man in the world!”

As Diego proceeded, his voice grew firmer. A deep enthusiasm possessed his soul; his words, rapid and vehement, cut the air like swords. The people, astounded at such language from a beardless youth, remained silent. After a deep pause Diego added:

“Watch then, you men and women of Palos, the bar of Saltes this day; and when you see my father’s ship standing up the river, go down on your knees and ask pardon for all you have said against my father.”

Then Don Felipe shouted in a loud voice:

“You who revile and execrate the name of Christobal Colon to-day, to-morrow will hail him as the greatest man in the world. For my part I, Don Felipe Langara y Gama, grandee of Spain of the first rank, reckon it an honor to call the son of Christobal Colon my friend.”

With that Don Felipe threw his arm around Diego’s neck, and the two marched defiantly down the street, little Fernando walking in front of them. Diego hugged Don Felipe openly, and rubbed his cheek against that of his friend. The people of Palos, used to the distinction of rank, were impressed by Don Felipe’s words, and gazed curiously but silently at the two youths.

When they reached the waterside Diego said, with a strange look in his eyes, to Don Felipe:

“I have often thought as I lay in my bed at night, or as I attended the Prince in the palace, or sat at meat with other pages, or worked at my books, ‘At this moment my father is watching for sight of land. If it be daylight his eyes are fixed upon the horizon, watching for the dark line of the land to appear. If it be night-time he is standing on the poop watching, watching, watching for a light on shore.’ And so I shall watch all day for the sight of my father’s ship, and when night comes I will stay upon the quay still watching for him.”

As Diego spoke the sky, which had been rosy red, grew blue and brilliant as the sun suddenly burst out in great magnificence; the world seemed bathed in the golden glory. Diego had not once taken his eyes from the blue billows of the Atlantic rushing in over the bar of Saltes. And then—and then, he saw a speck upon the horizon, a vessel carrying all hard sail and standing straight for the bar. Diego’s heart almost leaped out of his body. He seized Don Felipe and shouted:

“Is that a caravel I see?”

Then the little Fernando began to jump about and dance, shouting:

“That is my father’s ship!”

Diego stood as if turned to stone, his eyes fixed upon the advancing vessel. It could not be distinguished from any other vessel of its class; but when it reached the bar of Saltes it came about, for the water was low on the bar. And far down the river Diego saw, as did Don Felipe and little Fernando, the great Gonfalon, the crimson and yellow standard of Spain, flung to the breeze, which blew it out bravely so that all could see the sign of glory. Then, over the crystal water, came a single loud gun, the signal for a pilot to come aboard.

It was as if the breaking out of the great standard and the boom of the solitary gun waked the whole of Andalusia. Instantly the entire population of Palos, of Moguer, of Huelva, and the country-side seemed rushing to the seashore and watching in the glorious sunrise the banner of Spain flying from the caravel. It was all so rapid that Diego was stunned by it, the excited crowds of people, the sudden presence of Juan Perez and De Quintanilla, the surging multitudes cheering, weeping, laughing, the women shrieking with joy and falling into each other’s arms, the men mad with excitement, every pilot of Palos running for his boat to have the honor of bringing the caravel up the river. Men and women whose names Diego did not know embraced him, and would have shoved him into a boat to go to meet his father; but Diego, although his soul was in a tumult, retained his outward calmness. He would meet his father on Spanish soil and would see that glorious landing. The boats, some under sail and others with rowers, sped down the river and swarmed about the caravel; but none was allowed to board her except the pilot, Sebastian Rodriguez, one of the Admiral’s earliest and most steadfast friends. To Rodriguez was given the honor of bringing the caravel over the bar. The cheers and cries of the people echoed down the river, and the wind brought back the shouts from the boats surrounding the immortal ship. The tide came in slowly, and it was not until high noon that Rodriguez was able to take the vessel over the bar. It was a wait of six hours in the clear March sunshine; but to the assembled multitudes it seemed a mere fragment of time. Every hour added to the cheering and excited crowds that thronged the shore. The church bells over the whole district rang joyously, salutes were fired, and bands of musicians played and sang religious and patriotic hymns. Diego, holding his little brother by the hand, and with Don Felipe next him, watched the caravel as it came slowly up the river in the midst of a universal joy and applause that echoed to the deep-blue sky above them. On the poop, under the royal standard, stood the Admiral splendidly dressed in crimson, his attitude calm and unmoved, but full of that sublime dignity which had ever marked him. The boat of the pilot Rodriguez, which was towing astern, was brought alongside and the Admiral, with Rodriguez and the Queen’s notary, came over the side and were pulled to the shore.

The crowd fell back, leaving the sons of Columbus to meet him first. A profound and solemn silence fell upon them as the Admiral, when his foot touched Spanish earth, kneeled down and kissed the ground and gave thanks to God. The vast multitude followed his example, Diego and the little Fernando being the first to kneel. Then, rising, the Admiral took his sons in his arms and kissed and blessed them. Next he embraced the Prior, Juan Perez, and De Quintanilla. Both were strong men; but they wept freely. The Admiral did not forget Don Felipe.

The men from the NiÑa had poured ashore, and were greeted with tears and cries and wild embraces as men returning from the dead. A procession was rapidly formed, headed by the mayor and the officials of the town of Palos and the ecclesiastics, to escort Columbus and his men to the Church of St. George, where a solemn Te Deum was to be sung. The procession was preceded by a beautiful youth in a red cassock and a white surplice bearing a great glittering cross. He was followed by the ecclesiastics in their robes and by the officials. Then came the Admiral holding with his right hand Diego and with his left the little Fernando, and escorted by Alonzo de Quintanilla, the Queen’s representative, on one side, and Juan Perez on the other. Behind them stretched thousands of persons, only a few of whom could get into the little church. The multitudes crowding about it fell on their knees and joined in the singing of the solemn hymn of thanks. A supernatural joy filled every heart; in that of the Admiral the humble thanksgiving of a Christian took precedence of the stupendous triumph of the greatest discovery the world had ever known.

A scant forty-eight hours was allowed Diego before beginning the return journey to Barcelona. It was the shortest two days Diego had ever known. Apart from the deep and penetrating joy of seeing his father and the splendid glow of pride which naturally filled Diego’s heart, he, like Don Felipe, was consumed with curiosity concerning the strange new lands to the west, the men of a race never before seen in Europe, whom the Admiral had brought back, the specimens of birds, plants, minerals, and animals hitherto unknown. But there was little time for that. The whole of Spain seemed roused in a single day, and the Admiral was overwhelmed with throngs of great people coming and sending to him and the enthusiasm of vast numbers of people half crazed with joy and pride in the man whom they had opposed and thwarted and whose sublime purpose they had tried in every way to defeat. The great and magnanimous soul of the Admiral could easily ignore the past; he made no reproaches and bore his stupendous honors with the same dignity he had borne contumely, neglect, and treachery.

At the end of the second day couriers traveling at full speed by night and by day, and with frequent relays of horses, brought the Admiral a letter from the sovereigns. It was addressed to “Don Christobal de Colon, our Admiral of the Ocean Seas, Viceroy and Captain-General of all Lands to the Westward.” In it, after expressions of fervent gratitude the King and the Queen desired the Admiral to take time to refresh himself before attending the sovereigns, who would await at Barcelona his convenience.

On the second night after the arrival of the Admiral, he had his first long conversation with Diego, who was leaving at daybreak with Don Tomaso and Don Felipe. The Admiral questioned Diego closely as to his life at court. Diego was able to answer satisfactorily. His conduct had not been perfect, but it was not stained by a single act of baseness. At saying good night, the Admiral said:

“Remember, do not on your return appear puffed up with pride and make your companions smile by references to your father, and otherwise comport yourself with pride, which is folly.”

“But, my father,” answered Diego, “do you think that I am not, after all, human, and that I am not filled with pride at the thought of being your son? I will try not to show it too much; but I have ever told all my companions, and said it before Prince Juan, that my father, the Genoese navigator, would one day be acclaimed not only the greatest man in Spain, but the greatest man in all the world. I think I have been very modest in claiming so little.”

Diego spoke with such fire and earnestness, and with so much of boyish simplicity, that even the grave Admiral was forced to smile at the boy’s idea of modesty.

“Take pattern,” he said, “by Don Felipe. That youth has always had everything that the highest rank, the greatest fortune, could confer, yet see how little boastful he is.”

“But Don Felipe’s father was not to be named in the same breath with my father,” replied Diego, sturdily, and wagging his head.

“Very well,” said the Admiral, still smiling, “if you grow too boastful and self-conscious, I think I can depend upon your young companions to bring you to your proper senses.”

“Yes,” replied Diego, after a pause, and looking with a clear, frank gaze into the eyes of the Admiral. “And another thing will make me guard my behavior and control my tongue, which will be this: that my father has done so much, not only for Spain, but for the whole world, that the discovery is so vast, it means so much to mankind, that for me, the son of the discoverer, to be boastful would be mean beyond comparison. I have learned much, my father, in the time that I have lived at court. I have heard the conversation of the great Queen with mighty men like the Cardinal Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza and the Duke of Medina Coeli, and with statesmen and great generals and admirals and learned men. I have been under the care of the Duke de Medina Coeli, a man reckoned fit to train the heir to the throne, and with the nineteen other royal pages, all selected for their character and intelligence. The Queen does not value rank exclusively, and means that the companions of Prince Juan shall all be worthy of his friendship. When you sailed away, my father, I was a boy; now I am a man, I think as a man and feel as a man, and I hope I shall be able to act as a man. I cannot help feeling in my heart that I am the son of the greatest man in the world; but I know that I, myself, have done nothing; I have only reaped the benefit of what you have done, beginning, even before I was born, those eighteen years of eternal struggle, of heartbreaking disappointments. Do you think that in this triumphant hour I have forgotten the days so far away now when I was a little ragged, barefoot boy holding your hand and toiling along the country roads as well as I could, and when I was tired and footsore being carried in your arms? You were often tired and footsore, too, were you not? And so in my mind I have a pride in you such as no son ever felt before in a father, and a deep joy, and it only makes me feel my own nothingness, The only way I can ever prove myself worthy of being your son is by good conduct, and in that I will ever do my best.”

The Admiral listened with amazement as Diego proceeded. Here indeed was the transition in the mind and heart of a boy to the dignity of a man. Diego was no longer a mere lad to be guided and instructed. Much, it is true, was still for him to learn as men of intelligence learn from the beginning to the end of life; but his character was now fixed. He could stand alone, confident of his own integrity, looking boldly at the world around him, able to retrieve his own mistakes and to extricate himself from the perplexities of life and to protect himself amid its dangers. Something of this the Admiral said to him, clasping Diego to his breast. The father and the son, looking into each other’s eyes, so much alike, understood each other perfectly.

“I have never left any place so unwillingly in my life as I shall leave here to-morrow,” said Diego; “but I will not say one word of complaint, and I shall be ready to mount before any of those who return with me.”

“That shows that you have become indeed a man,” replied the Admiral. “It is the mark of manhood to do promptly and uncomplainingly the necessary and painful things of life. Boys and weaklings complain and protest and disobey; men obey silently and immediately if they are fit to be called men.”

Diego was as good as his word, and at daylight on the March morning he was on horseback before any of the party, even the Daredevil Knight. Some secondary thoughts came to console him. He had seen those strange beings, those wonderful productions, those birds and animals of the New World, and could tell Prince Juan and the pages of honor all about them. This natural feeling was shared by Don Felipe, who whispered to him, as they stood in the courtyard ready to depart:

“I have drawn pictures of the Indians to show Prince Juan, and also pictures of all the strange animals of which I could get sight.”

Diego was charmed at this. Don Felipe drew well, while Diego was but an indifferent hand at it; and it had not occurred to him to make any pictures. He had, however, some little plants from the New World, which were meant for DoÑa Luisita’s garden at the castle of Langara.