The Preparations At Palos -3

The Preparations At Palos -3

Allard and William, shuffling into the recruiting office in Palos, doubtless think that this

is a strange place for them to meet, and rather a wild business that they are embarked

upon, among all these bloody Spaniards. Some how I feel more confidence in Allard than

in William, knowing, as I do so well, this William of Galway, whether on his native heath

or in the strange and distant parts of the world to which his sanguine temperament leads

him. Alas, William, you are but the first of a mighty stream that will leave the Old

Country for the New World; the world destined to be good for the fortunes of many from

the Old Country, but for the Old Country itself not good. Little does he know, drunken

William, willing to be on hand where there is adventure brewing, and to be after going

with the boys and getting his health on the salt water, what a path of hope for those who

go, and of heaviness for those who stay behind, he is opening up . . . . Farewell, William;

I hope you were not one of those whom they let out of gaol.

June slid into July, and still the preparations were not complete. Down on the mud banks

of the Tinto, where at low water the vessels were left high and dry, and where the

caulking and refitting were in hand, there was trouble with the workmen. Gomaz Rascon

and Christoval Quintero, the owners of the Pinta, who had resented her being pressed into

the service, were at the bottom of a good deal of it. Things could not be found; gear

mysteriously gave way after it had been set up; the caulking was found to have been

carelessly and imperfectly done; and when the caulkers were commanded to do it over

again they decamped. Even the few volunteers, the picked hands upon whom Columbus

was relying, gave trouble. In those days of waiting there was too much opportunity for

talk in the shore-side wine-shops; some of the volunteers repented and tried to cry off

their bargains; others were dissuaded by their relatives, and deserted and hid themselves.

No mild measures were of any use; a reign of terror had to be established; and nothing

short of the influence of the Pinzons was severe enough to hold the company together. To

these vigorous measures, however, all opposition gradually yielded. By the end of July

the provisions and stores were on board, the whole complement of eighty-seven persons

collected and enlisted, and only the finishing touches left for Columbus. It is a sign of the

distrust and fear evinced with regard to this expedition, that no priest accompanied it—

something of a sorrow to pious Christopher, who would have liked his chaplain. There

were two surgeons, or barbers, and a physician; there were an overseer, a secretary, a

master-at-arms; there was an interpreter to speak to the natives of the new lands in

Hebrew, Greek, German, Chaldean or Arabic; and there was an assayer and silversmith to

test the quality of the precious metals that they were sure to find. Up at La Rabida, with

the busy and affectionate assistance of the old Prior, Columbus made his final

preparations. Ferdinand was to stay at Cordova with Beatriz, and to go to school there;

while Diego was already embarked upon his life's voyage, having been appointed a page

to the Queen's son, Prince Juan, and handed over to the care of some of the Court ladies.

The course to be sailed was talked over and over again; the bearings and notes of the pilot

at Porto Santo consulted and discussed; and a chart was made by Columbus himself, and

copied with his own hands for use on the three ships.

On the 2nd of August everything was ready; the ships moored out in the stream, the last

stragglers of the crew on board, the last sack of flour and barrel of beef stowed away.

Columbus confessed himself to the Prior of La Rabida—a solemn moment for him in the

little chapel up on the pine-clad hill. His last evening ashore would certainly be spent at

the monastery, and his last counsels taken with Perez and Doctor Hernandez. We can

hardly realise the feelings of Christopher on the eve of his departure from the land where

all his roots were, to a land of mere faith and conjecture. Even today, when the ocean is

furrowed by crowded highways, and the earth is girdled with speaking wires, and

distances are so divided and reduced that the traveller need never be very long out of

touch with his home, few people can set out on a long voyage without some emotional

disturbance, however slight it may be; and to Columbus on this night the little town upon

which he looked down from the monastery, which had been the scene of so many delays

and difficulties and vexations, must have seemed suddenly dear and familiar to him as he

realised that after to-morrow its busy and well-known scenes might be for ever a thing of

the past to him. Behind him, living or dead, lay all he humanly loved and cared for;

before him lay a voyage full of certain difficulties and dangers; dangers from the ships,

dangers from the crews, dangers from the weather, dangers from the unknown path itself;

and beyond them, a twinkling star on the horizon of his hopes, lay the land of his belief.

That he meant to arrive there and to get back again was beyond all doubt his firm

intention; and in the simple grandeur of that determination the weaknesses of character

that were grouped about it seem unimportant. In this starlit hour among the pine woods

his life came to its meridian; everything that was him was at its best and greatest there.

Beneath him, on the talking tide of the river, lay the ships and equipment that represented

years of steady effort and persistence; before him lay the pathless ocean which he meant

to cross by the inner light of his faith. What he had suffered, he had suffered by himself;

what he had won, he had won by himself; what he was to finish, he would finish by

himself.

But the time for meditations grows short. Lights are moving about in the town beneath;

there is an unwonted midnight stir and bustle; the whole population is up and about,

running hither and thither with lamps and torches through the starlit night. The tide is

flowing; it will be high water before dawn; and with the first of the ebb the little fleet is

to set sail. The stream of hurrying sailors and townspeople sets towards the church of

Saint George, where mass is to be said and the Sacrament administered to the voyagers.

The calls and shouts die away; the bell stops ringing; and the low muttering voice of the

priest is heard beginning the Office. The light of the candles shines upon the gaudy roof,

and over the altar upon the wooden image of Saint George vanquishing the dragon, upon

which the eyes of Christopher rested during some part of the service, and where to-day

your eyes may rest also if you make that pilgrimage. The moment approaches; the bread

and the wine are consecrated; there is a shuffling of knees and feet; and then a pause. The

clear notes of the bell ring out upon the warm dusky silence—once, twice, thrice; the

living God and the cold presence of dawn enter the church together. Every head is

bowed; and for once at least every heart of that company beats in unison with the rest.

And then the Office goes on, and the dark-skinned congregation streams up to the

sanctuary and receives the Communion, while the blue light of dawn increases and the

candles pale before the coming day. And then out again to the boats with shoutings and

farewells, for the tide has now turned; hoisting of sails and tripping of anchors and

breaking out of gorgeous ensigns; and the ships are moving! The Maria leads, with the

sign of the Redemption painted on her mainsail and the standard of Castile flying at her

mizzen; and there is cheering from ships and from shore, and a faint sound of bells from

the town of Huelva.

Thus, the sea being—calm, and a fresh breeze blowing off the land, did Christopher

Columbus set sail from Palos at sunrise on Friday the 3rd of August 1492.