Part 40 (1/2)

Such was the state of things, as the sun set on the night of the 12th of February, 1493. As usual, Columbus was on the p.o.o.p, vessels of all sizes then carrying these clumsy excrescences, though this of the Nina was so small as scarcely to deserve the name. Luis was at his side, and both watched the aspect of the heavens and the ocean in grave silence. Never before had our hero seen the elements in so great commotion, and the admiral had just remarked that even he had not viewed many nights as threatening. There is a solemnity about a sunset at sea, when the clouds appear threatening, and the omens of a storm are brooding, that is never to be met with on the land. The loneliness of a s.h.i.+p, struggling through a waste of dreary-looking water, contributes to the influence of the feelings that are awakened, as there appears to be but one object on which the wild efforts of the storm can expend themselves. All else seem to be in unison to aid the general strife; ocean, heavens, and the air, being alike accessories in the murky picture. When the wintry frowns of February are thrown around all, the gloomy hues of the scene are deepened to their darkest tints.

”This is a brooding nightfall, Don Luis,” Columbus remarked, just as the last rays that the sun cast upward on the stormy-looking clouds disappeared from their ragged outlines--”I have rarely seen another as menacing.”

”One has a double confidence in the care of G.o.d, while sailing under your guidance, Senor; first in his goodness, and next in the knowledge of his agent's skilfulness.”

”The power of the Almighty is sufficient to endue the feeblest mortal with all fitting skill, when it is his divine will to spare; or to rob the most experienced of their knowledge, when his anger can only be appeased by the worldly destruction of his creatures.”

”You look upon the night as portentous, Don Christopher!”

”I _have_ seen omens as ill, though very seldom. Had not the caravel this burdensome freight, I might view our situation less anxiously.”

”You surprise me, sir Admiral! the pilots have regretted that our bark is so light.”

”True, as to material substance; but it beareth a cargo of knowledge, Luis, that it would be grievous to see wasted on these vacant waters.

Dost thou not perceive how fast and gloomily the curtain of night gathereth about us, and the manner in which the Nina is rapidly getting to be our whole world? Even the Pinta is barely distinguishable, like a shapeless shadow on the foaming billows, serving rather as a beacon to warn us of our own desolation, than as a consort to cheer us with her presence and companions.h.i.+p.”

”I have never known you thus moody, excellent Senor, on account of the aspect of the weather!”

”'Tis not usual with me, young lord; but my heart is loaded with its glorious secret. Behold!--dost thou remark that further sign of the warring of the elements?”

The admiral, as he spoke, was standing with his face toward Spain, while his companion's gaze was fastened on the portentous-looking horizon of the west, around which still lingered sufficient light to render its frowns as chilling as they were visible. He had not seen the change that drew the remark from Columbus, but, turning quickly, he asked an explanation. Notwithstanding the season, the horizon at the north-east had been suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning, and even while the admiral was relating the fact, and pointing out the quarter of the heavens in which the phenomenon had appeared, two more flashes followed each other in quick succession.

”Senor Vicente”--called out Columbus, leaning forward in a way to overlook a group of dusky figures that was collected on the half-deck beneath him--”Is Senor Vicente Yanez of your number?”

”I am here, Don Christopher, and note the omen. It is the sign of even more wind.”

”We shall be visited with a tempest, worthy Vicente; and it will come from that quarter of the heavens, or its opposite. Have we made all sure in the caravel?”

”I know not what else is to be done, Senor Almirante. Our canvas is at the lowest, every thing is well lashed, and we carry as little aloft as can be spared. Sancho Ruiz, look you to the tarpaulings, lest we s.h.i.+p more water than will be safe.”

”Look well to our light, too, that our consort may not part from us in the darkness. This is no time for sleep, Vicente--place your most trusty men at the tiller.”

”Senor, they are selected with care. Sancho Mundo, and young Pepe of Moguer, do that duty, at present; others as skilled await to relieve them, when their watch ends.”

”'Tis well, good Pinzon--neither you nor I can close an eye to-night.”

The precautions of Columbus were not uncalled-for. About an hour after the unnatural flashes of lightning had been seen, the wind rose from the south-west, favorably as to direction, but fearfully as to force.

Notwithstanding his strong desire to reach port, the admiral found it prudent to order the solitary sail that was set, to be taken in; and most of the night the two caravels drove before the gale, under bare poles, heading to the north-east. We say both, for Martin Alonzo, practised as he was in stormy seas, and disposed as he was to act only for himself, now the great problem was solved, kept the Pinta so near the Nina, that few minutes pa.s.sed without her being seen careering on the summit of a foaming sea, or settling bodily into the troughs, as she drove headlong before the tempest; keeping side by side with her consort, however, as man clings to man in moments of dependency and peril.

Thus pa.s.sed the night of the 13th, the day bringing with it a more vivid picture of the whole scene, though it was thought that the wind somewhat abated in its force as the sun arose. Perhaps this change existed only in the imaginations of the mariners, the light usually lessening the appearance of danger, by enabling men to face it. Each caravel, however, set a little canvas, and both went foaming ahead, hurrying toward Spain with their unlooked-for tidings. As the day advanced, the fury of the gale sensibly lessened; but as night drew on again, it returned with renewed force, more adverse, and compelling the adventurers to take in every rag of sail they had ventured to spread. Nor was this the worst.

The caravels, by this time, had driven up into a tract of ocean where a heavy cross-sea was raging, the effects of some other gale that had recently blown from a different quarter. Both vessels struggled manfully to lay up to their course, under these adverse circ.u.mstances; but they began to labor in a way to excite uneasiness in those who comprehended the fullest powers of the machines, and who knew whence the real sources of danger were derived. As night approached, Columbus perceived that the Pinta could not maintain her ground, the strain on her after-mast proving too severe to be borne, even without an inch of canvas spread.

Reluctantly did he order the Nina to edge away toward her consort, separation, at such a moment, being the evil next to positive destruction.

In this manner the night of the 14th drew around our lone and sea-girt adventurers. What had been merely menace and omens the previous night, were now a dread reality. Columbus, himself, declared he had never known a bark to buffet a more furious tempest, nor did he affect to conceal from Luis the extent of his apprehensions. With the pilots, and before the crew, he was serene, and even cheerful; but when alone with our hero, he became frank and humble. Still was the celebrated navigator always calm and firm. No unmanly complaint escaped him, though his very soul was saddened at the danger his great discoveries ran of being forever lost.

Such was the state of feeling that prevailed with the admiral, as he sat in his narrow cabin, in the first hours of that appalling night, watching for any change, relieving or disastrous, that might occur. The howling of the winds, which fairly scooped up, from the surface of the raging Atlantic, the brine in sheets, was barely audible amid the roar and rush of the waters. At times, indeed, when the caravel sunk helplessly between two huge waves, the fragment of sail she still carried would flap, and the air seemed hushed and still; and then, again, as the buoyant machine struggled upward, like a drowning man who gains the surface by frantic efforts, it would seem as if the columns of air were about to bear her off before them, as lightly as the driving spray. Even Luis, albeit little apt to take alarm, felt that their situation was critical, and his const.i.tutional buoyancy of spirits had settled down in a thoughtful gravity, that was unusual with him. Had a column of a thousand hostile Moors stood before our hero, he would have thought rather of the means of overturning it than of escape; but this warring of the elements admitted of no such relief. It appeared actually like contending with the Almighty. In such scenes, indeed, the bravest find no means of falling back on their resolution and intrepidity; for the efforts of man seem insignificant and bootless as opposed to the will and power of G.o.d.

”'Tis a wild night, Senor,” our hero observed calmly, preserving an exterior of more unconcern than he really felt. ”To me this surpa.s.seth all I have yet witnessed of the fury of a tempest.”

Columbus sighed heavily; then he removed his hands from his face, and glanced about him, as if in search of the implements he wanted.