*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 63173 ***

  THE SON OF
  COLUMBUS

  BY

  MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL

  AUTHOR OF
  "THE LIVELY ADVENTURES OF GAVIN HAMILTON"
  "THE ROCK OF THE LION"
  "A VIRGINIA CAVALIER" ETC.

  ILLUSTRATED

  HARPER _&_ BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
  NEW YORK AND LONDON

  MCMXII




  COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1912




  [Illustration: THEN, RISING, THE ADMIRAL TOOK HIS SON IN HIS ARMS]
                                                [See page 205




  CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                     PAGE
  I.    LOOKING SEAWARD                        1
  II.   THE DAWNING OF THE LIGHT              24
  III.  THE CASTLE OF LANGARA                 49
  IV.   THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR             72
  V.    THE SPLENDOR OF THE DAWN             102
  VI.   THE HARBOR BAR IS PASSED             134
  VII.  THE JOYOUS HEARTS OF YOUTH           160
  VIII. SUNRISE OFF THE BAR OF SALTES        191
  IX.   GLORIA                               214




  ILLUSTRATIONS


  THEN, RISING, THE ADMIRAL TOOK HIS SON IN HIS ARMS      _Frontispiece_

  FRAY PIÑA GLANCED WITHIN THE ROOM AND THOUGHT
  THEY WERE MAKING ACQUAINTANCE VERY FAST            _Facing p._      4

  GARCILOSA SUDDENLY GAVE HIS ANTAGONIST A THRUST
  UPON THE SWORD-ARM                                      "          94

  THE SIGNING OF THE DOCUMENTS OF AGREEMENT               "         126




AUTHOR'S NOTE


Very few liberties have been taken with history, and these few are
merely of detail. The signing of the final pact with the Spanish
sovereigns by Columbus really took place on the plains of Santa Fé,
outside of Granada, but it is represented, for dramatic effect, as
taking place in the Alhambra. Also, the celebrated order of Columbus
directing his captains, after sailing seven hundred and fifty leagues
due west, to make no more sail after midnight was given at the Canaries
instead of at Palos. Irving's _Life of Columbus_, the best yet written,
has been strictly followed in dates.

                         M. E. S.




  THE
  SON OF COLUMBUS




I

LOOKING SEAWARD


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."

[Illustration: 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.




II

THE DAWNING OF THE LIGHT


Soon it was time for supper, and all assembled once more in the great,
bare refectory. Diego and Don Felipe felt as if they were in a dream,
so dazzled were they by the prospect before them. They had known what
the Admiral had demanded, and with the sanguine nature of youth they
thought that all the Admiral asked would be conceded, and already
reckoned the great voyage to have been accomplished. But to go to
Granada, to see the close of the stupendous struggle, to be present
in the hour of victory, was more than they had dreamed. Nevertheless,
though lost in rosy visions, they did not forget to eat their simple
supper. When it was over and they went out into the courtyard, the
Admiral passed them, holding by the hand the little Fernando.

"Go now," said the Admiral to the child, "and find Brother Lawrence,
that he may put you to bed, where you must sleep soundly until the
birds call you in the morning."

The child, used to prompt obedience, went away; and then the Admiral
said to the two youths:

"Come, Don Felipe and Diego, and walk with me to the seashore, and I
will tell you some of the wonderful things of the sea."

Don Felipe's heart throbbed with pleasure. He felt a strange sense of
being honored when he was treated as a son by the Admiral.

It was then about six o'clock on a warm October evening. Not yet was
the sun gone, and the western sky was all opal and gold and crimson.
The rosy light reddened the far-off sea, and the white billows gleamed
with an opaline light.

The Admiral walked between the two lads along the sandy road to the
little town of Palos. Softly the bells of the little church of St.
George were ringing, their mellow music mingling with the distant echo
of waves beating the bar off the harbor. As the sound of bells reached
them the Admiral remained silent; Diego knew that his father was making
a silent prayer, a thing he often did. Presently he spoke:

"I love to hear the melody of church bells mingling with the sound of
the sea, for the sea has a majestic voice like the voice of God."

Then the Admiral began telling them some of the marvels of the sea,
speaking in plain and sailor-like language. Soon they entered the
one long street of the town of Palos. The day's labor was over for
all, except the crews of some Neapolitan vessels loading in haste in
order to catch the tide that would take them over the bar, the sailors
working cheerfully, singing as they toiled. The women were standing
at their doorways, their children about them, while the workmen were
returning from their labors. Many were seafaring men who had made many
voyages. They all turned and looked curiously after the Admiral, every
one saluting him with respect. When his back was turned some smiled;
and some predicted evil, saying:

"That man will take away with him some of the best mariners of Palos,
and they will never be seen again."

Others said:

"We shall try to go upon that bold voyage."

The Admiral returned all salutations with dignity and courtesy. Then,
with the two lads, he entered the Church of St. George, which was
already dark. Before the altar burned the undying sanctuary lamp. An
old priest was leaving the altar, followed by a small fisher-boy not
much bigger than the little Fernando and wearing a white surplice over
a scarlet cassock. When they were gone the Admiral and Diego and Don
Felipe were in the church alone.

The Admiral knelt, as did the two youths, the Admiral kneeling so
long that Diego and Don Felipe began to look with yearning toward the
open door of the church, through which the cheerful sounds of evening
floated. The voice of the night watchman calling the hour was heard as
he marched up and down the street carrying a lantern on a pole. Sounds
of music and dancing rang from the courtyard of a little tavern near
by, where a pack-train of mules had just arrived and the muleteers
were making merry. The two youths were not often allowed out of the
monastery at that hour, and they longed with the longing of boyhood
to see the life and the gaiety of the town. A half-hour passed, and
Diego and Felipe had remained admirably quiet; but now the limit of
boyish endurance was reached. Don Felipe began to cough, and Diego
knocked over a footstool which made a fearful clatter in the stillness
of the darkened church. The Admiral rose and walked out, followed by
Diego and Don Felipe. Never had the little seaport looked gayer or
more picturesque. From many balconies and casements came the sounds of
singing, and a handsome cavalier in a velvet mantle was coming down the
street strumming his guitar and rehearsing the song he intended to sing
under the window of his lady-love.

On the quay some sailors were dancing to their own singing. All these
sights and sounds were delightful to Diego and Don Felipe; and the
Admiral, who had not forgotten that he was once a boy himself, indulged
them in watching these pleasant sights.

A number of fishwives, their skirts tucked up about their hips, stood
watching the dancing sailors and laughing. Diego, moved by a sudden
impulse, ran up to a fat old fishwife, and seizing her by the hand
rushed into the middle of the dancers and began the fandango. At that
even the grave Admiral laughed.

Don Felipe made no move to join the dancers; but another fishwife, much
stouter than the friend of Diego, suddenly made a dash for him, crying:

"Come along, you pretty boy, and dance with me like a gentleman!"

Don Felipe, with perfect grace and politeness, gave the fishwife his
hand as though she were a court lady, and danced the fandango well and
gracefully.

The Admiral, leaning against a stone wall, watched the merry scene. He
was too wise to check the effervescent spirits of the two lads, and
waited with as much patience for them to finish their frolic as they
had waited for him to finish his prayers in the church. After half an
hour, however, when the church bells chimed seven o'clock, the Admiral
turned and walked away from the town toward the shore, where there were
only a few fishermen's huts. By the time he was clear of the quays he
heard footsteps behind him, and Diego and Don Felipe were running at
top speed to join him.

"I hope," said the Admiral, turning pleasantly to the two youths, "that
you enjoyed your dancing. When I was your age I did the same thing;
I grew sober at an early age, but I do not like too much sobriety in
early youth."

"But, my father," said Diego, taking his father affectionately by the
arm, "you gave up dancing very early; but did you give up the love of
fighting quite so soon? I have heard something about the time you tried
to provoke a fight with the Florentine fleet and dashed among them
shouting, 'Viva San Giorgione!' the battle-cry of the Genoese."

"It was a rash and foolish thing," replied the Admiral; "but I did many
rash and foolish things in my youth. Genoa seemed then on the verge
of war with Florence, and I was in command of a decked vessel in the
Genoese fleet, under the command of my uncle Giovanni. We were going up
the Mediterranean with a fair wind when we discovered the Florentine
fleet of nine vessels coming down toward us on the same tack. My
vessel, the San Giorgione, was a fast sailer both on and off the wind
and answered the helm beautifully. It came into my head that it would
be a good thing for the cause of my country if we could destroy the
Florentine fleet then and there; but we could not attack them without
provocation. Like a rash young man, I thought it would be well to give
the Florentines provocation enough to attack us; so, knowing well the
capacity of my vessel, I steered directly under the quarter of the
Florentine flag-ship. The Florentine admiral was standing on the poop
as we brushed past; when we came abreast of him I shouted, 'Viva San
Giorgione!' as if the battle were on, and expected an answering cry
from the Florentines. But, mark you, the admiral was a steady man, not
to be provoked by a wild young captain such as I was then. He raised
his cap to me and shouted back, smiling, 'Viva San Giorgione!' with the
greatest politeness. It was the last thing I expected, and disconcerted
me much. I have often admired the coolness and restraint of the
Florentine admiral who would not allow himself to be moved by a piece
of boyish insolence. After all, there was no outbreak of war between
the two governments; but there might have been if the Florentine
admiral had not been so wise and master of himself."

Don Felipe had never seen Diego and his father together before, and
Diego's affectionate familiarity with the Admiral impressed Don Felipe
deeply. His first feeling toward the Admiral had been one of awe, for
there was a dignity and majesty in his bearing that struck all who saw
him. But also there was a gentle unbending and sympathy with youth. Don
Felipe soon felt no more afraid of the Admiral than did Diego, and when
the Admiral stopped and gazed out toward the ocean, leaning an arm upon
the shoulder of each of the youths, Don Felipe felt his heart swell
with gratification and affection.

Don Felipe asked the Admiral many questions, to which he responded and
told them things of the deepest interest.

The monastery of La Rabida closed its gates at half-past eight o'clock,
and a few minutes before the closing the Admiral and Diego and Don
Felipe walked under the gray archway. The two lads went immediately to
the small, bare room which they shared together, and each was soon in
his hard little bed. But neither could sleep. Both were excited by the
thought of their coming journey; and Don Felipe was eager to see his
mother, Doña Christina, and his young sister, Doña Luisita.

"Is the castle of Langara very grand?" asked Diego, in a whisper.

"Not very," answered Don Felipe, who was too sensible to boast of the
splendors to which he was accustomed. "But I love to be there, because
the life is very quiet and pleasant. My sister Luisita and I spent all
our childhood there. I long to see my sister--the sweetest sister in
the world. She is not kept so close with her governess as most girls,
and we are much together when I am at home. Oh, you will like Luisita!"

Diego said nothing. Don Felipe was his comrade; but he realized that
Don Felipe's sister was a young lady of high rank, and he felt a
natural delicacy in speaking of her.

"Fray Piña is to go with us," Diego whispered, after a while, in a
slightly complaining whisper.

"Then we shall have to work at our books," promptly whispered back
Don Felipe. "All that I fear is that the siege of Granada may be over
before we get there."

Next morning preparations were begun for the journey to the castle of
Langara, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and later, to Granada. On the
following morning, in the cool, sweet October dawn, the cavalcade set
forth. First rode the Admiral and Fray Piña, with the good Prior, Juan
Perez, who was to ride one stage of the journey with them. All were
mounted on the steady and sure-footed mules which were ordinarily used
for traveling. Diego and Don Felipe were also on mule-back.

Soon the sea was left behind, and the party began to mount the
foothills. They traveled steadily, and did not draw rein, except to
breathe the mules, until nearly eleven o'clock. Then, in a glade a
little way off from the highroad, they stopped for rest and their
midday meal. When it was over, their elders talked gravely together
before the Prior returned to La Rabida.

Diego and Don Felipe were left to themselves. They had no notion of
resting quietly, and wandered about the forest, their arms entwined,
putting into words their splendid dreams of adventure, which they were
careful not to let their elders overhear. Don Felipe was talking of
the prospect of once more seeing his mother, Doña Christina, and his
sister, Doña Luisita.

"How glad Luisita will be to see me again!" he cried, a dozen times.
"You see, Luisita leads a very retired life; she has not so many things
to interest her as I have, and, although I love her just as much as she
loves me, I think she is lonelier without me than I am without her."

"I wonder," said Diego, "if we will find at the castle your cousin, Don
Tomaso de Gama, the daredevil knight of whom you have so often told me?
I should like to meet him, you may depend upon it."

"I hope we shall," cried Don Felipe. "He is the finest knight in the
world, and so gay and handsome--oh, everybody likes Don Tomaso!"

Presently they were called to make their respects to the Prior, who was
returning to La Rabida; this they did with much politeness. They loved
the good Prior; but they were glad they were not going back with him.

At three o'clock they resumed their journey. They traveled all the
afternoon, the road ever rising. At nightfall they stopped at a humble
inn, only frequented by the poorest class of travelers; but there
was nothing better in the neighborhood. Diego thought the supper the
worst he had ever tasted, the small, close rooms dark and dirty, and
he felt inclined to speak of these discomforts. Everything at La
Rabida was plain, but clean and wholesome. But he noticed that the
Admiral and Fray Piña made no complaint, and Don Felipe, accustomed
to the splendors of a court and a castle, said no word showing
dissatisfaction; and Diego was shamed into keeping silence.

Next morning they resumed their journey. It was but three days
to Granada; but the castle of Langara lay a long distance to the
northward, and it was a good four days' journey to reach it. The
weather remained beautifully clear, although the autumn air grew sharp
as they climbed farther into the mountains. Diego and Don Felipe
enjoyed every step they traveled, and when they reached another bad
inn, the second night, were secretly delighted that there was no room
for them, so they had to sleep, rolled in their cloaks and blankets,
on a little balcony open to the sky, with the quiet stars shining down
upon them.

The third night the two lads again slept out, this time in the
courtyard of an inn. It was expected that they would reach the castle
of Langara by six o'clock on the fourth evening. They were now well
into the Sierra Nevada Mountains and were climbing a rocky road which
led to a plateau upon which the castle stood. The trees were quite
leafless, and they could see at intervals the great gray mass of the
castle, which seemed much nearer than it was by road, as the highway
ran around the base of the plateau and was ever on the rise.

The daylight was not quite gone, and a crescent moon hung in the
heavens, while a rosy glow flooded the western sky, and a band of gold
on the horizon marked the departure of the royal sun.

As the travelers rode steadily on they heard upon the stony path ahead
the clatter of a horse's iron-shod hoofs coming at a hard gallop, and
in a few minutes a cavalier came into view and rode straight for the
Admiral.

"It is my cousin, Don Tomaso de Gama, called by some the Daredevil
Knight," whispered Don Felipe to Diego.

The appearance of Don Tomaso was most attractive to young eyes. He was
extremely handsome, with a sparkle in his eyes; his horsemanship was
superb, and his manner, in speaking to the Admiral, graceful, though
somewhat more debonair than was usual with those who addressed him.

Don Tomaso, pulling up his horse, a powerful chestnut, bowed politely
to the Admiral, and said:

"I believe I am addressing Admiral Christobal Colon. I come from the
noble lady Doña Christina, who sends me in advance to say that she is
expecting with much eagerness you and your party, and that the castle
and all that is in it are at your disposal. Oh! Hulloa! Yonder is
little Felipe! How are you, lad?"

The Admiral bowed and smiled, while Don Felipe was secretly anxious for
fear Don Tomaso had not treated the Admiral with the deference to which
he was accustomed.

Having been introduced to the rest of the party, Don Tomaso rode beside
the Admiral and entered into conversation with him. All, including
Diego and Don Felipe, noticed a marked change that came over Don
Tomaso as he conversed with the Admiral. The somewhat saucy manner of
the Daredevil Knight grew every moment more respectful and he finally
brought a smile to the Admiral's grave face by frankly saying:

"I do not wonder that you can treat with kings and princes as an equal.
You are the first man I ever met of whom I was really afraid--but I
grew afraid of you before you had spoken three times to me!"

The party now entered a narrow road, leading by many windings to the
castle gates. It was very dark and overhung with rocks and trees and
capable of being defended. When they came out upon an open place in
front of the fortress-like castle and faced the drawbridge, which was
down, Don Tomaso took from his doublet a silver trumpet and gave three
ringing blasts upon it. A warder on the tower of the main gateway
replied with a single loud trumpet-call.

Lights were moving in the castle, and upon the highest point of the
parapet there were figures faintly seen in the fast-falling darkness.

"I see my mother and Luisita on the parapet!" cried Don Felipe, seizing
Diego's arm.

Once inside the gateway the party dismounted, their tired mules were
led away, and they crossed on foot a splendid courtyard with majestic
piles of buildings all around it. Diego had never seen anything so fine
in his life.

They entered the castle by a low and heavy archway with swinging
lanterns overhead, while servants carried torches on the tips of long
pikes.

There, standing under the central lantern, stood the Duchess de Langara
y Gama. Diego's first impression of her was of a mingling of dignity
with kindness, grace with stateliness. She was still beautiful,
although no longer young, and the resemblance of Don Felipe to her was
marked. Her dress was of dark-blue velvet, and her hair was adorned
with jewels. Next her stood Doña Luisita, a charming young girl of
fourteen, the image of Don Felipe, with soft dark eyes and a skin like
ivory. Over her rich black hair was a thin white veil that fell to the
edge of her white gown. As Doña Luisita stood under the mellow light of
lanterns and torches, her white gown and flowing veil showing against
the dark background, her hands clasped as she gazed toward Don Felipe,
she seemed to Diego like an angel, all whiteness and purity. Don
Felipe, standing next to Diego, held his arms out wide to his sister.
The two could scarcely keep apart while their elders made ceremonious
greetings.

"Welcome," said Doña Christina to the Admiral, adding the picturesque
Spanish phrase: "My house and all that is in it are yours."

The Admiral bowed profoundly and kissed Doña Christina's hand and that
of Doña Luisita, who was introduced to him. Then Don Felipe advanced
and was folded in the arms of his mother and sister. The rest of the
party were introduced, Don Felipe saying, as the Admiral presented
Diego:

"This is my good friend and comrade, Diego."

Nothing could exceed the kindness of Doña Christina's manner to Diego;
and Doña Luisita made him a low bow in return for his.

Doña Christina, turning to the Admiral, said:

"My son is now the head of the house, and must take his father's place.
He is inexperienced; but, like me, he feels honored by your presence
under our roof. I know very well the high esteem in which the Queen
holds you and wishes all to hold you."

The Admiral expressed his thanks, and then, Doña Christina leading the
way, they ascended a wide stone stair, and still another stair, where
the apartments for the Admiral and Fray Piña were prepared.

"You are to sleep in the same room with me," whispered Don Felipe in
Diego's ear. "I asked my mother to arrange it so."

After saying that supper would be served as soon as the travelers were
refreshed, Doña Christina went to her own part of the castle. Doña
Luisita had mysteriously disappeared. Don Felipe threaded his way
through many halls and corridors, all very splendid, past sumptuous
chambers, until he came to a large room with many small windows. It was
comfortably furnished, but without luxury.

"This was my room always," said Don Felipe. "There is a room next it
where I studied, and my sister often studied there with me. Below are
my mother's apartments and my sister's. It is surprising how fast my
sister is becoming a woman."

Diego said nothing of Doña Luisita, rather to Don Felipe's surprise.

As soon as the lads were washed and dressed, after their long day's
travel, they were summoned to supper. It was served in a splendid
hall, hung with armor and with tapestries. The table was long, for
the household was large. At the head of the table sat Doña Christina,
with the Admiral on her right and Doña Luisita on her left. Next
Doña Luisita sat her governess, whose name, Señora Julia Enriquez,
Don Felipe whispered to Diego. She was very grave in manner and
appearance, but not unhandsome. Don Felipe, taking the seat of his
dead father, was at the foot of the table, and Fray Piña was placed on
his right.

The supper was sumptuous and ceremonious. Doña Christina was all
kindness to the Admiral, and her good sense and dignity were displayed
in her conversation.

When supper was over Doña Christina retired to her apartment; and Don
Felipe, after seeing that all his guests were comfortable in their
rooms, went to his own, where he found Diego.

"I think," said Diego, gravely, "that Señora Julia is the sternest and
severest lady I ever saw. She must be worse than Fray Piña."

Don Felipe laughed aloud at this.

"Señora Julia takes it out in looking stern. She is the mildest
creature on earth. My mother says the only fault to be found with her
is that she is too easy, and, especially, has ever let me torment her,
poor lady, and has returned it with kindness. I will say, though, that
I should not have been so tormenting to her if I had not loved her
and did not know that she has loved me from a child. If she had told
my mother of some of my pranks--well, it would have gone hard with me!
Now I am going to my mother, who has sent for me. Go you with me to the
library, where you will find many books and manuscripts--for I know
that you love books almost as well as adventure."

Don Felipe then took Diego to a library, large for those days. It was
lighted with lamps hung from the ceiling.

"Here," said Don Felipe, handing Diego a small manuscript volume of
verse, "are the works of your Italian poet, Petrarca. I know you know
Italian better than Spanish."

"Yes," replied Diego, seizing the little book. "Just as you know
Spanish better than Italian--because it is your native tongue."

Don Felipe went off, leaving Diego in the dim library. Diego looked
about him in delight. Never had he seen so many books together in his
life.

He began to read the volume of poems and grew so absorbed that he did
not hear Don Felipe open the door, and only knew of his presence when
Don Felipe, slapping him on the shoulder, cried:

"Come out of the clouds, Diego! My mother wishes to speak with you. She
has something to tell us both."

Diego went willingly enough. In a small, high-ceiled room close by was
Doña Christina with Doña Luisita and Señora Julia.

"I hope you will be happy while you are here," said Doña Christina to
Diego. "I have talked with the Admiral, your father, and he tells me
that he must depart to-morrow to seek the King and the Queen at Santa
Fé. After considering it, as I shall not be obliged to attend the Queen
for a month, the Admiral and I have agreed that it is better for you
and Don Felipe to remain here with me during that month. Then we can
travel to Santa Fé together."

The first sensation of Diego and Don Felipe was one of disappointment;
their dream was to see the fall of the city of Granada. Doña Christina,
however, unconsciously reconciled them to this delay by adding:

"All the information we have from Granada shows that the city can
scarcely be finally reduced before December, and during that long time
both of you will be better off here than at Santa Fé."

It was not so bad after all--that was the unspoken thought in the minds
of Diego and Don Felipe, and the meaning of the exchange of glances.

Doña Christina talked to Diego, telling him many interesting things
concerning the castle, and was pleased with his admiration of the
library. Then she rose, saying:

"I have many matters to attend to even at this hour, and I will leave
you with Señora Julia."

As soon as Doña Christina left the room Señora Julia sustained the
reputation Don Felipe had given her. Don Felipe inquired concerning a
certain old gentleman in the neighborhood who was supposed to admire
Señora Julia very much. The poor lady was deeply embarrassed, and Doña
Luisita came to the rescue by saying:

"Do not mind my brother, dear Señora Julia. He only says such things
because they make you blush. Do not pay the least attention to him."

In spite of her ferocious appearance, Señora Julia proved no restraint
on the three young people, who laughed and talked merrily together,
Señora Julia joining with them. Diego had never before been thrown with
a girl of Doña Luisita's rank, and he was surprised and charmed at
her gentle and unassuming manner. She was full of curiosity about the
great voyage the Admiral wished to take, and was well informed on the
geography of the world as it was then known. Several times Señora Julia
said it was time for her to take Doña Luisita to her apartment; but
every time Don Felipe, with much impudence but great affection, held
her by force and would not let her rise from her chair. At last Señora
Julia said, in consternation:

"This is the hour that Doña Christina always comes to this room to say
good night to Doña Luisita."

This was enough. Don Felipe and Diego scampered off as fast as they
could run to their own room.




III

THE CASTLE OF LANGARA


The Admiral was to start early in the morning, and Diego and Don Felipe
earnestly hoped that Fray Piña would accompany him. But to their secret
chagrin they found that Fray Piña was to remain at the castle with
them. They knew very well the meaning of this--hard study during many
hours of the day, while the woods and mountains called to them to be
explored, while the fish in the streams remained unmolested. There
would be little hunting or fishing, and not much time to spend over the
books of poetry and romance in the library. In addition, Don Tomaso
de Gama was to travel with the Admiral to Santa Fé, from whence he
had only been absent a short time. Both youths bitterly regretted his
departure, and that they would not have the delight of listening to his
tales of adventure, his merry songs, nor enjoy his gallant and dashing
manners and company.

By daybreak Diego and Don Felipe were up and dressed. Already, below
in the courtyard, they could hear the tramping of the travelers'
mules. Diego went to the Admiral's room, and with him descended to the
courtyard. Early as it was, Doña Christina was present to say farewell
to her guests. The Admiral thanked her with his usual grave courtesy
for her hospitality and, especially, her kindness in asking Diego to
remain and share Don Felipe's studies with Fray Piña. Don Tomaso, his
foot in his stirrup, cried:

"What a happy time you will have, Diego and Don Felipe--no distractions
from study--history, geography, astronomy, and mathematics in the
morning, and mathematics, astronomy, geography, and history in the
afternoon! Now, at Santa Fé, I shall have a very hard time--watching
the besieged city of Granada, making sorties against the gates, living
in a tent, jousting with other knights by way of pastime, riding in the
tilt-yard--all the hardships and the pleasures of a soldier's life."

Don Tomaso, laughing at the long faces of Diego and Don Felipe, flung
himself joyously on his horse. The Admiral kissed and blessed both of
the youths, and said, by way of consolation:

"All will not be over at Granada in one short month."

Then the cavalcade rode off. Diego and Don Felipe were in terror for
fear Fray Piña would call them to their studies at once; but even the
stern instructor had a little mercy on them for two days, in which they
were quite free.

The two lads started out on foot in the clear October sunrise to climb
the near-by mountains, to ford the streams, to enjoy themselves in
that expenditure of energy which is the glorious patrimony of youth.
Don Felipe had to show all of his haunts to Diego, and together the
two boys climbed and walked and slid down steep places and waded
mountain streams, with the utmost enjoyment to themselves. Both knew
something about plants, thanks to Fray Piña, and they were surprised
and delighted to find some beautiful pink orchids having their second
blooming of the year. Diego gathered them, roots and all, carefully,
with much earth, saying:

"These will I take to Doña Christina."

"And I will take some to my sister, for her garden. You should see
Luisita's garden. She loves it well."

They did not return to the castle until near sunset, and were tired,
hungry, and dirty, but very happy. Don Felipe led the way to the back
of the castle, where, sheltered from the north by high stone walls,
was a warm spot, in which a formal little Italian garden was laid out.
Here was Doña Christina with Doña Luisita and Señora Julia. Luisita
ran forward to greet them and at once noticed the plants Diego was so
carefully carrying.

"I never saw that flower bloom in the autumn!" she cried.

Diego had the readiness to offer her some at once, saying:

"The rest are for the noble lady, Doña Christina."

Then he won for himself the undying esteem of Señora Julia by
presenting her with one of the plants.

Doña Christina, who was very observant, thought well of Diego for
remembering the old governess, and as the three young people were
busily planting the flowers, she said to Señora Julia:

"The youth Diego is well mannered. He knows how to behave to his
elders."

"Truly he is," replied Señora Julia. "No youth can be called well
mannered who does not observe politeness to the old and the obscure."

Soon it was time for supper; and Diego and Don Felipe, washed and
dressed and combed, were ready for it. The meal was not splendid and
ceremonious as the night before, only the family being present, except
Diego and Fray Piña; but Diego thought it one of the pleasantest hours
he had ever passed. Family life was unknown to him; the recollection
of his mother, of his early childhood in Lisbon, of the modest home
in which the great Admiral toiled to support his wife and child, and
to assist from his narrow means his venerable father, and to help in
the education of his younger brothers, was, to Diego, like a faint and
far-off dream. He had known many phases and vicissitudes of life in
his short span of years, and had not been unhappy on the whole. But
this sweet domestic life, the society of ladies at meals, the gentle
restraint of their presence, was wholly new and delightful to him.
The conversation was chiefly in the hands of Doña Christina, Señora
Julia, Fray Piña, and the chaplain, with two or three other persons,
officers of the great household maintained by the family of de Langara
y Gama. Occasionally Doña Christina referred courteously to Diego or
Don Felipe; but they were for the most part quiet listeners to the
intelligent conversation of their elders, Doña Luisita too, being
attentive to all that was said.

After supper Diego and Don Felipe had a delicious hour in the library,
Diego reading with Don Felipe his newly found treasure, the poems of
Petrarca. Don Felipe was glad to improve his Italian by this reading,
but laughed at Diego for being so passionately fond of the sonnets.

Then came an hour most delightful of all to Diego, motherless and
homeless as he had long been. Don Felipe and he were summoned to the
room of Doña Christina. There, every night, it was Doña Christina's
practice to spend an hour with her children, and Diego was included
with the utmost kindness in this little family circle. Doña Christina's
kind heart was touched at the thought of Diego's lack of home life and
home affection; Fray Piña had given her an excellent impression of the
boy, and with the generosity of a warm heart Doña Christina wished to
make Diego happy and good, as she desired to make her own children. She
therefore treated him as a son, and Diego responded with the depth of
gratitude and affection of a strong nature.

Doña Christina encouraged the lads to talk freely of their hopes
and plans, Doña Luisita listening intently. Diego did not lose Doña
Christina's respect by his high anticipations, his firm confidence that
his father was about to make the greatest discoveries the world has
ever known.

"I have but one thing of which to be proud," said Diego, frankly, to
Doña Christina; "that is my father. I am not of great family like Don
Felipe. I am the son of a poor man. I am not old enough to have done
anything on my own account. But when I think of my father--his courage,
his perseverance during nearly eighteen years, of his knowledge--for
Fray Piña says my father is the ablest mathematician in Spain--of
the way my father commands the respect of all, from the great Queen
Isabella down to Brother Lawrence, the servant--my heart swells so with
pride my breast can hardly hold it."

"That is the right kind of pride," quietly responded Doña Christina. "I
know what the great Queen thinks of the Admiral, your honored father. I
was proud to have a man of so much learning, courage, and virtue under
my roof."

Then began for Diego a time of new and unusual happiness, for it was
more than mere pleasure. He was very sanguine, as the young must be, of
the success of his father at court. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella
had promised that as soon as the fearful struggle with the Moors was
over they would redeem the promise they had made and provide the
Admiral with the vessels and men he had asked for his voyage--a force
so pitifully small for an enterprise so great that it staggered the
imagination. And already it was known that the city of Granada was
unable to hold out longer than the first of the year. Diego and Don
Felipe gloried in the prospect of seeing the great military pageants
that would mark the fall of the Moorish power in Spain; and Diego
was enough of a Spaniard to feel a patriotic pride in the thought
of driving the foreign invaders from the soil of Spain. So they had
splendid dreams of what they would see at Santa Fé, the city built
in a day, as it were, across the narrow valley from Granada and
commanding its main gates, and where the armies of Castile and Arragon
were encamped. Meanwhile was a month of joy which was not seriously
impaired by the fact that the two lads spent their mornings in hard
study under the iron rule of Fray Piña. After twelve o'clock they were
free to explore the mountains, to hunt, to follow the streams--all the
healthy pleasures of an outdoor life. Their respect for Fray Piña was
increased by the vast knowledge he had of plants and animals, of sports
and of the history of the region. Sometimes they rode, sometimes they
walked, always they enjoyed themselves. In the evening, when they
returned, after they had made themselves presentable, they had the
pleasant family supper in the great hall. Afterward they went to the
library and read for a while, and then Doña Christina would have them
in her private room, where, with Doña Luisita and Señora Julia, Fray
Piña and the chaplain, they had a delightful hour of conversation and
reading. Often Doña Christina would ask Fray Piña to read to them some
interesting book. Fray Piña was well informed on astronomy, and on
clear nights would give Diego and Don Felipe lessons in the science
of the stars. Doña Luisita was also a pupil in these lessons. Doña
Christina and the chaplain became so interested that they too would
join the group, of whom Doña Luisita and Señora Julia were a part, on
the highest point of the main tower of the castle. There, in the sharp
autumn nights, they would assemble, warmly wrapped in heavy riding
cloaks, and listen to the mellow voice of Fray Piña explaining the
mysteries of the palpitating stars and the serene planets that made
the dark-blue sky radiant. Often in after life and among different
scenes the memory came back to Diego of those hours spent on the tower
by night, when earth seemed far away and Doña Luisita's eyes, so softly
bright, shone like stars.

When, at last, late in November, the day of departure from the castle
of Langara came and Diego and Don Felipe were to take the road
to Granada, Diego was amazed to find that he was sorry to leave.
Doña Christina was going with them to begin her tour of duty as
lady-in-waiting to Queen Isabella. Doña Luisita was to remain at the
castle for the present in care of Señora Julia and the chaplain. On the
last of their pleasant evenings Doña Luisita was very sad; and when
they took their last lesson in astronomy, and were all together for the
last time, tears dropped from Doña Luisita's dark eyes. All tried to
comfort her, because it was not pleasant to be left behind.

"Never mind, Doña Luisita," said Diego, "we will not forget you, Don
Felipe and I, and, if Doña Christina will let us, we will put a little
line at the foot of her letters--and I will try and make you some
pictures of Granada, although I cannot draw and paint as well as Don
Felipe."

Don Felipe, too, made many promises; and Doña Luisita submitted
patiently, for Doña Christina, being a wise woman, was accustomed to
exact prompt and uncomplaining obedience from both Doña Luisita and Don
Felipe.

On the cold, dark morning they rode away Doña Luisita showed a brave
spirit and kept back her tears with smiles. Doña Christina and two of
her waiting women were to travel on the sure-footed mules, as ladies
did in those times. Besides Fray Piña and Diego and Don Felipe, there
went for protection, six men armed with harquebuses and mounted, and
the chief steward and his assistant. These last rode ahead to secure
accommodations for the party, as they would be four nights upon the
road.

When the moment of farewell came in the gray of the early morning,
Diego felt strangely sad. Doña Luisita was clasped first in her
mother's arms and then in Don Felipe's. Diego made bold to kiss her
hand.

As the party clattered across the drawbridge, which was hauled up after
them, and watched the lowering of the flag on the keep, signifying that
the head of the house was absent, Diego turned and gave a last look at
the spot in which he had been so happy.

"You look as if you did not want to see the fall of Granada," said Don
Felipe. "After all, we shall have many more pleasant days together at
Langara."

"I hope so," replied Diego, from the bottom of his heart.

Diego carried in the breast of his leathern jacket a treasure which
had been given him by Doña Christina as a souvenir of his happy hours
in the library of the castle. This was the little manuscript volume of
Petrarca, which Diego had read for the first time with so much delight
at Langara.

The party traveled on slowly but steadily. After a while the dark
morning brightened and the sun shone gloriously.

It is a privilege of youth to rally quickly from sadness. So it was
that after a while Diego's heart was light again, and he began to
enjoy already, in anticipation, a return some day to the castle. Don
Felipe's good spirits were contagious. The two youths were full of
health, and of eager and ardent soul, each with a good horse under him,
and traveling toward a scene of splendid adventures. Diego surprised
himself by bursting into a song, with a refrain:

    Merrily, merrily we go, my steed and I,
    Soon will we return,
    We will return, we will return!

At every stage of their journey they were met with news of the
impending triumph of the Spanish arms. The country was ablaze with
patriotism. For nearly eight hundred years the Moors had occupied
Spanish territory, had built great cities and fortresses, and had
maintained a great court at Granada, in the magnificent palace of the
Alhambra, grander than that of the Spanish sovereigns themselves.
The Moors were aliens and of another race; they had a different
civilization, Oriental in character and totally unlike the Christian
civilization. Never, during all these eight hundred years, had there
been peace in Spain; nor would there ever be peace until the foreign
invaders were driven out. Gradually they had been hemmed in, their
large cities taken, their fortresses forced to surrender, until now,
under Boabdil, a weak and effeminate king, Granada alone remained to
them. This had been invested on every side, no provisions had been
carried to the city and garrison for many months, and it was only a
question of a few weeks when it must surrender. The Spanish sovereigns
did not intend to carry the city by assault, not wishing to injure the
women and children or to endanger the city by fire, but to reduce it by
steady and incessant attacks. That hour was near at hand.

The Castilian army had borne its share in the campaign and siege,
and its Queen, Isabella of Castile, who had administered the civil
government of Arragon as well as Castile while King Ferdinand was in
the field, was to join him at Granada.

The party from the castle of Langara reached the neighborhood of Santa
Fé early in the morning of the day Queen Isabella was to arrive, and
thus were to witness the meeting between the Queen of Castile and the
King of Arragon; for, although they were husband and wife, they were
independent sovereigns, and met first as such.

Early in the bright November morning, upon the last stage of their
journey, the party from the castle was met by the Admiral coming
from Santa Fé to greet them. They met in the narrow pass of Pinos,
about six miles from Santa Fé. Already the highway was crowded with
the advance-guard of Queen Isabella's party, together with the great
concourse which always flocks toward the scene of coming exciting
events. The Admiral was accompanied by Don Tomaso de Gama and Alonzo
de Quintanilla, an accountant to Queen Isabella, and who was the
steady friend of the Admiral. As soon as they met Doña Christina
they all dismounted and respectfully greeted her. Then the Admiral
embraced Diego; and when greetings with all were exchanged they set
forward briskly. Doña Christina wished to reach Santa Fé and put on
the splendid attire of a court lady, in which to greet her Queen. Don
Tomaso, too, must return quickly, as well as Alonzo de Quintanilla. The
Admiral decided to return with them, so that Diego and Don Felipe,
with Fray Piña alone, standing on a rocky height directly overlooking
the road, witnessed the splendid pageant of the meeting of the
sovereigns. The multitude of persons was very great and of all sorts,
from peasants to great nobles with their long trains of attendants.
None suspected that the fair-haired and blue-eyed youth standing by
the grave young ecclesiastic was the son of the man most talked of in
Spain at that moment, for the whole country was awake and alive to the
projects of the Admiral, who was derided by some, denounced by others,
strongly supported by a few, and eagerly discussed by all. Nor was it
known that the slim, handsome, black-eyed lad was one of the first
grandees of Spain, inheritor of a great dukedom with all its wealth,
honors, and responsibilities.

On every hand the sights and sounds were enchanting to Diego and
Don Felipe. Before them rose the splendid walled city of Granada,
the Moorish flag with its silver crescent floating from the highest
point of the citadel. The gilded domes and minarets of the doomed
city glittered in the noonday light. On one side the ground fell
away abruptly into a long, narrow gorge, through which the little
river Xeni flowed, bridged in many places. On the opposite heights
the improvised city of Santa Fé stretched away, grimly watchful of
the Moorish stronghold. Beyond that still were the long lines of the
encamped armies of Castile and Arragon. All the troops were under arms
to greet the Queen. In a large open space between the armies was a
splendid pavilion, of painted linen outside and luxuriously equipped
inside, which King Ferdinand had caused to be prepared for his Queen.
Over it hung the Gonfalon, the gorgeous banner of the two kingdoms,
bearing on one side the Castilian coat-of-arms and on the other that of
Arragon. From this camp first came a vast cavalcade of royal princes,
nobles, knights, and soldiers, halberdiers and harquebusiers to meet
the Queen and her party. Among them rode a number of ladies, of whom
Doña Christina was one.

As the procession wound its way over the plain toward the narrow road
that led from the plateau into the lower country, music rang out,
flags and banners fluttered gaily, and the armored knights seemed clad
in gold, as the sunlight gleamed upon their coats of chain mail. First
came a band of musicians playing the national hymns, followed by the
trumpeters with their silver trumpets. Then came the heralds in their
gorgeously embroidered coats, followed by a group of the chief officers
of state and the highest nobles in Spain, all superbly mounted. Next
came the ecclesiastics, headed by the great Cardinal Pedro Gonzalez
de Mendoza, afterward the firm friend of the Admiral. In an open
space, surrounded by the princes of his house, rode King Ferdinand,
a man of splendid appearance, a soldier as well as a statesman. He
rode a magnificent charger and was all smiles, bowing to the applause
of the thousands of spectators. After him rode Prince Juan, who, to
Diego and Don Felipe, was so far the most interesting person who had
yet appeared. He was about their own age, extremely handsome, with an
expression the most winning, a true son of his mother, the great Queen
Isabella. Diego thought it would not be hard to serve so gallant and
so gentle a young man.

Behind them came a guard of honor, consisting of the foremost knights
in Spain. Toward the end rode three young knights abreast who deeply
interested Diego. The first was his friend, Don Tomaso de Gama, looking
every inch a knight. On one side rode a dark young man, not handsome,
but with a soldier's eye. This was Gonzalez de Cordova, afterward the
celebrated general who won deathless glory in Italy. On the other side
rode the most beautiful knight Diego had ever seen. He looked the
embodiment of beauty, such as the Greek sculptors gave to their young
gods. It was Ponce de Leon, later on to discover Porto Rico and Florida
in his search for the fabled Bimini--the fountain of perpetual youth.
It was Don Felipe who gave Diego the names of these and many others in
the gorgeous cavalcade.

When the procession reached the edge of the plateau it halted, the
music was hushed, and a deep silence of expectancy followed. Presently,
from the narrow gorge beneath, floated the sweet sound of the silver
trumpets, which was the signal of the Queen's approach. Instantly from
the brazen throats of the King's trumpets came a joyous response. Soon
the head of the Queen's procession came into view. It was as splendid,
though not so large, as that of the King. The Queen, after the fashion
of the time, was mounted on a mule, splendidly caparisoned. Queen
Isabella wore a superb riding costume of black velvet with a hat and
feathers, and across her breast and on her slender arms was a delicate
gold chain armor, showing that this great and noble Queen, this tender
wife and devoted mother, was also a warrior and a sovereign. On her
right, similarly mounted, was the Princess Katharine, afterward the
noble and unfortunate wife of the eighth Henry of England.

When Queen Isabella reached the plateau King Ferdinand spurred
his charger forward, but stopped when about twenty yards off and
dismounted, approaching his wife with deep respect. Although devotedly
attached to each other, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella were yet
independent sovereigns, and the great Queen was the last person in the
world to abate any of the honors and dignity due to her country and
herself as its Queen.

Prince Juan and every one else dismounted.

The King, first taking off his plumed helmet and sweeping the
ground with it, bowed low to his wife. Queen Isabella, who had also
dismounted, removing her hat from her head, revealed her beautiful
chestnut hair, coifed with jewels, and returned the King's bow
ceremoniously. Then walking toward each other, they met, and the
King kissed the Queen formally on the cheek, as one sovereign kisses
another on meeting. When that was over, however, the King and Queen
embraced and kissed heartily as husband and wife. Prince Juan, after
ceremoniously saluting his mother, was also kissed and embraced. The
young Princess Katharine was then clasped in the arms of her father and
her brother.

Then, again remounting, the two processions united and took their way
toward Santa Fé. The loud acclaims increased as the joint armies of
Castile and Arragon beheld the Queen whom they both adored; and, long
after the procession had become a mere moving speck in the distance,
the far-off sound of cheers and of swords drawn and driven back to
their scabbards still floated across the little plain.

The sight of Ferdinand in all his splendor impressed Diego deeply; but
when his young eyes fell upon Queen Isabella a feeling of reverence
stole into his heart which could only be compared with what he felt
for his father. Here was a woman, a Queen, a saint, a gentlewoman, the
soul of courtesy, the model of integrity, proud where she should be
proud, meek where she should be meek, nobly ambitious for her country,
the mother of her people, ready to lead her soldiers in battle like a
king, and then kneeling by them and binding up their wounds as would a
mother--Diego's mind was lofty enough to render full tribute to this
Queen, one of the most glorious women who ever lived.




IV

THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR


The short November afternoon was melting into twilight when Diego and
Don Felipe, with Fray Piña, took their way on horseback across the
plateau to the town of Santa Fé. The plain was still thronged with
persons going homeward after the great spectacle of the day, and with
those who dwelt in Santa Fé or were encamped outside.

The Admiral had engaged lodgings for the party in a tall, old house,
one of those in the original small town where he himself lodged. It
was in a crooked and retired street, but Diego and Don Felipe were
delighted to find that one window of the room which they shared
together, under the roof, looked toward the plain upon which were
encamped the armies of Castile and Arragon, while another gave a
view of the deep and narrow valley that lay between Santa Fé and
the beleaguered city of Granada. Directly before them lay the "Gate
of Justice," one of the main gates of the city, and from its towers
they could hear, in the clear November air, the shrill cry of the
muezzin, the Moslem call to prayer. "Prayer is better than sleep--than
sleep--than sleep."

After the traveler's supper, at which were present the Admiral and his
friend, Alonzo de Quintanilla, Diego and Don Felipe were willing enough
to go to their room. They felt as if they were living under a spell of
enchantment. The splendid personages they had seen, the great events of
which they were to be spectators, the pomp and glory of war, impressed
their young imaginations powerfully. Although tired with their long day
of travel and excitement, they could not sleep. So an hour passed. They
rose at last, and, as they were gazing out of the window toward the
camp, at ten o'clock they noticed in the middle of the camp, lying a
mile away, a great mass of flame shoot skyward. Instantly the camp was
roused, and there was a great commotion in the town. De Quintanilla
ran out of the house and, mounting his horse, still standing at the
door, galloped away toward the camp. The fire, though violent, soon
burned itself out, and in an hour De Quintanilla returned with the
news that the beautiful tents erected by the King for Queen Isabella,
the Princess Katharine, and their suites, had mysteriously caught fire
while the Queen was at prayer in the tent arranged as a chapel. She had
made an almost miraculous escape, and by her courage and presence of
mind not a life had been lost, although the splendid row of tents, hung
with rich brocades and gorgeously furnished, were only a heap of ashes.

"The Queen," said De Quintanilla, to the listening group, "showed as
ever the spirit of ten men-at-arms, being composed and even smiling,
and saying that the humblest tent in the army is enough to shelter her,
for she is a soldier like the rest of the army."

The next morning Diego and Don Felipe were not surprised when Fray Piña
began at once the same routine that had been followed at La Rabida
and at the castle of Langara. It was irksome to them and tantalizing
to be held down to books and studies in their narrow little room,
while living in the midst of a great camp with all its charms and
fascinations for brave and imaginative boys. But they knew too much to
appeal against it, for Fray Piña's stern rule was upheld by the Admiral
and by Doña Christina. Still they enjoyed their new life and felt as if
they were living every minute of it.

The arrival of Queen Isabella had put new vigor into everything. The
armies were impatient to take the city of Granada by storm; but King
Ferdinand, a capable soldier, would not consider this. From spies and
the Moorish prisoners occasionally captured, both the King and the
Queen knew that there was utter demoralization within the walls of
Granada. The weak and effeminate spirit of the Moorish King, Boabdil,
would not listen to the counsels of those who were willing to die with
honor in an attempt to break out of the city. His eldest son, a boy
of seven, had been captured by the Spaniards when an effort was made
secretly to transport the child to the coast. This had broken the heart
of Boabdil. He had no idea of civilized warfare, and would not believe
the messages sent him that the boy was well cared for, and Queen
Isabella charged herself with his welfare. The word "Kismet"--"It is
fate," paralyzed King Boabdil. He waited where his ancestors had fought
boldly and had taken desperate chances with unshaken courage.

Although there was still hard fighting to be done, the presence of
the Queen and her ladies led to many splendid entertainments, jousts,
and tilts. Neither Diego nor Don Felipe, nor any of their party, saw
anything of these brilliant gaieties. The Admiral lived in retirement,
except when he went to attend men in power, whose understanding and
approval of his plans he wished to secure before making his final
appeal to the sovereigns after the city should have fallen. He soon
found that, although King Ferdinand was not averse to the enterprise,
he was quite willing to let the money for the expedition come out of
the coffers of Castile instead of Arragon, and that the ships should
be named by Castilians. Alonzo de Quintanilla was a hard-working
accountant who went to his daily labor early and remained late. In
the evening he, and the Admiral, Fray Piña, and the two lads, supped
together; their talk was not of festivals, but of the chances of the
great voyage of the Admiral.

Sometimes, however, the party was increased by the presence of Luis de
St. Angel, also an accountant of the Queen, and Father Diego de Deza,
tutor to Prince Juan and one of the most scientific men of the age. To
him, in later life, the Admiral bore tribute in writing as one of the
two men without whom he could never have got the support of the Court
of Spain in his enterprise. The second man so immortalized was Juan
Perez.

With the two ecclesiastics and Alonzo de Quintanilla the Admiral held
long conferences, not only on scientific subjects, but on the best
method of urging his plan upon the King and the Queen when the time
should be ripe.

It was plain to the quick intelligence of Diego and Don Felipe that the
two ecclesiastics, both of them able mathematicians and astronomers,
frankly conceded the superiority in mathematics and astronomy to the
Admiral, and their faith in his ideas was strengthened continually by
the evidences of his extraordinary attainments, as well as his great
natural powers and lofty and unsullied character.

There were two others who sometimes joined this circle of remarkable
men. One was Don Tomaso, who brought with him the beautiful knight,
Ponce de Leon. In spite of his surpassing good looks, Ponce de Leon was
an intelligent man, and had, for his own pleasure, studied navigation.
He would talk much with the Admiral and Fray Piña, studying maps and
making astronomical calculations, while the Daredevil Knight, twirling
his mustaches, clanking his sword, and rattling his great spurs, would
charm Diego and Don Felipe with stories of jousts at arms, for the
favor of the ladies, and splendid balls at which those same ladies
danced with gallant gentlemen.

Doña Christina was in attendance upon Queen Isabella, who, with the
King, lived in the midst of the camp in tents almost as splendid as
those which had been destroyed by fire the first night of the Queen's
arrival. It was arranged that Don Felipe should visit his mother once a
week; and the first visit he paid Doña Christina he asked permission
to bring Diego, which was granted. This gave Diego great joy. Not only
did he wish to see the kind and gentle Doña Christina, but he longed
ardently to see the splendid encampment, and the great Queen, for whom
he had a reverence and affection dating back to the days of his first
visit to La Rabida, and to whom he looked as the one person who would
open the way of glory to his father.

On the appointed day the two youths, with Fray Piña, set out on foot
for the camp. They were both dressed alike, suitably, but with much
simplicity. As the two started off from the door of their lodgings
Diego looked back, and a sudden pang went to his heart. His father,
who stood watching him, was shabbily dressed, although with that
extraordinary neatness which always distinguished him. It suddenly
came home to Diego the patient sacrifices made for him by his father,
and a passionate desire welled up in his heart that some day he might
repay that father, so noble in every way, and yet with the tenderness
of a woman. But more cheerful thoughts filled Diego's ardent young
mind as he and Don Felipe, with Fray Piña, passed through the great
encampment and finally came to the tents occupied by the Queen and her
ladies. Doña Christina received them with the greatest kindness, making
courteous inquiries of the Admiral and expressing much satisfaction
when Fray Piña told her of the good conduct of Don Felipe and Diego.

"You shall be rewarded," said Doña Christina. "In an hour the Queen
sets forth to review the Castilian troops, and, if Fray Piña will
permit, you may both see that splendid sight."

The heart of Diego leaped with joy, and he and Don Felipe exchanged
delighted glances.

It was not Doña Christina's duty to attend the Queen that day. When the
blowing of the silver trumpets in the clear December noon announced
that the Queen was about to issue from her tent, Fray Piña and the two
lads went out and stood at a respectful distance watching the splendid
sight. The Queen's charger, a superb war horse, was led out, and a
brilliant array of knights and the gorgeous body-guard awaited her.
Queen Isabella issued from her tent escorted by her ladies. She wore
a handsome but simple riding costume and the same light but beautiful
corselet and arm-pieces of glittering chain mail. On her delicate, fair
head was a small and resplendent casque with purple plumes. She was
that day the sovereign and the soldier. As she caught sight of Fray
Piña she bowed to him courteously and spoke a word to Doña Christina,
who beckoned to Fray Piña and the two youths. Diego could have shouted
for joy when he found himself approaching the Queen. She spoke first to
Fray Piña, and then to Don Felipe, saying:

"I am pleased to hear, Don Felipe, that your conduct is good and that
you have learned how to obey, which is a necessary thing for all who
wish to live creditably in the world."

Then, turning to Diego, she said, sweetly:

"And this is Diego, the son of the great captain whom I esteem highly.
I remember this youth as a little lad when first his father came to me
at Cordova seven years ago."

Then the remembrance of Diego falling asleep on the steps of the dais
came to the Queen, and she smiled, saying:

"You were but a little lad then, and fell asleep with your head upon my
knee. All youths of your age are dear to me, for in them I see the hope
of Spain."

With that the great Queen bowed in dismissal, and, mounting, showed
perfect horsemanship as she put her horse to the gallop and rode off,
followed by her retinue.

The two boys, with Fray Piña, scampered through the camp and were able
to reach a point where they had a full view of the Castilian troops
drawn up in splendid order upon the open plain. The Queen's appearance
was greeted with thundering cheers, with the clash of lances in the
bright air, the joyous rattling of swords in their scabbards and salvos
of artillery, and the playing of the national hymn. Queen Isabella rode
up and down the ranks inspecting everything with a keen eye and sharp
judgment, questioning the officers with the knowledge of a king as
well as of a queen. When the inspection was over, the troops marched
past, saluting their sovereign; and the Queen, with the great standard
of Castile held above her, gracefully acknowledged every salute. The
march-past over, the Queen then visited the sick quarters of the camp,
going through the hospital tents, cheering and encouraging the poor
inmates. When this was over and the Queen, with her retinue, returned
to the royal tents, it was late in the afternoon. Fray Piña and the two
lads were already in Doña Christina's tent to see the Queen dismount.
Doña Christina, within the tent, opened the door. She held by the hand
a little black-eyed, dark-skinned, sad-looking boy about the age of
little Fernando.

"This," she said, to Fray Piña, in Spanish, which the child did not
understand, "is the son of King Boabdil, held as a hostage. Every day
the Queen has the little boy brought to her, or visits him privately to
show him some kindness. To-day she will come into this tent to speak to
him."

In another minute the Queen entered unceremoniously from the adjoining
tent. The little boy's sad face brightened as he saw her, and, letting
go of Doña Christina's hand, he went willingly to the Queen and
respectfully kissed her hand. The Queen, putting her arm around his
shoulder, gave him a little toy, a horse, carved and painted, and
said to him a few words in the Moorish tongue. The boy, silent and
undemonstrative, was yet not unfeeling, and his face showed a faint
pleasure.

The Queen then entered into a short conversation with Fray Piña. She
was fond of the society of learned men, and always treated them with
much respect. Fray Piña, with quick art, brought in the name of the
Admiral, saying that Father de Deza and himself profited much by the
Admiral's superior scientific knowledge.

"We are but postulants, madam," he said, "in mathematics and astronomy
when compared with the Genoese navigator. This Father de Deza and I
often say to each other."

The Queen looked fixedly at Fray Piña, showing herself impressed by
such words from such men. Then, in a few moments, she left the tent,
accompanied by Doña Christina, who still held the little prisoner by
the hand.

Diego and Don Felipe then walked back through the sharp December
afternoon to their lodgings in the town. The brilliant military
spectacle they had seen made them long for more of the same kind. They
were at the age when they chafed for action, not realizing how little
prepared they were for it and that the stern rule under which they
lived was the best school for them. Still, so strong was the pressure
brought to bear upon them by Fray Piña and by the Admiral that they did
well at their studies.

Meanwhile, they were not the only ones whose patience was painfully
tried. The Admiral had the promise of the King and the Queen that as
soon as the struggle with the Moors was over they would arrange for
the great voyage. It was only a question of time now when the city of
Granada must surrender. The arrival of the Queen had put new force into
an attack already vigorous. The Spaniards gave the Moors no rest by day
or night. First at one gate and then at another, they made desperate
assaults, overwhelming the Moorish troops and driving them back with
terrible loss into the city.

The Admiral, hoping that his sublime projects would immediately follow
the fall of Granada, was eager to make his arrangements that he might
begin his voyage early in the summer. But at the moment when, after
eighteen years of desperate and determined struggle, the dayspring of
hope was at hand, an unexpected difficulty arose. Fernando de Talavera,
Archbishop of Toledo, who was destined to be the first Archbishop of
Granada, a man of honesty, but without enthusiasm, who had heretofore
befriended the Admiral, strongly opposed the honors which the Admiral
claimed in the event of his success. Diego and Don Felipe knew this,
not from the mouth of the Admiral, who scorned to make any complaint,
but from the conversation of those around them. Diego saw his father go
forth every day to wait in the anterooms of the great, who seemed to
have no time to listen to him. The events passing before them were so
brilliant and dazzling that they put off the more stupendous thing, the
discovery of a new world. Every day, in the evening, when the Admiral
returned, he showed unbroken patience; but Diego knew that no progress
had been made. Once he heard his father say to Fray Piña:

"I will wait here patiently until the fall of the city. If then no one
will listen to me, I shall leave Spain, and another country shall have
the glory of my discoveries."

All through December the cordon was tightened around the city, the loss
inflicted on the Moors greater, their sorties more desperate and more
disastrous. It was hoped that by Christmas the standard of the Cross
would float over the great mosque in the Alhambra; but still the city
held out desperately. On Christmas Day, however, an adventure happened
that thrilled Diego and Don Felipe and all who saw it. On that day the
fighting had been unusually severe all around the city of Granada,
except on the plateau of the Gate of Justice, which faced Santa Fé.
At midday, as the Admiral, with Fray Piña and Diego and Don Felipe,
stood at an open window watching the fighting, they saw three carts,
apparently loaded with provisions, steal out of a small ravine close
to the Gate of Justice, and then trot rapidly to the gate. The carts
were evidently seen and their burdens noted, for the postern-gate was
instantly opened. The first cart entered and became at once wedged in
such a manner that the gate could not be shut. Suddenly a knight clad
in a light and glittering chain armor and mounted on a superb black
horse dashed up the acclivity, followed by fifteen other knights,
all picked men. The Admiral and Fray Piña recognized the leader, the
gallant Hernando Perez del Pulgar, a cousin of the Prior, Juan Perez,
and a man renowned for his daring even among the fearless and brilliant
knights of Spain. He carried on his lance-head a fluttering piece of
linen; and, dashing at the narrow opening, his horse leaped over the
cart, and was followed by another knight, whom Diego and Don Felipe saw
was Don Tomaso de Gama. Fourteen other knights rode into the gateway
and disappeared.

"What does it mean?" said Diego, turning to Fray Piña.

"It means, I fear," replied Fray Piña, "that those sixteen gallant
gentlemen are lost to Spain; they will never return."

"I think they will," replied the Admiral. "Hernando Perez del Pulgar
is a daring man, but prudent withal. He has not entered the Moorish
city to be trapped along with his companions; some of them will return."

As the Admiral spoke they saw the carts push slowly through the gateway
and become strongly jammed with each other.

"See," said the Admiral, "the gate remains open. There is a stratagem,
you may depend."

By that time the word had sped from mouth to mouth through the town of
Santa Fé and among the encamped soldiers of what was going on, and,
like the Admiral, all saw that the postern-gate was purposely blocked
and kept open by the supposed food-carts. Thus all eyes were fixed upon
the open gateway, visible in the bright noon. The King and the Queen
had been informed, and had come from their tents, surrounded by the
court, to watch the exciting event happening before their eyes. Ten
minutes passed, ten minutes of agonized tension and breathless anxiety,
and then the black charger of Del Pulgar appeared before the open gate,
and, making a magnificent leap over the carts, which acted as a wedge
in the gate, the knight appeared shouting the battle-cry of Spain:

"Santiago for Spain!"

He still carried his lance; but the fluttering piece of white linen was
no longer there. He dashed down the declivity, followed by the fifteen
knights, their numbers counted by tens of thousands of anxious eyes. As
the last of the sixteen men leaped the cart a great cry went up from
the city and camps of Santa Fé:

"Santiago, Santiago for Spain!" burst from the watching multitudes.

Many of the women were weeping with excitement and triumph. As the
sixteen men disappeared in the valley Don Felipe found himself clasping
Diego, both of them shouting in their high, boyish voices:

"Santiago, Santiago for Spain!"

At that moment Alonzo de Quintanilla burst into the room with the great
news.

"The brave knight, Del Pulgar," he said, "meaning to do honor to Christ
on this Christmas Day, had a Christian prayer painted on a piece
of linen to nail upon the doors of the great mosque in Granada. He
arranged a stratagem by which a gate of the city should be open, and
then, riding in with his companions, he galloped up to the door of the
great mosque and nailed upon it with his dagger the Christian prayer.
The Moors were so taken by surprise that they could not stop him. Not
one of the sixteen knights received a scratch."

The eyes of the Admiral shone bright. He loved deeds of valor, and the
daring of the young knights pleased him well.

While the elders of the party were discussing the splendid dash of Del
Pulgar and the possibilities of the siege, Diego, who was standing at
the open window, silently motioned to Don Felipe to join him. They
saw a Moorish officer ride out from the Gate of Justice and walk his
horse up and down the plateau of the Vega. He wore the heavy turban,
under which the Moors had a small steel skull-cap, and he had on a
breastplate and his arm-pieces of solid armor. He carried no lance or
shield, but only a great curved sword, such as the Moors used. His
horse was a milk-white Arabian with a long and flowing mane and tail,
dyed purple at the ends. From the horse's tail floated, tied with
bands of red and yellow, the Spanish colors, a piece of white linen. A
cry of rage and horror went up from the watching multitudes of Santa
Fé; it was the Christian prayer that had been nailed to the door of the
mosque by Hernando Perez del Pulgar, and which the Moorish warrior had
torn down and was dragging at his horse's heels in full sight of the
Christian city and armies.

The Admiral and Fray Piña and Alonzo de Quintanilla turned to the
window and saw what was happening. Great crowds were already assembled,
and the streets of Santa Fé and the walls of Granada were black with
people. The Moorish warrior passed slowly toward the edge of the
valley, or rather ravine, and, reining up his horse, dashed an iron
glove as far as he could throw it toward Santa Fé. The challenge did
not remain long unanswered. Across the bridge of the Xeni and up the
rocky roadway a Spanish cavalier was seen urging his horse.

"That is Manuel Garcilosa," said Alonzo de Quintanilla. "I know him
well. He is not of noble birth; but, by Heaven! he will be ennobled if
he rescues the Christian prayer from the Moor."

Garcilosa, like the Moor, had neither lance nor shield, but a sword,
which, like most of the Spanish swords, was a Toledo blade, made of the
finest strength and temper.

Arrived on the plateau, Garcilosa stopped to breathe his horse, a noble
chestnut. Man and horse stood motionless, as if cast in bronze. The
Moor advanced warily, his horse at the trot. Garcilosa, his sword in
rest, seemed waiting for the onslaught. When the Moorish warrior was
within twenty yards of Garcilosa, he gave his horse the spur, and the
chestnut sprang forward like an arrow released from the bow. The Moor
also put spurs to his horse to meet the shock, but Garcilosa was too
quick for him. The Arabian horse swerved a little, answering a touch of
the bridle; but the chestnut, dashing full at him, man and horse were
ridden down. The white horse had fallen upon his master; but with the
intelligence of the Arabian he struggled to his feet in an instant.
The Moorish warrior rose, too, as Garcilosa dismounted. Then followed
a desperate combat on foot. The Moor was the heavier man; the Spanish
gentleman the more active. They fought in a narrow circle, the clashing
of their swords ringing out in the clear December air. Blood streamed
from the faces of both, and presently the Moor was seen to stagger.
Garcilosa suddenly gave his antagonist a thrust upon the sword-arm
which brought him to the ground. Then, running to the Arabian, which
stood perfectly still, Garcilosa, first tearing away the Christian
prayer and putting it in his breast, took his Toledo blade and cut off
the flowing tail of the Arabian horse. Cries resounded from the people
on the walls of the city. The horse was of the breed of the Prophet
Mohammed, and to cut off his tail was reckoned sacrilege.

The Moor still lay insensible on the ground; and Garcilosa, vaulting
into the saddle upon the white horse, gave his own chestnut steed a
thwack with the sword, which sent him flying back down the road he
knew, followed by his master on the Arabian steed, hard galloping. Once
more shouts and cries of "Santiago, Santiago for Spain!" rent the air.

[Illustration: GARCILOSA SUDDENLY GAVE HIS ANTAGONIST A THRUST UPON THE
SWORD-ARM]

When Garcilosa rode into Santa Fé he was met by a messenger from the
King and the Queen. With Del Pulgar he received the thanks of both and
the cheers of the men and the tears of the women. That day Garcilosa
was ennobled, becoming Don Garcilosa del Vega, in commemoration of the
spot on which he fought his gallant fight.

On January 1, 1492, the offer of surrender was made by King Boabdil.
The following day the Moorish king and all his followers passed out
of Granada and left Spain free from the foreign invaders after nearly
eight hundred years. The joy and triumph of the day inspired every
heart, even the torturing soul of the great Admiral, who was forgotten
and overlooked in the universal excitement. All the highest nobles
and grandees of Spain--the warriors, the statesmen, the scholars, all
that made Spain great--were assembled on that January day to see the
surrender of Boabdil. Only one man, and he the greatest of them all,
was not provided with a place and a position. That was the Admiral,
Christobal Colon. Diego, however, sharing as he did everything with Don
Felipe, was enabled by the thoughtfulness of Doña Christina to see the
inspiring spectacle.

The surrender of King Boabdil to the Spanish sovereigns was to take
place near a little stone building, until that time a Mohammedan
mosque. On that day it had been consecrated as a Christian chapel, the
chapel of San Sebastian.

Early in the morning the two lads, with Fray Piña, walked through the
town, which was wild with jubilation, down the rocky path to the place
assigned for them. Already vast crowds of persons were assembled. The
Spaniards had taken possession of the city the day before, and Fernando
de Talavera had been created Archbishop of Granada. To him was allotted
the honor of raising the standard of Spain over the great mosque,
now to become a Christian cathedral. Some expressed pity for the
unfortunate Moorish king; but Fray Piña, a man of lion heart, had only
contempt for him.

"He has no courage," said Fray Piña, to the two lads, watching the
enormous concourse coming together and the marching across the plain
of the armies of Castile and Arragon. "Instead of showing his people
an example of fortitude in adversity, he mounted his mule and rode all
through the streets of Granada beating his breast and tearing his beard
and wailing: 'Woe is me! Woe is me!' and inciting the people to shrieks
and bewailing. Do you think our great Queen Isabella in the place of
the Moorish king would have so acted? No; she would have met disaster
with the same calmness that she meets triumph. No cry would have come
from her lips, no beating of the breast, no tearing of the hair. She
would have been the same great queen in defeat as well as in triumph."

Every moment in the bright January day the multitude grew larger and
more brilliant. The sound of martial music filled the air as the
victorious armies assembled and the sun glittered upon the casques,
the shining arms, and the splendid standards. Presently the royal
procession appeared. The King and the Queen, with their son, Prince
Juan, and their daughter, the Princess Katharine, all superbly
mounted and surrounded by a magnificent train of nobles, knights, and
ecclesiastics, rode across the plain toward the little chapel by the
side of the rocky road. As Diego and Don Felipe were watching the
glorious sight they heard Doña Christina's voice close by them. She was
leaning out of a closed litter, with the curtains slightly drawn back.
Within the litter a glimpse could be caught of the little Moorish boy,
the son of King Boabdil.

Fray Piña, with Don Felipe and Diego, obeying a signal from Doña
Christina, advanced to the litter.

"The Queen," whispered Doña Christina, "directed that the little boy
be brought here, so at the moment of King Boabdil's surrender the poor
King may have a moment's joy in seeing his child alive and well. Remain
by me until the Queen calls for me."

The King and the Queen were now approaching very near. The face of King
Ferdinand shone with triumph; and Queen Isabella, although calmness and
dignity itself, had a glorious light in her eyes and a flush in her
cheek deeper than any one had ever seen there before. Her patriotism as
a Castilian, her pride as a sovereign, her earnestness as a Christian,
were all exalted by the driving forth from her kingdom of the enemies
of the people and of the Christian religion. It was, indeed, a
stupendous event for Spain.

The sound of music, the cheering, and all excited conversation quickly
ceased, as from the Gate of Justice of the city on the heights came
forth a cavalcade. A silence like death seemed to fall upon the world,
which was broken by a sudden, loud crash of masonry. At the request
of King Boabdil, the gate behind him had been forever closed by the
destruction of the towers of masonry on each side of the gateway,
thus blocking it up forever. Every heart was thrilled by the sound,
preternaturally loud in the clear January day. The procession of the
conquered wound its slow way down the hillside, across the bridge, and
up again, until it reached the Spanish sovereigns. Then Boabdil, a
miserable, downcast object, without dignity or fortitude, slipped from
his horse and would have prostrated himself upon the ground and kissed
the hand of King Ferdinand; but this the King magnanimously forbore,
himself dismounting as did the Queen, out of courtesy to the fallen
monarch. At the same time the Moorish vizier handed to King Ferdinand
the keys of the city of Granada. The King passed them to Queen
Isabella, as Granada was in the territory claimed by Castile. These
the Queen in turn gave to Prince Juan, heir to the thrones of Castile
and Arragon, who handed them in his turn to the Count de Tendila,
the new Spanish governor of the city of Granada. At that moment Doña
Christina, slipping from the litter and holding by the hand the little
Moorish prince, led him to the Queen and placed his hand in hers. As
King Boabdil made his obeisance to her, Queen Isabella placed the hand
of the child in that of the father. The little boy gave a sharp cry of
joy, and the poor weeping Boabdil caught his son to his breast. Then,
in the midst of a death-like silence, every eye saw rising slowly
over the citadel of Granada the red and yellow standard of Spain, the
Gonfalon, until it floated over the flag of the Crescent, which came
down quickly. A great shout that seemed to shake the earth, a crashing
of music, a roaring of artillery, broke forth as if the whole world
rejoiced. The King and the Queen, going into the Christian chapel of
San Sebastian, until that morning a Moorish mosque, fell on their
knees and gave thanks to God for the liberation of their country from
the invader and for the triumph of the Christian religion.

The event was up to that time the most glorious in the history of Spain
and the most important. But a day was about to dawn for Spain more
brilliant, more imposing, more full of triumph than any country on the
globe has ever known, a day never yet surpassed in all the countries
upon which the sun has risen since.




V

THE SPLENDOR OF THE DAWN


The Spanish court, the army, and the whole nation gave itself up to
gladness at the driving from Spanish soil of the Moorish invaders. The
city of Granada had to be invested, its government established, the
people who remained provided for, and all of the vast details settled
of a new acquisition. The court remained at Santa Fé, although often
giving audiences and holding splendid functions in the magnificent
palace of the Alhambra in the city of Granada. There were great reviews
of troops, receptions of ambassadors, gorgeous religious ceremonials
in the consecration of the Moorish mosques into Christian churches.
Through it all Diego and Don Felipe pursued their quiet, studious life
under the stern rule of Fray Piña. Every day the Admiral went upon his
usual round, visiting those persons who were interested in his scheme
and those in power whom he hoped to interest in it. Father Diego de
Deza and Alonzo de Quintanilla remained his steadfast friends. At last,
one day, a fortnight after the surrender of Granada, De Quintanilla
brought the joyful news that the King and the Queen were prepared to
redeem their promise to the Admiral, that when the war with the Moors
had reached a conclusion they would assist him in his enterprise.

Diego and Don Felipe were wild with delight. To them it seemed as if
the voyage were already made and concluded, the Admiral returning
loaded with honors and Diego made a grandee of Spain. They watched
the Admiral set forth, plainly but suitably dressed, and with that
incomparable air of dignity and composure that always made him a marked
man. All during the morning Fray Piña found his pupils inattentive and
more disposed to reverie than work; but under his sharp admonition they
were compelled to pay attention.

It was a little after noon when the sound of steps was heard upon the
stairs, and the Admiral and Alonzo de Quintanilla entered the room. De
Quintanilla appeared deeply agitated, and for the first time there were
indications of subdued anger on the Admiral's part; but his voice, in
speaking, was composed.

"All is over," he said to Fray Piña; "I have appeared for the last time
before the great council. They recognize the value of my enterprise;
but under the leadership of Fernando de Talavera, the Archbishop of
Granada, an honest man but narrow, they declare that my claims are
extravagant and should not be allowed. I, in my turn, declared that if
I return I shall give to Spain far more than what I claim--the title of
Admiral of the Ocean Seas and Viceroy and Captain-General of all the
lands I discover, and my son Diego to be page-in-waiting to Prince Juan
in my absence and to become a grandee of Spain if I return successful.
If the spirit of pride be in this, it is a just and honorable pride.
I ask only what I shall acquire by my own strength. Those things have
been refused me in advance. Now, after nine years of effort, I shall
make no further appeal to the Court of Spain. Perhaps the King of
France will be as generous and more just than the sovereigns of Spain."

The shock of painful surprise kept all silent until Fray Piña spoke in
a low voice.

"This is indeed a calamitous decision for Spain."

"True," said Alonzo de Quintanilla, "but I will say that the Admiral's
course is but just. He treated with the representatives of the King and
the Queen with a noble haughtiness, proving himself their equal, and
demanded firmly, as they recognized the magnificence of his scheme,
that he, at least, should have those honors which must go to some
one. Shall he, the discoverer, be under the authority of a viceroy or
another admiral? They thought he would be intimidated, that in his
anxiety to carry the matter through he would yield what he thought his
due; but he would not."

And then, growing scarlet in the face, De Quintanilla suddenly brought
his fist down on the table and shouted:

"Upon the heads of those persons, and especially upon the Archbishop
of Granada, will lie the loss of a new world to Spain!"

The Admiral remained silent for a moment, and then with his usual
calmness began to make arrangements for his immediate departure with
Diego for France. Diego and Don Felipe were stunned. They knew not
until the moment of separation came how quickly and strongly the bond
of brotherhood had been forged between them. Their elders left them
alone, the Admiral telling Diego to pack at once his few books and
clothes, as they were to mount and ride within three hours. It took but
a short time to collect Diego's books and clothes, Don Felipe helping,
and neither lad saying much. It seemed to them an eternal separation,
and it was indeed doubtful if they would ever meet again. Don Felipe
drew from his finger a little ring made of two hoops entwined. He took
them apart and, placing one on Diego's finger, he put the other back on
his own.

"As long as we wear each the half of this ring," he said, "we shall be
friends still, no matter how far separated."

At last, with his small belongings packed in a portmanteau and his
cloak around him, Diego with Don Felipe went down the stair, their
arms entwined about each other's shoulders. At the door stood a horse
for the Admiral and another for Diego, both equipped for hard travel.
There were but three persons to say farewell to the Admiral--Fray
Piña, Alonzo de Quintanilla, and Luis de St. Angel, controller of the
ecclesiastical revenues. All showed marks of the deepest grief and
chagrin at the loss of the honor and glory for which they had hoped
for their country. No word of remonstrance was said, however, as the
Admiral made his farewells. No one could have judged from his composure
that this meant the wreck and ruin of eighteen years of constant and
earnest effort, nine of which had been spent in Spain. The farewells
were soon said, Diego and Don Felipe kissing each other on the cheek
silently. As Diego flung himself into the saddle and rode off, tears
were dropping upon his face; but he said no word.

They rode rapidly in the cold January afternoon and were soon clear of
the town. Many persons recognized the Admiral and looked after him
curiously, not understanding the meaning of his sudden departure. When
the Admiral and Diego reached the highroad they rode still faster.
The sky was overcast, and a fine, small rain began to fall. They met
few travelers, and those mostly seeking shelter. When they had ridden
nearly an hour and were nearing the pass at the foot of the mountain
of Elvira, where many desperate battles had been fought between the
Moors and the Christians, the tears were still dropping upon Diego's
face; the whole world seemed dark to him. The Admiral then said to him,
gently:

"I see you have a good heart, for you are still grieving for Don
Felipe."

"Yes," answered Diego, "and for you, my father."

"It is as God wills," replied the Admiral, upon whose lips those words
were often heard.

The gorge grew dark in the winter twilight, and the rough road was
slippery with rain and snow. They had just crossed the bridge of Pinos
when behind them they heard the clattering of horses' hoofs coming at
a sharp gallop. Neither the Admiral nor Diego turned to see who was
coming. Suddenly, the rider, on his steaming horse, came alongside and,
laying a bold hand upon the Admiral's bridle, brought the horse back
on his haunches. In the gloom of the evening the Daredevil Knight, Don
Tomaso de Gama, was recognized.

"I come, Christobal Colon, with the command of her Majesty, the Queen,
that you are to turn about and ride back to Santa Fé with me--now--this
instant--in the present moment."

Even as Don Tomaso spoke he turned the head of the Admiral's horse
around; but the Admiral checked him.

"I honor and respect her Majesty, the Queen," he said, sharply; "but I
owe her no allegiance. I was born a subject of the Duke of Genoa, and I
am a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal."

"That is all very well, Christobal Colon, born a subject of the Duke of
Genoa and a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal, but I have ten
good men-at-arms within a stone's throw, and if you will not ride back
with me holding the reins in your own hand you shall ride back with
your hands tied behind your back and a man-at-arms on each side of you
holding your bridle."

At that Diego heard what he had known but seldom in his life, a clear
laugh from the grave Admiral. The impudence of the young knight, the
threat of force against a man accustomed to command all, like the
Admiral, could not but move to laughter. Don Tomaso, suiting the action
to the word, gave the Admiral's horse a sharp cut, and before they knew
it all three were trotting rapidly back across the bridge. The Admiral
held the reins in his own hands; but the Daredevil Knight kept a firm
grip upon the bridle.

"And for what does her Majesty, the Queen, wish me to return?" asked
the Admiral.

"I do not know," responded Don Tomaso. "I have not been accustomed
to ask the King and the Queen their reasons; but I know that Luis de
St. Angel went straight to her Majesty, Queen Isabella, and told her
plainly that she was throwing away the greatest honor and glory that
ever awaited any sovereign and any country in not granting you the
terms to which you were justly entitled, and that you must be brought
back to Santa Fé by force, if necessary. He was reinforced by that
stern tutor of Prince Juan, Father de Deza. After a short conference
with the Queen, St. Angel and De Quintanilla ran to me and said:

"'Go you and fetch Christobal Colon back, and tell him all shall be
as he wishes. We send you, knowing you to be a daring fellow, and
not to be overawed by Christobal Colon, as most men are.' So here
I am, carrying back the Admiral of the Ocean Seas, the Viceroy and
Captain-General of all the lands you discover, and your son, Don Diego,
grandee of the first rank in Spain."

Diego listened, almost dazed by Don Tomaso's words. Presently the
Admiral spoke as the horses kept up their sharp trot through the pass,
growing darker every moment.

"Where are your ten men-at-arms, Don Tomaso?"

"I have no men-at-arms," answered Don Tomaso, coolly, "but I have a
good harquebus; if you ask for my order, this shall be my order."

At that Don Tomaso drew his harquebus and leveled it straight at the
Admiral, who laughed again and put it aside.

"I wish you were a seaman, Don Tomaso," he said. "I should make you my
first lieutenant."

After riding for nearly an hour in the darkness they saw the lights
of Santa Fé, and soon they were clattering through the streets. The
Admiral was about to take the way to his lodgings when the Daredevil
Knight again laid his hand upon the bridle.

"No," he said, "we cross the Vega and ride straight to the Queen's
pavilion, where her Majesty awaits you." Then, having assumed the
direction of the Admiral, the Daredevil Knight also gave orders to
Diego. "Go you," he said, "back to your lodgings. Your father will
return sometime before midnight--perhaps."

Diego leaned over and caught his father's hand and kissed it. He had no
words in which to express the tumult of joy and pride in his soul.

Ten minutes afterward he dismounted from his spent and dripping horse
in front of the lodgings he had left only a few hours before. The next
moment he was dashing up the long, dark, narrow stairs. He stopped for
a moment outside the door of the little room in which he had lived and
studied for many weeks with Don Felipe and softly opened the door. Don
Felipe sat at the table, upon which a rushlight burned, making a little
glow in the darkness. He was neither reading nor writing, but leaning
his head upon his hands, looking the image of forlornness. Diego
slipped in softly and threw himself upon Don Felipe.

"All is as we wished!" he shouted. "It is glorious, glorious, I tell
you! When the Queen heard my father was indeed gone she sent Don Tomaso
galloping after him, who brought him back. The Queen will do for my
father all he asks. He is now on his way to the Queen, and you and I,
Don Felipe, are here together once more!"

In one day the whole face of the world seemed to have changed for
Diego. The Admiral, who, but a little while before, could count on
only a few steady friends like Alonzo de Quintanilla and Luis de St.
Angel, both accountants to the Queen, and Father de Deza, was now
treated with the greatest outward respect by all. Fernando de Talavera,
Archbishop of Granada, withdrew his opposition to the Admiral, which
had been based solely upon what he considered too high honors to be
demanded in the event of success. He believed in the Admiral as a great
navigator and looked for the success of the expedition.

One of the points tenaciously upheld by the Admiral was that certain
honors should be given his sons, especially Diego, as the elder.
That the enterprise would result in immortal glory for himself the
Admiral never doubted; but with the passionate love of his children
was the natural desire that they should have a place and a degree of
consideration. For this reason, after many long consultations with
Father de Deza, tutor to Prince Juan, the Admiral had required that
Diego should be ennobled by the title of Don and should be made a
page-in-waiting to Prince Juan. It was by this steadfast maintenance of
the dignity of his position that the Admiral, a foreigner and penniless
but for the Queen's pension, made it apparent that he understood in
advance the enormous gift he was about to make to Spain. All he asked
for Diego was conceded to him at once on his return to Santa Fé.

At any other time the thought of the singular change in his life from
poverty and uncertainty into a footing of equality with the grandees of
Spain would have impressed Diego more deeply; but the thought uppermost
in his mind was the great voyage upon which his father was to set
forth. Everything seemed small beside it.

It seemed to Diego and Don Felipe as if they had entered upon a new
world since the pleasant autumn days at La Rabida.

They had witnessed one of the greatest and most splendid events of
the age in the driving-out of the Moors from Spain, and they were
brought close to the contemplation of an enterprise so vast that the
imagination was bewildered. In the midst of it they lived the ordinary
life of youths of their age under a strict master and stern discipline,
but they saw and heard men and things that fall to the lot of few young
souls.

The winter passed like a dream. Everywhere was the coming voyage of the
Admiral talked of, and the King and the Queen supported him loyally.
Especially was this true of Queen Isabella, whose lofty and resolute
character made her very steadfast in all her undertakings. Diego saw
but little of his father in those fleeting months between January and
April. Once it had been difficult for the Admiral to obtain audiences
of those in power; now he could not see all who flocked to his plain
lodgings. It was then expected that he would be able to collect his
squadron and sail before the first of June. On a glorious April day
the King and the Queen were to sign the agreement between themselves
as independent sovereigns and the Genoese captain, to whom they were
to give the noble title of Admiral of the Ocean Seas, and Viceroy and
Captain-General of all lands to the westward. The great event was to
take place at the Alhambra, in Granada, and it was on that day that
Diego and Don Felipe first saw the dazzling and overwhelming beauty of
the palace of the Moorish kings. The splendor of the "Red Palace," as
the Alhambra means, the glory of its architecture, the magnificence of
its halls and courts and fountains, the treasures of gold and silver
and jewels used in decorating its vaulted ceilings and marble walls,
amazed all who saw them, from the King and the Queen down to the
private soldiers and servants.

On this spring morning, April 17, 1492, Diego and Don Felipe were to be
of the group that was to accompany the Admiral into the presence of the
King and the Queen, where the agreements were to be formally signed and
sealed.

The Queen, with characteristic delicacy, had advanced a sum of money to
the Admiral which enabled him to make a good appearance for himself and
for Diego. Gorgeous dress would have been out of place upon Columbus,
whose personality made all accessories appear trivial. On that day he
wore a plain costume of black satin with a small collar of lace and
a cloak of black cloth. At his side was a plain sword. Diego and Don
Felipe were dressed alike in dark-blue cloth with handsome shoes of
Cordovan leather and black satin cloaks. The Prior of La Rabida, Juan
Perez, the first friend the Admiral had found in Spain and the most
devoted, was to be present on this great day, which was one of triumph
to him. With him he was to bring the little Fernando, in the care of
Brother Lawrence. The party from La Rabida reached Santa Fé on the
night of April 16th, and were joyfully greeted. Fernando was delighted
to see his father and brother again, and was charmed with the sight of
the knights and soldiers.

At ten o'clock next morning, when Diego and Don Felipe were ready to
start, they were sent for to go to the Admiral's room. On the table lay
two swords with sword-belts.

"Don Felipe and my son," said the Admiral, "the time has now come when
you must wear swords, not as boys, but as men. I give you these praying
you to consider the solemn meaning of a sword. A sword means courage,
truth, and honor. Courage is the greatest virtue in the world, for on
it all other virtues are built. It does not avail a man to love the
truth unless he has the courage to speak it. The beginning of lying
is cowardice. Sin has many tools; but a lie is the handle that fits
them all. So must you ever be ready to draw your swords in the cause of
truth. A man should reverence his sword as a symbol of his honor. When
he is disgraced his sword is taken from him and broken, signifying that
he has no more honor. Do you understand this?"

"Yes," instantly and clearly replied both youths.

The Admiral then, taking the first sword, clasped it around the waist
of Don Felipe, who, drawing it from its scabbard, kneeled and kissed it
reverently. Then, the Admiral belting the second sword around Diego's
body, Diego, too, kneeled and kissed the sword. Both were vividly
impressed with the Admiral's words and the deep meaning he had attached
to them.

"It is a good thing, though not of obligation," said the Admiral,
"that when a young man receives his sword he shall take it to the
church and, laying it on the altar, shall spend the night in prayer and
contemplation, asking the help and guidance of God in his future life."

"That will we do, my father," answered Diego.

"This very night," added Don Felipe.

The gift of the swords seemed at once to make men of the two youths.
They were too intelligent not to understand the full meaning of what
they had received.

Below in the street well-caparisoned horses were awaiting them. The
Admiral, accompanied by his unfailing friends, De Quintanilla and Luis
de St. Angel and Juan Perez, the Prior of La Rabida, rode in advance.
Behind him came Fray Piña, while Brother Lawrence, mounted on a steady
mule, carried in his arms the little Fernando. Diego and Don Felipe
brought up the rear. The eyes of the curious crowd of soldiers and
citizens were turned upon the cavalcade. They no longer ridiculed the
Admiral, but regarded him with fear, as a person likely to draw to
him many ardent souls in his voyage into the unknown. Many remarked,
however, upon the beauty of the little Fernando and the manly and noble
appearance of Diego. They rode through the town of Santa Fé, across
the bridge of the Xeni, and climbed the broad acclivity down which the
abject Moorish king had traveled on a January day. Neither Diego nor
Don Felipe had been within the walls of Granada, and they were deeply
interested in the strange and gorgeous architecture of the city, the
barred windows of the women's quarters, and the mosques, now converted
into Christian churches.

At the Gate of the Pomegranates the Alhambra really begins, that
marvel of beauty, palace and citadel in one, with walls a mile in
circumference, and containing within itself wonderful varieties of
loveliness. At this gate the party dismounted and proceeded on foot
through the gardens and courtyards leading to the Hall of Ambassadors,
where the King and the Queen in state would pledge themselves to the
Admiral and sign and seal their agreements. Never had any of them
seen anything like the splendors of the glorious courts and superb
corridors. The gardens were blooming in all the beauty of the late
April, and in the trees and shrubbery were the rare birds caught and
tamed for the pleasure of the Moorish kings.

Through long, arched colonnades of gleaming malachite they passed;
through the exquisite gardens watered by the icy waters of the
Darro, trickling in silver streams or in crystal waterfalls. In every
beautiful courtyard great fountains played, making showers of diamonds
in the April sun of Andalusia. The air was drenched with the perfume
of violets and hyacinths, jasmine and myrtle blooming in splendid
profusion.

At the entrance to the magnificent Court of the Lions they were
met by a brilliant group of court officials, and passed from one
superb apartment to another until they reached the splendid Hall of
Ambassadors.

The scene was worthy of the stupendous event that was to take place
in it. The walls of polished marble, inlaid with arabesques, its
graceful columns, its lofty and beautiful ceilings, its riot of color,
was overwhelming in its beauty. Here had the Moorish kings exercised
their despotic power; here had they treated with haughty contempt the
ambassadors of the Christian nations. Upon this glorious throne-room
had been spent the vast sums wrung from the toilers of the land and
sea, the money gained by piracy, robbery, and the ransom of Christian
captives. Driven forth at last from it, their places had been taken by
great and enlightened Christian monarchs. Ferdinand of Arragon was a
brilliant soldier, a statesman, shrewd in affairs, and of enlightened
views according to his time. The name of Isabella of Castile makes a
blaze of splendor upon the page of history. Not less desirous than
Ferdinand for the glory and material welfare of her country, Isabella
had a loftier mind, a nobler conception of all things, than any monarch
of the age. She looked to the spread of the Christian religion, to
the civilization of the new peoples in those far lands which Columbus
might discover. It was her great and magnanimous mind which caused the
introduction into the compact with Columbus of that clause providing
that the inhabitants of the new world to be discovered should have the
same protection of law as the Spaniards themselves.

At the farther end of the Hall of Ambassadors, upon the great gilded
throne of the Moorish kings, sat in throne chairs King Ferdinand and
Queen Isabella, Prince Juan and Princess Katharine seated below them,
and surrounded by a huge company of officials, statesmen, soldiers,
and ecclesiastics. At the steps of the throne was a small table with
pens and inkhorns and a great document inscribed upon many leaves of
parchment. It was the agreement between the courts of Arragon and
Castile with Columbus, and it was in that hour to be signed by King
Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and the great Admiral.

It is the prerogative of men of the first order of genius that those
nearest to them, who see them oftenest, should have greater reverence
for them than those who do not know them so well. So it was with
Columbus. Never had those who had been associated with him through his
eighteen years of toil, poverty, disappointment, broken hopes, and
baffled plans admired him so much as at the moment when he entered
the great hall. The friends who escorted him fell back. Columbus,
taking the hand of the little Fernando, placed it in that of Diego and
advanced alone to the foot of the throne, where he knelt respectfully.
All present, from the King and the Queen down to Diego and Don Felipe,
showed a visible agitation and tremulous emotion at what was about to
take place, except one person; that was the great Admiral himself. He,
a man of the people, a foreigner without fortune, with no endowment but
his genius, his courage, his virtue, was about to be invested, in case
of his successful return, with honors and dignities that dwarfed those
of the highest nobles present and placed him one step in advance of
all of them. King Ferdinand's keen face wore an expression of triumph
he could not conceal. The cost of the expedition was small, and the
King had become convinced that the chances of a stupendous return were
very great. Queen Isabella was inspired with a profound and noble
enthusiasm; she had eagerly offered to pledge her jewels, and on this
offer the amount of money had been raised necessary for the expedition.

The Queen's face was unusually pale; but her eyes, of a dark and
beautiful blue, were shining, and she leaned forward in her chair,
returning with a deep bow the reverence made her by the Admiral. He
alone was perfectly composed, and gave no sign either of triumph or
of nervousness. When he rose from his knees, a chair was placed for
him, and then Luis de St. Angel read in a loud voice the terms of the
agreement which was to be signed. These were as follows:

 1. That Columbus should have for himself during his life, and his
 heirs and successors forever, the office of admiral in all the lands
 and continents which he might discover or acquire in the ocean, with
 similar honors and prerogatives to those enjoyed by the high admiral
 of Castile in his district.

 2. That he should be viceroy and governor-general over all the
 said lands and continents, with the privilege of nominating three
 candidates for the government of each island or province, one of whom
 should be selected by the sovereigns.

 3. That he should be entitled to reserve for himself one-tenth of all
 pearls, precious stones, gold, silver, spices, and all other articles
 and merchandise, in whatever manner found, bought, bartered, or gained
 within his admiralty, the costs being first deducted.

 4. That he, or his lieutenant, should be the sole judge in all
 causes and disputes arising out of traffic between those countries
 and Spain, provided the high admiral of Castile had similar
 jurisdiction in his district.

 5. That he might then, and at all times, contribute an eighth part of
 the expenses in fitting out vessels to sail on this enterprise and
 receive an eighth part of the profits.

[Illustration: THE SIGNING OF THE DOCUMENTS OF AGREEMENT]

Splendid, indeed, were these terms, but all present knew that the great
Admiral would accept nothing less; and they respected him the more for
his steady defense of his rights. When the reading was over, Luis de
St. Angel, taking the copies in duplicate, ascended the steps of the
throne and laid them first before King Ferdinand, who signed them. He
then handed them to Queen Isabella, who also signed them, after which
she clasped her hands and engaged a moment in silent prayer. Then the
documents were handed to Columbus, and he, in his turn, signed them.
A tremor ran through the whole of the great company; the tension was
relaxed. The King and the Queen descended from the throne and, followed
by Prince Juan and Princess Katharine and a splendid train, passed out
of the hall. Luis de St. Angel made a sign to Columbus, who remained
standing as did the rest of the company. In a minute or two St. Angel
returned, and speaking a word to Columbus, the Admiral motioned to
Diego, who followed his father and St. Angel. They crossed the vast
hall and entered a small, high-ceiled room where the King and the Queen
awaited them with Fernando de Talavera, Archbishop of Granada, and Doña
Christina, as lady-in-waiting to the Queen. There were also present
Prince Juan and Princess Katharine. The Admiral, on being greeted by
the King and the Queen, expressed in a few words his deep sense of
gratitude. The Queen then said:

"We are now prepared to fulfil the request you made of us some months
ago, and to issue letters patent giving your eldest son the title of
Don, and making him a page-in-waiting to our son, Prince Juan, and
granting him an allowance for his maintenance. I, myself, Christobal
Colon, will not forget your son during your absence and will keep
informed of his conduct and progress in study. Doña Christina will
represent me. For your younger son we shall also provide suitably,
though he is not of an age to be at court."

"I earnestly thank your Majesties," replied the Admiral, "especially
for the gracious offer you make of keeping informed concerning my son's
conduct and progress. It shall be my constant prayer and hope that my
son may never be unworthy of your Majesties' kindness. And my thanks
are also made to the noble lady, Doña Christina."

Diego then advanced and made his obeisance to the sovereigns, Queen
Isabella giving him her hand to kiss. Nobility of soul and kindness
of heart radiated from the Queen, and Diego felt that he would be ten
times a traitor if he did not do his best to deserve her good opinion.
The King and Queen then engaged in earnest conversation with the
Admiral, and Diego had time to observe Prince Juan at closer range than
ever before. He was a handsome, slender youth, strongly resembling his
illustrious mother in the frankness and nobility of his countenance;
but his slenderness and delicacy foreboded that his life would not be
long, although he lived to be knighted upon the field of battle by his
father. The Princess Katharine, destined also for a tragic fate as the
wife of the eighth Henry of England, though then but fourteen years of
age, also resembled the Queen, and had a dignity and a fearlessness of
character that was to sustain her through her stormy and unfortunate
life. Diego felt all confidence when he looked into the honest and
kindly eyes of Prince Juan, and thought to himself: "This must be a
noble prince, being the son of his mother."

After a short conference the Admiral was dismissed, and in a little
while Diego had rejoined Don Felipe and Fray Piña and Brother Lawrence
with the little Fernando. Leaving the splendid palace, they rode back
through the soft, bright April noon to their lodgings in Santa Fé.
Diego said nothing of what had passed until he found himself alone
in the small, plain room he shared with Don Felipe. Then he told Don
Felipe all.

"If I should ever forget the kindness of the great Queen, or fail to
live as she expects me to, I think I should have the blackest heart in
the world," he said. "Besides giving me honors and money, she gave me
kindness, and your mother, Doña Christina, has said that she will have
a care for me as for you. What a good woman your mother must be, Don
Felipe!"

"The best on earth," answered Don Felipe. "As good as Queen Isabella."

Diego then unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, and Don Felipe
did the same. Then came a long pause before Diego spoke.

"This is the first day," he said, "that we have worn swords as men.
Ought we not to consecrate them with prayer as knights do?"

"Yes," answered Don Felipe. "My mother has told me that my father, when
first he was girt with a sword, spent the night in prayer on his knees
before the altar of the Cathedral of Seville."

"Then," replied Diego, gravely, "let us ask that we may lay our swords
upon the altar of San Sebastian this night and pray earnestly that we
may be worthy to wear our swords in honor."

That night at ten o'clock Diego and Don Felipe walked through the
quiet streets of Santa Fé, the darkness lighted only by the watchmen's
lanterns and the watch fires of the sleeping camp, and the silence
broken only by the warders' call and the sentries' challenge. The
night was illuminated by a great white moon hanging high in the blue
heavens and making the world all white except for the black shadows
of the rocks and hills and forests. The two youths soon reached the
narrow road that led to the little stone chapel, so lately converted
from a Mohammedan mosque into a place of Christian worship. They were
expected, and at the tap on the door from the hilt of Diego's sword
the door was quickly opened from within and closed after them, leaving
them alone in the solemn darkness of the little church, lighted only by
the faint glow of the sanctuary lamp. Diego and Don Felipe, advancing
reverently, drew their swords and laid them on the altar steps, and
then, retiring to a little distance, knelt with reverence. Through
the long hours of the night they remained on their knees, their minds
filled with solemn and glorious thoughts, striving to understand their
obligations to God and men, and fortifying their souls with good and
honorable resolutions. The hours slipped by with strange quickness. A
deep and subtle change was taking place in the heart of each. In those
hours they became men. When, at last, the darkness gave place to the
pallid dawn, they rose from their knees and passed silently out of the
church. As they breathed the fresh April air and saw the sky, flushed
with the sudden glory of the sunrise, a new life seemed infused into
their bodies and their souls. They swung rather than walked up the
steep roadway. They felt capable of all things.




VI

THE HARBOR BAR IS PASSED


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.




VII

THE JOYOUS HEARTS OF YOUTH


"Diego, Diego, wake up! Suppose you should be caught napping like this;
you would have a hard time with the master of the pages, I can tell
you!"

Diego opened his eyes, sprang to his feet, assumed a military attitude,
and was all awake in a moment. It was Don Felipe who spoke, and
they were in a splendid corridor of the palace at Barcelona. It was
magnificently carpeted from the looms of Granada; and long, narrow
windows let in a flood of sunshine upon splendid pictures on the walls,
which were decorated with trophies of arms, the great curved simitars
of the Moors with jeweled handles, Moorish shields and breastplates
cunningly wrought with gold, and marvelous daggers and other arms.
White statues gleamed against the dark-red walls, and everywhere were
the beauty and splendor of a royal palace.

As Don Felipe spoke the great carved doors at the farther end of the
corridor were thrown wide, and Queen Isabella, with a glittering suite
of ladies and gentlemen in attendance, was seen about to enter. At
the threshold, however, the Queen paused. The great Cardinal, Pedro
Gonzalez de Mendoza, the first subject in Spain, appeared, followed by
his secretary. The Cardinal saluted the Queen with profound respect,
who engaged in conversation with him. Both Diego and Don Felipe
recognized the Cardinal at once, a tall, handsome man of commanding
appearance, wearing a black robe edged with scarlet and a black and
scarlet skull-cap, while around his neck hung a gold chain from which
depended a superb cross of jewels.

Diego and Don Felipe, standing side by side, their right hands upon
their sword-hilts, their left hands raised at the salute, could yet
talk without being heard by the Queen and her train at the end of the
long corridor.

"I told you," said Don Felipe, in a whisper, without turning his head,
"that you would find the master of the pages a much more difficult
person than Fray Piña. Suppose you had been caught asleep while waiting
for the Queen?"

"I should have been mortified beyond words," whispered Diego, as
motionless as Don Felipe. "But the truth is that, with rising at four
o'clock and having the horse exercise and the sword exercise and then
studying and standing many hours and doing many errands and sitting up
late at night, I am sometimes half dead for want of sleep."

"It is not an easy business, being at court," was Don Felipe's answer.

Then, as they saw the Queen advancing, they remained respectfully
silent. The Queen was dressed as usual with quiet splendor, but wearing
few jewels. She wore a robe of crimson cloth, and her beautiful auburn
hair was as usual coifed with pearls. Doña Christina walked a short
distance behind the Queen.

As she approached, talking in a low voice with the Cardinal, who walked
by her side, and followed by Doña Christina and a number of ladies
and gentlemen of the court, the Queen was so absorbed in what she
was saying that she did not observe either Diego or Don Felipe. Her
voice was pitched low, almost a whisper; but both youths heard her say
distinctly to the Cardinal:

"And so, my Lord Cardinal, the rumor has come from Portugal that the
caravels were seen entering the Tagus on the fourth day of March. It is
unconfirmed, and in some respects improbable. Why should the Admiral
land in Portugal before coming to Spain?"

"He may have put in by stress of weather or for repairs, madam," the
Cardinal replied, in a low and earnest voice. "Many unforeseen things
might induce the Admiral to make the first port possible if, indeed, he
has returned from that strange voyage."

The Queen glanced backward and seemed to grow suddenly conscious of the
presence of Diego and Don Felipe. Diego's ruddy face had turned deadly
pale, although he still maintained his rigid military attitude.

"Come here, Don Diego," said the Queen, stopping, "and you, Don Felipe.
Tell me when does the exercise in the manège begin for Prince Juan and
the pages?"

"In half an hour, madam," responded Diego, advancing and bowing low as
the Queen spoke.

"Then we shall have the pleasure of seeing the exercises in the
manège," said the Queen, in her usual gracious manner. "Doña Christina,
will you say to the Princess Katharine and to Doña Luisita that they
may be present to see the exercises in the manège?"

The Queen resumed her earnest conversation with the Cardinal, and the
rest of the suite passed on. When the great doors at the other end of
the corridor had closed after the royal train, Don Felipe said to Diego:

"You heard the Queen's words, and what the Cardinal replied?"

"Yes," answered Diego. "It seemed as if my heart stopped beating. Now
it thumps hard enough, I can tell you."

"But there is no time to count heart-beats," said Don Felipe. "We have
not a moment to spare if we are to be ready in half an hour for the
manège."

Without another word both ran the long length of the corridor, through
various winding passages, and up a narrow stairway until they came
to the rooms of Prince Juan, where Diego knocked. Prince Juan, who
was alone, himself opened the door. He inherited his mother's noble
simplicity of character, and, while fully understanding the duties of
his position, he treated his pages, all youths of his own age, like
companions of his own rank.

"The Queen and her ladies will be present in the manège," breathlessly
burst out Don Felipe, "and we thought your Highness would wish to know
it."

"Certainly I should. Many thanks, Felipe," cried Prince Juan. "When the
Queen honors our exercises we must show at our best."

Prince Juan ran down the stairs, breakneck, followed by Diego and Don
Felipe, through the winding passages, across the wide courtyard, into
a long colonnade that led to the great circular riding-school. It was
an immense space covered with tan-bark, with galleries for spectators.
Adjoining it was a large room surrounded with alcoves, in which the
arms and riding paraphernalia were kept. This room was soon filled
with the pages, twenty youths, all lithe, active, and eager to show
their accomplishments before the Queen. All, including Prince Juan,
disappeared within their alcoves, where there were valets to assist
them in changing their clothes. They kept up, meanwhile, much talk and
laughter, Prince Juan joining as an equal in their merry preparation.
One only, Don Diego de Colon, usually the merriest of them all, was
silent. In a few minutes they trooped out, dressed in leather surcoats
and riding-breeches and boots with huge spurs, and wearing light
helmets. Prince Juan was dressed exactly like the others, except that
on his helmet was engraved a small crown, and on the breast of his
jacket of Cordovan leather was also a small crown embroidered in gold.
The young prince noticed the silence and pallor of Diego, and, going up
to him, put his arm kindly within Diego's, saying:

"What is the matter, Don Diego? You are as solemn as an owl."

"There is a report abroad, so I heard her Majesty the Queen say to the
Cardinal de Mendoza, that the ships of my father, the Admiral, had been
seen in the Tagus. That is enough to make one silent, is it not, your
Highness?"

"Indeed it is," replied Prince Juan. "For my part, I often dream at
night that the Admiral has returned and has discovered a new world for
Spain. Ah, Don Diego, what a great day that will be for Spain!"

There was no time to say more as the trumpet-call sounded for the
riding-hall, into which the pages now marched. The grooms were bringing
in the chargers, the finest breeds of Andalusia, celebrated for its
horses, their coats like satin, their muscles like steel, their hoofs
black and polished. The horses knew well enough for what they were
brought, and were keen for the sport. Before mounting, Don Tomaso de
Gama, the Daredevil Knight, reckoned the most accomplished horseman
in Spain and master of the riding-school, appeared. He, too, wore
riding-dress and a glittering casque. He gave the order at once to
mount, that they might have a warming-up canter before the Queen and
her ladies arrived. Then began a quick gallop around the circular
space, the horses' hoofs sounding softly on the tan-bark. In a few
minutes the signal was given to retire, and the young horsemen all
filed out through an arched gateway into the great courtyard of the
stables beyond.

At this moment the Queen, preceded and followed by her ladies and
attended by several gentlemen and escorted by the Cardinal, entered
the ladies' gallery. The Queen sat with Doña Christina on one side of
her and the Cardinal on the other. Many ladies were sitting on chairs
behind her, and on the step below the Queen's chair the Princess
Katharine and Doña Luisita sat on silken cushions. Doña Luisita looked
no longer a child, but a charming young lady.

Four trumpeters with silver trumpets were stationed at the farther side
of the great circular hall, and at a signal from the Queen played a
fanfare. At that the doors under the archway were flung open, and the
long line of pages entered headed by Prince Juan. As he dashed through
the great archway, sitting square and steady upon a splendid black
horse, the Queen's eyes lighted up with pleasure at the appearance of
this gallant youth.

When Prince Juan came abreast of the Queen's gallery, he pulled up
quickly, the horse rising for a moment on his haunches and then
standing like a statue, as Prince Juan saluted first the Queen and
then the other ladies present. The same thing was done by each of the
twenty pages, every charger acting with an intelligence almost human.
When the Daredevil Knight, the master of riding, brought up the rear
of the line, his horse, too--a sinewy chestnut charger--stood on his
haunches and then came down gracefully on his knees as if making an
obeisance to the Queen, then rose and stood as still as a bronze horse.
The Queen was charmed with this pretty trick of horsemanship, and,
leaning over, bowed and smiled and waved her hand to the Daredevil
Knight. Then the exercises began, Prince Juan always riding first and
the Daredevil Knight last. They galloped around the ring twice to show
their manner of ordinary riding. Then the grooms brought four rings,
which they hung at the four quarters of the circle; and the pages, with
glittering lances, rode around, taking the rings as they went. Some
took all the rings, while others took only three or sometimes two.
Next a stuffed horse with a manikin mounted on him was rolled in; and
each young horseman, galloping by at full speed, had to knock off the
manikin's head with a single blow of the sword, and again passing it
had to dismount at full speed, taking up the head, and mount again.
This was most exciting, and some of the pages failed to get the head.
Prince Juan, however, succeeded in getting it each time. There were
various other tricks of horsemanship shown which amused and delighted
the Queen and her ladies, especially the Princess Katharine and Doña
Luisita. In one of the feats, Prince Juan galloping past the gallery,
his horse apparently shied and unseated him. A cry of dismay went up
which changed to a burst of applause when Prince Juan sprang back and
stood up on his horse's back, galloping around the tan-bark in that
fashion, followed by all the other pages. All through Diego and Don
Felipe acquitted themselves with credit. It was usually the pleasantest
hour of the day with them all, this hour in the manège, and when there
were no spectators it was a time of jokes and merriment. But Diego felt
as if he were in another world. He went through his part well, but
mechanically, and his look was so grave that Doña Luisita whispered to
the Princess Katharine:

"What can be the matter with Don Diego to-day? His body may be here,
but his mind is somewhere else."

When all was over the Queen sent for Don Tomaso and questioned him upon
the proficiency of her son and his companions. The Daredevil Knight,
who was as frank as he was brave, assured the Queen that Prince Juan
was an admirable horseman, but there were several of the pages who
surpassed him. Don Felipe he considered the best horseman of them all.

"I believe what you tell me," replied Queen Isabella, "for I see that
you tell the truth and are no flatterer and do not tell me that my son
excels all, although I see that he does well."

The nobility of the Queen was such that all about her were encouraged
to tell the truth, and not to seek to deceive by flattery and falsehood.

It was nearly six o'clock when the pages left the riding-hall, and in
a half-hour they were washed and dressed in their ordinary clothes
and were seated at supper at the long table in their dining-hall.
Everything was good but plain, as it was the wish of the King and the
Queen to bring Prince Juan up as a soldier rather than a courtier. At
one end of the table sat the great Duke of Medina Coeli, governor of
the pages; and at the other end sat Don Tomaso de Gama, the Daredevil
Knight. The Duke was a rigid governor, and made no difference in his
discipline between Prince Juan and any of the other youths under his
charge. The sovereigns interfered in no way with this discipline, and
Prince Juan had to ask permission from the stern Duke for everything he
wished to do, as much as any of his attendant pages. Nevertheless, the
governor had a kindly heart. He encouraged the pages to talk at their
meals, using this as a means of discovering their natural temper and
disposition. They often spoke with the enthusiastic hopes of boyhood of
the return of the Admiral; their patriotism was aroused in his favor;
and they looked forward with eager confidence to the day when he would
add a magnificent empire to the Kingdom of Spain. This had secured for
Diego perfect good-will among his companions, none of whom had ever
taunted him with his humble origin or had spoken of his father except
with the highest respect.

On this evening a singular silence prevailed at the pages' supper. The
young men spoke in undertones among themselves, and Diego was conscious
that strange looks were cast upon him. When supper was over and the
pages, with Prince Juan, retired to their study-hall, where they had an
hour of study, Diego found out the cause of the silence and suppressed
excitement. The pages crowded around him; and Prince Juan, acting as
spokesman, said:

"Two reports have come this day, Diego; one that Captain Martin Alonzo
Pinzon has landed at Bayonne, and the other that your father, the
Admiral, has returned in a caravel which is anchored in the Tagus. I
do not know who was the messenger that brought the letter from Captain
Pinzon, nor the person who brought the news from Portugal."

"But it is true, my Prince!" shouted Diego, raising his arms in triumph
above his head. "I know it, I feel it! For a fortnight past I have
had the feeling that my father was nearing land. The stories of the
dreadful storms and tempests have not frightened me. Each day my father
has been in my mind, and I dream every night of him. Ah, my Prince, it
is true!"

Then, seizing Don Felipe in his strong arms, the two youths hugged
each other and rubbed their cheeks together in a rapture of boyish
affection. Their companions around them broke into an involuntary
cheer, led by Prince Juan. They were young and sanguine, and found it
easy to believe in anything which redounded to the glory and honor of
their country.

Over the noise a ringing voice was heard at the door, that of the
Daredevil Knight.

"The presence of Don Diego de Colon is required by the governor of the
pages."

An instant silence fell upon the shouting and cheering youths. They
could see through the open door the soldierly figure of the governor,
who in general permitted no noisy outbreaks; but to-night he said no
word and uttered no rebuke. The door closed immediately after Diego,
and the Duke said to him:

"Come with me at once, Don Diego, to the presence of her Majesty."

Diego followed the Duke and Don Tomaso as they rapidly walked through
the halls and corridors of the palace toward the wing occupied by the
Queen and the King. Nothing was said except a brief inquiry made by
the Duke of Don Tomaso as to when King Ferdinand might be expected to
return from a hunting expedition upon which he had that day started.

"In five days the King will return," was Don Tomaso's reply.

When they reached the door of the Queen's private apartments it was
opened at once by Doña Christina. The Queen was alone except for her
favorite lady-in-waiting and Cardinal Mendoza. For the first time in
all the years that Diego had seen the Queen, she showed deep agitation.
Usually of calm demeanor, she was that night extremely restless,
sometimes sitting in her stately chair, again rising and walking about
the small but richly furnished room lighted with silver lamps. As soon
as Diego entered, the Queen spoke to him kindly, saying to the Duke:

"Tell Don Diego what we have heard."

Then the Duke spoke.

"A Portuguese merchant has just arrived, reporting that on the third
of March, the weather off the mouth of the Tagus being very wild and
stormy, a caravel was seen in great distress. The tempest continued
very violent all that day, and the caravel was in great danger of being
dashed to pieces on the rock of Cintra. The people watched it all day,
making many prayers for the mariners in such peril, but unable to be
of any assistance to them. The storm continued the best part of the
night, but subsided, and the next morning broke fair and sunny. The
caravel had survived and was entering the mouth of the Tagus with a
fair wind. It was said to be the Niña with the Admiral, your father, in
command, and several men of a strange race on board with animals and
objects hitherto unknown. The merchant says that a large Portuguese
ship-of-war, commanded by Don Alonzo d'Acunha, one of the greatest
captains in Portugal, was anchored in the Tagus, and that Don Alonzo
sent a boat to the caravel commanding that her captain report on board
the Portuguese ship to give an account of himself. The caravel's
commander refused to go, sending word in reply that he outranked Don
Alonzo d'Acunha, being under letters patent of the King of Arragon
and the Queen of Castile, Admiral of the Ocean Seas, Viceroy and
Captain-General of all lands to the westward. He therefore desired that
Don Alonzo d'Acunha, as his inferior in rank, should pay him a visit of
ceremony."

"That was my father!" cried Diego, forgetful of all etiquette, his soul
in a tumult of pride and joy.

The Queen, who was walking about the room restlessly while the Duke
spoke, instead of rebuking the lad, came up to him and, laying a hand
upon his shoulder, said, smiling proudly:

"And there your father showed the true and lofty spirit of a Spanish
admiral. Small might be his ship, but great must be his soul. Happy am
I in having an admiral who knows so well how to maintain the honor of
his flag."

The Queen sat down, her face aglow, her eyes sparkling; and, turning
to Doña Christina, she put her hand in that of her lady-in-waiting and
said:

"We are but women; but we have hearts like men."

Diego stood throbbing and palpitating and longing to hear more. The
Duke continued quickly:

"The merchant left Portugal soon after this happened. There are,
however, some discrepancies in his story. He says that the caravel was
the Niña, while the Admiral sailed in the Santa Maria. The merchant
also says that the caravel's commander was to proceed to Lisbon instead
of coming direct to a Spanish port. Again, at almost the same moment
the Portuguese merchant appeared, a messenger came bearing a letter
from Captain Martin Alonzo Pinzon, at the port of Bayonne, saying that
land was found to the westward; but that he was separated from the
Admiral many weeks ago and knows not if he still survives. All might
be explained except the persistence with which the Portuguese merchant
insists that the commander of the caravel was undoubtedly going to
Lisbon, and that he saw, before leaving, the preparations to travel
thence by land."

Then the Cardinal said:

"If the King of Portugal commanded the Admiral to come to Lisbon, he
could scarcely refuse. And, in that event, how poignant must be the
regret of the King of Portugal, who abandoned the glorious project
offered him by the Admiral and left it to your Majesty and King
Ferdinand to reap the glory of it."

"Ah!" cried the Queen. "Once more have you, my Lord Cardinal, spoken
words of wisdom. One thing seems certain, two of the ships have
returned. How unfortunate it is the King is not here! However, if more
definite news comes, I will send messengers for the King. You may go
now, Don Diego. I will send a messenger to La Rabida telling the Prior,
Juan Perez, of what we have heard."

Then Diego's soul became possessed with courage. He went up to the
Queen's chair and, kneeling on one knee, said:

"Will your Majesty pardon me for what I am about to ask? May I go with
that messenger to La Rabida? My father gave his word that unless driven
elsewhere by stress of weather he would make his first landing in Spain
at the port of Palos. I saw him depart, my Queen, and a voice like the
voice of God spoke in my heart, saying, 'He will return with immortal
glory.' His first thought next his sovereigns will be for his sons,
for me and my little brother. If my father lands at Palos and I am not
there, it will give him a pang, for my father loves his children with
all his heart. May I go, my Queen? Oh, let me go, let me go, my Queen!"

Diego, in his eagerness, had laid his hand upon the Queen's robe.
Her eyes, ever kind, grew more kindly; but while maintaining her own
authority well she never forgot the authority of others. She turned to
the Duke and said, smiling:

"My Lord Duke, can you spare this young man from his duties and studies
for a little while. It is an occasion which so far has never arisen but
this once in the life of a royal page."

"If your Majesty requests it," replied the Duke, "leave shall be given
to Don Diego, and I agree with your Majesty that the occasion is so
great that Don Diego may well be excused."

Diego, overjoyed, kissed the Queen's hand and thanked the Duke. The
Queen nodded by way of dismissal. It was then obviously time for Diego
to retire; but he stood irresolutely glancing toward the door, but
apparently unwilling to leave. He looked imploringly at Doña Christina,
who, smiling, went toward him. The next moment the Duke smiled and the
Queen laughed outright as they heard Diego say to Doña Christina, in a
loud whisper:

"Oh, how much would Don Felipe like to see the caravel come in!"

"I am sure he would," responded Don Felipe's mother, amused at Diego's
straight-forward simplicity.

Then Diego, looking around and seeing only smiling faces, went and
knelt before the Queen.

"Your Majesty," he said, "together Don Felipe and I saw the caravel
depart. Don Felipe believed in my father as much as I do, and if he
had not we should not have been like brothers, but we should have
fought like tigers. Don Felipe was ever good to me from the beginning.
He was a grandee of Spain, and I was the son of a poor Genoese
navigator; but Don Felipe never let me feel the difference between us.
He has ever been the best of friends and comrades to me, and now for me
to see the caravel come in and Don Felipe not to--"

Diego sighed heavily, while the Queen and all present could not forbear
smiling.

"Could you, my Lord Duke, grant the request of this young man?" asked
the Queen.

The Duke hesitated a moment, and Diego thought he would be refused. He
rose, the picture of dejection, and, hanging his head, said mournfully:

"Poor, poor Felipe!"

The Queen at that laughed once more. Diego, turning to Doña Christina,
said sadly:

"Madam, I would ask you to plead for Don Felipe with the Duke; but if
the Duke will not grant the Queen's request I am afraid he will not
listen to any one else."

"But I shall obey the Queen's wishes," said the Duke. "I will give Don
Felipe leave also; but you are to start upon your return two days after
the caravel arrives."

A thrill ran through Diego, his eyes shone, his mouth opened wide with
delight; and Queen Isabella, who understood youth well, nodded to him
again as a sign of dismissal. Diego retained his senses enough to make
an obeisance to the Queen and low bows to the Cardinal, the Duke, and
Doña Christina. Then, slipping out of the door, he ran like a deer back
to the hall of the pages. As he entered it Prince Juan sprang forward
and, clasping him around the neck, shouted:

"Tell us all, all, all!"

The other pages, with Don Felipe, clustered around; and Diego, with
Prince Juan's arm about his neck, poured forth the story told by the
Portuguese merchant, and also the news that the Pinta had arrived at
Bayonne.

"And the Duke has given me leave, and Don Felipe, too, to go to Palos
immediately to see the caravel come in. I knew that it would be so
hard for him to stay here when I went to Palos and saw all the people
crowding the quays and shores and the caravel come sailing in with my
father on the poop."

"And why," cried Prince Juan, shaking Diego, "cannot I see that
glorious sight as well as you and Don Felipe?"

"Because your Highness is a royal prince," answered Diego. "Your
Highness cannot run about the country as we do. We are not heirs to
thrones, we are not so important, and so we have more liberty."

The door opened, and Father de Deza, tutor to Prince Juan and master of
studies, entered. Instantly all sat down and took their books, Prince
Juan with the others, but the minds of all were elsewhere speculating
upon the glorious discovery, the gain of new worlds for Spain.

It was the way of the Duke to act quickly, and the next day by noon
Diego and Don Felipe were starting off with a party consisting of Don
Tomaso de Gama, Alonzo de Quintanilla, the Queen's accountant, and a
dozen men-at-arms. De Quintanilla was to make official records of the
return of the ship, to take charge of important papers, and carried a
letter from Queen Isabella to the Admiral.

As the cavalcade trotted out of the courtyard of the palace, Prince
Juan, watching from a window and surrounded by all the pages, wore a
melancholy countenance; he longed to be of the travelers. From another
window on a level with the heads of Diego and Don Felipe watched Doña
Christina and Doña Luisita. The last picture impressed upon Diego's
mind, as he rode out of the courtyard in the cavalcade, was Doña
Luisita's soft and beautiful eyes gazing after him. But his absence
was not likely to be longer than eight or ten days, and never did a
young man set out on a journey which meant more of hope and happiness
than did Diego. The return of his father not only meant the sight of
the best and tenderest of fathers returning from a long and hazardous
voyage, but it meant a triumph for the Admiral so great that Diego
was dazzled as he contemplated it. How insignificant appeared the
greatest title by that of the Admiral of the Ocean Seas, Viceroy and
Captain-General of all Lands to the Westward! It meant unending fame
for the Admiral and splendor for all his descendants. Diego remained
silent as they passed through the narrow streets of the town of
Barcelona, skirted the harbor, bright in the spring sun, and the blue
Mediterranean beyond. Soon they were in the open country. It was the
ninth day of March, and the vegetation in the sunny climate of southern
Spain was already well advanced. When they struck the highway through
the forests there was a faint, delicate green upon the trees, and the
sweet and pungent odor of the coming leaves perfumed the air. In the
fields the peasants tilled the rich earth and laughed and sang as they
toiled.

Don Tomaso was the leader likely to be most popular with youths of the
age of Diego and Don Felipe. He rode ahead, trolling in his rich voice
the canzonets and popular ballads of the day--all relating to love and
war. His famous chestnut horse seemed proud of being bestridden by so
superb a horseman, and whinnied with delight and caracoled as they
traveled rapidly along the highway. At evening the Daredevil Knight
scorned inns and castles, saying:

"Let us sleep like soldiers in our cloaks, and not seek soft beds like
ladies and carpet knights."

Diego and Don Felipe were willing enough for this, and their supper
around the campfire seemed to them the most delicious meal they had
ever eaten. The Daredevil Knight, whose flow of spirits and energy
seemed inexhaustible, told them stories of his adventures in camps and
in the tilt-yard and in tournaments in France as well as in Spain.
When they at last settled to sleep, wrapped in their cloaks and
blankets, Diego put a stick of wood under his head by way of being more
comfortable. The Daredevil Knight, seeing this, rose and kicked the log
away, crying indignantly:

"You are too fond of luxury, Don Diego, if you cannot sleep without a
pillow under your head; you are not fit for a soldier."

Diego remained meekly silent; and Don Felipe, who was reaching out
for another stick of wood to use for the same purpose, withdrew his
hand and appeared to be sleeping soundly. Neither slept much, however;
their veins throbbed with excitement; and, as they watched the quiet
stars overhead, the thought of the story told by those stars to the
Admiral on the trackless ocean thrilled them both. They were late in
falling asleep, and slept so soundly that they were only awakened by
Don Tomaso's kicks and reproaches for being such sluggards. The sun was
just rising, their morning meal was prepared, their horses groomed, and
everything ready for their departure. Mindful of his father's habits of
singular neatness, Diego boldly said:

"Before we start I must wash in yonder brook."

"I washed half an hour ago," replied the Daredevil Knight. "If we had
depended on you and Don Felipe an enemy might have come and surprised
us all and carried you both off without waking you, I suppose. Oh, very
enterprising knights will you and Don Felipe make!"

Neither Diego nor Don Felipe minded Don Tomaso's jokes; but they
privately arranged to be up in advance of him next morning. That day
was a repetition of the rapid and joyous travel of the day before. They
were passing through the richest parts of Spain, with many castles
and splendid residences in sight, and they encountered noblemen and
gentlemen upon the road who urged Don Tomaso to stop at least for
dinner or supper in their houses. But to each one Don Tomaso gave
courteously the same reply:

"I travel on urgent business for her Majesty the Queen, and I cannot
stop except for needed rest and refreshment."

He made no mention of the names of either Diego or Don Felipe, not
wishing any one to suspect his errand in advance.

That night they slept again in the open on the banks of the
Guadalquivir, which narrowed suddenly at that point. Next morning, by
break of day Diego and Don Felipe were awake and, rising noiselessly,
were careful not to disturb any of the other sleepers; and, going to
the banks of the river, a short distance off, had a bath so cold it
made them shiver, but soon brought a warm glow to their healthy young
bodies. When they returned to their companions all were up and awake
except Don Tomaso, to the great joy of Diego and Don Felipe. The
Daredevil Knight lay snoozing peacefully. They even ate their morning
meal without awaking him, and at last, when Alonzo de Quintanilla
called to Don Tomaso, Diego and Don Felipe were sitting on their
horses as if ready to start. Don Tomaso sprang up in great confusion
and made a hurried toilet and a still more hurried breakfast. When they
finally started off in the glorious spring sunrise, Don Tomaso said,
laughing, to Diego and Don Felipe:

"You have once caught me napping; I predict that I will catch each of
you a thousand times."

That day they drew near the coast, and on the next, about four o'clock,
when the afternoon sun was at its richest, they caught the far-off
gleam of the blue Atlantic.




VIII

SUNRISE OFF THE BAR OF SALTES


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.




IX

GLORIA


The party started off joyously; Don Tomaso was always joyous, but
even the sober Alonzo de Quintanilla was full of gaiety. It was found
impossible to prevent the people knowing that one of the two young men
with Don Tomaso's party was the son of the immortal man with whose
fame the world was ringing. In every town through which they passed
multitudes collected, wild with curiosity and enthusiasm, and eager
to see not only the son of the Admiral, but the men who had seen and
talked with those who had returned from the marvelous voyage. Along the
highways crowds assembled, made up of all classes of persons, from the
great nobles down to the humblest muleteer or peasant; all were filled
with an overwhelming sense of what the great discovery meant, not only
to Spain, but to the whole world. So large were these concourses that
travel became exceedingly slow; and Don Tomaso wished it to be as
rapid as possible. He managed, however, to make up for the delays by
traveling at night and resting only a few brief hours. To Diego and Don
Felipe and all it seemed possible to do without sleep.

As the party neared the splendid city of Barcelona the crowds and
enthusiasm seemed, if possible, to increase. Foreseeing what their
entrance into Barcelona by daylight might be, Don Tomaso determined
to steal into the city by night. Accordingly, on that last night they
prepared as usual to bivouac at sunset, that they might get rid of the
surging people for a little while. About nine o'clock the party quietly
rose and slipped away upon the dark and silent highroad. The night was
gloomy and the darkness impenetrable, but that best suited the purposes
of the travelers. The road was straight and level; and, giving their
horses the rein, they rode steadily until they reached the outlying
gardens and villas of Barcelona. Soon they stood before the main gate
of the city. Don Tomaso, riding up to the postern-gate, rapped gently
with the hilt of his sword. The warder in the tower asked his name and
business.

"I am," replied Don Tomaso, "Don Tomaso de Gama, and I bear a letter
for their Majesties the King and the Queen. Open the small gate; we
will dismount to enter."

The warder came hastily down and, removing the bolts, chains, and
bars from the small postern-gate, the party dismounted, and, leading
their horses, entered the silent city. The warder, like all the people
of Spain, was eager to know something of the wonderful rumors that
agitated Barcelona.

"Is it true, sir," he asked of Don Tomaso, who, once inside the walls,
was preparing to mount, "that the Genoese captain has returned after
finding a new world?"

"As true as my sword, which is of the best steel made in Toledo, and
never misses fire," answered Don Tomaso, flinging himself upon his
horse and galloping off.

The echo of iron hoofs upon the stones of the street waked the whole
city. The minds of men were at a tension, and every sound startled
them. When the horsemen reached the palace, lights were still burning
in the Queen's apartments, although it was past midnight. The sound of
arriving horsemen aroused the whole palace. The gate was immediately
opened, and Don Tomaso and his party, dismounting, entered. In the
corridors they were met by all the officers of the palace, none of
them fully dressed, some putting on their clothes and shoes, others
barefooted and wrapped in blankets. None dared to stop them, because
Don Tomaso was making direct for the Queen's part of the palace. When
they reached the Queen's anteroom, guarded by halberdiers, the door
opened and Doña Christina appeared. In place of her usual splendid and
correct costume she wore a short black silk petticoat, while a large
shawl wrapped around her concealed other deficiencies of her toilet.
She was too much agitated to do more than to give a hasty greeting to
Don Felipe and Diego, and in her excitement called Diego, Felipe, and
Felipe, Diego.

"Her Majesty has sent for the King," she said to Don Tomaso, "and
desires that you will come in immediately. You bear a letter, I
suppose, from the Admiral?"

All then entered the Queen's room, while Doña Christina disappeared for
a moment. She came back saying:

"The Queen desires to see you, Don Tomaso, and Señor de Quintanilla in
private. Don Diego and Don Felipe may retire to bed."

Diego and Don Felipe looked at each other in silent chagrin; but knew
better than to protest.

They had hoped to be present at the interview of Don Tomaso and Alonzo
de Quintanilla with the sovereigns, and were disappointed at being sent
to bed, as it were. Nevertheless, their return was not without triumph.
As they walked down the long corridor, now full of persons, for the
palace was thoroughly aroused, they were stopped at every moment by
eager questioners. Diego until then had been merely an object of
curiosity, and even of prejudice on the part of some. Many persons of
rank treated him haughtily and disapproved the conferring of the title
of "Don" upon the son of an obscure Italian and putting him upon an
equality with the greatest nobles of Spain. Now, they regarded him with
extraordinary interest and respect. This youth, closely resembling
his father, would one day inherit all the titles and dignities of the
greatest man in the world at that time. Diego subtly realized this,
and, instead of dazzling and unsettling him, gave him a better poise
and a more sensible view of honors and distinctions. Midway of the
crowd in the corridor they met the Duke de Medina Coeli, governor of
the pages. Although stern in discipline, he was strictly just, and had
never made the smallest distinction between Diego and the other pages,
and was always careful to give him the title of "Don." As Diego and Don
Felipe stopped and respectfully saluted him, the Duke spoke kindly to
Diego, congratulating him upon the glorious achievement of his father
and hoping that Diego would prove worthy of him.

"I thank you, sir," responded Diego, with a low bow, "and I shall try
by my conduct not to discredit my honored father."

Don Felipe, who was really more courageous with the Duke than Diego,
whispered a request into his ear. The Duke smiled, and answered:

"You may go to Prince Juan's room if you wish. No doubt he is awake
like every one else in the palace. If he chooses to go with you to the
dormitory of the pages to see what you have to show, I shall make no
objection."

The Duke passed on, and Diego and Don Felipe made straight for the
apartments of Prince Juan. The Prince was under military discipline,
and had no more privileges in regard to leaving his room than had any
of the pages. Diego knocked at the Prince's door, and it was opened,
not by an attendant, but by Prince Juan himself. He caught Diego in his
arms and hugged him, boy fashion, and then hugged Don Felipe.

"I have scarcely slept since the great news came!" cried Prince Juan.
"Never did any country receive so great a gift as your father, Don
Diego, has made my country. Tell me all, all, all, that you have seen
and heard."

"The governor bade me say that if your Highness wished to go into the
pages' dormitory he would permit it, and there we can show the pictures
and tell the story as we have heard it," said Don Felipe.

Prince Juan had in him that fine quality of wishing to share his
pleasures with others. The thought of being surrounded by his friends
and young companions while the story was told delighted him. He, with
Diego and Don Felipe, rushed pell-mell into the long dormitory, simple
as a barrack, where the pages slept on their hard, narrow beds. But
they were not sleeping. They were gathered in groups at the narrow
windows trying to make out from the commotion in the courtyard what
had happened. When the door opened the dormitory was quite dark, but
Prince Juan, seizing with his own hands a lamp that hung from the wall
outside, carried it into the large, bare room. The three were greeted
with shouts of delight, for when alone with Prince Juan, he was treated
as a friend and comrade rather than a prince. Prince Juan, putting
the lamp on the table, and with the twenty pages around it, began to
examine the pictures that Don Felipe had drawn and painted, and to
listen breathlessly to the story of what they had seen. When the gray
dawn crept in at the windows they were still gathered around the table,
although the lamp had long since burnt itself out. Then, however, they
scampered back to their beds, and Prince Juan ran to his apartment, for
in a little while it would be time for the governor of the pages to
glance in Prince Juan's room and inspect the dormitory.

Although it was still March, and the Admiral was not expected to arrive
at Barcelona until the middle of April, preparations for his reception
were already begun. As the magnitude of the discovery of a new world
grew more apparent the people seemed to be more and more dazzled by
the great event. It not only meant an incalculable increase of power,
territory, and wealth for Spain, but it was of great import to science
and learning of all sorts. Geography had to be reconstructed, and
astronomy would make a tremendous advance. The strange phenomenon of
the variation of the compass excited all Europe, and the discovery of
the trade-winds by the Admiral was of enormous benefit to commerce.
It was indeed the revelation of a new and stupendous world to the Old
World.

There were two persons, however, who, without forgetting the vast
material and scientific value of the discovery, fixed their minds upon
a nobler ideal, the taking to the New World the Christian religion and
civilization. These two were the Admiral himself and the great Queen
Isabella. Daily letters were exchanged between these two lofty and
kindred spirits, who could rise above the consideration of earthly
grandeur, and who cherished splendid dreams of the reclamation and
civilization of the unknown lands.

When it became known that the Admiral was to be received at Barcelona
by their Majesties about the middle of April, all Spain, Italy, and
France were aroused, for the event had so stirred men's minds that
it was communicated with unheard-of rapidity; even far-off England
and Germany were thrilled to the centre. The King and the Queen, to
do honor to the Admiral, determined to receive him in full sight of
the people instead of in the palace. A huge temporary saloon open to
the air was built in the great Plaza opposite the Cathedral. It was
carpeted with magnificent Moorish carpets and blazed with cloth of
gold and gorgeous tapestries brought from the Spanish palaces. At the
end a magnificent throne was erected with three chairs upon it, two
throne chairs and one for the Admiral, who was to receive an honor
never before granted to any but reigning sovereigns, to sit upon the
throne with the King and the Queen. A grand Te Deum was to be sung,
and all the greatest singers in Spain flocked to Barcelona that they
might take part in the music. The streets became so crowded that
it was difficult to make progress, and the country round about was
converted into a camp by a tented army of travelers who could get no
accommodations in the city.

Through it all Diego felt as if he were in a splendid dream. His heart
swelled with joy; his prayers were all thanksgivings; but his mind
remained steady and his conduct modest. To have shown a haughty and
vainglorious spirit he felt would degrade him more than anything else
in the world. His own sound sense and his father's counsels prevented
him from being unbalanced by the flatterers who surrounded him. Those
who had jeered at him as being an upstart and a foreigner were now the
ones who paid him court, as if he were a man grown, who could not
meet him without linking their arms in his, and who embarrassed him by
the urgency of their invitations to banquets and feasts and jousts at
arms and in the tilt-yard. Diego in his heart scornfully contrasted
them with those of his friends like Don Felipe and the other pages who
had treated him always with friendliness; with the Daredevil Knight,
who had made no difference between the son of the Genoese captain and
Don Felipe, heir to the honors of the house of Langara y Gama; of Doña
Christina, who had shown him unvarying sweetness; and Doña Luisita,
whose soft eyes had always smiled on him from the night he had first
seen her, in her white gown and veil, standing in the archway of the
castle of Langara, the light from the silvery lamp falling upon her
slender white figure. But above all was the great Queen unchanged,
because she had ever been the soul of gentleness and kindness to the
motherless Diego.

It was a time of brilliant happiness for all, but to the son of the
great Admiral it was a time of joy deeper than he had ever dreamed.

Four days before the arrival of the Admiral, who was making his way
amid acclamations from Cordova to Barcelona, Juan Perez, the Prior
of La Rabida, arrived with Fray Piña and Brother Lawrence, bringing
the little Fernando. It was the wish of the Admiral that both of his
sons and his tried and true friends should be present in his hour of
unprecedented triumph. Lodgings were prepared in the palace for the
party from La Rabida. The palace was already crowded with members of
the royal family and their attendants. The pages had to find quarters
where best they could, their dormitory being given up to the great
nobles in attendance on royalty. Diego and Don Felipe were glad of
a little room to themselves, with a pallet on the floor for little
Fernando, whom Brother Lawrence still faithfully attended.

"It is no use to find a sleeping place for me," said Brother Lawrence
to Diego, "for no one can sleep until the Admiral comes. I ever
believed in your father, and when I saw the Prior with his head bending
down over the maps for hours and days with the Admiral, I said to
myself, 'That Genoese captain will find something yet.'"

As Brother Lawrence could neither read nor write, his views on
geography were not particularly valuable; but his faithfulness and
devotion to Diego in his childhood, and to little Fernando now, made
him a prized though humble friend. Fray Piña was perfectly unchanged,
being the same calm, polished and somewhat stern young man; but Diego
and Don Felipe had learned to understand and admire his justice and
even his sternness, for he was no sterner with others than with himself.

"I should not be surprised," said Diego to Don Felipe, on the night
of the fourteenth of April, as they lay in their beds watching the
stars shining through the window, the little Fernando sleeping on the
floor, and Brother Lawrence snoring loudly on a bench outside the
door--"I should not be surprised if Fray Piña were to send us word the
first thing in the morning that he is prepared to give us a lesson in
astronomy to-morrow instead of watching the great procession."

"It would be exactly like him," replied Don Felipe, laughing; "but for
once I would not obey him."

Half the night the two youths watched the night sky, dreading that
clouds and storms might mar the most glorious day that had ever dawned
for Spain. But the stars shone from a clear sky, and the April morning
broke as beautiful as that August morning when the Santa Maria, the
Pinta, and the Niña slipped away into the sunlit ocean, or on that
glorious March day when the Niña passed the bar of Saltes, the great
standard of Spain floating in triumph from her peak.

Scarcely an eye closed that night in Barcelona. Not only was every
street, window, and balcony filled, but the roofs were black with
persons passionately anxious to see the great pageant. The sun shone
with unclouded splendor, and soft airs from the blue and glittering
Mediterranean gently moved the flags and banners that were clustered
thick over city and harbor. A great collection of vessels from every
adjacent port and country made the spacious harbor of Barcelona a
forest of shipping and extended in long lines on both sides of the
coast.

The entrance of the Admiral was to take place at ten o'clock in the
morning. At that hour all was arranged in the great Plaza of the
city. The King and the Queen, wearing their royal robes and mantles,
and with crowns upon their heads, were seated on the throne in their
great gilded chairs. Behind the King's chair stood Prince Juan; and
behind the Queen were grouped the Princess Katharine and the other
royal children. Of the ladies-in-waiting of the Queen, Doña Christina
held the place of honor, and among the young ladies of the highest
rank was seated Doña Luisita. She was dressed in white and silver,
and was in clear view of Diego, who, with little Fernando, was given
a seat next the steps of the throne. The robes, jewels, and plumes of
the ladies made a splendid glow of color. The cardinals, headed by
the great Cardinal Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, the firm friend of the
Admiral, made a blaze of glory in their scarlet robes, while all the
bishops and archbishops of Spain in purple robes and white capes, their
glittering mitres and crosiers shining in the April sun, with their
train-bearers and attendants, were seated next the cardinals. Among
the ecclesiastics there were two plain, black-gowned figures, those of
Juan Perez, Prior of La Rabida, and Father de Deza, tutor to Prince
Juan, the two friends of whom the Admiral in life and in his will after
his death spoke with gratitude which has immortalized them. Others who
had stood by the Admiral, like Alonzo de Quintanilla and Luis de St.
Angel, were given places of honor. The nobles, wearing their robes of
state, the knights, resplendent in flashing armor, added magnificence
to the scene. A solemn hush was upon the great company. All excitement
and jubilation subsided as the deep and tremendous meaning of the day
made itself felt.

All was in readiness by half-past nine o'clock; but long before that
came from afar off a deep murmur like the distant roar of breakers
on the seashore as the Admiral approached the gates of the city. The
murmur grew, never loud, but deep, because it came from the hearts
of the people. It seemed to rise from the earth and the sea and to
extend to the limits of the horizon. Presently, in the glowing April
morning, the head of the advancing procession was seen as it entered
the spacious Plaza. Then it parted to the right and the left, and the
figure of the Admiral, mounted on a stately black horse, was seen
advancing, while immediately behind him rode a color-bearer carrying
the great Gonfalon of Spain that Columbus himself carried ashore and
planted upon the soil of the New World. At sight of him, suddenly
the silence was broken with a clashing of joy bells, the salvos of
artillery, the solemn thunder of cathedral chimes, and the shrill
acclaims of trumpets and clarions. The tongues of the people were
unloosed, and a storm of applause that began in the Plaza of Barcelona
and reached for leagues beyond on land and sea rose to Heaven. This
lasted until the Admiral reached the foot of the broad, red-carpeted
stairs that led to the great platform. There he dismounted and ascended
the stairs.

Never had this majestic man appeared so majestic. His tall and
stately figure, his hair already white, his carriage full of grace
and dignity, would have made him a marked man among other men under
any circumstances; but, above all, his eyes, gravely triumphant,
introspective, of unshakable steadiness, proclaimed him as a master
of men, born a captain, and designed for command. Well might it be
believed that this man stood ready to sail into the perilous and
uncharted seas, to meet unknown dangers and horrors, to face and subdue
mutineers who would have thrown him into the ocean and dared not,
though they were many and he was but one, who kept his course due west,
when even the hearts of his captains and his pilots fainted within
them, remaining unshaken when the North Star seemed to tremble in its
orbit. Brave and skilful mariners had there been before, but he was the
bravest and the most skilful man who had ever sailed blue water.

These thoughts surged through the hearts of all who saw the immortal
Admiral as he mounted the steps of the great platform, where was
assembled the authority, the learning, the piety, the chivalry, and the
beauty of Spain to do him honor--honor to him who for eighteen years
had borne, with sublime courage and infinite patience, disappointment,
contumely, treachery, and ignominy. Now, at his approach, all rose, and
every head was uncovered. The loftiest height of glory was his; and yet
he remained undazzled, with a just pride before men, but with humility
before God, for Columbus was, first of all, a Christian.

This man Columbus, a foreigner and penniless, had, by his stupendous
genius and matchless courage, made Spain in one hour the greatest
and most powerful nation in the world. The boundless territory and
the incalculable riches with which Columbus had endowed the country
brought with them new duties, new problems, vast responsibilities,
and novel relations with all the countries of the known world. The
more this amazing discovery of Columbus was analyzed the greater
and deeper it appeared. Not only Spain, but the future of the human
race, was powerfully and inevitably affected by the revelation of a
new and mysterious world. These thoughts produced not only a sublime
exaltation, but a solemn and sobering effect upon the vast multitudes
assembled in Barcelona on that unforgettable day. Especially was this
true of the rulers of Spain. The expulsion of the Moorish invaders from
Spanish soil had been justly regarded as a splendid national triumph
and a great step forward in Christian civilization. To this was added
a triumph greater than any known to ancient Rome, beside which all
the acquisition of territory, all conquests of the world appeared
trivial. It was this sublime thought that paled the cheeks of the great
Queen Isabella, who, with eyes downcast upon her clasped hands, moved
her lips continually in silent prayer. King Ferdinand, soldier and
statesman, but cold and crafty, saw the vast achievement of Columbus
from a nobler point of view than ever before. Prince Juan, true son of
his mother, was, like her, pale and concentrated. It was more than the
brilliant sunrise of Spanish glory; it was the greatest earthly event
the world had ever known.

In the midst of a breathless silence Columbus advanced slowly and with
dignity. When he reached the foot of the throne he stopped, modestly
waiting for an invitation from his sovereigns to proceed further. The
Queen, in her eagerness, moved forward and, stooping, held out her
hand. Columbus ascended the throne and kneeled before the sovereigns.
The Queen, her hand still extended, raised him, saying:

"Welcome, Don Christobal Colon, our Admiral of the Ocean Seas, and
Viceroy and Captain-General of all Lands to the Westward. We give you
our thanks. So does all Spain."

Columbus bowed low, and King Ferdinand repeated the words of the Queen.

Then, at a signal, the Te Deum burst forth, singers and instruments
in a glorious outburst of music, the great organ from the open doors
of the cathedral swelling out in melodious thunder. The King and the
Queen and Columbus fell upon their knees, as did all present, and the
multitudes and throngs in the streets and the watchers and listeners
on land and sea. All remained kneeling while the majestic hymn of
thanksgiving was sung. When a solemn silence succeeded, Queen Isabella,
in a clear voice, gave thanks to God for the great discovery and asked
the blessing of the Almighty upon the new lands to the westward. A
deep and heartfelt amen surged from the lips and hearts of tens of
thousands of persons. The Queen and the King, and all present, then
rose from their knees and seated themselves, Columbus taking the seat
of honor prepared for him by the side of Queen Isabella. The King and
the Queen, after thanking him formally, desired him to give an account
of his voyage, which he modestly recounted. When this was over, the
procession passed before the sovereigns of those who had been upon the
voyage, the Indians that had been brought back, the strange birds and
animals and plants, Columbus briefly explaining them.

It was long past noon before the great ceremonies were finished, and
the glittering assemblage rose to attend the magnificent banquet to
be given in honor of Columbus at the royal palace. As Diego walked
along, holding the hand of his little brother, his heart was almost
oppressed with the glory he had seen. He felt as if he had been
lifted into another and higher world for a time, and he yearned for
the simple and familiar things of life. When he passed Don Felipe in
the orderly assemblage, he looked toward his friend imploringly. Don
Felipe slipped his arm within that of Diego. Then Diego, glancing up,
saw the beautiful dark eyes of Doña Luisita fixed upon him with soft
brilliance. The tempest in his heart was calmed, his soul was soothed.
After all that he had known of distresses and of triumphs, of miseries
and of splendors, of poverty and of riches, of ignominy and of glory in
his short life, he had never lacked for love or friendship. Could they
remain his, life would be a glorious conflict, a splendid struggle to
the last, ending with the hope of love eternal.

THE END




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to regularize hyphenation and to correct
obvious typesetters' errors; variant spellings have been retained.

Words and phrases that were typeset in the original book have been
shown with an underscore (_) before and after.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of Columbus, by Molly Elliot Seawell

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 63173 ***