And now there was to be still another voyage made. In 1498 Columbus left Spain with six ships, and sailed across the Atlantic, taking a route more southerly than he had before done. This time he discovered the mouth of the Orinoco, which he, still supposing that the country he had discovered to be Asia, thought was the river Gihon, which rose in the garden of Eden. He then skirted along the coast of South America, passing the islands of Trinidad and Margarita, and then turned toward Hispaniola, where he hoped to recruit his health. He found the colony in a sad state, and while trying to restore peace he again became the object of jealousy and malice. A commissioner named Francisco de Bobadilla was sent from Spain to settle the trouble, and his first act was to put Columbus and his brother in chains and send them to Spain.
"Are you taking me to death, Vallejo?" asked Columbus, sadly, when the officer came to lead him from his cell.
The officers of the ships wanted to take off his chains, but Columbus replied, "I will wear them as a memento of the gratitude of princes."
When he arrived in Spain, the people were very indignant at the treatment which he had received; and the king, in order to quiet them, said that he had not ordered Columbus to be put in chains. But the real reason why he had allowed him to be thus insulted was that he was disappointed at finding that the New World, after all, was not rich in gold and silver, and after nine months of waiting Columbus only saw a new governor appointed over Hispaniola, and no notice taken of his injuries. One more voyage and then Columbus' work would be over. In 1502 he received command to sail in search of a passage leading westward from the Gulf of Mexico, which was then supposed to be a sea. He believed he should find a strait somewhere near where the isthmus of Panama now is, and that by passing through this strait he would reach the continent of Asia. On his way out he stopped at his colony at Hispaniola, where he hoped to refit, but was refused permission; he sailed along the south side of the Gulf of Mexico, but did not find the strait for which he was looking, and after much suffering from famine and other hardships, he returned home. Here he lay sick for some months; his old friend Queen Isabella was dead, and King Ferdinand refused to give him any reward for his long and faithful service. He was seventy years old, poor, and in ill health. To quote his own words, he had "no place to go to except an inn, and often with nothing to pay for his food." And so the discoverer of the New World, suffering, neglected, deserted by those he had spent his life in serving, died while repeating the Latin words, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." They are the last words of a great man; a man who lived a noble life, and who met death as bravely and fearlessly as he met the unknown terrors which lay in his way when he sailed for the first time across the great "sea of darkness." Seven years after his death the people, for very shame's sake, placed a marble tomb over his remains, with the inscription:
"A Castilla y a Leon,
Nuevo mondo dió Colon."
("To Castile and Leon, a new world gave Colon.")
Afterward his remains were taken to St. Domingo and placed in a cathedral in that city. And nearly two hundred years later they were removed with great pomp to the cathedral at Havana, where they rest within sound of the waves of the sea, in that beautiful city, where the air is indeed "like the spring in Andalusia," balmy and soft, perfumed with flowers, and made musical with the songs of birds.
[CHAPTER VI.]
THE CABOTS.