The Son of Columbus

by Molly Elliot Seawell

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.