The Son of Columbus

by Molly Elliot Seawell

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.”