“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.