All that night their sails were lashed down tight; and yet, such was the violence of the gale, that they were driven forward with the speed of a race-horse. In the morning, they were still on the top of the waves, though every moment likely to be swallowed up. Through all that day the vessels kept in sight of each other; but each, as it rose on the mountain wave, expected to take its last look of its companion.
The night again set in. The spirit of the tempest was still unbroken; nay, it seemed as if the very elements were all engaged in war. The ocean, lashed by the storm, raged and roared, and every succeeding billow was still more mountainous than the one which had gone before. Each vessel continued to display a light, at intervals, as a signal to the other. For a time, that displayed by the Pinta was seen on board the Nina; but it grew more and more dim and distant, and, at length, was looked for in vain.
It was a tremendous night, and it seemed that only by a miracle the vessel could survive the fury of the gale. But, on the dawn of the following morning, she was still riding aloft, though she seemed, every moment, on the brink of ruin.
The courageous spirit of Columbus was the last to quail. He did not yet despair; but he, himself, was appalled. It was probable that the Pinta had gone down. It was more than probable that his own vessel would that day sink to some unexplored cavern in the abyss. His life and that of his crew were valuable. But it was of still greater moment to the world that the knowledge of his discovery should not be lost.
In this distressed and troubled state—in this season of awful suspense, Columbus was not unmindful of prayers and vows. But, alas! he prayed not to the God of the ocean; his vows were not made to him. In those days, it was the custom of many, in times of peril, to pray to the Virgin Mary, and to make a vow, if preserved, to go on a pilgrimage. This Columbus and his men now did; as if the Virgin Mary could save them; as if to go bareheaded, on their hands and feet, for miles and leagues, would be pleasing to God!
How much more proper it would have been to have sought the protection of Him who rideth upon the wings of the wind, and maketh the clouds his chariots; who alone could say to the noisy waters, “Peace, be still.” The prayers and vows of Columbus seemed of little avail. Why should they have been heard, when the true God of the waters was lost sight of, and creatures were worshipped instead of himself?
The storm still went on in its fury: billow was followed by billow, surge was piled upon surge. Columbus began to consider in what manner he could communicate to the eastern world a knowledge of his discovery. There was one expedient which might succeed, if he should be lost, and he now proceeded to adopt it.
He wrote a brief account of his voyage and discoveries on a piece of parchment, which he hastily enclosed in a cake of wax, and, putting this latter into a barrel, he threw it into the sea, with the hope that it might, at length, be picked up by some one who would inform the king and queen of Spain of the important news it contained.
Fortunately, however, the storm soon after somewhat abated, and, to their inexpressible joy, land appeared in view, which proved to be the island of St. Mary’s, the most southern of the Azores.
For two days, after they discovered land, the Nina was tossed about, it being impossible to reach a harbor. At length they cast anchor; but, before morning, they parted their cable, and were again exposed to the most imminent danger of being shipwrecked.