In the wake of Columbus : adventures of the special commissioner sent by the World’s Columbian exposition to the West Indies

Front matter

ABU5

)MM1S S t'O NE

NE R^ o\qM dd. £ rary.

Preface

Sixteen years ago, while sailing between Dominica and Martinique, those verdure-clad islands lying midway the Caribbee chain, I first looked upon land discovered by Columbus.

I will not deny that I was strangely thrilled ; nor shall any scoffer put me down as a sentimental voyager because I attached to those islands an importance not implied in the Admiralty charts.

In the two succeeding years I had threaded the chain of the Caribbees, explored all the islands discovered by the Admiral in his second ai\d third voyages, hunted in the forests in which he and his men had encountered the cannibal Caribs, and had lived for months with the descendants of those same fierce Indians so graphically described by the pen of the great Discoverer.

In 1SS0 I re-visited the West Indies, and added other islands to those already investigated, my object (as on the previous voyage) being the ornithological exploration of the Lesser Antilles. Birds and woods — the avi-fanna of the islands and the great forests — were the subjects I particularly studied ; but, from being constantly on the trail of the great Genoese, I at last became interested in the story of his voyagings, and began to collect information regarding the places identified with his life and labors.

In iSSi, on the coast of Yucatan, I was reminded of his last voyage in the year 1502, when he encountered that great canoe laden with chocolate beans, copper utensils and cotton, and guided by mariners of a higher order of intelligence than any other of these new peoples he had seen. Seven years later, in the Bahamas, I saw that island on which Columbus landed — San Salvador or Guanahani — rising ghost»like from the sea; the first landfall of the eventful voyage of 1492. The south coast of Cuba gave me the emerald " Gardens of the Queen," and the " Bay of the Hundred Fires."

PREFACE.

Wherever I have wandered, it wiii be seen, I have met with reminders of Columbus; and, having viewed with so keen an interest these jewels of his gathering, with which he adorned the crown of Spain, was it strange that I was impelled to seek that Myther Country, and that when there I found no more precious relics than those of the Admiral of the Ocean Sea?

Having followed the fortunes of Columbus, in a desultory manner, for nearly fifteen years, it was extremely gratifying to have offered me the opportunity for further investigation afforded in the appointment as Columbian Commissioner to the West Indies. It was purely fortuitous, as I had no previous acquaintance with any of the officials ; but, being specially charged to search out every spot and relic of the discovery, I was thus enabled to carry out my own explorations and complete an exhaustive study of the subject.

In this work, which I have called "In the Wake of Columbus," I aim to present what may be termed the environment of the Admiral ; giving scenes with which he was identified, starting with the inception of the enterprise in Spain, carrying the action across the Atlantic to the first landfall, through the Bahamas to Cuba, thence to the scene of the first wreck and the first fort, on the coast of Haiti, the first settlement at Isabella, the initial attempts at discovery in Espaiiola, showing where the gold was found and the first cities started — in fact, following him through all his voyages, writing every description from personal observation, and using the historical events merely as a golden thread upon which to string the beads of this Columbian rosary.

Whether my work has been well done or badly done, such as it is I now offer it — a tribute to our great Exposition ; to the genius that conceived, the courage that continued, the energy that executed, and the faith that sustained to a triumphant conclusion, this the grandest work of its kind the world has ever seen ; the crowning event of a century filled with wonders and miracles of man's invention. Washington, April, 1S93.

Contents

Chapter

I. The Bridge that Spanned the World

II. At the New World's Portal

II. At The New World S Portal

A

MOORISH ARCH AT PALOS.

S we have seen, Columbus, crowned with success, departed for Palos, invested with all the rights and privileges he for years had been so anxious to obtain.

But two months after the surrender of Boabdil to Ferdinand and Isabella, the same hands that had received the emblems of their triumph over the Moors affixed the royal sign-manual to a paper confirming Columbus in titles in a yet undiscovered country beyond the unknown sea. A commemorative chapel on the bank of the Xenil marks the spot made famous by the surrender of the Moor; in the royal chapel attached to the cathedral of Granada the alabaster tombs of the king and queen are sacred shrines, to which pilgrims by thousands annually wend their way; but no monument rises above the spot where the great Navigator engaged to barter a world for prospective emolument and titular honors.

We know with what tenacity he clung to the scheme he had formulated for the enrichment and ennobling of himself and his family, preferring to abandon the country rather than to abate one iota of his project. And it was with doubtful pace that he followed the messenger from Isabella who had overtaken him at the Bridge of Pines, with the promise of her consent.

But at last he was on his way to Palos, triumphant. And while he is pursuing his way toward the coast, let us briefly review his history hitherto.

He was born in Genoa, the historians tell us, in the year 1435 — ^is may not be the exact date; and regarding his youth and early manhood there is the same obscurity; but about the year 1470, we find him residing in Portugal, the birthplace of his wife, and somewhat later engaged in correspondence with Toscanelli. According to his son's statement, in 1477 he " navigated one hundred leagues beyond Thule; " but in 1482 he is in the South of Spain, having vainly endeavored to enlist the king of Portugal in his plans, and is sent to Isabella by the Duke of Medina Celi, at the court in Cordova. He follows the court to Salamanca in i486, and there has audience with the queen. In 14S7 he is before the Council in the Dominican Convent ; he returns to Cordova the same }rear in the train of Isabella, whence he is summoned to the military camp at Malaga. The year 1489 finds him before the walls of Baza, where he witnessed the surrender of the Moors under Boabdil the Elder, and doubtless conversed with the two monks who there came to the queen from Jerusalem. 1490 sees him in Seville and Cordova, whence he finally

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

departs in disgust for the port of Huelva, on his way stopping at the Convent of La Rabida, where he attracts the attention of the prior, and subsequently has the

THE MOSQUE OF A THOUSAND COLUMNS AT COKDoVA, famous conference with the friar, the village doctor of Palos, and Martin Alonzo Pinzon of Moguer.

This conference in the convent took place in the latter part of the year 1491; as the result, a messenger was dispatched to Isabella, then in camp at Santa Fe, who returned after fourteen days with royal orders for the prior to go to Granada; he departs in haste, and eventually returns with the queen's command for Columbus to appear before the court, and with the necessary money for the trip.

Columbus arrives at Santa Fe the first week in January, 1492, in good time (as we have seen) to witness the surrender of Granada. He has audience with his sovereigns, but cannot agree upon terms, so prepares to depart from Spain. He is overtaken by the queen's courier at the Bridge of Pines, returns, and is finally made happy with the royal consent.

The " Capitulation " for conquest and exploration is signed April 17, 1492, and the twelfth of May he sets out for Palos. Ten days later — the twenty-third — the royal command for the people of Palos to furnish men for the voyage is read in the church of St. George, and the Pinzon family come to his assistance. Preparations are hurried forward, and by the first of August the vessels drop down the Rio Tinto to the Domingo Rubio, where the final departure is taken at the Convent of La Rabida. This much for a chronological statement of events. We will now retrace our steps, and visit in person the scenes of the great Discoverer's weary wanderings and his final gladsome trip through Andalusia.

Memorials of Columbus are scattered throughout Spain, to-day; in Madrid, the royal armory contains his armor, the naval museum one of his charts; at Valladolid, in 1506, he died, and the house is still pointed out in which he drew his last breath ; the convent, also, in which his remains were first deposited.

But though we may trace the wanderings of our hero over a great portion of Spain, it is in the South that the most interesting events occurred. Vastly rich is Seville, the queen city of the Guadalquivir, in Columbian

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

memories; fur here wc find that valuable library, the Colombina, bequeathed the city by his son Fernando, containing twenty thousand volumes, among them some that once pertained to the great man himself; one with marginal notes by his own hand, and one of his charts. Those very islands of the Bahamas, which I myself have' seen, dim and shadowy, and shining in the sun, are here outlined by the great Discoverer himself, upon paper discolored and stained by sea-salt, as though it had accompanied him on all his voyages.

That, however, which oftenest drew me and longest held me was the marble slab in the pavement of the great cathedral, that formerly covered the remains of Columbus, and now marks the resting-place of his son Fernando, with its world-famous inscription : A Castilla y d Leon, Mundo Nuevo dio Colon; "To Castile and to Leon, a New World gave Columbus." Thus, although the remains of Columbus himself are now in the New World, many glorious memorials of him are to be seen in Spain, and mainly in Seville.

In the Lonja, containing the royal archives of the Indies, in the city of Seville, is a mass of material pertaining to the conquest of the West Indies and Mexico that has never been exploited. Inaccessible to the ordinary tourist, great bundles and packages of letters and documents lie securely intrenched behind glass doors. But affixed against the walls, at intervals, are certain letters that bear their history on their faces; they are open and can be read by every passer-by. They are well-nigh priceless; unique, at all events, for most of them are from the great conquistador cs themselves. The first of these, in point of age, is one from Magellanes, dated at Seville, October 24, 15 18.

Another, date October 12, 15 19, is from Diego Velasquez, written from La Isla Fernandina (Cuba), giving notice of the disobedience of Cortez, who had taken possession of the ships and armament Velasquez himself had collected, and sailed away to what (as we now know) resulted in the conquest of Mexico.

Less than three years later, a letter is written by the indomitable Cortez himself to Charles V., announcing his great discoveries and acquisitions. It was written from Coyoacan (near the city of Mexico) May 15. 1522; one of those veritable Cartas de Cortes that have proved so valuable to historians.

Bearing date December 13, 1520, is a letter from

Diego Colon, son of Columbus, then in Santo Domingo as viceroy.

Another, the same year, addressed to the king, Charles I. (Charles V. of Germany), is from that fieryhearted monk, Bartholomew de las Casas. Long before that letter was written, had the wrongs of the down-trodden Indians begun to cry for redress, through the good Bishop of Chiapas.

Next in sequence comes a letter from Juan Ponce de Leon, "Puerto Rico, February 10, 1521." He had then, doubtless, given up his search for the "Fountain of Youth," and was preparing for that last venture in which he lost his life. A confirmation of the statement by historians, that Francisco Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru, could not write his name, is found here ; for the letter purporting to be his bears his sign-mark only.

With date 1526, there is a royal / edit la of Charles I. ; and another from the same king to Don Louis Colon, in 1537; another, by Phillip II., in 1560.

A letter written in July, 1539, from Hernando de Soto, touches Americans, surely, for it comes from the Puerto del Espiritu Santo, coast of Florida; Tampa Bay, it is called now; and De Soto was then disembarking his forces, preparatory to that terrible march through the Floridian wilderness that ended at the Mississippi, and brought him to his grave.

In 1556, that stout soldier and truthful historian, Bernal Diaz del Castillo, who fought all through the Mexican wars under Cortez, writes a letter to his sovereign. He was then governor of Guatemala, and his letter comes thence: "Guatemala, 10 de Mayo, 1556."

In these documents we have a history epitomized, and romance condensed, with suggestions enough to keep an elaborator busy for a lifetime.

But one more name, that of Columbus, is necessary to bring before us the conquest and discoveries of that period so rich in barbaric treasure, so red with Indian blood misspilt:

"No olla without its pork, no sermon without its saint," says the Spanish proverb. The saint in my sermon, these days, when the quadri-centennial lends an interest to everything American and Columbian, is Saint Colon ; and it was to obtain information regarding his voyages, that I visited the Lonja and Columbian Library at Seville, and later the port of Palos and Convent of La Rabida.

At Seville, I dwelt in the house of a cleric, and my friend gave me a letter of introduction to the cura of Moguer, the town nearest to Palos. It was a bright morning in April when I left the city for a trip to Palos, and the valley of the Guadalquivir was bright in greenest fields of grain and of olive orchards. Seville is, in truth, of queenly aspect, sitting in the midst of the fertile plain, her towering Giralda rising far above the outline of distant hills. For two thirds the distance the railroad runs through a fertile and highly-cultivated plain, but the rest was mainly barren, though covered with sheets and beds of purple flowers in beautiful

AT TIIK NEW WORLD'S I'OKTAL.

bloom. We passed the ruins of a Roman fortification

of times most ancient, and then crossed a river flowingover iron-colored rocks, most curiously worn. The character of the soil was shown in its color, which was yellow and deep red; noting which I inferred, and rightly, that we had seen at last the historic Rio Tinto — the

SEVILLE, WITH THE TOWER OF GOLD IN THE FOREGROUND.

Wine-colored River, from which Columbus sailed four hundred years ago.

Just sixty years before me, in the spring of 1828, a man more famous than I traversed this same route, and with the same intent: gentle and genial "Washington Irving. But there was no railroad in those days, and he was obliged to make the journey on horseback, taking as many days, perhaps, as I did hours; but enjoying it, every mile.

Leaving the railway at the station of San Juan del Puerto, I took the diligoicia, an old carriage, for the town of Moguer, a league distant on a hill, where I found, contrary to my expectations, good accommodations : a fonda, or house of entertainment, with clean beds and an excellent table. I was soon served with a good breakfast, and "mine host" took quite a fancy to me; insisting on taking me to the places of interest, and telling me all the local news.

But he was lamentably ignorant respecting things Columbian, though intelligent and inquisitive. When I inquired about the scenes of interest to one studying Columbus, he excused himself, saying he was from another province, and not posted regarding the affairs of Palos.

" But this man, Columbus, when did he sail, Senor ? and are you sure he sailed from Palos ? No ship of any size has left there this many a year; the village, even, is half a mile from the river.

"But I'll find thee a boy to act as a guide to Palos; also a burro. It makes me impatient to have such a man about me."

The boy he secured must have been the surliest specimen in Spain; but the poor little fellow had lost an arm early in life, and I suppose that must have soured him ; at any rate, he probably had a hard time of it in his struggle for bread.

He led up a donkey, hooked my valise on to his armstump, seized the rope attached to the donkey's nose, and then strode ahead without a glance at me. Don Pedro sent an emphatic Spanish word flying after him, that halted him instanter; at least long enough to allow

me to scramble upon the burro's back ; then he marched on again, pursued by the maledictions of my friend. " What a beast of a boy, to be sure; and to think that I, Pedro Val Verde, a respected householder of Moguer, should have been the means of putting a distinguished American traveler in his charge — one who has come all the way from America, too, just to see our little port of Palos. Biai, I ~aya con D/os, Senor — God be with thee. You have a stick, let the burro feel the force of your arm."

Palos and Moguer are at least three miles apart. The road between them is broad and smooth, but traversed by carts only in the vintage season, when the wines are carried to the port of Palos. There was no saddle on the beast I rode, and I sat astride an enormous pack of old bags, using my cudgel as a balancing-pole; but was frequently obliged to bring it down upon the donkey's resounding sides, at which, much pleased, apparently, he would wag his ears and gently amble onward.

The boy was abstracted, and the donkey absorbed in meditation, so I gained little from their companionship ; but after an hour I sighted the hamlet. Palos, the ancient port whence Columbus sailed on his first voyage to America, to-day consists of a few mean houses, scattered along a hillside, and one long straggling street. It is nearly half a mile from the river, but it was a port in the time of Columbus, and is called so now. There may be some eight hundred inhabitants, all told, and not one of them, that I could find, was aware that the hamlet had a history known to the world beyond its limits. Some of them had heard of Columbus; some remembered that it was said he had sailed hence, once upon a time, to a country called America ; but no one could tell me anything-, and I must see the cura — the parish priest — -to know more. After an hour of waiting I found that he knew no more than the others, but the sacristan of the church, fortunately, was also the schoolmaster, and took an interest in my mission.

He took me to the church of St. George, the veritable one in which Columbus read the royal commands to the terrified sailors of Palos, and I found it as it doubtless stood then: a simple church of stone, guarding the entrance to the town. I photographed its eastern front, and also its rear, where there is a Moorish doorway (now walled up) draped in vines. The interior of the church is very plain, the chief ornament being an enormous wooden image of St. George, the patron saint of the church, slaying a terrible dragon. As St. George stood in a corner so dark that I could not obtain a photograph of his cheerful countenance, the sacristan and his boy obligingly trundled him out into the sunlight, where he was visible.

Sixty years ago, Washington Irving saw this same saint in the act of slaying this same dragon, and he particularly mentions that both had been recently repainted, and that the nose of the saint was as rosy-hued as the sunset. It is, even now, as gorgeous as ever, and the nose almost bright enough to guide the dragon in striking at his tormentor in the dark.

It was with great reluctance that I left the church and turned my face again toward Moguer; but the day was nearly ended, there was no accommodation of any sort for a traveler at Palos, and the boy and the burro were anxious to be away. Don Pedro of the inn received me cordially, spreading' a table with fruit of his garden and wine of his vineyard, and afterward invited me to come forth and view the town. He first conducted me to the church, and then to the house of the Pinzon family, still in possession of a descendant of the great Pinzon who sailed with Columbus. Over the doorway is their coat-of-arms. I was delighted to learn that the present representative of the family is prosperous, and holds a position in the Spanish navy.

It was not my good fortune to be entertained, as Irving was, by a descendant of the great Pinzon, though I should have valued that attention more highly than any other in Spain ; for it was to the two brothers Pinzon that Columbus was indebted for success. When he came here, penniless and without authority, they were prosperous citizens, men of influence over their neighbors, and we all know the part they took in that first voyage, furnishing money, men and vessels. Even the royal proclamation read in the church of St. George, was of less avail than their brave example. Badly treated, they were, by Columbus and by Ferdinand, yet posterity will not refuse them their meed of honor. In truth, the deeds of the Genoese pale before their steady glow of sturdy independence. The needy adventurer whom they befriended, and who treated them so basely, forgetting their noble friendship after his success was won, has left no direct descendants; but the sturdy

Pinzon stock still flourishes in the birthplace of its progenitors.

Our next visit was to the convent church of Santa Clara, where Columbus and his sailors fulfilled their vows after their return from the first voyage. You will recall, perhaps, that they promised their saints that if they were saved from a dreadful storm that threatened, they would spend their first night ashore in prayer. And it was in this very church that they performed their vows; Columbus, at least, kneeling here all night on the cold marbles, and before the altar.

As the church was then, it is now : with a magnificent altar-piece, fine statues and rich paintings. It was erected by the Puertocarreros, whose tombs and marble effigies lie in niches on either side. They were a noble family; and it was a Puertocarrero, you will remember, who was intrusted with the first vessel sent from Mexico to Spain, in 15 19, bearing from New to Old Spain a portion of the rich treasure of Montezuma.

The day following, returning to Palos, a sturdy donkey boy attended me, not the one-armed brute of the day before, and we made the distance merrily, halting at the town only for a lunch.

As the place came into view, I drew up my donkey on the brow of the hill and looked long at the white-walled Palos, so silent before me, so lifeless, so sad. I need not put on paper the thoughts that possessed me as I gazed, nor the pictures that arose before my mental vision, for I am an American, and have a share in that common heritage left us by Columbus. Four hundred years only have passed since the great Genoese came

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

here, to this very port of Palos, and sailed away with its sailor-citizens to the discovery of a continent, and chough since then the cynosure of all eyes, little Palos has slumbered on, unmindful of its fame. One by one its prosperous men were gathered out of sight, one by one its houses fell to ruins, one by one its fleets were

THE CONVENT OF LA RABIDA.

depleted of its vessels, and to-day naught remains save the memory of its greatness.

About three miles beyond Palos, passing through scenery unattractive and sad, some clumps of trees appear and a hill rises against the sky. Then, slowly climbing, you bring the roofs and cupolas of a lone white building into view, which are found to pertain to a convent structure of the olden style. It is rambling, yet compactly inclosed within a high wall, and is extremely picturesque. I was very fortunate, later on, in securing a fine photograph of it, as clouds lay massed beyond, and a flock of sheep slowly grazed before it. And it was thus I found it, this Convent of La Rabida, at the gate of which Columbus halted to request refreshment for his son. How he came to such a secluded place as La Rabida no one has explained ; but he probably made for the coast of Spain, thinking, perhaps, to obtain a vessel at Huelva, then, as now, a shipping port for copper ore to foreign parts. Indeed, this very spot is the ancient Tarshish of the Bible, and the Phoenicians came here more than two thousand years ago: those men of Tyre, who discovered a passage between the Pillars of Hercules. But Columbus came here, halted at the gate (the arched entrance at the right), and the prior of the convent, the good Marchena, chanced to see and to enter into conversation with him. Struck by his dignified appearance, and also by his evident learning, the prior invited him to tarry a while, and soon he had his visitor's story: of long-deferred plans, of wearisome waiting and crushing defeat. That very night he caused his mule to be saddled, and started for Granada, pursuing the same weary road through Palos and Moguer that I have traversed (only he was not favored by steam or stage) to the camp, perhaps two hundred miles away.

Meanwhile, Columbus waited, resting in the cool corridors, walking meditatively along the shore, and gazing wistfully out upon the scene from the arched and sheltered mirador.

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

The convent to-day is in excellent preservation, having been carefully restored and placed in the care of a faithful old soldier. I found the family in possession so simple, and so kindly disposed, that I eraved permission to pass the day and night there, which they readily

THE MIEADOR OF LA RABIBA.

(Looking out upon the stream dow?> which Columbus sailed from Palos to the sea.)

granted. So, paying my donkey boy double wages, and sending him back to Moguer with a kind message for the friendly landlord, I was soon placed in control of the convent, isolate from all the world. Not even Fray Perez could have possessed it more completely. I wandered at will through its corridors, its cloisters and vacant refectory, rambled over the hills back and beyond the convent ; hills covered with artemisia and stunted pines, and indulged in solitary reverie to my heart's content.

Climbing the winding stairway to the mirador, I had before me broad vistas, through the arched openings, of the river and the sea. Directly beneath, the hills sloped rapidly to the half-submerged lands of the river and sound. Half-way down its slope was a date-palm, said to have been here in the time of Columbus ; perhaps equally old are the gnarled and twisted fig-trees and two gray-green olives that keep it company. Extending southward, even to the mouth of the Guadalquivir, are the Arenas Gordas, or the great sands, that make this coast a solitary waste. Truly, it is a lonesome spot, this upon which the building is perched, and the soul of Columbus must have been aweary as he drew near the convent portal.

The Domingo Rubio, a sluggish stream tributary to the Tinto, separates from Rabida a sandy island, where there is an ancient watch-tower and a camp of carbineers on the watch for contrabandistas. A little to the west the Domingo Rubio meets with, and is lost in, the Rio Tinto, and the two join with the Odiel and flow tranquilly on to the ocean, where the foaming breakers roar with a sound that reaches even to La Rabida. Beyond their united waters again, is another sandy island, and another distant watch-tower, till the low coast fades away in the distance. Down this channel sailed, or floated, Columbus, bringing his boats from Palos, on his way to the sea. The landscape is of a dreary kind, flat, with distant woods, and farther on a hint of purple hills. Opposite, across the broad bay, lies Huelva, like

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

a snowdrift, white upon a tongue of land between copper-colored hills and the sea. A dreary landscape, yet a bright sun in its setting might make it transiently glorious.

The old soldier in charge of the convent, Don Cristobal Garcia, the concerge, was evidently straitened in circumstances, yet he was cheerful, and his hospitality shone forth resplendently. He laughingly informed me that he rejoiced in the same name as Columbus — Cristobal; but, he added, he ha d never done anything to make it illustrious. He and his family lived in a primitive and even pitiful state, at meal times gathering around a common platter; but my own meals they served me on snowy linen at a table apart. There were six of them : the old man, his wife, a little girl named Isabel, some twelve years old, and three boys. Isabel, poor child, pattered about the stone pavement with bare feet, but they were pretty feet, and with little brown ankles neatly turned. There wTas another member of the family, evidently an intruder, a little chap clad solely in a short shirt, who had squint eyes and a great shock of bristlv black hair. Don Cristobal told me that