During all this time, Columbus and his men had no way of knowing whether their messengers had ever arrived at Santo Domingo. The Admiral tried to keep strict discipline among the men crowded in the huts on deck, but the long inactivity, the uncertain waiting, and the overcrowding were beginning to take their toll. Some forty men were suffering from fever and undernourishment, and even the healthy ones were beginning to grumble. With the Porras brothers as ringleaders, this grumbling soon led to open mutiny. The rebels now claimed that the Admiral had actually been banished to the wilderness, and that he was keeping them all there to die with him. Early in January 1504, some of these men finally seized the weapons and piled into dugout canoes stolen from the Indians. Columbus, sick and worn out, watched helplessly as they started out eastward along the coast, hoping to reach Hispaniola. Three times these mutineers attempted to cross the Channel, but each time they were driven back again by wind and currents; they finally abandoned the canoes and began to wander about Jamaica, living in Indian villages, stealing whatever they needed to survive.
With the mutineers gone from the ships, Columbus was soon able to restore some semblance of order and gradually nursed the sick back to health. But the Indians had begun to realize that the white men had been weakened by discord, and they saw their chance to get rid of them all. Soon they announced to the Spaniards that they did not intend to sell them any more food.
Columbus, however, was prepared. His almanac predicted a total eclipse of the moon coming up, and he shrewdly used this information to intimidate the Indians. He informed them that he was going to pray to his God to punish them for their inhospitality by putting out the light of the moon. On the critical evening, hundreds of Indians gathered on the beach near the ships, most of them skeptical and daunting this white man who had threatened to extinguish the light in the night sky. But when the moon rose, part of it was already obscured, and as the blacked-out area increased, the hooting and howling stopped and panic spread among the natives. Before long they flocked to the ships, wailing and praying to the Admiral to stop it. Columbus, however, retired to his cabin while the eclipse lasted, though he promised to persuade his God to restore the moon if the Indians would provide food again, which was quickly agreed to. Columbus, of course, kept his promise as well; the light of the moon gradually returned, and thereafter there was no more shortage of food for the Spaniards.
At the end of March 1504, more than eight months after Fieschi and Mendez had set out for Hispaniola, a small caravel suddenly appeared in St.Anne’s Bay and anchored near the Spanish camp. The ship had been sent out by Governor Ovando to find Columbus and his men, and to see if they were still alive. The captain, however, had strict orders not to take anyone back to Hispaniola, though he did bring a letter from Mendez, saying that he was doing his best to charter a rescue ship. At least they were now assured that help would arrive sooner or later.
With a rescue ship now imminent, Columbus sent word to the Porras brothers and the mutineers, offering them a general amnesty if they were to return to the ships in peace. The rebels, however, began to make demands, and when Columbus refused any such demands, a battle ensued between the Spanish sides in which several men were killed. The local Indians watched this fighting with obvious enjoyment, cheering on both sides. Bartholomeo finally called off the battle, reasoning that “if we killed too many of them, the Indians . . . might attack the victors.”
At the end of July, a vessel sent by Mendez finally arrived at Jamaica. The mutineers now asked Columbus to grant new amnesty, and he agreed – except for Francisco de Porras, who was placed under arrest. On June 28, one year and five days after they had arrived, the barely one hundred survivors of Columbus’ fourth voyage crowded onto the little caravel and left Jamaica for good. After a slow crossing against wind and currents, they arrived at Santo Domingo by the middle of August. “The governor received the Admiral very hospitably,” wrote Ferdinand Colon, “and gave him accommodations at his house; but this was like the kiss of a scorpion, for at the same time he released Porras, and proposed to punish those who had been responsible for his imprisonment.”
At Santo Domingo, Columbus chartered another ship, and on September 22 he embarked with his brother Bartholomeo, his son Ferdinand, and 22 of those who had remained loyal to him, for the voyage back to Spain. A majority of the survivors of this expedition stayed on at Hispaniola. Perhaps they felt safer under Ovando’s protection than in trusting the Admiral’s pardon. In any case, many must have been reluctant to risk another ocean voyage; they had seen enough work on the pumps to last them a lifetime.
On November 7, 1504, the fourth voyage of Christopher Columbus ended in Sancluar de Barrameda after a horrendous two and a half years. And a disappointing end it was. He had not discovered any strait; the Isthmus about which he had reported to the Sovereigns was of no interest to them; and even the gold-bearing Veragua coast that he had found was unexplorable. After this long and distressing voyage, Columbus naturally expected to be summoned to court to tell his story, a favor accorded to nearly every captain of an overseas voyage, however insignificant. But by the time he had reached Seville, Columbus received the news that Queen Isabella was lying on her deathbed. On November 26, the Queen died at the age of 54, and with her death disappeared all recognition and influence Columbus had ever had at the royal court of Spain.
Though his privileges continued to bring him considerable wealth, the following months were bitter ones for Columbus. He fought a never-ending battle for vindication, for the punishment of those who he believed to have wronged him, and for the restoration of all his titles and rights. But for an obstinate old troublemaker like him who would not even consider the king’s proposals for compromise, but who insisted on everything or nothing, there could be no hope for success.
On May 20, 1506, Don Cristobal Colon died at the age of 54. His death passed unnoticed by the world, and only his brothers, his sons, and a few old friends accompanied him to the funeral. The royal family sent no representatives, and the official chronicles mention neither the death nor the funeral of the Admiral who almost single-handedly had presented Spain with the means to become the most powerful nation in Europe. Columbus was buried in Valladolid, but in 1541 his remains and those of his son Diego were interred in the Cathedral at Santo Domingo on Hispaniola. When Spain surrendered that island to France in 1795, Columbus’ remains, or what were presumed to be his, were removed to Cuba and laid to rest in Havana Cathedral. Additional discoveries since that time, however, indicate that these had been the remains of Diego Colon, and that the Admiral still lies at rest in the one place he had always hoped to be, at Santo Domingo, on the island of Hispaniola.