Hispaniola proved to be a fateful discovery. While the crews were still salvaging provisions and equipment from the wreck of the Santa Maria, many of the island’s natives came to the shore and offered gold in exchange for the white men’s possessions. They brought rings and necklaces, even entire masks of gold, and assured Columbus that much more of this yellow metal was to be found in Cibao. And with that statement the unwitting natives sealed their fate.
With only the small, undecked Nina left, however, there was no longer enough room for all the remaining crew members to get aboard for the return voyage, and it was decided to leave a colony behind on Hispaniola. Many of the sailors, in fact, were anxious to remain on this beautiful island with its lazy life and accommodating natives, and they actually begged to be allowed to stay behind. A crude blockhouse was quickly constructed out of the wreck of the Santa Maria; the ship’s guns and ammunition were brought ashore, and the first European settlement on this strange shore was named La Navidad in memory of the Christmas Day disaster. Forty men were left behind under the command of Diego de Harana, supplied with enough provisions to last a year. They were instructed to explore the country around them, to trade for gold, and to treat the natives kindly. On January 4, 1493, about twenty-five men went aboard a heavily laden Nina and set sail for home.
While cruising along the northern coast of Hispaniola, they suddenly encountered the Pinta, her crew busily trading with the natives. An embarrassed Martin Pinzon tried to explain their disappearance by insisting that the wind had driven them away from the other ships, “. . . but his reasons were false,” wrote Columbus in his journal; “. . . his only motives were insolence and greed . . . But I concealed my dissatisfaction in order not to further the works of Satan.” Besides, the Pinta’s foremast had broken, and there was little chance that she could outrun the Nina again.
For most of the voyage back, the Admiral’s journal reports little more than directions and distances covered in good weather and calm seas. But on February 12th the sea grew increasingly rough, and soon a fierce storm raged all around them. By daybreak the next day the Pinta had once again disappeared, and the two ships never met at sea again. With the storm still growing worse, Columbus decided on a desperate measure; since he did not expect the Nina to last through the storm, he wrote two brief reports of his discovery to Ferdinand and Isabella. Each of these was wrapped in a cloth and enclosed in the middle of a large cake of wax, which was locked inside a barrel. One of these barrels was thrown into the sea; the other remained on board to await the fate of the ship. On the 15th of February they sighted land ahead, but there was no way of approaching the rocky cliffs without running the risk of being smashed to pieces. Not until the 18th did the storm quiet down enough to allow the ship’s boats to go ashore; there they found that they had reached the island of Santa Maria, one of the Portuguese Azores.
The incredible story of Columbus’ discovery spread quickly all across the island, but the Portuguese governor immediately suspected that these Spaniards had actually returned from an illegal voyage to Portuguese possessions in West Africa, and that the storm had forced them to seek shelter here. The governor ordered the entire Spanish shore party arrested, and held them for several days. He even rowed out to the Nina, hoping to capture Columbus and the crews still aboard, but the Admiral “threatened the governor with such strong words” that the prisoners were quickly released in order to avoid a serious incident between Spain and Portugal. And when the Nina finally set sail again, the governor even furnished them with much-needed provisions.
But within a few hundred miles of Cape St. Vincent, the Nina was seized by yet another storm and was driven against the coast of Portugal, where the weary sailors were only too happy to find shelter in the River Tagus, just a few miles from Lisbon. Once again, news of Columbus’ voyage spread quickly throughout the countryside; here, however, the excitement was mixed with anger as it became also known that all this glory and potential profit had only recently been rejected by the Portuguese Crown. It was even rumored that the king planned to have Columbus assassinated to end all further speculation. But it was already far too late to prevent news of the discovery from reaching Spain, and there was little choice but to make the best of a bad situation. Columbus was invited to Court and received with great honor; it must have been with great regret that John II listened to the stories and saw the treasures, knowing how easily this glory could have been Portugal’s.
By March 15, the Nina finally arrived in the harbor of Palos, where they were met by an excited population. Toward the evening of that day, while bells were still ringing in the town and torchlight parades celebrated the great event in the streets, another ship entered the harbor almost unnoticed – the Pinta had been driven by the storms far to the northern coast of Spain, from where Martin Pinzon had immediately dispatched a message to Ferdinand and Isabella, claiming much of the credit for himself, just as Columbus had suspected he would. He also asked permission to appear at court with a full account of the discovery. The news of Columbus’ arrival, however, reached the Sovereigns before they had been able to reply to Pinzon; he now received a cold and severe answer, even forbidding him to appear at Court. Martin Pinzon, at any rate slipped quietly out of Palos, no doubt to avoid meeting Columbus, and he seems to have died not long afterward.
Within a few weeks more, Christopher Columbus was received in Barcelona with triumphal honors. The Admiral was allowed to seat himself in the presence of the king and queen, a courtesy usually reserved for royalty, and then began a parade of the treasures of the Indies – stuffed birds and small animals, live parrots, a collection of plants and herbs, six painted natives, the survivors of ten who had started out from Hispaniola. The Admiral showed off bows and arrows and clubs, and told about the man-eating Carib on the islands. And then he brought out the gold they had found or acquired – crowns of gold, masks of gold, ornaments decorated with beaten gold, nuggets of gold, gold dust. The Sovereigns fell on their knees and all those present did the same, and everyone thanked God for all these things he had presented to Spain, and “all eyes were filled with tears of indescribable joy.”
At this point, Columbus could have had anything he desired – a title, a castle in Spain, a generous pension. He now rode beside the king and received honors that usually were granted only to persons of royal blood. He received the privilege of including in his coat of arms the lion and the castle, the official emblems of Leon and Castile. He could have retired in comfort, leaving to others the responsibility and the toil of exploring and colonizing what he had discovered. In the light of subsequent events, he might well have done exactly that. But at barely 40 years of age, in good health and full of energy, Columbus regarded his work as having just begun. He was determined to see his islands settled by Christians, anxious to start the conversion of the heathen Indians, and to meet the Great Khan. And not least of all, there were his rights and privileges as Viceroy and Governor-General of the Indies – positions that promised to be far more lucrative than anything Spain had to offer.
