By the end of July 1492, after nearly three months of preparations, Columbus was finally ready to set sail for the Indies. One circumstance that had caused much of the delays in these preparations was the great exodus of Jews from Spain. This was the time of the Inquisition; for centuries past, Spain had been the most tolerant country in all Europe, its population divided almost equally between Christians, Jews and Moslems; Spain, in fact, had been the home of the largest and most prosperous Jewish community in Europe. But in the wake of the Moorish wars of the 14th century all such liberal thoughts vanished, and for nearly a century thereafter, anti-Semitic riots broke out in every large Spanish community. Then, in 1483, Tomas de Torquemada, a former Dominican monk, became Grand Inquisitor for Castile, and during his eighteen years in this position, this bloodthirsty fanatic managed to condemn nearly 20,000 people, more than half of whom were burned at the stake. Finally, Torquemada persuaded Ferdinand and Isabella to expel all Jews from Spain. By March 1492, all Jews, regardless of age, sex, or social standing, were ordered to leave the country within three months, never to return on pain of death. They were allowed to take with them all their possessions, except gold, silver and currency. The deadline was eventually extended to August 2, while the desperate refugees frantically hired all the available ships in every port and loaded them to capacity with people and their belongings. No doubt, the shipowners of Palos saw far better profits and considerably less risk in hiring out to the hard-pressed Jews than in risking a journey with Columbus – one reason why the Admiral had to be satisfied with the Santa Maria.
Thousands upon thousands of Jews left Spain in these early months of 1492. To the very last moment the throngs of people were hounded by priests, urging them to convert to Christianity, and many did accept baptism so that they could remain in the country where their ancestors had lived for centuries past. But the majority, their convictions reinforced by the rabbis, remained loyal to their religion and left Spain forever. Many went to North Africa, to France, Italy and Turkey, and enriched the cultures of these countries; but for years thereafter, wretched families were found in every corner of the world, still seeking a new home, a place of refuge. Not a single voice of protest was raised anywhere in Europe; four years later, in fact, Pope Alexander VI bestowed on Ferdinand and Isabella the title of Catholic Sovereigns, listing among their many noteworthy accomplishments the expulsion of the Jews from their country.
Columbus had waited for the announcement of the final date of this exodus, and had then set his own departure for August 3. The day before, every man and boy confessed his sins and received communion, and in the early hours of Friday, August 3, 1492, they went aboard the ships. Before the sun rose, all three vessels were floating down the Rio Tinto on the morning ebb. And with this little fleet of destiny also sailed the last of the ships carrying the expelled Jews. Little could these desperate refugees have realized on this August morning that they were watching the ships which were about to lead the way to a new life for as yet uncounted and unborn millions of refugees of all faiths and nationalities.
The fleet’s first goal was the Canary Islands. From there it was planned to sail westward along the 28th parallel to the northern end of the great island of Cipango, which was believed to lie directly on the route to the Chinese cities mentioned by Marco Polo. But the voyage started out under the most ominous signs. First, the Pinta’s rudder broke inexplicably, and since that ship had been commissioned against her owner’s will, Columbus suspected that the Pinzon brothers aboard had damaged her on purpose, hoping to be left back. While the fleet was anchored at Gomera, an island in the Canaries, the superstitious sailors were frightened by an eruption of the volcano on the neighboring island of Tenerife. Though Columbus managed to reassure most of the men, many were now convinced that it was a bad omen; and, as if these problems were not enough, it was now rumored that an angry and jealous King John of Portugal had ordered out a fleet to capture Columbus and take him back to Lisbon.
Not until September 6 did they set sail again, and when a few days later the shores of the Canaries sank from sight on the eastern horizon, many of the sailors began to wail and cry. None had ever sailed so far into the Ocean Sea, and all were afraid they would never be able to return. But Columbus well understood the difficulties of dealing with such men; he now decided to keep a private record of the true course and distance covered, while keeping a deceptively shorter one for the crews. Fortunately, the weather was beautiful, and had it not been for the worries of the sailors, it could have been a pleasant voyage.
By September 16, they had come more than 800 miles from the Canaries, and suddenly they struck a vast meadow of floating seaweed and grasses. They had reached the Sargasso Sea, an immense Atlantic region where vast tangles of vegetation grow on the surface of the water. The Sargasso Sea looks much like an endless green prairie, and modern ships plow through it without difficulty. So did the three Spanish caravels at first, but after a few days the ships slowed down considerably. The nervous crews now recalled the ancient Phoenician legends about mysterious and impassible seas in which ships became eternally stranded. The more practical minded were afraid of running aground, but were quickly reassured when even their longest plumblines failed to reach bottom. Finally, on September 22, they reached clear water again. On that day they had come more than 1,400 miles from the Canaries.
By September 25, many of the sailors were becoming impatient. The day before they had sighted what appeared to be a coastline, but it had turned out to be a mirage. Strange birds appeared, and other signs of land kept raising hopes, but no trace of coast was sighted. The sailors’ mood grew more hostile with each day. There was talk among these Spanish seamen of pushing that mad Italian commander overboard, of making it look like an accident, of returning home while there still was a chance. What undoubtedly saved Columbus’ life was their belief in his superior skills and knowledge; without him, they may have felt, they would never be able to see Spain again.
By October 4th there were open signs of mutiny. For some days now, his pilots had been begging Columbus to change course; perhaps they had already passed between the islands! By October 7, they had come more than 2,700 miles from the Canaries, 300 miles farther than the estimated total distance to Cipango, and even Columbus began to fear that they might have missed Japan entirely. He now shifted course two points to the southward; numerous flights of small birds had convinced him that land in that direction could not be far off. This change of direction was as fateful as it was fortunate: had they continued on the 28th parallel, 720 miles more would have landed them on the coast of Florida; after the change, they had only 500 miles of sea ahead until they reached the West Indies.
Within the next few days the signs of land became unmistakable. On October 11, a reward of 10,000 maradevis was promised to the man who should first sight land, and all through that night every man aboard the three ships strained to look through the dark. About 10 o’clock, Columbus, standing on the tower of his flagship, thought he saw a moving light in the distance. At two o’clock in the morning of Friday, October 12, Rodrigo de Triana, lookout at the Pinta’s forecastle, saw something that looked like a white, sandy cliff standing out in the moonlight. He looked again, and now there were two cliffs and a low, dark shadow that had to be land. “Tierra, tierra!” yelled Rodrigo – and soon it was visible to everyone. They had reached land, at last. Ten weeks had passed since they had left Palos, 33 days since they had lost sight of the Canaries. The sails were taken in, and the ships lay still, awaiting the dawn.
