As Columbus faced the horizon, his jaw jutting ever westward, I knew that it would be no great matter to lay my life down for this man. But no sooner had these thoughts crossed my mind than we faced a great danger! I cursed myself if idle thoughts of my own destruction should bring harm down on the heads of my betters.
“Sea monster off the port bow,” cried a salty seaman from Madrid. We all dropped what we were doing—even my quill pen fluttered down, where it tasted rough-hewn boards—and we gazed in astonishment at what was rising from the vasty depths. It was amazing. It was astounding. It was really big.
I had seen whales before, but at a distance where it was very difficult to estimate their true size. Once a dead whale washed ashore at my humble village. It had been as big as a felled tree, and the teeth were fearsome to behold. But that poor creature was as a minnow compared with the dimensions of this behemoth. I heard the ship’s alchemist whisper one word, “Leviathan,” and he spoke truly.
The wind was blowing at about ten knots. The rhythm of the sea was steady, the water lapping at our ships, all three of them bobbing like corks. The way our ships were laid out formed a kind of triangle, and the monster was rising in the dead center between us. Sea foam churned around its sleek, blue hide, while the water around it was a viridian shade of blue. It was as if the ocean had chosen this moment to manifest itself in a living form larger than all three of our ships put together. I shuddered to think what kind of teeth it might have, but it had a peculiar-looking mouth and it was not clear that it had teeth at all.
“It doesn’t seem aggressive,” said Columbus. “That is well, for I doubt that any of our weapons would hinder the monster.”
There was a muttering of agreement, a medley of “ayes” and “ahrrrrs,” but one old sailor lost his nerve. “It’s a sign,” he cried. “This mission’s cursed. If yon monster doesn’t make a dinner of us all, then we’ll surely be pulled in the direction of the magnetic mountain that will draw all the nails from our craft, and we will fall into the sea of darkness before being swept off the edge of the earth.”
The admiral looked at the poor, raving dolt with more sympathy than the man deserved. Then he summoned the ship’s morale officer, who gently took the man by the shoulder, turned him around, and drove him through with two feet of fine steel. There were more “ayes” and “ahrrrrs” at this demonstration of permissive therapy.
“The monster doesn’t seem to notice us,” said Diago, the admiral’s good right hand.
“Pray God it remains so,” was the answer.
Suddenly there was another cry of “Monster off the starboard bow!”
“Shiver me timbers,” said the dying man through foaming lips. Sure enough the water was becoming agitated off to starboard. We turned and watched the surfacing of what appeared to be a considerably smaller whale, but a particularly mean-looking specimen, all black with oddly shaped fins sticking out all over its surface. The smaller whale headed straight for the leviathan.
“It’s trying to drive off the larger beast,” said the luckless man whose turn it was today to prepare our rancid meals.
“I don’t think so,” answered the admiral, his brow furrowed in thought. “The big one is placid. Now with this sudden attack…”
The small, black beast was headed straight for the flanks of the big one. We expected the leviathan to heave to, or dive, or do something.
But it just waited, oblivious of the insect making a run for its side. And then the little one struck. There was no roar as we expected, just a soft thud. The smaller whale bounced off and then the larger one submerged. Unfortunately it began moving in our direction as it went beneath the waves.
“Make yourselves secure,” shouted the admiral, grabbing ahold of my throat as the nearest object by which he could steady himself. We counted ourselves fortunate that the monster did not actually strike us, but the wake of its passing had our ship tossing and turning in the most frightful manner. Ironically several boxes of some mysterious objects called phyrecrackers (provided by the ship’s alchemist) were set off, sending out their bright sparkles as we half fell and stumbled to one side of the ship, and then the other side, back and forth, monotonously back and forth, until I, for one, was sick to my stomach. I say it was ironic that a product of far-off Cathay should add to our distress as this was yet another market to be opened to us should our voyage prove a success.
“Well, that was close,” said the admiral, releasing me as I slumped to the deck, my chest heaving as air rushed back into my tortured lungs; and then I threw up to make the perfect end to a perfect day.
“Aye,” said his second, third, and fourth in command.
“Ahrrrr,” said the sailors.
“Was a mighty fish indeed,” agreed Snooty, the ship’s expert on flotsam and jetsam.
“Perhaps you men noticed that the black beast was no sea creature at all,” announced Columbus.
“Whatever was it, then?” I heard myself croak through a badly damaged windpipe.
“What sea beast carries on its flank the crest of the Dark Duke?” asked Columbus.
“You mean…” asked the sailor we were certain had been slain but, despite a tremendous loss of blood, sounded better than I did.
“Yes, you pathetic sea biscuit. We are being followed by the Dark Duke.”
“How did he get himself inside a big fish like that?” asked the temporary chef, no doubt through professional interest.
“He must have constructed the thing as we build our ships to sail the surface. But being the work of the devil, his craft sails below.”
More “ayes” and “ahrrrs” at this last revelation. Sailors always respect sound reasonings. When we had established that there were no casualties, and signaled the good news to the other ships, it was definitely time to break out a great flagon of grog for the men (or was it simply rum?). I was among the privileged few invited to sample wine from the admiral’s table. At any moment rowboats would come alongside bearing the captains from the other two ships for a general rehashing of the events just passed; and they would be thirsty too. Normally we passed messages back and forth by bringing the ships close together (as we did every evening so that we wouldn’t lose one another) and sending a little bag across by means of a rope. But something as dramatic as what had just occurred demanded more personal contact. Or, to put it more objectively, the admiral would be in a lecturing mood.
I was already on my second glass of the best Thunderous Vino (from a bottle put aside expressly for my use) when captains Pinzón and Pinzón arrived. They were not happy about this latest encounter. And there were other problems as well. The admiral sensed that the time had come to be frank with us.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said.
“When we venture into waters swarming with monsters, perhaps we should consider turning back,” said one Pinzón.
“And I’m concerned that something is amiss with your figures, Admiral,” added another. “I’m certain that we have traveled more leagues than you indicate in your log.”
“Gentlemen,” he said, in the sternest possible tones, “I thought we would sight land within three weeks. We’ve now been at sea for three and one-half weeks. And I admit that I have been underreporting the distance traveled. We’ve traveled sixteen hundred miles.” Everyone in the room gasped, except for those who, far gone in wine, belched instead. I, too, was shocked that he had not given the distance in leagues.
“But why?” asked the Pinzóns as one.
“Because the world is a big place, and the ocean is big. When the priest gave us his blessing in Latin the day we sailed, I wished for ten times that blessing, for fear the world would be ten times greater in size than we imagine. All educated men know that we live on some kind of sphere, although I believe it is more pear-shaped than ball-shaped. The direction in which we travel must inevitably lead us to the Indies. But what lies between us and that final destination is a mystery. That our direction is correct I know to be abso
lutely true. It is at the very heart of my Theory. But the distances involved are another matter.”
“But, Admiral,” Diago piped in, “you have some idea of the distance. You said as much at court.”
Admiral Christopher Columbus, the greatest navigator the world has ever known, smiled and spread his hands. “Look, guys, it took me years to get the approval and appropriations for this mission. And I’m not interested in some onetime stunt where we plant the flag of Spain on some rock in the middle of nowhere, find a plant or something to take home, and that’s it. The race is on between the European powers, and we’d better win it because there is no defense against a nation that rules the waves.”
When he got worked up like this, it was best to let him get around to the point without further prompting. We sat and waited. The gentle rocking of the ship and the good cheer provided by the wine had everyone in a receptive mood. It felt as if it was going to be downhill all the way from this point on. The admiral would tell us what we needed to know “This mission was sold on three things: mathematics, maps, and money. We sail on three hopes: God, gold, and…” He paused, but I had faith he would maintain his alliteration, “…guts. When I told the queen that it would be seven hundred and fifty leagues to India, it was a guess and nothing more.”
“But the biblical basis!” said the ship’s alchemist, demonstrating a knack for alliteration himself.
“That foundation remains sound,” said the admiral. “When it is said that waters are gathered into the seven parts of the world, and there are six parts of land to one of water, the only conclusion we can draw is that there must be much more land yet to be discovered. But the Scriptures give us no idea of what the total volume might be! The point I’m trying to make is that I fully expect to find many strange new lands between us and our ultimate destination. I mentioned this in passing to the queen, but what is unknown is harder to sell than what is known. So I stressed the Indies in my presentation, and what we can ultimately achieve by finding a new route to the East.” His eyes twinkled, and he smiled, showing of the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. And to think the Dark Duke had called him that little upstart from Genoa.
“I am concerned,” he concluded, “that we have not encountered islands by now. But despite recent sightings of birds flying southwest, I am determined to remain on our current course due west.”
“The ships cannot stand the strain,” said Snooty, but no one paid him any heed.
Diago was more concerned about the men: “We may have more adventure than we want if provisions don’t hold out. There are mutterings among the sailors already.”
“What’s a sea voyage without loose talk?” asked Columbus, laughing. “There’s a long way between that and mutiny. I’m sure we’ll find land very soon. Meanwhile let’s keep our eyes on all the marlin pikes and meat hooks. And there are a few convicts who came along because of the queen’s promise of a pardon. Let’s watch them a bit more closely.”
Diago nodded and said, “You’ve handled the sailors well so far. That business about the compass still being reliable when the position of the North Star shifted … I thought some of the men would go mad.”
“Superstitious sailors,” Columbus agreed. “That’s when they first thought we’d left the natural waters God intends for us to sail and entered forbidden realms of Water Space.” He laughed again, and the rest of us joined in, although I detected a certain nervousness on the part of some.
“The change is a sign of divine approval,” said the ship’s alchemist. “Before, the needle declined to the east; now it declines to the west. It is well.”
Everyone toasted the mission. It was a good time to call the meeting to an end, which the admiral did. Except.…
“Wait,” I said before the company broke up. “What about the Dark Duke?”
There was a sudden silence in the admiral’s cabin, broken only by the creaking sounds of the ship, the lapping of the water, and a squeaking made by the lantern that swung above the table on which were scattered all the charts and a state-of-the-art quadrant. All eyes were turned on me, and they did not have a pleasing aspect.
“I didn’t want that subject brought up, Poncho.” I had forgotten that the Pinzón brothers had not been aboard when he made the observation about the black whale having his enemy’s crest. I had forgotten, also, that the Pinzóns became terribly upset at the mere mention of their fiendish fellow countryman.
“We are doomed,” suggested one.
“We’ll never be famous now,” added the other.
For the first time I could see that my hero was really angry with me. What tipped me of was the admiral’s suggestion: “I think Poncho here needs to be taught a lesson.”
I had a pretty good idea what that would mean. “I’m sorry, Admiral. Have mercy!” He paid no heed, but sent word that the sailors should gather to witness my punishment. In retrospect I realize that he made the right decision. What else could he do after I let him down? Of course I never liked it when he had me keelhauled. It made it difficult to write afterward. But if he let me get away with a serious mistake, that would set a bad example for the men.
So they tied me up and cast me in the salty brine. The underside of the Santa María was every bit as rough as I had remembered from the last time, and soon the water was full of my blood and everything went black.
When I came to, it was morning; but whether it was the next day or many days later I could not tell. The ship’s boy was singing the traditional welcome to the dawn: “Blessed be the day, and He who sends the night away.” For a moment I thought the song referred to our great leader until I remembered He whom even Columbus must honor.
Our Creator must have been in an interesting mood when he allowed to come into the world the myriad wonders that even now assaulted my senses (damaged though they were by stern correction). In the golden light of dawn I beheld a Brave New World that seemed to dwarf even the accomplishments of Spain.
“Astounding,” said the man to my left.
“Amazing,” said the man to my right.
“If…” I began but was interrupted by a strange constriction in my throat that I attributed to the keelhauling. Fortunately my vision was unimpaired, and I had an unobstructed view of the Miracle.
It was as if someone had taken a heavenly city from its place in the firmament and placed it in the middle of our earthly sea. We had laid to in the harbor of this golden metropolis. And golden was the right word! As the rosy fingers of the dawn touched each building, we could espy the glint of burnished gold. The edifices were huge pyramid shapes, except that they were flat on the top. Strange flying things traveled back and forth between these pyramids, and they, too, seemed made of gold!
“Are we off the coast of Asia?” I asked. “Perhaps we will meet the Great Khan.”
“I don’t think so,” said the ship’s alchemist. “Through a close study of ancient writings, and one in particular by a scribe named Plato, I conclude that we have found the lost continent of Atlantis.”
A new word came to me, although I could not credit the source. “Goshwow! As soon as my hands heal, I will record all this. But look, even now here come some people to welcome us. I will call them Atlanteans.”
Suddenly the strong arm of my commander was on my shoulder. As I gazed into his steel-gray eyes, I realized that he had forgiven me, thank the Virgin. “Good Poncho,” he said, “I suggest we call them Indians, because that would show due respect to the Theory, without which you’d still be eating pig dung back in that hovel you call a home.” Even as he spoke, his strong fingers dug into my lacerated shoulder.
“Oh yes,” I gagged the words, “Indians is what they are!”
A sleek, metal craft pulled up alongside our ship. A remarkable personage stood at the prow of this boat wearing feathers, gold, some shiny white material, and having a dark-brown complexion that almost made him appear to be made out of wood. “Permission to come aboard,” he said in a voice as cultivated as a member of the Castilian aristo
cracy.
As the man clambered over the wooden railing of the Santa María, Columbus asked him, “How is it that you speak our language?”
“From monitoring your church services,” he answered. “We speak all the tongues of Europe.” A few “ayes” and “ahrrrrs” could be heard in the background. “Well, almost all…” concluded this ambassador from a strange new world.
More metal craft were coming alongside to take our party ashore. We were astounded that these boats were not too heavy to float. I was selected to go with the admiral and was glad that I would not be needed to row. I was in considerable pain. These boats didn’t seem to require rowing, but were propelled by some magical force that had our ship’s alchemist so excited that he almost drooled.
I learned that quite a lot had happened while I was unconscious. The Pinta and Niña had been sunk by the black beast. “It almost got us, too,” said one of the men, “but the admiral tricked it with an amazing subterfuge involving five cheeses and the ship’s compass.”
“By San Fernando,” I exclaimed. I hadn’t realized that we had any cheese aboard. The stench must have been terrible by this time, but I’d been spared any unpleasantness, having lost my nose during one of the keelhaulings.
A regal figure was waiting for us ashore. His attire was so bright that it hurt to look upon him. He wore a symbol of the sun on his massive chest. “The time of reckoning is at hand, Admiral,” he said.
Columbus showed no fear. “You have the advantage, sir. You know more of me than I do of you.”
“I’ve had a good tutor!” said our host. “I know of your previous voyages. I know how they turned you down in Portugal and how it took eight years to persuade the Spanish crown to finance this trip of yours.”
Alternate Americas Page 18