I should be pleased about all of this, and I would be, if I felt sure that anyone on the voyage knew where we are.
Take today, for instance. Captain Pinzon on our ship, the Niña, and his two navigators have calculated that we have now sailed beyond the Azores, the islands in the Ocean Sea which belong to the King of Portugal. The Admiral, on the other hand, is sure that we are still west of the Azores. So he makes our position over a hundred leagues behind the other three. With food running low, that’s great news.
12 February 1493 – somewhere on the top of some big waves on the Ocean Sea
I had a hunch the good weather couldn’t last, and it hasn’t. The sky turned stormy today, the sea grew rough, and the Admiral could be heard muttering about the shipwrights in Palos and hoping they’d done a good job in preparing our ships for this voyage.
I decided to pass on the daily meal – I’ve not been feeling too good today.
13 February 1493 – somewhere in a storm on the Ocean Sea
The wind is so strong and the sea so wild that the sails were lowered last night and we were blown along with bare masts.
Now the wind has grown even stronger. The waves are so high we lose sight of the Pinta when they rise above us. Last week I was bored with looking at flat, calm water, day after day. Now I’m terrified we may end up at the bottom of the Ocean Sea, not on the other side of it.
One day, Luc, you’ll learn to recognize your luck.
14 February 1493 – still in the storm on the Ocean Sea (but for how much longer?)
God must have been angry with us today. He threw such a storm upon our ships that the sea crashed together in huge waves which broke over us time after time.
The Pinta tried to stay close to the Niña, but the wind was so strong she could no longer hold her course and was blown from our sight, leaving us alone in this king of storms.
Our ship was being tossed from wave to wave because there was not enough weight in the hold to keep her steady. We left so many of our stores with our shipmates at La Navidad that the ship needed rocks to replace them, to keep the balance right. The fight with the Cannibal Indians prevented us loading these, and we set sail without proper ballast. Now, in the middle of this terrible storm, we have filled empty barrels with sea water, which seems a strange thing to do, but does make the ship feel more stable.
The Admiral called us all together and ordered a lottery to seek God’s help (it was his way of keeping up our spirits). We didn’t use tickets or numbers. Chickpeas were put into a bag, one of which was marked with knife cuts in the form of a cross. It was agreed that whoever drew the marked chickpea would make a pilgrimage to the monastery of Guadalupe in western Spain, to thank God for our safe return home.
Then the Admiral made the first draw and picked the marked chickpea. It wasn’t us – it was him. Funny that.
Another lottery for another pilgrimage was drawn, and when a sailor picked the marked chickpea, the Admiral promised to pay his travel expenses.
The Admiral drew the marked chickpea for the third lottery (anything fishy about this?) and then we all vowed that when we reach land we will go in our shirtsleeves to the first shrine to Saint Mary, Mother of God, to give her our thanks.
Having something to look forward to cheered us up a bit. Though while we tried to hide from the waves, the Admiral was in his cabin writing furiously on a sheet of parchment. Later he called me to him, to ask for a piece of waterproof, waxed cloth and a wooden barrel.
The sailors thought he was sending another plea to God to save us, but I caught sight of what he had written. It was a letter to Their Majesties, telling them of all the things we have seen and discovered in the Indies. The letter was wrapped in the cloth, sealed inside the barrel and thrown over the side of the ship.
The Admiral must be thinking that our ship might sink. If it does, Captain Pinzon could claim the glory for discovering our route to the Indies – unless someone finds the Admiral’s letter in the barrel and delivers it to the King and Queen.
I haven’t told anyone else about this, but I don’t feel much like eating – even if it could be my last meal this side of Paradise.
15 February 1493 – off the islands of the Azores (we think)
God has answered our prayers – Paradise will have to wait many years for me to arrive, I hope!
Land came into sight after sunrise and although we don’t know for sure what land it is, the Admiral insists that it is part of the King of Portugal’s Azores and that his navigation was right all along.
19 February 1493 – the island of Santa Maria, in the Azores
I don’t think I will ever be so pleased again to step on to dry land! It took us two days to reach harbour because the winds were against us, and the people of the island tell us that it is a miracle we have survived. The storms this winter have been the worst anyone can remember.
Yesterday evening, food and water was sent to our ship by the captain of the island, with a message that he would visit us today. So, this morning the Admiral sent half the crew ashore, in their shirtsleeves as we had vowed, to give thanks for our safe arrival in the first church of Saint Mary they found. The other half of the crew were going to make the same pilgrimage when the first lot returned.
However, they didn’t return. Despite his welcome yesterday, the captain of the island has taken them prisoner and now threatens the rest of us. Thank you very much.
He doesn’t believe that we have been to the Indies at all. He suspects we have been trading in Africa, in lands controlled by the King of Portugal.
What a homecoming – and this is supposed to be civilization!
24 February 1493 – at sea once more, on our way home (I hope)
It’s taken five days to get away from the Portuguese on Santa Maria.
After the captain of the island captured half the crew, the Admiral hauled up the anchor and put out to sea. But with only three proper sailors on board and bad weather, we had to return two days later.
In the meantime, the captain of the island had calmed down. He sent his officers to the ship to look at the official papers given to the Admiral by our King and Queen. These did the trick, and the prisoners were released and allowed to row back to the Niña.
We didn’t waste time in getting away. The winds were against us at first, but now they are behind us and we are sailing for the coast of Spain – better luck this time.
3 March 1493 – somewhere on the Ocean Sea (still no sign of home)
When I think what an easy voyage we had to the Indies last autumn, it’s almost as if God doesn’t want us to reach Spain alive.
Another storm has fallen on us since we set sail from Santa Maria, and today the winds hit the ship with such force that the sails were nearly ripped from the masts. The Admiral decided it was time for another chickpea lottery for a shirtsleeved pilgrimage. He won again, the cheat.
To show God that we’re really serious about getting home safely, we all agreed we’d fast on bread and water the first Saturday after we reach land. You can’t say fairer than that after weeks of living on seven-month-old sea biscuits and Indian vegetables.
God wasn’t that impressed, however. All day long, the storm blew us furiously before it, without a stitch of sail on the masts. Rain lashed down and lighting burst from the heavens.
Only at dusk did we see signs of forgiveness. Through the clouds we caught sight of land, but it’s too dangerous to approach. We have wait on the storm-tossed sea until first light tomorrow to find out where we are now.
4 March 1493 – at anchor in the River Tagus, in Portugal (wouldn’t you know it!)
Of all the places to have ended up along the coast, the storm has blown us right into the outer harbour of Lisbon, the capital of Portugal.
The Admiral has written a letter to the King of Portugal, asking permission to enter the main harbour. He has told him that we have come from the Indies, not from Africa.
I don’t know how the King of Portugal is going to take this new
s, since he and his experts turned down the Admiral’s idea several years ago.
We’ll have to hope for the best.
5 March 1493 – at anchor in the River Tagus
It looks as if things have worked out all right.
The master of the King of Portugal’s great ship, which is anchored close by, came to the Niña today demanding to know where we have sailed from.
The Admiral said that he was the Admiral of the Sovereigns of Spain and didn’t have to explain anything to anyone except them.
The Portuguese master didn’t like this, but he kept his cool and asked if he could see the letters from our King and Queen.
It all got a bit out of hand, actually.
The Royal letters did the trick in the end. Before long, boats were approaching us with drums and trumpets playing, and now the Portuguese are offering to give us anything we need. All because we have sailed to the Indies by going westwards – and sailed back again.
Good old Admiral Colón. It’s taken him years to pull it off, but now there’s no mistaking what he’s done. He’s won his place in history!
This is what it must feel like to be famous.
13 March 1493 – at sea, on the last leg home
There’ll be no stopping the Admiral now. The last week has been amazing and we haven’t even reached Spain yet.
Every day fleets of boats filled with people have visited us to bring gifts and greetings. They’re calling us heroes for winning these new lands for Our Lord. I think they’re also fascinated to see all the other new things we’ve brought back with us, especially the Indians and the parrots. Don’t know which they find more amazing, actually.
The King of Portugal summoned the Admiral to visit him a few days ago, and he only returned from the royal palace last night. The meeting went fine, once it was clear that we had been to the Indies and not to Africa – though I bet the King of Portugal is secretly kicking himself for turning down the chance to add our lands in the Indies to his kingdom.
He offered the Admiral horses, so that he could finish his journey to our King and Queen overland, but the Admiral preferred to return to the ship. I think he feels safer at sea. After the storm, I can’t imagine why.
While he was away, we repaired the ship as best we could and took on supplies for the last part of the voyage, so that we could leave with this morning’s tide.
If the weather holds, we’ll be home the day after tomorrow!
15 March 1493 – Palos, home at last!
At midday, we sailed into Palos on the rising tide.
The Enterprise of the Indies is over. We’ve proved the doubters wrong. There is a way to reach land by sailing west – and we’ve done it.
“Did you win any souls for Our Lord?” shouted the monk who’d seen me off seven months ago.
“You could say that,” I called back.
When I was ashore, the first place I went was the church of St George, where this whole adventure began. I promised God I’d try to be a better Christian. It seemed the best way of thanking him for bringing me safely home.
The Niña wasn’t the only ship to sail into Palos today. A few hours after we dropped anchor, the Pinta arrived home too. The storm in the Ocean Sea had driven her far to the north of Spain and it’s taken all this time to sail south to Palos.
I didn’t see Captain Martin Alonso Pinzon go ashore. I heard he went straight home, looking pale and ill15. I bet they’ll still be talking about the Admiral in centuries to come, but will anyone remember Captain Pinzon? I wonder.
News of our return has spread quickly through Palos, and people keep stopping me to ask in amazement, “Is it true where you’ve sailed to?”
“Yes,” I tell them, and leave it at that.
The truth is, I’ve no idea where we’ve been and nor does anyone else – not even the Admiral.
He’s talking about sailing off again later this year, but I’m done with discovering. You won’t catch me disappearing over the horizon again for a long time, not even if Their Majesties give me a first-class ticket to America.
*
1Atlantic Ocean
2Christopher Columbus
3Bartholomew in English
4known as ‘caravels’
5China
6Japan
7a league equals about three miles
8canoe
9Cuba
10hammock
11iguana
12Hispaniola
13River of Gold
14sweet potatoes
15Pinzon died shortly afterwards
THE REST OF THE STORY
Luc Landahoya’s diary ends at the same point as Christopher Columbus’s own journal. However, we know from other historical records that Columbus’s triumph was celebrated for months afterwards.
King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella gave him a hero’s welcome after he travelled across Spain to their court in Barcelona. They marvelled at the Indians who accompanied him, and at the parrots, the strange new fruits and vegetables, and everything else brought back from the Enterprise of the Indies.
Columbus was given new titles and honours. He had a coat of arms and now became a nobleman.
News of his discovery spread far and fast. Within two months of his return, every important city in Europe had heard about the voyage. The printed version of the story did become a bestseller, just as Columbus hoped it would. By the end of the year, copies were available in several languages throughout Europe.
Sadly for Columbus, he never enjoyed such popularity and praise again. He made three more voyages to discover lands in the west and build settlements there, but these could not hope to repeat the success of his first voyage. There were long-running arguments with fellow explorers, trouble with the Indians and growing doubts among some people as to whether or not he had sailed to Asia, as he claimed.
In the end, even Ferdinand and Isabella had lost their early enthusiasm for his expeditions. Outside his family, few people showed much interest when Christopher Columbus died in May 1506.
PUBLISHER’S ADDENDUM
While it is true that many of the names and events mentioned in this diary are the same as those in better known accounts of Columbus’s first voyage, we now have serious doubts about what is printed here.
We have tried to make contact with the two so-called experts who told Mr Dickinson (after he had paid them) that the diary had really been written by a crew member of the Santa Maria in 1492.
We must now report that neither Dr Miles Away nor Don Believavor D’Ovid can be traced, through the Internet or any other means. It looks as if they were fakes, as does the diary.
Almost everyone who sailed with Columbus in 1492 has been identified, and none of them had the unlikely name of Luc Landahoya.
There are no records either of anyone called Isaac Palestino living and teaching in Toledo at the end of the fifteenth century, though it is true that Jews and Muslims were forced to leave Spain at the times mentioned.
Perhaps the most important proof that this diary is false lies in the last word of the last sentence, when the diarist uses the name ‘America’. No-one writing in 1493 would have ever heard land on the other side of the Atlantic called America. We now know that the islands Columbus sailed to in 1492 lie in the Caribbean. ‘America’ was not called America until 1507, the year after Columbus died.
Lastly, we should not forget the first date in the diary. Could this be the final clue?
OTHER WORKS
Also by Clive Dickinson:
The Lost Diary of Tutankhamun’s Mummy
The Lost Diary of Montezuma’s Soothsayer
Other Lost Diaries recently discovered:
The Lost Diary of Henry VIII’s Executioner
The Lost Diary of Erik Bloodaxe, Viking Warrior
The Lost Diary of Julius Caesar’s Slave
The Lost Diary of Queen Victoria’s Undermaid
The Lost Diary of Hercules’ Personal Trainer
The Lost Diary of Shakespeare�
��s Ghostwriter
The Lost Diary of Leonardo’s Paint Mixer
The Lost Diary of Robin Hood’s Money Man
COPYRIGHT
First published in Great Britain by Collins 2000
This edition published in 2012 by Collins
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THE LOST DIARY OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS’S LOOKOUT © Clive Dickinson 2000
Illustrations by George Hollingworth 2000
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