And the reason for this tragedy? In his words, “Purely and simply greed.”
Las Casas’s indictment found a receptive audience in Spain’s nascent rival, England, where it took root as the Spanish “Black Legend.” For centuries thereafter, Spain and the explorers who sailed under the Spanish flag were widely condemned as murderers and thieves. The shadow of the Black Legend hung over Columbus as it did over other explorers from Spain. Explorers who sailed under the Spanish flag were widely condemned as murderers and thieves who habitually resorted to inhuman extremes of cruelty. Without meaning to, Las Casas’s account served as a call to arms for Spain’s mostly Protestant rivals to save the New World from further horrors. The surviving Indians became pawns in a geopolitical struggle beyond their comprehension. Even religion offered little guidance concerning the explorers’ deeds and the acquisition of empire. Both Las Casas and Spain’s pious rulers believed God was on their side, as did England.
In 1510, eight years after arriving in Hispaniola, Las Casas became a missionary to the Taínos of Cuba. For a time he exploited Indian labor, then renounced the practice, and by 1514 declared his opposition to the Spanish Enterprise of the Indies, even while encouraging the conversion of the Indians to Christianity. In his later years, he formulated the Doctrine of Self-Determination. It stated, simply, that all power derives from the people, that the people delegate power to rulers to serve the interests of their people, and that significant government deeds require popular approval. “No state, king, or emperor can alienate territories, or change their political system without the express approval of their inhabitants,” he affirmed. Las Casas lived on until July 17, 1566, and died at age ninety-two.
Not everyone was hostile to Columbus or indifferent to his suffering and accomplishments. His loyal friend Diego Méndez always considered his desperate rescue mission in a modified canoe across the open sea to Hispaniola as his life’s great adventure. In his will, dated June 19, 1536, he directed his executors to erect a tomb made of stone—“the best to be had”—to commemorate the event. In the middle of the stone, he ordered, “let there be a canoe, which is a hollowed log in which the Indians navigate, since in one such I navigated 300 leagues, and above it let them carve merely the letters which read CANOA.”
Nowadays, Columbus the explorer is everywhere. Sculptures, monuments, and memorials of Columbus abound in public squares in Genoa, Barcelona, Madrid, Mexico City, Seville, and in cities throughout the Caribbean and the Americas. From street level these statues reveal themselves by turns as heroic, grotesque, and fearsome; they portray a gargoyle of conquest. Rivers, cities, towns, thoroughfares, and the nation of Colombia have been named in his honor.
In the United States especially, his example and his voyages answered an unceasing need for self-definition and identity. Beginning in the eighteenth century, his name was given to the capital of South Carolina, the capital of Ohio, and the mighty Columbia River in the Pacific Northwest. Through an act of Congress in 1871, the site of the nation’s capital was named the District of Columbia. New York City has Columbia University, Columbus Circle, and Columbus Avenue.
His marble statue sits atop a seventy-foot granite column rising above Columbus Circle. Designed by Gaetano Russo in 1892, the monument’s marble base proclaims:To
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
The Italians Resident in America,
Scoffed at Before,
During the Voyage, Menaced,
After It, Chained,
As Generous As Oppressed,
To the World He Gave a World.
Columbus held up a mirror to the Old World, revealing and magnifying its inhumanity and greed along with its piety, curiosity, and exuberance. Columbus’s voyages revealed many harsh truths about the limits of human understanding, but it is too late to undo the consequences of these voyages. Their crimson thread is now woven deeply into the fabric of European and global history.
For all the scorn Columbus engendered, his four voyages constitute one of the greatest adventure stories in history. Although he was not the first explorer to glimpse or visit the distant shores of the Americas, his was the discovery that permanently planted the reality of the New World in the imagination—and political schemes—of the Old. Columbus forever changed the idea of what a European empire could be. He had the vision—and, at times, the delusion—to imagine, and to persuade himself and others that he had found something immense, important, and lasting.
For all their accomplishments and liabilities, Columbus’s voyages were just the beginning, setting in motion consequences—political, cultural, and scientific—that persist to this day. In its complexity and powerful contradictions, his example speaks more urgently than ever to our contentious era.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
During the years I worked on Columbus’s voyages, the comment I heard most frequently was “You mean he made four voyages? What happened on the others? Where did he go? Do the other voyages matter?” I replied that I thought the other voyages mattered greatly, that they were at least as important as the first, which, in context, set the stage for the later ones, each more adventurous and tragic than those preceding it. Many people helped make this idea a reality.
My literary agent, Suzanne Gluck, at William Morris Endeavor, once again demonstrated why she is the best. Her resourcefulness carried me through my Columbian labors. At WME, I also acknowledge the very capable assistance of Sarah Ceglarski, Caroline D’Onofrio, Elizabeth Tingue, and Eric Zohn.
In Wendy Wolf, editorial director of nonfiction at Viking Penguin, I feel fortunate to have found the ideal editor for this book. From the moment we started discussing Columbus’s voyages, we seemed to jump into the midst of a conversation that had been going on for some time. I also extend my appreciation to Susan Petersen Kennedy, Paul Slovak, Carolyn Coleburn, Hal Fessenden, Sharon Gonzalez, Carla Bolte, Sonya Cheuse, and Margaret Riggs at Viking Penguin in New York; and to mapmaker Jeff Ward.
In both New York and Genoa, Italy, Anna Basoli performed tireless research and translation assistance. I must also acknowledge Dr. Alfonso Assini, coordinating director of the States Archives in Genoa. Also in Genoa, the resources of the Società Ligure di Storia Patria proved helpful.
Alfred Crosby, professor emeritus at the University of Texas, generously elaborated on his influential “Columbian Exchange.” Professor Kathleen Deagan, coauthor of Columbus’s Outpost among the Taínos, advised on my Caribbean research. Carter Emmart, director of astrovisualization at the Rose Center for Earth and Space of the American Museum of Natural History, brought his scientific and philosophical perspectives to bear on Columbus’s exploration. Larry Fox held forth on navigation issues based on his extensive sailing experience; Daniella Gitlin offered translation and useful commentary concerning Columbus et su secreto (1976). Ash Green, who edited my book about Marco Polo’s travels, intervened at the right moment to encourage me to write about Columbus. Toby Greenberg, my photo researcher, tracked down numerous Columbus-related images. Heather Halstead, executive director of Reach the World, shared her enthusiasm about sailing across the Atlantic in the wake of Columbus. Gail Jacobs literally saved my life, for which I will always be grateful. Payne Johnson offered his insights into Columbus’s later voyages. Edmund and Sylvia Morris offered inspiration and camaraderie over the years. Vincent Pica, flotilla commander of the United States Coast Guard Auxiliary, brought his knowledge of seamanship to bear. David Hurst Thomas, curator in the Department of Anthropology at the American Museum of Natural History, called my attention to the Columbian resources of his institution. I also wish to acknowledge the contributions of Chip and Susan Fisher, Cesar Polinia, Nicole Robson, Jeannette Watson Sanger, Matthew Schaeffer, Olga Valdes Skidmore, Joseph Thanhauser III, and, of course, Henry. My thanks also go to Daniel Dolgin and to Loraine Dolgin-Gardner for travel expertise. Dan, one of the most helpful people on the planet, also read the manuscript with care, and the book has benefited from his scrutiny.
My daughter Sara b
rought her impressive editorial skills to bear on the manuscript. And my son Nicholas, a competitive sailor, shed light on some of the navigational issues faced by Columbus.
At the New York Society Library, chief librarian Mark Bartlett was always there to answer queries with his customary resourcefulness. Daniel M. Rossner, my fellow trustee, pointed out V. S. Naipaul’s provocative article about Columbus and Robinson Crusoe, and Sara Elliott Holliday brought to light material relating to Bartolomé de Las Casas.
In addition, I consulted the Hispanic Society of America’s trove in upper Manhattan, and the LuEsther T. Mertz Library at the New York Botanical Garden, where Jane Dorfman, reference librarian, retrieved items relating to the Columbian Exchange; as well as the collection of Taíno artifacts at El Museo del Barrio New York. At Columbia University, Butler Library’s collection of works concerning Columbus became an essential resource. My thanks to the library’s reference librarians for pointing me in the right direction. I am also obliged to Columbia’s MFA research internship program and to Patricia O’Toole for providing Aaron Cutler to assist with research on this book.
My friend James B. Garvin, chief scientist of NASA’s Goddard Spaceflight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, brought his expertise to bear on retracing Columbus’s track across the Atlantic and on the Columbian Exchange.
The Harvard University Archives, Cambridge, Massachusetts, graciously gave me access to the complete Columbus collection of Samuel Eliot Morison, the author of Admiral of the Ocean Sea (1942). At the John Carter Brown Library, Brown University, I appreciate the assistance of Edward L. Widmer, director, and Ken Ward in making the most of the resources of this exceptional collection. Richard Ring, formerly of the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University and currently head curator and librarian, Watkinson Library, Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut, brought his agile thinking to bear on my research.
At the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., I owe a debt to Thomas Mann, reference librarian, as well as to Everette Larson in the Hispanic Division and to John Hébert, chief of the Geography and Map Division, for their insights into the complex historical record of Columbus’s voyages. In May 2009, I attended the Library’s symposium, “Exploring Waldseemüller’s World,” where presenters Owen Gingerich and Nicolás Wey Gómez thoughtfully analyzed this seminal cartographic representation of the New World. Anyone wishing to step back in time to 1507 need only stand in front of this giant map on display at the Library.
It was a delight to conduct research again in the Archivo General de Indias in Seville. These days elements of its collection, including digital facsimiles and images relating to Columbus, are available online at http://pares.mcu.es. I wish to thank Pilar Lazáro and the staff for their cooperation with my inquiries. I also wish to extend appreciation to the Biblioteca Columbina, located in the Cathedral of Seville (www.institucioncolumbina.org). Here thousands of volumes from the libraries of Christopher Columbus and his son Ferdinand can still be inspected. To step into this library is akin to peering into the mind of Columbus.
In Palos de la Frontera, Spain, I visited La Rábida Monastery, where Columbus planned his first voyage. Much of its environment has been preserved or restored to its appearance during the explorer’s day. In Madrid, the collection of the Museo Naval proved as helpful as it had been during my previous visits, especially its celebrated oxhide chart by Juan de la Cosa.
In Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, I conducted research at the Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, where a variant scholarly tradition emphasizes Columbus’s Portuguese connections. (Baretto Mascarenhas’s 1977 work, “Colombo” Português, is one example.) I am extremely grateful to Jacqueline Philomeno for the warmth of her friendship and the breadth of her understanding.
My research in the Dominican Republic, once the seat of Columbus’s empire, took me to La Isabela (Puerto Plata), the site of Columbus’s fort and home. In Santo Domingo, the collections of the Museo de las Casas Reales, the Museo Alcáza de Colón, and the Museo del Hombre Dominicano, with its comprehensive collection of Taíno artifacts, illuminated aspects of Columbus’s voyages. Mayra Castillo, Tiffany Singh, and Alejandro Tolentino made me feel welcome and provided guidance with my research, as did the capable personnel of my hotel, the Hostal Nicolas de Ovando, the former residence of Columbus’s successor in Santo Domingo. For additional expertise relating to the Dominican Republic, I am indebted to Marcela Manubens, senior vice president of Phillips–Van Heusen Corporation for Global Social Responsibility, and her colleague Juan Carlos Contreras, PVH’s regional manager. I wish to extend particular appreciation to Frank Moya Pons, the Dominican historian, for making available several works about Columbus.
NOTES ON SOURCES
The ever-expanding literature on Columbus encompasses diverse languages and historical traditions. To give some idea of its size, Simonetta Conti’s Bibliografia colombiana, 1793–1990, which includes books and articles in a variety of languages, runs to well over seven hundred pages, yet even this massive compendium ends before the outpouring of additional documents and translations inspired by the Columbus Quincentenary in 1992. As my own narrative makes plain, Columbus’s legacy and reputation were highly controversial right from the start. Throughout his career, glory and dishonor ran neck and neck, and the race continues to this day.
Fortunately, Columbus, his son, various Spanish ministers, sailors, and historians all left accounts of his actions—often voluminous and impassioned, pleading for the Admiral of the Ocean Sea or against him, and in some cases, both for and against him. These firsthand reports, with their often contrasting testimony, make it possible to understand Columbus’s voyages in a multidimensional way. The Repertorium Columbianum , comprising over five thousand pages of original source material published in thirteen volumes overseen by Geoffrey Symcox of UCLA beginning in the late 1980s, contributed greatly to the subject, as did the multivolume Nuova Raccolta Colombiana, published in Italian and English by the Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato, in Rome over a period of years around the quincentenary of his first voyage, in 1992.
Among outstanding American works on the subject, Samuel Eliot Morison’s Admiral of the Ocean Sea (1942) remains the largest maritime database pertaining to Columbus. Morison is preoccupied with comparisons between Columbus’s routes and his own journeys by sea and air, which often loom larger than his subject’s. His views of the people and cultures that Columbus and his crew encountered in the New World are reflected in his patrician outlook and that of the World War II era. In trying to retrace some of Columbus’s voyages with a modern fleet, he occasionally relied on flawed data, and as a result many of his landfalls occurred scores of miles from Columbus’s presumed original course. (To paraphrase the song, Morison was at times looking for the Admiral in all the wrong places.) For more on this, see Hobbs, “The Track of the Columbus Caravels in 1492.”
Washington Irving’s exhaustive and well-sourced Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus (1828) provides the color and context absent from Morison’s more technical study—and even Morison relies heavily on Irving’s account. More recently, Felipe Fernández-Armesto’s succinct biography, Columbus (1991), presents an astringent critique of its subject, and John Noble Wilford’s The Mysterious History of Columbus (1991) offers provocative commentary about questions concerning the Admiral’s voyages. Finally, The Worlds of Christopher Columbus (1992), by William D. Phillips Jr. and Carla Rahn Phillips, brings context to bear on Columbus’s life and times. Foreignlanguage biographies of Columbus often take their lead from Morison, for example, Paolo Emilio Taviani’s Cristoforo Columbo (Istituto Geografico de Agostini, 1974, two volumes). An exception is Henry Harisse’s thorough Christophe Columbe (1884–5), which portrays Columbus in a benign light that seems remarkable by today’s standards. I am indebted to all these historians for their energetic, rigorous approaches to the formidable subject of Christopher Columbus.
In most cases, I have indicated the source of quotations in m
y own text, whether it is Columbus himself, his son Ferdinand, Bartolomé de Las Casas, or commentators such as Peter Martyr.
Prologue
Of all the unresolved questions surrounding Columbus’s voyages, the location of his first landfall is among the most persistent and revealing of his motives. Columbus had a strong incentive to announce that he had found something of significance, and to claim it for Spain (and for his future wealth and titles), so it would seem to be in his interest to be as precise as possible about what he had found, and where. But there were also reasons for him to obscure the exact location. Laboring under his Chinese delusion, he assumed he was approaching Asia. In addition, he did not want to divulge this vital piece of information to his rivals, including those at court in Spain. So he had to steer between the Scylla of revelation and the Charybdis of his geographical handicaps. Anyone capable of making his crew, boys and men alike, swear an oath that Cuba belonged to the mainland rather than admitting it was an island, as Columbus did, was capable of obscuring his route. Add to these considerations the changes wrought by five hundred years of erosion, and the chances of pinpointing his first landfall are slim indeed. Nonetheless, hypotheses abound.
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