The mention of Christopher Columbus earlier today on one of the threads (Milestones) prompted me to think about his first voyage and to imagine an unlikely, or not so unlikely, short little yarn about it.
August 6
T’was three days out of the Andalusian port town, Palos de la Frontera, and the young woman who had stowed herself away, deep in the hold of the carrack, Santa Maria, had still escaped discovery. She had suffered neither hunger or thirst, having hidden herself fortuitously amongst the ship’s stores. But her hiding place was cramped and the air stale and foul. She longed to stretch her legs and catch a bit of daylight rather than constant gloom.
She wondered what might happen if she revealed her presence. This far from land, they could hardly send her back, she reasoned. And perhaps they would just put her to work. She would make herself useful, earn her passage to wherever the carrack was destined ... just so long as she wasn’t returned to the place and the circumstances she had hidden herself on board to escape.
As it were, her decision to flee and stow away on a ship had been a desperate one. The master for whom she had toiled back in Palos de Frontera as a lowly housemaid was a cruel and wicked man ... a man that demanded the impossible of her when it came to daily chores, and then expected perverse sexual favors at day’s end as well ... the latter ... most disagreeably sordid ... under the very nose of his frumpy and ill-tempered wife.
And so it was in the wee morning hours, three days earlier, that she slipped naked from his bed, mopped his vile juices from her loins, donned the linen smock and simple dress she had shed in order to satisfy his depraved lust, slipped quietly out into the street and made her way down to the quay, where three vessels were being made ready to depart with the morning tide.
She made for the largest of the three, bided her time hidden amongst some casks, and when the coast was clear, scampered up the plank, spotted the open hatch to the hold, and vanished from sight. Within an hour or two the deck above was alive with activity and raised voices, and with a groan of timbers and the clank of chains the vessel cast loose, wallowed briefly and set to sea.
But that was all in the past. The fact remained ... she was a runaway and a castaway, and she was going to have to present herself on deck sooner or later, so reckoned she might as well get on with it. They were going to discover her soon enough anyway, as the odor of her toilet at the far end of the hold was becoming more noticeable with each passing day.
So she gathered herself up, smoothed her long rumpled skirt, pulled her hair back from her face and made her way to the ladder leading to the deck above. Climbing to the top of the ladder, she peered through the opening at the rigging and sails, set above against a clear blue sky. She listened, but heard only the creak of timbers, the flapping of canvas, the groan of ropes and the lapping of water against the sides of the carrack. She drank in the fresh air, smell of salt assaulting her nose.
Throwing caution to the winds, she clambered up on deck and sauntered unnoticed over to the rail. And there she stood, mesmerized by the sparkle of sunlight dancing on the crests of the swells of the sea. Looking astern she noted with surprise the two smaller caravels following at a distance. She hadn’t expected a flotilla.
It was Diego de Arana, the Santa Maria’s master-at-arms, who first spotted the waif-like figure, leaning against the starboard rail, wind tousling her long brown hair. Startled at first, thinking she was an apparition, he stood rooted in place ... but then took hold of himself and marched over to her.
“Wh ... who are you? What are you do ... doing here?” he stammered.
“I’m Bárbara Morales of Palos de la Frontera. I decided to come along. Tell me, what are the names of those two caravels, and what vessel is this?”
“La Pinta and La Niña,and this is the Santa Maria,” he replied, a bit taken aback and flustered. His confusion was furthered by the fact that he thought her quite beautiful ... her face so innocent ... her dark eyes captivating.
“Are they ... a Pinta and La Niña ... with us? Where are we headed?”
“You ask to many questions. Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“To see the Captain-General, Cristobal Colon. He’s in for quite a surprise, I dare say!”
She followed him down the deck, past the main mast and toward the raised cabin area at the caravel’s stern. Crew members gawked as she passed, holding her head high and swishing her long skirt as though she were royalty.
The man they approached, who was busy conferring with two others, took notice and looked up.
To Barbara’s eyes he looked rather distinguished ... a far cry from her hated master back in Palos de la Frontera. His face was smooth, his long gray hair parted in the middle. He was thin faced, with a long nose and lightly colored, dreamy eyes. His chin contained a slight dimple ... his expression serious ... intensely serious.”
Slowly he took her in ... from head to toe ... his face clouding over. “Where did she come from?” he demanded, turning abruptly to his Master at Arms.
“I don’t know. Apparently she stowed away when we left Palos de la Frontera.”
“That was three days ago!”
“Yes, she’s apparently kept herself hidden until today.”
“Is this true?” he said, addressing her.
“Yes. I hid onboard to escape my evil master in Palos de la Frontera. I’m a fugitive. I can’t go back. I place myself at your mercy. I just want to go wherever you are headed. I’ll be no trouble. I promise.”
“I’m sorry, but this an expedition ... a voyage of discovery. We seek a new passage to the silks and spices of the East.”
“Then I will go there,” she replied.
“What do we do with her?” he asked, turning to his two companions, Juan de la Casa, owner and master of the Santa Maria, and Rodrigo de Escobedo, secretary of the fleet, for an answer.
“We put her ashore when we reach the Canary Islands in three days time and be rid of her,” responded the master.
“Ah, but what about the Mariner’s law?” said the secretary. “She has fled her master and stowed away on this ship. That’s not to be ignored. Stowaways must be punished.”
“How so?”
“Ordinarily it’s 30 lashes with the cat.”
“I see ... so be it then.” pronounced Cristobal Colon with a dismissive air and a wave of his hand. “Put her in chains and confine her below until tomorrow, Diego, and then have her brought up on deck and flogged at dawn, with the crew in attendance. Now, gentlemen, where were we before this unseemly interruption?”
TO BE CONTINUED
August 6
T’was three days out of the Andalusian port town, Palos de la Frontera, and the young woman who had stowed herself away, deep in the hold of the carrack, Santa Maria, had still escaped discovery. She had suffered neither hunger or thirst, having hidden herself fortuitously amongst the ship’s stores. But her hiding place was cramped and the air stale and foul. She longed to stretch her legs and catch a bit of daylight rather than constant gloom.
She wondered what might happen if she revealed her presence. This far from land, they could hardly send her back, she reasoned. And perhaps they would just put her to work. She would make herself useful, earn her passage to wherever the carrack was destined ... just so long as she wasn’t returned to the place and the circumstances she had hidden herself on board to escape.
As it were, her decision to flee and stow away on a ship had been a desperate one. The master for whom she had toiled back in Palos de Frontera as a lowly housemaid was a cruel and wicked man ... a man that demanded the impossible of her when it came to daily chores, and then expected perverse sexual favors at day’s end as well ... the latter ... most disagreeably sordid ... under the very nose of his frumpy and ill-tempered wife.
And so it was in the wee morning hours, three days earlier, that she slipped naked from his bed, mopped his vile juices from her loins, donned the linen smock and simple dress she had shed in order to satisfy his depraved lust, slipped quietly out into the street and made her way down to the quay, where three vessels were being made ready to depart with the morning tide.
She made for the largest of the three, bided her time hidden amongst some casks, and when the coast was clear, scampered up the plank, spotted the open hatch to the hold, and vanished from sight. Within an hour or two the deck above was alive with activity and raised voices, and with a groan of timbers and the clank of chains the vessel cast loose, wallowed briefly and set to sea.
But that was all in the past. The fact remained ... she was a runaway and a castaway, and she was going to have to present herself on deck sooner or later, so reckoned she might as well get on with it. They were going to discover her soon enough anyway, as the odor of her toilet at the far end of the hold was becoming more noticeable with each passing day.
So she gathered herself up, smoothed her long rumpled skirt, pulled her hair back from her face and made her way to the ladder leading to the deck above. Climbing to the top of the ladder, she peered through the opening at the rigging and sails, set above against a clear blue sky. She listened, but heard only the creak of timbers, the flapping of canvas, the groan of ropes and the lapping of water against the sides of the carrack. She drank in the fresh air, smell of salt assaulting her nose.
Throwing caution to the winds, she clambered up on deck and sauntered unnoticed over to the rail. And there she stood, mesmerized by the sparkle of sunlight dancing on the crests of the swells of the sea. Looking astern she noted with surprise the two smaller caravels following at a distance. She hadn’t expected a flotilla.
It was Diego de Arana, the Santa Maria’s master-at-arms, who first spotted the waif-like figure, leaning against the starboard rail, wind tousling her long brown hair. Startled at first, thinking she was an apparition, he stood rooted in place ... but then took hold of himself and marched over to her.
“Wh ... who are you? What are you do ... doing here?” he stammered.
“I’m Bárbara Morales of Palos de la Frontera. I decided to come along. Tell me, what are the names of those two caravels, and what vessel is this?”
“La Pinta and La Niña,and this is the Santa Maria,” he replied, a bit taken aback and flustered. His confusion was furthered by the fact that he thought her quite beautiful ... her face so innocent ... her dark eyes captivating.
“Are they ... a Pinta and La Niña ... with us? Where are we headed?”
“You ask to many questions. Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“To see the Captain-General, Cristobal Colon. He’s in for quite a surprise, I dare say!”
She followed him down the deck, past the main mast and toward the raised cabin area at the caravel’s stern. Crew members gawked as she passed, holding her head high and swishing her long skirt as though she were royalty.
The man they approached, who was busy conferring with two others, took notice and looked up.
To Barbara’s eyes he looked rather distinguished ... a far cry from her hated master back in Palos de la Frontera. His face was smooth, his long gray hair parted in the middle. He was thin faced, with a long nose and lightly colored, dreamy eyes. His chin contained a slight dimple ... his expression serious ... intensely serious.”
Slowly he took her in ... from head to toe ... his face clouding over. “Where did she come from?” he demanded, turning abruptly to his Master at Arms.
“I don’t know. Apparently she stowed away when we left Palos de la Frontera.”
“That was three days ago!”
“Yes, she’s apparently kept herself hidden until today.”
“Is this true?” he said, addressing her.
“Yes. I hid onboard to escape my evil master in Palos de la Frontera. I’m a fugitive. I can’t go back. I place myself at your mercy. I just want to go wherever you are headed. I’ll be no trouble. I promise.”
“I’m sorry, but this an expedition ... a voyage of discovery. We seek a new passage to the silks and spices of the East.”
“Then I will go there,” she replied.
“What do we do with her?” he asked, turning to his two companions, Juan de la Casa, owner and master of the Santa Maria, and Rodrigo de Escobedo, secretary of the fleet, for an answer.
“We put her ashore when we reach the Canary Islands in three days time and be rid of her,” responded the master.
“Ah, but what about the Mariner’s law?” said the secretary. “She has fled her master and stowed away on this ship. That’s not to be ignored. Stowaways must be punished.”
“How so?”
“Ordinarily it’s 30 lashes with the cat.”
“I see ... so be it then.” pronounced Cristobal Colon with a dismissive air and a wave of his hand. “Put her in chains and confine her below until tomorrow, Diego, and then have her brought up on deck and flogged at dawn, with the crew in attendance. Now, gentlemen, where were we before this unseemly interruption?”
TO BE CONTINUED
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