Columbus_ The Four Voyages - Laurence Bergreen [166]
Witnesses testified to Columbus’s bungling management of Hispaniola. Despite the remarkable abundance of fruit and other nourishment on the island, the generosity of the Indians in sharing it with the settlers, and the regular supplements provided by supply ships from Spain, fifty men had died at La Isabela from starvation as Columbus refused them provisions from the ships’ bountiful stores. Food that began to decompose was thrown into the sea, and anyone who tried to bargain with a food store’s guard was beaten for his trouble. The sick and convalescent discovered that their rations were reduced amid the fertile island’s plenty. The accounts, coming from so many witnesses, were abysmal, inexcusable, and served to justify the Comendador’s relieving Columbus of command.
After the inquiry, Bobadilla feared that Roldán, now realigned with the Admiral, might free Columbus from his fetters, but the raid failed to materialize. In captivity, both Columbus brothers “displayed much self-restraint,” Ferdinand reported. That way, “on arrival in Castile they could more easily secure Bobadilla’s punishment.” If they survived their ordeal.
Their situation was deteriorating by the hour. When Columbus was led to the ship, he believed he was about to be executed by having his throat cut.
“Where are you taking me?” he implored the hidalgo Alonso de Vallejo, who had been assigned the task of conveying Columbus from the fortress to La Gorda.
“Sir, your lordship goes to board the ship.”
Skeptical that he would be spared, he asked, “Vallejo, is it true?”
And the hidalgo replied, “By the life of Our Lady, it is true that you are going aboard.”
Columbus experienced overwhelming relief at the realization that he was being led not to his death but to the ship and to life.
The departure of the caravel La Gorda, bearing the Columbus brothers, provoked ugly scenes. The inhabitants of the island realm that the Admiral once ruled now insulted Columbus in the public squares and posted vicious notices on street corners. In the harbor, formerly loyal servants of the Spanish throne blew horns in derision.
Bobadilla feared that Columbus might find some way to escape, and ordered the shipmaster, Andrea Martín de la Gorda, to keep the prisoner shackled tightly throughout the voyage to Spain, until the moment they entered the presence of Bishop Fonseca, charged by the Sovereigns with overseeing the Enterprise of the Indies. Even Columbus’s enemies were appalled by this treatment. “A most absurd thing,” Las Casas charged, and launched into a stirring defense of the explorer whom he vehemently denounced on other occasions. “At once disdainful, detestable, and wretched. He was, after all, viceroy and perpetual governor of this part of the world and, by most deserved renown, Admiral of the Ocean Sea. He had won those titles—chosen by the singular privilege of God—by enduring so many trials, dangers, and labor, and by revealing to the world this world that had been hidden for many centuries.” For that reason, Ferdinand and Isabella owed him “perpetual gratitude. It was unworthy of good reason and more than monstrous that a man in such a lofty position had been treated so inhumanely and shamefully.” With his adamantine nature and unflagging purpose, Columbus impressed even his critics, and never more than when he was shackled.
No one could be found who was willing to chain the Admiral of the Ocean Sea, said Las Casas, except for the lowly cook, Espinosa, who attached the manacles “as if he were serving him some plates of new and precious foods.” His punishment would mean enduring weeks in a dark, stuffy, sweltering, swaying hold, vulnerable to the elements and to the unpredictable behavior of the crew, who would be tempted to vent their frustration on their two prisoners.