Nor are there lacking plenty of references to the seamanship of these times--the kind of seamanship, we may not unjustly assume, that was employed alike by the Spanish traders who crossed the Bay of Biscay, and sailed up the English Channel to Flanders, and those who went exploring to the southward. No one better than these medieval and Elizabethan sailormen appreciated the importance of having a ship that would heave-to in bad weather or at night. You will remember that dramatic incident at the end of Columbus’s first voyage across the Atlantic, when the distant light, as of a candle going up and down in the hand of someone proceeding from one house to another, indicated that at last the new land had been found. “At two hours after midnight,” says the log, “the land was sighted.” Then (continues the narrative), “they shortened sail, and lay by under mainsail without the bonnets. The vessels were hove-to waiting for daylight.”
And again, when on the homeward voyage after the loss of the _Santa Maria_ the _Nina_ was caught in a heavy gale of wind, we find from her log that she stowed canvas, but “carried the mainsail very closely reefed, so as just to give her steerage-way, and proceeded thus for three hours, making 20 miles.” During that same dreadful night, when they all but foundered, Columbus kept showing lanterns to the _Pinta_, which answered back by the same method. “The want of ballast increased the danger of the ship, which had become light owing to the consumption of provisions and water,” so they filled with sea water the barrels which had contained wine and drinking water, and employed these to steady the vessel. “Afterwards,” continues the same narrative, “in the showers and squalls, the wind veered to the west, and they went before it, with only the foresail, in a very confused sea for five hours. They made 2½ leagues N.E. They had taken in the reefed mainsail, for fear some wave of the sea should carry all away.” And when the weather presently moderated, Columbus “added the bonnet to the mainsail.”
The _Santa Maria_, with her high poop and forecastle, was not a particularly dry ship. On September 8, when outward bound, her log admits that near Teneriffe she “took in much sea over the bows.” But whether that was through bad seamanship or bad luck one cannot say. It is certain that, at any rate, the crew were very far from perfect in their art; otherwise the _Santa Maria_ would never have been wrecked in that totally inexcusable manner. It was not the fault of Columbus. He had not had any rest for two days and a night, and those of us who have been ceaselessly on watch for that time, know how great a strain it puts on a man’s eyes and nerves and physical endurance. So, as the wind was very light, Columbus went below at eleven o’clock that night. It was so beautifully fine, and the sea was so calm, that the steersman also was tempted to sleep; and, giving the tiller in charge of a boy, he shut his eyes and dozed off. This was distinctly contrary to Columbus’s orders, for the boys were forbidden ever to touch the helm. At midnight, you will remember, there was a flat calm, but still imperceptibly the poor _Santa Maria_ was being carried on to a sandbank by the current. Very gently she took the ground, but when the boy noticed that the helm refused to move, but that the tide was rushing by the ship and tumbling over the shoal, he became alarmed and cried out. Up came Columbus from his cabin under the poop, who, taking in the situation at a glance, began to give his orders in a cool and seaman-like manner. The first command showed that he knew his business, when he had ordered a boat on the poop to be lowered, and the crew to “lay out an anchor astern,” as the log states, to haul her off. But the men in the boat, being less anxious for the safety of the ship than for their own bodies, paid no regard to the kedging of the _Santa Maria_, but rowed off to the next ship. Then, finally, Columbus was compelled to order the masts to be cut away, and the ship to be lightened; but it was of no avail. The water rose inside, and her timbers opened. But right to the end Columbus the discoverer showed that he was every bit as fine a seaman as he was a clever navigator.