The four transatlantic voyages that Christopher Columbus led between 1492 and 1502 brought two worlds together, bringing wealth to kingdoms of the Old World and incalculable misery to the Indigenous nations of the New World. And all of those truths regarding the life and career of Christopher Columbus are very much in evidence in this concise and well-organized Penguin Books collection with the title The Four Voyages.
The book’s title is much more elaborate – to wit, The Four Voyages of Christopher Columbus – Being His Own Log-Book, Letters, and Dispatches, With Connecting Narrative Drawn from the Life of the Admiral by His Son Hernando Colon and Other Contemporary Historians – and so I trust that it will be alright with everyone if we simply refer to the book, henceforth, as The Four Voyages.
The book’s editor, J.M. Cohen, was a longtime translator for Penguin Books, and he chose well in the materials that he selected in compiling Columbus’ Four Voyages: Columbus’ log-book and Hernando Colon’s The Life of the Admiral, as mentioned above, but also works like Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo’s General and Natural History of the Indies, letters of Columbus, a letter written by a royal physician named Chanca, Columbus’ own Narrative of the Third Voyage, and an account by Diego Mendez of “certain incidents on Christopher Columbus’ last voyage.” The documents, taken together, provide a compelling account of how Columbus went from being the cynosure of all eyes, the “Admiral of the Ocean Sea,” to being sent home in chains from the Indies to Seville.
Columbus’ log book - or, more accurately, Bartolomé de las Casas’ digest of Columbus’ log-book - gives us an account of the actual “discovery” on October 11 that is surprisingly matter-of-fact. There are a few sightings of sticks and other debris that seem to indicate that land might be near – and then, “The caravel Pinta, being swifter and sailing ahead of the Admiral, now sighted land and gave the signals which the Admiral had commanded” (p. 51). And with that, as editor Cohen aptly remarks, we get to hear “the Admiral’s actual words in his account of his first voyage and the discovery of these Indies” (p. 53).
It is interesting, to say the least, to hear Columbus’ initial impressions of the Indies and their people. Anyone who has ever visited the Bahamas will not be surprised to hear that Columbus finds the islands to be simply lovely. Of what is now the Bahamas’ Long Island, Columbus writes that “This island is very green, flat, and fertile, and I have no doubt that they sow and reap Indian corn and other crops throughout the year” (p. 64)
As for the Indigenous people of the islands, Columbus writes that “The people are very gentle and anxious to have the things we bring. Thinking that nothing will be given them, however, unless they give something in exchange, and having nothing to give, they take anything they can, jump into the water, and swim away. But they will give all that they do possess for anything that is given to them, exchanging things even for bits of broken crockery or broken glass cups” (p. 56). One day later, observing an Indigenous village from his boat, he records how the villagers asked “if we came from the sky. One old man got into the boat, and all the others, men and women alike, shouted, ‘Come and see the men who have come from the skies; and bring them food and drink’” (p. 57).
The reader also gets a grim sense of the shape of things to come when Columbus says of the Indigenous people that “They have no religion [!] and I think that they would be very quickly Christianized, for they have a very ready understanding” (p. 64). He also assumes that when the Spaniards send future expeditions, “we shall be favourably received and the natives may give us of all they possess” (p. 63). The arrogant assumption of cultural superiority, and of the right to take what one wants on that basis, could not be more clear.
If Columbus’ sense of how to interact with people from other cultures seems lacking – well, so does his sense of geography. Columbus repeatedly makes clear that he thinks he’s reached Asia, saying on 21 October that “I shall set out for another large island which, according to the indications given me by the Indians whom I have aboard, must be Chipangu [Japan]. They, however, call it Colba [Cuba]” (p. 71). Columbus adds that “I am determined to go to the city of Quinsay” (p. 71) – meaning, as the commentator points out, Hangzhou, the old capital of the Khans of China.
With Cuba being a large island that is close to a massive mainland, I originally thought that Columbus made the mistake of assuming that Cuba was Japan, and that the nearby mainland of the Americas was China. Reading The Four Voyages, however, cleared things up for me considerably. In a February 1493 letter written to various correspondents, Columbus recalls that “When I reached Cuba, I followed its north coast westwards, and found it so extensive that I thought this must be the mainland, the province of Cathay [China]” (p. 115).
Editor Cohen notes, in that regard, that while Columbus seems to accept “the native story that Cuba is an island which they can circumnavigate in something more than twenty-one days”, he simultaneously “insists here and later, during the second voyage, that it is in fact part of the Asiatic mainland.” Columbus clearly had trouble letting go of his preconceptions.
Throughout The Four Voyages, one gets a strong sense of certain aspects of Columbus’ character. He clearly thinks of himself as a Man of Destiny, whose destiny is bound up with that of Spain and the Catholic Church; he is hyperconscious of having enemies, and always feels beset by them; and he knows which side his pan con tomate is buttered on, and therefore seizes upon every opportunity to ingratiate himself with his royal patrons, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella.
Hernando Colon, in a passage from The Life of the Admiral, reveals these aspects of Columbus’ character when he quotes from a letter in which he describes the voyagers’ encounter with a sea storm on Saint Valentine’s Day 1493:
“I should have had less difficulty in withstanding this storm if I had only been in personal danger, since I know that I owe my life to my Supreme Creator and He has so many times before saved me when I have been near to death that actually to die would hardly have cost me greater suffering. But what caused me infinite pain and grief was the thought that after it had pleased the Lord to inspire me with faith and assurance to undertake this enterprise, in which he had now granted me success, at the very moment when my opponents would have been proved wrong and your Highnesses would have been endowed by me with glory and increase of your high estate, the Lord might choose to prevent all this by my death.” (pp. 101-02)
Columbus’ sense of being ever beset by enemies certainly comes through here – as does the way in which he persistently links his destiny with not only the Spanish throne and the Catholic Church, but also the will of God Himself, as when he talks of how “I was comforted by my faith that Our Lord would not allow a project for the exaltation of His Church, which I had carried out in the face of such opposition and dangers, to remain incomplete and myself to be ruined” (p. 102).
Columbus did survive the storm, and returned to Spain to bestow riches of the New World upon his royal patrons. In another passage from The Life of the Admiral Hernando Colon recalls how Columbus, “on reaching Burgos…made a handsome present to their Majesties of many objects”, among which were “many grains of unworked gold, some very small and some as large as a bean or a chickpea, and a few the size of a pigeon’s egg”. Colon emphasizes how “the Catholic sovereigns accepted this gift most joyfully, and thanked the Admiral for the great services he had performed” (p. 203). Columbus must have felt as if he were on top of the world.
By the time of Columbus’ third voyage of 1498-1500, one would think that Columbus had learned a thing or two about the geography of the lands that he had “discovered” – but unfortunately, he was still clinging to some highly inaccurate preconceptions. In a letter sent to the Spanish sovereigns from the island of Hispaniola, he looks back at having “discovered in a very short time 333 leagues of mainland, the end of the East” – a claim that editor Cohen duly footnotes as an example of how, “In spite of all evidence, Columbus still claimed that Cuba was the extreme eastern extension of the Asiatic mainland” (p. 206).
It’s not long, however, before Columbus gets away from his stubbornly wrong geography and returns to his regular practice of complaining, stating that “abuse broke out and disparagement of the undertaking began, because I had not immediately sent back ships laden with gold.” As Columbus sees it, “No one considered the shortness of the time or the many difficulties that I described in my letters. And so, for my sins – or, as I think it will prove, for my salvation – I became an object of loathing, and objections were made to all my wishes and demands” (p. 206). While he hastens to thank the sovereigns for their smiling expressions of support, one can’t help reflecting that the King and Queen of Spain probably received letters from Columbus with mixed emotions at best.
And the letter that Columbus sent from Jamaica, on 7 July 1503, must have really thrown the King and Queen of Spain for the proverbial loop. Historians can tell you that Columbus’ mismanagement of the American colonies, coupled with infighting among ambitious rivals, led to Columbus’ downfall. It’s complicated. But Columbus tries to simplify it as a plot against him – belabouring his ill fortune, complaining of “the unparalleled wrong that I have suffered”, telling of how he was “suddenly arrested and put aboard a ship, naked, ill-treated and loaded with chains; and this without trial or sentence.” He adds that “I came to serve at the age of twenty-eight and today I have not a hair on my head that is not grey. My body is sick and wasted. All that I and my brothers had has been taken from us, down to our very coats, without my being heard or seen, and I have suffered great dishonour.” And he closes with an openly emotional plea for royal sympathy:
I am ruined, as I have said; till now I have wept for others. May Heaven now have pity on me and earth weep for me. Of worldly possessions I have not even a farthing to offer for my spirit’s good. Here in the Indies I am cut off from the prescribed forms of religion, alone in my troubles, sick, in daily expectation of death and surrounded by a million hostile savages full of cruelty, and so far from the Holy Sacraments of the Blessed Church that my soul will be forgotten if it leaves my body. Weep for me, whoever has charity, truth, and justice! (p. 303)
Relatively few people would be likely to weep for Christopher Columbus today. His place in history is not what it was back when Columbus statues were being placed in major U.S. cities, often in Italian-American areas where the Genoa-born navigator was long a hero. In Baltimore, for example, the Columbus monument that had been a feature of the city’s Little Italy neighbourhood since 1984 was pulled down by protesters in 2020; the fragments of the statue were then dumped into Jones Falls, a canal that drains into Baltimore Harbour. A local Knights of Columbus chapter, finding that the statue could not be repaired, has declared plans to “reproduce” the statue.
Yet Columbus – whatever you or I may think of him – remains historically important; and this edition of The Four Voyages continues to serve as a valuable resource for readers who want to learn more about Columbus and his time.