FILSON YOUNG II3 



slatting of the sails, the mad lashing of loose ropes ; 

 the painful swinging, and climbing up and diving 

 down, and sinking and staggering and helpless 

 strivings of the small ship in the waste of water. 

 The sea is as empty as chaos, nothing for days 

 and weeks but that infinite tumbling surface and 

 heaven of grey storm-clouds ; a world of salt 

 surges encircled in horizons by dim foam. Time 

 and place are nothing ; the agony and pain of such 

 moments are eternal. 



But the two brothers, grim and gigantic in their 

 sea power, subtle as the wind itself in their sea 

 wit, win the battle. Over the thousands of miles 

 of angry surges they urge that small ship towards 

 calm and safety, until one day the sea begins to 

 abate a little, and through the spray and tumult 

 of waters the dim loom of land is seen. The sea 

 falls back disappointed and finally conquered by 

 Christopher Columbus, whose ship, battered, crip- 

 pled, and strained, comes back out of the wilder- 

 ness of waters and glides quietly into the smooth 

 harbour of San Lucar, November 7, 1 504. There 

 were no guns or bells to greet the Admiral ; his 

 only salute was in the thunder of the conquered 

 seas ; and he was carried asiiore to San Lucar, 

 and thence to Seville, a sick and broken man. 



Filson You/It;;. 



