In Fourteen Hundred Ninety-Two …
A few entries from the secret ship’s log of Christopher Columbus:
August 3, 1492: Today we depart from Palos de la Frontera to cross the Ocean Sea, sailing west to reach the Indies. I am keeping two logs: this accurate one and one for the crew in which I have underestimated how far we have sailed lest they panic at being so far from home. Most think we’re sailing to Morocco to pick up couscous. Let them.
August 20, 1492: After almost 3 weeks at sea, many in the crew ask why we haven’t yet reached Morocco. Boatswain Juan Pablo Rodriguez claims he once rowed a small skiff to Morocco in less than a day. The men are becoming restless. I am keeping an eye on Juan Pablo.
August 21, 1492: Today we held a memorial service for Rodriguez, who crew members believe was pulled overboard by three mermaids last night. Let them.
August 29, 1492: Luis de Torres, our cartographer, suggested that we rename the Mediterranean “The Sea of Spain.” What a ridiculous idea!
August 30, 1492: Luis’ proposal to rename the Mediterranean got me thinking: “The Gulf of Colombo!” What a beautiful name! I’ve instructed Torres to change the maps we carry.
September 1, 1492: Torres has been telling some of the crew that I stole his idea to rename the Mediterranean. I am keeping an eye on him.
September 2, 1492: Calm seas. After lunch we held a memorial service for Torres, who the crew believes was devoured overnight by a giant sea beast that only I saw. Let them.
September 29, 1492: I have been forced to admit to the men that we are not, in fact, sailing to Morocco. Using a small pelota I brought with me, I explained my theory of sailing west to reach the East because the world is round. The ship’s cook, Hernándo Perez, asked why, if the world is so small that I could hold it in my hand, we could not simply have reached over into Morocco to get couscous. I have locked myself in my cabin.
October 11, 1492: I’m still locked in my cabin. We head westerly, by my reckoning. The crew has given up trying to break down the door, but someone slipped a note under it: “You don’t fool me! I know that you are just idly sailing around until you bump into land, which you will claim is the Indies. No couscous for you!” I am keeping an eye on Perez.
October 12, 1492: I was awakened by the sound of the ship grounding. I ran from my cabin to the poop deck, where I observed the prow of the ship resting on land! Thinking quickly, I cried: “Morocco! We have landed in Morocco!” All praised God. Perez went into the trees, seeking couscous.
October 13, 1492: Either we have landed on an island, or the Indies are much smaller than I have been led to believe. Around midday Perez, accompanied by four natives, came out of the trees, bearing something that the natives call “maiz.” Perez cooked some for dinner, and he is no longer angry about not having couscous.
October 14, 1492: All goes well. I have instructed Torres to draw a map of the world labeling this new land I have discovered “Columboland.” It is Manifest Destiny! None dare challenge me, Admiral of the Ocean Sea!
October 16, 1492: My new map has been stolen! I am keeping an eye on a seaman named Vespucci.