Beyond these slight aids, Christopher Columbus had to rely on an
imperfect knowledge of astronomy and on those practical observations of
wind and weather and water that he had made during his own voyages. Such
slender equipment, plus the tub-like little caravels, would not have
invited many men to try unknown waters, unless such men had
Christopher's blessed gifts of imagination and persistency.

At last the solemn hour has come to those quaking Palos souls. It is
early dawn of August 3, and a Friday at that! The _Santa Maria_ and
the _Pinta_ and the _Nina_ are moored out in the copper-
colored river, ready to go with the tide. Last night the last sack of
flour and the last barrel of wine came aboard; likewise, the last
straggler of the crew, for they must be ready for the early tide. It is
still quite dark, and on the shore all Palos appears to be running about
with lanterns. Friar Juan is there to wring the hands of the one-time
wanderer who came to his gate, and to assure him that one of the Rabida
monks will conduct Columbus's little son Diego safely to Cordova.
Columbus is rowed out to the largest ship. He gives the command and
those ashore hear the pulling up of anchors, the hoisting of sails, and
the cutting of moorings. Then the flags are raised--the Admiral's with a
great cross in the center--and down the murky Tinto go the three little
caravels with their unwilling, frightened, human freight. Those on shore
turn tearfully into church to pray; and those aboard watch the dim
outline of Palos fade away; by and by they notice that the reddish Tinto
has become the blue ocean sparkling in the early sunshine; but no
sparkle enters their timid souls. They can only keep looking longingly
backward till the last tawny rocks of Spain and Portugal are left
behind, and then there is nothing to do but sigh and mutter a dismal
prayer. But Christopher's prayer is one of thankfulness.