The caravels come about

August 1492. Three ships out of Palos cross the Ocean Sea westward for Cristóbal Colón, who is certain that Asia lies only weeks beyond the sunset. The flagship Santa María is a heavy nao. With her run the caravels Pinta and Niña, lean and quick. For a month the northeast trade wind pushes them on, the same wind astern each dawn. By the ninth of October they are far past any landfall Colón had promised, and the crews are near revolt. He keeps two logs, a true one and a shorter one for the men. By the common account he strikes a bargain: two or three days more, and if no land shows, the fleet turns for home. On the night of the eleventh he swears he sees a light in the west, a small wax candle rising and falling.

In the timeline recorded here, the light leads to nothing. The hour that would have carried the cry of land passes in silence. The third dawn breaks on the same unbroken water, west to the edge of the world. Colón keeps his word. The helms go over, the yards swing round, and the caravels come about for Spain with the risen sun on their sterns.