It was the third day of August, in the year fourteen hundred
and ninety-two.
CHAPTER X
PALOS vanished, we lost the headland of La Rabida, a
haze hid Spain. By nightfall all was behind us. We
were set forth from native land, set forth from Europe,
set forth from Christendom, set forth from sea company
and sailors' cheer of other ships. That last would not be
wholly true until we were gone from the Canaries, toward
which islands, running south, we now were headed. We
might hail some Spanish ship going to, coming from, Grand
Canary. We might indeed, before we reached these islands,
see other sails, for a rumor ran that the King of Portugal
was sending ships to intercept us, sink us and none ever be
the wiser, it not being to his interest that Spain should
make discoveries! Pedro it was who put this into my ear
as we hauled at the same rope. I laughed. "Here beginneth
the marvelous tale of this voyage! If all happens that all
say may happen, not the Pope's library can hold the books!"
The _Santa Maria_ was a good enough ship, though fifty
men crowded it. It was new and clean, a fair sailer, though
not so swift as the Pinta. We mariners settled ourselves
in waist and forecastle. The Admiral, Juan de la Cosa, the
master, Roderigo Sanchez, Diego de Arana and Roderigo
de Escobedo, Pedro Gutierrez, a private adventurer, the physician
Bernardo Nunez and Fray Ignatio had great cabin
and certain small sleeping cabins and poop deck.
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