West
and west and west, pushed by that wind! Late September,
and we had left Palos the third of August.
The wind shifted and became contrary. The sea that
for so long had been glassy smooth took on a roughness.
A bird that was surely a forest bird beaten to us perched
upon a stretched rope and uttered three quick cries. A
boy climbed and softly took it from behind. It fluttered in
the Admiral's two hands. All came to look. Its plumage
was blue, its breast reddish. We wondered, but before we
could make it a cage, it strongly strove and was gone. One
flash and all the azure took it to itself.
In the night the waves flattened. Rose-dawn showed
smooth sea and every sail filled again with that westward
journeying wind. Yesterday's roughness and the bird tossed
aboard were as a dream.
A day and a day and a day. As much Ocean-Sea as ever,
and Asia a lie, and alike at this end and that of the
vessel a dull despondency, and Pedro Gutierrez's wit grown
ugly. So naked, so lonely, so indifferent spread the Sea
of Darkness!
Another day and another and another. When half the
ship was at the point of mutiny signs reappeared and thickened.
Birds flew over the ships; one perched beside the
Admiral's banner and sang. More than that, a wood dove
came upon the deck and ate corn that was strewed for it.
"Colombo--Colombo!" quoth the Admiral.
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