We were looking in these lands
upon the bud which elsewhere we knew in the flower. That
to Juan Lepe seemed the difference between them and us.
The people swarmed out upon us. When the first admiration
was somewhat over, when Diego Colon and the two
seaside men and the Cubans of the burning sticks had made
explanation, we were swept with them into their public
square and to a hut much larger than common where we
found a stately Indian, the cacique, and an ancient wrinkled
man, the _butio_. These met us with their own assumption
of something like godship. They had no lack of manner,
and Luis and I had the Castilian to draw upon. Then came
presents and Diego Colon interpreting. But as for the
Admiral's letter, though I showed it, it was not understood.
It was gazed upon and touched, considered a heavenly
rarity like the hawk bells we gave them, but not read nor
tried to be read. The writing upon it was the natural
veining of some most strange leaf that grew in heaven, or
it was the pattern miraculously woven by a miraculous
workman with thread miraculously finer than their cotton!
It was strange that they should have no notion at all--not
even their chieftains and priests--of writing! Any part
of Asia, however withdrawn, surely should have tradition
there, if not practice!
In this hut or lodge, doored but not windowed, we found
a kind of table and seats fashioned from blocks of some
dark wood rudely carved and polished.
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