The third day from the town we came to the sea and the
ships. All seemed well. Our companions had felt the
storm, had tales to tell of wrenched anchors and the _Pinta's_
boat beat almost to pieces, uprooted trees, wind, lightning,
thunder and rain. But they cut short their recital, wishing
to know what we had found.
Luis and I made report to the Admiral. He sat under a
huge tree and around gathered the Pinzons, Fray Ignatio,
Diego de Arana, Roderigo Sanchez and others. We related;
they questioned, we answered; there was discussion; the
Admiral summed up.
But later I spoke to him alone. We were now on ship,
making ready for sailing. We would go eastward, around
this point of Asia, since from what all said it must be
point, and see what was upon the other side. "They all
gesture south! They say `Babeque--Babeque! Bohio!' "
I asked him, "Why is it that these Indians here seem glad
for us to go?"
He sighed impatiently, drawing one hand through the
other, with him a recurring gesture. "It is the women!
Certain of our men--" I saw him look at Gutierrez who
passed.
"Tomaso Passamonte, too," I said.
"Yes. And others. It is the old woe! Now they have
only to kill a man!"
He arraigned short-sightedness. I said, "But still we are
from heaven?"
"Still. But some of the gods--just five or six, say--
have fearful ways!" He laughed, sorrowfully and angrily.
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