They
drew their own feather to them, promising evil knows what
freedom for rapine.
All the silver weather, golden weather, diamond weather
since we had left Gomera in the Canaries--how many ages
since!--now was changed. We had thought it would last
always, but now we entered the long season of great heat
and daily rain. At first we thought these rains momentary,
but day after day, week after week, with stifling heat, the
clouds gathered, broke, and came mighty rain that at last
ceased to be refreshing, became only wearying and hateful.
It did not cool us; we lived in a sultry gloom. And the
garrison of La Navidad became very quarrelsome. La Navidad
showed the Indians Europeans cursing one another,
giving blows, only held back by those around from rushing
at each other, stabbing and cutting. Finally they saw Tomaso
Passamonte kill one Jacamo. Diego de Arana hung Tomaso
Passamonte. But what were the Indians to think? Not
what they thought when first we came from the winged
canoes to their beaches.
The last of April fell the second sickness and it was far
worse than the first. Eleven men died, and we buried them.
When it passed we were twenty-five Spaniards in Hispaniola,
and we liked not the Indians as well as we had done, and
they liked not us. Oh, the pity--pity--pity, the pity and
the blame!
Guacanagari came to visit the commandant, none with
him but the butio Guarin, and desiring to speak with
Arana out of the company.
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