We were
Andalusians, but the heat drained us. But we held, we fourteen
men. Arana did well at La Navidad. We all did
what we could to live like true not false Castilians, true not
false Christians. And I name Beltran the cook as hero and
mighty encourager of hearts.
We went back and forth between La Navidad and Guarico,
for though the Admiral had left us a store of food we got
from them fruit and maize and cassava. They were all
friendly again, for the fourteen withheld themselves from
excess. Nor did we quarrel among ourselves and show
them European weakness.
Guacanagari remained a big, easy, somewhat slothful,
friendly barbarian, a child in much, but brave enough when
roused and not without common sense. He had an itch for
marvels, loved to hear tales of our world that for all one
could say remained to them witchcraft and cloudland, world
above their world! What could they, who had no great
beasts, make of tales of horsemen? What could their huts
know of palace and tower and cathedral, their swimmers of
stone bridges, their canoes of a thousand ships greater far
than the_ Santa Maria_ and the _Nina_? What could Guarico
know of Seville? In some slight wise they practiced barter,
but huge markets and fairs to which traveled from all quarters
and afar merchants and buyers went with the tales of
horsemen.
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