We left Cuba that still we thought was
the main. Santiago or Jamaica rose before us, dark blue
mountains out of the dark blue sea. For one month we
coasted this island, for always the weather beat us back
when we would quit it, setting our sails for Hispaniola.
We came to Hayti upon the southern side, and because
of some misreckoning failed of knowing that it was Hayti,
until an Indian in a canoe below us, called loudly "El Almirante!"
And yet Isabella was the thickness of the island
from us, and the weather becoming foul, we beat about
for long days, struggling eastward and pushed back, and
again parting upon a stormy night one ship from the others.
The _Cordera_ anchored by a tall, rocky islet and rode out the
storm. Here, when it was calm, we went ashore, but found
no man, only an unreckonable number of pigeons. The
Admiral lay on clean, warm sand and rested with his eyes
shut. I was glad we were nigh to Isabella and his house
there, for I did not think him well. He sat up, embracing
his great knees and looking at the sea and the _Cordera_.
"I have been thinking, Doctor."
"For your health, my Admiral, I wish you could rest a
while from thinking!"
"We were upon the south side of Mangi. I am assured
of that! Could I, this time, have sailed on--Now I see
it!"
He dropped his hands from his knees and turned full
toward me.
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