But the _Margarita_ was so lame! And all our
other ships wrenched and worm-pierced. And the Admiral
was growing old before our eyes. Not his mind or
his soul but his frame.
He bettered, left his bed and walked the deck. And then
we came to the coast we called the Golden Coast, and his
hope spread great wings again, and if our mariners talked
of magic it was for a time glistening white.
Gold, gold! A deep bay, thronged at the mouth with
islets so green and fair, they were marvel to us who were
sated with islands great and small. We entered under overhanging
trees, and out at once to us shot twenty canoes.
The Indians within wore gold in amount and purity far
beyond anything in ten years. Oh, our ships could scarce
contain their triumph! The Admiral looked a dreamer who
comes to the bliss center in his dream. Gold was ever to
him symbol and mystery. He did not look upon it as a
buyer of strife and envy, idleness and soft luxury; but as
a buyer of crusades, ships and ships, discoveries and discoveries,
and Christ to enter heathendom.
Gold! Discs of great size, half-moons, crescent moons,
pierced for a cotton string. Small golden beasts and birds,
poorly carved but golden. They traded freely; we gathered
gold. And there was more and more, they said, at Veragua,
wherever that might be, and south and east it seemed to be.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384