Here
at least was our ship with us, and the river that bore to
the sea. Here, for the weather was ferocious and Quibian
howling around us, we built what shelter we might. Here
in much misery we waited days for the long and wild storm
to cease. We hoped the Admiral was yet at the mouth of
the Bethlehem, but could not do more than hope.
Then came through every peril that might be Pedro Ledesma,
from the ships. They waited! Break through--
come down!
The _Margarita_ could never pass the bar that now the falling
water left exposed. We made rafts, we dismantled her
and took what we could; we left her in Veragua for Quibian
to walk her deck and sail her if he might. Through danger
in multitude, with our rafts and two boats, with the loss
of six men, we went down the Bethlehem. Some of ours
wept when they saw the ships, and the Admiral wept when
he and the Adelantado met.
Away from Veragua!
Is it only the Spaniards who suffer, and for what at the
last, not at the first, did Quibian fight? In that strong raid
when we thought Quibian perished had been taken captive
brothers and kinsmen of that cacique. These were prisoned
upon the _Juana_, to be taken to Spain, shown, made Christian,
perhaps sold, perhaps--who knows?--returned to
their land, but never to freedom.
While the _Juana_ tossed where Bethlehem met the sea,
these Indians broke in the night time up through hatchway
and made for the side to throw themselves over.
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