Jamaica, we thanked all the saints, was a friendly land.
They brought us cassava and fruit, these Indians; they
swarmed about us in their canoes. The gods in trouble, yet
still the gods!
We were forty leagues from Hispaniola, and we had no
ship!
Again there volunteered Diego Mendez. We ourselves
had now but one Christian boat. But there existed canoes
a-plenty. Chose one, with six Indians to row! Leave Diego
Mendez with one other Spaniard of his choice to cross the
sea between us and Hispaniola, get to San Domingo, rouse
all Christian men, even Don Nicholas de Ovanda, procure
a large ship or two smaller ones, return with rescue!
We sent off Diego Mendez with strong farewells and
blessings. The vast blue sea and air withdrew and covered
from sight the canoe.
A week--two weeks. Grew out of the azure a single
canoe, and approached. "Diego Mendez--Diego Mendez!"
It was he alone, with a tale to tell of storm and putting
ashore and capture after battle by Jamaicans no longer
friendly, and of escape alone. But he would go again if
so be he might have with him Bartholomew Fiesco. They
went, with heavily paid Indians to row the staunchest canoe
we could find. This time the Adelantado with twenty kept
them company along the shore to end of the island, where
the canoe shot forth into clear sea, and the blue curtain
came down between the stranded and the going for help.
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