Pedro Margarite--Roldan--over and over again!
After much of up and down those mutineers came back
to us. They could not do without us; they could not get to
Hispaniola in Indian canoes. The Admiral received them
fatherly.
No sail--no sail. Long months and no sail. Surely
Diego Mendez and Bartholomew Fiesco were drowned!
Hispaniola, if it thought of us at all, might think us now
by Ganges. Or as lost at sea.
Christopherus Columbus dreamed again, or had a vision
again. "I was hopeless. I wept alone on a desert shore.
My name had faded, and all that I had done was broken into
sand and swept away. I repined, and cried, `Why is it thus?'
Then came a ship not like ours, and One stepped from it
in light and thunder. `O man of little faith, I will cover
thy eyes of to-day!' He covered them, and I _saw_.-- And
now, Juan Lepe, I care not! We will all come Home,
whether or no the wave covers us here."
To mariners and adventurers he said at no time any word
of despair. He said, "A ship will come! For if--which
the saints forfend--Bartholomew Fiesco and Diego Mendez
have not reached San Domingo, yet come at last will some
craft to Jamaica! From our island or from Spain. How
many times since '92 has there been touching here? Of
need now it will be oftener and oftener!"
But still many pined with hope deferred.
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