‘There is nothing so easy to misunderstand as the signs these Indians make,’ said the Admiral, kindly. ‘Believe me on that point; I have had sufficient experience to know.’
Rich remembered the Admiral’s early reports and their frequent mentions of the consequences of such misunderstandings, and yet he was sure that on this occasion there had been no misunderstanding.
‘Their gestures left me in no doubt,’ he said.
‘That is often enough the case, believe me. Could they have been referring to a fountain, perhaps? The fountain of youth-what did you say this river was called?’
‘Orinoco, Your Excellency.’
‘There were four rivers in Eden. Euphrates, Hiddekel, Pishon, and Gihon.’ The Admiral thought for a while; Rich could see the struggle in his face as he gave up the attempt to reconcile one of the last three names with ‘Orinoco.’ ‘No matter. These Indians often have several different names for their rivers. Let us hear more.’
Rich told of the oysters which grew upon trees.
‘Ah, that is the source of these pearls. Pliny has a passage on the subject. Did you notice any clinging with their shells open?’
‘No, Your Excellency.’
‘Pliny tells that oysters exposed by the tide open their shells to receive drops of dew from the skies, and then solidify these drops into pearls. It is natural to meet with confirmation here.’
Rich kept his mouth tight shut. He was not going to risk a further snub by advancing the further information given him by the Indians about the pearls. And then with a shock he realized that the Admiral was right. He remembered perfectly plainly now the passage in De Rerum Natura that dealt with the point. He certainly must have mistaken the Indians’ gestures in this case, at least. Pliny could not be wrong; Rich withdrew in horror from the brink of the abyss of free-thinking into which he had been about to plunge.
‘What is the matter, Don Narciso?’ asked the Admiral, politely. ‘You look unwell.’
‘Oh, no, Your Excellency, thank you,’ said Rich, hastily. Not for words would he confess to a proximity to heretical unbelief. ‘I am perfectly well.’
‘Then let us hear more.’
Rich told of the endless marshy channels, of the vampire bat, of their eventual recognition of the Isle of Grace as they emerged beside the Dragon’s Mouths.
‘So that between here and the Isle of Grace you think the channels impracticable for the squadron, then?’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’
That was one way of saying that he thought the Isle of Grace a peninsula jutting out from a vast continent, and it was one which saved argument. Besides, after the incident of Pliny and the pearls Rich was in a bewilderment of doubt again.
‘Then we shall have to risk the passage of the Dragon’s Mouths. We have no more time to spare at the moment-my presence is probably urgently needed in Espanola. We shall make the passage tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’
Rich had foreseen this development some time back-he was coming to know the Admiral so well and to anticipate his reactions. It was the Admiral’s way to touch lightly upon one subject of investigation and then dash on to the next, to formulate a theory and neglect the confirmation of it, to find the distant prospect always more alluring than the present-an extraordinary trait in a man with the obstinacy and firmness of character to pursue, as the Admiral had done, a single aim through eighteen early years of rebuffs and poverty. It was as if that effort had drained him of all his single-purposedness.
‘My brother, I hope, will have reduced the colony to order, and will have several shiploads of treasure awaiting us. As Adelantado I left him full powers.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’
Bartholomew Columbus was one of the few men whom the Admiral trusted-but these clannish Genoese could be, of course, expected to trust their brothers. And Bartholomew had sailed with Diaz to the Cape of Good Hope, and was generally reputed to be a man of parts. With the powers of Adelantado-deputy to the Viceroy--he certainly might by now have effected a change in the colony since the date of the last depressing reports; but Rich was aware that it would call for a man of vast ability and courage to enforce an orderly government on the adventurers and gaolbirds who had accompanied the Admiral to Espanola on his second voyage. He hoped it had been done.
‘If all is well in Espanola, Your Excellency,’ ventured Rich, ‘I hope you will consider it advisable to despatch a new expedition to explore these parts.’
‘I hope I shall,’ said the Admiral. ‘But there is so much to explore-there is so much to do.’
The Admiral sighed, and his heavy lids drooped over his blue eyes; the man was weary.
‘But here there is so much to discover,’ said Rich.
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed the Admiral with more animation; his face brightened as he spoke. ‘I have written it all in the report I am sending to Their Highnesses. The Earthly Paradise, the mines of Ophir, the Fountain of Youth-I am glad that you are with me, Don Narciso, to confirm me in all these matters.’
Rich had not the least intention of affirming to King Ferdinand the presence of any such phenomena in these parts; he wanted a great deal more evidence before he could do that, even though he knew that the counter theories at the back of his mind were ridiculous and dangerous enough to call for instant repression with nothing to replace them. But he had to swallow twice before his innate theory forced him to hint as much to the Admiral.
‘The gold and the pearls which you will send will be better evidence of the wealth of the country, perhaps, Your Excellency,’ he said, ‘and I am not geographer enough to venture an opinion on the other points.’
The straight deep line reappeared between the Admiral’s eyebrows at the suggestion of an opinion contrary to his own.
‘The ultimate exploration of this group of islands,’ he said finally, ‘will reveal many wonders. I should be accustomed by now to having my ideas mocked at by those unqualified to judge.’
‘At least, Your Excellency,’ pleaded Rich, ‘I am aware of my lack of qualification.’
For the first time in his life Rich was feeling sympathy towards heretics faced with a demand for a recantation. Someone, who should know, spoke of a group of islands where he considered lay a mass of land, and in the face of superior experience Rich could not help but cling to his own opinion, despite himself. Whether he would go to the stake for it or not Rich could not decide; certainly he would face a good deal of unpleasantness, and he was decidedly glad that it was a geographical point, and only distantly a theological one, which was at issue.’
‘Then you need not continue to weary me with argument,’ said the Admiral, dismissing him.
Rich went on deck again depressed and unhappy, to watch the sun descend slowly towards this unknown land-or islands.
A little group of canoes came stealing out to the squadron over the glassy waters of the Gulf of Paria; they were the usual cranky craft of which Rich had seen a good many specimens during the longboat’s voyage, mere strips of bark two or three feet wide. The two ends were tied into thin bundles and bent upwards, so as to accentuate the natural trough-like curve of the bark, thus making a boat which a venturesome boy might use on a millpond, but which would roll over at the first incentive and which buckled about, snake-like in its lack of rigidity, under the impulse of the paddles. Two or three such groups had already visited the squadron during the longboat’s absence, and the ships’ companies watched the approach of this one without excitement; Rich was too deeply sunk in his own thoughts to pay any attention at all.
It was Acevedo who raised him from his depression.
‘Don Narciso,’ he said, crossing the deck. ‘A friend of yours is hailing you.’
A small canoe was creeping alongside the ship, propelled slowly by the paddles of two boys, and in the middle a naked Indian half stood, half crouched on his precarious foothold.
‘Lish!’ he was calling. ‘Lish!’
He saw Rich’s h
ead and shoulders appear over the bulwark, and nearly capsized the canoe in the enthusiasm of his arm waving. It was Malale, the chief of the first village which Rich had visited here; he smiled wildly and stooped to seek something down by his feet as the boys brought the canoe to the ship’s side.
‘Perhaps it is a royal collar of gold and pearls which he has brought you,’ suggested Acevedo-someone was throwing a rope for Malale to climb into the waist.
The Indian swung himself up over the bulwarks; he blinked for a moment, like a man emerging into strong sunlight, at the proximity of all the massive wonders about him, but he had confidence in Rich and was still smiling with the pleasure of seeing him again.
‘No, it’s a parrot, by God,’ said Acevedo; perched on Malale’s hand was a big blood-red bird, which, as it moved, betrayed bewildering markings of a vivid blue-it was an extraordinary stimulating combination of colours.
Malale approached, talking volubly but deferentially; it was not hard to guess that he was employing formal phrases which for once had a real meaning. He stopped, and waited for Rich to speak.
‘I am delighted to see you again, Malale,’ said Rich. ‘I hope you are well.’
He might as well say that as anything else, and it was all true. Malale lifted the red parrot and offered it to Rich, and at the latter’s hesitation burst into voluble pleading; Rich held out his hand and Malale set the parrot upon it. Rich was about to utter formal thanks, but was checked by a new outburst of speech from Malale. He was chattering to the parrot, stroking its feathers and rubbing the back of its head, and the parrot contorted its neck and goggled up at Rich with beady eyes. Still Malale chattered and caressed; the parrot put its head on the other side and said something in reply-but evidently not the right thing, for Malale continued to address it, coaxingly. Suddenly the parrot seemed to realize what was expected of it.
‘Lish,’ it said, clearly and unmistakably. ‘Lish, Lish, Lish.’
Everybody laughed, and Malale stood by with modest pride while the parrot looked round the ring with its inhuman eyes and ruffled its blood-red feathers and repeated ‘Lish’ half a dozen more times before it trailed off again first into Indian speech and then into silence, with its long claws gripping Rich’s finger.
‘They must have started teaching the bird to say that the moment we left the village,’ commented Acevedo.
Rich did not need Acevedo’s friendly comment to call his attention to the forethought that contributed to the gift. He was inexpressibly moved by it-foolishly, he told himself-and he was surprised to find such a strong emotion in him, impeding his utterance and blurring his vision for a second or two. Not many people had ever made gifts to the learned Narciso Rich save in payment for his professional services. He found it hard to stammer his thanks, and it moved him still more to see Malale’s obvious delight in the pleasure he had given. The parrot flapped impotent wings and began to sidle along his sleeve with beak and claws.
‘Lish,’ it said, peering up at him.
Malale’s visit and the gift he bore drew some at least of the sting from out of the necessity of saying farewell to the Gulf of Paria.
12
They sailed next morning by the central channel of the Dragon’s Mouths. It was reassuring to see the drastic change which came over the Admiral when he was confronted with a problem in seamanship. He was no longer a touchy old gentleman rather set in his ideas; his very rheumatism seemed to leave him, and he paced the deck like a young man, his high clear voice as he called his orders to the captains of the caravels reaching easily across the intervening sea.
Rich stood beside him and watched the manoeuvre; there was a fascination about seeing the actual practice of an art with which he was theoretically well acquainted. Close-hauled, they reached to the southward-that was obviously to avoid the necessity of having to go about when they were at the point of entering the straits. Rich had to look up at the masthead, where the red-cross pennant napped, to make sure of the direction of the wind, but the Admiral was under no such necessity. Presumably he based his judgment on a whole host of trivial indications to which Rich was insensitive-the wind upon his cheek, the heel of the deck, the action of the sails and the general behaviour of the ship.
Osorio was out in the longboat at the entrance to the straits; he had to be allowed plenty of time to make the passage, because he had to sound carefully every yard of the way, lest there might be a hidden transverse reef which would allow the passage of the longboat and yet would rip the bottom out of the ships; when the latter came hurtling down with the wind on their quarter and the current behind them there would be no chance of changing their minds-and yet the longboat must be kept in sight for her signals to be seen. The Admiral gauged the force of the wind and measured the distance to the straits with a considering eye. He gave a quiet order to Carvajal and turned to hail the caravels again. Round came the Holy Name, her canvas napping and her rigging rattling while the crew scuttled round in the flurry of going about. She steadied on her new course, the caravels in her wake and her bows pointing to the passage. Far ahead the longboat danced in the turbulent race-they could see the flash of her oars as her crew strove to hold her on a steady course in the eddies.
They ran down towards the islands; a brief order from the Admiral corrected the course a trifle to allow for the leeway the clumsy ship was making and which was carrying her a trifle away from the exact centre of the passage. The lofty green hills of the north-western corner of Trinidad approached them nearer and nearer on their right hand-Rich guessed from the glances the Admiral darted at them that he was wondering what effect they would have on the wind as the ships came under their lee. The longboat was through-Osorio was standing in the sternsheets waving the white flag which indicated an absence of shoals. But the wind was growing fluky, thanks to the hills of Trinidad. Twice the sails flapped angrily; Carvajal was pulling at his beard and watching the man at the tiller. The steep-sided island that rose midway between Trinidad and the land of Paria was close upon them now; that, too, would have its effect on the wind. Rich saw the island swing round in relation to the foremast. Carvajal snapped angrily at the steersman and was answered with excuses-the dying wind was leaving the ship at the mercy of the eddies. But another puff came to steady her on her course, and the island was drawing up beside them.
Now they were through, and the longboat was waiting to come alongside. The wind, the eternal east wind, was blowing again here more freshly after an unimpeded course over three thousand miles of sea, and the long ocean swell was waiting for them-Rich felt the Holy Name’s bows lift to it, and heard its music, strangely welcome, under her stern. Behind them now lay Trinidad and Paria, the islands of the Dragon’s Mouths ringed with white where the swell burst against their feet. To his right hand, as he looked aft, Rich saw the green coast of Paria stretching until it was lost in the faint haze; whatever the Admiral might think, it was certainly a much larger country than Trinidad.
But curiously enough, that question was not so urgent in Rich’s mind now. An hour ago his memories of Paria had been sharp and distinct-Malale, and the rivers, and the caimans, and the myriad fireflies at night, and the croaking frogs, but now they were already vague. Ahead lay the open sea, and beyond it, Espanola. The lift and surge of the Holy Name, the fresh wind, the prospect of a new voyage-all these things distracted him. The relief from tension after the passage of the Dragon’s Mouths helped as well. Rich found himself all a-bubble with pleasurable anticipation, and for the life of him he could not tell why. Bernardo de Tarpia’s crossbowmen seemed to have caught the infection; they were strutting a measure on the foredeck to the rhythmical thumping of a tambourine, while Antonio Spallanzani looked on smiling, his lute across his knees.
The Admiral was giving the man at the tiller a new course to steer, and that recalled Rich a little to reality. He wondered by what process the Admiral had reached his conclusions as to the correct course. Espanola lay at least two hundred leagues away, and he was approaching it from
a point as to whose exact whereabouts (Rich knew only too well) the Admiral could be none too certain. Even the compass was no longer the steadfast friend which they knew in the Mediterranean-in these waters it pointed for some unknown reason a little east of north instead of west of north, and allowance would have to be made for its variation, even though that variation were unknown. Vaguely-very vaguely-they knew their distance from Spain, and the distance of Espanola from Spain. Within ten leagues or so they knew the distance of each point from the equinoctial line, but all that gave only small data for a calculation as to the direction of the one from the other. And in these waters they had already had proof of the existence of currents which might confound all calculations, and even when the calculations were made and the currents allowed for there was still the variation of the compass; all this in addition to the normal mariners’ problems of leeway and drift-and in the dark hours, in these unknown seas, they would have to lie-to for fear of shoals, thus doubling the effect of the currents and of their leeway.
‘I shall spend the rest of today, Don Narciso,’ explained the Admiral, ‘in examining the northern coast of this island of Panamas you say it is called. But it would be inadvisable for us to proceed westward after that-it would carry us too far to leeward of our destination. Tomorrow we shall head for San Domingo; I think that will be the best point in Espanola to make for.’
‘Whatever Your Excellency decides,’ said Rich.
He would be quite content if they reached Espanola at all, without any conditions as to which bay or inlet they should sight first. He could well imagine themselves lost altogether when they left Paria and headed northwestward in search of Espanola across an uncharted ocean. They might blunder about for days-for weeks-seeking the island; provisions and water might fail; disease might break out among them even if they struck no reef or shoal. He certainly did not share the Admiral’s bland confidence regarding what landfall they would make, and he felt a great deal more sober now than half an hour ago when they had passed through the Dragon’s Mouths. The antics of the dancers on the forecastle were not at all to his taste.
The Earthly Paradise Page 12