“The pearls we have already obtained on this voyage,” remarked the Admiral, “are nearly sufficient to repay the cost of the expedition. There will be much profit.”
“Let us hope so,” said Rich.
He felt himself to be friendless and desolate; he had incurred the hatred of García and Tarpia, which meant that his very life was in danger. He did not dare to risk antagonizing the Admiral as well with untimely criticism. No one would trouble much about the fate of a wretched lawyer, not even Their Highnesses across thousands of miles of sea. He was very sorry he had come.
“And I expect,” went on the Admiral, “that when we reach Española we shall find a shipload of gold awaiting us there. I made arrangements for its collection. The royal fifth should be a large sum. So should my eighth and tenths.”
That absurd agreement gave Their Highnesses a fifth of all treasure; but to the Admiral it gave a tenth of everything shipped home, not merely of treasure, but of merchandise or spices. Besides that he could claim an eighth share of the gross profit, and an additional one-tenth share of the net profit, of each individual expedition that sailed from Spain. Moreover, the agreement itself made the Admiral the judge as to what was or was not merchandise, and what was or was not profit; it made him Admiral and Viceroy with the right to nominate all his officers; lastly, it empowered him to leave by will all these varied privileges and powers in perpetuity to whomsoever he should think proper. It occurred to Rich that perhaps it was as well for Spain that the Admiral was not the ruthless leader of men Rich would have liked him to be five minutes back. Such a man could make himself greater than Their Highnesses themselves. If the choice lay between anarchy and independence he would have to choose anarchy for the Admiral’s empire.
The consideration had made him forget his own misery for the moment. Outside the cabin awaited him the hatred of the men he feared; he felt like a tale-telling schoolboy, safe for an instant with his teacher, but doomed sooner or later to have to face the resentment of his fellows. He yearned to stay a little longer here in the light and safety. Why, oh why had he ever allowed his restless curiosity to carry him off on that infernal expedition in the longboat?
Antonio Spallanzani came into the cabin and broke the chain of Rich’s thoughts.
“Ah, you are in time to lock these away,” said the Admiral in his native Italian, handing over the armlets, and then in Castilian, “Thank you, Don Narciso.”
There was nothing for it now but to leave. Rich took a deep breath as he set his hand to the door, for he was by nature a timorous man. Then he passed out into the darkness of the after deck, under the break of the poop. The inky blackness here, even after the dim light of the cabin, left him blind for a second or two. Somebody brushed against him, and he jumped with nervousness, and then breathed with relief as he heard Rodrigo Acevedo’s voice.
“Who is that?” asked Acevedo.
“It is I,” said Rich, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice
“Don Narciso? Our two companions of today have been here breathing fire and murder against you.”
Acevedo’s voice was pitched low, and Rich whispered when he replied.
“Where — where are they now?”
“Over on that side, talking with Moret and the others.”
The night was warm, but to Rich the sweat that beaded his face was cold.
“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Rich, pathetically, and was promptly startled by hearing Acevedo suddenly start speaking in a normal tone, loud enough to be heard by the dark mass of figures on the far side of the ship.
“Oh no, Don Narciso,” said Acevedo, speaking with a distinctness which was agony at first to Rich. “You can hardly do that. I feel for you, and sympathize with you. But you ought to know the rules of shipboard life if anyone on board does.”
“What do you mean?” whispered Rich.
“Brawling on board is terribly punished. The hand that draws a weapon is nailed by it to the mast, and remains nailed there until the owner tears himself free. If you were to kill him, you would be tied to his dead body and thrown overboard.”
“Oh, not so loud, not so loud,” whispered Rich, wringing his hands, but Acevedo continued quite calmly.
“So all I can advise is that you swallow your resentment, at least for a time — although I quite appreciate how unpleasant it is for you. Diego de Arana of Cordoba is alguazil mayor — master-at-arms — on board here, and you know his reputation. He holds his commission direct from the crown.”
“But why . . .?” began Rich, still too stupid with fright to see the trend of what Acevedo was saying.
“He’d stick at nothing,” continued Acevedo. “Gentle or simple, seaman or hidalgo — it’s all one to him. At the first sound of steel he’d be upon you with his chains and his fetters. Twenty stinking seamen would throw you into the hold, and next morning we’d see you nailed up. You’d never hold a sword again, and I for one would be sorry for that.”
“So would I,” said Rich, taking his cue at last.
“By God!” said Acevedo, striking one fist into the other. “Do you remember disarming that swashbuckling lout that night outside the Santo Spirito in Florence? If I’d been in your place I should have killed him — he deserved it. With his French swordplay and all, behaving like a boor because he thought he was the best fencer in Florence! Holy Mary, the look on his face as his sword fell on the ground!”
Acevedo laughed, lightly and reminiscently.
“That was ninety-two, wasn’t it? Or was it ninety-three?” said Rich, desperately trying to heap on the local color, and feeling a fearful joy in doing so.
“It was my second visit, anyway. But as I was saying, we can have nothing like that on board here, Don Narciso. No point of honor can be satisfied if the successful combatant is liable to execution. All courts of heralds are agreed upon that. Any offense given must be passed over in those circumstances — the dishonor is confined to the man who offers the offense.”
“Yes,” said Rich, remembering the frequent teasing he had undergone at the hands of his bedmates of the ’tween-decks. “Yes. I knew that. It was only because I was so angry this evening that I had forgotten it.”
Don Rodrigo yawned elaborately.
“Well,” he said, “I for one am sleepy. There is little enough to do — shall we go to bed? Or are you still too wrought-up to sleep?”
“Oh,” said Rich, “I think we might as well.”
Perhaps Acevedo sensed the intoxication which Rich felt at that moment, and appreciated the danger of his saying a word too many which might spoil the whole effect so elaborately built up. He slipped his hand under Rich’s elbow and guided him firmly to the companionway. As they fumbled their way in the darkness the silence which had overlain the shadowy group against the opposite bulwark was broken by a thin nervous cough.
Rich stripped to his shirt in the cramped ’tween-decks in a wild exultation, hardly knowing what he was doing. The reaction from his earlier terror was profound. He began a jocular remark to Acevedo at the farther end of the tier of chests, but the almost invisible figure there made no reply and offered no encouragement to conversation, so that Rich realized that in a ship anything he said might be overheard, if he did not desire it as much as if he did. One of the philosophers had said, “I have often regretted having spoken, but I have never regretted holding my tongue.” Rich remembered the saying, and got himself into bed with no more speech.
Of course he was not yet asleep when the rest of the party came into the ’tween-decks and prepared for bed, groping about in the puzzling light of the single evil-smelling tallow dip. Don Cristobal García came to his bed beside him, and Rich would not even feign sleep, only sleepiness, opening his eyes and then closing them again as if the sight of García was not enough to discompose him. And García, crouching under the deck-beams as he undressed, was much more careful than usual not to discommode his neighbor.
That may have been, decided Rich thinking tumultuously, because
of his new reputation as a swordsman. Or it may have been because García now realized that any squabble might end in disaster for both of them. Or just conceivably he might have taken to heart Acevedo’s remark that it was ungentlemanly to offer provocation without the chance of satisfaction. Or it might be because García was in a sober mood. Or it might be just coincidence. In any case, it seemed a lifetime since, some fifteen hours ago, they had first sighted the Serpent’s Mouth. Rich’s agitated mind began to turn over afresh all the numerous occurrences since then, from the moment of sighting the Island of Grace to that of García’s retirement to bed.
Chapter 7
There was a very marked northerly current along this western shore of Trinidad. Hove-to during the night, the squadron was carried steadily northwards, until at last the late-rising moon had revealed such looming masses of land ahead that the Admiral had been roused, and the sleeping men on board had been awakened by the bustle and noise of letting go the anchors. Now, at dawn, everyone could see more clearly what lay ahead. There were several small steep-sided islands in a chain across their course, with narrow passages between, over which soared and wheeled innumerable sea birds. The Admiral beside the taffrail was studying the sea on their quarter towards these passages — Rich was still landsman enough to feel a slight shock at the realization that in an anchored ship one does not necessarily look ahead to examine the course one intends to pursue.
“More dangerous passages, Don Narciso,” announced the Admiral, “There are currents and eddies there as bad as the Serpent’s Mouth yesterday. These channels are narrower, and more dangerous. The Mouths of the Dragon, do you think?”
They both smiled as they remembered their conversation of yesterday.
“A very appropriate name, Your Excellency,” said Rich.
“I am not justified in risking the passage,” announced the Admiral. “I intend heading westward along this chain of islands until we find an easier one.”
“It is not for me to discuss questions of navigation with Your Excellency,” said Rich in perfect sincerity; the Admiral was the best practical seaman the world could show.
Orders were bellowed back and forth from the ship to the caravels; men set to work at the capstan while others loosened the sails.
“It is better if we head westward in any case,” went on the Admiral, turning back to Rich from the business of getting the squadron under way. “It cannot be far to the west of here that the Earthly Paradise is to be found. I am convinced of it — the air blows fresher and purer with every league.”
“I had not noticed it, Your Excellency,” said Rich boldly.
“You are insensitive, and you have not had my experience of this climate. And besides, you were present when Alamo discovered bitumen in the island, weren’t you? He told me that there was obviously some undiscovered central source of bitumen in Trinidad. The analogy with the Dead Sea is very close. The Euphrates — only across the desert from the Dead Sea — was one of the four rivers of Eden, and not even the most learned fathers of the Church have been able to identify the other three. They have remained unknown for as long as all our knowledge was derived from the westward. Now we are approaching from the east, and shall solve the mystery.”
“But between us and the Euphrates must lie all India, and the Spice Islands, and the empire of the Great Khan, Your Excellency,” protested Rich, bewildered.
“Undoubtedly they must lie to the northward,” admitted the Admiral. “It would be hard to reconcile the theory with that of a perfectly spherical earth. But remember what I suggested to you before, and assume that in this quarter of the world the sphere is prolonged into a pear-shaped extension. That would then allow room enough to the northward for Asia, and at the same time account for the balminess of this air, and for the fierce ocean currents here — probably, when our knowledge is more advanced, for the existence of sources of bitumen on either side of Eden, and for the steep-sided shape of those islands there.”
“I see, Your Excellency,” said Rich.
The theory was a difficult one, but no more difficult than that of an earth which was not flat, nor than the postulate of the existence of antipodes, and the Admiral and the Portuguese had between them established these firmly enough. Rich began to feel a new excitement at the thought of fresh discoveries and began restlessly to pace the deck, exchanging a courteous formal bow with García as he did so. After García’s deeds of yesterday Rich wondered what men of that stamp would be guilty of in the Earthly Paradise, and at the same moment he found himself wondering heretically whether perhaps the Earthly Paradise had not already been discovered, and whether those laughing hospitable folk who entertained them were not dwellers in it, pagans though they were. The thought struck him with sadness, and he turned again to look at the land.
They left the islands of the Dragon’s Mouths to starboard, and crept slowly before the wind on a westerly course. The northwestern corner of Trinidad, which they were leaving behind them, had been steeper and loftier than the central part where they had landed yesterday, and this chain of islands appeared to be a continuation of the ridge. The last island of the chain in sight was not quite so bold in outline, but as they drew up to it Rich could see that it was steep enough, all the same, and as wooded and green as the others. Slowly they coasted along it, but it was a good deal bigger than the rest of the chain. Rich could see no end to it as he looked along its green flank.
Throughout the ship there was a bustle and an interest in what they were discovering, oddly at variance with the comparative apathy of yesterday. Rich told himself that the enthusiasms of men in a mass ebbed and flowed like the tides of the ocean. They ate their food today with one eye over the ship’s side; they stayed voluntarily exposed to the two tremendous rainstorms which swept down on them from Trinidad. Even the hidalgos were interested, talking freely and imperiling their dignity with their pointings and gesticulations. The lookout at the masthead announced land right ahead, across their course — low green hills again. With land to the west of them now, as well as land to the north and land to the east, and the water shoaling fast, the Admiral ordered a southerly course in his determination to circle round this large island. He had ordered a chair to be brought up to the poop, and sat there with his white beard fluttering and Perez and Spallanzani at his elbow. He feared lest his squadron might be embayed here, where the wind blew always from the east, and it was well before sunset that, as the sea grew shallower and the land ahead was seen to trend farther and farther to the southward, he ordered the anchors to be let go.
“I shall send the longboat tomorrow, Don Narciso,” he announced, “to discover if there is a passage ahead or to the southward. Would you care for another jaunt?”
“I am no seaman, Your Excellency,” said Rich, taken a little aback. He had not been ready for this question.
“There will be seamen with you to take the soundings and set the course,” said the Admiral. “I would go myself, but, as, you see . . .”
With a gesture the Admiral indicated his rheumaticky joints. There was a hurt, pleading look in his eyes. Rich had won his trust, and there were few enough people on earth whom the Admiral trusted. Ever since Pinzón had deserted him on his first historic voyage of discovery, and set out to discover new countries for himself, he had been cautious about dispatching expeditions which could make themselves independent. It was dangerous — in his view, at least — to delegate authority either to turbulent and needy hidalgos or to adventurous captains. Rich might be an agent of the King and Queen, but he was an honest one; he could be trusted not to plunder the inhabitants and — more important — not to conceal treasure, not to go off on expeditions of his own nor (the Admiral’s suspicions were unbounded) to bring back false information which might wreck the whole voyage.
“It would please me very much if you would go, Don Narciso,” said the Admiral. Several hidalgos were listening.
“I will come and pull an oar,” said Rodrigo Acevedo.
“I, too,”
said his brother.
There was a little ripple of volunteering round the circle. A respite from the cramped conditions of the ship, the chance of fresh food and new sights, the possibility of finding women and pearls and gold — they were all willing to come for the sake of these. They all eyed Rich, with his new reputation as a bold fighting man, and for the sake of that reputation he could not refuse.
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” he said. “I shall much appreciate the honor.”
Five seconds later García was addressing him as privately as a crowded ship permitted.
“May I be one of the party?” he asked.
Their eyes met — the burly young hidalgo with his bristling beard and his shabby flaunting clothes, and the stout little lawyer with the sharp eye belied by the unobtrusive manner. It was strange for the one to be asking a favor of the other, and yet he undoubtedly was.
“There are others who have not been ashore at all,” Rich temporized.
“Yes,” answered García, with a placatory grin, “but I should like to go again.”
To the Indies Page 8