VERY beautiful, indeed, are those islands which the ancients had called
the Fortunate, but which in Diego’s day were known as the Canaries.
Some of them rise sheer and rugged almost from the water’s edge, others
are mere rocky islets, and others again are like rounded hills; but
with very few exceptions they are all verdure-clad at the base, and
smile with cultivation far up the steep sides.
To the sailors of the little fleet, turned aside, as they deemed, from
certain destruction, the islands seemed a thousand times more beautiful
even than in fact they were, and there is little to wonder at if all of
them cherished a hope that the voyage would end there.
It was for the admiral, Christoval Colon, to feel a foreboding sorrow
at the sight of the lovely islands. He could depend upon the commanders
of the vessels and upon some of the volunteer adventurers; but he knew
as well as if the sailors had spoken their minds to him that they
hailed the land with the sole hope of finding a refuge there from the
terrible voyage.
For that reason he had held counsel with his allies and had adopted
plans to the end of thwarting any effort, open or secret, that might be
made by the sailors. Therefore it happened that, although the little
fleet sailed among the islands for three weeks, there never once came
an opportunity which gave Miguel and his friends an occasion to put
their carefully laid plans in operation.
For the first week they went from island to island, seeking a
vessel which should take the place of the _Pinta_; but it was soon
demonstrated that none could be procured, and then Martin Alonzo said
plainly to the admiral that it was his opinion that it would be wisest
to settle down to repairing the rudder and calking the ship, the latter
being very leaky, owing to the intentionally faulty work of the men
employed in Palos.
“But you will be obliged to lay up, then, and your men may desert,”
said the admiral, who had no other fault to find with the plan.
“Not so,” answered Martin Alonzo, grimly; “for I will keep them all
hard at work, and I will shoot the first man who tries to run away.”
The _Niña_, too, had to be repaired; for she was a bad sailer and kept
the other two vessels back; so it was determined to change her lateen
sails to square ones. But she did not have to lay up for that; it being
sufficient if she lay at anchor in smooth water. All this having been
determined on, Martin Alonzo called his men aft and said to them:
“As you very well know, my men, the _Pinta_ is unseaworthy by reason of
her broken rudder and her leaky hull. We have tried to find a vessel to
replace her, and have not been able to do so. Now, we must careen her
and put her in order.”
With that he stopped and looked slowly over the faces of the men, and
then added with a peculiar smile, and the placing of his feet a little
wider apart, as if settling himself more squarely and determinedly:
“I see that many of you have hopes of deserting. Well, I shall shoot
the first man of you who tries to do that. My men, we are going this
voyage.”
He laughed like a man who had checkmated another, and there was a
sheepish exchanging of glances when he had retired to the cabin. Only
a few of the sailors laughed, and they did so not because they had any
greater relish for the voyage than the others, but because they thought
it very shrewd and masterful in Captain Martin Alonzo, whom they
admired more than any man.
[Illustration: “‘I SHALL SHOOT THE FIRST MAN OF YOU WHO TRIES TO
DESERT.’”]
As for Diego, he marvelled to see how one strong-willed man could
constrain so many; for, though a guard was put over the men as they
worked, it was plain enough that if there had been any real concert
among them they could have overpowered the guard and made their escape.
However, nothing was done in that direction, notwithstanding many
urgent entreaties on the part of Miguel; and so the time came when the
_Pinta_ was ready to set sail with the other vessels, and still Miguel
had neither saved Juan from going the voyage, nor had he given him his
satisfaction on Diego, as he had promised so glibly.
All three vessels repaired to the Island of Gomera, where the water was
famous for its purity and quantity, and where wood for the fires was
to be obtained. And it was there that some things happened that were
fraught with interest to Diego and Juan personally, and to the voyage
as well.
The _Santa Maria_ and the _Niña_ reached the island before the _Pinta_,
and were the first to be through with taking in the wood and water; so
that Martin Alonzo, who never liked to be behindhand, did all he could
to hasten his operations. He had but one more load of water to take
off, and, in order to shorten the time occupied with that, he hit upon
the plan of leaving two, whom he could trust, to fill the casks that
were still empty, while he went with the other men to the vessel. He
cast his eye over the men doubtfully, and then called Diego and Juan to
him.
“I wish somebody to fill these casks while we are gone,” he said. “You
two boys will do as well as two men, if you will.”
“I will,” answered Diego, and Juan said the same.
“And you give me your word, each of you, not to try to desert?”
There were two vessels on the other side of the island that would have
helped the whole crew desert if there had been the chance.
“I give my word,” said Diego.
“And I give mine,” said Juan, whereat Diego made no concealment of the
disdainful curl of his lip, as if the word of Juan was not worth the
taking.
The dislike of the boys for each other had only grown during all the
period of the stay among the islands; for Miguel had carefully fanned
the flame in Juan and set him constantly in an attitude of defiance to
Diego, and Diego had been ready to construe the most innocent glance of
the eye or turn of the hand into an insult.
Juan said nothing at first, but set to at his cask, unconsciously
letting his anger urge him into such rapid movement that he spilled as
much as he put in. Diego noticed it and laughed in a very unpleasant
fashion. Juan stopped suddenly and fixed his eyes on Diego.
“Some day I will make you laugh on the other side of your face,” he
said.
“Some day?” sneered Diego. “Why not to-day?”
Juan looked at the boat, which was now near the vessel, and threw down
his bucket.
“I am ready now.”
Diego laughed provokingly and went on bailing.
“You count on the crew seeing us and coming to stop the beating I
should give you,” he said.
“And you are a coward and don’t dare fight,” said Juan, in a furious
temper.
“Will you wait,” said Diego, all of a tremble from anger, but wishing
to seem greatly at ease, “until these casks are full? Then we can
safely go into the wood yonder and have it out.”
“You hope they will come back before we have the casks filled,” sneered
Juan, though he did not believe a word of it.
“I’ll show you if I’m a coward,” said Diego. “At any rate, I would not
let another suffer for a thing I had done.”
That was the last word, for Juan was too proud to tell Diego, now, that
he had tried to save him from the flogging. It is quite likely that no
two boys ever filled casks with such expedition as those two did. Each
was anxious to finish first in order to taunt the other with cowardice.
It was Diego’s luck to be first, but Juan robbed him of the joy of a
fling at him by tossing his last bucketful into the last cask before
even ready-tongued Diego could say anything. He led the way to the
woods, however, and that was something.
Very little of the modern science of self-defence was known in those
days. If men fought, they did so with swords or other similar weapons.
The knives which the boys, in common with all the sailors, wore on
shipboard had been taken away by Martin Alonzo, not to be returned
until the vessel was fairly at sea again, and in consequence the two
enemies were forced to fight as best they could.
[Illustration: “NO TWO BOYS EVER FILLED CASKS WITH SUCH EXPEDITION AS
THOSE TWO DID.”]
Diego had made up his mind to this, and led the way to where there was
a sufficiently large open space to give them room for a struggle. There
he turned and faced about, putting himself on guard. That is, he stood
warily watching Juan, who had stopped when Diego stopped, and then had
taken two steps forward until he was at a little more than arm’s-length
from him.
There might have been a considerable difference between the two boys at
the time when they first went aboard the _Pinta_; for Diego was then
fresh from good living and plenty of open-air exercise, while Juan
was but just out of a prison where he had grown sallow and thin with
confinement, scant food, and bad air. Now, however, he was of a good
color, and he had grown robust and strong.