THE slight breeze that filled the sails of the fleet on leaving Gomera
had died away during the night into a dead calm; so that when Juan and
Diego came on deck in the morning they saw the islands still within a
short distance of them.
Diego leaned over the rail and pretended to look at the green shores,
while in fact he was uneasily watching Juan. And Juan, while pretending
to be quite easy in his mind, was, in truth, as far as possible from
that state. At one moment he blamed Diego for the singular scruples
about fighting that had forced him into so uncomfortable a position,
and the next moment he was upbraiding himself for his lack of courage
in not going at once to Martin Alonzo, who was pacing the poop in a
most inviting way.
There is no saying how long he might have gone on worrying himself in
this fashion had not Martin Alonzo, perhaps in default of anything else
to do, beckoned him to come up. Juan took a deep breath and went. Diego
drew a deep breath also, and watched the two out of the corner of his
eye. Miguel watched too.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, eying Juan with no great favor, “you and
Diego beguiled the time yesterday by fighting. And I had forbidden it.”
“You had forbidden it on board ship,” answered Juan.
“What!” cried Martin Alonzo, with a grimace, “have you the gift of
language, too, and can hold an argument?”
“I did but justify myself,” answered Juan, sensitive to anything like
injustice.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, shortly. “Well, tell me, then, was it a fair
fight? It seemed to me strange, indeed, to see such a fighting-cock as
Diego yonder coming out of the wood only half-whipped, and yet with
no fight left in him. Construe me that, since you have the gift of
language; for it was more than Diego would do.”
Juan shifted uneasily from one foot to another, looked sidewise at
Diego, glanced over at the islands, and then traced some pattern on the
deck with his foot.
“Well-a-mercy!” exclaimed Martin Alonzo, impatiently, “if there be not
more mystery over this puppy fight than over a great battle! What is
there in this that ties your two tongues? Come, speak out, boy!”
“Why,” answered Juan, almost as impatiently as the captain, “I don’t
half understand it myself. That is--well, I know why he would not fight
any more; though his nice points of honor are beyond me. But I am only
a jail-bird,” he added, sullenly.
“Tut, tut!” said Martin Alonzo, with a touch of sympathy showing
through his impatience. “I have not said so, and I shall forget where
you came from, so you behave yourself. Why would Diego fight no more?”
“Well, it was like this,” said Juan, plunging into it, since there
seemed no escape from it; “at first he had the best of it, and gave me
this eye that you see. Then we wrestled, and neither got the better of
the other, until his foot tripped over a root and he fell, with me atop
of him. Then I pounded him, as you can see by his face.”
“Ay, and then?” said Martin Alonzo, impatiently.
“I asked him to give up, and he said, not if I killed him.”
“I could have sworn to it. Well, well?”
“Then I told him something that I knew would hurt him worse than a
beating, and let him up. After that he would not fight any more.”
“By my faith!” said Martin Alonzo, in a tone of extreme exasperation,
“and what was this wonderful thing that you told him? You must indeed
have the gift of language if you can cool the hot blood of a lad like
Diego by words. What did you tell him? I may need to know the words
some day. What were they?”
Juan hesitated and then tossed his head with a sort of pride and
defiance.
“I showed him how he had done me an injustice,” he said.
“In what way? Go on with your story.”
“Well,” said Juan, “I will tell you, since you urge me. It was I cut
the rudder gearing.”
“Ah!” said Martin Alonzo, knitting his eyebrows.
“Diego knew it was I; but would not tell you because--because--well, he
was too generous.”
Martin Alonzo knew that it was because Juan had interfered to save
Diego’s life, and it pleased him to have Juan refrain from telling that.
“Well, go on,” he said.
“When you were going to have him flogged, I had intended to tell
you rather than let him be flogged; but he did not know that, and
was so angry with me that he said hard things to me. When we were
fighting--when I had him down, I bethought me how it would hurt him
to tell him that I had intended to save him, and I did it. If I had
not been angry I would not have done it, but I did, and that is why he
could not fight any more.”
[Illustration: “‘COME, SPEAK OUT, BOY!’”]
Martin Alonzo looked into his flushed face for a minute, and then put
his hand on his shoulder and said:
“You two boys ought to be friends, and will, eh? after this?”
Juan was pleased with the friendly words and manner, as, of course, he
could not help being; for it was much as if a sponge had been passed
over some of the degradation of his past. He looked his gratitude, but
did not make any answer.
“What!” said Martin Alonzo, “can you not forgive him?”
“It isn’t that,” answered Juan, with a short, embarrassed laugh. “He
won’t forgive me, and wishes to fight again, some time when we can
finish.”
Martin Alonzo stared in wonder, as well he might.
“But,” he said, “I thought you said he would not fight any more.”
“Nor will he until he has become quits with me; and the way he will be
quits, he says, is by making you my friend.”
“Well,” said Martin Alonzo, bending his keen eyes curiously on the boy,
“here be plots and counterplots. And how am I to be made your friend?”
“I am to tell you something you ought to know--something on which
depends this voyage--something he and I learned in the woods where we
were fighting.”
“And after you have told me,” said Martin Alonzo, laughing heartily,
for the whole affair seemed very funny to him, yet full of generous
spirit, too, “you are to fight it out, eh?”
“Yes, he will have it so, and I will oblige him.”
“Then, tell me quickly, for I would not stand in the way of so laudable
a desire on his part or on yours; and I do assure you, boy, that Diego
has gained his point, and that I like you well, and that I see that you
will make a future that will blot out all your past mistakes. But, for
the life of me, I cannot help laughing,” and he did laugh, with a roar
that was infectious. “And now tell me what you learned in the woods.”
“A sailor from a ship that had just arrived from Ferro came to us and
first offered to help us desert from you.”
“But you remembered your promises, eh? Good boy! good boy! Yes, I like
you. Well, go on.”
“Yes,” answered Juan, flushing with pleasure, and glad now to be
telling Martin Alonzo what he had heard--”yes, we refused to go with
him, and then he told us it would not much matter--we had told him
we did not like the voyage--because there were three caravels of
Portugal--armed caravels--waiting on the north side of Ferro to capture
the fleet.”
Martin Alonzo became serious at once, and turned involuntarily towards
where Ferro lay.
“Did he say so, boy? Ah, did he say so? Thank you, boy, thank you! We
will see to that. Ay, thank you!”
“You will not let it be known that it was I told you, will you?” asked
Juan.
“No, no, of course not. The men must not know even that the caravels
are there. Now go make friends with Diego. You will like him; for he is
a good lad, though with a hot temper.”
“Nothing but a fight will satisfy him,” said Juan.
“Then you shall fight, boy, and be friends afterwards. But not aboard
the vessel, boy. Wait until we are in Zipangu.” And then, as Juan
smiled, he smiled too, and added, “Ah, you think we will never reach
there, do you? Well, I verily believe you are mistaken. But go, now,
for I must to the admiral and warn him.”
Juan went down the ladder with a more uplifted spirit than had ever
been in his breast before, and full of determination to deserve the
best that Martin Alonzo thought of him. He passed Diego on his way
forward, and stopped to say:
“I have his good will; so you and I are quits, and there is nothing to
prevent our fighting when we have the chance.”
“Good,” growled Diego.
Juan hesitated. If Diego would only be friends with him, it seemed to
him that he would have nothing more to ask for.
“Won’t you shake hands and be friends until we can fight?” he asked,
wistfully.
“Then how could we fight?” demanded Diego. “No, I won’t be friends till
we have fought.”
So Juan turned away and passed on to where Miguel was jealously
waiting for him. It seemed to Juan a very difficult matter to adjust
his friendships to suit himself. There was Diego, whose friendship he
wished and who would not be his friend; and here was Miguel, whose
friendship was so undesirable and who was bent upon being his friend.
“Martin Alonzo found your conversation very funny,” said Miguel, in an
injured tone.
“Well,” said Juan, testily, “is there any harm in that?” and he moved
over to an old sailor, Rodrigo de Triana, and asked questions about the
weather.