Alone with all the stars that rule mankind
Ruy Faleiro sought to read the fate
Of his close friend--now by the King's rebuke
Sent stumbling out of Portugal to seek
His fortune on the sea-roads of the world.
But when Faleiro read the horoscope
It seemed to point to glory--and a grave
Beyond the sunset.
When Magalhaens heard
The prophecy, he smiled, and steadfastly
Held on his way to that young Emperor,
The blond shy stripling with the Austrian face,
And in due time was Admiral of the Fleet
To sail the seas that lay beyond the world.
Mid-August was it when the fleet set forth,
December, when in that Brazilian bay,
Santa Lucia, they dropped anchor,--then
Set up a little altar on the beach
And knelt at Mass in that gray solitude.
Carvagio the pilot knew the place,
And said the folk were kindly,--brown, straight-haired,
Wore feather mantles, used no poisoned flints,
And only ate man's flesh on holidays.
Whereat a little daunted, not with fear,
The mariners met them running to the shore,
Bought swine of them, and plantains, cassava,
And for one playing card, the king of clubs,
The wild men gave six fowls! There were brown roots
Formed like the turnip, chestnut-like in taste
And called patata in ship-Spanish--cane
Wherefrom is made the sugar and the wine
Of Hispaniola, and the pineapple
That was like nectar to their sea-parched throats.
And thus they feasted and were satisfied.
Like an enchanted Eden seemed the land,
For birds on dazzling many-colored wings
Made the trees blossom--parrots red, green, blue,
Humming-birds like live jewels in the air,
Strange ducks with spoon-shaped bills,--and overhead
Like some fantastic frieze of living gold,
The little yellow monkeys leaped and swung
Chattering of Setebos in their unknown tongue.
The old men lived beyond their sevenscore years--
Or so the people said. They made canots
Of logs that they carved out with heated stones.
They slept in hamacs, woven cotton swings.
Their chiefs were called cacichas--you may find
All this put down in the thrice precious book
Written by Pigafetta of Vicenza
For a queen's pleasure when the voyage was done.
Then from that shore they sailed, and southward bent,
And as the long days lengthened, till the nights
Were but star-circled midnight intervals,
They wondered of what race and by what seas
They should find kings at the antipodes.
Where a great river flowed into the sea
They found sea-lions,--on another isle
Strange geese, milk-white and sable, with no wings,
Who swam instead of flying, and they called
The place the Isle of Penguins.
Then they found
A desolate harbor called San Juliano,
Where the fierce flame of mutiny broke forth,
Spaniard on Portuguese turned treacherously
Till in the red midwinter sunrise towered
The place of execution, and an end
Was made of the two traitors. Outward flashed the sail
And left the sea-birds there to tell the tale.
Beyond there lay a bleak and misty shore,
And in the fog a wild gigantic form
White-haired, a savage, called a greeting to them.
Friendly the huge men were, and took these men,
Bearded and strange, for kinfolk of their god,
Setebos, from his home beyond the moon,
And from their great shoes filled with straw for warmth
Magalhaens named them men of Patagonia.
Westward they steered, and buffeted by winds,
They found a narrow channel, where the fleet
Halted for council. One returned to Spain
Laden with falsehood and with mutiny.
On sailed the others valiantly, their hearts
Remembering their Admiral's haughty words
Flung at his craven captain, "I will see
This great voyage to the end, though we should eat
The leather from the yards!" And thus they reached
The end of that strait path of Destiny,
And saw beyond the shining Western Sea.
Northward the Admiral followed that long coast
Past Masafuera--then began his flight
Across the great uncharted shining sea.
And surely there was never stranger voyage.
The winds were gentle toward him, and no more
The dreadful laughter of the tempest shrilled,
Or down upon them pounced the hurricane.
Therefore Magalhaens, giving thanks to God,
Named it Pacific, and the lonely sea.
Still bore him westward where his heart would be.
Alone with all the stars of Christendom
He set his course,--if he had known his fate
Would he have stayed his hand? Before the end
Fate the old witch, who often loves to turn
A man's words on him, kept the ships becalmed
Even to thirst and famine; when instead
They fed on leather, gnawed wood, and ate mice
As did the Patagonian giants, when
They begged such vermin for a savage feast.
Then Fate, her jest outworn, blew them to shore
On the green islands called the Isles of Thieves,
And brought them to more islands--and still more,
A kingdom of bright lands in sunny seas.
Here did the Admiral land, and raise the Cross
Above that heathen realm,--and here went down
In battle for strange allies in strange lands.
So ended his adventure. Yet not so,
For the Victoria, faithful to his hand
That laid her charge upon her, southward sailed
Around the Cape and westward to Seville.
El Cano brought her in, and her strange tale
Told to the Emperor. "And the Admiral said,"
He ended, "that indeed these heathen lands
God meant should all be Christian, for He set
A cross of stars above the southern sea,
A passion-flower upon the southern shore,
To be a sign to great adventurers.
These be two marvels,--and upon the way
We gained a kingdom, but we lost a day!"