The skiff bobbed out across the harbor toward the three waiting
caravels. Departure time had arrived.
Two hours later, they were underway.
* * * * *
The sea was calm as glass, green as emerald. The three caravels, after a
journey of several days, had reached the Canary Islands where additional
provisions and fresh water were to be had.
"This," said Columbus, waving his arms to take in the chain of islands.
"This is as far as a mere man has a right to go. There is nothing
further, can't you see? Can't you?"
He was sober. Danny had come over in a skiff from the Nina to see that
he remained sober at least for the loading and the departure. It was
as if he, Danny, was going to preserve Columbus' name for
history--single-handed if necessary.
"We will not go on," Columbus said. "We're going back. The only way to
the Indies is around the Cape of Storms, around Africa. I tell you--"
"That's enough, father," Nina said. "We ..."
"I'm in command here," Columbus told them. It surprised Danny. Usually,
the drunken sailor was not so self-assertive. Then it occurred to Danny
that it wasn't merely self-assertiveness: it was fear.
Danny called over the mate, a one-legged man named Juan, who walked with
a jaunty stride despite his peg leg. "You take orders from Columbus?"
Danny said. "Would you take orders from me?"
Juan shook his head, smiling. "You command aboard the Nina only, Martin
Pinzon. I heard what the Captain said. If he wants to go back and give
up this fool scheme, it's all right with me. And you know the rest of
the crew will say the same."