the task, and the shifting of the gold made no difference in the motion of the ship. She staggered and rolled just the same from beam end to beam end.
Without sails, under bare poles, she drove westward through the afternoon while the wind roared and rain fell and thunderous waves pounded her hull. She seemed, I swear, to move in circles, yet at nightfall we faced a setting sun that eerily and unexpectedly appeared from under the scudding clouds. To a band of silent men I sang the Salve Regina.
Soon after sunset the rudder jumped its gudgeons.
But as if nothing had happened, the ship drove onward into the west.
It was an hour or so later, during a lull in the wind, that I heard an unusual sound. At first I thought it came from the hold, where the animals were stabled. But af ter a moment when the sound was repeated I felt certain that it came from the forecastle and that it was the cry of a child in distress.
Toward midnight the wind no longer roared. It now came upon us in shrieks, pausing, then often on a higher note, shrieking again. Sebastián Lomas of the midnight watch reported that the Indians had left the hold and gone. He had seen them climb the forecastle companionway and, one by one, silently hurl them selves into the sea.
Just before dawn, Guzmán ventured above and re turned with the news that the masts still stood, the wind had lessened and changed direction, and land lay both on our port and starboard. Captain Roa sent men to repair the rudder and chose a watch to set two small sails as soon as dawn broke.
While the crew huddled at the companionway, waiting to go on deck, I led them in prayer. Afterward, I prayed for the Indians, closing my heart and thoughts to the pain they must have endured, to the cries of the child in distress, to the despair that drove them into the sea.
It was soon after that the caravel rose by the bow, as if lifted by a monstrous hand. At the same moment a tu multuous blow knocked us all from our feet, and through a gaping hole amidships, raging water rushed in upon us.
Those who were not drowned by the rushing water escaped to the main deck. There were six of us. The sky was dark, but eastward the first light shone.
I found myself in the sea, gasping for breath, in a trough between two waves. One wave left me and the other lifted me high. There could have been other men around me, but I saw only twoâthe pinched face of Juan Pacheco and the bushy red hair of Don Luis.
Luis was clinging to a length of timber, which looked to be a piece of the mainmast. It was not big enough to support both men, and as the barber reached out to grasp it, Don Luis pushed his hand away.
From the crest of the wave that bore me upward, I saw in one direction the outline of what seemed to be a rocky, continuous coast. Somewhat to the south was an island fringed by jungle and a palely gleaming beach. The coast was almost a league away; the island not that far, perhaps half the distance.
Out of instinct I set off for the island, lost now in drifting spray. Having been raised by the banks of the Guadalquivir, I was a good swimmer, but a river is not a gale-whipped sea, and I was forced to the limits of my strength.
I had gone no farther than halfway toward the beach when I heard a scream behind me. It came from one of our horses, the black stallion Bravo. He was pawing the air, head reared high and his long mane streaming in the wind.
For a moment, as a wave lifted us heavenward, I thought that he was about to swim back toward the place the ship had gone down, now marked by the top part of her mainmast. I shouted his name, shouted it twice, shouted it a third time. Whether he heard my voice or not, the stallion turned his head away from the wreck.
He swam after me as I struggled toward the island, over towering waves that sped me along, through shal lows, and at last tumbled me upon the shining beach.
Â
CHAPTER 19
B RUISED AND BELABORED, I LAY THERE I KNOW NOT HOW LONG , awakening at
Without sails, under bare poles, she drove westward through the afternoon while the wind roared and rain fell and thunderous waves pounded her hull. She seemed, I swear, to move in circles, yet at nightfall we faced a setting sun that eerily and unexpectedly appeared from under the scudding clouds. To a band of silent men I sang the Salve Regina.
Soon after sunset the rudder jumped its gudgeons.
But as if nothing had happened, the ship drove onward into the west.
It was an hour or so later, during a lull in the wind, that I heard an unusual sound. At first I thought it came from the hold, where the animals were stabled. But af ter a moment when the sound was repeated I felt certain that it came from the forecastle and that it was the cry of a child in distress.
Toward midnight the wind no longer roared. It now came upon us in shrieks, pausing, then often on a higher note, shrieking again. Sebastián Lomas of the midnight watch reported that the Indians had left the hold and gone. He had seen them climb the forecastle companionway and, one by one, silently hurl them selves into the sea.
Just before dawn, Guzmán ventured above and re turned with the news that the masts still stood, the wind had lessened and changed direction, and land lay both on our port and starboard. Captain Roa sent men to repair the rudder and chose a watch to set two small sails as soon as dawn broke.
While the crew huddled at the companionway, waiting to go on deck, I led them in prayer. Afterward, I prayed for the Indians, closing my heart and thoughts to the pain they must have endured, to the cries of the child in distress, to the despair that drove them into the sea.
It was soon after that the caravel rose by the bow, as if lifted by a monstrous hand. At the same moment a tu multuous blow knocked us all from our feet, and through a gaping hole amidships, raging water rushed in upon us.
Those who were not drowned by the rushing water escaped to the main deck. There were six of us. The sky was dark, but eastward the first light shone.
I found myself in the sea, gasping for breath, in a trough between two waves. One wave left me and the other lifted me high. There could have been other men around me, but I saw only twoâthe pinched face of Juan Pacheco and the bushy red hair of Don Luis.
Luis was clinging to a length of timber, which looked to be a piece of the mainmast. It was not big enough to support both men, and as the barber reached out to grasp it, Don Luis pushed his hand away.
From the crest of the wave that bore me upward, I saw in one direction the outline of what seemed to be a rocky, continuous coast. Somewhat to the south was an island fringed by jungle and a palely gleaming beach. The coast was almost a league away; the island not that far, perhaps half the distance.
Out of instinct I set off for the island, lost now in drifting spray. Having been raised by the banks of the Guadalquivir, I was a good swimmer, but a river is not a gale-whipped sea, and I was forced to the limits of my strength.
I had gone no farther than halfway toward the beach when I heard a scream behind me. It came from one of our horses, the black stallion Bravo. He was pawing the air, head reared high and his long mane streaming in the wind.
For a moment, as a wave lifted us heavenward, I thought that he was about to swim back toward the place the ship had gone down, now marked by the top part of her mainmast. I shouted his name, shouted it twice, shouted it a third time. Whether he heard my voice or not, the stallion turned his head away from the wreck.
He swam after me as I struggled toward the island, over towering waves that sped me along, through shal lows, and at last tumbled me upon the shining beach.
Â
CHAPTER 19
B RUISED AND BELABORED, I LAY THERE I KNOW NOT HOW LONG , awakening at
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