To the Indies (11 page)

They left the islands of the Dragon’s Mouths to starboard, and crept slowly before the wind on a westerly course. The northwestern corner of Trinidad, which they were leaving behind them, had been steeper and loftier than the central part where they had landed yesterday, and this chain of islands appeared to be a continuation of the ridge. The last island of the chain in sight was not quite so bold in outline, but as they drew up to it Rich could see that it was steep enough, all the same, and as wooded and green as the others. Slowly they coasted along it, but it was a good deal bigger than the rest of the chain. Rich could see no end to it as he looked along its green flank.

Throughout the ship there was a bustle and an interest in what they were discovering, oddly at variance with the comparative apathy of yesterday. Rich told himself that the enthusiasms of men in a mass ebbed and flowed like the tides of the ocean. They ate their food today with one eye over the ship’s side; they stayed voluntarily exposed to the two tremendous rainstorms which swept down on them from Trinidad. Even the hidalgos were interested, talking freely and imperiling their dignity with their pointings and gesticulations. The lookout at the masthead announced land right ahead, across their course — low green hills again. With land to the west of them now, as well as land to the north and land to the east, and the water shoaling fast, the Admiral ordered a southerly course in his determination to circle round this large island. He had ordered a chair to be brought up to the poop, and sat there with his white beard fluttering and Perez and Spallanzani at his elbow. He feared lest his squadron might be embayed here, where the wind blew always from the east, and it was well before sunset that, as the sea grew shallower and the land ahead was seen to trend farther and farther to the southward, he ordered the anchors to be let go.

“I shall send the longboat tomorrow, Don Narciso,” he announced, “to discover if there is a passage ahead or to the southward. Would you care for another jaunt?”

“I am no seaman, Your Excellency,” said Rich, taken a little aback. He had not been ready for this question.

“There will be seamen with you to take the soundings and set the course,” said the Admiral. “I would go myself, but, as, you see . . .”

With a gesture the Admiral indicated his rheumaticky joints. There was a hurt, pleading look in his eyes. Rich had won his trust, and there were few enough people on earth whom the Admiral trusted. Ever since Pinzón had deserted him on his first historic voyage of discovery, and set out to discover new countries for himself, he had been cautious about dispatching expeditions which could make themselves independent. It was dangerous — in his view, at least — to delegate authority either to turbulent and needy hidalgos or to adventurous captains. Rich might be an agent of the King and Queen, but he was an honest one; he could be trusted not to plunder the inhabitants and — more important — not to conceal treasure, not to go off on expeditions of his own nor (the Admiral’s suspicions were unbounded) to bring back false information which might wreck the whole voyage.

“It would please me very much if you would go, Don Narciso,” said the Admiral. Several hidalgos were listening.

“I will come and pull an oar,” said Rodrigo Acevedo.

“I, too,” said his brother.

There was a little ripple of volunteering round the circle. A respite from the cramped conditions of the ship, the chance of fresh food and new sights, the possibility of finding women and pearls and gold — they were all willing to come for the sake of these. They all eyed Rich, with his new reputation as a bold fighting man, and for the sake of that reputation he could not refuse.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” he said. “I shall much appreciate the honor.”

Five seconds later García was addressing him as privately as a crowded ship permitted.

“May I be one of the party?” he asked.

Their eyes met — the burly young hidalgo with his bristling beard and his shabby flaunting clothes, and the stout little lawyer with the sharp eye belied by the unobtrusive manner. It was strange for the one to be asking a favor of the other, and yet he undoubtedly was.

“There are others who have not been ashore at all,” Rich temporized.

“Yes,” answered García, with a placatory grin, “but I should like to go again.”

“And you remember what happened?” said Rich. He did not want García in his party; he was afraid.

“I remember. But — ”

Rich knew that if he refused him he would offend him. On the other hand there was a chance of loyal service from him now — only a chance, but that was better than making a certain enemy of him.

“Will you stay with me if you come?” he asked.

It was a big effort to screw himself up to talk like a superior to this haughty young man, who could wring his neck like a chicken’s — who had been on the point of doing so the night before. But it was the only course open to him.

“Yes,” said García.

So García was one of the twenty men who crowded the longboat at dawn next day when they pushed off from the
Holy Name
and headed for the low green shore while the ones left behind waved farewell. The air was hot and sticky; it had rained heavily during the night and the overcast sky bore promise of more rain still. There was only just enough wind to fill the sail and push them slowly forward; it was fluky and variable, too — twice Osorio at the tiller had to shout an order as the sail flapped heavily over to the other side. A flight of pelicans flapped solemnly overhead.

There was no sign of a break in the land to the northward; to the south the hills grew lower and died away into a flat green coast. It was to the south, then, that Rich directed Osorio to steer the boat. The sun broke through the clouds and glared upon them with a terrible eye, illuminating the shore to which they were trending; a seaman standing in the bows cried out that he could see a break in the coast. Rich climbed to his feet and stood precariously balancing in the stern-sheets — he had no faith in his own judgment, and yet, as commander of the expedition, he had to make some pretense at employing it. So low and flat was the shore that it was hard to distinguish where the sea ended and the land began, but Rich thought he saw what the seaman indicated — there was at least an arm of the sea running up into the land there.

With the dying wind they were compelled to take in the sail and set to work with the oars, and they took an occasional cast of the lead as they headed in. Three fathoms — two-and-a-half fathoms — three fathoms again . . .

“Hardly enough for the flagship,” commented Osorio, spitting loudly over the side.

They were close to the shore now; the trees that fringed the sea were a sad grey, not the bright green of Trinidad, and seemed to have their roots set actually in the water. Osorio put the tiller over until the boat was close in, and the men rested on their oars while she drifted, the gurgle and bubble at the bows dying away along with her motion.

“Look there!” said somebody, pointing to the trees.

On the bare grey stems close to the surface of the water there were oysters clustered thick. Osorio reached out and snapped off a brittle branch — the tip that trailed in the water bore four of them.

“We know now where those pearls come from,” commented Rich.

Osorio eagerly prized an oyster open with his knife, and poked a gnarled forefinger into its interior.

“None there,” he said, hesitated a moment, and then swallowed it noisily.

The boat lurched as everyone tried to grab for oysters; there was an interval as oysters were gathered and knives were borrowed. Food and pearls were sought with equal eagerness, but no pearls were found. Osorio turned over the shell he held in his hand and examined it curiously.

“They are nothing like our oysters at home,” he said with his mouth full — and then, looking across at the birds wheeling over the sea: “It is more than pearls that they make. No wonder there are so many sea birds here.”

“So the birds eat oysters, then?” asked Rich.

“No,” said Osorio, “the oysters grow into birds.”

He opened a fresh specimen for the purpose of his lecture.

“These half-tide shellfish always do that. Many’s the goose I’ve eaten which was a barnacle once. I expect these become pelicans. See here, sir. You can see the wings starting to sprout. And this must be the head — the long beak must grow later, when they are fledglings. Every spring tide brings them out in thousands, as butterflies come from chrysalises.”

It was an interesting point in natural history, and an apt comparison. Rich told himself that it was no more marvelous that a pelican should develop from a half-tide oyster than that a butterfly should emerge from a dull chrysalis, and yet somehow it did appear so: the one was a wonder to which he had been accustomed all his life, and the other was new. He supposed that when at last the expedition reached the Asiatic plains he would experience the same sensations on seeing the unicorns that only a virgin could tame, and the upas tree which destroyed all animal life within half a mile.

They took to the oars again, and the boat crept along up the inlet. Monkeys appeared on the shore, chattering loudly at them from the tree-tops; gaudy birds flew over their heads, and the steaming heat closed in upon them. The inlet was no more than half a mile broad when it divided, one portion continuing westerly and the other trending off to the south. Osorio at the tiller looked to Rich for orders.

“Which do you think looks more promising?” asked Rich as casually as he could manage.

Osorio shrugged enormously and spat again.

“Go to the right, then,” said Rich; if one way appeared as good as another to Osorio it was no use for Rich to try to judge by appearances. Southward lay the Isle of Grace, opposite to Trinidad across the Serpent’s Mouth; that was one solid bit of knowledge. The best chance of finding a passage was to keep to the northward of Gracia.

Now it began to rain, the usual relentless downpour to which they had grown accustomed in these latitudes. The roar of it drowned the noise of the oars in the rowlocks and the squeaking of the stretchers. The nearby land was almost blotted from sight, and the jesting conversation in the longboat came to an untimely end. The men at the oars rowed in dogged silence, and the rest sat patiently suffering. The channel divided again, and Rich again took the northern arm, but this immediately divided once more, and he took the southern arm this time in the hope of preserving as direct a westerly course as possible. And these were only the main channels; peering through the rain Rich fancied that there were plenty of minor waterways, mere threads of water by comparison, diverging from the wide channels. It was bewildering.

Then at last the rain stopped, and the sun shone once more. The forest beside them steamed, and they could hear again the innumerable sounds of the life within it. The men at the oars were relieved by their companions, and the longboat pushed on along the channel. And here they were baulked; the channel split into two channels, at right angles to each other, and each was barely wide enough — the oars caught against the vegetation on either side.

“There’s no way through here for the flagship,” said Osorio.