What they planned came forth the next day, and it was nothing short of a colony, a settlement upon the banks of the river Bethlehem.

Christopherus Columbus spoke,--tall, powerful, gaunt, white-headed, gray-eyed, trusted because he himself so trusted, suasive, filled with the power of his vision. His frame was growing old, but he himself stayed young. His voice never grew old, nor the gray-blue light from his eyes. Here was gold at last, and Veragua manifestly richer than all Hispaniola; aye, richer than Paria! Behind Veragua ran Ciguarre that was fabulously rich, that was indeed India sloping to Ganges. The Indians were friendly enough for all their drum-beating and sh.e.l.l-blowing.

Quibian's first frowning aspect had been but aspect. A scarlet cloak and a sack full of toys had made all right. There was rest on land, with fruit and maize as we saw. Build a fort--leave a ship--divide our force.

A half would rest here, first settlers of a golden country with all first settlers' advantage. Half sail with Christopherus Columbus back to Spain--straight to Spain--for supplies and men. He would return, he swore it, with all speed. A ship should be left, and beyond the ship, the Adelantado.--It was for volunteers for the fortress and city of Veragua!

In the end eighty men said "We will stay." We began to build. How long since we had built La Navidad!

The River Bethlehem, that had been full when we entered, now was half empty of its waters. The _Consolacion_, the _Juana_, and the _San Sebastian_ that were to depart for Spain could not pa.s.s. The Admiral hung, fitted to go, but waiting perforce for rains that should lift the ships so they might pa.s.s the bar.

Again Juan Lepe was to stay--so surely would the staying need a physician.

"It is March," said the Admiral. "G.o.d aiding, I and Fernando shall be back in October at latest."

These Indians seemed to us to have Carib markings. Yet they all professed amity and continuously brought in gold. We began to build by the fort a storehouse for much gold.

Suddenly we found--Diego Mendez, bold enough and a great wanderer, doing the finding--that Quibian's village up the river of Veragua contained many too, many young men and men in their prime, and that by day and night these continued to pour in. It had--Diego Mendez thought--much the aspect of a camp whose general steadily received reenforcement.

Next day came to the Admiral an Indian who betrayed his people. Quibian never meant to have in Veragua a swarm of white caciques! When he had about him every young man, he was coming, coming, coming through the woods!

The Admiral sent the Adelantado. That strong man chose fourscore Spaniards, armed them and departed. By boat and through thick forest he reached Quibian's village, descended upon it like a hurricane and seized Quibian, much as long ago--long, long ago it seemed to us--Alonso de Ojeda had seized Caonabo.

Juan Sanchez the pilot held Quibian in the long boat while the Adelantado still wrought upon the land. Juan Sanchez was strong and wary, and watchful; so they swore were all the Spaniards in the boat.

Yet when night was fallen that Indian, bound as he was, broke with a shout from them all and leaped from boat into black river.

They thought he perished, seeing him no more for all their moving about and bringing the boat to the land. Juan Sanchez was certain he sank, bound as he was. With other captives and with a great ma.s.s of golden ornaments, came back to the ships the Adelantado. The Indian camp was broken, dispersed.

The rains began to fall. The river swelled; the fort and store place and other houses were builded.

The eighty who were to stay and the something under that number who were to go prepared to say farewell. We went to ma.s.s under three palm trees, before our fort on the river Bethlehem. That over, those who were to go went aboard the three ships, and the sails were made, and they began to sing as they pa.s.sed down the Bethlehem. The _Margarita_ and we watched their going.

They went a league, and then another--we thought they were wholly gone.

But out of the river, though the skies were clear, again rushed against them an enemy wind. They lay at anchor in river mouth, waiting on propitiousness. But we, up the river, thought they were gone. That night, before dawn, Quibian attacked us.

We had several killed, and the Adelantado was hurt in the breast, and many others had their wounds. But we thundered with our cannon and we loosed two bloodhounds and we charged. For a time the brown, naked foe fought desperately, but at last he broke. Far streamed five hundred fleeing particles into the gloomy, the deep, the matted forest. Up the river came a long boat, and we found it to hold Diego Tristan and eight men sent by the Admiral with a forgotten word for the Adelantado. Much we rejoiced that the ships were not clean gone!

Diego Tristan took our news. The Adelantado--his hurt was slight--wrote again to the Admiral. Again we said farewell to Diego Tristan. The long boat pa.s.sed a turn in the Bethlehem; out of our sight. Once we thought we heard a faint and distant shouting, but there was no telling. But in five hours there staggered into fort Juan de Noya who alone lived of that boatful, set upon by Quibian. Diego Tristan dead, and seven men.

All that night we heard in the wood those throbbing Indian drums and wild-blowing sh.e.l.ls.

They were Caribs, now we were sure, and Quibian lived and preached a holy war. Though we had driven them off, we heard them mustering again.

If we could not get food--perhaps not water?

Sixty of ours came to the Adelantado. In truth, all might have come, for ma.s.sacre, slow or swift, was certain if we stayed in Veragua. I read that the Adelantado, who was never accused of cowardice or fickleness, was himself determined. The settlement below the golden mines of golden Veragua must wait a little.

We took our wounded and with the Adelantado, turned Mars in these three days, came down to the Bethlehem, to a pebbly sh.o.r.e from which the water had shrunken. Here at least was our ship with us, and the river that bore to the sea. Here, for the weather was ferocious and Quibian howling around us, we built what shelter we might. Here in much misery we waited days for the long and wild storm to cease. We hoped the Admiral was yet at the mouth of the Bethlehem, but could not do more than hope.

Then came through every peril that might be Pedro Ledesma, from the ships. They waited! Break through--come down!

The _Margarita_ could never pa.s.s the bar that now the falling water left exposed. We made rafts, we dismantled her and took what we could; we left her in Veragua for Quibian to walk her deck and sail her if he might. Through danger in mult.i.tude, with our rafts and two boats, with the loss of six men, we went down the Bethlehem. Some of ours wept when they saw the ships, and the Admiral wept when he and the Adelantado met.

Away from Veragua!

Is it only the Spaniards who suffer, and for what at the last, not at the first, did Quibian fight? In that strong raid when we thought Quibian perished had been taken captive brothers and kinsmen of that cacique. These were prisoned upon the _Juana_, to be taken to Spain, shown, made Christian, perhaps sold, perhaps--who knows?--returned to their land, but never to freedom.

While the _Juana_ tossed where Bethlehem met the sea, these Indians broke in the night time up through hatchway and made for the side to throw themselves over. But the watch gave a great cry and sprang upon them, and other Spaniards came instantly. All but two were retaken.

These two, wrenching themselves free, sprang away into rough water and dark night, and it is most likely that they drowned, being a mile from sh.o.r.e. But the others were thrust back and down under hatch which then was chained so that they might not again lift it. But in the morning when the captain of the _Juana_ went to look, all, all were dead, having hanged themselves.

CHAPTER XLIII

WE left one of our ships in the Bethlehem and we lost another upon this disastrous coast ere we got clear for Jamaica.

We were sea specters. We had saved our men from the _San Sebastian_ as from the _Margarita_. Now all were upon the _Consolacion_ and the _Juana_. Fifty fewer were we than when we had sailed from Cadiz, yet the two ships crept over-full. And they were like creatures overcome with eld. Beaten, crazed, falling apart.

On the Eve of Saint John we came to Jamaica.

The ships were riddled by the _teredo_. We could not keep afloat to go to Hispaniola. At Santa Gloria we ran them in quiet water side by side upon the sand. They partly filled, they settled down, only forecastle and p.o.o.p above the blue mirror. We built shelters upon them and bridged the s.p.a.ce between. The ocean wanderers were turned into a fort.

Jamaica, we thanked all the saints, was a friendly land. They brought us ca.s.sava and fruit, these Indians; they swarmed about us in their canoes.

The G.o.ds in trouble, yet still the G.o.ds!

We were forty leagues from Hispaniola, and we had no ship!

Again there volunteered Diego Mendez. We ourselves had now but one Christian boat. But there existed canoes a-plenty. Chose one, with six Indians to row! Leave Diego Mendez with one other Spaniard of his choice to cross the sea between us and Hispaniola, get to San Domingo, rouse all Christian men, even Don Nicholas de Ovanda, procure a large ship or two smaller ones, return with rescue!

We sent off Diego Mendez with strong farewells and blessings. The vast blue sea and air withdrew and covered from sight the canoe.

A week--two weeks. Grew out of the azure a single canoe, and approached.

"Diego Mendez--Diego Mendez!"

It was he alone, with a tale to tell of storm and putting ash.o.r.e and capture after battle by Jamaicans no longer friendly, and of escape alone. But he would go again if so be he might have with him Bartholomew Fiesco. They went, with heavily paid Indians to row the staunchest canoe we could find. This time the Adelantado with twenty kept them company along the sh.o.r.e to end of the island, where the canoe shot forth into clear sea, and the blue curtain came down between the stranded and the going for help. The Adelantado returned to us, and we waited. The weeks crept by.

Great heat and sickness, and the Indians no longer prompt to bring us supplies. Sooner or later, each of these dark peoples found a Quibian or Caonabo.

The most of us determined that Diego Mendez and Fiesco and their canoe were lost. Hispaniola knew nothing of us--nothing, nothing! Suddenly the two Porras brothers led a mad mutiny. "Leave these rotting ships--seize the canoes we need--all of us row or swim to Hispaniola!"

There were fifty who thought thus. The Admiral withstood them with strong words, with the reasoning of a master seaman, and the counsel now--his white and long hair, and eld upon him--of Jacob or Isaac or Abraham. But they would not, and they would not, and at last they departed from us, taking--but the Admiral gave them freely--the dozen canoes that we had purchased, crowding into these, rowing away with cries from that sea fortress, melancholy indeed, in the blinding light.

They vanished. The next day fair, the next a mad storm. Two weeks, and news came of them. They were not nigh to Hispaniola; wrecked, they lost five men, but got, the rest of them, to land, where they now roved from village to village. Another week, and the Indians who came to us and whom we kept friendly, related with pa.s.sionate and eloquent word and gesture evils that that band was working. Pedro Margarite--Roldan--over and over again!

After much of up and down those mutineers came back to us. They could not do without us; they could not get to Hispaniola in Indian canoes.

The Admiral received them fatherly.

No sail--no sail. Long months and no sail. Surely Diego Mendez and Bartholomew Fiesco were drowned! Hispaniola, if it thought of us at all, might think us now by Ganges. Or as lost at sea.

Christopherus Columbus dreamed again, or had a vision again. "I was hopeless. I wept alone on a desert sh.o.r.e. My name had faded, and all that I had done was broken into sand and swept away. I repined, and cried, 'Why is it thus?' Then came a ship not like ours, and One stepped from it in light and thunder. 'O man of little faith, I will cover thy eyes of to-day!' He covered them, and I _saw_.--And now, Juan Lepe, I care not! We will all come Home, whether or no the wave covers us here."

To mariners and adventurers he said at no time any word of despair. He said, "A ship will come! For if--which the saints forfend--Bartholomew Fiesco and Diego Mendez have not reached San Domingo, yet come at last will some craft to Jamaica! From our island or from Spain. How many times since '92 has there been touching here? Of need now it will be oftener and oftener!"