I remember the very odor and exquisite touch of the
morning. Guarin was away. I had to myself
cave and ledge and little waterfall and great trees
that now I was telling one from another. I had
parrot and lizard and spoke now to the one and now
to the other. I remember the butterflies and
the humming birds.
I looked out to sea and saw a sail!
It was afar, a white point. I leaned against
the rock for I was suddenly weak who the moment before
had felt strong. The white point swelled.
It would be a goodly large ship. Over blue rim
slipped another flake. A little off I saw a third,
then a fourth. Juan Lepe rubbed his eyes.
Before there came no more he had counted seventeen
sail. They grew; they were so beauteous.
Toward the harbor sailed a fleet. Now I made
out the flagship.
O Life, thou wondrous goddess of happenings!
An hour I sat on cliff edge and watched. They
were making in, the lovely white swans. When
they were fairly near, when in little time the foremost
would bring to, down sail and drop anchor, Juan Lepe,
gathering his belongings together, bidding the lizard
farewell and taking the parrot with him on shoulder,
left cavern and cliff and took Guarin’s path
down through the forest.
Halfway to level land he met Guarin coming up; the
two met beneath a tree huge and spreading, curtained
with a vine, starred with flowers. “He
has come!” cried the Indian. “They
have come!” In his voice was marveling, awe,
perturbation.
The sun in the sky shone, and in the bay hung that
wonder of return, the many ships for the Nina.
Juan Lepe and Guarin went on down through wood to
a narrow silver beach, out upon which had cast itself
an Indian village.
Guacanagari was not here. He waited within his
house for the Admiral. But his brother, and others
of Guarico, saw me and there rose a clamor and excitement
that for the moment took them from the ships.
Guarin explained and Juan Lepe explained, but still
this miraculous day dyed also for them my presence
here. I had been slain, and had come to life
to greet the Great Cacique! It grew to a legend.
I met it so, long afterwards in Hispaniola.
ONE by one were incoming, were folding wings, were
anchoring, Spanish ships. Three were larger each
than the Santa Maria and the Pinta together;
the others caravels of varying size. Seventeen
in all, a fleet, crowded with men, having cannon and
banners and music. Europe was coming with strength
into Asia! The Indians on the beach were moved
as by an unresting wind. They had terror, they
had delight, and some a mere stupidity of staring.
The greatest ship, the first to anchor, carried the
banner of Castile and Leon, and the Admiral’s
banner. Now a boat put off from her, boats also
from the two ships next in grandeur.
