Door was opened. “His Excellency the Governor
will see you now.”
Why tarry over a short story? Don Nicholas de
Ovando pleaded smoothly the Sovereign’s most
strict command which in any to disobey were
plain malfeasance! As he spoke he looked dreamily
toward blue harbor and the Consolacion.
And as to a ship! Every ship, except two or three,
old and crippled and in the hands of the menders,
no whit better it was certain than the Margarita,
was laded and on the point of sailing. Literally
he had none, absolutely not one! He understood
that Jamaica was expressly named to the Admiral for
resting and overhauling. Careen the Margarita
there and rectify the wrong—which he trusted
was not great. If ships had been idle and plentiful—but
he could not splinter any from the fleet that was sailing
to-morrow. He was sorry—and trusted
that the Admiral was in health?
Terreros said, “His ship is worse off than you
think, Excellency. He has great things to do,
confided into his hands by the Sovereigns who treasure
him who found all. Here is emergency. May
we carry to him invitation to enter San Domingo for
an hour and himself present his case?”
But no—but no—but no! Thrice
that!
The Governor rose. Audience was over.
For the rest he was courteous—asked of
the voyage— and of the Admiral’s
notion of the Strait. “A great man!”
he said. “A Thinker, a Seer.”
He sent him messages of courtesy three-piled.
And so we parted.
This was the Governor of whom one said long afterwards,
“He was a good governor for white men, but not
for Indians.”
As life and destiny would have it, in the place without
the Governor’s house I met him who was to say
it. Terreros and I with the same escort were
for the water side, the Consolacion’s
long boat. The crowd kept with us, but His Excellency’s
soldiers held it orderly. Yet there were shouts
and messages for the Admiral, and for this one and
that one aboard our ships. Then came a young man,
said a word to the officer with us, and put out his
hand to mine. It was that Bartolome de Las Casas
with whom I had walked the white road, under moon,
before the inn between Seville and Cordova.
THE Admiral took it with some Italian words under
breath. Then he wheeled and left the cabin.
A minute later I heard the master from the Consolacion
hail the Margarita that lay close by. “Margarita,
ahoy! Orders! Clap on sail and follow!”
The trumpet cried to the Juana and the San Sebastian,
“Make ready and follow!”
