Juan de la Cosa knew the untamable sauciness of the Vizcayan breed, and knew as well the loyalty that went with it.  “Son,” he said seriously, “what do you know of this matter?” The boy put aside his insolence and spoke gravely.

“I know that these fellows who have been commanded to serve your Admiral hate him, and will make him lose his venture if they can.  I would sooner put to sea in a meal-tub with myself that I can trust, than in a Cadiz galley manned with plotters.  When they hauled this fine ship up on the beach I asked for a job, and the lazy fellows were glad enough of help.  I never minded doing their work if they hadn’t kicked me.  When I heard them planning I said to myself, ’Pedro, mi hidalgo, a crow in hand is worth two buzzards in the bush waiting to pick your bones.’  Your Admiral may have to go back to Castile and eat crow.

“They have agreed that they will sail seven hundred leagues and no more, since that is the distance from here to the Indies if your map is true.  If the Admiral refuse to turn back in case land is not found they will pitch him into the sea and tell the world that he was star-gazing and fell overboard, being an old man and unused to perilous voyages.  He should get him another crew—­if he can.”

This was important information.  Yet to go back might be more dangerous than to go on.  The expedition had already been delayed a fortnight with making a rudder for the Pinta, stopping her leaks, and replacing the lateen sails of the Nina with square ones, that she might be able to keep up with the others.  Another week must pass before they could sail.  If they returned to Palos it was doubtful whether they could get any men at all to replace the disloyal ones.  Too much delay might cause the withdrawal of Martin Pinzon and his brother Vicente, owners of the Nina; and if they went, most of the seamen who were worth their salt would go also.  La Cosa himself in the Admiral’s place would go on and take the chance of mutiny, trusting in his own power to prevent or subdue it.

“Pedro,” he said, “have you told this to any one else?”

“Not a soul.”

“Would you like to sail with us?”

“Will a wolf bite?  Why do you suppose I told you all this?”

“Bite your tongue then, wolf-cub, until I have seen the Admiral.  Where shall I find you if I want you?”

“Tia Josefa over there lets me sleep in the courtyard.”

“Very well—­now, off with you.”

The Admiral said exactly what the pilot had thought he would say.  He knew himself to be looked upon with envy and dislike, as a Genoese, and the Spaniards who made up his three crews had been collected as with a rake from the unwilling Andalusian seaports.  It was decided that the mutinous sailors should be scattered so that they could not easily act together.  Pedro was taken on as cabin-boy, for he was thirteen, and wiser than his age.