"Señor Don Almirante, your memory hath not mistaken," returned the person addressed; "I am Sancho Mundo, as your Excellency saith, sometimes called Sancho of the Ship-Yard Gate. I desire to say a few words concerning the fate of our voyage, whenever it shall suit you, noble Señor, to hear me where there are no ears present that you distrust."
"Thou may'st speak freely now; this cavalier being my confidant and secretary."
"It is not necessary that I should tell a great pilot, like your Excellency, who is King of Portugal, or what the mariners of Lisbon have been about these many years, since you know all better than myself. Therefore I will just add, that they are discovering all the unknown lands they can, for themselves, and preventing others, as much as in them lies, from doing the same thing."
"Don John of Portugal is an enlightened prince, fellow, and thou wouldst do well to respect his character and rank. His Highness is a liberal sovereign, and hath sent many noble expeditions forth from his harbor."
"That he hath, Señor, and this last is not the least in its designs and intentions," answered Sancho, turning a look of irony toward the admiral, that showed the fellow had more in reserve than he cared to divulge without some wheedling. "No one doubts Don John's willingness to send forth expeditions."
"Thou hast heard some intelligence, Sancho, that it is proper I should know! Speak freely, and rely on my repaying any service of this sort to the full extent of its deservings."
"If your Excellency will have patience to hear me, I will give the whole story, with all minuteness and particularity, and that in a way to leave no part untold, and all parts to be as easily understood as heart can wish, or a priest in the confessional could desire."
"Speak; no one will interrupt thee. As thou art frank, so will be thy reward."
"Well, then, Señor Don Almirante, you must know that about eleven years since, I made a voyage from Palos to Sicily, in a caravel belonging to the Pinzons, here; not to Martin Alonzo, who commandeth the Pinta, under your Excellency's order, but to a kinsman of his late father's, who caused better craft to be constructed than we are apt to get in these days of hurry, and rotten cordage, and careless caulking, to say nothing of the manner in which the canvas is"—
"Nay, good Sancho," interrupted the impatient Luis, who was yet smarting under the remarks of Doña Inez's correspondent—"thou forgettest night is near, and that the boat is waiting for the admiral."