During the few days that the vessels remained at the island, which the natives called Guanahani, but which the admiral renamed San Salvador, Martin Alonzo did nothing overt, though he was not in the least active in any of the plans made by the admiral. One thing he did do; he called Diego to him.
“Diego,” said he, “it seems to me that the time has come when you should prove the truth of the encomiums of the good Fray Bartolomeo.”
“As to what?” demanded Diego, with some surprise; for the good fray was very far from his thoughts at that moment.
“He said you had a gift of language,” said Martin Alonzo.
Diego had been so often mocked at by his cousin because of his alleged gift that he looked curiously at him to see if behind his gloomy face was any sign of mirth. As there was not, he answered quite soberly:
“Perhaps he praised me too highly, good cousin.”
“I hope not,” said Martin Alonzo, knitting his brows; “for I have a use, now, for such a gift.”
“And may I ask what that use may be?” asked Diego, seeing his cousin pause.
“Yes, you may ask and know; for I look to you to practise it. Diego, I wish you to put yourself to it to learn the language of this people. Will it be a difficult task? You should know, having studied other languages.”