The storm, too, had been gradually increasing in violence, so that the ship could not even lay to until daylight, but was obliged to take an easterly course and run before the wind, which seemed suddenly to have altered its course, and was now blowing steadily from the northwest—a sign, according to Martin Alonzo, that the storm would presently abate.
The storm, however, did not trouble the sailors now; for the prospect of soon fingering that gold for which they were all so eager gave them patience in the midst of their impatience. It was now that Diego was in great demand among them.
His merry humor and constant flow of spirits had long ago made him a prime favorite with the men, while his knowledge of the Indian language made him of importance. It was to him that all questions relative to the nature of Bohio were always addressed, and now that the Pinta had broken loose from the fleet, Martin Alonzo had given him permission to answer all questions freely.
It may not be amiss to say that Miguel was the only one of the crew who had not taken kindly to Diego; and his aloofness was due as much to his jealousy of Juan’s liking of Diego as to his own sullen temper. Once or twice, when an occasion had offered, he had made a showing of being ready to injure Diego; but he had been very quickly warned that any such act on his part would end disastrously for himself, and therefore, although it was very well known that he was unfriendly to the boy, no one gave it any serious thought, and Miguel, indeed, always acted as if he had yielded to the force of public opinion.
“Where is Fray Diego?” asked Rodrigo de Triana, on the evening after Bohio had been sighted. The sailors had fallen into the way of calling him fray, partly as a jest and partly because his superior knowledge of book learning seemed to make the sobriquet a natural and proper one.
“Here he is,” answered Diego, who, with Juan, had been lying on the deck near the foremast, but in the shadow, so that he had not been recognizable. “What is it, my son?”
By way of joke he often assumed the clerical manner, which he mimicked as well as he did most things.
“Come hither, and tell us more of this land we have sighted, at last.”
“Ay, do, good fray,” cried one after another of the men. Although a stiff gale was blowing, it was not a cold one, but rather laden with heat, as if it had come from a warm region, and the men were lying about the deck, clad in only shirts and trousers.