“Yes, and have his good-will, though I betrayed no one—not I.”
“And so it should be,” said another; “for you showed yourself one of his own kind. A brave boy, comrades!”
“Ay, ay! and we did him an injustice.”
“So we did,” was agreed, “but we’ll make that right.”
“But how came he to let you off?” asked a voice that Diego knew for Miguel’s, though the fellow did not show himself inside the group, preferring to skulk on the outer edge.
“Why,” answered Diego, a little hotly, “because it was discovered that the fellow who did the trick was as much fool as knave; for the rudder had been fixed to break down ere ever the vessel left port. And I must say it is well that the Pinta had so good a captain, or we would all have been at the bottom now. I tell you all freely and frankly that I like the voyage no better than any of you; but it was a foolish and a knavish trick to do a thing that might have sent us all to feed the fishes. I wager the one who did it was no sailor.”
“True,” and “That’s true,” and “He says well!” came from every side of him, and Diego knew he had made no mistake in putting the matter as he had.
All this while, of course, the carpenter had been busy at the rudder, and after a time he came up and reported that he had done all that could be done—a matter Martin Alonzo certified to himself by going over the rail and examining the work. When he came on deck again he said to his brother:
“Nothing more can be done; but we cannot go far in this plight. Another such gale would make an end of us. I would I could talk with the admiral.”
Somehow his words got forward among the sailors, and there were very few, if any, among them that were not content with the prospect of having to turn back. And Diego, if the truth be told, was as pleased as any.