It was still too rough for any communication with the admiral, and so there was nothing for it at present but to put on sail and proceed; but that did not disquiet any but those who were not sailors; for it was well enough understood that Martin Alonzo was only keeping on until he could communicate with the admiral, Christoval Colon.
The sailors had fully expected some sort of harangue from Martin Alonzo; but he maintained what seemed to some of them an ominous silence, and gave his whole attention to the navigation of the disabled ship.
Once again during the day the rudder broke down; but the sea had moderated so much that it was repaired more easily this time; though it was still understood that nothing permanent could be accomplished without seeking land first.
It was not until the next day that the waves had gone down sufficiently to render intercourse between the vessels possible; though the Pinta had approached near enough to the Santa Maria to shout across the water the nature of the accident that had disabled the former ship.
Martin Alonzo would have gone aboard the Santa Maria, but the admiral thought it better for himself to go to the Pinta, and he did so soon after sunrise. The sailors of the Pinta greeted his appearance with execrations—muttered, indeed, but deep and heartfelt; and they had many disparaging things to say of him, likening him to a madman in looks. But Diego, who had seen him often, could not feel as they did, and thought him one of the noblest and most dignified of men.
He retired to the cabin, taking his pilot with him, and followed by Martin Alonzo, Francisco Martin, who was pilot of the Pinta, and by Garcia Fernandez. There must have been a serious consultation between them; for they all looked grave when they came out. When the admiral had returned to his vessel, Martin Alonzo had all hands called aft, and they went readily enough; for they were hot to hear what had been decided.
Martin Alonzo stood on the poop and waited silently, until all the sailors stood ready to hear him. He looked very stern and determined, and some who were more acute than others augured ill for their hopes of a return.
“If I had discovered yesterday,” began Martin Alonzo, in a very uncompromising tone, “who had cut the gearing I would have hanged him to the yard. I had good reasons for not pressing the matter. Now, I will say that any similar attempt in the future will be punished by instant death.
“So much for that. The object in playing that fool’s trick was to force me to turn back. You are all hoping that I will turn back. I shall not. We are heading now for the Canary Islands, where a new vessel will be found to replace this; or, if that cannot be done, this shall be thoroughly repaired and the voyage continued to the end. Or at least until we have gone seven hundred leagues to the westward of Andalusia.”
He stopped as if he believed he had said the last possible word on the subject. The men looked uneasily at each other, and it was plain that there was a strong feeling of dissatisfaction among them that must find voice, and it did in the person of a grizzled old sailor, who theretofore had had as little to say as any one. He knuckled his forehead and hitched himself a little forward in the group of his mates.