“So,” said Martin Alonzo, eying them narrowly, “you have been employing your time, have you, after all?”
“We filled the casks first,” said Juan, Diego playing the wonderful part, for him, of sullen silence.
“Well for you you did,” said Martin Alonzo, and with that turned from them and began ordering the men in sharp tones. The truth was, he was vexed to see Diego carrying the marks of a beating.
Well, the water was loaded into the boats and they pushed off, Diego and Juan sitting in their places in silence; though the men had at the first tried to be merry with them over their fight, and had desisted only at the peremptory word of Martin Alonzo, who looked as sullen as Diego’s self.
As for Diego, he had neither eyes nor words for any one; but sat with his eyes down all the way. He was thinking of many things, and was having a harder battle with himself than he had had with Juan, and one that hurt him far more. It was mostly about Juan he was thinking; but there came occasional thoughts about the Portuguese caravels that were to stop the voyage.
He thought of Martin Alonzo, too. He knew by the glance his cousin had given him, and by the tone of his voice, and by his short words to the men, that he was vexed with him for being beaten, as if he had expected, as a matter of course, that Diego would be the master in such a fight. He was grateful for the feeling, but he was resentful too. Besides, there were other things in his mind, and he was in an uncertainty what to do.
When they had reached the vessel and the water had been taken aboard and the boats hoisted to their places, the word was given to the admiral and sail was set. Diego did his share of the work, watching his cousin and Juan about equally, and knowing that they were watching him. Presently Francisco Martin took charge of the ship, and Diego saw Martin Alonzo beckon him to come apart with him, which he did.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, brusquely, “you let him whip you.”
“He whipped me,” answered Diego, sullenly.
“Was it a fair fight?”