“A sailor from a ship that had just arrived from Ferro came to us and first offered to help us desert from you.”
“But you remembered your promises, eh? Good boy! good boy! Yes, I like you. Well, go on.”
“Yes,” answered Juan, flushing with pleasure, and glad now to be telling Martin Alonzo what he had heard—”yes, we refused to go with him, and then he told us it would not much matter—we had told him we did not like the voyage—because there were three caravels of Portugal—armed caravels—waiting on the north side of Ferro to capture the fleet.”
Martin Alonzo became serious at once, and turned involuntarily towards where Ferro lay.
“Did he say so, boy? Ah, did he say so? Thank you, boy, thank you! We will see to that. Ay, thank you!”
“You will not let it be known that it was I told you, will you?” asked Juan.
“No, no, of course not. The men must not know even that the caravels are there. Now go make friends with Diego. You will like him; for he is a good lad, though with a hot temper.”
“Nothing but a fight will satisfy him,” said Juan.
“Then you shall fight, boy, and be friends afterwards. But not aboard the vessel, boy. Wait until we are in Zipangu.” And then, as Juan smiled, he smiled too, and added, “Ah, you think we will never reach there, do you? Well, I verily believe you are mistaken. But go, now, for I must to the admiral and warn him.”
Juan went down the ladder with a more uplifted spirit than had ever been in his breast before, and full of determination to deserve the best that Martin Alonzo thought of him. He passed Diego on his way forward, and stopped to say: