Chapter XV.
On Sunday, which was the third day after the admiral had received intelligence of the caravels, and which was the 9th of September, the day broke and saw the fleet drifting about not more than nine leagues from Ferro.
All those in the secret watched anxiously for the hostile vessels, and the admiral knew that if a breeze did not spring up during the day there would be great danger of capture; for the caravels could get out their long oars and be upon them in spite of the calm.
But fortunately for his purpose a breeze came up with the sun, and, before any sign of the caravels was seen, the little fleet was skimming over the waters into that mysterious west which filled the hearts of the sailors with such foreboding that now they all remained on deck watching, with increasing gloom, the disappearance behind the eastern horizon of the last speck of land.
“Nothing but water now,” said Miguel, hoarsely, as his eye swept the whole circle of the horizon.
And then, as if his words had had a spell in them, a strange thing followed close upon them. Rodrigo de Triana, a stout man and a good seaman, who had never given any trouble, turned and caught Miguel by the shoulder in a spasmodic clutch, and, with his eyes rolling terribly, cried out in a loud voice:
“And it’s the last land we ever shall see. God ’a mercy on us!” and thereupon fell on his knees on the deck and cried like a child.
And then the others, seeing this, and being themselves wrought up to a singular pitch of terror, seemed to lose all control of themselves; and all over the vessel could be seen those strong men weeping and praying in voices of agony and despair, until Martin Alonzo was filled with alarm for the result, and sprang down the ladder and went among them.