Authors: C. S. Forester
Tags: #Inquisition, #treasure, #Caribbean, #Indian islands, #Indians, #aristocrats, #Conquistadors, #Orinoco, #Haiti, #Spain, #natives
“No,” agreed Rich, hoarsely.
At Osorio’s orders they backed water again until they could turn the boat, and they retraced their course; there was a resentful murmur at this wasted labor.
“We must try again,” said Rich loudly. “The Admiral relies on us to discover a passage.”
But the mention of the Admiral had small effect — he did not command these men’s devotion.
The bank where the nose of the boat touched it in turning was soft and oozy; this was an amphibious sort of island, plainly — the distinction between land and water was not a sharp one. Still they rowed along winding channels, turning now south and now north, yet in general holding steadily westward, rowing interminably.
“We must be three leagues from the sea,” said Osorio.
“That at least,” agreed Rich.
“And no sign of a spring yet.”
Everyone on board would be glad of fresh water to drink, instead of the flat and unpalatable reserve carried in the two casks. In these salt marshes there would be no chance of finding drinking water. Rich wondered what the birds and the monkeys drank — presumably these torrential rains made pools among the greenery. Anything was possible here; yet it was strange to find a marshy island surviving in the midst of the ocean, where one would expect the great waves to wash it away. To the east Trinidad gave it protection, but what of the north, and the west, and the south? It was puzzling.
The channel in which they found themselves now was wider than several they had previously traversed. And here the vegetation did not come quite to the water’s edge. There was rock — pebbles — in sight. The same idea seemed to strike Osorio and Rich at the same moment. Osorio moved restlessly in his seat, staring at the bank. Rich cautiously, put one hand into the water and tasted the drops which he lifted out. It was palatable water, almost fresh.
“We’re in a river, by God!” said Osorio.
“Yes. The water is drinkable,” said Rich.
The rowers rested on their oars at the announcement, mopping their sweat. Two or three men leaned dangerously over the side and sucked up water like horses. There was a babble of talk.
“Under that bank,” mused Osorio, “there’s quite an eddy. Look! There is a current running here. And it’s a big river.”
A river a quarter of a mile wide, thought Rich. And those innumerable marshy channels through which they had struggled! Rich thought of Padua, of the innumerable arms of the Po, embanked by the labor of centuries. And there were all the mouths of the Ebro, too, in the dreary marshland beyond Tarragona. He had seen the mouths of the Rhone, too, and he had heard of the mouths of the Rhine and of the Nile, must be a delta too; and the deductions to be drawn simply staggered the imagination. It could be no small island which they were exploring: a river the size of the Ebro implied a land the size of Aragon at least. Larger still, most probably. Perhaps — perhaps it was the mainland of Asia at last.
But then again there were difficulties. Rich remembered the description by the Venetian, Marco Polo, of the Asiatic countries and of the court of the Great Khan, its wealth and its fleets and armies. If this were the mainland those armies must have pushed hither to conquer this productive country, and those fleets must have coasted along these shores. Certainly the land would not be sparsely peopled by naked Indians with no knowledge of metals — and wearing pearls worth a king’s ransom. If the Great Khan’s fleets had not come here, it must be because it was not part of the mainland of Asia at all, but a mere island — a large island — and far enough from Asia not to have been discovered from that side. That implied a wide stretch of ocean to the westward of it, as large a stretch, perhaps, as the ocean they had already traversed on their way from Spain. And this in turn implied that the world was far larger than anyone thought, that the Admiral’s calculations were vastly at fault, and that they had not reached the Indies at all! That was as nonsensical as the other theory.
It was a dangerous thought, too. There had been doubters before, on the Admiral’s second voyage, and the Admiral had not only compelled everyone to swear a solemn oath that they believed Cuba to be part of the mainland of Asia, but also had publicly threatened to cut out the tongue of any man who affirmed the contrary — very right and proper treatment for dangerous skeptics, thought Rich, involuntarily, until he came back with a shock to the thought that it would take very little more to push him himself over into the abyss of skepticism as well. And he had never yet been a skeptic in his life.
Osorio was addressing him — apparently had been trying to attract his attention for some time.
“No,” said Rich, after a moment’s thought. “Let’s push a mile or two more up the river first.”
As far as he was concerned, he would have no appetite for food while consumed by his present doubts. There was just a chance that the theories were all wrong, that this was not a river at all, current and fresh water notwithstanding. A little farther effort might resolve all doubts, might carry them to a place where all was clear — might even take them again to the open sea on the farther side of this mysterious island.
The oars groaned in the rowlocks, the blades splashed monotonously alongside, and the boat crawled steadily up the channel round a vast bend. Another bend succeeded to that, the banks here lined with a wide stretch of golden sand. Some vast dull-colored creatures lay sunning themselves there; at the sound of the oars they bestirred themselves and wallowed down into the water.
“Iguanas,” said García, in reply to a question from a companion. “Lizards.”
They certainly looked like lizards, like large specimens of the kind of creature they had seen scuttling along the branches in Trinidad, and of which they had eaten at the Indians’ invitation.
“Tender and sweet as chicken,” said Tarpia, with a smacking of his lips. All hands stared over at the sand bank, now quite deserted.
Round the next bend the character of the river changed. A long way upstream they could see rocks, and a sparkling of wavelets, and a hint of white water.
“Rapids,” said Osorio.
“I fancy so,” agreed Rich. At that rate they had reached the limit of their expedition in this direction; no sensible purpose could be served by dragging the boat over the rapids, even if it were possible. Yet Rich was conscious of a feeling of disappointment; he did not want to turn back. He wanted to push on and on into the depths of this new and mysterious island.
But the men were hungry and tired, and already the current was running faster.
“We’ll land,” said Rich curtly.
A narrow deep channel ran aimlessly up between a sand bank and the sand of the shore, and Osorio guided the longboat into it. The sharp shelving edge made a suitable landing place; while the oarsmen scratched ineffectively at the sand with their blades, a seaman in the bow took a grip with the boathook and drew the heavy boat in, so that Rich was able to step ashore almost dry shod. The heat and glare from the sand came up into his face like a fountain of fire, and he hurried forward to the shade of the trees with the rest of them capering and chattering after him. A little crowd of monkeys overhead peeped through the branches at them and chattered more shrilly back until misgivings overcame them and they fled over the tops of the trees like thistledown over a field before they stopped again to peep.
“That would be meat for our dinner,” roared Tarpia, pointing. “Better than moldy olives.”
They all looked eagerly to Rich for permission, and he gave it after a glance at Osorio’s expressionless countenance.
“Bring your crossbow this way, Pepe. We can cut them off,” said Tarpia. “Will you go along the shore, Cristobal? Take Esteban with you. Try round there, Acevedo.”
They clattered and crashed off into the forest, leaving Osorio and Rich standing in the edge of the shade, the food bags at their feet and the river shining in front of them beyond the glaring sand. Shouts and cries came from the hunting party. They heard the sudden clatter of a discharged crossbow, a burst of laughter, and more cries. Birds were fluttering over the tree-tops in panic.
“The gentlemen are full of life,” said Osorio, philosophically. “Let us hope Saint Hubert will favor them.”
Saint Hubert apparently did, for they came back soon along the sand dragging their spoils with them.
“These little men,” said García, exultantly, “have never seen a crossbow before. That is plain. They squeaked with surprise when a bolt reached them at the top of a tree — that was a good shot of yours, Esteban.”
He turned over with his foot one of the limp bodies on the sand; the greyish brown fur was clotted with blood.
“Pepe got these two with one shot,” said Tarpia. “It broke this one’s leg and hit that one in the belly.”
“Pedro got a parrot,” said someone else, displaying the dead bird.
García drew his dagger and knelt by the dead animals.
“Who’ll light a fire?” he asked over his shoulder. “Holy Mary, the last game I gutted was a seven-point stag in the forest of St. Ildefonso!”
Everyone had eaten; everyone had swallowed at least a mouthful or two of monkey’s flesh despite the brutal jokes which were passed; everyone had decided that parrot’s meat tasted of tough carrion and was not food for Christians. Two or three of the more phlegmatic were asleep in the shade; most of the men, too excited with their run ashore to wish for a siesta, were lying talking in low tones. Rich was too restless even to lie still; he heaved himself to his feet and asked Osorio to walk with him, and the boatswain obeyed even though he would clearly have preferred to continue to take his ease in the shade.
“I want your opinion on the rapid there,” said Rich.
With notable self-control Osorio refrained from pointing out that, whether the rapid were easy or difficult, its mere existence made it impossible for the
Holy Name
to pass it — even if, unlike all the other rivers which Osorio knew, this particular one ran from sea to sea. They plodded doggedly side by side over the blazing sand, which scorched their feet through their boots.
“I have the Admiral’s order,” said Rich, “to spend four days if necessary seeking a passage.”
“We will need every minute of four days,” said Osorio, in an elaborately neutral tone. “Four weeks, or four months. You do not find rivers this size on a small island.”
“I am afraid so,” said Rich. “But we can at least report to the Admiral whether it is possible for a force to get up into the interior of the island this way.”
“Yes, sir,” Osorio, noncommittally, and they plodded on in silence.
The rapid when they reached it was clearly a difficult one. Flat grey rocks showed everywhere above the surface of the water, which swirled sullenly round them. Upstream, as far as their vision extended, the rocks were to be seen scattered over the river. Here and there they were so thick that the water came tumbling through the gaps in cataracts.
“M’m,” said Osorio. “A league of broken water. I can tell you this, sir. It would take the twenty men we have with us now a week at least to drag the longboat up there.”
“Thank you,” said Rich. “That was what I had to find out. We must go back and look for another passage.”
“We must,” said Osorio.
Yet Rich lingered for a while longer beside the rushing water, reluctant to turn back; he was surprised at himself, both for this unexpected yearning to push on, to explore, to make discoveries, and at his disappointment at having to retrace his steps. Osorio waited patiently until at last he made up his mind to return to the boat. Rich was silent as they walked back, puzzling over this unexpected development in himself, and Osorio’s sudden remark roused him with a jerk.
“The gentlemen are hunting again,” Osorio said.
Halfway between them and the boat lay three bulky shapes sunning themselves on the sand — iguanas, like the ones they had disturbed on their passage up the river in the boat. Half a dozen gentlemen were stealthily approaching them over the sand, García, conspicuous in his glittering helmet, in the lead. Their cautious movements brought them to within a score of yards of the creatures while Rich and Osorio were still a hundred yards away, in the opposite direction. Rich watched one of the men kneel and aim with a crossbow; the faint clatter of the released steel reached Rich’s ears over the heated sand.
From then on events moved rapidly. Two of the creatures vanished into the river; García, leaping forward with a rope, noosed the third before it could escape. A whirl of the brute’s tail sent him flying, but the others grabbed the end of the rope and hauled manfully, while the one with the crossbow was frantically working his windlass. The iguana, oddly agile for a thing so deformed, made at the prostrate García with open mouth, but the drag of the rope just deflected him and García was barely able to roll out of reach of the snapping jaws.