an sail, not stopping anywhere that he
might come straight to the Black Man's land. And passing by Cape Verde
he sailed on sixty leagues and found a river, where he judged there
ought to be some people living. So he bade them lower two small boats
and put ten men in the one and twelve in the other, which pulled
straight towards some huts they sighted ahead of them. But before they
could jump on shore, twelve canoes came out on the other side, and
seventy or eighty Blackmoors in them, with bows in their hands, who
began to shoot at our people." As the tide rose, one of the Guinea boats
passed them and landed its crew, "so that our men were between a fire
from the land and a fire from the boats." They pulled back as hard as
they could, but before they could get on board, four of them were lying
dead.

"And so they began to make sail home again, leaving the boats in that
they were not able to take charge of them. For of the twenty-two who
went to land in them there did not escape more than two; nineteen were
killed, for so deadly was the poison that with a tiny wound, a mere
scratch that drew blood, it could bring a man to his last end. But above
and beyond these was killed our noble knight, Nuno Tristam, earnestly
desiring life, that he might die not a shameful death like this, but as
a brave man should." Of seven who had been left in the caravel, two had
been struck by the poisoned arrows as they tried to raise the anchors,
and were long in danger of death, lying a good twenty days at the last
gasp, without the power to raise a finger to help the others who were
trying to get the caravel home, so that only five were left to work the
ship.

Nuno's men were saved by the energy and skill of one--a mere boy, a page
of the Infant's House--who took charge of the ship, and steered its
course due north, then north by east, so that in two months' time they
were off the coast of Portugal. But they were absolutely helpless and
hopeless, knowing nothing of their whereabouts, for in all those two
months they had had no glimpse of land,--so that when at last they
caught sight of an armed fusta, they were "much troubled," supposing it
to be a Moorish cruiser. When it came near and shewed itself to be a
Gallician pirate, the poor fellows were almost wild with delight, still
more when they found they were not far from Lagos. They had had a
terrible time; first they were almost poisoned by the dead bodies of
Nuno Tristam and the victims