canagari stood and listened. She spoke so fast--the Admiral never
became quite perfect in Indian tongues, and few upon the _Marigalante_
were so at this time. Juan Lepe understood. But just as he was thinking
that in duty bound he must say to the Admiral, "She is undermining
reputation. Best move away!" Guacanagari made a violent gesture as
though he would break a spell. "Where could they come from with all that
they have except from heaven? Who can plan against gods? It is sin to
think of it! _El Almirante_ will make you happy, Boriquen woman!"

We left the women. But Guacanagari himself was not happy, as he had been
that Christmas-tide when first the gods came, when the _Santa Maria_ was
wrecked and he gave us hospitality.

The Admiral did not see that he was unhappy. The Admiral saw always a
vast main good, and he thought it pearl and gold in every fiber. As yet,
he saw no rotted string, no snarl to be untangled. It was his weakness,
and maybe, too, his strength.

The sunset hung over this roadstead and the shore. The mountains glowed
in it, the nearer wood fell dark, the beach showed milky white, a knot
of palms upon a horn of land caught full gold and shone as though they
were in heaven. Over upon the _Cordera_ they were singing. The long
cacique-canoe shot out from the shadow of the _Marigalante_.

Sun dipped, night cupped hands over the world. The long day of
excitement was over. Mariners slept, adventurers gentle and simple, the
twelve friars and Father Buil. Seventeen ships, nigh fifteen hundred
men of Europe, swinging with the tide before the land we were to make
Spanish.

The watch raised a cry. Springing from his bed Juan Lepe came on deck
to find there confusion, and under the moon in the clear water, swimming
forms, swimming from us in a kind of desperate haste and strength. There
was shouting to man the boat. One jostling against me cried that they
were the captive Indians. They had broken bonds, lifted hatch, knocked
down the watch, leaped over side. Another shouted. No, the Caribs were
safe. These were the women--

The women--seven forms might be made out--were
not far from land. I felt tingling across to me their hope and fear. Out
of ship shadow shot after them our boat. Strongly rowed, it seemed to
gain, but they made speed strongly, strongly. The boat got into trouble
with the shallows. The swimmers now stood and ran, now were racers; in
a moment they would touch the dry, the shining beach.