The Admiral's silver hair gleamed in the dusk. He moved and his gyves
struck together. "Villejo!" he said, "if I lie to-night on the floor of
Ocean-Sea, I will lie there in these chains! When the sea gives up its
dead, I will rise in them!"

"I could force you, senor," said Villejo.

The other answered, "Try it, and God will make your hands like a
babe's!"

Villejo and the smith did not try it. There was something around him
like an invisible guard. I knew the feel of it, and that it was his will
emerged at height.

"Remember then, senor, that I would have done it for you!" Villejo
touched the door. The Admiral's voice came after. "My brother, Don
Bartholomew, he who was responsible to me and only through me to the
Sovereigns, free him, Villejo, and you have all my thanks!"

We went to take the gyves from Don Bartholomew. It would have been
comfort to these brothers to be together in prison--but that the
Governor of Hispaniola straitly forbade. When Villejo had explained what
he would do, the Adelantado asked, "What of the Admiral?"

"I wish to take them from him also. But he is obstinate in his pride and
will not!"

"He will go as he is to the Queen and Spain and the world," said Juan
Lepe.

"That is enough for me," answered the Adelantado. "I do not go down
to-night a freed body while he goes down a chained.--Farewell, senor! I
think I hear your sailors calling."

Villejo hesitated. "Let them have their will, senor," said Juan Lepe.
"Their will is as good as ours."

Don Bartholomew turned to me. "How fares my brother, Doctor? Is he ill?"

"He is better. Because he was ill I was let to come with him. But now he
is better."

"Give him my enduring love and constancy," said the Adelantado. "Good
night, Villejo!" and turned upon his side with a rattling of his chain.

Returning to the Admiral, Juan Lepe sat beside him through the night.
The tempest continuing, there were moments when we thought, It may be
the end of this life! We thought to hear the cry "She sinks!" and the
rush of feet.

At times when there fell lulls we talked. He was calmly cheerful.

"It seems to me that the storm lessens. I have been penning in my mind,
lying here, a letter to one who will show it to the Queen. Writing so, I
can say with greater freedom that which should be said."

"What do you say?"

He told me with energy. His letter related past events in Hispaniola and
the arrival of Bobadilla and all that took place ther