Indies. The East
had for generations been the enchanted treasure-house of Europe. Arabic,
Venetian, Genoese and Portuguese traders had brought from it spices,
rare woods, gold, diamonds, pearls, silk, and other foreign luxuries.
But the wide and varied reading of the Admiral had given him more
definite information. He told of the gilded temples of Cipangu, the
porcelain towers of Cathay, rajahs' elephants in gilded and jeweled
trappings, golden idols with eyes of great glowing gems, thrones of
ebony inlaid with patterns of diamonds, emeralds and rubies, rich
cargoes of spices, dyewood, fine cotton and silk, pearl fisheries, the
White Feast of Cambalu and the Khan's great hall where six thousand
courtiers gathered. Portugal already was reaching out toward these
Indies, groping her way around the African coast. Were they, Spaniards
and Christians, to be outdone by Portuguese and Arab traders? No men
ever had so great a future. Not only the wealth of the Indies, but the
glory of winning heathen empires to abandon their idols for the
Christian faith, was the adventure to which they were pledged; and he
strove to kindle their spirits from his own.

To Pedro the cabin-boy, listening in silence, it was like an entrance
into another world. When he asked to be taken on he had been moved
simply by a boy's desire to go where he had not been before. Now he
served a demigod, who led men where none had dared go. The Admiral might
have the glory of rediscovering the western route to the Indies; his
cabin-boy was discovering him.

The sea was beautifully calm, and there was time for talk and
speculation. A drifting mast, to which nobody would have given two
thoughts anywhere else, was pointed out as an evil omen. Pedro grinned
cheerfully and elevated his nose.

"Do you not believe in omens, Pedro?" asked the Admiral, somewhat
amused. He had not found many Spaniards who did not.

"One does not believe all one hears, my lord," the youngster answered,
coolly. "Tia Josefa saw ill omens a dozen times a week, all sure death;
and she is ninety years old. A mast drifting with the current is usual.
When I see one drifting against it I will begin to worry."

The jumpy nerves of the sailors were easily upset. They might have been
calmer if the sea had been less calm. It is hard for Spanish blood to
endure inaction and suspense together. Day after day a soft strong wind
wafted them westward. Ruiz, one of the pilots, bluntly declared that he