e journal, the other was for all to see. He took the actual
figures of each day's run as set down in his private record, subtracted
from them a certain percentage and gave out this revised reckoning to
the fleet. He, and he alone, knew that they were nearly seven hundred
leagues from Palos already, instead of five hundred and fifty. According
to Toscanelli's calculation, by sailing west from the Canaries along the
thirtieth parallel of latitude he should land somewhere on the coast of
Cipangu; but the map of Toscanelli might be incorrect. If the ocean
should prove to be a hundred or more leagues wider than the chart showed
it, they would have to go on, all the same.

Even after they were out of the seaweed there was something weird and
unnatural in the sluggish calm of the sea. Light winds blew from the
west and southwest, but there were no waves, as by all marine experience
there should have been. On September 25 the sea heaved silently in a
mysterious heavy swell, without any wind. Then the wind once more
shifted to the east, and carried them on so smoothly that they could
talk from one ship to another. Martin Pinzon borrowed the Admiral's
chart, and it seemed to him that according to this they must be near
Cipangu. He tossed the chart back to the flagship on the end of a cord,
and gave himself to scanning the horizon. Ten thousand maravedis had
been promised by the sovereigns to the first man who actually saw land.
Suddenly Pinzon shouted, "Tierra! Tierra!" There was a low bank of what
seemed to be land, about twenty-five leagues away to the southwest. Even
for this Colon hesitated to turn from his pre-arranged course, but at
last he yielded to the chorus of pleading and protest which arose from
his officers, set his helm southwest and found--a cloud-bank.

Again and again during the following days the eager eyes and strained
nerves of the seamen led to similar disappointments. Land birds
appeared; some alighted fearlessly on the rigging and sang. Dolphins
frolicked about the keels. Flying-fish, pursued by their enemy the
bonito (mackerel), rose from the water in rainbow argosies, and fell
sometimes inside the caravels. A heron, a pelican and a duck passed,
flying southwest. By the true reckoning the fleet had sailed seven
hundred and fifty leagues. Colon wondered whether there could be an
error in the map, or whether by swerving from their course they had
passed between islands into the southern sea. Pedro, as sensi