And now we saw floating something like a narrow board or a wide staff.  The master ordered the boat lowered; we brought it in and it was given dripping into the Admiral’s hand.  “It is carved by man,” he said.  “Look!” Truly it was so, rudely done with bone or flint, but carved by man with something meant for a picture of a beast and a tree.

We sailed west by south this day and the next.  No more man-wrought driftage came our way, but other signs multiplied.  We saw many birds, the water was strangely warm and clear, when the wind blew toward us it had a scent, a tone, that cried land breeze!  Then came by a branch with yellow flowers, and upon one a butterfly.  After this none doubted, not Fernando nor any.  “Gold flowers—­ gold flowers—­gold, gold!”

This night we lay by so that we should not slip past land in the darkness.  When day came there showed haze south and west.  A gentle wind sang in our rigging.  On board the Santa Maria, the Pinta and the Nina all watched for land.  Excitement and restlessness took us all.  The Admiral’s eyes burned like deep gray seas.  I could read in them the images behind. Prester John and the Release of the Sepulchre.  The Grand Khan a tributary Prince.  Argosies of gold, silk and spices, sailing steady, sailing fast over a waterway unblocked by Mahound and his soldans.  All Europe burning bright, rising a rich Queen.  Holy Church with another cubit to her stature.  Christopherus Columbus, the Discoverer, the Enricher, the Deliverer!  Queen Isabella, and on her cheeks a flush of gratitude; all the Spanish court bowing low.  All the friends, the kindred, all so blessed!  Sons, brothers; Genoa, and Domenico Colombo clad in velvet, dining with the Doge.

Dolphins were all about us; once there rose a cry from the mariners that they heard singing over the waves.  We held breath and listened, but if they were sirens they ceased their song.  But at eve, the sky pale gold, the water a sapphire field, we ourselves sang mightily our “Salve Regina.”

The Admiral would speak to us.  Now all loved him, with golden India rising to-morrow from the sea, with his wisdom proving itself!  He had this eve a thrilling voice.  God had been good to us; who could say other?  This very eve, at Palos, they thought of us.  At Santa Maria de la Rabida, chanting vesper hymn, they prayed for us also.  In Cordova the Queen prayed.  In Rome, the Holy Father had us in mind.  Would we lessen ourselves, disappointing so many, and very God, grieving very Christ?  “No!  But out of this ship we shall step on this land to come, good men, true men, servants and sons of Christ in His kingdom.  This night, in India before us, men sigh, `We weary of our idols!  Why tarrieth true God?’ There the learned think, bending over their maps, `Why doth not some one put forth, bringing all the lands into one garland?’ They look to their east whence we come, and they may see in dream tonight these three ships!” His voice rang.  “I tell you these Three Ships shall be known forever!  Your grandchildren’s grandchildren shall say, `The Santa Maria, the Pinta and the Nina—­and one that was our ancestor sailed in this one or in that one, to the glory and gain of the world, wherefore we still make festival of his birthday!’ "