treasures which should have been delivered to the Sovereigns—­this last charge, like some of the others, true.  He had an accumulation of pearls of which he had given no account to Fonseca, and the possession of which he excused by the queer statement that he was waiting to announce it until he could match it with an equal amount of gold!  He was accused of hating the Spaniards, who were represented as having risen in the late rebellion in order to protect the natives and avenge their own wrongs—­, and generally of having abused his office in order to enrich his own family and gratify his own feelings.  Bobadilla appeared to believe all these charges; or perhaps he recognised their nature, and yet saw that there was a sufficient degree of truth in them to disqualify the Admiral in his position as Viceroy.  In all these affairs his right-hand man was Roldan, whose loyalty to Columbus, as we foresaw, had been short-lived.  Roldan collects evidence; Roldan knows where he can lay his hands on this witness; Roldan produces this and that proof; Roldan is here, there, and everywhere—­never had Bobadilla found such a useful, obliging man as Roldan.  With his help Bobadilla soon collected a sufficient weight of evidence to justify in his own mind his sending Columbus home to Spain, and remaining himself in command of the island.

The caravels having been made ready, and all the evidence drawn up and documented, it only remained to embark the prisoners and despatch them to Spain.  Columbus, sitting in his dungeon, suffering from gout and ophthalmic as well as from misery and humiliation, had heard no news; but he had heard the shouting of the people in the streets, the beating of drums and blowing of horns, and his own name and that of his brothers uttered in derision; and he made sure that he was going to be executed.  Alonso de Villegio, a nephew of Bishop Fonseca’s, had been appointed to take charge of the ships returning to Spain; and when he came into the prison the Admiral thought his last hour had come.

“Villegio,” he asked sadly, “where are you taking me?”

“I am taking you to the ship, your Excellency, to embark,” replied the other.

“To embark?” repeated the Admiral incredulously.  “Villegio! are you speaking the truth?”

“By the life of your Excellency what I say is true,” was the reply, and the news came with a wave of relief to the panic-stricken heart of the Admiral.

In the middle of October the caravels sailed from San Domingo, and the last sounds heard by Columbus from the land of his discovery were the hoots and jeers and curses hurled after him by the treacherous, triumphant rabble on the shore.  Villegio treated him and his brothers with as much kindness as possible, and offered, when they had got well clear of Espanola, to take off the Admiral’s chains.  But Columbus, with a fine counterstroke of picturesque dignity, refused to have them removed.  Already, perhaps,