Sun went out, air grew dark.

The Indians behind us on the path, that was so narrow that we must tread one after the other, spoke among themselves, then Diego Colon pushed through marvelously huge, rich fern to Luis and me.

"They say, 'will not the gods tell the clouds to go away ?'" But doubt like a gnome sat in the youth's eye.

We had had bad weather off Isabella, and the gods had had to wait for the sun like others.

By now Diego Colon had seen many and strange miracles, but he had likewise found limitations, quite numerous and decisive limitations! He thought that here was one, and I explained to him that he thought correctly.