Loud and angry voices rose under the palms, under a sky of pale gold.
Sent for, I found the Admiral lying on his bed, not yet in his stone house but in a rich and large pavilion brought out especially for the Viceroy and now pitched upon the river bank, under palms.

I came to him past numbers out of that thirty.

Idle here; they certainly were idle here! With him I found a secretary, but when he could he preferred always to write his own letters, in his small, clear, strong hand, and now he was doing this, propped in bed, in his brow a knot of pain.

He wrote many letters.

Long afterwards I heard that it had become a saying in Spain, "Write of your matters as often as Christopherus Columbus!" I sat waiting for him to finish and he saw my eyes upon yet unfolded pages strewing the table taken from the _Marigalante_ and set here beside him.