Unless it were magic-- We sailed on and we sailed on.

The _Cordera_, the _Santa Clara_ and the _San Juan_ were in bad case, hurt in that storm between Jamaica and Cuba, and wayworn since in those sandy seas, among those myriad islets.
Our seamen and our shipmasters now loudly wished return to Isabella.
He pushed us farther on and farther on, and still we did not come to anything beyond those things we had already reached, nor did we come either to any end of Cuba.

And what was going on in Hispaniola--in Isabella?
We had sailed in April and now it was July.
It became evident to him at last that he must turn.

The Viceroy and the Admiral warred in him, had long warred and would war.

Better for him had he never insisted upon viceroyship! Then, single-minded, he might have discovered to the end of his days.
We turned, the _Cordera_, the _Santa Clara_ and the _San Juan_, and still he believed that the long, long coast of Cuba was the coast of the Asia main.