Diego Mendez saved his, but the other was seized, tossed and engulfed.

Eight men drowned.
The thing sank as it had come.

The River of Disaster, we named it, and left this strip of coast that seemed to us gloomy and portentous.
"_Wizardry! It's not to be lucky, this voyage_." It was now late September.
Next day, we anchored, it being most clear and beautiful.

We lay beside a verdurous islet, between it and a green shore.

Here were all our fruits, and we thought we smelled cinnamon and clove.