"Because," answered the younger boy more gravely, "gold without life is useless, and even glory without it is not much worth. And various of our nobles at the Court have come to the belief that the fountain of youth wastes its precious waters in some hitherto undiscovered region of this New World. The brave knight, Ponce de Leon, hath determined on an expedition to go in search of it; meantime yon wealthy Señor hopes to bribe the Indians to bestow upon him a draught of the precious water before it be too late. And my father though something doubtful of this thing, hath consented that Don Aguilar should have passage with us for the chance. He, himself, would far rather find the Holy Garden of Eden, which he tells me most surely is out yonder." "At any rate," said one of the knightly adventurers who had now stepped up beside the two lads; "at any rate, Ferdinand, whether thy father finds the Garden or no, I trust that no flaming firebrands of the Indians will hinder him from finding, and traversing, that strait leading from this ocean into the Indian Sea, of which he seems to be so well assured. The finding of that passage will be wealth for all of us." Unfortunately for the hopes of those days, that expected passage proved to be a land one, and is now called the Isthmus of Darien, which art, not nature, promises soon to convert into the realization of Columbus's belief. CHAPTER X. _A JACK IN OFFICE._ It was the 29th of June. There was a hush on board the Admiral's ship. Yonder were visible the white low houses of San Domingo on the island of Hispaniola. Around the ship the sea lay still and grey, and the sails hung limp in the hot, heavy air. A knot of men gathered close around a cabin, listening with lowering brows and compressed lips to bitter groaning, and sobbing cries, that were being wrung from one within, by his wounded soul. Well might the old and way-worn discoverer of mighty continents feel tempted at that moment to cry: "Hath God forgotten to be gracious?" A storm was coming on; one of his four poor, shabby vessels--that on which his beloved brother Bartholomew held command--was in a shattered condition, and he had asked leave to take shelter in the harbour of the small island he had himself given to Spain, and Spaniards had refused him! What wonder that the noble and generous heart of the old Admiral was wrung to its very depths! What wonder that, as Montoro leant with Fernando against the cabin-door, the lad clenched his fists until the nails almost cut his palms, and muttered fiercely to his boy friend: "Fernando, ask thy father's leave. There is not a man on board will refuse to turn our guns against those miscreants, though they were twenty times our countrymen. Only let him give the word, and he shall be speedily avenged."