We had upon the _Santa Maria_ a man named Felipe who
seemed a simple, God-fearing soul, very attentive to Fray
Ignatio and all the offices of religion. He was rather a silent
fellow and a slow, poor worker, often in trouble with boatswain
and master. He said odd things and sometimes wept
for his soul, and the forecastle laughed at him. This man
became in a night mad.

It was middle night. The _Santa Maria_ swung at anchor
and the whole world seemed a just-breathing stillness.
There was the watch, but all else slept. The watch, looking
at Cuba and the moon on the water, did not observe Felipe
when he crept from forecastle with a long, sharp two-edged
knife such as they sell in Toledo.

Juan Lepe woke from first sleep and could not recover
it. He found Bernardo Nunez's small, small cabin stifling,
and at last he got up, put on garments, and slipped forth
and through great cabin to outer air. He might have found
the Admiral there before him, for he slept little and was
about the ship at all hours, but to-night he did sleep.

I spoke to the watch, then set myself down at break of
poop to breathe the splendor of the night. The moon bathed
Alpha and Omega, and the two ships, the _Nina_ and the Santa
Maria. It washed the Pinta but we saw it not, not knowing
where rode the Pinta and Martin Alonzo Pinzon. So bright,
so pleasureable, was the night!

An hour passed. My body was cooled and refreshed,