‘Earth’: 1493 Early Fall, Atlantic Ocean Journal of Louis de Torres
October the 11th, in the Year of our Lord 1493
Twenty long and ugly days have passed since the Canary Islands. Nearly every day we are plagued with storms; were it not for the Bishop’s assurances, I would be certain the very Lord of Creation was against our passage West.
Our spirits are sodden and weighty, like the sails in these harsh rains and winds. I should count myself lucky to be on the Lord Admiral’s ship; stories crossing from the other ships by messenger, including from my colleague Diego de las Vacas, tell of ships storing the livestock and fowl for the colonial effort. Those poor men and women are surely on a worse level of Hell. We’ve only the omnipresent rats.
Diego sent one piece of joyous news; he rooms with a German called Heilmann, who has brought along a Printing Press and knowledge of Papermills. Gladly I abjure my needless rationing, and instead rejoice that we can print Bibles for all the natives.
I have not been allowed to see the native since we left Spain and have grown suspicious, as it appeared quite sick in Spain and did not lift it’s head to greet the Queen. I scarce believe the creature could be taught such manners at this point. I have studied my own notes exaustively, and am sure naught else can I glean without more exposure. I cannot reproduce their sounds, let along penetrate their meanings, and they’ve shown no evidence of a written tongue, nor proficiency for proper language. Thus, my boredom rises ubiquitous, to match the rain and rats.