The inhabitants, who
were not numerous, were prepared to give him a hostile reception,--for
tidings of the invaders had preceded them along the country, and even
reached this insulated spot. As the object of Ruiz was to explore, not
conquer, he did not care to entangle himself in hostilities with the
natives; so, changing his purpose of landing, he weighed anchor, and ran
down the coast as far as what is now called the Bay of St. Matthew. The
country, which, as he advanced, continued to exhibit evidence of a better
culture as well as of a more dense population than the parts hitherto seen,
was crowded, along the shores, with spectators, who gave no signs of
fear or hostility. They stood gazing on the vessel of the white men as it
glided smoothly into the crystal waters of the bay, fancying it, says an
old writer, some mysterious being descended from the skies.
Without staying long enough on this friendly coast to undeceive the
simple people, Ruiz, standing off shore, struck out into the deep sea; but
he had not sailed far in that direction, when he was surprised by the sight
of a vessel, seeming in the distance like a caravel of considerable size,
traversed by a large sail that carried it sluggishly over the waters. The
old navigator was not a little perplexed by this phenomenon, as he was
confident no European bark could have been before him in these
latitudes, and no Indian nation, yet discovered, not even the civilized
Mexican, was acquainted with the use of sails in navigation.
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