Neither the figurehead nor the crosses helped. Who gave them any thought in a wind that now seemed to come from all directions at once, pressing one’s mouth closed and every object against the deck, now sucked everything up again, as if the atmosphere were escaping this part of the earth?
At first the waves came quite slowly and regularly like rearing mountains, and the ship moved without juddering from peak to trough, sometimes rising steeply, sometimes almost flat on its side. Afterwards it was surrounded by mountains of water that all collapsed at the same time, so that it was constantly under water.
At first I was grateful that this was happening, that I was experiencing this violence, that the ship that had imprisoned me for six months, where I had been robbed of all I possessed, down to my name and my shirt, was being destroyed, but that intoxication of freedom had passed in five minutes and all I did was yearn for peace and quiet: all thought was suspended.
When the storm subsided the coast was still in sight. The wind had dropped again, but the waves were still rising above the hull. At night we saw a wide expanse of flickering light and above it a great steady glow: that was Macao with its lighthouse. I was worried that we would after all find a safe haven. I hid in a corner of the poop deck, and a few survivors were still lying against the railings. But the ship would not see the sight of day. At about four o’clock it was lifted up, smashed against a quay, and fell back; the cannon in the hold rolled from side to side and some discharged. The São Bento sank quickly, sucking down most of those on board with her. Only those who had been able to grab a plank or buoy in time kept their heads above water. I floated on a small barrel, which I had kept ready for some time. It contained a few ship’s biscuits, and also… my work.
Day dawned again, this time over empty waters. The coast was a long way off, the island we had crashed into had disappeared. I was beginning to feel exhausted, since the barrel, in the water, kept revolving and so I was constantly being given a ducking. But the feeling that I wasn’t yet to die in this adventure made me hold on and after a few hours it became clear to me that the waves were impelling me in the direction of the bay. I could now make out the town in the distance, no different from a small Portuguese or Spanish harbour. There were a few ships at anchor, but there were lots of junks of the kind I had seen previously: low bow, high stern, ungainly sails. I regarded the town as a piece of the old country; I would have much preferred a Chinese harbour.
Opposite, partially closing off the bay, was a long island, low-lying at its shore, with a mountainous summit in the middle perhaps fifteen hundred metres high. It looked quite deserted, with small woods here and there — would there be any shelter to be found? Slowly I jerked my rolling barrel towards it, and after endless struggles I reached the beach, half-swimming, half-hanging. I waded towards dry land with my possessions on my shoulders. Ahead of me was undergrowth. I advanced perhaps a hundred metres into it, and could go no further, since sleep overwhelmed me.
I came to in a pale twilight, which quickly grew darker, so that I remained motionless. In the middle of the night I crawled out of the bushes to the beach, but I could see no lights across the water. Was it foggy? Were my eyes misted over? Were they afraid of an attack? Still, it troubled me that the lights were no longer burning. I also felt so weak now that I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other, but I was a prisoner on this island and decided to explore it this very night. There was a little moonlight now. I ate a little of the ship’s biscuit, but however exhausted I was, I seemed to have lost my appetite. I realized that I was ill and was afraid that the sickness would very soon gain the upper hand. My bones hurt, my gums were swollen and bleeding, the taste of blood in my mouth made me feel nauseous. So I set out, staggering along. It was deathly quiet; from the distance came the rush of the sea, completely calm now. I could see no houses anywhere, and could not find a path. I climbed a gentle slope, and from a wood I heard dull lowing. Could there be a house there among the trees?
A young cow was tethered by a rope. I released the animal, but changed my mind just in time, tied it up again and tried to milk it. I remembered with a start that raw milk is the antidote to scurvy: I had almost let my chance of survival escape! The small amount that I was able to swallow — I could scarcely open my mouth any longer — did me good. I made a mental note of where the animal was and continued on my way. I now reached the edge of a field that had been regularly planted. I was not familiar with the crop, but ate it raw and unwashed anyway in my desire to survive, possibly risking a more serious disease.
So I wandered around until a new danger threatened: that of being seen, since it was becoming light. I found a cleft in the rock and spent the day dozing and suffering cramps. Sometimes I peered outside, but never saw a living soul.
The next night the cow had disappeared, but I found a different, better kind of root vegetable and finally chanced upon a house. During the following day, I kept watch on it from the trees. It appeared to be deserted. At night I broke in and found food in earthenware jars, but it was disgusting. Only then did my desperate situation come home to me: my own people would put me in prison, while the Chinese could not understand me, and I could not live on their food. I could not go back to the sea. As I was reflecting on this, I felt a roaring in my ears and collapsed. I tried to get up but could no longer manage to and lay on the bumpy clay floor.
IV
THE CHINESE PEASANTS WHO, returning from harvesting, found the blond barbarian in their home, did not kill him or hand him over. They let him wander at will, did not stop him from picking and eating vegetables, and taking the leftover rice from their bowls. It was impossible to decide from their faces or gestures whether they even saw him. This denial of his existence was even more painful for Camões than enmity or imprisonment. It was as if he had landed on another planet, whose inhabitants, equipped with different senses, were unaware of his presence. There was no way that he could connect, through either laughter or gestures, with this outside world. It was a loneliness more dreadful than that far out at sea or in an icy waste, more oppressive than confinement in the ship’s hold. Still, in the midst of this mental torment his physical strength slowly returned. Driven by instinct, he dragged himself up the slope to the highest point on the island. The hillside was not steep, but he was still so weak that it took him days. On the town side the mountain fell away quite steeply and the summit surveyed the bay and the surroundings. Only now could Luís view the new world.
Despite his wretched state, the wide vista gave him some sense of liberation. All around there were islands in the water, and the mainland could be seen in the distance, while across the bay the town lay on the side of three hills. On the top was the lighthouse, which had continued to blaze above the darkness of the town; on the second hill, in an angular garland, were the ramparts of the citadel; and on the third stood the cathedral with a great cross on its spire. Beneath lay the town, with white, brown and grey buildings and between them many boulders and clumps of trees. Out to sea the junks had swarmed across the water in dense flocks; even when the fishing fleet took refuge in the Tagus from an Atlantic storm, there were not as many masts on view as this.
Below him, on the island, the roofs of the fishermen’s huts stuck up like pointed saddles that had been scattered about; on the beach, pulled up well above the tide line, were the sampans. Luís scanned the line of the coast as far as he could, and at the far end, in a wood, was something that resembled a white roof. This had the same effect on him as a sail on a shipwrecked mariner floating around in the sea: he was determined to make for it, unconcerned whether it belonged to a pirate or a friendly vessel. He descended from the summit and tried to follow the most direct path. But he had to avoid villages and ravines and finally lost his way completely, so that he had to climb back to the summit to find it again; when he descended again he tried to keep on course, but again went astray.