The howling North American Cold Wave swept down from the far north, blew across the vast six-thousand-li North American Great Plains, and only then reached the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, turning into a slightly cool autumn wind. After that, the autumn wind screamed, and great waves surged. The northwestern wind from the continent blew toward the depths of the Caribbean Sea, then became a warm spring breeze.
The spring breeze wound through the Bahamas until it reached a green island with a broad, open view, blowing toward an extremely wide natural harbor of deep water. And in another time and space, this island at the center of the Bahamas, this excellent natural harbor, would become the most enduring landmark of the entire archipelago, the holy land of Caribbean pirates—"Nassau"!
"Splash... splash!..."
The Castile Royal Banner snapped fiercely in the wind. The somewhat battered sailing ship Santa Maria lay anchored in the harbor on the south side of the island, her stitched sails—old and new patches mixed together—furled up. As for the wooden planks nailed all over the hull, some still had rough burrs on them, clearly repaired not long ago. And on the sailboat's lookout platform stood a sailor gazing into the distance, his eyes cast toward the boundless southern sea, as if he were forever on guard, worried about something.
"Nova stella apparita, Ne le parti d'Oriente, Per mostrar tutta gente, Lo Salvator ch'è nato... A bright star has appeared, in the east, telling all people that the newborn Savior has come!..."
The spring breeze continued to blow, brushing over the pointed roofs of the Taino thatched huts and settling on the newly erected wooden cross. And devout, sonorous Latin prayers drifted up from beneath the wooden cross, then flew into the boundless blue sky where "bandit"