As
the object of Ruiz was to explore, not to 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. As he drew near, he found it was a large vessel, or
rather raft, called balsa by the natives, consisting of a number
of huge timbers of a light, porous wood, tightly lashed together,
with a frail flooring of reeds raised on them by way of deck.
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