The remaining four men ran until they could no longer draw breath and they collapsed upon the rocky ground. Sweat poured down their faces and stung their eyes. They took big gulps of air as they looked at one another with a mixture of terror and wonder. They were alive. Despite this savage land and its bloodthirsty inhabitants they had survived.

Once they had caught their breath they resumed their travels. The men stayed alert for signs of pursuit and made sure they kept to the shadows of the trees and rock outcroppings as they made their way towards the beach. They each breathed a sigh of relief when their boots dug into the white sand.

Christopher Columbus stood upon the beach, his russet cloak billowing in the soft breeze. His brandy brown eyes squinted into the horizon. Three sets of white sails were rapidly fading into the sunset.

He fell to his knees in the sand, despair consuming him as he realized what had occurred. Mutiny.