Sunday, September 8, 1529
My son is now two years old. We arrived in Galatas Nueva a year before he was born. Yet no other Spanish have come. Are they no longer searching for Terra Australis? To have given up would have been foolish. Granted, Galatas Nueva is not the imagined great southern continent that we dreamed of, but the land is also not low on resources. The wood grows in abundance and on a scale not to be found in Spain. We have also seen many fine gems and rocks, aside from the jade jewellery that is made in Whareakeake, we have also seen gold.
The sea offers up the best fishing I know, with a wonderful variety of fleshy white fish and shellfish of all sizes. There are whales coming past, not too distant from the land, and seals even sleep on the beaches around us. Any nation that settled here would be pleased with the island’s riches. Indeed, I am more than pleased with my lot.
There has, it must be said, been some brawling among a few of the men. Two were killed. The incidences seem to be isolated however, and for the most part, everyone is settled in and showing no signs of interest in returning to Spain. We are, now, deserters. If we did return, we would likely be executed. A good thing it is then that life here is so good.