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We were all kind no one was going to be hurt. We made magic with harac which we called "gold." In heaven was not enough harac. So important is it to the best magic that a chief god has come to earth to seek it. We also liked cotton and things to eat, especially cassava cakes, and we liked a very few parrots. But it was gold that in chief we wanted.
He did it to admiration, with look, gesture and tone ably translating his words. "Gold gold?" The Indian said, or we put down in this wise what he said, "Harac." Was there more harac on the island? We would give heavenly things for harac. The Indian was doubtful; he thought proudly that he had the only harac. "Where did he get it?" He indicated the south. "Little island like this one?" "No.
Great land. Harac there in many ears. Much harac." So we understood him. "Cipango!" breathed the Admiral. "Or neighbor to Cipango, increasingly rich and civilized as we go." He took a case of small boxes, each box filled with merchandise of spice which he desired. Cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, saffron, cloves and others. He made the islander smell and taste. "Had they aught like these?"
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