We were sailing toward the shore again, but the wind had gone down and the Trinity moved sluggishly enough through the heavy swells, making scarce a league an hour. But this was a humor of the elements and meant nothing – or everything. In those latitudes a ship-master should ever be in a plague and torment.

It was three weeks that we had been upon the sea, when one night, at the beginning of October, four of the ships still being in company, there broke a storm, the equal of which I have never had the ill-fortune to behold. And it was afterwards told me by Indians of Emola that never had there been known such a tempest upon that coast.

The Lieutenant Bachasse had the watch on deck. I was standing by his side. Suddenly far down on the starboard quarter we heard a roaring like that of the surf upon the shore; only it was a hundred times greater and had in it something more ominous and terrible. The sky was black as soot in that direction, and though we peered through the darkness we could see nothing there. More and more distinct it grew, and then we could make out a line of white growing more plain with each second. Bachasse was giving some hoarse orders to have the sails and yards lowered, when the Admiral rushed from his cabin clad only in shirt and breeches.

“Dieu nous bénisse!” he shouted. “It is the hericano! Set her stern to it, mes gars, for your lives!”

I knew what he meant and rushing to the starboard tiller rope, caught the slack from the hand of the man who stood there and ran it through the pulley with all the strength and quickness I could muster. I jammed it far over and hung on like death.

Amid the deafening noise, with the ripping and slatting of the sails, the threshing of the ropes and pollys, and the roaring of the sea above it all, I could not think. I hung blindly to the tackle, loosing and easing her as she felt the helm. I saw the main topsail which had been reefed down, torn out of its ropes and go flying entire like a great bird in the air, where it vanished in the wrack and mist. Then the faces blew out of the lanthorns, hitting and cutting us like needles, and we were in darkness. I could dimly make out the figures of the Admiral, Bourdelais, and several others as they hung to the tackling at the mizzen. I saw them put hand to mouth as though shouting, but could hear no sound other than the thundering of wind and sea.

The first shock had caught the ship fairly upon her stern. Her nose had gone well down into the smother, for I felt the poop rise high in the air as though she were going all way over. Then she fell back into the depths with a blow that seemed to shake loose every joint and elbow in her hull. A wave many feet high dashed over, washing forward into the waist the man at my side and carrying overboard everything that was not lashed to the rail or mast. One of the lanthorns came down with a crash, just missing me where I swung to the tiller-polly, and swept down the slant of the after-castle, carrying away the hand-rail of the mounting ladder and vanishing into the quarter-deck.

The ship swayed and yawed frightfully from this side to that. It was a moment fraught with dreadful anxiety. The great tiller was smashing into the bulwarks and pounding back against the tackle, and it seemed for a moment as though the ship would fall into the trough. With great difficulty I reached the larboard tackle and hand over hand gathered the slack of it in until both gearings pulled alternately so that she seemed to be going aright. These tackles I passed through a ring-bolt to ease the strain, which pulled me this way and that like a rope yarn. It was desperate work keeping the feet; for with the great seas coming aboard over the quarter and the swaying of the top hamper from side to side I should have been thrown overboard a dozen times but for the gripe upon the tiller tackle. From the trough, the ship with a sickening motion rose high into the air as though shot from a saker; and then the deck fell away under the feet as she was thrust forward by the mighty rush of wind and wave behind her. Those great leaps were twice the length of the Trinity herself, for we could not have been going at a less rate than fifteen leagues an hour. Before long there was a great crash up aloft and the fore topmast was carried away, bringing down the fore and main top gallant yards. There came a pounding that jarred the ship grievously, but by God’s Providence the wreckage tore away and went by the board.

And yet it was most wonderful! I strained and sweated at the tiller, all hot with the work, though the spray was cutting my face like hail and I could feel the sting of the rain-drops even through my doublet. We were going to the westward now – to Fort Caroline perhaps, and I cared not how hard it blew. The spirit of the storm entered into me and I was drunk – drunk with the speed and motion, and mad with the struggle. The strain upon endurance was great; but there came a feeling of the glory of it, and as I fought on I prayed that no one might reach me. I set my teeth till my jaws throbbed and throbbed again, while my eyes watched the glow of the mass of foam forward as the water dashed up and over the bows, at times completely hiding the forward part of the ship.

I do not know how long I struggled there alone. It may have been ten minutes – it may have been an hour. But by and by I made out several figures crawling along the larboard bulwarks, seizing hold upon any rigging that came within their reach. They were the Admiral, Job Goddard and one other. When they could stand upright, Goddard and a seaman took hold upon the tackles, thus relieving me of a part of the strain. Then, in a while, Bachasse came up from below, saying that the ship was taking water both forward and aft and was creaking piteously.

Matters were bad enough, for we could not be far from the coast. Unless the wind veered to the north, nothing could save us from the breakers. The topsails had been blown to ribbons and the seas would have set us on our beam ends or the wind would have overset us completely had we tried to put the ship on the wind. And so we flew on, the Trinity leaping every moment nearer to her death, the waves dashing over and around her, sure of their prey.

Goddard swinging to his tackle leaned over till his mouth was next my ear shouting,

“Tis a fine speed for enterin’ Paradise, Master Sydney!”

All the night long we stood there, having now and then a relief of four men upon the tackles, the officers for the most part moving at their places of duty and saying what they could of good cheer to the men. The Sieur de la Notte came up toward dawn and asked Captain Bourdelais what the chances were. He being a person of few words replied shortly, “The ship will be upon the beach in three hours.”

Never had I seen the ocean wear so frightful a mien as when the long night came at last to an end. There was a gray waste about us and one could see no color anywhere; the ocean was like the dead ashes of a fire. At night we had not been able to see; we could only feel the great motion, and accustom ourselves. But by light of day the Trinity seemed but a speck upon those waves. At one moment, high as our top-hamper was, upon all sides we could see nothing but great walls of water, tumbling down upon us; the next we would look over abysses which were bottomless, out across a waste of foam which seemed to mingle and war with the cloud flakes that fell down upon it.

Among the soldiers there was great fear; for they had no stomach for such business as this. Even the seamen, many of them hardy in service, had lost their wits completely. Once when a wave had come aboard an old boatswain dashed terror-stricken into the half-deck and fore-castle shouting,

“The cabin is stove in, – we are sinking!” and three arquebusiers crazy with fear jumped overboard. One of the fine gentry of the cabin, with a satin coat, came running wild-eyed from below and falling upon his knees threw his hands in the air raving that should he reach land he would be no more a Lutheran, but a good Catholic, as he always was.

Providence intervened, for a sea struck him fairly in the face and he, having no hold – by reason of his hands being up – was overset backwards and vanished with a shriek. Salvation Smith disappeared, and came upon deck again dressed in a suit of black which he had taken from some half-dead gentleman in the cabin, “to go before the Holy Trinity in a fitting manner,” as he solemnly said. Another seaman, getting most drunk upon eau de vie ran amuck with a pike, maiming and hurting several.

It was about two hours of the morning watch when the waves seemed to grow suddenly less in length; and though the wind still roared as fiercely as ever, and the foam flew by us in scattering flakes or lashed furiously against the masts and shrouds, it was plain to be seen we were coming into the shallows. The Trinity moved more steadily, and that showed the better the great speed at which we were making for the beach. The wrack and the spume hid everything ahead, but I thought in a moment I could mark a white jet here and there which showed where the breakers were. Bourdelais saw them too, for he rushed to the tiller-tackles. The Admiral stood at the break of the poop, calm and quiet as though at a sailing drill, ready to set the bows straight for the beach when the end was near. The tackle crew were straining at the tiller watching the yawing of the ship and the motions of the hands of Bourdelais as he gave the course.

Suddenly out of the mist ahead I saw a line of white, leaping and writhing as far as the eye could reach to starboard and larboard; and then another beyond it, rolling onward. We came up to them and were soon in the midst of the seething, churning mass of white as the Trinity went pounding over the outer bar. She hung there a moment, reluctant; and then dashed forward again like a poor desperate creature hunted by the hounds, with a great straining leap. Everything was white about us now, and we had barely time to note the yellow strip of the beach under the bows, when with pitiful tremble and a quiver that went through her, bow and stern, the poor ship took her death blow with a dreadful crash and brought up hard and fast upon the sands.

The white tongues of surf licked her sides greedily, and sea after sea made clean breaches over bows and waist as though impatient to engulf her. So fairly and fast had we struck that the waves which followed us did not at first swing her broadside to the beach. But at last the drag of the wreck of the spars to larboard, added to the stress of the wind, pulled her around and we swung high up completely wrecked.

We were in bad case. Now we could plainly see the line of the beach with its backing of brown sand grasses and here and there a patch of dark where the gnarled firs and bay trees grew sparsely in the dunes.

The wrack and spray were flying thick, and the great waves behind drove completely over the vessel, wedging her farther up and making her destruction more certain. Yet one thing we noted. There were no rocks or reefs; only the long line of gently shelving beach. It seemed that with care we might all be saved; but there was not a moment to be lost. Bachasse went below again, with a carpenter, and found the hold turned into a small sea, which had flowed over the provision lockers and buried them under six feet of water. The surges were washing this way and that and seemed like to rend the timbers apart. Already a sea, larger than the others, had torn off one of the quarter galleries, and this wreckage had floated up on the beach, where it lay in the drift of the spent sea.

No boats could swim in that surf. So a most fearless young Frenchman, called Brunel, sprang into the waves with a rope about his body and struck out for the shore. It was not far to the shallows, and but for the anger of the waves it would have been an easy passage. We watched the swimmer borne along; now he was carried ahead shoreward in the very cap of a wave, and then he was swept back in the hollow toward the ship. It was a fine struggle. Twice he disappeared, and we thought he must have gone; but in a moment a great wave took him and bore him well onward in its topping of foam. Then he was up to his shoulders in the brine, fighting desperately for a foothold. Soon we saw him rise and work his way to the dry beach, where he fell and lay exhausted.

But after a little space he rose, waving his hands, and ropes were attached to his line. These Brunel hauled ashore and made fast to trees among the sand hills. Over these other men went, hand over hand; and soon two pollys with their tackling were traveling back and forth carrying the company ashore, many of them bearing their armor and accoutrements.

The work had been done none too speedily. A dozen or so of the company remained on the ship when we heard below decks the creaking of the timbers as the bolts pulled out and split them apart. Captain Bourdelais now urged the Admiral to go ashore; he would not, saying that none should leave after him, – a matter which Bourdelais and Bachasse disputed. There they stood with their hands on their hearts, all three bowing to one another as though at some fine levee of the Court. I had no humor for this business, for ’twas no place for foot-scraping. I was minded to get ashore without further ado, and so sprang to the tackle, which I hitched about my body. I had no more than done so when there was a great crashing and the deck suddenly fell away under my feet, throwing me into the sea.

CHAPTER XI.
WHAT BEFELL US UPON THE SAND-SPIT

Down I went, the water roaring about my ears and my body pulled this way and that by the undertow which swept me fiercely up and down. I opened my eyes, but the surf was full of foam and sand, so I closed them. I felt that I was being borne out to sea, and scarce had the mind to continue the struggle. Then came a sudden wrench. For a moment I thought I must have been crushed among the timbers, and to this day have often wondered that it was not so. But the strain was steady and then relaxed and I remembered the rope which I had put about me and knew it was the taughtening of the tackle about my shoulders. As my body touched the sandy bottom, with a mighty effort and springing upward I reached the surface, bewildered and all but exhausted. About, in all directions, were tossing pieces of the wreckage. I reached a spar with difficulty and to it clung, warding off meanwhile as best possible the planks and gratings which were dashing all around. I saw five or six men floating near and among them to my great joy marked the figure of the Admiral, clinging to a spar. He saw me at the same moment and feebly raised a hand in acknowledgment. Fearing he might lose his hold, and watching my chance, I swam to him and set him astride the yard. He seemed to have no will or power of his own and I thought he must have been badly injured.

“Are you much hurt, monsieur?” I asked him while I struggled to raise him. He made no great effort to aid me and would have toppled over again had I not held him firmly.

“I do not know, my friend,” he replied, “and I care not.”

Then I discovered there was a cut upon the back of his head, which was bleeding freely, dyeing his linen and doublet a sombre hue and marking in greater contrast the pallor of his face.

“Be of good cheer,” I said as cheerfully as I might, “we will be ashore in a moment, sir.” By the tackle about me, we were presently hauled through the surf and reached the shallows, where a dozen arms plucked us from our hazardous hold and landed us high upon the beach.

The perils of the last two days, ending in the position into which we were thrown, had taken my thoughts from the desperate fear at my heart. Until then – until we were surely wrecked and saw all destroyed before our eyes, we had hoped at least to get back to Fort Caroline before the Spaniards could attack. I made no doubt they would do that at the earliest moment if indeed they had not done so already.

My God! For the first time the horrible chances came upon and overwhelmed me. Wrecked and ruined upon an unknown and barren coast with the Indians on one side and the Spaniards perhaps barring our way to Fort Caroline and Mademoiselle! I was weak and could not bear to think more. The horror of it overcame me! I rose to my feet and strode up the beach like one distraught, breasting the flying sand and peering fruitlessly through the mist, vainly searching for some familiar mark to judge of our whereabouts. The motion of struggling against the wind seemed to lessen the dreadful ferment of mind; and bare-handed and worn as I was, no wish remained except only to press onward to Mademoiselle, or learn that she was safe. Once above the roaring of the storm I heard a sound like the cry of a woman and, with heart a-leap started running with all my might. But it was only some shrill creature which swirled near on the wind, uttering its storm-cry. On I struggled, heat and fever making riot of thought, until I fell again exhausted to the beach. I remember closing my eyes, but the eyeballs swam in a red mist and burned so that I opened them again. Then I seemed to sleep and dream. I saw dimly a woman seated at a table in a room. Back of her and around her were many men in armor, and their hands and faces were streaked with the red. It was Mademoiselle! By her side, leaning forward toward her, was a man, his eyes swimming as he gazed and his white teeth gleaming hatefully through his beard. He had a mug upraised, from which the liquor was spilling about as he pledged her, laughing coarsely the while. I could hear him too; for there was a gruesome reality about it. The others watched amused. He reached toward her, and I saw her shrink to a corner, away. He came again. She took a dagger from her bosom. Then drew herself up cold, white, and set, the weapon in both hands at her heart. No one moved. They stood, those men in armor, their hands raised, like statues. There was silence, deadly and oppressive; and I was dumb too and could make no sound. Then everything grew red again and I saw no more. In my agony I dug my nails deep into the sand and I cried aloud, calling to God. It was not so! It could not be so! I was mad! Yes, yes, – I knew that I was mad, and that comforted me.

By and by – it was a long while – for the clouds had broken and the light of the sun had gone high in the heavens – I grew better and stronger and got upon my feet. Cold and wet, the wind cut sharp as a knife, but the fever had gone, and I laughed aloud to think of the fool I had been. The situation was hopeless enough, but we were strong men, many of us bearing weapons and armor, and much might be done. When the storm abated the other ships would put in and take us aboard. All would yet be well. Even if the ships did not come we would make a forced march through the backwoods, persuading friendly Indians to guide and aid us. We might not be far – perhaps only half a dozen leagues from Fort Caroline.

I went back down the beach the wind at my back, warming with the new impulse until I was soon running again. I found I had gone near a league to the northward, and it was many minutes before I was back among the company. They had moved behind the sand dunes the better to find shelter from the wind. Fires had been kindled and around these they huddled wretchedly, drying their clothing. There was nothing to eat save a few biscuits which had been washed up in a cask, and these were salt-soaked and unpleasing to the taste. Some of the men had gone down the beach, where they found some ledges of moss and rock and brought back a few shell-fish. These they ate raw from the shells; but I was not hungry and they seemed unsightly to me, so I could find no stomach for them.

When I came up La Caille, the sergeant-major, approached.

“Well, sir,” he asked, “what do you find? Is San Augustin to the north or the south?”

“To the north, I should say. But there is nothing but sand and sea so far as the eye can reach.” He turned to De Brésac gloomily and together they walked in the direction from which I had come.

Admiral Ribault sat upon the sand, a rag binding his temples, his head bent forward upon his breast, the very presentment of misery. I went to him and tried to say a few words of good cheer. But a deep melancholy had settled upon the man, and he looked down at the sand, saying nothing. I could see that he was in no condition to speak upon any subject. I felt, God knows, keen as he the desperate plight in which we found ourselves. Yet, now that I had come to myself, I knew that sighing would not mend the matter and so went among the officers and cavaliers for counsel. These I found to be in as grievous a spirit as their Admiral. Broken in spirit and sore in body, they felt horribly the loneliness and the failure at the very beginning of a project into which they had ventured all. By and by, Job Goddard and Salvation Smith, who had gone down the beach on a voyage of discovery, returned to the camp. They had come upon two Indians and learned that San Augustin was fourteen leagues to the northward.

“I bade them stay with us for dinner to-day, Master Sydney,” said Goddard, cheerfully, “but they had no stomach for truffles of shell-fish and wet biscuit. The heathen scut! They fled to the woods as though the fiend was after them. Salvation Smith fired at them with an arquebus, but they vanished among the trees unscathed. Salvation has a better knowledge of the pike than of the arquebus, sir.”

That apostle of the Martyrs stood by, looking ruefully at the weapon he held in his hand.

“True, sir,” said he at last, “’tis a toy for women and lads. Give me a pike or a shaft and a good yew-bow and I warrant our invitations will not be so scorned another time.”

We were to the southward then! That was no pleasant information, for Menendez lay between us and the River of May; and the Indians, doubtless those of Outina, at war with the friendly Satouriona, would lose no time in letting the Spaniards know of our whereabouts and condition. Some of the gentlemen went into the forest, but came back cut by the brambles, saying they saw no beasts nor food of any kind and that they could not penetrate a rod into the thicket; we should starve before receiving any aid from that quarter. Of one thing I was soon convinced, – we could not lie long upon the beach our mouths agape with hunger and thirst. And many more of us feeling the same cravings, among them Bachasse, Arlac, De Brésac and La Caille, – late that night we persuaded the Admiral to set out upon a march up the beach.

Many things save food had been brought upon the shore, among them two trumpets, drums and two standards. And so at dawn of the next day with waving banners and beating drums, with some show of gaiety and a martial spirit – though famished – we set forth to the northward. Ribault, who walked with the rear-guard, turned at the last to where the timbers of the Trinity were scattered down the shore as far as the eye could reach. He had grown ten years older in the night and walked with Bourdelais and the Sieur de la Notte, the mere shadow of the man he had been at the Fort and upon the ship. By and by some of the Huguenots set up a martial hymn, which all the gentlemen sang with a fine good will and rhythm, keeping the cadence of the march. That seemed to put new life into them. They were like children and, drawing their swords, began looking to their weapons and jesting at the chances of the good fight which might soon be. They manfully tightened their girths to stay their hunger and each vied with the other in good humor and courage. But in the afternoon one man, a great burly calker, threw up his hands and then fell down dead. They said his heart had rotted.

It was a desperate expedition, and the reflection of the Admiral’s melancholy, in spite of some flashes of good cheer, was seen in the eyes of all who knew the obstacles before us. Any man with half a seaman’s eye could tell that any storm that had wrecked the Trinity could not fail to beach the other vessels; and few of us believed that we would be saved by them. If we could but find a break in the impenetrable forest and strike inland we might prey upon the Indians and so by an easy detour at last reach the Fort. Perhaps Menendez had put to sea again in the hope of finding us storm-beaten and unprepared for battle. If he had done this we might come quickly upon his fort at the lodge of Seloy, and by audacity and rapidity compass what mere strength or force of numbers might not effect.

This was my hope, and the Admiral took great heart when it was spoken to him. We would know upon the morrow. In the afternoon the storm-clouds blew away and the wind went down. The ocean still lashed the beach sullenly, but the horizon clouds to the eastward were tinged with pink, and with the prospect of fair weather there was much happiness. More shell-fish were found, the moisture of which cooled the palate, though the taste was unpleasing, and the saltiness made one long the more for fresh water and food. At about sunset we passed around a point of land and abruptly came upon the timbers of a vessel. The beams were split and the yellow of the splinters showed most plainly that she had been recently wrecked. A bit of the stern piece of a pinnace was found, which bore the name of the Gloire and then we knew that others of the French fleet shared our fate. In a little while we made an abrupt turn and came upon more wreckage and a large party of our shipwrecked comrades.

The worst that we had expected had happened. The French fleet was no more! I glanced at Jean Ribault. His face was pale as death, and when he saw these men before him his under-lip dropped and his mouth fell open, his eyes expressing the bitterness of soul he could not contain. He stopped short and let his head fall forward. His muscles loosened and I thought he would have fallen. But at the touch of the Sieur de la Notte at his elbow, he straightened again and casting his eyes heavenward, said tremblingly, “The will of God be done!”

But all of Ribault’s officers were not discouraged. Indeed upon the sight of so large a company many of the men and soldiers took great heart again and cried joyously to one another. The men we had found were sailors of the Gloire, who had elected to remain together upon the beach, until sighted by some French ship while the main body of their company had gone northward. Others were of the Petit-Jean and of the Jesus, which had gone ashore leagues below. We numbered now three hundred and fifty persons, and but for our hunger and the smallness of the supply of powder and ball would have been a formidable little army indeed. Captain Cosette of the Gloire, who was there, embraced the Admiral with great joy, and Bourdelais commanded a halt, for the men of the Trinity were tired out. Many of them dropped to the ground, and, forgetting their hunger and their thirst fell mercifully into a deep sleep in which they were left to rest.

I seemed to have no further sensation – even of weariness. Quiet was more irksome to me than aught else. I could not remain seated like the others but must walk up and down upon the sand. And yet I was not in a fever as before. It was easier for me to think thus upon my feet. I felt myself most calm in mind and could not understand how it should be so when every new discovery went to confirm the premonition of the doom that had hung over us like a pall since that day – years ago it seemed – when I had bade farewell to Mademoiselle upon the bastion at Fort Caroline. It all came back upon me as some dream, the stifling atmosphere, the ominous elements, the listlessness of all things human and animate upon the earth, and the misery which took the joy from those last words with my love. Then I thought of those red sunsets upon the ocean, when we had sat upon the fore-castle laughing at our ill omens and watched the great ball of fire drop down into the purple mists of the hot western sea. Such a sun there was this night – I mounted a sand hill that I might see it the better. A yellow mist rose from a swamp somewhere inland and the disk grew to a greater size than I had ever seen. Yet one could look at it squarely ere it had come to the horizon, for it was not bright and seemed not to be shining at all; only a great ball of blood poised in the air, which one might almost reach out and pluck from the sky. Then it fell down behind a line of barren pine trees at the horizon, which cut across it cold and clear as prison bars, – and in a moment was gone.

When I went back the officers of the Trinity and some of the other gentlemen had lit a fire and sat in a circle upon the sand. A council of war was held. The wilder blades were for pushing on at once. Bourdelais stood up and on behalf of the Admiral, said he, “We must be patient. To-morrow we will know something.”

“Bah!” said Arlac, angrily, “you speak of patience as though it were water or sand or anything that is easy to have. What will you know to-morrow? Sacré! Speak to us of food, if you please. Bigre! We’re hungry I tell you.”

“Yes,” growled others, “we starve. Let us die fighting at any rate.”

Some of the more moderate wished to wait until the dawn, that the men could sleep and so be fresh against any new adversity on the morrow. Others were for a rest until midnight and then a quick march to the mainland; for we did not doubt that we were on one of the many promontories which in these parts jut up and down the coast for long distances. For my part I asked nothing better than to move quickly, to the northward, or westward or which ever way would bring us soonest to our journey’s ending. So, at midnight we set forth again, the men moving uncomplaining.

By four of the morning, it being still dark, those of the company who were in advance came to a sudden halt. In a moment we were all at a standstill, peering out into the darkness over a body of water. It was a channel or sluice, through which the tide was running strongly into the sea. The line of the beach took a turn sharply to the left and follow it as we might there was no chance to gain our way to the mainland.