"Aye, my lamb,'tis from an ugly quarter; but the Carolina has weathered harder blows, and haply she has found good anchorage in some safe harbour."
I tried to think the same; nevertheless, in the long hours that we sat there, listening to the heavy gusts and beating rain, my heart went faint at the possibility of this new danger to my beloved.
It must have been past noon when the padre came to us again. He brought food with him freshly cooked,—meat and fish, and broth of parched corn-flour, not unpleasant to the taste.
"The wind is abating," he declared, "and the clouds are breaking away. When the rain ceases we may venture to pursue our journey."
I begged to know how he purposed to convey us, for neither Barbara nor I could go afoot much longer.
Then he laid his plans before us. This wide river, the San Juan, flowing by the settlement, continues northward for many miles and then curves eastward and empties itself into the sea. We were to start in two swift canoes—piraguas, he styled them—and, keeping at first under the lee of the shore, follow the river to its mouth, then proceed up the coast along the safe passage afforded by an outlying chain of islands. It would be a journey of about ten days to the Indian settlement at Santa Helena; the Indians there, he explained, were allies of our English friends and would doubtless aid us to rejoin them.
I asked if we must pass by Santa Catalina; and he said 'twas on our way, but no one there would hinder us while we were under his protection.
"Unless," he added, "the Governor of San Augustin sends out a ship to intercept us there, or anywhere upon the way; in which case there will be naught for me to do but give you up to him."
Upon that I was in a fever to be gone; for I felt that the day could not pass by without Melinza's discovering my flight, and I would endure any hardship rather than risk his intercepting us.