It is a noble river, this San Juan, with its broad sweeps and curves. At times it widens to a lake, and again thrusts itself into the shores as though its waters filled the print of some giant hand that in ages past had rested heavily with outspread fingers on the yielding soil. Aided by the strong current we glided on as swiftly as the passing hours. Our faces were set eastward now, and I waited, breathless, for the day to wake.
There was a slow parting of the filmy skies, as though Dawn's rosy fingers brushed aside the curtains of her couch; then came a gleam of golden hair that slid across her downy pillows. A long-drawn sigh shivered across the silent world, and with a sudden dazzlement we saw—
—"the opening eyelids of the Morn."
From the southwest a fresh wind arose and swept clean the blue heavens; and, with the early sunbeams sparkling on the ripples of the tide, the canoes darted on toward the river's mouth. A heron flew up from the marshes suddenly, and sailed over our heads on its strong white wings. As I watched it dip out of sight in the river far beyond us I caught sight of another gleaming wing that slowly unfurled itself toward the sky.
Touching the padre's arm, I pointed to it.
"A sail!" he said.
Our canoes quickly sought the curve of the shore and crept with caution toward the unknown vessel.
"It can scarcely be the Habana ship," murmured the padre, "for the Virgen de la Mar was at anchor in the harbour when we left San Augustin, and ere morning the storm had risen, so she would hardly have ventured forth to sea."
"There are other vessels carrying sail that ply between the fort and these coast islands. We came from Santa Catalina aboard one of them," I whispered.
"Yes," said the padre, "but this is too large." He paused for some moments, and then added: "Do you see the long, straight lines of her hull, and the square stern? This is no Spanish galley, but a frigate of English build."