About noon, as the working party were resting in the shade, or bathing in the quiet pools, there was a sudden whoop—an Indian yell—and a body of Portuguese and Indians rushed upon them and killed all but two, who escaped to the ship.
Davis rowed to the spot with an armed crew, but found only the dead bodies of his men, and saw in the distance two pinnaces making for Rio de Janeiro.
Now there were only twenty-seven men left out of seventy-six who started from England; but more trouble was yet in store for the survivors.
As they sailed over the hot ocean the penguin-flesh, which had been badly cured with insufficient salt, made them ill; loathsome worms an inch long were found in the meat. "This worm," says Janes, "did so mightily increase and devour our victuals that there was no hope how we should avoid famine. There was nothing the worms did not devour—iron only excepted—our clothes, hats, boots, shirts, and stockings; as for the ship, they did eat the timbers, so that we greatly feared they would undo us by eating through the ship's side. The more we laboured to kill them, the more they increased upon us, so that at last we could not sleep for them, for they would eat our flesh like mosquitoes."
Then the scurvy broke out again, bodies began to swell and minds to give way. Davis went from one to another, bidding them bear God's chastisement in patience; but it must have wounded his kind heart to see how many of the crew suffered and died. At last there were only sixteen left alive, and of these eleven were unable to move, but lay moaning on the deck.
Captain Cotton and Mr. Janes, Davis, and a boy and one sailor—these alone had health to work the ship, and took turns at the helm; as for the sails, they were mostly blown away, and needed little managing.
It must have been a weary time, and they wondered if they would ever see land before their food and water gave out.
But they sighted Ireland at last, and ran the old ship on shore near Berehaven on the 11th of June 1593. From Berehaven Captain Davis sailed in a fishing-boat to Padstow in Cornwall—thinking, no doubt, of wife and children, and the silver Dart, and the comforts of a happy home, ruined man though he was.
As he drew near the familiar groves and fields, was it fancy? or did his neighbours shrink from his approach? Could they have heard the news of his ill success, and were they ashamed of him already?
"Ah! there is Adrian, old friend and true! he will welcome me home!"