CHAPTER II.
“Suddaine they see from midst of all the maine,
The surging waters like a Mountain rise,
And the great Sea, puft up with proud Disdaine,
To swell above the measure of his guise,
Threatening to devoure all that his Powre despise.”
Spenser.
The caravel in question was more than ordinarily frail, having been hastily equipped with two others from the port of Tehuantepec in Mexico, at the order of Cortez for the exploration of the continent about and above the gulf of California. It is true, an experienced seaman named Grijalva had been put in command, and he had been so far successful as to have reached the twenty-ninth degree of north latitude. Thence one vessel had been sent back with an account of his progress. The other two continued their explorations northward, with the hope of arriving at that kingdom so rich in precious metals, of which they had heard so many rumors from the recently conquered Mexicans. Creeping coastwise slowly upward, many fine bays with shores rich in verdure met their view, but of gold they found no traces, and of inhabitants, with the exception of an occasional glimpse of a naked savage, who ran terrified away, they were equally unsuccessful. Yet they were navigating waters, the tributary streams of which were literally bedded in gold. But neither the time nor people to which this treasure was to be disclosed had arrived. Consequently, Grijalva, with his eyes blinded to what was constantly within his reach, saw nothing but a vast wilderness, which promised neither wealth nor honor as the reward of further exploration. Reluctantly, therefore, he turned his course southward. That night a severe gale came on, and both caravels were driven far from their course towards the southwest. It was in vain with such unseaworthy vessels that Grijalva sought to regain the coast. The wind blew him still farther into unknown seas, which daily became more tempestuous, until his storm-shattered vessel sank in sight of her scarcely better conditioned consort, engulfing all on board.
This sight for the moment chilled the hearts of the surviving crew, and paralyzed their exertions. But Spanish seamen and the soldiers of Cortez were too accustomed to death in every form, to long despair. They redoubled their efforts, and by bailing and cautious steering, keeping the vessel directly before the wind, weathered the gale, which the next day was succeeded by the fatal calm, already described.