“FOR THREE NIGHTS THEY FLOATED DOWN THE STREAM.”
How could they have hoped for it if they had been able to reason dispassionately upon the subject? It was because they wished to hope that they had done so, and not because of any reasonableness in it. At first, in their wretchedness they would neither eat nor talk to each other, and they could not sleep, though tired and in need of it.
After a while, however, they talked a little, consoled each other, and even declared that they could exist on the island, if that were necessary. Then they ate and afterwards fell asleep.
Diego was wakened by Juan before the sun had gone down, and looked up in wonder to see the excitement on the face of his companion.
“Come and see!” said Juan, dragging him by the arm, and he scrambled to his feet and followed to the edge of the wood.
Two ships were anchored off in the bay beyond the mouth of the river, and coming up the river were four boats with casks in them, as if the crews were going up to obtain fresh water while the tide was out.
“The Pinta and the Niña!” murmured Diego. “Holy Virgin, I thank you!” and he turned to Juan and they wept in each other’s arms, so great was their joy.