Skirting southward for seven days the little fleet came into the Bay of Portugal, where they took on a supply of fresh water for the long journey to the West Indies. Ferdinando, the master of the Admiral, gave secret orders to the captains of his ship and the pinnace to set sail at the coming of night. No such commands reached the little flyboat. Basely deserting her, the Admiral turned his prows to the southwest.
For two long months the frail ships tossed on the troubled waters of the Atlantic. Only the sullen swish of the waves and the scream of the seagull broke in on Eleanor Dare’s reveries.
Fragrant June was waning, when she saw the waving palms and orange groves of Santa Cruz rising beyond the foam-capped billows. Just before the ships reached this island of gorgeous bloom from the lookout at the masthead rang the cry, “Sail ho!” and, ploughing her way through the choppy sea, there came the courageous little flyboat. For, undaunted by ignorance of the trackless waste and by the base desertion of the admiral in command, she had pluckily followed her consort.
No sooner had they landed than the merry laughter and joyous shouts of the little children filled the air as they chased the crimson and gold butterflies sipping honey from the orchids which hung from the tall fern trees. No cares or longing troubled their light hearts, but their parents were eager to reach their new home, so the sails were again spread.
July had numbered twenty-two days when the vessels came in sight of a long fringe of islands guarded by dangerous reefs. The white foam of the breakers tossed high in the air and the moan of the surf filled the children with fear.
Down rattled the anchor of the Admiral, and the sails were close-furled, as the pinnace came alongside to take the colony through the dangerous entry to Roanoke Island. Safely passing through the hungry mouth of Trinity harbor, they glided into the quiet waters of the Occam.
Would the fifteen men left by Sir Richard Greenville come to meet them? A loud halloo brought back no answering hail.
“We must search for them,” said Governor White. “Perhaps they are farther inland.”
As the pinnace grounded her nose the Anglican priest stepped on the land, bearing aloft the Sign of Redemption. Around his feet were grouped the children, their tiny hands clasped together, and guarded by a circle of kneeling men and women. Deep and fervent was the thanksgiving prayer, and clear and sweet came the chant of the amen.