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Meanwhile Ribaut and his ships had been blown down the coast, vainly struggling to keep away from the reefs, and were finally wrecked, one after another, at various distances to the south of St. Augustine. Let us pass quickly over the remainder of this sickening story. One day, after Menendez had returned to St. Immediately Menendez started out with about sixty men in boats and met them.
At the next station the rumbling was much louder. French soldiers were becoming more numerous. At times an entire French regiment could be seen marching along a road. "At the next station," announced Captain Ribaut, "we shall find ourselves at the end of our rail journey. We are nearing the front.
By this time many French people were about, but Dick noted that they betrayed no curiosity over the appearance of newly arrived American officers. The sight had become an old story to these people who, however, bowed courteously as they passed. Down other streets Ribaut led the way, and so they arrived at last at a railway station.
Dick Prescott felt a weight against his head. He staggered dizzily, felt arms clutch at him, and had only a hazy notion of what followed. The Germans went back, carrying a few prisoners with them. A minute later the enemy barrage lifted. "You may get up now," Greg admonished his captive, as he leaped to his feet. "You've accounted for one of the enemy," smiled Captain Ribaut, as he came up.
The traces that have come down to us indicate in Ribaut one far above the common stamp, "a distinguished man, of many high qualities," as even the fault-finding Le Moyne calls him; devout after the best spirit of the Reform; and with a human heart under his steel breastplate.
He finally sends a last letter through the clergy at Mission Dolores. To this he receives a response that they are told the young lady has returned to America and is being educated in the Eastern States. With a sigh Francois Ribaut abandons all hopes of seeing once more the child he had baptized, the orphaned daughter of his friend. She is now far from him.
Francois Ribaut at last regains his home of religious seclusion. Louise is convalescent, and needs rest and quiet. There is no want of money in the Dauvray household. The liberal douceurs of Louise Moreau's mysterious guardian, furnish all present needs. "Thank God!" cries Pere Frangois, when he remembers that he has the fund intact, which he received from the haughty Hardin.
There was ill news of his fleet. Some of the ships were lost, others scattered, or lagging tardily on their way. Of his whole force, less than a half had reached Florida, and of these a large part were still at Fort Caroline. Ribaut could not be far off; and, whatever might be the condition of his shipwrecked company, their numbers would make them formidable, unless taken at advantage.
They dreamed of ease, of home, of pleasures across the sea, of the evening cup on the bench before the cabaret, of dances with kind damsels of Dieppe. But how to escape? A continent was their solitary prison, and the pitiless Atlantic closed the egress. Not one of them knew how to build a ship; but Ribaut had left them a forge, with tools and iron, and strong desire supplied the place of skill.
Riding at anchor on a sunny sea, they lowered their boats, crossed the bar that obstructed the entrance, and floated on a basin of deep and sheltered water, "boyling and roaring," says Ribaut, "through the multitude of all kind of fish." Indians were running along the beach, and out upon the sand-bars, beckoning them to land.
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