With dire misgiving, Mendoza watched the last files as they vanished in the tempestuous forest.  Two days of suspense ensued, when a messenger came back with a letter from the Adelantado announcing that he had nearly reached the French fort, and that on the morrow, September twentieth, at sunrise, he hoped to assault it.  “May the Divine Majesty deign to protect us, for He knows that we have need of it,” writes the scared chaplain; “the Adelantado’s great zeal and courage make us hope he will succeed, but for the good of His Majesty’s service he ought to be a little less ardent in pursuing his schemes.”

Meanwhile the five hundred had pushed their march through forest and quagmire, through swollen streams and inundated savannas, toiling knee-deep through mud, rushes, and the rank, tangled grass,—­hacking their way through thickets of the yucca or Spanish bayonet, with its clumps of dagger-like leaves, or defiling in gloomy procession through the drenched forest, to the moan, roar, and howl of the storm-racked pines.  As they bent before the tempest, the water trickling from the rusty headpiece crept clammy and cold betwixt the armor and the skin; and when they made their wretched bivouac, their bed was the spongy soil, and the exhaustless clouds their tent.

The night of Wednesday, the nineteenth, found their vanguard in a deep forest of pines, less than a mile from Fort Caroline, and near the low hills which extended in its rear, and formed a continuation of St. John’s Bluff.  All around was one great morass.  In pitchy darkness, knee-deep in weeds and water, half starved, worn with toil and lack of sleep, drenched to the skin, their provision spoiled, their ammunition wet, their spirit chilled out of them, they stood in shivering groups, cursing the enterprise and the author of it.  Menendez heard an ensign say aloud to his comrades,—­

“This Asturian corito, who knows no more of war on shore than an ass, has ruined us all.  By ——­, if my advice had been followed, he would have had his deserts the day he set out on this cursed journey!”

The Adelantado pretended not to hear.

Two hours before dawn he called his officers about him.  All night, he said, he had been praying to God and the Virgin.

“Senores, what shall we resolve on?  Our ammunition and provisions are gone.  Our case is desperate.”  And he urged a bold rush on the fort.

But men and officers alike were disheartened and disgusted.  They listened coldly and sullenly; many were for returning at every risk; none were in a mood for fight.  Menendez put forth all his eloquence, till at length the dashed spirits of his followers were so far rekindled that they consented to follow him.