At length their labours were over and the rough little ship was
afloat. It made but a sorry appearance. The planks were rough-hewn
by the hatchet, and caulked with the moss which grew in long
streamers on the trees. The cordage was Indian made, and the sails
were patched together from shirts and bedclothes. Never before had
men thought to dare the ocean waves in so crazy a craft. But the
colonists were in such eagerness to be gone that they chose rather
to risk almost certain death upon the ocean than remain longer in
their vast prison house.
So they loaded the ship with as much food as they could collect,
and saying farewell to their Indian friends, they spread their
patchwork sails, and glided out to sea drunken with joy at the
thought of returning to France.
At first the wind blew fair, and the little ship sped gaily
homeward. Then came a calm. The sun burned overhead, no faintest
breeze stirred the slack sails, and the ship lay as if at anchor
upon the glassy waters. And as the ship lay motionless the slender
stock of food grew less and less. Soon there was nothing left but
maize, and little of that. At first a tiny handful was each man's
daily portion; then it was counted by grains. But jealously hoarded
although it was the maize at length gave out, and there was nothing
left to eat but their leather shoes and jerkins.
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