Their food was gone, their
ammunition soaked, they were drenched to the skin, footsore and
famishing, when upon the third night they lay down upon the muddy
ground, cursing their leader for having brought them forth to
died thus miserably. But while the men cursed Menendez prayed. All
night he prayed. And before day dawned he called his officers to a
council. They were now within a mile of Fort Caroline, and he was
eager to attack.
But his officers were sick of the whole business. The men were
utterly disheartened; one and all they clamoured to return.
Yet once again Menendez bent them to his will. In the darkness of
the forest he spoke to the wretched, shivering, rain-drenched men.
He taunted, he persuaded, and at length wrung from them a sullen
consent to follow him.
So once again the miserable march was begun, and when day
dawned they stood on the hill above the fort .
No sound came from it, no watchman stood upon the ramparts. For
towards morning, seeing that it rained harder than ever, the captain
of the guard had sent his men to bed, for they were soaked to the
skin and he was sorry for them. In such rain and wind what enemy
would venture forth? he asked himself. It was folly to stay abroad
on such a night he thought. So he dismissed the guard, and went
off to bed.
Thus none heard or saw the approach of the Spaniards.
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