If it should prove to be the latter they could expect
only death or cruel captivity, for, being Huguenots, they knew that no
mercy would be shown them by the Spanish Catholics.
As they watched the sail with straining eyes it was joined by another
and another, until they beheld a goodly fleet bearing down upon them.
Only constant labor at the pumps kept their own wretched craft from
sinking, as she crept on at a snail's pace compared with the rapid
advance of the on-coming fleet, and those on board of her knew that in
any case flight was impossible. Nor were they in a condition to defend
themselves against an attack from even the smallest of the approaching
ships. Therefore there was nothing left for them to do but pray that
those who came might prove friends and not enemies.
At length Laudonniere, whose cot had been brought on deck, pronounced
that by their rig and general appearance the ships they watched were
not French. Upon this a feeling of dull despair seized upon all who
heard him, for they thought, if not French, they must certainly be
Spanish ships.
In a moment, however, this despair was changed into the wildest joy,
for from the mainmast-head of the foremost ship there flew out upon the
freshening breeze, not the cruel yellow banner of Spain, but the brave
blood-red ensign of England.
Shouts of welcome burst from the throats of Laudonniere and his men.
They danced about the deck as though crazed by the thoughts of their
great deliverance, and most speedily they ran to their own mast-head
the lily banner of France.
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