Alaminos, the pilot, looked at Montoro de Diego, and said nothing. For the first time in his life the thought had stolen into his mind whether the faith to be learnt from the teaching of the Bible might not be a more precious thing than even its print and paper. The force of the long-protracted tempest was at length spent; the sea subsided, and Columbus's scattered caravals, none of them lost, gathered together again to offer thanks to God for their preservation, and to seek the shelter and refreshment no longer denied them, in the ports of Hispaniola. The storm had passed, but it had left behind it sorrow and shame and gloom on the countenances of Ovando the Governor, and those about him. The gay, grand fleet, despatched against the Admiral's advice, was lost, with all those many hundreds of souls on board, and all that wealth. The Admiral's enemies had perished; Bobadilla, the mutinous Roldan, and many another. Those gallant ships were gone. Only that poor, mean, weak little barque, inferior to all its consorts, that had been thought good enough to carry the Admiral's grudged revenue, that lived through the storm, and took its little treasure safe into the Spanish port. "It is my father's; I told you that God would guard it," said Fernando Colon, some months later, when the strange, good news of that survivor reached his ears. CHAPTER XI. _THE FIRST FIND._ Great storms are very terrible, and weeks of drenching rains, Montoro de Diego, and his friend Ferdinand Columbus, had time to discover, were most disagreeable accompaniments to travels whether by water or land. As for poor Don Aguilar, the hardships of the way killed him, as Fernando Colon had foreseen, before he had a chance to purchase a draught from that dreamt-of fountain of youth. And long-continued dismal weather very nearly also killed the courage at least of most of the old hidalgo's companions. After that first great storm, a few days were passed at Port Hermosa, to refresh the crews, and repair the caravels, and then Columbus started forth again to find the wished-for, but non-existent, strait through the Isthmus of Darien. Having spent about five months in this fruitless search he gave it up, greatly to the delight of the whole of his companions. They were much more anxious after what they considered the infinitely superior quest for the gold mines of Veragua, distant about thirty leagues from Porto Bello.