Again he was vehemently entreated by the captain, master, and others of his “well willers” to stay on the “Golden Hind” for the remainder of the voyage. They dwelt on the preciousness of his life and the dangerous condition of the “Squirrel” with her decks overcharged with guns, small artillery, nettings “too cumbersome for so small a boate that was to pass through the Ocean sea at that season of the yere,” when much foul weather was to be expected. But these entreaties were in vain as before. All were swept aside with his final answer, “I will not forsake my little company going homeward with whom I have passed so many stormes and perils.” Since he would not “bend to reason,” such provisions as were wanting on the “Squirrel” were furnished from the “Hind,” and then, committing him to “God’s protection,” he was reluctantly and sorrowfully set aboard his pinnace. The ships were by this time more than three hundred leagues onward of their way home. They had brought the Azores south of them: but were then keeping much to the North to get into “the height and elevation” of England. This attained they met with very bad weather and terrible seas breaking short and high, “Pyramid wise.” Then came the final catastrophe. "Munday the ninth of September, in the afternoone, the Frigat was neere cast away, oppressed by waves, yet at that time recovered: and giving forth signes of joy, the Generall sitting abaft with a booke in his hand, cried out to us in the Hind (so oft as we did approach within hearing), We are as neere to heaven by sea as by land. Reiterating the same speech, well beseeming a souldier, resolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testifie he was. “The same Monday night, about twelve of the clocke, or not long after, the Frigat being ahead of us in the Golden Hinde, suddenly her lights were out, whereof as it were in a moment, we lost the sight, and withall our watch cryed, the Generall was cast away, which was too true. For in that moment the Frigat was devoured and swallowed up of the Sea.” All that night the “Golden Hinde” kept up a constant lookout hoping to sight her again. But not a fragment of her could be seen or a single survivor. Then the “Hind” continued on the course alone, still maintaining the lookout. At length, after “great torment of weather and perill of drowning,” she came safely to a home port, with her doleful tale of disaster, arriving at Falmouth on the twenty-second of September—a Sunday. XIX FOOTPRINTS OF COLONIZATION