Holding as close to the shore as was practical, I rowed the heavily laden boat westward.  Along the shores were great stands of cypress and swamp gum festooned with Spanish moss.  Behind the clumps of trees in some places lay swamp or shrub bogs covered with evergreens, all low-growing.

Somewhere I had to find solid ground, or a river leading inland, up which I might take my cargo.  Now that I had a boat loaded with supplies and wealth, I was a worried man, for fear that I might come upon Indians or even pirates, many of whom haunted these shores, lying in wait for Spanish vessels.

As I moved, I kept alert for whatever might come, yet a part of my mind worried over yet another question.  There had been but little water in the ship's hold that I could see, and not much damage that was visible - surely not enough damage to cause the passengers to abandon ship in such a quiet sound.  Something or somebody must have frightened them.  There could be but one reason I could think of: They wanted the ship's treasure.

If such was the case, then I could expect them to come searching for the ship... and soon.

The wind was rising, yet I hesitated to hoist my sail.  With the sail I could move faster and easier, but my boat would be more visible.

I worked the boat among some small islands, most of which were strips of sand and mud covered with low growth.  Many of these, I suspected, would be temporary, to be flooded out by the next big Atlantic storm, with heavy rain or snow.  Yet now they offered concealment, and a sort of backwater where I might feel safe a moment.

My eye caught a break in the end of an islet near me.  I moved up around the end of the island to see that it was cleft from the end almost to the middle.  The cleft was walled to the water's edge by a thick growth of willows and swamp gum.  Deliberately, I trailed one oar and pulled on the other, turning the bow of my boat into the cleft.