After the interchange of many volleys of great ordnance and small-shot, the Spaniards, finding that theRevengestill held her ground and defended herself with so great determination, made an attempt to board her, hoping to force her by the sheer multitude of their armed soldiers and musketeers. The greatSan Philipdrew to close quarters. Her bulging sides crunched against those of theRevenge, and a host of her men clambered over her rails, pike and sword in hand, climbed into theRevenge'slower shrouds, and swarmed like so many infuriated bees along her stout bulwarks at every point. But Ambrose Pennington, who had control of the murderer-gun on the starboard side ofSir Richard's quarter-deck, was ready at the moment with his fuse. He fired the gun, and its scattering charge of small-shot played fearful havoc among the would-be boarders, while those who escaped the destructive fire fell either back between the ships or forward upon the deck of theRevenge, where they were speedily overpowered.
Nor were the gunners below decks unmindful of their opportunity. At the moment when the Spaniards were in the act of boarding, Edward Webbe had every gun on his starboard side ready loaded with cross-bar shot and primed. He gave the order, and his men applied their lintlocks, and the full broadside was discharged straight into theSan Philip'shull. After this she sheered off with all diligence from her too close position, "utterly misliking her first entertainment". It was said afterwards that the galleon foundered, but Sir Walter Raleigh in his written account of the fight cast doubt upon the point. Howbeit, no sooner had theSan Philipbeen cleared away than her position was taken up by yet another galleon, only to be beaten off in like manner. One after another they closed and boarded, one after another they were flung back beaten and in confusion, their boarders being repulsed again and again, taking refuge in their own ships or else falling into the seas.
To tell every incident of this terrible battle would make a long story, albeit the valour displayed by our English seamen on that great occasion has no moreglorious example in all the annals of our navy's history. Hour after hour went by and still theRevengefought on with undaunted courage. Many of her men were slain and many were hurt, and her surgeons and their assistants were busy in the hold. Yet the Spaniards suffered more. Early in the fight Don Louis Cutino, one of the admirals of Seville, brought his galleon alongside in all her bravery, but he had not fought for more than a quarter of an hour ere a broadside from theRevengewas fired point blank into his vessel's hull, sinking her with all on board. And the same fate befell the powerful galleon, theAscension, of Seville, commanded by the Marquis of Arumburch. One other galleon, sorely beaten, had yet strength to recover the roadstead of the island of St. Michaels, where she quickly followed her anchor to the bottom. A fourth, to save her men, was run aground on Flores.
All through that hot August afternoon theRevengefought on, and as each galleon was driven off another pushed in to relieve her beaten consort and to renew the attack upon the stubborn little English man-of-war, who withstood it all with her hundred men on board, resisting all comers. With never fewer than two mighty galleons by her side, she fought to the death, single-handed.
The Spaniards had an unlimited reserve. They could not all hope to empty their guns into their heroic little foe, but they crowded round, ever near,to supply the attacking ships when needed with fresh soldiers, all manner of arms, and with powder and shot in plenty. To theRevengethere remained no such comfort, no supply of either ships or men or weapons, and, alas! no hope.
THE LAST FIGHT OF THE "REVENGE".
ONCE, indeed, in the course of the fight, an English ship appeared, brave and willing to offer her small help.
Towards sunset, during a momentary lull in the storm of battle, while one of the broken and battered Spanish ships was being cleared away from the ceaseless fury of the English guns, Jacob Hartop left the little brass falcon gun on the forecastle, at which he had stood for four terrible hours, and went down for a drink of water. A musket-shot had struck him in the thigh, and he was somewhat faint. He limped within the doorway of the seamen's quarters. A dozen men were in this shelter, some binding up their wounds, some resting and gathering breath before going out again upon the decks, others patiently waiting for their turn with the water-dipper.
Jacob's eyes surveyed them, passing slowly from one face to another. He nodded to one, gave a cheeringsmile to another, and helped a third to tie a knot in the kerchief which he was binding over his arm.
"What say you, my masters?" said he. "This be life, eh? This be tasting glory!"
"Ah—h!" breathed Jeff Dimsdale, the man who was taking the dipper from young Robin Redfern. "'Tis such glory as might fill many of our friends at home with envy. May I taste more on't ere I be like Tom Wilson that's down below on the ballast with a bullet in his honest heart!" He raised the water to his pale lips. "Tom would ha' given a deal for this drop o' water, I reckon," he said. Then, still hesitating to drink, he added: "Here's to Queen Bess, God bless her!"
Drinking the water at one long draught, he silently handed the dipper back to Robin and passed out into the open.
"'Tis men such as Jeff that have won England her glory on the main," declared Hartop, as he watched the man striding along the deck. Even as his eyes rested upon him, he saw Dimsdale stagger and fall, with an arrow, fired from the tops of one of the Spaniards, piercing his temple. A youth, hastening forward, stumbled over the fallen man, rose to his feet, looked into Dimsdale's face and passed on. The youth was Gilbert Oglander, who with grimy, powder-stained countenance, had come up on deck, utterly tired out by his hard work below. He entered the forecastle and waited his turn for a drink of water.
"What, art stationed below decks, Master Oglander?" questioned Jacob Hartop. "Methinks your better place were up here where there be boarders to repel. There be many who can carry powder on board, but few who have the skill to wield a sword or shoot an arrow as thou hast, my master."
"In truth, 'twas that very thought that brought me hither," said Gilbert. "And with the more reason, in that the powder is not now so plentiful or the gunners so many that those I have left below cannot be quickly enough served by the ship's boys. Hast seen aught of Timothy Trollope, Master Hartop?"
Jacob shook his head, but Robin Redfern, hearing the question, answered, as he pointed outward along the upper deck to where, under the larboard bulwarks, a half-dozen of Sir Richard Grenville's men were fighting amid a clash of arms with some score of Spaniards who had made an entrance upon theRevenge:
"So please you, sir, he is yonder, where, as I have seen with my own eyes, he hath slain a full dozen Spaniards."
Without waiting for his much-needed drink of water, Gilbert snatched up a morion that lay at his feet, clapped it upon his bare head, unsheathed his sword, and ran out to join in the fray. Jacob Hartop, smiling at the lad's impetuous eagerness, turned to the water-butt and took the proffered dipper from Robin Redfern's hand.
Robin's face was very pale, and there was a strangelight in his grave, gray eyes. He glanced quickly round the cabin, and presently darted into the further corner, went down upon his knees in the dark, and after a moment emerged gripping a little sword in his right hand, and strode to the door. Jacob Hartop stretched out his hand to stop the boy, guessing his purpose, but Robin escaped him and ran out, mingling with the fighting crowd.
Very soon afterwards Hartop was again at his gun on the starboard side of the forecastle deck. At the moment there was a slight lull in the battle. A galleon that had been grappled to this side of theRevengefor an hour or more, and was now almost a total wreck, was being drawn off to give place to a mighty ship which had stood by from the time of the opening of the battle, and whose decks were crowded with soldiers. Glancing out through the gap thus made, Hartop saw at some distance away a little ship flying the flag of St. George. She seemed to be hovering near, either to see the success of the fight, or else, which was more probable, to do what she might to rescue theRevengefrom the grip of her overpowering enemies. Hartop knew the little ship. He had seen her many times during the voyage out from England and also at the anchorage at Flores. It was Jacob Whiddon'sPilgrim.
The great galleon which now closed in to the attack was theSt. Paul, the flag-ship of Don Alonzo de Bassan, a brother of the renowned Marquis of Santa Cruz,and King Philip's chosen admiral. Already theRevenge'sbowsprit had been shot away, her foremast had fallen by the board, and her main topmast was lying across her main-deck with two Englishmen and seven Spaniards crashed under its weight. Her sails were in ribbons, and her riggings were in a hopeless tangle of broken rope; her bulwarks had great yawning gaps in them, yet still her gallant flag waved gloriously, albeit with many shot-holes in it, over her poop. And now theSt. Paulopened fire upon her, first from her chase-guns that shot out their great stone balls, and then, as she swung round, from her full broadside. Sir Richard Granville's mizzen-mast, which had beforetime been sorely hacked and splintered, fell with a crash. And now she lay heaving lazily on the swell of the ocean, with but the ragged stumps of her three masts showing above the level of her shattered hull, and her ship's company in their sadly reduced numbers showing still a sturdy and dauntless front, and ever persistently fighting on. The sea round about her was so strewn with wreckage that the galleons could not now come close to her as they had done at the first, but lay round her in a ring, firing into her or sending out their boats crowded with soldiers to board her, the beams of the setting sun shining on their morions and body armour, and glancing on the blades of their drawn swords.
As Don Alonzo's ship hove near, and when the cloud of smoke from her discharged guns had lifted,the archers in her fighting-tops fired down their arrow shafts in the endeavour to pick off such of the English officers as presented themselves on the poop-deck. Sir Richard Grenville was struck many times, but his body armour was well forged, and although he indeed had received many slight wounds on hands and neck and face, yet he was practically unhurt, and his hoarse voice could be heard amid the battle's thunder cheering his men and bidding them fight on.
His son Roland had been wounded by a musket-shot in his right arm, but, like Sir Richard, he cared not so long as he had breath in him to fight; so he took his sword in his left hand, and ever when any Spaniards attempted to make an entrance upon the decks he was ready to repel them, with Timothy Trollope and Gilbert Oglander shoulder to shoulder with him, forming a human barrier through which no Don, howsoever bold, might pass.
Gilbert Oglander became conscious that as Don Alonzo's galleon came near, there was one archer in her mizzen-top who had, as it seemed, singled him out from among his companions. Arrow after arrow struck with a sharp ring upon his breastplate; and as he moved along the deck to encounter new foes, again and again an arrow would buzz past him, always from the same direction.
The Spaniards, secure in the knowledge that theRevengewas helpless, went about the fighting more slowly as evening drew upon them. It was as if theythought to prolong their victim's life, and wished only to see for how much time the littleRevengewould hold out against them. During a lull in the fight Sir Richard Grenville ordered his men to clear the decks of wreckage, and to cast overboard the bodies of the slain. Water was served round, together with bread and onions. As Gilbert Oglander was carrying a flagon of water to one of his wounded comrades who lay in the scuppers, an arrow struck the flagon and dashed it from his grasp. He picked the empty vessel up and returned to the water-butt to refill it. Again as he passed aft an arrow struck him, this time making a deep dent in his morion. And at that moment young Robin Redfern, with a kerchief bound round his bleeding head, came up to him and touched him on the arm.
"Master," the lad cried, "I pray you have a care how you expose yourself to the aim of the archer who hath just fired at you. His arrows have pursued you this long while past. And—and—prithee, Master Gilbert, dost know who 'tis?"
"Nay, how should I know one Spaniard from another?" Gilbert asked, passing on towards the wounded man. But Robin held him.
"Hark you, my master," cried the lad, "I have seen his face. I saw it but a few moments ago, and, as I live, 'tis the face of your own cousin, Master Philip Oglander!"
Now Gilbert, despite the excitement of the battlehad not forgotten Drusilla's letter that was nestling within his doublet under the protection of his breastplate. His thoughts had gone more than once to his home and to the remembrance of his uncle's trickery, and this had increased by an hundredfold his hatred of all friends of Spain, and he had fought with a spirit of personal vengeance as well as with the desire to help his fellow-countrymen and his Queen in this battle against their dread enemy. For an instant he doubted the truth of what Robin had told him, and when he had served the wounded man with his drink of water, and helped him down to the crowded cockpit, he looked out through one of the portholes in search of his cousin in the galleon's tops. But the place where his enemy had stood was now cleared of men, and Philip Oglander was nowhere to be seen.
As he was mounting the ladder-stairs to regain the deck, he came upon a man climbing painfully upward with a sword between his teeth. Putting his arm about the man's body to assist him, he said:
"Art wounded, my master?"
The man looked round at him. It was Red Bob.
"Not I," he answered. "But I can no longer lie and listen to the groans of my friends down there, nor to the booming of the guns, and think that, ill though I am, I have not yet fired a shot or drawn a weapon in defence of this good ship. A score of the sick men have already gone up to fight, Master Oglander, and 'tis my intention to join them, and do what little I can."
"May the good God put strength into your arm, then!" returned Gilbert, and, stepping upon the deck, he drew the man with him, and gave him a loaded pistol and a bag of powder and shot. Jacob Hartop encountered them as they moved aft.
"My good gun hath been dismounted at last," said he. "Yet 'tis of little account, methinks, for I do hear that the powder hath well-nigh given out." A cheer from the after-deck broke in upon his words. "Ah, here be work for us!" he added, snatching his sword from his side and limping towards the quarter-deck, followed by Gilbert and Red Bob.
A boat-load of Spanish soldiers had put out from the admiral's galleon, and had come alongside theRevenge. Fresh and eager they clambered up from her chains and over her broken bulwarks—two score of them at the least. Sir Richard Grenville and Captain Robinson rallied their men to their sides. They quickly drew together in a line, a gallant little company of twelve, not one of whom was without a wound, saving three who had come up from their hard beds on the ballast, and these were so weak that it was a labour even to raise their swords.
They met their foes with a rattle of pistol-shots and then with a clash of steel. Sir Richard Grenville closed with a tall Don, whose gay clothing and sparkling rings proclaimed him a man of consequence. Whatever Grenville may have been as a seamen, he was certainly no mean swordsman. He parried theSpaniard's fierce thrust, and with a quick movement of his strong wrist and an alert lunge forward sent the point of his weapon deep into the other's bare throat. The Spaniard fell, and Sir Richard stepped over his inert body to encounter the man who had taken his leader's place. Four Spaniards did he vanquish with his own hand within the few minutes during which this engagement on his quarter-deck lasted. And by his side—the least with the greatest—fought little Robin Redfern.
Robin, indeed, seemed to have abandoned all sense of fear or thought of danger, and he fought valiantly in his own boyish fashion. At one moment he rushed forward into the very midst of the Spaniards, and engaged hand to hand with one whom he seemed to have singled out. Gilbert, seeing him thus expose himself, pressed in to his rescue, caught him by the shoulder and dragged him back, parrying on his own blade the sword-thrust that must else have ended the boy's life. Gilbert now crossed swords with Robin's antagonist, and in the fading evening light caught sight of his face, recognizing it as the face of his own cousin, Philip. For a moment Gilbert drew back, appalled at the thought of fighting with one of his own flesh and blood. But Philip, with a scornful laugh on his lips, pressed him to the duel. It was thrust and cut and parry, parry and cut and thrust, for many moments. The two were equally matched in skill, albeit Gilbert had already been fighting forfive hours without a rest, while his cousin was full fresh and active. Back and ever back, foot by foot, Gilbert was forced, and at last a fierce thrust delivered with all the strength in Philip's right arm, backed by all the weight in his body, brought Gilbert to his knees. The sword's point struck against his breast-plate, doing no real injury, but by its sheer force it disturbed his balance. He rolled over on the deck, and his own weapon fell from his hand.
THE GREAT FIGHT ON BOARD THEREVENGE
"Now will I do for thee at last!" cried Philip Oglander savagely between his teeth, speaking in English. He held his sword in air for a moment as if in deliberation where to strike. In that moment his weapon hand was struck a tremendous blow by a pistol flung at it by Red Bob, and Red Bob himself sprang forward, crying "Traitorous hound! I know ye!" and clutched him round the body in a wrestling embrace. The two swayed to and fro for an instant, and then Red Bob dropped on the deck with Philip Oglander's dagger in his heart.
When Gilbert rose to his feet to continue the duel with his cousin he saw Philip climbing back over the bulwark in haste to regain the galleon's boat. Others of the Spaniards occupied Gilbert now, and Ambrose Pennington and one of the yeomen of the sheets coming up to help, they were soon overpowered or driven over the side. Some fell into the sea; five-and-twenty of them had been slain; and the boat returned to Don Alonzo's ship with but seven out of the fortymen who had set out in her, less than half an hour earlier.
Darkness had now spread across the sea, the stars peeped out through the overhanging mist of smoke, and in a wide ring about theRevengethe galleons stood, ceaselessly firing upon her. Their guns flashed out their fire into the black night. Many of the shots flew wide; some passed over the low-lying wreck and struck the galleons lying beyond, yet many thundered against the sides of the English ship, burying themselves in her stout timbers or rebounding with a hiss into the sea. Hour after hour throughout the night the battle continued, and if not many of Sir Richard Grenville's men were killed or wounded it was because so few remained alive to be wounded or killed. An hour before midnight there were but a dozen men and boys at Sir Richard's side upon his decks, and these were all so weary and bruised and hungry that they scarce could stand. Yet they hovered about their chief, seldom speaking, but only exchanging strange glances one with another, binding up each other's hurts, or gazing about them at the flashing of the cannon. At times one would take up a musket, and, if he could find powder and shot wherewith to load it, would fire into a crowd of soldiers upon one of the Spaniard's decks.
Sir Richard strode to and fro, sword in hand, with a staggering gait, now pausing behind the shelter of some yet unbroken piece of bulwark and watching themovements of the enemy. And once he caught at Gilbert Oglander's arm, gripping it tightly as though to support himself.
"I pray thee tell me, Sir Richard," cried the lad. "Art wounded? Wilt go below to the cabin?"
"Nay, nay," returned Grenville quickly, breathing hard nevertheless, "I would but ask thee to hasten below and discover wherefore our guns be silent. Od's life, boy, must we lie here and not give them shot for shot! Go, bid the gunners maintain their firing!"
And Gilbert obeyed, coming back some minutes afterwards, saying:
"Good my master, the last barrel of powder hath been broached, and there is scarce enough for another round."
Then Sir Richard took off the casque from his head and wiped his brow, answering:
"Go below yet again and bid them sweep up the boards of the magazine, and scrape out a handful of powder wheresoever it may be found. And you, boy," he added to young Robin Redfern, who stood trembling near him under the light of one of the deck lanterns, "hie you to one of the water-butts and bring me a drink of water."
His voice was weak, and Ambrose Pennington, who had seated himself on the thick end of a dismounted cannon, heard it and quickly rose to his feet.
"Y'are hurt, Sir Richard," said he. "I know it,though you do bear it so bravely. I beg you let me help you to your cabin, where the surgeon will attend you."
Sir Richard shook his head.
"Wherefore should I leave the deck now," said he,—"now when there be so few to defend it?"
"Nay, I implore you," urged Pennington, and putting his arm about the admiral's body he gently drew him towards the stairs. And Grenville went with him. The surgeon was brought, and he speedily took off Sir Richard's body-armour, and laid bare the many wounds that he had received. These he washed and bound up with bandages. The two stood under a little hanging lamp that was near the open porthole. Their movements, or their flitting shadows, must have been observed upon one of the galleons, for even as they were nearly ready to quit the cabin a musket-shot struck Sir Richard on his shoulder. A second bullet struck him on the head, and at the same moment a third shot killed the surgeon at his side.
Taking up a fragment of linen Sir Richard bound it about his head and staggered to the door. Severe as his injuries were, it was not in him to stand aside in the hour of peril. He crept up to the deck. At the top of the stairs he was met by Robin Redfern, who had patiently stood there with the flagon of water that he had been sent for.
"God bless thee, my lad!" said Sir Richard, taking the cup from the boy's hand. "And may you live toserve your Queen and country as I have tried to serve them!"
The words had but left his lips when a cannon-ball whizzed past him. He turned to look for the boy, and found Robin lying dead at his feet. Then a full broadside of his own ship's guns was fired.
"Fight on! Fight on!" he cried, although indeed none was near him to hear his encouraging words.
That was the last discharge of his heavy guns; for now there was not sufficient powder on board with which to fire them, and even the smaller cannons, the falconets and demi-culverins, could be but sparingly used. Yet so long as there was a handful of powder to be found it was carefully employed. Not only had the ammunition run short, but all the pikes were broken in hand-to-hand fight, and of Grenville's men that had gone into action forty lay dead, and the most part of the rest severely wounded. The ship herself was almost a wreck, her tackle all cut asunder, her upper works altogether rased. During the fifteen hours, from three o'clock in the afternoon, when the battle had begun, until daybreak on the next morning, she had been closely assailed by fifteen several galleons, in addition to those that had fired upon her from a distance.
Just before dawn, Edward Webbe and the few remaining gunners who had been at work between decks appeared above the hatchway. They had used up the powder to the last grain, and there was no more fightingto be done. Webbe was as black as a coalman, his clothing was torn to tatters, and he was covered with wounds. He went up to Captain Robinson and told him the condition of the ship. The captain then held colloquy with the sailing-master, and both approached Sir Richard Grenville.
"Our powder hath been spent, even to the last corn," said the captain.
"We have six feet of water in the hold," added the sailing-master, "and three great shot-holes below the water-line which are so weakly plugged that with the first working of the sea we must needs sink."
Sir Richard Grenville took a turn to and fro, meditating. Then he looked at the master-gunner, whom he knew to be a most resolute man, and said in a tone of command:
"Blow up the ship, then! Blow her up! Split her and sink her, that naught may remain of glory or victory to our enemies. As for ourselves, let us yield ourselves unto God, and to the mercy of none else!"
"Nay," returned the master. "Have we not told ye that there is no gunpowder on board wherewith to fire a gun, much less to blow up the ship?"
"Why, then," cried Grenville, "split her up with your hatchets, pull out the plugs from the shot-holes. But sink her, sink her how you will. For while we have, like valiant men, repulsed so many of our enemies, it were folly now to shorten the honour ofour nation by prolonging our lives for a few hours or a few days. So let sink her, I say. Sink her, in God's name."
To this Edward Webbe and divers others who were with him readily assented. But Captain Robinson and Pennington were of another opinion, and they besought Sir Richard to have care of them, declaring that the Spaniards would doubtless be as ready to accept a composition as they themselves were ready to offer the same. "There be many able and valiant men in our company yet living," said the captain, "whose wounds are not mortal, and who may yet do their country and Queen acceptable service hereafter."
But Sir Richard refused to hearken to this pleading, and he moved away and stood for a while looking over the sea that was now clearer under the approaching light of dawn. And beyond the galleons he caught sight of Jacob Whiddon's ship, thePilgrim, bearing away to the leeward with two great galleons in pursuit of her.
Meanwhile, Captain Robinson held speech with his fellows and won many of them to his side, and he besought Ambrose Pennington to leave the ship and go on board theSt. Pauland parley with Don Alonzo de Bassan for conditions. So Pennington and Jacob Hartop and some three others, all of them sorely wounded and looking strangely ill-conditioned, went down into an empty boat that was alongside, andholding up a white flag in their bow they crossed the intervening space of sea to the admiral.
They found Don Alonzo in no great haste to make another entry upon theRevenge, for his men had had enough of her, and even still feared her. Pennington told him that Sir Richard Grenville had a mind to blow up his ship with himself and all his ship's company.
"And wherefore should he resort to a measure so extreme?" questioned Don Alonzo. "Since his disposition is so dangerous, return to him, I beg you, and let him know that I am willing to put an end to this battle, and that I have already lost more men and more ships than I had ever thought to lose at the hands of one small English man-of-war. Bid him understand that I yield to him his life, and that the lives of all his ship's company shall be spared and sent home to England. For the better sort, such reasonable ransom shall be paid as their estates may bear. But I do aver, and swear by the Holy Mother, that all of you shall be free from the galleys and from imprisonment. I care not to expose myself and my fleet to further loss and mischief. Also, 'tis my great desire to rescue your Sir Richard Grenville, whom for his most notable valour I do greatly honour and admire."
With this answer Pennington returned to theRevenge, and since safety of life was promised, the larger number of the men, feeling themselves to be now at the end of their peril, stood up against SirRichard and Edward Webbe, and declared their willingness to surrender.
"What!" cried Edward Webbe with bitter scorn and contempt in his voice. "Do you ask me to surrender to a Spaniard? Me who have borne so much of horror and torture and cruelty at their hands, and at the hands of their accursed Inquisition? God forbid! No, I will not surrender. Rather would I die now at this moment where I stand!"
And thus saying he whipped out his sword, and resting its hilt upon the deck, held its point towards his body with intent to throw himself upon it. But the captain arrested him in the act, kicking the sword away. Webbe struggled to regain his weapon, and, failing, was about to rush to the ship's side and fling himself into the sea, when Ambrose Pennington and another caught him and carried him down to his cabin and there locked him in, making sure that he had no weapon within reach.
Sir Richard Grenville stood alone, not attempting to dissuade his men from their resolve, and presently in the silence Jacob Hartop spoke.
"Ned was right," said he, stepping to Sir Richard's side. "An English ship, even though she be a poor battered hulk, were ever a better home than a galleon of Spain." He glanced aft to the flag-staff upon which a tattered remnant of the honoured flag still fluttered in the morning air, and baring his head he added: "God bless Queen Elizabeth!"
Gilbert Oglander and Timothy Trollops had taken no part in this little scene. They were at the time both below in the cockpit attending to their wounds and giving what small help was in their power to their sick and dying companions. Here, too, was Roland Grenville. But in good time the death-like silence of the abated battle brought the three up on deck. As they came to the stair-head they glanced upon the water, which rippled and glanced in the morning light; for there were now no intervening bulwarks to shield it from their sight. And they saw some six gaily-furnished boats approaching. The boats were brought alongside, and the boys at their bows threw up coils of rope as they touched, which, falling upon the blood-stained deck, were taken by certain of Sir Richard's men and secured to such balks of timber as could be found. Then one by one the men stole away into the boats and were taken aboard Don Alonzo's ship and others of the galleons.
Sir Richard Grenville, thus overmatched, agreed after much persuasion to leave theRevenge, which was indeed an unsavoury resting-place for any man, her decks being covered with blood and strewn with the bodies of dead and wounded men, as if it had been a slaughter-house.
"Well, an you will, let it be so," said Sir Richard as he turned to descend into the boat that the Spanish admiral had sent for him. "He may do with my body what he listeth, for I esteem it not." And graspingthe hand of Gilbert Oglander, who was helping him, he added, "Pray for me, Gilbert, my lad. And bid the others of our company pray for me also."
Then he swooned, reviving only when he was laid upon a couch in the cabin of one of the Spanish officers on board theSt Paul.
Don Alonzo himself would neither see him nor speak with him. But the other captains and gentlemen received him with gracious courtesy, treated him with humanity and kindness, and left nothing unattempted that might contribute to his comfort or tend to his recovery. They wondered at his courage and his stout heart, for he now showed no sign of faintness nor change of colour.
Gilbert Oglander remained at his side throughout that day, and was relieved at night by Sir Richard's son Roland. Early in the morning the galleons anchored in the roadstead of Terceira. Sir Richard Grenville was too weak to be removed upon the island, and Gilbert and Roland sat with him until he died on the morning of the third day after the battle.
His last words were worthy of his life. Two of the Spanish captains were present as he spoke them in their own tongue.
"Here die I, Richard Grenville," he murmured as he held his son's hand. "Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do that hath fought for his country, Queen, religion, and honour, wherebymy soul most joyful departeth out of this body, and shall always leave behind it an everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier that hath done his duty as he was bound to do."
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES.
ITwas the intention of the Spaniards to take the broken and shot-riddled hulk of theRevengeto Spain as their vaunted prize. And well might they set glory upon their conquest, for she was the one and only English ship that had surrendered to them during the whole course of the war, and in capturing her they had sacrificed four of their own best galleons, while sustaining great damage to some fourteen others. Nearly two thousand of their soldiers had been slain in the fight or drowned in the sea, including two high and mighty hidalgos, Don Louis de St. John, whom Grenville had vanquished with his own hand, and Don George de Prunaria de Malaga, besides many others of special account.
Their admiral now sent a large company of carpenters, riggers, and swabbers on board of her to repair her leaks, pump out the water that was deep in her hold, and clear her of the wreckage that encumbered her; while those who remained alive of her gallant crew were dispersed among the Spanish ships asprisoners, although permitted to go ashore upon the island during the daytime under close surveillance of a guard of armed soldiers.
Don Alonzo de Bassan's fleet lay in the roadstead of Terceira awaiting the daily expected arrival of the West India treasure-ships, which appeared in straggling numbers day by day. The Lord Thomas Howard's squadron, which had set out to lay capture to them, appeared not again, but having left theRevengeto her fate at the opening of the battle, departed for England. Some accused him of cowardice in avoiding an engagement; but 'tis certain enough that he knew the risks that were entailed, and if the truth must be set down, Sir Richard Grenville had really been guilty of disobedience.
While Gilbert and Timothy were still prisoners on board theSt. Paulthey were quartered in a little cabin under the poop. With them was Ambrose Pennington, and in another cabin were Roland Grenville and Captain Robinson. Jacob Hartop had remained on board theRevengewith Edward Webbe, refusing to quit her while she floated.
On a certain day, ere yet the combined fleets from Spain and the West Indies were ready to depart for Spain, Philip Oglander lay on his bed under pretence of being wounded, albeit his wounds were no more serious than a cut upon his knuckles and a dark-blue bruise upon the back of his right hand, where the pistol flung by Red Bob had struck him. It was notso much these hurts that kept him abed as the eager desire which was consuming him to hear what was going on in the cabin next to his own. It was the cabin occupied by his cousin Gilbert and Timothy Trollope. Philip did not dare to speak openly with his cousin and question him concerning what knowledge he might have of the things that had been going forward at Modbury Manor, but he was aware that Gilbert knew more than himself, for he had once seen Gilbert reading a letter—Drusilla's letter,—and also he had on occasion heard Timothy Trollope—whether in jest or in earnest—address Gilbert as "my lord".
Now Philip had himself received more than one letter from England. For his father, well knowing the traitorous business which occupied Philip in Spain, and knowing where a letter might find him, had written to him informing him of the death of Lord Champernoun, and bidding him remember that he, Philip, might one day inherit the title and estates, and that, therefore, it was incumbent upon him to look well to his personal safety.
"Indeed," wrote Jasper, "there is but one thing now standing between thee and this great heritage, and that is thy cousin, Master Gilbert Oglander. There is naught that I wish for more heartily than to hear of the young Jackanapes' death. Therefore I do conjure thee, my son, if thou shouldst by chance encounter him, prithee do thy work with more surety than thou didst do it in Beddington Dingle. Let there be nobungling, but bear thee well in mind that upon thy well-directed arrow shaft, or rapier point, must depend thy future and the possibility of dubbing thyself Baron Champernoun."
These were vague hints. But Philip had understood them. He had understood them to mean that his father urged him to seek out Gilbert Oglander and frustrate his return to England. And Philip had sought to obey these injunctions, although hitherto without success. He had tried to compass Gilbert's death during the battle, and, having failed, he yet had hope that some chance would favour him for fulfilling his cherished desire. And he furtively watched his cousin, spied upon his every movement, and endeavoured by every available means to entrap him to his death. But Gilbert, wheresoever he went about the galleon and whenever he went ashore, was for ever accompanied by Timothy Trollope, and Philip saw no advantage in running the risk of a hand-to-hand encounter with the barber's valiant son.
On this day as he lay in his cabin he listened for every word that should pass between Gilbert and his two companions. Much that was said was in the form of mere idle remark about the late battle, or about their wounds, or about the death of Sir Richard Grenville. But after a while there was talk of home, and at length, in answer to some question of Ambrose Pennington, Gilbert spoke of his uncle Jasper, and thereupon told the whole story of his grandfather'sdeath and of his uncle's assumption of the title, even as Drusilla had recounted it in her letter.
"Ah!" muttered Philip, overhearing every word. "Then he doth know. By Our Lady, he doth know all!"
Then, setting his teeth together, he vowed that come what might Gilbert should never return to England to enjoy his inheritance. And from that moment he continued to watch his cousin with increased diligence. It was some comfort to his wicked soul to know that Gilbert was now a captive, and that as such it was more than probable he would spend many a year to come in some Spanish prison, as so many Englishmen had done before him. But this was not enough, for there was the chance of an escape from prison; there was the chance, indeed, that Don Alonzo might liberate his captives to ransom; there were a hundred ways by which Gilbert might succeed in returning to his native land. But there was one sure and certain means of preventing this, and that was that, by fair measures or by foul, Gilbert should be brought to his death, and Philip now resolved that this should be. He would not rest content until his cousin lay lifeless, ay, as lifeless as brave Sir Richard Grenville, whose body now lay at the bottom of the sea.
Gilbert was quite oblivious of the secret danger that threatened him, nor did he see aught but pure accident in what befell him on the next day.
The Spanish admiral did not wish that his shipshould be encumbered by a crowd of wounded Englishmen. And on the day before the sailing of his fleet he ordered that those who were at present on board theSt. Paulshould be removed to theRevenge. And it followed accordingly that boats were put out for this purpose.
Gilbert and Timothy were at the gangway together, and it chanced that Timothy descended the side-ladder first, scarcely observing that Philip Oglander had crept to Gilbert's side. Timothy was already in the boat, when, on looking up, he saw Gilbert stumble and fall. Fortunately the boat was not close alongside; there was a yard of water between it and the ship. Gilbert was but a poor swimmer, and when he splashed into the sea he sank deep down. There was a strong current, and when he rose to the surface he appeared many yards away astern of the boat. Timothy plunged in and swam to him, thinking of sharks, and when he reached him and supported him, he turned to see if the boat were being brought to the rescue. He heard some orders given in Spanish, which seemed to him to be given in Philip Oglander's voice. Louder still than Philip's was the voice of Ambrose Pennington, which could be heard for a long distance away, crying out to the boatmen to cast off and pull towards the two lads, and mingling his commands with volleys of round English oaths that would surely have won for him the iron chain of punishment had they been heard a few days before on board theRevenge. But the Spaniards heeded him not at all, declaring that the boys were but foreign lumber who might well be allowed to drown for all the use they would be on the galleys.
Pennington appealed to Philip Oglander, saying that it was his own cousin and the head of his family who was in danger. But Philip turned away with a derisive laugh, no doubt congratulating himself upon the fact that it was his own foot over which Gilbert had tripped.
From a high part of the galleon's poop where he presently climbed he watched the heads of the two boys as they were carried away in the current. Soon an intervening galleon hid them from his view, and he consoled himself with the thought that he had very cleverly got rid of the one person who, next to his own father, stood between him and the baronage of Champernoun.
But he had not counted upon Timothy Trollope's powers of swimming. For some moments Timothy thought to strike out for the shore, and gripping Gilbert with his one arm and bidding him be calm, he manfully breasted the swelling waves. Swimming to the leeward of one of the galleons he presently saw an empty boat lying at her side. He swam towards it and got hold of its gunwale, helping Gilbert to do likewise. Then, while Gilbert held on, Timothy climbed over her stern, and kneeling upon one of the thwarts hauled his companion on board.
"'Twas Philip Oglander that did it," said he, wringing the water out of Gilbert's ragged clothing. "I saw him put forth his foot and trip thee. I have seen all along that he hath had designs against thee, Master Gilbert—I mean, my lord—"
"Nay, keep to the Gilbert, Tim," interrupted Gilbert. "As to this matter of my falling overboard, well, I can e'en believe as you say, nevertheless we might easily have been in a worse case than we are now. For, look you, there is a ladder up the ship's side at your elbow, and it were easy enough to get on board of her."
"It were equally easy to cut the boat's painter and make for the shore," said Tim.
"But there be no oars aboard," returned Gilbert.
"Wherefore need we concern ourselves about oars?" asked Timothy. "I will adventure it however it be." And he felt for his knife. A look of sudden despair came into his face. "Alas!" he added, "I had forgotten that the Dons had deprived us of our weapons!"
He stepped to the boat's bow, and was about to try to untie the knot of her painter when a voice greeted him from above, and a Spaniard with very furious curled moustachios appeared in the opening of the gangway. To escape now with the boat was impossible, and the two boys yielded themselves up as prisoners, explaining as best they could the accident that had brought them there.
The Spaniards appeared to regard the matter with indolent indifference, saying that the lads should be sent back on board the flag-ship on the morrow. In the meantime Gilbert and Timothy were permitted to sit in the warm sunlight to dry their clothes on the upper deck, and no more notice was taken of them until late in the evening, when one of the galleon's boys gave them each an onion. They slept under the lee of one of the big guns, and in the morning the same ship's-boy brought them a tin dish of bean soup, indicating by signs that they were to share it between them.
On the afternoon of that same day some officers from one of the other galleons came on board, and with them was one Maurice Fitz John, of Desmond, a forlorn-looking Irish traitor who, because he could speak English, had been sent to speak with the English prisoners in each ship and to persuade them to serve the King of Spain. He had not expected to find any on board this particular galleon—theSanta Maria, as she was named,—but discovering Gilbert and Timothy, he accosted them, believing them to be very humble seamen. He besought them to take arms in King Philip's legion, using very subtle arguments. They would have three times the amount of pay that they could get on an English ship, he said, and he promised them such advancement as he thought would tempt any young men who were, as these were, ship-broken and half-starved and ill-clothed, and if theywould be good Catholics the safety of their souls should be assured.
Timothy Trollope noticed that the man was himself but ill-apparelled, and reflected that such beggarly appearance was in itself a sufficient answer to the argument of rich pay. As for the notion of changing their religion, it was as repulsive to both Tim and Gilbert as that of deserting their Queen.
"Well, well," said the Irishman, when, having used up all his eloquence in his pleadings, he turned to go, "an ye will not see the advantage of what is offered ye, 'tis no concern of mine. 'Tis yourselves that will suffer for your obstinacy. But I doubt not that a few years of work at the oars of His Majesty's galleys will bring ye to better reason." And with that he departed.
For many days thereafter Gilbert and Timothy led a very weary, uncomfortable life. In return for their food and such shelter as was given to them, they were made to do much dirty and distasteful work. They were never permitted to go on shore, yet they were free from the restraint of chains—a dispensation for which they were thankful. Gradually their wounds healed, and they regained strength with such speed, that when at last the full number of the treasure-ships had arrived and the fleet was ready to sail for Spain, they were almost as well in health as they had been on the day before the battle.
THE GREAT CYCLONE.
ITwas on the last day of September that the combined fleets—to the number of a hundred and forty ships—weighed anchor and set sail. The sky was dark and threatening as they left Terceira, and they had not well got out of sight of the island when a most terrible storm arose. The sea was suddenly whipped up into great mountainous waves, the wind, which seemed to come from all quarters at once, howled and shrieked like a thousand furies. The vast fleet was dispersed, each galleon being left to take care of itself. Some tried to put back to Terceira, others endeavoured to make for the island of St. Michael's. The whole sea between these two islands was dotted over with struggling ships. It was such a storm as comes only once in a hundred years, and its effects were terrible. Out of the hundred and forty galleons no more than three-and-thirty ever arrived in Spain and Portugal. All the rest were cast upon the rocky ribs of the islands or were overwhelmed in the sea.
It was off the island of Terceira that theRevenge—or what remained of her—came to her end. She had been taken out in tow by theSan Andreagalleon, but when the tempest rose to its height she was cast off and abandoned to her fate. Driven by the tremendouswaves upon the outlying rocks, she was shattered to splinters, so that not a trace of her remained but a few balks of her stout oaken timbers that drifted as flotsam to the beach. There had been seventy men on board of her, many of them Spaniards, some few of them captive Englishmen. Among the latter were Jacob Hartop and Edward Webbe. Only one man reached the island alive, and he, being sorely hurt, had but time to tell his tale to the islanders and be shriven before he died.
Roland Grenville, who had been drafted on board theSan Andrea, was the only one of our friends who was not shipwrecked. He was taken to Lisbon, where, after having endured great privations in prison (whereof much might be told), he fell in with the gallant Captain Monson, escaped to Cadiz, was again imprisoned, and finally rescued by the Earl of Essex on the occasion of the famous expedition against that Spanish stronghold.
For three days theSanta Mariawas buffeted about in the storm. From her watery decks Gilbert Oglander and Timothy Trollope saw many a galleon go down, and not only such galleons as had been of Don Alonzo De Bassan's fleet, but many others of the treasure-ships, which took with them to the bottom their wealthy cargoes of silver and gold. On the morning of the fourth day, when the tempest was at its height, she fell in with the flag-ship, whose foremast was gone by the board, and whose sails were but so many ragged ribbons flying from her yards. Her rudder was gone, and she was helpless. Nor was theSanta Mariain any better case, for only her main-mast was standing, and the great waves washed over her, threatening to swamp her at every moment. The two ships came close together, and their white-faced and frightened seamen could see each other's faces from deck to deck. They drew apart when the deeper darkness of night came on, but in the morning they were again within sight, beating about in the perilous channel between the islands of St. George and Graciosa.
There was a slight lull in the storm in the afternoon, and the commander of theSanta Mariathought he might succeed in gaining some shelter under the lee of the island of Graciosa. He had his ship put about, and approaching theSt. Paulattempted to cross her bows, but a sudden change in the wind drove him to leeward, and before anyone on board realized their peril the two vessels crashed together with fearful force. So great was the impact that Don Alonzo's galleon heeled over until her larboard bulwarks were for a moment under water. But she righted herself again and sailed on, leaving many of her men who had been upon her open decks floundering in the sea. Among these was Philip Oglander.
Philip was a good swimmer, and when he rose to the surface he struck out, shook the water from his dripping hair, and looked around. His own ship was now drawing away, forced onward by the storm. He turned and saw the high bows of theSanta Mariatowering above him, with her timbers broken and wrecked, and the water pouring into the yawning gap. The galleon plunged forward, staggered, rolled, thenplunged forward again with her bow buried deep in a sea of foam. She did not lift herself now, but first her forward part sank lower and lower, the waves swept over her, seeming to rejoice in their conquest, and presently, with a great gurgling sound, the vessel disappeared.
Gilbert and Timothy had been on her mid-deck when the two ships crashed together. They were standing abaft her thick main-mast, with their arms linked. Timothy, watching the ship's onward course and noting the position of the flag-ship, had foreseen the collision.
"Look you," said he, gripping Gilbert's arm more tightly, "we shall strike her. Be ready, master; and if we should founder, cling to me, I implore you." And then, even as he spoke, the two ships crashed together, and the lads were thrown off their feet. Timothy flung his arms around Gilbert and held him. They lay there waiting. They felt the deck trembling beneath them, swaying to and fro.
"We are sinking!" cried Timothy. And for many moments—moments that seemed like hours of suspense—he was silent. Suddenly there was a great breaking of timber. He saw the white foam leaping up over the steep incline of the deck. The tall main-mast swayed over and fell with a crash that was like a crack of thunder. And then all was dark, and he felt himself being drawn below in the vortex with the sinking ship.
Still clinging to his companion, he opened his eyes. The water was all black about him. He moved hislegs, trying to force himself upward. Soon he began to rise; the darkness became less dense, it grew from black to dark green, and then to a lighter green, and at last the daylight burst once more upon him. Striking out with his one free arm he kept himself afloat, then disengaged himself from Gilbert and took a fresh hold of the lad, keeping his head up above the water. Gilbert's eyes greeted him with recognition.
"Hold on, hold on to me!" cried Timothy, as a great wave swept over them, carrying with it a huge spar of wreckage.
The spar threatened to fall down upon Gilbert's head, but the waves kept it buoyant. Timothy stretched forth his arm and gripped some floating cordage, and presently drew himself towards the drifting spar, which he found to be the galleon's main-mast.
"Lay hold on't!" he cried. And Gilbert, releasing his grip of Timothy's belt, put his hand upon the mast, and, with infinite trouble and after many failures, at last succeeded in climbing up and getting astride of it, while Timothy, working his way along to its end, also climbed up.
When they were both together again in comparative safety, they looked about them in the hope of saving some of the Spaniards.
"There is one!" cried Gilbert, as he saw a woolly black head appear within a couple of yards of him. "'Tis José, the blackamoor."
And Timothy stretched forth his leg for the negro, who speedily caught it and clambered up. A secondand a third man appeared, but both were too far off to be helped, and as neither could swim they were quickly lost to sight.
It was at this juncture that Philip Oglander, swimming about in search of some wreckage by which he might hope to save himself, caught sight of the negro José. Timothy and Gilbert had their backs to him; he only saw that they were human figures, and that they were for the time being on a secure refuge. Swimming towards José, he at last attracted the negro's attention. The noise of the wind and waves was too great for a voice to be heard, and he climbed upon the floating mast without either Gilbert or Timothy's knowledge. It was, indeed, as much as any one of them could do to retain his balance and keep himself from being washed off, for the ponderous log upon which they rested rolled heavily upon the waves, and at times either plunged into them or was itself by them thrown upward into the air, and those who rode upon it might better have been upon a mad horse, so difficult was it to keep a seat. Cold and hungry and pale with the terror of their situation, the boys clung tightly with legs and arms, hoping only that God would bring them out of their peril.
The night came on and darkness deepened their distresses. Timothy, who was in front of Gilbert, had not thus far dared to turn round and face him, but he had worked his way backward so that Gilbert might cling to him, and the while the boy's hand touched him he was comforted. In the darkness of the night Gilbert heard what he thought was a human cry—asin truth it was,—and putting his lips to Timothy's ear he called out:
"He hath fallen off! José hath fallen off!"
But later he felt that someone was moving behind him, and again he spoke to Timothy.
"Nay, I mistook," said he; "he is still with us."
Timothy made no response, satisfied only that his companion was able to take even so much interest in anything apart from the thought of his own immediate danger.
The storm subsided somewhat during the early morning. The spar floated more easily, and when a faint streak of gray light appeared in the eastern sky, Timothy ventured to alter his position and bring himself round face to face with Gilbert. Glancing over Gilbert's shoulder, he saw that the negro—or what he supposed to be the figure of the negro—was still there, lying with his head upon his hands, and his hands gripping a strand of thick rope that was coiled about the mast. As the light grew stronger, however, he was astonished to notice that those hands were not black, and that where he had expected to see a head of woolly black hair there was a head whose hair was long and straight. Further scrutiny revealed to him the fact that through a long rent in their companion's jerkin there was a gleam of white skin. He waited until the coming daylight should enable him to discover more of this mystery, and as yet he said nothing to Gilbert.
At last the dawn broke, and with its coming Timothy saw the pale haggard face of Philip Oglander turnedtowards him, with the dark hollow eyes gleaming in startled recognition.
THE WRITING IN THE BOOK.
GILBERTsaw the sudden change that had come into Timothy's countenance, but he paid little heed to it, for his own attention had been attracted by something else, something that the light of dawn had disclosed upon the sea not a cable's length away from where he and his two companions were floating about on that log of the lost galleon's mast.
Gripping Timothy's shoulders with his two hands, he cried aloud:
"Look you, Tim! Look! A ship!"
And at that instant Philip Oglander's eyes rested also upon the object which had attracted Gilbert.
Timothy craned his head round, and saw the ship's huge bulk heaving lazily upon the sea, with a glint of light upon a piece of brass that edged her forecastle rail. Her bow was towards them. Her masts were all gone, and there was no sign of life upon her decks. As she rose lazily upon the waves the lower planks of her hull were seen to be thickly encrusted with barnacles.
But Timothy was for the time being very little concerned with the ship. There was now a hope of safety, and with that hope he was satisfied. But his discoverythat Philip Oglander was now a companion of their strange position filled him with a feeling of dismay, for he knew that Philip was no friend to Gilbert any more than to himself, and there was something about the lad that made him uncomfortable, while yet there was of course no reason to fear him. Touching Gilbert on the shoulder Tim signed to him to turn his head. Gilbert obeyed, and saw his cousin, and wondered how it had come to pass that he was here. His wonderment continued throughout the whole morning, for it was still impossible to carry on any conversation, on account not only of the noise of the storm, but also of the danger of moving and of being thrown off the spar into the sea.
At mid-day the wind fell and the sun came out. They were no nearer to the ship than they had been in the early morning. All through the afternoon the lads watched the labouring hulk, but even when the sun had set they could not be sure whether the distance between her and themselves had increased or diminished. That next night seemed to be a full year's time of endurance and cold and hunger, and their only comfort was in the consciousness that the waves were gradually becoming less in size and that the wind's force had abated.
On the next morning it was seen that the ship was a little nearer; she was indeed so close that every detail of her structure could be distinguished. She was still bow on, as the mariners say, and her towering after-castle could be seen high above the level of her forward bulwarks. Something about her—the tangleof green and brown sea-weed clinging to her bulging bows, the thick crust of barnacles below her water-line, and a white mess of guano along the edge of her bulwarks and about the lips of her chase-guns—seemed to indicate that she had been drifting for a long time unattended. It was clear that she had been deserted. It was equally clear that she had not formed one of either Don Alonzo's fleet from Spain or of the fleet of treasure-ships from the West Indies.
"Dost think we might get some food in her, Tim, if so be we could win our way aboard?" asked Gilbert.
Timothy shook his head.
"Haply we might," said he gravely; "but haply we might not. Yet even to be upon her decks would be some comfort; for at the least we might then stretch our legs and run about until some warmth came into us."
Philip Oglander drew himself close behind Gilbert, and leaning over him called out to Timothy Trollope:
"Canst swim, Master Trollope?" he questioned.
Timothy nodded. "Why?" he asked.
"Because," returned Philip, "there is some rope here, which one might bind about one's body, and so, swimming to the ship, haul this mast alongside."
"I have already bethought me of that," said Timothy; "but the rope is not long enough. A better plan were for you and me to lay ourselves in the water at the mast's side, and so, clinging to it, paddle with our feet until we bring it near. Then, when we be close enough, I would indeed swim with the rope."
This suggestion was agreed upon, and Timothy and Philip put themselves one at either side of the mast and propelled it along; not very quickly, it is true, for with all their efforts it was but small way that they could get into the heavy log. Yet if it was only inch by inch that they moved it, this was something. They laboured all through the morning, and at mid-day they had the satisfaction of knowing that they had lessened the distance between them and the ship by at least half a dozen yards. Meanwhile Gilbert gathered all the pieces of rope that were wound about the mast and spliced them together; and when this was done his two companions converted it into a hawser, and binding an end of it about their bodies swam towards the ship, towing the mast behind them. Thus they made better progress, and in the evening, while the sun was setting in a rack of clouds, they had brought themselves under the vessel's larboard bow.
Gilbert Oglander, waiting until a wave should lift him within reach, caught at a line of rope that hung from the ship's broken bowsprit. By this he swarmed up. Timothy and Philip followed, and at last, after great difficulty, all three of them stood upon her deck.
It was covered with the refuse of sea-birds. The deck guns were white with guano. Looking aft to the incline of her poop-deck they saw the companion hatch of the cabin, and this suggested that in the cabin itself they might find something that would serve as food. Timothy led the way down to the main-deck. In a coil of rope on one of the closed hatchways hecaught sight of two white eggs. He leapt to them, and took one of them in his hand, giving it to Gilbert; the other he gave to Philip.
"God grant that they be fresh," said he.
Philip tapped his egg on one of the stanchions, chipping off a little piece of the shell. With a muttered Spanish curse he dropped the egg upon the deck, and stamped his foot upon the shrivelled, half-formed little sea-gull that the shell had enclosed.
Gilbert bent down to break the other egg on a corner of the hatch covering. As he did so he caught sight of something that glittered on the deck—a small square of yellow metal about the size of his hand. He picked it up and examined it.
"Why, 'tis gold!" said he.
"Ay," agreed Timothy, "and there be other pieces the same as it. Look!" he added, pointing to the scuppers. And there Gilbert saw at least a dozen other little bars of gold.
Philip saw them also, and darted towards them, gathering them together with miserly avarice.
"Come," said Timothy, "let us go below and seek for food. I fear me there is little hope of our finding any, but it may be that we can come upon a few grains of corn or else a crust of old bread."
He led the way aft to a door under the quarter-deck, and pushed it open. A dry, mouldy smell met him as he entered into the darkness. He felt about with his hands, and stepped cautiously until he found himself at the head of a narrow staircase. Step by step he went down. The stairs creaked under him.
"'Tis all well," he said, looking back at Gilbert, who had hesitated to follow. "There is another door here, if I could but find the handle. Ah, 'tis here!"
He turned the handle, and a ray of light fell upon him. Gilbert was soon at his heels, and they entered together into a spacious cabin, which, in spite of its dank and mouldy atmosphere, bore still some signs of past luxury. At its farther end was a row of square port-holes, at each of which there was a small brass cannon, richly chased and ornamented. The panels around the cabin were of finely carved oak, with figures of saints and quaint devices and Latin legends. There were curtains of crimson velvet, and in the corners were little shelves of carved oak upon which stood goblets of silver and gold. Facing the port-holes there was a large mirror, black now, and dulled by the damp atmosphere. Around the sides stood large oak chests, which seemed to have served as seats; and in the middle of the floor, which was covered with the remains of what had once been a handsome Turkey carpet, there was a large oak table.
It was this table upon which Timothy Trollope's eyes first rested as he entered. It was strewn with jars and candlesticks, cups and dishes, all of them made of solid gold, and in their midst, scattered about like corn on a barn floor, were hundreds of many-coloured precious stones that sparkled in the light.
"Food! food!" cried Timothy, casting his hungry eyes about him.
"Haply there will be some in here," said Gilbert; and he strode towards one of the chests whose lid waspartly open. He looked within. "Alas!" he cried, "it is only gold!"
Timothy passed to one of the others. It was locked. He passed to the next and opened it. "No," said he, "'tis only money!" At the farther end of the cabin one of the chests had fallen asunder like a rotten sack of grain, and the floor was strewn with gold coins.
"Here is a cupboard," cried Gilbert, turning the rusty key which was still in the lock. But the shelves were filled with daggers, their hafts studded with gems, and with pistols of many design.
Under the table a square of the carpet was turned back, revealing a trap-door. Gilbert caught hold of the ring-bolt and pulled it up and looked down into the darkness. As the ship rolled, he thought he heard the rushing of water. Taking up a handful of doubloons, he dropped them through the opening. They splashed into water.
"Prithee, where is Philip?" asked Timothy. "Wherefore hath he not come with us?"
"I left him on the deck," answered Gilbert.
"Then I pray you let us return to him," said Timothy, "for I have found some four tallow candles, and we must share them with him. They are but a sorry sort of food to feed upon withal, but I have oft times heard of hungry men staving off starvation with no better fare. Nay, I am in earnest," he added, seeing the look of disgust in Gilbert's face. "Sure they are made out of good tallow-fat." He smiled grimly as he offered one of the candles to Gilbert,saying with much gravity, "I pray you, good my lord, wilt join me in a banquet of candles?"