Feeling with his hand for the middle panel of the door, Dennis laid the canister down close against it. To ensure that the hole he had made in it, to connect with the train of powder, should rest upon the planks and not turn over, he pressed a slight dent in the rim. Then he crept backwards the way he had come, laying close to the cabin wall a train of powder from his pouch, not stinting the quantity, so that there might be no gaps in the line. He drew a breath of relief when he came once more to the further side of the canvas and stood erect. There was not a gust of air stirring; the confined space between the sail and the cabin was hot and stuffy; and what with holding his breath during the minutes his task had occupied, and the strain upon his nerves, he had felt almost suffocated.
He said not a word when he found Turnpenny awaiting him, but placed his finger on his lips and motioned the man to return. The charge having been laid in safety, it remained to arrange a course of action when the door should be blown in. While the sail was still lowered it would be impossible to dash forward into the cabin. The screen was no longer required now that there was no further need for the open hatchway; to remove it might indeed put the enemy on their guard, but they could not know what to expect, and there would be no time after the explosion to hoist the sail, even if it were possible to spare men for the task. So Turnpenny volunteered to replace the hatch and hoist and bend the sail, work which he would do more quickly and expertly than Dennis. It was then necessary to communicate with the maroons, for to attack the cabin in less than full strength, against superior weapons, would be to court disaster. A loud whisper reached the men who had taken shelter behind some tackle forward of the mainmast, and brought them crawling to their leaders. It was not so easy to attract the attention of the two men who had shinned up the poop, and to whom, though they had probably seen Dennis as he crawled beneath the sail, he had not dared to make a sign. The difficulty was removed by a word from Turnpenny to one of the maroons. The man made a strange clicking in his throat, and within a couple of minutes his comrades had crept noiselessly along the port side of the vessel, and the party was complete.
With great solemnity and many repetitions the sailor exhausted his small stock of Spanish in explaining what was required of them. They were all to charge together the instant after the petard had done its work. If the force of the explosion proved sufficient to blow in the door, they would dash through into the cabin and engage the enemy hand to hand. If, on the other hand, the door should be only partially shattered—as Turnpenny pointed out, there was no calculating on the precise effect of a charge of gunpowder—two men were to break it in with a short spar unrigged for a battering ram. Dennis counted on gaining a few moments while the Spaniards recovered from the surprise and shock of the explosion. In that brief interval it might be possible for him and Turnpenny to find the loopholes in the cabin wall and thrust the muzzles of their calivers through. By the time they had fired the door would be burst in, and then it would be a fight to the death.
If the occupants of the cabin had felt any wonder or misgiving at the manipulation of the sail, there was nothing during the pause to give them either explanation or reassurance. They might have suspected that the intention of lowering the sail was to screen an approach to the hatchway; but as, according to Baltizar the cook, the jar of powder had been appropriated by the mate secretly, and he was now dead, it would never have occurred to them that their enemy would seek there anything but food. Otherwise they would assuredly have made some effort, beyond the firing of two random shots, to avert their fate.
There was absolute silence when Turnpenny had concluded his whispered instructions to the maroons. The vessel rocked gently, almost imperceptibly; the tide was on the turn. Dennis crept once more to the gangway by the rope netting, stole along on bare feet, and stooped with a beating heart to apply the match which Turnpenny had made for him. It had an inch or two to burn before it reached the train of powder; and he stood back against the side, out of danger from the explosion, ready to rush across to the nearest loophole when the moment came.
Suddenly a line of flame shot like a lightning flash across the planks. In an instant there was a deafening crash, and though each man of the attacking party knew what was coming, and was beyond reach of actual harm, they were all somewhat dazed by the explosion. But it was only for the fraction of a second. Then Dennis and Turnpenny sprang forward, one on each side of the cabin entrance, towards the loopholes whose position they had marked in the previous fight. For a few moments they were baffled by the blinding smoke, but finding the holes almost simultaneously, they thrust in the muzzles of their weapons, and fired at random into the cabin. A muffled cry from within announced that one or other of the shots had taken effect, but the next instant there was a roar as the Spaniards discharged their muskets together at the gaps rent in the door by the explosion. At the time the Englishmen knew not whether any man was hit, for, dropping their calivers, they seized their cutlasses, and, just as the spar carried by two lusty maroons levelled the shattered door, they dashed at the opening.
The light from a horn lantern hanging in its gimbals struggled with the smoke that filled the room. Dennis stumbled over a body that lay across the entrance. He had barely recovered his footing when he was amazed to hear a frenzied shriek from the further end of the cabin, and two men rushed forward with uplifted hands, shouting again and again a single word which, being Spanish, he did not understand.
"My heart! they cry for quarter!" cried Turnpenny, as much amazed as Dennis.
One of the maroons who had carried the spar, either not understanding or not heeding the wild despairing cry, thrust at the foremost Spaniard with a half-pike, and the wretch fell forward, hurling Dennis to the floor and doubly blocking the entrance. Dennis threw the man off and scrambled to his feet; but before he could take a step forward there was a second explosion, louder and more shattering than the first, and when he recovered his dazed senses he found himself lying at the fore end of the waist, twenty feet away from the cabin.
"Body o' me! Will 'ee squall like babbies? Make for the boat, you howling knaves!"
And then Turnpenny launched into a tirade of Spanish abuse, which came somewhat more trippingly from his lips than sentences of sound instruction. Dennis rose, and staggered towards the sailor.
"God be praised! I feared you were dead, sir. The knave has blowed up the powder magazine, and in five minutes by the clock the ship will tottle down by the stern. These black rascals were howling like souls in bale, in the stead of swinging overboard into the boat while there is time. Come away, sir; the craft will sink to the bottom or ever we gain the island."
Bruised and sore, dropping blood from his untended wound, Dennis hastened with Amos to the side, and was in the act of following the maroons into the boat when he suddenly remembered the two sick men in the forecastle.
"I'll be with you anon," he cried, hurrying across the waist.
"What a murrain!" muttered Amos, scrambling back and running after him. "Shall we drown for a brace of savages! Wilful! Wilful!"
He reached the forecastle in time to see Dennis hauling from his bunk the fat negro, who lay there huddled and shivering with terror.
"Make the fat fool understand!" cried Dennis, shoving the cook into Amos's arms. Then he hurried to the further end, where the maroons lay in a stupor of fright. Having no words to acquaint them with their peril, he sought to move them by signs; but the men gazed at him in fear, regarding him doubtless as a new oppressor.
"Amos, leave that lump of jelly and come hither," he shouted. The sailor bawled a word or two in Spanish, and sped the negro towards the side with a kick. Then he made haste to join Dennis.
"The wretches are helpless," said the boy. "We must carry them—fair and softly, Amos."
"Ay, sir, an you will; but our case is parlous; I fear me our leisure will not serve."
"No delay, then. Hoist this fellow upon my back; do you bring the other. We cannot suffer the knaves to drown."
They staggered forth with their burdens, Dennis foremost. As he stumbled towards the side he caught sight of a man crawling slowly from the direction of the cabin. The man called to him feebly, but Dennis did not pause until he had reached the gangway by the netting, where he laid the maroon down.
"Call to his fellows below there to assist him into the boat," he cried to Amos. "There is a man yet alive; we must save him."
"Beseech you let the knave drown," returned the sailor. "'Tis a pestilent Spaniard—a meal for sharks. Be jowned if the lad be not a mere dunderpate," he grumbled, as he lowered his burden into the hands of the men below.
Meanwhile Dennis had hastened to meet the wounded man, who groaned miserably as he dragged his limbs along. Half supporting, half carrying him, Dennis brought him to the side just as the second maroon had been bestowed safely in the boat. Turnpenny, still growling under his breath, helped to lift the Spaniard down. Then the boat was cast off, and the men rowed for the shore.
"Canst see any sign of the knaves that leapt overboard?" said Dennis, looking around.
"Never a hair," replied Turnpenny, "Sure they be swallowed quick by the sharks, and there's an end."
Dennis shuddered. It was his first acquaintance with the tragedy of adventure on the Spanish Main, and his unschooled heart turned sick at the thought of the terrible fruit his scheme had borne. He gazed at the dark form of the vessel that was gradually fading into the night. The poop was already under water. He had not foreseen this end to his enterprise; the rapid sequence of events had bewildered him. What had caused the second explosion? Had the magazine been fired by accident? What a mercy it was that he and all his party had not been blown to atoms! He could not but feel a poignant pity for the poor wretches who had thus suddenly met their doom.
The boat grounded on the shoals. He sprang into the water and assisted Turnpenny and the maroons to carry the helpless men to the fringe of grass, and to haul the boat up the beach. Then he turned once more to look at the vessel. No longer was her dark form outlined against the starlit sky; she had gone down, leaving no trace.
Joining the men on the stretch of greensward where they were assembled, he suddenly heard the shrill voice of Mirandola close at hand, and next moment felt the touch of the animal's paw upon his arm. The monkey had followed the party at a distance when they came down to the shore in the dusk, and sat forlorn on the grass, watching the boat that carried his master away. Could the poor beast think human thoughts, Dennis wondered, as he felt its body trembling against his? Had it believed that it was deserted by the being who had treated it with kindness? Certainly it showed clear signs of gladness now, and its joy at recovering its one friend had vanquished its dislike and suspicion of the rest.
"Here we be, sir, ten martal souls," said Turnpenny, "reckoning Baltizar, who in sooth is more like a jellyfish than a man. What be us to do?"
"We cannot tramp across the island in the dark, Amos. What say you to camping in the logwood grove? 'Tis nigh at hand, and we can lie there with fair comfort until the dawn."
"With all my heart. 'Twill be a drier bed than those villanous knaves yonder can boast."
"Poor wretches! How came it that the magazine blew up, think you?"
"I know not, sir. I will ask the knave you brought last from the vessel—a deed of merciful madness."
He spoke a few words to the wounded prisoner, while the maroons who had formed the wood-cutting party conveyed their sick comrades to the grove. The man replied in feeble accents.
"This was the manner of it, sir," said Amos, after a minute or two. "The captain being sore wounded, and two killed outright, the other knaves, seeing how that they stood in danger of being sliced by our bilbos, did incontinently call upon him to render up the vessel, hoping thereby to come off with their lives. But the captain, a tall man and of a good spirit, did resolutely refuse to yield to their entreaties, swearing that he would with his own hand blow up the vessel rather than deliver it to heretics and dogs of English. Straightway he passed into his own cabin, and made fast the door; which seeing, and knowing that what he had said, that would he perform, the knaves began to whoop and hallo for quarter. Then did the captain, as 'tis to be supposed, make into the after cabin and fire his pistol into the magazine, and so dealt the ship that mighty blow."
"And this man—who is he?"
"A man of Portingale, sir, not of Spain, and so somewhat nearer grace. He thanks you and all the saints that he remains alive, though his limbs be maimed withal."
"Let us convey him softly to the grove; on the morrow we will look to his wounds and bind them up with balsam and other salves from the wreck."
"Marry, you use him too gently. 'Tis like warming a snake in your bosom; and, since charity begins at home, we will look to our own hurts first."
When the party was settled as comfortably as possible in the grove, Dennis and the sailor disposed themselves side by side to sleep. But both were wakeful, for all their fatigue. They lay for a time in silence, each fearful of disturbing the other; but Dennis, hearing at last a long pent-up groan from his companion, asked what ailed him.
"Thinking, sir—old thoughts of home."
"I have been minded to ask you of your history, Amos, but we have had other matters to speak of. How came you to be a prisoner of the Spaniards?"
"'Tis a tale long in the telling, sir, but I will give 'ee the drift of it. I were a young cockerel of twelve when I ran away to sea. It kept a-calling me; night and day I heard the sound; and when I could no longer endure it, I went and joined myself ship-boy to a worthy mariner o' Plimworth. Afterwards he made me his prentice, and so a mariner I have been from that day to this. Ay, 'twas a brave life for a man, in the days of King Hal, lad. I mind me I were but rising seventeen when the French king took a conceit to invade England. My heart! he had reason enough, for King Hal had before sent a power to capture Boolonny, on the French coast, which they did, and burnt it with fire. The French king would have his tit for tat, and he gathered a great power and a mighty fleet to strike at Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight.
"I was rising seventeen, as I said, and gunner's mate aboard theAnne Gallant, a noble galleass. The fleet made a brave show, lying off Spithead, and I was hot to show my mettle; 'twas my first fight, by the token, and sure 'twas a famous fight. TheAnne Gallantand others of her sort, with the shallops and rowing-pieces, did so handle the French galleys that our great ships in a manner had little to do. The only hurt we suffered was the breaking of a few oars. We anchored for the night, as did the French fleet, we hoping to come at them in the morning; but when daylight broke, hang me if the French were anywhere to be seen, and though we gave chase they got away and ran into their ports. But a little after, theAnne Gallant, with three other galleasses and four pinnaces, was set upon off Ambletoosy by eight great galleys. There was great shooting betwixt us; we drew alongside of theBlancherdgalley in the smoke, and leaping aboard her, we took her captive, with two hundred and thirty pikemen and musketeers, and a hundred and forty rowers. Master King Francis got the wrong pig by the ear when he tackled King Harry.
"Ah me and well-away! That was over twenty-five year ago. I served many years on merchantmen, under many a master, good and bad. I made one voyage to the Guinea coast with Master Hawkins, and five year ago, being about to set sail to the Indies for to trade slaves with the Spaniards, he sent for me and made me boatswain aboard his own great ship, theJesus of Lubeck, of 700 tons. Marry, 'twas a goodly squadron that sailed out of Plimworth Sound. Besides theJesus, there was theMinionof Captain Hampton, theWilliamandJohn, all great ships, and three smaller vessels, of the which Master Francis Drake commanded theJudith. Hast ever set eyes on Master Francis?"
"Ay, indeed, once only—this very year, in Plymouth, some months before I sailed."
"And I warrant he was stout and brave, and as 'twere a raging fire against the Spaniards, making ready to chastise the villanous traitors and promise-breakers: was it not so, good-now?"
"Well, to say sooth, when I saw him he seemed to have no thought of Spaniards: his whole mind was set on a game at the bowls, and he was some little put out when he failed of winning."
"Master Francis put out over such a trifle? Why, believe me, with these very eyes I saw him warp his bark clear when beset by Spanish fire-ships and battered by Spanish guns, with as serene a countenance as he were sailing a shallop for pleasure on the Plym. Master Francis put out for losing at the bowls! Tush, lad!"
"Nevertheless 'tis true, for I was there present, and saw and heard it."
"God-a-mercy!" ejaculated Turnpenny. "And what was the manner of it?"
"Why, Master Drake came to two gentlemen bowling on the Hoe, and one of them, being summoned away, left the other to play out the game with the Captain. He was beat, as I said, and being well conceited of his skill, he was for a moment vexed. Then he laughed, and clapped his hand on the shoulder of the other—a stripling he was—and said: 'A rub for me, my lad; 'twas a rare game, and I thank thee.'"
"Ay, that was true Master Francis: he is ever gall and honey mingled. Art then of Plimworth, sir? As you love me, your name?"
"Dennis Hazelrig, of Shaston."
"Of Shaston? I was never there. I will mind of your name. You be gentle, I know by your speech, and Dennis Hazelrig do sound richer to the ear than plain Haymoss Turnpenny, but——"
"Come, man, to your story," interrupted Dennis.
"Ay, sir, then I must make a tack. I was at Plimworth, a' b'lieve, when the name of Master Drake set me out o' my true course. Well, the ships I named, great and small, sailed right merrily out o' the Sound o' Plimworth; 'twas a day of October, I mind me, the very season o' gales. We had a deal of buffeting afore we made the coast of Guinea, and a deal of hard knocks afore we took on board our store o' negroes for to sell to the Spaniards of the Main."
"To sell?"
"Why yes, sir; that is Captain Hawkins his trade; and knowing now myself what it is to be a slave, I have a fellow feeling for the poor knaves, black as they be, and bought and sold like cattle. Well, 'twas near six month afore we came to the Indies and did some traffic among the islands. Then by ill hap, as we sailed for Cartagena, we were caught in a most violent and terrible storm, the which battered us mightily for the space of four days; in sooth, we feared we should go to the bottom. TheJesuswas dealt with most sorely, her rudder shaken, and all her seams agape. Then, coasting along Florida, we ran into the jaws of another tempest, the which drave us into the bay of Mexico. There we sought a haven, and moored our ships in the port called St. John d'Ulua, where we landed, and our General made proposals of traffic.
"The next day did we discover a fleet of thirteen ships open of the haven, and soon we spied a pinnace making towards us. There was in her a man bearing a flag of truce, and he came aboard theJesus, demanding of what country we were. I mind we laughed at the knave; he swelled himself out like a turkey-cock. Our General made answer that we were the Queen of England her ships, come for victuals for our money, and that if the Spanish General would enter, he should give us victuals and other necessaries and we would go out on the one side of the port, the while the Spaniards should come in on the other. But it had so fell out that with their fleet there came a new viceroy of the Spanish king, and he was mightily put out by our General's reply, thinking it something saucy from an Englishman with so small a fleet. The proud knave returned for answer that he was a viceroy with a thousand men, and would ask no man's leave to enter. Our General laughed, and set us laughing too when he said: 'A viceroy he may be, but so am I. I represent my Queen, and am as good a viceroy as he; and as for his thousand men, I have good powder and shot, and they will take the better place, I warrant him.'"
"A right proper answer," said Dennis. "And what then?"
"Why, Master Viceroy gave in, and swore by king and crown he would faithfully perform what our General demanded, and thereupon hostages were given on both sides. The villanous knave! Our General chose out five proper gentlemen and sent them aboard the Spanish admiral; but the viceroy, stuffed with fraud and deceit, rigged up five base swabbers in costly apparel and sent them to our General, as if they were the finest gentlemen of Spain. Yet did we use them right royally, deeming it to be an act of courtesy and good troth.
"Then their ships came with great bravery into the port, and there was great waste of powder in firing salutes, as the manner is at sea. But 'twas not long afore our General became doubtful of their dealings. So did we all, for with my own eyes I saw them, when they moored their ships nigh ours, cut out new ports in the sides, and plant their ordnance towards us. 'So ho!' says I, 'there be trickery and hugger-mugger in brew.' Our master, one Bob Barrett, chanced to be well skilled in the Spanish tongue, and him our General sent aboard their admiral to know the meaning of these same doings. The base villains set poor Bob under guard in the bilbows, and we had scarce seen that mark of their knavery when they sounded a trumpet, and therewith three hundred of them sprang aboard theMinionfrom the hulk alongside. My heart! Many a time afore had I seen the blazing of our General's wrath, but never so fierce as it blazed then. His eyne were like two coals of fire as he called to us in a loud voice. I mind his very words. 'God and St. George!' cried he. 'Upon those traitorous villains, my hearts, and rescue theMinion; and I trust in God the day shall be ours.' And with that, with a great shout we leapt out of theJesusinto theMinion, and laid on those deceitful knaves, and beat them out; and a shot out of theJesusfell plump into the poop of the Spanish vice-admiral, and the most part of three hundred of the villanous knaves were blown overboard with powder.
"It was a good sight to see Captain Hampton of theMinioncut his cables and haul clear by his stern-fasts, the while his gunners poured round shot into the vice-admiral that rode ablaze. But there was but four of us to their thirteen. The Spaniards came about us on every side, and began to fire on us with brass ordnance from the land. My heart! 'Twas hot work for us when we scrambled back on to theJesusas theMinionsheered away. Being so tall a ship we could not haul her clear. She had five shot through her mainmast; her foremast was struck in sunder with a chain-shot, and her hull moreover was wonderfully pierced. Our General gave orders that we should lay her alongside of theMiniontill dark, and then take out her victuals and treasure and leave that noble vessel. A right true man is Captain Hawkins. In the midst of that noise and smoke he called to Samuel his page for a cup of beer, and it was brought to him in a silver cup; and he drank to us all and called to the gunners to stand by their ordnance lustily like men. He had no sooner set the cup out of his hand but a demi-culverin shot struck away the cup, and a cooper's plane that stood by the mainmast, and ran out on the other side of the ship; the which nothing dismayed our General, for he ceased not to encourage and cheer us. I hear his voice in my ears now. 'Fear nothing!' he cries, 'for God, who hath preserved me from this shot, will also deliver us from these traitors and villains.'
"But on a sudden we perceived that the Spaniards had loosed two fireships against us. The men of theMinionwere in such a taking with fear of those monsters that they bided not the outcome, nor did they heed their captain's commands, but in a mighty haste made sail. TheJesusbeing then alone,—for theAngelwas sunk and theSwallowtaken, and Master Drake had warped the littleJudithclear—our General cried to us to spring upon theMinionere her sails could draw, which he himself did. As I made to do his bidding, my heart! there came toppling on my head a portion of the main topsail cross-tree, and struck me senseless withal. When something of my wits returned to me, there was I, amid a score of wounded and captive fellows, on the deck of the nobleJesus, and a mob of Spaniards around; sure she must have been built under an evil star."
"And what befell you then?" asked Dennis, eagerly, for Turnpenny had fallen silent.
"God-a-mercy, sir, the fear takes me when I think on't! They hauled me ashore, with certain others of our men, and hanged us up by the arms upon high posts, until the blood gushed out at our finger-ends. 'Tis by the merciful providence of God alone I am yet alive, carrying about with me (and shall to my grave) the marks and tokens of their barbarous cruel dealings. 'Tis by the same wondrous grace I 'scaped handling by the Inquisition, that hath devoured many of my poor comrades. My heart and my reins cry and groan for the terror and pain of their sufferings. God have mercy on us all!"
Overcome by the recollection of what ensued upon his capture by the Spaniards, Turnpenny went by turns hot and cold and was unable to continue his story. Many times during the night Dennis was woke from his own troubled slumbers by a cry from his companion, upon whom, now that the time of action had ceased, his former sickly terror seemed to have returned with double force. Both were heartily glad when morning came, and with the new day the necessity of facing their new situation.
The events of twenty-four hours had wrought a surprising change in Dennis's circumstances. The solitude of the island had suddenly become peopled. No longer would Mirandola be his sole comrade and confidant. He was inexpressibly glad of the company of a fellow-countryman; the presence of a group of men of strange races was somewhat embarrassing. Besides Turnpenny, there were now on the island the Spaniard who had been left pinioned on the shore, and the wounded Portuguese rescued from the sinking ship, three survivors of the wood-cutting party, three sick comrades, and the fat negro cook; in all a community of eleven. Small as it was, after his loneliness Dennis felt it to be a crowd.
His first care on waking in the morning was to liberate the bound Spaniard, and to bring salves from his store for dressing the wounds of the Portuguese, and of his party; his own wounds proved to be slight. While absent on this errand he left Turnpenny in charge of the rest, and found when he returned that the sailor had already spread a delectable breakfast, having set the maroons to gather from the trees not merely bananas, but several other fruits which Dennis himself, in his dread of eating something poisonous, had not yet ventured to taste. When the wounded man and the sick maroons, who were still bewildered by their good fortune, had been attended to, he held a consultation with Turnpenny. As a result of this he decided to keep the whereabouts of his hut and the existence of the stores a secret from the white men.
"They be all villains and traitors," said Turnpenny; "we must e'en keep them prisoners, and give them into the ward of the maroons. Wherefore I say, let the maroons build them a hut a mile or more away from your dwelling. They are idle knaves, and having been so long time slaves, they will be well content to do nothing but keep watch and ward over those that once were their masters. And as for their food, there is enough on the island for a whole city."
"And what of us, my friend?"
"Why, sir, here we be, two Englishmen, a thousand leagues or more away from home, but a few leagues from the mainland, where Spaniards rule the roast, and like to be discovered any day if another logwood party come ashore. 'Tis not in reason we could do with them what, by the mercy of God and your own ready wit, sir, we did with the knaves yesternight; and if we be found, there's naught afore us but death or chains; and for myself, I'd liever die than endure such things as I have suffered since the fight at St. John d'Ulua."
"Why then, good Amos," said Dennis with a smile, "it does seem we must cast lots who shall be king of this island, and the other shall be chancellor, and we will put in practice in our governance the ideas of the incomparable Sir Thomas More, who, though a Papist, did set forth in hisUtopiamost worthy and admirable schemes of ruling a society of men."
"I know naught of Sir Thomas More or what you call Utopia; and as for king and chancellor, I am but poor Haymoss Turnpenny, that cannot read nor write and have never had the ruling of more than a crew of mariners. Call yourself king an 'ee please, sir; but methinks 'twould be more fit and commendable if we seized upon this island in the name of our sovereign lady Queen Bess."
"A right loyal notion, and one that we will put in act. But then we must give it a name."
"Ay, sure, and what better name than Maiden Isle, after that same gracious lady?"
"So it shall be, and I here proclaim Elizabeth, by the grace of God queen of England, France, and Ireland, queen of Maiden Isle on the Spanish Main. But this is idle mockery, Amos. We are not builders of empires, but poor castaways, doomed to linger out our lives in what is after all a desert, or else in painful servitude. There is nothing for laughter here."
And then they fell to talking of their chances of one day escaping from the island and seeing the fair shores of England again. It could only be by being taken off by an English ship, or by setting off themselves and risking the perilous voyage across the Atlantic. The latter alternative seemed beyond the bounds of possibility. TheMaid Marian, even if they could make her hull seaworthy and repair her shattered spars and rigging, would need a crew to navigate her, and the maroons were not sailor men. To build a smaller craft capable of the long voyage was an enterprise beyond their powers. Turnpenny could make a shift to navigate a vessel, but he had no practical skill in ship-building.
The other alternative seemed equally unlikely, Dennis learnt from the sailor that the island on which they had so strangely met was situated deep in the Sound of Darien. It was less than a hundred and fifty miles from Cartagena, the capital of the Spanish Main, to the east, and about the same distance from Nombre de Dios to the west; but the trend of the coast caused vessels to stand out some distance to sea in passing, and thus the island was little likely to be touched at by chance visitors.
One other course occurred to Dennis, only to be dismissed when he mentioned it to Turnpenny. It was to build a boat capable of conveying them to the mainland, and to take refuge among the Indians or the mixed race of Cimaroons or maroons who had settlements at various parts of the coast. But Turnpenny pointed out that this would expose them to the risk of being caught by the Spaniards, who were constantly at war with the natives, and would at the same time quite ruin the chances of getting into touch with an English vessel. While they remained on the island there was always the bare possibility of some English or Huguenot adventurer coming within reach.
Faced by the prospect of an indefinite sojourn on the island, they had only to make the best of it. Turnpenny explained to the maroons the plan arranged for them, and they accepted it without demur. The prisoners were sullen and resentful, perforce submissive, not a little distrustful of their guards, from whom they had deserved no kindness. Baltizar the fat negro was given the task of supplying the party with food, partly from the natural resources of the island, partly from the stores of theMaid Marian, which Dennis resolved to share, economically, with the rest.
A spot about a mile from the chine was chosen as the site of the shelters for the maroons and their prisoners. Having set the men at work, Dennis returned with Turnpenny to his own hut. Mirandola no longer showed any jealousy of the presence of a third party; apparently he had been cured of it by fright at the prospect of being deserted. Turnpenny, on his part, before the day was out was so much amused at the animal's antics that he lost his first disgust.
"My heart!" he exclaimed, when, work for the day being over, the monkey sat on a tub, happily feasting on biscuits and honey: "if 'tis wise looks do make a chancellor, sure the beast be the properest chancellor to your king, sir."
"You look pretty wise yourself, Amos," said Dennis, laughing. "We had resolved that the sovereignty of this island belongs to our lady Queen Bess; say then that I am her viceroy, and you my chamberlain; and for Mirandola, why, let us make him our jester."
Day followed day uneventfully. Dennis made a still more thorough exploration of the island in Turnpenny's company, and had his eyes opened to many things which had formerly escaped him. Passing the spot where he had saved Mirandola from the boa constrictor, he mentioned the incident, and remarked that he had seen no other reptiles in the course of his wanderings.
"'Tis because you knew not where to look," said Turnpenny. "The snakes in this new world be cunning; 'wise as serpents,' says the Scripture, and a true word. They dress their skins so as to look like the trees they live in; 'twould puzzle Solomon himself in all his wisdom and glory to say which is tree and which is the coil of a snake."
And as they passed through the thickest woods, which Dennis had prudently refrained from entering, the sailor drew his attention more than once to snakes of various kinds whose coils were almost indistinguishable from the trunks of trees.
Once he plucked some fruit from a kind of palm, and, pressing it, squeezed out a juice as black as ink.
"That is a good sight," cried Dennis gladly. "I found in the cabin of theMaid Mariana store of paper and quills, but the ink was all spilled, and I had nothing wherewithal to write. So I have lost count of the days, and know not whether I have been on this isle weeks or months. Now I can make a journal."
"Not so neither! This juice is good to write withal, but the marks disappear within the ninth day, and the paper is as white as if it had never been written on. 'Tis no matter, indeed; we should be none the happier for seeing the tale of our days."
One day Dennis showed Turnpenny the cave in the cliff, which hitherto he had refrained from revealing. The sailor attentively examined the trinkets which Dennis had found on the floor beside the skeleton and carefully collected. He pronounced them to be such ornaments as were worn by the natives of the mainland, and made no doubt that the skeleton was that of some Indian or maroon done to death by brutal persecutors.
Dennis got him to continue the story of his life, never yet resumed since his first night on the island. He had been sent, he said, among a gang of prisoners from St. John d'Ulua to Cartagena and thence to a place on the coast somewhat south of Cartagena, where the governor had a pearl fishery. It was defended by a fort, garrisoned by some fifty Spaniards. Expecting reprisals from Hawkins for the treacherous treatment he had received, the governor had ordered the fort to be strengthened, and dispatched several of his able-bodied prisoners to assist in the work.
"And I think of my dear comrades rotting in the dungeons of Porto Aguila—for so 'tis named. There was Ned Whiddon, and Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and a dozen more, and for all I know they are there even now, toiling all day, with many stripes from the villanous whips, and groaning all night in most foul and noisome dungeons. Ah! the tales I could tell would make your skin creep and your hair to stand on end. Why, what think 'ee they do if the tale of work seem to them not sufficient? They tie the poor wretch to a tree, and take thorns of the prickle palm, and put them into little pellets of cotton dipped in oil, and stick them in the side of the miserable captive, as thick as the bristles of a hedgehog. This alone causes a most fierce torment, but they are not content therewith. They set the oiled cotton afire, and call on the poor wretch, with loud despitous laughs, to sing in the midst of his torment, and if he cries out in the agony of pain they out upon him for a base miserable coward and villain. With my own eyes I have seen the foul deed, and many more which it is shame to tell of."
"How came it that you got aloose?" asked Dennis.
"Why, it happened in this wise. The treasure of pearls fished up from the sea-bottom at that place was wont to be conveyed to Cartagena every month by ship. One day the vessel sent with this intent came into the port wonderfully battered by a storm, the which had nigh stripped her of all rigging and had moreover washed half her crew overboard. The garrison at the fort being soldiers, and there being no other mariners at hand, the Spanish captain moreover being fearful of the governor's wrath if the treasure should be delayed, he sent half a dozen or more of his slaves, French and English, aboard that vessel to work her back to the capital city. My heart! I well nigh wept for joy when I heard what was in store, for I bethought myself that of a surety we mariners, French and English, might seize upon that vessel on the voyage and sail her at our pleasure. But it was as if the knave had seen to the very heart of my intent, for when we mounted on ship-board, there were Spanish soldiers set over us, two for one, and with the Spanish crew they were as three to one, and they armed. My device was come to naught. We did each man his best to lengthen out that voyage, if perchance we might fall in with an English vessel and acquaint them with our case; but never a sail did we see till we made the harbour of Cartagena, and all our hopes were dashed.
"Then it came to pass that, being a handy man and a stout, I was sold for money to the master and owner of a ship employed in the traffic of timber—that same vessel that lies a fathom deep yonder. At sea I was a mariner; ashore, being stout of the arms, I was made to ply an axe on the trees, as you yourself saw. 'Tis three year or more since I fell prisoner at St. John d'Ulua, and six months since I last set eyes on my comrades at Porto Aguila, and I fear me I shall never see them more."
"Why think you they be even now there?"
"Why, sir, because the Spaniards be all knaves, and there is no truth nor faithfulness in them, not one. The Captain of that place was the Governor of Cartagena his own son. A son, one med think, would be loving and obedient unto his father, but 'tis not so among these dogs of Spain. Why, body o' me! in the stead of doing diligently the thing his father commanded, this young roisterer must needs build him a house, and thereto he used the labourers sent him with intent to strengthen the fort, and when I came from that place the house was got but a little above the ground, and was not like to be finished for a full year."
"Might not other labourers be hired from Cartagena?"
"I trow not. The Spaniards are so scared and daunted by the descents of venturers' ships upon their coasts that they are looking to their fortresses throughout the Spanish Main. By long and large 'tis more like the prisoners will be conveyed back to Cartagena for to build new forts there. But this will not be yet, for the Governor of Cartagena holds the pearl-fishery in dear affection, and he will not bring the men thence until he has assurance that all is done as he commanded. No, truly, I believe they be still at Porto Aguila, my dear mate-fellows, and though I praise God for His infinite goodness and mercy in bringing me safe into this haven and out of the hands of those wicked men, I mourn in my heart for Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and Ned Whiddon, and other my comrades; God save them!"
Many a time in the succeeding days did Amos relate incidents in the life of the prisoners at Porto Aguila that made Dennis's blood run cold. He now began to understand the deep and fierce hatred of the Spaniards that filled the hearts of adventurers who had returned from expeditions to the American coast. The same consuming desire for humbling and punishing the proud Spaniards burnt in his veins, and he chafed at the idleness to which he was enforced on this remote island.
Meanwhile the other inhabitants of Maiden Isle were living what appeared to be a contented life. With abundance of food, and nothing to do, the maroons enjoyed, as Dennis thought, conditions that answered to their idea of bliss. He was therefore a little surprised one day to hear the unwonted sound of wood-felling, and to find, when he came to the spot, four of the men plying their axes lustily upon a huge cedar. They desisted when he approached, with something of a guilty air that puzzled him. They had shown themselves very amiable companions, grateful for their rescue from their taskmasters. He could only suppose that even they had begun to weary of idleness, and had resorted to their former occupation of log-cutting from no other motive than the desire to kill time.
But Turnpenny shook his head when Dennis suggested this explanation.
"It do seem to me there be another meaning in it, sir. 'Tis their intent, a' b'lieve, to make unto themselves a canow."
"But they have no skill to do it, nor fit implements, Amos."
"Bless your eyes, sir, you do not know them. Wait a while, and if that be not their purpose, never trust Haymoss Turnpenny."
Letting a few days pass, Dennis went again one morning with the sailor to the scene of the tree-felling. The huge trunk had already begun to take shape as a canoe at least twenty-five feet long. The men were diligently working at it, some with axes, others with fire. Its interior had been partly hollowed out, the wood and pith burnt away, and the charred sides scraped with the hatchets. It was clear that within a few days the tree would become a vessel which, whether navigable or not, would certainly float.
"'Tis a pretty piece of work," said Dennis to Turnpenny. "Ask them whereto they design it."
Turnpenny spoke a few words in Spanish. The answer was surprising. One of the maroons, a man whom the others seemed to have elected as their leader, threw down his hatchet and fell on his knees. Then, in a strange jargon which the sailor had much ado to understand, he gave voice to the sentiments and aspirations of himself and his comrades. They were sick of solitude. They had homes upon the mainland; and yearned to see again their relatives and comrades, to return to their settlement, to share in its life, to seek opportunities of revenging themselves on their oppressors. And so they were making this canoe, in which they would sail over the sea. They were not ungrateful for the kindnesses showered upon them by the white men; indeed, to show their gratitude, they would take them with them, having first killed the two prisoners. Their spokesman on his knees besought the white men to yield to their desire, and come with them. They would supply all their needs, and follow them with all obedience, if they would lead them against the Spaniards.
"Tell him to get up," said Dennis. "This is a matter we must think upon."
Dennis and Turnpenny held by and by a serious consultation. They felt that they were in a somewhat awkward predicament. The maroons' desire to regain their friends was natural and reasonable, but their departure would deprive the white men of valuable allies. And what of the two prisoners? Turnpenny would not have hesitated to kill them, but Dennis shrank from that course. They might allow the maroons to carry them off; but then the Spaniards would either be butchered as soon as the canoe was out of reach, or they would probably be held as hostages and exchanged for natives held captive by the Spaniards on the mainland. In that case they would certainly report the presence of two white men on the island and the assault upon the lumber boat; a search party would be the result, and Dennis and his companion would be slaughtered or carried away into slavery. On the other hand, if the maroons were allowed to depart, leaving the prisoners on the island, the burden of keeping watch over them would prove a constant source of anxiety.
"The canoe is all but finished," said Dennis. "We must let them finish it. To forbid them, poor knaves, would be cruel."
"And vain, to boot," said Turnpenny, "for if we took their axes from them, they would use bits of sharp rock. The Indians have hollowed out such canows with instruments of flint from the beginning of the world."
"We must let them go, then. For ourselves, I see not at present our course; but we can provide against the worst hap by conveying our stores, secretly and by night, to Skeleton Cave; 'tis a good hiding-place, not like to be easily discovered, and we know not what necessity may drive us to make it our habitation."
The transfer of the stores occupied two nights. Mirandola accompanied the two men as they went to and fro between the sheds and the cave, clinging so closely to them that it seemed as if he had some intuition of changes to come.
"By my soul," said Turnpenny with a laugh, "he be as faithful as a dog."
"And whatever may chance, we will not leave you, Mirandola," said Dennis. "Shall I forget the days when you were the only friend of my solitude? Would you could speak, for assuredly I would ask your counsel on this pass to which we are come."
They went daily to the clearing to watch the progress of the canoe. As yet they had given no answer to the maroons; but these were working very diligently at the task, having apparently inferred from the silence of the white men that at least nothing would be done to prevent their making use of the vessel. Dennis and Turnpenny talked over the situation again and again; but their thoughts followed the same weary round. At one moment they were almost resolved to throw in their lot with the maroons and voyage with them to the mainland; the next they shrank from this course as throwing away what seemed their only chance of ultimate rescue—the chance of being found some day by an English vessel.
The problem weighed more heavily on Dennis than on Turnpenny. Compared with his former sufferings, it was to the sailor a slight matter. Dennis, lying sleepless at night, envied his friend the soundness of his slumbers. The mariner snored as peacefully on his canvas couch in the corner of the hut as though he were on a feather bed at home. To Dennis the hours of darkness passed wearisomely. He thought of all that had happened since he sailed with light heart from Plymouth Sound, and wondered sometimes whether his comrades had not perchance been happier in meeting swift death in the storm. Then he upbraided himself for his ingratitude to the Providence which had preserved his life and health, and given him the companionship of a fellow countryman. He contrasted, too, his lot with that of Turnpenny's mates on the mainland, dragging out a miserable existence of slavish toil. He recalled the sailor's stories of the tortures they endured—and then suddenly, one night, there flashed upon his mind a possibility which, in his preoccupation with his own plight, had never yet occurred to him. The maroons would shortly leave the island; had Providence arranged this as an opportunity for helping the hapless Englishmen in the Spaniards' power? If Turnpenny and he should accompany the black men, might they not find, at some time or other, a means of rescuing the prisoners—Ned Whiddon, Hugh Curder, Tom Copstone, and the rest?
The idea set Dennis throbbing with a new hope, a new aim. Slaves sometimes escaped; the maroons themselves were the offspring of negroes who had made off from the Spanish settlements and formed alliances with the native Indians of the woods. Their communities were constantly being recruited: what if the sailor and he should cast in their lot temporarily with the men about to embark, and watch for opportunities of communicating with the distressed Englishmen! Even if they never found a means of reaching home, it would still be something to the good if their comrades were got out of the hands of their oppressors. At the worst they might form a settlement of their own, and live free, though in exile.
The idea took complete possession of Dennis. He felt no desire to sleep. For a moment he was tempted to wake Turnpenny and put the question to him; instead, he got up, and stole quietly from the hut, to think it over more fully under the open sky. He walked down to the shore, and, sitting on a rock, looked over the sea and pondered the matter to the soft accompaniment of the washing tide.
It was clear that the Spaniards of the mainland had no suspicion that the island was inhabited, or they would long since have visited it. They might be off their guard. From what Turnpenny had told him he knew the indolence of their temperament—the unlikelihood of their taking precautions against problematical dangers. Unless directly threatened by the vessels of adventurers like Hawkins and Drake, they might be expected to ply their trade—manage their pearl fisheries, work their mines—without great vigilance. True, they had recently set about strengthening their defences; but probably the season of panic had passed; it was years since Hawkins had troubled them. It had already been proved what a determined few could do; if he, with Turnpenny and the six maroons, could safely reach the mainland, might they not bide their time until, Fortune assisting them, they found some means of bringing off the prisoners, or at least of striking a blow in their cause? Surely it was better to make the attempt than to rust in idleness on the island, waiting on a chance that might perhaps never come, and always exposed to the risk of discovery by the Spaniards. The more Dennis thought, the more his imagination was captivated by the idea, and when he at last returned to the hut he was resolved to broach the subject to Turnpenny as soon as he should wake.
As he came to the entrance the sailor's voice hailed him.
"Be that you, sir?"
"Yes. I could not sleep, and went for a walk on the shore."
"I had but just waked, all of a sweat, and shaking like a leaf."
"Why, what ailed you?"
"A dream, sir. Do 'ee believe as dreams come true? My old grandam was wont to say they go by contraries; dream of a weddin', she would say, sure there would be a funeral. And she was a wise woman; ay, sure."
"I know not, Amos. We read in Scripture of dreams that most wondrously came true. 'Twas in a dream that Solomon asked of God an understanding heart, the which was promised to him with riches, and honour, and length of days; and Solomon lived long in the land, and became the richest and wisest of kings. Scripture was written for our instruction, Amos, and I would liever believe in Holy Writ than in the old wives' tales of a score of grandams. But what then was your dream?"
"Why, sir, if it be not sin to speak it, I was standing alone in a waste place, and on a sudden the voice of Tom Copstone spoke out of the air, and said, 'You and me, Haymoss; you and me, my heart!' And while I was wondering in my simple mind what those words might mean, there was a thick smoke, and a roar as of thunder, and I stood dazed, and the fear came upon me. And then the smoke lifted, and I saw old Tom with 's head all bloody, and Hugh Curder behind him, and behind him again I saw you, sir, and Ned Whiddon, and, God a-mercy! my very own self, as I ha' seen myself time and again in the glass, but sore battered and misused. And I thought sure 'twas my ghost, and the fear of it woke me up, and I rose all panting and trembling, and cried to 'ee, and when there was no answer I broke into a sweat, remembering my grandam's words."
"Well, 'tis all safe. I also have had a dream, Amos, and yet I did not sleep. And 'tis to tell you my dream I am here now. Mayhap it will fit yours; God in His mercy send that both yours and mine come true!"
The dawn of day found Dennis and Turnpenny discussing the scheme which was born of the night's meditation. Remembering his bitter experience of bondage among the Spaniards, and oppressed by his superstitious fear that his dream portended some calamity, the sailor at first refused point-blank to consider Dennis's suggestion. But by and by, when Dennis had shown him how light had been his sufferings, after all, by comparison with those of his comrades, and had declared his belief that the strange coincidence of the dream with his own imaginings was an augury of good, Turnpenny's better feelings got the upper hand of his timorousness, and he threw himself with ardour into a consideration of the project.
As soon as it was light, he asked Dennis to lead him to the very spot where the idea had occurred to him. And there, in the little bay beneath the chine, he became the bold-hearted English sailor again.
"My heart! we're a-going to do it," he said. "See here, sir." He began with the end of a half-pike to mark out a rough plan on the dry sand. "Here be the fort. Here be the don Captain's new house; the foundations were no more than laid when I was hauled away on ship board. Here, at this angle, be the rooms of the guard; in the cellars beneath my poor comrades lie and groan o' nights. In this quarter be the pearl-fishers, penned up like cattle when their work is done. And here, under the guns of the fort, be the little harbour, with a quay of planking. Nor'ard, a mile or more, is the fishery, where the black knaves have to dive for the baubles, and woe betide 'em if they do not bring up enough to please their masters."
"And think you you could pilot us to the place, Amos?"
"I've never a doubt of it. Twice have I sailed to it in direct course from Cartagena, and many's the time I have passed it in the lumber ship. 'Tis true I am not so skilled in the landmarks from this side as from the side of Cartagena; nathless I be a ninny, not worth the name of mariner, an I be not able to lay a course thitherwards without losing my bearings."
"What is the country thereabout?"
"Why, sir, for the most flat and forest clad. Behind the fort there is a hill, fairish high. Once on a time 'twas covered with trees, but a great stretch of the forest was of late burned black by a fire; I mind it well, for the shape of the black patch is like to a monstrous cayman, upwards of a mile long. 'Tis a famous landmark, and clear to the eyes a great way off at sea. Let me but spy that, and I warrant I will steer any bark to it on a straight furrow."
"Well, then, Amos, it does seem that with good luck we can make a landing somewhere on the coast, and then it shall go hard with us but we can, by taking thought, devise some plan whereby we may release your comrades from their chains. But we cannot do it without help from the maroons; think you they would be willing to lend us aid?"
"My heart! Do but promise them a share of the Spaniards' treasure, and they will be hot to have at them."
"But the fishery belongs to the Governor of Cartagena, you said. Imprimis, we are not pirates; nor indeed is there like to be a great hoard of pearls at Porto Aguila, for they will be sent, no doubt, for safety to Cartagena."
"Bless your bones, sir, I warrant there be more kept at Porto Aguila than be sent to Cartagena. The Captain, truly, is the Governor's son; but every Spaniard is a shark, and would rob his grandam's grave were he not afeard of ghosts. And as for being pirates, when 'tis Spaniards in question I would be a pirate without the tenth part of a scruple, for 'tis certain the fishery was filched from the Indians; they be the Spaniards' jackals."
"Well, let us go to the maroons and put the case to them."
Dennis need have had no doubt as to the men's reception of his proposal. To begin with, they were frankly delighted that the white men would accompany them. They had often talked among themselves about the young lord, as they called him, who had led the attack on the Spaniards' vessel, and they were agreed that his presence in the canoe would serve them as a talisman. Then, even without the prospect of plunder from the Spaniards' treasure-house, they nourished a bitter resentment against their old oppressors, and were ready to embrace any opportunity of striking a blow at them.
"We are the servants of the young lord," said their spokesman to Turnpenny, "we will do whatever he bids."
"Ask them if they know the region."
The reply was in the negative. None of them had ever been engaged in the pearl fishery; most of them hailed from the neighbourhood of Nombre de Dios.
"Then our whole dependence is on you, Amos," said Dennis.
"Ay, sir, and it do daunt me somewhat. In a bark, or a shallop, or e'en a longboat, I could have great comfort; but a canow, sir—a mere tree-trunk hollowed out, wi' no ribs nor planks, no spars nor other gear; 'tis a fearsome and wonderful craft, with a crazy look."
"But the maroons are wont to handle such craft, you told me. They will navigate her; you will but have to cry the course."
"True, sir, but no master mariner that hath any manhood in him will be content to govern a craft being ignorant of its true nature. Yonder monkey would be as fit."
"Ah! We must take Mirandola. The poor beast would, I verily believe, break his poor heart did we leave him here in loneliness again."
"Leave the knave prisoners to bear him company, sir."
"No, no. Besides that it would be a poor compliment to Mirandola himself, it would have some spice of danger for us. Left to themselves in freedom, the men would of a surety signal to any passing ship, the which being in all likelihood Spanish, the report of our doings would soon be spread abroad through all the coast, and a hue and cry would be raised after us. We must bring them along with us. Trust me, they shall have no chance then of giving the alarm to the enemy, and 'tis not unlike, indeed, they may serve us as hostages."
"I fear me they'll be the Jonahs in our marvellous craft."
"An ill comparison, Amos. Jonah fled from his duty, and by reason of his wrongdoing peril came upon the mariners. The similitude does not hold."
"That be a great comfort, sir, in especial for that there be no whales as I know on in these waters, but only sharks."
In answer to a question from Turnpenny, the head man of the maroons said that the canoe would be ready to take the water within a week. But he added that since the young lord had agreed to make the voyage with them, they were willing to remain a little longer on the island, in order to give careful finishing touches to the craft and ensure its thorough seaworthiness. Dennis thanked them, through the sailor, for this mark of consideration, and resolved to use the interval in teaching them the use of the caliver. He could not foresee what might ensue upon their landing; they would be at a disadvantage if they had no other arms with which to meet the Spaniards than axes and pikes.
Accordingly, he presented each of them with a caliver from the stores he had placed in Skeleton Cave, and for a certain portion of each day Turnpenny and he instructed them in marksmanship, choosing for their practice ground the deepest part of the chine, whence the noise of firing was least likely to be heard out at sea. The first experiments were disheartening, and at the same time amusing. At the kick of the cumbrous weapons the men flung them down in alarm, crying out that they were possessed with evil spirits. But their timidity was by degrees overcome; and when Dennis, in addition to practising them at fixed targets, rigged up a canvas figure which he suspended on two parallel ropes across the chine and ran from side to side by means of pulleys, they entered with some zest into the sport. At first the figure made many journeys to and fro without receiving a single hit; but within a week the marksmanship had improved astonishingly, and there was not a man of them but might be trusted to hit a moving object at fairly short range.
Meanwhile Amos, not content to trust the navigation of the canoe entirely to the maroons and their paddles, had busied himself in rigging up a mast with small sails taken out of theMaid Marian. When he at last pronounced the vessel ready, several kegs of water and boxes of biscuits were rolled down to the beach near at hand, and the party awaited only a favourable wind to launch their craft.
For some days there had been a dead calm, and when at length a light breeze sprang up it blew in shore. The natives grew impatient, and begged to be allowed to proceed with their paddles alone. But this Turnpenny stoutly refused. With a voyage of thirty or forty miles before them it was needful to spare the men as much as possible, lest when they reached the mainland they should be worn out, and unfit to cope with the labours and perhaps the struggles that awaited them. Turnpenny scanned the sky with a seaman's eye, in some fear lest the wind when it came should prove too boisterous for this strange craft, which he still looked on with distrust. One morning, however, he announced that a fresh breeze had sprung up from the north-west, promising to increase in force as the day wore on. No time was lost. The canoe was carried down to the beach and moored in shallow water; the stores were lifted aboard; then the two prisoners, pale with apprehension, and Baltizar the cook, were conveyed to the vessel on the backs of three stalwart maroons, and last of all Dennis and Turnpenny prepared to wade out.
During the proceedings at the beach the monkey had remained perched in a tree, watching everything with many signs of excitement. At the last moment Dennis turned and called to the animal; but it merely gibbered and blinked.
"Come, Mirandola," said Dennis, coaxingly, "we cannot go without you. I fear me you feel a declension from your high estate, when you were the sole partner of my solitude; but believe me, I still hold you in dear affection. Come then, and let your grave and reverend presence dignify this our enterprise."
But the monkey refused to budge, and Dennis remembered the aversion he had always shown to the sea. He walked towards the tree in which the animal sat, holding forth his hand, using every blandishment; then, when all was of no avail, and Turnpenny called to him from the canoe to leave the unnatural creature, he turned and stepped into the water. He had just laid his hand on the side of the canoe, preparing to leap in, when he heard a shrill cry, and saw the monkey spring down with amazing celerity and run on all fours towards him across the sand, uttering sounds of entreaty. It was as if Mirandola had to the last refused to believe that his master was leaving him, and now that he could doubt no longer, had overcome his horror of the sea and resolved to brave the discomforts of the voyage. He reached the brink of the water and scampered up and down, as though seeking a dry path to the boat. It was impossible to resist his pleading cries. Dennis returned; the monkey with a squeal of delight sprang upon his shoulder; and so entered the canoe, a trembling passenger.
The maroons shoved off; Turnpenny ran up his sail; and the craft moved into deep water. For some minutes the natives kept their paddles busily employed, until, drawing out of the lee of the island, the vessel felt the full force of the breeze and began to scud merrily over the rippling sea.
"My heart!" cried Turnpenny, "'tis a wondrous neat little craft. I was wrong; I own it free; and if the wind holds she will make good sailing and bring us ere many hours are gone to the coast where we desire to be."
"Too soon, if I mistake not," said Dennis. "It will not be well for us to make the shore before dark; we may be spied from the land. In truth, we run a great risk, Amos. Our sail will not escape the eyes of the look-out of any vessel whose track we may chance to cross."
"True, sir, there be risks great and manifold. But we must e'en hope for the best. The maroons have rare good eyes; and if perchance they catch sight of a vessel, I will run down the sail afore they can spy us, and we will lie snug until the coast be clear."
After two hours' sailing the coast hove into sight as a long blue bar upon the horizon. At midday Turnpenny lowered the sail, for it was clear that at the rate the vessel was going she would run into view from the shore long before it would be safe to attempt a landing. While the crew were eating their dinner of fruit and biscuits one of the men cried out that he saw a sail. Turnpenny took a long look in the direction the man pointed out, Dennis watching his face in keen anxiety.
"All's well, sir," said the sailor at length. "She be coasting along towards Cartagena; in an hour she will be clean out of sight, and we're so low in the water that no natural eye will see us, the sail being down."
They lay gently rocked by the waves until, after a good look round, he judged it safe once more to hoist the sail. An hour afterwards he declared that he recognized a headland which was no more than three leagues from Porto Aguila. The vessel's head was pointed direct for the land, but the wind dropping somewhat, they were still a long way from shore when the sun went down and the swift darkness of the tropics descended upon them.
"We dursn't try to land in the dark," growled Turnpenny. "This craft of ours is only fit for fair weather and easy harbourage, and not knowing the little crinkles o' the coast, t'ud be nowt but a miracle if we 'scaped being stove in."
"But there will be a moon to-night, I think?" replied Dennis.
"True, a little tiny one, like the horn of a cow. Maybe she will give light enough to guide us to a creek. We must e'en wait for her rising."
They had no means of telling the time, and the maroons grew so restless that, while it was still dark, Turnpenny ordered them to paddle cautiously along the shore.
"'Tis a creek I be looking for," he said to Dennis, "where we can run the canow with a fair chance of hiding it when day breaks."
"How far are we from the fort?"
"I cannot tell. I fear me I have overshot the mark with being over cautious."
"That is impossible, Amos. At least it is an error on safety's side.—Hist! what was that?"
His ears had caught a slight splash at no great distance shorewards.
"Nowt to make 'ee uneasy, sir," replied Turnpenny. "'Twas without doubt a cayman slipping off into deep water; and by the token, 'tis a guide for us, for the reptile haunts the banks of rivers, and sure the very creek we be looking for will be somewheres anigh here."
The men drove the canoe a little nearer in shore, and in a few minutes Turnpenny, who was in the bows peering intently ahead, whispered that he did indeed see the opening of a creek. Soon the canoe entered a fairly wide water-way, much obstructed with reeds, and darkened by the dense and high vegetation on either bank. Now and again, through a gap in the foliage, the late rising moon shed a wan mysterious light upon their course. As the canoe moved slowly and stealthily up the creek, Dennis was conscious of a strange home-sickness. How many times had he rowed by night on little tree-shaded creeks and river-mouths in far-off Devon! The deep shadows, the narrow paths of ghostly light, the silence, rendered only the more intense by the incessant croaking of frogs, lent a charm to the adventure that almost eclipsed its peril.
The creek made several curves within a short distance, and Turnpenny, speaking in a whisper, said that they had now come far enough to escape notice from the sea.
"'Tis well, my friend; and now, say: shall we land, or shall we rather remain in the canoe for the rest of the night? I give my voice for landing. We are packed here as close as biscuits, and I would fain stretch my limbs, and moreover get a little to windward of some of these our companions."
"I warrant the maroons would liever stay in the canow, sir; and I own I myself am somewhat chary of landing in the dark. I know summat o' these forest lands, and there be fearsome wild creatures in 'em, the like of which you never saw in Maiden Isle yonder. There be wild hogs, of a surety, and monstrous wild cats that climb like monkeys, and see in the dark, and will pounce on a man and carry him off afore he can twink an eyelid. And as for these our bedfellows, my heart! there be worse ashore—muskeeties, and sandflies, and ants in armies, that crawl aneath your clothes, and nip your arms and neck, and make themselves most pestilent ill neighbours. And we cannot light a fire to scare them away, for savage as they be, whether four foot or six foot, they be gentle and mild by comparison with the two-footed enemies the fire would bring on our tracks."
"We will lie by till morning, then, and pray the night be not disturbed."
The maroons were unmistakably glad when this decision was communicated to them. To their minds the mere darkness was awful, and when to this were added the manifold dangers of the forest, they would rather have faced an army of Spaniards than camp unprotected among the trees.
The party spent a restless, uncomfortable night in their cramped quarters. Yet in his wakeful moments Dennis found some pleasure in watching the fire-flies darting hither and thither on the shore, and in listening to the continuous drone of insects, that seemed to his ears a pleasant lullaby. Once a goat-sucker clattered heavily past, uttering its weird cry; now and again he was amused by the question, "Who are you?" shouted from the trees, and recognized it as the cry of some nameless bird. As morning drew on, these sounds were replaced by others. Macaws screeched from the tree-tops, toucans barked like puppies, tree-frogs whistled and boomed, and at intervals the whole neighbourhood reverberated with long howls which Turnpenny said were the morning song of red howler monkeys. As morning began to dawn, and these signs of forest life multiplied, Dennis noticed that Mirandola was becoming much excited; and when the canoe was run ashore under a towering mora tree, the monkey sprang nimbly to land, chattering with delight, and in an instant was springing up into the foliage.
"Poor knave!" said Dennis. "It seems we have brought him home, Amos. Would that we too were restored, whole and happy, to our friends!"
"God-a-mercy, do 'ee forget Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and Ned Whiddon, poor souls? Do 'ee have more respect for the feelings of a heathen monkey?"
"Nay, nay, you mistake me," said Dennis, smiling at the sailor's honest indignation. "I do not forget them. By God's mercy we are here in safety, and ere long I hope to have all your friends to join our little company. Now, master mariner, what is to be our course?"