It was now past midday, and the sun's rays beat down upon them with cruel power. Yet none of them was glad when the wind freshened, bringing a touch of coolth; for it filled the sails of the vessel in chase, which loomed ever larger and larger in their wake. The land appeared to be very close, but to Dennis's anxious eyes it scarcely seemed to grow closer. For mile after mile the rowers toiled on in the sweltering heat. Dennis ventured to leave the tiller for a few moments to give them water when they flagged. One of the men collapsed, and Dennis crawled to his thwart and took his oar, bidding him go to the tiller. So the chase went on, until, when the boat was still more than a mile from land, the enemy began to fire. The mere sight of the shots splashing in the sea astern stirred the wearied rowers to renewed efforts. When, after a few minutes, a shot fell immediately in their wake, sending up a terrific burst of spray, their energy seemed to be doubled again.
"A shot fell immediately in their wake.""A shot fell immediately in their wake."
Dennis now had his back to the shore. It could not, he thought, be more than half a mile away: how far would the enemy venture to follow them? Surely she would not come much farther, at the imminent risk of running aground on a shoal. He saw a man at the chains taking soundings. Then suddenly the vessel was thrown into the wind, and she fired the whole of her broadside, in the hope, no doubt, that at least one shot would strike the target. The men were so played out that they were not able even to raise a feeble cheer when they found that they had escaped scot-free. Any gladness they may have felt was extinguished as soon as the smoke cleared away and the enemy perceived that they had failed to hit the boat. The galleon had hove to: the Spaniard was lowering her boats; and in a few minutes all three, long-boat, cock-boat, and jolly-boat, crowded with men, came sweeping across the water.
But they were as yet half a mile away; looking over his shoulder Dennis judged that his boat was now within less than a quarter-mile of the shore. Calling cheerfully to the men for a final spurt, he bade the steersman run them aground on the first shoal or spit of land that presented itself. A minute later the boat was brought up with a jerk. The men flung down their oars and began with desperate haste to gather up some of the stores and the weapons.
"Billy Hawk, take the treasure," said Turnpenny.
But Biddle was too quick for him. Hawk managed to secure one of the goatskin bags; Biddle seized the two others. There was no time to make any alteration. Trembling with their exertions, the men were staggering up the beach, some loaded with articles from the boat, some carrying the two wounded men. Amos, remaining till the last, drove a boat anchor through the bottom and hastened after the others. But the Spaniards' boats, fully manned with crews fresh and vigorous, had sped over the water at a tremendous rate, and it seemed to Dennis, looking back and marking how near they were to land, that after all he and his party stood but a poor chance of getting away. In the three boats there were at least sixty well-armed men. It was clearly their intention to run ashore and continue the pursuit on land. Within half an hour they must be upon them.
There was only a few yards of beach. The thick vegetation came down almost to the water's edge. It was a wild part of the shore; not a path was to be seen through the undergrowth, and beyond rose the forest. But the foremost of the fugitives had struck out a way for themselves through the plants, and Dennis and Turnpenny hurried along, bringing up the rear.
The fugitives were greatly impeded by the necessity of carrying the wounded men and the stores. Even when they reached the forest, where there was less undergrowth, their pace must be slower than that of the Spaniards, who had only their arms to carry. And to avoid them was quite impossible, for the Spaniards were not unused to tracking runaway slaves, and would not fail to follow up the broad trail left by the party.
"'Tis vain to go farther," said Dennis to Amos, as they hastened on. "We must be caught. And we shall need all the poor remnant of our strength. Yonder is a thick clump of bush where with our calivers we may perchance give pause to the enemy. I will run on and tell our comrades ahead to betake themselves thither."
"Ay, do so, though meseems 'tis but to stay for our death. You be lighter of foot than me. I will go into the thicket and there hide."
Dennis ran forward, but had not gone far when he found the two wounded men lying on the ground, deserted by their bearers. The rest of the party had disappeared. Part of the stores also had been abandoned. Clearly the men had bolted, perhaps in panic fright at some noise in the forest, perhaps—Dennis saw in a flash the explanation. Among the things abandoned there was no sign of the bags of treasure. Even at this critical moment Jan Biddle's cupidity had got the better of all other feelings, and he had made off with the booty and his fellow mutineers.
Dennis bent over the wounded men. One was past help; the shock of being left to his fate had hastened the end that was probably in any case inevitable. The other man Dennis helped to bring back to where Amos had taken up his position.
"Where be Billy Hawk, then?" said Turnpenny, when Dennis had acquainted him with what had happened. "He had one of the bags of pearls. Od-rat-en for a traitorous faggett!"
But his attention was immediately diverted from Billy Hawk's shortcomings by the sight of the enemy making their way through the trees. Dennis and the mariner had no hope of saving themselves. They two could not contend long with numbers so overwhelming. But they were resolved not to surrender. They knew well—Amos by experience, Dennis by the tales he had heard—what their fate would be as captives. Their whole aim was to sell their lives as dearly as might be. Amos had already kindled matches for their calivers. These as they burnt gave out an acrid smoke, which was bound to attract the attention of the Spaniards if they came near. Confident of their immense superiority in point of numbers, even if the whole band of fugitives stood up against them, the enemy were pressing forward without caution. Dennis for a moment debated with himself whether to fire on them or let them pass. He owed nothing to Jan Biddle and the mutineers. Twice had they behaved treacherously towards him; they would receive no more than their deserts if he allowed the Spaniards to go by unmolested. But then he reflected that after all some of the fugitives were his fellow-countrymen; all had been miserable slaves; and what he had learned of the Spaniards' dealings with those in their power made him regard them as enemies of mankind.
Turnpenny for his part had no scruples. To him, as to the majority of the Englishmen of his time, the Spaniard was a hateful oppressor, who appropriated the riches of the New World in order to set the nations of the Old by the ears. Even if he had not suffered personally at their hands, the whole race of Spaniards was in his eyes no better than vermin. So when Dennis gave the word, he levelled his caliver with right good will at the body of men that presented so easy a target, as they came hurrying through the forest. The two fired together; one man fell; the rest halted, looking about them with an air of fright that set Dennis mightily wondering. While they hesitated, Amos and he reloaded with what haste they might, and had not completed that troublesome process when the enemy, plucking up courage, advanced again in somewhat more extended order, firing as they marched. Bullets pattered on the tree trunks all around. Dennis had come scatheless through the action at sea, but now he felt a burning pang in his forearm, and saw that the sleeve of his doublet was singed. But at the same moment he heard a deep sigh from the wounded man who lay at his feet. The poor wretch had again been hit. There was no time to attend either to him or to his own wound, for the Spaniards, taking heart at the cessation of the fire from the copse, were preparing to make a rush.
By this time both Dennis and Turnpenny had reloaded, and stood waiting to make a last stand against what they felt must be an irresistible attack. To their amazement, however, just when they were expecting to hear the order to charge, they saw that a number of the enemy had swung round, and were facing towards the coast, the direction in which they had come. Next moment there was a yell from among the trees: "Yo peho! yo peho!" The strange cry was taken up at point after point, until the whole surrounding forest seemed to ring with fierce whoops and battle-cries. Then they caught sight of dark figures flitting among the trees beyond the Spaniards, who had now clearly given up the idea of advancing, and were crowded in a serried mass to meet another foe. There was the sharp crackle of fire-arms, followed by the twang of bow-strings. A long arrow whizzed past Dennis's ear, perilously close. The newcomers had formed, as it appeared, an immense semicircle about the Spaniards; several of these had fallen, and the semicircle seemed to be drawing ever closer.
"The maroons! O Jaykle!" whispered Turnpenny.
Driven together now into a compact body, the Spaniards fired a volley. Before the smoke had cleared away, from all around the maroons, dusky forms clad in smocks that reached their knees, were among them. Then began a desperate hand-to-hand fight. The Spaniards, in their turn outnumbered by three to one, were wielding their swords with the courage of despair against the javelins of their furious yelling enemy, striving to break through the ring.
"Yo peho! yo peho!" The maroon war-cry rose ever fiercer and fiercer. It was an affair of a few minutes. Half of the Spaniards were on the ground; the survivors broke and scattered, some speeding towards the copse, forgetful that their first check had come from thence. Turnpenny levelled his caliver and fired at the foremost of them.
"Shoot 'em, sir!" he cried to Dennis, who had hesitated, feeling some compunction. "Shoot 'em, or we shall have the maroons in upon us, and they will not stop to ask our names."
Dennis fired. The Spaniards broke away to the left, and dashed into the forest, pursued hotly by the exultant maroons. Seeing that the tide had passed them by, Turnpenny stepped out into the open and, raising his arms, shouted "Amigos!" at the top of his voice to the maroons within hail. One or two let fly their arrows at him; some were about to fire; but a big fellow among them called loudly to them in a tongue that the Englishman did not understand.
"My heart, 'tis Juan!" cried Turnpenny, and as the man advanced towards them Dennis recognised the leader of the maroons he had rescued on the island—the man who had with Amos supported the ladder for his climb into Fort Aguila.
Juan shook hands with them with every sign of delight. While the others continued the pursuit, he explained to Amos that his attention had been attracted by the sound of firing at sea, and from a point some distance along the coast he had watched, from among the trees, the race in the boats. Never loath to seize a chance of striking a blow at the hated Spaniards, he had hurried with his comrades along the fringe of forest. He was overjoyed to think that the men whom his sudden onslaught had saved were his old friends and the leaders of the attack on Fort Aguila. He invited them to accompany him to his village deep in the forest, and wound a horn to recall his comrades. Within a few minutes they were all assembled. The Englishmen recognized among them some who had been with them at the attack on the fort. Soon they were on the march. They took no prisoners; it was not the maroons' way to spare any Spaniard who fell into their hands. Four of them carried the twice-wounded sailor, but ere they had gone far he succumbed to his hurts, and they buried him under leaves in the forest.
An hour's march brought them to the maroons' village, built on a hillside circled by a narrow river. It was surrounded by a broad dyke, and a mud wall ten feet high. It had one long street and two cross streets, very clean and tidy; and the huts of mud and wattle, thatched with palm-leaves, and with doors of bamboo, were kept with a neatness that surprised the Englishmen, who mentally contrasted them with the dirty cottages of labourers at home. Juan made them very welcome, supplying them with a feast of wild hog, turkeys, oranges and other pleasant fruits.
"I'feck, it be a dinner fit for a lord," said Turnpenny, appreciatively.
He related the events that had brought them to the straits in which Juan had found them. When the maroon learnt that some of their party had deserted with the treasure, he despatched a band of his men to follow them up. And then he told his visitors a piece of news that mightily cheered them. El Draque, he said, the Dragon, the great English sea-captain, had lately raided Nombre de Dios, the port whence the great treasure fleets were wont to sail for Spain. Then he had disappeared. The Spaniards were in a state of nervous dread. So bold, so sudden were his movements, that not a settlement on the coast but lived in constant terror of his appearance. The very mystery that surrounded him, their ignorance of his whereabouts, added to the fear his name inspired.
"They do not know where he is," said Juan, with a chuckle; "but I know. He is a long day's march from this place, in a little harbour that no passing ship can spy. And there he waits till he can swoop like a jaguar on the dogs of Spain."
"My heart, it be joyful tidings!" said Turnpenny. "I knew Master Francis would come again to these shores, to have a proper tit-for-tat for the base dealings of the Spaniards at St. John d'Ulua. Good-now, sir, shall we take a journey and see the worthy captain, and peradventure join with him in spoiling the knaves?"
"With all my heart, Amos," replied Dennis. "Without doubt Juan will furnish us with a guide."
Turnpenny spoke to the maroon.
"Better than that!" he said, after a brief colloquy. "He says he will e'en come himself with a party. Master Francis, he says, does hurt to no woman nor unarmed man; he is kind to the maroons; and not a man of them but loves him and would serve him to the death. Ay sure, a noble man is Master Francis, that loves God and hates the Spaniards; and Ise warrant we could do naught better than join ourselves to him. Crymaces! he will list with a ready ear to the tale of our adventures."
"'Twill be overlong for the captain," said Dennis, with a smile. "But I would fain see him and speak with him, for he may perchance spare a vessel to go and seek for our poor comrades penned up in Maiden Isle."
"God-a-mercy, I had a'most forgotten, sir. True, there be Tom Copstone, and Hugh Curder, and Ned Whiddon all lone and lorn. Master Francis will help us to save them, or he be no true man."
Early in the afternoon of the second day thereafter, Dennis and Turnpenny, with Juan and a company of maroons, came to the outskirts of a large clearing at a little recess of the shore. A bark and three trim little pinnaces lay rocking in a secluded roadstead. Neatly thatched huts of the maroons' pattern bordered the clearing. At one end of it stood two archery butts at which men were shooting; a smith was lustily plying his sledge at an anvil; and in the middle, on a stretch of sward, two stalwart bearded figures were disporting themselves at a game of bowls.
"I'fegs, 'tis very like home," said Turnpenny. "'Tis Master Francis himself, as I live, and Master John Oxnam, a gallant soul; and there be Master Ellis Hixom, the captain his man, and a very worthy gentleman. And Bob Pike, busy with the rum bowl—a good man, when not betoatled with the drink. And O cryal! lookeedesee, sir; Bob hath a monkey at his elbow, and hang me if he be not teaching the poor beast the taste of rum. Oh Bobby, Bobby, the drink will be your undoing, an ye have not a care. They spy us, sir; 'tis a right merry sight, good-now, and warming to the heart."
A maroon came from among the company to meet them. He greeted Juan warmly, looking with surprise and curiosity at his white companions. Then they advanced into the clearing. Bob Pike, a red-faced mariner, sitting on a tub, looked up as they approached, and raised his bowl unsteadily, singing—
"Let us laugh, and let us quaff,Good drinkers think none ill a.
Welcome, Haymoss; I know not where be coom from but here be a sup for 'ee, comrade.
Let us trip, and let us skip,And let us drink our fill a.
Why, what ha' taken the wink-a-puss?"
His exclamation was occasioned by a surprising action on the part of the monkey that had been crouching at his feet. With a chatter of delight the animal had sprung up and was bounding on all fours towards Dennis. Next moment it was on his shoulder, stroking his cap with its paw.
"Fi, Mirandola," said Dennis, with a laugh, "hast forgot my admonitions to soberness? Has all thy philosophy and my instruction not steeled thee against temptation?"
"My thirst to staunch, I fill my paunchWith jolly good ale and old,"
sang Bob Pike; "though in truth it be new rum, for ale, under this sky, would turn as sour as whey. Good-now, Haymoss, come and take a sup with me, soul.
I drink to you with all my heartIf you will pledge me the same."
"Stint it, stint it, Robert Pike," said the elder of the two players, looking up. "You'll be but a buddled oaf an you go this gait. But odds-an-end, who be this?"
"An Englishman of Devon, so please you, captain," said Dennis, doffing his cap.
"Out of sky, or earth, or sea, for I swear you are not of my company?"
"Out of earth and sea, sir, newly come to bid you my duty."
"And that is Amos Turnpenny, an I be not in a maze. We will finish our game anon, Jack," he added, turning to Oxnam, "for there is a tale hangs by this. Come, young sir, methinks I know your face, though rabbit me if I can mind the when or the where of seeing it."
"It was on an occasion like to this, sir," said Dennis. "You were at play with Sir Martin Blunt on Plymouth Hoe when——"
"Stay, I mind it well, and you were the youth that beat me! I was in somewhat of a dander, to be sure. Are you of Sir Martin's party? Sure I looked for him months agone to join me, and wanting him has not been to my comfort. Is he at hand?"
"Alas, sir, Sir Martin has been at the bottom of the sea the washing of many a tide. I alone am left of all his company."
"God rest his soul! He was a right good man. But tell me, then, how it chanced that you alone escaped. And what brings you here in company with this ancient mariner? Furthermore, what strange affinity hast thou with this monkey, who is friends with that besotted knave alone, and that only for the love of liquor?"
"Mirandola and I are old friends, sir. How he comes to this place it passes my wit to guess; but he was my sole companion and friend on the island whereon by God's mercy I was cast alive, in the same storm that wrecked theMaid Marianand swallowed all my dear comrades. There I spent many a day and night without sight of human face or sound of human voice, until Spaniards came purposing to cut logwood, with slaves of whom Amos was one, the only white man. He had the good hap to escape their hands——"
"Nay, captain," Amos broke in; "it was not good hap, but the wit and spunk of Master Hazelrig. He saved us from the knaves, and led us to the taking of their vessel, in the which we purposed to sail away; but the knave captain blew it up with powder; wherefore it was we came to the main in a canow of the maroons' devising, and did take that strong fort and fastness of Aguila, where——"
"Stay, stay!" cried Drake. "Ods my life, this your tale makes my noddle buzz with amaze. What is this about Fort Aguila?"
"Why, sir, 'tis as I say," replied Turnpenny. "We did sail to it in the canow, which ran aground and was stove in. But we mounted those walls by a ladder, and crept upon the fort by night, and drew out of their dungeon all my comrades—Ned Whiddon and Hugh Curder and Tom Copstone, and nigh a score more. And we dealt the knave Spaniards many a dint, and took the fort, and blew up the towers, and sailed right merrily away in their own vessel with great store of pearls and pieces of eight. And the vessel was named in the Spanish tongueOur Lady of Baria, but Master Hazelrig he could not abide the Papist name, and called her by the very name he had afore bestowed on this heathen beast, Mirandola to wit, whereas I would liever have called her Susan or Betty——"
"Jack, is 't not a midsummer night's dream? A very mingle-mangle of madness! Tell on; I have a soft ear for mariners' tales."
"I' fegs, 'tis no mariner's tale, sir, but very truth. We sailed away, but the morn after, when it was mizzly, we spied a vessel that straight gave chase, and but for the little small harbour of Maiden Isle, whereinto we ran and lay hid and so diddled that knavish vessel, we had e'en fallen again into those cruel hands."
"When shall we laugh, Jack?" cried Drake, smiting his thigh and loosing a mighty roar that caused the archers to pause, and drew the smith from his anvil, and at last brought the whole company crowding round. "Why, friend Amos, that knavish vessel was my own tight bark thePaschayonder, and 'twas I myself that chased thee, ay, and would have caught thee, too, but for the huffling of the wind. If 'twas thou handling the vessel 'twas a mighty good piece of seamanship. And mine was a knavish vessel, good-now! Ho! ho! 'tis a merry world."
"Be jowned if Ned Whiddon thinks so, or Hugh Curder, or Tom Copstone! There they be, poor souls, marooned on that same island, which indeed we took and named Maiden Isle for behoof of her gracious Majesty. We fled from that craft which in our thought was a knavish vessel of Spain, and remained a night and a day to refresh ourselves, intending to sail thence on the morrow. But one of our company, Gabriel Batten, a quiet good soul, but somewhat of a drumble-drone, did go astraying after simples, and when the time came for us to embark, ods-fish, he was not with us. In that night, Jan Biddle, a man of Belial, made off with our vessel; but Master Hazelrig spied her ere she ran clear, and we swam to her and clomb aboard, and were vumped topsy-versy by those knavish mutineers. But they loosed us when she had made an offing, and right well it was for them, for we were chased by three galleons of Spain, and hardly escaped ashore in our jolly-boat. And then be jowned if Jan Biddle and his villainous crew did not skip off hippety-hoppety with the treasure we got with our pains at Fort Aguila——"
"Aha! I owe you a grudge for that, Master Hazelrig," cried Drake. "I had heard of the pearl-fishery, and was e'en chasing you, supposing your craft was a merchant vessel out of Venta Cruz or Cartagena, to inquire somewhat of the defences of that same fort. I came by chance to the place, and lo! it was a ruin. You beat me at bowls, young sir; art minded, meseems, to beat me at other games."
"Truly, sir, had I but known you were in these seas, I would surely have joined myself to your company, with your good leave, and served you with all diligence."
"Wilt serve me now, lad?" Drake shot a keen glance at him. "I am preparing a sore dint for the Spaniards, and have but few men for the job. Wilt join me?"
"I could desire nothing better," said Dennis, with a flush of pleasure; "but——"
"Say on; let me hear your but."
"Some half a score of Englishmen, the comrades of Amos, lie marooned on yonder island, sir; and we came hither, when we heard of your presence, to beg a vessel to go and fetch them off. Methinks one of the pinnaces yonder——"
"Knavish vessels, good-now!"
"Crymaces, sir, will 'ee remember that against me?" Amos broke in. "A man must say what a' thinks, but thinkin' don't alter what is. 'Twas your vessel; then 'twas no knave."
"Save as the Spaniards think it so. Well, I would fain help Englishmen in so hard a case, but at this present I cannot spare a pinnace; nay, I cannot even spare a man. Yet when the matter I spoke of is brought to an end, and falls out to our liking, I will go myself to that island and bring off your comrades; for in truth I have a mind to see the haven into which you fled and so 'scaped my knavish tricks. Methinks it should prove a secret and comfortable place for myself. In brief, I give you my word. Now, what say you to my proposal."
"Sir, I am yours," said Dennis, "and I thank you for your good will."
"Ay, and me likewise," said Turnpenny, "and Ise warrant a man of my muscle can do summat against those villain dons—lookeedesee!"
He exhibited the knotty muscles of his arms with a simple vanity that set Drake and Oxnam a-laughing.
"But not the monkey," added Drake, as the animal chattered in concert. "He is prone to utter his voice out of season, and an indiscreet cry might be the undoing of my purpose, and me."
"How comes the monkey here, sir?" asked Dennis. "We brought him with us from the island; indeed, he would not be left; but he deserted us some ten miles beyond Fort Aguila, and I supposed he had gone among his kind and thought never to see him again."
"Why, we found him among the ruins of that fort, and meseems he saw some likeness between Bob Pike and Turnpenny——"
"God forbid!" cried Amos earnestly.
"In muscle, not in manners," said Drake laughing. "Howbeit, he hitched himself on to Pike, and hath accompanied us ever since, and I trow not what Pike will say if the beast transfers his allegiance. But good-now, the sun goes down; 'tis time to make our evening devotions and then to supper. Methinks you, Master Hazelrig, have good cause to render thanks to the Almighty Father for the wondrous things He hath wrought in your behoof; and we have great plenty of fish, fowls, rabbits and the like, which, I doubt not, will be comfortable fare to you after your late privations. Come with me to my hut: I would hear of your adventures more at leisure."
And thus Dennis became one of the company of Francis Drake.
Though Dennis had accepted Drake's offer on the spur of the moment, he saw no reason to repent when he talked the matter over with Amos next day. The rescue of their comrades on the island was indeed deferred; but it was impossible to attempt that rescue without a suitable vessel and a due equipment of men and stores; and since the men had plenty of food on Maiden Isle, the delay of a few weeks would make no serious difference to them, unless—and this possibility gave Dennis some concern—they were molested by Spaniards. He hoped, however, that if an enemy did appear on the island the men would have sufficient warning to give them time to take refuge in the cave, where with good luck they might remain concealed until the danger had passed.
Before the day was out Dennis had made acquaintance with the members of the little company at Port Diego, as it had been called. From Ellis Hixom, Drake's right-hand man, he learnt something of their adventures since they left Plymouth in May, only a month after theMaid Marianset sail. Early in July they had arrived at Port Pheasant, a secret anchorage discovered by Drake on a former voyage, and so named by him "by reason of the great store of those goodly fowls which he and his company did daily kill and feed on in that place." On the 20th they sailed for Nombre de Dios, and a week later made a night attack on that unhealthy town, which once or twice in the year emerged into importance when the galleons came there from Cartagena to take in their cargoes of gold and silver sent for shipment by the governor of Panama.
The moon was rising as they stood in for the shore; but Drake, finding that his men were full of superstitious terror of the night, persuaded them that it was the dawn of day. They landed on the sands, beneath a battery, and only a few yards from the houses which were built on the shore, with the forest behind. The single sentry was slumbering, but he was roused by the sound of their climbing up the redoubt, and fled to give the alarm in the town. They spiked the six big guns in the fort, but ere they had finished they heard the great bell of the town church booming out; drums beat in the narrow street; it seemed that there was warm work before the little band of fifty.
Drake divided his men into three parties; one of twelve to guard the boats, the second of sixteen, with his brother John and John Oxnam, to enter by the east gate of the market-place; while himself, with about a score, would march in at the other end to the sound of drum and trumpet, with torches glaring at the end of their pikes. He gave the men orders to make all possible noise, so as to delude the garrison into the belief that his force was stronger than it really was.
The market-place was crowded with a mob of mingled soldiers and citizens when Drake and his men entered with great clatter from the side nearest the sea. The intrepid band was met by a hot volley, to which they replied with their calivers and a flight of arrows; then, not waiting to reload, they charged with a fierce shout, to do the rest of the business with pike and sword. As the same moment Oxnam and his company dashed in at the other side with a great blast of trumpets. The Spaniards, scared by the noise and the torches, still more by the knowledge that El Draque was among them, did not stay to fight the matter out, but flung down their weapons and rushed away in disorderly flight along the road leading through the forest to Venta Cruz.
Drake re-formed his men, and, under the guidance of Spaniards he had captured, made for the governor's house, where the mule trains from Panama were unloaded. The door was wide open, and by the light of a torch the Englishmen saw a vast pile of silver bars standing in the passage. But Drake had learnt that in the King's treasure-house on the eastern side lay a goodly store of gold and jewels, far more than they could carry. Accordingly he would not allow the men to break their ranks and despoil the governor, but led them back to the market-place to prepare for the more serious work.
Meanwhile the men on guard at the beach, hearing the din, and seeing by the light of the torches men running this way and that in the streets, began to be alarmed, especially when they learnt from the negroes who had joined them that the garrison had been newly strengthened. In their panic they sent word to Drake that the pinnaces were in danger of being taken. Drake had no sooner sent his brother and John Oxnam to allay their fears and assure them that all was well when a terrific thunder-storm burst upon them, wetting their bowstrings and the charges of their guns. They ran for shelter to a shed at the western end of the King's treasure-house, and there, while they repaired the damage, the men began to mutter among themselves of the peril they were in, and some talked of flight. As soon as the storm had ceased, Drake, seeing that the adventure was in jeopardy unless he led the men to action, ordered Oxnam to take a party to break open the treasure-house while he held his ground in the market-place.
But, unknown to the men, he had been severely wounded in the leg at the first onset, and fell faint from loss of blood. He perceived that some of his men had already laden themselves with plunder from the houses and booths in the market-place, and knew that they would be glad of any excuse to get away to the boats. It was no longer possible to hide his wound, and the men, seeing it, begged him to return to the boats, and paid no heed to his entreaty that they would leave him to fend for himself and possess themselves of the treasure so nearly within their grasp. The possibility of losing their captain took all the heart out of them. They carried him hastily down to the beach, got aboard the boats, and shoved off just as dawn was breaking. It was a disappointing end to the expedition; but only one man of them, a trumpeter, had been killed, and they were all glad enough to get off so lightly.
Since then they had cruised up and down the coast, capturing Spanish vessels here and there, and making themselves a terror to the whole Main. They had suffered many losses, by sickness and in fight; John Drake had been killed in leading a mad attack on a frigate; but small as the company was, every man was now cheerful in the expectation of gaining great plunder in the approaching expedition to Panama. Dennis and Turnpenny were welcome recruits, and none were more eager than they to set off with the great captain, and go whithersoever he might lead.
Map to illustrate the adventures of Drake in 1572-73Map to illustrate the adventures of Drake in 1572-73
One day, about a week after their arrival at the camp, Drake called his men together in council, and unfolded to them his daring plan. The Spanish treasure fleet, he had learnt, had arrived at Nombre de Dios, and was awaiting there the consignments of gold and jewels which were brought by long mule trains across the isthmus from Panama. He purposed to ambush one of these trains in a lonely spot on the north road. Solemnly he placed before the men the dangers of the expedition. They had a march of sixty miles before them, through poisonous jungles and fever-haunted swamps. It was an enterprise for none but hardy and courageous men, ready to endure labour and fatigue without murmuring.
Of his original company he had only forty-two left. Some of these were sick, others were required to guard the ships; and when Drake had weeded out the least fit of the rest, he had only eighteen Englishmen for the adventure. To those he added thirty maroons, making a little company of forty-eight all told. Dennis observed with admiration how carefully all things were prepared. The men were provided with spare boots, so that they might not go footsore and be troubled by the jiggers of the jungles and the leeches of the swamps. The bows were all re-fitted, the arrows and fire-arms cleaned and scoured; large stores of dried meat and biscuit were packed in bundles; and bottles were filled with wine and rum, for it was unsafe to drink the water of the rivers.
It was a bright February day, Shrove Tuesday, when the adventurous band set out, the ships in the harbour dipping their colours and the trumpeters sounding "a loath to depart." The Englishmen carried nothing but their weapons, the baggage being strapped to the shoulders of the stalwart maroons. They marched in the coolest part of the morning, from sun-rise to ten, when they paused for dinner. Soon after noon they were afoot again, and at four halted for the night, the maroons building for them with extraordinary rapidity little huts of grass and palm-leaves, where they ate their supper over cheerful wood-fires, beguiling the evening hours with song and talk. It was a new life for Dennis, and full of strange charm. He spent many an hour in the company of Drake and Oxnam, listening with a boyish admiration to their talk, revelling in their tales of fight and adventure.
The great captain exercised a wonderful fascination upon him. Drake was at this time little more than thirty years old, below the medium height, but with brawny limbs and a broad chest. Brown hair clustered close on a bullet-shaped head; his beard grew thick and strong; his face was ruddy and pleasant to look upon; and the honesty of his soul spoke out of his large, round blue eyes. His voice was clear and musical, and he had a natural eloquence, set off by the burr of his native speech. Nothing impressed Dennis more than to hear the Captain, every night at sunset, recite the evening prayers and collects bare-headed among his men assembled. "By Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night"—there was something very real and earnest in the petition, uttered in the shade of the forest where wild animals dwelt, and in a country where every man was a foe. There was no doubt about the reality of Drake's religion; and it was part of his simple belief that he was chosen of God to scourge a pestilent enemy of mankind.
The order of the march was the same every day. Four maroons led the way, marking a trail by flinging broken branches or bundles of leaves upon the ground. Then came twelve more maroons, followed at an interval by Drake and his eighteen Englishmen, and two maroon chiefs. The rear was brought up by the rest of the maroons.
After four days' tramping through swampy woods, much entangled with undergrowth, steaming with heat and infected with noisome odours, they entered a pleasanter country, where the trees grew larger, and with branches so thickly interlaced that they were defended from the sun's rays and found their path less obstructed by creeping plants. The ground rose gradually, and Pedro, the maroon chief, told Drake that on the summit of the ridge they were ascending, half way across the isthmus, there grew an immense tree from which he could descry the North Sea whence he had come and the South Sea whither he was going. At ten o'clock on the eighth day of their march they came to the place, and while the dinner was being got ready, Drake went with Pedro to the tree of which he had spoken. Ascending big steps cut on the bole, they reached, near the top, a pleasant thatched arbour, large enough to seat a dozen men. The sky was clear; no haze blanketed the view; and looking forth, Drake caught, thirty miles away, the sparkle of the southern ocean on which no English boat had sailed. The soul of the great mariner was strangely moved: he fell on his knees, and "besought Almighty God of His goodness to give him life and leave to sail once in an English ship on that sea." Then he called up Oxnam and others of his company, and told them of his desire and prayer. Dennis never forgot the scene in that shady bower at the tree-top: the kindling face of the sturdy captain, his shining eyes, the fervency of his speech.
They went on again, and in two days more reached the wide savannah, with grass as high as corn, and great herds of black cattle. Now and then they got a glimpse of Panama, the city of their dream, and by and by, when they were near enough to see the ships riding at anchor in the roadstead, Drake called a halt: they had come within touch of danger and must walk warily. Resting in a grove some three miles from the city, Drake sent one of the maroons, dressed like a negro of Panama, into it as a spy an hour before dark. He was to find out on what night, and at what hour, the mule train set out with its precious burden for Nombre de Dios. He had learnt from Pedro that the first stage of the journey, from Panama to Venta Cruz, was always performed by night, because by day the open plain was scorched by the sun. But the second stage, from Venta Cruz to Nombre de Dios, was accomplished by day, the road lying among cool shaded woods. It was clear that the first stage offered the best chances of a successful ambush, and Drake had resolved to intercept the treasure-train between Panama and Venta Cruz.
The spy returned sooner than he was expected. From old acquaintances in the city he had learnt that a train was to start that very night, its departure being expedited because a Spanish hidalgo, the treasurer of Lima, was in haste to reach a ship waiting at Nombre de Dios to convey him to Spain. His train consisted of fourteen mules, of which eight were laden with gold and one with jewels. Two other trains, of fifty mules each, would follow, with provisions for the fleet and a quantity of silver.
Within an hour of the receipt of this news, Drake and his men were afoot on the road for Venta Cruz, some twelve miles away. Before starting, the English men all put their shirts on outside their other garments, so that they might have some means of telling friend from foe in the darkness. When they had marched about half the distance, two of the maroons, going ahead as scouts on the narrow track between long grass, detected the smell of a burning match, and creeping stealthily on, guided by the scent, and the now audible sound of snoring, came upon a Spanish sentry fast asleep by the roadside. In a trice they pounced on him; they stuffed a gag into his gaping mouth, put out his match, tied his arms to his sides, and haled him back to the main body. This danger removed, Drake divided his band into two companies. One of these, under John Oxnam and Pedro the maroon, he stationed in long grass fifty paces from the road; with the other he went to the same distance on the other side, posting them so that, if it came to a fight, their fire would not harm their comrades. He gave strict orders that no man should stir from his post, but that all should maintain perfect quiet, and, if any travellers should come from the direction of Venta Cruz, that these were to be allowed to pass without molestation.
Dennis and Turnpenny were placed among Oxnam's party, and lay side by side in the grass. The night was so dark, and the stalks so long, that they could scarcely see each other, much less any other of their company. For a time all was quiet; nothing was heard but the faint critch of insects among the herbage. But by and by Dennis caught a slight murmur from some point near at hand. He lifted his head to listen. Yes, it was certainly a man mumbling. Then he heard a glug-glug, as of liquid poured from a narrow-necked vessel, and immediately afterwards a deep sigh of contentment. Again there was silence; but after a while another glugging and another sigh.
"Begorz!" whispered Turnpenny, "'tis some bosky lubber a-puddling of aqua vitae. St! Here be bells a-coming, on the neck of moyles, Ise warrant. St!"
The sound came from the direction of Venta Cruz: evidently a train was returning to Panama. Almost immediately afterwards there came a fainter tinkle on the other side; the treasurer of Lima was on the road, but he would not reach the ambush until the train from Venta Cruz had passed.
Nearer came the sound, growing now into a loud clanging. Dennis held his breath. The Venta Cruz party was to be allowed to pass; it would meet the other travellers, and give them the word that all was well. But what was this? Some one was rustling in the grass near him; some one was moving forward; and, peeping up, Dennis saw an Englishman, as he knew by his shirt, creeping towards the road through the long stalks, and a maroon following.
At this moment his ears caught the sound of a horse trotting. He could not see the road; the men who had gone through the grass were also out of sight; but suddenly the trot changed into a gallop, and he heard the horse clattering at a furious rate down the road. His heart gave a jump; he felt a hot flush surge through him: the rider, whoever he was, had been startled, and was now doubtless dashing on to warn the coming train. Who could the fool be who had so flagrantly disobeyed the captain's orders? Had he been so mad as to expose himself, in his shirt over-all, to the view of the horseman? Turnpenny was as wrathful as Dennis.
"Be jowned if I don't deal en a whap in the niddick," he whispered, "as'll make en twine like an angle-twitch."
The sound of the hoofs died away, and Dennis expected that the clanging of the bells would cease also, and all be brought to nought. To his surprise there was no change: the bells drew nearer and nearer; now he heard men's voices; and then, with a suddenness that made him jump, a shrill whistle-blast rose high above all other sounds. It was the signal for the attack. Dennis and the sailor rushed through the grass; on all sides white-clad forms rose from their lurking-places and made towards the road with a cheer. They sprang at the muleteers, toppled them over, and without a shot fired the long line of mules was in the raiders' hands.
With many a laugh and jest the sailors hauled the packs from the backs of the mules and slit them with their hangers. But soon the mirth was turned to melancholy.
"Od-rat-en, what have we here?" cried Turnpenny, lifting a soft mass on the end of his weapon. "Bless my bones if it bean't a bunch of yokey sheep's wool!"
"And here 'tis nought but dried meat as tough as leather."
"Ay, where be the goold, where be the goold?" cried Robert Pike, breaking from the grasp of a maroon. "Cap'n said there was nugs o' goold as big as goose-eggs, and be jowned if I can see a farden's worth!"
"And the gewgaws for the rory-tory madams o' Spain—where be the gewgaws?" cried another of the seamen. "Here, you codger"—seizing one of the muleteers—"where be the gewgaws adiddled to?"
He shook the man till he gasped for breath, then hauled him before Drake, who had come into the midst of the enraged sailors. He bade the muleteer speak. The man told how the horseman, trotting by with a page at his stirrup, had been startled to see a ghost-like figure rise out of the grass at the side of the track, and galloped on to warn the treasurer. Superstitious as the Spaniards were, they knew so much of the daring of El Draque that the treasurer did not for a moment doubt he had to deal, not with a ghost, but with a very real and substantial enemy. The warning had reached him just in time. He drew his mules, bearing the treasure, to the side of the road to allow the train of merchandise to pass; the loss of food and wool could be endured patiently if the gold and jewels were saved. Then, when the din ahead confirmed his suspicions of an ambush, he turned the mules' heads back towards Panama and slipped away.
Here was a pretty end to the adventure from which all had hoped so much! Loud was the outcry against the wretched man whose rashness had had so untoward an effect. While Drake took hurried counsel with Oxnam and Pedro the maroon, the men went about growling, accusing each other, threatening terrible punishment for the offender. Of them all none was louder or more vehement than Robert Pike.
"An I catch the knave," he shouted, "Ise fulsh en, Ise thump en, Ise larn en a thing or two as the wink-a-puss won't forget."
But as he spoke he lurched towards Amos, who caught him by the collar as a sudden suspicion dawned.
"Be jowned if I don't b'lieve 'twas 'ee, Bob Pike! You hawk-a-mouth knave, I smell 'ee, I do. You been puddling aqua vitae, dang my buttons an you bean't. You bandy-legged piggish lubby, you, 'ee'll fulsh en, will 'ee? and thump en, will 'ee? and larn the wink-a-puss a thing or two, will 'ee? The Old Smoker take 'ee for a lubberly knave and a jackass."
"And 'ee for a gabbing rant-a-come-scour!" retorted Pike, when he got his breath. "What be 'ee jowering at me for? I only supped a little small drop to keep me awake, and when I heard the moyles a-coming, od-rabbit-en, thinks I, Ise nab the first; and when I got to the road, 'twas no moyle, but a fine horse and rider, and I rose up to see what he was, and a knave maroon pulled me down and sat upon me like to squeeze out my vitals, and so the villain Spaniard got away."
"You bosky knave, I'll——"
But what Turnpenny would have done remained untold, for at this moment Drake called all the men together.
"'Tis no good crying over spilt milk, my lads," he said. "An we do not shift for ourselves betimes, we shall have all the Spaniards of Panama upon us pell mell. To go back the way we came is a four leagues march; we all be wearied and for-done, and meseems 'twere better to go forward two leagues into the forest. True, the town of Venta Cruz stands in the way, but 'tis better, methinks, to encounter our enemies while we have strength remaining than to be encountered and chased when we be worn out with weariness. We will e'en eat our suppers while we may; there be great store of meat and drink in the mule-packs; then will we mount upon these beasts, so that we do not weary ourselves with overmuch marching. And then, if God will, we will ding a blow at the enemy for our honour; and mark 'ee, my lads, we are disappointed of a most rich booty; but surely God would not that it should be taken, for that, by all likelihood, it was well gotten by that treasurer, and not by evil courses."
And, taking what comfort they could from their captain's explanation, they set off on mule back as soon as supper was over, and came in an hour to the woods a mile out of Venta Cruz. There they dismounted. Drake bade the muleteers remain out of harm's way, and led the men over a cobbled road ten feet broad, running between great walls of vegetation.
Following his custom, Drake sent forward two of the faithful maroons to reconnoitre. They came back with news that, half a mile farther on, the enemy were hidden in the thickets; they had heard the rustle of their movements and smelled the pungent smoke of their matches.
"Let no man fire till after the enemy hath dealt us a volley," said Drake; "methinks they will first parley with us."
He led them quietly forward. A few minutes later a dark form appeared on the darker road.
"Hoo!" came a voice.
"Halloo!" replied Drake.
"What nation are you?" called the man in Spanish.
"Englishmen."
"In the name of the King of Spain my master," cried the captain, "I charge you to yield, avouching on the word of a gentleman soldier that I will deal with you most courteously."
"Come on, my lads," quietly said Drake, taking a few quick steps forward. Aloud he cried: "For the honour of the Queen of England, my mistress, I must have passage this way."
At the same moment he fired his pistol. The Spaniards in ambush, mistaking the shot for a signal from their own officer, poured in a volley. Drake blew his whistle, and instantly his men sent a spattering shower of bullets and arrows into the brushwood, following it up with a charge. The Spaniards bolted like hares, and at Drake's command the maroons of his party swarmed forward to cut the enemy off from a stronger position in the rear, shouting their terrifying war-cry, "Yo peho! Yo peho!" Back went the Spaniards, scurrying along to the shelter of the town, the maroons leaping and dancing after them as their manner was in war, the seamen not far behind, adding to the uproar with English yells. Within a few yards of the town wall the enemy attempted to rally, posting themselves across the road and in the woods on both sides. But the maroons swept upon their flanks, Drake and his men charged full at the centre. For a few moments the place rang with the clash of sword and pike and the cries of the combatants. Then as one man the Spaniards wheeled about and scampered through the open gates of the town, with Drake's whole party at their heels. On they went into the streets, seamen and maroons, thrusting and slashing without pause or respite, yet strictly observing their captain's injunction to spare women and unarmed men. In five minutes they were masters of the town.
For little over an hour the men ran hither and thither, gathering what spoils they could in the shape of articles easily carried. Then, just as dawn was breaking, and they were snatching a hasty breakfast before departing, a dozen horsemen dashed in at the Panama gate. Not until they were within point-blank range of the musketeers whom Drake had posted there did they perceive that the town was in the enemy's hands. The sentries fired; half of the horsemen fell; the rest fled back hastily into the forest. But Drake feared they were the advance guard of a larger force. It was dangerous to delay. He whistled his men together; and in a few minutes they marched out of the town with their spoils, some little compensation for the lost treasure of the mule train.
The toils and sufferings of that homeward march lived long in the memories of Dennis and Turnpenny. Drake forced the pace unmercifully, anxious to get back to his ship. Food ran short; he would not stay to hunt wild hog or deer. Several of the men had been wounded; there was no time to tend their wounds. Their clothes were torn to tatters; their boots, even the extra pairs, had given way, and they were driven to bind their feet with rags. The faithful maroons served them nobly, carrying all the burdens, building huts for their rest at night, bearing upon their shoulders some of the seamen who were too exhausted and footsore to tramp any longer. A maroon went forward to warn the waiting company of their approach. On the afternoon of the 23rd of February, three weeks after they had started on the expedition, they tottered out of the forest towards the beach, just as the pinnace, sent by Ellis Hixom to take them off, scudded inshore. There on the glistening sand the little company of men, haggard, worn-out, half-famished, raised their husky voices in a psalm of thanksgiving, praising God because they saw their pinnace and their fellows again.
As they sailed back in the pinnace to the secret haven, the weary adventurers were surrounded by their comrades, and feasted their ears with wondrous tales of what had befallen them. Ellis Hixom also had a story to tell. A few days after the departure of the company, there had staggered into the clearing three men in the last stage of exhaustion. Two were English, one French. They were pitiable objects, their eyes bright with fever, their cheeks haggard with famine, their feet blistered and bleeding from long wandering in the woods. Each man carried a bag of pearls.
And they told a pitiful story. They had escaped, they said, from captivity in Nombre de Dios, and set out with three comrades, bearing plunder from the houses of their captors. It was well known along the coast that Drake was somewhere in hiding, and they marched eastward, hoping by good hap to light upon his encampment. But as they rested one night, the leader had overheard a plot on the part of three of the men to slay the rest and make off with the booty. Fearing that if it came to a fight he and his two comrades would stand but little chance against the others, who were men of exceeding great strength and ferocity, the three had slipped away in the darkness and had since been tramping for days through the forest, unable to find sufficient food, and subsisting on berries and mushrooms. Once they had almost stumbled into a village of maroons, and fled for their lives, dreading lest they should be taken for Spaniards and slain before the error was discovered.
"And where are they now?" asked Drake.
"On thePascha, sir," replied Hixom, "where they are slowly recovering of their calentures."
"And the name of the leader?"
"Jan Biddle, by his own account a skilful mariner and——"
"Ay, I have heard tell of him," interrupted Drake with a grim smile. "Master Hazelrig," he added, calling Dennis up, "I learn that the captain of your mutineers waits your judgement on my vessel."
He repeated what Hixom had told him.
"What is the name of the other Englishman, Master Hixom?" asked Dennis.
"Dick Rackstraw, methinks. The Frenchman's name is Michel Barren."
"Then what has become of our comrade Billy Hawk, I wonder? Biddle and his crew deserted from us with the treasure, when we came ashore in our boat. Billy Hawk went after them; I fear me there has been foul play."
"We will enquire into that matter when we gain our haven," said Drake, "and see what Master Biddle has to say for himself."
As soon as he reached the haven, Drake boarded thePaschaand called Biddle and his companions before him. He listened patiently to the man's wild tale, then sent a boat ashore to bring off Dennis and Turnpenny. Biddle's jaw dropped when he saw them come over the side. He attempted to bluster it out, but Drake cut him short.
"You are a foul liar and a mutineer," he said sternly. "Art a murderer also? What didst thou to Billy Hawk thy comrade? Answer to the point, villain."
"Afore God, sir, I know nought of him. With me came but four men, and two of those lie dead in the forest, of a strange sickness that got hold of them after that they had drunken of the water of a certain river. Of Billy Hawk I saw nor heard nought."
"My poor comrade!" said Turnpenny. "I fear me he be gone or alost."
"These are your men," said Drake, turning to Dennis. "The punishment of mutiny is death. Do with them as you list."
"I would fain leave them in your hands, sir," replied Dennis. "For me, I would not that any man should die."
"I will consider of it. Have them put in irons and carried below."
Next day he decided, on Dennis's intercession, to content himself with holding the men closely confined in the vessel. The bags of pearls were taken from them and handed to Dennis and Turnpenny. And ere the day was out Robert Pike was sent to join them. Drake had learnt of the mischievous part the man had played, which had resulted in the failure of his attack on the mule trains.
"A little darkness and solitude may teach him to refrain from the bottle," he said.
The enterprise had so nearly succeeded that when Drake declared he would make the attempt again, as soon as the time came for another convoy of treasure to cross the isthmus, every man of his company eagerly besought him for a place in the expedition. But Dennis reminded him of his promise to lend him a pinnace in which to sail to Maiden Isle and bring off his comrades.
"I will hold to my word," said Drake. "You and your brawny henchman have suffered less than the most of my men, by reason, I wot, of your being inured to hardships on your island. Some days must needs pass before we are ready to attempt other enterprises. The island is but a day's sail, you said?"
"Ay, sir, and with good hap we should return on the second day, or the third at most."
"Then take theMinionpinnace, and good hap go with you. You will need men. Choose out eight according to your mind, and a few maroons also. Juan was with you, I bethink me; he will doubtless serve you right faithfully. In sooth, I shall be mighty rejoiced to have with me the dozen men you go to find, for if they be in spirit and body like to you and your henchman, they will be most serviceable when I make my next journey to Panama. I would go fetch them myself, as I had purposed, but that our preparations demand my presence here."
Next day, then, theMinionpinnace sailed out of the little haven with a crew of eight Englishmen and five maroons, three of whom were the men who had accompanied Dennis from the island. Mirandola also was on board. He had disappeared when Dennis set off with Drake to cross the isthmus, but had evidently kept a watch on the settlement, for the day after they returned he came out of the forest and attached himself to his old master with demonstrations of delight. A brisk breeze was blowing off shore; the pinnace was a first-rate sailer; by midday they were in sight of the island, and in the afternoon they rounded the shoulder of the cliff, Turnpenny steering the vessel into the gully.
Dennis, standing in the bows, caught sight of a group of men beyond the pool, near his sheds. They were partly hidden by the foliage, and when they saw the strange vessel making straight towards them, with the evident intention of coming to an anchorage, they took to their heels and disappeared.
"Poor souls! they take us for Spaniards," said Turnpenny. "I warrant they be most desperately in the dumps. 'Tis nigh a month since we departed hence."
The pinnace dropped anchor beside theMaid Marian, and the men went ashore.
"Blow a blast," said Dennis to one of the men, who carried a trumpet, "with notes that will be familiar to their ears."
As the shrill notes rang out, he stepped ahead of the men, with Mirandola on his shoulder. Before long a man appeared among the trees far up the chine.
"Hallo hoy!" shouted Turnpenny. "Be that you, Tom Copstone? Come, comrade, never be afeard. We've come to take 'ee off, poor soul, and bring 'ee to Master Drake, who will make us all rich with much gold and treasure. Come, my hearts, Ned Whiddon, and Hugh Curder, and all."
Turnpenny's well-known voice was more successful than the trumpet's notes in banishing the men's mistrust. Soon they came hasting down the gully, Copstone leading.
"I said it! I knew it," he cried, as he approached. "'You and me, Haymoss'—the blessed words stayed in my noddle, and I knew 'ee would come back somewhen, dear soul. But we be in piteous case. 'Tis a long ninny-watch we ha' kept, and hope was wellnigh drownded, sir. We could not make it out; we was mazed, every man of us; but you be come back, praise be to God."
He told how the disappearance of theMirandolahad filled them first with consternation, then with bitter rage. Some of the men declared that they had been decoyed to the island; that they had been betrayed and deserted for the sake of the treasure. From the first Copstone and Whiddon had absolutely refused to believe that Dennis and Turnpenny had wilfully left them; Hugh Curder, indeed, had made a shrewd guess at what had actually happened; but the rest clung to their first notion, gave way to bursts of rage and reviling, and as the days passed, settled down into a state of moody despair.
Copstone had tried to induce them to fit out theMaid Marianfor sea, but he had found it impossible to whip up enough energy among them. They had some reason for their reluctance, inasmuch as, the stores of theMaid Marianhaving been put aboard theMirandola, there was no provision for a long voyage. The fruits of the island would spoil in a week or so, whereas if they clung to the island they were at least sure of finding a sufficient subsistence. But they had been troubled even on this point, for some of the men fell ill through recklessly eating fruits and berries without first ascertaining whether they were fit for food, and with broken health their spirits had been still further depressed.
"Poor souls!" said Turnpenny. "'Ee do look a wangery and witherly crew. But 'ee be all here, all twelve, not a man lacking? My heart! where be Gabriel Batten?"
"He never come back!"
"Never come back! What do 'ee mean?"
"We looked for en, up along and down along, but nary a crim of him did we see."
"Ay, and another be gone, too," said Hugh Curder. "But a sennight agone, poor Joe Toogood vanished out of our sight, and we never seed him again."
"Be there devils upon the island, Haymoss?" asked Ned Whiddon, anxiously. "Be there pixies that lead poor souls into some ditch or quagmire, where they be swallowed quick in the pluffy ground? Once we was bold mariners all, but now we be poor timorsome creatures, afeard when the wind soughs in the trees."
Dennis remembered the boa-constrictor from whose clammy coils he had saved the monkey that now sat upon his shoulder.
"'Twas no sprites nor pixies, comrades," he said. "Without doubt they came unawares upon a big serpent that charmed them first with his fiery eyes, and then swathed them in his fearsome coils till he had crushed the life out of them. Poor souls! poor souls!"
"But now 'tis time to be merry, lads," said Amos quickly, "for here we be, and our pinnace yonder is named theMinion, the same as the bark that Captain Hampton handled so cunningly at St. John d'Ulua; and we be goin' to take 'ee all back to Master Drake, who lies by a secret haven, in little small huts built by the maroons; and there be archery butts, and a smith's anvil, and other such homely things. And we have seen wondrous things, my lads—the blue south sea beyond, and the treasure town, and Master Drake be set on leading us forth to adventure for gold and jewels beyond price. 'Tis time to be merry, souls!"
And catching the infection of his cheery good-will, Hugh Curder flung his hat in the air and began—
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,Nor helps good hearts in need.
Dennis had transferred to theMirandola—now, alas! at the bottom of the sea—the greater part of theMaid Marian'sstores that he kept in his sheds; but there was a goodly remnant still in the cave, and this he determined to put on board theMinionand carry to Port Diego. The afternoon was too far advanced for the work to be completed that night; so he determined to sleep on the island and make an early start next morning. As soon as it was light he sent a number of Turnpenny's old comrades in different directions across the island to get a supply of fresh fruit, while the men he had brought from the mainland set about carrying the stores from the cave to the pinnace.
They had not been long at the work, however, when Ned Whiddon came hurrying back.
"God-a-mercy, sir," he cried, "we have spied a crew of strangers on the south shore, and in the offing two vessels at anchor. They be all clad and armed in the Spanish fashion, and when they set eyes on us they gave chase, and but that we know the island now as well as we know the lanes to home, none of us would have 'scaped."
Other men came in while he was speaking. Dennis trembled for the fate of those who had gone towards the northern shore and had not yet returned.
"'Tis ill news indeed," he said. "Run, Curder, after the men that have gone northward, and warn them that Spaniards are here to trouble us, lest they have not already discovered it. Comrades," he added, addressing the men about him, whose countenances bespoke their alarm—"comrades, we must take counsel together. What think you, Amos, we should do?"
"Why, sir, we should steal out in the pinnace as soon as our men be back along, leaving these stores, and thread a way betwixt the reefs to nor'ward; for the knaves could not follow us save in their boats."
"Ay, sir," said Copstone, "that be the true way of it. God send the tide be high enough to serve."
"Then get aboard and make all ready to depart. Amos, look to all things, and make the rest of our comrades to embark as they arrive. I will run to the top of the cliff to spy if the coast be clear."
But on reaching the spot whence he had often before looked so longingly and vainly for a sail, he made a most unwelcome discovery. About a mile to the south-west of the island lay a large vessel, which, since she was busily engaged in signalling, was clearly a consort of the two ships that Whiddon had seen. Keeping well under cover, Dennis raced along to a point half a mile south, whence the whole southern offing was visible. There were the two vessels; and, even as he looked, a boat was lowered from the nearest of them, rapidly filled with men, and was rowed towards the beach.
The sight was enough to cause the boldest heart to quake. If the pinnace ran out of the gully, she would have to pass within half a mile of the ship, for the tide was low, and even the littleMiniondrew too much water to make her way northward until she had run at least half a mile out to sea. This would bring her under the guns of the third vessel, and the Spaniards must be poor marksmen indeed if they failed to hit her at this range.
He was beginning to retrace his steps when Turnpenny came up hurriedly.
"We be all aboard, sir, save yourself and Nick Joland. Have 'ee seen him?"
"No."
"He be but late better of a fever, as Tom telled me; pray he be not swooned."
At this moment they heard loud shouts to their right. Running down through the trees, careful not to expose themselves, they saw four Spaniards chasing this very Nick Joland, a thin cadaverous-looking man whose stumbling gait betrayed his weakness. He was making almost in a straight line for a large bignonia bush that stood alone at the end of the narrow clearing just below where the two men were watching.
With one accord Dennis and Turnpenny stole to the bush and dropped down behind it.
"Let Joland pass," whispered Dennis; "then we can tackle the knaves as they come up."
"Without arms?" replied Turnpenny.
Dennis nodded. In a few moments the fugitive, panting hard, ran past the bush. The four Spaniards, running in a body, were close at his heels.
"Now!" Dennis whispered.
They sprang out with a yell, and though they were unarmed, the odds were not utterly against them, for the Spaniards were startled by this unexpected onset. A single blow from Turnpenny's sledge-hammer fist stretched one of them senseless on the ground. Dennis felled his man, but his arm was less powerful, and the Spaniard began dizzily to regain his feet while Dennis grappled with another. As he rose he reeled just within reach of Turnpenny's arm. Catching him round the middle, the seaman flung him bodily at the fourth Spaniard, who was making furiously at him with drawn sword, Their heads collided with a terrific thud, and down they fell on the grass together.
"The seaman flung him bodily at the fourth Spaniard.""The seaman flung him bodily at the fourth Spaniard."
Meanwhile Dennis had come to grips with the third man, a heavy and muscular fellow, who had only been prevented by the suddenness of the onslaught from using his sword, which he was unable in the surprise of the moment to shorten before Dennis was within his guard. Dropping the weapon, he strove to crush his antagonist by sheer strength. But Dennis was a wrestler. He neatly tripped the Spaniard, who fell, dragging his opponent with him. With a tremendous effort, he heaved himself uppermost and pinned Dennis to the ground. His hand was already on Dennis's throat when suddenly a bright object hurtled through the air, striking him with terrific force on the side of the head. His grip relaxed, he fell with a groan upon Dennis, the object that had struck him clattering to the ground.
Dennis was up in a moment. The strange missile was the headpiece of one of the Spaniards. It had fallen from his head in the tussle, and been picked up by Nick Joland, who, seeing the diversion in his favour, had hurried up at the critical moment in time to save Dennis from strangulation.
"Dead as door-nails!" said Turnpenny succinctly, seeing Dennis glance at the Spaniards on the ground. "'Tis a terrible heave-up, sir; we were best to run back along to our comrades in the pinnace, for there be gashly work afore us. And we will take these knaves' swords and calivers. Crymaces! there be more running towards us, and a round dozen; we durst not bide their coming. We have but bare time to get back to the chine. Stir your stumps, Nick Joland; we can't save 'ee twice, man."