Westward Ho! Or, The Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the County of Devon, in the Reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty Queen Elizabeth

“Well, I say,” said the captain, “if you are looking for art-magic, what say you to their marching through the flank fire of our galleys, with eleven pieces of ordnance, and two hundred shot playing on them, as if it had been a mosquito swarm? Some said my men fired too high: but that was the English rascals’ doing, for they got down on the tide beach. But, senor commandant, though Satan may have taught them that trick, was it he that taught them to carry pikes a foot longer than yours?”

“Ah, well,” said the bishop, “sacked are we; and San Domingo, as I hear, in worse case than we are; and St. Augustine in Florida likewise; and all that is left for a poor priest like me is to return to Spain, and see whether the pious clemency of his majesty, and of the universal Father, may not be willing to grant some small relief or bounty to the poor of Mary—perhaps—(for who knows?) to translate to a sphere of more peaceful labor one who is now old, senors, and weary with many toils—Tita! fill our glasses. I have saved somewhat—as you may have done, senors, from the general wreck; and for the flock, when I am no more, illustrious senors, Heaven’s mercies are infinite; new cities will rise from the ashes of the old, new mines pour forth their treasures into the sanctified laps of the faithful, and new Indians flock toward the life-giving standard of the Cross, to put on the easy yoke and light burden of the Church, and—”

“And where shall I be then? Ah, where? Fain would I rest, and fain depart. Tita! sling my hammock. Senors, you will excuse age and infirmities. Fray Gerundio, go to bed!”

And the Dons rose to depart, while the bishop went on maundering,—

“Farewell! Life is short. Ah! we shall meet in heaven at last. And there are really no more pearls?”

“Not a frail; nor gold either,” said the intendant.

“Ah, well! Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than—Tita!”

“My breviary—ah! Man’s gratitude is short-lived, I had hoped—You have seen nothing of the Senora Bovadilla?”

“No.”

“Ah! she promised:—but no matter—a little trifle as a keepsake—a gold cross, or an emerald ring, or what not—I forget. And what have I to do with worldly wealth!—Ah! Tita! bring me the casket.”

And when his guests were gone, the old man began mumbling prayers out of his breviary, and fingering over jewels and gold, with the dull greedy eyes of covetous old age.

“Ah!—it may buy the red hat yet!—Omnia Romae venalia! Put it by, Tita, and do not look at it too much, child. Enter not into temptation. The love of money is the root of all evil; and Heaven, in love for the Indian, has made him poor in this world, that he may be rich in faith. Ah!—Ugh!—So!”

And the old miser clambered into his hammock. Tita drew the mosquito net over him, wrapt another round her own head, and slept, or seemed to sleep; for she coiled herself up upon the floor, and master and slave soon snored a merry bass to the treble of the mosquitoes.

It was long past midnight, and the moon was down. The sentinels, who had tramped and challenged overhead till they thought their officers were sound asleep, had slipped out of the unwholesome rays of the planet to seek that health and peace which they considered their right, and slept as soundly as the bishop’s self.

Two long lines glided out from behind the isolated rocks of the Morro Grande, which bounded the bay some five hundred yards astern of the galleon. They were almost invisible on the glittering surface of the water, being perfectly white; and, had a sentinel been looking out, he could only have descried them by the phosphorescent flashes along their sides.

Now the bishop had awoke, and turned himself over uneasily; for the wine was dying out within him, and his shoulders had slipped down, and his heels up, and his head ached! so he sat upright in his hammock, looked out upon the bay, and called Tita.

“Put another pillow under my head, child! What is that? a fish?”

Tita looked. She did not think it was a fish: but she did not choose to say so; for it might have produced an argument, and she had her reasons for not keeping his holiness awake.

The bishop looked again; settled that it must be a white whale, or shark, or other monster of the deep; crossed himself, prayed for a safe voyage, and snored once more.

Presently the cabin-door opened gently, and the head of the senor intendant appeared.

Tita sat up; and then began crawling like a snake along the floor, among the chairs and tables, by the light of the cabin lamp.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes: but the casket is under his head.”

“Curse him! How shall we take it?”

“I brought him a fresh pillow half-an-hour ago; I hung his hammock wrong on purpose that he might want one. I thought to slip the box away as I did it; but the old ox nursed it in both hands all the while.”

“What shall we do, in the name of all the fiends? She sails to-morrow morning, and then all is lost.”

Tita showed her white teeth, and touched the dagger which hung by the intendant’s side.

“I dare not!” said the rascal, with a shudder.

“I dare!” said she. “He whipt my mother, because she would not give me up to him to be taught in his schools, when she went to the mines. And she went to the mines, and died there in three months. I saw her go, with a chain round her neck; but she never came back again. Yes; I dare kill him! I will kill him! I will!”

The senor felt his mind much relieved. He had no wish, of course, to commit the murder himself; for he was a good Catholic, and feared the devil. But Tita was an Indian, and her being lost did not matter so much. Indians’ souls were cheap, like their bodies. So he answered, “But we shall be discovered!”

“I will leap out of the window with the casket, and swim ashore. They will never suspect you, and they will fancy I am drowned.”

“The sharks may seize you, Tita. You had better give me the casket.”

Tita smiled. “You would not like to lose that, eh? though you care little about losing me. And yet you told me that you loved me!”

“And I do love you, Tita! light of my eyes! life of my heart! I swear, by all the saints, I love you. I will marry you, I swear I will—I will swear on the crucifix, if you like!”

“Swear, then, or I do not give you the casket,” said she, holding out the little crucifix round her neck, and devouring him with the wild eyes of passionate unreasoning tropic love.

He swore, trembling, and deadly pale.

“Give me your dagger.”

“No, not mine. It may be found. I shall be suspected. What if my sheath were seen to be empty?”

“Your knife will do. His throat is soft enough.”

And she glided stealthily as a cat toward the hammock, while her cowardly companion stood shivering at the other end of the cabin, and turned his back to her, that he might not see the deed.

He stood waiting, one minute—two—five? Was it an hour, rather? A cold sweat bathed his limbs; the blood beat so fiercely within his temples, that his head rang again. Was that a death-bell tolling? No; it was the pulses of his brain. Impossible, surely, a death-bell. Whence could it come?

There was a struggle—ah! she was about it now; a stifled cry—Ah! he had dreaded that most of all, to hear the old man cry. Would there be much blood? He hoped not. Another struggle, and Tita’s voice, apparently muffled, called for help.

“I cannot help you. Mother of Mercies! I dare not help you!” hissed he. “She-devil! you have begun it, and you must finish it yourself!”

A heavy arm from behind clasped his throat. The bishop had broken loose from her and seized him! Or was it his ghost? or a fiend come to drag him down to the pit? And forgetting all but mere wild terror, he opened his lips for a scream, which would have wakened every soul on board. But a handkerchief was thrust into his mouth and in another minute he found himself bound hand and foot, and laid upon the table by a gigantic enemy. The cabin was full of armed men, two of whom were lashing up the bishop in his hammock; two more had seized Tita; and more were clambering up into the stern-gallery beyond, wild figures, with bright blades and armor gleaming in the starlight.

“Now, Will,” whispered the giant who had seized him, “forward and clap the fore-hatches on; and shout Fire! with all your might. Girl! murderess! your life is in my hands. Tell me where the commander sleeps, and I pardon you.”

Tita looked up at the huge speaker, and obeyed in silence. The intendant heard him enter the colonel’s cabin, and then a short scuffle, and silence for a moment.

But only for a moment; for already the alarm had been given, and mad confusion reigned through every deck. Amyas (for it was none other) had already gained the poop; the sentinels were gagged and bound; and every half-naked wretch who came trembling up on deck in his shirt by the main hatchway, calling one, “Fire!” another, “Wreck!” and another, “Treason!” was hurled into the scuppers, and there secured.

“Lower away that boat!” shouted Amyas in Spanish to his first batch of prisoners.

The men, unarmed and naked, could but obey.

“Now then, jump in. Here, hand them to the gangway as they come up.”

It was done; and as each appeared he was kicked to the scuppers, and bundled down over the side.

“She’s full. Cast loose now and off with you. If you try to board again we’ll sink you.”

“Fire! fire!” shouted Cary, forward. “Up the main hatchway for your lives!”

The ruse succeeded utterly; and before half-an-hour was over, all the ship’s boats which could be lowered were filled with Spaniards in their shirts, getting ashore as best they could.

“Here is a new sort of camisado,” quoth Cary. “The last Spanish one I saw was at the sortie from Smerwick: but this is somewhat more prosperous than that.”

“Get the main and foresail up, Will!” said Amyas, “cut the cable; and we will plume the quarry as we fly.”

“Spoken like a good falconer. Heaven grant that this big woodcock may carry a good trail inside!”

“I’ll warrant her for that,” said Jack Brimblecombe. “She floats so low.”

“Much of your build, too, Jack. By the by, where is the commander?”

Alas! Don Pedro, forgotten in the bustle, had been lying on the deck in his shirt, helplessly bound, exhausting that part of his vocabulary which related to the unseen world. Which most discourteous act seemed at first likely to be somewhat heavily avenged on Amyas; for as he spoke, a couple of caliver-shots, fired from under the poop, passed “ping” “ping” by his ears, and Cary clapped his hand to his side.

“Hurt, Will?”

“A pinch, old lad—Look out, or we are ‘allen verloren’ after all, as the Flemings say.”

And as he spoke, a rush forward on the poop drove two of their best men down the ladder into the waist, where Amyas stood.

“Killed?” asked he, as he picked one up, who had fallen head over heels.

“Sound as a bell, sir: but they Gentiles has got hold of the firearms, and set the captain free.”

And rubbing the back of his head for a minute, he jumped up the ladder again, shouting—

“Have at ye, idolatrous pagans! Have at ye, Satan’s spawn!”

Amyas jumped up after him, shouting to all hands to follow; for there was no time to be lost.

Out of the windows of the poop, which looked on the main-deck, a galling fire had been opened, and he could not afford to lose men; for, as far as he knew, the Spaniards left on board might still far outnumber the English; so up he sprang on the poop, followed by a dozen men, and there began a very heavy fight between two parties of valiant warriors, who easily knew each other apart by the peculiar fashion of their armor. For the Spaniards fought in their shirts, and in no other garments: but the English in all other manner of garments, tag, rag, and bobtail; and yet had never a shirt between them.

The rest of the English made a rush, of course, to get upon the poop, seeing that the Spaniards could not shoot them through the deck; but the fire from the windows was so hot, that although they dodged behind masts, spars, and every possible shelter, one or two dropped; and Jack Brimblecombe and Yeo took on themselves to call a retreat, and with about a dozen men, got back, and held a council of war.

What was to be done? Their arquebuses were of little use; for the Spaniards were behind a strong bulkhead. There were cannon: but where was powder or shot? The boats, encouraged by the clamor on deck, were paddling alongside again. Yeo rushed round and round, probing every gun with his sword.

“Here’s a patararo loaded! Now for a match, lads.”

Luckily one of the English had kept his match alight during the scuffle.

“Thanks be! Help me to unship the gun—the mast’s in the way here.”

The patararo, or brass swivel, was unshipped.

“Steady, lads, and keep it level, or you’ll shake out the priming. Ship it here; turn out that one, and heave it into that boat, if they come alongside. Steady now—so! Rummage about, and find me a bolt or two, a marlin-spike, anything. Quick, or the captain will be over-mastered yet.”

Missiles were found—odds and ends—and crammed into the swivel up to the muzzle: and, in another minute, its “cargo of notions” was crashing into the poop-windows, silencing the fire from thence effectually enough for the time.

“Now, then, a rush forward, and right in along the deck!” shouted Yeo; and the whole party charged through the cabin-doors, which their shot had burst open, and hewed their way from room to room.

In the meanwhile, the Spaniards above had fought fiercely: but, in spite of superior numbers, they had gradually given back before the “demoniacal possession of those blasphemous heretics, who fought, not like men, but like furies from the pit.” And by the time that Brimblecombe and Yeo shouted from the stern-gallery below that the quarter-deck was won, few on either side but had their shrewd scratch to show.

“Yield, senor!” shouted Amyas to the commander, who had been fighting like a lion, back to back with the captain of mariners.

“Never! You have bound me, and insulted me! Your blood or mine must wipe out the stain!”

And he rushed on Amyas. There was a few moments’ heavy fence between them; and then Amyas cut right at his head. But as he raised his arm, the Spaniard’s blade slipped along his ribs, and snapped against the point of his shoulder-blade. An inch more to the left, and it would have been through his heart. The blow fell, nevertheless, and the commandant fell with it, stunned by the flat of the sword, but not wounded; for Amyas’s hand had turned, as he winced from his wound. But the sea-captain, seeing Amyas stagger, sprang at him, and, seizing him by the wrist, ere he could raise his sword again, shortened his weapon to run him through. Amyas made a grasp at his wrist in return, but, between his faintness and the darkness, missed it.—Another moment, and all would have been over!

A bright blade flashed close past Amyas’s ear; the sea-captain’s grasp loosened, and he dropped a corpse; while over him, like an angry lioness above her prey, stood Ayacanora, her long hair floating in the wind, her dagger raised aloft, as she looked round, challenging all and every one to approach.

“Are you hurt?” panted she.

“A scratch, child.—What do you do here? Go back, go back.”

Ayacanora slipped back like a scolded child, and vanished in the darkness.

The battle was over. The Spaniards, seeing their commanders fall, laid down their arms, and cried for quarter. It was given; the poor fellows were tied together, two and two, and seated in a row on the deck; the commandant, sorely bruised, yielded himself perforce; and the galleon was taken.

Amyas hurried forward to get the sails set. As he went down the poop-ladder, there was some one sitting on the lowest step.

“Who is here—wounded?”

“I am not wounded,” said a woman’s voice, low, and stifled with sobs.

It was Ayacanora. She rose, and let him pass. He saw that her face was bright with tears; but he hurried on, nevertheless.

“Perhaps I did speak a little hastily to her, considering she saved my life; but what a brimstone it is! Mary Ambree in a dark skin! Now then, lads! Get the Santa Fe gold up out of the canoes, and then we will put her head to the north-east, and away for Old England. Mr. Brimblecombe! don’t say that Eastward-ho don’t bring luck this time.”

It was impossible, till morning dawned, either to get matters into any order, or to overhaul the prize they had taken; and many of the men were so much exhausted that they fell fast asleep on the deck ere the surgeon had time to dress their wounds. However, Amyas contrived, when once the ship was leaping merrily, close-hauled against a fresh land-breeze, to count his little flock, and found out of the forty-four but six seriously wounded, and none killed. However, their working numbers were now reduced to thirty-eight, beside the four negroes, a scanty crew enough to take home such a ship to England.

After awhile, up came Jack Brimblecombe on deck, a bottle in his hand.

“Lads, a prize!”

“Well, we know that already.”

“Nay, but—look hither, and laid in ice, too, as I live, the luxurious dogs! But I had to fight for it, I had. For when I went down into the state cabin, after I had seen to the wounded; whom should I find loose but that Indian lass, who had just unbound the fellow you caught—”

“Ah! those two, I believe, were going to murder the old man in the hammock, if we had not come in the nick of time. What have you done with them?”

“Why, the Spaniard ran when he saw me, and got into a cabin; but the woman, instead of running, came at me with a knife, and chased me round the table like a very cat-a-mountain. So I ducked under the old man’s hammock, and out into the gallery; and when I thought the coast was clear, back again I came, and stumbled over this. So I just picked it up, and ran on deck with my tail between my legs, for I expected verily to have the black woman’s knife between my ribs out of some dark corner.”

“Well done, Jack! Let’s have the wine, nevertheless, and then down to set a guard on the cabin doors for fear of plundering.”

“Better go down, and see that nothing is thrown overboard by Spaniards. As for plundering, I will settle that.”

And Amyas walked forward among the men.

“Muster the men, boatswain, and count them.”

“All here, sir, but the six poor fellows who are laid forward.”

“Now, my men,” said Amyas, “for three years you and I have wandered on the face of the earth, seeking our fortune, and we have found it at last, thanks be to God! Now, what was our promise and vow which we made to God beneath the tree of Guayra, if He should grant us good fortune, and bring us home again with a prize? Was it not, that the dead should share with the living; and that every man’s portion, if he fell, should go to his widow or his orphans, or if he had none, to his parents?”

“It was, sir,” said Yeo, “and I trust that the Lord will give these men grace to keep their vow. They have seen enough of His providences by this time to fear Him.”

“I doubt them not; but I remind them of it. The Lord has put into our hands a rich prize; and what with the gold which we have already, we are well paid for all our labors. Let us thank Him with fervent hearts as soon as the sun rises; and in the meanwhile, remember all, that whosoever plunders on his private account, robs not the adventurers merely, but the orphan and the widow, which is to rob God; and makes himself partaker of Achan’s curse, who hid the wedge of gold, and brought down God’s anger on the whole army of Israel. For me, lest you should think me covetous, I could claim my brother’s share; but I hereby give it up freely into the common stock, for the use of the whole ship’s crew, who have stood by me through weal and woe, as men never stood before, as I believe, by any captain. So, now to prayers, lads, and then to eat our breakfast.”

So, to the Spaniards’ surprise (who most of them believed that the English were atheists), to prayers they went.

After which Brimblecombe contrived to inspire the black cook and the Portuguese steward with such energy that, by seven o’clock, the latter worthy appeared on deck, and, with profound reverences, announced to “The most excellent and heroical Senor Adelantado Captain Englishman,” that breakfast was ready in the state-cabin.

“You will do us the honor of accompanying us as our guest, sir, or our host, if you prefer the title,” said Amyas to the commandant, who stood by.

“Pardon, senor: but honor forbids me to eat with one who has offered to me the indelible insult of bonds.”

“Oh!” said Amyas, taking off his hat, “then pray accept on the spot my humble apologies for all which has passed, and my assurances that the indignities which you have unfortunately endured, were owing altogether to the necessities of war, and not to any wish to hurt the feelings of so valiant a soldier and gentleman.”

“It is enough, senor,” said the commandant, bowing and shrugging his shoulders—for, indeed, he too was very hungry; while Cary whispered to Amyas—

“You will make a courtier, yet, old lad.”

“I am not in jesting humor, Will: my mind sadly misgives me that we shall hear black news, and have, perhaps, to do a black deed yet, on board here. Senor, I follow you.”

So they went down, and found the bishop, who was by this time unbound, seated in a corner of the cabin, his hands fallen on his knees, his eyes staring on vacancy, while the two priests stood as close against the wall as they could squeeze themselves, keeping up a ceaseless mutter of prayers.

“Your holiness will breakfast with us, of course; and these two frocked gentlemen likewise. I see no reason for refusing them all hospitality, as yet.”

There was a marked emphasis on the last two words, which made both monks wince.

“Our chaplain will attend to you, gentlemen. His lordship the bishop will do me the honor of sitting next to me.”

The bishop seemed to revive slowly as he snuffed the savory steam; and at last, rising mechanically, subsided into the chair which Amyas offered him on his left, while the commandant sat on his right.

“A little of this kid, my lord? No—ah—Friday, I recollect. Some of that turtle-fin, then. Will, serve his lordship; pass the cassava-bread up, Jack! Senor commandant! a glass of wine? You need it after your valiant toils. To the health of all brave soldiers—and a toast from your own Spanish proverb, ‘To-day to me, tomorrow to thee!’”

“I drink it, brave senor. Your courtesy shows you the worthy countryman of General Drake, and his brave lieutenant.”

“Drake! Did you know him, senor?” asked all the Englishmen at once.

“Too well, too well—” and he would have continued; but the bishop burst out—

“Ah, senor commandant! that name again! Have you no mercy? To sit between another pair of—, and my own wine, too! Ugh, ugh!”

The old gentleman, whose mouth had been full of turtle the whole time, burst into a violent fit of coughing, and was only saved from apoplexy by Cary’s patting him on the back.

“Ugh, ugh! The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel, and their precious balms. Ah, senor lieutenant Englishman! May I ask you to pass those limes?—Ah! what is turtle without lime?—Even as a fat old man without money! Nudus intravi, nudus exeo—ah!”

“But what of Drake?”

“Do you not know, sir, that he and his fleet, only last year, swept the whole of this coast, and took, with shame I confess it, Cartagena, San Domingo, St. Augustine, and—I see you are too courteous, senors, to express before me what you have a right to feel. But whence come you, sir? From the skies, or the depth of the sea?”

“Art-magic, art-magic!” moaned the bishop.

“Your holiness! It is scarcely prudent to speak thus here,” said the commandant, who was nevertheless much of the same opinion.

“Why, you said so yourself, last night, senor, about the taking of Cartagena.”

The commandant blushed, and stammered out somewhat—“That it was excusable in him, if he had said, in jest, that so prodigious and curious a valor had not sprung from mortal source.”

“No more it did, senor,” said Jack Brimblecombe, stoutly: “but from Him who taught our ‘hands to war, and our fingers to fight.’”

The commandant bowed stiffly. “You will excuse me, sir preacher: but I am a Catholic, and hold the cause of my king to be alone the cause of Heaven. But, senor captain, how came you thither, if I may ask? That you needed no art-magic after you came on board, I, alas! can testify but too well: but what spirit—whether good or evil, I ask not—brought you on board, and whence? Where is your ship? I thought that all Drake’s squadron had left six months ago.”

“Our ship, senor, has lain this three years rotting on the coast near Cape Codera.”

“Ah! we heard of that bold adventure—but we thought you all lost in the interior.”

“You did? Can you tell me, then, where the senor governor of La Guayra may be now?”

“The Senor Don Guzman de Soto,” said the commandant, in a somewhat constrained tone, “is said to be at present in Spain, having thrown up his office in consequence of domestic matters, of which I have not the honor of knowing anything.”

Amyas longed to ask more: but he knew that the well-bred Spaniard would tell him nothing which concerned another man’s wife; and went on.

“What befell us after, I tell you frankly.”

And Amyas told his story, from the landing at Guayra to the passage down the Magdalena. The commandant lifted up his hands.

“Were it not forbidden to me, as a Catholic, most invincible senor, I should say that the Divine protection has indeed—”

“Ah,” said one of the friars, “that you could be brought, senors, to render thanks for your miraculous preservation to her to whom alone it is due, Mary, the fount of mercies!”

“We have done well enough without her as yet,” said Amyas, bluntly.

“The Lord raised up Nebuchadnezzar of old to punish the sins of the Jewish Church; and He has raised up these men to punish ours!” said Fray Gerundio.

“But Nebuchadnezzar fell, and so may they,” growled the other to himself. Jack overheard him.

“I say, my lord bishop,” called he from the other end of the table. “It is our English custom to let our guests be as rude as they like; but perhaps your lordship will hint to these two friars, that if they wish to keep whole skins, they will keep civil tongues.”

“Be silent, asses! mules!” shouted the bishop, whose spirits were improving over the wine, “who are you, that you cannot eat dirt as well as your betters?”

“Well spoken, my lord. Here’s the health of our saintly and venerable guest,” said Cary: while the commandant whispered to Amyas, “Fat old tyrant! I hope you have found his money—for I am sure he has some on board, and I should be loath that you lost the advantage of it.”

“I shall have to say a few words to you about that money this morning, commandant: by the by, they had better be said now. My lord bishop, do you know that had we not taken this ship when we did, you had lost not merely money, as you have now, but life itself?”

“Money? I had none to lose! Life?—what do you mean?” asked the bishop, turning very pale.

“This, sir. That it ill befits one to lie, whose throat has been saved from the assassin’s knife but four hours since. When we entered the stern-gallery, we found two persons, now on board this ship, in the very act, sir, and article, of cutting your sinful throat, that they might rob you of the casket which lay beneath your pillow. A moment more, and you were dead. We seized and bound them, and so saved your life. Is that plain, sir?”

The bishop looked steadfastly and stupidly into Amyas’s face, heaved a deep sigh, and gradually sank back in his chair, dropping the glass from his hand.

“He is in a fit! Call in the surgeon! Run!” and up jumped kind-hearted Jack, and brought in the surgeon of the galleon.

“Is this possible, senor?” asked the commandant.

“It is true. Door, there! Evans! go and bring in that rascal whom we left bound in his cabin!”

Evans went, and the commandant continued—

“But the stern-gallery? How, in the name of all witches and miracles, came your valor thither?”

“Simply enough, and owing neither to witch nor miracle. The night before last we passed the mouth of the bay in our two canoes, which we had lashed together after the fashion I had seen in the Moluccas, to keep them afloat in the surf. We had scraped the canoes bright the day before, and rubbed them with white clay, that they might be invisible at night; and so we got safely to the Morro Grande, passing within half a mile of your ship.”

“Oh! my scoundrels of sentinels!”

“We landed at the back of the Morro, and lay there all day, being purposed to do that which, with your pardon, we have done. We took our sails of Indian cloth, whitened them likewise with clay which we had brought with us from the river (expecting to find a Spanish ship as we went along the coast, and determined to attempt her, or die with honor), and laid them over us on the canoes, paddling from underneath them. So that, had your sentinels been awake, they would have hardly made us out, till we were close on board. We had provided ourselves, instead of ladders, with bamboos rigged with cross-pieces, and a hook of strong wood at the top of each; they hang at your stern-gallery now. And the rest of the tale I need not tell you.”

The commandant rose in his courtly Spanish way,—

“Your admirable story, senor, proves to me how truly your nation, while it has yet, and I trust will ever have, to dispute the palm of valor with our own, is famed throughout the world for ingenuity, and for daring beyond that of mortal man. You have succeeded, valiant captain, because you have deserved to succeed; and it is no shame to me to succumb to enemies who have united the cunning of the serpent with the valor of the lion. Senor, I feel as proud of becoming your guest as I should have been proud, under a happier star, of becoming your host.”

“You are, like your nation, only too generous, senor. But what noise is that outside? Cary, go and see.”

But ere Cary could reach the door, it was opened; and Evans presented himself with a terrified face.

“Here’s villainy, sir! The Don’s murdered, and cold; the Indian lass fled; and as we searched the ship for her, we found an Englishwoman, as I’m a sinful man!—and a shocking sight she is to see!”