Chapter Four.
What happened to Roger on board the Gloria Del Mundo.
When Roger next opened his eyes he was at a loss to to recall immediately to mind the preceding events; nor could he for the moment imagine where he might be.
He was in great pain from the wound in his head, received on board the Spanish ship which he and Harry had boarded together, and this served to bring his memory back to what had occurred.
He remembered rushing with Harry down a dark alleyway, with cutlass in hand, and also that a man had suddenly sprung at him and cut him down; that he had received so violent a blow on his head that he had felt certain his skull was cloven asunder; and then his memory ceased abruptly. But where was Harry, his inseparable companion?
Roger raised his throbbing head painfully, and tried to look round, but could nowhere discover the presence of his dear friend. He shouted his name: “Harry; Harry, where are you?” but there was no reply. Only somewhere above him he could hear the roar of cannon, hoarse cries of command, angry shouts, and the trampling feet of many men.
Looking about him, he perceived that he lay in a cabin of some sort, very richly furnished, but lit by a light so dim that he could only make out objects in it very indistinctly. There was no port-hole or sky-light of any description in the apartment, which led him to the conclusion that he must be in some room far away below the water-line. This impression was heightened by the fact that exterior noises came to his ears muffled, as by distance.
In the cabin itself there was no sound, save the gnawing of a rat somewhere on the floor below him. On the walls he could dimly discern two or three pictures, and just above his bunk was a portrait of a lady. There were also several star trophies of weapons arranged at intervals; and at one end of the cabin—which was of unusually spacious dimensions—stood a large cabinet or escritoire, one of the drawers of which had apparently been pulled out hastily, as papers were to be seen protruding from it, and several documents had fallen to the floor.
Oh, how he wished he might venture to rise from his bunk and make an investigation of the cabin! But he was afraid to attempt any such exploit, for his head ached so atrociously, and he felt so deadly sick and giddy from the anguish of his wound and loss of blood, that he felt certain if he exerted himself but ever so little he would sink helpless and insensible to the deck. While thinking thus he abstractedly raised his hand to his head, and thus discovered that his wound had been bandaged, evidently by a skilled hand, for the wrappings were all neatly put on, adjusted, and sewn, instead of being merely tied. This was so far satisfactory, for it seemed to point to the fact that he had fallen into friendly hands, although his returning senses, enabled him to come to the conclusion that he must certainly be aboard a Spanish ship. With a sigh of relief he was preparing to pull the coverlet over him and lie down once more, when his ear caught the sound of footsteps approaching. He was just about to shout to the person or persons, whoever they might be, and enquire as to where he was, and whether they could afford him any information as to what had become of Harry, when his quick ear caught one or two words of the conversation which the unknown persons were carrying on. It was in Spanish. Then his surmise was a true one, and he was indeed aboard one of the enemy’s ships. With a stifled cry he flung himself down in the bunk, and pulled the coverlet over him once again, closing his eyes, and simulating heavy breathing, in the hope of persuading the new-comers that he was in a deep slumber.
He was only just in time, for as he composed his limbs into a comfortable position, in the event of the strangers making a lengthy stay, two men entered.
Roger looked at them from between his nearly-closed eyelids and saw that both were tall men, slender and dark, both wearing long black mustachios and closely trimmed beards. Roger happened to possess a slight knowledge of Spanish, and was thus able to gather the meaning of at least part of their conversation. With one accord they approached Roger’s bunk and leaned over, looking at his face.
“He sleeps,” said the elder of the two men.
“Well, let him sleep as long as he will,” replied his companion sardonically, “for it is little enough sleep the young heretic will get when once he is delivered over to the Holy Inquisition.”
Roger shuddered.
He had heard quite enough of the methods of that institution to understand the significance of the words. He longed to open his eyes and take more particular note than he had yet been able to do of the personality of his two visitors; but he withstood the temptation, and kept his eyes closed, listening hard to catch all he could of the ensuing conversation.
“And what, Alvarez, are the captain’s orders with regard to the boy?” said the elder man, whose name, it transpired, was de Soto.
“Señor Don Guzman’s orders,” answered the other, “are that he is to be kept in this cabin until we have finally disposed of these three pestilent English ships; and when that is done, and we have captured them, he is to be locked up in the fore hold, with the other prisoners we shall take—if the rascals do not in this case fight to the death, as they often do. Then when we return to Cadiz they are all to be handed over to the Holy Inquisition.”
Roger felt the cold perspiration start in beads on his forehead.
“Ah! It seems almost a pity,” said de Soto, “that we should have plucked this lad from the sharks, only to hand him over to those other fiends of the Holy Office; for he is a handsome and stalwart lad, and those limbs of his were never meant to be seared with red-hot irons, and torn asunder on the rack!”
“Hush, de Soto, my friend!” responded Alvarez; “let no man save myself hear you speak thus of the Holy Office, or thy limbs, of which thou art so proud, may perchance make acquaintance with the same torments as are reserved for this young heretic.”
“Thanks, Alvarez!” returned de Soto; “I should not have spoken thus before any other than thyself; but thou art my friend, I know. I can trust thee with my life; as, indeed, I am trusting thee in speaking thus freely of the so-called Holy Inquisition. Is it not so?”
“Yes, de Soto, it is so; and I am indeed thy friend,” replied Alvarez, turning his head slightly aside, so that his companion might not catch the evil glitter that shone in his eyes. He did not know that Roger was observing him through nearly-closed lids, and that he had caught that look on Alvarez’s face as he turned from de Soto; and possibly if he had known he would not have greatly cared. But if ever the devil incarnate looked out of any man’s eyes, he did at that moment out of those of the man whom Roger had heard addressed as Alvarez.
“But how goes the fight, de Soto?” he continued, after a pause. “Methinks there is less cannonading now than there was a little time since.”
“When I left the deck a few minutes ago,” answered de Soto, “two of our ships, alas!—the Maria Dolorosa and the Buena Vista—had disappeared. One was sunk by the fire of these cursed English: and, unable to hold the other, our brave countrymen fired her magazine. I expect this young heretic was on board the ship that blew up, for just before the explosion came I thought I saw two figures on her poop, one of whom was standing up, while the other was lying on the deck at his feet. I think the one who was lying down must have been our friend, here. What became of the other I know not; but he was doubtless either drowned or swallowed by one of those same sharks from which we only just rescued this lad in the nick of time. He will live, I fear, to wish that we had left him to them. As for our other three ships, they were engaging right valiantly those of the enemy, and beating them down too; but these cursed islanders seem to know not when they are beaten, and I doubt me that our victory will be at all an easy one. As for them, although the ship of Cavendish has lost all her masts, her hull is almost intact, thanks to our wretched gunnery; and there she now lies on the water, unable to move, it is true, but, like a wounded lion, all the more dangerous for being wounded. But the Gloria del Mundo is giving her all attention, and she will be compelled to strike to our heavier broadsides ere long. Our other two vessels, El Capitan and Salvador, are engaging the remaining ships of the English squadron, and the moment cannot be far distant when they will all surrender to the flag of his most sacred majesty, Philip of Spain, the invincible flag, the flag of the empire of the Old World and the New,” concluded de Soto. “So,” thought Roger to himself, “it would appear that I am on board the Gloria del Mundo, and that the action is as yet undecided. But Señor de Soto is, I imagine, somewhat mistaken if he seriously believes that Cavendish will surrender his ships; rather will he let them sink with colours flying. I will not believe that the flag of England, the mistress of the seas, is this day destined to dip to the blood and gold flag of Spain. And the end of the fight, I will wager, is not only farther off than this good de Soto suspects, but it will also have a different ending from what he looks forward to, or my name is not Roger Trevose!”
“I believe the lad is awake,” said Alvarez; “I could almost swear he moved just now.”
Both men bent over Roger, who had involuntarily stirred upon hearing that these two anticipated the surrender of the English.
“No,” dissented de Soto, “I think he still sleeps; you must have imagined it, Alvarez.”
The glitter came again into the eyes of the latter, as he replied: “de Soto, my imagination is not—” when suddenly the roar of cannonading again commenced, drowning the remainder of the sentence. Then came a shock that made the stately vessel reel throughout the whole of her massive fabric. There was a rending and grinding of timber, and a frightful crash on deck announced that one of the masts had come down.
Roger heard distant cheers, and knew that his prognostication that the end had not yet come was correct. Evidently the English had repeated the manoeuvre that they had so successfully practised earlier in the day, and laid their ships alongside once more. Musketry, pistol-shots, shouts, groans, the clash of steel, a perfect medley of sound floated down from the deck above and through the open cabin-door.
“Quick, Alvarez, on deck!” roared de Soto, plunging out of the cabin; “the English have laid us aboard, and will have the ship if we are not careful!”
Alvarez was in nowise behindhand. Snatching his sword from its sheath, and clutching a pistol from the table as he went, he followed de Soto on deck.
Roger attempted to get out of his bunk, with the idea of joining his friends on deck and taking part in the fight, but he fell back on his mattress, weak and giddy from the attempt. What would he not give to be able to go on deck at this moment! but he could not stir for the reeling giddiness of his head; he felt that to attempt to rise would but result in his falling insensible to the floor of the cabin; and he could but lie still and listen to the turmoil raging above his head.
The din was terrific; now came triumphant shouts in English, and Roger could picture to himself the bravo fellows rushing the Spaniards pell-mell across their own decks and into the water, or below; and again the tide of battle seemed to turn, and the English to be getting the worst of it.
Oh, maddening thought, that he was helplessly imprisoned here, unable to take part in the brave doings that were being wrought above! Little by little the shouts and fierce cries died away. “Who had won?” conjectured Roger to himself.
There was a clatter of running feet in the passage leading to the cabin, and the man Alvarez, with a hunted look of terror in his face, clashed into the apartment. He burrowed hastily among the papers in the open drawer that Roger had noticed at first, and apparently was unable to find what he was looking for.
“Carramba!” he ejaculated, “what has de Soto done with those papers?”
He tore the remainder of them from the drawer with a curse, flung them on the floor, and, dropping on his knees, hastily turned them over one after another as they lay there.
Now for some time Roger had been vaguely conscious of a peculiar sluggish movement of the ship as she heaved on the swell, and the sight of Alvarez’s haste suddenly brought the ghastly truth home to him. The ship was sinking!
“I must wait no longer,” muttered Alvarez to himself, “or I shall be drowned like a rat in a trap, in company with that young heretic there in the bunk. I wonder whether by any chance de Soto has taken those papers himself! Carrajo! now I remember. When we came in together to look at the English whelp the drawer was open. Without doubt de Soto has them. Well, never mind; I will have them from him before I have finished with him. I can recall all he has said about the Holy Inquisition, and, if that is not enough to condemn him, I can easily enough invent something else; but have those papers from him before he dies, I will. Perhaps, when he is in the hands of that Inquisition he hates so much, he will be willing to surrender those documents to his dear friend Alvarez, if that friend promises to rescue him from further torment. And now for the English cub,” he continued, rising to his feet and drawing his dagger from its sheath.
Once again came that sickening lurch, accompanied by the sound of washing of water close at hand. The ship was fast settling down.
“No,” murmured Alvarez, “I cannot wait. My life is too valuable to me to risk it even for the pleasure of slaying an Englishman; and the sea will soon send the youngster to the nether world.” And he rushed from the cabin, leaving the papers and charts strewn on the floor at the foot of the escritoire.
By this time Roger was pretty fully awake to a knowledge of his great and pressing danger. Here he was, weak and dazed to the point of utter helplessness, on board a fast-sinking ship, with none to render him aid, and feeling quite unable to move without it.
“Oh, God help me!” he moaned; “what a miserable death to die! Harry! Harry! Harry!” he cried distractedly, “come and help me; I am here below drowning! Help! help!”
There was no reply.
But a sound that he had heard before without attaching much importance to it now forced itself upon his attention; it was the swishing of water; and, looking over the edge of his bunk he saw that water was already rising fast over the floor of the cabin. Desperation now lent him strength, and, pulling himself together with a violent effort, he slowly and painfully rose upright and put his legs over the edge of the berth. He felt incapable of making any further effort for the moment.
Then once more he raised his voice and shouted for help, and this time he fancied that far away in the distance he heard a reply. He shouted again and again; then paused, listening.
The answering voice sounded a little nearer.
At that moment the ship gave another roll, and to Roger it seemed as though she must founder immediately.
There was another sickening lurch, and Roger, convinced that the end had come, went tumbling off the edge of his bunk, and fell flat on his face in about two feet of water which was washing over the cabin floor. The shock of the fall displaced his bandages; his wound began to bleed afresh; and, confused as he still was, the idea took possession of him that he was in danger of bleeding to death.
Would nobody ever come to take him out of this awful hole? “Help, help, I am drowning!” he shouted.
But this time there was no answering voice.
Then Roger once more pulled himself together and began to crawl over the floor, the water splashing round and over him. Inch by inch he neared the door, and then he heard a call, so near that it startled him.
“For Heaven’s sake, where are you, Roger? Answer, man, if you are alive.” The voice was Harry’s.
“Harry,” groaned Roger, “here I am; help me quickly or you will be too late; the ship sinks fast!”
Guided by the voice, Harry soon made his appearance.
“Roger, man,” he cried, “thank God I have found you! I thought you were gone for ever. Can you help yourself at all, lad?”
“A little, I think, if you will put your arm round me,” replied Roger.
Harry flung his arm under Roger’s arm-pits and raised him to his feet.
“One moment, Harry,” cried Roger, pointing to the papers which Alvarez had left on the floor, and which were now floating about the cabin; “secure these papers; I believe they are of value.”
Harry seized the documents with his free hand, and, supporting Roger, staggered with him to the foot of the companion-ladder. How they eventually got up into the free air the two never clearly knew, for they were deep down in the body of the ship, and had two or three ladders to climb ere they arrived on the upper deck. But reach it they did, after what seemed an eternity of suspense. Then, as they stepped out once more into the blessed free air of heaven, the whole of the Atlantic seemed suddenly to sweep over the ship; they felt her slide from beneath their feet; and they were drawn down, down, down, until it appeared as though they would never again see the light. But at last, with lungs bursting and almost suffocated, they shot up to the heaving surface of the sea, clinging tightly to each other.
And there—oh, blessed sight!—not twenty fathoms away, lay their own ship, dismasted and looking an utter wreck, but more beautiful to their eyes than any palace.
From her decks there came a shout: “There they are! there they are! Lower away a boat! lower quickly, or the sharks will have them!”
In a few minutes the only remaining boat belonging to the ship was lowered, and a dozen willing arms were sending her flying over the water towards the two lads.
Bearded faces looked over her gunwale, and brawny arms literally snatched them from an awful death; for as they were dragged out of the water there was a snap of hungry jaws, and several huge sharks were baulked of their prey.
A few minutes later, dripping and exhausted, the two lads found themselves once more safe and sound on the decks of their beloved ship, and saw Cavendish himself looking at them with an expression of anxiety on his face.
“I hope, lads, you are none the worse for your adventure?” said he.
“No, sir, we are safe, thank God!” replied Roger; “but we have been through a good deal, and are somewhat shaken. We should therefore like to go below for a while. But is all the fighting over?”
“Yes,” replied Cavendish, “and victory is to us.”
The two then went below, and Harry soon had Roger under the care of the surgeon. The good man pronounced that his wound was not dangerous, and that he would do, with care.
Then, sitting by Roger’s side, Harry plunged into a recital of his adventures since the boarding of the Spaniard, a circle of eager listeners standing or sitting round them.