With Drake on the Spanish Main

by Herbert Strang

Jan Biddle, Master

"God be praised!" said Turnpenny, fervently; "we have escaped out of the hands of the enemy."

"And we find ourselves once more on Maiden Isle, the which I never thought to set foot on more. I am glad of it, Amos, for now that we have a bark fit to carry us over the sea, I would fain take with us certain things that belonged to my dear comrades. They will be cherished by their sorrowing folks at home."

"True, the sight of such belongings of the dead and gone do have a morsel of comfort in it. And moreover we can take some of your stores, for though our own monkey ship be not ill provided, yet the victuals be Spanish, and 'twill make new men of our comrades to give 'em a rasher of bacon now and again."

"Ay, but why monkey ship, Amos?"

"Why, sir, I cannot put my tongue to the name your fancy gave the vessel, and to my thinking it is not to compare with Anne Gallant, and Jesus, and Minion, and other craft I have served aboard, to say nothing of the Susans and Bettys that are well beknown in Plimworth Sound."

"Well, have your way. To my ears Mirandola hath a pleasant sound, and it will always keep me in mind of my good friend. But 'tis time we returned to our comrades."

When they reached the entrance of the chine they found that the crew had all come ashore, save one or two who were curiously examining the wreck of the Maid Marian. They could not refrain from shouting a glad "Huzza!" when they learnt that the pursuing vessel was standing away. Jan Biddle and one of his cronies had been rummaging in Dennis's hut and sheds, finding little to reward them, however, almost everything having been transferred to Skeleton Cave. Night was drawing on apace, and though some of the crew were for setting sail in the darkness, the majority agreed with Dennis that it would be better to defer their departure until the following night. This plan would give them a whole day's rest; it would render it less likely that the pursuer would be still in the neighbourhood; and it would enable them to carry more water on board, which was desirable in view of the possibility of a protracted voyage. Dennis and Amos decided to occupy their old hut; the men were given their choice of the sheds, now all but empty, and the huts erected by the maroons near the logwood grove. They all declared for sleeping ashore rather than on board ship, Hugh Curder and Gabriel Batten, however, volunteering to remain on deck as a night watch.

Next day, after the stores and things which Dennis wished to take home had been transferred from the cave to the vessel, and several barrels of fresh water from the spring in the cliff had been placed in her hold, the men broke up into little groups and wandered about the island, revelling in their liberty and in the abundance of fruit which they could have for the picking. Several times Dennis went to the cliff top on one side and Amos on the other side of the island to scan the horizon for a sail, but neither saw any sign of one. In the afternoon Dennis ventured to sound Sir Martin's trumpet as a signal of recall, and the men came dropping back in ones and twos and threes in anticipation of departure.

The tide was at flood, and Dennis had just given the order to go aboard, when Tom Copstone suddenly exclaimed—

"Zuggers! Where be Gabriel Batten?"

"Is he not here?" asked Dennis.

"Not the ghost of him," said Amos, looking round on the company.

"He were always a ninny-hammer," cried Jan Biddle angrily. "Never did I know such a man for simples and other trash. Sure he be roaming somewheres with his nose to the ground, trying to smell out some herb that will heal a scratch or cure a distemper."

"Blow up the trumpet for en," suggested Copstone; "Gabr'el be a vitty lad—none the worse for not being made so rampageous as 'ee, Jan Biddle, for all he do go wool-gathering at whiles."

Biddle glared at the speaker, but said no more. Hugh Curder, being the man with the brazen lungs, blew a loud blast on the trumpet which set the cliffs and the chine reverberating. They waited; the wanderer must have gone far indeed if he was out of earshot of that strident blare. But as time went on, and he did not appear, Dennis began to be somewhat vexed.

"'Twas thoughtless of the man," he said; "already is the tide beginning to ebb, in two hours it will be impossible to embark this night, and that entails upon us the loss of another day."

"Embark without him," growled Biddle. "What is he that he should keep a score of good men waiting his pleasure?"

"Nay, nay," said Dennis. "We cannot leave him here. You have had your sufferings and sorrows, from the like of which God save us all; but is there a man of you that hath dwelt alone upon an island, spending nights and days without the sight of a face, or the sound of a voice? That have I done, and not willingly shall I subject a man to a like solitude. There is still a little space during which the tide will serve. Let us scatter in parties, some going this way, some that, and halloo; perchance some of us may light on our comrade."

The suggestion was adopted; only Jan Biddle and his few particular friends went about the search grudgingly. But though the men scoured the island from shore to shore, and kept up the quest to the very verge of nightfall, long after the tide had run so low that the idea of setting sail till next day had to be abandoned, they discovered no trace of the straggler, and returned weary and irritable when the trumpet recalled them.

"He may come in by and by," said Dennis cheerfully. "If not we must e'en take up the search in the morning. We shall have a whole day wherein to pursue it. Let us now get our supper and commend ourselves and our comrades to God."

"Odspitikins!" cried Jan Biddle. "What did I say! What a captain is this! Here be we, twenty-one souls, raped up here for one slummaking micher not worth a varden."

"My heart!" shouted Amos, "you were best keep a still tongue in your noddle, Jan Biddle, or with the captain's leave I'll clap 'ee in irons the instant we go aboard, and keep 'ee under hatches for a sluddering mutineer—ay, and larrap 'ee first, I warrant 'ee."

Biddle's experience of the strength of Turnpenny's arm did not encourage him to repeat his protest; but when the supper was spread on the rocks above the pool, he carried off his portion to a place apart, and nursed his wrath among a small group of his comrades who followed him. The malcontents numbered eight in all, and four of these were Frenchmen, with whom Biddle could converse freely in their own tongue.

Again they slept ashore, except the two who had been selected to keep watch on the vessel. The precaution seemed hardly necessary, for it was unlikely that a hostile ship would appear in the night; but Turnpenny had suggested that it was well to keep up the customs observed at sea. The men chosen for this night's watch were two steady fellows named William Hawk and Luke Fenton.

Dennis lay awake for some time, talking with Amos about the missing man. Though he had maintained a cheerful composure before the crew, he was in reality not a little vexed at the delay caused by the thoughtlessness of Gabriel Batten.

"Is it true, what Biddle said," he asked, "about Batten's madness for gathering simples?"

"Ay, 'tis true. He be a vitty lad, as Tom Copstone said, and a good seaman, quiet withal; but he has a maggot, and 'tis that, without a doubt, that has led him aroaming. There be a time for everything, and though I do not deny that Gabriel's skill in simples has ofttimes served us well, 'tis not to be wondered at that the men make a pucker about it."

"Well, we must find him to-morrow. We cannot sail away without him; why, there is not even a Mirandola here now to bear him company."

"Be jowned if I don't ballirag en to-morrow for his hanticks, od-rat-en!"

Dennis passed a restless night, waking often, to wonder what had become of the wanderer. He resolved to set out himself as soon as dawn broke, and take advantage of his knowledge of the island to search thoroughly. Finding himself unable to sleep again, he got up while the chine was still in darkness, and walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the pool. In the gloom he could just see the dark form of the Maid Marian; but then he started, rubbed his eyes, looked again, and felt a shock of amazement when he realized that the other vessel was no longer there. Next moment it flashed upon him that she must have dragged her moorings and floated away on the very last of the ebb-tide, and the fact that no alarm had been given seemed to show that the watchers had fallen asleep, overcome by the sweltering heat of the tropical night.

Calling to Amos, he set off at full speed down the cliff towards the opening of the gully, narrowly escaping a serious fall in the darkness. He was much relieved to see, on rounding the shoulder of the cliff, the dark hull of the vessel in front of him. The tide was so low that it was marvellous she had floated so far without grounding, and the thought that she might strike a reef and cause further delay while repairs were made prompted a vigorous shout, to waken the neglectful watch ere it was too late. But there came no answering hail from the vessel; and fearing that, even if she did not run aground, the men on board might not have sufficient seamanship to bring her back in safety, he dived into the water and struck out in her wake.

As he did so, he heard footsteps behind him, two or three voices, and the sound of another splash. Evidently some one had followed him. The Mirandola was moving very slowly; the motion of the tide was indeed almost imperceptible, and Dennis, being a good swimmer, soon came under her counter. Catching hold, by a happy chance as he thought, of a rope that had formed her mooring cable, he swarmed hand over hand up the side and on to the deck. But no sooner had his feet touched the planks than two figures sprang towards him, a blanket was thrown over his head, and before he could utter a sound he was flung down, gagged, and pinioned.

Even through the thick folds of the blanket Dennis was able to hear a great scuffling on board within a few seconds of his own discomfiture. Then all was still, except for the muffled tones of his captors' voices. He could not hear what they said, but it was not long before he knew from the greater motion of the vessel that they must have hoisted sail. Not for a moment did he doubt the meaning of it all. Who but Jan Biddle and his fellow malcontents would have had the daring to run off with the vessel? The man was a ruffian in looks, and Dennis had already had several evidences of his turbulent spirit. And, lying helpless and half smothered on the deck, he did not have to seek far for the motive of the act. It was not merely chagrin at being denied a rank; the man knew that there were pearls in the hold, a valuable treasure, and his treachery was prompted by cupidity. He had supposed, Dennis suspected, that as a simple mariner among the crew he would get but a small portion of the treasure when it should be divided, and persuaded some of the men to make this attempt to secure the whole. Angry as he was, Dennis could not withhold a certain admiration for the man's daring; and then he fell a-wondering why he had not been struck on the head and killed outright; a ruffian like Biddle would hardly have spared him from any feeling of compunction.

How long Dennis lay half stifled under the blanket he could not tell. Hours seemed to have passed when it was at last removed, and he could breathe freely. And there, beside him, lay Amos Turnpenny, gagged like himself. Jan Biddle and several of his comrades stood over them, grinning with malicious triumph.

"Pegs, Captain," said the man, "you do seem betoatled. Thought the vessel had broke a-loose, I reckon. And so she had—eh, comrades?"

"Ho! ho!" laughed the men, vastly appreciating their leader's joke.

"Now, we be eight, young master captain,—stout fellows, but a small crew for this vessel. You be in our power, you and Haymoss too, for all he be a rare fustilugs; and down a-hold lie Bill Hawk and Luke Fenton, that kept but a ninny-watch, to be sure. Wherefore we be twelve all told, enough for the manage of this craft. Haymoss will not be boatswain, to be sure, nor you captain; I be captain; boatswain is French Michel yonder; but 'ee can take your choice,—help to work this vessel, or walk the plank. Now I will loose your gags, and you and Haymoss can talk the matter out, and when ye've made up your minds we'll unbind 'ee, or tumble 'ee overboard, according."

Left to themselves, Dennis and Turnpenny were not long in deciding on their course of action. They were at present outnumbered; they had to accept the inevitable. Their assistance would be very valuable in the working of the vessel, and Biddle, in spite of his assured bearing, was by no means so confident in his seamanship and skill as he tried to make himself appear. After his treacherous conduct he had no reason to suppose that Turnpenny would lift a finger to make good his deficiencies; on the other hand it was not to the interest of the prisoners that the ship should come to grief through mishandling, and Biddle knew that in extremity Turnpenny's instinct of seamanship would forbid him to hold aloof.

But while Dennis and the mariner agreed that they had no choice but to accept the position with what grace they might, they resolved to bide their time for getting the vessel again under their control and returning to the island.

"My poor comrades and me be parted again," said Amos, with a sigh. "'Tis true it will not be so bad for them upon the island as 'twas for us. But there they be, and there they must bide until we can fetch 'em off."

"And mayhap the Spaniards will land before we can get back to them, and then God help the poor fellows. There is little chance we two can overpower these eight villains; we can but hope on."

Having acquainted Biddle with their decision, they were cast loose, and sat beneath the break of the poop watching their captors' attempts at navigation. The vessel had rounded the easternmost point of the island and was running before a south-south-westerly wind. But it made little progress; as the day wore on the breeze died away, and the island was still in sight as the sun gradually sank in the western sky. The mutineers cast somewhat anxious glances around, as if fearing that the comrades they had betrayed might even now find some means of following them. But as the island gradually faded into the dusk their spirits rose, and having broached one of the few jars of wine which had been left in the cabin, they began to boast of the success of their trick. Biddle even acquainted the prisoners with the manner in which it had been carried out. In the darkness they had surprised the watch on board, and cut the cable mooring the vessel to a tree at the side of the gully; then seven of them had lowered the jolly-boat and in it towed the ship past the shoulder of the cliff until the sails caught the wind and it was carried free of the shore. He told Dennis exultantly that if he had swum out three or four minutes earlier the plot would have been defeated, for only he was then on board, at the helm. But just before Dennis scrambled on board the others had clambered up by the fore chains, and his cry and plunge having been heard, there had been time to arrange for his reception.

The crescent moon, which had somewhat favoured the attack on the fort, had now increased in size, and threw a thin silvery light upon the sea. Biddle, among a little group of his comrades, was still recounting his achievement for the benefit of Dennis and Turnpenny when the look-out shouted that he spied a vessel to windward.

"What care I for a vessel to windward!" cried the man. "We'll give her the slip in the dark. I, Jan Biddle, be captain now; ay, what did Hugh Curder sing t'other day?

Here is a master excelleth in skill,
And our master's mate he is not to seek.

That be Dick Rackstraw, Haymoss, a merry soul, not a glumping galliment like 'ee.

And here is a boatswain will do his good will——

not you, Haymoss; you be boatswain no longer; 'tis French Michel, a deal better man.

And here is a ship-boy——

why, hang me if we won't make a ship-boy of our noble captain, comrades. 'Tis a stripling, to be sure, and I warrant will be none the worse for a smitch o' tar on his fingers. Ees, we'll make him ship-boy, we will so. Ho! ho!

And here is a ship-boy——"

But his mirth and the gleeful shouts of the others were suddenly checked when the look-out cried that he saw a second, and then a third vessel. Biddle sprang up with an oath and ran to the taffrail. What he saw did not lessen his alarm. The three strangers were coming up on a broad front, half a mile between them. They were evidently bringing a freshening breeze with them, for they had not been visible when darkness first fell. It was clear to a mariner's eye that the bark would have to show her best sailing powers if she was to escape. She had been sailing under foresail and mainsail only, but now in frantic haste the crew, in obedience to Biddle's orders, set the topsails and the topgallants. But before the effect of this was apparent the approaching ships had crept up within gun range. It was not long in doubt whether they had seen the Mirandola, and were making straight for her. A flash was seen from the bows of one of the vessels; a few seconds afterwards a muffled roar was heard.

"Blank charge!" said Turnpenny to Dennis. "'Tis a word of warning."

Biddle only shouted a defiant curse. The bark was now feeling the full force of the wind, and was making good headway. It appeared likely that, running before the wind, she could hold her own with the strangers. A minute later another gun was fired, and this time with no harmless intent, for there was a great splash in the water a little ahead of the Mirandola on the starboard side. After a short interval, a third discharge shook the air, and the mutineers raised an exultant shout when they saw the splash some distance astern. It was clear that, if the guns had been fired with the same elevation, the chase was drawing away. The dropping of a fourth and fifth shot still farther astern left no room for doubt.

"What say you now, master boatswain as was!" cried Biddle, triumphantly. "Bean't Jan Biddle as good a mariner as Haymoss Turnpenny?

Here be a master excelleth in skill."

"My heart! it be a true saying, don't halloo till 'ee be out o' the wood," said Amos, grimly.

"Zuggers! but you be a molkit, Haymoss, a molly-caudle to be sure. Go aft, Haymoss, and cuddle the ship-boy and say your prayers."

Turnpenny raised his arm to strike the insolent fellow, but Dennis whispered him to let it pass; there was nothing to be gained by a fight at the present moment, even supposing they prevailed against the odds.

Hour after hour the chase continued. The moon went down, but still the three vessels could be seen in the dim starlight. Clearly the Mirandola, good sailor as she was, could not shake them off. Biddle ceased to boast; his blustering confidence was changing to dismay, for he now perceived that though he had drawn further and further away from the vessel that had fired, her consort to windward was becoming more clearly visible. He had not reckoned on so obstinate a chase; moreover, being unable to read a chart, he had no idea whither the vessel was heading. There was no chance of doubling. To alter the course would be to lose time, and allow the persistent pursuer to make up on her. She seemed indeed to be gradually decreasing the distance between them, though the other two were out of sight.

So the chase went on through the hours of darkness, and daybreak showed two vessels far astern, but the third without doubt creeping up slowly but surely. Biddle, weary with the long night's work, was in a sullen rage; the other men watched the pursuer with undisguised terror; Dennis and Turnpenny, holding themselves aloof, looked on with curiosity and something of amusement.

"Jan Biddle be no fool," said Turnpenny once. "I could not have handled the craft better myself. But 'tis not an end."

Then, when the spirits of the crew were depressed to the lowest, an early morning mist settled down upon the sea, blotting the pursuer from sight.

"Jaykle! 'tis a mercy!" cried Biddle, rousing himself.

He instantly changed the course of the vessel.

"We'll fool them this mizzly morn," he said. "Mum's the word now, comrades."

Dead silence was maintained on board, and for some hours the bark made steady headway through the mist. Dennis could not but admire the mutineer's fine recklessness. Without any sure knowledge of his bearings he held the vessel steadily to the wind, though she might at any moment strike a coral reef or even run aground on one of the innumerable islets that studded the gulf. He was bent only on escaping the dreaded grip of the Spaniards.

At length the fog began to clear, dissipated by the increasing heat of the mounting sun. The crew strained their eyes through the eddying mist, to assure themselves that the pursuer, as they hoped, had been deluded by the change of course. But they were appalled, and looked from one to another with a gasp of dismay, when they saw, less than half a league distant, a large Spanish galleon holding exactly the same course as themselves. Far down on the southern horizon another sail could be seen.

"What I'd have done myself," said Turnpenny to Dennis. "The Spanish skipper be no fool neither. When the mist came down he guessed the manoeuvres of Master Jan, and afore he was closed in by it he had time to signal the others to make off, one east, t'other sou'east, while he held on the same course, thereby making sure that we'd still be in sight of one or other of 'em when the mist lifted. Ah! lookeedesee, sir; there's a flag a-running up the galleon's forepeak. 'Tis a signal to the others to come and join the chase. Be jowned if Jan Biddle han't got to run the race all over again!"