With Drake on the Spanish Main

by Herbert Strang

The Main

The dawn of day found Dennis and Turnpenny discussing the scheme which was born of the night's meditation. Remembering his bitter experience of bondage among the Spaniards, and oppressed by his superstitious fear that his dream portended some calamity, the sailor at first refused point-blank to consider Dennis's suggestion. But by and by, when Dennis had shown him how light had been his sufferings, after all, by comparison with those of his comrades, and had declared his belief that the strange coincidence of the dream with his own imaginings was an augury of good, Turnpenny's better feelings got the upper hand of his timorousness, and he threw himself with ardour into a consideration of the project.

As soon as it was light, he asked Dennis to lead him to the very spot where the idea had occurred to him. And there, in the little bay beneath the chine, he became the bold-hearted English sailor again.

"My heart! we're a-going to do it," he said. "See here, sir." He began with the end of a half-pike to mark out a rough plan on the dry sand. "Here be the fort. Here be the don Captain's new house; the foundations were no more than laid when I was hauled away on ship board. Here, at this angle, be the rooms of the guard; in the cellars beneath my poor comrades lie and groan o' nights. In this quarter be the pearl-fishers, penned up like cattle when their work is done. And here, under the guns of the fort, be the little harbour, with a quay of planking. Nor'ard, a mile or more, is the fishery, where the black knaves have to dive for the baubles, and woe betide 'em if they do not bring up enough to please their masters."

"And think you you could pilot us to the place, Amos?"

"I've never a doubt of it. Twice have I sailed to it in direct course from Cartagena, and many's the time I have passed it in the lumber ship. 'Tis true I am not so skilled in the landmarks from this side as from the side of Cartagena; nathless I be a ninny, not worth the name of mariner, an I be not able to lay a course thitherwards without losing my bearings."

"What is the country thereabout?"

"Why, sir, for the most flat and forest clad. Behind the fort there is a hill, fairish high. Once on a time 'twas covered with trees, but a great stretch of the forest was of late burned black by a fire; I mind it well, for the shape of the black patch is like to a monstrous cayman, upwards of a mile long. 'Tis a famous landmark, and clear to the eyes a great way off at sea. Let me but spy that, and I warrant I will steer any bark to it on a straight furrow."

"Well, then, Amos, it does seem that with good luck we can make a landing somewhere on the coast, and then it shall go hard with us but we can, by taking thought, devise some plan whereby we may release your comrades from their chains. But we cannot do it without help from the maroons; think you they would be willing to lend us aid?"

"My heart! Do but promise them a share of the Spaniards' treasure, and they will be hot to have at them."

"But the fishery belongs to the Governor of Cartagena, you said. Imprimis, we are not pirates; nor indeed is there like to be a great hoard of pearls at Porto Aguila, for they will be sent, no doubt, for safety to Cartagena."

"Bless your bones, sir, I warrant there be more kept at Porto Aguila than be sent to Cartagena. The Captain, truly, is the Governor's son; but every Spaniard is a shark, and would rob his grandam's grave were he not afeard of ghosts. And as for being pirates, when 'tis Spaniards in question I would be a pirate without the tenth part of a scruple, for 'tis certain the fishery was filched from the Indians; they be the Spaniards' jackals."

"Well, let us go to the maroons and put the case to them."

Dennis need have had no doubt as to the men's reception of his proposal. To begin with, they were frankly delighted that the white men would accompany them. They had often talked among themselves about the young lord, as they called him, who had led the attack on the Spaniards' vessel, and they were agreed that his presence in the canoe would serve them as a talisman. Then, even without the prospect of plunder from the Spaniards' treasure-house, they nourished a bitter resentment against their old oppressors, and were ready to embrace any opportunity of striking a blow at them.

"We are the servants of the young lord," said their spokesman to Turnpenny, "we will do whatever he bids."

"Ask them if they know the region."

The reply was in the negative. None of them had ever been engaged in the pearl fishery; most of them hailed from the neighbourhood of Nombre de Dios.

"Then our whole dependence is on you, Amos," said Dennis.

"Ay, sir, and it do daunt me somewhat. In a bark, or a shallop, or e'en a longboat, I could have great comfort; but a canow, sir—a mere tree-trunk hollowed out, wi' no ribs nor planks, no spars nor other gear; 'tis a fearsome and wonderful craft, with a crazy look."

"But the maroons are wont to handle such craft, you told me. They will navigate her; you will but have to cry the course."

"True, sir, but no master mariner that hath any manhood in him will be content to govern a craft being ignorant of its true nature. Yonder monkey would be as fit."

"Ah! We must take Mirandola. The poor beast would, I verily believe, break his poor heart did we leave him here in loneliness again."

"Leave the knave prisoners to bear him company, sir."

"No, no. Besides that it would be a poor compliment to Mirandola himself, it would have some spice of danger for us. Left to themselves in freedom, the men would of a surety signal to any passing ship, the which being in all likelihood Spanish, the report of our doings would soon be spread abroad through all the coast, and a hue and cry would be raised after us. We must bring them along with us. Trust me, they shall have no chance then of giving the alarm to the enemy, and 'tis not unlike, indeed, they may serve us as hostages."

"I fear me they'll be the Jonahs in our marvellous craft."

"An ill comparison, Amos. Jonah fled from his duty, and by reason of his wrongdoing peril came upon the mariners. The similitude does not hold."

"That be a great comfort, sir, in especial for that there be no whales as I know on in these waters, but only sharks."

In answer to a question from Turnpenny, the head man of the maroons said that the canoe would be ready to take the water within a week. But he added that since the young lord had agreed to make the voyage with them, they were willing to remain a little longer on the island, in order to give careful finishing touches to the craft and ensure its thorough seaworthiness. Dennis thanked them, through the sailor, for this mark of consideration, and resolved to use the interval in teaching them the use of the caliver. He could not foresee what might ensue upon their landing; they would be at a disadvantage if they had no other arms with which to meet the Spaniards than axes and pikes.

Accordingly, he presented each of them with a caliver from the stores he had placed in Skeleton Cave, and for a certain portion of each day Turnpenny and he instructed them in marksmanship, choosing for their practice ground the deepest part of the chine, whence the noise of firing was least likely to be heard out at sea. The first experiments were disheartening, and at the same time amusing. At the kick of the cumbrous weapons the men flung them down in alarm, crying out that they were possessed with evil spirits. But their timidity was by degrees overcome; and when Dennis, in addition to practising them at fixed targets, rigged up a canvas figure which he suspended on two parallel ropes across the chine and ran from side to side by means of pulleys, they entered with some zest into the sport. At first the figure made many journeys to and fro without receiving a single hit; but within a week the marksmanship had improved astonishingly, and there was not a man of them but might be trusted to hit a moving object at fairly short range.

Meanwhile Amos, not content to trust the navigation of the canoe entirely to the maroons and their paddles, had busied himself in rigging up a mast with small sails taken out of the Maid Marian. When he at last pronounced the vessel ready, several kegs of water and boxes of biscuits were rolled down to the beach near at hand, and the party awaited only a favourable wind to launch their craft.

For some days there had been a dead calm, and when at length a light breeze sprang up it blew in shore. The natives grew impatient, and begged to be allowed to proceed with their paddles alone. But this Turnpenny stoutly refused. With a voyage of thirty or forty miles before them it was needful to spare the men as much as possible, lest when they reached the mainland they should be worn out, and unfit to cope with the labours and perhaps the struggles that awaited them. Turnpenny scanned the sky with a seaman's eye, in some fear lest the wind when it came should prove too boisterous for this strange craft, which he still looked on with distrust. One morning, however, he announced that a fresh breeze had sprung up from the north-west, promising to increase in force as the day wore on. No time was lost. The canoe was carried down to the beach and moored in shallow water; the stores were lifted aboard; then the two prisoners, pale with apprehension, and Baltizar the cook, were conveyed to the vessel on the backs of three stalwart maroons, and last of all Dennis and Turnpenny prepared to wade out.

During the proceedings at the beach the monkey had remained perched in a tree, watching everything with many signs of excitement. At the last moment Dennis turned and called to the animal; but it merely gibbered and blinked.

"Come, Mirandola," said Dennis, coaxingly, "we cannot go without you. I fear me you feel a declension from your high estate, when you were the sole partner of my solitude; but believe me, I still hold you in dear affection. Come then, and let your grave and reverend presence dignify this our enterprise."

But the monkey refused to budge, and Dennis remembered the aversion he had always shown to the sea. He walked towards the tree in which the animal sat, holding forth his hand, using every blandishment; then, when all was of no avail, and Turnpenny called to him from the canoe to leave the unnatural creature, he turned and stepped into the water. He had just laid his hand on the side of the canoe, preparing to leap in, when he heard a shrill cry, and saw the monkey spring down with amazing celerity and run on all fours towards him across the sand, uttering sounds of entreaty. It was as if Mirandola had to the last refused to believe that his master was leaving him, and now that he could doubt no longer, had overcome his horror of the sea and resolved to brave the discomforts of the voyage. He reached the brink of the water and scampered up and down, as though seeking a dry path to the boat. It was impossible to resist his pleading cries. Dennis returned; the monkey with a squeal of delight sprang upon his shoulder; and so entered the canoe, a trembling passenger.

The maroons shoved off; Turnpenny ran up his sail; and the craft moved into deep water. For some minutes the natives kept their paddles busily employed, until, drawing out of the lee of the island, the vessel felt the full force of the breeze and began to scud merrily over the rippling sea.

"My heart!" cried Turnpenny, "'tis a wondrous neat little craft. I was wrong; I own it free; and if the wind holds she will make good sailing and bring us ere many hours are gone to the coast where we desire to be."

"Too soon, if I mistake not," said Dennis. "It will not be well for us to make the shore before dark; we may be spied from the land. In truth, we run a great risk, Amos. Our sail will not escape the eyes of the look-out of any vessel whose track we may chance to cross."

"True, sir, there be risks great and manifold. But we must e'en hope for the best. The maroons have rare good eyes; and if perchance they catch sight of a vessel, I will run down the sail afore they can spy us, and we will lie snug until the coast be clear."

After two hours' sailing the coast hove into sight as a long blue bar upon the horizon. At midday Turnpenny lowered the sail, for it was clear that at the rate the vessel was going she would run into view from the shore long before it would be safe to attempt a landing. While the crew were eating their dinner of fruit and biscuits one of the men cried out that he saw a sail. Turnpenny took a long look in the direction the man pointed out, Dennis watching his face in keen anxiety.

"All's well, sir," said the sailor at length. "She be coasting along towards Cartagena; in an hour she will be clean out of sight, and we're so low in the water that no natural eye will see us, the sail being down."

They lay gently rocked by the waves until, after a good look round, he judged it safe once more to hoist the sail. An hour afterwards he declared that he recognized a headland which was no more than three leagues from Porto Aguila. The vessel's head was pointed direct for the land, but the wind dropping somewhat, they were still a long way from shore when the sun went down and the swift darkness of the tropics descended upon them.

"We dursn't try to land in the dark," growled Turnpenny. "This craft of ours is only fit for fair weather and easy harbourage, and not knowing the little crinkles o' the coast, t'ud be nowt but a miracle if we 'scaped being stove in."

"But there will be a moon to-night, I think?" replied Dennis.

"True, a little tiny one, like the horn of a cow. Maybe she will give light enough to guide us to a creek. We must e'en wait for her rising."

They had no means of telling the time, and the maroons grew so restless that, while it was still dark, Turnpenny ordered them to paddle cautiously along the shore.

"'Tis a creek I be looking for," he said to Dennis, "where we can run the canow with a fair chance of hiding it when day breaks."

"How far are we from the fort?"

"I cannot tell. I fear me I have overshot the mark with being over cautious."

"That is impossible, Amos. At least it is an error on safety's side.—Hist! what was that?"

His ears had caught a slight splash at no great distance shorewards.

"Nowt to make 'ee uneasy, sir," replied Turnpenny. "'Twas without doubt a cayman slipping off into deep water; and by the token, 'tis a guide for us, for the reptile haunts the banks of rivers, and sure the very creek we be looking for will be somewheres anigh here."

The men drove the canoe a little nearer in shore, and in a few minutes Turnpenny, who was in the bows peering intently ahead, whispered that he did indeed see the opening of a creek. Soon the canoe entered a fairly wide water-way, much obstructed with reeds, and darkened by the dense and high vegetation on either bank. Now and again, through a gap in the foliage, the late rising moon shed a wan mysterious light upon their course. As the canoe moved slowly and stealthily up the creek, Dennis was conscious of a strange home-sickness. How many times had he rowed by night on little tree-shaded creeks and river-mouths in far-off Devon! The deep shadows, the narrow paths of ghostly light, the silence, rendered only the more intense by the incessant croaking of frogs, lent a charm to the adventure that almost eclipsed its peril.

The creek made several curves within a short distance, and Turnpenny, speaking in a whisper, said that they had now come far enough to escape notice from the sea.

"'Tis well, my friend; and now, say: shall we land, or shall we rather remain in the canoe for the rest of the night? I give my voice for landing. We are packed here as close as biscuits, and I would fain stretch my limbs, and moreover get a little to windward of some of these our companions."

"I warrant the maroons would liever stay in the canow, sir; and I own I myself am somewhat chary of landing in the dark. I know summat o' these forest lands, and there be fearsome wild creatures in 'em, the like of which you never saw in Maiden Isle yonder. There be wild hogs, of a surety, and monstrous wild cats that climb like monkeys, and see in the dark, and will pounce on a man and carry him off afore he can twink an eyelid. And as for these our bedfellows, my heart! there be worse ashore—muskeeties, and sandflies, and ants in armies, that crawl aneath your clothes, and nip your arms and neck, and make themselves most pestilent ill neighbours. And we cannot light a fire to scare them away, for savage as they be, whether four foot or six foot, they be gentle and mild by comparison with the two-footed enemies the fire would bring on our tracks."

"We will lie by till morning, then, and pray the night be not disturbed."

The maroons were unmistakably glad when this decision was communicated to them. To their minds the mere darkness was awful, and when to this were added the manifold dangers of the forest, they would rather have faced an army of Spaniards than camp unprotected among the trees.

The party spent a restless, uncomfortable night in their cramped quarters. Yet in his wakeful moments Dennis found some pleasure in watching the fire-flies darting hither and thither on the shore, and in listening to the continuous drone of insects, that seemed to his ears a pleasant lullaby. Once a goat-sucker clattered heavily past, uttering its weird cry; now and again he was amused by the question, "Who are you?" shouted from the trees, and recognized it as the cry of some nameless bird. As morning drew on, these sounds were replaced by others. Macaws screeched from the tree-tops, toucans barked like puppies, tree-frogs whistled and boomed, and at intervals the whole neighbourhood reverberated with long howls which Turnpenny said were the morning song of red howler monkeys. As morning began to dawn, and these signs of forest life multiplied, Dennis noticed that Mirandola was becoming much excited; and when the canoe was run ashore under a towering mora tree, the monkey sprang nimbly to land, chattering with delight, and in an instant was springing up into the foliage.

"Poor knave!" said Dennis. "It seems we have brought him home, Amos. Would that we too were restored, whole and happy, to our friends!"

"God-a-mercy, do 'ee forget Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and Ned Whiddon, poor souls? Do 'ee have more respect for the feelings of a heathen monkey?"

"Nay, nay, you mistake me," said Dennis, smiling at the sailor's honest indignation. "I do not forget them. By God's mercy we are here in safety, and ere long I hope to have all your friends to join our little company. Now, master mariner, what is to be our course?"

"Why, sir, we must first go and spy out the land."

"Through the forest? How shall we find our way?"

"Imprimis, this creek runs eastward of the bluff I steered by. Wherefore 'tis our first business to lay our course westward and cut off that headland, as you might say."

"But can you be sure of setting your course aright?"

"There's the sun above us, and we may catch a glimpse of him here and there among the trees. And 'tis certain we shall encounter brooks wandering like lost children in the forest; only though they do seem lost, we know, being men, and in our right minds, that they be running all the while to the sea. By this and by that we'll come at the place we steer for."

"And who shall go on this inland voyage of discovery?"

"Why, you and me, sir. God-a-mercy, the very words of my dream! 'You and me, Haymoss, you and me!' 'Tis a good sign, for sure. The maroons shall lie hid in the creek, and keep ward over the prisoners."

"But can we trust them? Will they not, having arrived on the mainland, act after their own devices and depart?"

"'Tis a risk, in truth; but I will speak to them with all gravity, and bring to their mind the Spaniards' treasure, and the stripes they suffered in bondage. We will see if there be faith in their black blood."

After a conversation with the maroons, Turnpenny announced that they had agreed to remain in the creek until nightfall. If the white men had not returned then, they would hold themselves free to act as they pleased. Then Dennis and the sailor set off on their scouting expedition.

At the edge of the forest the trees grew fairly wide apart, and the canopy above admitted a few rays which lay as bright spots on the floor of dead leaves. But as the two adventurers proceeded the forest became thicker and thicker, until they walked in a dim twilight. Well covered with vegetation as Maiden Isle had been, Dennis had never imagined anything like the dense woodland through which he was now slowly making his way. It steamed with moisture; the din of early morning had given place to a mysterious stillness; birds and animals were quiet or asleep; and if the silence was broken at rare moments by the long howl of a monkey, the melancholy sound did but enhance the impression of utter solitude. Turnpenny led the way with great wariness; his former experiences of forest life warned him of dangers that might lie in wait—a slumbering jaguar which their footfall might disturb, a snake so cunningly marked that it was indistinguishable from the tree about which it was coiled. Several times he halted, in doubt of his bearings. Once, when he confessed himself beaten, he climbed with a mariner's agility a towering trunk, and declared when he descended that from its top he had caught a glimpse of the open sea and so learnt the general direction in which to go.

They came at length to a narrow open space, where apparently trees had been felled at no very distant date. Turnpenny was pointing out a hairy sloth hanging under a branch like a nest of termites, when Dennis touched him on the arm and bade him look across the glade.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Methinks the figure of a man, moving among the trees."

Though he had spoken under his breath, it almost seemed that his words had been overheard, for the figure halted, then instantly turned sideways and vanished from their sight.

"We must after him," said Turnpenny.

"Ay, and catch him, or there is an end to our venture and us. He is alone, for he made no sound, and if he had companions near by he would surely have summoned them."

Without further pause Dennis ran across the glade, and plunged into the forest on the other side, taking the southerly direction in which he had seen the figure disappear. He had not gone far before he heard the rustle and crash of some one forcing his way through the undergrowth; clearly the fugitive was not a good runner, or he would have been out of earshot before this. Dennis quickened his step, guided always by the sound, ever increasing in loudness. At length he again caught a glimpse of the man, labouring ahead; he gained on him, and was within a few yards when the runaway suddenly turned, and Dennis halted and swerved aside just in time to evade a spear hurled straight at him. It whizzed through the air, flew harmlessly by, and struck with a twang a tree trunk, where it hung quivering.

Next moment Dennis sprang forward and closed with the man. He had no time to take note of him, save that he was more than common tall. But it struck him with surprise that he met with no real resistance. The man staggered under the impact; the two rolled on the leaf-strewn ground; and in an instant Dennis was uppermost. He scarcely needed the Devonian trick of wrestling to maintain his advantage; his opponent was already spent. Holding him down, Dennis raised himself at arm's length to recover breath and take stock of the fugitive. He was struck by the glare of inextinguishable hate in the man's haggard eyes. Helpless as he was, there was no yielding in his mien; it was weakness, not fear or cowardice, that had made him such an easy captive.

In a few moments Turnpenny came up breathless. Seeing that Dennis held the man firmly down, he did not offer to assist, but halted and threw a keen glance at the prisoner.

"God-a-mercy!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "'You and me, Haymoss!' 'Tis the dream come true. 'Tis Tom Copstone, 'tis very Tom! Sir, let him up; 'tis my dear comrade, my messmate in the Jesus. Oh, Tom, what a piece of work is this!"

Dennis was amazed at the alteration in the man's expression. The fierce blaze of his blood-shot eyes was quenched in a mist of tears.

"Haymoss! dear Haymoss!" he murmured, and seemed like to swoon away.

Turnpenny was by this on his knees beside his old comrade.

"Oh, Tom, to see thee in this sorry plight!" he exclaimed, pitifully.

He raised the prostrate figure. Copstone did indeed present a sorry spectacle. His clothes were completely in tatters, he was emaciated almost to a skeleton; his hair and beard hung long, straggling and matted.

"Tell me, Tom, me and this true friend, what has brought 'ee to this fearsome pass."

"I ran away; 'tis three months since. Three, I say, but I cannot tell; maybe 'tis four or five. I ran away from those devils; 'twas more than flesh and blood could endure."

"But whither, whither, Tom?"

"I had hope to fall in with a friendly folk—maroons or Indians; for such hate the Spaniards, and whoso hates the Spaniards must be a friend to me. But I found none, and I had perforce to take to the forest, and here I made shift to keep body and soul together with the fruits of the earth. Then I was stricken with the forest fever, and lay for nights and days shivering and burning by turns."

"Take time, dear Tom," said Turnpenny, noticing the other's gasps. "We be true friends."

"And here is wine from my store," said Dennis, producing a flask. "It will refresh you."

The man drank gratefully.

"And I marvel," added Turnpenny, "that 'ee be still alive in this fearsome place of wild beasts. Verily the Almighty has kept a guard over you, even as He defended Daniel in the den of lions."

"'Tis true; yet I did what I could for myself. Come and see."

He led them through the forest, winding in and out among the trees in a manner that seemed to the others nothing short of marvellous, until he came to a great trunk in which there were notches cut, from a point near the base to the lowest branch. By these notches he climbed up, Dennis and Turnpenny following in turn. The steps ceased when the bough was reached; then he ascended some twenty feet through foliage until he arrived at a little hut, formed of branches cunningly intertwined, with a roofing of thatch.

"My heart, 'tis a pleasant and delectable mansion!" said Turnpenny, looking admiringly at the leafy structure. "And did 'ee fashion it with your own hands, Tom?"

"No," replied the man, with a smile. "Here I found it, as it is. It was made, I doubt not, by Indians, in the time before the Spaniards set foot on these shores. 'Twas here I lay when the fever was heavy upon me, and I thought to die. Oh! how good it is to see your face, Haymoss; but what brings 'ee, old friend, to this dreadful place, and how got you free from the hands of the oppressor?"

"'Twas the deed of this gentleman, a man of Devon, Tom, that was cast on an island yonder in the Main, and by wit and courage loosed me from bondage."

He told the whole story, to the great wonderment of his friend.

"And now we be here to help Ned Whiddon and Hugh Curder and others of our messmates in the fort," he said, in conclusion. "By God's mercy we will snatch them, too, from the house of bondage, and make them free men once more."

"Ay, and I will help. The sight of 'ee has done me a world of good; the Lord has put a new song in my mouth. I will lead you. I know this forest in and out, Haymoss, for though I be by rights but a simple mariner, I am made now into a woodsman. For why? 'Cos otherwise I should have been a dead man. The spear I threw but now,—God be praised it failed of its mark, sir! and I bethink me 'tis still sticking in the tree—has served me in good stead many a time and oft. 'Twas the only thing I brought away with me, and without it long ere this the birds would ha' picked my bones."

"Think 'ee thou'rt strong enough to lead us to the fort, Tom?" asked Turnpenny.

"Ay, sure, and 'tis a good time, i' the heat o' the day, when the Spaniards be mostly asleep. We'll e'en go at once. What be the name of this true friend?"

"'Tis Master Dennis Hazelrig, Tom, and a' come from Shaston, and has changed a word with Master Drake."

"Ah, Master Drake be a rare fine man and mariner. I warrant he hath not forgot the base dealings o' the knaves at St. John d'Ulua, and in my bondage I looked for the day when he should come with a mighty power and do unto them what they had done to us, and more also. But I could not wait, Haymoss, I could not wait; and now we be met, and Master Hazelrig, and you and me, Haymoss——"

"My heart, the very words of my dream! Ay, Tom, you and me and Master Hazelrig, we three, will do what men may do to succour Hugh Curder and Ned Whiddon, and other our dear comrades in distress."