CHAPTER VI.—THE TREASURE-SHIP.
We left my Lady Raleigh alone in the spring of the year. It was February the sixth, and the snowdrop and crocus were up in the garden-beds of the Manor-house, and the blackbirds and thrushes singing nigh as sweet as they sing in Ireland, when we put out from Plymouth with five ships and a motley company. It was a stolen expedition in a manner of speaking; for we hoisted our flag for Virginia, yet I think the meanest scullion aboard knew that Guiana was our port. For it was not politic to flout too openly Philip of Spain; though we might fly the Jolly Roger and overhaul his treasure-ships on the high seas. For the Queen of England, as she grew older grew craftier; and would have any cat’s-paw to draw her chestnuts out of the fire, and bear the brunt of it as well, while she went free.
We two Wats sailed with Sir Walter. ’Twas time, he said, his son should see the world; and indeed it would have gone hard with us to be left behind.
It is wonderful to me now to recall how I had learnt—yea, as though I had been English-born—to hate the Spaniard, as though he had been a rat or some such thing, and no evil but merit in the slaying and despoiling of him. And therein was shown the folly and vanity of my youth; for not only was the Spaniard a grave and majestic foe, but he was of the faith my fathers had died to defend. Yet of this I thought not at all at the time, being indeed little better than a heathen; for my lord, albeit he was religious at heart, yet showed little of it in his life, and troubled not at all about it in others. Indeed, it is a strange thing to me now to reflect that all who led that wild life had yet some measure of religion; for then the days of the cold-heart and the mocker had not yet begun.
I remember as we made the voyage how Wat and I used to gather at night about the mast to hear the sailors tell stories and sing songs. There was one, Jonas Tittlebat, of Devizes, who was our favorite story-teller of them all, and I doubt not our favorite stories were of the slaying of Spaniards and sacking of their ships. It was as though one should inure a tender child to the shambles. For we grew to love the talk of blood, and to desire to see and smell and taste it; and I remember how at the end of the recitals Wat and I used to sit and pant, facing each other like a pair of tiger-cats, with the lust of blood in our hearts. For though we had been brought up simply and innocently the evil was there, only awaiting the breath that should fan it to a flame, and the fostering hands that would not let it go out.
Many weeks, even months, were we sailing till we came in sight of land, and for some days before this the southwesterly wind had brought us many an earnest of the beautiful country, brilliant and strange leaves, and plumes, and shells, and flowers, drifting to us over the phosphorescent water which at night made the sea a dance of silver.
Of my lord we saw little during the voyage. He was ever busy with his maps and charts in the cabin, observing the motion of his compasses, and studying the stars by night. Or else he was writing; and often it made me wonder to see how he, so greatly in love with action and energy, could yet content himself so many hours with the pen.
As we sailed up the river the beauty of it struck us dumb. I saw my lord stand in the bows of the vessel and drink in hungrily the beauty of that land. Exceedingly fertile it seemed, nor can I describe it better than in his own words.
“I never imagined a more beautiful country nor more lively prospects,” he wrote; “hills so raised here and there over the valleys; the river winding into divers branches; the plains adjoining without bush or stubble, but all fair, green grass; the deer crossing in every path; the birds towards the evening singing on every tree with a thousand several tunes, cranes and herons of white, crimson, and carnation, perching on the river’s side; the air fresh with a gentle easterly wind, and every stone that we stooped to take up promised either gold or silver by his complexion.”
We sailed even into the golden city of Manoa, and there saw the houses with their strange carvings, and their cups and drinking-vessels of precious metal; and the marvellous temple with its hundred images of beaten gold, the eyes of diamonds, and with necklets of rubies large as pigeon’s eggs, and garments sewn with pearls and emeralds.
The poor Indians who possessed these treasures were a mild and gentle race, ignorant of how greatly men’s passions were inflamed by gold and gems, which to them were common matters. They were no savages, but a nation with a certain knowledge of the arts and a civilization after their own manner; and it was touching to see how kindly and sweetly they welcomed the white man among them, although indeed in the ships were to be found some of the worst rascals that ever sailed out of Plymouth. However, fear of my lord kept this rascaldom in check; for he loved the Indians, and made it a matter with the Queen that in any expedition to the Guianas there should be no ill-treatment of the gentle race. Indeed he believed honestly that he were better their master than Spain, and so had less compunction in seeking their treasures.
But now a larger expedition was needed, and one that would have the Queen’s sanction; and so having feasted our eyes on the delights of this enchanting country we turned our ships for home, bearing with us gifts of gems and gold with which the Indians had loaded us, and also great stores of roots and plants and many strange matters.
We were not bent on any adventure, for my lord thought only of gaining the Queen’s ear, displaying to her the earnest he brought of the treasures of Guiana, and returning thither as fast as might be after fitting out a large fleet of ships; and then of taking possession in the Queen’s name. For greater even than his passion for adventure were his love of England and hatred of Spain; and the new policy of pleasing King Philip he loathed with all his heart.
The homeward voyage therefore he spent in writing for the Queen’s eye an account of Guiana, which afterwards he magnified into his book “On the Discovery of the large, rich, and beautiful Empire of Guiana, with a relation of the great and Golden City of Manoa, which the Spaniards call El Dorado, and the Provinces of Emeria, Arromaia, Amapaia, and other Countries, with their Rivers adjoining.”
So we were left again to the story-telling about the mast; and this grew more violent and rank with blood, as though the sight of so much treasure as we had left behind us had inflamed the minds of the tellers. Yea, we ate and drank blood, it seems to me, now looking back on those recitals; and were thus prepared for what followed.
For lo, one evening we saw far off upon the waters the shape of a great ship. Her poop was high out of the water, and apart from her size she was easy to be seen, for as the night gathered she blazed with candles so that she was like a fiery thing upon the waters.
Then there was such a confusion and excitement on the ships as never have I seen surpassed. My lord had left his books, and standing by the prow of the Bon Aventure gazed through his telescope upon that far-away vision that hung like a great golden bird against the purple of the after-sunset. There was no doubt in any mind that she was a Spanish galleon by her high poop and her great decks above the water. She was indeed none other than the famous treasure-ship, Nuestra Señora del Pilar, and she was riding without any escort.
We extinguished every light we had aboard the ships, and in cover of the darkness we crept upon her. She was big as a little town, it seemed to me; and for all she was so gayly lit she slept well, for we crept up under her stern, and there was no cry from her lookout. At last we were so near that I could see the image of the Holy Virgin at her masthead, and the lamp burning before it. But the image said nothing to me then.
The great ship was almost motionless on the dark water. Indeed I wondered if she had cast anchor, so still she was; yet how cast anchor in so many fathoms of water?
With much care and muffling of our oars we now took to the boats, and as fast as the boats filled they rowed towards the ship. The boat in which I was came up by the poop. I looked above me in wonder at all the rows of carven saints and angels, as it were the hierarchy of heaven. Over the side a rope swung noiselessly, as though it had been left there for our purpose. We clambered up it one after another and stood on deck, where was not a living soul, and this puzzled us not a little. But the bulwarks were set round with carven images in little niches, and each had its lamp, and the like on every deck; and that was how the illumination had come.
I looked round on the shipmen in the light of the many shrines. Some had the brown and wholesome faces of seamen, and though they looked fierce and blood-thirsty enough, were yet no worse than any fighting man. But others were no better than Algerine pirates, and carried a knife in their teeth and their pistols at full cock, and were as ready to slay and murder as any evil beast. For my lord had sailed with but a handful of his own men amid the scum of Plymouth rascaldom.
Yet even these did the silence of the great ship somewhat appal. And for myself, though I was as ready for murder and rapine as any, yet was I given pause; and hearing my lord’s whisper at my elbow, I turned and looked at him. “What do you make of it, Wat?” he asked. “Do you think it is a trap?”
But ere I could answer him a figure came up the stairway from the cabin. It was an old man, very tall, and in the garb of a white friar, just such another as I had left sleeping in St. Mary’s Tower. The likeness sent a thrill of terror through me. The old man saw us not. He carried a taper in his hand; he was going round doubtless to replenish the lamps if they had gone out. The light from the taper showed a face of much benignancy—an old, kind face. The cowl had fallen back, and the silver tonsure gleamed in the light.
Suddenly some one stirred in our midst, and all at once he knew that we were there. He opened his lips as though to speak. Then some of those pirates were upon him. I saw him lift the great crucifix that hung by his side between them and him. Then he was down, and the knives were hewing him. I thought no more on it, though it turned me sick an instant.
The ship now swarmed with our men rushing hither and thither in search of treasure. Some were seizing the silver lamps before the shrines, others were tearing down the images. A rush of men swept me from my feet and down the cabin stairs, and I grasped my sword tighter. But here was no enemy. Only rich garments flung hither and thither in the silk-hung rooms, and many signs of the ship having been deserted in haste.
I would have gone further, leaving the place to those who were tearing it to pieces, dragging down the hangings, kicking open the cedar-wood lockers, and pouring the precious wine they found there down their throats; I would have gone further had not my lord prevented me.
“Come up on deck, Wat,” he said; “there is a scent of death here that sickens me. I am glad I left my boy on the Bon Aventure.”
He dragged me with him. We were hardly up in the pure air before there was a scream from the mad herd below that turned one cold to hear; and as though the devil pursued them they came clambering up the hatches and staircases white as death, and sobered, and began flinging themselves off the sides of the vessel into their boats.
“They would leave us here, Wat, to the terror, whatever it may be,” said my lord, “if I had not had with me by good fortune a handful of mine own shipmates. Ah, Gregory Dabchick”—seizing one—“what white devil hast thou seen below-stairs?”
“If you please, none, Captain,” cried Dabchick, his breath sobbing; “but a worse thing. There are half a dozen corpses below there, dead of the smallpox. ’Tis a floating pest-house, my lord, and the place reeks with death.”
“Ah,” said Sir Walter, as we stood waiting for the mob to get off the ship, “the monk would have told us so if those dogs had not murdered him. Doubtless he remained behind when the others fled away, to nurse the living and bury the dead, and solaced himself, poor soul, by setting candles to his saints.”
Ere we were put into Plymouth town again there were eighty of our hundred dead of the smallpox; and I was carried ashore more dead than alive, to be nursed back to health by the Lady Raleigh’s ministering hands.
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