SIR FRANCIS DRAKE.
But luck was with the inhabitants of Vera Cruz. Next morning thirteen careening galleys swept into the quiet waters of the bay and joy shone in the black eyes of the Spaniards.
“It is a Mexican fleet,” cried they. “It returns with a new Viceroy or Governor, from good King Philip of Spain.” And they laughed derisively.
But in the breasts of Drake and Hawkins there was doubt and suspicion.
“They are sure to attack us,” said Hawkins, moving among his men. “Let every fellow be upon his guard.”
The Spanish were full of bowings and scrapings. They protested their deep friendship for the English and wished to be moored alongside.
“We are very glad to see you, English brothers,” said one. “We welcome you to the traffic and trade of the far East.” So they peacefully dropped anchor near the suspicious men of England, still smiling, singing, and cheerfully waving a welcome to the none-too-happy sailors.
“Avast,” cried Francis Drake, “and sleep on your arms, my Hearties, for to-morrow there’ll be trouble, or else my blood’s not British.” He was but a young man, yet he had guessed correctly.