As George ascended to the poop, almost dazed with the good fortune which had enabled him to so unexpectedly deliver his brother from a life that was one long torment, his ears were greeted with the cries of the mariners shortening sail; and a few minutes later the galleon’s anchor was dropped in the new berth for which the ship had been making. The sails were furled, the decks cleared up, ropes coiled down, and every preparation made for the expected visit of the Governor. And shortly afterward a large boat, pulling twelve oars, with an awning spread over the stern sheets, and with the Spanish flag floating from an ensign staff set up in the stern, was seen coming out of the harbour and heading toward the Cristobal Colon.
Twenty minutes later she ranged up alongside, and a party of ten Spaniards, dressed most extravagantly in the height of the prevailing mode, proceeded to climb with more or less difficulty the lofty side of the galleon, where, as they passed in through the entry port, they were received by George at the head of his officers. The contrast in appearance between these popinjays, arrayed in silks and satins of the most costly description, with splendid jewels round their necks, on their fingers, and in their ears, their oiled, curled, and perfumed locks surmounted by jaunty little caps of silk or velvet decorated with beautiful feathers secured in place by gem-set brooches, and the sturdy Devon lads, attired mostly in perfectly plain armour not altogether guiltless of rust, beneath which showed their well-worn clothing, was a striking one indeed, but there was a stern, business-like look on the faces of the Englishmen that promptly checked any disposition to sneer on the part of the Spaniards.
The visitors were of course received with every manifestation of the most elaborate courtesy on the part of the English, and there was a tremendous amount of bowing and scraping on the galleon’s quarter-deck before even a word was spoken. Presently, however, a tall, dark Spaniard, of about forty years of age, his handsome features marked with an expression of considerable resolution, stepped forward and said, with a bow:
“Señores, I am the Governor of Panama. Who among you is Señor George Saint Leger?”
“I am he, at Your Excellency’s service,” answered George, with a corresponding bow.
“You?” ejaculated the Governor, incredulously. “Why, you are only a boy. Where is your leader? It is he with whom my present business is concerned.”
“Your Excellency,” responded George, “I have the honour to be the captain of the company you see about you.”
“Ten thousand pardons, señor!” exclaimed the Governor, bowing low. “I trust that you will magnanimously forgive my hasty expression of surprise. I ought to have remembered that in your gallant nation age does not necessarily count, and that among you are many very young men who are doing work that fills us of maturer years with astonishment, admiration and envy. Again I crave your pardon for my exceedingly stupid mistake. It is you, then, señor, who addressed this letter to me?” And he drew forth from a wallet at his belt George’s letter to him.
“Even so, Your Excellency,” acknowledged George.
“And in it you say that you wish to treat with me for the release of seventeen Englishmen sent here as prisoners from Nombre de Dios. Very well, señor; I am prepared to treat with you upon that matter; but it must be upon certain conditions. And the first of those conditions is that you unconditionally surrender this ship to her captain and officers, whom I have brought with me in order that they may receive her at your hands.”