With Drake on the Spanish Main

by Herbert Strang

And as they passed through the thickest woods, which Dennis had prudently refrained from entering, the sailor drew his attention more than once to snakes of various kinds whose coils were almost indistinguishable from the trunks of trees.

Once he plucked some fruit from a kind of palm, and, pressing it, squeezed out a juice as black as ink.

"That is a good sight," cried Dennis gladly. "I found in the cabin of the Maid Marian a store of paper and quills, but the ink was all spilled, and I had nothing wherewithal to write. So I have lost count of the days, and know not whether I have been on this isle weeks or months. Now I can make a journal."

"Not so neither! This juice is good to write withal, but the marks disappear within the ninth day, and the paper is as white as if it had never been written on. 'Tis no matter, indeed; we should be none the happier for seeing the tale of our days."

One day Dennis showed Turnpenny the cave in the cliff, which hitherto he had refrained from revealing. The sailor attentively examined the trinkets which Dennis had found on the floor beside the skeleton and carefully collected. He pronounced them to be such ornaments as were worn by the natives of the mainland, and made no doubt that the skeleton was that of some Indian or maroon done to death by brutal persecutors.

Dennis got him to continue the story of his life, never yet resumed since his first night on the island. He had been sent, he said, among a gang of prisoners from St. John d'Ulua to Cartagena and thence to a place on the coast somewhat south of Cartagena, where the governor had a pearl fishery. It was defended by a fort, garrisoned by some fifty Spaniards. Expecting reprisals from Hawkins for the treacherous treatment he had received, the governor had ordered the fort to be strengthened, and dispatched several of his able-bodied prisoners to assist in the work.

"And I think of my dear comrades rotting in the dungeons of Porto Aguila—for so 'tis named. There was Ned Whiddon, and Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and a dozen more, and for all I know they are there even now, toiling all day, with many stripes from the villanous whips, and groaning all night in most foul and noisome dungeons. Ah! the tales I could tell would make your skin creep and your hair to stand on end. Why, what think 'ee they do if the tale of work seem to them not sufficient? They tie the poor wretch to a tree, and take thorns of the prickle palm, and put them into little pellets of cotton dipped in oil, and stick them in the side of the miserable captive, as thick as the bristles of a hedgehog. This alone causes a most fierce torment, but they are not content therewith. They set the oiled cotton afire, and call on the poor wretch, with loud despitous laughs, to sing in the midst of his torment, and if he cries out in the agony of pain they out upon him for a base miserable coward and villain. With my own eyes I have seen the foul deed, and many more which it is shame to tell of."

"How came it that you got aloose?" asked Dennis.

"Why, it happened in this wise. The treasure of pearls fished up from the sea-bottom at that place was wont to be conveyed to Cartagena every month by ship. One day the vessel sent with this intent came into the port wonderfully battered by a storm, the which had nigh stripped her of all rigging and had moreover washed half her crew overboard. The garrison at the fort being soldiers, and there being no other mariners at hand, the Spanish captain moreover being fearful of the governor's wrath if the treasure should be delayed, he sent half a dozen or more of his slaves, French and English, aboard that vessel to work her back to the capital city. My heart! I well nigh wept for joy when I heard what was in store, for I bethought myself that of a surety we mariners, French and English, might seize upon that vessel on the voyage and sail her at our pleasure. But it was as if the knave had seen to the very heart of my intent, for when we mounted on ship-board, there were Spanish soldiers set over us, two for one, and with the Spanish crew they were as three to one, and they armed. My device was come to naught. We did each man his best to lengthen out that voyage, if perchance we might fall in with an English vessel and acquaint them with our case; but never a sail did we see till we made the harbour of Cartagena, and all our hopes were dashed.

"Then it came to pass that, being a handy man and a stout, I was sold for money to the master and owner of a ship employed in the traffic of timber—that same vessel that lies a fathom deep yonder. At sea I was a mariner; ashore, being stout of the arms, I was made to ply an axe on the trees, as you yourself saw. 'Tis three year or more since I fell prisoner at St. John d'Ulua, and six months since I last set eyes on my comrades at Porto Aguila, and I fear me I shall never see them more."