With Drake on the Spanish Main

by Herbert Strang

"There is but one way; to make a circuit as we lately did, and go further through the woods, and creep down at dusk to the rocks, when the work for the day is over and we are not like to be seen by the Spaniards who keep ward over the fishers."

"That is what we will do, then. And now, since we know not what the day may bring forth to try our strength, let us get what sleep we can, and so fortify ourselves."

But for many hours Dennis lay awake, thinking over the next day's doings. Up with the dawn, he set the maroons to cut from the trees a number of light tough poles, and these Copstone and Turnpenny, with seamen's skill, quickly fashioned into a rough but serviceable ladder. It was made to taper from bottom to top in three sections, the first seven feet long, the second five feet, and the last, four. The first and second were lashed together with some spare rope brought in the canoe, but the supply gave out when this was done, and Dennis was at a loss for material to fasten the second and third sections together. The headman of the maroons speedily made good the deficiency. Going into the forest, he soon returned with long pliable tendrils of a creeper called bejuca that grew plentifully among the undergrowth, and these, when cut into short lengths, formed lashings as strong as could be desired.

The greater part of the morning was spent in constructing and testing the ladder. After the midday meal Dennis and the sailors again made their way through the forest to their former place of espial, waited until they saw the canoes return with the pearl fishers, and then, in the late afternoon, crept down the hillside westward of the fort until they came to the rocks on the shore. From their new position they were able to glance along the northern wall of the fort. The tide was on the turn, and it was clear from the masses of seaweed and the waterworn appearance of the rocks on which the wall was built that at high water the base of the escarpment would be washed by the waves, as Copstone had said. Having formed a careful mental picture of the place, Dennis gave the word for return, and they reached their camping ground just before dark, as on the previous evening.

Arrangements were at once made for their expedition. Turnpenny estimated that the distance by water from the mouth of the creek to the fort was about ten miles. It was desirable to start early if the paddlers were not to be overtired when the serious work of the night began. Dennis was in some doubt what to do with the prisoners, but after consultation with the sailors he decided to leave them behind in the charge of the cook and one of the maroons. He deplored the necessity of thus diminishing his little party, but it was clearly impossible to trust the guardianship of the prisoners to Baltizar alone. That flabby and chicken-hearted negro was desperately afraid of being left. He feared the prisoners, although they were securely pinioned; still more he feared the wild beasts of the forest. Turnpenny "gave him a piece of his mind," as he said, and his language was none the less forcible because he eked out his scanty vocabulary of Spanish with racy expressions in his own vernacular. He called Baltizar a slack-twisted nollypate, a wambling dumbledore, an ell-and-a-half of moidered dough, mingling with his expletives an instruction to keep up the fire if he wished to scare the beasts away, and a warning that the Spaniards, if they were allowed to escape, would certainly kill him first. And to guard against the danger that the prisoners might work upon his fears and persuade him to loose their bonds, the maroon chosen to remain with him was told, in his hearing, that if he had any conversation with the two men he was instantly to be knocked on the head. Watching the negro's expression, Dennis felt pretty sure that he would prove a most zealous jailor.

The night was still young, the moon had not yet risen, when the canoe floated silently seawards down the creek. The little party of three white men and five maroons was not hilarious; every man knew that he had taken his life in his hands. But neither were they down-hearted, for seven of them had the recollection of a night adventure which had wonderfully succeeded against great odds; and though the odds this time were immeasurably in favour of the enemy, and the task was infinitely more difficult, the very magnitude of what they had set themselves to do fired them with eagerness and hope.

The sections of the ladder had been unlashed, and were safely bestowed, with the rope and the tendrils, in the sides of the canoe. In his ignorance of the coast, Dennis ordered the paddlers to put some distance out to sea before heading the canoe westward, so as to avoid any rocks or shoals that might lie in wait for the frail craft. The wind was north-east, and as there was only the faint illumination of the stars, the sail was run up during the first part of the voyage. But when they rounded the headland that lay between the creek and the fort, Turnpenny took in the sail, lest by some unlucky chance it should be observed from the shore, and bade the maroons paddle slowly, for they wished to arrive at the fort when the tide was high, a little before dawn.

Slowly as they paddled, however, the fort loomed up on the shore a good hour before they had intended to draw in. None of the party had any means of telling the time; but Turnpenny, experienced in reading the heavens on many a silent night on the deep, guessed it pretty accurately by the horn of the moon just peering above the horizon. To delay their arrival a little, Dennis ordered the men to rest on their oars, and for an hour the canoe rocked gently on the swelling tide. The pause would have been even longer had not Dennis perceived that the inaction bred a certain nervous restlessness in the maroons—an ill mood in which to face the coming ordeal.

At last, shortly after four in the morning, the nose of the canoe was turned towards the fort, and the vessel crept in dead silence towards the line of white foam that showed where the tide was lapping the wall. It was still half a musket-shot distant when its progress was arrested with a suddenness that threw the paddlers heavily forward. Recovering themselves, they backed water lustily, but without avail; the canoe was fast on a rock. Instantly three of the men slipped gently overboard to lighten the vessel, kicking their legs busily to ward off any ground sharks that might be adventuring in the neighbourhood. In a few moments the canoe slid off the rock, the men clambered back to their places, and the paddling was resumed. But it was soon discovered that the shock had torn a hole in the vessel's side; she was filling fast; and by the time she came beneath the wall of the fort she was wellnigh waterlogged. Not a man of the party ventured to speak a word; but from the glances they gave one another it was clear that they realized what the accident meant for them. Nothing but complete success could now save them, for if the attempt on the fort failed, it would certainly be impossible to escape on this leaking vessel, and they must fall an easy prey to their enemies.

One after another they quietly left the canoe, carrying the climbing apparatus, and their calivers and ammunition, which had fortunately lain on the raised stern of the vessel and had escaped a wetting. They found themselves on the rocks, in two or three feet of water. Turnpenny and Copstone gave their weapons into the charge of two of the maroons while they carefully lashed the two longer sections of the ladder together. Meanwhile Dennis was scanning the wall above him with the object of finding a suitable spot against which to plant the ladder. In spite of Copstone's belief that the fort was not sentinelled, Dennis had taken the precaution to land a little to the west of the tower at the angle, thinking that the sentry, if one were posted there, would probably be taking shelter under the eastern parapet. But so far as he could see in the dim light the line of the wall was unbroken.