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.