IT was the intention of the Spaniards to take the broken and shot-riddled hulk of the Revenge to Spain as their vaunted prize. And well might they set glory upon their conquest, for she was the one and only English ship that had surrendered to them during the whole course of the war, and in capturing her they had sacrificed four of their own best galleons, while sustaining great damage to some fourteen others. Nearly two thousand of their soldiers had been slain in the fight or drowned in the sea, including two high and mighty hidalgos, Don Louis de St. John, whom Grenville had vanquished with his own hand, and Don George de Prunaria de Malaga, besides many others of special account.
Their admiral now sent a large company of carpenters, riggers, and swabbers on board of her to repair her leaks, pump out the water that was deep in her hold, and clear her of the wreckage that encumbered her; while those who remained alive of her gallant crew were dispersed among the Spanish ships as prisoners, although permitted to go ashore upon the island during the daytime under close surveillance of a guard of armed soldiers.
Don Alonzo de Bassan's fleet lay in the roadstead of Terceira awaiting the daily expected arrival of the West India treasure-ships, which appeared in straggling numbers day by day. The Lord Thomas Howard's squadron, which had set out to lay capture to them, appeared not again, but having left the Revenge to her fate at the opening of the battle, departed for England. Some accused him of cowardice in avoiding an engagement; but 'tis certain enough that he knew the risks that were entailed, and if the truth must be set down, Sir Richard Grenville had really been guilty of disobedience.
While Gilbert and Timothy were still prisoners on board the St. Paul they were quartered in a little cabin under the poop. With them was Ambrose Pennington, and in another cabin were Roland Grenville and Captain Robinson. Jacob Hartop had remained on board the Revenge with Edward Webbe, refusing to quit her while she floated.
On a certain day, ere yet the combined fleets from Spain and the West Indies were ready to depart for Spain, Philip Oglander lay on his bed under pretence of being wounded, albeit his wounds were no more serious than a cut upon his knuckles and a dark-blue bruise upon the back of his right hand, where the pistol flung by Red Bob had struck him. It was not so much these hurts that kept him abed as the eager desire which was consuming him to hear what was going on in the cabin next to his own. It was the cabin occupied by his cousin Gilbert and Timothy Trollope. Philip did not dare to speak openly with his cousin and question him concerning what knowledge he might have of the things that had been going forward at Modbury Manor, but he was aware that Gilbert knew more than himself, for he had once seen Gilbert reading a letter—Drusilla's letter,—and also he had on occasion heard Timothy Trollope—whether in jest or in earnest—address Gilbert as "my lord".
Now Philip had himself received more than one letter from England. For his father, well knowing the traitorous business which occupied Philip in Spain, and knowing where a letter might find him, had written to him informing him of the death of Lord Champernoun, and bidding him remember that he, Philip, might one day inherit the title and estates, and that, therefore, it was incumbent upon him to look well to his personal safety.
"Indeed," wrote Jasper, "there is but one thing now standing between thee and this great heritage, and that is thy cousin, Master Gilbert Oglander. There is naught that I wish for more heartily than to hear of the young Jackanapes' death. Therefore I do conjure thee, my son, if thou shouldst by chance encounter him, prithee do thy work with more surety than thou didst do it in Beddington Dingle. Let there be no bungling, but bear thee well in mind that upon thy well-directed arrow shaft, or rapier point, must depend thy future and the possibility of dubbing thyself Baron Champernoun."
These were vague hints. But Philip had understood them. He had understood them to mean that his father urged him to seek out Gilbert Oglander and frustrate his return to England. And Philip had sought to obey these injunctions, although hitherto without success. He had tried to compass Gilbert's death during the battle, and, having failed, he yet had hope that some chance would favour him for fulfilling his cherished desire. And he furtively watched his cousin, spied upon his every movement, and endeavoured by every available means to entrap him to his death. But Gilbert, wheresoever he went about the galleon and whenever he went ashore, was for ever accompanied by Timothy Trollope, and Philip saw no advantage in running the risk of a hand-to-hand encounter with the barber's valiant son.
On this day as he lay in his cabin he listened for every word that should pass between Gilbert and his two companions. Much that was said was in the form of mere idle remark about the late battle, or about their wounds, or about the death of Sir Richard Grenville. But after a while there was talk of home, and at length, in answer to some question of Ambrose Pennington, Gilbert spoke of his uncle Jasper, and thereupon told the whole story of his grandfather's death and of his uncle's assumption of the title, even as Drusilla had recounted it in her letter.
"Ah!" muttered Philip, overhearing every word. "Then he doth know. By Our Lady, he doth know all!"