The party returned to the ship. Nothing further was possible. With a force ten times as great as the one he really commanded, Captain Drake might have attempted a march on Panama itself, for the spirit of the great admiral was strong in him.
Digging was resumed, and the labour was rewarded by the mocking discovery of a heap of bones. It was plain to every one that the company had been led into a cunningly prepared trap. In the heat of their anger some were for sailing back to Trinidad and sacking San Joseph. The skipper would hear of no such mad enterprise. He set sail for the open sea, his heart full of two desires. He wanted to fall in with some other English ships, and essay an attack on Panama. Failing this, he hoped for the chance of meeting plenty of King Philip's galleons. Large or small, he vowed to assail them and take a terrible requital for his own misfortunes.
His latter hope was realized. He fell in with two ships in his passage through the Indies, and attacked and pillaged both. Although shorn of nearly half his strength by the time he reached the open Atlantic, yet he made for the Azores and captured yet a third galleon, and fell in with a fourth sailing for Panama itself. He boarded this, and gave the captain a letter for the authorities of the isthmian port. In this he declared his intention of paying the place a speedy visit with such a force that he would level the town with the ground if a hair on the head of any captive had been injured. 'Twas a proud, characteristic boast, but it was never carried into effect.
Plymouth was duly reached. The Golden Boar brought some goodly treasure to port, many stories of wonderful lands, and a wealth of bad news. There was mourning in Plymouth. And Paignton Rob—weeks after—sat moist-eyed in a cottage at Newnham listening to a maiden's sobs.
Chapter XLIII.
IN PANAMA.
Panama sweltered in a blaze of summer sunshine. The place reeked with heat like a furnace. The smooth sea reflected the glare like a mirror; the white houses dazzled the eyes, and sent fiery darts of pain through them to the brain. The harbour showed no sign of life, the sentinel at the castle nodded at his post, and his excellency the governor lay stretched on a couch at an open window, whilst two slaves fanned him with palm leaves. The streets were empty even of natives. These, emulating their white masters, had crawled into the shade of wall or tree, and curled up in slumber.
The jail was a long, low building in the southern angle of the castle courtyard. Its walls were of mud baked in the tropical sun, and its roof was of palm-thatch. The windows were mere slits in the thick, hard walls, and gave little light or air. The doors were stout, and tightly barred. Of all the hot corners in the Pacific inferno, the jail corner was the hottest. The place was full; either the long spell of heat or the caprices of the sweltered governor had stirred up an unruly spirit. Several soldiers had mutinied; the natives had been troublesome and restive; a party of sailors had run amuck—doubtless affected by the torrid heat—and so the prison population was at high-water mark. The commandant had much ado to find room for the seven Englishmen. On behalf of the Inquisitors, Basil had offered to relieve him of their company, but the governor had said "No" to the proposal. The seven were confined in one room of fair size, and, except for the heat, were no more comfortless than they would have been in the average English jail. But the heat was fearful! The wretched men sat and stewed in it. Water was not too plentiful in the city, and the native water-carriers had grown lazy; thirst racked the prisoners one and all. They had been shut in for the better part of two weeks, and wondered why they had not been brought to trial. They had expected a short shrift and a speedy execution. Usually these expectations would have been realized, but the governor would not be bothered with any extra work whilst the heat spell lasted, and he had been warned that the "Holy Office" would claim the Englishmen as heretics and blasphemers. This would mean a lengthy wrangle between the military and ecclesiastical authorities, and his sun-dried excellency was not in the mood or condition to preside over heated arguments. The fellows were safe, he said, and would have time to think over their sins, political and religious. Let them alone for a while.
It was the turn of Nick Johnson and Johnnie Morgan to be at the window. A rough bench was drawn up near the opening, and the two knelt thereon and let the hot air—cool compared with the general atmosphere of the prison—blow softly on their faces. They were not allowed to put their heads too near the blessed inlet, for that would shut out the light from their comrades. Their joint occupation of the room had been lengthy enough to give rise to a set of rules for their mutual good and guidance. The law against blocking up the window too closely was a very strict one. From the angle at which he looked out Nick could see the drowsy sentinel.