A great sigh ran along the benches; dark figures swayed in the faint light; the splash of oars sounded above the lap of the tide; the great galley was under way and going seawards. The time was some minutes short of midnight.
Panama was asleep. The men rowed slowly, making as little noise as possible until clear of the swarm of canoes and small craft that hung about in the bay. Then they went to work with a will. The oars creaked and groaned; the vessel rolled to the ocean swell. The officers awoke in their cabins only to find themselves trapped. Dawn found the galley well out of sight of land and going northwards.
Chapter XLIX.
EASTWARD HO!
Panama awoke with the sun, discovered the flight of the galley, and made ready for pursuit. There were some small craft in the bay, and these were manned with Indians and soldiers and sent out to sea; but they came back as they went. Truth to tell, the flotilla would have stood no chance against the guns of the Santa Maria, and those aboard the tossing boats knew that.
Thereafter, for some weeks, the town lived its nights in alarm. Fires burned along the fort and on the most seaward points of the bay. No man expected other than that the slaves would come back in the darkness and take a terrible revenge for the cruelties they had suffered. But Panama was alarmed quite needlessly: the galley never rode on its waters again.
The first care of the revolted slaves was to get as far away from their late masters as possible. In spite of their fatigue, they rowed hard until daybreak. At first there was some difficulty with the European riff-raff. These wanted to swagger about on deck and bully the Indians; but neither Hernando nor his two English friends would hear of it. They had chosen the able-bodied sailors from amongst the rowers, and placed them on deck to attend to helm and sails. All not wanted for this duty must sit at the oars. Two or three flatly refused to do so, and began to talk above their deserts. They were promptly put back into chains again, and Hernando stood over them with a whip and flogged them into work. The lesson was not lost on the others.
A breeze came up with the sun; sails were spread, sweeps taken in, and the Indians freed from their chains. The delight of the poor fellows was unbounded. They fell down before their rescuers, worshipping them; then they rushed up on deck, dancing and singing like a mob of children let loose from confinement. There was plenty of excellent food aboard, and for once the rowers fed sumptuously. The breeze continuing, all save the three commanders and the deck hands laid themselves down and slept until nearly noon. Then labour began again. The wind still held strongly, so the natives were put to work cleansing the slave-deck of its accumulated filth. The chains, save about a score of the strongest sets, were tossed overboard. These were kept in case of mutiny amongst the scum whites. There was no fear of trouble with the natives; the faithful, grateful creatures would follow their liberators everywhere.
The cleaning being finished, a council of all the whites—save the three put into bonds—was held on the after-deck. Hernando, as prime mover in the revolt, presided. As the Spaniard was a good seaman, he was unanimously appointed captain; whereupon he chose Morgan, Jeffreys, and a trustworthy Spaniard as his chief officers. Then, before the whole assembly, he swore solemnly to do his utmost for the welfare of his ship; and his three officers, having his promise to issue no orders that a gentleman might hesitate to fulfil, solemnly swore to obey him to the death. The others, according to their several stations, took vows of faithful obedience to their officers.