“What shall I call thee? brother?”
—Marlowe, in Tamburlaine.
The voyage of the fly-boat proceeded thenceforward more uneventfully. The men who had been planning insubordination, now that their ringleader had been so summarily disposed of, changed their front and avowed themselves genuinely the followers of Vytal and the captain. For this transition Roger Prat, winning them with his humor and good-fellowship, was largely responsible, and after his own humbly boastful manner took no care to conceal the fact from Rouse, whom he loved in a railing, mocking fashion.
Vytal and Marlowe were much together, the dull days affording them the chance for many conversations, by the aid of which their intimacy grew and deepened into a strong friendship. There was that in the poet which appealed to Vytal—the facility of expression, the fervor and the impetuosity, all of which his own nature had lost in the grim realities of war and privation. Also, there was sometimes a profundity in Marlowe’s thought which touched his silent depths.
Neither of the two saw Eleanor Dare again while on the voyage, save for an occasional glimpse of her, when, with her maid-servant, who was the wife of Dyonis Harvie, she came upon the deck for a breath of air.
Ananias approached the two men now and then with whispered protestations of his innocence, that grew more calm and earnest in his sober moments. Finally, however, he vaguely confessed a slight complicity, to Vytal only, and followed the acknowledgment with a convincing assurance that at heart he had ever been loyal to his father-in-law, Governor White, and to Sir Walter Raleigh. Vytal, hiding his contempt, received this assertion with a promise to leave the matter as it stood so long as there were no signs of further culpability, and gave the assistant his hand with a strong effort. He then instructed his men to preserve a like secrecy.
For many weeks the ship pursued her solitary course without once sighting the Admiral. It was feared by many that Ferdinando’s vessel had met some misfortune, and foul play was suggested by but a few of the most suspicious voyagers.
Only one incident in all these weeks seems worthy of record.
Vytal was standing alone at mid-day, down on the orlop deck, examining the ship’s cables and spare rigging, when a light footstep, almost inaudible, approached him from behind. Turning, he saw the Indian, Manteo, who, it will be remembered, was returning to Virginia after a stay of several years in England. He held a finger to his lips and looked about him cautiously. “We are betrayed,” he said, in a low voice, “by the son of a warlike country. Ferdinando leaves his children to perish. The great ship seeks us not, but would make her way to my land alone.”