Oxenham. It seems not like the wickedness of man—not to speak of Policy—Spain clothes herself with hate and terror. Her soldiers have the air of fiends from hell; their mission to destroy.
Moon. There is no danger, General. This is the spot—the junction of the two streams, and the solitary cocoanut tree on the point.
Oxenham. Right, Moon, all right. There it is rearing aloft its head like a mighty standard—its giant plumes just waving in the morning air—no mistake!
Drake. What a picture! How strangely beautiful! An there were here some limner of Nature’s Physiognomy, with cunning to throw her wondrous effigy on his magic canvas; that dark still water, noiseless and deep, stealing snakelike through the monstrous foliage, mirrored in its glassy surface; that proud Sierra; the distant horizon, and the rising sun, tinging with purple glory its snowy tops, sending the sheen of silver along the opening river.
Oxenham (abruptly). Here comes the canoe, like a regiment of men in single file. What a length of side! and made out of a single trunks.
Moon. It would puzzle a fellow like me, with only a little arithmetic, to count them. Lord! it shoots like an arrow. As we speak it is at the bank. Hurrah! there is our friend Chiruca in the bow. He is now you see an Indian Chief, and waves his eagle plume to us.
The canoe with the Indians arrives, loaded with fruits and other provisions, and drinks of the country.
Drake. Brave Chiruca, welcome! (they embrace)
Chiruca. Welcome to the land of our fathers, noble Drake. (He points to his companions.) These are the sons of Caciques, who have come to welcome you; the Chiefs who will gather round you; the valiant of their tribes (they prostrate themselves before Drake, who by the instruction of Chiruca raises and embraces them).
Oxenham (to Drake aside). This is the best move yet, General. We are now at the very throat of Spain. I have long had this in my eye, and kept it to myself. Make a nation of these Symerons, but the gold and pearls first.