by Harold Lamb
The man addressed, a full-muscled, bronzed seaman, gave over the helm a ways, with a glance at the compass in front of him, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a brass culverin that poked its nose from an embrasure on the poop.
“I did naught, Master Thomas Moone,” he said stoutly, “but follow the general’s command, which being inspired by book science and the secret arts of navigation, did seem to me more rightly trusted than my eyes, when the shore began to fall away to leeward. For by the chart it does seem true that the land be to nor’west, when by my eyes it be to nor’east.”
Thomas Moone planted his stocky form beside the cannon and scanned the two hemispheres of the Old and New World which were engraved thereon. Scanty and rude as the details were, they formed the only charts available for the mariners who directed the course of the Golden Hind, and by the outline of the chart inscribed on the cannon, Moone saw that the coastline ran slightly to the west, whereas he could plainly see that it tended to the east.
“A fair wind makes a fair sea, ’tis said,” went on the helmsman, moodily, “yet here we be with a fair wind as ever blessed the channel, and foul danger lurking nigh us. Have we not come through the cursed Straits of Magellan, where a thousand devils send a wind no ship can stand against, when the return trip is to be made? Here we be, a bare hundred men, in one ship in the Great South Sea, with the Spanish men-at-arms watching for us on land, and not a friend to turn to afloat. For food there is but salt penguin meat, and for drink—”
“Good botijas of Chili wine, lad,” roared Moone, “with silks from Cathay, taken from the galleons, for cloth, and bars of silver for ballast.”
“What good avail these, when the charts are evil, and we know not the lay of the rocks along the coast? How may we return to England?”
“By the devil’s back door, if needful,” retorted Moone. “Our good general will discover some path, ’tis safe to venture. That is, if the tender-skinned and silken-clothed gentlemen in the cabin beneath us will cease their mutterings against him, for the reason that he, a sailor, is in command over them. Where should a sailor command, if not on the deck of his ship?”
A sound from the waist of the ship caught Moone’s quick ear, and he thrust his red face into that of the helmsman.
“Hold your tongue, lad,” he whispered hoarsely, “concerning what we’ve said, an ye fear my fist, for here comes the general himself, and the leader of the queen’s gentlemen, Sir James Falconer.”
Whereupon, with a poke of a knotty finger in the helmsman’s ribs to enforce his words Master Moone betook himself to the rail of the poop, and, leaning on the brass cannon, pretended to be interested in the coat-of-arms painted on the stern which bore the insignia of Elizabeth, Queen of England, although really his ear was cocked to what went on behind him.
Two men stepped from the ladder to the poop, one tall and yellow of hair, the other stocky and ruddy of cheeks. Both were bearded in the fashion of the day, and elegantly clad, with plumes in their hats, and satin cloaks over their shoulders, and silver ornaments on belt and shoes.
The tall man, more carefully dressed than his companion, was Sir James Falconer, the other was the general of the expedition, Mr. Francis Drake. His short figure was alert and powerful, and his eyes flickered rapidly over the poop, while he played carelessly with the sword at his belt—the arm as finely tempered as the steel blade.
While Sir James leaned indolently against the rail and watched, the general produced a telescope and scanned the shore ahead of them for several moments.
“Beyond the next headland, Sir James,” he observed after a pause, “must lie the port of Arica for which we search. Then we shall see whether our hosts, the Spaniards, have prepared more treasure craft for us to have the spoiling of! How like you the thought of more silver bars?”
“More like they have carried off all the riches of the town to the woods,” objected the soldier, with a shrug. “Word of our coming has outspeeded the Golden Hind up the coast, and robbed us of our booty. If this be truly the port of Arica, we had best land and search the town, for the shipping will be bare of silver.”
“Not so, Sir James,” replied Drake, putting down the telescope, “if you venture ashore ’twill be short shrift the Dons will give you. At sea, we are safe; ashore our enemies outnumber us, an’ they are plagued treacherous.”
“Bah! One Englishman can fight twenty Spaniards. And as for trickery, I am not the man to be caught asleep. A sailor’s heart clings to his ship and ordnance, but a soldier has a love for battle—a smoking pistol and a flashing blade.”
There was more than a little contempt in the voice of the leader of the queen’s gentlemen. Drake he considered to be an excellent pilot, and a worthy handler of sails and cordage, but Sir James had never admitted that Drake held rank over himself. All sailors were upstarts, a breed scarce better than laborers.
The general cast a keen glance at his second-in-command. It might have been seen that there were lines of weariness on the brow over the sharp eyes and sunburnt cheeks. The months since leaving Plymouth had been full of trouble—losses among the men at the hands of Indians, a vessel lost to sight in Magellan Straits, another gone down with all hands at the same spot, and lack of good provisions beyond what they could take from the Spanish towns. Greater than all these in the general’s mind was the mutinous spirit of Sir James and his gentlemen.
Alone in the Great South Sea, surrounded by Spanish craft, with the way of return by the straits well-nigh cut off by the enemy, and the way to China an unknown path, the plight of the Golden Hind was little short of desperate. And now the band of men on the ship was divided, the mariners in one faction, in the other the soft-handed gentlemen who had sailed to cross swords with the cavaliers of Spain for the glory of God and to win gold ducats for themselves.
Patiently, Drake had made every effort to mend the breach, only to see it grow until the two factions were on the point of drawing sword to settle the question of leadership.
“Several years agone,” said Drake calmly, “my adventure, in attacking Nombre de Dios, in Panama, and carrying off a rich treasure in silver aroused the anger of his Excellency, the Viceroy of Mexico, who swore that if I showed myself within Spanish waters again I should be taken and dealt with as a pirate. Which meant that my head would hang in one of his Excellency’s ropes.
“When word of this oath was brought to my ears, I swore likewise that I should return, and make my way to the South Sea where I should exact toll from his Excellency. I have carried out my vow, in the name of our sovereign lady, the queen, but I intend to give his Excellency no chance to make good his oath. Unless there is need, neither I nor my men shall set foot ashore.”
“If our general,” purred the smooth voice of the yellow-haired Falconer, “would fain be pent aship for fear of the Spaniard, I will lead my men ashore and give the Dons a taste of English steel and powder. After all, it is the good blood that wields the blade; the mongrel ever snaps and snarls but flees the combat.”
The general’s bronzed cheeks flushed. He made no movement, but shot a warning glance at Thomas Moone whose mottled face was black with anger.
“Not so, Sir James,” he corrected, “for fighting blood knows no coat-of-arms.”
“Aye, in men-at-arms. It is the leaders who own the mark of nobility, such as—” Falconer bowed ceremoniously—“your pardon, General, I remembered not you lacked a coat-of-arms.”
“Your memory mistakes, Sir James,” said Drake quickly, “for I have a coat-of-arms.”
“Of honorable name? The crest is ancient?”
“As the world, Sir James. It is here.”
Drake placed his hand on the breech of the brass culverin wherein was engraved the twin hemispheres of the world, not unlike armorial bearings. Thomas Moone grinned broadly and shot a glance at the soldier.
“And your commission as general?”
A smile twisted the soft mustache of Falconer. He knew the queen had given Drake no written commiss
ion, owing to fear of the Spanish monarch.
“Here!”
Drake drew his sword.
“This is my commission, blessed by the queen herself, who declared the man accursed who should betray it. She gave it me with her own hand.”
Sir James smiled and drew his blade with a flourish.
“A worthy commission!” he cried, “in the hand of a man who is not worthy. Would it not be better to surrender it to one who could use it?”
“God’s life!” swore Drake who had reached the limit of his patience.
At that instant the burly figure of Thomas Moone stepped between them.
“Lookee, masters,” he growled, “an ill time to quarrel when a rich port lies open to our hand, and the Spaniards are making away with all their silver. It lies there, on the starboard bow.”
“Arica!” cried Drake.
Both men wheeled and scanned the harbor. The Golden Hind had already been seen, and the crews of the vessels anchored in the bay were pulling ashore in small boats. Few people were to be seen in the town itself which consisted of no more than a score or more buildings grouped together a little ways from the shore.
If the Golden Hind was not to lose all the advantage of surprise in appearing suddenly before the town, the English would need to act at once. Falconer knew this as well as Drake, and both sheathed their swords. The soldier laughed light-heartedly, but the general’s ruddy countenance was aflame with anger.
“Think not, Sir James,” he said, “that you escape settlement because you lead a party ashore to take the silver from the Spanish vessels. The moment you set foot on this ship you shall be tried in the name of her Majesty, on charges of treason and mutiny, for you drew sword against me. Go, now, and lose no time about your business!”
Already a boatswain, several sailors and a score of musketeers, with a dozen gentlemen, thronged the waist of the ship, while the great boat was dragged up from its position astern of the ship. At a signal from Drake the helmsman prepared to bring her head to the wind. Sir James, with a glance ashore at the deserted shipping and town, leaped from the poop to the waist of the ship, to be greeted by a shout of acclaim from his men.
* * * *
There was cause for the eagerness of the English to set foot in Arica. Inland from the port were the great mines of Potosi, and from Arica the treasure ships bearing silver to Panama set out. They had heard from Spanish captives that it was time for the Santa Maria, a ship carrying the annual tax of silver of King Philip of Spain, to leave Arica, and they hoped to catch it in the act of loading.
Such a vessel would be a prize richer than any they had taken. Its value would be inestimable in poverty-stricken England. To capture the treasure ship of the king of Spain was a feat that warmed the hearts of the men on the Golden Hind, and those who had not gone ashore with Falconer sought points of vantage along the deck of the vessel to watch what passed in the town.
On the quarter-deck Master Moone stood alone with the helmsman, the telescope glued to his eye. Drake had gone below to his cabin, troubled by the scene with his second-in-command. As the day was clear and the telescope of good quality Moone could make out plainly what his companions in the great boat were doing.
They had landed where the half-dozen ships were moored, and the soldiers swarmed over the craft. Shortly, they appeared on deck again and Moone swore his disgust, for he could guess that no silver was to be had from the galleons in the harbor of Arica.
Again, thought Moone, the Spaniards, warned of their coming, had managed to make away with their riches in time. Probably the Santa Maria had sailed some time before, leaving the port barren of silver.
Suddenly Moone gave a whistle of surprise, and gripped the telescope tightly to his eye. Disappointed in finding nothing on the ships, the English boat had pulled to shore, where the soldiers, with Sir James Falconer at their head, entered the town.
At first everything was quiet in the streets of Arica, without a trace of living Spaniard. In landing, Falconer had broken Drake’s command. The general had ordered that no one was to go ashore when he himself was not with the expedition. But his superior’s caution chafed on the leader of the soldiers, and this was heightened by the quarrel on the poop of the Golden Hind, and by disappointment at losing the Santa Maria. The town appeared to be deserted, and this confirmed Falconer in his determination to land and wrest some spoil from the buildings.
What had attracted Moone’s attention was a movement in a wood at one side of the town, near the shore. He caught the glint of steel through the trees, and in a moment the cause was plain to view. A troop of Spanish cavalry, ambushed in the wood, trotted out into the open and started at a rapid pace for the town.
So intent were the party in Arica on searching the houses that they did not see the advancing line of horsemen until the latter were halfway to the town. Then it was too late to gain the boat in safety. Moone cursed under his breath as he saw this, then gave vent to a grunt of approval. The soldiers under the orders of Falconer greeted the cavalry with a hot fire from their arquebuses, so hot that the wave of horsemen split in two and rolled around the town, giving the little body of Englishmen a wide berth.
But meanwhile other bodies of Spaniards appeared on the hills above the town, while tiny puffs of white showed Moone where their arquebuses were searching the streets of Arica. Several Englishmen dropped under the fire, and more were lost in the retreat back to the boat.
Not all escaped from the town. Sir James with three companions were quitting the place after their companions by one of the side streets, when they were pursued and cut off by a troop of horsemen. For a moment Moone saw the blade of Sir James flashing in his long arm, until a blow from a pike disarmed him and he and his men were made prisoners by the Spaniards.
* * * *
No ill place was the cabin of Mr. Francis Drake. The panes in the square portholes were of good English stained glass, the beams that supported the deck overhead were curiously carved, and Flemish tapestries hung from the walls. A ladder in one corner led to the poop, while a small door at one side gave into the general’s sleeping quarters.
Following the ill-omened landing of his men, Drake was seated in his shirt sleeves on a bench that ran beneath the ports, stroking a violin softly. His sword was thrown carelessly on the small table by his side. Idle and light-hearted as he appeared, Thomas Moone, who had sailed with him on many voyages, noted the line of care drawn across the brown forehead, and the pain back of the searching eyes. Moone was seated by his leader, without formality, as was their custom.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, the sailing master spat out of an open port.
“Good riddance it be, sir,” he growled, “for Sir James was ever of mutinous mind. If the Spanish dog hang him to yardarm, ’twill be but cheating us of the pleasure. Pah! Silk-coated vermin!”
“The man is brave, Tom,” mused the general, “and he was outspoken. Nevertheless he did breed mutiny and treason among our people, and if he lives, he shall answer for it. Tell me again the words of the Spanish leader at Arica.”
“I heard them not,” explained the sailor, “those who came off in the great boat say that one of the Dons on horseback came within earshot on the shore as they were pulling away. He cried to them in Spanish, which several of the company knew—
“‘Tell your corsair chief that his men shall be tried and hung at Lima, and his Excellency bids him come and attend the trial.’”
Drake threw back his head and laughed long.
“So the Vulture invites us to come to his lair, Tom. What think you, man—shall we do as he bids?”
“Ar’t not serious, sir? No doubt but his Excellency would gladly welcome us ha! He’ll see little of us save good cannon shot. Yet why put in at Lima when the treasure ship sails north to escape us? We may overtake it, for we have the legs of the Spanish craft.”
“How long since did the Santa Maria put to see, Tom?”
“Three days agone, sir. It would be a simple matter
to make up the time.”
“Too simple, for the Spanish trust cunning where they fear sails.”
Drake plucked at the violin strings thoughtfully.
“Nay, the Santa Maria will not be found where we look for it. But we will find it, by my faith, Tom. The Spaniards shall pay for their treatment of Sir James Falconer. He is an Englishman. Since when have Englishmen been taken at sight as pirates? The man offended but with his sword—a good blade.”
“He is foul with mutiny.”
“Then shall he be tried on the Golden Hind in the queen’s name. Nay, no other than his general will try him. His Excellency, the Vulture, will find his prisoners slipped through his claws, and the black lepers of the Inquisition will lose their prey.
The honest mariner scratched his head thoughtfully and sighed.
“How may that be, sir? Sir James travels overland in the hands of many armed caballeros of Spain, who take him to the presence of the viceroy at the great town of Lima, where are no less than three thousand soldiers, as I have heard, and many cannon. Were the viceroy afloat we might lay him aboard with a good heart. Ashore, we be a scant ninety men against three thousand. How could we land, in the face of such odds?”
“The task is beyond us, Tom,” smiled the general. “Our boats could never put ashore in the town held by such number of soldiers.”
“’Twere madness to think on’t sir. Besides, there is the treasure ship that flees us. We can not squander time in trying to barter for the lives of the mutineers at Lima.”
“No silver shall buy the lives of Sir James Falconer and his men,” declared the general. “Yet they shall stand free—”
“But how, in God’s name—”
The general ran the fiddle bow caressingly over the strings.
“When Sir James went to the port of Arica he carried in a pocket of his cloak a letter to the viceroy, written in an excellent conceit, in goodly Spanish—”
“The traitor!”
“Nay, you wrong him. The letter was from my hand. Perchance your Spanish caballero on horseback opened it when Sir James was made prisoner, and made answer as he did. For my letter was word that I was coming to pay the viceroy a call in person at his palace. Now that he bids me, by his caballero to come to the trial, I shall pay my respects—”