Complete Works of a E W Mason

by A. E. W. Mason

  Drake hove-to whilst still in the open sea and ordered a boat to be lowered. He was rowed in between the headlands, and as the harbour widened out before him he gave a sharp command and his men lay upon their oars. A scattered jungle had grown up over the ground which he had cleared. The sea-birds, startled by the plash of the oars, were wheeling and screaming overhead. The place was as lonely as on the day when he had left it behind him. But at the far corner, where the wall of the forest hemmed it in, smoke was rising from a tree. Friday’s footprint a hundred and fifty years later could hardly have alarmed Robinson Crusoe more. There was not a weapon in the boat. He returned to the Pasha, lowered a second boat and armed both crews. This time he pulled straight to the beach. Still no one was seen, no shout was heard. Only the sea-birds swirling and calling overhead, and the wisps of smoke floating upwards from the burning tree. But as Drake sprang ashore he saw something shining in the sun like a metal plate on a tree trunk next to the one which was burning. As he approached it, he saw that it was a metal plate with words cut into it. He read:

  “Captain Drake. If you fortune to come to this Port, make haste away! For the Spaniards which you had with you here the last year have betrayed this place and taken all that you left here. I depart from hence this present 7th of July, 1572.

  Your loving friend,

  John Garret.”

  We get no nearer to John Garret. A Plymouth trader? An old comrade! All we know of him is his kindly warning, and that only five days before Drake’s arrival he had nailed it up and made sure that it should not be overlooked.

  Certainly Drake’s hidden stores had been rifled, and the harbour was dangerous. But he knew of none so convenient for the fitting together of his pinnaces; and he set to work to make it safe. He cleared the land about it again, and bringing pulleys, hawsers and axes on shore, he cut down trees and made a high barricade in the shape of a pentagon. Two of the five sides were built up at the water’s edge, leaving a narrow entrance through which the pinnaces could be dragged. One door only was cut in this barricade at the side, close to the beach, and at night the door was barred by the trunk of a tree. This work was hardly finished when by the strangest chance an English privateer belonging to Sir Edward Horsey, Governor of the Isle of Wight, sailed in with a Spanish despatch boat from Seville which had been captured the day before. This ship was captained by one James Ranee. Now a James Ranee was master of the William and John when it sailed in Hawkins’ fleet in 1568. As is known, the William and John lost touch with that fleet off Cape Antonio in Cuba and reached the coast of Ireland a month after Drake’s return in the Judith. The Ranee who was now captain of Sir Edward Horsey’s bark may, for all we know, have been that same Ranee. His arrival was an embarrassment, but Drake could do nothing but take him into his confidence. To the north and west of Port Pheasant on the coast of Darien stood the town of Nombre de Dios, small but important, for it was the Atlantic terminus of the Panama gold road. The treasure was brought by ships from the harbours of Peru to Panama. There it was loaded on to the backs of mules, and thence it was carried across the open savanna and the jungle of the isthmus to Nombre de Dios on the Caribbean Sea. At times, if the season was convenient, it was halted at the small station of Venta Cruz on the River Chagres, sixteen miles or so from Panama, and despatched for the rest of its journey in boats. But for months the Chagres River was little more than a brook. Whether it came, however, by water or land, it all reached the King’s Treasure House in Nombre de Dios, where it accumulated until the gold fleet with Menendez’ Indian Guard to escort it took it away to Spain. To capture Nombre de Dios by surprise, to hold it long enough to secure the gold, and to be off with half of Philip’s income for the year, was the plan which Drake had formed to recoup himself for his misfortunes at Rio de la Hacha and St. John de Ulua. Ranee, when it was disclosed to him, asked to be allowed to join, and Drake reluctantly gave his consent. For seven days Drake and his men were busily fitting together their pinnaces and storing them with arms and provisions. Ranee contributed besides a long-boat.

  Their first need was a harbour more secret than Port Pheasant, and the three ships and the pinnaces set sail on the 20th of July, coasting along Darien until they reached some islands, which they named the Isles of Pines, three days later. These small islands, by the way, are not to be confused with the well-known Isla de Pinos off the south coast of Cuba. There they found two small frigates belonging to Nombre de Dios loading planks and timber. The men engaged upon the work were negro slaves, and from them Drake obtained the information that Nombre de Dios was expecting a garrison of soldiers to protect it.

  Against Drake? No, the Spaniards had not an inkling of his presence. But against the Cimaroons. The Spaniards had only themselves to thank for these enemies. The Cimaroons were negro slaves who had run away from the cruelty of their masters and mated with the indigenous Indians of the woods. So many had fled during the eighty years of Spanish misrule that they had now grown into a people. They had split into two tribes with a king for each, but remained united by a common hatred of their oppressors.

  Drake in these days possessed a wiser statecraft than most of his contemporaries. He is often described to us as a brave, impetuous man who gambled on his audacity and was saved through his great years by his star. But that is a careless view. No one was more assiduous to prepare success. That he hit hard and quickly and out of the dark is true enough, but not in a bull’s rush with his head down. Little unnoticed things are good evidence. When he saw the tree smoking at the forest edge he rowed back to his ship, lowered a second boat, and armed every man. The action was typical of him. He took precautions, he thought out his plans, and when he improvised, the improvisation was not so much a happy-go-lucky adventure as the variation of a stratagem. We shall recognize it again and again; and when his two last expeditions failed, they failed because, in the decline of his powers, he omitted to follow the precedents which he had made.

  But he was now in the fullness of his vigour, and it was amongst the first of his rules to make friends with the countrymen and natives, however poor and simple they might be. He took these slaves now and set them ashore upon the mainland, giving them their liberty and their opportunity to rejoin the Cimaroons. There probably was some cunning in his kindness, for if they were disposed to return to Nombre de Dios instead of joining their countrymen, they would find the journey by land so long and so troublesome that in no circumstances could they reach the town before Drake, or send notice of his coming.

  At the Isles of Pines, Drake left the three ships under Captain Ranee’s charge. He manned the three pinnaces with fifty-three of his own men, and Ranee’s long-boat with twenty from Ranee’s ship. He chose the arms which would be wanted for his particular attack and placed them under cover in the pinnace which he commanded himself. It was an armament chiefly, of course, of muskets, but there were some curious weapons amongst them, designed by Drake for his particular purpose — six small cannon, sixteen bows, six large shields and six ‘fire pikes,’ as he called them. These were to have tow steeped in spirit twisted about the pike, so that they could, lighted, help the attack and confuse the enemy.

  It was on the 23rd of July that Drake set out from the Isles of Pines, and he arrived at the islands of Cativaas, twenty-five leagues along the coast, on July 28th. There, very early in the morning, he landed with all his men, gave them each his weapon, drilled them and made them a speech. What a great hope there was of good things for them in Nombre de Dios! The town was unwalled. He meant to pay himself for all the wrongs that had been done to him. (Once more Rio de la Hacha!) He had now come with a crew which saw with his own eyes, and he had come at a time when nobody expected him. He explained his plan of attack and re-embarked. It was afternoon and, setting sail, the four boats reached the mouth of the Rio Francisco before sunset. Thence they drew close in under the coast, so that they should not be descried from the watch-house on the cape at the entrance to the bay of Nombre de Dios. When they were within six miles of th
at point, Drake ordered a halt. The pinnaces dropped their kedges, and, fastening themselves side by side with their grappling-irons, rode until night had fallen. As soon as it was dark they weighed their anchors again, and using both oars and sails they crept as silently as they could until they were at the very point of the harbour’s arm under the high land. There once more the small flotilla stopped. Orders were passed round in a whisper that complete silence must be observed. Everyone was to rest as well as his cramped position allowed. The attack would be made at dawn. Sleep, however, was not to be come by. The crews of these pinnaces were little more than boys. They were on the brink of a strange adventure, with death perhaps at the end of it, before the sun had grown to its strength. Moreover, those negroes whom they had taken from the frigates at the Isles of Pines and released had been talking. They had spoken of the greatness of Nombre de Dios, so that many of Drake’s youths imagined it to be as big as Plymouth. They fell to wondering in low whispers whether they were not matched against an enemy too strong for them. To the watchful Drake it was clear that these nerve-straining hours of silent inactivity were spreading a fear which might flare up into a panic.

  Fortunately the moon began at that moment to rise behind the trees. It was not visible, but its light spread out above the headland, and Drake, seizing upon the occurrence, cried: “There is the dawn coming! Get under way.”

  Bending to their oars, the crews drove the pinnaces round the point and into the harbour. One little obstacle for which no one could have been prepared stood in their way. A Spanish ship with a cargo of Canary wine had just dropped her anchor in the bay, but had not yet furled her spritsail. Her captain, startled by the sudden appearance of these four pinnaces racing for the shore, lowered his launch and sent it off to warn the town. Drake, however, cut across its bows and drove it off with threats.

  On the western side of the harbour a battery upon high ground commanded the town and the basin. On the eastern heights a similar battery was in the making but not made. The town lay round the water’s edge at the bottom of the bay. Drake grounded his pinnaces just below the west battery. Leaving twelve men to guard them, he led the rest up the slope and over the low stonework on to the battery, where he found six great pieces of brass mounted on their carriages, some of them great culverins, but none of less calibre than a demi-culverin, with one gunner alone to look after them. What Nombre de Dios feared was an attack by the Cimaroons. A strong palisade had been built and manned behind the town towards the forest, but the sea-approach was neglected. The solitary gunner very naturally fled at once, screaming, and Drake’s men toppled the big cannon off their emplacements on to the beach.

  The noise of the guns rumbling and rolling from their parapets and the cries of the frightened gunner startled the town. The great bell in the church tower was rung, and the sound of drums beaten by running men was heard. Drake at once despatched his brother John with John Oxenham and sixteen men to creep along the beach outside the harbour and enter the town at its eastern end. He himself, with the main force, marched down the great street towards the marketplace by the palisade. He had his drums too — two of them; and his trumpeters — two of them. He lit his fire pikes. He set his drums beating, his trumpets sounding; and as he marched down the street he saw the soldiers and the inhabitants under arms and in ordered companies gathered in the marketplace. As Drake’s party marched down the street they were received with a volley, but the shots were all low and one man only was killed, a trumpeter, though a good many were wounded. Drake’s answer was quick and decisive, a volley from the muskets, a flight of arrows and a charge with the pikes. The Spaniards did not expect the sudden charge, and as Drake reached the marketplace his brother with his sixteen men entered it from the east and attacked on the flank. The Spaniards waited for no more, they opened the gate and fled, flinging their weapons behind them as they ran. Drake’s lads pursued them. They caught two of the Spanish soldiers, but their only other rewards were cut feet and wounded legs from the pikes and swords which the fugitives had thrown aside. They were recalled and stationed in the midst of the marketplace, close to the great cross and a big tree which grew beside it. In the meantime the church bell was still sending its alarm across the moonlit night, and Drake sent some men to break in and stop it. The church door, however, was so heavily barred that it must be burnt down, and they had no time for that. Drake’s force held the marketplace, but it was small and the town was full of people, and there were still soldiers amongst them, free and armed. Drake had to be quick. He ordered the two Spanish prisoners to lead them to the Governor’s house.

  To the surprise of all of them, they found the great door wide open, a horse saddled at the door and a candle inside on the top of the stairs. The rest of the house was in darkness. The Governor had been on the point of mounting a horse and following his soldiers into the woods, when the approach of Drake’s men drove him to seek refuge in the darkness of the upper storey. There was no resistance, indeed there was no one visible to resist; and as Drake and his men crowded into the lobby they saw through the bars of a storeroom a huge heap of heavy silver bars piled up against the wall. A cry of delight rose, and an eager movement towards the store. But Drake interfered. No one should touch a bar of silver. The company must stand upon its arms in the marketplace. Silver did not count on this expedition. There was gold and there were jewels in the King’s Treasure House by the water-side, and enough to sink their four pinnaces. Whilst most of the company kept watch and ward, he would send a party to break into the Treasure House.

  His men returned to their stations. But at this point an alarming report was brought to Drake. The pinnaces were in danger of being captured, and if his whole company was not aboard them before daybreak, so great was the crowd of townspeople and soldiers, they would have little chance of getting away. Drake at once sent his brother and John Oxenham to report, and himself pressed forward to the King’s Treasure House. It is noticeable that he needed no guide to lead him to that spot. In his two earlier voyages in the Swan he may not have discovered where the Governor lived, but he had found out where the treasure was kept. As he approached the King’s Treasure House with his escort, his brother and John Oxenham returned.

  They said that Diego, a Cimaroon slave, had bolted from the town to the pinnaces and implored the men on guard there to save him. Diego had warned them that a week ago one hundred and fifty extra soldiers had been sent into the town to protect it against the Cimaroons. The twelve men on guard on the beach remembered the story that had been told by the negroes at the Isles of Pines. They were frightened too because they saw many soldiers and people with arms and lighted matches for their muskets running up and down the beach. When these people came crowding to the pinnaces, they cried out: “Que gente?” (“Who are you?”) — and being told that they were English, they kept discharging their pieces at them and running away.

  It was clearly time for Drake to get his work done: but his luck was out, for at this moment a tropical storm burst upon the town. The matches of his muskets were extinguished, the powder spoilt, the bow-strings loosened. Fortunately there was a veranda built about the western side of the King’s House, and under it Drake’s men crowded. For half an hour the storm lasted, and Drake heard about him once more the repetition of the negroes’ stories and the murmurings of fear. He turned upon them, crying:

  “I have brought you to the mouth of the Treasure of the World, and if you want it (that is ‘go without it’) you must henceforth blame nobody but yourselves.”

  As soon as the storm stopped, Drake ordered his brother and John Oxenham with their sixteen men to break into the Treasure House, whilst he himself returned to the marketplace. But as he stepped out of the shelter he stumbled and fell. It was then seen that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in his leg. He had been shot in the first volley in front of the gate, but realizing that there were lads in his company who were new to battle he had concealed his wound. His tracks, however, now betrayed him. It seemed incredib
le that one man could lose so much blood and live. They gave him a drink, bound up his leg and entreated him — even the boldest amongst them — to go back on board and have his wound dressed. But Drake refused to listen. He would not leave this enterprise unaccomplished. His men, however, insisted. He was their leader. He had inspired them with a great love for him.

  He was more than their leader. He had learned enough of medicine and surgery to tend them when they were hurt or ill. He was their navigator besides. It was one thing to find one’s way across the North Sea with a tallowed lead. It was quite another to set out from Plymouth and drop an anchor first at Dominica and next at Port Pheasant. Under Lovell and John Hawkins, Drake had learned not merely to handle a ship but to sail her. Without Drake not one of his men could see how they were ever to reach home again. Drake was fainting with pain and exhaustion. He could do no more. And his followers, recalling the main company from the marketplace, carried him down to the pinnaces.

  By break of day, wounded and sound alike were all embarked. They left but one man behind, the dead trumpeter. And they sailed away to an island which Drake had appointed as their destination after the raid, a league off the town to the west.

  Meanwhile, they took with them what they could: that bark, for instance, which had come into the harbour a few minutes before them with its cargo of Canary wine. They set some men aboard with very little resistance and sailed it away in their company.

  But here was Drake’s third attempt upon the wealth of the Indies foiled on the very edge of success. It would have seemed to any ordinary man that he was meant not to succeed. Rio de la Hacha, St. John de Ulua, and now Nombre de Dios. Drake had been Fortune’s football. Happily he was as resilient as a football.