Complete Works of a E W Mason

by A. E. W. Mason

  Meanwhile certain new adjustments were being made in the equipment of the Golden Hind. Up till now she had carried her big guns in her hold, partly no doubt for concealment and partly for ballast in the heavy weather to be expected in the South Seas. Drake was approaching the rich province of Peru, where, if anywhere, a bold resistance might be feared. He was alone of all his fleet, and his guns must be under his hand. They were removed for the moment to the deck of La Capitana, and his ship careened. It was at this moment that he returned from his unavailing search.

  The eternal trouble of wooden ships in tropical waters is worm. As long as the ship is sailing, she is not wounded. But once she has dropped her anchor, the worm attacks her. It eats its way into the planks, the size of a pea, and on that strange nourishment it grows with extraordinary vigour, until the ship is riddled like a sieve. Nowadays anti-fouling solutions of which arsenic is a principal ingredient are painted over all the planks below the water-line; but even so, once in three months the hull must be hoisted out of the sea and the composition renewed. In Drake’s time this safeguard was unknown. A lead sheath had been tried and discarded on account of its weight. The day of copper had not come. But old John Hawkins had devised a protection which was cumbersome and diminished the ship’s speed, but did protect it from the ravages of worm. The Golden Hind had this protection — a layer of felt and tar covering all the vulnerable part, and outside that a sheath of wood. It is a tribute to the fine design and the good workmanship of the Golden Hind that, though hampered with this added bulk, she was still faster than any vessel which she was likely to meet. The swift galleons of Menendez’ Indian Guard were barred from her by the Isthmus of Panama.

  In this quiet bay of Salada the bottom of the ship was cleaned of the molluscs which had settled upon it and the long streamers of seaweed; the interstices between her planks were caulked and her sides greased. Then she was hauled off the shore into deep water, her rigging renewed and her guns set up in their appointed places. How many she carried no one can now be sure. There is not one witness, whether mariner or prisoner, who agrees with another. She carried eleven heavy pieces, says one; sixteen, says another; many, says Pedro Sarmiento, who might well have been more explicit. San Juan de Anton, an observant man, was more particular. The Golden Hind had seven cast-iron pieces of artillery on each side of her lower deck, six heavy pieces upon the upper deck, of which two were made of bronze, and two especially large cannon on the poop near the helm; twenty-two pieces in all, and spare cannons in the hold. Nuño da Silva, who from his long residence in the ship should be worthiest of credence, says very much the same: “She has seven armed port-holes on each side, and inside she carries eighteen pieces of artillery, thirteen being of bronze and the rest of cast-iron, also an abundance of all sorts of ammunitions of war, for none had been expended.” Besides the artillery and the arquebuses, Drake had an armoury of fire-bombs and javelins tipped with tow such as he had used years before in his attack on Nombre de Dios.

  By January 18th the Golden Hind was once more ready, and on the following day the tiny squadron put to sea. It sailed northwards, the Golden Hind and La Capitana in the offing, the pinnace, with Drake in command and Juan Griego pilot, following the windings of the broken coast and thrusting its nose into the creeks. Drake still hoped to find the Elizabeth, but he must find water. It was a forlorn and arid country. Springs were scarce, difficult to find, and when they were found they yielded no more than would take the raw out of the wine. Throughout the last two months, nothing had so hampered his movements as the lack of water. It had to be sought inland, and only here and there an Indian was met with who could point out the way.

  It was on a search for a stream that the men of the pinnace came upon an odd circumstance which showed at once how complete was the authority of the Spaniard and how little the marauder was expected. They found a Spaniard lying asleep on the ground, and by the side of him thirteen bars of silver which were worth four thousand Spanish ducats or, in our money of today, fourteen hundred pounds. They had no wish to wake the man from his nap, Fletcher relates, but against their will they did, and “seeing that we had done him that injury, we freed him of his charge which otherwise perhaps would have kept him waking, and so left him to take out (if it pleased him) the other part of his sleep in more security.”

  It was Parson Fletcher’s lucky day. For on landing again a few miles further on, and again in search of water, he was given another opportunity of exercising his simple wit. The party met a second Spaniard, this time a boy who was driving eight llamas in front of him. The chaplain was much taken by these animals. In height and length they resembled “a pretty cow”; they had necks like camels; they were good to eat; their wool was exceeding fine; and as beasts of burden there was nothing to equal them in all that country. Each of the sheep which Parson Fletcher met was carrying two leather bags, and each bag carried fifty pounds or so of refined silver; a hundredweight all told. “We could not endure to see a gentleman Spaniard turned carrier so, and therefore without entreaty we offered our service and became drovers. Only his directions were not so perfect that we could keep the way which he intended; for almost as soon as he was parted from us we with our new kind of carriages were come unto our boats.”

  For a fortnight the ships and the pinnace sailed along this empty land, Drake shifting his quarters from the pinnace to the Golden Hind and back again as each served his turn best. On February 4th from the high poop of the ship he spied a little settlement of small houses in a ravine, and transferring himself to the pinnace went on shore at the head of a party. He found two men, of whom one was a Corsican, three thousand silver pesos, seven llamas and hens. He took the livestock, the money and the Corsican on board with him, the Corsican, no doubt, lest he should hurry northwards to the towns and give warning of Drake’s approach. On February 6th, after eighteen days, Drake came at last to the harbour of Arica standing in 18°. In its recess a small white town lay embosomed at the mouth of a valley rich with orchards and plantations. It had a continual trade with Lima and Guayaquil, and wore a pleasant look of prosperity which gladdened the eyes and flattered the hopes of men weary of the sight of parched foreshore in front of a screen of bare brown rock.

  Luckily for Arica, there were only two small ships at anchor in the bay. Drake sent a launch full of armed men and seized them both. The crews were ashore, there was only a single watchman left on each, and no resistance was offered. One of them belonged to Jorge Diaz of Lima, from which town it had come with a cargo of wine and Spanish goods. A negro was now in charge of it. The other, however, carried thirty-five bars of silver, each of them of the size of a brickbat and of the weight of twenty pounds. It was the property of one Felipe Corço, and a Flemish sailor, Nicolas Jorge, was keeping the watch. Meanwhile the church bells were ringing out wildly over the town. The inhabitants assembled on the waterfront with what arms they could snatch up, and a magistrate on a horse showed himself at their head. Drake wanted no more trouble than in the course of this voyage he must needs encounter. Were he to force a landing, lives would be lost, perhaps for nothing, certainly for very little. He remained quietly upon his own ship and let the bells ring.

  But during that evening — his informant must have been the negro on the bark of Jorge Diaz — he got wind of a ship which was making for Lima heavily laden with gold and silver. He transferred the wine and the silver bars to the Golden Hind and, early the next morning, sailed out of Arica bay, taking Corço’s ship with the negro and the Flemish sailor along with him. He was, nevertheless, disgruntled that morning. Arica was the port where the silver from the famed Potosi mines was loaded for Panama, and so poor a congregation of cargo ships was a deplorable stroke of fortune. One wonders whether, as he conned his ship out of the bay, he glanced sideways at John Doughty, who was still a free man on the Golden Hind but not allowed to land, and speculated whether his magic had anything to do with his ill-luck.

  However, he sent for Nicolas Jorge instead, and reproaching him
for his silence about the treasure ship, threatened to put him to death. “And many times,” Jorge deposed, “as is well known to others.” One can see the angry General on his poop deck with respectful sailors waiting for the order and the unhappy Nicolas shivering in his shoes.

  “I’ll hang you” — six steps across the deck to leeward and back again— “Yes, you’ll have to be hanged” — six steps to windward and back again— “I’ll hang you up to the yard arm” — six more steps— “You’d better say your prayers — —”

  In the end he put himself into his pinnace, and using oars and sails hurried in pursuit. He had a special incentive to overhaul this galleon of Bernal Bueno, for his informant had told him that besides eight hundred bars of silver she carried five hundred bars of gold — and all, gold and silver alike, belonged to the King of Spain. He proceeded thus for a hundred and twenty miles, the Golden Hind and her two prizes a league to seaward and he himself close inshore. They reached a small haven, Chule in the province of Arequipa, and there swinging at her anchor was the vessel which he sought. But he was to be again disappointed. It was empty but for three pipes of water. The crew, with many others, horsemen and Indians, were mustered on shore, and as Drake was rowed alongside the ship they shouted and jeered at him. “Go, you thief! You are two hours too late.”

  News of the “Corsair’s” visit had been sent forward from Arica, and two hours before his arrival at Chule the treasure had been taken on shore and buried in a secret place.

  The actual loss was serious enough. But it was still more serious that news of his presence on the coast was beginning to precede him. He wanted his name to follow behind him like the steady south-west wind now filling his sails, not to send him tacking to circumvent it. He was still on the outskirts of Eldorado. He cut the cable of Bernal Bueno’s ship and towed her behind him until he had rejoined the Golden Hind. Then he stood out to sea for another three miles, put all his captives, with the exception of Nicolas Jorge and Juan Griego and a negro, on board La Capitana, set her sails and those of Corço’s ship and those of Bueno’s, and let them all go whithersoever the wind would carry them. He moved more swiftly and more secretly without them.

  Nuño da Silva, who had so many months in which to observe her, spoke with high praise of the sailing qualities of the Golden Hind. “She is very stout and strong. She has two sheathings, one as perfectly finished as the other. She is fit for warfare and is a ship of the French pattern.” It is a curious circumstance in so maritime a nation as the English that French models so often served it best. Even in Nelson’s day no men-of-war were so swift as those captured from the French or those we built upon their plan at Buckler’s Hard and our naval ports.

  “She is well fitted out and finished with very good masts, tackle and double sails. She is a good sailor and the rudder governs her well. The vessel is water-fast when she is navigated with the wind astern and this is not violent, but when the sea is high she labours. She leaks not a little whether sailing before the wind or with the bowlines hauled out. Taking it all in all, she is a ship which is in a fit condition to make a couple of voyages from Portugal to Brazil.”

  Since da Silva’s experience was limited to this same passage from Portugal to Brazil, we can infer that a ship which he judged fit to make four voyages, as she stood, across the Southern Atlantic was in his view a ship of considerable merit.

  The Golden Hind pushed on alone with the pinnace. Ahead of Drake lay Callao, the port of Lima. Lima was the capital of Peru; behind it stood Los Reyes, the palace and offices of the Viceroy. Up till now Drake had certainly captured prizes of some value. But they were all chicken-food compared with what lay ahead. Let him fall suddenly upon the port of Callao and he would have made good his expedition.

  So he thought throughout the next five days, but on the morning of the 15th of February he intercepted about twenty miles off Callao a small trading ship belonging to Francisco de Truxillo, a resident of Lima. Drake took nothing from the ship but some quite startling information from Gaspar Martin its Captain. For, when asked how much gold and silver was lying in the ships in the harbour, Martin replied that some was expected but much had gone. The bark of Miguel Angelo was due, bringing silver from Panama, and the ship of San Juan de Anton, Nao Rica, the great rich ship, the treasure ship of treasure ships, Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion, had left for Panama on February 2nd. She was already thirteen days ahead, but Gaspar Martin added the pleasant mitigation to his disappointing news that she was expected to put into several ports on the way for small cargoes of flour. Drake might still have time to catch her.

  Drake, in fact, was so confident of catching her that he did not alter his plan to enter Callao. He hung off the island until nightfall, and then used Juan Griego to pilot him between the shoals. He grazed one, but escaped without hurt. There were thirty ships within that harbour, their sails furled, their lanterns burning, their crews for the most part ashore. Into the very middle of them the Golden Hind sailed under cover of the darkness and dropped her anchor. Drake put out his launch, and rowing quietly from ship to ship discovered that every ounce of silver they had carried was safe in the store-houses on land. At the same time he was provided with a farrago of false news about affairs in Europe. The Pope was dead, for instance, so was the King of France. But Pope Gregory XIII had been elected in 1572 and at this date of February 1579 had still six years to live. Henry III had been King of France since 1574 and had still ten years to rule. One piece of true and saddening information he did obtain, however, that his old comrade John Oxenham with three other Englishmen were now in the hands of the Inquisition at Lima. Drake had no power to set them at liberty; he had but the one ship and less than a hundred men all told. Lima was not Nombre de Dios, nor was it Valparaiso. He could only put the news away for future thought and carry on with the job he had in hand.

  He cut the cables of each ship as he left it. Although the night was calm, they would drift here and there with the tide; their crews returning from the shore would not find them in the darkness; there would be so much confusion and delay that the Golden Hind would be out of reach before any pursuit could be organized. He returned to his own ship, and he had hardly got on board before a ship from Panama — the San Cristobal, owned and captained by Bautista Patagalana — sailed into the harbour and with all confidence dropped her anchor alongside the Golden Hind. Sailors are sociable people. The men on the San Cristobal hailed their neighbour and asked them who they were. Drake ordered one of his prisoners who spoke Spanish like a Spaniard to answer, and told him what to say. The ship was the ship of Miguel Angelo and had come up the coast from Chile. For the moment his identity was still unknown, and since this harbour was without profit and might possibly prove not without danger, it was better that it should remain unknown. He could slip away to sea in the darkness and be out of sight before morning.

  But one of those small accidents happened against which no man can guard. Although it was close upon midnight, the arrival of Bautista Patagalana’s bark had been remarked. A boat from the Customs House put off to her, and coming alongside enquired her name and said that the Customs Officer would come aboard in the morning. But close by the San Cristobal lay the Golden Hind. She had managed to slip in without attracting attention. Amongst so many ships at ten o’clock of the night it was easy. Now, however, her presence was revealed. Her size alone must have aroused curiosity in the captain of the harbour boat. He sang out for her name as the crew pulled towards her. He was given the answer which had contented the San Cristobal. But the officer of the harbour boat was now alongside. He put his hands on the rail and drew himself up, to find himself looking into the muzzle of a big gun. He uttered a yell: “Frenchmen! Frenchmen!” dropped back into his boat and scurried away as fast as oars could row him to the shore.

  The truth was out now. Drake sent off a skiff in pursuit of the harbour boat but could not catch her. Bautista’s crew was already busy winding up the anchor with every intention of putting as wide a distance as
possible between the privateer and themselves. Drake despatched a second boat of men armed with arquebuses and bows to capture her before she could get away. Bautista himself was wounded by an arrow, but an English sailor was killed and the attack repulsed. When Drake’s boat got back to the Golden Hind, the Spaniard was already under way. Drake manned his pinnace, which was riding astern, and sent her in pursuit. The wind was light, the pinnace equipped with oars as well as sails. She overhauled the San Cristobal whilst she was still within the island at the mouth of the harbour. On this second attempt there was not even a scuffle. Eleven of the San Cristobal’s crew tumbled into their boat — they had probably not had time to hoist it on board — and rowed away to the shore, leaving two Spaniards and a negro to the mercy of the assailants. A wicked lie was later interpolated into the deposition of San Juan de Anton at Panama to the effect that Drake murdered the whole crew of the San Cristobal. But it disappeared when Anton made his second deposition, and indeed it was so at odds with the rest of his evidence and with Drake’s record along the coast that even the judges of Panama could not persist in it. The San Cristobal was mastered without a blow.