Volume I Part 41 (1/2)

But when he came, he came with a strange face Of feigned despair; and with a stammering tongue He vowed he could not find those poor supplies Which Drake himself in other days had found Upon that self-same island. But, perchance, This was a barren year, he said. And Drake Looked at him, suddenly, and at the musketeers.

Their eyes were strained; their faces wore a cloud.

That night he said no more; but on the morn, Mistrusting nothing, Drake with subtle sense Of weather-wisdom, through that little fleet Distributed his crews anew. And all The prisoners and the prizes at those isles They left behind them, taking what they would From out their carven cabins,--glimmering silks, Chiselled Toledo blades, and broad doubloons.

And lo, as they weighed anchor, far away Behind them on the blue horizon line It seemed a city of towering masts arose; And from the crow's nest of the _Golden Hynde_ A seaman cried, ”By G.o.d; the hunt is up!”

And like a tide of triumph through their veins The red rejoicing blood began to race As there they saw the avenging s.h.i.+ps of Spain, Eight mighty galleons, nosing out their trail.

And Drake growled, ”Oh, my lads of Bideford, It cuts my heart to show the hounds our heels; But we must not emperil our great quest!

Such fights as that must wait--as our reward When we return. Yet I will not put on One st.i.tch of sail. So, lest they are not too slow To catch us, clear the decks. G.o.d, I would like To fight them!” So the little fleet advanced With decks all cleared and shotted guns and men Bare-armed beside them, hungering to be caught, And quite distracted from their former doubts; For danger, in that kind, they never feared.

But soon the heavy Spaniards dropped behind; And not in vain had Thomas Doughty sown The seeds of doubt; for many a brow grew black With sullen-seeming care that erst was gay.

But happily and in good time there came, Not from behind them now, but right in front, On the first sun-down of their quest renewed, Just as the sea grew dark around their s.h.i.+ps, A chance that loosed heart-gnawing doubt in deeds.

For through a mighty zone of golden haze Blotting the purple of the gathering night A galleon like a floating mountain moved To meet them, clad with sunset and with dreams.

Her masts and spars immense in jewelled mist s.h.i.+mmered: her rigging, like an emerald web Of golden spiders, tangled half the stars!

Embodied sunset, dragging the soft sky O'er dazzled ocean, through the night she drew Out of the unknown lands; and round a prow That jutted like a moving promontory Over a cloven wilderness of foam, Upon a lofty blazoned scroll her name _San Salvador_ challenged obsequious isles Where'er she rode; who kneeling like dark slaves Before some great Sultan must lavish forth From golden cornucopias, East and West, Red streams of rubies, cataracts of pearl.

But, at a signal from their admiral, all Those five small s.h.i.+ps lay silent in the gloom Which, just as if some G.o.d were on their side, Covered them in the dark troughs of the waves, Letting her pa.s.s to leeward. On she came, Blazing with lights, a City of the Sea, Belted with crowding towers and clouds of sail, And round her bows a long-drawn thunder rolled Splendid with foam; but ere she pa.s.sed them by Drake gave the word, and with one crimson flash Two hundred yards of black and hidden sea Leaped into sight between them as the roar Of twenty British cannon shattered the night.

Then after her they drove, like black sea-wolves Behind some royal high-branched stag of ten, Hanging upon those bleeding foam-flecked flanks, Leaping, snarling, worrying, as they went In full flight down the wind; for those light s.h.i.+ps Much speedier than their huge antagonist, Keeping to windward, worked their will with her.

In vain she burnt wild lights and strove to scan The darkening deep. Her musketeers in vain Provoked the crackling night with random fires: In vain her broadside bellowings burst at large As if the Gates of Erebus unrolled.

For ever and anon the deep-sea gloom From some new quarter, like a dragon's mouth Opened and belched forth crimson flames and tore Her sides as if with iron claws unseen; Till, all at once, rough voices close at hand Out of the darkness thundered, ”Grapple her!”

And, falling on their knees, the Spaniards knew The Dragon of that red Apocalypse.

There with one awful cry, _El Draque! El Draque_!

They cast their weapons from them; for the moon Rose, eastward, and, against her rising, black Over the b.l.o.o.d.y bulwarks, Francis Drake, Grasping the great hilt of his naked sword, Towered for a moment to their startled eyes Through all the zenith like the King of h.e.l.l.

Then he leaped down upon their s.h.i.+ning decks, And after him swarmed and towered and leapt in haste A brawny band of three score Englishmen, Gigantic as they loomed against the sky And risen, it seemed, by miracle from the sea.

So small were those five s.h.i.+ps below the walls Of that huge floating mountain. Royally Drake, from the swart commander's trembling hands Took the surrendered sword, and bade his men Gather the fallen weapons on an heap, And placed a guard about them, while the moon Silvering the rolling seas for many a mile Glanced on the huddled Spaniards' rich attire, As like one picture of despair they grouped Under the splintered main-mast's creaking shrouds, And the great swinging shadows of the sails Mysteriously swept the gleaming decks; Where many a b.u.t.t of useless cannon gloomed Along the accoutred bulwarks or upturned, As the s.h.i.+p wallowed in the heaving deep, Dumb mouths of empty menace to the stars.

Then Drake appointed Doughty, with a guard, To sail the prize on to the next dim isle Where they might leave her, taking aught they would From out her carven cabins and rich holds.

And Doughty's heart leaped in him as he thought, ”I have my chance at last”; but Drake, who still Trusted the man, made surety doubly sure, And in his wary weather-wisdom sent --Even as a breathing type of friends.h.i.+p, sent-- His brother, Thomas Drake, aboard the prize; But set his brother, his own flesh and blood, Beneath the man, as if to say, ”I give My loyal friend dominion over me.”

So courteously he dealt with him; but he, Seeing his chance once more slipping away, Raged inwardly and, from his own false heart Imputing his own evil, he contrived A cunning charge that night; and when they came Next day, at noon, upon the destined isle, He suddenly spat the secret venom forth, With such fierce wrath in his defeated soul That he himself almost believed the charge.

For when Drake stepped on the _San Salvador_ To order all things duly about the prize, What booty they must keep and what let go, Doughty received him with a bl.u.s.tering voice Of red mock-righteous wrath, ”Is this the way Englishmen play the pirate, Francis Drake?

While thou wast dreaming of thy hero's crown-- G.o.d save the mark!--thy brother, nay, thy spy, Must play the common pilferer, must convert The cargo to his uses, rob us all Of what we risked our necks to win: he wears The ransom of an emperor round his throat That might enrich us all. Who saw him wear That chain of rubies ere last night?”

And Drake, ”Answer him, brother;” and his brother smiled And answered, ”Nay, I never wore this chain Before last night; but Doughty knows, indeed, For he was with me--and none else was there But Doughty--'tis my word against his word, That close on midnight we were summoned down To an English seaman who lay dying below Unknown to any of us, a prisoner In chains, that had been captured none knew where, For all his mind was far from Darien, And wandering evermore through Devon lanes At home; whom we released; and from his waist He took this hidden chain and gave it me, Begging me that if ever I returned To Bideford in Devon I would go With whatsoever wealth it might produce To his old mother who, with wrinkled hands In some small white-washed cottage o'er the sea, Where wall-flowers bloom in April, even now Is turning pages of the well-worn Book And praying for her son's return, nor knows That he lies cold upon the heaving main.

But this he asked; and this in all good faith I swore to do; and even now he died, And hurrying hither from his side I clasped His chain of rubies round my neck awhile, In full sight of the sun. I have no more To say.” Then up spoke Hatton's trumpeter: ”But I have more to say. Last night I saw Doughty, but not in full sight of the sun, Nor once, nor twice, but three times at the least, Carrying chains of gold, cl.u.s.ters of gems, And whatsoever wealth he could convey Into his cabin and smuggle in smallest s.p.a.ce.”

”Nay,” Doughty stammered, mixing sneer and lie, Yet bolstering up his courage with the thought That being what courtiers called a gentleman He ranked above the rude sea-discipline, ”Nay, they were free gifts from the Spanish crew Because I treated them with courtesy.”

Then bluff Will Harvest, ”That perchance were true, For he hath been close closeted for hours With their chief officers, drinking their health In our own war-bought wine, while down below Their captured English seaman groaned his last.”

Then Drake, whose utter silence, with a sense Of infinite power and justice, ruled their hearts, Suddenly thundered--and the traitor blanched And quailed before him. ”This my flesh and blood I placed beneath thee as my dearer self!

But thou, in trampling on him, shalt not say I charged thy brother. Nay, thou chargest me!

Against me only hast thou stirred this strife; And now, by G.o.d, shalt thou learn, once for all, That I, thy captain for this voyage, hold The supreme power of judgment in my hands.

Get thee aboard my flags.h.i.+p! When I come I shall have more to say to thee; but thou, My brother, take this galleon in thy charge; For, as I see, she holdeth all the stores Which Doughty failed to find. She shall return With us to that New World from which she came.

But now let these our prisoners all embark In yonder pinnace; let them all go free.

I care not to be c.u.mbered on my way Through dead Magellan's unattempted dream With chains and prisoners. In that Golden World Which means much more to me than I can speak, Much more, much more than I can speak or breathe, Being, behind whatever name it bears-- Earthly Paradise, Island of the Saints, Cathay, or Zipangu, or Hy Brasil-- The eternal symbol of my soul's desire, A sacred country s.h.i.+ning on the sea, That Vision without which, the wise king said, A people perishes; in that place of hope, That Tirn'an Og, that land of lasting youth, Where whosoever sails with me shall drink Fountains of immortality and dwell Beyond the fear of death for evermore, There shall we see the dust of battle dance Everywhere in the sunbeam of G.o.d's peace!

Oh, in the new Atlantis of my soul There are no captives: there the wind blows free; And, as in sleep, I have heard the marching song Of mighty peoples rising in the West, Wonderful cities that shall set their foot Upon the throat of all old tyrannies; And on the West wind I have heard a cry, The sh.o.r.eless cry of the prophetic sea Heralding through that golden wilderness The Soul whose path our task is to make straight, Freedom, the last great Saviour of mankind.

I know not what I know: these are wild words, Which, as the sun draws out earth's morning mists Over dim fields where careless cattle sleep, Some visionary Light, unknown, afar, Draws from my darkling soul. Why should we drag Thither this Old-World weight of utter gloom, Or with the ballast of these heavy hearts Make sail in sorrow for Pacific Seas?

Let us leave chains and prisoners to Spain; But set these free to make their own way home!”

So said he, groping blindly towards the truth, And heavy with the treason of his friend.

His face was like a king's face as he spake, For sorrows that strike deep reveal the deep; And through the gateways of a ragged wound Sometimes a G.o.d will drive his chariot wheels From some deep heaven within the hearts of men.

Nevertheless, the immediate seamen there Knowing how great a ransom they might ask For some among their prisoners, men of wealth And high degree, scarce liked to free them thus; And only saw in Drake's conflicting moods The moment's whim. ”For little will he care,”