Volume I Part 44 (1/2)

'Tis a thousand to one against us: we'll turn to the West again!

We have captured a China pilot, his charts and his golden keys: We'll sail to the golden Gateway, over the golden seas._

Over the immeasurable molten gold Wrapped in a golden haze, onward they drew; And now they saw the tiny purple quay Grow larger and darker and brighten into brown Across the swelling sparkle of the waves.

Brown on the quay, a train of tethered mules Munched at the nose-bags, while a Spaniard drowsed On guard beside what seemed at first a heap Of fish, then slowly turned to silver bars Up-piled and glistering in the enchanted sun.

Nor did that sentry wake as, like a dream, The _Golden Hynde_ divided the soft sleep Of warm green lapping water, sidled up, Sank sail, and moored beside the quay. But Drake, Lightly leaping ash.o.r.e and stealing nigh, Picked up the Spaniard's long gay-ribboned gun Close to his ear. At once, without a sound, The watchman opened his dark eyes and stared As at strange men who suddenly had come, Borne by some magic carpet, from the stars; Then, with a courtly bow, his right hand thrust Within the lace embroideries of his breast.

Politely Drake, with pained apologies For this disturbance of a cavalier Napping on guard, straightway resolved to make Complete amends, by now relieving him Of these--which doubtless troubled his repose-- These anxious bars of silver. With that word Two seamen leaped ash.o.r.e and, gathering up The bars in a stout old patch of tawny sail, Slung them aboard. No sooner this was done Than out o' the valley, like a foolish jest Out of the mouth of some great John-a-dreams, In soft procession of buffoonery A woolly train of llamas proudly came Stepping by two and two along the quay, Laden with pack on pack of silver bars And driven by a Spaniard. His amaze The seamen greeted with profuser thanks For his most punctual thought and opportune Courtesy. None the less they must avouch It pained them much to see a cavalier Turned carrier; and, at once, they must insist On easing him of that too sordid care.

Then out from Tarapaca once again They sailed, their hold a glimmering mine of wealth, Towards Arica and Lima, where they deemed The prize of prizes waited unaware.

For every year a gorgeous galleon sailed With all the harvest of Potosi's mines And precious stones from dead king's diadems, Aztecs' and Incas' gem-encrusted crowns, Pearls from the glimmering Temples of the Moon, Rich opals with their milky rainbow-clouds, White diamonds from the Temples of the Sun, Carbuncles flaming scarlet, amethysts, Rubies, and sapphires; these to Spain she brought To glut her priestly coffers. Now not far Ahead they deemed she lay upon that coast, Crammed with the l.u.s.trous Indies, wrung with threat And torture from the naked Indian slaves.

To him that spied her top-sails first a prize Drake offered of the wondrous chain he wore; And every seaman, every s.h.i.+p-boy, watched Not only for the prize, but for their friends, If haply these had weathered through the storm.

Nor did they know their friends had homeward turned, Bearing to England and to England's Queen, And his heart's queen, the tale that Drake was dead.

Northward they cruised along a warm, wild coast That like a most luxurious G.o.ddess drowsed Supine to heaven, her arms behind her head, One knee up-thrust to make a mountain-peak, Her rosy b.r.e.a.s.t.s up-heaving their soft snow In distant Andes, and her naked side With one rich curve for half a hundred leagues Bathed by the creaming foam; her heavy hair Fraught with the perfume of a thousand forests Tossed round about her beauty: and her mouth A scarlet mystery of distant flower Up-turned to take the kisses of the sun.

But like a troop of boys let loose from school The adventurers went by, startling the stillness Of that voluptuous dream-enc.u.mbered sh.o.r.e With echoing shouts of laughter and alien song.

But as they came to Arica, from afar They heard the clash of bells upon the breeze, And knew that Rumour with her thousand wings Had rushed before them. Hors.e.m.e.n in the night Had galloped through the white coast-villages And spread the dreadful cry ”El Draque!” abroad, And when the gay adventurers drew nigh They found the quays deserted, and the s.h.i.+ps All flown, except one little fis.h.i.+ng-boat Wherein an old man like a tortoise moved A wrinkled head above the rusty net His crawling hands repaired. He seemed to dwell Outside the world of war and peace, outside Everything save his daily task, and cared No whit who else might win or lose; for all The pilot asked of him without demur He answered, scarcely looking from his work.

A galleon laden with eight hundred bars Of silver, not three hours ago had flown Northward, he muttered. Ere the words were out, The will of Drake thrilled through the _Golden Hynde_ Like one sharp trumpet-call, and ere they knew What power impelled them, crowding on all sail Northward they surged, and roaring down the wind At Chiuli, port of Arequipa, saw The chase at anchor. Wondering they came With all the gunners waiting at their guns Bare-armed and silent--nearer, nearer yet,-- Close to the enemy. But no sight or sound Of living creature stirred upon her decks.

Only a great grey cat lay in the sun Upon a warm smooth cannon-b.u.t.t. A chill Ran through the veins of even the boldest there At that too peaceful silence. Cautiously Drake neared her in his pinnace: cautiously, Cutla.s.s in hand, up that mysterious hull He clomb, and wondered, as he climbed, to breathe The friendly smell o' the pitch and hear the waves With their incessant old familiar sound Crackling and slapping against her windward flank.

A s.h.i.+p of dreams was that; for when they reached The silent deck, they saw no crouching forms, They heard no sound of life. Only the hot Creak of the cordage whispered in the sun.

The cat stood up and yawned, and slunk away Slowly, with furtive glances. The great hold Was empty, and the rich cabin stripped and bare.

Suddenly one of the seamen with a cry Pointed where, close insh.o.r.e, a little boat Stole towards the town; and, with a louder cry, Drake bade his men aboard the _Golden Hynde_.

Scarce had they pulled two hundred yards away When, with a roar that seemed to buffet the heavens And rip the heart of the sea out, one red flame Blackened with fragments, the great galleon burst Asunder! All the startled waves were strewn With wreckage; and Drake laughed-- ”My lads, we have diced With death to-day, and won! My merry lads, It seems that Spain is bolting with the stakes!

Now, if I have to stretch the skies for sails And summon the blasts of G.o.d up from the South To fill my canvas, I will overhaul Those dusky devils with the treasure-s.h.i.+p That holds our hard-earned booty. Pull hard all, Hard for the _Golden Hynde_.”

And so they came At dead of night on Callao de Lima!

They saw the harbour lights across the waves Glittering, and the shadowy hulks of s.h.i.+ps Gathered together like a flock of sheep Within the port. With shouts and clink of chains A shadowy s.h.i.+p was entering from the North, And like the shadow of that shadow slipped The _Golden Hynde_ beside her thro' the gloom; And side by side they anch.o.r.ed in the port Amidst the s.h.i.+pping! Over the dark tide A small boat from the customs-house drew near.

A sleepy, yawning, gold-laced officer Boarded the _Golden Hynde_, and with a cry, Stumbling against a cannon-b.u.t.t, he saw The bare-armed British seamen in the gloom All waiting by their guns. Wildly he plunged Over the side and urged his boat away, Crying, ”El Draque! El Draque!” At that dread word The darkness filled with clamour, and the s.h.i.+ps, Cutting their cables, drifted here and there In mad attempts to seek the open sea.

Wild lights burnt hither and thither, and all the port, One furnace of confusion, heaved and seethed In terror; for each shadow of the night, Nay, the great night itself, was all _El Draque_.

The Dragon's wings were spread from quay to quay, The very lights that burnt from mast to mast And flared across the tide kindled his breath To fire; while here and there a British pinnace Slipped softly thro' the roaring gloom and glare, Ransacking s.h.i.+p by s.h.i.+p; for each one thought A fleet had come upon them. Each gave up The struggle as each was boarded; while, elsewhere, Cannon to cannon, friends bombarded friends.

Yet not one ounce of treasure in Callao They found; for, fourteen days before they came, That greatest treasure-s.h.i.+p of Spain, with all The gorgeous harvest of that year, had sailed For Panama: her ballast--silver bars; Her cargo--rubies, emeralds, and gold.

Out through the clamour and the darkness, out, Out to the harbour mouth, the _Golden Hynde_, Steered by the iron soul of Drake, returned: And where the way was blocked, her cannon clove A crimson highway to the midnight sea.

Then Northward, Northward, o'er the jewelled main, Under the white moon like a storm they drove In quest of the _Cacafuego_. Fourteen days Her start was; and at dawn the fair wind sank, And chafing lay the _Golden Hynde_, becalmed; While, on the hills, the Viceroy of Peru Marched down from Lima with two thousand men, And sent out four huge s.h.i.+ps of war to sink Or capture the fierce Dragon. Loud laughed Drake To see them creeping nigh, urged with great oars, Then suddenly pause; for none would be the first To close with him. And, ere they had steeled their hearts To battle, a fair breeze broke out anew, And Northward sped the little _Golden Hynde_ In quest of the lordliest treasure-s.h.i.+p of Spain.

Behind her lay a world in arms; for now Wrath and confusion clamoured for revenge From sea to sea. Spain claimed the pirate's head From England, and awaited his return With all her tortures. And where'er he pa.s.sed He sowed the dragon's teeth, and everywhere Cadmean broods of armed men arose And followed, followed on his fiery trail.

Men toiled at Lima to fit out a fleet Grim enough to destroy him. All night long The flare went up from cities on the coast Where men like naked devils toiled to cast Cannon that might have overwhelmed the powers Of Michael when he drave that hideous rout Through livid chaos to the black abyss.

Small hope indeed there seemed of safe return; But Northward sped the little _Golden Hynde_, The world-watched midget s.h.i.+p of eighteen guns, Undaunted; and upon the second dawn Sighted a galleon, not indeed the chase, Yet worth a pause; for out of her they took-- Embossed with emeralds large as pigeon's eggs-- A golden crucifix, with eighty pounds In weight of gold. The rest they left behind; And onward, onward, to the North they flew-- A score of golden miles, a score of green, An hundred miles, eight hundred miles of foam, Rainbows and fire, ransacking as they went s.h.i.+p after s.h.i.+p for news o' the chase and gold; Learning from every capture that they drew Nearer and nearer. At Truxillo, dim And dreaming city, a-drowse with purple flowers, She had paused, ay, paused to take a freight of gold!

At Paita--she had pa.s.sed two days in front, Only two days, two days ahead; nay, one!

At Quito, close insh.o.r.e, a youthful page, Bright-eyed, ran up the rigging and cried, ”A sail!

A sail! The _Cacafuego_! And the chain Is mine!” And by the strange cut of her sails, Whereof they had been told in Callao, They knew her!