'The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave,
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave.”
CAMPBELL.
HARK, Jose! What is that? "Only the wind, patre," Jose answered, in a languid, dream-like voice.
“No! Surely not the wind. Hark, again!”
“Thunder, patre? The God of glory thundereth.”
“It may be—yes. Yet, no, no! Too continuous for that. Listen, Jose.”
“They are putting the ship about. Take care, patre, you will be hurt. Turn your head the other way.”
With some help from Jose Fray Fernando changed his position.
“Jose:" he said again, "that sound we hear is the boom of great guns. We are attacked by an enemy; God have mercy upon us!”
“Christ have mercy upon us!" Jose echoed. Then both were silent, in the solemn hush of inward prayer.
Jose was the first to break that silence. "Now, indeed, patre," he said, "the great Inca sends His messenger Death to bid us drink with Him.”
“Well, we are ready.”
"Ready?—Is it not His own cup, from which, first, He drank Himself?"
For days, weeks, months perhaps, they two had lived in continual expectation of death, "dying daily." And when now at last they saw death face to face, they felt no terror—no, not even fear—but a still and reverent awe, befitting those who stood in the presence of the minister and messenger of the great King.
Meanwhile the boom of the guns went on, and "the voice of them that shout for mastery, and the noise of them that cry, being overcome," reached the hold where the captives lay. Until at last all manner of fearful, discordant sounds seemed rolled and mingled together in a continuous uproar. Now and then a crash, like the fall of a mast, was heard; or the heavy thud of a cannon-shot perilously near their dungeon.
As they sat hand in hand, listening breathlessly, Jose whispered, "Would we even knew who our enemies are!”
“They are pirates, doubtless. They will not try to sink the ship, their object being, of course, to get possession of the treasure on board.”
“Thank God for that. Perhaps, after all, we may see the sun before we die.”
“But think of the gallant soldiers and the poor unhappy mariners, Jose. Let us ask God to have mercy on them.”
“With all my heart. No doubt, by this time, many a brave man is lying low.”
They prayed silently for all on board; for the commander, the captain, the soldiers, the mariners. While they were thus occupied, the noises grew fainter, or perhaps they heard them less.
At last there came a deafening shout that seemed to burst at once from a hundred throats. Neither Jose nor Fray Fernando had heard anything like it in their lives before. "God help us!" said Fray Fernando. "We are overcome." For he knew that was a shout of triumph, and one which did not come from Spanish lips.
No further firing was heard; only confused noises of various kinds,—and voices. After a delay, long to their anxious suspense, steps drew near.
“They are going to rifle the hold where the treasure is," said Fray Fernando.
Without consulting him, indeed to his surprise and dismay, Jose, with considerable effort, stood up, and placing his lips as near the hatchway as possible, raised a loud shrill cry, as one who called for help.
“O Jose! beware what you do.”
“Why, patre? Wherein can our condition be worse than it is? Who can be more our enemies than the Spaniards?”
Once again he cried aloud, throwing all the strength that months of suffering had left him into that cry.
Not in vain. The hatchway was torn up rudely; and someone called out in Spanish, though with a foreign accent, "Quién es?”
Then they heard the voice of a Spaniard, evidently giving some kind of explanation. Then a brief parley ensued. At last a ladder was put down through the hatchway, and the prisoners were ordered to come up.
An order more easily given than obeyed by men who by this time were scarcely able to stand. Two or three sun burnt bearded faces looked down from the hatchway; and their owners, convinced that either the will or the power to ascend the ladder was wanting to the prisoners, speedily descended, and with small ceremony helped or dragged them to the light. One strong fellow put his arm round Jose, and fairly carried him up the ladder. Still up—up—up—until at last he met a blinding blaze of sunlight, and a gust of sea wind, "shrill, chill, with flakes of foam," swept over his bewildered, throbbing brow.
Presently someone held to his lips a cup of the commandant’s rare old wine. Revived by the draft, he looked around him, shading his eyes from the light with his brown transparent hand. He was lying on the deck of the Trionfo. But his first distinct impression was of the blue sea, its waves tipped with foam; over them a white-winged sea-bird; in the distance one black hull—was it the San Cristofero? Turning his eyes to the other side, he noticed a strange-looking ship, apparently fastened to the Trionfo, but much smaller, and in form and fashion quite unlike anything he had ever seen before. But what was immediately around him soon drew his attention, blotting out all else from his sight. There—on the deck—horrors undreamed of met his view. Blood everywhere, and men lying dead: some as if in quiet sleep; and some, with clenched hands and agonized faces, whose last struggle seemed scarcely over yet. Rough uncouth figures moved to and fro amongst them, most of them carrying burdens. But Fray Fernando was nowhere to be seen.
The man who had given Jose the wine made some remark in a foreign tongue, which, from its tone, was evidently designed to encourage him, and assure him of safety. But before he had collected his scattered senses sufficiently to attempt a reply in Spanish or Latin, his new friend was called away to another part of the ship.
So he lay still where he was, in utter bewilderment—trying to think, trying to comprehend.
At length a suppressed moan close beside him reached his ear, and brought him to himself at once. The low sound was more effectual to rouse him than the thunder of all the ship's guns would have been.
It was a moan evidently wrung by overpowering agony from a brave man's reluctant lips. Jose looked. Not two paces from him lay a wounded cavalier, his splendid dress all torn and blood-stained, his face ghastly, his hand upon his breast, as if to stay the streams of blood that were bearing life away.
A moment more and Jose, strong enough now in his heart's tenderness and pity, was kneeling beside his enemy, Don Francisco Solis. Raising him gently in his arms, he tore his own tunic to bind his wound, and put the wine-cup to his lips from which he himself had drunk so lately.
In vain. At every breath the blood welled faster. The hand of Death was on the proud young cavalier. Yet not all in vain. He tried to speak. "Call some of my people," he murmured. "Varco—Rodriguez—Martin—what has become of them all?”
“I believe the ship is in the hands of pirates," Jose said. "The soldiers, no doubt, have been slain or made prisoners. Anything I can do for you, I will.”
“Who are you?”
“One who bears you good-will. You are sorely wounded, I fear.”
“I am slain. With this blood my life flows out. Call me a priest.”
“That I know not how to do. Put your trust in the mercy of God—in the blessed Savior who died for you.”
Don Francisco feebly raised his hand, seeking something suspended round his neck. Jose found it for him, and put it to his lips. It was a small gold cross, with a costly jewel in the center, beneath which was inserted a relic of inestimable price, a fragment of "the true cross." "Oh, Señor Don Francisco!" said Jose earnestly, "look with your heart to Christ. He can pardon your sins. He can save you, and take you this day home to Himself. Think of Him.”
But it was a thought of earth that filled the heart of the dying man at that moment. "Will you show me Christian charity for the love of God?" he murmured.
“For the love of God—I surely will.”
“Then bring—or send—this cross to my beloved wife, Dona Victoria Solis, at Cuzco.—But what is this?" he faltered, making an effort to look up. "Your tongue Spanish, your face brown—who are you, in Heaven's name?”
“One who will do your errand faithfully, Don Francisco Solis de Toledo—though he grieves that it is so sad a one. Is there any message you desire to send with the cross to Coyllur?”
“Tell her—ah, my breath is failing—tell her I did my duty —like an honorable and valiant noble of Castile—and that I truly loved her—thought of her to the last. Although—Tell her—”
No more was to be told. Already the mists of the great darkness were gathering over the eyes of Don Francisco. Still he tried to murmur something, which Jose's utmost efforts failed to catch. But he held the cross before him, that his last conscious look might rest upon the symbol of divine love and forgiveness. And thus, with his head pillowed on the breast of his enemy, and the hand he had disdained to fight ministering tenderly to his last earthly needs, the haughty spirit of Don Francisco Solis passed away.
Jose, scarce willing to believe that all was over, still held him in his arms, when a tall, strongly-built man, not without a rough stateliness and dignity of manner, came up the companion-ladder, stood near the two figures, the dead and the living, and looked thoughtfully at them. His hair and beard were black, and his complexion well sun burnt. His dress was plain,—a buff leather jerkin, evidently the worse for the recent fight; but a sword with a jeweled hilt was stuck in his belt;—it had no sheath, and was still bloody.
“My poor fellow," he said to Jose, in imperfect Spanish, “your master is dead.”
“The señor commandante was not my master," Jose answered, looking up." He was my enemy.”
Your enemy!" the other repeated in surprise." In that case you have proved yourself a Christian, and a good one. You are one of the two prisoners whom we found in the hold?" “Yes, señor.”
“You are free now. We Englishmen set the captives free, and deliver the oppressed, wherever we go.”
"Englishmen! Are you indeed Englishmen? Then I thank God that I have lived to see this day.”
“I am glad you have such a good opinion of us. And I hope we shall give you no reason to change it. We are ready to welcome you on board our good ship yonder, the Sea Snake, of London. Your fellow-captive is there already.”
He turned, apparently to bid one of his men conduct Jose to the English ship. But in the moment that he did so, something met his eye that changed the current of his thoughts. It was the black hull of the galley, the only ship in sight, which was now no longer lessening to a speck on the horizon, but very rapidly growing larger.
Brief orders in a foreign tongue were issued to those around; and Jose soon saw the strange uncouth figures swarming like bees up the ladders and from every part of the Trionfo, back to their own ship, each bearing his burden.
He could not in the least comprehend what was going forward; the whole scene in which he moved was a bewildering mystery to him. One thing alone he realized: yonder was the galley San Cristofero, and Walter Gray, a captive Englishman, sat chained to one of its oars.
He gently laid down his lifeless burden, and springing forward, threw himself in the way of the personage who had ad' dressed him, just as he was about to leave the deck of the Trionfo. "Señor and captain," he said, "in yonder galley there is an Englishman—a slave.”
The English captain thundered some explanation in his own tongue, and laying his hand on his sword, looked at the galley as if the fire in his eyes would alone suffice to destroy it. But he had not an instant to lose. Pointing to Jose, he spoke three words to a young man who stood beside him, and was on his own quarter-deck ere their echo had died away.
The young sailor gave Jose to understand by signs that he had been told to conduct him to the English ship. Jose gazed sadly on the dead face of his enemy, then closed his eyes, and taking off his own yacollo, laid it decently and reverently over him. That done, he followed his guide from the deck of the Trionfo to that of the Sea Snake—then down a companion-ladder, to a small, dimly-lighted cabin. The Englishman being apparently under an impression, not altogether unfounded, that the Spaniards starved their prisoners, quickly set before him a huge platter of boiled beef, a mountain of biscuit, and a great leathern jack of strong ale. That done, he disappeared in a moment, leaving Jose very thankful for what seemed a marvelous providential deliverance, but much perplexed by the whole affair.
It was a most joyful surprise to hear the voice of Fray Fernando out of the gloom. "I am glad you have come, Jose.”
The monk was lying on a mattress which had been laid for him in a corner of the cabin; but so imperfect was the light admitted by the one small window of thick horn, that Jose had not perceived him until then. He explained: “Between the unaccustomed sunshine and the feebleness of my long unused limbs I contrived to slip, and hurt my ankle. It will not signify. They laid me here very kindly, and they have given me everything I needed.”
“Can you comprehend what has befallen us, patre?”
“I have learned somewhat from the padre of the English, who paid me a brief visit here—' Sir Thomas,' they call him. He seems to be a good, humane man.”
“I suppose we are in the hands of English pirates—buccaneers?" said Jose.
“That certainly cannot be doubted. They call their ship a merchant vessel, and avow that they have come to the Spanish Main to trade for sandal-wood. Of course their trade is in itself contraband, even if it were not merely a cloak to cover piracy. The Trionfo, laden with gold and silver, and separated from the Plate fleet by the recent storm, was only too tempting a prize. They bore down upon us, all sails crowded, determined to fight.”
“But, patre, the Trionfo is five times the size of this little ship.”
“True; but size is one thing, and strength another. I have heard it said ere this that our ships are built for carrying treasure, theirs for winning it by force of arms. You are aware the Trionfo was always accounted unwieldy, and not over well appointed. Moreover, the damage she received in the gale was scarce repaired as thoroughly as might be. The English guns did great execution upon her, her huge bulk exposing her the more; while the small craft of the pirates, bristling with fortifications from stem to stern, took little harm from all our firing. The San Cristofero came near to help us, and indeed gave the enemy volley after volley, but not, it seems, to much purpose. We had several shots between wind and water, and at last our mainmast was cut away. It was feared the ship would sink, with all on board; so the captain and others prayed the commandante to lower his flag. He treated the proposal as an insult, and swore to slay the first man who should name surrender in his hearing. But, shortly afterward, a mortal wound laid him low. Almost at the same moment the buccaneers threw out their grappling-irons, and prepared to board our ship. Then the captain and two or three of the officers hoisted a flag of truce. The buccaneers only wanted plunder—our great ship, if they had it, could serve them nothing—so it was not difficult to come to terms. The English call the capitulation an honorable one for us—but God help Captain Manuel Sergaz, and the officers who took part with him, when they get to Spain!—if ever they reach it, which the present state of the ship renders, I fear, very doubtful. They will probably make once more for our friendly island, that they may repair damages and refit for the voyage.”
“Patre," said Jose," Don Francisco Solis died in my arms." He paused, overcome by emotion of many kinds; nor could he regain sufficient composure to pursue the subject. Presently he added, "At all events, we are free. Let us thank God for that.”
“Amen!”
“Patre, I saw the captain of the English. He spoke to me. He is not like what I expected: not blue-eyed and fair-haired, like Walter Gray.”
“The English priest tells me he is a brave man, and a good Christian. Though how the latter can be consistent with his buccaneering exploits, I confess I scarcely understand. His name is Captain George Noble, and he is the son of a wealthy merchant of London.”
Here their voices were drowned by a shrill, horrible, deafening cry—such a cry as Jose, at least, had never heard before. He gazed at Fray Fernando in consternation.
“That must be the chamado, the cry of the galley-slaves when they advance to the attack," said the monk.
Jose was greatly excited. "Patre, forgive me," he exclaimed. "Needs must that I go on deck and see what is happening there. I will bring you tidings.”