Chapter V

It was near midnight when the English cruizer, with the wind in her stern, approached the mouth of the noble Tagus. A bar of sand, which renders the navigation dangerous at low water, runs across the mouth; and the island-fort of Belem, which divides the stream into two channels, stands in its centre. It was on the eastern side of the fort that Hildebrand steered his ship; and he hoped, though it was not very dark, that she would pass unobserved. Whether she was observed by any of the sentries, or not, or whether, being observed, she was supposed to be a ship of the king’s, and so not looked after, it is impossible to say; but such was the remissness of the sluggish Spaniards that she was allowed to pass unquestioned. Having cleared the fort, she kept her way straight on to Lisbon, which was about ten miles farther. Hildebrand remained on deck the whole time, as did Master Halyard also; but Don Rafaele, at their suggestion, betook himself to the cabin, and there retired to rest. When he arose in the morning, the ship had come to an anchor. On mounting to the deck, he saw the old city, which stood on the opposite shore to the present one, stretched out before him, about a quarter of a mile distant. The fair bay in its front, which had hardly opened where he stood, was crowded with tall ships, of dimensions greater than any he had ever seen, and so closely packed withal, that he no longer feared that the solitary English ship would attract notice. It was as animated a scene as one could wish to behold. There was the old city, with its black monasteries, its prison-like convents, its towering churches, and its close-packed streets, all sloping up from the water, as distinctly displayed as in a map. Then came the forest of men-of-war, each a floating castle, and populous as a city. The wide, bright river, as far as the eye could penetrate, was ploughed by vessels of every order--ships, gun-boats, and galleys, all bearing down towards the city, and destined to join the tremendous armada. On the opposite shore, where stands the present city, rose a chain of verdant hills, stretching far beyond the site of the modern palace of Necessidades, which now crowns one of them. The hills were green to the water’s edge, and, here and there, were topped with smiling white windmills, or, rather, wine-presses, which, sparkling in the sun, made the verdure of the hills even more apparent. Over all, and high above all, was spread the soft, blue sky, free from the least speck, and making the river look azure from mere reflection.

Don Rafaele was still surveying the scene, when he felt a hand, the touch of which he seemed to recognise directly, laid gently on his shoulder. With a glad smile, he turned round, and perceived Hildebrand.

“’Tis a fair scene,” remarked that person, gaily, “yet thou wouldst hardly think, from our placid appearance, that we stand on the very threshold of almost certain destruction. By my faith, ’tis nearer even than I looked for. Ho, there! aft! Hoist the Danish flag half-mast high!”

His order was obeyed on the instant; and the crew now, for the first time, observed that the flag of each ship of the armada hung in the same way. Who was dead they could not conjecture; but that it was an officer of the highest rank, if not a member of the royal family, they did not doubt, as the national flag would not be thus degraded but for some great public personage.

Notwithstanding that a general apprehension prevailed among the crew that they would shortly be overhauled by the Spanish officials, they now thought of nothing, in their conversation with each other, but the new topic for conjecture, and exhausted speculation as to which of the Dons had become defunct. Their interest in the matter was increased towards evening, when Hildebrand, who had been below all day, making up his log, appeared again on the deck, and displayed on his slouched hat the mournful memorial of a black band. As he stepped on to the quarter-deck, he was joined by Don Rafaele, who, previous to his appearance, had been pacing the poop, but had no sooner discerned him in the hatchway, than he hurried to his side.

“Urge me no further, fair Rafaele,” said Hildebrand, before Don Rafaele could speak to him. “’Twere running thee into a needless peril, and would impede me grievously.”

“’Tis because, by my aspect and port, I would be a great aid to thee, making thee pass more reasonably for a Spaniard, that I seek to attend thee,” said Don Rafaele.

“I’faith, that might be,” answered Hildebrand; “yet not even to make mine own risk less, will I bring hazard on thee.”

“I see, thou art resolved to gainsay me, Senhor,” returned Don Rafaele. “I fear me, thou beginn’st to regard me troublesome.”

“Art in earnest, Rafaele?” asked Hildebrand, taking up his hand. “Know’st thou not that certain death, without an instant’s respite, will follow our detection? Thou art resolved! Then, will I refuse thee no further. Get thee a black band, and, when the night falls, we will off.”

It was now evening, but, though cloudy, it was yet quite light. The brightness of the scene, however, had passed away, and the night threatened to be a rough one. The wind increased every moment, and the noble river, which had lately looked so placid, was lashed into high waves, topped with foam, and raging like breakers. After a little time, it began to rain, first like sleet, and then in torrents. Moreover, the night, though it was the summer season, set in early, and it was quite dark by nine o’clock. Shortly after that hour, a small boat, scarcely larger than a punt, was manned by two seamen, and lowered from the stern of the English ship. Some doubt existed whether, to use a nautical term, it would “live” on the agitated water; but so adroitly did its two navigators bestow themselves, in anticipation of a mishap, that it maintained its equilibrium, and rode the waves gallantly. Still it was not without some difficulty that it was skulled round to the gangway. Hildebrand and Don Rafaele, muffled in long cloaks, which both the weather and their expedition required, and with their heads well protected by their slouched hats, there waited its approach. When it came alongside, Hildebrand, seizing a firm hold of the side-rope, lowered himself cautiously into its centre, and then helped Don Rafaele to descend. After that person had reached the boat, they both took their places in the stern, and the boat shoved off.

The storm now raged furiously, and it was only by the greatest efforts, aided by long experience, and unshaken intrepidity, that the navigators of the boat could shoot clear of the ship. When they did clear her, their danger was even augmented, and the wind, being no longer intercepted by the ship, threatened to capsize their frail bark every moment. The water roared again; and, withal, shot up in such high waves, boiling with spray, that they were almost blinded. To add to the terrors of their situation, the rain still descended in torrents; and the darkness, which had all along been excessive, seemed even to increase, and, like that of Egypt, could almost be felt. Nothing could be seen on the water as far as the eye could extend, but streaks of white foam; and on the shore, only a few lights were visible, now and then, like twinkling stars. Occasionally the boat almost whirled round. It required all Hildebrand’s strength, which was no little, to maintain his hold of the rudder, and even then the boat scarcely answered it. The waves beat under her as if they would knock in her bottom; and its inmates frequently bounced up in their seats, in spite of their utmost resistance, with the violence of the shock. Moreover, the wind blew right in their teeth, and, as they struggled forward, they shipped water every moment. Though the city, judging from the aforementioned lights, was little more than a quarter of a mile distant, it seemed impossible that they could ever reach it, and absolute madness to pursue the attempt. Indeed, they expected, almost with certainty, that they would be swamped by each wave. Still the bold man who held the helm retained his firmness; his iron nerves, as if they were strung for the occasion, never once flinched; and he seemed to dare peril, and defy the storm.

The boat pushed on; now shooting up the curl of a long, whistling wave; then, with reckless violence, dashing into the gaping trough below, which appeared to yawn even more under its bottom, and to let it sink yet deeper and deeper. Then the rain, and the wind, and the dashing spray, all blended together, beat down in it from above, and the little boat groaned again. How human beings could move through such horrors, where death was in every object, and retain their presence of mind, was truly amazing. Yet Hildebrand maintained his place at the rudder; and the two hardy seamen, though keenly alive to their situation, and fully expecting that every successive wave would swamp or overturn the boat, held on at their oars. Still they made but little progress; for, owing to the excessive agitation of the water, their oars, though so skilfully and adroitly worked, did not always dip, and, even when they did, the violence of the storm half counteracted the impulse. Nor was it by the tempest alone that all their terror was inspired. As they progressed, their ears were saluted by heart-rending shrieks; and thundering noises, like the clashing together of some immense bodies, and which they rightly conjectured to be collisions among the closely-packed shipping, silenced even the roar of the elements. Then a sharp, rushing sound broke on the ear; and the black hulls of two gigantic vessels, looking like the spirits of the storm, flew past together, amidst a terrible chorus of mortal shrieks.

The terrors of death hung around the cruizer’s little boat; but its fearless captain, however he might be moved inwardly, appeared to be still undaunted.

“Now, cheerily, my lads! cheerily!” he cried, to the two rowers, at this appalling juncture. “The lights are close at hand: three strokes more, and ye have the beach.”

But, strive as the rowers might, the oars would not dip: the long, curling waters troughed under the boat more deeply than ever: then a roaring wave, curling higher and higher as it came on, caught it under the stern, and shot it high on the shore.

The boat capsized as the wave receded; but fortunately, having foreseen what would be its effect, the two seamen had leaped out as she grounded, and so were able to prevent her being swamped. As they held on to the boat, Hildebrand also was about to leap out, when, turning to help up Don Rafaele, he perceived that that person had fallen into a swoon. There was no time to hesitate, and, quick as thought, he caught him up in his arms, and stepped with him on to the shore.

While the men were hauling the boat up on the beach, so as to place it beyond the influence of the waves, Hildebrand sought, by chafing his cold temples, to revive Don Rafaele. Whether from this cause, or because he had been insensible for some time, and the paroxysm was exhausted, Don Rafaele recovered almost directly, and, with a low, deep sigh, opened his eyes.

“Where are we?” he cried: “_still?_ not whirling round? Oh! my heart will burst!”

“We are safe now, my fair Rafaele,” answered Hildebrand. “Here”--he added, drawing from under his cloak a small flask, and holding it to his lips,--“take thee a taste of this.”

Don Rafaele tasted of the contents of the flask; but the spirit, in its raw state, was too powerful for him, and he could not take above a mouthful. Even that, however, had a reviving effect upon him, and, as he withdrew his lips from the flask, he smiled, and looked quite composed again.

Hildebrand took a good draught from the flask. By the time that he had thus refreshed himself, the two seamen, having secured the boat, came up with him.

“My lads,” said Hildebrand, handing them the flask, “here is that will keep this pelting rain out of your jackets. Now, hold ye a good watch on the boat! Pray God the wind lull, or we shall never find the ship!”

“We shall never find the ship to-night, your honour,” said one of the sailors, hitching up his trousers.

“How know’st that, Ben Hatchway?” demanded the other sailor, who had just taken a good pull from the brandy-flask, and now thought that he could find any object. “His honour knows what we can do better than an old log-boat like thee, I should ween.”

“For the matter o’ that,” remarked Ben.--But here he paused, and, previous to explaining further, took a deep draught from the flask, which his comrade had just handed to him. Having thus recruited himself, he resumed:--“For the matter o’ that, Will Bowsprit, here’s his honour to the fore, and, as I was a-saying--beshrew my topsail!--I’ve been in the Portingales afore to-day; and, sink me! as I was a-say”--

“Why, look-ye!” interrupted Will Bowsprit; “an’ I leaves my old hull in that there Portugee fish-pond, look-ye! blow me to shivers, that’s all! Here’s your honour’s health! I’ll drink to young Master Don’s anon.”

“My lads, we must back to-night, at all hazards,” said Hildebrand. “Stand you to the boat; and when you hear ‘Boat ahoy!’ cried, give a holloa. Yonder light is the last towards the ship, and is almost in a line with the boat. That shall be my mark!”

As he ceased speaking, a vivid flash of lightning, of the kind called “forked,” struck through the darkness; and all “the artillery of heaven” burst forth overhead. The din among the black masses of shipping, in the river before them, which here opened into a noble bay (for it was too large to be called a basin), seemed to increase, yet the whistling of the wind and rain was heard above it. Hildebrand paused a moment: then, wrapping his cloak around him, he turned about, and led Don Rafaele towards the city.

A flight of steps brought them to a quay, whence they passed into a long, dirty street. Not a living creature was to be seen: nothing was to be seen, indeed, but the black houses, which gave forth no sign of being inhabited. After going along some distance, they came to another street, turning out of the main thoroughfare, in which they espied a light. Whispering Don Rafaele to be of good heart, and (for he had become very faint) helping him along with one hand, Hildebrand immediately made for the light, and shortly came up with it. As he had expected, it issued from the lower casement of a tavern, the outermost door of which, opening into a close passage, was fastened back, and thus invited whoever might be passing to enter.

On coming before the open door, Hildebrand paused, and turned to speak to his companion.

“Be of good cheer, Rafaele!” he said. “The storm favours us, and, methinks, we have no great cause for fear.”

“How can I be afeard when with thee?” answered Don Rafaele. “I fear nought, but I am grievously faint.”

“That we will amend within here,” rejoined Hildebrand. “Let us enter.”

He led the way as he spoke, and, followed by Don Rafaele, passed to the end of the passage, where a door admitted them into the inn. On their entry, they found themselves in a large room, which served the purpose of a modern bar. A cheerful light hung from the roof; and a long table, on which were displayed several dishes of cold viands, and divers goodly flasks, stood in its centre. Behind the table, in one corner of the room, was a fire of logs, at which stood mine host and hostess. At the moment that our friends entered, those two worthies seemed, by their looks, to be in a state of great tribulation; but mine host was revived by the appearance of two guests, and quickly proceeded to bid them welcome.

“Senhors, welcome, i’ God’s name!” he cried. Here a tremendous peal of thunder threw him on his knees. “_Sancta Johannes Baptista, ora pro nobis, peccatoribus!_” he added.

“_Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!_” exclaimed his wife, also falling on her knees.

The thunder was, indeed, awful, and shook the very house. As it roared over his head, Don Rafaele, whether from terror, or the higher impulse of devotion, was almost inclined to follow the example of mine host and hostess, and fall on his knees in prayer. While he yet hesitated, however, Hildebrand caught him by the arm, and led him forward to the fire.

The thunder ceased as they came up to the fire; and mine host and hostess, somewhat assured by their seeming composure, and more by the cessation of the thunder, began to collect themselves. Slowly rising to his feet, mine host turned to his guests once more.

“A right dread peal that, Senhors,” he remarked, in tremulous accents. “Good St. Jago defend us! What would you, now, to keep up your hearts withal?”

“A good bowl of warm Oporto, Senhor host,” answered Hildebrand. “Prithee, let it be hot, now, and stint not the lemon and spice; for, by my troth, they give it a most heartening savour. Despatch, despatch, good host! and thou mayst then set cups for thyself and spouse.”

“Will I?” rejoined mine host. “’Tis done!”

And though, literally speaking, it was not yet done, the bowl of mulled port did appear speedily, steaming hot. While Hildebrand discussed a cup of it, he meditated how he should discover, by oblique and indirect inquiries, that information respecting the armada which he had come to seek. Before he could resolve what course to pursue in the matter, however, mine host, rendered loquacious by the wine, proceeded to satisfy his curiosity spontaneously.

“Right good Oporto, that, Senhor Captain?” he remarked. “’Twill cheer thy noble heart, I promise thee, under the mishap you mariners have incurred. Truly, my Lord Marquis, the Admiral, died at an ill time.”

Hildebrand’s heart beat quick as, without risking an inquiry, he thus learned that the renowned Admiral of the armada was no more.

“I question much,” he said, in reply to mine host, “an’ his successor will be his equal.”

“’Tis the common report,” returned mine host, “for though my Lord Duke, to be sure, hath served in the wars”--

“What duke, I prithee?” asked Hildebrand, somewhat off his guard.

Mine host looked surprised. “What! art thou in Lisbon,” he cried, “and know’st not who hath been commissioned Lord Admiral?”

“By my troth,” cried Hildebrand, laughing, “an’ I knew it, good Senhor host, I would not require to ask news of thee. But, to speak sooth, I am but just come to Lisbon, designing, with my fair brother here, to offer for the armada as volunteers.”

“Truly, then, thou art but in the nick of time,” rejoined mine host; “for the armada weighs for England to-morrow.”

“To-morrow?” cried Hildebrand. “Surely, no!”

“’Twas notified to-day by proclamation,” said mine host.

“Well, well, take another cup of Oporto,” replied Hildebrand, replenishing his cup, and presenting it to him. “Who, saidst thou, is appointed Lord Admiral?”

“The Duke de Medina Sidonia,” answered mine host, smacking his lips after his draught. “Good Oporto, that!”

“Right excellent!” said Hildebrand. “But hark! ye have more guests coming!”

The tread of several feet, indeed, was heard close at hand; and Hildebrand, and Don Rafaele, who, in all things followed his example, had hardly turned round to the fire, with their backs to the door, when the door was pushed open, and five cavaliers rushed in. Like Hildebrand and Don Rafaele, they were dripping with wet; and, without heeding mine host, they straight made for the fire. On coming thither, one of them, in striving to get nearer the fire, pushed against Don Rafaele, and that cavalier turned to make room for him. As he did so, he glanced in the intruder’s face, and both he and that person, as by a simultaneous impulse, uttered an exclamation of surprise. Ever on the alert, Hildebrand now turned round, and pushed himself foremost. Glancing in his face, he recognised, to his great confusion, the features of Don Gonzalez, the uncle and guardian of Donna Inez.

Don Gonzalez was collected in a moment.

“Ho, spies!” he exclaimed: “English spies!”

Hildebrand aimed a blow at him as he spoke, and, striking him in the face, felled him to the floor. At the same moment he threw his left arm round Don Rafaele; and with a quick step, yet facing the enemy, made for the door. The four cavaliers who accompanied Don Gonzalez sprang up directly; but the adventure had opened so unexpectedly, and was of such a singular and surprising nature, that they were off their guard, and Hildebrand arrived unmolested at the door. As he drew the door open, however, one of the Spaniards, more collected than his comrades, levelled a pistol at him, and fired.