Chapter V: Part 5

First Officer Tiere now found plenty of work to do. The sea was very rough, and the lifeboat pitched and rolled dangerously. There was no fear of her sinking, because she was fitted with air-tanks, but the ever-present danger was that she would be overturned as the great seas played shuttlecock with her. The men worked hard at baling her out; and then, to give her some sort of steadiness, rigged up a sea anchor out of oars and old canvas, and so held her head to the seas. All the time a sharp look-out was kept for signs of vessels, but none was seen, and Tiere, realising how serious things were getting, apportioned the rations. The water was allotted out--a pint a day per man, with a biscuit per meal; and for a week they subsisted on this fare, thinking themselves fortunate. Then the water began to give out, and the portion was reduced. But economy in this direction meant suffering; the men, weak and faint from want of food, parched with thirst, became delirious; and although there was some rain on Thursday, the 7th, and some more on the following Monday, it did not increase their water-supply sufficiently to make any difference.

And some of the men, maddened with thirst, took to drinking sea-water. It was the beginning of the end. One man died, mad, on the 11th, and they dropped him overboard, Tiere saying what part of the burial service he could remember. Next day another man died, and two more on the following morning--all of them victims to their insatiable thirst, which grew more maddening as, against all advice, they swallowed great gulps of sea-water.

Tiere, fighting for their lives, when they would not fight themselves, commandeered the sole dipper they had in the boat, so that they could not drink so much; then, when, exhausted, he would lie down to snatch a few hours’ sleep, they would creep round him and steal the dipper, and drink the water that meant death until he awoke and fought for the cup. Whereupon, with the pangs of thirst eating into their very vitals, the raving men, shouting curses at him for his interference, and defying him to stop them, would lean over the gunwales and lap up the water like dogs.

Then came delirium; raving, cursing, struggling mad they went. And then into the Great Unknown, singing in their madness.

Even the men who contented themselves with the small portion of fresh water which Tiere had allotted to them, even these knew the agonies of that dreadful voyage, which was leading nowhere; mists and fogs hung around them all day; the cold winds of night blew upon them and, in their weakened strength, sapped at the very roots of their life.

Thus the nightmare held on, with death and awful suffering to make these unfortunate men sure that it was real. They were almost foodless now, as well as waterless.

On the Friday there came the most tragic incident of all: Jakob, a big Russian, an oiler of the _Columbian_, thrown off his balance by thirst, had imbibed great quantities of salt water. The effects soon began to show themselves, and Jakob, a raving maniac, sat in the bow of the boat with an axe in his hand, vowing he would kill the whole crew.

“I’m going to shore--getta drink,” he cried, and the fear-stricken men expected every moment to see him hurl himself overboard. Instead, he sat muttering foolishly, toying with the axe they dreaded, leering viciously at them, gesticulating savagely. Tiere, weakened, emaciated, staggered along towards the six-foot Russian; he must get that axe away. There was a mist before his eyes, a vagueness in his mind, and a half-formed thought that somehow the Russian would bring the end sooner were he not disarmed. He talked to him, hardly knowing what he said, bullied him, coaxed him, humoured him, while the crew looked on in anxiety; and the madman at last gave up the axe. Then Tiere made him lie down, settled him as comfortably as possible, and himself went to snatch a little sleep, of which he was sorely in need.

For a while all was still; darkness was now upon them; only the howl of the wind and the lap, lap of the water against the sides broke the silence. Then slowly along the boat there crept a dark form, with madness in its eyes; it was Jakob, and in his hands he carried the boat stretcher. He was making aft to where the other men were, intent on killing them all. Fortunately someone saw him coming, and instantly all were alert, ready for him.

Cursing in Russian and broken English, Jakob hurled himself upon them, vowing to murder them all. He wanted the water that was left, and he would have it. Aye, he would have it! The wretched men, gathering up the remnants of their once full-blooded strength, tackled him bravely, wrenching the stretcher away and seeking to tie him up. How they fought, to the danger of being pitched overboard to death, and with the prospect of being kicked to pulp by the Russian’s heavy boots! It was like a scene from some book of wild adventure, that fight in so strange a setting; yet to these men it was real, and life and death hung upon its issue. There was no light by which to see whether one struck friend or foe, only the curses of the Russian to show when a blow landed upon him; and the night was made hideous by yells as the frenzied men struggled madly for control. At last it was over: the giant lay inert in the bottom of the boat, tied securely and lashed to a thwart, where for five or six hours he lay screaming, cursing, struggling to release himself, and then died.

Despair--it is a feeble word to describe their feelings--was now upon the remaining men, who for another week were tossed about, hither and thither, until they had lost all count of their bearings. The sun kept behind the clouds, and fogs and mists enwrapped them in their wet, cold folds. In one sense this was a blessing in disguise; it kept the pangs of thirst under somewhat. But as they shivered in the bottom of the boat, huddling together to keep each other warm, they were in no mood to thank Heaven for fogs which they knew hid them from passing vessels. By Saturday morning eleven men had died and been thrown overboard, and the five survivors looked dumbly at each other, reading in bleared eyes the question, “Whose turn next?”

It was the turn of Peter Preive, the mess-room steward, of whom a strange story is told. Before he left Antwerp on the _Columbian_ he had dreamed a dream--that he would be a fortnight adrift in an open boat before he died. On the morning of the thirteenth day Preive lay at the point of death, for the hundredth time telling his comrades his dream and assuring them they would be picked up on the morrow.

It sounds like fiction, but it is solid fact, and those mariners took heart of courage: if some parts of the dream had come true, why not another? And so they lived on, as they had for some days past, with Preive’s dream as encouragement, though they could not altogether look with equanimity upon the prospect before them; ere the fourteenth day dawned some of those five that remained might have gone to join their comrades!

They had been reduced now to trying to make a paste out of the boot leather and the remains of the biscuits--anything to stave off hunger. But even their craving stomachs could not take kindly to the mixture, and the men knew that they were now face to face with death at last. They looked in the biscuit tank again, and found there--crumbs, simply a few crumbs, which they scooped up in order to mix some more of the unpalatable paste. And then, like a messenger of hope, they saw a smudge on the horizon, watched it grow larger and denser, saw the hull of a ship grow out of the mist. Four of them yelled themselves hoarse again, waved their signal, took out their oars and tugged away at them like mad. They bent their backs to the work, they pulled till their arms ached, and got hardly any way on her; they were too weak to pull against the sea effectively. Then the big ship stopped, and they saw her taking some soundings. She got up steam again and moved forward; and the castaways knew that they had been seen.

The reaction set in; the men who had borne up for thirteen days against hunger, thirst, who had fought against madness and death, crumpled up and fell in the bottom of their boat. They were done.

Meanwhile the big ship was punching her way towards them. She was the _Seneca_ (Captain Johnson), who had been searching for the missing lifeboat for many days, having crossed from the spot where the _Columbian_ burnt out to Nova Scotia and back time after time without sighting the unfortunate men. The captain had, indeed, given up hope of ever finding them; and when the look-out sighted the boat, and the _Seneca_ plunged towards her at full steam, Captain Johnson scarcely believed it possible that anyone could be alive in her.

When they came up with her they saw the five men lying in the bottom of the boat, helpless, emaciated, eyes sunken, bodies trembling. Preive, alive when the _Seneca_ came up, died from the shock of the sight of her; Tiere, who had commanded all through, and had done much to encourage the others, tried to lift himself up, but fell back exhausted, and the other four living men had to be helped out of their boat.

Their cruise was at an end. They were saved; but the terror of it will never leave them.

FRANCIS DRAKE’S RAID ON THE SPANISH MAIN

How Drake Took Toll for Spanish Treachery

In 1567 Francis Drake had accompanied John Hawkins on a slave-trading expedition to the Spanish Main; the worthy pair had gone across to Africa, where they had captured a number of Africans, whom they shipped to the West to sell as slaves, seeing that the Spaniards were sorely in need of labourers. Now, it was a maxim with the Dons that the Wealthy West was for Spaniards only, and they very much resented the coming of the Englishmen, so that, while professing the desire to trade with them, they really played them false; and it was only by the skin of their teeth that Hawkins and Drake managed to escape to England, even then having to leave a number of their men in the hands of the Spaniards.

Drake was angry. He vowed vengeance. Henceforth he determined not to go on trading expeditions, but to sally forth to the Spanish Main to take toll of the riches that the Spaniards were harvesting year by year. He did nothing in a hurry; he worked things out, went on a voyage or so to get the lie of the land, and in 1572 left Plymouth--bound for Panama! On one of his previous voyages he had laid up stores at a place on the mainland which he had called Port Pheasant, because he had seen a great number of those birds flying about there. Arrived at Port Pheasant on this new voyage, he received a mild sort of shock. Nailed to a tree was a leaden letter:

“CAPTAIN DRAKE,

“_If you have fortune to come into the port, make haste away, for the
Spaniards which you had with you last year have betrayed this place,
and taken away all that you left here. I departed hence this present
7th of July, 1572._

“_Your loving friend_,

“JOHN GARRET.”

Now, although Drake knew the seriousness of the position, he refused to be frightened away. He had work to do--the fitting up of his pinnaces--and he resolved to do this before leaving. He therefore set his men to work, and in a week was ready to sail for Nombre de Dios, his first place of call on the Spaniards. Just as he was about to start there came to the port an English barque commanded by Captain James Rouse, who threw in his lot--and his thirty-eight men--with Drake; and the company set sail for Nombre de Dios. At a small island called the Isle of Pines they stopped a while, and Drake appealed to the cupidity of his men, in the hope of making them even firmer than ever in their determination to do their utmost.

“Comrades,” he cried, “before us lies the world’s treasure-house. You are brave; and with your help I am confident of success. Follow me, and yours shall be the Spaniard’s wealth; yours shall be the fame that comes from great deeds, and we shall be able to take to your Queen much treasure and have good stores for ourselves!”

That put good heart into his men, and when they came to Nombre de Dios they were ready for anything, although they murmured, some of them, against attacking in daylight, as was Drake’s intention. However, Drake had to alter his plans, for when they came into the harbour they found a big ship there. Someone aboard saw them, and the vessel was headed for the shore to give the alarm. The English soon stopped her little game; the pinnaces raced after her, headed her off to seaward, and then, feeling safe, the men landed, fondly believing that they were unnoticed.

They were mistaken. While the rest of the garrison slept or made merry, or were on guard to landward against an attack from Cimaroons, one gunner was at his post in the fort. One gunner, one shot, and the town was in alarm; and away went the Spaniard racing into the town to tell of the coming of the hated English. There ensued a hubbub in Nombre de Dios; bells rang out their tocsin call, trumpets blared, drums rolled, and men rallied up to withstand the foe. As for Drake, he grasped the situation promptly, and had his plan working without delay. He divided his men into two companies, leading one himself and sending the other forward under his brother John and John Oxenham, hoping by this means to delude the Spaniards into thinking that a large force had come against them.

It was a queer scene. Every man Jack of Drake’s companies carried a firepike, whose flaming torch lit up the place weirdly; they made unearthly noises on trumpets, and rent the air with war-cries which struck terror into the Spaniards. So much so that, hearing the advance of men from two quarters, the Dons, forgetting all about the treasure in their stores, took to their heels and ran for dear life.

It was all so easy, thought the Englishmen; and then found they had counted their chickens before they were hatched, for when they reached the market-place they saw that the Spaniards had taken new courage and had massed themselves for a gallant fight. Moreover, they, too, had resorted to a stratagem; they had strung a line of lights across the dark street, and made it appear that there were many, many men with torches awaiting the foe!

Nothing loath to accept a good fight, Drake’s men plunged in; and although the Dons met them boldly and fought well, nothing could stop the men out for treasure and revenge. Using their firepikes as weapons, they charged the Spaniards, and although Drake and others were wounded, and the trumpeter was killed, they put the Dons to flight, and found themselves in possession of Nombre de Dios, with the treasure of King Philip theirs for the taking!

They hurried to the governor’s house, where they saw much treasure in the form of stacks of silver bars; they marched to the treasure-house, which Drake ordered them to force open. They proceeded to do so. But just then a terrific thunderstorm broke over the town; the men were drenched to the skin, their bows, with which they had done good work in the attack, were loosened and rendered useless, so that they began to fear lest the Spaniards, whom they could hear massing on the hills after their flight, should burst down upon them, when they would be practically powerless against them.

They spoke of going back to the boats, but Drake, who heard them, chaffed them for their cowardice. He knew it wasn’t that!

“You would fly!” he cried. “On the very threshold of the world’s treasure-house you would fly! I have brought you to the mouth of the treasury of the world, which if you do not gain none but yourselves will be to blame! Break open the treasure-house!”

And without waiting to see if they followed he sprang at the door to set them the example; but even as he did so his sight failed him, the strength which had been ebbing with the flow of the blood from his wound gave out, and he fell, a crumpled heap, at the threshold!

Instantly all were alarmed, and they fell to binding up his wound. That done, they urged him to come away. But Drake refused to budge; whereupon, knowing how much depended upon his safety, they picked him up in their strong arms and carried him to his pinnace. Not all his entreaties or threats could move them, and the only satisfaction he could get out of them was:

“What’s the good of the treasure of the Spanish Main if we have not Francis Drake?”

Thus it was that Drake found himself back in his pinnace, heading out for sea. But the night’s adventures were by no means over. In the harbour they found a big ship coming in. They promptly boarded her and took her, finding her to be well stocked with wines and other good things; and, taking her along with them, they made their way to a small island a little distance from Nombre de Dios, where they rested and refreshed themselves.

The Spaniards discovered where they were, and sent a messenger to Drake; they wanted to make sure who had attacked them. Drake received the emissary courteously, answered his questions frankly, assured him that the English arrows were not poisoned, and that he was indeed Francis Drake; gave him a present for himself, and then sent him back with a message to the Governor.

“Tell him,” he said, “to keep his eyes open, for if God lend me life and leave I mean to reap some of your harvest which you get out of the earth and send into Spain to trouble all the earth!”

Away went the Spaniard and delivered his message, no doubt to the consternation of the Governor.

In a couple of days Drake felt that it was time to go to the Isle of Pines, where he had left Rouse and his men. Arrived here, he told of his misadventures, and Rouse, growing disheartened, washed his hands of the whole affair and went home; which Drake didn’t really mind, for he preferred to work on his own, and was by no means despondent. He decided that he would tackle Carthagena, the chief town on the Spanish Main, which, if he could surprise it, would amply repay him for his voyage.

The Governor of Nombre de Dios, however, had taken the precaution of warning Carthagena of the proximity of the Dragon, as they called Drake now, so that when the English appeared off Carthagena they were met by shots from the town, which told Drake that his surprise attack would not come off. He knew, too, that the town was too strong to attempt to assault it openly, so he contented himself with seizing a number of ships lying at anchor in the harbour--right under the noses of the Spanish guns.

Then he sailed from Carthagena, deciding to lie low awhile in the Gulf of Darien till the excitement had subsided, when he would sally forth again. One thing worried him: he hadn’t sufficient men to man the ships and the pinnaces. He resolved to get over the difficulty by sinking one ship--the _Swan_--commanded by his brother John. He had to do this secretly, for he knew that his men would never consent to her being sunk. So, taking old Tom Moore, his carpenter, into his confidence, he succeeded in overcoming his qualms and arranging for him to bore holes in the ship’s bottom; and in due course the _Swan_ began to fill and to settle down. Drake, passing by in one of his pinnaces, asked John what was the matter with his ship; had she sprung a leak? Instantly it was “All hands to the pumps!” But pumped they never so quickly the water gained, and soon the men had to abandon the ship, which presently plunged beneath the surface; and Drake had achieved his purpose.

Then away to the Gulf of Darien, where they rested and amused themselves at various good old English games. Here Drake learnt from a negro he had with him, one Diego, that the Cimaroons, who hated the Spaniards like poison, would no doubt be willing to join forces with him against them; and Drake sent his brother John to the mainland to negotiate with the Cimaroons. The mission was successful, and John returned to report that the Cimaroons, eager to take their vengeance on the Spaniards for all the evil they had wrought, would be willing to co-operate with the English, and would lead them anywhere they liked. Drake, following the counsel of the Cimaroons, decided to postpone operations until the rainy season was over. Now, as the waiting period had to be filled in somehow, or his men would grow weary of waiting, Drake, knowing that inactivity is the worst thing for sailors and soldiers, determined to be up and doing on the sea. So, moving to a safer harbour, he made that his headquarters, leaving there a number of men under command of John. With the remainder he set out in a couple of pinnaces to see what was to be picked up along the coast. First he dashed into Carthagena harbour, and cut out two frigates from under the muzzles of the guns; later, when the Spaniards grew weary of being at the mercy of the Dragon, and sent out two big ships to take him, Drake met them, and though they were well armed and well manned he sent them scurrying back to their harbour. One of his two prizes he sent to the bottom, and the other he burnt; and then, wanting to feel terra firma beneath his feet, pulled to the shore. Something told him that the Spaniards had prepared an ambush for him; but Drake determined to land, and, springing ashore, he defied the hidden Spaniards to do their worst! And instead of doing that they bolted!

Meanwhile, John Drake had been busy. He did not want to be out of all the fun, so one day, espying a Spanish ship, he put off in a pinnace, taking only one man with him, and tried to capture her. The result was a foregone conclusion--both the intrepid and foolhardy Englishmen were killed. John was never so lucky as Francis!

Thus it came about that when Drake returned to his headquarters to give his men a rest he found his brother gone, and suffered an agony of spirit, for the hardy mariner had loved his brave brother. Still, what is done cannot be undone, and the Englishmen had to resign themselves to fate. The hot weather having now set in, they had other troubles to think about; fever had laid its fell grip upon them, and took a heavy toll during the time of rest. Then came the Cimaroons with news of the Spanish fleet. This heralded the dispatch of the treasure from Panama across the Isthmus of Darien--a journey which up till then had been unattended by danger from a European foe, although now and again, no doubt, the Cimaroons had sought to get a blow in at the Spaniards.

Drake now intended to give the Dons a shock; he meant to march inland and waylay the treasure mule-train. He had only eighteen of his men who were fit to travel, but he picked out thirty Cimaroons and Pedro to go with him. Pedro, by the way, had whetted the curiosity of Drake by telling him of a great sea far away beyond the hills, and the adventurer told himself that this must be the wonderful South Sea of which the men of the past had spoken. He decided to have a look at it, with a view to future exploring.

So off across the isthmus went the little band of black men and white--strange companions, who had at least one bond of sympathy, namely, hatred of the Spaniards. The Cimaroons knew the way, and led by the most favourable route--through forests and over hills and across rivers. On every side were new and strange sights to the Englishmen, who marched by day, and slept by night in branch-houses built by the Cimaroons to shelter them from the mists which bring fever.

After a fairly uneventful journey, the company arrived at the other side of the isthmus, and found before them a high mountain, up which they toiled, to see, as Pedro had told them, the great sea. The summit being reached, they saw that on a tree-trunk the Cimaroons had cut steps, and in its branches had erected a platform. Drake clambered up to this, and stood there facing the sea--the mighty Pacific rolling before him, the great Atlantic spread out behind him. He had come within sight of the South Sea--the first Englishman to do so.

A moment’s silence. The sight seemed too much for the adventurer; then, bursting out a vow that he would be the first Englishman to sail its waters, he cried:

“But one thing do I ask of Heaven, and that to sail once in an English ship in that sea!”

Then, having feasted his eyes upon the scene before him, he called up his company, and there, one by one, the English sailors registered their vows to follow him wherever he went, and when.

But there was no time to dally. Pressing work must be attended to; the future must be left to itself. So away towards Panama City Drake and his men went, cutting their way through the forest and keeping a good look-out lest they be surprised by Spaniards. However, they escaped notice, and after two days’ hard work came to open country, and before them lay Panama, the city of gold and silver; and away in the harbour rode the treasure fleet, waiting to disgorge its rich cargoes.

The day was still young when they came within sight of their objective, and, knowing that they must not be seen yet, Drake kept his men under cover until night, meanwhile sending a Cimaroon to spy out the land and to discover when the treasure-train would set out on its journey to Nombre de Dios.

Anxiously the adventurers waited, longing to get to business, wondering whether it might happen that they would have to wait hidden very long. But presently the spy came back with news that cheered, and made them feel that they had the treasure in their hands already! That very night the treasure-train was to set out for Nombre de Dios--a train of fifty mules, heavy laden, to be followed the next night by two other trains of like size. How those Englishmen’s fingers itched!

But they knew there would be stern work before them ere their hands laid hold on the treasure, and, wasting no time on anticipatory visions, they marched forward through the darkness till they came to the junction of the Nombre de Dios and Panama roads. Here Drake disposed his forces carefully, dividing them into two companies of eight Englishmen and fifteen Cimaroons--a company on each side of the road, under command of Drake and John Oxenham respectively. The companies were posted, not exactly opposite each other, but in such positions that one could seize the hindmost mules and the other the foremost, and so get the Spaniards between two fires.

There followed an anxious time of waiting, during which a man dared hardly breathe, let alone speak. Then through the night air came the cheery tinkling of bells, and they knew that the train was approaching. The only thing that worried them was that the tinkling came from two ways--from Venta Cruz and from Panama. They knew that the treasure-train would not come from Venta Cruz; but the question was which would get there first?

They needn’t have worried; the whole matter was settled for them! One of Drake’s men had been drinking too much, and the neat brandy had got into his head; so that when he heard the bells he got muddled and lost his sense of locality. When the bells from Venta Cruz drew nearer he thought they were the bells from Panama. Now, the former heralded only the approach of a single Spanish officer, who would have been allowed to proceed without molestation had not the drunken sailor raised himself up from the long grass to hurl himself at the Spaniard. Quick as lightning a Cimaroon hauled him back. But too late; the officer had seen the white shirt which the man wore--as did his comrades, for identification--and, suspicious that there should be anyone lying in wait at such a spot, and at such a time, he urged his mule on towards Panama at top speed, expecting to be followed.

But none followed him; for Drake’s orders were to lie low, even now.

On, therefore, went the officer, to meet the treasure-train, which was in charge of the Treasurer of Lima, who was naturally pretty startled to see the galloping figure.

“A miracle has happened!” cried the officer. “El Dragon has come--though how, Heaven only knows--and he lies in wait for the treasure!”

Now, the Treasurer of Lima, like most of his compatriots, had a wholesome dread of Drake, and though it passed his comprehension that such a thing should have taken place, yet he considered it wise to adopt precautionary measures, lest there should be any truth in the scared officer’s apparently wild tale.

So, keeping back the actual treasure-train, he sent on a line of mules, two of them with loads of silver, the rest with provisions, just to act as a decoy; and Drake, having kept his men quiet, and hearing the tinkling of the bells as before, imagined that everything was going quite smoothly, and that after all the Spanish officer had not seen the drunken sailor.

The mule-train came to the ambush; there rang a shrill whistle-call, and the Englishmen and the Cimaroons leapt to their feet, fell upon the Spaniards, seized the mules, and began to rifle their packs, expecting to find a rich haul of treasure.

And all they found were the two loads of silver and an assortment of victuals!

However, there it was; and the important thing was to square things up somehow, and to get back to the coast before the Spaniards could stop them. The way back lay through Venta Cruz. It was the easier way, and Drake vowed he’d go by that road, even though it meant fighting his way through. He must hurry on before the men of Panama had time to warn Venta Cruz. The Cimaroons pledged themselves to follow him through thick and thin, and with this assurance Drake immediately set out.

The Cimaroons went on in front as scouts, and presently reported that they had located the presence of Spanish troops by the smell of the gun-matches. Whereupon Drake got ready to fight, thinking he might have to cut his way through. On they went, silently, carefully; but soon the Spaniards saw them, and they were challenged.

“Who goes there?” they cried.

“Englishmen!” came back the bold, proud, staggering answer that wellnigh sent the Spaniards fleeing for their lives.

“In the name of the King of Spain, yield!” cried the captain of the troop.

“Never!” bellowed Drake. “For the honour of the Queen of England, I must have passage this way,” and discharged his pistol full at the captain. Then, with good Queen Bess’s name on their lips, the English opened fire upon the Spaniards, who responded promptly, with fatal effect to one Englishman and wounds to others, including Drake himself. Still the little band kept up their fire, and presently the Spanish fire slackened somewhat, and Drake’s whistle sounded the “Charge!” There was a sharp volley of English shot, a flight of Cimaroon arrows, and then “St. George and England!” yelled the English, “Yo peho, yo peho!” cried the Cimaroons, and away they went at the Spaniards, scattering them, sending them helter-skelter into Venta Cruz, whither the foe followed them--into the heart of the city!

And that little mixed band captured Venta Cruz, and ransacked it! But for all their roughness and eagerness for treasure, the English behaved, as Englishmen always do--courteously; and neither women nor children nor unarmed men had aught to say against them for their treatment.

Staying only long enough to take what treasure they could find, Drake and his men pushed on from Venta Cruz towards the coast, which they reached in due course, to find the sick men well, though it was but natural they were all downcast at the failure of the journey to Panama.

Shortly afterwards, Drake joined hands with a French privateer, and proceeded to make other plans for capturing some of the treasure from the South. He knew that by this time the Spanish Main would be up in arms and watchful against him; but he had come a long way, and felt he ought to be paid for his trouble.

Oxenham was sent with a pinnace to cut out a provision ship; which he did, capturing a fine frigate laden with sufficient food to serve their purpose. Drake himself went along the coast towards Veragua, stopping a frigate on the way, relieving her of some of her treasure, and gathering from the captain--probably under pressure--that in the harbour at Veragua there rode a Spanish ship with over a million of gold in her hold. This was fine news indeed, and off to Veragua hastened Drake, staying for nothing.

The pinnace shot into the harbour--and received a broadside from the Spaniards, who were warned of their coming! Back went Drake. Clearly, his luck was out!

But he would have one more try. He discovered that a treasure-train was due at Nombre de Dios from Venta Cruz, and he made up his mind to make an attempt to intercept this near Nombre de Dios. Putting back to his harbour, he boarded his little fleet, consisting of the French privateer and a couple of frigates captured from the Spaniards. The _Pacha_, his own ship, was unseaworthy by this time, and he left her “to the Spaniards” as something in return for those he had captured! Sailing along the coast for another harbour, he left his vessels there, and embarked in his pinnaces with fifteen Englishmen, twenty Frenchmen, and a number of Cimaroons. On March 31 he landed the majority of his forces at a river near Nombre de Dios, leaving the remainder to watch the pinnaces.

Striking inland, the mixed band came within easy distance of Nombre de Dios, and took up positions along the road, waiting for the coming of the treasure-train as they had waited before. Across the still night air came the sounds of carpenters hard at work repairing the ships which awaited the treasure for King Philip; and then, just at the break of day, there came the tinkle of bells--the sweetest of music to the adventurers’ ears!

They could hardly believe their eyes; coming towards them were 190 mules, heavily laden, as the Cimaroons had told them, with gold and silver--so much that they wouldn’t know what to do with it! Thirty tons of silver and gold awaited the taking--when they had disposed of the guard of forty-five Spanish soldiers.

Drake’s whistle rang shrilly again, and on the instant the raiders were amongst the Spaniards, who, fighting bravely, kept their attackers busy for a while. But the allies were not to be daunted, and presently the Spaniards, thinking discretion the better part of valour, took to their heels and ran.

Letting them go, Drake and his men fell upon the mule-trains and, tearing open the packs, found that this time the lines had fallen in good places for them. There was so much treasure, they could not carry it all! They, therefore, hurriedly hid about fifteen tons of it in the burrows of land crabs, in the bottom of a shallow river, under trees--anywhere they could think of; and, every man carrying as much as he could bear of gold, they started for the coast.

Meanwhile, the scared Spaniards had given the alarm in Nombre de Dios, and while the raiders hurried off with the loads, troops were sent out after them. Coming up with the deserted and rifled treasure-train, they rejoiced to find some of the mules still laden, and these they sent into the city while they looked about them, knowing that the Englishmen could not have taken all the rest away. They discovered many of the hiding-places, and seeing that they had succeeded in locating the major portion of the treasure, they contented themselves with gathering it up (employing 2,000 Mamoras and negroes to do this), and sending it post-haste to Nombre de Dios, preferring not to go after the bold raiders.

Drake, meantime, was hastening to the coast, where he expected, naturally, to find his pinnaces. But when, elated at their success, his men came within sight of the coast, their pinnaces were no longer there, and in their places were seven Spanish pinnaces!

More hard luck! Here he was, with the first good haul he had made, and yet unable to get away with it. He told himself--and his men--that come what might he was going to get to his frigates somehow. Fortunately for the boaster, the Spanish pinnaces, unaware of the presence of the raiders so near at hand, weighed anchor and set out for Nombre de Dios. But the question that faced Drake was how to get away? No pinnaces! He solved the problem by building a raft at once, rigging up a sail out of an old biscuit sack, and calling for three volunteers to go with him to find the pinnaces.

Everyone volunteered, but he took the three he wanted, and then set out on his crazy craft. At times it threatened to capsize, at others it had them waist deep in the water; and at all times while they sailed the blazing sun poured down upon them. At last they saw the pinnaces they had lost; but the men in the boats did not see them, and they were too far off for a hail to reach them. The pinnaces were lost sight of as they rounded a headland, and Drake, taking the risk, beached his raft and tore along the shore, in the hope of finding the boats run up on the beach.

Sure enough, when the four racing men turned the headland they saw the pinnaces lying ashore, and, incidentally, gave the sailors a scare, for they thought that this sudden appearance betokened the failure and pursuit of Drake. Drake, feeling it too good a joke to miss, let them believe this for a time, and enjoyed the crestfallen look on their faces. Then, with a shout, he told them all, and away went the pinnaces to bring back the treasure and the men left behind.

In a little while all were on board the ships, jubilant at their success, though three Frenchmen were missing. Drake sent a party ashore to search for these, and to bring back the treasure that had been hidden. Only one Frenchman was found, and none of the silver, which, as we have seen, had been unearthed by the Spaniards.

Drake was angry at the loss, but taking comfort that he had really managed to get a good haul, decided that it was time to return to England. First of all he laid in a stock of food by capturing a provision ship as they sailed tauntingly by Carthagena. Then, with hearty farewells to Pedro and his Cimaroons, whom they allowed to take whatever they wanted out of the ships, Drake and his merry men set sail for England, where they arrived on Sunday, August 19th, 1573, and were received with great joy by the people, who, forgetting all about the preacher, rushed out of church to welcome the coming of the man who by this time had grown to be one of their idols.

Queen Elizabeth, however, gave him a dubious welcome--that is, publicly--for she was just then desirous of being at peace with Spain; though it is by no means certain that she was not as delighted as Drake at the success of his voyage, which had gained him much wealth and a fine reputation as a leader of men.

A GALLANT FISHERMAN

A Brave Rescue in a Storm

Captain Albert Gempton, of Brixham, ranks amongst those men who have helped to make England the mistress of the seas, being a gallant hero with a whole host of brave deeds to his credit. A fisherman--a son of Devon, which has produced so many hardy sons of the sea--probably one of the most arduous pieces of work he ever undertook was when he went to the rescue of two lads on a fishing smack off Lundy Island on December 16, 1910. Incidentally, it shows the kind of thing that very often befalls the fisherman, who, going out to reap the harvests of the seas, encounters untold dangers, while we at home go to our breakfast tables, and all unthinking eat the fish to catch which may have cost a man his life.

On this particular day there had been a severe storm, which swept along the coast and caught many fishing vessels at their work, a good number of them being wrecked and all hands lost. The smack _Friendship_ was off Lundy Island when the storm broke out, and for a time bravely battled against it; she held two men and two apprentices, and these gallantly worked her, seeking to get into port. But Fate was unkind; first the skipper was taken bodily by the angry waves and carried overboard, and was not seen again. Then, almost immediately afterwards the other man suffered a like fate; and the two apprentices, mere lads learning the trade of the sea, found themselves alone on a smack they knew not how to manage.

To make matters worse, it was night; and for hours the two boys struggled gamely with their vessel, fighting the elements as best they knew how. The great waves reared white-crested heads, swooped down upon the smack, filling it with water; now she was on the crest of a terrific wave, now in the trough, and the boys thought that each moment would be their last. Their one hope was to keep the water under, and for hours and hours they worked hard at the pumps; but as fast as they pumped the water out more swept in, and they gave themselves up for lost. One, two, three o’clock came and passed, and still they were fighting for life, and with little hope of coming through. Then their hearts gave a bound; they wiped the water from their bleared eyes and looked across the waste of sea, scarcely believing what they saw. A light!

Forgetting the necessity for working the pumps without cessation, they rushed to the side and yelled themselves hoarse, seeking to attract the attention of the men on the boat they knew was there. Above the roar of the storm their voices were soundless; they might have yelled till Doomsday and never been heard. But those men on the other vessel had seen--which was just as good--and with sail set she rode before the wind, drove her way through the water, and made for the derelict. It was hard going, but Captain Gempton knew that his little smack, the _Gratitude_, was a sturdy sailer; and he realised that something was amiss.

After a stern struggle the _Gratitude_ came near enough to the _Friendship_ to bawl out for information; and the two boys yelled out the story of their plight.

“Save us!” they cried. “Save us! We’re alone, and the water’s gaining on us!”

“Righto, sonnies!” cried Gempton. “Keep pumping. We’ll have you off in a twinkling!”

They were brave words, but Gempton knew that a “twinkling” was a comparative term. It would be no light task to get alongside the _Friendship_ without smashing into her, bobbing up and down as she was to the will of the waves. He manœuvred his vessel carefully to get her into the best position from which to try to effect the rescue, knowing that it would be asking the boys to jump to death to leap out and try to swim to the _Gratitude_. If they were to be got off, they must be fetched; and he knew it.

But try as he would, the _Gratitude_ could not be got within distance from which the boys could be saved. There was only one way to do it; and that was to lower a boat and row over to the smack.

“I’m going, boys!” said Gempton presently. “Lower away!”

And his men hoisted the boat. Gempton, swathed in his oilskins, took his seat in it; and at the same time another man, John Tidmarsh, jumped in with him.

“I’m coming too, skipper,” he said.

“Good,” said the captain; and the two men took their seats, each of them carrying a lifebuoy. Then, pushing off, they bent their backs to the oars, and sought to pull the boat over the waves. What a tussle that was! What a fight against the elements! The wind caught them and hurled them forward; the waves broke upon them and hurled them backwards. Huge mountains of water fell upon them, swamping the boat, almost filling it; and while one man rowed the other bailed. Then on again--only to meet the same fate; bail again, and then onward through the darkness and the noise of Nature till eventually they came near to the _Friendship_.

Then was careful handling called for, lest the boat be dashed into the side of the smack and broken to pieces.

“Easy!” cried Gempton; and Tidmarsh grasped his oars, plied them masterfully, and just as it seemed that the boat was going to be smashed, she swung round and missed the _Friendship_ by the fraction of a yard. And meanwhile the two boys were pumping for very life, straining eyes through the darkness to catch a glimpse of the heroes making for them.

“They’ll never do it,” said one of them.

“God grant they do!” said the other. “See--they’re here!”

Sure enough, Gempton had brought his boat alongside, where she lay rocking at the mercy of the waves, but held in check by the firm hands on the oars.

“Quick!” bawled Gempton. “Quick, for your lives!” And instantly the two boys forsook their pumps and rushed to the side, ready to jump overboard at the word.

“Jump!” “No!” The two words seemed to come simultaneously. Gempton had given the first, Tidmarsh the second, as the boat swung away from the smack. Then, with a mighty tug at the oars the boat was brought back again. “Jump!” And this time a boy jumped, landing in the boat, and sending it pitching and tossing, and threatening to overturn it. Again she swung out, only to be pulled back; and once more a boy jumped, and landed fairly in her.

They were saved! Not yet. The journey to the _Gratitude_ had still to be made, and now the wind was against them, blowing down upon them in greater fury, as though angry at being robbed of the prey it had fought for all through the hours of the howling night. It had seemed hours getting out to the _Friendship_; it seemed years getting back. Time and time again the water broke in upon them, and filled the boat so that she could not easily ride the storm; the boys bailed like madmen, and kept on bailing, and the two men held on at their oars and rowed in the race against death.

They reached the _Gratitude_, where, with the waves breaking upon them, and the wind battering at them, the little company of four climbed perilously into the ship--exhausted all of them, grateful two of them, and well pleased the other two for having been able to effect the rescue.

FIRE AT SEA

Tragic Tales of Burning Ships

It is almost impossible to imagine anything more appalling than a fire at sea. The floating home of perhaps scores, maybe hundreds, of people blazing away, iron and steel melting in the fierce heat, explosions taking place here, there and everywhere; men trapped in cabins and being roasted to death; heroic sailors fighting the flames which there is no fire brigade to fight for them--all these things go to make up a scene of horror that beggars description.

Such were the circumstances on December 8, 1914, when the oil-tank steamer _Vedra_ took fire off Walney Island. She had left Sabine, in Texas, some while before, and run the gauntlet of the few German commerce raiders in the Atlantic; and Captain Brewster was telling himself, when he arrived off Barrow on December 7, that his voyage was at an end, and that he would soon be able to unload his cargo of benzine. He counted his chickens before they were hatched, for Dame Fortune was bent on playing him a scurvy trick. For some time the weather had been rough, and the _Vedra_ had been forcing her way through in the teeth of a gale which played shuttlecock with her. But the sturdy steamer had fought hard and long to get to her port; and now she was within sight. Across the darkening waters signals were sent for a pilot to come aboard and guide her into harbour.

Meanwhile, the storm increased in fury, and the _Vedra_ found herself fighting against the titanic forces of the deep. Now on the crest of a wave, now in the trough the vessel lay, hovering at times, it seemed, on the very edge of the pit of destruction, and at others diving down, down, down, and then righting herself as by a miracle.

The waiting men saw a tug put out and head towards their ship.

“The pilot,” they muttered. “He’s in for a rough trip!”

A rough trip it was, and one that was never finished, for ere he could reach the _Vedra_ the latter was taken up, as it were, by giant hands and flung shorewards; then swung about again and hurled towards Walney Island. Firm as a rock Captain Brewster stood to his post, and worked his ship like the mariner he was; but it was a hopeless task, and very soon there was a grinding that told she had run ashore. The engines were immediately reversed, and the ship strained to her utmost in the effort to get off the shore. As the waters poured over her she seemed to shake herself like a great dog. There was the hum of the engines below, the swish of the propeller as it churned up the water, but never a move backward did the _Vedra_ make; rather, she bumped more heavily and got farther in. She was fast held.

Captain Brewster, realising now that it was useless to try to float her by her own engines, signalled to the shore for assistance, and the guardship _Furness_, lying off the port, immediately put out and hurried to render what aid she could, while at the same time the tugs _Walney_ and _Cartmel_ pushed their noses through the water in her direction. Captain Hill, of the _Furness_, worked his vessel as near to the _Vedra_ as was possible with safety, and then, calling on the crew to stand by, hurled a hawser towards her. Time and time again the hawser was flung, only to fall short; but at last it was successfully thrown, and caught by some of the _Vedra’s_ crew. It took but a little while for them to hitch it securely; and when this was done the word was given to the _Furness_, whose engines were reversed, and away she bore till the hawser stretched taut from ship to ship.