_On which grows a tall solitary Palm_, _its feathered branches waving in
the morning air_. _The densely wooded banks reflected in the still
water_. _The horizon in the background_, _a Sierra of lofty mountains_.
_The sun rising and illumening their tops and sending his rays along one
of the streams_. _A canoe coming down the shining river_.
_Enter_ DRAKE, OXENHAM, MOON _the carpenter_, _and others in a boat from
the side_.
DRAKE (_after a pause looking round_). I don’t see our dark-visaged
friends; I hope there is no mistake. One cannot exactly apprehend
treason. These Symerons hate as well as fear the Spaniards, and would
neither aid nor trust them.
OXENHAM. True, General, our foes are theirs. From them they have
nothing to expect but the slavery of their race or death. Gold they
value not—thus cruelty and treachery defeat themselves. Spain can never
be trusted. To us they look as friends to aid them in their vengeance.
DRAKE. What a tide of Spanish blood is due to them—a nation crushed,
tortured, massacred, enslaved, driven from such a paradise as this, or
seeing it blasted before their eyes. Such is conquest; such a foreign
yoke, (_aside_) England, look well to it! There are men, and Englishmen,
who would thus degrade their native land, the glorious and the free!
OXENHAM. It seems not like the wickedness of man—not to speak of
Policy—Spain clothes herself with hate and terror. Her soldiers have the
air of fiends from hell; their mission to destroy.
MOON. There is no danger, General. This is the spot—the junction of the
two streams, and the solitary cocoanut tree on the point.
OXENHAM. Right, Moon, all right. There it is rearing aloft its head
like a mighty standard—its giant plumes just waving in the morning air—no
mistake!
DRAKE. What a picture! How strangely beautiful! An there were here
some limner of Nature’s Physiognomy, with cunning to throw her wondrous
effigy on his magic canvas; that dark still water, noiseless and deep,
stealing snakelike through the monstrous foliage, mirrored in its glassy
surface; that proud Sierra; the distant horizon, and the rising sun,
tinging with purple glory its snowy tops, sending the sheen of silver
along the opening river.
OXENHAM (_abruptly_). Here comes the canoe, like a regiment of men in
single file. What a length of side! and made out of a single trunks.
MOON. It would puzzle a fellow like me, with only a little arithmetic,
to count them. Lord! it shoots like an arrow. As we speak it is at the
bank. Hurrah! there is our friend Chiruca in the bow. He is now you see
an Indian Chief, and waves his eagle plume to us.
_The canoe with the Indians arrives_, _loaded with fruits and other
provisions_, _and drinks of the country_.
DRAKE. Brave Chiruca, welcome! (_they embrace_)
CHIRUCA. Welcome to the land of our fathers, noble Drake. (_He points
to his companions_.) These are the sons of Caciques, who have come to
welcome you; the Chiefs who will gather round you; the valiant of their
tribes (_they prostrate themselves before_ DRAKE, _who by the instruction
of_ CHIRUCA _raises and embraces them_).
OXENHAM (_to_ DRAKE _aside_). This is the best move yet, General. We
are now at the very throat of Spain. I have long had this in my eye, and
kept it to myself. Make a nation of these Symerons, but the gold and
pearls first.
DRAKE. I can see farther, John. I mean to ascend the heights and behold
the other ocean—what Spain is doing. The source of all her wealth lies
there.
_Indians_, _loaded with provisions_, _proceed up the precipitous rock at
the side_; _others armed with lances and bows mingle with the English_,
_and prepare to accompany them_. CHIRUCA _approaches_ DRAKE.
CHIRUCA. Friend Drake! We wait for you; the sun is above the mountains,
and warns us that time passes (DRAKE _takes him by the arm and points
forward_).
DRAKE. On then, Chiruca. Looking at these precipitous rocks—those
tangled forests—those foaming cataracts—the stern outline of that high
Sierra—the task would seem hopeless.
CHIRUCA. Gold and silver, in loads, traverse these heights on mules and
llamas. We will show you the Recoes and their Spanish escort. With your
men of iron, we shall make short work of the guard, and carry off the
treasure. We will ambuscade them for you, and mow them down with
poisoned arrows. You shall see them fly, as from a pestilence, or the
scourge of the evil one.
DRAKE. Lead on.
CHIRUCA. This is the way. Follow me.
_The Indians bound up the face of the rock and disappear under the
hanging shrubs_.
MOON. That’s what I call a flying leap. Body o’ me! They’re birds or
antilopes—not men.
DRAKE (_he calls up to_ CHIRUCA). Call you this a path? To get up there
would require the wings of one of those Condors that have scented death
from the Sierra, and are sailing over our heads, ready to pick our bones,
should we break our necks.
MOON (_with a heavy axe_, _and several other things_, _produces a rope_,
_which he has coiled round him_, _and throws one end up the rock_). I’ll
show them a trick, General, that will beat all their jumping. (_He
prepares to throw the rope_) Look out there aloft! (_he throws_) Now
make fast Chiruca (_he runs up the rope amid much laughter_).
DRAKE. Well done, Moon! Always prepared; he’s loaded like one of
Llamas.
MOON _slides down again and holds the rope for_ DRAKE.
MOON. There, General, I have tried it for you.
DRAKE. That was a bright and seamanlike thought, Moon.
DRAKE, OXENHAM, _and the others ascend_.
MOON. I wish I had brought a kedge anchor and a block or two with me, I
think we shall need a whole running gear and tackle before we shall have
warped through all these shoals and narrows (_he secures about him his
axe and various implements_, _and ascends the rope_, _amid cheers from
the top of the rock_. _They are seen crossing over a deep craggy
ravine_, _on a bridge of ropes twisted of fibres of trees_, _and so
disappear in the distance at the other side_). _Scene changes_.