To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day!"
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank:
And when above the surges
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus,
"Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town!"--
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena,
"And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before."
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers,
To press his gory hands;
And now with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River Gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
They gave him of the corn land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow from morn till night;
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscians home.
And mothers pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
HOW SIR FRANCIS DRAKE SAILED ROUND THE WORLD.
The ships which the Spaniards used on the Pacific were usually built
on the spot. But Magellan was known to have gone by the Horn, and
where a Portuguese could go an Englishman could go. Drake proposed to
try. The vessels in which he was preparing to tempt fortune seem
preposterously small. The "Pelican," or "Golden Hind," which belonged
to Drake himself, was but 120 tons, at best no larger than a modern
racing yawl, though perhaps no racing yawl was ever better equipped
for the work which she had to do. The next, the "Elizabeth" of London,
was said to be eighty tons; a small pinnace of twelve tons, in which
we should hardly risk a summer cruise round the Land's End, with two
sloops or frigates of fifty and thirty tons, made the rest. The
"Elizabeth" was commanded by Captain Winter, a queen's officer, and
perhaps a son of the old admiral.
[Illustration: Sir Francis Drake.]
We may credit Drake with knowing what he was about. He and his
comrades were carrying their lives in their hands. If they were taken
they would be inevitably hanged. Their safety depended on speed of
sailing, and specially on the power of working fast to windward,
which the heavy square-rigged ships could not do. The crews all told
were one hundred and sixty men and boys.
On November 15th, 1577, the "Pelican" and her consorts sailed out of
Plymouth Sound. The elements frowned on their start. On the second day
they were caught in a winter gale. The "Pelican" sprung her mainmast,
and they put back to refit and repair. Before the middle of December
all was again in order. The weather mended, and with a fair wind and
smooth water they made a fast run down the coast to the Cape de Verde
Islands. There taking up the northeast Trades, they struck across the
Atlantic. They passed the mouth of the Plate River, finding to their
astonishment fresh water at the ship's side in fifty-four fathoms. On
June 20th they reached Port St. Julian on the coast of Patagonia.
It was now midwinter, the stormiest season of the year, and they
remained for six weeks in Port St. Julian. They burnt the twelve-ton
pinnace, as too small for the work they had now before them, and there
remained only the "Pelican," the "Elizabeth," and the "Marigold." In
cold, wild weather they weighed at last, and on August 20th made the
opening of Magellan's Straits. The passage is seventy miles long,
tortuous and dangerous. They had no charts. Icy mountains overhung
them on either side; heavy snow fell below. They brought up
occasionally at an island to rest the men, and let them kill a few
seals and penguins to give them fresh food. Everything they saw was
new, wild, and wonderful.
Having to feel their way, they were three weeks in getting through.
They had counted on reaching the Pacific that the worst of their work
was over, and that they could run north at once into warmer and calmer
latitudes. The peaceful ocean, when they entered it, proved the
stormiest they had ever sailed on. A fierce westerly gale drove them
six hundred miles to the southeast outside the Horn. The "Marigold"
went down in the tremendous encounter. Captain Winter in the
"Elizabeth" made his way back into Magellan's Straits. There he lay
for three weeks, lighting fires nightly to show Drake where he was;
but no Drake appeared. They had agreed, if separated, to meet on the
coast in the latitude of Valparaiso; but Winter was chicken-hearted,
and sore, we are told, "against the mariners' will," when the three
weeks were out, he sailed away for England, where he reported that all
the ships were lost but the "Pelican," and that the "Pelican" was
probably lost too.
Drake had believed better of Winter, and had not expected to be so
deserted. He had himself taken refuge among the islands which form the
Cape, waiting for the spring and milder weather. He used the time in
making surveys, and observing the habits of the native Patagonians.
The days lengthened, and the sea smoothed at last. He then sailed for
Valparaiso, hoping to meet Winter there, as he had arranged. At
Valparaiso there was no Winter, but there was in the port instead a
great galleon just come in from Peru. The galleon's crew took him for
a Spaniard, hoisted their colors, and beat their drums. The "Pelican"
shot alongside. The English sailors in high spirits leaped on board.
No life was taken; Drake never hurt man if he could help it. The crew
jumped overboard, and swam ashore. The prize was examined. Four
hundred pounds' weight of gold was found in her, besides other plunder.
Drake went on next to Tarapaca, where silver from the Andes mines was
shipped for Panama. At Tarapaca there was the same unconsciousness of
danger. The silver bars lay piled on the quay, the muleteers who had
brought them were sleeping peacefully in the sunshine at their side.
The muleteers were left to their slumbers. The bars were lifted into
the English boats. A train of mules or llamas came in at that moment
with a second load as rich as the first. This, too, went into the
"Pelican's" hold. The bullion taken at Tarapaca was worth nearly half
a million ducats.
Still there was no news of Winter. Drake began to realize that he was
now entirely alone, and had only himself and his own crew to depend
on. There was nothing to do but to go through with it, danger adding
to the interest. Arica was the next point visited. Half a hundred
blocks of silver were picked up at Arica. After Arica came Lima, the
chief depot of all, where the grandest haul was looked for. At Lima,
alas! they were just too late. Twelve great hulks lay anchored there.
The sails were unbent, the men were ashore. They contained nothing but
some chests of reels and a few bales of silk and linen. But a
thirteenth, called the "Cacafuego," had sailed a few days before for
the Isthmus with the whole produce of the Lima mines for the season.
Her ballast was silver, her cargo gold and emeralds and rubies.
Drake deliberately cut the cables of the ships in the roads, that they
might drive ashore and be unable to follow him. The "Pelican" spread her
wings, and sped away in pursuit. He would know the "Cacafuego," so he
learned at Lima, by the peculiar cut of her sails. The first man who
caught sight of her was promised a gold chain for his reward. A sail was
seen on the second day. It was not the chase, but it was worth stopping
for. Eighty pounds' weight of gold was found, and a great gold crucifix,
set with emeralds said to be as large as pigeons' eggs.
We learn from the Spanish accounts that the Viceroy of Lima, as soon
as he recovered from his astonishment, dispatched ships in pursuit.
They came up with the last plundered vessel, heard terrible tales of
the rovers' strength, and went back for a larger force. The "Pelican"
meanwhile went along upon her course for eight hundred miles. At
length, off Quito, and close under the shore, the "Cacafuego's"
peculiar sails were sighted, and the gold chain was claimed. There she
was, going lazily along a few miles ahead. Care was needed in
approaching her. If she guessed the "Pelican's" character she would
run in upon the land, and they would lose her. It was afternoon. The
sun was still above the horizon, and Drake meant to wait till night,
when the breeze would be off the shore, as in the tropics it always is.
The "Pelican" sailed two feet to the "Cacafuego's" one. Drake filled his
empty wine skins with water and trailed them astern to stop his way. The
chase supposed that she was followed by some heavily-loaded trader,
and, wishing for company on a lonely voyage, she slackened sail, and
waited for him to come up. At length the sun went down into the ocean,
the rosy light faded from off the snows of the Andes; and when both
ships had become invisible from the shore, the skins were hauled in, the
night wind rose, and the water began to ripple under the "Pelican's"
bows. The "Cacafuego" was swiftly overtaken, and when within a cable's
length a voice hailed her to put her head into the wind. The Spanish
commander, not understanding so strange an order, held on his course. A
broadside brought down his mainyard, and a flight of arrows rattled on
his deck. He was himself wounded. In a few minutes he was a prisoner,
and the ship and her precious freight were in the corsair's power. The
wreck was cut away; the ship was cleared; a prize crew was put on board.
Both vessels turned their heads to the sea. At daybreak no land was to
be seen, and the examination of the prize began. The full value was
never acknowledged. The invoice, if there was one, was destroyed. The
accurate figures were known only to Drake and Queen Elizabeth. A
published schedule acknowledged to twenty tons of silver bullion,
thirteen chests of silver coins, and a hundredweight of gold, but there
were gold nuggets beside in indefinite quantity, and "a great store" of
pearls, emeralds, and diamonds.
Drake, we are told, was greatly satisfied. He thought it prudent to
stay in the neighborhood no longer than necessary. He went north with
all sail set, taking his prize along with him. The master, San Juan de
Anton, was removed on board the "Pelican," to have his wound attended
to. He remained as Drake's guest for a week, and sent in a report of
what he observed to the Spanish government. One at least of Drake's
party spoke excellent Spanish. This person took San Juan over the
ship. She showed signs, San Juan said, of rough service, but was still
in fine condition, with ample arms, spare rope, mattocks, carpenters'
tools of all descriptions. There were eighty-five men on board all
told, fifty of them men of war, the rest young fellows, ship boys, and
the like. Drake himself was treated with great reverence; a sentinel
stood always at his cabin door. He dined alone with music.
[Illustration: James Anthony Froude.]
The "Pelican" met with many other adventures, and at last sailed for
home. Sweeping in fine clear weather round the Cape of Good Hope, she
touched once for water at Sierra Leone, and finally sailed in triumph
into Plymouth Harbor.
English sympathy with an extraordinary exploit is always irresistible.
Shouts of applause rang through the country; and Elizabeth, every bit
of her an English-woman, felt with her subjects. She sent for Drake to
London, made him tell his story over and over again, and was never
weary of listening to him.
--_From "English Seamen in the Sixteenth Century,"
by James Anthony Froude._
A BRAVE RESCUE AND A ROUGH RIDE.
It happened upon a November evening (when I was about fifteen years
old, and outgrowing my strength very rapidly, my sister Annie being
turned thirteen, and a deal of rain having fallen, and all the troughs
in the yard being flooded, and the bark from the wood ricks washed
down the gutter, and even our watershoot growing brown) that the ducks
in the barnyard made a terrible quacking, instead of marching off to
their pen, one behind another. Thereupon Annie and I ran out to see
what might be the sense of it. There were thirteen ducks, and ten
lily-white (as the fashion of ducks then was), not, I mean,
twenty-three in all, but ten white and three brown-striped ones; and
without being nice about their color, they all quacked very movingly.
They pushed their gold-colored bills here and there (yet dirty, as
gold is apt to be), and they jumped on the triangles of their feet,
and sounded out of their nostrils; and some of the overexcited ones
ran along low on the ground, quacking grievously, with their bills
snapping and bending, and the roof of their mouths exhibited.
Annie began to cry "dilly, dilly, einy, einy, ducksey," according to
the burden of a tune they seem to have accepted as the national ducks'
anthem; but instead of being soothed by it, they only quacked three
times as hard, and ran round till we were giddy. And then they shook
their tails all together, and looked grave, and went round and round
again.
Now, I am uncommonly fond of ducks, whether roystering, roosting, or
roasted; and it is a fine sight to behold them walk, paddling one after
another, with their toes out, like soldiers drilling, and their little
eyes cocked all ways at once, and the way that they dib with their
bills, and dabble, and throw up their heads and enjoy something, and
then tell the others about it. Therefore, I knew at once, by the way
they were carrying on, that there must be something or other gone wholly
amiss in the duck world. Sister Annie perceived it, too, but with a
greater quickness; for she counted them like a good duck wife, and could
only tell thirteen of them, when she knew there ought to be fourteen.
And so we began to search about, and the ducks ran to lead us aright,
having come that far to fetch us; and when we got down to the foot of
the courtyard where the two great ash trees stand by the side of the
little water, we found good reason for the urgence and melancholy of
the duck birds. Lo! the old white drake, the father of all, a bird of
high manners and chivalry, always the last to help himself from the
pan of barley meal, and the first to show fight to a dog or cock
intruding upon his family, this fine fellow, and a pillar of the
state, was now in a sad predicament, yet quacking very stoutly.
For the brook, wherewith he had been familiar from his callow
childhood, and wherein he was wont to quest for water newts, and
tadpoles, and caddice worms, and other game, this brook, which
afforded him very often scanty space to dabble in, and sometimes
starved the cresses, was now coming down in a great brown flood, as if
the banks never belonged to it. The foaming of it, and the noise, and
the cresting of the corners, and the up and down, like the wave of the
sea, were enough to frighten any duck, though bred upon stormy waters,
which our ducks never had been.
There is always a hurdle six feet long and four and a half in depth,
swung by a chain at either end from an oak laid across the channel.
And the use of this hurdle is to keep our kine at milking time from
straying away there drinking (for in truth they are very dainty) and
to fence strange cattle, or Farmer Snowe's horses, from coming along
the bed of the brook unknown, to steal our substance.
But now this hurdle, which hung in the summer a foot above the
trickle, would have been dipped more than two feet deep but for the
power against it. For the torrent came down so vehemently that the
chains in full stretch were creaking, and the hurdle buffeted almost
flat, and thatched (so to say), with the drift stuff, was going seesaw
with a sulky splash on the dirty red comb of the waters.
But saddest to see was between two bars, where a fog was of rushes,
and flood wood, and wild celery, and dead crow's-foot. For there was
our venerable mallard jammed in by the joint of his shoulder, speaking
aloud as he rose and fell, with his topknot full of water, unable to
comprehend it, with his tail washed far away from him, but often
compelled to be silent, being ducked very harshly against his will by
the choking fall to of the hurdle.
For a moment I could not help laughing; because, being borne high up
and dry by a tumult of the torrent, he gave me a look from his one
little eye (having lost one in fight with a turkey cock), a gaze of
appealing sorrow, and then a loud quack to second it. But the quack
came out of time, I suppose, for his throat got filled with water, as
the hurdle carried him back again. And then there was scarcely the
screw of his tail to be seen until he swung up again, and left small
doubt, by the way he spluttered, and failed to quack, and hung down
his poor crest, but what he must drown in another minute, and frogs
triumph over his body.
Annie was crying and wringing her hands, and I was about to rush into
the water, although I liked not the look of it, but hoped to hold on
by the hurdle, when a man on horseback came suddenly round the corner
of the great ash hedge on the other side of the stream, and his
horse's feet were in the water.
"Ho, there," he cried, "get thee back, boy! The flood will carry thee
down like a straw. I will do it for thee, and no trouble."
With that he leaned forward, and spoke to his mare--she was just of
the tint of a strawberry, a young thing, very beautiful--and she
arched up her neck, as misliking the job; yet, trusting him, would
attempt it. She entered the flood, with her dainty fore legs sloped
further and further in front of her, and her delicate ears pricked
forward, and the size of her great eyes increasing; but he kept her
straight in the turbid rush, by the pressure of his knee on her.
Then she looked back, and wondered at him, as the force of the torrent
grew stronger, but he bade her go on; and on she went, and it foamed
up over her shoulders; and she tossed up her lip and scorned it, for
now her courage was waking.
Then, as the rush of it swept her away, and she struck with her
forefeet down the stream, he leaned from his saddle in a manner which
I never could have thought possible, and caught up old Tom with his
left hand, and set him between his hostlers, and smiled at his faint
quack of gratitude. In a moment all three were carried down stream,
and the rider lay flat on his horse, and tossed the hurdle clear from
him, and made for the bend of smooth water.
They landed some thirty or forty yards lower, in the midst of our
kitchen garden, where the winter cabbage was; but though Annie and I
crept in through the hedge, and were full of our thanks and admiring
him, he would answer us never a word until he had spoken in full to
the mare, as if explaining the whole to her.
"Sweetheart, I know thou couldst have leaped it," he said, as he
patted her cheek, being on the ground by this time, and she was
nudging up to him, with the water pattering off from her; "but I had
good reason, Winnie dear, for making thee go through it."
She answered him kindly with her soft eyes, and sniffed at him very
lovingly, and they understood one another. Then he took from his
waistcoat two peppercorns, and made the old drake swallow them, and
tried him softly on his legs, where the leading gap in the hedge was.
Old Tom stood up quite bravely, and clapped his wings, and shook off
the wet from his tail feathers; and then away into the courtyard, and
his family gathered around him, and they all made a noise in their
throats, and stood up, and put their bills together, to thank God for
his great deliverance.
Having taken all this trouble, and watched the end of that adventure,
the gentleman turned round to us with a pleasant smile on his face, as
if he were lightly amused with himself; and we came up and looked at
him. He was rather short, about John Fry's height, or maybe a little
taller, but very strongly built and springy, as his gait at every step
showed plainly, although his legs were bowed with much riding, and he
looked as if he lived on horseback.
To a boy like me he seemed very old, being over twenty, and well found
in beard; but he was not more than four and twenty, fresh and ruddy
looking, with a short nose and keen blue eyes, and a merry, waggish
jerk about him, as if the world were not in earnest. Yet he had a
sharp, stern way, like the crack of a pistol, if anything misliked
him; and we knew (for children see such things) that it was safer to
tickle than buffet him.
"Well, young ones, what be gaping at?" He gave pretty Annie a chuck on
the chin, and took me all in without winking.
"Your mare," said I, standing stoutly up, being a tall boy now; "I
never saw such a beauty, sir. Will you let me have a ride on her?"
"Think thou couldst ride her, lad? She will have no burden but mine.
Thou couldst never ride her! Tut! I would be loath to kill thee."
"Ride her!" I cried, with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind and
gentle; "there never was horse upon Exmoor but I could tackle in half an
hour. Only I never ride upon saddle. Take those leathers off of her."
He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into
his pockets, and so grinned that I could not stand it. And Annie laid
hold of me in such a way that I was almost mad with her. And he
laughed, and approved her for doing so. And the worst of all was--he
said nothing.
"Get away, Annie. Do you think I'm a fool, good sir? Only trust me
with her, and I will not override her."
"For that I will go bail, my son. She is liker to override thee. But
the ground is soft to fall upon, after all this rain. Now come out
into the yard, young man, for the sake of your mother's cabbages. And
the mellow straw bed will be softer for thee, since pride must have
its fall. I am thy mother's cousin, boy, and I'm going up to the
house. Tom Faggus is my name, as everybody knows, and this is my young
mare, Winnie."
What a fool I must have been not to know it at once! Tom Faggus, the
great highwayman, and his young blood mare, the strawberry. Already
her fame was noised abroad, nearly as much as her master's, and my
longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it. Not
that I had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, by fair
play and horse trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her seemed
to be too great for me; especially as there were rumors abroad that
she was not a mare, after all, but a witch.
However, she looked like a filly all over, and wonderfully beautiful
with her supple stride, and soft slope of shoulder, and glossy coat
beaded with water, and prominent eyes full of docile fire. Whether this
came from her Eastern blood of the Arabs newly imported, and whether the
cream color, mixed with our bay, led to that bright strawberry tint, is
certainly more than I can decide, being chiefly acquaint with farm
horses. And these are of any color and form; you never can count what
they will be, and are lucky to get four legs to them.
Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, a
bright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to a
higher one, and led by love to anything, as the manner is of such
creatures, when they know what is the best for them. Then Winnie trod
lightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and her
delicate feet came back again.