IN THE BAY OF SAN JOSEPH.
The appearance of an English vessel in any harbour of Spanish America
was the reverse of pleasing to the Spanish authorities. The Spaniards
who commanded in the smaller stations were not of the best type of
Castilian chivalry. Soldados of fortune, needy and unscrupulous
adventurers, or intriguing favourites of some colonial governor, they
had all the greed and arrogance of the noble Dons without their proud
reserve and sense of chivalry and honour. In a hurry to get rich, they
ground down the hapless natives into the dust. They robbed and
ill-treated their timid dependants without fear or remorse, and exacted
a cringing obedience that hid smouldering fires of hate and revenge.
The Spanish troops were as lawless as their leaders, and black ink
would turn red were one to attempt to tell the true tale of Spanish
misrule and terrorism in the rich islands of the West. The Don looked
upon the poor Indian as a chattel given over to him to do with
according to his lordly will, and he usually acted in harmony with the
extremest measure of his belief. And therein he differed wholly from
those freebooting, audacious, devil-may-care sons of Devon and the west
who followed in the Spanish wake across the Western Main. To the
English mariner the gentle, heathen Indian was an object of compassion.
God had given him a glorious land in which to dwell, and had heaped
upon him riches that he could neither appreciate nor value; but in the
higher characteristics of manhood, and in the blessings of religious
revelation, He had denied him much, and so we find Drake, Hawkins,
Raleigh, Gilbert, Oxenham, Whiddon, and a score of other bold captains
on all occasions treating the natives with civility and even kindness.
The poor, brown-skinned fellows soon learned to know friend from foe,
and everywhere they came forth to welcome the blue-eyed sons of Albion,
whilst they ran and hid themselves from the darker-hued children of
Spain.
The commandant of San Joseph quickly learned that an English vessel had
anchored in the bay, and he resolved to extend no courtesies whatsoever
to the unwelcome visitors. On finding that the ship was a small one
and without consorts, his resolution to treat her captain with disdain
was strengthened. John Drake fired a gun to announce his arrival; the
echoes boomed round the bay, but brought no answer from the fort.
Another signal was fired, with a similar lack of result. The gunner, a
grizzled old veteran, who had been buccaneering with the great admiral,
turned to his captain. "Thy brother--God preserve him!--would send an
iron messenger with his third salute."
John Drake smiled. "I'll send a gentle one first, Diggory," he said.
He called up Master Jeffreys and Nick Johnson. "Which of ye two speaks
the better Spanish?"
"I had the longer chance to learn the language," replied Nick, ruefully
rubbing the place denuded of an ear; "but Master Timothy doubtless
possesses the choicer collection of words."
"Quantity will serve us better than quality, perhaps. But go, both of
ye, to the commandant and tell him that Captain Drake of the _Golden
Boar_ out of Plymouth will wait upon him at sunrise to-morrow. Take a
ship's boat with four rowers and four archers, and let the Indians
guide you."
A boat was instantly lowered, Nick made the Indians understand what was
required of them, and the deputation rowed ashore. Their comrades
watched them curiously, and an equally interested group of natives
gathered on the shore to await their arrival.
The keel bit into the sand, the two messengers stepped out, and the
escort of archers formed up behind them. The rowers pushed the boat
back so that it floated easily, then shipped their oars and waited.
One of the Indians, proud of his position, strutted importantly at the
head of the small procession. (The unfortunate fellow was soundly
whipped before nightfall for rendering any assistance to the hated
English.) Natives hung about in little groups, but no Spaniard was
seen until the gate of the castle was reached. There a sleepy sentinel
yawned at them until they had repeated for the third time their request
for an interview with the commandant. That officer was indulging in
"siesta" and refused to be disturbed, and the deputation was still on
the outer side of the gate. Master Jeffreys lost his patience and his
temper. "My message to thy master, fellow, was a civil one," he
exclaimed, "and to the effect that Captain Drake of Plymouth, Devon,
England, would honour him by waiting upon him at sunrise to-morrow.
Now, methinks, Captain Drake will come to him in less ceremonious
fashion and without further delay." The irate Devonian turned on his
heel and strode off.
And by so doing he missed the gratification of seeing the effect of his
words. The name of "Drake" twice repeated acted as a talisman on the
slumberous senses of the sentinel. His jaw dropped in sudden terror;
he stared for a moment at the retreating figures, and then dashed into
the castle at a run.
He burst in upon his drowsy commander.
"Alas, signor, what have we done! The army of the saints preserve us!"
"From what, blockhead?"
"From the archfiend in the flesh. 'Tis Drake that hath sailed into the
bay."
The commandant sat and gaped in stupid affright.
"Drake!" shouted the soldier.
He had no need to say more. His officer's chin dropped on to his
breast. "We are dead men," he muttered. "Why has he come hither? We
have no gold, no treasure-ships. He will burn the place over our
heads." The man continued muttering to himself and fingering the
buckle of his loosened belt.
The soldier looked through the window. "The Englishmen stand on the
beach," he said, "talking with Ayatlan, the chief. There is no
movement on the ship; no one signals. The messengers were civil when
they came."
"Son of a donkey!" blazed forth the commandant, "why didst not thou say
so? Run after them; prevent them from carrying angry faces to the
robber who rules them. If I had men--not sheep--under me, I would
fight this Drake; I'd rid the world of him, and Pope and king should
bless me. But run, run!"
And the soldier ran. Terror lent wings to his heels. One name rang
through his brain, and the name was "Drake." He caught Master Timothy
just re-embarking his little band. The sight of the Indians restored
him to some measure of dignity, and he volubly explained that the
Spanish captain had not understood the signer's message. He apologized
profusely, and promised that his commandant would make amends for the
mistake by paying the great sea-captain a visit as soon as a boat could
be made ready.
Nick understood more of the rapidly spoken Spanish than did Jeffreys,
and he was satisfied. "There has doubtless been a mistake," he said to
his companion. "Probably this knave never carried our message
properly. He is scared half out of his wits, and looks like a rogue
condemned to be hanged. All's well that ends well. Let us be getting
back to the ship with a friendly report."
About an hour later, the commandant, accompanied by an imposing
retinue, both Spanish and Indian, rowed out to the _Golden Boar_.
Captain Drake and the gentlemen of his company had been to their
wardrobes and donned their best, and the visitors by no means carried
off the prize for the splendour of their array. As far as physique was
concerned the Dons were completely outclassed. Sallow and listless
from tropical fevers and loose living, they stood in sharp contrast to
the brawny, clear-skinned Englishmen. The difference was obvious even
to their own proud eyes, and they felt it.
No sooner were the Spaniards aboard than they fixed their gaze on the
group on the upper deck, and one thought prevailed in the minds of
all--"Which was the terrible Drake?"
Morgan stood out above his fellows by a good head, but surely he was
too young! The commandant had heard that Drake was no giant; he had
also heard--and half believed--that he had horns, hoof, and a tail.
The puzzle was solved. Captain Drake, short, burly, bearded,
black-haired, bull-throated, but blue-eyed, stood forward; his air was
unmistakably one of command. Master Jeffreys undertook the duties of
master of the ceremonies, and the commanders were introduced to each
other and gracefully bowed their acknowledgments of the honour.
The interview was short and formal. The Spaniard welcomed the
Englishmen, and hoped that the peace would not be broken. Captain
Drake echoed his hopes. The commandant offered presents of fruit,
wine, and fresh meat; the skipper accepted and requited the kindness in
suitable fashion. A few flagons of wine were drunk, and the interview
ended. The company aboard the _Golden Boar_ had no great opinion of
their visitors, but the visitors had a better one of them. They had
noted the spick and span order on shipboard, the bearing of the men,
and they did not forget the name of the captain--they only made the
mistake of confounding him with the great admiral, his brother.