THE WAY BACK.
Yacamo, out searching for signs of human occupation, came upon the
entrance to the upland valley, and espied the Indian town. He went
back to the camp and reported. A deputation was sent to wait upon the
chief; a body of men met them in the pass, and refused to allow them to
proceed a step farther. Then some of the adventurers themselves
climbed through the gorge, and were met with a shower of arrows that
wounded three of them. Finally, Captain Drake himself, under the
guidance of Yacamo, worked his way into the valley, and reconnoitred.
He calculated the town at a strength of about fifteen hundred to two
thousand warriors. It was not fortified; but no force could get up the
gorge if reasonable opposition were offered. His own band could be
ambushed in a score of places. He decided it was impossible to attack
the place with any chance of success.
Scouting parties were sent farther along the river. In every case they
were assailed. The Englishmen themselves were shot at again and again
if they ventured out hunting, and at night arrows dropped at intervals
into the camp. The adventurers were in a hornets' nest, and the
hornets were always stinging. These attacks, which argued the
existence of a host of enemies, were all the work of the escaped
chieftain and his twoscore of followers. Divided into about half a
dozen bands, hiding themselves with perfect native cunning, they were
as effective as ten times the number of less active, less revengeful
foes might be; and they grew bolder every hour.
Despairing of success--wearied, wounded, harassed, sick--the
adventurers resolved to turn back. Since they had entered the hilly
country, they had lost seven men; and as the whole country seemed
rising to oppose them, it was madness to attempt to force a passage
along the rocky, unknown way. With heavy hearts they paddled into the
main stream, got into the current, and drifted northwards towards the
ocean.
For days there was hardly any attempt at rowing. The strong rush of
the chalky waters swept the boats along. Awnings were erected to shut
off the terrific heat of the equatorial sun, and the men lay and dozed
and rested, their native allies directing the course of the voyage. No
foes appeared, days and nights were quiet and uneventful, and the
strength and spirits of all began to revive. They had failed in their
quest. What of that? The summer was not yet gone. There were Spanish
galleons to be attacked. The Johnsons could show where Oxenham had
hidden his treasure; and if they had not found Lake Parimé and its city
of gold, they had explored much new and wondrously fertile country.
The passion for exploration and the gaining of knowledge of new lands
was almost as strong in the hearts of the bold fellows as was the
thirst for treasure. Third day down the river Dan sang his song again;
'twas,--
"Ho! for the Spanish Main,
And ha! for the Spanish gold!"
King Philip's ships were the true and sure gold-mines. All eyes looked
and all hearts yearned for the sea. Their thoughts flew to their bonny
little ship. Was she safe? How that question agitated every one, and
what intense speculation there was as to the way the question would be
answered!
If the way back was easier than the journey forward, it was not less
dangerous. The heat had increased, insect life had multiplied a
myriad-fold, and the pestilential vapours from the swampy lowlands were
thicker and deadlier than before; and the men were not fresh from the
invigorating sea, but were spent and worn with a thousand hardships.
They drooped, sickened, raved in delirium, and in some cases died.
Even the cheery Dan succumbed to the poison of the noisome night mists,
and whilst the fever was on him his songs and jests were sorely missed.
Morgan and some of the others began to sing songs of home, but these
the captain stopped because of the depression they induced in some of
the men.
At length, after more than a fortnight of drifting with the current,
the first parting of the ways at the beginning of the delta was
reached. To the Indians this was the threshold of home; to the
Englishmen it was but a poor halting-place, from which they must set
out to face fresh perils, and maybe meet newer disappointments. The
bewildering maze of channels was once more threaded, this time with the
varying strengths of the current to indicate the better routes. The
dense, overhanging vegetation sheltered the voyagers by day and stifled
them by night. Rests at friendly villages were eagerly welcomed, and
no bad news awaited the weary band. A few Spanish boats had been seen
in some of the channels, but they had asked no questions concerning the
Englishmen, and the natives had given no information, fearing that
their masters--for so the Dons accounted themselves--would punish them
for having assisted their enemies.
It was in the heat of sultry afternoon, the air stirless, the water in
the channel warm and rank-smelling. The boats were drifting lazily
under the banks, the native steersmen half sleeping at their posts, the
white men stretched out, listless, sun-wearied, inert. A canoe shot
out across the path of the boats, disappeared along another waterway,
stopped, and a Spaniard got out and plunged into the trees on the low
island. He watched the flotilla go by. He noticed the attitude of the
men.
"St. James!" he cried, "I could do it with a score of resolute
soldiers! What a chance! And I must miss it!"
The Englishmen drifted on; the Spaniard followed at a safe distance.
He wanted a solution to an important question: Where was the English
ship? He had hunted for it, and so had others--for the _Golden Boar_
had been tracked from Trinidad into the delta--but no man had sighted
her, and knew not how far she had gone up-stream. It was not suspected
that she had remained so near the sea as proved to be the case. The
native chief had guarded his secret well.
That night, about an hour after sunset, and with the light of the
growing moon to guide them, the adventurers tied up their boats in the
pool where the _Golden Boar_ still lay. What a thrill went through
each heart as the outline of their ocean home appeared dimly through
the veil of white mist! Tears stood in their eyes, and more than one
bold fellow had hard work to choke back a sob. The men left behind
came running forth to meet them, all alive, all well. Rough, bearded
lips pressed against thin, tanned cheeks in brotherly kisses, and the
natives thronged round, full of affectionate and admiring welcome. The
brave "white brothers" were back, and their simple hearts rejoiced.
The villagers began instant preparations for a great feast. Captain
Drake marshalled his men, and went aboard his ship. Standing
bareheaded on his deck, the flag of England unfurled above him, he
returned thanks to Almighty God for a great deliverance from many
perils; and the company responded with a sonorous and devout "Amen!"
There was no word of repining, no lamentation over the failure that had
attended their quest. The dead were remembered in a few moments of
bowed and silent reverence, and, at the command of his captain, Morgan
sang the "_De Profundis_." "Out of the deep," indeed, had they called,
and they thanked God in that He heard them.
Then they went to the place of feasting, and ate as hungry voyagers
should eat. After that they slept the deep sleep of wearied men who,
after many toils and vicissitudes, had reached a haven where they could
rest.
Days of bustle followed. The ship was cleaned of the vegetable growths
that clung to her sides; masts were refixed, fittings tested and
replaced, and ample stores put aboard. The salt breeze had got again
into the men's nostrils, and their hearts cried out for the open sea.
Affectionate farewell was taken of their kindly hosts; a promise to
come back again was given. Then a flotilla of canoes towed the stout
ship into the main channel!