THE TRIAL.
No bonds had been placed upon the limbs of the Englishmen since the day
when the Spanish captain had taken them out of the hands of Basil.
They walked unfettered to the judgment hall, and stood without shackles
before their judges. The court was crowded; it was not every day that
a band of terrible fire-eating Englishmen was on view in Panama.
Rumour spoke of them as friends and companions of Drake, and Spaniards
and Indians alike were eager to gaze upon the prisoners. The governor
was chief judge; beside him, on the one hand sat the deputy-governor,
and on the other was placed the chief ecclesiastical dignitary of the
colony. Basil stood by the cleric's side. Johnnie caught sight of
him, and stared him almost out of countenance. He had not seen him on
the day of his capture in the forest, but had caught glimpses of him on
the march. Recollections struggled in his mind. Where had he seen the
fellow before? Nick Johnson, too, felt that he had seen or heard of a
dark-eyed, sallow-faced fellow who resembled the man in court.
The proceedings opened, and the civil authorities formally charged the
prisoners with piracy and invasion of the territory of King Philip of
Spain. The bishop instantly opposed, and claimed to have the charge
amended to one of heresy and murderous opposition to the Church. The
governor asked for evidence in support of his claim. A nod to Basil,
and the latter began a speech for the prosecution. Master Jeffreys
stopped him by an appeal to the governor.
"May it please your excellency," he said, "my comrades have no
knowledge of Spanish, and I have but little. I am persuaded that your
excellency, as a soldier and a gentleman of honour, is anxious to give
us a fair trial. There is peace between our Queen and King Philip;
there should at least be justice and fair-dealing betwixt you and us.
Mine ears tell me that yonder man is more accustomed to speak my tongue
than yours; his Spanish hath the same rough English smack about it as
hath mine own. I pray you that he may say to us in English what he
saith to you in the language of Spain."
Basil reddened and turned to his superior; but the governor, though
indolent and capricious, was a man of some honour and chivalry. He
told the accuser to speak alternately in the language of the court and
that of the prisoners.
Very few sentences in English were necessary to enlighten Johnnie as to
Basil's identity. He could now see the spiteful face that confronted
him on a memorable morning in the shades of Dean Forest. He listened
intently. The harangue was long and tedious, and endeavoured to prove
that the tallest prisoner was a contumacious heretic, who had fought
against the Holy Church, frustrated her lawful efforts at the
conversion of England, and had slain two noble and saintly missionaries
and servants of King Philip--to wit, a certain Jesuit father, Jerome,
and a monk named John. The prisoner had also repeatedly attempted the
life of the speaker. As for the others, one at least had attempted the
speaker's life in Plymouth, well knowing who and what he was; and all
the others were aiders and abettors.
Johnnie heard, and asked if he had the right of reply.
"Most certainly," said the governor. "This is a court of law, and it
is our boast and pride that we give justice without fear or favour."
Whereupon Morgan, with Jeffreys as interpreter, gave his version of the
incidents in the forest. A plot, to which no king could have been a
party, was set afoot by his accuser and others to destroy a forest over
which he (Morgan) was a duly appointed guardian. He fought the
conspirators by way of simple duty to his trust. Could he do less and
hold up his head amongst honourable men? His accuser and his
confederates had basely attempted to assassinate two noble
Englishmen--to wit, Admiral Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh, a close
friend and counsellor of England's Queen. He asked whether Spain
fought with the weapons of assassins, and whether King Philip, as a
Christian and friendly monarch, could be a party to any such dastardly
conduct. The governor was a gentleman of honour, and could answer for
his sovereign.
The governor promptly denied that "His Most Catholic Majesty" could
ever countenance such deeds. Johnnie bowed and thanked him, and
resumed his defence. He dealt with the questions of piracy and
invasion of Spanish dominions. England and Spain were, he declared, at
peace, and no official could deny an Englishman the right to travel
peaceably in Spanish dominions, unless a law expressly excluded them.
Any Spaniard, so long as he did nothing to harm the Queen or the
government, might travel in England, and claim the protection of its
laws as a peaceful sojourner in the land. Surely the Spaniards were
not going to be outdone in matters of international courtesy. As
regards the New World, the Englishman contended that it was open to
explorers and colonizers of all Christian nations, and Spain could not
claim it as her own unless she also occupied it.
The governor heard Morgan patiently, and hearkened to Master Jeffreys
whilst he expounded his ideas of the rights of England in the New
World. Then his excellency summed up the case. He ruled that the two
gentlemen adventurers were not prisoners of the Holy Office, but of his
Majesty. The charges against them were those of piracy and invasion.
They had certainly been captured on Spanish soil in the act of
appropriating--or endeavouring to appropriate--treasures that belonged
to Spain. Moreover, they were companions of a Captain Drake, who, with
his brother, the admiral, had been guilty of repeated and gross
piracies on the high seas. Their guilt was fully established, and by
law they ought to be taken down to the harbour and hanged in chains, as
a warning to others. Mercy, however, should be shown them; their lives
would be spared, but they must serve ten years in the galleys. A hint
was given, after a whispered consultation with the bishop, that
renunciation of their Protestant heresies would bring about a material
lightening of their sentences.
The five seamen were next put on trial. Basil promptly claimed the
Johnsons as fugitives from the Inquisition. The cropped ears and lost
thumbs were convincing evidence against them, and they were handed over
to the Church, to be dealt with according to the law ecclesiastical.
An attempt to claim the other three sailors failed. The governor would
not quit his hold on them. His own galley was sadly undermanned, and
he could not let three stout and skilled oarsmen slip through his
fingers. He looked longingly upon the two crop-eared fellows, and
begrudged the Church the possession of them. But he remembered with a
sigh that there must be give and take in this world, and five out of
seven was not a bad proportion.
The court broke up. The five galley-slaves were taken back to their
cell for that night. Nick and Ned were walked away in charge of the
jailers of the Inquisition. Their ultimate fate was to be decided the
next day.