PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES.
It was the intention of the Spaniards to take the broken and
shot-riddled hulk of the _Revenge_ to Spain as their vaunted prize. And
well might they set glory upon their conquest, for she was the one and
only English ship that had surrendered to them during the whole course
of the war, and in capturing her they had sacrificed four of their own
best galleons, while sustaining great damage to some fourteen others.
Nearly two thousand of their soldiers had been slain in the fight or
drowned in the sea, including two high and mighty hidalgos, Don Louis de
St. John, whom Grenville had vanquished with his own hand, and Don
George de Prunaria de Malaga, besides many others of special account.
Their admiral now sent a large company of carpenters, riggers, and
swabbers on board of her to repair her leaks, pump out the water that
was deep in her hold, and clear her of the wreckage that encumbered her;
while those who remained alive of her gallant crew were dispersed among
the Spanish ships as prisoners, although permitted to go ashore upon
the island during the daytime under close surveillance of a guard of
armed soldiers.
Don Alonzo de Bassan's fleet lay in the roadstead of Terceira awaiting
the daily expected arrival of the West India treasure-ships, which
appeared in straggling numbers day by day. The Lord Thomas Howard's
squadron, which had set out to lay capture to them, appeared not again,
but having left the _Revenge_ to her fate at the opening of the battle,
departed for England. Some accused him of cowardice in avoiding an
engagement; but 'tis certain enough that he knew the risks that were
entailed, and if the truth must be set down, Sir Richard Grenville had
really been guilty of disobedience.
While Gilbert and Timothy were still prisoners on board the _St. Paul_
they were quartered in a little cabin under the poop. With them was
Ambrose Pennington, and in another cabin were Roland Grenville and
Captain Robinson. Jacob Hartop had remained on board the _Revenge_ with
Edward Webbe, refusing to quit her while she floated.
On a certain day, ere yet the combined fleets from Spain and the West
Indies were ready to depart for Spain, Philip Oglander lay on his bed
under pretence of being wounded, albeit his wounds were no more serious
than a cut upon his knuckles and a dark-blue bruise upon the back of his
right hand, where the pistol flung by Red Bob had struck him. It was
not so much these hurts that kept him abed as the eager desire which
was consuming him to hear what was going on in the cabin next to his
own. It was the cabin occupied by his cousin Gilbert and Timothy
Trollope. Philip did not dare to speak openly with his cousin and
question him concerning what knowledge he might have of the things that
had been going forward at Modbury Manor, but he was aware that Gilbert
knew more than himself, for he had once seen Gilbert reading a
letter--Drusilla's letter,--and also he had on occasion heard Timothy
Trollope--whether in jest or in earnest--address Gilbert as "my lord".
Now Philip had himself received more than one letter from England. For
his father, well knowing the traitorous business which occupied Philip
in Spain, and knowing where a letter might find him, had written to him
informing him of the death of Lord Champernoun, and bidding him remember
that he, Philip, might one day inherit the title and estates, and that,
therefore, it was incumbent upon him to look well to his personal
safety.
"Indeed," wrote Jasper, "there is but one thing now standing between
thee and this great heritage, and that is thy cousin, Master Gilbert
Oglander. There is naught that I wish for more heartily than to hear of
the young Jackanapes' death. Therefore I do conjure thee, my son, if
thou shouldst by chance encounter him, prithee do thy work with more
surety than thou didst do it in Beddington Dingle. Let there be no
bungling, but bear thee well in mind that upon thy well-directed arrow
shaft, or rapier point, must depend thy future and the possibility of
dubbing thyself Baron Champernoun."
These were vague hints. But Philip had understood them. He had
understood them to mean that his father urged him to seek out Gilbert
Oglander and frustrate his return to England. And Philip had sought to
obey these injunctions, although hitherto without success. He had tried
to compass Gilbert's death during the battle, and, having failed, he yet
had hope that some chance would favour him for fulfilling his cherished
desire. And he furtively watched his cousin, spied upon his every
movement, and endeavoured by every available means to entrap him to his
death. But Gilbert, wheresoever he went about the galleon and whenever
he went ashore, was for ever accompanied by Timothy Trollope, and Philip
saw no advantage in running the risk of a hand-to-hand encounter with
the barber's valiant son.
On this day as he lay in his cabin he listened for every word that
should pass between Gilbert and his two companions. Much that was said
was in the form of mere idle remark about the late battle, or about
their wounds, or about the death of Sir Richard Grenville. But after a
while there was talk of home, and at length, in answer to some question
of Ambrose Pennington, Gilbert spoke of his uncle Jasper, and thereupon
told the whole story of his grandfather's death and of his uncle's
assumption of the title, even as Drusilla had recounted it in her
letter.
"Ah!" muttered Philip, overhearing every word. "Then he doth know. By
Our Lady, he doth know all!"
Then, setting his teeth together, he vowed that come what might Gilbert
should never return to England to enjoy his inheritance. And from that
moment he continued to watch his cousin with increased diligence. It was
some comfort to his wicked soul to know that Gilbert was now a captive,
and that as such it was more than probable he would spend many a year to
come in some Spanish prison, as so many Englishmen had done before him.
But this was not enough, for there was the chance of an escape from
prison; there was the chance, indeed, that Don Alonzo might liberate his
captives to ransom; there were a hundred ways by which Gilbert might
succeed in returning to his native land. But there was one sure and
certain means of preventing this, and that was that, by fair measures or
by foul, Gilbert should be brought to his death, and Philip now resolved
that this should be. He would not rest content until his cousin lay
lifeless, ay, as lifeless as brave Sir Richard Grenville, whose body now
lay at the bottom of the sea.
Gilbert was quite oblivious of the secret danger that threatened him,
nor did he see aught but pure accident in what befell him on the next
day.
The Spanish admiral did not wish that his ship should be encumbered by
a crowd of wounded Englishmen. And on the day before the sailing of his
fleet he ordered that those who were at present on board the _St. Paul_
should be removed to the _Revenge_. And it followed accordingly that
boats were put out for this purpose.
Gilbert and Timothy were at the gangway together, and it chanced that
Timothy descended the side-ladder first, scarcely observing that Philip
Oglander had crept to Gilbert's side. Timothy was already in the boat,
when, on looking up, he saw Gilbert stumble and fall. Fortunately the
boat was not close alongside; there was a yard of water between it and
the ship. Gilbert was but a poor swimmer, and when he splashed into the
sea he sank deep down. There was a strong current, and when he rose to
the surface he appeared many yards away astern of the boat. Timothy
plunged in and swam to him, thinking of sharks, and when he reached him
and supported him, he turned to see if the boat were being brought to
the rescue. He heard some orders given in Spanish, which seemed to him
to be given in Philip Oglander's voice. Louder still than Philip's was
the voice of Ambrose Pennington, which could be heard for a long
distance away, crying out to the boatmen to cast off and pull towards
the two lads, and mingling his commands with volleys of round English
oaths that would surely have won for him the iron chain of punishment
had they been heard a few days before on board the _Revenge_. But the
Spaniards heeded him not at all, declaring that the boys were but
foreign lumber who might well be allowed to drown for all the use they
would be on the galleys.
Pennington appealed to Philip Oglander, saying that it was his own
cousin and the head of his family who was in danger. But Philip turned
away with a derisive laugh, no doubt congratulating himself upon the
fact that it was his own foot over which Gilbert had tripped.
From a high part of the galleon's poop where he presently climbed he
watched the heads of the two boys as they were carried away in the
current. Soon an intervening galleon hid them from his view, and he
consoled himself with the thought that he had very cleverly got rid of
the one person who, next to his own father, stood between him and the
baronage of Champernoun.
But he had not counted upon Timothy Trollope's powers of swimming. For
some moments Timothy thought to strike out for the shore, and gripping
Gilbert with his one arm and bidding him be calm, he manfully breasted
the swelling waves. Swimming to the leeward of one of the galleons he
presently saw an empty boat lying at her side. He swam towards it and
got hold of its gunwale, helping Gilbert to do likewise. Then, while
Gilbert held on, Timothy climbed over her stern, and kneeling upon one
of the thwarts hauled his companion on board.
"'Twas Philip Oglander that did it," said he, wringing the water out of
Gilbert's ragged clothing. "I saw him put forth his foot and trip thee.
I have seen all along that he hath had designs against thee, Master
Gilbert--I mean, my lord--"
"Nay, keep to the Gilbert, Tim," interrupted Gilbert. "As to this matter
of my falling overboard, well, I can e'en believe as you say,
nevertheless we might easily have been in a worse case than we are now.
For, look you, there is a ladder up the ship's side at your elbow, and
it were easy enough to get on board of her."
"It were equally easy to cut the boat's painter and make for the shore,"
said Tim.
"But there be no oars aboard," returned Gilbert.
"Wherefore need we concern ourselves about oars?" asked Timothy. "I will
adventure it however it be." And he felt for his knife. A look of sudden
despair came into his face. "Alas!" he added, "I had forgotten that the
Dons had deprived us of our weapons!"
He stepped to the boat's bow, and was about to try to untie the knot of
her painter when a voice greeted him from above, and a Spaniard with
very furious curled moustachios appeared in the opening of the gangway.
To escape now with the boat was impossible, and the two boys yielded
themselves up as prisoners, explaining as best they could the accident
that had brought them there.
The Spaniards appeared to regard the matter with indolent indifference,
saying that the lads should be sent back on board the flag-ship on the
morrow. In the meantime Gilbert and Timothy were permitted to sit in the
warm sunlight to dry their clothes on the upper deck, and no more notice
was taken of them until late in the evening, when one of the galleon's
boys gave them each an onion. They slept under the lee of one of the big
guns, and in the morning the same ship's-boy brought them a tin dish of
bean soup, indicating by signs that they were to share it between them.
On the afternoon of that same day some officers from one of the other
galleons came on board, and with them was one Maurice Fitz John, of
Desmond, a forlorn-looking Irish traitor who, because he could speak
English, had been sent to speak with the English prisoners in each ship
and to persuade them to serve the King of Spain. He had not expected to
find any on board this particular galleon--the _Santa Maria_, as she was
named,--but discovering Gilbert and Timothy, he accosted them, believing
them to be very humble seamen. He besought them to take arms in King
Philip's legion, using very subtle arguments. They would have three
times the amount of pay that they could get on an English ship, he said,
and he promised them such advancement as he thought would tempt any
young men who were, as these were, ship-broken and half-starved and
ill-clothed, and if they would be good Catholics the safety of their
souls should be assured.
Timothy Trollope noticed that the man was himself but ill-apparelled,
and reflected that such beggarly appearance was in itself a sufficient
answer to the argument of rich pay. As for the notion of changing their
religion, it was as repulsive to both Tim and Gilbert as that of
deserting their Queen.
"Well, well," said the Irishman, when, having used up all his eloquence
in his pleadings, he turned to go, "an ye will not see the advantage of
what is offered ye, 'tis no concern of mine. 'Tis yourselves that will
suffer for your obstinacy. But I doubt not that a few years of work at
the oars of His Majesty's galleys will bring ye to better reason." And
with that he departed.
For many days thereafter Gilbert and Timothy led a very weary,
uncomfortable life. In return for their food and such shelter as was
given to them, they were made to do much dirty and distasteful work.
They were never permitted to go on shore, yet they were free from the
restraint of chains--a dispensation for which they were thankful.
Gradually their wounds healed, and they regained strength with such
speed, that when at last the full number of the treasure-ships had
arrived and the fleet was ready to sail for Spain, they were almost as
well in health as they had been on the day before the battle.