THE GREAT ARMADA
We sailed for three long months; July, 1588, was here when we neared
England. I had been sick with a fever, brought on by the life of peril
that I had lived for so long; the last stroke had been too much for my
enfeebled system. I had rolled and tossed for six weary weeks, day and
night, and prayed to die, but it was not to be.
Oliver had been ever with me; did I moan he was up in an instant to
change my rumpled pillow; did my head ache he would stroke it for me.
Gentle, light-footed, tender as a woman, he nursed me day and night.
Sometimes when I would grow quiet, he would throw himself upon his cot
and doze for a few moments, but when I stirred he was upon his feet
instantly again. I know not how he lived, but pale and serene he moved
about as usual; I know I would have died, had it not been for his care
of me.
At last after six weeks I began to mend, and would lie weak and
exhausted, listening as he would sing to me some old ballad, or give me
the news of the ship as he learned it from the gentlemen; for he was
a general favorite with all on board, from Drake himself, down to the
humblest man who walked the vessel. His bright sunny ways and laughing
face had endeared him to the hearts of all.
I was resigned now to my lot. I had prayed for death, had wished to
die, and had rebelled when I began to improve. There were so many happy
young lads and lovely maidens, for whom life seemed to hold so much,
it stretched out so beautiful before their eyes; and yet the grim old
reaper had garnered them in and left me here. I had ceased to fear
death; it had lost its sting for me, and the dread of it was gone. I
thought of it now as some old friend, long lost and loved, whose face
I had not seen for many years, and whom I longed and yearned to behold
once more. To lie down in its open arms and wake no more--only quiet,
peace, oblivion, only the snow of winter to lie above me, and the dew
of heaven to fall upon the mound where I lay. Ah! rest after toil would
be sweet. But now I was resigned; I would bow to the inevitable. It was
the will of God that I should live, and with it I was content.
Oliver, whistling some merry tune, came into the room where I lay
one bright morning. I had been thinking of the island, and had idly
wondered what had become of the pirates' vessel, for I had not seen it
when we left. I looked up at the sound of his footsteps.
"Lad, what has become of the ship of the pirates?" I asked. "I have not
seen it for months."
"Drake put some of his crew upon it, and she sailed before us," he
answered gayly. "On it I have since learned were my Lord Dunraven and
the priest. The gentlemen tell me" (he dropped into one of the chairs)
"that the Spaniards are about to fit out a noble fleet, called the
great Armada, to invade England. Philip has sworn to humble her pride,
so that she will trouble him no more. This is why Sir Francis has put
on full sail for the last few days. He wishes to be in at the death,"
and he whistled in a trifle louder key.
"I but hope that we will arrive in time to help put down these Dons!"
he cried, breaking off in the middle of a measure, his eyes flashing.
"They have long tried to rule the world with an iron hand, and 'tis
full time that old England should show them a thing or two."
"Thou dost talk strangely, Oliver," I answered, with a laugh at his
vehemence. "We are most likely to lose our heads if we reach England
safe; 'twould be best for us to fall into the hands of the Spaniards as
prisoners of war. Perhaps we might escape from them to some place where
we would be safe; at any rate our necks would be saved, and that would
be something to be thankful for under present conditions."
The boy's face had grown long as he listened to me.
"I had not thought of that," he said, his brow puckered. "'Tis
a strange situation to be in," and with that he betook himself
thoughtfully on deck.
I had now almost recovered my strength, but I kept closely to my
cabin. I had been on deck a while, a few days after I had gotten able
to stir about, and I could but remark on the conduct of the gentlemen;
my former comrades had turned the cold shoulder to me, and I had been
met on all sides with cool looks and scornful faces. It had fretted me
at first, but after all it was the way of the world.
Even Drake had not seemed overly joyous to see me. He inquired after my
health, and told me he was glad to see me up again, but his voice had
been so careless and perfunctory that I saw it was a distasteful duty,
and I had turned away and gone down to my cabin. Occasionally I went
on deck, but I avoided the men, and wrapping myself in my cloak would
stand apart, a pariah among my fellows.
Sometimes I would be joined by Oliver, and we would pace the deck
together. A strange pair we must have looked--I, grave and silent; the
boy, bright and merry; I, with gray hair and sad face; he with his
curls blowing in the breeze, and a song upon his lips as he walked
beside me, his tongue running all the while like a weaver's shuttle.
Often at night I would slip away from my cabin, and would silently
stride the deck for hours, my eyes upon the tossing sea. Oliver I did
not see so much of lately. Heaven knows I did not complain, for he was
young and needed society. The gentlemen kept him a good deal of his
time in the great cabin; he amused them, and was good company. I could
hear them as they sung together, or tossed the dice; and at such times
the loneliness of my life would descend upon me with bitter agony, and
I would groan aloud and writhe with anguish as I fought with my traitor
soul until I was calm again.
Oliver the gallants could forgive for his crimes, he was bright and
innocent; if he had wandered astray he was too young to realize the
error of his way. The pirates moreover had said little against him, and
if he had done aught he had been led by me.
We had passed several merchant vessels within the last few days; one
we hailed was the "Betsy." I recognized her short, stout skipper, who
nearly two years ago had conveyed me out to meet the pirate vessel. The
man did not know me; I had changed too much.
And now, as I leaned against the rail, I heard the conversation
between him and Drake. "The great Armada had sailed from Spain," he
said, "several weeks before. It was doubtless even now upon the coast
of England; the whole country had arisen as one strong man, and stood
ready to meet the Spaniards. If the English were defeated, it would
mean the ruin of the country." On hearing this much, Drake had sailed
on and left him there.
We were in sight of England now. A frightened fisherman, whom we had
picked up, told us that the Spaniards were upon the coast only a few
miles away. As dusk fell, a cry went up. Looking, we could perceive
through the darkness the gleam of the many lights upon the galleons of
the foe, as their ships rose and fell upon the waves. To-morrow the
English would join forces with them, and would fight such a battle as
had seldom been fought before; one upon which hung the destiny of a
great people, and which the world would gaze upon with bated breath.
A voice at my elbow startled me. Drake was leaning upon the rail near
my side.
"'Tis a noble sight," he said, pointing to the lights, "those great
ships yonder, laden with men. Many of those on board doubtless toss
to-night as they think of their homes and friends. Some of them before
to-morrow's sun sets will sleep sounder, I doubt not," and he stroked
his yellow beard as he glanced at me.
"True," I answered, "they have a hard fight before them, ere they
conquer England. Dost think they can accomplish so great a task?"
"I know not," he replied thoughtfully. "This much I will say, that
before they conquer England they must face a united people, such as
there hast not been since the time of William the Norman."
"Where lies the English fleet?" I asked. "I see naught of it, though it
must be near."
"Behind yon acclivity," he replied, pointing to the left of us, where I
could dimly see the jagged outline of the coast.
We were swiftly sailing towards that point; a few minutes passed and
we rounded the promontory. There in the still waters lay the English
squadron, their decks alive with men, lights gleaming everywhere as
the boats moved hither and thither between the vessels. The rough
commands of the officers floated out to us upon the night air; the
bustle and stir of preparation were everywhere, as ammunition was piled
upon the decks, the guns were cleaned for action, and all was gotten in
readiness to meet the foe on the morrow.
The long roll of the drum upon our ship met my ear. Drake had aroused
his men, and in a few moments our deck was as busy as any of those of
the vessels around us. Sir Francis had gotten into his boat, and pulled
out to where Lord Howard, who was in command, lay.
Our men ran to and fro upon the vessel, preparing, strengthening,
arming, putting everything in order.
Naught had been said to me, so I looked on. Yet I would put in a blow
for England to-morrow; though she spurned and disowned me, I would yet
strike for the life of the country of my fathers, that had given me
birth, and for which my ancestors had fought, bled, and died.
I paced the deck and watched the men, who, perspiring and grimy, were
cleaning the great guns, stacking cutlasses and swords in huge heaps
upon the vessel, and bringing up ammunition from the hold. Some of them
were singing rude songs as they toiled at their work; others, grim and
silent, were staggering under the weight of the iron balls for the
guns. Everywhere there were hope and courage, even in the face of the
overwhelming force they were to face in a few hours. Not for a moment
did I see any trace of despair and discouragement.
"Let them come," growled one burly fellow, as he whirled a great
cutlass and made it hum about his head; "we will give them such a dose
that they will ne'er come back for a second." A low murmur of approval
came from his fellows, as with set and determined faces they stopped
work an instant to look at him.
All the short summer night the boats came and went, until when the
great light of morning broke, everything was prepared for the fray.
Oliver had been with Sir Francis Drake, running to and fro carrying
messages and commands, and now he pulled back with him at daybreak from
the vessel of Lord Howard, where Drake had been in consultation all
night. Sleepy and red-eyed the boy scrambled on board.
"Thou hadst best catch a minute or two of sleep, lad," I said, as he
came near me. "Thou wilt need it before night, or I shall be mistaken."
"Aye," he answered, "I shall lie down in a moment," and he passed down
the ladder.
Drake lingered a moment by me.
"Wilt strike a blow with us to-day for the honor of old England, Sir
Thomas?" he said. "Or hast thou enough of England?"
I faced him as he stood there in the dim light of the morn.
"I will fight with thee," I answered.
"Good!" he replied. "We will need all of our stout arms before night,
for we are few compared with the Spaniards. I pray God will defend the
right and give us victory," and he passed forward among his men.
And now at the sound of the culverin from Howard's ship the noise
ceased. The seamen and gentlemen who gathered on the decks of the
vessels knelt with one accord. 'Twas a solemn sight as they knelt with
bared heads, and the holy men of God lifted their voices and prayed for
England, now sorely beset by her foes.
"And if it be thy will, O Lord, we ask that she may emerge from this
calamity now upon her with increased glory and honor, and that the
strength of the wicked may be utterly put to flight, like the chaff
before the wind. Wilt thou, O Father, stretch forth thy hand and smite
them root and branch." So prayed our chaplain.
The men cheered as they rose to their feet. Then we sailed out, one
by one, to meet the Spaniards, who were only five miles away--on that
summer morning, the 19th of July, 1588.
The Spanish fleet lay in the shape of a broad crescent, as they sailed
on towards Plymouth; a noble fleet, the great galleons towering above
the water, and the sails seemed endless, as ship after ship, one
hundred and forty-nine in all, stretched out as far as the eye could
see. Truly it seemed folly in the little English fleet with only eighty
vessels, some of them mere pinnaces, to attack these great vessels. It
was as though a bulldog, little and plucky, was about to spring at the
throat of a great bull.
As we sailed down upon them, Sir Francis motioned for silence, and
springing upon a huge cask of powder, cried:
"My men, we are about to strike a blow for liberty to-day, that shall
ring around the world. Is there a man before me, so base, so fallen,
that he would not defend his home, his family, his land, his Queen?
If there be any such here to-day, let him stand out from among his
fellows," and he paused.
No sound, the men stood stern and silent. He resumed:
"The Spaniards boast that they will sleep in London to-morrow night,
and that they will sack the town. If every one among this crew stands
true and firm, and will do his duty to his country and his God, many of
their men shall sleep to-night in a warmer clime than London."
A deep roar of laughter went up from the men about him at this sally.
"If each one of you will but remember this, when you strike at your
foes, we will deal such a blow to Spain, that it will be ages ere she
recovers. Give back but an inch, and you will forge a link in the
chains of your slavery; bear yourselves bravely, and you will put a
nail in the coffin of Spain. I swear to you that the first man of mine
who shall give way but an inch, I will run him through with my sword,
though I fight my way through the ranks of the Spaniards to do it.
Should you fall back, I will blow up the ship and all on board, rather
than she should fall into the hands of the enemy. Stand firm, strike
hard and fast, and the day is ours," and he stepped down and wiped the
sweat from his brow with his hand.
With a cheer the men responded, "Drake forever!"
With our flag nailed to the mast, as Sir Francis had ordered, we bore
down upon the Spaniards. Then began that long fight, immortalized in
song and story, which will be told wherever English blood flows, and
wherever pluck and courage are known and honored among the sons of men.
We sailed under a great galleon, her decks thronged with mailed
soldiers; as we ran beneath them they jeered long and loud, for we
looked so little, so insignificant as they towered high above us; it
seemed so foolhardy that we should attack the huge vessel. Silence
reigned on board our ship; half-naked gunners, lighted matches in hand,
stood by the culverins waiting for the word of command; the soldiers,
musketoons in hand; the little knot of gentlemen gathered around
Drake--it was in strange contrast to the Spaniard, which rang with
laughter, with taunt, and gibe.
I stood a little to one side of Drake, my breastplate on; in my hands
was a great ax, for I had not asked for my sword, and had chosen this
weapon for the fight. We almost touched the enemy, their tier of guns
hung high above us; I could have tossed a biscuit easily on board.
"Now," cried Drake, "Let them have it, boys!"
At the sound there arose a deafening roar; the vessel rocked like
a leaf upon the water; the smoke in a dense cloud hid us from the
foe. I could hear the crash as the balls struck the ship; could hear
the exclamations and oaths of the men; and our sailors, leveling
their musketoons into the smoke, fired. Another chorus of yells and
curses--we had evidently struck them somewhere.
The noise and uproar around us were deafening, as ship after ship
wreathed in fire and smoke closed with the galleons; oaths, curses,
and shouts filled the air; volley after volley sounded as the vessels
exchanged broadsides; the smoke hid everything from us in a dense
cloud. Hoarse words of command, prayers, the screams of the wounded and
dying, the shouts of the victorious, the clashing of swords as some
ship was boarded--and over it all a dense pall, dark and impenetrable.
Now and then a breeze would blow aside the smoke, and I could see
vessels, English and Spanish, around me; could see the men fighting
hand to hand on the deck of some great galleon that had been
boarded--rising and falling, cutting and thrusting; the Englishmen now
advancing and bearing their foes before them, now borne back by some
desperate rush. Then another vessel would sweep up to the side of the
ship on which they were struggling, and would discharge a load of men.
With a yell they would bear down upon the Spaniards and beat them back,
and then the smoke would settle, and like a dark curtain shut out the
scene.
The Spaniards in the great vessel under which we lay had endeavored to
train their culverins upon us, but in vain, we were too far below them.
So they had given that up, and with a volley of small arms had swept
our deck. Many of our men had fallen under the storm of lead, and we
had replied with another broadside, and then another.
The galleon was sorely hit; we could hear her as she reeled from the
shock of the shot, and the smoke clearing showed us the great rents in
the side of the ship where our balls had torn through her. At close
range the destruction was terrible; her decks were strewn with the dead
and dying. It looked like a slaughter pen as the blood ran in great
streams down the rough planks.
Then another great ship sailed alongside of us, and our deck swarmed
with Spaniards; at the same time the stricken galleon poured what
remained of her crew over into us and we were boarded from both sides
at the same time. We divided our ranks, fore and aft, with a volley
that dropped many a man; then sword in hand we stood firm and steadfast.
Ah! that was a good fight that day. Though they outnumbered us three to
one, yet they had not the stern stuff in them of our men. Drake seemed
to bear a charmed life; he was here and there--now in the midst of the
foe, a dozen swords aimed at him, now back among our men; one moment in
front, now on the other side. Wherever the Spaniards pressed our men
the hardest, there might be seen his yellow beard and bloody sword.
But I had short time to observe him, for a dozen Spaniards were at me.
With a shout, I brained a couple with my great ax, and the others gave
way before me; but in an instant they were back, cutting at me with
their swords. Oliver was by my side, and right nobly did he play his
part; I know not what I would have done without him. Gay, debonair,
smiling, he met them and with me drove them back.
With a rush, a new reënforcement came over the rail and made for us,
led by a sturdy fellow with a long tawny beard. Then for the first
time our depleted ranks gave back, and I was left almost alone; only
Oliver and a dozen more stayed by me. I cut down the first fellow, and
dropping my ax, for I was too hard pressed for that, I caught up his
sword. "Come!" I shouted to their leader as he neared me. "Cross swords
with a man!" With an oath he cut viciously at my head; I parried his
thrust and lunged at him; and then with a rush a score bore down upon
me, and I stood alone among the foe.
It had gone hard with me, had not Drake come to the rescue; with a
shout he cut his way into their ranks, and to where I still fought
doggedly on. A thrust had grazed my forehead, I had another cut in the
back of my head, but they were scratches and I felt them not; turning,
twisting among them, I evaded the myriad blows aimed at me.
With a yell the enemy gave way before us; a score of Englishmen had
followed Drake, and were now hacking at them. To add to their confusion
our men had driven off the boarders on the other side, and now streamed
down to the rescue with loud cries of "Drake!"
A moment of fierce hand-to-hand struggle, as we fought to and fro upon
the bloody deck; many slipped and fell in the pools of blood, and they
fought among themselves and hacked at the legs of the men as they
trampled over them. Some who went down were trodden to death; others
struggled to their feet and fought on.
The Spaniards wavered, hesitated, and then with a rush we swept on
and over them, as the great waves over the sinking ship. A few little
groups remained, struggling stubbornly until they were cut down.
Drake stood wiping his red sword, and looking at the bloodstained
floor, all piled with gory bodies. Finally his eye fell upon me.
"Art hurt, Sir Thomas?" he asked, noticing my bloody face.
"No," I answered, "'tis but a scratch," and I wiped my face with my
sleeve.
"Thou hast borne thyself right gallantly in the fray," he said. "I
almost feared to look, when I saw thee alone in the midst of the foe.
But what has become of Oliver? I saw him but a moment ago."
I looked around; he was nowhere in sight.
"I hope no harm has befallen him," I replied anxiously. "But I lost
sight of him in the fray, and I know not where he could be."
"Oliver!" shouted Drake, raising his voice, "where art thou?"
"Here," answered a muffled voice, which sounded as though it came from
the bowels of the earth.
"Where?" I shouted. "I can see naught of thee."
"Up near the mast," he replied. "I am under a pile of bodies, which,
from the feeling of my back, must be at least a mile high."
Treading among the dead, with which the deck was covered, we at last
reached the place from which the voice proceeded. There, from under
one side of a huge pile of the slain, protruded the legs of the lad.
'Twould have been laughable, had it not been for the gravity of the
surroundings. The lad's head was on the other side from us, his body
pinned down under the dead, who had fallen crosswise over him, and had
doubtless protected his life in the fight by concealing him from view.
I smiled as I saw the spindling legs.
"Thou seemest comfortable and easy where thou liest--no doubt resting
from the fatigue of the day. We had perhaps best leave thee where thou
art; 'twill keep thee out of mischief."
"Comfortable!" he shouted. "My back is almost broken with the weight
upon it. I feel like Atlas bearing the world upon my shoulders. Pull
them off, I tell thee!"
Drake had roared when I had teased the boy. He now lent a hand, and
we pulled off the six or eight bodies that lay upon him, the last one
being that of the tawny-bearded Spaniard who had led the attack upon
me. His face was still hard and fierce, as when he had fallen in the
heat of the fray. We lifted the last one aside and helped Oliver to his
feet; he was sore and stiff, but unhurt, as he informed us in answer to
our anxious inquiry.
"Had it not been for yonder red-bearded fellow," he said, "it would
have gone hard with me. I tripped as they came down upon us, and as I
fell he rushed at me. One of our men cut him down, and he fell upon my
body. Before I could arise another had fallen, and so they kept piling
up until I was so weighed down that I could not get upon my feet again."
"Half of my men have fallen," Drake said sorrowfully, as we walked
aft, and he stopped to survey a pile of the dead.
In truth 'twas a scanty crew that greeted us as we stood among them.
Of the three hundred men who had gone into the fight only about
seventy-five bloodstained survivors remained; but they were undaunted
and unconquerable, as waving their gory swords, they gathered around us.
A crash--and a great ship, floating the yellow flag of Spain, her decks
crowded with men, emerged from the smoke, and spurting fire and death,
as though some Titan of the deep bent upon our destruction, she bore
down upon us. The men around me were falling thick and fast; one by my
side sprang into the air with a loud cry, and then fell, struck down
by a ball. A few of the crew were endeavoring to answer them with some
of our culverins, but it was in vain; they were shot down where they
stood, before they could fire a single gun.
The biting scent of the powder was in my nostrils; the smoke stung
my eyes until they ran water; bloody and grimy, I waved my sword and
cheered on the men, as they fired their guns at the foe. "Steady!" I
shouted. "Stand firm! This cannot last!"
With a last volley, she swept up to our side, and a throng of armed men
sprang upon our decks. The smoke cleared for an instant--there was not
an English ship in sight, that I could see. Away to the west, about a
mile distant, the roars of the guns resounding showed that the fight
still raged, but as far as we were concerned, we must work out our own
salvation.
And now, sword in hand, the boarders charged down upon our little band
as they gathered around Drake, and there we made our last stand. With a
rush they were upon us, and then ensued a wild mêlée. Borne back by the
weight of numbers the English stood an instant; and then, broken and
scattered in little groups, they were swallowed up in the dense mass of
their foes. Only the rush and swarm where they fought showed that they
were still standing at bay, undaunted and unafraid.
Cut off from the others, only a seaman or two with me, I fought like
a tiger for my very life. All around me there swept a fierce sea of
angry, hostile faces; every hand seemed to hold a weapon and to be bent
upon my destruction. I could see nothing of the English; I was alone
save only for the two sailors.
But the enemy were handicapped by their very numbers; many slipped
and went down on the bloody decks, and their companions in blind fury
cut and struggled over them in their endeavor to get at me. Many of
the wounded were trampled under foot and perished. Cursing, shouting,
and fighting among themselves, the Spaniards tried to cut me down.
But I had kept perfectly cool as they closed with me; the two men,
their backs to mine, guarded my rear, and we held them at bay for many
minutes.
I was silent, and made no answer to the cries of the Spaniards; every
now and then there would come to my ears the hoarse shouts of Drake, as
somewhere in the press he fought and struggled. But save that, I could
hear no sound from my friends.
Among the many heads around me, I could see a steel cap with a white
plume in it, which marked the chief who had led the enemy when they
boarded the ship. As my eye caught sight of him, he made a last charge
upon a little group nearby. Cutting down those who resisted, he turned
and caught sight of the steel as the Spaniards rushed upon me, and I
beat them back.
He made his way through the throng towards me, the men giving way
before him. There seemed something familiar in his bearing as he came
nearer to me, but I had no chance further to observe him, for with a
yell the men whom I had hurled back temporarily were hammering at me as
though determined to end the struggle.
One of the men at my back was dragged down and I saw him no more; but
turning and thrusting at them, I kept on my feet. My breastplate stood
me in good stead; if it had not been for its protection I would have
been cut to pieces long before; but my body to the waist was hidden by
the pile of dead that lay in front of me, and I had only to guard my
head and shoulders and I was safe. A cry behind me, and I turned in
time to see the last sailor fall. I was alone now.
The wall of the cabin was only a few feet away; if I could only reach
that, with my back against it, I could hold them at bay for a few
minutes longer. Slowly and painfully, inch by inch, my face to the
foe, I made my way to it. My arm was weary with cutting; I was almost
exhausted; several flesh wounds were bleeding freely, and it was only
a few minutes until I would be overpowered by sheer force of numbers.
It was only a few feet away now--would I never reach it? The seconds
seemed like hours--days--as at a snail's pace I crept nearer to its
protecting shelter. I had almost reached it now, nearer, nearer; at
last, thank Heaven, my back was against it, and I faced them for the
last act of the scene.
A moment thus we faced each other--the Spaniards yelling and shouting,
I silent and still. They seemed to be in no hurry to meet the sword
that had cut down so many of their fellows, but jostling and pushing
they faced me, even as a pack of hounds, baying, gather around some
grim old monarch of the forest, who, with antlers poised, stands ready
to meet them.
A cry met my ears; a few feet from me the Spaniards were cutting and
hacking at someone. A voice called "Sir Thomas!" With a shout I cut my
way through them, as a she bear aroused by the cry of her cubs rushes
upon the hunter, and with claws bared and flashing eyes, deals out
destruction to those who dare to meet her. I knew the voice--it was
Oliver's.
Raising my sword, I whirled it about my head with both hands, and
cutting down the men who stood in my path, I made for the lad. Cutting
and slashing all in my way, I cleared a path through them, the men
giving back at the fury of my charge, until I stood above Oliver.
He lay in a pool of blood, the clotted gore all over his bonny gold
curls. Stooping, I picked him up as though he had been a feather, and
tucking him under my left arm, protecting him as best I could from the
enemy's blows, my sword in my right hand, I began my journey back to
the friendly shelter of the wall.
How I reached it I never knew. I was crazed with fury as I saw their
angry faces, saw them cut at me, and slashed back right and left at
them, the lad under my arm lying quiet and limp. I knew not whether he
was alive or dead. Finally I stood once more against the wall, and
dropping the boy on the floor behind me, I faced them again.
"Dogs!" I shouted, "do you fear to meet one man? Come on, and I will
show you how an Englishman can die."
A moment they waited, and then from out the ranks sprang the tall
Spaniard with the white plume, whom I had seen but a few moments ago.
Bowing, he faced me with a drawn sword.
"Ah, Sir Thomas!" he cried, "we meet again."
It was the Count DeNortier. For a moment I stood spellbound in
astonishment. DeNortier!--I had left him on the floor, on that last
night upon the island, and had thought him dead, or at least stranded
and alone on that far-away island, and now I saw him here, leading the
charge against me.
"DeNortier!" I cried. "What dost thou here?"
He laughed as he answered:
"As soon as I recovered from the buffet that thou didst deal me, I
rushed out into the open air, and hearing Drake's men outside, I evaded
them. Crossing over to the other side of the island, I boarded a fleet
schooner that I had concealed there, ready to sail at a moment's
notice, her crew in readiness. We sailed away, and met a galleon going
to join the Spanish fleet. They were glad enough to promise me a pardon
for my past misdeeds to secure my services. So here I am. Gods! It
is well that I recovered myself when I did on that last night--a few
moments later, and I would have been in Paradise," and he laughed
loudly.
"But if thou dost remember, twice have I promised to meet thee, and
settle all our differences--that time has come. On guard!"
We crossed swords; the others, clearing a space and leaning upon
their weapons, watched us; the senseless body of the lad behind me.
DeNortier cut at me furiously, but I met his blow, and returned it with
a vengeance. Gone was my fatigue of a moment ago; it was as though the
strength that I had felt in the old days had flowed back into my veins.
I was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but I felt it not, for the glow of
some wondrous wine seemed to warm me through. I was master of myself;
my wrist as strong and supple, my eye as keen and cunning as it had
ever been, for I was determined to kill this man.
He had kept me confined for months. I could have forgiven him that,
but I could not forget that he had insulted, on that memorable night,
Lady Margaret Carroll, by coupling her name with his. What though she
was to be the bride of Lord Dunraven, I would avenge this insult to
her; she could not prevent me from doing this. Ah! it would be sweet to
fight once more for her. Her hand and love were hers to bestow where
she wished, but she could not say me nay in this matter, and so with a
right joyful heart I faced the Spaniard in the gathering gloom.
Thrust after thrust he tried, but I met them all with a readiness that
surprised myself. I had not fought such a fight as this before; had not
crossed swords with a man so worthy of my steel. Trick after trick he
tried, some I had never seen before, but the gods fought with me, and
as though by intuition I met him and sent him staggering back again.
A look of black wrath was upon his face; piqued at being met at every
point, he was losing his head at my swordsmanship.
"Ah!" he said, as we struggled upon the slippery deck, "the gentleman
fights well. Perhaps he thinks that beyond the water there waits for
him a lovely lady. Let him not fool himself. She is ere now the bride
of a noble lord, who holds her fast in bands which she cannot break."
But I kept my temper. I had only to keep cool, and the victory was
mine, and so I only lunged at him with all my strength. The sharp point
of my blade touched his cheek, and with a turn of the wrist I laid
it open from ear to neck. With a scream of pain he came at me like a
wild cat, but I met him and cut him in the side, so that he staggered
back again; pressing forward, I lunged at him once more. He recovered
himself, the blood spouting from his cheek, and met my blade with a
cut, that, had I not sprang back quickly, would have run me through and
through.
Pressing upon me, he rained blow after blow with point and blade. I had
never seen such fury. It was as though he were a madman, and it was
only with the greatest difficulty that I protected myself. The smile
had passed from his face, and a look of awful anger had replaced it.
If he could only reach me, he would give his black soul.
"So Dunraven has outwitted thee," I taunted. "To the victor belongs the
spoil."
"The furies take thee!" he cried furiously. "If I have lost, so also
hast thou. I would rather that my lord should win than thou. Curse
thee!" and he struck with all his force at my head.
"He has used thee well, has done his work with thee, and then, when
thou art of no further use, has cast thee aside like a squeezed lemon,"
and I laughed in his face.
"I will have her yet," he replied, beside himself with anger, his eyes
almost starting from his head. "I swear that to thee, though I have to
cut Dunraven's throat, and fight my way through all England with her in
my arms. Then ho! for my ship, and away to some far-off clime, where
I shall reign a king, and she shall be my queen." His face lighted up
with a savage smile.
"Fool," I answered, "thou babblest. Thinkest thou that Dunraven would
let thee have the lady? He would slit thy throat at first sight, and
then what?"
"He would if he dared," he answered, "but he fears to attempt it. With
what I know I could send him to the gallows. No, believe me, he thinks
too much of his own hide to try such a scheme as that."
His eyes wandered for an instant.
"Look!" he shouted in alarm to his men. "An English ship to the rescue!
Meet them while I finish this fellow."
I heard the shout as the Englishmen clambered over the rail behind me;
and the sound of many feet as they rushed at the Spaniards. I raised my
sword and lunged forward at DeNortier's breast. It would have finished
him for good and all, but the Englishmen were upon me, and the sword
was knocked from my hand in the mad rush.
The Spaniards dashed forward to meet their assailants. I was in the
midst of a mad vortex of men, arms, swords, weapons, cries, oaths, as
with a crash the two parties came together. Like a feather I was thrown
from my feet, and lay upon the deck unable to rise as they fought and
struggled above me; tramping and stepping on my limbs until I felt as
though I were verily beaten into a jelly.
How long they fought there I do not know. It seemed long to me, as
I lay under the feet of the struggling men, and heard the crash of
arms as they still fought fiercely on. The noise was receding from
me, evidently one side was fleeing, but which was it? Then a good old
English cheer broke forth, and never had I heard a more welcome sound
in my life than that hoarse cry, "Hurrah! Hurrah!" Then the hubbub
ceased and the only sound was the splash of the water as the Spaniards
sprang overboard.
I slowly and painfully crawled out from among some of the bodies,
which lay pell-mell about me, and got on my feet. A round-faced,
jovial-looking man who stood near me turned around at the sound, his
red sword in his hand. I had never seen him before; around him stood a
group of seamen.
"'Tis the brave fellow that we saw holding them at bay when we boarded
the ship!" he cried. "Pray, sir, what is thy name?"
"Sir Thomas Winchester, of London," I answered.
A frown was on his face as he looked at me.
"'Tis a pity that so fine a fellow should hang like a dog, but it
cannot be helped," he murmured. "Sir, I shall report thy gallant
conduct to the Queen. I am sorry I can do no more. Sir Francis Drake
related thy story to me last night. It is a passing strange one,
incredible and unbelievable, and I would I could believe it. I am
Howard."
I had never seen him, but I recognized the family favor. I had known
his father when I was but a lad, and had loved the bluff old gentleman.
"Let me congratulate thee upon thy great victory," I said, bowing low.
"It is one with which the world will ring, and in which her majesty
will rejoice. Truly, 'twas a splendid fight, but I believe it is over
now, as I see several of the ships around us." And I looked out to
where there lay a dozen shot-riddled vessels.
"I thank thee," he answered. "The credit is to my men, and not to me.
The fight is, as thou sayest, won. The Armada has turned tail and
flown; our ships are after her as hard as they can go."
"What has become of Sir Francis?" I asked, looking about me. "I fear
that he is slain."
"No," he answered, "we found him, with about a dozen of his men,
holding the Spaniards at bay upon the other side of the vessel. He has
even now made his way out to one of yonder ships to pursue the foe. He
left his report concerning his voyage and thyself with me last night,
and but just now charged me to send thee, and the boy, Oliver Gates, by
the first ship to London, together with the report."
"Oliver!" I cried, my thoughts instantly upon him. "Where is he--hast
thou seen aught of him?" and I turned to look behind me where I had
left him.
Yes, there he lay, still limp and quiet, his eyes closed, breathing
heavily, a pool of blood around him, which flowed from a great cut in
his breast.
I knelt beside the boy.
"I would ask that thou let the leech attend him," I said to Lord
Howard, as he stood looking down at the body of the lad, "for I fear
that he has received his death-blow."
"I trust not," he answered gravely. He turned to several of his men:
"Take him down to the cabin, and let Dr. Robbins attend him," he said.
Carefully they picked him up and bore him through the piles of the dead
and wounded, that lay upon the deck, down into the cabin.
Lord Howard spoke to me as I passed him, behind the boy.
"Thou shalt leave for London on this ship to-night," he said. "I will
send the news of our victory to her Majesty by Sir William Stone, who
will command the vessel. Our wounded also go with thee, and I will get
aboard another vessel and join Drake in harrying these dogs, so that
this will be their last invasion of England."
Bowing my head, I passed down the ladder and into the room where Oliver
lay. A fat chubby-faced little man was bending over him. He turned his
face as I entered.
"A bad wound," he said, shaking his head and screwing up his eyes.
"It is not fatal?" I said anxiously, as I approached the bed.
"I know not," he replied. "It depends upon the care and attention he
receives. With nursing he may recover. I have seen as bad cuts before,
and yet the men recovered."
"Doctor----?" I said.
"Robbins," he answered. "Doctor Robbins, of London, at thy service,"
and he bowed.
"Doctor Robbins," I continued, "I know no one in London that I would
trust him to at a time like this."
"Ah! sad," he replied, "sad," and he shook his little round head like a
monkey, a look of sorrow upon his face. "I heard thy story last night,
when Sir Francis Drake related it to the gentlemen in the cabin. It is
incredible--wonderful!"
"Thou must take the boy to thy house," I said, thoughtfully. "There is
no one else, and I will repay thee well."
He started.
"My dear sir--my dear sir, I cannot take the boy. Thou art dreaming. I
have no time--no place----"
"Thou must," I interrupted, "there is no one else. Either thou wilt
take him, or his death be upon thy hands. I can do nothing for him
confined in prison, probably to die."
"I pity thee," he answered sadly; "from the bottom of my heart I pity
thee. But I have nowhere to put him; no one to look after him. What
would I do with the lad on my hands?"
"Art married?" I asked.
"No," he answered, a faint smile upon his face. "I live with one
sister, a maiden. What would she do with a boy sick unto death?"
"Dost thou believe in a God?" I asked. "Art thou a Christian?"
"Surely," he replied indignantly. "Dost thou take me for a heathen,
that thou shouldst ask me such a question?"
"Well," I answered, "dost thou remember the tale of the good Samaritan,
how the poor man, stricken by his wound, fell by the wayside, and
how the priest with holy look passed by on the other side, then the
Samaritan, seeing him, took pity upon him, and binding up his wounds,
put him upon his own beast, and carrying him to the inn, paid for his
lodging and left him there? Thou hast thy choice. Wilt thou be the
priest or the good Samaritan?"
The tears were in his eyes as he answered:
"I will take the lad and keep him until he is restored to health and
strength."
"I thank thee," I answered. "I know not whether I will see thee again,
but I shall not forget thy kindness. May thy God reward thee if I
cannot, and as thou dealest with the lad, so may he deal with thee,"
and I put into his hands my purse. It had some money left in it.
"Tell the boy that my thoughts shall be of him, and that I shall ever
treasure in sweetest remembrance his friendship and love. It will
brighten the pathway, and if I do not see him again, may God be with
him." And turning, I passed to the door.
The little Doctor followed me, and stretched out his hand.
"Thou art a man," he said, "whatever thy faults. I will hold ever
sacred the trust thou hast given me, and will deal with the boy as I
would with my own."
I wrung his hand, and crossing the room, I bent for a moment and
pressed a kiss upon the cold forehead of the boy; then I passed from
the room.
The ship had turned, and was moving up the Thames at a rapid rate of
speed towards London. I had gone upon deck, and wrapped in my cloak,
stood watching the twinkling lights on the banks of the river, that
marked where some pleasure house or dwelling lay. Someone touched me
upon my arm, and looking up I saw the war-worn face of Sir William
Stone.
"Nobly didst thou bear thyself," he said. "Thou hast fought as becoming
a gentleman of thy house. Would that it might save thee."
"I have done my duty," I answered. "I leave the rest; I can do no more."
He looked at me in admiration.
"Sir Francis Drake left me thy gold-hilted sword, he said, "and bade
me give it to thee, for he knew not when he would see thee again. What
wouldst thou have me do with it?"
"Take it to Sir Robert Vane," I replied, "and give it to him with my
compliments. It has never been drawn in a cause that would stain it
since I have worn it."
"I will do it," he replied, and he looked out again at the lights.
Then he touched me. "Look!" he said, pointing to where far before us
there twinkled and sparkled many tiny lights--"It is London."
London--and so twenty-two months after I left it I was to enter my
native land a captive, my life forfeited, old, broken, gray-headed, my
heart bowed down with grief, alone and friendless, the only friend that
I had on earth lying below at death's door. So I set foot again upon my
native heath.
Nearer we came, for the wind had risen to a gale, and we rushed through
the water as though propelled by the hand of a giant. Turning a curve,
the lights burst full upon us. Before us a few ships lay at anchor;
only a few, however, for most of the vessels had gone out to meet the
Spaniards.
Upon the wharves was gathered a great crowd of people; as far as the
eye could see, there stretched a great black sea of heads, awaiting,
no doubt, to hear news of the day's fight. As we came into sight they
raised a great shout which reached to where we stood; our men sprang to
their culverins, and with a blinding crash they roared back a greeting.
So with ringing bells and roaring guns, amidst the shouts and cheers of
the people, we came into the harbor and dropped anchor.
The cries of the people rang across. "How went the fight? Did the
Spaniards run? How many of the ships were sunk?" A perfect babel of
shouts and questions arose.
Several boats had put off from the shore, and were making for us at
full speed. Springing upon the rail, Sir William, his head bowed, held
up his hand. Instantly a great silence fell upon them--a silence deep
and oppressive.
"The Armada is defeated!" he shouted. "Many of their ships are sunk,
and they are now in full flight, our men after them. Three cheers for
England!"
Then there arose a shout, deep, full, deafening--it fell upon the night
air like the roar of a thousand guns; once, twice, thrice, it rose and
fell. Then, "Three cheers for Drake and Sir William Stone!" someone
cried, recognizing the old soldier, and the mob gave them with a will.
"The boat is ready, Sir Thomas," the old warrior said, his face
lighting up with a proud smile of joy.
Stepping into the boat, we were rowed ashore. Silence fell upon them as
we neared the great throng, but as we touched the wharf, they rushed
forward, and would have borne old Sir William aloft in triumph.
He waved them back impatiently.
"Back!" he cried. "Would you hinder me? I am on my way to the Queen
with tidings of the victory. If you value your heads, you will not
delay me."
At this they gave way, for they cared not to arouse the imperious
Elizabeth, and we passed through the mob, a little band of soldiers
following. Many were the curious glances that were cast at me, but no
one recognized my face. It would have been strange if they had. I had
left London a care-free, gay, and laughing gallant; I returned gray,
haggard, and old.
I could hear the murmur of the crowd as they looked at me.
"It is a Spanish nobleman!" one fat old woman cried to her neighbor.
"Nonsense!" said a butcher in his greasy apron, who stood near her. "It
is Sir Henry Cobden, who commanded one of our ships. I know his face."
"Thou art mad!" another shouted. "It is the commander of the Spanish
fleet; he goes even now to the Queen to implore mercy and save his
neck."
"It is the Earl of Essex," said a tradesman, as I passed him. "Look at
his bloody sword."
"Fool, it is the Bishop of Dunham," said a burly baker. "Do not I know
his gray beard and pious face? Right bravely has he borne himself, look
at his dented breastplate." And he bared his head as I passed.
At the next corner Sir William halted and spoke to me in a low tone.
"I will send some of my men with thee to the Tower," he whispered. "I
grieve that I should have to do this, but those are my orders, and I
durst not disobey them. I trust it is only for a short time, and when
the Queen hears how thou hast borne thyself in the fight, she will
pardon thee."
"It is thy duty," I answered. "Worry not about it. Let but two men
accompany me, and I will go on quietly to the Tower."
He turned to the sailors.
"Do ye, Giles and Henry, go with Sir Thomas," he commanded.
"Ay, Sir," they replied.
With them in the lead I passed on to the grim old fortress of London,
in which had been confined the bravest and noblest of England. How
many, as the heavy doors shut behind them, had breathed for the last
time the breath of freedom? It had almost become an adage, "That he
who goes to the Tower leaves hope behind him." It loomed dark and gray
before me now. Crossing a narrow court-yard, one of the men beat upon
the great door studded with nails.
"Who is it?" a voice asked from the inside.
"Friends," he answered. "A gentleman to see Sir Henry DeGray."
At this the heavy bolts rattled and the door opened. A man, a candle in
his hand, peered out at us.
"Why canst thou not come in the daylight?" he grumbled. "Thou hast all
day, and yet thou must worry us at night."
"We have just arrived in England to-night, my friend," I answered, "and
could not have come sooner."
At this the fellow looked at us closely and saw the blood upon our
clothes, our disheveled and disordered appearance.
"What news of the great Spanish fleet?" he inquired eagerly. "I heard
only a moment ago a great shouting, and wondered if it could be news of
the fight."
"The Spanish are defeated," I answered, "and even now are in full
flight, our men after them."
"God be praised!" exclaimed the rough old fellow, as he lifted up his
hands in joy. "Many a one of them will see the bottom ere morning, or I
am mistaken, for there is such a storm brewing to-night as London has
not seen for many a year."
"But go into yonder room, Sir," he said, pointing to the door in front
of me. "Sir Henry is in there."
"Come, comrades!" he cried to the two sailors who stood behind me.
"Come with me, and we will celebrate this victory in a flagon of good
wine, and you shall tell me of the battle," and he hobbled off with
them.
I turned the knob and entered the low room. There, seated at a table,
was Sir Henry, whom I knew well, for I had served with him during my
brief campaign in Ireland, and with him, a glass in his hand, his dull,
watery eyes fixed upon me, sat my brother Richard.