It was near midnight when the English cruizer, with the wind in
her stern, approached the mouth of the noble Tagus. A bar of
sand, which renders the navigation dangerous at low water, runs
across the mouth; and the island-fort of Belem, which divides
the stream into two channels, stands in its centre. It was on
the eastern side of the fort that Hildebrand steered his ship;
and he hoped, though it was not very dark, that she would pass
unobserved. Whether she was observed by any of the sentries, or
not, or whether, being observed, she was supposed to be a ship
of the king’s, and so not looked after, it is impossible to say;
but such was the remissness of the sluggish Spaniards that she
was allowed to pass unquestioned. Having cleared the fort, she
kept her way straight on to Lisbon, which was about ten miles
farther. Hildebrand remained on deck the whole time, as did
Master Halyard also; but Don Rafaele, at their suggestion, betook
himself to the cabin, and there retired to rest. When he arose
in the morning, the ship had come to an anchor. On mounting to
the deck, he saw the old city, which stood on the opposite shore
to the present one, stretched out before him, about a quarter
of a mile distant. The fair bay in its front, which had hardly
opened where he stood, was crowded with tall ships, of dimensions
greater than any he had ever seen, and so closely packed withal,
that he no longer feared that the solitary English ship would
attract notice. It was as animated a scene as one could wish to
behold. There was the old city, with its black monasteries, its
prison-like convents, its towering churches, and its close-packed
streets, all sloping up from the water, as distinctly displayed
as in a map. Then came the forest of men-of-war, each a floating
castle, and populous as a city. The wide, bright river, as far
as the eye could penetrate, was ploughed by vessels of every
order--ships, gun-boats, and galleys, all bearing down towards
the city, and destined to join the tremendous armada. On the
opposite shore, where stands the present city, rose a chain of
verdant hills, stretching far beyond the site of the modern
palace of Necessidades, which now crowns one of them. The hills
were green to the water’s edge, and, here and there, were topped
with smiling white windmills, or, rather, wine-presses, which,
sparkling in the sun, made the verdure of the hills even more
apparent. Over all, and high above all, was spread the soft, blue
sky, free from the least speck, and making the river look azure
from mere reflection.
Don Rafaele was still surveying the scene, when he felt a
hand, the touch of which he seemed to recognise directly, laid
gently on his shoulder. With a glad smile, he turned round, and
perceived Hildebrand.
“’Tis a fair scene,” remarked that person, gaily, “yet thou
wouldst hardly think, from our placid appearance, that we stand
on the very threshold of almost certain destruction. By my faith,
’tis nearer even than I looked for. Ho, there! aft! Hoist the
Danish flag half-mast high!”
His order was obeyed on the instant; and the crew now, for the
first time, observed that the flag of each ship of the armada
hung in the same way. Who was dead they could not conjecture; but
that it was an officer of the highest rank, if not a member of
the royal family, they did not doubt, as the national flag would
not be thus degraded but for some great public personage.
Notwithstanding that a general apprehension prevailed among
the crew that they would shortly be overhauled by the Spanish
officials, they now thought of nothing, in their conversation
with each other, but the new topic for conjecture, and exhausted
speculation as to which of the Dons had become defunct. Their
interest in the matter was increased towards evening, when
Hildebrand, who had been below all day, making up his log,
appeared again on the deck, and displayed on his slouched hat
the mournful memorial of a black band. As he stepped on to the
quarter-deck, he was joined by Don Rafaele, who, previous to his
appearance, had been pacing the poop, but had no sooner discerned
him in the hatchway, than he hurried to his side.
“Urge me no further, fair Rafaele,” said Hildebrand, before Don
Rafaele could speak to him. “’Twere running thee into a needless
peril, and would impede me grievously.”
“’Tis because, by my aspect and port, I would be a great aid to
thee, making thee pass more reasonably for a Spaniard, that I
seek to attend thee,” said Don Rafaele.
“I’faith, that might be,” answered Hildebrand; “yet not even to
make mine own risk less, will I bring hazard on thee.”
“I see, thou art resolved to gainsay me, Senhor,” returned Don
Rafaele. “I fear me, thou beginn’st to regard me troublesome.”
“Art in earnest, Rafaele?” asked Hildebrand, taking up his hand.
“Know’st thou not that certain death, without an instant’s
respite, will follow our detection? Thou art resolved! Then, will
I refuse thee no further. Get thee a black band, and, when the
night falls, we will off.”
It was now evening, but, though cloudy, it was yet quite light.
The brightness of the scene, however, had passed away, and the
night threatened to be a rough one. The wind increased every
moment, and the noble river, which had lately looked so placid,
was lashed into high waves, topped with foam, and raging like
breakers. After a little time, it began to rain, first like
sleet, and then in torrents. Moreover, the night, though it
was the summer season, set in early, and it was quite dark by
nine o’clock. Shortly after that hour, a small boat, scarcely
larger than a punt, was manned by two seamen, and lowered from
the stern of the English ship. Some doubt existed whether, to
use a nautical term, it would “live” on the agitated water;
but so adroitly did its two navigators bestow themselves, in
anticipation of a mishap, that it maintained its equilibrium,
and rode the waves gallantly. Still it was not without some
difficulty that it was skulled round to the gangway. Hildebrand
and Don Rafaele, muffled in long cloaks, which both the weather
and their expedition required, and with their heads well
protected by their slouched hats, there waited its approach.
When it came alongside, Hildebrand, seizing a firm hold of the
side-rope, lowered himself cautiously into its centre, and then
helped Don Rafaele to descend. After that person had reached the
boat, they both took their places in the stern, and the boat
shoved off.
The storm now raged furiously, and it was only by the greatest
efforts, aided by long experience, and unshaken intrepidity,
that the navigators of the boat could shoot clear of the ship.
When they did clear her, their danger was even augmented, and
the wind, being no longer intercepted by the ship, threatened
to capsize their frail bark every moment. The water roared
again; and, withal, shot up in such high waves, boiling with
spray, that they were almost blinded. To add to the terrors of
their situation, the rain still descended in torrents; and the
darkness, which had all along been excessive, seemed even to
increase, and, like that of Egypt, could almost be felt. Nothing
could be seen on the water as far as the eye could extend, but
streaks of white foam; and on the shore, only a few lights were
visible, now and then, like twinkling stars. Occasionally the
boat almost whirled round. It required all Hildebrand’s strength,
which was no little, to maintain his hold of the rudder, and even
then the boat scarcely answered it. The waves beat under her as
if they would knock in her bottom; and its inmates frequently
bounced up in their seats, in spite of their utmost resistance,
with the violence of the shock. Moreover, the wind blew right in
their teeth, and, as they struggled forward, they shipped water
every moment. Though the city, judging from the aforementioned
lights, was little more than a quarter of a mile distant, it
seemed impossible that they could ever reach it, and absolute
madness to pursue the attempt. Indeed, they expected, almost
with certainty, that they would be swamped by each wave. Still
the bold man who held the helm retained his firmness; his iron
nerves, as if they were strung for the occasion, never once
flinched; and he seemed to dare peril, and defy the storm.
The boat pushed on; now shooting up the curl of a long, whistling
wave; then, with reckless violence, dashing into the gaping
trough below, which appeared to yawn even more under its bottom,
and to let it sink yet deeper and deeper. Then the rain, and
the wind, and the dashing spray, all blended together, beat
down in it from above, and the little boat groaned again. How
human beings could move through such horrors, where death was
in every object, and retain their presence of mind, was truly
amazing. Yet Hildebrand maintained his place at the rudder; and
the two hardy seamen, though keenly alive to their situation,
and fully expecting that every successive wave would swamp or
overturn the boat, held on at their oars. Still they made but
little progress; for, owing to the excessive agitation of the
water, their oars, though so skilfully and adroitly worked, did
not always dip, and, even when they did, the violence of the
storm half counteracted the impulse. Nor was it by the tempest
alone that all their terror was inspired. As they progressed,
their ears were saluted by heart-rending shrieks; and thundering
noises, like the clashing together of some immense bodies,
and which they rightly conjectured to be collisions among the
closely-packed shipping, silenced even the roar of the elements.
Then a sharp, rushing sound broke on the ear; and the black hulls
of two gigantic vessels, looking like the spirits of the storm,
flew past together, amidst a terrible chorus of mortal shrieks.
The terrors of death hung around the cruizer’s little boat;
but its fearless captain, however he might be moved inwardly,
appeared to be still undaunted.
“Now, cheerily, my lads! cheerily!” he cried, to the two rowers,
at this appalling juncture. “The lights are close at hand: three
strokes more, and ye have the beach.”
But, strive as the rowers might, the oars would not dip: the
long, curling waters troughed under the boat more deeply than
ever: then a roaring wave, curling higher and higher as it came
on, caught it under the stern, and shot it high on the shore.
The boat capsized as the wave receded; but fortunately, having
foreseen what would be its effect, the two seamen had leaped out
as she grounded, and so were able to prevent her being swamped.
As they held on to the boat, Hildebrand also was about to leap
out, when, turning to help up Don Rafaele, he perceived that that
person had fallen into a swoon. There was no time to hesitate,
and, quick as thought, he caught him up in his arms, and stepped
with him on to the shore.
While the men were hauling the boat up on the beach, so as to
place it beyond the influence of the waves, Hildebrand sought,
by chafing his cold temples, to revive Don Rafaele. Whether from
this cause, or because he had been insensible for some time,
and the paroxysm was exhausted, Don Rafaele recovered almost
directly, and, with a low, deep sigh, opened his eyes.
“Where are we?” he cried: “_still?_ not whirling round? Oh! my
heart will burst!”
“We are safe now, my fair Rafaele,” answered Hildebrand.
“Here”--he added, drawing from under his cloak a small flask, and
holding it to his lips,--“take thee a taste of this.”
Don Rafaele tasted of the contents of the flask; but the spirit,
in its raw state, was too powerful for him, and he could not take
above a mouthful. Even that, however, had a reviving effect upon
him, and, as he withdrew his lips from the flask, he smiled, and
looked quite composed again.
Hildebrand took a good draught from the flask. By the time that
he had thus refreshed himself, the two seamen, having secured the
boat, came up with him.
“My lads,” said Hildebrand, handing them the flask, “here is that
will keep this pelting rain out of your jackets. Now, hold ye a
good watch on the boat! Pray God the wind lull, or we shall never
find the ship!”
“We shall never find the ship to-night, your honour,” said one of
the sailors, hitching up his trousers.
“How know’st that, Ben Hatchway?” demanded the other sailor, who
had just taken a good pull from the brandy-flask, and now thought
that he could find any object. “His honour knows what we can do
better than an old log-boat like thee, I should ween.”
“For the matter o’ that,” remarked Ben.--But here he paused,
and, previous to explaining further, took a deep draught from
the flask, which his comrade had just handed to him. Having
thus recruited himself, he resumed:--“For the matter o’ that,
Will Bowsprit, here’s his honour to the fore, and, as I was
a-saying--beshrew my topsail!--I’ve been in the Portingales afore
to-day; and, sink me! as I was a-say”--
“Why, look-ye!” interrupted Will Bowsprit; “an’ I leaves my
old hull in that there Portugee fish-pond, look-ye! blow me to
shivers, that’s all! Here’s your honour’s health! I’ll drink to
young Master Don’s anon.”
“My lads, we must back to-night, at all hazards,” said
Hildebrand. “Stand you to the boat; and when you hear ‘Boat
ahoy!’ cried, give a holloa. Yonder light is the last towards the
ship, and is almost in a line with the boat. That shall be my
mark!”
As he ceased speaking, a vivid flash of lightning, of the kind
called “forked,” struck through the darkness; and all “the
artillery of heaven” burst forth overhead. The din among the
black masses of shipping, in the river before them, which here
opened into a noble bay (for it was too large to be called a
basin), seemed to increase, yet the whistling of the wind and
rain was heard above it. Hildebrand paused a moment: then,
wrapping his cloak around him, he turned about, and led Don
Rafaele towards the city.
A flight of steps brought them to a quay, whence they passed
into a long, dirty street. Not a living creature was to be
seen: nothing was to be seen, indeed, but the black houses,
which gave forth no sign of being inhabited. After going along
some distance, they came to another street, turning out of the
main thoroughfare, in which they espied a light. Whispering Don
Rafaele to be of good heart, and (for he had become very faint)
helping him along with one hand, Hildebrand immediately made for
the light, and shortly came up with it. As he had expected, it
issued from the lower casement of a tavern, the outermost door
of which, opening into a close passage, was fastened back, and
thus invited whoever might be passing to enter.
On coming before the open door, Hildebrand paused, and turned to
speak to his companion.
“Be of good cheer, Rafaele!” he said. “The storm favours us, and,
methinks, we have no great cause for fear.”
“How can I be afeard when with thee?” answered Don Rafaele. “I
fear nought, but I am grievously faint.”
“That we will amend within here,” rejoined Hildebrand. “Let us
enter.”
He led the way as he spoke, and, followed by Don Rafaele, passed
to the end of the passage, where a door admitted them into the
inn. On their entry, they found themselves in a large room,
which served the purpose of a modern bar. A cheerful light hung
from the roof; and a long table, on which were displayed several
dishes of cold viands, and divers goodly flasks, stood in its
centre. Behind the table, in one corner of the room, was a fire
of logs, at which stood mine host and hostess. At the moment that
our friends entered, those two worthies seemed, by their looks,
to be in a state of great tribulation; but mine host was revived
by the appearance of two guests, and quickly proceeded to bid
them welcome.
“Senhors, welcome, i’ God’s name!” he cried. Here a tremendous
peal of thunder threw him on his knees. “_Sancta Johannes
Baptista, ora pro nobis, peccatoribus!_” he added.
“_Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!_” exclaimed his wife, also falling
on her knees.
The thunder was, indeed, awful, and shook the very house. As
it roared over his head, Don Rafaele, whether from terror, or
the higher impulse of devotion, was almost inclined to follow
the example of mine host and hostess, and fall on his knees in
prayer. While he yet hesitated, however, Hildebrand caught him
by the arm, and led him forward to the fire.
The thunder ceased as they came up to the fire; and mine host and
hostess, somewhat assured by their seeming composure, and more by
the cessation of the thunder, began to collect themselves. Slowly
rising to his feet, mine host turned to his guests once more.
“A right dread peal that, Senhors,” he remarked, in tremulous
accents. “Good St. Jago defend us! What would you, now, to keep
up your hearts withal?”
“A good bowl of warm Oporto, Senhor host,” answered Hildebrand.
“Prithee, let it be hot, now, and stint not the lemon and
spice; for, by my troth, they give it a most heartening savour.
Despatch, despatch, good host! and thou mayst then set cups for
thyself and spouse.”
“Will I?” rejoined mine host. “’Tis done!”
And though, literally speaking, it was not yet done, the bowl of
mulled port did appear speedily, steaming hot. While Hildebrand
discussed a cup of it, he meditated how he should discover, by
oblique and indirect inquiries, that information respecting the
armada which he had come to seek. Before he could resolve what
course to pursue in the matter, however, mine host, rendered
loquacious by the wine, proceeded to satisfy his curiosity
spontaneously.
“Right good Oporto, that, Senhor Captain?” he remarked. “’Twill
cheer thy noble heart, I promise thee, under the mishap you
mariners have incurred. Truly, my Lord Marquis, the Admiral, died
at an ill time.”
Hildebrand’s heart beat quick as, without risking an inquiry, he
thus learned that the renowned Admiral of the armada was no more.
“I question much,” he said, in reply to mine host, “an’ his
successor will be his equal.”
“’Tis the common report,” returned mine host, “for though my Lord
Duke, to be sure, hath served in the wars”--
“What duke, I prithee?” asked Hildebrand, somewhat off his guard.
Mine host looked surprised. “What! art thou in Lisbon,” he cried,
“and know’st not who hath been commissioned Lord Admiral?”
“By my troth,” cried Hildebrand, laughing, “an’ I knew it, good
Senhor host, I would not require to ask news of thee. But, to
speak sooth, I am but just come to Lisbon, designing, with my
fair brother here, to offer for the armada as volunteers.”
“Truly, then, thou art but in the nick of time,” rejoined mine
host; “for the armada weighs for England to-morrow.”
“To-morrow?” cried Hildebrand. “Surely, no!”
“’Twas notified to-day by proclamation,” said mine host.
“Well, well, take another cup of Oporto,” replied Hildebrand,
replenishing his cup, and presenting it to him. “Who, saidst
thou, is appointed Lord Admiral?”
“The Duke de Medina Sidonia,” answered mine host, smacking his
lips after his draught. “Good Oporto, that!”
“Right excellent!” said Hildebrand. “But hark! ye have more
guests coming!”
The tread of several feet, indeed, was heard close at hand; and
Hildebrand, and Don Rafaele, who, in all things followed his
example, had hardly turned round to the fire, with their backs
to the door, when the door was pushed open, and five cavaliers
rushed in. Like Hildebrand and Don Rafaele, they were dripping
with wet; and, without heeding mine host, they straight made
for the fire. On coming thither, one of them, in striving to
get nearer the fire, pushed against Don Rafaele, and that
cavalier turned to make room for him. As he did so, he glanced
in the intruder’s face, and both he and that person, as by a
simultaneous impulse, uttered an exclamation of surprise. Ever
on the alert, Hildebrand now turned round, and pushed himself
foremost. Glancing in his face, he recognised, to his great
confusion, the features of Don Gonzalez, the uncle and guardian
of Donna Inez.
Don Gonzalez was collected in a moment.
“Ho, spies!” he exclaimed: “English spies!”
Hildebrand aimed a blow at him as he spoke, and, striking him in
the face, felled him to the floor. At the same moment he threw
his left arm round Don Rafaele; and with a quick step, yet facing
the enemy, made for the door. The four cavaliers who accompanied
Don Gonzalez sprang up directly; but the adventure had opened so
unexpectedly, and was of such a singular and surprising nature,
that they were off their guard, and Hildebrand arrived unmolested
at the door. As he drew the door open, however, one of the
Spaniards, more collected than his comrades, levelled a pistol at
him, and fired.