Juan the Maroon
It was now past midday, and the sun's rays beat down upon them with
cruel power. Yet none of them was glad when the wind freshened,
bringing a touch of coolth; for it filled the sails of the vessel in
chase, which loomed ever larger and larger in their wake. The land
appeared to be very close, but to Dennis's anxious eyes it scarcely
seemed to grow closer. For mile after mile the rowers toiled on in the
sweltering heat. Dennis ventured to leave the tiller for a few moments
to give them water when they flagged. One of the men collapsed, and
Dennis crawled to his thwart and took his oar, bidding him go to the
tiller. So the chase went on, until, when the boat was still more than
a mile from land, the enemy began to fire. The mere sight of the shots
splashing in the sea astern stirred the wearied rowers to renewed
efforts. When, after a few minutes, a shot fell immediately in their
wake, sending up a terrific burst of spray, their energy seemed to be
doubled again.
[Illustration: "A shot fell immediately in their wake."]
Dennis now had his back to the shore. It could not, he thought, be
more than half a mile away: how far would the enemy venture to follow
them? Surely she would not come much farther, at the imminent risk of
running aground on a shoal. He saw a man at the chains taking
soundings. Then suddenly the vessel was thrown into the wind, and she
fired the whole of her broadside, in the hope, no doubt, that at least
one shot would strike the target. The men were so played out that they
were not able even to raise a feeble cheer when they found that they
had escaped scot-free. Any gladness they may have felt was
extinguished as soon as the smoke cleared away and the enemy perceived
that they had failed to hit the boat. The galleon had hove to: the
Spaniard was lowering her boats; and in a few minutes all three,
long-boat, cock-boat, and jolly-boat, crowded with men, came sweeping
across the water.
But they were as yet half a mile away; looking over his shoulder Dennis
judged that his boat was now within less than a quarter-mile of the
shore. Calling cheerfully to the men for a final spurt, he bade the
steersman run them aground on the first shoal or spit of land that
presented itself. A minute later the boat was brought up with a jerk.
The men flung down their oars and began with desperate haste to gather
up some of the stores and the weapons.
"Billy Hawk, take the treasure," said Turnpenny.
But Biddle was too quick for him. Hawk managed to secure one of the
goatskin bags; Biddle seized the two others. There was no time to make
any alteration. Trembling with their exertions, the men were
staggering up the beach, some loaded with articles from the boat, some
carrying the two wounded men. Amos, remaining till the last, drove a
boat anchor through the bottom and hastened after the others. But the
Spaniards' boats, fully manned with crews fresh and vigorous, had sped
over the water at a tremendous rate, and it seemed to Dennis, looking
back and marking how near they were to land, that after all he and his
party stood but a poor chance of getting away. In the three boats
there were at least sixty well-armed men. It was clearly their
intention to run ashore and continue the pursuit on land. Within half
an hour they must be upon them.
There was only a few yards of beach. The thick vegetation came down
almost to the water's edge. It was a wild part of the shore; not a
path was to be seen through the undergrowth, and beyond rose the
forest. But the foremost of the fugitives had struck out a way for
themselves through the plants, and Dennis and Turnpenny hurried along,
bringing up the rear.
The fugitives were greatly impeded by the necessity of carrying the
wounded men and the stores. Even when they reached the forest, where
there was less undergrowth, their pace must be slower than that of the
Spaniards, who had only their arms to carry. And to avoid them was
quite impossible, for the Spaniards were not unused to tracking runaway
slaves, and would not fail to follow up the broad trail left by the
party.
"'Tis vain to go farther," said Dennis to Amos, as they hastened on.
"We must be caught. And we shall need all the poor remnant of our
strength. Yonder is a thick clump of bush where with our calivers we
may perchance give pause to the enemy. I will run on and tell our
comrades ahead to betake themselves thither."
"Ay, do so, though meseems 'tis but to stay for our death. You be
lighter of foot than me. I will go into the thicket and there hide."
Dennis ran forward, but had not gone far when he found the two wounded
men lying on the ground, deserted by their bearers. The rest of the
party had disappeared. Part of the stores also had been abandoned.
Clearly the men had bolted, perhaps in panic fright at some noise in
the forest, perhaps--Dennis saw in a flash the explanation. Among the
things abandoned there was no sign of the bags of treasure. Even at
this critical moment Jan Biddle's cupidity had got the better of all
other feelings, and he had made off with the booty and his fellow
mutineers.
Dennis bent over the wounded men. One was past help; the shock of
being left to his fate had hastened the end that was probably in any
case inevitable. The other man Dennis helped to bring back to where
Amos had taken up his position.
"Where be Billy Hawk, then?" said Turnpenny, when Dennis had acquainted
him with what had happened. "He had one of the bags of pearls.
Od-rat-en for a traitorous faggett!"
But his attention was immediately diverted from Billy Hawk's
shortcomings by the sight of the enemy making their way through the
trees. Dennis and the mariner had no hope of saving themselves. They
two could not contend long with numbers so overwhelming. But they were
resolved not to surrender. They knew well--Amos by experience, Dennis
by the tales he had heard--what their fate would be as captives. Their
whole aim was to sell their lives as dearly as might be. Amos had
already kindled matches for their calivers. These as they burnt gave
out an acrid smoke, which was bound to attract the attention of the
Spaniards if they came near. Confident of their immense superiority in
point of numbers, even if the whole band of fugitives stood up against
them, the enemy were pressing forward without caution. Dennis for a
moment debated with himself whether to fire on them or let them pass.
He owed nothing to Jan Biddle and the mutineers. Twice had they
behaved treacherously towards him; they would receive no more than
their deserts if he allowed the Spaniards to go by unmolested. But
then he reflected that after all some of the fugitives were his
fellow-countrymen; all had been miserable slaves; and what he had
learned of the Spaniards' dealings with those in their power made him
regard them as enemies of mankind.
Turnpenny for his part had no scruples. To him, as to the majority of
the Englishmen of his time, the Spaniard was a hateful oppressor, who
appropriated the riches of the New World in order to set the nations of
the Old by the ears. Even if he had not suffered personally at their
hands, the whole race of Spaniards was in his eyes no better than
vermin. So when Dennis gave the word, he levelled his caliver with
right good will at the body of men that presented so easy a target, as
they came hurrying through the forest. The two fired together; one man
fell; the rest halted, looking about them with an air of fright that
set Dennis mightily wondering. While they hesitated, Amos and he
reloaded with what haste they might, and had not completed that
troublesome process when the enemy, plucking up courage, advanced again
in somewhat more extended order, firing as they marched. Bullets
pattered on the tree trunks all around. Dennis had come scatheless
through the action at sea, but now he felt a burning pang in his
forearm, and saw that the sleeve of his doublet was singed. But at the
same moment he heard a deep sigh from the wounded man who lay at his
feet. The poor wretch had again been hit. There was no time to attend
either to him or to his own wound, for the Spaniards, taking heart at
the cessation of the fire from the copse, were preparing to make a rush.
By this time both Dennis and Turnpenny had reloaded, and stood waiting
to make a last stand against what they felt must be an irresistible
attack. To their amazement, however, just when they were expecting to
hear the order to charge, they saw that a number of the enemy had swung
round, and were facing towards the coast, the direction in which they
had come. Next moment there was a yell from among the trees: "Yo peho!
yo peho!" The strange cry was taken up at point after point, until the
whole surrounding forest seemed to ring with fierce whoops and
battle-cries. Then they caught sight of dark figures flitting among
the trees beyond the Spaniards, who had now clearly given up the idea
of advancing, and were crowded in a serried mass to meet another foe.
There was the sharp crackle of fire-arms, followed by the twang of
bow-strings. A long arrow whizzed past Dennis's ear, perilously close.
The newcomers had formed, as it appeared, an immense semicircle about
the Spaniards; several of these had fallen, and the semicircle seemed
to be drawing ever closer.
"The maroons! O Jaykle!" whispered Turnpenny.
Driven together now into a compact body, the Spaniards fired a volley.
Before the smoke had cleared away, from all around the maroons, dusky
forms clad in smocks that reached their knees, were among them. Then
began a desperate hand-to-hand fight. The Spaniards, in their turn
outnumbered by three to one, were wielding their swords with the
courage of despair against the javelins of their furious yelling enemy,
striving to break through the ring.
"Yo peho! yo peho!" The maroon war-cry rose ever fiercer and fiercer.
It was an affair of a few minutes. Half of the Spaniards were on the
ground; the survivors broke and scattered, some speeding towards the
copse, forgetful that their first check had come from thence.
Turnpenny levelled his caliver and fired at the foremost of them.
"Shoot 'em, sir!" he cried to Dennis, who had hesitated, feeling some
compunction. "Shoot 'em, or we shall have the maroons in upon us, and
they will not stop to ask our names."
Dennis fired. The Spaniards broke away to the left, and dashed into
the forest, pursued hotly by the exultant maroons. Seeing that the
tide had passed them by, Turnpenny stepped out into the open and,
raising his arms, shouted "Amigos!" at the top of his voice to the
maroons within hail. One or two let fly their arrows at him; some were
about to fire; but a big fellow among them called loudly to them in a
tongue that the Englishman did not understand.
"My heart, 'tis Juan!" cried Turnpenny, and as the man advanced towards
them Dennis recognised the leader of the maroons he had rescued on the
island--the man who had with Amos supported the ladder for his climb
into Fort Aguila.
Juan shook hands with them with every sign of delight. While the
others continued the pursuit, he explained to Amos that his attention
had been attracted by the sound of firing at sea, and from a point some
distance along the coast he had watched, from among the trees, the race
in the boats. Never loath to seize a chance of striking a blow at the
hated Spaniards, he had hurried with his comrades along the fringe of
forest. He was overjoyed to think that the men whom his sudden
onslaught had saved were his old friends and the leaders of the attack
on Fort Aguila. He invited them to accompany him to his village deep
in the forest, and wound a horn to recall his comrades. Within a few
minutes they were all assembled. The Englishmen recognized among them
some who had been with them at the attack on the fort. Soon they were
on the march. They took no prisoners; it was not the maroons' way to
spare any Spaniard who fell into their hands. Four of them carried the
twice-wounded sailor, but ere they had gone far he succumbed to his
hurts, and they buried him under leaves in the forest.
An hour's march brought them to the maroons' village, built on a
hillside circled by a narrow river. It was surrounded by a broad dyke,
and a mud wall ten feet high. It had one long street and two cross
streets, very clean and tidy; and the huts of mud and wattle, thatched
with palm-leaves, and with doors of bamboo, were kept with a neatness
that surprised the Englishmen, who mentally contrasted them with the
dirty cottages of labourers at home. Juan made them very welcome,
supplying them with a feast of wild hog, turkeys, oranges and other
pleasant fruits.
"I'feck, it be a dinner fit for a lord," said Turnpenny, appreciatively.
He related the events that had brought them to the straits in which
Juan had found them. When the maroon learnt that some of their party
had deserted with the treasure, he despatched a band of his men to
follow them up. And then he told his visitors a piece of news that
mightily cheered them. El Draque, he said, the Dragon, the great
English sea-captain, had lately raided Nombre de Dios, the port whence
the great treasure fleets were wont to sail for Spain. Then he had
disappeared. The Spaniards were in a state of nervous dread. So bold,
so sudden were his movements, that not a settlement on the coast but
lived in constant terror of his appearance. The very mystery that
surrounded him, their ignorance of his whereabouts, added to the fear
his name inspired.
"They do not know where he is," said Juan, with a chuckle; "but I know.
He is a long day's march from this place, in a little harbour that no
passing ship can spy. And there he waits till he can swoop like a
jaguar on the dogs of Spain."
"My heart, it be joyful tidings!" said Turnpenny. "I knew Master
Francis would come again to these shores, to have a proper tit-for-tat
for the base dealings of the Spaniards at St. John d'Ulua. Good-now,
sir, shall we take a journey and see the worthy captain, and
peradventure join with him in spoiling the knaves?"
"With all my heart, Amos," replied Dennis. "Without doubt Juan will
furnish us with a guide."
Turnpenny spoke to the maroon.
"Better than that!" he said, after a brief colloquy. "He says he will
e'en come himself with a party. Master Francis, he says, does hurt to
no woman nor unarmed man; he is kind to the maroons; and not a man of
them but loves him and would serve him to the death. Ay sure, a noble
man is Master Francis, that loves God and hates the Spaniards; and Ise
warrant we could do naught better than join ourselves to him.
Crymaces! he will list with a ready ear to the tale of our adventures."
"'Twill be overlong for the captain," said Dennis, with a smile. "But
I would fain see him and speak with him, for he may perchance spare a
vessel to go and seek for our poor comrades penned up in Maiden Isle."
"God-a-mercy, I had a'most forgotten, sir. True, there be Tom
Copstone, and Hugh Curder, and Ned Whiddon all lone and lorn. Master
Francis will help us to save them, or he be no true man."