<h3> CHAPTER XX </h3>
<p>By the light of the flaming ship we had set sail. It was
a moving sight to see this precious link with home a
mass of shooting flame below a pall of lurid fire-flecked
smoke. A sea of molten gold was her death-bed, and,
as we sailed slowly onward before the gentle night
wind, the fiery reflection stretched out after us till it
faded to fitful gleams on the crests of the waves, as
though they bore us farewell kisses from our lost ship.</p>
<p>'A true swan is she to the end,' said Harry softly, as
though moved by the scene. 'Beautiful she was in life, yet
nothing in it was so beautiful as her departing from it.'</p>
<p>We watched her burn down lower and lower, till she
was nothing but a glowing ember on the dark plain of
the sea, and then in a moment she was gone for ever.
It was like losing an old friend, and there was not one
for the next few days who did not feel oppressed with
evil foreboding at the loss of that staunch craft that had
brought such luck to our captain.</p>
<p>We could not even lighten our hearts with the music,
for Frank was very earnest to depart as secretly as we
could, that the Spaniards might suppose us entirely gone
from that coast by reason of the loss of our ship.</p>
<p>Thus, attempting nothing that might betray us, we
found on the fifth day a most fair haven in the Sound
of Darien, where we could anchor the <i>Pasha</i> out of all
ken of the Spaniards, and refresh ourselves till such
time as the storm we had raised all along the coast
should be blown over.</p>
<p>It was a place as fair as Port Pheasant, where a man
might have been content to dwell all his days. A pretty
town we built there, as Diego showed us how, of boughs
and brakes and flowers, in a space which we cleared in
the dense forest. Here our smith set up his forge, our
fletcher his shop for the ordering of our bows and arrows,
our butcher his block, and our shoemakers their lasts.
Butts were erected for bow practice, a lawn made for
our bowls, and ground prepared for quoits, leaping,
wrestling, and all other sports that our captain could
devise for making us forget our losses and breed a
hopeful spirit for future attempts.</p>
<p>Half of us worked while the others played, day and
day about; but for me it was all play. For my work,
having skill for it, was to hunt the livelong day up in
the forest-clad hills for the hogs, conies, deer, and birds
that lived half tame in their solitudes; or, rocked on
those azure seas, to lure the strange fish that swarmed
about the gilded rocks, with great pelicans and scarlet
cranes for comrades at the sport.</p>
<p>At such times, as I lay in some fairy glade above our
little town, or half asleep in our little gondola, I could
hearken to the merry tinkle of the anvil and the jolly
laugh of the bellows mingling with the cries and songs
of the mariners at their work and play; and, listening
to the homely sounds, mellowed and transformed by
the tropic glory of earth and sky and sea, I could fancy
that the old life was gone with all its care and
hideousness, being changed by the rich spirit of the West to
one long May-day.</p>
<p>In fifteen days our ship and pinnaces with this light
labour were refitted, and our captain with two of the
pinnaces set sail for Rio Grande in search of provisions
and intelligences. I remained behind with John Drake
to search the coast in the other pinnace, in order that
if possible we might, by Diego's help, meet with the
Cimaroons.</p>
<p>For six days we rowed up and down the Main aloof
the shore, but found no trace of those whom we sought.
In these days I saw much of John Drake, being all day
and night in the pinnace with him, and I came to love
his simple, steadfast nature more than I ever had
before, and wondered to see how great was his control
over the men by the very earnestness of his worship of
Frank, whose orders to him were as the command of a
god, to be carried out at all costs. It seemed as though,
when once he had a direction from his brother, all other
thoughts were dismissed from his mind. Any possibility
of a different course being good could never find
a place in him.</p>
<p>So day after day we rowed hopelessly along that
lovely shore, in spite of the fearful heat. To every
suggestion I could make he had but one answer.</p>
<p>'Frank told us to row aloof the shore and find the
Cimaroons,' he would say, 'and he knows best.
Cheerily, men, now! As like as not we shall find them
beyond the point ahead.'</p>
<p>To me the thing seemed hopeless. To find a few
negroes in that vast wilderness of forest by rowing
along the shore appeared little better than a wild-goose
chase. Still I believed in Frank almost as much as
his brother did, and still more was encouraged by Diego,
who continued to urge us on as he sat in the forepart,
chin in hand, gazing fixedly into the forest.</p>
<p>It was on the seventh day, as we were almost worn
out with the growing heat of the sun, and all the shore
was hushed before the coming fire of the noonday, that
Diego suddenly leaped up and, casting both his hands
above his head, gave forth a yell so loud and strident
as almost to stop your heart.</p>
<p>Again with his hand to his mouth he shot his fiendish
call towards the shore, as though to summon a legion
of devils to his side.</p>
<p>'What is it, Diego?' cried Jack.</p>
<p>'See, captain, see! There lie my people asleep. I
can see. Up there on the hill. I can see a new hut.'</p>
<p>To our eyes all was the same wild waste, of foliage,
but he saw more, as we soon knew, for faintly out of
the forest came an answering shout.</p>
<p>'I knew Frank was right,' said Jack triumphantly.
'He knew where to find them.' And away we went
to the shore. Sure enough Frank was right; for as our
keel grated on the golden sand two pelicans rose lazily
from where they had been standing, a bowshot to
our right, and winged their solemn flight along the
shore.</p>
<p>Something we knew must have flushed them, but
we could see nothing in the dense brakes. Diego hailed
again, and then we saw a black face peep stealthily at
us. Poor folk! they dared not come out, for all we
had one of their kin with us. They had been too often
betrayed to their tormentors by such means before.</p>
<p>'<i>Que gente? que gente?</i>' cried the black head over his
bent bow, as we could plainly see.</p>
<p>'<i>Gente de Draque!</i>' cries Diego, leaping out of the
boat and running towards them. '<i>Draque! Draque!</i>'</p>
<p>So it was they always called our general, since his
name came hard to their half-Spanish tongues. And what
a name it was to them we soon saw. For, after a strange,
discordant babbling between Diego and the Cimaroon,
a loud cry went up in the bushes and out rushed some
score of dancing yelling fiends. Never saw I greater
delight or heartier welcome than in these poor folk. For
a good space we could do nothing with them, for their
dancing and leaping round us and embracing of our
feet, especially Captain John's, to his great discomfort,
being a plain, simple man, not used to homage.</p>
<p>There was no peace for us till Diego begged that we
should suffer them to bear us to their huts, which
request our captain granted, leaving two men with the
pinnace. Their joy was then complete, and each black
fellow stood in front of one of our men, bending his
back for him to mount, which at last we all did, seeing
how earnest they were; and so, with no more ado with
the biggest of us than if he had been a baby, they
trotted off, laughing and singing up the steep path that
led to their huts.</p>
<p>We were soon set down in a little hamlet like our
own town, but much prettier and more artfully constructed,
because of their greater skill. Here each vied
with another to set before us delicate fruits and fowls
and a certain fermented liquor which they had, very
pleasant to the taste and medicinable to the spirits.
So like kings we lay in those leafy bowers feasting
merrily, each with a grinning henchman or two to do
his lightest bidding. Indeed I think, had we permitted,
they would have crowned us with flowers, and seen us
eat our banquet like that dainty gallant Horatius
Flaccus with his boon companions.</p>
<p>By the end of our dinner we were all like brothers
with these merry folk, after the manner of English
mariners, though I think half of our company could not
understand two words of Spanish. Their chief was
soon in close talk with John and me and Diego, and we
broached our business to him. It is an easy embassy
when both parties desire one thing. Our wish, no less
than theirs, was for them to meet the general and
arrange our comedy for the entertainment of the
Spaniards. In a very short space it was agreed that
we should leave two of our men with the chief and
take two of his to the general, in token of pure
good-will and amity between us, and that they should come
down to a river which ran into the sea half-way
between the haven where our ships lay and certain
headlands towards Nombre de Dios, which we always called
'The Cahezas.' This river we called the 'Rio Diego,'
after our faithful Cimaroon ally.</p>
<p>There was some difficulty in choosing our hostages,
since every mariner there wished to stay, preferring the
cheery homage and good fare of the Cimaroons to hard
work and 'Poor John' in the pinnace. At last it was
settled by lot, and we bore away again amidst the like
rejoicings that had welcomed us, and with a fair wind
came the same night to our ship.</p>
<p>It seemed to all men a plain work of God for the
encouraging of our allies that the very next day our
general, with two frigates besides the pinnaces, came
sailing into 'Port Plenty.' So he now named our
haven, having seen by this first voyage how well we
could supply ourselves from the victuallers that sailed
to Nombre de Dios and Carthagena, and from the
Indians about the Rio Grande, as well as from the
Spanish storehouses thereon.</p>
<p>'If a man may judge by this fair beginning,' said he
when we came to speak of it, 'no name was ever better
bestowed, for besides a great store of provision which
we obtained from the river, I have taken five or six
frigates and a bark, laden with live hogs, hens, maize,
and other provision which we require. But I gave away
all the prizes, except the two best, to the Spaniards for
their pain in supplying us so bountifully; and there are
those we kept.'</p>
<p>He pointed to where the two captured frigates lay,
and went on to tell me how he had obtained what was
dearer to him than victuals, and that was divers opinions
of himself that prevailed amongst the Spaniards. It
was always his way while he kindly entertained his
prisoners to get them to speak about himself, and if their
answers were to his mind I think they often got off the
more lightly. His enemies, for even that noble spirit
has enemies in these backbiting times, set this down
to a sordid love of flattery, but I know it was from no
such cause. For love of merriment he did it, no less
than to encourage his men, who joyed to hear the dread
their captain begot amongst the Spaniards. No man
ever knew better than he how to win the confidence
and respect of his men, and this was one way he used
to that end. And no man was ever more laughter-loving
than he, and no jest did he love so much as to
hear how he frightened the Spaniards. For those
reasons and no other he was wont to question his
prisoners, and I hold it foul slander to say that heroic
navigator was pleased with sordid flattery.</p>
<p>I remember well his first words were of this when,
the same day that he returned to Port Plenty, I boarded
his frigate with Jack.</p>
<p>'Why, Jasper,' says he, taking my hand in his cheery
way, 'you have missed a merry time in chasing Cimaroons,
though God be praised that has so blessed your
search. What think you they say of me, man? It is
a jest worth more laughter than all the company could
furnish in a month. Why, man, they say it is a
devil. None but a devil or a saint, they swear, with but
a handful of men could have quietly entered and held
the Treasure-House of the mightiest emperor under the
sun as we did. And since, being a "Lutheran dog," I
am no saint, I must perforce be a devil, and you, my
lad, an imp of Satan.'</p>
<p>'By which sharp reasoning,' says Mr. Oxenham,
'they save their gentility when they run away.'</p>
<p>'And like Christian gentlemen,' cried Harry, 'when
the fiend appears cry, "Get thee behind me, Satan," and
incontinently turn their backs.'</p>
<p>'Yet,' said I, 'it seems to me that they would serve
their gentility better by a more courteous appellation
of their enemy.'</p>
<p>'And so your true Castilian does,' says Frank. 'For
all the wrong they have done me, yet I hold your true
Castilian a gentleman and a man of honour, and no
coward. Such a one I took off Tolu, and as we supped
together on the good things which for our trouble in
chasing him he had felt bound to bestow on us, he told
a different tale, and set no horns on my head.'</p>
<p>'No,' broke in Harry; 'it was all your most chastened,
precise, five-foot-in-the-blade, good manners. "By your
most high-bred courtesy," says he, "I now know for truth
what gentlemen say of the valiant Captain Drake, whose
felicity and valour are so pre-eminent that Sir Mars, the
god of war, and Sir Neptune, the god of the sea, seem
to wait on all his attempts, which same notwithstanding
are eclipsed, overshadowed, and put out of countenance
by the nobility and generosity of his carriage
towards the vanquished, whereby defeat is made
sweeter than victory." And with such like good report
he continued to discharge his great pieces in the
captain's honour all supper-time till we were wellnigh
deafened with the thunders of his courtesy.'</p>
<p>'It was a very high mass of worship,' said Mr. Oxenham,
'till, by this light, we began to doubt if we
were not saints after all.'</p>
<p>'God forbid,' says Frank; 'as you love salvation be
an English devil rather than a Spanish saint.'</p>
<p>'Well, here are our brother devils,' cried Harry, as
the two Cimaroons we had brought were led forward
by John Drake. 'Order yourselves, signors, to receive
the embassy of the Prince of Darkness.'</p>
<p>So the negroes came forward and testified of the joy
their whole nation had at our captain's coming, because
of the renown he had won amongst them by his
proceedings at Nombre de Dios and in his two former
voyages, and finally most respectfully told him how
their chief waited for him at the Rio Diego, to see if
haply it was his pleasure to use them against their
common enemies.</p>
<p>A council of war was held to consider how far we
could trust these people, and what course we should
take forthwith: whereat, after his usual manner, Frank
listened very attentively to all our advices, and then
took his own; which was forthwith to move our whole
force up to the Rio Diego, where John Drake and I
had discovered an excellent haven amongst the islands
that were clustered there.</p>
<p>I went on before with Frank in his pinnace to show
him where we should meet with the Cimaroon chief,
which we did very joyfully at the place appointed.
The negroes' joy at meeting our captain was so great
that it was long before we could get to any quiet speech
with them, but at last we went aside with the chief
into the leafy bower which served him for a house, and
Frank told him how he wished his people to help us
get gold and silver from the Spaniards.</p>
<p>'Gold and silver!' said the negro, a giant in growth
and strength who spoke good Spanish. 'Do you mean
gold and silver?'</p>
<p>'Yes, surely,' said Frank; 'what else could we
want?'</p>
<p>'Why, even that which we want,' said the negro.</p>
<p>'And what is that?' Frank asked.</p>
<p>'Revenge,' answered the negro, 'revenge for all the
wrongs those hell-hounds have wreaked on us.'</p>
<p>'Why, so do I,' said Frank cheerfully, 'and therefore
will I take from them what I want most and what
they love best, even gold and silver.'</p>
<p>'Ah, but they love something better than that,'
said the chief eagerly, as though clutching at a hope.
'They love life better. And we want something more
than gold, we want blood—Spanish blood! To dip our
arms in to the elbow, and our legs to the knees,' he went
on, with the glare of a wild beast in his eyes. 'Help
us to get that, captain, and you shall have all the gold
and silver you can want. But for us it is not enough.
What your wrongs have been I know not, but ours are
such that gold and silver will not avenge them. Had
you felt the lash curl round your ribs, had you seen
your comrades tortured to new effort when they
dropped to die of sickness and fatigue, had you seen a
little part of what happens every day to my people, you
would forget gold and silver, and all but blood, and
never joy but when you saw it bubbling out from the
rent your knife had made.'</p>
<p>We were both shocked at the savageness of our new
ally, and Frank told him in his plain blunt way that
if they attempted anything together the prisoners must
be his, as well as the gold, though in the fight they
might kill as many as they would. The poor savage
was sadly disappointed, and would, I think, have hardly
agreed to it if Frank had not fed him with a picture of
the havoc our arrows and small shot would make
amongst their enemies, and how sorely they grieved
over the loss of gold.</p>
<p>'I know, I know,' said the Cimaroon sadly; 'and
often we take gold from them, not from love of it,
but in despite of them. So be it as you say, captain,
for you we will follow to death against the Spaniards,
whatever be your will. Yet had I known it was gold
you wanted, there is plenty we have taken and sunk in
the rivers which you might have had, but now they
are so swollen with the rains that there is no coming
at it. Nor can we take any till the dry season begins,
for in the rainy months they do not carry any treasure
by land, because the ways are so evil.'</p>
<p>This was most unhappy news. It was nearly five
months still before the dry season began. To attempt
with our pinnaces to capture the gold frigates coming
down the Chagres river was madness, seeing that since
our coming we heard they were always guarded by
two galleys. To wait five months was to run great
risk not only of being attacked in strength by the
Spaniards, but also by sickness, which is very rife in
those regions during this time.</p>
<p>Another council was held as soon as our strength
joined us, and once more Frank heard willingly our
opinions and followed his own, which was to make a
lodgment in a hidden part of the coast, whence, that
we might employ our leisure as well as gather
provisions, we could from time to time sally out to annoy
the Spaniards and satisfy ourselves. Our captain
further resolved to establish magazines besides those
we already had about Port Plenty, so that if one were
discovered we might have others to supply us.</p>
<p>To this end the <i>Pasha</i> was brought in through the
islands with great labour and much dangerous pilotage
within a few bowshots of the Main, and there moored
hard by a reasonable island, in such a place as even if
she were discovered, which was wellnigh impossible, so
shrouded was she by trees, no enemy could come at her
by night or even by day without great risk of falling
amongst shoals.</p>
<p>Our island contained some three acres of good flat
ground, which our captain next began to fortify, setting
out, after the best manner used in the wars, a triangular
fort made of timber and earth dug from the trench
about it. Harry having, as I have said, no little skill
in these matters was set over this work, Culverin being
quartermaster under him. The Sergeant therefore was
now in great spirits, for I think the ships, and still
more the pinnaces, were as little to his mind as ever.
His stiff back and large form could never accommodate
itself to the straight quarters and uneasy motion to
which he was condemned at sea. Now, it was a real
pleasure to see his gaunt figure striding once more
a-land, directing the Cimaroons, of whom another band
had joined us, as nicely as though he were entrenching
the Emperor's own camp.</p>
<p>'Sea wars I will never decry again,' said he, when I
went to give him joy, 'especially since Captain Drake
is of that profession; yet for dignity, honour, and
contemplation how can they compare to land wars?
Truly, the world lost much, sir, when Captain Drake
became a sailor.'</p>
<p>'Yet he is an indifferent good sea-captain, Sergeant,'
said I.</p>
<p>'Yes, sir; too good, greatly too good,' said Culverin.
'Few men, look you, have been born with such soldiership.
See, now, the care he bestows in fortifying his
camp, after the true manner of Julius Cæsar, and yet
he has never read a word of the <i>Commentaries</i>. It is
there he shows it. For, saving your wisdom, your true
soldiership is not valour, as many think. Valiant
blades we have in plenty in every land. Your great
soldier must know what to fear and when to fear,
and so guard himself. To fear valiantly is your
philosopher's stone of victory. Take that of me, sir.'</p>
<p>I think we were all of Sergeant Culverin's opinion,
except perhaps Mr. Oxenham. He was ever a reckless
man who could not fear anything, and so, as all men
know, was afterwards brought to his evil end on a Spanish
gallows. But the rest of us were glad to see what care
our general took that we should pass our five months in
safety, and above all the Cimaroons, who saw in our
preparations a sure token that we were resolved to stand
by them.</p>
<p>Nor did they leave us without testimony of their
satisfaction. It was like fairyland to see how a little
town built of Palmito boughs rose up as if by magic
upon our island, with fair houses for all our company;
and afterwards they so laboured at our fort that in two
weeks the ordnance and artillery were all in position
within it, and Frank was free to depart in search of
victuals and intelligence.</p>
<p>On the 7th of October he bid us farewell amidst a
merry burst from our music, and bore away for
Carthagena, leaving his brother John as governor of the fort
over those who were left behind. Both Harry and I
remained to assist him in governing the Cimaroons and
completing our works. Had we but known the sorrow
that was to come on us ere those two pinnaces returned,
I think our parting would have been less blithe. But
as it was we feared nothing; for our exploit at Nombre
de Dios and all that had followed, no less than the
constant report we had from the Cimaroons and our
prisoners of the terror we had created, had bred in us
a sort of reckless courage, as well as a laughing
contempt for our enemies, which made us think that no
attempt was too hard for us.</p>
<p>I cannot wonder at it or blame any for their
overweening confidence, seeing what our handful of
unknown mariners had done against the mighty power of
the King of Spain. Surely never had folly, for I hold
contempt of a brave enemy no less, a better excuse.
Would it had had a lighter punishment!</p>
<p>It was on this wise that it came about. At the Cativaas
Islands, some five leagues away from our fort, was a
frigate laden with planks. She was a prize Frank's
pinnaces had taken in the Rio Grande and left there
till she should be wanted. But in a storm she was
driven hard ashore and now lay disabled. Out of
tenderness for his ordnance and crew Frank ordered that our
first care should be to fetch away her timbers and planks,
to make platforms for the former and good huts for the
latter.</p>
<p>For the rains still continued. The island was a
slough of mire wherever we worked, and the bowers
which the Cimaroons made us hardly availed to keep
out the deluge of rain that fell every day. Therefore
as soon as Frank was gone we set about our work, John
Drake going himself to order the matter in the pinnace
called <i>Lion</i>. I went with him and about half a crew
besides.</p>
<p>It was the second afternoon after Frank's departure
that we were returning to our fort with a load of
planks, when we descried a deep-laden frigate making
for Nombre de Dios.</p>
<p>'Will you not attempt her, Captain John?' said one
of the men, a quartermaster called Allen.</p>
<p>'Not I,' says Jack; 'though nothing would be more
to my mind had we finished the work which our general
set us to do.'</p>
<p>'What matter of that?' cried Allen; 'it is but half
an hour's work to make her ours. A pretty prize she
will be for us, and I don't see why the rest should have
all the sport and we all the labour.'</p>
<p>'Well, it is just because the general so ordered it,'
says Jack. 'That is enough for me and enough for
you.'</p>
<p>'Nay, then,' said Allen, 'I know the general never
meant us to be forbidden fair booty. What say you,
lads?' and the men all said he was right, and that they
were for attempting the frigate.</p>
<p>'Then must you be mad,' cried Jack. 'You know
not how the frigate is provided, while you are sure we
are cumbered with planks and have no weapons.'</p>
<p>'We have a rapier,' objected Allen, 'and a visgee,
and a caliver, and that is enough for Englishmen against
any yellow-livered Dons.'</p>
<p>'But the rapier is broken, the visgee old and worn,
and the caliver all a-rust,' said Jack. 'I tell you you
are mad, and I will have no part with your madness.
The general's orders are straight, and I would not depart
from them were we twice as many, and twice as well
armed.'</p>
<p>But the men still murmured and continued to urge
him to it, till I wondered to see how he could resist
them, and loved him more than ever for his loyalty to
his brother's commands.</p>
<p>'Never mind, lads,' said Allen mockingly at last.
'We will go to the fort and wait till the general comes
back. He knows how to show Dons what dirt they are
under English feet, and he will make us amends when
he hears how our voyage was spoilt, because our captain
was afraid of a craft only three times his size.'</p>
<p>Poor Jack! That was more than he could endure.
It touched him in his one weak point, which Allen
knew well enough. He was a lion in courage, but yet
not brave enough to bear calmly any suspicion of
cowardice.</p>
<p>'What!' he roared. 'You dog! Dare you use me
so? Then, by yea and nay, you shall have your will,
and see who is afraid and who is not.'</p>
<p>'Oh, never mark him, Jack!' I said, wishing to
dissuade him from this wild attempt. 'Look not round at
every cur that barks! Who doubts your courage is an
ass!'</p>
<p>'No, Jasper, hold your peace,' cried poor Jack, more
furious than ever. 'Never shall they say to my brother
that their voyage is lost by my cowardice. They shall
run their heads into danger, but never shall they say
mine was not there first. Give me the rapier. Allen,
take you the visgee and stand by my side in the
forepart if you are a man. Robert shall take the caliver,
and Mr. Festing steer. And now, lads, overboard with
the planks or we shall never catch her.'</p>
<p>In a very short time the pinnace was clear, Jack
was standing in the forepart with the broken rapier,
and his pillow wrapped round his left hand for a warding
gauntlet, for there was no buckler in the boat, and Allen
stood by his side. We overhauled our chase very
quickly, and were soon but a few boat-lengths from her.
I could see she had taken measures to prevent our
boarding, and was doubtless well prepared.</p>
<p>'See, Jack,' I cried, 'she has close-fights all round
her bulwarks; we shall never board.'</p>
<p>'We shall board her or never another,' said he, with
set teeth. 'It is too late to turn now. What I take in
hand I carry through. Steady as she goes, and stand
by to board!'</p>
<p>In another moment we fell aboard of her. I saw
Jack and Allen leap up on her close-fights. Then
suddenly she was alive with belching flame. There
was a roar, a cloud of smoke, a flash of pikes, and
in the midst two bodies fell heavily back into the
pinnace.</p>
<p>'Shove off for your lives,' I cried, 'before they
grapple.' For I could see the frigate was swarming
with pikes and small shot.</p>
<p>Those in the forepart seized their oars, some thrusting
away from our enemies' side, while others swiped at
the faces of those who were trying to grapple or stay
our purpose with their long pikes and halberds.
Amongst these I saw Jack rise painfully and work with
a will. Once I saw a pike levelled straight at Allen as
he too was shoving off, in spite of an awful wound in
his head. I made sure he was gone, but Jack dashed
his oar into the pikeman's face and fell backwards
fainting with the effort.</p>
<p>By good luck at that moment we fell free, and a few
lusty strokes fetched us clear. With all our force we
rowed out of danger of her small shot; but they neither
saluted us again nor made anything of their triumph,
believing, as I think, it was best not to tempt us to
return.</p>
<p>'Tell Frank how it was, lad,' said Jack, as I laid him
down in the stern all covered with blood, and he opened
his eyes.</p>
<p>'Nay, lad,' said I, 'you shall tell him yourself.'</p>
<p>'No, never, Jasper,' murmured he; 'my time is come.
God has judged me for disobeying Frank's words; he
always knew best. But Allen maddened me. Poor
fellow! he is sore hurt. See to him, Jasper. 'Tis a
brave heart.'</p>
<p>'First I must see to you,' I said, 'and mend your
hurt a bit.'</p>
<p>''Tis no good,' he said, more faintly still. 'Mine is
past mending. I feel it. What will Frank say of me?
Would my death had come any way but this! Yet
they will not call me coward again, will they, Jasper?'</p>
<p>His voice grew weaker and weaker, and a deadly
pallor overspread his face.</p>
<p>'Tell father how it was I disobeyed Frank,' he went
on, with long spaces between the words. 'He will
forgive me. He knows it always maddened me to be
called coward. But what will Frank say? what will
Frank say?'</p>
<p>Again he urged me to go to the others and see if I
could not remedy the evil his disobedience had brought
on the company. I found Allen at death's door, cursing
himself with his last breath for what he had brought on
his valiant captain. Two or three others were hurt, but
not grievously; and as soon as I had tended them a
little I went again to Jack's side. I could see death
written on his face, and gave him some wine to revive
him.</p>
<p>'Tell Frank how I grieved for my folly,' he said,
speaking with great difficulty. 'And tell Joe never to
swerve a hairsbreadth from the course Frank marks.
And ask him to forgive me. And, Jasper, say a prayer
for me; not for superstition, lad, but just for comfort's
sake.'</p>
<p>I had not prayed since that terrible night at the inn,
which now seemed so long ago and so far away. Yet I
could not refuse. So I knelt down, and all the mariners
did likewise, uncovering respectfully. I prayed, as well
as I could recall it, the prayer I heard on the old
preacher's lips at my father's funeral, and repeated the
beautiful words of his text, which I remembered so
well.</p>
<p>'Now sing a psalm,' said the dying man; 'just for
comfort's sake—for comfort's sake.'</p>
<p>So on that still and lonely tropic sea we raised with
our rough voices a homely English hymn, to the deep
diapason of the booming surf sounding outside the
islands. As we ended he smiled, and I saw his lips
moved. I leaned down to hear what he said.</p>
<p>'Frank will forgive me,' the low murmur said, 'when
you tell him how it was. He was always good to us,
Frank was, and always knew best. He will understand.
Frank always underst——'</p>
<p>So his murmur ceased; and that brave youth, my
friend, passed peacefully away as the sun went down.
And within an hour Allen's soul followed his captain's.</p>
<p>Next day we buried them both on the island, thinking
much of the high hopes we had of our governor's
greatness had he lived, and deeply lamenting the cheerful,
steadfast spirit that was gone from amongst us. As
for the simple Cimaroons, they were beside themselves
with grief, and would have performed strange idolatrous
ceremonies about his grave had we suffered it, but the
sailors would not let them go near, save once a day to
cover it with fresh flowers. This was their only comfort,
save a sure hope that, now his brother was killed, Frank
would be no longer content with gold, but would want
to 'wash his elbows' in Spanish blood.</p>
<p><br/><br/><br/></p>
<p><SPAN name="chap21"></SPAN></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />