With Drake on the Spanish Main Part 10

Day followed day uneventfully. Dennis made a still more thorough exploration of the island in Turnpenny's company, and had his eyes opened to many things which had formerly escaped him. Pa.s.sing the spot where he had saved Mirandola from the boa constrictor, he mentioned the incident, and remarked that he had seen no other reptiles in the course of his wanderings.

"'Tis because you knew not where to look," said Turnpenny. "The snakes in this new world be cunning; 'wise as serpents,' says the Scripture, and a true word. They dress their skins so as to look like the trees they live in; 'twould puzzle Solomon himself in all his wisdom and glory to say which is tree and which is the coil of a snake."

And as they pa.s.sed through the thickest woods, which Dennis had prudently refrained from entering, the sailor drew his attention more than once to snakes of various kinds whose coils were almost indistinguishable from the trunks of trees.

Once he plucked some fruit from a kind of palm, and, pressing it, squeezed out a juice as black as ink.

"That is a good sight," cried Dennis gladly. "I found in the cabin of the _Maid Marian_ a store of paper and quills, but the ink was all spilled, and I had nothing wherewithal to write. So I have lost count of the days, and know not whether I have been on this isle weeks or months. Now I can make a journal."

"Not so neither! This juice is good to write withal, but the marks disappear within the ninth day, and the paper is as white as if it had never been written on. 'Tis no matter, indeed; we should be none the happier for seeing the tale of our days."

One day Dennis showed Turnpenny the cave in the cliff, which hitherto he had refrained from revealing. The sailor attentively examined the trinkets which Dennis had found on the floor beside the skeleton and carefully collected. He p.r.o.nounced them to be such ornaments as were worn by the natives of the mainland, and made no doubt that the skeleton was that of some Indian or maroon done to death by brutal persecutors.

Dennis got him to continue the story of his life, never yet resumed since his first night on the island. He had been sent, he said, among a gang of prisoners from St. John d'Ulua to Cartagena and thence to a place on the coast somewhat south of Cartagena, where the governor had a pearl fishery. It was defended by a fort, garrisoned by some fifty Spaniards. Expecting reprisals from Hawkins for the treacherous treatment he had received, the governor had ordered the fort to be strengthened, and dispatched several of his able-bodied prisoners to a.s.sist in the work.

"And I think of my dear comrades rotting in the dungeons of Porto Aguila--for so 'tis named. There was Ned Whiddon, and Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and a dozen more, and for all I know they are there even now, toiling all day, with many stripes from the villanous whips, and groaning all night in most foul and noisome dungeons. Ah! the tales I could tell would make your skin creep and your hair to stand on end.

Why, what think 'ee they do if the tale of work seem to them not sufficient? They tie the poor wretch to a tree, and take thorns of the p.r.i.c.kle palm, and put them into little pellets of cotton dipped in oil, and stick them in the side of the miserable captive, as thick as the bristles of a hedgehog. This alone causes a most fierce torment, but they are not content therewith. They set the oiled cotton afire, and call on the poor wretch, with loud despitous laughs, to sing in the midst of his torment, and if he cries out in the agony of pain they out upon him for a base miserable coward and villain. With my own eyes I have seen the foul deed, and many more which it is shame to tell of."

"How came it that you got aloose?" asked Dennis.

"Why, it happened in this wise. The treasure of pearls fished up from the sea-bottom at that place was wont to be conveyed to Cartagena every month by s.h.i.+p. One day the vessel sent with this intent came into the port wonderfully battered by a storm, the which had nigh stripped her of all rigging and had moreover washed half her crew overboard. The garrison at the fort being soldiers, and there being no other mariners at hand, the Spanish captain moreover being fearful of the governor's wrath if the treasure should be delayed, he sent half a dozen or more of his slaves, French and English, aboard that vessel to work her back to the capital city. My heart! I well nigh wept for joy when I heard what was in store, for I bethought myself that of a surety we mariners, French and English, might seize upon that vessel on the voyage and sail her at our pleasure. But it was as if the knave had seen to the very heart of my intent, for when we mounted on s.h.i.+p-board, there were Spanish soldiers set over us, two for one, and with the Spanish crew they were as three to one, and they armed. My device was come to naught. We did each man his best to lengthen out that voyage, if perchance we might fall in with an English vessel and acquaint them with our case; but never a sail did we see till we made the harbour of Cartagena, and all our hopes were dashed.

"Then it came to pa.s.s that, being a handy man and a stout, I was sold for money to the master and owner of a s.h.i.+p employed in the traffic of timber--that same vessel that lies a fathom deep yonder. At sea I was a mariner; ash.o.r.e, being stout of the arms, I was made to ply an axe on the trees, as you yourself saw. 'Tis three year or more since I fell prisoner at St. John d'Ulua, and six months since I last set eyes on my comrades at Porto Aguila, and I fear me I shall never see them more."

"Why think you they be even now there?"

"Why, sir, because the Spaniards be all knaves, and there is no truth nor faithfulness in them, not one. The Captain of that place was the Governor of Cartagena his own son. A son, one med think, would be loving and obedient unto his father, but 'tis not so among these dogs of Spain. Why, body o' me! in the stead of doing diligently the thing his father commanded, this young roisterer must needs build him a house, and thereto he used the labourers sent him with intent to strengthen the fort, and when I came from that place the house was got but a little above the ground, and was not like to be finished for a full year."

"Might not other labourers be hired from Cartagena?"

"I trow not. The Spaniards are so scared and daunted by the descents of venturers' s.h.i.+ps upon their coasts that they are looking to their fortresses throughout the Spanish Main. By long and large 'tis more like the prisoners will be conveyed back to Cartagena for to build new forts there. But this will not be yet, for the Governor of Cartagena holds the pearl-fishery in dear affection, and he will not bring the men thence until he has a.s.surance that all is done as he commanded.

No, truly, I believe they be still at Porto Aguila, my dear mate-fellows, and though I praise G.o.d for His infinite goodness and mercy in bringing me safe into this haven and out of the hands of those wicked men, I mourn in my heart for Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and Ned Whiddon, and other my comrades; G.o.d save them!"

Many a time in the succeeding days did Amos relate incidents in the life of the prisoners at Porto Aguila that made Dennis's blood run cold. He now began to understand the deep and fierce hatred of the Spaniards that filled the hearts of adventurers who had returned from expeditions to the American coast. The same consuming desire for humbling and punis.h.i.+ng the proud Spaniards burnt in his veins, and he chafed at the idleness to which he was enforced on this remote island.

Meanwhile the other inhabitants of Maiden Isle were living what appeared to be a contented life. With abundance of food, and nothing to do, the maroons enjoyed, as Dennis thought, conditions that answered to their idea of bliss. He was therefore a little surprised one day to hear the unwonted sound of wood-felling, and to find, when he came to the spot, four of the men plying their axes l.u.s.tily upon a huge cedar.

They desisted when he approached, with something of a guilty air that puzzled him. They had shown themselves very amiable companions, grateful for their rescue from their taskmasters. He could only suppose that even they had begun to weary of idleness, and had resorted to their former occupation of log-cutting from no other motive than the desire to kill time.

But Turnpenny shook his head when Dennis suggested this explanation.

"It do seem to me there be another meaning in it, sir. 'Tis their intent, a' b'lieve, to make unto themselves a canow."

"But they have no skill to do it, nor fit implements, Amos."

"Bless your eyes, sir, you do not know them. Wait a while, and if that be not their purpose, never trust Haymoss Turnpenny."

Letting a few days pa.s.s, Dennis went again one morning with the sailor to the scene of the tree-felling. The huge trunk had already begun to take shape as a canoe at least twenty-five feet long. The men were diligently working at it, some with axes, others with fire. Its interior had been partly hollowed out, the wood and pith burnt away, and the charred sides sc.r.a.ped with the hatchets. It was clear that within a few days the tree would become a vessel which, whether navigable or not, would certainly float.

"'Tis a pretty piece of work," said Dennis to Turnpenny. "Ask them whereto they design it."

Turnpenny spoke a few words in Spanish. The answer was surprising.

One of the maroons, a man whom the others seemed to have elected as their leader, threw down his hatchet and fell on his knees. Then, in a strange jargon which the sailor had much ado to understand, he gave voice to the sentiments and aspirations of himself and his comrades.

They were sick of solitude. They had homes upon the mainland; and yearned to see again their relatives and comrades, to return to their settlement, to share in its life, to seek opportunities of revenging themselves on their oppressors. And so they were making this canoe, in which they would sail over the sea. They were not ungrateful for the kindnesses showered upon them by the white men; indeed, to show their grat.i.tude, they would take them with them, having first killed the two prisoners. Their spokesman on his knees besought the white men to yield to their desire, and come with them. They would supply all their needs, and follow them with all obedience, if they would lead them against the Spaniards.

"Tell him to get up," said Dennis. "This is a matter we must think upon."

Dennis and Turnpenny held by and by a serious consultation. They felt that they were in a somewhat awkward predicament. The maroons' desire to regain their friends was natural and reasonable, but their departure would deprive the white men of valuable allies. And what of the two prisoners? Turnpenny would not have hesitated to kill them, but Dennis shrank from that course. They might allow the maroons to carry them off; but then the Spaniards would either be butchered as soon as the canoe was out of reach, or they would probably be held as hostages and exchanged for natives held captive by the Spaniards on the mainland.

In that case they would certainly report the presence of two white men on the island and the a.s.sault upon the lumber boat; a search party would be the result, and Dennis and his companion would be slaughtered or carried away into slavery. On the other hand, if the maroons were allowed to depart, leaving the prisoners on the island, the burden of keeping watch over them would prove a constant source of anxiety.

"The canoe is all but finished," said Dennis. "We must let them finish it. To forbid them, poor knaves, would be cruel."

"And vain, to boot," said Turnpenny, "for if we took their axes from them, they would use bits of sharp rock. The Indians have hollowed out such canows with instruments of flint from the beginning of the world."

"We must let them go, then. For ourselves, I see not at present our course; but we can provide against the worst hap by conveying our stores, secretly and by night, to Skeleton Cave; 'tis a good hiding-place, not like to be easily discovered, and we know not what necessity may drive us to make it our habitation."

The transfer of the stores occupied two nights. Mirandola accompanied the two men as they went to and fro between the sheds and the cave, clinging so closely to them that it seemed as if he had some intuition of changes to come.

"By my soul," said Turnpenny with a laugh, "he be as faithful as a dog."

"And whatever may chance, we will not leave you, Mirandola," said Dennis. "Shall I forget the days when you were the only friend of my solitude? Would you could speak, for a.s.suredly I would ask your counsel on this pa.s.s to which we are come."

They went daily to the clearing to watch the progress of the canoe. As yet they had given no answer to the maroons; but these were working very diligently at the task, having apparently inferred from the silence of the white men that at least nothing would be done to prevent their making use of the vessel. Dennis and Turnpenny talked over the situation again and again; but their thoughts followed the same weary round. At one moment they were almost resolved to throw in their lot with the maroons and voyage with them to the mainland; the next they shrank from this course as throwing away what seemed their only chance of ultimate rescue--the chance of being found some day by an English vessel.

The problem weighed more heavily on Dennis than on Turnpenny. Compared with his former sufferings, it was to the sailor a slight matter.

Dennis, lying sleepless at night, envied his friend the soundness of his slumbers. The mariner snored as peacefully on his canvas couch in the corner of the hut as though he were on a feather bed at home. To Dennis the hours of darkness pa.s.sed wearisomely. He thought of all that had happened since he sailed with light heart from Plymouth Sound, and wondered sometimes whether his comrades had not perchance been happier in meeting swift death in the storm. Then he upbraided himself for his ingrat.i.tude to the Providence which had preserved his life and health, and given him the companions.h.i.+p of a fellow countryman. He contrasted, too, his lot with that of Turnpenny's mates on the mainland, dragging out a miserable existence of slavish toil. He recalled the sailor's stories of the tortures they endured--and then suddenly, one night, there flashed upon his mind a possibility which, in his preoccupation with his own plight, had never yet occurred to him. The maroons would shortly leave the island; had Providence arranged this as an opportunity for helping the hapless Englishmen in the Spaniards' power? If Turnpenny and he should accompany the black men, might they not find, at some time or other, a means of rescuing the prisoners--Ned Whiddon, Hugh Curder, Tom Copstone, and the rest?

The idea set Dennis throbbing with a new hope, a new aim. Slaves sometimes escaped; the maroons themselves were the offspring of negroes who had made off from the Spanish settlements and formed alliances with the native Indians of the woods. Their communities were constantly being recruited: what if the sailor and he should cast in their lot temporarily with the men about to embark, and watch for opportunities of communicating with the distressed Englishmen! Even if they never found a means of reaching home, it would still be something to the good if their comrades were got out of the hands of their oppressors. At the worst they might form a settlement of their own, and live free, though in exile.

The idea took complete possession of Dennis. He felt no desire to sleep. For a moment he was tempted to wake Turnpenny and put the question to him; instead, he got up, and stole quietly from the hut, to think it over more fully under the open sky. He walked down to the sh.o.r.e, and, sitting on a rock, looked over the sea and pondered the matter to the soft accompaniment of the was.h.i.+ng tide.

It was clear that the Spaniards of the mainland had no suspicion that the island was inhabited, or they would long since have visited it.

They might be off their guard. From what Turnpenny had told him he knew the indolence of their temperament--the unlikelihood of their taking precautions against problematical dangers. Unless directly threatened by the vessels of adventurers like Hawkins and Drake, they might be expected to ply their trade--manage their pearl fisheries, work their mines--without great vigilance. True, they had recently set about strengthening their defences; but probably the season of panic had pa.s.sed; it was years since Hawkins had troubled them. It had already been proved what a determined few could do; if he, with Turnpenny and the six maroons, could safely reach the mainland, might they not bide their time until, Fortune a.s.sisting them, they found some means of bringing off the prisoners, or at least of striking a blow in their cause? Surely it was better to make the attempt than to rust in idleness on the island, waiting on a chance that might perhaps never come, and always exposed to the risk of discovery by the Spaniards.

The more Dennis thought, the more his imagination was captivated by the idea, and when he at last returned to the hut he was resolved to broach the subject to Turnpenny as soon as he should wake.

As he came to the entrance the sailor's voice hailed him.

"Be that you, sir?"

"Yes. I could not sleep, and went for a walk on the sh.o.r.e."

"I had but just waked, all of a sweat, and shaking like a leaf."

"Why, what ailed you?"

"A dream, sir. Do 'ee believe as dreams come true? My old grandam was wont to say they go by contraries; dream of a weddin', she would say, sure there would be a funeral. And she was a wise woman; ay, sure."

"I know not, Amos. We read in Scripture of dreams that most wondrously came true. 'Twas in a dream that Solomon asked of G.o.d an understanding heart, the which was promised to him with riches, and honour, and length of days; and Solomon lived long in the land, and became the richest and wisest of kings. Scripture was written for our instruction, Amos, and I would liever believe in Holy Writ than in the old wives' tales of a score of grandams. But what then was your dream?"