The Golden Galleon Part 29

But he had not counted upon Timothy Trollope's powers of swimming. For some moments Timothy thought to strike out for the sh.o.r.e, and gripping Gilbert with his one arm and bidding him be calm, he manfully breasted the swelling waves. Swimming to the leeward of one of the galleons he presently saw an empty boat lying at her side. He swam towards it and got hold of its gunwale, helping Gilbert to do likewise. Then, while Gilbert held on, Timothy climbed over her stern, and kneeling upon one of the thwarts hauled his companion on board.

"'Twas Philip Oglander that did it," said he, wringing the water out of Gilbert's ragged clothing. "I saw him put forth his foot and trip thee.

I have seen all along that he hath had designs against thee, Master Gilbert--I mean, my lord--"

"Nay, keep to the Gilbert, Tim," interrupted Gilbert. "As to this matter of my falling overboard, well, I can e'en believe as you say, nevertheless we might easily have been in a worse case than we are now.

For, look you, there is a ladder up the ship's side at your elbow, and it were easy enough to get on board of her."

"It were equally easy to cut the boat's painter and make for the sh.o.r.e,"

said Tim.

"But there be no oars aboard," returned Gilbert.

"Wherefore need we concern ourselves about oars?" asked Timothy. "I will adventure it however it be." And he felt for his knife. A look of sudden despair came into his face. "Alas!" he added, "I had forgotten that the Dons had deprived us of our weapons!"

He stepped to the boat's bow, and was about to try to untie the knot of her painter when a voice greeted him from above, and a Spaniard with very furious curled moustachios appeared in the opening of the gangway.

To escape now with the boat was impossible, and the two boys yielded themselves up as prisoners, explaining as best they could the accident that had brought them there.

The Spaniards appeared to regard the matter with indolent indifference, saying that the lads should be sent back on board the flag-ship on the morrow. In the meantime Gilbert and Timothy were permitted to sit in the warm sunlight to dry their clothes on the upper deck, and no more notice was taken of them until late in the evening, when one of the galleon's boys gave them each an onion. They slept under the lee of one of the big guns, and in the morning the same ship's-boy brought them a tin dish of bean soup, indicating by signs that they were to share it between them.

On the afternoon of that same day some officers from one of the other galleons came on board, and with them was one Maurice Fitz John, of Desmond, a forlorn-looking Irish traitor who, because he could speak English, had been sent to speak with the English prisoners in each ship and to persuade them to serve the King of Spain. He had not expected to find any on board this particular galleon--the _Santa Maria_, as she was named,--but discovering Gilbert and Timothy, he accosted them, believing them to be very humble seamen. He besought them to take arms in King Philip's legion, using very subtle arguments. They would have three times the amount of pay that they could get on an English ship, he said, and he promised them such advancement as he thought would tempt any young men who were, as these were, ship-broken and half-starved and ill-clothed, and if they would be good Catholics the safety of their souls should be a.s.sured.

Timothy Trollope noticed that the man was himself but ill-apparelled, and reflected that such beggarly appearance was in itself a sufficient answer to the argument of rich pay. As for the notion of changing their religion, it was as repulsive to both Tim and Gilbert as that of deserting their Queen.

"Well, well," said the Irishman, when, having used up all his eloquence in his pleadings, he turned to go, "an ye will not see the advantage of what is offered ye, 'tis no concern of mine. 'Tis yourselves that will suffer for your obstinacy. But I doubt not that a few years of work at the oars of His Majesty's galleys will bring ye to better reason." And with that he departed.

For many days thereafter Gilbert and Timothy led a very weary, uncomfortable life. In return for their food and such shelter as was given to them, they were made to do much dirty and distasteful work.

They were never permitted to go on sh.o.r.e, yet they were free from the restraint of chains--a dispensation for which they were thankful.

Gradually their wounds healed, and they regained strength with such speed, that when at last the full number of the treasure-ships had arrived and the fleet was ready to sail for Spain, they were almost as well in health as they had been on the day before the battle.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE GREAT CYCLONE.

It was on the last day of September that the combined fleets--to the number of a hundred and forty ships--weighed anchor and set sail. The sky was dark and threatening as they left Terceira, and they had not well got out of sight of the island when a most terrible storm arose.

The sea was suddenly whipped up into great mountainous waves, the wind, which seemed to come from all quarters at once, howled and shrieked like a thousand furies. The vast fleet was dispersed, each galleon being left to take care of itself. Some tried to put back to Terceira, others endeavoured to make for the island of St. Michael's. The whole sea between these two islands was dotted over with struggling ships. It was such a storm as comes only once in a hundred years, and its effects were terrible. Out of the hundred and forty galleons no more than three-and-thirty ever arrived in Spain and Portugal. All the rest were cast upon the rocky ribs of the islands or were overwhelmed in the sea.

It was off the island of Terceira that the _Revenge_--or what remained of her--came to her end. She had been taken out in tow by the _San Andrea_ galleon, but when the tempest rose to its height she was cast off and abandoned to her fate. Driven by the tremendous waves upon the outlying rocks, she was shattered to splinters, so that not a trace of her remained but a few balks of her stout oaken timbers that drifted as flotsam to the beach. There had been seventy men on board of her, many of them Spaniards, some few of them captive Englishmen. Among the latter were Jacob Hartop and Edward Webbe. Only one man reached the island alive, and he, being sorely hurt, had but time to tell his tale to the islanders and be shriven before he died.

Roland Grenville, who had been drafted on board the _San Andrea_, was the only one of our friends who was not shipwrecked. He was taken to Lisbon, where, after having endured great privations in prison (whereof much might be told), he fell in with the gallant Captain Monson, escaped to Cadiz, was again imprisoned, and finally rescued by the Earl of Ess.e.x on the occasion of the famous expedition against that Spanish stronghold.

For three days the _Santa Maria_ was buffeted about in the storm. From her watery decks Gilbert Oglander and Timothy Trollope saw many a galleon go down, and not only such galleons as had been of Don Alonzo De Ba.s.san's fleet, but many others of the treasure-ships, which took with them to the bottom their wealthy cargoes of silver and gold. On the morning of the fourth day, when the tempest was at its height, she fell in with the flag-ship, whose foremast was gone by the board, and whose sails were but so many ragged ribbons flying from her yards. Her rudder was gone, and she was helpless. Nor was the _Santa Maria_ in any better case, for only her main-mast was standing, and the great waves washed over her, threatening to swamp her at every moment. The two ships came close together, and their white-faced and frightened seamen could see each other's faces from deck to deck. They drew apart when the deeper darkness of night came on, but in the morning they were again within sight, beating about in the perilous channel between the islands of St.

George and Graciosa.

There was a slight lull in the storm in the afternoon, and the commander of the _Santa Maria_ thought he might succeed in gaining some shelter under the lee of the island of Graciosa. He had his ship put about, and approaching the _St. Paul_ attempted to cross her bows, but a sudden change in the wind drove him to leeward, and before anyone on board realized their peril the two vessels crashed together with fearful force. So great was the impact that Don Alonzo's galleon heeled over until her larboard bulwarks were for a moment under water. But she righted herself again and sailed on, leaving many of her men who had been upon her open decks floundering in the sea. Among these was Philip Oglander.

Philip was a good swimmer, and when he rose to the surface he struck out, shook the water from his dripping hair, and looked around. His own ship was now drawing away, forced onward by the storm. He turned and saw the high bows of the _Santa Maria_ towering above him, with her timbers broken and wrecked, and the water pouring into the yawning gap. The galleon plunged forward, staggered, rolled, then plunged forward again with her bow buried deep in a sea of foam. She did not lift herself now, but first her forward part sank lower and lower, the waves swept over her, seeming to rejoice in their conquest, and presently, with a great gurgling sound, the vessel disappeared.

Gilbert and Timothy had been on her mid-deck when the two ships crashed together. They were standing abaft her thick main-mast, with their arms linked. Timothy, watching the ship's onward course and noting the position of the flag-ship, had foreseen the collision.

"Look you," said he, gripping Gilbert's arm more tightly, "we shall strike her. Be ready, master; and if we should founder, cling to me, I implore you." And then, even as he spoke, the two ships crashed together, and the lads were thrown off their feet. Timothy flung his arms around Gilbert and held him. They lay there waiting. They felt the deck trembling beneath them, swaying to and fro.

"We are sinking!" cried Timothy. And for many moments--moments that seemed like hours of suspense--he was silent. Suddenly there was a great breaking of timber. He saw the white foam leaping up over the steep incline of the deck. The tall main-mast swayed over and fell with a crash that was like a crack of thunder. And then all was dark, and he felt himself being drawn below in the vortex with the sinking ship.

Still clinging to his companion, he opened his eyes. The water was all black about him. He moved his legs, trying to force himself upward.

Soon he began to rise; the darkness became less dense, it grew from black to dark green, and then to a lighter green, and at last the daylight burst once more upon him. Striking out with his one free arm he kept himself afloat, then disengaged himself from Gilbert and took a fresh hold of the lad, keeping his head up above the water. Gilbert's eyes greeted him with recognition.

"Hold on, hold on to me!" cried Timothy, as a great wave swept over them, carrying with it a huge spar of wreckage.

The spar threatened to fall down upon Gilbert's head, but the waves kept it buoyant. Timothy stretched forth his arm and gripped some floating cordage, and presently drew himself towards the drifting spar, which he found to be the galleon's main-mast.

"Lay hold on't!" he cried. And Gilbert, releasing his grip of Timothy's belt, put his hand upon the mast, and, with infinite trouble and after many failures, at last succeeded in climbing up and getting astride of it, while Timothy, working his way along to its end, also climbed up.

When they were both together again in comparative safety, they looked about them in the hope of saving some of the Spaniards.

"There is one!" cried Gilbert, as he saw a woolly black head appear within a couple of yards of him. "'Tis Jose, the blackamoor."

And Timothy stretched forth his leg for the negro, who speedily caught it and clambered up. A second and a third man appeared, but both were too far off to be helped, and as neither could swim they were quickly lost to sight.

It was at this juncture that Philip Oglander, swimming about in search of some wreckage by which he might hope to save himself, caught sight of the negro Jose. Timothy and Gilbert had their backs to him; he only saw that they were human figures, and that they were for the time being on a secure refuge. Swimming towards Jose, he at last attracted the negro's attention. The noise of the wind and waves was too great for a voice to be heard, and he climbed upon the floating mast without either Gilbert or Timothy's knowledge. It was, indeed, as much as any one of them could do to retain his balance and keep himself from being washed off, for the ponderous log upon which they rested rolled heavily upon the waves, and at times either plunged into them or was itself by them thrown upward into the air, and those who rode upon it might better have been upon a mad horse, so difficult was it to keep a seat. Cold and hungry and pale with the terror of their situation, the boys clung tightly with legs and arms, hoping only that G.o.d would bring them out of their peril.

The night came on and darkness deepened their distresses. Timothy, who was in front of Gilbert, had not thus far dared to turn round and face him, but he had worked his way backward so that Gilbert might cling to him, and the while the boy's hand touched him he was comforted. In the darkness of the night Gilbert heard what he thought was a human cry--as in truth it was,--and putting his lips to Timothy's ear he called out:

"He hath fallen off! Jose hath fallen off!"

But later he felt that someone was moving behind him, and again he spoke to Timothy.

"Nay, I mistook," said he; "he is still with us."

Timothy made no response, satisfied only that his companion was able to take even so much interest in anything apart from the thought of his own immediate danger.

The storm subsided somewhat during the early morning. The spar floated more easily, and when a faint streak of gray light appeared in the eastern sky, Timothy ventured to alter his position and bring himself round face to face with Gilbert. Glancing over Gilbert's shoulder, he saw that the negro--or what he supposed to be the figure of the negro--was still there, lying with his head upon his hands, and his hands gripping a strand of thick rope that was coiled about the mast. As the light grew stronger, however, he was astonished to notice that those hands were not black, and that where he had expected to see a head of woolly black hair there was a head whose hair was long and straight.

Further scrutiny revealed to him the fact that through a long rent in their companion's jerkin there was a gleam of white skin. He waited until the coming daylight should enable him to discover more of this mystery, and as yet he said nothing to Gilbert.

At last the dawn broke, and with its coming Timothy saw the pale haggard face of Philip Oglander turned towards him, with the dark hollow eyes gleaming in startled recognition.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE WRITING IN THE BOOK.

Gilbert saw the sudden change that had come into Timothy's countenance, but he paid little heed to it, for his own attention had been attracted by something else, something that the light of dawn had disclosed upon the sea not a cable's length away from where he and his two companions were floating about on that log of the lost galleon's mast.