The next employment Davis found was to join the Earl of Cumberland's squadron in the Drake off the Azores, where he probably met Edward Wright, an eminent mathematician and cosmographer, who had gone to sea to observe the practical working of problems in nautical astronomy. Davis himself had invented an instrument for observing the stars, so these two had much to discuss in common.
It was on this voyage that the English crews suffered so much from want of water, which was very scarce on the islands. The natives on Graciosa, on being asked for water, replied that they would rather give two tons of wine than one of water. They came home with thirteen prizes, and the money Davis received as his share enabled him to go on an expedition more to his taste; for he loved peaceful knowledge better than fighting. His scheme was to go through Magellan's Straits, to navigate the South Sea, and discover the North-west Passage from the western side.
Magellan, a Portuguese navigator, had only discovered the strait called by his name seventy years before; it was in 1520 that Magellan first sailed in and found very deep water. As he passed along, winding to and fro, he saw so many fires at night lighting up the woods and rocks on the southern side of the strait, that he named the land "Tierra del Fuego." A snowy peak far to the south he named "Campana de Roldan," "Roldan's bell"; they were short of provisions, and the crew murmured and wished to return, but Magellan, a stern disciplinarian and feared by his men, swore they should eat the chafing-mats on the rigging rather than return. After thirty-seven days of sailing through winding reaches that seemed to lead nowhere, and that stretched a hundred leagues and more, they came out into the South Pacific; then boldly striking across the ocean to the islands of the far East, Magellan met his fate at the hands of ruthless savages.
In 1522 Sebastian del Cano, a Basque born on the shores of the Bay of Biscay, returned to Seville after having been the first to sail round the world. In 1525 he sailed again from Corunna and passed through the Straits of Magellan, but died at sea shortly after.
The Spanish Governor of Chili, de Mendoza, fitted out two vessels in 1557 and sent Ladrilleros to explore the straits; this he did under most appalling hardships; most of his crew died of hunger and cold, and he brought his ship back to Chili with only two survivors to help him. There were Spanish heroes in those days as now. Then came Drake, sailing from Plymouth in November 1577 in the Golden Hind, and finding Magellan's account of the straits true as to the good harbours, many islands, and plenty of fresh water, but meeting many violent gales and storms. He was only sixteen days in the straits, and then sailed far up the western coast of America up to the 48th degree, where the hills were covered with snow in June—he was the second to sail round the globe. From Drake's voyage it was, perhaps, that Davis believed in the possibility of going northwards till he found an opening on the north-west coast.
In 1586 Cavendish started with three vessels and passed through the Straits of Magellan and completed the third navigation of the globe.
Chudleigh, another Devon man, was fired by these exploits to do likewise, and sailed in 1589 with three ships through the Magellan Straits, where he died. Prince says: "He did not live long enough to accomplish his generous designs, dying young; although he lived long enough to exhaust a vast estate."
All these voyages Davis must have carefully studied with his friends, Sir Walter Raleigh and Adrian Gilbert; the latter of whom joined with him in the ownership of a ship, the Dainty, and the former helped by ideas, plans, and subscriptions.
John Davis did not go on this quest to get riches, but solely to get knowledge; many men thought him a fool, and jeered when he came back disappointed, but the best men knew his high ambition to be the worthiest. Perhaps his wife grudged the large stake which he was risking in this adventure; she and her boys seemed to come only second in his thoughts.
Cavendish went as general on board the Leicester, and owned the Desire, the ship in which he had sailed round the world; but Cavendish cared mostly for rich prizes.
John Jones, an old and beloved shipmate, accompanied Davis in the Desire, 120 tons, and proved a friend in need. The Dainty was commanded by Captain Cotton, a friend of the Devon group.
The few weeks that Davis spent at home in the summer of 1591 were his last happy days at Sandridge; but he cheered up his wife with thoughts of great discoveries and fame and royal favour.
In February a severe storm separated the fleet off the river Plate and Buenos Ayres, and as Cavendish had not appointed any spot for meeting, they were some time before they discovered one another in Port Desire. When they did meet, Davis found the Roebuck seriously damaged, and heard that the Dainty, his own ship, had deserted and gone home. This was the first bitter disappointment, for it was in the Dainty that Davis had intended to go on with his explorations northward.
There were some who suggested that Cavendish wished to knock on the head Davis's nonsense about Arctic exploring, and they asserted that Cavendish had told the crew of the Dainty that he wanted them to go into the river Plate, but that afterwards they might return home with all his heart.
Cavendish abandoned his ship, the Leicester, because he complained that "he was matched with the most abject-minded and mutinous company that ever was carried out of England by man living, for they never ceased to mutiny against him." So he remained on board the Desire as the guest of Captain Davis.
Port Desire, a good many miles north of the Straits of Magellan, was a very dreary spot to rest in; steep white cliffs stained by running water stretched for two miles across the bay; the soil inland was poor, and water was scarce. The only thing the sailors could find was a sweet-smelling herb which protected them from scurvy. Nine miles to the south was Penguin Island, the home of many seals.
On the 20th of March they started again, and reached the straits on the 8th of April. At first the view is desolate and bare, but as you pass the two narrows and enter the long reach, which runs north and south for a hundred miles, the hills become thickly wooded with winter's bark and an evergreen beech, most of them draped in moss and set deep in arbutus and berberis. High mountains capped with snow stand up to the south, while humming-birds skimmed the trailing fuchsias.
As they reached the dark frowning rock called Cape Froward, a wintry gale met them, snowstorms burst upon them, and their only food was mussels and limpets; they had to anchor for shelter in a little bay for more than a month.
Anthony Knivet, one of the crew of the Leicester, thus described the intense cold: "When I came on board with wet feet and began pulling off my stockings, the toes came off with them: 'tis true! and a shipmate of mine, Harris by name, lost his nose entirely; for, as he was going to blow it with his fingers, he cast it incontinently into the fire."
Cavendish now wanted to go back, but Davis assured him the snowstorms would end, and all would be well, if only they would persevere. "Then we will go back to the Brazilian coast," said Cavendish, "and obtain supplies."
So they sailed back through the straits, Cavendish having returned to his own ship. At Cape Famine Cavendish landed all the sick from the Leicester, and left them to starve from damp, cold, and hunger.
For the second time Cavendish disappeared in the night without making any signal; this time he landed his sick on a hot beach under a tropical sun, and there abandoned them.
Cavendish sailed for England, but died on the way.
In his will he accused Davis of deserting him; but the facts seem to put the blame for desertion on his own shoulders; or it is possible that each of these men was waiting for the other, each believing that the other had deserted him. And our verdict on Cavendish should be modified by the state of his health, which was evidently broken by anxiety and fear of mutiny, as well as by the terrible sufferings caused by rough seasons.
In a letter to his executor, which Cavendish wrote before his death, he says: "Consider whether a heart made of flesh be able to endure so many misfortunes, all falling upon me without intermission. I thank my God that, in ending of me, He hath pleased to rid me of all further trouble and mishaps."
Davis waited for nine weeks in Port Desire for Cavendish; his own plight was sorry, for his sails were worn-out, his cables chafed and untrustworthy, and he had lost a boat and oars. However, he resolved to send the pinnace in search of Cavendish, but two men on board the Desire, named Charles Parker and Edward Smith, persuaded the crew that Davis intended to maroon them; they even formed a plot to murder their captain. This plot was revealed by the boatswain, and Davis, instead of hanging the two men, as most captains would have done, called his crew together, took them into his confidence, and explained his purpose; he forgave the mutineers, and gave up the idea of sending the pinnace away.
Then he employed his men on shore very busily in making nails and bolts, rigging and sails; some he sent to collect limpets from the rocks, while others salted down hogsheads of seal-flesh at Penguin Island, with salt collected from sea-water left in shallow pans and evaporated in the sun.
On the 6th of August they sailed for the straits again, but a storm drove him away among certain islands never before discovered. These must have been the Falkland Islands, barren hills and rocky shores covered with seaweed and wild birds.
On the 18th they again passed the Cape of Virgins at the entrance to the straits, and sailed easily through till they came to the "sea reach." Here they stayed fourteen days, suffering from the cold and want of food; for the seal-flesh had become uneatable. Then they sailed into the Pacific on the 13th of September, but were driven back by a furious storm and lost one of their cables, so that Davis now had only one anchor left. It was so deep close to shore that sometimes he could moor his ship to the trees. When for the third time he was about to enter the Pacific, some of his men showed signs of mutiny, so Davis wrote out a speech and requested the master to repeat it to the crew. In this speech these words occur: "Because I see in reason that the limits of our time are now drawing to an end, I do in Christian charity exhort you, first, to forgive me in whatsoever I have been grievous to you; secondly, that you will rather pray for our General (Cavendish) than use hard speeches of him ... lastly, let us forgive one another, and be reconciled as children in love and charity. So shall we, in leaving this life, live with our glorious Redeemer, or, abiding in this life, find favour with God." The men were pacified for a time, and agreed to continue the voyage; but, as before, a gale sprang up and seas broke over the Desire and the black pinnace, till the latter got under the lee of the larger ship.
"Captain Davis, sir, we have taken many grievous seas aboard; I can't hardly tell what shift to make next," shouted the captain of the pinnace.
Davis shouted back, "Trust in God—keep under our lee, friend."
Next day the black pinnace suddenly broached to and went down with all hands.
"The 10th of October," writes Janes in his diary, "being very near the shore, the weather dark, the storm furious, and most of our men having given over to travail, we yielded ourselves to death without further hope of succour. Our captain sitting in the gallery, very pensive, I came and brought him some rosa solis (hot grog) to comfort him; for he was so cold, he was scarce able to move a joint. After he had drunk and was comforted in heart, he began, for the ease of his conscience, to make a large repetition of his fore-passed time, and with many grievous sighs he ended in these words: 'Oh most gracious God, with whose power the mightiest things among men are matters of no moment, I most humbly beseech Thee that the intolerable burden of my sins may, through the blood of Jesus Christ, be taken from me: end our days with speed, or show us some merciful sign of Thy love and our preservation.'" Hardly had the captain's prayer been uttered, than the sun shone out from a rift in the clouds, as if a very token of help. Davis jumped up, took a meridian altitude, and shaped a course for the straits. Every man felt relieved and even cheery at the sudden change in the weather. Next day they sighted the tall headland at the west end of the straits.
"I doubt, captain, whether we can weather Cape Pillar after all," said the master.
"There is no remedy, man," replied Davis; "either we must double it, or before noon we must die; therefore loose your sails and let us put it to God's mercy."
So the Desire was close-hauled and steered for the entrance; but when she was half a mile from the point, the vessel was so near the shore that the backwash, or counter-surf, jumped up against the ship's side. The wind and sea were raging beyond measure, and the black rock frowned above them.
As a last resource, seeing that the ship was rapidly drifting to leeward, on to the jagged teeth of the rocks, the master eased off the mainsheet; the Desire gathered way, leapt forward as she felt the wind coming aft (some flaw had struck back off the cliff), and in a few strokes of the pulse she had weathered the Cape.
Now they turned down the strait, and had the wind behind them; without a rag of sail they sped before the storm, and in six hours had been driven twenty-five leagues as if by magic. Then the ship being brought to inside a wooded cove, and moored securely to some trees, the exhausted crew flung themselves down and enjoyed a long, deep sleep.
How had Davis managed to pilot his ship in these unknown waters? Why, he tells us he had made a map in his mind's eye when he had passed through before in fair weather; and his men trusted him home, and swore Captain Davis could pilot his ship "even in the hell-dark night." When they arrived at Penguin Island, nine miles south of Port Desire, they sent boats ashore; the men found the penguins so closely packed on the little island that they could not move without treading on them.
It so happened that the two mutineers, Parker and Smith, were ordered to stay on Penguin Island and collect birds, but they refused to obey; for they believed that their captain was going to maroon them there out of revenge for their ill conduct. Davis called the crew together and made them a speech, thus addressing the ringleaders: "Parker and Smith, I understand that you are doubtful of your security, through the perverseness of your own guilty consciences. It is an extreme grief to me that you should judge me bloodthirsty, in whom you have seen nothing but kind conversation.... All the company knoweth that in this place you practised to the utmost of your powers to murder me and the master, without cause, as God knoweth; which evil we did remit you.... Now be void of these suspicions; for I call God to witness that revenge is no part of my thought."
Very few captains would have shown such leniency and patience as Davis did; and when a few days after Parker and Smith fell victims to an attack of savages, all the crew looked upon it as a judgment from heaven.
The fresh food of penguins and young seals, together with the herb which the sailors called "scurvy-grass," soon effected an improvement in health.
On the 22nd of December the Desire sailed for home, carrying, as they believed, provisions for six months. It was in a melancholy and desponding spirit that Davis looked forward to returning. There would be no enthusiastic welcome for a seaman who came with no prizes and no discovery of gold. Who cared for his log-book and surveys of strait and island? only the initiated few, the scientific sailors. He was coming home a ruined man, having lost more than a thousand pounds in this venture. But as yet he did not know one half of his misfortunes and disgrace.
His great faith in the goodness of God was to be still more sorely tried.
In January they landed at Placentia, an island off the Brazilian coast, and worked hard for many days, making new casks for water and gathering roots and herbs.
On the night of February 5th Davis and several of the crew dreamed of murder; they were all talking of it excitedly on deck when their captain said, "Boys, when you land this morning, see ye go armed."
About noon, as the working party were resting in the shade, or bathing in the quiet pools, there was a sudden whoop—an Indian yell—and a body of Portuguese and Indians rushed upon them and killed all but two, who escaped to the ship.
Davis rowed to the spot with an armed crew, but found only the dead bodies of his men, and saw in the distance two pinnaces making for Rio de Janeiro.
Now there were only twenty-seven men left out of seventy-six who started from England; but more trouble was yet in store for the survivors.
As they sailed over the hot ocean the penguin-flesh, which had been badly cured with insufficient salt, made them ill; loathsome worms an inch long were found in the meat. "This worm," says Janes, "did so mightily increase and devour our victuals that there was no hope how we should avoid famine. There was nothing the worms did not devour—iron only excepted—our clothes, hats, boots, shirts, and stockings; as for the ship, they did eat the timbers, so that we greatly feared they would undo us by eating through the ship's side. The more we laboured to kill them, the more they increased upon us, so that at last we could not sleep for them, for they would eat our flesh like mosquitoes."
Then the scurvy broke out again, bodies began to swell and minds to give way. Davis went from one to another, bidding them bear God's chastisement in patience; but it must have wounded his kind heart to see how many of the crew suffered and died. At last there were only sixteen left alive, and of these eleven were unable to move, but lay moaning on the deck.
Captain Cotton and Mr. Janes, Davis, and a boy and one sailor—these alone had health to work the ship, and took turns at the helm; as for the sails, they were mostly blown away, and needed little managing.
It must have been a weary time, and they wondered if they would ever see land before their food and water gave out.
But they sighted Ireland at last, and ran the old ship on shore near Berehaven on the 11th of June 1593. From Berehaven Captain Davis sailed in a fishing-boat to Padstow in Cornwall—thinking, no doubt, of wife and children, and the silver Dart, and the comforts of a happy home, ruined man though he was.
As he drew near the familiar groves and fields, was it fancy? or did his neighbours shrink from his approach? Could they have heard the news of his ill success, and were they ashamed of him already?
"Ah! there is Adrian, old friend and true! he will welcome me home!"
"John—John Davis! how thou art changed, lad! Hast heard the heavy news?"
"No—surely my dear wife be not taken by the pestilence?"
"Better an she were, John. A scoundrel named Milburne has been here while you were on the seas, and has run away with her—robbed you of your beloved Faith."
The shock was so great, the explorer could not speak for some minutes. Then, in a faltering voice: "The children, Adrian? be they in the old home?"
"Yea, lad, under the care of a good soul. God help you, John!"
The two friends grasped hands, and Davis said low to himself:
"Robbed me of my Faith! Dear Lord in heaven, I have yet faith—faith in Thee; and that shall be my last anchor, blow what gales there may in a naughty night!"
So the brave, God-fearing seaman tried to take comfort in his heavy hour, tried to laugh and be merry with his boys, and tried to make excuses for the woman who had deserted him for a handsome coiner of false money.
But the neighbours shook their heads as they saw him pace along the river in the gloaming, with downcast eyes and slow stride. "I doubt Master John will never command another ship!"—that was the general opinion.
Captain Davis was recovering health and good spirits at Sandridge when, one afternoon in March 1594, the postman came, blowing his horn, and delivered him a letter from his good friend, Sir Walter Raleigh, from Sherborne Castle. A letter in those days asked some careful reading, handwriting was so varied and spelling so abnormal. So John sat in an arbour from which he could look over the shining reaches of the Dart, and straightened out the paper.
What was this strange news? "A warrant is out against thee, John, for some illegal practices which a man named Milburne has accused thee of. I would thou shouldst hasten up to London, calling here on thy way."
Illegal practices! John Davis knew nought of any such; but he packed his travelling satchel, and ordered his man to bring round the bay gelding.
In vain! he had hardly ridden a hundred yards when a pursuivant intercepted him and carried him in custody to Dartmouth.
The charge was investigated by the best gentlemen in Devon: it did not take long to prove the accusation false. The chairman shook hands with Captain Davis, and made a complimentary speech: "He was sure they all recognised the diligence, fidelity, and intelligence of their distinguished neighbour in the Queen's service. They had heard from others of his loyalty to his leader in the late voyage, of his great kindness to his men, and of a moral courage shown in the last few months under circumstances which might have overwhelmed a weaker man. This it was to be a hero indeed, and the men of Devon were passing proud of so excellent a friend and neighbour."
We can imagine how the tortured seaman went home with gratitude in his heart, first to God, and then to his kind acquaintance. Once more he could meet Judith Havard, the lady who was in charge of his children, without a sense of shame. And if he had lost all the money he had saved up, yet he still had the little home and farm at Sandridge, and leisure to read and write.
Yes, he would write a treatise on the art of navigation! So two years sped swiftly and happily by, while he wrote "The Seaman's Secrets," dedicated to Lord Howard of Effingham. His charts were valued by British pilots for many years. He possessed deep scientific knowledge, with unrivalled experience as a seaman, and in these quiet hours of study he was saving many a life in the future.
But he had not yet given up the dream of his youth, the discovery of the North-west Passage, and he addressed an appeal to the Privy Council on the subject. In this he reminds the lords of the achievements of his countrymen. "John Hawkins was the first to attempt a voyage to the West Indies, for before he made the attempt it was a matter doubtful, and reported the extremest limit of danger, to sail upon those coasts; ... such is the slowness of our nation, for the most part of us rather joy at home like epicures, to sit and carp at other men's hazard, ourselves not daring to give any attempt."
The writer hoped that his eloquent appeal might stir the blood of courtiers; but no reply came, and he bowed his head to another disappointment.
However, his three sons were growing up, and money must be found somehow; for his wife was dead, and all depended on him alone. So in 1595 John Davis went again to sea, captain of a ship trading to Rochelle; and then he served under Essex before Cadiz, and in a voyage to the Azores.
In the winter of 1598 Davis offered himself as pilot to the Dutch expedition to the East Indies, and was gladly accepted. At Table Bay in South Africa he noted the Kaffirs as a strong and active race—"In speaking they cluck with the tongue like a brood-hen." Wherever he went, he made notes of the exports and imports of each port, as well as writing on the tides, shoals, and rocks. On his return to England the new East India Company was fitting out its first fleet under James Lancaster, and Davis was asked to go as chief pilot. He was to receive £500 if the voyage yielded two for one, £1000 if three for one, and £2000 if five for one. His experience with the Dutch enabled him to give valuable advice in selecting the cargo for Eastern markets.
On the 2nd of April 1601 the fleet sailed from Tor Bay—this was one of the most momentous events in British history, the birth of an Indian Empire.
The crews suffered terribly from scurvy before they reached the Cape: the Red Dragon alone, on which Davis was embarked, escaped this disease, as Captain Lancaster, at Davis's suggestion, had given three spoonfuls of lime-juice to each man every morning. A five months' voyage without green food was always fatal to many, and in this case had carried off 105 men before the fleet came into Table Bay.
Seven weeks in tents made the sick all sound again. Davis advised Captain Lancaster how to avoid giving offence to the Kaffirs, and a brisk trade took place without any quarrels. It was the same at Madagascar; and when they reached the Coral Islands, and the intricate navigation made sailing dangerous, the services of the chief pilot were invaluable. For Davis was always now ahead in the pinnace, sounding and directing the ships, and so they all got safely through without mishap.
At Acken the king received Lancaster, and gave leave for the building of a factory and for permanent trading. Pepper and spices were taken on board, and after some adventures they brought home a cargo which more than satisfied the Company, and Lancaster was knighted for a success which was greatly due to the experience, energy, and care of the chief pilot.
There are some men who do great work quietly and without fuss, who, either from accident, or want of push, fail to receive public recognition.
However, Davis probably did not care for Court life and ambition; he preferred to be with his boys, sailing down to Dartmouth, or up to Totnes. His friend Adrian Gilbert was dead now, and Sir Walter Raleigh was beginning to fall under a cloud, seeing that James of Scotland had succeeded to Elizabeth.
For a year and three months Davis remained at home, then the sea began to call him again; but before he went he prepared a second edition of his "Seaman's Secrets," and he gave his troth to Judith Havard.
"When I come home from my next voyage, God helping, we will wed."
It was a wistful look that Judith gave her lover as he went forth to join Sir Edward Michelborne at Cowes for a third voyage to the East Indies. Davis had made his will, giving Judith, "my espoused love," a fourth part of his worldly goods. They never saw him again, for in December 1603 Sir Edward rescued some Japanese pirates off the Malay peninsula, who formed a plot to kill the English and seize their ships.
Davis had been directed by Michelborne to disarm the Japanese, but deceived by their apparent gentleness and humility, he neglected to do so; they repaid his generosity by giving him seven mortal wounds, and were with difficulty subdued after four hours' desperate fighting.
It was an unworthy end to the most scientific and the most God-fearing of all Elizabethan heroes! Davis had been devoted to his profession, and no love of gain entered into his thoughts. His charts of the English Channel, the Scilly Isles, the Arctic coasts, and the Straits of Magellan were of great use and value for many years. As he wrote, "it was not in respect of his pains, but of his love," that he wished to be judged. He cared tenderly for those under his charge, and he was beloved by his men. He laboured more to save men's lives than to destroy them: such a virtue did not in those times seem to merit any official distinction, but we hope we are wiser now.
Davis, of course, had his weakness. He could face storm and frozen seas, perils of the ocean and the forest; but he was too kind and easy, too good-natured and forgiving when he had to deal with rogues and ruffians.
He was too long away from home and wife and children, and so he lost his wife's faith and devotion. But this disappointment and sorrow he met in a manly way, and forced himself to forget his troubles in his literary work for the welfare of others.
His friend and biographer, John Janes, had served under Davis in two Arctic expeditions and in the Magellan Straits voyage, and ever found him a true and loyal captain as well as a learned and genial companion.
Davis did not obtain the glory won by Drake, or the fame won by Humphrey Gilbert, or the honours heaped upon Sir Walter Raleigh; but the light that shines upon good deeds bravely done will assuredly grow clearer and brighter over the life of John Davis, as time sifts the trivial from the eternal good.
Francis Drake had a kinsman at Plymouth who had been the first Englishman to sail to the Brazils—William Hawkins, father of John, a rich merchant and shipowner. Drake's father, Edmund, had been a sailor in his youth, and was settled near Tavistock when Francis was a child; he was a strong "Reformation man," and his preaching had made him enemies, so that he had to fly and take shelter in an old ship at Chatham, where his friends obtained for him the post of Reader of Prayers to the Royal Navy. Thus little Francis drank in at a very early age the sights and sounds of the sea, while his mind was nursed on denunciations of Rome and hatred of religious tyranny. A man with twelve children must plant them out early, and Francis was apprenticed as a boy to the skipper of a small craft that traded to Holland. As a boy he thus was brought into contact with Flemings flying from persecution, and the horrors of the Inquisition were his daily subject of talk. The rough usage of those days built him up into a sturdy, thick-set, rollicking youngster; he must have shown a rare spirit even then, for his master liked him so well that at his death he left Francis the vessel on which he served.
In 1564 Spain closed her ports to the English, so Drake sold his ship and entered the service of his kinsmen, John and William Hawkins.
John had just returned from his first slaving voyage, and was being lionised in London on account of the enormous profits of his expedition.
Francis Drake sailed to Biscay under William, and at St. Sebastian met some Plymouth sailors who had just emerged half-dead from the dungeons of the Inquisition. Thus little by little the "Scourge of the Spanish Main" was being moulded by sights and sounds of cruelty to fight against Philip.
Then he sailed under Fenner to the West Indies and saw some sharp conflicts, was treacherously attacked, and came home empty-handed.
Again, in 1567, he sailed as pilot under John Hawkins to Guinea, took a prize, The Grace of God, and was made its captain.
It is very strange how history repeats itself, for Las Casas, the apostle to the Indians, was even then urging the employment of negroes to take the place of the Indians in South America, who died too quickly in their forced service: just as the Chinese were recently brought over to the Rand to save the lives of the Kaffirs. So John Hawkins had good authority for his kidnapping of African slaves, and may have thought he was doing good, not evil.
How the voyage prospered has been told in an earlier chapter.
But it sent home Hawkins and Drake in a temper that boded ill for Philip, if ever opportunity should make a great revenge a possibility.
Drake no sooner arrived at Plymouth than he was bidden by William Hawkins to ride post-haste to London to inform the Council of his ill-treatment. It was another argument in favour of war with Spain.
Drake took service in the Queen's Navy, and sailed under Sir William Winter to Rochelle, to convoy English merchantmen to the Baltic.
That summer he came home on leave and married Mary Newman, who was living at St. Bordeaux, close to Plymouth.
But his domestic happiness was soon broken off by his being ordered to sail with the Dragon and the Swan to the Spanish Indies. He was only to use his senses and find out where Spain was most vulnerable.
In the following year Drake sailed again with the Swan only; he made a few prizes, and treated his captives so humanely and generously that his name was at first not a word of terror, but associated with kindness.
However, he had come home with such a poor opinion of Spanish prowess that he conceived the idea of sailing to the Gulf of Darien and seizing the treasure-house and all its spoils.
On May 24, 1572, Drake sailed out of Plymouth Sound on board the Pasha, of 70 tons, with his brother John in command of the Swan, of 25 tons. His brother Joseph was there too, and John Oxenham and other volunteers; the crews numbered but seventy-three in all, and the project was to seize the port of Nombre de Dios, and carry off the gold and silver bars.
On July 12th he arrived at a tiny land-locked bay, where he had formerly been, and had concealed his stores—Port Pheasant, as he had styled it.
On landing they found a warning inscribed on a plate of lead and fastened to a huge tree: "Captain Drake, if you fortune to come into the port, make haste away, for the Spaniards have betrayed this place and taken away all that you left.—Your loving friend, JOHN GARRETT."
But Drake had intended to set up three pinnaces here, which he had brought over in pieces; so he cleared and entrenched a spot in the wood and set to work with his carpenters. As they laboured and hammered and sang, suddenly a little squadron sailed in, a ship, a caravel, and a shallop.
They were getting ready to defend themselves, when a hearty English "hail" rang out, "Who are you?" "Captain James Ranse, with Sir Edward Horsey's fleet."
"What! old Ned Horsey, the pirate! Come along and have a drink, sir!"
The frank, blue-eyed Drake laughed heartily and clapped on the back some of the newcomers, who had served under him the year before.
DRAKE CAPTURES NOMBRE DE DIOS
DRAKE CAPTURES NOMBRE DE DIOS
Drake and his men rushed up the main street, some with firearms, others with bows and arrows, and carrying flaming pikes.
The upshot was that these thirty-eight men agreed to join Drake in his mad project; for there was a magnetic power in this born leader of men, as in all great leaders; they could not help believing in him and loving him for his very rashness and devilry—Drake, the Robin Hood of the ocean.
When the pinnaces were put together they stole along the coast, seized and questioned some negroes whom they found, and heard that all the country from Panama to Nombre de Dios was held by a savage, black people, a mixed race of African escaped slaves intermarried with Indian women, and forming a tribe of splendid giants, formidable to their late masters, the Spaniards, and terribly cruel. But, owing to their recent outrages, the people of Nombre de Dios had sent to Panama for help, and Drake's surprise did not look feasible.
However, with seventy-three men armed, some of them with bows and arrows and gear for holding blazing tow, Drake crept along near the shore in the dark.
As they landed under the shore battery they heard the city waking to a panic, for they dreaded an attack of the half-breeds: first came a confused murmur, then women's shrieks, then shouts of command and the tuck of drums. Drake and his men rushed up the main street, meeting at the Plaza a splutter of gun-shots and then a long roar of musketry. In the midst of the fray John Drake and Oxenham broke in upon the Spaniards' flank, who turned and fled, pursued by flaming pikes and arrows. On entering the governor's house Drake saw a great pile of silver bars shining from floor to ceiling—a pile seventy feet in length.
"Not one bar to be touched, lads," shouted Drake, "till the fighting be done."
As they hurried back to the streets a tropical storm burst on them, and they had to take cover in a long shed. As they tried to repair the damage done to matchlock and bowstring, Drake marked the signs of fatigue and fear, and shouted: "Lads, I have brought you to the mouth of the treasure-house of the world. Blame nobody but yourselves if ye go away empty."
As Drake stepped forward to lead the way to the treasury door, he suddenly rolled over speechless in the sand. As they stooped to lift him, they noted a pool of blood, and a wound in his leg which he had hidden for some time. They carried him to the pinnace and rowed back to the ships, the sun just rising to see Drake's great failure, which had so nearly succeeded.
Next day a Spanish general rode round to the bay where Drake's ships lay, and asked if this was indeed the chivalrous "El Draque" who never drowned his prisoners?
"Yes," laughed Drake, "but go tell your governor that before I depart, if God lend me life and leave, I mean to reap some of your harvest which you get out of the earth, and send into Spain to trouble all the world."
In ten days' time Drake swooped down upon Cartagena, cut out a rich ship, and carried it in triumph out to sea; then the Spaniards lost sight of him and his. But Drake was only hiding in a pretty little bay, resting his men and feeding them with game and fish and fruit. A negro friend, Diego, put him in communication with the Maroons, as the mixed race was called, and they showed him how to seize the treasure as it was borne on mules across the isthmus. They had to wait till the dry season, so Drake kept his men cheery and well by games and daring cutting out of vessels; yet withal he displayed much caution and far-sighted skill in all he did, so that there were no laments, no thought of mutiny or discontent.
In December his brother John was killed while attacking a Spanish frigate full of musketeers: it caused Drake and many others great sorrow, for he had been a brave and trusty comrade.
In January 1573 a fever came and struck down half the company: Joseph Drake expired in his brother's arms, and soon after the Maroon scouts ran up to tell the English that the Spanish fleet had come for the treasure.
Only eighteen men were fit to go upon Drake's new adventure, and these with thirty Maroons plunged into the forest track. The Maroons were splendid scouts and hunters, and insisted on carrying all the burdens. On the fourth day they had reached the summit of the range, where stood up a giant of the forest; into this Drake climbed and saw before him the golden Pacific, behind him rolled the silver Atlantic. With strange feelings of wonder, piety, and ambition the great sea-rover gazed upon the unknown waters of the west, and prayed the Almighty to give him life and leave to sail once in an English ship in that sea.
Then he climbed down and told the men of his prayer; thereat John Oxenham vowed a great vow, "Unless the captain doth beat me from his company, I will follow him, by God's grace so I will!"
He knew not how his prayer was to be in part heard, but instead of coming home with hands full of gold, he was to be taken and executed at Lima.
Meanwhile Drake's party went on, and lay in ambush a league outside the gates of Panama. A spy brought word that two large mule-trains laden with silver were in the market-place, making ready to start; while with them was to ride the treasurer of Lima, with eight mule-loads of gold and one of jewels.
They pulled their shirts over their clothes as for a night-attack, and lay in two companies some fifty yards apart.
What a momentous hour that was, as they waited for the tinkle of the mule-bells in the long grass! they had been bidden to lie quiet if any traveller came riding towards Panama. One such did come, and one fool, half-drunk, fired at him, sending him at a gallop to tell his friends that El Draque had sprung up again.
The astute treasurer bided in the city and sent on the silver only.
So when the tinkle grew loud and Drake stood up and blew his whistle, and the men sprang upon the mules and ripped open the bags—only silver was found. Soon they heard the tramp of armed men coming from Panama; there was no time to lose, they must abandon the loot and escape—that miserable drunkard had spoilt all. They made for Venta Cruz, and charged like madmen into the little town.
There was a hospital there, full of sick ladies and young mothers; these poor creatures believed they would all be burnt to death, and screamed aloud for mercy.
"Have I not ordered that no woman shall be touched?" said Drake.
"Yea, sir, but they will not believe it is true."
Then the dreaded rover, El Draque himself, entered the great ward of the hospital, and spoke words of comfort to the ladies; and when they saw the kind and merry light in his frank blue eyes, they were quite content.
Drake and his men were away before the soldiers came from Panama. Whither he went they knew not; but in the next fortnight two or three Spanish frigates reported having been boarded by a polite pirate, who insisted on relieving them of most of their gold. A panic set in, and the gold ships were afraid to stir.
On the last night of March, as the mule-trains, laden with silver and gold, were drawing near to Nombre de Dios, there was a sudden yell from the Maroons, "Yo Peho!" and a crashing of firearms. The mules knelt down, and Drake's men rifled the packs, and were away before the alarm could be given.
One day before this, a Huguenot privateer came across an English ship and begged for help. "Come on board and tell your story," signalled the English captain.
The Frenchman came and told a tale which startled all who understood. It was just the latest news from Paris—nothing else but the St. Bartholomew massacre!
"Just God!" cried Francis Drake, "may I do something to crush this tyranny!"
There and then the Huguenot and the sea-rover made a compact to work together. The Frenchmen were with Drake when he made his attack on the mule-train, and helped to carry the silver bars to the river-mouth, where the pinnaces were to meet them. Drenched by a rain-storm they looked for the pinnaces; but, instead, saw seven Spanish vessels rowing towards Nombre de Dios. What was the good of their staggering under a weight of treasure if they had no means of carrying it home! They sat down and looked at one another in blank despair.
But Francis Drake alone was laughing—positively laughing—though his fate was apparently sealed; torture and a hideous prison, and a shameful death.
The Frenchmen gazed upon him with open-mouthed wonder. Who was this short, well-set seaman, with broad chest and long brown hair, with full beard tapering, brown to russet, with full blue eyes and fair complexion, that he should exercise so strange an influence over his men?
For already, when Drake came to them, and in a few cheery words heartened them, they smiled the smile of hope, and were ready to do his bidding.
"Now, boys, cheer up! See ye not how God hath sent a heavy storm to help us? What are those things drifting down with the current? are they not big trees sent to help us home, boys? Come, let us make a raft; we will reach our ships long before the lazy Spaniards have made up their minds how to catch us. This is no time to fear, but rather to haste, and prevent that which is feared. The raft, boys, the raft! quick! to stay the tree-trunks."
In a very short time they had caught and harnessed the drifting trunks—one Englishman and two Frenchmen joined Drake upon the raft. They had a biscuit-bag for a sail and a slender tree for a rudder, and as they pushed off into the stream, Drake waved his hat and shouted cheerily:
"If it please God that I shall ever set foot aboard my frigate in safety, I will by one means or another get you all aboard, in despite of all the Spaniards in the Indies."
As they reached the bar, every wave came surging up to their arm-pits as they sat and held on like grim death. Then when they lost the current and tried to row with extemporised oars, the hot sun and the salt sea parched them, and the toil for six long hours wearied them, till hope sank very low.
Then all of a sudden Drake stopped rowing and shaded his eyes with his hand: "See, lads! there be our pinnaces bearing straight for us—all fear is over now; we are saved by the mercy of God."
But the pinnaces had not seen the raft, and soon disappeared behind a headland, making for their night's quarters.
There was a great surf raging along the shore, but Drake steered the raft straight through it; so, soused and bruised and tumbled, they came merrily ashore.
The crews stood up to receive four shipwrecked, ragged strangers—heathen perhaps! But when one of them hailed them in the tones they knew so well, they were horrified! Their great captain reduced to this scant following!
Then came explanations, and when they pleaded the storm which had swept the pinnaces away, Drake forgave them, and pulling a quoit of gold from his bosom he said, "Give thanks to God, our voyage is made!"
So it was; for they soon picked up the others and all the booty, and Drake made sail for home, running in close at Cartagena with the flag of St. George waving a mad defiance at his mast-head, and all his silken pennants and floating ensigns bidding the Spaniards a farewell in pure devilry of mocking fun.
But before they left the coast they had to set ashore their Maroon friends. Pedro, their chief, had taken a fancy to Drake's sword, and Drake gave it to him gladly; then Pedro desired him to accept four wedges of gold, which he did with all courtesy, and the allies parted in great good-humour.
The voyage home was so prosperous that in twenty-three days they sailed from Cape Florida to the Scilly Isles. It was Sunday, August 9, 1573, when they sailed into Plymouth harbour, making the echoes speak to the thunder of their salute. Folk were in church at the time, and to the dismay of the preacher the congregation jumped up and ran out to see what was toward, so that "there remained few or no people with the preacher."
"'Tis Master Francis Drake come home at last!" All Plymouth went down to the water's edge to greet their special hero—Drake of Devon!
But Francis Drake had not arrived at a happy moment for himself. Alva had been offering good terms, and the Queen was surrounded just then by friends of Spain. Drake's position was one of danger; he might possibly be given up to Philip as a mere pirate who had not the Queen's sanction. So he took his ship round to Queenstown and hid in "Drake's Pool."
Time went on, and still politics made his life dangerous; so Drake with a letter of introduction from Hawkins joined Essex in Ireland. It was a very cruel and heartless war, even against women and children; and from what we have seen of Drake's chivalry to women, it must have been most loathsome to his great soul. However, when he returned to London things had changed; this time the Queen was very angry with Philip, and she sent Walsingham to seek out Drake. The Queen was very gracious, and said she wanted Drake to help her against the King of Spain. How his heart must have leapt up with a new hope; but the wind of policy veered again, and nothing came of the interview at first. Still, it was something to have been introduced to the Queen by Sir Christopher Hatton; and when that lady gave Drake a sword and said, "We do account that he which striketh at thee, Drake, striketh at us," he must have felt a proud man.
A man so frank and open as Francis Drake was, must have found it difficult to follow the shifts and turns of policy. The Queen would not openly give her sanction to a new expedition, but she secretly aided the enterprise; and Sir John Hawkins and many others subscribed.
Drake was to sail in the Pelican, 100 tons; Captain Winter in the Elizabeth, of 80. There were also the Marygold, the Loan, and the Christopher, a pinnace, of 35 tons. The crews, officers and gentlemen, amounted to some two hundred.
They sailed from Plymouth on the 15th of November 1577, but a terrible storm off Falmouth obliged them to put back. They started afresh on the 13th of December, and were to meet at Mogadore, on the coast of Barbary. It seems that Burghley did not approve of Drake's bold venture, and had sent Thomas Doughtie, with secret orders to do what he could to limit the risks and scope of the expedition. Doughtie was a personal friend of Drake, and it was some time before Sir Francis found out what Doughtie was doing—such as tampering with the men and trying to lessen Drake's influence. When they were near the equator, Drake, being very careful of his men's health, let every man's blood with his own hands.
In February they made the coast of Brazil, without losing touch of one another. Here they landed and saw "great store of large and mighty deer." They also found places for drying the flesh of the nandu, or American ostrich, whose thighs were as large as "reasonable legs of mutton." Further south they stored seal-flesh, having slain over two hundred in the space of an hour! The natives whom they saw were naked, saving only that they wore the skin of some beast about their waist. They carried bows an ell long, and two arrows, and were painted white on one side and black on the other.
They were a tall, merry race; delighted in the sound of the trumpet, and danced with the sailors. One of them, seeing the men take their morning draught, took a glass of strong Canary wine and tossed it off; but it immediately went to his head, and he fell on his back. However, the savage took such a liking to the draught that he used to come down from the hills every morning, bellowing "Wine! wine!"
A few days later there was a scuffle at Port Julian with the natives, and Robert Winter was killed. But a greater tragedy was impending.
Sixty years before, Magellan had crushed a mutiny on this spot, and the old fir-posts that formed the gallows still stood out on the windy headland.
For some months now Drake had been harassed by mutinous conduct, and all the evidence pointed to his old friend Doughtie being at the bottom of it. One day Drake, in a sudden burst of wrath, had ordered Doughtie to be chained to the mast. Yet, as the ships rode south into the cold winds, the crews murmured more savagely. Doughtie and his friends were demoralising Captain John Winter's ship. Something must be done, and done quickly, if the expedition was not to fail.
On the last day of June the crews were ordered ashore. There, hard by Magellan's gallows, an English jury or court-martial, with Winter as president, was set to try Doughtie for treason and mutiny. The court, after much wrangling, found the prisoner "Not guilty." But Doughtie in the midst of the trial had boasted that he had betrayed the Queen's secret to Burghley. Thereat Drake took his men down to the shore and told them all how the Queen's consent had been privately given, and how Doughtie had done his best to overthrow their enterprise.
"They that think this man worthy of death," he shouted, "let them with me hold up their hands." As he spoke almost every man's hand went up.
"Thomas Doughtie, seeing no remedy but patience for himself, desired before his death to receive the communion, which he did at the hands of Master Fletcher, our minister, and our general himself accompanied him in that holy action." Then in quiet sort, after taking leave of all the company, Doughtie laid his head on the block and ended his life. Then Drake addressed his men. He forgave John Doughtie, but said all discords must cease, and the gentleman must haul and draw with the mariner. From that moment discipline was established, and there were no more quarrels.
The Pelican, the Elizabeth, and the Marygold, the only ships that remained, now set sail, and on August 20, 1578, hove to before the Straits of Magellan. It was here that Drake changed the name of his ship to the Golden Hind, perhaps in compliment to his friend Sir Christopher Hatton, who bore it in his arms.
So rapid was the passage through the Straits that in a fortnight they had reached the Pacific. Drake's intention was to steer north and get out of the nipping cold, but a gale from the north-east came on and lasted three weeks, when the Marygold went down, and Winter, after waiting a month for Drake within the Straits, went home. Drake in the Golden Hind was swept south of Cape Horn, "where the Atlantic Ocean and the South Sea meet in a large and free scope."
Drake went ashore, and leaning over a promontory, amused himself by thinking that he had been further south than any man living.
After anchoring for some time in southern islands, Drake sailed north, and finding an Indian pilot, steered for Valparaiso.
In the harbour lay a Spanish ship waiting for a wind to carry them to Panama with their cargo of gold and wine of Chili. When the lazy crew saw a sail appearing, they made ready to welcome the newcomers with a pipe of wine, and beat a drum as a merry salute.
No foreign ship had ever been seen on those western coasts; they had no thought of danger, when a boat drew alongside, and Thomas Moon clambered up and shouted, "Abaxo perro!" ("Down! you dog!"), and began to lay about him lustily.
The eight Spaniards and three negroes on board were soon safely secured under hatches; then they rifled the little town, and took the prize out to sea for more leisurely search: 1770 jars of Chili wine and 60,000 pieces of gold and some pearls rewarded their efforts. Drake now wished to sack Lima and find Winter. Meanwhile he tarried in a hidden bay for a month, and refreshed his men in a delightful climate.
Then they proceeded slowly along the coast. One day while looking for water they came upon a Spaniard lying asleep with thirteen bars of silver by his side. "Excuse us, sir, but we could not really allow you to burden yourself with all this." Several merry raids of this sort kept the men jolly and in good temper. Leisurely though the Golden Hind was sailing northwards, no news had come to Lima of the English rover being on the sea.
A Portuguese piloted Drake into the harbour of Callao after nightfall, "sailing in between all the ships that lay there, seventeen in number." These they rifled, and heard that a ship, the Cacafuego, laden with silver, had just sailed. As they were getting ready to follow, a ship from Panama entered the harbour and anchored close by the Golden Hind. A custom-house boat put off and hailed them, and a Spaniard was in the act of mounting the steps when he saw a big gun mouthing at him. He was over the side in a moment and in his boat crying the alarm! The Panama vessel cut her cable and put to sea, but the Golden Hind followed in pursuit and soon caught her.
In the next few days, as they were following the Cacafuego, they made a few prizes, which pleased the men vastly; and after crossing the line on 24th February, saw the Cacafuego about four leagues ahead of them.
The Spanish captain slowed down for a chat, as he supposed; but when Drake hailed them to strike, they refused. "So with a great piece he shot her mast overboard, and having wounded the master with an arrow, the ship yielded."
Four days they lay beside her transferring the cargo—gold, silver, and precious stones—so that the Golden Hind was now ballasted with silver.
The whole value was estimated at 360,000 pieces of gold. Drake gave the captain a letter of safe conduct in case he should meet his other ships.
"Master Wynter, if it pleaseth God that you should chance to meet with this ship of Señor Juan de Anton, I pray you use him well, according to my word and promise given unto them; and if you want anything that is in this ship, I pray you pay them double the value of it, which I will satisfy again; command your men not to do her any hurt.... I desire you, for the passion of Christ, if you fall into any danger, that you will not despair of God's mercy, for He will defend you and preserve you from all danger, and bring us to our desired haven: to whom be all honour, glory, and praise, for ever and ever. Amen.—Your sorrowful captain, whose heart is heavy for you, FRANCIS DRAKE."
We are told that Robin Hood liked to attend mass every morning, but even he does not astonish us by his piety so much as this "great dragon" of the seas. No doubt it was all genuine, and he believed he was only doing his duty when he robbed King Philip's ships, and thereby weakened his power for persecuting those who did not agree with him in his religious views.
"They that take the sword shall perish with the sword."
Francis Drake felt himself commissioned by a greater than Queen Elizabeth. "I am the man I have promised to be, beseeching God, the Saviour of all the world, to have us in His keeping "—so he writes in his letter to Winter.
The question now before them was how to get home. The whole west coast of America was now alarmed, and the Spaniards would stop him if he tried to return by the Straits as he came. So Drake called the ship's company together and took them into counsel. He desired to sail north and find a way home by the North-west Passage; for he, too, was possessed by that chimerical idea.
"All of us," writes one of his company, "willingly hearkened and consented to our general's advice; which was, first, to seek out some convenient place to trim our ship, and store ourselves with wood and water and such provisions as we could get; thenceforward to hasten on our intended journey for the discovery of the said passage, through which we might with joy return to our longed homes."
On 16th March they made the coast of Nicaragua and effected some captures. Swooping down upon the little port of Guatuleo, they found the judges sitting in court, and as a merry change for them, the whole court, judges and counsel and prisoners, were carried off to the Golden Hind, where, amid hearty laughter, the chief judge was bidden to write an order for all the inhabitants to leave the town for twenty-four hours. Then Drake and his men went ashore and replenished their cupboards from the Spanish storehouses. The next capture was a vessel containing two Chinese pilots, who had all the secret charts for sailing across the Pacific.
We may well believe that Drake, as he pored over these in his little cabin, may have thought to himself, "Why should not we go home that way, and thus have sailed round the globe?"
On 3rd June they had reached latitude 42° N., and were feeling the cold extremely. A storm was blowing as they reached Vancouver Island, and here they turned back, and after turning south ten degrees put into a fair and good bay, where the white cliffs reminded them of home, probably near San Francisco.
The natives came round in their canoes, and one threw a small rush basket full of tabah, or tobacco, into the ship's boat.
Tents were put up on the shore and fortified by stones, but the red folk who assembled seemed to be worshipping the strangers as gods. Presents were exchanged, but their women "tormented themselves lamentably, tearing chest and bosom with their nails, and dashing themselves on the ground till they were covered with blood." Drake at once ordered all his crew to prayers. The natives seemed to half-understand the ceremony, and chanted a solemn "Oh!" at every pause.
Next day the great chief came with his retinue in feathered cloaks and painted faces. The red men sang and the women danced, until the chief advanced and put his coronet on Drake's head. These people lived in circular dens hollowed in the ground; they slept upon rushes round a central fire. The men were nearly naked; the women wore a garment of bulrushes round the waist and a deer-skin over the shoulders.
When at the end of July the Golden Hind weighed anchor, loud lamentations went up and fires were lit on the hilltops as a last sacrifice to the divine strangers. For sixty-eight days they sailed west and saw no land; then they came to islands where the natives pilfered; then they made the Philippines, and in November the Moluccas. Drake anchored at a small island near Celebes, east of Borneo, and spent four weeks in cleaning and repairing his ship. Here they saw bats as big as hens, and land-crabs, "very good and restoring meat," which had a habit of climbing up into trees when pursued.
As they sailed west they got entangled among islands and shoals, and on the 9th of January 1579 they sailed full tilt upon a rocky shoal and stuck fast.
Boats were got out to find a place for an anchor upon which they might haul, but at the distance of a boat's length they found deep water and no bottom. The ship remained on the shoal all that night. First they tried every shift they could think of, but the treasure-laden vessel refused to budge. Then Drake, seeing all was hopeless, and that not only the treasure, but all their lives, were likely to be lost, summoned the men to prayers. In solemn preparation for death they took the Sacrament together.
Then, when the ship seemed fast beyond their strength to move her, Drake, with the same instinct that prompted Cromwell after him to say, "Trust in God, but keep your powder dry," gave orders to throw overboard eight guns.
They went splash into the six feet of water by the side, and the ship took no notice at all; so Drake, with a sigh, cried, "Throw out three tons of cloves—sugar—spices—anything;" till the sea was like a caudle all around. And the Golden Hind still rested quietly on the shelving rock, with only six feet of water on one side, whereas it needed thirteen to float her. The wind blew freshly and kept her upright as the tide went down. The crew began to look curiously at one another, and to wonder what would happen when all their food was consumed.
At the lowest of the tide the wind suddenly fell, and the ship losing this support, fell over sideways towards the deep water.
So they were to be drowned after all, for she must fill now.
No; there was a harsh scraping sound heard. Could it be possible? Yes; her keel was slipping down the slope very gently and mercifully.
What a shout these sea-worn mariners raised; how they thanked God for this salvation; for the relief had come at low tide, when all their efforts seemed to be useless. Surely it was a miracle—an answer to their captain's prayers. On reaching Java, Drake was informed that there were large ships not far off—Portuguese settlements were rather too near to be safe; so he steered for the Cape of Good Hope, which his men thought "a most stately thing, and the fairest cape they had seen in the whole circumference of the earth."
As the Golden Hind sailed along by Sierra Leone and towards Europe, the great sea rover must have felt that the prayer he had breathed within the mammoth tree on Darien six years before was at last fulfilled.
He had sailed the South Sea and crossed the Pacific and made the compass of the round world in the Golden Hind within three years.
As they reckoned, when nearing Plymouth Sound, it was Monday, September 25, 1580, but within an hour they learnt that they had arrived on Sunday.
No one expected them; no one at first realised what vessel it was that came silently to anchorage, heavy and slow from the barnacles and weeds; for the news had come home that Drake had been hanged by the Spaniards. But only in August last, Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador, had come to Burghley with a wild tale sent him by the Viceroy of Mexico, that El Draque had been ravaging the Pacific, and playing the pirate amongst King Philip's ships. The Queen pretended she knew nothing about it, and pacified the ambassador by seeming to agree with him that Drake was a very naughty man indeed. So, when the Golden Hind dropped her anchor, a few friends took boat and told her captain how things were going at Court.
Drake's blue eyes at first looked steely. Had he sailed round the world and brought all this treasure home to be given over to Spain?
But a moment's thought brought a merry twinkle into those eyes, and he gave a sharp order: "Up with the anchor, there! Warp her out behind St. Nicholas Island!"
If he must be treated as a pirate, then they must catch him if they can. "You will take my excuses to the Mayor, and tell him how gladly I would land; but you have the plague, I hear, at Plymouth; our constitutions are hardly strong enough to bear an attack of plague."
Meanwhile a messenger was sent by Drake post-haste to London, with gifts for the Queen and Burghley; then a visit from Drake's wife and some friends made the time pass pleasantly enough. Yet it was somewhat galling to the brave adventurer to have to wait a week for tidings as to whether he was to lose his head for piracy, or win a Queen's admiration for performing a great feat of seamanship. At last a summons to Court was brought to Plymouth. Drake, of course, obeyed the Queen's command, but he did not venture to London alone. Many friends rode with him, and no doubt they enjoyed themselves, as sailors will, on their long journey, especially when they came to Sherborne Castle and Sir Walter Raleigh. A long train of pack-horses followed, laden with delicate attentions for royal ladies. Just as he was drawing near London, the news came that Philip had seized Portugal and was posing as the master of the world. Still more startling news came that a Spanish force had landed in Ireland. The Council were half disposed to make peace on any terms, when Drake came stalking in amongst the half-hearted courtiers.
The Queen saw him, heard the strange story of his madcap adventures, caught the audacious spirit of her bravest seaman, and stood firm against the timid proposers of peace. Besides, she was simply charmed by the lovely presents he offered her, and sent Drake back to Plymouth with a private letter under her sign-manual, ordering him to take ten thousand pounds worth of bullion for himself. The rest was sent up to the Tower, after the crew had received their share. Then Drake brought the Golden Hind round and up the Thames for all the town to gape and wonder at, while the crew swaggered about the streets of Deptford like little princes; and so the news of the great treasure flew from city to hamlet, and from hill to vale, increasing with the miles it posted.
The Queen ordered that Drake's ship should be drawn up in a little creek near Deptford, and there should be kept as a memorial for ever.
Then, the more to honour her champion, she went on board and partook of a grand banquet under an awning on the main deck. "Francis Drake, kneel down." The sword was lightly placed on his shoulder, and he rose "Sir Francis."
The Golden Hind remained at Deptford, as a show vessel that had been round the world, until it dropped to pieces. From one of its planks a chair was made and presented to the University of Oxford.
Thus the politics of England were influenced by a seaman—a hero who knew not fear, and who dared to say what he thought, even though it was to his Queen.