In three days after leaving the Samballas Islands, we had beat so far to the norwest, that we counted upon being rather to windward of Carthagena, and from nine to twelve leagues distance from the coast. The west winds blow here with very little intermission, the land-breeze being very slight when it does come, which is but seldom. It was necessary now to determine exactly upon our mode of proceeding, and this was the plan we adopted. The prize which we expected was a private Patache, or treasure-ship, which, not waiting the convoy of the great fleet which sails once in every three years from the West Indies for Spain, intended, as we were informed by Mr. Pratt’s prisoner, to risk the chances of the homeward passage unprotected. Now, it was clear, that the first thing which we had to do, was to ascertain whether the Patache, or galleon, was still in Carthagena, and if so, when she would probably come out. Our next care would be to keep to sea, and watch the coast and the harbour, so as, if possible, to prevent the galleon putting off unknown to us; while, at the same time, we managed so as to prevent any alarm being excited upon the coast. With this view, we would, of course, run in tolerably close with the land at nights, keeping further in the offing during the day, and showing as little sail as possible. But our first business, as I have said, was clearly to ascertain that the mouse was actually in the hole; and that we might be sure, we determined to venture well in towards the harbour that very night, and, if possible, capture some small coasting craft or fisherman, who could give us the information which we required. Accordingly, we turned the schooner’s head to the southward, and ran along with a pleasant breeze abeam. By sunset we saw the land; and so correct was our reckoning, and so skilful our pilots, that John Clink and Captain Jem, who knew the coast well, pronounced the[Pg 206] hummock, on which we were gazing, to be a high hill just behind the city of Carthagena, on which there stands a cathedral, which boasts of a very rich shrine, dedicated to the Holy Virgin, and of which more hereafter. Carthagena itself is principally built upon a small sandy island in a bay. The city lies upon the seaward side of the island, which is connected, by a long wooden bridge, with the suburbs or faubourgs along the main coast, the strait being, as may be supposed, a mere belt of shallow water. Well, by ten o’clock, we saw the lights of Carthagena quite plainly ahead of us; and afraid of venturing too near, we hove to, and kept a good look out around us. But the sea was as shipless, as though it heaved round a desolate island. The breeze was light and fitful, and we lay tossing on the long swell, our bows plunging deeply, and our gaffs and sails creaking and surging in perfect solitude. One by one the lights on shore disappeared, as the citizens went to bed, quite unwitting who was watching the gleam from their casements; and, presently, the dusky line of the shore was unbroken even by the twinkling of a single lantern. All at once, however, we saw a bright glow begin to shine forth from the top of the hill which I have mentioned. At first, we thought it a fire breaking out in a large and lofty house; but, presently, I discerned that it was the cathedral of Nuestra a Senora de Papa, lighted up for some night service. It was very brave to trace the outline of the great arched windows, all shining, as it were, with different-coloured fire, by reason of the stained glass, covered with the figures of martyrs, and angels, and saints; but when I was intently gazing at this glorious sight, John Clink, the boatswain, suggested that we might well run in closer. ‘For,’ quoth he, ‘all the people of the town will be at their devotions, this place being the very Loretto of the West Indies.’ The boatswain’s advice was followed, and we edged in with the land, until we could hear the sound of the surf very distinctly, and made out furthermore—the stars shining out somewhat—that there were several large ships and[Pg 207] many smaller craft in the bay. Not daring to approach these too closely in the schooner, the shallop was got out with little noise, and I was appointed to go in her to reconnoitre. I made the men muffle their oars with canvas, and we agreed that the schooner should show two lights, one above the other, for a space of thirty seconds, every ten minutes, until we returned. I also took a dark-lantern in the boat, and we pulled silently away from the schooner towards the land. Presently the white glimmer of the surf could be seen plainly, close ahead of us; and so we pulled leisurely along the outer edge, making for that part of the bay where the shipping lie, somewhat to the westward of the town. We paused on our oars now and then, and listened very attentively for sounds of alarm. But none came. There was a holy calm abroad upon the night, and the stars shone down through the stirless air. The coast seemed like a dark cloud lying on the water, except where, at its highest ridge, the festival tapers gleamed from out the great cathedral. We sat as men spell-bound, gazing on the beauty of it. Presently, it appeared as though great folding doors had been flung open, a burst of light, like a glory, streamed forth from what was a vision of pillars and arches, and great gleaming aisles; and falling on the broad steps leading to the portals, streamed over a dusky crowd of worshippers, men and women, kneeling with almost prostrate forms upon the marble ledges; and at the same instant, the mighty swell of a great organ, and the deep peal of a thousand mingled voices, rose solemnly up, overflowing, as it were, the very atmosphere, and mingling with the dim surf-music, as though both sea and land would join their tones in that great harmony. So, rude sailors as we were, we could not but listen, and in our hearts, adore. It was a Latin chant the people sung. Sometimes it fell so low, that we could hear but a faint and distant hum. Anon it rose, and pealed, and rung so gloriously out, that I could discern the very syllables of that mighty chorus, of ‘Jubilate, Jubilate, Jubilate. Amen.’
[Pg 208]
At length the organ ceased, and there was silence.
‘Very well sung,’ said Simon Radley, who pulled the stroke-oar, ‘and a very good psalm.’
Our solemn moods seldom lasted long. Howbeit, I was sunk in musing. The grave and solemn season of a tranquil night invokes like thoughts. I looked at our muffled oars, and thought how, darkling, we skulked upon the water, watching for our prey; and, as I mused, I could not help hearing, as it were, in my ears, the echo of a hollow sing-song voice, the utterance of that good man, but somewhat wearisome preacher, the Rev. Michael Wylieson, of Kirk Leslie, in Fife, who loved to take for his text the verse which speaks of a certain coming, as like unto the coming of a thief in the night. But all this lasted only for a minute; I started up, crying—
‘Pull, my men, pull—we’ve come to seek a rich galleon, and not to list the droning of chests full of whistles.’
And so we stole cautiously on, until there rose, cutting the starry skies ahead of us, the tall masts of several ships of price. Which of these was the patache? We gazed and whispered, and while we whispered, there suddenly rose, as it seemed from the water, not a score fathoms ahead of us, a loud voice singing, in the Spanish language, and presently we discovered a small dark object, like a canoe, very low in the water, with the form of one man on board. As we gazed, the figure moved and turned; then appearing to observe the boat, the man stopped in his song, and bursting into a laugh, so that one could discern he was a negro, called out to us in bad Spanish,—
‘You may as good go home to your hammocks, the pisareros (that is a kind of fish) will not bite till the tide turn, or the moon rises.’
‘All is well, he suspects nothing,’ I whispered; ‘let us make sure of him.’ And so, as my comrades bent to their oars, I replied with a sort of imitation of the song which the fisherman, for such he was, had been singing,[Pg 209] and at which he laughed again in his peculiar manner. But his mirth did not last long. Just as the shallop came with somewhat of a rude surge against the canoe, a couple of muscular hands grasped the poor negro by neck and arm, while I said in Spanish,—
‘Not a cry—not a sound—if you value your life.’
Immediately the poor man was pulled—all trembling and gasping in his bewilderment—into our boat, where he sat in the bottom, his white teeth chattering, and his eyes gleaming and rolling, while he sputtered out broken prayers in mingled Spanish and Latin.
‘Now,’ said I, still speaking the former language, ‘answer truly what is asked of you, and you shall come to no harm; but if you try to deal falsely by us, your blood be on your own head.’
At this the poor fellow gasped out, that he would do anything, if we would spare his life. I then questioned him concerning the galleon, or treasure-ship, and he answered very readily that she was in the harbour, being one of the vessels before us; that her freight was well nigh aboard, and that she would sail in two days at farthest. This was good news, and we hugged ourselves on our luck.
‘Then they are not afraid of French or English adventurers in these seas?’ I said.
‘Surely not,’ answered the negro. ‘For a fleet of armadilloes hath swept, as they think, the pirates clear away. So they conclude to set out on the voyage to Old Spain without more ado.’
Having said this much, the negro appeared to bethink himself—and bursting into great lamentations—besought us never to reveal that we had heard aught from him; ‘otherwise,’ quoth he, ‘there is no death so cruel my master would not put me to.’
But we bade him to be of good cheer, seeing that now his masters were altogether changed, and he was in the service of brave privateersmen, instead of skulking Spaniards; but that, indeed, if he proved a gallant trustworthy fellow, and would give us all the information he[Pg 210] could, he was no man’s slave but his own master. On this he plucked up a little, and said that if it would be a satisfaction to us, we could row close up to the galleon, and view her, as the Spaniards, being in fancied security, kept but slack watch; and, indeed, the greater part of the crew had gone to the cathedral on the hill, to a great High Mass. This was just what we wanted, but first there was a small job to be done. Whispering to Radley, we grasped the gunwale of the canoe, and by a vigorous push, surged the light shell-like thing fairly bottom upwards.
The negro looked on in consternation. ‘Why do you do that?’ he said, at length.
‘Look you, Pedro,’ for such was his name: ‘Look you, Pedro,’ says I, ‘suppose both you and your boat disappear—what will your master think to-morrow morning? a cockle-shell made of bark like that will not sink, therefore you could not have foundered. A hurricane has not carried you out to sea, because neither has there been, nor is there likely to be, any hurricane—ergo, both boat and man have been somehow spirited away. Such being the case, there must be enemies—pirates you call them—on the coast; and there being pirates on the coast, it would be mighty rash for the good galleon to sail. But then, Pedro, when your worthy master sees the canoe bottom-upward, tumbled by the surf upon the beach, the case will be different. An accident has happened,’ he will say, “My poor Pedro, so faithful a slave, and so profitable a fisherman, hath somehow, in his zeal to catch pisareros, doubtless, overbalanced himself, and capsized this light canoe. Woe is me, Pedro sleeps among sea-weed.” But Pedro sleeping among sea-weed will not prevent the anchors of the galleon from being lifted to her bows—you see.’
At this the poor fellow, understanding the device, looked up pitifully in my face—
‘I have a wife,’ quoth he, ‘and she will also think——’ Here his voice failed him, and the honest creature began to whimper.
[Pg 211]
‘Come—come,’ I broke in: ‘you may go back to your wife, Quashy, if you like, after we have the galleon, but till then you are one of us.’ I think the negro had sense to see, that whining would not make his case any the better, for he dried up his eyes, and pointing ahead, told us, that the ship riding nearest the shore was the galleon.
Slowly and cautiously we rowed, describing a great circle round to seaward, so as to keep out of the way of the outermost ships. Their lights fell in long rays across the water, and we could hear the voices of the men aboard as they talked. Once we were hailed, and I ordered Pedro to reply—saying we were fishermen returning from catching pisareros, to have them ready for the early market—but no one offered to interrupt us, until the shallop floated in the shadow of the great carved quarter galleries of the galleon. The ship appeared well nigh deserted. The lap of the water against her sides, and the cheep of the rudder, as it moved a little way to and fro in the calm, were all the sounds about her. Had there been but a slight puff of wind from the shore we might have cut her cable, boarded her, and fairly carried her away; but in a calm such an enterprise was out of the question. So, we were preparing to push off, well satisfied with our reconnoitring, when a light suddenly fell upon the carved figure of a saint, which formed one of the stern ornaments, and at the same time I could hear, though faintly, men’s voices in conversation. It would appear that some one had entered the great cabin with a light, and one of the windows being open, advertised us of the circumstance. All at once it occurred to me that, if I heard somewhat of the conversation, it was just possible that I might pick up some information as to the exact time the ship would sail, and the exact track she would follow; or perhaps the vision of a rope left carelessly dangling from the quarter into the water, had something to do with the notion. Catching the cord, I found it firmly attached above, and so, communicating in a whisper to the crew of the shallop my intention, I[Pg 212] swung myself up, and presently gained footing amid the great masses of carved work, being wreaths and coronals of flowers, and graven figures and symbols of war and peace, with which the Spaniards overload the sterns of their ships, going to great cost for little utility; and then a slight further exertion brought me into a gallery running round the great cabin, and fenced in with a sort of massive and curiously wrought and fretted railing. Then, crouching down, I crept to the window from whence came the voices and the light. There was a carved saint very handy, close by the casement, and favoured by his wooden holiness, I looked securely into the cabin. It was very brave in its devices and ornaments, and spacious in size. The ceiling was gilded until it glittered again in the light of the great silver lamp which swung above the table, and draperies and hangings of silk, all embroidered and passamented with gold lace, depended both from starboard and larboard, showing strangely beside the great ponderous breeches, and the strong tackle of two cannons, which you might see peeping from amid the silken bravery. The mizen-mast passed through this great cabin, and it was incrusted as it were with small weapons—pistols and daggers, most richly mounted and hilted—while below was a great buffet, all set out with glimmering crystal and plate—flagons and vases of burnished silver, and curiously-shaped goblets of sparkling glass. But, although I had never seen such splendour on board ship, or indeed, for that matter, anywhere else, I gazed with the greatest interest on the two men who occupied this floating palace; they sat on either side of the table, with a great crystal bottle, almost full of wine, and two long-stemmed glasses, before them. One was rather old and fat, with dark garments and grey grizzled hair. He had little pig-like eyes, and a sly greasy-looking face, and was altogether not pleasant to look on. But his companion was a handsome gaillard, as you might see in a summer’s day, and most bravely dressed. He had a very bronzed face, with jet-black moustaches, which were curled, and oiled, and crisped; and hair flowing about[Pg 213] his shoulders in such dainty fashion as I warrant you cost the barber many an hour’s labour; his eye was bright and flashing; his nose and mouth well cut; and, altogether, his head would have been a fortune for a painter to copy, only there was a leer about the eye, and a curl about the lip, which gave the lie to whoso would say, ‘Here be a gentle cavalier.’ Round his neck he wore great masses of lace, among which precious stones glittered; his cloak was of the richest velvet; and the arm which he stretched out to hold the drinking glass, showed a hand daintily gloved and sparkling with rings. On the table before him lay a rapier, sheathed and ornamented with ribbons, and beside it was a great straw hat, or sombrero, looped up with floss of gold and silk.
‘I would I were to see Madrid as soon as you,’ said the young cavalier; ‘there is a balcony I would fain be under but now with a mandoline,’ and, so saying, he set himself to hum, making as though he were playing an instrument.
‘Truly, Don José,’ answered the other, with a grating voice, ‘there are balconies enough in Carthagena, rivals enough to be fought with, and husbands enough to be deceived.’
‘Pshaw,’ said Don José, ‘colonial conquests give a man as little credit as trouble. I warrant you, you would have me—as successful a gallant as any at the court, be the second who he may,’ and here my gentleman curled his moustaches, and leant back with an air of mighty complacency,—‘you would have me waste time and incense on the female savages of this pestilent corner of the world.’
‘Well,’ answered the old man, ‘you ought to have bridled your valour, and not have drawn upon a gentleman in waiting in the precincts of the Escurial. You have no one to blame for your banishment but yourself. Zounds, for one, court-bred as you are, and a most learned doctor in that grave science of etiquette which rules the king who rules the double empire of Old and New[Pg 214] Spain,—you showed yourself a singular pattern of discretion.’
‘Who could help it, most grave and tricksy Senor Davosa?’ said the other; ‘what blood of Old Castile would not have boiled over to hear an upstart, who knows not the name of his grandfather, dispute precedence with me—an Hidalgo of fifteen pure and unblemished descents? By my faith—if I had any—were the guards not all the quicker, the mushroom would speedily have been cropped from the earth, and that, by this very piece of steel,’ and the speaker touched his rapier.
‘Well,’ answered the other, ‘I hope such are not the terms of the memorial I am to carry home for you; if they be, I am likely to have but a bootless errand.’
‘Fear nothing, man; fear nothing,’ cried Don José; ‘I know what belongs to a memorial—I know how to tickle the ears of a king. The parchment but sets forth in words that would move the mainmast of this floating-box, which you merchants and seafaring people call ship, my frenzied groupings and stumblings in this outer darkness, where no sun of royalty shines to cheer or warm my forlorn spirit. There are excellent phrases, man, excellent phrases in the thing; until I invented them I never thought I had been so ill used. When I read my own composition it affected me to tears—to tears, Davosa—as I hope it will the king. And now, when do you sail? Be speedy, my good dove, be speedy, and bring me back an olive branch as a sign that the waters are abated.’
‘We count to weigh anchor to-morrow evening,’ replied the old merchant. ‘The freight was long of coming, the mules here being but slow-footed, otherwise we should scarce have tarried so long. Every day brings more and more risk of these accursed pirates, French and English, who so often mar our best ventures.’
‘What! fearful, after the last pair of candlesticks you have bestowed on yonder lady, in her house upon the hill?’
[Pg 215]
‘Blaspheme not holy things,’ interposed the older man.
‘Oh, I cry thee pardon, good Gull,’ replied the other; ‘I forgot me you had as big a swallow as the rest. Ah, yes, to be sure, Our Lady of the Hill! Verily, a valorous and a venturesome dame. It was a brave device of señors the canons, that last miracle; a most surpassing feat, truly. Here is a blessed image of the blessed Virgin, dressed out as never was doll before; petticoats of cloth of gold, I warrant me, and stiff, absolutely stiff, with diamonds, pearls, rubies, and what not. Well! here comes an English man-of-war into these seas—the “Oxford,” I think, they call her. Bah! how these barbarous names stick in a gentleman’s throat; and so, by misadventure, this man-of-war, this heretical “Ox—Ox—Oxford,” taking fire, no doubt by reason of sparks from—from purgatory, to say the very least of it—this man-of-war blowing up, what say señors the canons? Down rush they from the shrine, all through the city, clamouring, “A miracle! A miracle!” Straightway the most greasy and gullible mob throng to the sanctuary—and what see they there? The Virgin, the doll, that is, in its place behind the altar, but all bemudded, all bedraggled, her gay clothes drenched with salt water, the gold embroidery torn away in flakes, the diamonds, and pearls, and rubies, all dropped and gone from stomacher and skirt; in fact, a very mutilated memorial of her yesterday’s glory. Great ejaculations of surprise and consternation! Mighty invocations to every saint in and out of the calendar! Evidently, a most dread secret, a most mighty mystery—a matter of holy wonder to the faithful!’
‘Don José! Don José!’ interrupted the old man, who had listened very impatiently to this tirade; ‘the tongue is an unruly member. Take heed what you utter. The holy office hath ears which hear afar, and hands which smite afar. Who knows who may be even now listening to you? For my part I would not breathe to myself what you have spoken aloud, even were I alone in a boat fivescore miles from land.’
[Pg 216]
‘Good Señor Davosa, it is no more your vocation to be fearless, than it is mine to be cowardly,’ replied the brisk gallant. ‘The cobwebs of the holy office were spun to catch blue bottles, man, not hornets. But I must tell you the story out. It is true, man, true, every word of it, as the bills of lading you send with this galleon. The people, then, wondered and worshipped, but could make nothing of the matter. Not so the canons. By the soul of the Cid, but they are dexterous fellows, the holy canons, and they caught the clue to the secret in brief time.’ “See you, my brethren,” said the head of the black cassocked brigands, “see you here. An heretical, a very heretical and damnable ship, called the ‘Oxford,’ hath been clean destroyed by fire, kindled no one knows how. Immediately after, coming to say our early prayers, what find we? This sacred effigy bedraggled and besmirched, as you see. How came this so? My brethren, the thing shall be clear unto you. The burning of the ‘Oxford’ is a very apparent and notable miracle. It was Our Lady’s hand held the torch. In the darkness of the night, when no eye saw it, she left her shrine. Many a league hath she walked over land and sea; as, indeed, the state of her garments may well make clear unto you all. Doubtless she hath scaled great mountains, and crested great waves, going with speed, so as to return by daylight to this her temple. The proof is very clear. The ‘Oxford’ hath perished; Our Lady hath spoiled her clothes; therefore hath Our Lady clean destroyed the ‘Oxford.’” And so, “Ave Maria Purissima,” shout the crowd, grovelling in their credulity. But the best—the very cream of the joke is behind—good Davosa, as thou shalt hear. “Good brethren and faithful,” quoth the chief canon again, “it seemeth clear unto me, that after such a miracle wrought in our favour, the least we can do—I mean you can do—is to restore the gold, and the diamonds, and the pearls, and the rubies, thus spoiled and lost by our good Lady. And look ye, it may well be that you shall thus be clear gainers; for if our Lady had not destroyed the ‘Oxford,’[Pg 217] mayhap the ‘Oxford’ would have destroyed Carthagena, and thus would you have been all clean ruined and undone.” So, “Gloria in Excelsis,” again shouted the poor fleeced mob; and the image is to have new jewels, and the canons to have the old ones, as well they deserved them for their ingenuity.’
And so saying, Don José drank off a full glass of wine, and leaned back, laughing lustily. His comrade arose—
‘That I have listened thus long to you, Don José,’ he said, ‘you owe to personal courtesy, not to any sympathy with your heathenish spirit, so full of unbelief and mockery. Have you any further commands?’
‘No: none—none,’ answered the cavalier, still laughing. ‘But thou knowest, Davosa, that in your heart, man—at the bottom of that cold deep well you call a heart—you are laughing with me in very cordial merriment.’
The old man rose up. ‘If you have no further commands,’ he was beginning, when Don José, who had got upon his feet, and was assuming his rapier and sombrero, while he repeated—‘No—none at all,’ suddenly stopped, and said, laughingly—
‘Hold—yes, one. You have heard of Don Octavio y St. Jago—every duenna in Madrid knows him to her cost. Well, he and I are close friends; I have writ to him. The letter is in the packet you hold; but one material circumstance I have forgotten. It is an old paction between us, that each should inform the other of all his love passages, so that, as it were, we should mutually act as spurs to each other’s gallantry, and so keep up our reputation.’
The merchant at this shrugged up his shoulders. ‘But,’ quoth he, ‘I thought you deemed the ladies on this side the great ocean no better than savages.’
‘Well, well, my good Davosa, and, if I did, know you not that there may be, for once in a way, a certain savour and tastiness about savagedom which speaks to the palate? Look you, the man palled with nectarines[Pg 218] and peaches may well pluck a bramble as he loiters in the field. And so, pray find means to inform my friend that there dwelleth in Carthagena a very ripe, and not altogether untempting bramble, having the shape of a very innocent-hearted and simple-souled damsel, who having rejected one or more of my courtesies, put me in the mind to tame and humble her completely; that unto this end I have gained over her mother, who is a widow and also a fool, believing very firmly in the saints, and a great number of other phenomena, myself among the number; and that—that—in fact I shall impart to him the conclusion of the tale when we meet at Madrid.’
The old man drily promised to observe the message, and then both drunk to the success of the voyage.
‘To-morrow evening, then, you turn your faces eastward?’ said the cavalier.
‘If there be but a breath to clear us of the land, I trust we may say our vespers at sea,’ replied the merchant.
‘And if there be but that same breeze,’ I whispered to myself, ‘you may chance say your matins aboard the Will-o’-the-Wisp.’
Then as the couple walked towards the cabin-stairs, I lowered myself into the shallop in safety, whispering to my comrades the good news I had overheard. They could scarce refrain from shouting, but caution overmastering joy, we pulled swiftly away. To some degree, however, our good fortune had made us bold, and instead of rowing out straight to sea, we made for the principal cluster of ships, as they lay in the line of our progress towards the schooner. We had passed several, when we suddenly heard the dash of several oars, vigorously pulled, close aheap.
‘Santa Maria!’ cried the negro, springing up, for he was terribly frightened at being found with us, ‘Santa Maria—the guard-boat!’
And, true enough, just round the bows of a large tartan came a great launch, impelled by six oarsmen, and[Pg 219] with a glitter of arms and lanterns shining out of her. Well, we had hardly time to gasp, when, with a great clamour at our sudden appearance, and all her crew starting up from their oars, the Spanish boat ran right into the starboard quarter of the shallop, hitting us a blow, which well nigh swamped the light craft; the Spaniards roaring out to curse our stupidity in not having got out of the way. For all this, we might have got clear off, they taking us, in the dark and confusion, for one of their own boats, had not Simon Radley shouted out involuntarily a great oath, cursing them for clumsy Spanish thieves, that knew not where they rowed. At this, a Spaniard aboard, who, it seems, knew the sound of our language, cried out—‘Los Ingleses—los Ingleses!’ and straightway our enemies, yelling and screeching like madmen, jumped up with intent to board us. Half-a-dozen pistol shots went off in a minute, as I shouted to my small crew to pull for their lives, and the boat started forward, scraping past the oars of the launch. Just then we gave a loud hurrah, as Englishmen love to do, to show their mettle. The bowman of the Spanish boat made a desperate leap, alighting with a surge on the stern of our shallop. Even while he was in the air, I started up to grapple with him. Our arms grasped each other’s doublets. I felt his hot breath on my cheek. We stood erect but for a moment, twining, as it were, around each other’s limbs, and then both of us, linked with brawny muscles together, fell splash into the sea, amid a great shout, which mingled in my ears with the rushing and gurgling of the water, into which we plunged. For a brief space I thought we must be drowned together, so desperate was the clutch with which we clung round each other’s throats; but rising in a minute to the surface, I found myself amid the blades of the Spanish oars, and, so clinging to them, I fought with my foeman, seeking to cast off his grip. At the same time I looked about for the shallop, but she was not to be seen, having evidently got off clear. And so, when the Spaniards grasped me to haul me into their[Pg 220] boat, I fought and struggled desperately, that the shallop might have the greater start, in case they pursued her. At length, however, being mastered, I was dragged into the guard-boat, just as, half an hour before, the negro was dragged aboard the shallop, and cast violently down on my face in the stern sheets, while my hands were fastened behind me. This done, one of my captors gave me a kick, and told me to sit up, which I did, in the centre of a circle of ferocious-looking sailors and soldiers, who all began to question me at once, with the most savage oaths and curses; to all of which I replied never a word, but shook my head, as though quite ignorant of the language. So presently, the officer in command, thinking, no doubt, that it might be so, ordered silence, and then saying that it was useless to chase the small boat in the dark, and that the prisoner must be taken ashore, and given up to the alcaide, bade his men stretch to their oars, which they did; and, presently, passing close by the galleon, my old friend Davosa called out to know what was the matter. The officer who steered answered, that they had come upon an English boat lurking in the harbour, and had captured one of her crew, and that he suspected there were more of the rogues not far off. Then presently, coming to a quay or jetty, they forced me up the slippery steps, and being guarded by two soldiers, each with a drawn sword they marched me away.