An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (17 page)

The fire bombs, as Rodney had expected, had added to the confusion on the shore. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the Indians were still playing their allotted part. The natives were running about screaming. The Spaniards, bemused, drunk and completely taken by surprise, had not the slightest idea what they should do. The
Santa Perpetua
was out of the bay by this time and breasting the open sea. Topsails and spritsails were quickly set. But there was no hurry. Although some of the Spaniards were hurrying into the boats lying on the shore, Rodney knew they had no chance of catching up with the ship and they would soon give up the chase once they found themselves afloat in the darkness.

He set his course south. It would not be long, he reckoned, before the
Sea Hawk
came to join him and then they would sail towards the Darien coast.

The
Santa Perpetua
was big and heavy and yet Rodney found her easy to handle. It was many years since he had been at the tiller and it gave him almost a sensuous thrill to caress the smooth length of wood with his hands, to feel the ship respond to his slightest touch. There was the sweet music of the breeze in the rigging and the lapping of the waves against the side as they moved forward into the star-strewn darkness.

Rodney threw back his head and let the air out of his lungs. They had done it, He could hardly believe it was true, but they had done it! The
Santa Perpetua
was theirs. He had captured her just as he planned without the loss of one man; he had captured her for England and for – Gloriana.

8

Dawn broke at three o’clock in the morning and Rodney had not left the wheel all night. He was not conscious of feeling tired, but rather as if his body no longer belonged to him and was acting independently, so that sometimes he stared stupidly at his hands, watching them at the wheel and wondering how they knew the right thing to do.

Sometimes he talked with people who were not there, his voice low against the darkness, and somehow one with the murmur of the sea.

“Talk to me, Phillida,” he said once. “Why do you hide from me? I will find you, wherever you go, wherever you conceal yourself. You are mine! There is no escape. I will make you love me – ”

But it was not Phillida he saw against the night, but Lizbeth – her green eyes mocking him, haunting his dreams, until he imagined her a devil, for surely he must be possessed by her.

Lizbeth’s long lashes, downcast against her cheeks until they were raised to reveal no demure, maidenly coyness, but a flashing anger, a fury equal to his own.

Lizbeth across the dinner-table. Lizbeth in the sunshine on deck. Lizbeth so close to him that he could hear the very intake of her breath – or was it just the breeze?

How terribly tired he was – and yet he must take the ship to – Lizbeth! As the light climbed up the sky and revealed the smooth pattern of the waves stretching away endlessly into a misty horizon, Rodney saw that he had brought the Santa Perpetua safely away from the coast and out into the open sea.

He hoped, too, that he had been successful in navigating the course that he and Barlow had planned together, their aim, of course, being to avoid the trade route from
Nombre de Dios
to Havana. Then, as his tired brain tried to feel some relief at the thought that for the moment there was nothing dangerous in sight, there came a hail from the main mast.

“Sail ho!”

Rodney felt himself grow alert, the mists of fatigue cleared in a moment from his mind. He did not reply, he only lifted his face and waited. He knew what he wanted to hear and yet the reassurance seemed to take an unconscionable time in coming.

“It’s the
Sea Hawk,
sir! On the starboard bow, sir, and making straight for us, I’m sure of it, came the cry, and Rodney gave a sigh of relief.

“A cup of wine, sir?” a voice said at his side.

He looked down to see one of the men with a tray in his hand. On it was a jug and goblet of such exquisite workmanship that Rodney could only stare at them in amazement. Gold-chased and ornamented with precious stones which glittered in the morning sun, they seemed like something that must have come out of a palace rather than a ship’s cabin. He glanced round to see the man who had brought them grinning from ear to ear.

“The after cabin’s full o’ such gewgaws, sir,” he volunteered. “Looks as ’ow we’ve struck it lucky.

Rodney picked up the goblet and drank the wine. It was rich and good and he felt it gave him new life and energy.

“Let us hope this is a sample of what the rest of the cargo is like,” he said briefly, putting the goblet back on the tray. “Get the galley fire going, we all need breakfast.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The man went off at the double and for a moment Rodney envied him – he looked so fresh and full of energy, while he felt utterly exhausted, it was no use denying it, and he despised himself for his frailty. Then he remembered that this was the third night he had been without sleep, and he felt that there was some excuse for his fatigue.

He looked towards the
Sea Hawk.
She was coming steadily towards them, but her progress would be slower than that of the
Santa Perpetua
who had the wind behind her.

Rodney was longing to go below to explore the ship, to see more of her than could be seen from where he stood behind the wheel; but he knew there was no one he could trust to take his place. Besides, every man was needed to work the sails. It had been difficult doing things in the dark, feeling their way around an unknown ship built on lines unfamiliar to British seamen.

And now Rodney noticed that they were making fast the sheets, making a decent, seaman-like job of those which had been cast off in a hurry, or left uncoiled. He knew that the men, as they hurried about, scurrying up the rigging or shouting instructions one to the other, were determined to impress their mates on board the
Sea Hawk
when she came alongside. They all desired to show off, a very human weakness in the circumstances.

Rodney grinned to himself as he realised that though the ship might look smart, he and his men were like ragamuffins – half naked, the few clothes which they had on torn or dirty with their scrambling aboard; barefoot, yet armed with cutlass and knife, they looked what they were, buccaneers and pirates.

Rodney was hungry, too; but more than food he wanted a shave, a chance to wash, and the feel of a fine linen shirt against his skin.

Already the sun was hot and he knew that in an hour or so it would be hotter still, with every prospect of the wind dying away on them. Before that they would have met the
Sea Hawk.
She was growing nearer every minute and he could imagine now the excitement and speculation on deck.

He looked up at the main mast and saw that one of the men, without instruction, had taken down the red and yellow castled banner of Spain; and he remembered that he should have given orders for this and had forgotten it. Master Barlow would have been scanning the main mast anxiously in case the ship to which he was proceeding so confidently was not the
Santa Perpetua
but another ship manned by her rightful owners.

Now Rodney could see, or thought he could, figures standing in the fo’c’sle, and wondered if Lizbeth would be amongst them. He was sure she would be there. She would not call him a coward now – for though she had apologised for her words, they still had the power to rankle and hurt him.

In capturing the
Santa Perpetua
he had justified, if it had needed any justification, the action he took in running away from superior odds and refusing to risk his ship and the lives of his men in a fight which could only have destroyed them. He had been right – of course he had been right; and although it was childish to have a feeling of elation at having justified himself, Rodney felt childish at the moment.

The
Sea Hawk
was coming nearer every moment and now he could see those aboard her waving excitedly. Barlow was managing her well, Rodney noticed, keeping her on a steady course and making the most of every breath of wind. For the thousandth time since he left Plymouth he told himself that he was lucky in having Barlow with him. He was a man one could trust, and though he would always lack initiative and that unaccountable touch of inspiration which was necessary in every good commander, as a second-in-command he was peerless and beyond criticism.

The
Sea Hawk
was within earshot now and the men were cheering. The sound of it brought a sudden lump to Rodney’s throat. It was so English, so much a touch of home, the men cheering the capture of the
Santa Perpetua
as they might have cheered a game or the sight of port itself after a long voyage. They had not reproached him when he ran away from the Spanish carrack and the pearling lugger, but he knew that he had disappointed them. Now they were giving him their full hearted approval, and he felt suddenly almost absurdly gratified and pleased that he had done what they expected of him.

It was not difficult to heave to in the open sea. The breeze had practically died away. A boat was lowered from the
Sea Hawk
and Rodney was amused to see that the first person to climb up the side of the
Santa Perpetua
was Lizbeth. She could be quiet and unobtrusive if necessary; but when it came to getting something she wanted, she took full advantage of her position as an honoured guest.

“Oh, Rodney! You’ve done it!”

Her hands clung to his and she was forgetful of everything, including caution, in her excitement.

“My congratulations, sir !”

Barlow’s welcome was formal, but there was no mistaking the excitement in his face, too. His eyes were roving round, taking in every detail of the galleon, her broad beam, low projecting bulkhead and square stem her poop towering into the air like a castle; her taff’rail three and four feet thick behind which gleamed half a dozen wide-mouthed guns-polished brass culverins and demi-cannon.

Barlow gaped at the woodwork glittering with gilt insignia, elaborate carvings and armorial escutcheons, while the sculptured figureheads, the queer, tall octagonal complicity rigging were to him all figures of fun.

“By the soul of King Harry!”

It was Barlow’s most expressive oath and only used when he was deeply moved.

“She’s the most wonderful ship I have ever seen,” Lizbeth said, drawing in a deep breath.”

Please tell us everything. How did you capture her? Was there any fighting?”

“It all went according to plan,” Rodney said, looking at Barlow and not at her. “Are Master Gadstone and his band on board?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rodney smiled. It was the one thing about which he had been worried.

“Then let us view our new possession, after which we had best make for some quiet harbour where we can inspect her cargo undisturbed. Did the Indian return with Master Gadstone?”

Barlow nodded.

“Yes, sir. Excited as a child he was, and Master Gadstone the same way.”

Rodney laughed.

“There was something to be excited about this time.”

He turned as he spoke to lead the way to the after cabin and then, as they reached it, through the open door on to the deck came a man. For a moment they were all too surprised to do anything but stare at him in astonishment.

He was young, extremely good-looking, with an olive skin and dark eyes which proclaimed his Spanish origin. He wore a claret-coloured doublet and breeches of the same hue; his stockings were a lighter shade and his small ruff was piped with gold. The roses on his shoes matched his doublet and were also spangled with gold; and round his shoulders was a great chain of precious stones.

For a moment no one said anything. The strange young man stared at Barlow, Lizbeth and Rodney. The latter was suddenly conscious of his naked raggedness. Nevertheless it was for him to take the initiative. Straightening his shoulders and with a swagger he was far from feeling, he stepped forward.

“Your name, Señor?”

He spoke in Spanish and the young man answered him in the same language.

“I am Don Miguel, son of the Marquis de Suavez, owner of this ship.”

Rodney inclined his head.

“I am Rodney Hawkhurst, servant of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England, Commander of the
Sea
Hawk,
and also, due to capture, of the
Santa Perpetua.”

“
I understand, sir.”

The Spaniard’s tone was quiet and level. He put his hand to the sword which hung at his side. He unstrapped the belt and lifting it, handed it to Rodney in the time honoured gesture of those who have been conquered.

Rodney took it from him and handed it to Barlow. “Thank you, Señor de Suavez,” he said. “ You will of course, consider yourself my prisoner, but we will make you as comfortable as possible until we return to England.”

The Spaniard gave a little wry smile, as if he knew only too well the hardships of prison life that awaited him there.

“You are most gracious, sir,” he said. “I regret I did not hear you come aboard. Unfortunately I have been ill of the fever and the ship’s doctor prescribed a sedative of such potency that I must have slept while the battle was taking place.” He hesitated for a moment and then continued. “You will forgive my curiosity, but were many of the officers and men of the
Santa Perpetua
killed?”

“I am glad to set your mind at rest. No one was killed,” Rodney replied, “except the six sentries left on board while the rest of the crew were feasting on the beach.”

For the first time an emotion showed on the young man’s face.

“I told them feasting was unnecessary and quite ridiculous,” he said irritably. “We had nothing to celebrate but a broken rudder.”

“I will, of course, be only too glad to tell you all that occurred when we have more time,” Rodney said, “but at the moment there is much for me and my officers to do. I would be grateful, Senor, if you would return to your cabin and stay there.”