Book V II

With the fruit of Aladdin's garden clustering thick in her hold,With rubies awash in her scuppers and her bilge ablaze with gold,A world in arms behind her to sever her heart from home,The Golden Hynde drove onward over the glittering foam.

If we go as we came, by the Southward, we meet wi' the fleets of Spain!'Tis a thousand to one against us: we'll turn to the West again!We have captured a China pilot, his charts and his golden keys:We'll sail to the golden Gateway, over the golden seas.

Over the immeasurable molten goldWrapped in a golden haze, onward they drew;And now they saw the tiny purple quayGrow larger and darker and brighten into brownAcross the swelling sparkle of the waves.Brown on the quay, a train of tethered mulesMunched at the nose-bags, while a Spaniard drowsedOn guard beside what seemed at first a heapOf fish, then slowly turned to silver barsUp-piled and glistering in the enchanted sun.Nor did that sentry wake as, like a dream,The Golden Hynde divided the soft sleepOf warm green lapping water, sidled up,Sank sail, and moored beside the quay. But Drake,Lightly leaping ashore and stealing nigh,Picked up the Spaniard's long gay-ribboned gunClose to his ear. At once, without a sound,The watchman opened his dark eyes and staredAs at strange men who suddenly had come,Borne by some magic carpet, from the stars;Then, with a courtly bow, his right hand thrustWithin the lace embroideries of his breast.Politely Drake, with pained apologiesFor this disturbance of a cavalierNapping on guard, straightway resolved to makeComplete amends, by now relieving himOf these--which doubtless troubled his repose--These anxious bars of silver. With that wordTwo seamen leaped ashore and, gathering upThe bars in a stout old patch of tawny sail,Slung them aboard. No sooner this was doneThan out o' the valley, like a foolish jestOut of the mouth of some great John-a-dreams,In soft procession of buffooneryA woolly train of llamas proudly cameStepping by two and two along the quay,Laden with pack on pack of silver barsAnd driven by a Spaniard. His amazeThe seamen greeted with profuser thanksFor his most punctual thought and opportuneCourtesy. None the less they must avouchIt pained them much to see a cavalierTurned carrier; and, at once, they must insistOn easing him of that too sordid care.

Then out from Tarapaca once againThey sailed, their hold a glimmering mine of wealth,Towards Arica and Lima, where they deemedThe prize of prizes waited unaware.For every year a gorgeous galleon sailedWith all the harvest of Potosi's minesAnd precious stones from dead king's diadems,Aztecs' and Incas' gem-encrusted crowns,Pearls from the glimmering Temples of the Moon,Rich opals with their milky rainbow-clouds,White diamonds from the Temples of the Sun,Carbuncles flaming scarlet, amethysts,Rubies, and sapphires; these to Spain she broughtTo glut her priestly coffers. Now not farAhead they deemed she lay upon that coast,Crammed with the lustrous Indies, wrung with threatAnd torture from the naked Indian slaves.To him that spied her top-sails first a prizeDrake offered of the wondrous chain he wore;And every seaman, every ship-boy, watchedNot only for the prize, but for their friends,If haply these had weathered through the storm.Nor did they know their friends had homeward turned,Bearing to England and to England's Queen,And his heart's queen, the tale that Drake was dead.

Northward they cruised along a warm, wild coastThat like a most luxurious goddess drowsedSupine to heaven, her arms behind her head,One knee up-thrust to make a mountain-peak,Her rosy breasts up-heaving their soft snowIn distant Andes, and her naked sideWith one rich curve for half a hundred leaguesBathed by the creaming foam; her heavy hairFraught with the perfume of a thousand forestsTossed round about her beauty: and her mouthA scarlet mystery of distant flowerUp-turned to take the kisses of the sun.But like a troop of boys let loose from schoolThe adventurers went by, startling the stillnessOf that voluptuous dream-encumbered shoreWith echoing shouts of laughter and alien song.

But as they came to Arica, from afarThey heard the clash of bells upon the breeze,And knew that Rumour with her thousand wingsHad rushed before them. Horsemen in the nightHad galloped through the white coast-villagesAnd spread the dreadful cry "El Draque!" abroad,And when the gay adventurers drew nighThey found the quays deserted, and the shipsAll flown, except one little fishing-boatWherein an old man like a tortoise movedA wrinkled head above the rusty netHis crawling hands repaired. He seemed to dwellOutside the world of war and peace, outsideEverything save his daily task, and caredNo whit who else might win or lose; for allThe pilot asked of him without demurHe answered, scarcely looking from his work.A galleon laden with eight hundred barsOf silver, not three hours ago had flownNorthward, he muttered. Ere the words were out,The will of Drake thrilled through the Golden HyndeLike one sharp trumpet-call, and ere they knewWhat power impelled them, crowding on all sailNorthward they surged, and roaring down the windAt Chiuli, port of Arequipa, sawThe chase at anchor. Wondering they cameWith all the gunners waiting at their gunsBare-armed and silent--nearer, nearer yet,--Close to the enemy. But no sight or soundOf living creature stirred upon her decks.Only a great grey cat lay in the sunUpon a warm smooth cannon-butt. A chillRan through the veins of even the boldest thereAt that too peaceful silence. CautiouslyDrake neared her in his pinnace: cautiously,Cutlass in hand, up that mysterious hullHe clomb, and wondered, as he climbed, to breatheThe friendly smell o' the pitch and hear the wavesWith their incessant old familiar soundCrackling and slapping against her windward flank.A ship of dreams was that; for when they reachedThe silent deck, they saw no crouching forms,They heard no sound of life. Only the hotCreak of the cordage whispered in the sun.The cat stood up and yawned, and slunk awaySlowly, with furtive glances. The great holdWas empty, and the rich cabin stripped and bare.Suddenly one of the seamen with a cryPointed where, close inshore, a little boatStole towards the town; and, with a louder cry,Drake bade his men aboard the Golden Hynde.Scarce had they pulled two hundred yards awayWhen, with a roar that seemed to buffet the heavensAnd rip the heart of the sea out, one red flameBlackened with fragments, the great galleon burstAsunder! All the startled waves were strewnWith wreckage; and Drake laughed--"My lads, we have dicedWith death to-day, and won! My merry lads,It seems that Spain is bolting with the stakes!Now, if I have to stretch the skies for sailsAnd summon the blasts of God up from the SouthTo fill my canvas, I will overhaulThose dusky devils with the treasure-shipThat holds our hard-earned booty. Pull hard all,Hard for the Golden Hynde."

And so they cameAt dead of night on Callao de Lima!They saw the harbour lights across the wavesGlittering, and the shadowy hulks of shipsGathered together like a flock of sheepWithin the port. With shouts and clink of chainsA shadowy ship was entering from the North,And like the shadow of that shadow slippedThe Golden Hynde beside her thro' the gloom;And side by side they anchored in the portAmidst the shipping! Over the dark tideA small boat from the customs-house drew near.A sleepy, yawning, gold-laced officerBoarded the Golden Hynde, and with a cry,Stumbling against a cannon-butt, he sawThe bare-armed British seamen in the gloomAll waiting by their guns. Wildly he plungedOver the side and urged his boat away,Crying, "El Draque! El Draque!" At that dread wordThe darkness filled with clamour, and the ships,Cutting their cables, drifted here and thereIn mad attempts to seek the open sea.Wild lights burnt hither and thither, and all the port,One furnace of confusion, heaved and seethedIn terror; for each shadow of the night,Nay, the great night itself, was all El Draque.The Dragon's wings were spread from quay to quay,The very lights that burnt from mast to mastAnd flared across the tide kindled his breathTo fire; while here and there a British pinnaceSlipped softly thro' the roaring gloom and glare,Ransacking ship by ship; for each one thoughtA fleet had come upon them. Each gave upThe struggle as each was boarded; while, elsewhere,Cannon to cannon, friends bombarded friends.

Yet not one ounce of treasure in CallaoThey found; for, fourteen days before they came,That greatest treasure-ship of Spain, with allThe gorgeous harvest of that year, had sailedFor Panama: her ballast--silver bars;Her cargo--rubies, emeralds, and gold.

Out through the clamour and the darkness, out,Out to the harbour mouth, the Golden Hynde,Steered by the iron soul of Drake, returned:And where the way was blocked, her cannon cloveA crimson highway to the midnight sea.Then Northward, Northward, o'er the jewelled main,Under the white moon like a storm they droveIn quest of the Cacafuego. Fourteen daysHer start was; and at dawn the fair wind sank,And chafing lay the Golden Hynde, becalmed;While, on the hills, the Viceroy of PeruMarched down from Lima with two thousand men,And sent out four huge ships of war to sinkOr capture the fierce Dragon. Loud laughed DrakeTo see them creeping nigh, urged with great oars,Then suddenly pause; for none would be the firstTo close with him. And, ere they had steeled their heartsTo battle, a fair breeze broke out anew,And Northward sped the little Golden HyndeIn quest of the lordliest treasure-ship of Spain.

Behind her lay a world in arms; for nowWrath and confusion clamoured for revengeFrom sea to sea. Spain claimed the pirate's headFrom England, and awaited his returnWith all her tortures. And where'er he passedHe sowed the dragon's teeth, and everywhereCadmean broods of armèd men aroseAnd followed, followed on his fiery trail.Men toiled at Lima to fit out a fleetGrim enough to destroy him. All night longThe flare went up from cities on the coastWhere men like naked devils toiled to castCannon that might have overwhelmed the powersOf Michael when he drave that hideous routThrough livid chaos to the black abyss.Small hope indeed there seemed of safe return;But Northward sped the little Golden Hynde,The world-watched midget ship of eighteen guns,Undaunted; and upon the second dawnSighted a galleon, not indeed the chase,Yet worth a pause; for out of her they took--Embossed with emeralds large as pigeon's eggs--A golden crucifix, with eighty poundsIn weight of gold. The rest they left behind;And onward, onward, to the North they flew--A score of golden miles, a score of green,An hundred miles, eight hundred miles of foam,Rainbows and fire, ransacking as they wentShip after ship for news o' the chase and gold;Learning from every capture that they drewNearer and nearer. At Truxillo, dimAnd dreaming city, a-drowse with purple flowers,She had paused, ay, paused to take a freight of gold!At Paita--she had passed two days in front,Only two days, two days ahead; nay, one!At Quito, close inshore, a youthful page,Bright-eyed, ran up the rigging and cried, "A sail!A sail! The Cacafuego! And the chainIs mine!" And by the strange cut of her sails,Whereof they had been told in Callao,They knew her!Heavily laden with her gems,Lazily drifting with her golden fruitage,Over the magic seas they saw her hullLoom as they onward drew; but Drake, for fearThe prey might take alarm and run ashore,Trailed wine-skins, filled with water, over the sideTo hold his ship back, till the darkness fell,And with the night the off-shore wind arose.At last the sun sank down, the rosy lightFaded from Andes' peaked and bosomed snow:The night-wind rose: the wine-skins were up-hauled;And, like a hound unleashed, the Golden HyndeLeapt forward thro' the gloom.A cable's lengthDivided them. The Cacafuego heardA rough voice in the darkness bidding herHeave to! She held her course. Drake gave the word.A broadside shattered the night, and over her sideHer main-yard clattered like a broken wing!On to her decks the British sea-dogs swarmed,Cutlass in hand: that fight was at an end.

The ship was cleared, a prize crew placed a-board,Then both ships turned their heads to the open sea.At dawn, being out of sight of land, they 'ganExamine the great prize. None ever knewSave Drake and Gloriana what wild wealthThey had captured there. Thus much at least was known:An hundredweight of gold, and twenty tonsOf silver bullion; thirteen chests of coins;Nuggets of gold unnumbered; countless pearls,Diamonds, emeralds; but the worth of theseWas past all reckoning. In the crimson dawn,Ringed with the lonely pomp of sea and sky,The naked-footed seamen bathed knee-deepIn gold and gathered up Aladdin's fruit--All-colored gems--and tossed them in the sun.The hold like one great elfin orchard gleamedWith dusky globes and tawny glories piled,Hesperian apples, heap on mellow heap,Rich with the hues of sunset, rich and ripeAnd ready for the enchanted cider-press;An Emperor's ransom in each burning orb;A kingdom's purchase in each clustered bough;The freedom of all slaves in every chain.