On the Spanish Main; Or, Some English forays on the Isthmus of Darien. John 1878-1967 Masefield
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in confusion. He had the wind of them, and would have been able to do this without difficulty, but they did not wait his coming. They got to their oars in a hurry, and rowed to their defence in the woods—the fight being at an end before the frigate could warp to windward into action.
Being weary of these continual fruitless tussles, "and because our victuals grew scant," Drake sailed from the port the following morning, in slightly better weather, hoping to get fresh provisions at the Rio Grande, where he had met with such abundance a few days before. The wind was still fresh from the west, so that he could not rejoin his ship nor reach one of his magazines. He took two days in sailing to the Magdalena, but when he arrived there he found the country stripped. "We found bare nothing, not so much as any people left," for the Spaniards had ordered everyone to retire to the hills, driving their cattle with them, "that we might not be relieved by them." The outlook was now serious, for there was very little food left, and that of most indifferent quality, much of it being spoiled by the rains and the salt water. On the day of their landfall they rowed hard for several hours to capture a frigate, but she was as bare of food as they. "She had neither meat nor money," and so "our great hope" was "converted into grief." Sailors get used to living upon short allowance. The men tightened their belts to stay their hunger, and splashed salt water on their chests to allay their thirst. They ran for Santa Martha, a little city to the east, where they hoped "to find some shipping in the road, or limpets on the rocks, or succour against the storm in that good harbour." They found no shipping there, however, and little succour against the storm. They anchored "under the western point, where is high land," but they could not venture in, for the town was strongly fortified (later raiders were less squeamish). The Spaniards had seen them come to moorings, and managed to send some thirty or forty musketeers among the rocks, within gunshot of them. These kept up a continual musket fire, which did bodily hurt to none, but proved a sad annoyance to sailors who were wearied and out of victuals. They found it impossible to reply to the musketry, for the rocks hid the musketeers from view. There was nothing for it but to "up kedge and cut," in the hope of finding some less troublous berth. As they worked across the Santa Martha bay the culverins in the city batteries opened fire. One shot "made a near escape," for it fell between the pinnaces as they lay together in "conference of what was best to be done."
The company were inclined to bring the cruise to an end, and begged that they might "put themselves a land, some place to the Eastward, to get victuals." They thought it would be better to trust to the courtesy of the country people than to keep the seas as they were, in the cold and heavy weather, with a couple of leaky, open boats. Drake disliked this advice, and recommended that they should run on for Rio de la Hacha, or even as far as Curaçoa, where they would be likely to meet with victual ships indifferently defended. The men aboard John Oxenham's pinnace answered that they would willingly follow him throughout the world, but they did not see, they said, how the pinnaces could stand such weather as they had had. Nor did they see how they were going to live with such little food aboard, for they had "only one gammon of bacon and thirty pounds of biscuit for eighteen men"—a bare two days' half allowance. Drake replied that they were better off than he was, "who had but one gammon of bacon and forty pounds of biscuit for his twenty-four men; and therefore [he went on] he doubted not but they would take such part as he did, and willingly depend upon God's Almighty providence, which never faileth them that trust in Him." He did not wait for any further talk, but hoisted his fore-sail and put his helm up for Curaçoa, knowing that the other pinnace would not refuse to follow him. With "sorrowful hearts in respect of the weak pinnace, yet desirous to follow their captain," the weary crew stood after him on the same course. They had not gone more than three leagues when, lo!—balm in Gilead—"a sail plying to the westward" under her foresail and main-sail. There was "great joy" in that hunger-bitten company, who promptly "vowed together, that we would have her, or else it should cost us dear." Coming up with her they found her to be a Spanish ship of more than ninety tons. Drake "waved amain" to her, the usual summons to surrender; but she "despised our summons," and at once opened fire on them, but without success, for the sea was running very high. The sea was too high for them to board her, so they set small storm-sails, and stood in chase, intending to "keep her company to her small content till fairer weather might lay the sea." They followed her for two hours, when "it pleased God" to send a great shower, which, of course, beat down the sea into "a reasonable calm," so that they could pepper her with their guns "and approach her at pleasure." She made but a slight resistance after that, and "in short time we had taken her; finding her laden with victuals well powdered [salted] and dried: which at that present we received as sent us of God's great mercy."
After a stormy night at sea, Drake sent Ellis Hixom, "who had then charge of his pinnace, to search out some harbour along the coast." Hixom soon discovered a little bay, where there was good holding ground, with sufficient depth of water to float the prize. They entered the new port, and dropped their anchors there, promising the Spaniards their clothes, as well as their liberty, if they would but bring them to a clear spring of water and a supply of fresh meat. The Spaniards, who knew the coast very well, soon brought them to an Indian village, where the natives "were clothed and governed by a Spaniard." They stayed there all the day, cutting wood for their fire, filling water casks, and storing the purchased meat. The Indians helped them with all their might, for Drake, following his custom, gave them "content and satisfaction" for the work they did for him. Towards night Drake called his men aboard, leaving the Spanish prisoners ashore, according to his promise, "to their great content." The wood, water casks, and sides of meat were duly stored, the anchors were brought to the bows, and the adventurers put to sea again towards the secret harbour. That day one of their men died from "a sickness which had begun to kindle among us, two or three days before." What the cause of this malady was "we knew not of certainty," but "we imputed it to the cold which our men had taken, lying without succour in the pinnaces." It may have been pleurisy, or pneumonia, or some low fever. The dead man was Charles Glub, "one of our Quarter Masters, a very tall man, and a right good mariner, taken away to the great grief of Captain and company"—a sufficiently beautiful epitaph for any man. "But howsoever it was," runs the touching account, "thus it pleased God to visit us, and yet in favour to restore unto health all the rest of our company that were touched with this disease, which were not a few."
The 15th of November broke bright and fine, though the wind still blew from the west. Drake ordered the Minion, the smaller of his two pinnaces, to part company, "to hasten away before him towards his ships at Port Diego … to carry news of his coming, and to put all things in a readiness for our land journey if they heard anything of the Fleet's arrival." If they wanted wine, he said, they had better put in at San Barnardo, and empty some of the caches in the sand there, where they had buried many bottles. Seven days later Drake put in at San Barnardo for the same commodity, "finding but twelve botijos of wine of all the store we left, which had escaped the curious search of the enemy who had been there, for they were deep in the ground." Perhaps the crew of the Minion were the guilty ones. About the 27th of November the Captain's party arrived at Port Diego, where they found all things in good order, "but received very heavy news of the death of John Drake, our Captain's brother, and another young man called Richard Allen, which were both slain at one time [on the 9th October, the day Drake left the isle of shell-fish] as they attempted the boarding of a frigate." Drake had been deeply attached to this brother, whom he looked upon as a "young man of great hope." His death was a sore blow to him, all the more because it happened in his absence, when he could neither warn him of the risks he ran nor comfort him as he lay a-dying.
He had been in the pinnace, it seems, with a cargo of planks from the Spanish wreck, carrying the timber for the platform of the battery. It was a bright, sunny morning, and the men were rowing lazily towards the fort, "when they saw this frigate at sea." The men were in merry heart, and eager for a game at handystrokes. They were "very importunate on him, to give chase and set upon this frigate, which they deemed had been a fit booty for them." He told them that they "wanted weapons to assail"; that, for all they knew, the frigate might be full of men and guns; and that their boat was cumbered up with planks, required for his brother's service. These answers were not enough for them, and "still they urged him with words