An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  The way itself was tricky, for in several places there was a deep undercurrent. There were also half-submerged coral reefs which might easily tear a hole in the boat.

  But at length they came to the place which the Indian had indicated as being the best place of concealment until darkness fell.

  It would not be long now, Rodney thought, and welcomed a star as it appeared above them, shimmering through the velvet sky. Still they must wait, while Rodney’s thoughts were with Gadstone who, by this time, should be nearing his place of concealment above the village. An Indian would meet them there.

  Gadstone and his men were to hide, watching everything that was taking place, and to do nothing if all went well until they heard three blasts on a whistle from the Santa Perpetua. That was the signal and when Rodney gave it they were to leave at once, running as quickly as their legs could carry them back to the Sea Hawk to get on board before she sailed to join the captured ship.

  But if things went wrong, then Gadstone’s little band was to cause a diversion. They had several fire tombs with them and each man carried a javelin tipped with tar; and although they could do little against a large number of Spaniards, they might at least-cause some confusion and divert attention, if it was necessary, from the ship lying in the harbour.

  That was Rodney’s plan for Gadstone, and Barlow had his orders. Now there was only his own part to be executed. In a whisper he gave the order for the boat to proceed. Dipping the oars with the utmost caution, they crept round the coast and suddenly the harbour opened up before them and they saw that the party ashore was, as the Indian Chief promised, in full progress.

  Four great bonfires were burning, as well as the other fires on which the bullocks and pigs were being cooked. The light was enough to reveal the merry-makers sprawling around on the soft sand, their arms encircling the flower-bedecked Indian maidens, while they ate and drank the food and wine that was being plied upon them by the older members of the village. Behind the native huts was a compound guarded by sentries in which the galley slaves were imprisoned.

  In the bay lay the Santa Perpetua, her high masts visible against the sky. It was difficult to see anything very clearly and yet Rodney was sure she lay in deep water and he reckoned that it would take at least three or four minutes for a boat to reach her from the shore.

  A burble of voices and laughter came from the party on the beach. It was quite a considerable noise, but even so Rodney hardly breathed the order which told his men to beach the boat. A few minutes later they were swimming, each man with a knife in his teeth, his cutlass bumping uncomfortably against his legs as he struck out into the darkness towards the ship. The sea was as warm as milk and Rodney, who was a good swimmer, easily passed the other men and reached the ship first. He caught hold of a rope hanging over the side and waited until the others joined him and then, slowly and as silently as they could, they began to climb.

  Very slowly they raised their heads over the thick bulwarks, mercifully it was not netted, and, as Rodney had expected, the sentries left on board the ship were all standing by the taff’rail looking longingly at the festivities ashore. There was a moment of deadly peril when the Englishmen, dripping wet, must move across the whole length of the deck to strike down the men before they turned and saw them.

  But even as they started creeping forward the natives ashore started to sing and dance, the noise they made deafening all other sounds.

  It was all over in a matter of seconds. The six sentries each received a knife in the back and before they could shout a heavy hand was clamped over their mouths to receive their dying breath.

  “Look below,” Rodney whispered.

  The men came back a few minutes later shaking their heads.

  “No one else aboard, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  Each man had been allotted his job before they left the Sea Hawk. They hurried now to the halliards and braces of the foresail. There had been no wind all day, but now an evening breeze was blowing off the land and the ship was rocking in her moorings as if she herself were ready to start. Rodney held his breath. Someone ashore might notice what was going on. But the Indians were dancing round one of the bonfires, their naked bodies, gyrating and pulsating, making it hard to see anything.

  “Ready to weigh anchor, sir, and she has one of them new capstans.”

  It was a Petty Officer who spoke breathlessly, and Rodney, glancing round him, knew that this was the supreme moment of danger when they must weigh anchor. Every seaman knew what a noise the anchor made being wound aboard.

  The merry-making was still loud and rampageous ashore-indeed it was increasing in volume as Rodney had planned with the Indian Chief, and yet – who knew? One of the officers might have sharp eyes, one of them might not be as drunk as the majority sounded.

  Slowly they began their task, their bare feet seeking a hold on the smooth deck as they bent all their weight to the capstan bars. The cable came steadily in, but the measured clank, clank of the capstan seemed to shout the news of what they were doing abroad.

  Clank, clank!

  Surely someone must hear it! Rodney thought in despair, sweating as he expended every ounce of his strength and muscle.

  The cable was heavy as might be expected in such a big ship, but it was coming up smoothly. Clank, clank! And now at last the anchor was rising!

  It was only then that Rodney dared to glance towards the shore. The natives were whirling round with the abandonment of Dervishes. Those who were not dancing were stamping their feet and clapping, the drums were beating and they all seemed to be straining their vocal powers in some fiendish ditty. The Indians were cooperating well!

  “Man the mainsail yards,” Rodney commanded. He went to the tiller himself and brought the Santa Perpetua head round into the wind.

  A sudden puff seemed to come at just the right moment, the sails flapped, bellied and flapped again. Rodney was conscious of the rapid beating of his heart as he watched the huge expanse of canvas. The sails were filling, the ship was moving. He could hardly believe it was true.

  She heeled to the wind with a creaking and a groaning of her cordage; then Rodney heard the chuckle of the waves against her bows. The wind was increasing, veering round to Nor’-East, as he and Barlow had anticipated earlier in the evening and the Santa Perpetua began to gather way.

  It was then that Rodney drew his whistle from his pocket and gave three loud blasts upon it. He waited another moment and blew another three, in case Gadstone could not hear him above the frenzied row on the beach. And yet he was sure the little band must have seen the Santa Perpetua moving.

  On shore there came a sudden shout, a different sound from all the rest. Someone was pointing towards the ship; another and yet another finger came out in their direction, and men were running down to the water’s edge, shouting and gesticulating. At that moment there was a flash and an explosion behind them. Rodney grinned to himself. Despite all his instructions to the contrary, he had guessed that young Gadstone would not be able to forbear letting off his fire bombs.

  It was quite unnecessary and strictly against his orders, but he knew that those long hours of waiting in the darkness must have been very trying to Master Gadstone’s exuberance; but he and his men would be legging it back to the Sea Hawk. They would be in time to catch her before she sailed.

  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 h
eave 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.”