And Doughty, though Drake's deed of kindness flashed...

And Doughty, though Drake's deed of kindness flashed

A moment's kind contrition through his heart,

Immediately, with all his lawyer's wit

True to the cause that hired him, laughed it by,

And straight began to weave the treacherous web

Of soft intrigue wherein he meant to snare

The passions of his comrades. Night and day,

As that small fleet drove onward o'er the deep,

Cleaving the sunset with their bright black prows

Or hunted by the red pursuing Dawn,

He stirred between the high-born gentlemen

( Whose white and jewelled hands, gallant in fight,

And hearts remembering Crécy and Poictiers,

Were of scant use in common seamanship ),

Between these and the men whose rough tarred arms

Were good at equal need in storm or war

Yet took a poorer portion of the prize,

He stirred a subtle jealousy and fanned

A fire that swiftly grew almost to hate.

For when the seamen must take precedence

Of loiterers on the deck — through half a word,

Small, with intense device, like some fierce lens,

He magnified their rude and blustering mode;

Or urged some scented fop, whose idle brain

Busied itself with momentary whims,

To bid the master alter here a sail,

Or there a rope; and, if the man refused,

Doughty, at night, across the wine-cups, raved

Against the rising insolence of the mob;

And hinted Drake himself was half to blame,

In words that seemed to say, “I am his friend,

Or I should bid you think him all to blame.”

So fierce indeed the strife became that once,

While Chester, Doughty's catspaw, played with fire,

The grim ship-master growled between his teeth,

“Remember, sir, remember, ere too late,

Magellan's mutinous vice-admiral's end.”

And Doughty heard, and with a boisterous laugh

Slapped the old sea-dog on the back and said,

“The gallows are for dogs, not gentlemen!”

Meanwhile his brother, sly John Doughty, sought

To fan the seamen's fear of the unknown world

With whispers and conjectures; and, at night,

He brought old books of Greek and Hebrew down

Into the foc'sle, claiming by their aid

A knowledge of Black Art, and power to tell

The future, which he dreadfully displayed

There in the flickering light of the oily lamp,

Bending above their huge and swarthy palms

And tracing them to many a grisly doom.

So many a night and day westward they plunged.

The half-moon ripened to its mellow round,

Dwindled again and ripened yet again,

And there was nought around them but the grey

Ruin and roar of huge Atlantic seas.

And only like a memory of the world

They left behind them rose the same great sun,

And daily rolled his chariot through their sky,

Whereof the skilled musicians made a song.