Such memories, on the plunging Golden Hynde...

Such memories, on the plunging Golden Hynde,

Under the stars, Drake drew before his friend,

Clomb for a moment to that peak of vision,

That purple peak of Darien, laughing aloud

O'er those wild exploits down to Rio Grande

Which even now had made his fierce renown

Terrible to all lonely ships of Spain.

E'en now, indeed, that poet of Portugal,

Lope de Vega, filled with this new fear

Began to meditate his epic muse

Till, like a cry of panic from his lips,

He shrilled the faint Dragontea forth, wherein

Drake is that Dragon of the Apocalypse,

The dread Antagonist of God and Man.

Well had it been for Doughty on that night

Had he not heard what followed; for, indeed,

When two minds clash, not often does the less

Conquer the greater; but, without one thought

Of evil, seeing they now were safe at sea,

Drake told him, only somewhat, yet too much,

Of that close conference with the Queen. And lo,

The face of Doughty blanched with a slow thought

That crept like a cold worm through all his brain,

“Thus much I knew, though secretly, before;

But here he freely tells me as his friend;

If I be false and he be what they say,

His knowledge of my knowledge will mean death.”

But Drake looked round at Doughty with a smile

And said, “Forgive me now: thou art not used

To these cold nights at sea! thou tremblest, friend;

Let us go down and drink a cup of sack

To our return!” And at that kindly smile

Doughty shook off his nightmare mood, and thought,

“The yard-arm is for dogs, not gentlemen!

Even Drake would not misuse a man of birth!”

And in the cabin of the Golden Hynde

Revolving subtle treacheries he sat.

There with the sugared phrases of the court

Bartering beads for gold, he drew out all

The simple Devon seaman's inmost heart,

And coiled up in the soul of Francis Drake.

There in the solemn night they interchanged

Lies for sweet confidences. From one wall

The picture of Drake's love looked down on him;

And, like a bashful schoolboy's, that bronzed face

Flushed as he blurted out with brightening eyes

And quickening breath how he had seen her first,

Crowned on the village green, a Queen of May.

Her name, too, was Elizabeth, he said,

As if it proved that she, too, was a queen,

Though crowned with milk-white Devon may alone,

And queen but of one plot of meadow-sweet.

As yet, he said, he had only kissed her hand,

Smiled in her eyes and — there Drake also flinched,

Thinking, “I ne'er may see her face again.”

And Doughty comforted his own dark heart

Thinking, “I need not fear so soft a soul

As this”; and yet, he wondered how the man,

Seeing his love so gripped him, none the less

Could leave her, thus to follow after dreams;

For faith to Doughty was an unknown word,

And trustfulness the property of fools.

At length they parted, each to his own couch,

Doughty with half a chuckle, Francis Drake

With one old-fashioned richly grateful prayer

Blessing all those he loved, as he had learnt

Beside his mother's knee in Devon days.

So all night long they sailed; but when a rift

Of orchard crimson broke the yellowing gloom

And barred the closely clouded East with dawn,

Behold, a giant galleon, overhead,

Lifting its huge black shining sides on high,

Loomed like some misty monster of the deep:

And, sullenly rolling out great gorgeous folds,

Over her rumbled like a thunder-cloud

The heavy flag of Spain. The splendid poop,

Mistily lustrous as a dragon's hoard

Seen in some magic cave-mouth o'er the sea

Through shimmering April sunlight after rain,

Blazed to the morning; and her port-holes grinned

With row on row of cannon. There at once

One sharp shrill whistle sounded, and those five

Small ships, mere minnows clinging to the flanks

Of that Leviathan, unseen, unheard,

Undreamt of, grappled her. She seemed asleep,

Swinging at ease with great half-slackened sails,

Majestically careless of the dawn.

There in the very native seas of Spain,

There with the yeast and foam of her proud cliffs,

Her own blue coasts, in sight across the waves,

Up her Titanic sides without a sound

The naked-footed British seamen swarmed

With knives between their teeth: then on her decks

They dropped like panthers, and the softly fierce

Black-bearded watch, of Spaniards, all amazed,

Rubbing their eyes as if at a wild dream,

Upraised a sudden shout, El Draque! El Draque!

And flashed their weapons out, but all too late;

For, ere their sleeping comrades reached the deck,

The little watch, out-numbered and out-matched,

Lay bound, and o'er the hatches everywhere

The points of naked cutlasses on guard

Gleamed, and without a struggle those below

Gave up their arms, their poignards jewelled thick

With rubies, and their blades of Spanish steel.

Then onward o'er the great grey gleaming sea

They swept with their rich booty, night and day.

Five other prizes, one for every ship,

Out of the seas of Spain they suddenly caught

And carried with them, laughing as they went —

“Now, now indeed the Rubicon is crossed;

Now have we singed the eyelids and the beard

Of Spain; now have we roused the hornet's nest;

Now shall we sail against a world in arms;

Now we have nought between us and black death

But our own hands, five ships, and three score guns.”

So laughed they, plunging through the bay of storms,

Biscay, and past Gibraltar, not yet clothed

With British thunder, though, as one might dream,

Gazing in dim prophetic grandeur out

Across the waves while that small fleet went by,

Or watching them with love's most wistful fear

As they plunged Southward to the lonely coasts

Of Africa, till right in front up-soared,

Tremendous over ocean, Teneriffe,

Cloud-robed, but crowned with colours of the dawn.

Already those two traitors were at work,

Doughty and his false brother, among the crews,

Who knew not yet the vastness of their quest,

Nor dreamed of aught beyond the accustomed world;

For Drake had kept it secret, and the thoughts

Of some that he had shipped before the mast

Set sail scarce farther than for Mogadore

In West Morocco, or at the utmost mark

For northern Egypt, by the midnight woods

And crystal palace roofed with chrysoprase

Where Prester John had reigned five hundred years,

And Sydon, river of jewels, through the dark

Enchanted gorges rolled its rays along!

Some thought of Rio Grande; but scarce to ten

The true intent was known; while to divert

The rest from care the skilled musicians played.

But those two Doughtys cunningly devised

By chance-dropt words to breathe a hint abroad;

And through the foc'sles crept a grisly fear

Of things that lay beyond the bourne of earth,

Till even those hardy seamen almost quailed;

And now, at any whisper, they might turn

With terror in their eyes. They might refuse

To sail into that fabled burning Void

Or brave that primum mobile which drew

O'er-daring ships into the jaws of hell

Beyond the Pole Antarticke, where the sea

Rushed down through fiery mountains, and no sail

Could e'er return against its roaring stream.

Now down the coast of Barbary they cruised

Till Christmas Eve embraced them in the heart

Of summer. In a bay of mellow calm

They moored, and as the fragrant twilight brought

The stars, the sound of song and dance arose;

And down the shores in stealthy silence crept,

Out of the massy forest's emerald gloom,

The naked, dark-limbed children of the night,

Unseen, to gaze upon the floating glare

Of revelry; unheard, to hear that strange

New music of the gods, where o'er the soft

Ripple and wash of the lanthorn-crimsoned tide

Will Harvest's voice above the chorus rang.