CHAPTER XXI.

PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES.

It was the intention of the Spaniards to take the broken and shot-riddled hulk of the _Revenge_ to Spain as their vaunted prize. And well might they set glory upon their conquest, for she was the one and only English ship that had surrendered to them during the whole course of the war, and in capturing her they had sacrificed four of their own best galleons, while sustaining great damage to some fourteen others. Nearly two thousand of their soldiers had been slain in the fight or drowned in the sea, including two high and mighty hidalgos, Don Louis de St. John, whom Grenville had vanquished with his own hand, and Don George de Prunaria de Malaga, besides many others of special account.

Their admiral now sent a large company of carpenters, riggers, and swabbers on board of her to repair her leaks, pump out the water that was deep in her hold, and clear her of the wreckage that encumbered her; while those who remained alive of her gallant crew were dispersed among the Spanish ships as prisoners, although permitted to go ashore upon the island during the daytime under close surveillance of a guard of armed soldiers.

Don Alonzo de Bassan's fleet lay in the roadstead of Terceira awaiting the daily expected arrival of the West India treasure-ships, which appeared in straggling numbers day by day. The Lord Thomas Howard's squadron, which had set out to lay capture to them, appeared not again, but having left the _Revenge_ to her fate at the opening of the battle, departed for England. Some accused him of cowardice in avoiding an engagement; but 'tis certain enough that he knew the risks that were entailed, and if the truth must be set down, Sir Richard Grenville had really been guilty of disobedience.

While Gilbert and Timothy were still prisoners on board the _St. Paul_ they were quartered in a little cabin under the poop. With them was Ambrose Pennington, and in another cabin were Roland Grenville and Captain Robinson. Jacob Hartop had remained on board the _Revenge_ with Edward Webbe, refusing to quit her while she floated.

On a certain day, ere yet the combined fleets from Spain and the West Indies were ready to depart for Spain, Philip Oglander lay on his bed under pretence of being wounded, albeit his wounds were no more serious than a cut upon his knuckles and a dark-blue bruise upon the back of his right hand, where the pistol flung by Red Bob had struck him. It was not so much these hurts that kept him abed as the eager desire which was consuming him to hear what was going on in the cabin next to his own. It was the cabin occupied by his cousin Gilbert and Timothy Trollope. Philip did not dare to speak openly with his cousin and question him concerning what knowledge he might have of the things that had been going forward at Modbury Manor, but he was aware that Gilbert knew more than himself, for he had once seen Gilbert reading a letter--Drusilla's letter,--and also he had on occasion heard Timothy Trollope--whether in jest or in earnest--address Gilbert as "my lord".

Now Philip had himself received more than one letter from England. For his father, well knowing the traitorous business which occupied Philip in Spain, and knowing where a letter might find him, had written to him informing him of the death of Lord Champernoun, and bidding him remember that he, Philip, might one day inherit the title and estates, and that, therefore, it was incumbent upon him to look well to his personal safety.

"Indeed," wrote Jasper, "there is but one thing now standing between thee and this great heritage, and that is thy cousin, Master Gilbert Oglander. There is naught that I wish for more heartily than to hear of the young Jackanapes' death. Therefore I do conjure thee, my son, if thou shouldst by chance encounter him, prithee do thy work with more surety than thou didst do it in Beddington Dingle. Let there be no bungling, but bear thee well in mind that upon thy well-directed arrow shaft, or rapier point, must depend thy future and the possibility of dubbing thyself Baron Champernoun."

These were vague hints. But Philip had understood them. He had understood them to mean that his father urged him to seek out Gilbert Oglander and frustrate his return to England. And Philip had sought to obey these injunctions, although hitherto without success. He had tried to compass Gilbert's death during the battle, and, having failed, he yet had hope that some chance would favour him for fulfilling his cherished desire. And he furtively watched his cousin, spied upon his every movement, and endeavoured by every available means to entrap him to his death. But Gilbert, wheresoever he went about the galleon and whenever he went ashore, was for ever accompanied by Timothy Trollope, and Philip saw no advantage in running the risk of a hand-to-hand encounter with the barber's valiant son.

On this day as he lay in his cabin he listened for every word that should pass between Gilbert and his two companions. Much that was said was in the form of mere idle remark about the late battle, or about their wounds, or about the death of Sir Richard Grenville. But after a while there was talk of home, and at length, in answer to some question of Ambrose Pennington, Gilbert spoke of his uncle Jasper, and thereupon told the whole story of his grandfather's death and of his uncle's assumption of the title, even as Drusilla had recounted it in her letter.

"Ah!" muttered Philip, overhearing every word. "Then he doth know. By Our Lady, he doth know all!"

Then, setting his teeth together, he vowed that come what might Gilbert should never return to England to enjoy his inheritance. And from that moment he continued to watch his cousin with increased diligence. It was some comfort to his wicked soul to know that Gilbert was now a captive, and that as such it was more than probable he would spend many a year to come in some Spanish prison, as so many Englishmen had done before him. But this was not enough, for there was the chance of an escape from prison; there was the chance, indeed, that Don Alonzo might liberate his captives to ransom; there were a hundred ways by which Gilbert might succeed in returning to his native land. But there was one sure and certain means of preventing this, and that was that, by fair measures or by foul, Gilbert should be brought to his death, and Philip now resolved that this should be. He would not rest content until his cousin lay lifeless, ay, as lifeless as brave Sir Richard Grenville, whose body now lay at the bottom of the sea.

Gilbert was quite oblivious of the secret danger that threatened him, nor did he see aught but pure accident in what befell him on the next day.

The Spanish admiral did not wish that his ship should be encumbered by a crowd of wounded Englishmen. And on the day before the sailing of his fleet he ordered that those who were at present on board the _St. Paul_ should be removed to the _Revenge_. And it followed accordingly that boats were put out for this purpose.

Gilbert and Timothy were at the gangway together, and it chanced that Timothy descended the side-ladder first, scarcely observing that Philip Oglander had crept to Gilbert's side. Timothy was already in the boat, when, on looking up, he saw Gilbert stumble and fall. Fortunately the boat was not close alongside; there was a yard of water between it and the ship. Gilbert was but a poor swimmer, and when he splashed into the sea he sank deep down. There was a strong current, and when he rose to the surface he appeared many yards away astern of the boat. Timothy plunged in and swam to him, thinking of sharks, and when he reached him and supported him, he turned to see if the boat were being brought to the rescue. He heard some orders given in Spanish, which seemed to him to be given in Philip Oglander's voice. Louder still than Philip's was the voice of Ambrose Pennington, which could be heard for a long distance away, crying out to the boatmen to cast off and pull towards the two lads, and mingling his commands with volleys of round English oaths that would surely have won for him the iron chain of punishment had they been heard a few days before on board the _Revenge_. But the Spaniards heeded him not at all, declaring that the boys were but foreign lumber who might well be allowed to drown for all the use they would be on the galleys.

Pennington appealed to Philip Oglander, saying that it was his own cousin and the head of his family who was in danger. But Philip turned away with a derisive laugh, no doubt congratulating himself upon the fact that it was his own foot over which Gilbert had tripped.

From a high part of the galleon's poop where he presently climbed he watched the heads of the two boys as they were carried away in the current. Soon an intervening galleon hid them from his view, and he consoled himself with the thought that he had very cleverly got rid of the one person who, next to his own father, stood between him and the baronage of Champernoun.

But he had not counted upon Timothy Trollope's powers of swimming. For some moments Timothy thought to strike out for the shore, and gripping Gilbert with his one arm and bidding him be calm, he manfully breasted the swelling waves. Swimming to the leeward of one of the galleons he presently saw an empty boat lying at her side. He swam towards it and got hold of its gunwale, helping Gilbert to do likewise. Then, while Gilbert held on, Timothy climbed over her stern, and kneeling upon one of the thwarts hauled his companion on board.

"'Twas Philip Oglander that did it," said he, wringing the water out of Gilbert's ragged clothing. "I saw him put forth his foot and trip thee. I have seen all along that he hath had designs against thee, Master Gilbert--I mean, my lord--"

"Nay, keep to the Gilbert, Tim," interrupted Gilbert. "As to this matter of my falling overboard, well, I can e'en believe as you say, nevertheless we might easily have been in a worse case than we are now. For, look you, there is a ladder up the ship's side at your elbow, and it were easy enough to get on board of her."

"It were equally easy to cut the boat's painter and make for the shore," said Tim.

"But there be no oars aboard," returned Gilbert.

"Wherefore need we concern ourselves about oars?" asked Timothy. "I will adventure it however it be." And he felt for his knife. A look of sudden despair came into his face. "Alas!" he added, "I had forgotten that the Dons had deprived us of our weapons!"

He stepped to the boat's bow, and was about to try to untie the knot of her painter when a voice greeted him from above, and a Spaniard with very furious curled moustachios appeared in the opening of the gangway. To escape now with the boat was impossible, and the two boys yielded themselves up as prisoners, explaining as best they could the accident that had brought them there.

The Spaniards appeared to regard the matter with indolent indifference, saying that the lads should be sent back on board the flag-ship on the morrow. In the meantime Gilbert and Timothy were permitted to sit in the warm sunlight to dry their clothes on the upper deck, and no more notice was taken of them until late in the evening, when one of the galleon's boys gave them each an onion. They slept under the lee of one of the big guns, and in the morning the same ship's-boy brought them a tin dish of bean soup, indicating by signs that they were to share it between them.

On the afternoon of that same day some officers from one of the other galleons came on board, and with them was one Maurice Fitz John, of Desmond, a forlorn-looking Irish traitor who, because he could speak English, had been sent to speak with the English prisoners in each ship and to persuade them to serve the King of Spain. He had not expected to find any on board this particular galleon--the _Santa Maria_, as she was named,--but discovering Gilbert and Timothy, he accosted them, believing them to be very humble seamen. He besought them to take arms in King Philip's legion, using very subtle arguments. They would have three times the amount of pay that they could get on an English ship, he said, and he promised them such advancement as he thought would tempt any young men who were, as these were, ship-broken and half-starved and ill-clothed, and if they would be good Catholics the safety of their souls should be assured.

Timothy Trollope noticed that the man was himself but ill-apparelled, and reflected that such beggarly appearance was in itself a sufficient answer to the argument of rich pay. As for the notion of changing their religion, it was as repulsive to both Tim and Gilbert as that of deserting their Queen.

"Well, well," said the Irishman, when, having used up all his eloquence in his pleadings, he turned to go, "an ye will not see the advantage of what is offered ye, 'tis no concern of mine. 'Tis yourselves that will suffer for your obstinacy. But I doubt not that a few years of work at the oars of His Majesty's galleys will bring ye to better reason." And with that he departed.

For many days thereafter Gilbert and Timothy led a very weary, uncomfortable life. In return for their food and such shelter as was given to them, they were made to do much dirty and distasteful work. They were never permitted to go on shore, yet they were free from the restraint of chains--a dispensation for which they were thankful. Gradually their wounds healed, and they regained strength with such speed, that when at last the full number of the treasure-ships had arrived and the fleet was ready to sail for Spain, they were almost as well in health as they had been on the day before the battle.