Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Do you not hear the drums beat and the trumpets blow--far away, far
away? Let me whisper--there's one that comes home in triumph.... Ay,
your Grace, 'twas I that took Santo Domingo in Hispaniola, and on the
mainland the very rich cities of Puerto Cabello, Santa Marta, La Guayra,
Cartagena, Nombre de Dios and San Juan de Ulloa. Manoa I reserve,--'tis
a secret city, and all who know a secret must keep it, else.... Robin!
Robin, rid me of these babblers. She's coming!--all in white--like blown
spray--but she bears no roses. Lilies, lilies!--white samite like her
robe--but her eyes are turned away. Let her pass, ye fools! She's the
word of the night!" He staggered to his feet, swaying forward, clutching
at the empty air as at a man's throat, and again his laugh rang through
the cabin. "So you twisted it from me, Spanish dog!--so I raved out my
heart as to a woman? Then, Don Sathanas, we'll go home together and all
the soldiery of hell shall not unlock our embrace!" He grappled with an
invisible foe--bent him backward farther and farther over the brink of
the world--went down with him into unplumbed darkness....
They judged not the Captain of the _Cygnet_ for a craven and a traitor,
for, day after day and day after day, he lay in the Admiral's cabin, so
ill a man that the coasts of Death seemed nearer than those of England,
and man's condemnation an idle thing, seeing that so soon he must face
another Justiciar. So near at times to that ultimate shore did he drift
that those who watched him saw the shadow on his face. When the shadow
was deep they waited with held breath; when it somewhat lifted they
sorrowed that the tide had brought him back. He was of those
changelings from a fortunate land to whom Love clings when Faith has
covered her head and turned away. They that in heaviness of heart loved
him still grieved that he might not touch the dark shore. Better, far
better, to lay hold of it so, to go quietly in the not unhappy
fever-dream, wandering of old days, recking naught of the new. So the
matter might be adjudged elsewhere, but in this world glozed
and softened.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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