When he had gained the open sea, the wind carried him on very steadily, and at more than an average speed, till he came off the everlasting Cape, when, of course, it dropped. After the usual interval of three weeks, however, it returned, and bore him on to the Straits. Thence he had a fair passage to the north of Portugal.
The Bay of Biscay is by no means a pleasant district for a cruizer; and after pitching about there for two whole days, in the hope of picking up some venturous fisherman, and finally despairing of such a result, Hildebrand made the bold resolution of entering the Tagus. With the knowledge that there was collected there an armada pronounced invincible, which had been equipped for the purpose of subjugating his country, and effacing its name from the map of nations--with a perfect conviction that, if detected, escape, through hosts of foes, and in the face of a hundred batteries, would be an utter impossibility--sensible that a mere suspicion of his being an Englishman would lead to his immediate execution as a spy--this intrepid and fearless man, without one qualm of hesitation, without one apprehension of the result, turned his ship about, and steered straight for the Tagus.
It was near midnight when the English cruizer, with the wind in her stern, approached the mouth of the noble Tagus. A bar of sand, which renders the navigation dangerous at low water, runs across the mouth; and the island-fort of Belem, which divides the stream into two channels, stands in its centre. It was on the eastern side of the fort that Hildebrand steered his ship; and he hoped, though it was not very dark, that she would pass unobserved. Whether she was observed by any of the sentries, or not, or whether, being observed, she was supposed to be a ship of the king’s, and so not looked after, it is impossible to say; but such was the remissness of the sluggish Spaniards that she was allowed to pass unquestioned. Having cleared the fort, she kept her way straight on to Lisbon, which was about ten miles farther. Hildebrand remained on deck the whole time, as did Master Halyard also; but Don Rafaele, at their suggestion, betook himself to the cabin, and there retired to rest. When he arose in the morning, the ship had come to an anchor. On mounting to the deck, he saw the old city, which stood on the opposite shore to the present one, stretched out before him, about a quarter of a mile distant. The fair bay in its front, which had hardly opened where he stood, was crowded with tall ships, of dimensions greater than any he had ever seen, and so closely packed withal, that he no longer feared that the solitary English ship would attract notice. It was as animated a scene as one could wish to behold. There was the old city, with its black monasteries, its prison-like convents, its towering churches, and its close-packed streets, all sloping up from the water, as distinctly displayed as in a map. Then came the forest of men-of-war, each a floating castle, and populous as a city. The wide, bright river, as far as the eye could penetrate, was ploughed by vessels of every order--ships, gun-boats, and galleys, all bearing down towards the city, and destined to join the tremendous armada. On the opposite shore, where stands the present city, rose a chain of verdant hills, stretching far beyond the site of the modern palace of Necessidades, which now crowns one of them. The hills were green to the water’s edge, and, here and there, were topped with smiling white windmills, or, rather, wine-presses, which, sparkling in the sun, made the verdure of the hills even more apparent. Over all, and high above all, was spread the soft, blue sky, free from the least speck, and making the river look azure from mere reflection.