Then out from Tarapaca once again They sailed, their hold a glimmering mine of wealth, Towards Arica and Lima, where they deemed The prize of prizes waited unaware. For every year a gorgeous galleon sailed With all the harvest of Potosi's mines And precious stones from dead king's diadems, Aztecs' and Incas' gem-encrusted crowns, Pearls from the glimmering Temples of the Moon, Rich opals with their milky rainbow-clouds, White diamonds from the Temples of the Sun, Carbuncles flaming scarlet, amethysts, Rubies, and sapphires; these to Spain she brought To glut her priestly coffers. Now not far Ahead they deemed she lay upon that coast, Crammed with the lustrous Indies, wrung with threat And torture from the naked Indian slaves. To him that spied her top-sails first a prize Drake offered of the wondrous chain he wore; And every seaman, every ship-boy, watched Not only for the prize, but for their friends, If haply these had weathered through the storm. Nor did they know their friends had homeward turned, Bearing to England and to England's Queen, And his heart's queen, the tale that Drake was dead.
Northward they cruised along a warm, wild coast That like a most luxurious goddess drowsed Supine to heaven, her arms behind her head, One knee up-thrust to make a mountain-peak, Her rosy breasts up-heaving their soft snow In distant Andes, and her naked side With one rich curve for half a hundred leagues Bathed by the creaming foam; her heavy hair Fraught with the perfume of a thousand forests Tossed round about her beauty: and her mouth A scarlet mystery of distant flower Up-turned to take the kisses of the sun. But like a troop of boys let loose from school The adventurers went by, startling the stillness Of that voluptuous dream-encumbered shore With echoing shouts of laughter and alien song.
But as they came to Arica, from afar They heard the clash of bells upon the breeze, And knew that Rumour with her thousand wings Had rushed before them. Horsemen in the night Had galloped through the white coast-villages And spread the dreadful cry "El Draque!" abroad, And when the gay adventurers drew nigh They found the quays deserted, and the ships All flown, except one little fishing-boat Wherein an old man like a tortoise moved A wrinkled head above the rusty net His crawling hands repaired. He seemed to dwell Outside the world of war and peace, outside Everything save his daily task, and cared No whit who else might win or lose; for all The pilot asked of him without demur He answered, scarcely looking from his work. A galleon laden with eight hundred bars Of silver, not three hours ago had flown Northward, he muttered. Ere the words were out, The will of Drake thrilled through the _Golden Hynde_ Like one sharp trumpet-call, and ere they knew What power impelled them, crowding on all sail Northward they surged, and roaring down the wind At Chiuli, port of Arequipa, saw The chase at anchor. Wondering they came With all the gunners waiting at their guns Bare-armed and silent--nearer, nearer yet,-- Close to the enemy. But no sight or sound Of living creature stirred upon her decks. Only a great grey cat lay in the sun Upon a warm smooth cannon-butt. A chill Ran through the veins of even the boldest there At that too peaceful silence. Cautiously Drake neared her in his pinnace: cautiously, Cutlass in hand, up that mysterious hull He clomb, and wondered, as he climbed, to breathe The friendly smell o' the pitch and hear the waves With their incessant old familiar sound Crackling and slapping against her windward flank. A ship of dreams was that; for when they reached The silent deck, they saw no crouching forms, They heard no sound of life. Only the hot Creak of the cordage whispered in the sun. The cat stood up and yawned, and slunk away Slowly, with furtive glances. The great hold Was empty, and the rich cabin stripped and bare. Suddenly one of the seamen with a cry Pointed where, close inshore, a little boat Stole towards the town; and, with a louder cry, Drake bade his men aboard the _Golden Hynde_. Scarce had they pulled two hundred yards away When, with a roar that seemed to buffet the heavens And rip the heart of the sea out, one red flame Blackened with fragments, the great galleon burst Asunder! All the startled waves were strewn With wreckage; and Drake laughed-- "My lads, we have diced With death to-day, and won! My merry lads, It seems that Spain is bolting with the stakes! Now, if I have to stretch the skies for sails And summon the blasts of God up from the South To fill my canvas, I will overhaul Those dusky devils with the treasure-ship That holds our hard-earned booty. Pull hard all, Hard for the _Golden Hynde_."