The native smiled when he heard the translation. His face was bright with sweat and excitement. He made the men laugh. He volunteered to show them the fresh water; he went ahead, and they followed. But when they had reached the fresh pool and the little stream that fed it, he disappeared almost like magic.
The jungle was deep and airless and full of life. It had closed around them like a green net, and Pretty was conscious of unease. White men could be as easily trapped here as hapless flies in a spider web. But nothing happened. While the casks were being filled—just enough water for today—Cavendish and Pretty stood watch, their muskets loaded, both of them knowing that a few musket shots would be of no use at all before a concerted attack.
The walls of the jungle closed around them again as they made their way back to the white hot beach. The great volcano thrust itself upward; smoke curled from it. The sun beat down and the blue water sparkled in the heat; Cavendish had to squint to look out and see the Desire, riding so nattily at anchor and looking almost incredibly out of place in the blue bay of a savage and primitive island, so far away from home.
There were no fisher canoes on the surface of the bay, yet. There were only the Desire's boats, for some of the crew were fishing for tonight's meal. Cavendish knew that beyond the narrow strip of
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sand, before the jungle began, native eyes were watching. Soon perhaps they would dare to come forth and speak with the English. He stepped into his boat.
But the next day was the same. The land was silent. Fuller had set part of the men to cutting new canvas for the mainsheet; they worked during the early hours of the morning and evening, to escape the sun. The water casks had to be cleaned and filled. Cavendish went ashore with armed guards, while more of the crew cut wood. They lived on fish caught in the waters of the bay. And thus eight days passed.
"We must have food," Cavendish said.
Around the table in the big cabin, at midday dinner, the other officers listened gravely.
"I do not want to use force," Cavendish said. "I'm afraid to use it, because, should we approach their town through the jungle, they might make off with all their food, and leave the village bare." He threw his hands out, helplessly. "I don't want to try force," he repeated, "but, of course, we may have to. That is why, Fuller, I want to weigh anchor and stand in nearer the shore. We shall approach the town from the bay, then."
"Aye, sir," Fuller said, rising to his feet.
"We shall stand in nearer the town, and bring it within range of the guns. Then they will flee so quickly that they will not have time to take their live stock with them."
"Aye, sir," said Fuller again.
"We need the oxen I can hear lowing," said Cavendish, smiling, to ease the gravity with which he was being regarded. "And we shall wait one more day."
Pretty followed Cavendish. "You'll wait one more day, sir?" he asked, trailing behind his Captain.
"The danger," said Cavendish slowly, so that Pretty knew from long observation that he was frowning, "is their preponderant numbers." He had emerged onto the deck ahead of Pretty, and he stopped so suddenly that Pretty bumped into him.
"Sorry, sir!" Pretty said, and stared at the bay.
"You see what I mean?" Cavendish asked. The anchor cables were already creaking, and the crew was tumbling out on deck. Pretty heard Moon's voice as the gun ports opened. Cavendish ran down to the boat deck. He did not raise his voice.
"Master Moon!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
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"Hold your fire until I give you word!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Slowly Cavendish walked to the rail. "Master Pretty," he said over his shoulder, "fetch the Negro from wherever he is hiding himself. We're going to talk first—if they'll let us."
Pretty gave one last look at the bay. He had never seen so many canoes in his life. The paddles flashed as they streamed toward the Desire in the midday sun. The wind was very scant, and the Desire moved lazily, her sails hanging, and Cavendish knew that if this was an attack, they had picked the day well, for the Desire was almost becalmed. He looked up at the sails. Then he turned and bellowed for Cosmos to bring the glass.
Cosmos came running with it. He handed it to Cavendish and watched as the Captain raised it to his eyes. Still squinting through it, Cavendish said, "You are not afraid, are you, Cosmos?"
"No, sir," Cosmos said.
"You needn't be," Cavendish said, and there was relief in his tone. He called out, "Moon! There are women in those canoes. You can save that fire!"
Moon came running up on the boat deck, his face wreathed in smiles. He took the glass from Cavendish's fingers.
"By God, sir, look at them!"
"I am looking," said Cavendish. "Where's the Negro?"
"Here, sir," said Pretty.
It was only twenty minutes before the first canoe slid up alongside the Desire. There were ten men in it, and one of them was the native to whom they had talked eight days ago.
"Bid him good day," Cavendish ordered the Negro.
But the native had already begun to talk. He stood up in the canoe, waving his hands; he gesticulated and smiled, and Pretty was sure he was going to fall overboard in his excitement. Finally he was finished.
"What did he say?" asked Cavendish impatiently, cutting short the Negro who was answering the native in his own tongue, with more smiles and gesticulations.
The Negro stopped talking and turned to Cavendish. He could hardly get the words out. "He says you are welcome! He says the King says he is honored to welcome white man, English. He is most honored! He sends you gifts of food, and pearls, and wines, and bids his people make joy and dancing for you. He says you come nearer town, now!"
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"Tell him we are honored too," Cavendish said, speaking slowly. "Tell him we shall stand in nearer the town, if the wind permits. Tell him we send our greetings from the Queen of England to his King."
The Negro translated Cavendish's words. When he heard them, the native waved his hands again.
"He has more message," the Negro said.
The native talked again.
"He says the King has sent his own Secretary, and his interpreter, and members of his court to welcome royal white Captain. And, sir, he says there are two white men coming to meet you!"
"Two white men?" Cavendish asked, frowning.
"Aye, sir, he says that, two white men."
"If they're Spanish, this is a trick," Cavendish said.
"What'll we do then?" Moon asked excitedly.
"Wait and see," Cavendish said.
The Negro interrupted. "They are Portuguese, Portuguese, sir!"
At almost the same moment the wind sprang up. The great mainsail filled, the Desiie quickened her way, and spray flew up from her bows. Around the Desire the canoes were thick now; they followed her, streams of them.
The crew hung over the rails, waving. A canoe full of girls came up alongside, and Tyler almost fell into the water as he tossed down a rolled-up yard of linen. It was seized eagerly, and the girl who caught it put it over her shoulders carefully.
The native men were almost naked. The women wore a single garment, twisted under the armpits, and they were fair of complexion. Aboard the Desire, the men stared down at the laughing faces beneath them. Tyler was dissatisfied to hang over the rail; he showed his prowess by mounting high into the rigging and waving his arms to the girls as he perched up there. The wind held and the Desire stood in slowly toward the town; then she struck her sails and heaved out her anchors. She rode quietly about three cables length from shore.
The natives had brought food, precious food. Live hens, drakes and geese. Eggs, plantains, sugar in plates, coconuts, limes, oranges, lemons, salt and spices, and stores of wine.
And then the Portuguese came, with the officers of the King's court. They were dressed in European dress, with fine lawn shirts.