Englishman.  On the morrow came the usual hitch, the usual assurances that the gold of the town had been buried (one knew not where) by its fleeing people, the usual proud wheedling for the naming by the victors of a far lower ransom.  Drake having reaped more glory than gain from Santiago and Santo Domingo, was now obstinate in his demand, but Carlisle, the Lieutenant-General, counselled less rigorous terms, and John Nevil, who with two ships of his own had joined Drake at the Terceiras, spoke of the fever.

“It is no common sickness.  Each day sees a battle lost by us, won by the Spaniard.  You have held his strongest city for now five weeks.  There are other cities, other adventures upon which thou wilt fight again, and again and again until thou diest, Frank Drake.”

“There were a many dead this morning,” put in Powell, the sergeant-major.  “There had been a many more were’t not for the friar’s remedy.”

Drake moved impatiently.  “I would your miracle of St. Francis his return had wrought itself somewhat sooner.  Now it is late in the day,—­though God knows I am glad for the least of my poor fellows if he be raised from his sickness through this or any other cure....  Captain Carlisle, you will see to it that before night I have the opinion of all the land captains touching our contentment with a moiety of the ransom and our leave-taking of this place.  Captain Cecil, you will speak for the officers of the ships.  Three nights from now the Governor feasts us yet again, and on that night this matter shall be determined.  Gentlemen, the council is over.”

As the group dissolved and the men began to move and speak with freedom, Giles Arden touched Captain Powell upon the sleeve.

“What monk’s tale is this of a Spanish friar who wastes the elixir of life upon Lutheran dogs?  I’ faith, I had bodeful dreams last night, and waked this morning now hot, now cold.  I’ll end my days with no foul fever—­an I can help it!  What’s the man and his remedy?”

“Why,” answered Powell, doubtfully, “his words are Spanish, but at times I do think the man is no such thing.  He came to the camp a week agone, waving a piece of white cloth and supporting a youth, who, it seems, was like to have pined away amongst the Indian villages, all for lack of Christian sights and sounds.  The friar having brought him to the hospital, wished to leave him with the chirurgeons and himself return to the Indians, whom, we understand, he has gathered into a mission.  But the youth cried out, and clutching at the other’s robe (i’ was a pity to see, for he was very weak), dragged himself to his feet and set his face also to the forest.  Whereupon the elder gave way, and since then has nursed his companion—­ay, and many another poor soul who longs no more for gold and the strange things of earth.  As for the remedy—­he goes to the forest and returns, and with him two or maybe three stout Indians bearing bark and branch of a certain tree, from which he makes an infusion....  I only know that for wellnigh all the stricken he hath lightened the fever, and that he hath recalled to life many an one whom the chirurgeon had given over to the chaplain.”