Indian friends by now had they, for in the town they had found and set at liberty three caciques, penned like beasts, chained with a single chain, scored with marks sickening to look upon.  The caciques proved not ungrateful.  Down the river this very day had come canoes rowed by men of bronze and filled with spoils of the chase, fish of strange shapes and brilliant hues, golden, luscious fruits, flowers also fairer than amaranth or asphodel, gold beads and green stones.  Gold and gems went into the treasure-chests aboard the ships, but all besides came kindly in for the furnishing of that rich feast.  Nor were lacking other viands, for grain and flesh and wine had been abundant in Nueva Cordoba, whose storehouses now the English held.  They hung their borrowed banqueting-hall with garlands of flowers, upon the long table put great candles of virgin wax, with gold and silver drinking-vessels, and brought to the revel of the night a somewhat towering, wild, and freakish humor.  Victory unassuaged was theirs, and for them Fortune had cogged her dice.  They had taken the San Jose and sunk the caravels, they had sacked the pearl-towns and Nueva Cordoba, they had gathered laurels for themselves and England.  For the fortress, they deemed that they might yet drain it of hoarded treasure.  The poison of the land and time had touched them.  The wind sang to them of conquest; morn and eve, the sun at noon, and at night the phosphorescent sea, were of the color of gold, and the stars spoke of Fame.  The great mountains also, to the south,—­how might the eye leap from height to height and the soul not stir?  In Time’s hornbook ambition is an early lesson, and these scholars had conned it well.  Of all that force, scarce one simple soldier or mariner in whom expectation ran not riot, while the gentlemen adventurers in whose company were to sup De Guardiola and his ten cavaliers saw that all things might be done with ease and that evil chances lurked not for them.

The Captain of the Cygnet and the Captain of the Phoenix, with Arden and Sedley, awaited beside the great window of the hall their guests’ appearance.  The sunset was not yet, but the moment was at hand.  The light, dwelling upon naked hillside and the fortress crowning it, made both to seem candescent, hill and castle one heart of flame against the purple mountains that stretched across the south.  Very high were the mountains, very still and white that fortress flame; the yellow plain could not be seen, but the palm-trees were gold green above the walls of Nueva Cordoba.  The light fell from the hilltop, a solitary trumpet blew, and forth from that guarded opening in the tunal rode De Guardiola on his pale horse, and at his back ten Spanish gentlemen.

“The dark line of them is like a serpent creeping from the tunal,” said Henry Sedley.  “Last night I dreamed a strange thing....  It concerned my sister Damaris.  She came up from the sea, straight from the water like blown spray, and she was dressed in white.  She looked down through the sea and her tears fell, and falling, they made music like the mermaiden’s singing that we heard. ‘Lie still,’ she said. ’Thou under the sea and I under the sod.  Lie still:  dream well:  all’s over.’  To whom did she speak?”