A Gentleman-at-arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd, Knight

I was a lank youth of sixteen years when I fell into the hands of the Spaniards of Hispaniola—an accident wherein my grandam saw the hand of Providence chastising a prodigal son; but of that you shall judge.

In the summer of the year 1587, riding from school home by way of Southampton, I was told there of a brigantine then fitting out, to convey forth a company of gentlemen adventurers to the Spanish Main in quest of treasure. Sir Francis Drake had lately come home from spoiling the Spaniards' ships in the harbour of Cadiz, and the ports of our south coast were ringing with the tale of his wondrous doings; and I, being known for a lad of quick blood and gamesome temper, was resolved to go where Francis Drake had gone aforetime, and gain somewhat of the wealth then lying open to adventurers bold to pluck the King of Spain's beard. Wherefore one fine night I stole from my bed-chamber, hied me to the quay at Southampton, and bestowed myself secretly aboard the good ship Elizabeth.

Of my discovery in the hold, and the cuffs I got, and the probation I was put to, and my admission thereafter to the company of gentlemen adventurers, I will say nothing. The Elizabeth made in due time the coast of Hispaniola, and when Hilary Rawdon, the captain, sent a party of his crew ashore to fill their water-casks, I must needs accompany them; 'twas the first land we had touched for two weary months, and I felt a desperate urgency to stretch my legs. And while we were about our business, up comes a posse of Spaniards swiftly out of the woods, and there is a sudden onfall and a sharp tussle, and our party, being outnumbered three to one, is sore discomfited and utterly put to the rout, but not until all save myself and another are slain, and I find myself on my back, with a Spanish bullet in my leg. And you see me now borne away among the victors, and when I am healed of my wound, I learn that I am a slave on the lands of a most noble hidalgo of Spain, one Don Alfonso de Silva de Marabona, and an admiral to boot.

Now I had left home to spoil the Spaniards and with no other intent; wherefore to toil and sweat under a hot sun on the fields of a Spanish admiral, however noble, was no whit to my liking. Moreover, Don Alfonso proved an exceeding hard taskmaster, and bore heavily upon me his prisoner, a thing that was perhaps no cause for wonder, seeing that of all who had suffered when Master Drake sacked San Domingo, he had suffered the most. His mansion had been plundered and burnt; his pride had been wounded by the despite done to his galleons; and when a Spaniard is hurt both in pride and in pocket, he is not like to prove himself a very generous foe. And so I was in a manner the scapegoat for Master Drake's offences, and had in good sooth to smart for it. My noble master made no ado about commanding me to be flogged if he were not content with me; and to rub the juice of lemons, laced with salt and pepper, into the wounds made by the lash, is a marvellous shrewd way (though nowise commendable) of fostering penitence and remorse.

But in this unhappy plight I was not left without a friend. One midday, when I was resting from my toil in the fields, there came to me a spare and sallow boy, somewhat younger than myself, and spoke courteously to me in a kind of French, the which I, being by no means without my rudiments, made shift to understand. I soon perceived that we had a something in common, namely, a heavy and grievous grudge against Don Alfonso de Silva de Marabona, the which became a bond of unity betwixt us. Antonio (so was he named) was nephew to the admiral, and dependent on him—though his father had been a rich man,—by him, moreover, treated with great rigour. Ere long I was well acquainted with Antonio's doleful case. It was eleven years since his father the elder Antonio had sailed away for Spain, being summoned thither about some question of law concerning his estates in Castile. He took with him, in the galleon San Felipe, a store of treasure belonging to his brother the admiral, together with a yet costlier freight for behoof of his Catholic Majesty of Spain. And there was Antonio, a motherless infant of four years, left in his uncle's charge, his father purposing to return for him in the following summer, by the which time he hoped to have set his affairs in order.