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Overview
Miles Philips is but a lad of thirteen when he sets sail aboard the Jesus of Lubeck from Plymouth on the second day of October, 1567. An eager youth willing to learn, he is ready to be of service to Mr. John Hawkins, renowned privateer, adventurer, transporter of African slaves, and general of the fleet of six vessels. But treachery and ambush await them across the ocean in New Spain, and Miles watches in horror as the ship dies bravely in battle at San Juan de Ulua. Forced to make a choice between almost-certain starvation aboard the lone, crippled vessel and taking his chances on land, Miles chooses the latter—setting out on an extraordinary adventure that will test his courage and his wiles as he attempts to find his way back home.
Based firmly in history, Geoffrey Household’s classic adventure brings a sixteenth-century world of discovery and danger to breathtaking life. A riveting and evocative tale brimming with action and color, Prisoner of the Indies is a magnificent journey back in time that readers of all ages will find impossible to put down.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781480411081 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 04/28/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 152 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 10 - 13 Years |
About the Author
In 1929 Household moved to the United States, where he wrote children’s encyclopedia content and children’s radio plays for CBS. From 1933 to 1939, he traveled internationally as a printer’s-ink sales rep. During World War II, he served as an intelligence officer for the British army, with posts in Romania, Greece, Syria, Lebanon, and Persia. After the war, he returned to England and wrote full time until his death. He married twice, the second time in 1942 to Ilona Zsoldos-Gutmán, with whom he had three children, a son and two daughters.
Household began writing in the 1920s and sold his first story to the Atlantic Monthly in 1936. His first novel, The Terror of Villadonga, was published during the same year. His first short story collection, The Salvation of Pisco Gabar and Other Stories, appeared in 1938. Altogether, Household wrote twenty-eight novels, including four for young adults; seven short story collections; and a volume of autobiography, Against the Wind (1958). Most of his novels are thrillers, and he is best known for Rogue Male (1939), which was filmed as Man Hunt in 1941 and as a TV movie under the novel’s original title in 1976.
Read an Excerpt
Prisoner of the Indies
By Geoffrey Household
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1967 Geoffrey HouseholdAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4804-1108-1
CHAPTER 1
We had spread a net for mullet at the head of the St Germans River, and Paul Horsewell and I were lying on the grass waiting for the tide to come up the valley from Plymouth. To the west were the grey village and the square tower of the church, and all around us the rich pastures of early August. Many times I have remembered the dark green tide flowing up under the trees, for often enough I saw the same in Honduras and the forests of New Spain and would long for my own country where neither man nor field is parched by the heat.
I was then but thirteen, and Paul was twelve. We were near the end of our schooling, and talking, when we talked at all, of what we should do in the world.
'I will tell you a secret if you will keep it,' Paul said. 'I am to sail for Guinea on my uncles' next voyage to learn the trade.'
Paul was the nephew of William and John Hawkins, and had before him a sure future. Mr William was the greatest merchant and shipowner in our town of Plymouth. Mr John, the younger by twelve years, commanded the fleets. Both were in high favour at court, and it was said that Her Majesty and Sir William Cecil, who was afterwards made Lord Burghley, were partners in the brothers' ventures, lending guns and ships from the Royal Navy.
For my part I had no friends in high places, and could only hope that some craftsman would take me as apprentice. My father had been a soldier. I know little of him except that he was a rare shot with a cross-bow and that he must have loved me since he left twenty pieces of gold with the Town Clerk of Plymouth in trust for my benefit. That was how I came to sit alongside Paul Horsewell in school.
My father served on board the ships of King Harry the Eighth and Queen Mary, and so had many friends in our port. He was killed on the walls of Calais in 1557, and my mother married a Frenchman who had small use for a child who could not speak his language and even then had a mind of his own. But I will say this for the man. He troubled himself to see that I was sent back to Plymouth. There I dwelt happy enough until that day with Paul Horsewell upon the valley side above the St Germans River.
'I wish I could go with you and see the world,' I said, 'though I doubt if any part of it be fairer than this.'
'Fairer no, but richer yes,' said Paul.
Well, it was not the money that I wanted, though it was as hard for me as any other boy to say what I did want; so I stayed in two minds until a week later when the two Queen's ships that were to join the venture sailed round from London into the Catwater. What with the shining brass of guns and trumpets, the pennants and the great castles fore and aft adorned with glass and scrollwork and carving, the Jesus of Lubeck and the Minion were the finest sight that ever I had seen, and little did I think that any fifty-ton pinnace trading between Plymouth and the Canaries was safer in a Biscay storm than they.
Soon after they anchored, I saw my first Spanish fleet. Seven great ships swept one after another into the Catwater without lowering their topsails in salute or any by-your-leave, driven by bad weather or so they claimed. John Hawkins fired on them, for which he incurred Her Majesty's displeasure. But of that and of all the gifts and fair words exchanged I knew nothing, and only wondered at the splendour and order of so many proud ships.
So then I spoke with Paul Horsewell, who all the time was strutting along the quays with a feather in his cap and a dagger at his belt, and asked him to say a word for me to his uncle William. The very next day I was summoned by Robert Barrett – God rest his gallant soul! – who was Master of the Jesus of Lubeck. He was all sword and ruffles like a great gentleman, but his lace was somewhat dirty and he had a twinkle in his eyes. He kept them half shut, though a young man, as if he were ever in the wind and salt spray of the Ocean.
He sat in the ship's waist watching the new cables loaded and stowed, and swearing foul oaths at the Chatham dockyards which charged Her Majesty for rotten rope. But to me he spoke kindly, asking many questions. When I told him that I could write a good hand, knew my numbers and a little Latin, he smiled and said that a boy was welcome who could copy an account and tot up the cargo of a pinnace; but more to the point was whether I could readily endure the motion of the sea. To that I replied that I had often fished for conger off the Eddystone and that the fish had nothing from me but the bait.
'And who will weep for you when you are drowned or die of the scurvy?' he asked.
I was ashamed not to have a ready answer to his question. Like all else in this world, that was partly the fault of others and partly my own. The Town Clerk had put me to lodge with a farmer and his wife who were kind to me but old. They gave me food and clothing, and I on my part worked manfully in the fields when I was not at school, for I did not wish them to find me a burden.
So I grew up without the ups and downs of a family, the kissing and the quarrels, the shouting and the love, taking my pleasure through my eyes like some poor, lonely boy in the pit of a playhouse. I did not know how fond I could be of my fellows and they of me until the Spaniards taught me to give and receive with more generous heart.
'I hope my shipmates will weep for me, sir,' I answered to Master Robert Barrett, 'for I mean to serve well.'
'And what will you eat on shipboard, lad?' he went on, testing me to see if I knew how hard a life was that of a seaman.
'Whatever there is, sir.'
'And if there is nothing?'
'Why then I have a small body and can starve the more easily!' I said, seeing that a merry answer pleased him.
At that he clapped me on the shoulder and declared that he might do better for me than I thought. I should help to serve Mr John Hawkins, our General of the Fleet, at his table.
Being only an ignorant lad and thinking of tavern boys without any schooling, I said that, if it could be, I would rather learn a trade.
He roared at me, though without malice, that I should have learned a score of trades by the time I had been six months at sea. Every man must be prepared, he said, to try his hand at the craft of another, whether carpenter, gunner, cooper, sailmaker, seaman or soldier, and all must go aloft in a storm and serve the guns in a fight.
'Aye, and in the after castle you will find men of learning and breeding who have kissed the hand of Her Majesty,' he went on. 'Learn to walk with them, Miles Philips, and then you may run where you will on your own!'
Now, that was very true; and indeed I learned to run on my own when every man's hand could have been against me.
We sailed from Plymouth on Monday, October the Second, 1567, being six ships in all; the two which were chartered from Her Majesty and the four owned by the Hawkins brothers, which were William and John, Swallow, Judith and Angel, the Judith being commanded by Francis Drake who was afterwards knighted. A gay and glorious fleet we must have seemed to the watchers upon Beacon Hill, for Mr Hawkins dressed his ships as he did himself, outdoing for nobility the French and the Spaniards. Even little Judith of but fifty tons and Angel of thirty-three seemed like African birds flying into the sun.
Between decks and below the fore castle the men chose each his place on the bare planks, for there were no Indian hammocks such as Spanish seamen learned to take aboard with them. I myself slept on the pantry shelf of the after castle, and the other boys where they could. Paul Horsewell was in Minion as purser's mate, of which I was glad. It would have been hard for him not to play the gentleman adventurer over a mere cabin boy, though he would have tried his best.
The next day did John Hawkins give his orders to the crew of the Jesus of Lubeck, which were: to serve God daily, to love one another, to preserve our victuals and to beware of fire. When he had spoken to the ship's company and I was serving wine in the great cabin to him and Master Barrett with other gentlemen, he called me to him.
'Miles boy, do you know why the Master chose you to serve me?' he asked.
'I do not, sir,' I answered, 'unless it be that I can keep my feet.'
'More than that,' he said, and turning to Master Barrett asked, 'What is it the dons say, Robert, which you told to Sir William Cecil and made him laugh?'
'That a closed mouth catches no flies, Mr Hawkins,' said the Master.
'Aye. A closed mouth is what I need, Miles. And my brother and Master Barrett thought you had it, for you have lived without a family to gabble with. Now, tell me, boy, where are we bound?'
'It is said that you go to look for gold in Guinea, sir,' I answered, 'but also it is said that in the cargo are fine cloths and linen too good for the Negroes to buy.'
'And where shall we sell them?'
'Perhaps on the Spanish Main, sir, though all Plymouth knows that King Philip of Spain allows no foreign traders.'
'And are we to disobey him when he and Her Majesty are at peace?'
To that I made no answer.
'You are right, boy. Such matters of high policy are not for children,' he said. 'But remember this! In your presence I shall speak freely to my captains and, it may be, to bishops and governors and grave and godly men upon the Main. What you hear you will keep to yourself.'
I promised faithfully to do so.
Then Mr Hawkins asked me what was being said of him in the fore castle, to which I replied boldly that if I were to keep the secrets of the one I must keep the secrets of the other, but I could say this much: that we all loved him dearly and would follow where he led.
'By the Lord, we have no lying lickspittle here, Robert!' he cried. 'But you may fairly answer this, Miles. You know that at our sailing from London the topsail yard fell from the slings and killed a poor girl among the crowd of our friends on deck. What do they say of that?'
'Some say it was a bad omen, sir, and some that it will ensure good luck, being, as it were, a sacrifice.'
Mr Hawkins smiled, but Master Barrett was much disquieted. Like Francis Drake of the Judith he was a hot Protestant, or Puritan as they now call it, and believed that God would punish Catholics in the next life, and in this life it was the duty of the English. Mr Hawkins, however, at the time condemned no one for his religion and treated all lawfully and with great courtesy.
'We must take a care for this child's soul,' Master Barrett exclaimed. 'He speaks like an Indian of New Spain.'
'But I am told they keep silent under torture, Robert,' Mr Hawkins said.
On the third day out there was a dead calm and the shipmasters all rowed over to the Jesus of Lubeck. Then I learned the object of our venture, which was to capture wild men from the coast of Guinea and sell them to the Spanish settlers on the Main, all of whom were ready to trade with us so long as they had some excuse for breaking the law. Mr Hawkins reminded his captains that we were not pirates but peaceful merchants flying Her Majesty's flag, and that we must treat the towns and governments with all ceremony.
When the boats had returned, there came a little grey rain from the north-west. Master Barrett ordered me to see that all the glass and plate from the great cabin were safely stowed, the hen coops lashed down and stores made fast. On deck the seamen were running life lines between the castles. I wondered at all this, but did not wonder long. The gale struck at us out of the dusk, and the Jesus of Lubeck lay over into the sea while the watch fought to get sail off her.
When night fell we were running before a Biscay storm under reefed foresail. I was never so afraid as that first night, for afterwards we were all too busy for fear. The stern timbers worked and ground against each other, and the seas thundered under the great after castle as if they would wrench it from the ribs. Beyond my pantry wall the rudder groaned as the helmsmen fought with the tiller.
Morning was worse, for I could see that all I had imagined in the night was true. The castle rose as high as the chimneys of Plymouth Town Hall, and then down it would go until I looked through the glass of the gallery into the heart of the green sea. There was no ship in sight but little Angel riding head to wind under a rag of sail, safe as a seagull. But all of us in the Jesus of Lubeck knew that if Master Barrett tried to bring her round, the force of the gale on her castles would capsize her.
The galley fires were all swamped, and Mr Hawkins' cook and butler, though they had voyaged with him before, were rolling helpless on their fat stomachs and praying for deliverance. As for his page, Samuel, a London spark who thought himself a gentleman, he was nowhere to be found. So I went in search of Mr Hawkins, carrying some salt fish and biscuit and a flagon of ale with a heavy lid to it. I found him on the poop dressed in coarse canvas against the sea, and he thanked me as if he had been in silks and velvets at Whitehall.
'Miles, child, from now on we shall fend for ourselves like the rest,' he said, 'for the ship needs every man and boy. Master Barrett here will set you a task. And see that you keep good hold of a line!'
Since my small weight was of no value at the pumps, the Master sent me to help the carpenters who were busying themselves with the safety of the heavy cannon. All had been secured with double lashings at the onset of the storm, but now and again a ring bolt would tear from rotten wood or a deck plank would splinter and lift. One of the culverins broke loose and charged down the waist, dragging rope and timber after it like a wild beast broken loose from its cage. The men at the pumps jumped for their lives into the rigging.
One jumped too late and was caught and crushed. I was near fainting at the sight and vomited up the little beer and biscuit in my stomach, for it was the first violent, bloody death that ever I saw, and I was not then accustomed.
I remember little of that day and the next. The deck was all noise and water and men who had dropped exhausted at the pumps washing to and fro at the end of their lines. Down below the carpenters were wading over the pebble ballast above the keel, caulking the leaks while I held the lanterns and the tools for them. Having nothing before their eyes but the black water surging from stem to stern and back, they began to be very fearful that the ship would strike before they could come up on deck.
I, seeing grown men in such a fright, hanged my lanterns on a nail and ran. But, scrambling up the ladders, I met Master Barrett coming down, and so pretended that I had been sent for more candles. When he heard what was the matter, he laughed at us and told us that if the ship went down those on deck would drown as briskly as those below; as for striking, we need have no fear, for we had made enough westing to pass clear of the End of the Earth, or Finistierra as the Spaniards call it.
On the fourth day the carpenters were caulking and patching one of the strakes amidships, and had set me up on a transom with a flaming, naked torch to give them more light. Here I could see the ballast on the bottom of the ship, as they could not, and suddenly I cried out, 'God save us all, masters! Here be fish swimming over the pebbles!'
In the forward part of the ship we had found no leak huge enough to let them pass; so one George Rively made his way aft, holding me by my belt and the scruff of my neck as if I had been a candlestick and telling me to keep my torch high, for he would rather be drowned than burned.
When we were under the after castle, such a spurt of water hit him that it knocked him down, and I was left swimming with one hand and holding my torch with the other. Then, as the stern rose from the sea and the water plunged away to the bows, I screamed at what I saw. The old timbers of the stern, which I had heard from my pantry crunching one another at the seams, were bending apart. As the great weight of the after castle plunged down into the trough of the waves, the planks opened so that a man could thrust his hand between them.
At our shouts the carpenters struggled aft, up to their chests in water, taking the bosun along with them. He saw at once that there could be no stopping such leaks with tar.
'Break open her cargo, lads!' he ordered. 'Cloth and wedges!'
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Prisoner of the Indies by Geoffrey Household. Copyright © 1967 Geoffrey Household. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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