own the creek
Without one word, waiting their chance. Then all
Together with their brandished oars they thrust,
And on the fierce white out-draught of a wave
They shot up, up and over the toppling crest
Of the next, and plunged crashing into the trough
Behind it: then they settled at their thwarts,
And the fierce water boiled before their blades
As, with Drake's iron hand upon the helm,
They soared and crashed across the rolling seas.

Not for the Spanish prize did Drake now steer,
But for that little ship the _Marygold_,
Swiftest of sail, next to the _Golden Hynde_,
And, in the hands of Francis Drake, indeed
Swiftest of all; and ere the seamen knew
What power, as of a wind, bore them along,
Anchor was up, their hands were on the sheets,
The sails were broken out, the _Marygold_
Was flying like a storm-cloud to the North,
And on her poop an iron statue still
As death stood Francis Drake.
One hour they rushed
Northward, with green seas washing o'er the deck
And buffeted with splendour; then they saw
The _Golden Hynde_ like some wing-broken gull
With torn mismanaged plumes beating the air
In peril of utter shipwreck; saw her fly
Half-mast, a feeble signal of distress
Despite all Doughty's curses; for her crew
Wild with divisions torn amongst themselves
Most gladly now surrendered in their hearts,
As close alongside grandly onward swept
The _Marygold_, with canvas trim and taut
Magnificently drawing the full wind,
Her gunners waiting at their loaded guns
Bare-armed and silent; and that iron soul
Alone, upon her silent quarter-deck.
There they hauled up into the wind and lay
Rocking, while Drake, alone, without a guard,
Boarding the runaway, dismissed his boat
Back to the _Marygold_. Then his voice out-rang
Trumpet-like o'er the trembling mutineers,
And clearly, as if they were but busied still
About the day's routine. They hid their shame,
As men that would propitiate a god,
By flying to fulfil his lightest word;
And ere they knew what power, as of a wind,
Impelled them--that half wreck was trim and taut,
Her sails all drawing and her bows afoam;
And, creeping past the _Marygold_ once more,
She led their Southward way! And not till then
Did Drake vouchsafe one word to the white