ffold, laid his head on the block, and suffered death. Horror fell
on the crew. Even Drake was shaken from his wonted calm; for he sat
apart, his velvet cloak thrown back, slapping his crossed knees, and
railing at the defenders of the dead man.[4] To rouse the men, he had
solemn service held for the crew, and for the first time revealed to
them his project for the voyage on the Pacific. After painting the
glories of a campaign against Spanish ports of the South Seas, he wound
up an inspiriting address with the rousing assurance that after this
voyage, "_the worst boy aboard would never nede to goe agayne to sea,
but be able to lyve in England like a right good gentleman_."
Fletcher, the chaplain, who secretly advocated the dead man's cause,
was tied to a mast pole in bilboes, with the inscription hung to his
neck--"_Falsest knave that liveth_."

On August 17 they departed from "the port {150} accursed," for the
Straits of Magellan, that were to lead to Spanish wealth on the
Pacific.[5]

The superstitious crews' fears of disaster for the death of Doughty
seemed to become very real in the terrific tempests that assailed the
three ships as they entered the straits. Gales lashed the cross tides
to a height of thirty feet, threatening to swamp the little craft.
Mountains emerged shadowy through the mists on the south. Roiling
waters met the prows from end to end of the straits. Topsails were
dipped, psalms of thanks chanted, and prayers held as the ships came
out on the west side into the Pacific on the 6th of September. In
honor of the first English vessel to enter this ocean, Drake renamed
his ship "_Golden Hind_." {151} The gales continued so furiously,
Drake jocosely called the sea, _Mare Furiosum_, instead of Pacific.
The first week of October storms compelled the vessels to anchor. In
the raging darkness that night, the explosive rip of a snapping hawser
was heard behind the stern of the _Golden Hind_. Fearful cries rose
from the waves for help. The dark form of a phantom ship lurched past
in the running seas--the _Marygold_ adrift, loose from her anchor,
driving to the open storm; fearful judgment--as the listeners
thought--for the crew's false testimony against Doughty; for, as one
old record states, "they could by no means help {152} spooming along
before the sea;" and the _Marygold_ was never more seen.

[Illustration: The Golden Hind.]

Meanwhile like disaster had befallen the _Golden Hind_, the c