thickets, over
(so it seems, however incredible) the very saddle of the Silla,* down
upon the astonished "Mantuanos" of St. Jago, driving all before them;
and having burnt the city in default of ransom, will return triumphant
by the right road, and pass along the coast, the masters of the deep.

* Humboldt says that there is a path from Caravellada to St.
Jago, between the peaks, used by smugglers. This is
probably the "unknowen way of the Indians," which Preston
used.

I know not whether any men still live who count their descent from those
two valiant captains; but if such there be, let them be sure that the
history of the English navy tells no more Titanic victory over nature
and man than that now forgotten raid of Amyas Preston and his comrade,
in the year of grace 1595.

But though a venture on the town was impossible, yet there was another
venture which Frank was unwilling to let slip. A light which now shone
brightly in one of the windows of the governor's house was the lodestar
to which all his thoughts were turned; and as he sat in the cabin with
Amyas, Cary, and Jack, he opened his heart to them.

"And are we, then," asked he, mournfully, "to go without doing the very
thing for which we came?"

All were silent awhile. At last John Brimblecombe spoke.

"Show me the way to do it, Mr. Frank, and I will go."

"My dearest man," said Amyas, "what would you have? Any attempt to see
her, even if she be here, would be all but certain death."

"And what if it were? What if it were, my brother Amyas? Listen to me. I
have long ceased to shrink from Death; but till I came into these magic
climes, I never knew the beauty of his face."

"Of death?" said Cary. "I should have said, of life. God forgive me! but
man might wish to live forever, if he had such a world as this wherein
to live."

"And do you forget, Cary, that the more fair this passing world of time,
by so much the more fair is that eternal world, whereof all here is but
a shadow and a dream; by so much the more fair is He before whose throne
the four mystic beasts, the substantial ideas of Nature and her powers,
stand day and night, crying, 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, Thou
hast made all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created!'
My friends, if He be so prodigal of His own glory as to have decked
these lonely shores, all but unknown since the foundation of the world,
with splendors beyond all our dreams, what