fifteen-ton pinnace called
the _Christopher_ in honor of Hatton, was commanded by Tom Moore. Thomas
Doughty was commander of the land-soldiers, and his brother John was
enlisted among the gentlemen adventurers.

All of Drake's experience and sagacity had gone to the fitting out of
the ships. There were less than fifty men on board besides the regular
crews, and among them were special artisans, two trained surveyors,
skilled musicians furnished with excellent instruments, and the
adventurous sons of some of the best families in England. As page the
Admiral had his own nephew, Jack Drake. There were stores of wild-fire,
chain-shot, arquebuses, pistols, bows, and other weapons. The Queen
herself had sent packets of perfume breathing of rich gardens, and
Drake's table furniture was of silver gilt, engraved with his arms; even
some of the cooking utensils were of silver. Nothing was spared which
became the dignity of England, her Admiral and her Queen. On calm nights
the sea was alive with music. And on board the little flagship Doughty
and Drake talked together as those do whose minds answer one another
like voices in a roundelay.

Men who have time and again run their heads into the jaws of death are
often inclined to fatalism. Drake had never expressed it in words, but
he had a feeling that whatever he was meant to do, God would see that he
did, so long as he gave himself wholly to the work. One evening when the
Southern Cross was lifting above the darkling sea, and the violins were
crooning something with a weird burden to it, Doughty mused aloud.

"'T is the strangest thing in life, that whatever we are most averse to,
that we are fated to do."

"Eh?" said Drake with a laugh, looking up from Eden's translation of
Pigafetts. "Accordin' to that you can't even trust yourself. D'you look
to see me set up an image to be worshiped?" Then he added in a lower
tone, "That's foolish, Tom. God don't shape us to be puppets."

"That sounds like old Saavedra," was Doughty's idle comment. "He had
great store of antiquated sentiments--like those in the chronicles of
the paladins. I knew his nephew well--a witty fellow, but visionary. He
laughed at the old cavalero, but he was fond of him, and our affections
rule us and ruin us. A man should have no loves nor hates if he would
get on at court."

Sheer surprise kept the other silent for the moment, and Doughty went
on,--

"The old man had been in Mexico with Cortes, and might ha