Sending a
messenger ashore, he explained that he was sorry to intrude on
forbidden waters, but that he needed to careen his ships for the repair
of leakages, and now asked permission from the viceroy to refit.
Perhaps, in his heart, the English adventurer wasn't sorry to get an
inner glimpse of Mexico's defences. As he waited for permission, there
sailed into the harbor the Spanish fleet itself, twelve merchantmen
rigged as frigates, loaded with treasure to the value of one million
eight hundred thousand pounds. The viceroy of Mexico, Don Martin
Henriquez himself, commanded the fleet. English and Spanish ships
dipped colors to each other as courteous hidalgoes might have doffed
hats; and the guns roared each other salutes, that set the seas
churning. Master John Hawkins quaffed mug after mug of foaming beer
with a boisterous boast that if the Spaniards thought to frighten _him_
with a waste of powder and smoke, he could play the same game, and
"singe the don's beard."
Came a messenger, then, clad in mail to his teeth, very pompous, very
gracious, very profuse of welcome, with a guarantee in writing from the
viceroy of security for Hawkins while dismantling the English ships.
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