Drake summoned the
two to a brief interview in which Thomas Doughty learned that his friend
on land, frank, boyish and unassuming, was a different person from the
Admiral of the Fleet. Yet as this impression faded, the brothers
perversely went on encouraging discord between the gentlemen adventurers
and the sailors, and foretelling events with sinister aptness.
It grew colder and colder. It should be summer,--but as they crept
southward they encountered cold and wind beyond that of the North Sea in
January. The nights grew long; the battering of the gales never ceased;
the ships lost sight of one another. It was whispered that not only had
the uncanny brothers foretold the evil weather, but Thomas Doughty had
boasted of having brought it about. "We'll ha' no luck till we get rid
of our prophet," said blunt Tom Moone, "and the Lord don't provide no
whales for the likes o' he."
Drake warned his comrade with an ominous quiet. "Doughty," he said, "if
you value your neck you keep your reading and writing to what a common
man can understand--you and your brother. A man can't always prophesy
for himself, let alone other folk."
"You heard what he said," commented Wynter grimly when the Admiral was
in his cabin behind closed doors. "Better not raise the devil unless you
know for sure what he'll do.
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