When that I had done, I drewe away and waited for the Queene to call her bodie-guards to fetch me, wch I suppos'd she wd forthwith. For a space she lay a-panting on the grownd, and when at last she had her winde, tooke from her necke tenne Strings of wompompeag, wch she presented me. She then declar'd, That she had got love enow that night, to give her payne till the new moone. So saying, she felle into a swoone-like sleep, and I retir'd to the other roome, to chide Burlingame for his want of fancie. This he took in his wonted ill humour, for that I had the better of him yet againe. .
I did sleep late into the daye, and when I woke, found Hicktopeake in his royall chaire, with all his Lieutenants round about. He had bade them be silent, the while I slept, and on my rowsing up came forward, and embrac'd me, and declar'd I shd be second in rule over his towne, and have the comeliest Salvage of his tribe to wife, for that I had restor'd his peoples peace. I enquir'd, How was that so? and he made answer. That the Queene had come to him that dawne. and begg'd forgivenesse for her infidelitie, and swore that so satisfy'd was she of me, she never wd againe goe a-roving from the Kings bedstead. Onely, he said, he fear'd her resolve might not endure for long; it must needs have been by meanes of some uncommon virilitie I had pleas'd her, and I was leaving his towne anon.
With that I led him aside, and related to him privilie the simple trick I had employ'd, assuring him, that he cd doe the thing as well as I. For so smalle was the puddle, any frogg seem'd greate therein. Hicktopeake had never heard of such a practice (wch I had learnt from the scurvie Arabs), and he listened in amazement. Naught wd then suffice but he must put his learning to the test, and so he hi'd him selfe apace from out the roome.
While that he was gone thus a-wooing, I gather'd together my companie, and told them to make readie our vessell, for I design'd to sayle that selfe same morning, to take up the course of our explorations. They did set to at once, all save Burlingame, that grows'd about the shoarline kicking pebbles, and we were neare readie to sayle, when Hicktopeake came out from his howse. He embrac'd me againe, this time more warmlie then before, and begg'd me stay in his towne for ever, as his Prince & successor. So had he woo'd the Queene, he said, she wd be three days rysing from her bed, and costive the week. But I declin'd his offer, saying. That I had businesse elsewhere to attend. After much debate he did resigne him selfe, and gave me leave to goe, presenting me & my companie with all manner of Salvage gifts, and food & water for our vessell.
Thus at last we did set sayle once more, and headed for the maine, and whatever lay before us. I was a trifle loath to goe, and wd fain have tarry'd some smalle space, for that Hicktopeake did declare to me his intention, of journeying to the towne of Debedeavon his Brother, and there so ploughing Debedeavons Queene, after the manner he had learnt, as to confound his Brother for ever. Whereupon he, Hicktopeake, shd be the Laughing King of Accomack. Wch forsooth were worth the witnessing. But the favour of Kings is a slipperie boone, lightlie granted & as lightlie forsworne, and I deem'd it more prudent to absent my selfe betimes, while that I was yet in his good graces, then to linger, and perchance weare out my welcome there in Accomack. .
Here ended the narrative, or what fragment of it Meech had brought aboard. Ebenezer read it again, and a third time, hoping to find in it something to connect Henry Burlingame with his luckless namesake in the story. But there was every indication that Captain Smith's antagonist, who Henry hoped would prove to be his ancestor, was not only childless but unmarried, and his future with the company of explorers was far from promising. With a sigh the Laureate assembled the pages of the Journal and concealed it under his sailcloth bed, where no one was likely to find it. Then he extinguished the lantern and sat for some while in the dark. The naked sounds of rape, floating through the shallop's fo'c'sle. conjured pictures clear enough to make him shiver. Together with the story in the manuscript — which was as much a revelation to him as it had been to Hicktopeake — they forced his reverie willy-nilly into a single channel, and before long he found himself physically moved by desire. He could not in honesty assert that his pity for the Cyprian girls was unambiguous, or his condemnation of their assault wholehearted; if he had been shocked by the spectacle, he had also been excited by it, and so fascinated that no lesser business than that of the Journal could have summoned him away. Indeed, the sight of the girl trapped in the rigging like a fly in a web, and of Boabdil climbing leisurely to envelop her like a great black spider, had aroused him as its memory aroused him now.
It was abundantly clear to him that the value of his virginity was not a moral value, even as he had explained to Bertrand one day on the Poseidon. But the mystic ontological value he had ascribed to it seemed less convincing now than it had seemed then. The recollection of Joan Toast's visit to his room, for example, which was customarily dominated by his speech at her departure or the hymn to virginity composed afterwards, stopped now at the memory of the girl herself, sitting pertly on his bed, and would go no farther. She had leaned forward and embraced him where he knelt before her: her breasts had brushed like cool silk on his forehead; his cheek had lain against the cushion of her stomach; his eyes had lingered close to The Mystery!
From outside came another cry, a hard, high protest that trailed into lamentation. There was an ancient ring to it, an antique sorrow, that put the poet in mind of Philomela, of Lucretia, of the Sabine virgins and the daughters of Troy, of the entire wailing legion of the raped. He went to the companionway, and climbing it looked skyward at the stars. How trifling was the present scene to them, who had watched the numberless wars of men, the sack of nations, and the countless lone assaults in field and alley! Was there a year in time when their light had not been dimmed, somewhere on earth, by the flames of burning cities? That instant when he stepped out on the deck, how many women heard — in England, Spain, and far Cipango — the footfall of the rapist on the stair, or in the path behind? The ranks of women ravished, hundreds and thousands and millions strong, of every age and circumstance — the centuries rang and echoed with their cries; the dirt of the planet was watered with their tears!
The scene aboard the Cyprian was considerably less violent now, though by no means tranquil. Around the masts her crew were still tied fast, and watched the festivities in sullen silence; thus far none had been harmed. The pirates, their first lust spent, had broken out the rum and were fast succumbing to it. Already some lay senseless in the scuppers; others sprawled with their prizes on the decks and cabin roofs, taking drinks and liberties by turn, but no longer able to consummate their wooing still others had lost interest altogether in the women — they danced, sang bawdy songs, or played ombre under lanterns in the balmy air, almost as on any other evening at sea. From the cabins came the sound of more carousing, but not of violence: two girls, it seemed, were being obliged to perform some trick against their will, and Ebenezer heard several women join in the general laughter and encouragement.
"So lightly they accept their fate!" He thought again of the Trojan widows, advised by Hecuba to resign themselves without protest to being concubines and slaves.