AFTFR a short sojourn in Lisbon da Gama set all Portugal in a fever of excitement by his impassionate demands and golden predictions. His appeals met with such hearty response that there was no delay. The cry went up that a fleet must at once be sent to punish the massacre of Cabral's men, and Vasco da Gama must be its commander. Again the sound of busy hammers came from the dockyards; again the sail-makers and the rope-makers, and the carpenters and the blacksmiths were working day and night. Again the kingdom was ransacked for supplies, and prices rose and went higher and higher, for merchants must profit while opportunity stretches forth the hand of plenty.

From foreign ports came sailors of every land, for the fame of the new expedition under the famous captain spread far and wide, and men were eager to share the glory of a new voyage. Hundreds were enlisted, desperadoes all, for none but desperadoes cared to venture their lives in a service which promised no end of hardships and in which fighting would be the only diversion. A hardy crew of practiced cut-throats filled each of the ten ships fitted out for the voyage, and as da Gama said, in any one vessel could be heard all the languages of the continent. The statement was true. There were Portuguese, and Spaniards, and Italians, a few Frenchmen from Marseilles and Lyons, a few Dutchmen from Rotterdam and Bremen, a few skillful and daring Norway sailors, descendants of the Viking's, who had spread terror over every coast in Europe six hundred years before; a few Englishmen, fugitives from their native country; a few Irishmen from Galway, who had come to Spain in the ships which constantly trade on the Irish coast and from Spain had found their way to Lisbon; a few Scotch fishermen from the Frith of Forth; a few Greeks, the sons, it may be, of the men who cruised with Ulysses, of the sailors who won the battle of Salamis. It was the gathering of the west against the east. The dogs of war were to be let loose on the unhappy natives of a land only too peaceful.

The utmost haste was made, but the greatest expedition was too slow to satisfy the impatient King and still more impatient da Gama. Preparations were pushed to the utmost, but so extensive was the armament that two years elapsed before the fleet was ready to sail, and not until the spring of 1502 did the Captain General go on board, give the final orders for departure, and the fleet, the finest and most perfectly equipped that up to that time had ever left the port of Lisbon, sailed for the east, the commander breathing out dire threats of what he intended to do if the saints spared him to see the city of Calecut.

THE BLOOD THIRSTINESS OF DA GAMA.

Safely the fleet doubled the terrible cape and began its voyage up the African coast, and then, disguise cast aside, all the tiger in the character of the man appeared. No longer hampered by the weakness of his force, the despotic master of a powerful fleet and an army of men, he cast to the winds all considerations of justice and mercy. Native African rulers who had received him kindly were admonished that tribute was expected, and if not paid at once, its collection would be enforced by the edge of the sword. Gratitude was forgotten. He plundered those who on his former voyage had sent him on his way with presents and benedictions.

Forcible resistance gave no security, for what native arms could withstand the Portuguese artillery? A tender of friendship was no guarantee of safety, for the Portuguese plundered alike foe and friend; in abject submission there lay no hope, for the merciless strangers considered themselves lucky in being able to rob without personal danger. Nor were their depredations limited by their necessities and those of the fleet; they plundered at will, and burned what they could not carry away. Thus sacking, slaying, destroying, making good the worst predictions uttered against him by the Moors, da Gama and his murderous men made their way up the coast of Africa and finally from Melinda set sail to cross the Indian Ocean and wreak terrible vengeance on Calecut.

DEVOTION OF MOHAMMEDANS.

For ages Mecca has, to the Mohammedans, been the most holy spot on earth. Every follower of the prophet must, at least once in his life, kiss the sacred Kaaba stone and recite his prayers in the mosque consecrated by the foot of the great Arab leader whose followers, even in the present day, equal in number those of the Nazarene. To Mecca every true believer of the Moslem faith turns his face five times a day when reciting the prayers imposed upon him by his faith; to Mecca his face is turned when he is laid in his narrow home.

Only at one season is the pilgrimage made, and during that time all Arabia is in commotion. Every road swarms with pilgrims; singly, here and there a lonely traveller, tattered and dusty, with scrip and staff, making his way over parching sands under a blazing tropical sun; in groups, little bands of men, well armed, for every road is infested with robbers, and keeping a sharp lookout at every suspicious turn; in great caravans, whose numbers preclude the probability of bandit interference or whose armament would render hostile demonstration futile.

Nor is the interest confined to Arabia. Dhows bring pilgrims to Jeddah from the coast of Africa just across the Red Sea, vessels of larger burden ply up and down the shores, each laden with its human freight, all journeying in the same direction. From the African coast, from the shores of the Mediterranean, from Persia, from India, from Ceylon, from the isles of the sea, from Siam, from the limits of far away China, come ships bearing the Moslem faithful to their holy shrine.

Filled with enthusiasm on the journey to Mecca, the pilgrims are, still more jubilant on their return. Having made their devotions in the temple and kissed the Kaaba, its holy stone; having stood in long lines in the holiest mosque in the world and prayed where Mohammed bent his knee; having gazed on the grave of Ishmael and drunk of the water from the well of Hagar; having heard a sermon from the top of Ararat, and proceeded thence to Medina and prayed at the tomb of the prophet; having done all that was required by their law and prophet they felt their salvation was assured; thenceforth they might wear the prophet's green, and in Paradise share his bliss.

JOY IS TURNED TO MOURNING.

It was in the month of September, 1502, that the good ship Khadija, so named from the wife of the Prophet, was returning from Mecca to Calecut with eight hundred pilgrims; men, women and children, a select company of wealthy and noble people. They had made the pilgrimage with great eclat, scattering their money with lavish hand wherever they went, for during the time of his pilgrimage, if ever, the Mohammedan is liberal. Their journey had not been long, for the staunch vessel, flying before the south-west monsoon, had crossed the Indian Ocean in a remarkably short time, and already the eyes of the pilgrims turning to the east caught sight of the hills of their native land. Here and there familiar headlands were pointed out by the pilot. On board there was mirth and gladness, and the tinkle of the vina and the tap of the drum was heard as parties on the deck amused themselves with song and dance. The dangers of the sea were almost past, the pilgrims were nearly home, why should they not be merry? So the music and the dancing proceeded, while the grave, bearded Arab merchants relaxed their rigid features and smiled, and the women, veiled to the eyes, looked on at amusements they were not allowed to share.

There was a sudden stir; the pilot shaded his eyes, and looking intently to the east, sent a messenger for the Captain. The Captain came, and assumed a serious expression, and so did many others when several suspicious sails appeared on the horizon just off the coast. "They are probably pirates," the Captain announced. There was a hurried concealment of money and valuables, gay clothing was quickly laid aside, for costly raiment was signally out of place with pirate ships in sight. Quickly the hostile fleet came up with the big pilgrim ship, but while the strange vessels were yet far away, the ships and their standards were recognized by captain and pilot, who told those standing about that these were Portuguese vessels, and anxious men and frightened women watched the manoeuvres of the fleet as it took up a position round the Khadija, and children with big, round, innocent eyes peered through the port holes at the unusual sight and at the white men in bright armor and with glittering weapons as they hurried to and fro on the decks of the Portuguese ships.

PIRACY AND MURDER.

Boats were lowered and approached the Khadija. There was a moment of awful suspense, for all the men in the boats were seen to be armed, and no one knew what fate might have in store for the pilgrims. When within hailing distance the Portuguese, through an interpreter, proclaimed who they were, and demanded money and valuables of the crew and passengers of the Mohammedan ship. "Oh, they want money then, do they? They are pirates, these Christians." The countenances of the grave Arabs assumed a sneer. "These Portuguese have shown themselves in their true light; pretending to be merchants, they are pirates. Well, if they want money, let them have it." It was indeed impossible to refuse a demand thus made, when supported by so overwhelming a force; so one contributed jewels, another gold, one gave silver, another ornaments, until the sum of twelve thousand crusadoes ($8,500) was made up, and placed in a box, and let down into the nearest boat as ransom, the Arabs hoping that with this the Portuguese pirates would be content. Not so, however; the valuables were taken to the flag-ship, and directly a boat approached the Mohammedan ship with a demand for more. The case was then more serious, and men looked grave when considering the possibility of being robbed of all they had. Still the money had to be given the value of twelve thousand crusadoes additional was thus raised and sent, but still the pirates refused the pilgrims permission to depart, but despatched an order that men must be admitted on board to search the vessel. "What thieves these Christians are; they are worse than the Bedouins of the desert." Nothing, however, remained but submission, so the Portuguese crews came on board, plundered everybody, and seized everything of value that they could find. "Now surely we may go," thought the Arabs; "Since they have taken all, our lives can do them no good, and even with the loss of all our property we are almost home." But not thus are they to escape. Their horror was increased by the sight of a boat leaving the Admiral's ship laden with combustibles, the crew bearing lighted torches. "What does this mean? Would they burn us alive?" The men came on board, adjusted piles of straw and shavings about the vessel, and made ready to apply the torch, for it was the Admiral's order that the pilgrims should be burned alive.

The unhappy Arabs with a valor born of despair, seized what few arms they had, considering it better to die fighting than to be burned like rabbits in their burrow, and with the resolution of desperation they fought with such energy that the Portuguese sailors were unable to stand against them, and being driven to their boats some fell into the sea and were drowned, while many were only saved by being pulled out of the water by their companions. Re-enforcements were then sent from the fleet but they fared no better. The three hundred desperate men on board the Khadija proved themselves more than a match for all the boarding Portuguese. Those having swords, lances or bucklers stood first along the sides, and aided by others with improvised weapons, with planks torn from the deck, with bits of iron made fast to pieces of ropes and used as clubs, they withstood and drove off the boarding parties. One attack after another was thus repelled. Finally, one of the Portuguese ships was laid along side the Khadija, but the desperate pilgrims became assailants in their turn and not only boarded but captured the Portuguese vessel, drove its sailors overboard into the sea, and seized the weapons of the vanquished. Not only did the Arabs possess themselves of the swords, the cross-bows, the lances and targets found on the ship, but they even dragged the carronades on board the Khadija though they proved useless for the want of powder to load them. But with cross-bows and arrows, lances and javelins, they kept up a desperate battle and foiled every attempt of the Portuguese to retake or to board the vessel. A large number were killed and wounded in the attack, until at length seeing the futility of further effort to recover his vessel uninjured da Gama ordered his ships to stand off and use their artillery on the Khadija. His entire fleet thus engaged all day long in a one-sided battle with this single and defenceless ship. The heroism of the Mohammedans was of no avail against cannon balls. One by one the brave band was stricken down by shots and splinters, but not until the last of the brave three hundred were dead or disabled did the Portuguese venture on the now shattered Khadija. When there was no longer any man to oppose them they crowded on board, massacred the wounded, enclosed the women and children in the cabins, locked and nailed the doors, set the vessel on fire, and as the flames rolled up and the stifled screams of his victims came across the waves, da Gama stood, and laughed at the awful agony of the hapless human beings consuming before his eyes.

HORRIBLE BUTCHERIES.

This was but the beginning of the massacres which earned for da Gama the name of Butcher. When he arrived at Calecut he bombarded the city, giving no previous notice of his intentions, so that men, women and children alike shared a common fate. Having captured the city he laid it in ashes, not leaving a house standing. In the harbor were many ships, both Arab and native, and apparently simply from the love of blood the Admiral, taking the men of the crews, cut off their ears, hands and lips, strung them on cords around the necks of the miserable victims, tied their feet together, and lest they should untie the strings with their teeth ordered them to be beaten in the face until not a tooth was left. The order being obeyed in the most brutal manner, the vessels were set on fire and the hapless men of the crews were buried in the flames. An ambassador, a Brahmin of the highest caste, was sent by the king to sue for peace. Da Gama ordered his lips and nose to be cut off, the ears of a dog to be sewn on his head instead of his own, and thus mutilated and insulted the unhappy man was sent on shore to tell how the Christians punished their enemies. Numberless indignities were practised on the helpless captives and atrocities were committed that disgraced the name of humanity. Nor were the massacres confined to places where the Portuguese had suffered real or imaginary wrongs. Like a tiger da Gama revelled in blood and killed when there was neither necessity nor excuse. On the whole west coast of India the Portuguese commander left a red trail and his progress might be traced by the ashes of burned cities. For a year he continued his butchery, then sailed away for Portugal congratulating himself that by the massacre of inoffensive and unarmed natives he had made an example.

MISERABLE END OF THE BARBAROUS VOYAGERS.

It is a curious historical fact that among the early explorers there were few, particularly of the Spanish and Portuguese, who did not come to some bad end. They were men of generally irregular lives and violent temper, whose bloody deaths were in most cases a fitting conclusion to careers of unbridled passion. Even the noble Columbus was sent back from America to Spain in irons, where he soon afterwards died of a broken heart; Ovanda died under circumstances that strongly pointed to poison; Bobadilla was drowned; Magellan perished in an unprovoked attack on peaceable islanders; Las Casas was disgraced and took the cowl; Ojeda died of want; Nicuessa perished by the treachery of his own men; Balboa died at the block; Narvaez was imprisoned and died of exposure and privation; Alvarado was killed in battle; Pizarro died by the assassin's dagger; Almagro was garroted. Da Gama was no exception. On his return to Portugal from his bloody journey to the east he was disgraced, for even the barbarity of that day could not countenance the butchery of miserable savages in the wholesale fashion practised by the Portuguese admiral, especially when such murderous deeds served to excite the hostility of a people with whom commercial intercourse would have been a substantial blessing. He lived in retirement on his estates in Portugal for twenty years, but finally mismanagement in India brought the provinces there to the verge of ruin, while the arrogance of the Portuguese officials embroiled the colonies with all the neighboring states, and as da Gama had shown how mercilessly he could deal with naked savages, he was sent out as viceroy to make another example, but directly after his arrival he died, not without suspicion of poison. His body was buried at Cochin, and a few years later was taken back to Portugal. A man of slaughter, his fame was great, not on account of his achievements so much as because the labors and genius of the greatest poet Portugal ever produced were employed in describing his first expedition. It was Camoens who made da Gama the great popular figure of Portuguese history, by installing him in the Lusiad as the personification of all that was great and good. The remains of the Admiral lie side-by-side with those of Camoens, beneath a marble shrine in one of the noblest churches of Lisbon, but in India the memory of the Portuguese conqueror has not faded away; along the west coast of the Indian Peninsula, the words "Demon" and "Portuguese" are synonymous, and the Indian mother quiets her fretful child with "Look thee, little one, be still, else devil Gama cometh."

DA GAMA'S GHOST.

Nor is the memory of his bloody deeds forgotten, for at the present day, three hundred years after da Gama's soul went to confront his victims before that court which admits no appeal, the belated fisherman on the India shore sometimes sees a strange spectacle: The phantom of a tall man with long, black hair and beard, with dark, stern face, clad in old-time armor, flies along the beach, while a vast crowd of natives, whose mutilated faces, handless arms and ghastly wounds, tell of the awful torture in which their souls departed, chase the flying fugitive. Men, women and children are in the crowd of phantoms, which is made up of Indians and Moors, of Mohammedans and Pagans. The ghost of the Portuguese is overtaken, and cries for vengeance sound along the shore mingled with da Gama's prayers for the mercy he never showed, and the unwilling looker-on sees the Indian spectres place their captive in a ship of strange form. Again the flames arise as the sails of the ghostly ship are set and it stands out to sea. It is joined by others; the Portuguese fleet is reproduced in lines of fire, and the phantom Hindoos dance on the sand as the flaming vessels bear the tortured spirits of "Butcher Gama" and his crew away to scenes of yet deeper agony, and the fisherman knows that the great Admiral is still undergoing an awful punishment for his crimes.