 
ANNALEA

PRINCESS OF NEMUSMAR

Copyright Stephen James Shore 2009

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Other titles by WriteAbout StephenJShore available at Smashwords and the Author's website include, the Annalea series: an historical fiction trilogy where mystery, romance and adventure unfold in the remarkable Saga of Annalea.

ANNALEA, PRINCESS OF NEMUSMAR (this volume)

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ANNALEA, A PRINCESS IN EXILE http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1193

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ANNALEA, A JOURNEY THROUGH STRANGERS—AT JOURNEY'S END http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/3887

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The misguided zeal and get rich quick credo of a young cowboy put him on opposing sides of the law at different times. But he no longer seeks to make a name, just a whole lot of dollars. Perhaps he can play on both sides without getting caught in the middle. He rides into the desert on an honorable quest and rides out as the outlaw "Chili Beans" Bartlett. But he remains a reluctant outlaw. Let him tell you his story in his own words.

HOW I BECAME AN OUTLAW, BY "CHILI BEANS" BARTLETT http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/12575

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# Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

by Stephen James Shore

### Index

### Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

### Chapter I - A Journey Through Strangers

### Chapter II - Annalea
### Chapter III - The Surprise

### Chapter IV - Orke
### Chapter V - The Savaging of Innocence

### Chapter VI - Her New Tribe
### Chapter VII - To Have This Thing Done

### Chapter VIII - The Master Plan
### Chapter IX - Carnage

### Chapter X - A Captain's Prerogative
### Chapter XI - Spaniards in the Larder

### Chapter XII - To the Court of St. James

### Index (continued)

### Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

### Chapter XIII - Kingston!

### Chapter XIV - A Good Deed Punished
### Chapter XV - Conflagration

### Chapter XVI - Evacuation!
### Chapter XVII - A Princess in Exile

### Chapter XVIII - "Our New Home"
### Chapter XIX - When the Life Spirit Beckons

### Chapter XX - Well Occupied
### Chapter XXI - A Most Ravenous Jackal

### Chapter XXII – Always, Dear Heart
### Chapter XXIII - A Most Reluctant Visitor

### Chapter XXIV - Vaya con Dios, Amigo

## Dedication

## I love all of those who love me,

## and some of those who don't.

## I dedicate this work to those

## who've dedicated themselves to me,

## and some of those who won't.

## Stephen James Shore

## Chapter I

# A Journey Through Strangers

A summer's eve in 1701, it was. She was a mere slip back then–two or three. On board a ship for the first time. Bound for England from Bermuda aboard a cargo ship with a capable captain and a well-seasoned crew. Not more than two days out of port were they when we fell upon them. And "fell" is the word for it. Like a fisher hawk descends on the unknowing fish, we swooped down upon them. Unawares they were of our presence or intent.

A business, you know, that's what it is: confiscating booty from those who sweat no more than we to obtain it. But they like to sweat to death if they means to retain it. We give no quarter in such an enterprise, knowing none would be given us–save being drawn and quartered. And that summer's eve was no exception.

Our captain was the champion campaigner. He knew how to find the mark and come upon it as if invisible we were. He used the weather, the tides, the swells to place us where no one suspected. And when we appeared–we struck.

'Twas as being at war; your captain instructed you–you knew what to do and when to do it. And when the brig was struck, so you did–and not a thought 'til it was finished. So it was that eve.

It was quick, but it was hard and bloody. We lost four of our own–and good lads they were. That crew fought savagely for their lives. I'm sure 'twas not to save the booty. They rightly knew they could not surrender and survive; 'twas just the way of it. The passengers were the last to die, being they were below decks when we struck. They fought bravely–'though not well–and perished quickly.

But then there was her. 'Twas me that found her, you know. She was just a babe: no doubt asleep in her father's cabin when the fracas started. By the time she awoke, realized where she was, and started across the cabin, 'twas all over. Hands were seeking and gathering booty, as was I when I entered the cabin and came upon the child. First, I was as startled as she, and I thrust about in search of anyone else a-hiding. When I was certain there was just the child, I seized her up and started laughing. Bolting out of the cabin, I announced I had taken the only prisoner!

'Twas then that miserable cur, Jack Thuttlesarch, grabs the babe from me arms and runs his blade upsides her throat, declaring, "You knows the law; we takes no prisoners!"

That cold-blooded bastard, Thuttlesarch. You know, I sailed for twelve years with the bastard. Never did take to him. He was not a Christian man, 'though doubtless born one. He took fiendish pleasure in separating other men's bodies from their souls. I'd as like come to blows with him that summer's eve, aboard that ship. But, as to how the captain blew his block clear aways from his shoulders–to stay Jack's blade from slaying the babe–me quarrel with the bastard came to its end.

By dawn the next day, we were safe back at Nemusmar, with five lads gone (one to the devil, I'm sure), and a whale's belly full of booty. And our little "prisoner." Most of the crew–save the captain and me–would have as soon delivered her to the fishes, straight-off. Well, you can't blame them, you see. After the pitch of battle and exaltation of victory, when it's suddenly done, and your mind and heart and stomach are still aswirl in emotion, and you've lost comrades, and you are so hot and covered in sweat and blood–so much blood everywhere you don't know if the blood you wear is your enemies', your crewmates' or your own–and in this disoriented state, someone demands, "What's to be done with this whining little bitch? Of what use is she to us?"

Well, any such outburst at a time like that brought lively response from our troop. Cool-headed as always, in the heat of any battle, 'twas the captain who belayed any further debate in the matter by calmly stating, "The child presents no threat, and she cannot bear witness against anyone–but she might serve. She might fetch a large ransom for the small price of keeping her alive."

So it was, she accompanied us safely back to Nemusmar. Oh, you'll not be finding Nemusmar on any map. When seeking safe haven, some years back–when first we traversed those waters–we were acquainted with that island and its sheltered cove by natives we held hostage to ensure services were provided by their tribe. The captain had promised them freedom should they guide us to such a place. And when they did, being a man of his word, he so did. Mind you 'though, there were many who protested as to how dead men keep better faith.

But as to that name–"Nemusmar"–when first they spotted that island, peering through the mist that arose around it, those bucks became agitated, pointing and shouting something the captain took to be "Nemusmar!"

I can't be saying they were shouting a name, a command or a curse, but the captain held on to that sound. When we put ashore, the bucks put up a squabble and would not place a foot on land. By its natural seclusion and the reaction of those boys, the captain figured it'd be free from intruders, native or European.

And so it was. For many years, we were free from the burden of uninvited guests (and royal patrols). But Nemusmar was no inhospitable hideaway–grudgingly sought, and simply endured. Far from that! There was no place more ideal in this world–save home.

If you have ever seen an orchid, put that flower in your mind. And in the heart of that orchid is where you be. And all around you–streaming towards you and away–are exotic colours: vibrant, yet somehow soft and soothing. And when the mist-laden petals of night fall about, you are wrapped up, safely hidden in a beautiful cocoon. Aye, that was Nemusmar!

Oh... aye, as to the girl. Well, she'd doubtless have fared poorly if Nemusmar was but a complement of sodden, rum-soaked seafarers, like meself–no matter the beauty of the island. But there were several women of varying type and virtue on Nemusmar, by that time.

Old Thuttlesarch was right. We took no prisoners, as a natural fact. But then on some of the raids, a woman or two would be taken as prize–or part of the booty, when plundering a port town. Not as prisoner, but something else: something different. And on occasion, we'd capture a small packet cruising 'twixt islands, for whatever we might get from her. Oft' times, there were a few slaves aboard. The "offer" (if you would) was freedom, if they cared to join with us. Leastways, freedom of the like they'd never see on the plantations. And oft' times there were women amongst those slaves; but we tooks both, the bucks and the wenches.

Whenever we put to port, the "landlocked"–as I took to calling them–would roust about to see what we'd brung back. The ladies, particularly, loved the bobbles and queued for first crack at silks, gowns, petticoats and the like. When they spied our wee "prisoner," their mouths liked to drop to the ground.

Mam' Tiére shouted to the captain, "From whose da chile?"

The captain replied, laughing, "She is the 'prize' from this venture."

And Mam' Tiére returned, "Den, for whose da chile?"

But the captain became distracted and did not respond.

There were a few young'uns on Nemusmar: slave young, a few mulattoes and some scruff from the joining of our mates with earlier "prizes." The captain, he discouraged that sort of thing: the mating, I mean. 'Twas not to say he did not enjoy a regular battening down of a wench or two–or more. He was every bit a man. But not a man of needs so much as a man of hunger. Well, let's just say he had a great appetite for wenches, and leave it be at that.

The captain was an intelligent man, and–as such–he knew it to be within the ways of most women to prevent the whelping, if they'd a mind to. For our treasured "prizes," this seemed to go without saying–if you'd pardon the occasional indiscretion. But with the slave girls, it was another matter. And that, at first, perplexed the captain, since he'd been many times told that the blackies had secret means that no white woman knew.

After some pondering on the matter of why, the captain decided, as he explained it to me, that these slave wenches were whelping deliberately. Many, if not most (he reasoned), had come from Africa and had not known kith nor kin since they were enslaved. Bearing all these pickaninnies give them a family: a sense of real freedom, self-determination–and roots. The captain had a gift for reading people, and while he might understand their plight–might even sympathize–he never let sentiment deter him from his true course.

Having settled on this understanding, and with his course of action clearly affixed in his mind, he called a gathering, one day, to instruct the landlocked as to their purpose and tenure. He purposefully directed the black wenches to come forward and stand just afore him. The captain expounded at length on the virtues of a seafaring life, and the freedoms it afforded those brave and smart enough to undertake it.

He explained how we had to be more than simple seamen, consigned or conscripted to serve another master. We were men at war with those who would suppress us. Our freedoms and our livelihood required a willingness to sacrifice everything: to the point of life itself. This willingness give us a distinct advantage over any man what might hesitate, or pull back, when he may escape with his life. And most of our enemies–be they merchant seamen or in the employ of the crown–are such men as will blink at the most critical moment of decision.

Beyond our fighting attitude, the captain continued, it was as much necessity as advantage for him to keep our ship and crew fit and trim. Afore ever we put to sea, the captain had determined our course and object. He knew what we sought, how it was fitted and where we'd find it. He'd brook no surprises, conjuring in his mind the setting, the chase, the attack and battle response, and the outcome–the whole of it, afore we'd set sail. And it always came to pass as he said it would. The man was a marvel!

The landlocked, especially, were spellbound by the captain's words. His exuberance in speech, as he detailed the seafaring life, culminating in the battle clash of warriors, was as watching while a calm sea suddenly erupts in swells of monstrous waves that crest at mast-height and crash down violently on the decks beneath your feet–verily washing you away! So, by the time he turned their attention to the purpose of them left ashore, they were captivated and fully attending his every word.

The captain, he said we were all buccaneers—they aship and they ashore. And each man and woman served fully in our aforementioned battle, whether sailing or fitting the ship to sail, whether fighting or fitting out a fighting man. And each man and woman would share equally in all we held, when our object was reached. In this, he included hisself as an equal partner in our endeavours: entitled to no more than an equal share of these holdings. He cautioned there'd be no provisions for any children's shares, save those who might reach maturity and serve fully in our cause. Then the captain set up to elaborate our purpose for coming together, and our object.

"Every man and woman among us," he said, "was set here by one cause and only one: the alternative life–or death–we left behind was unacceptable. We have at our means the ability to better our circumstances and prosper. We must be like a tight-knit family that works in harmony toward one, set object. But we are no community of settlers, and Nemusmar is no colony–nor promised land. Idealic as it seems, Nemusmar is but a stopping point on life's journey: a buoy, not an anchor. Our object is to appropriate the wealth and means for each member of our band to return home, or to some other part of the civilized world, vastly improved in station. And, as idealic as Nemusmar is, once retired from the 'trade,' 'twould be impossible to remain self-sufficient–even in Paradise. But I vow that those once enslaved shall be settled down with their equal shares, as free men and women, in a place where the slave trade can never touch you again."

Then he cut to the heart of the matter, imploring the women to use their wiles and ways to keep our membership from increasing.

As the captain came silent and gazed upon his audience, Mam' Tiére spake out, "We fo' da cap'n!"

And the rest responded, "For the captain, aye!"

In a softer voice, Mam' Tiére spake again, "May be thay no mo', Cap'n, but fo' whose da chile?"

"Which child, Mam' Tiére?" he responded.

"Da li'l princess in silks ya brung fo' prize."

"These two days gone, she's been in the keep of Mr. Crockett. Think you he is not a fit 'mum' for the lass?"

Mam' Tiére seemed indignant. "He be no fit 'mum' fo' Mam's ass, leave be dis angel chile!"

Her remark caught the captain's humour. "Methinks your ass is more in

need of a sire than a 'mum!'"

This brought a roar of laughter from those assembled.

Glaring at the captain, she said, "Is yo' offer'n' to be Mam's buck?"

Steeling hisself against laughter, the captain replied, "A man must know his limits, Mam', and you are well beyond me meagre means."

With her answer, "Tha's all bucks on dis island–eager but meagre," those assembled disbursed to nurse the pain of belly laughter.

Now, I took no true offense at Mam' Tiére's doubts for me mothering ability. Her spiteful tongue protects and disguises her tender heart. And the Lord is witness to me lack of domestic arts ("inept" was a title I took for me own). So, as to providing for the wee one, it sort of fell to me as the captain's right hand in extraneous matters. But she was not the trouble I suspected of her. She seemed to quickly recover from the terror I saw in her eyes, that first night we took her. Once peace was restored and her belly was filled, I allowed for the wenches to come by and attend her needs. This female attention seemed to settle her mood and belay her fears.

I was of the opinion that in her few years of life she'd not known the care and nurturing of a loving mother. There were no women aboard that brig from whence we took her. I established the relationship to her father and uncle from documents in the father's chest. These documents contained nary a woman's name, nor any reference to female kin. Me opinion was that she shuttled about with her father; her general care being given over to convenient women–white or slave: a journey through strangers. Her quickness at adapting to our wenches, and the comfort she found in their company, affirmed me opinion.

We continued in those circumstances for near a fortnight. As we were ashore the whole time–fixing, mending and preparing for our next venture–I became happily accustomed to having me small "ward" following me as I went about me routine; clipping at me ankles, she was chattering and chirping all the way–and all the time! But Mam' Tiére was resolute. As she repeatedly put it to the captain, 'twould be half a year–mayhaps, a year or more–afore we confirmed contact with any kin of the babe's, way back in England. And negotiations for her return–not to mention the resolve of that object–could span some years. Mam' was determined the child would not live and grow as the house pet of a "grub-faced ol' villain" (as she referred to me), or as a toy doll for the amusement of the island's "ladies." And what of her when we went to sea? Was she to be bandied about from one household to the next, like some perpetual pilgrim?

As afore I mentioned, I bore no resentment towards Mam' Tiére. I, as all of us, held the ol' banty in the highest respect and affection. And so it was I broached the subject with the captain: stating me favour for Mam' Tiére as the child's more permanent guardian.

"Mr. Crockett, I have been thinking on the matter since we made port," the captain assured me. "A more permanent situation for the child must be, and will be settled. And there is no finer woman on this island–or in these parts of the world, for that matter–than Mam' Tiére. But, along with the welfare of the babe, we must consider what disharmony might play on this island while we are at sea–and plague us when back on land–should we select one wench over the others. And to choose Mam' would cause a particular offense to many of the white ladies and some of the crew. She is as a matriarch in the black quarters, where nary a thought is turned without consultation from Mam' Tiére. So long as Mam' is with her own, the white child would just be lost among so many pickaninnies. And the white lasses won't long accommodate that!"

"So Captain," I pipes in, "there is no solution?"

"Me dear Mr. Crockett," the captain responded, "there is no solution."

Then he added, smiling, "There is resolution! I resolve that the child's maintenance and well-being shall continue in our providence until she is finally and safely reunited with kin. And having–as I do–justly placed confidence in your loyalty and abilities, I resolve that the child shall remain under your direct guardianship for her tenancy on this island. You shall have whatever support you need from the rest of us, and Mam'...."

"But Cap'n," I interrupted, "the point is there's where we are, and it'll not work out!"

Not ever to be interrupted, the captain turned away from me and, with his voice raised, continued. "...and Mam' Tiére shall be removed from the black quarters and lodged, as housekeeper, in your quarters."

Immediately regaining his composure, he returned his face towards me. And in a calmer, friendlier tone he continued, "With the babe in your quarters and under your direct care, by me command, this female rivalry should meet its end. And if Mam's role in this affair is seen as no more than household servant in your quarters, then that's an end to that squabble as well. However, as we both are well awares, with Mam' Tiére ensconced beneath your roof, you'll be continuously assailed with advice and instruction regarding the child and all matters in your life. And–more to your relief–as housekeeper, Mam' can control the comings and goings of the well-meaning but overindulgent 'visitors' who now attend the child, day and night."

Foolishly, I thought once more to interject me opinion, and reverse the captain's course. "Beggin' pardon, Cap'n, but your quarters are so much grander than mine, and your ways so much finer, and if Mam' and the wee one were to move...."

But as to such, I should know better. Once set, the captain does not change course.

He reprimanded me foolishness with, "Damn it, Crockett, I've an enterprise to manage here! You've had me decision, now begone!"

As I hastily prepared to the doorway, his voice stopped me. "Wait, Mr. Crockett. There is yet one more matter concerning the child."

I remember thinking to meself, "From the tone of his voice, 'twould appear we've again returned to calm waters." But I'd had more than an earful and bellyful of palaver as regards this child.

So I turns full face to the captain and says, "Certainly, sir, and what is this matter that concerns you?" The meekness in me voice and feigned interest of me words even surprised me.

The captain said, "If the child is to be in community with us, she must get to know us, and we her. She must learn to converse directly with us, and we to her. At present we speak only to ourselves around her, and about her: 'the child this' and 'the babe that,' and 'how is the wee one,' and Mam' Tiére's designation of her as 'Princess.' Crockett, this child needs a name!"

"Aye, a name for the wee 'princess,'" I replied, attempting to furrow me brow in thoughtful pose.

## Chapter II

# Annalea

Ah! Here is me tankard. Thank you, lass.

April 19, 1718, at a shadowed corner table in the Boar's Head Inn, in Bristol, a grizzled old sea dog sits with a younger man in gentleman's attire, and continues his story.

As you're now well awares, we despatched notice of the circumstances of our wee "prisoner," and our conditions for her safe return to kith and kin. 'Twas me who put forth the document, and despatched it from Kingston (the old Port Royal). Amongst our lot, there was only the captain and meself could properly cipher or put words down, being as how we were educated as young whips.

Since the captain was too well known–no other man had his countenance–and vigorously sought, it fell to me to perform the task. Disguised as an itinerant merchant–peddling odds and ends and such supposedly bartered betwixt islands–I was allowed to come and go readily. Over many such jaunts, I'd made friends and connections which afforded us with valuable intelligence of the comings and goings of prospective prizes–and royal patrols. It also allowed us to exchange unwanted bric-a-brac for staples we might not procure in the normal conduct of business.

'Twas on just such a jaunt I posted the first notice concerning the child. It is this document you now have placed afore me. You see the mark on it for the "first day of September, in the year of our Lord, 1701." And me reference to the child, you'll notice was as "...a female infant, A. Pankhurst." That was the same reference I used in every despatch, over all these years. The documents I took and kept, from her father's chest, which I've here brung, name him (the father) as Thaddeus Pankhurst. And here is the name of his brother (her uncle), one Percival Pankhurst. But, as you see, at the only reference to the child where she is not simply called daughter, the parchment is ripped. No doubt, 'twas caused by one of me mates hacking the chest open in search of booty, afore I returned to the father's cabin with the babe in tow. And all you can read is "An... Pankhurst."

Perplexed me, this did. Was she Anne, Anna, Annabelle, or some other name formed with "An?" You know, over time, I tried every concoction I could dream of to see her response.

"Oh, Annie," I'd say, or, "Come, Anna Marie," and such. No matter the name I used she would always turn toward me with her eyes brightened and the sweetest smile. Oh, that angel face! But it was clear she responded only to the familiar sound of me voice: knowing intuitively it was directed toward her. And her countenance was due to the affection she felt for them that were kind to her.

The natives from a near island, from a tribe that was trusted, provided the solution to me great perplexion. An elder had told me, to name a body you had to know that body: who they were and what they were about. One thing I noticed, the babe on Nemusmar was like a blossom in a garden. Opening a bit more each day and thriving in the company of other, natural, flowers. These tribesmen seen that, as well. With goods to trade, they'd always bring a certain flower for the wee one.

In presenting it to her, they'd say "le-ah," and she'd beam.

When once they asked what we call the child, I replied, "An."

Then they would say to her, "Ana le-ah," and she'd beam.

Well, that settled the matter; she was Annalea!

So it went that within a week's time the captain hosted a banquet and, hisself performing the duties of parson, we christened Annalea. To lend some authority to our duties of caring for Annalea, Mam' Tiére and meself were appointed her godparents.

## Chapter III

# The Surprise

'Twas Annalea's eleventh birthday. Or, more rightly, what I designated as her birthday. From what I could fathom of those old documents of her father's, I understood she was expected to pass her third birthday back home in England. By me estimate, that would place her natal anniversary somewheres in autumn. Since it was me given duty to provide judgement in all matters concerning Annalea, I designated the first day of November–All Saints' Day–as an appropriate anniversary for our precious angel. 'Twas a most convenient selection, since we were likely to be ashore at that time of year–the seas being so unpredictable, and the trade routes so hazardous.

The annual celebration had become the most anticipated event of our year, attended by every soul on Nemusmar. A feast was provided by the wenches. And bobbles, ornaments and peculiar bits of precious metals and coins taken during many ventures, over a year's time, and secreted from Annalea's prying eyes, were provided by me shipmates and me for the occasion. On that particular morning, the ruse was to have Annalea accompany me out to the ship and collect charts I'd neglected since our last voyage. Of course, she always was the clever lass, awares of goings on and about to be goings on. 'Twas seldom our Annalea was caught unawares. But this year, I believed we'd succeed. 'Tis certain she'd seen through me ploy about the neglected charts. After all, for as many years as she could remember, this had always been a special day: her special day.

So Annalea gleefully accompanied me to the ship, chattering all the way about anything and everything that had nothing to do with birthdays, presents or the like. She would not want to hurt me feelings or disappoint those misguided dears who thought they could surprise her. So she glibbed about the weather and her friends and her frock. And, of course, about flowers. Annalea adored flowers, and had collected one of near every variety on Nemusmar. She described for me, in detail, the petals of one particular flower. Macathwee, a recent "recruit" to our ranks, had come upon this oddity and brought it back to Annalea, promising to show her where a bed of these flowers may be found.

As I watched Annalea sparkling and gushing, on our early morning venture, 'twas obvious she knew what I was about; and mayhaps she was aware that I knew this. Yet I'm right certain she did not know the whole of it. At the ship, me charts located and gathered, I tarried to glance them over, then poked about 'twixt cabins, rummaging through odds and ends. I could tell Annalea was getting anxious, fidgeting about as she was. But I made pretence not to notice, carrying on like a man with all the time in the world, and no particular place to be.

"Papa, will you be much longer?" Annalea spake out.

("Papa" was how she addressed me since first I took her in. I assume at that tender age she thought that was how to call the man who cared for her.)

"Not much, darlin'," I responded, "just need to make certain I've not forgotten anything. Don't want to trek out here again for fid nor fancy. Are you needing to get somewheres?"

"Oh, no Papa, I'm just... bored."

"Well," says I, "I can remedy that. I've a bit of a surprise for you."

She responded haltingly, not really wanting me to reveal the "surprise" that she fully expected, and spoil the "surprised" reaction she'd been rehearsing.

"Oh... I'm not really bored, Papa... mayhaps I could help you look...."

"No, no, pet," I interrupted, "I've detained you long enough on this old scow."

"Oh... well...." was all she could muster as retort.

As we hiked back, I noticed her somber countenance and absolute silence. 'Twas as if she thought the slightest sound, on her part, would elicit a full explanation from me of the big "surprise," and she was determined to be appropriately surprised: but only at the time and place of her own choosing. Putting Annalea into a predicament was a most uncommon turn of events, and that brought a smile to me face. Enjoying me moment–having one over on her–I laughed out loud. Realizing her quandary–she could not conduct her ploy and remark on me laughter–I laughed all the more! Me eye caught her glimpse at me, stone faced but bug-eyed.

So, along we trode–an odd pair, a giggling old man and a somber young girl. When we reached the first crossway, Annalea continued walking while I stopped abruptly. I watched and waited to see how long it'd take her to notice. She was fully sixty paces gone afore she looked about for me.

Then I shouted out, "Where you bound for, lass? Return to me, now!"

She ambled back, looking confused and none too happy. But she said nothing: just stood afore me and glared. Annalea is a sprite and a prankster, but most unappreciative of a prank placed on her.

I said, "This is your surprise, darlin'. We've been invited to break bread with the captain, this day."

"Oh, how marvelous!" she responded, the glimmer returning to her eyes.

The captain was just outside his quarters, surveying the sea with his spyglass, when we approached.

"Good day to you, sir!" I said, announcing our arrival.

"And good day to you, sir, and your lovely companion," the captain returned, approaching to greet us.

"'Tis a glorious day, sir!" Annalea responded exuberantly. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, as if expecting to see someone, or several someones.

"Well, you look particularly lovely, today, me dear," the captain said to Annalea. "Must be that frock you are wearing; somehow, you look older, today."

Annalea, fairly lit up with expectation, replied, "Am I not significantly older this day, sir?"

To which the captain replied, "I suppose we all are a day older, 'though how significant that is I don't know."

Leading the way into his quarters, the captain beckoned us join him. Annalea brought up the rear, approaching the doorway somewhat hesitantly. Her head entered the room afore her body did.

She quickly examined the room and took inventory, concluding "no people, no party, no nothing!" Unintentionally, she uttered this last part out-loud, "Nothing!"

The captain queried, "What ails you, lassie?"

"I... I... I... nothing, sir," was her response.

"Methinks our Annalea is not herself, today," he said to me. "Mayhaps we'd best postpone this afternoon's diversions."

"Oh no, sir," Annalea quickly objected, "'tis well I am!" She beamed at the prospect that "diversions" meant festivities.

"Excellent!" he said. "I shall set cook on our vittles, and after we sup, we shall review your lessons, have a reading from you and, be there time for it, mayhaps a bit of music."

Once again, a cloud descended over Annalea's countenance and seemed to dampen her spirits. 'Tis certain I am, this was not her idea of a gala birthday, spent in the company of two old sea hounds who'd put her through her paces, reciting her lessons for their amusement.

"In the meantime, Crockett," I continued watching Annalea's face as the captain spake, "let us have a look at those neglected charts you've brung. And Annalea, you can amuse yourself out in the garden for the time being."

Annalea dutifully went out the door and down the path toward the garden.

The captain returned from instructing cook and said to me, "Think you, Mr. Crockett, she suspects something?"

"Methinks she'd like to suspect something, Captain, but I believe we've got her off her guard."

"Well, we'll delay her a bit more, after we sup," said the captain, "to ensure all is Bristol-fashion for the celebration. Forbes is coming up to give us the sign, when it is time. Now, to those charts."

Quite a little time passed afore cook was ready for us. When he announced it, I set out to fetch Annalea. I went to the garden, through the garden, around the garden: no Annalea. I beckoned for her, several times.

Hearing me shouts, the captain appeared at the door. "What for, Crockett, have you misplaced me prized guest?"

"'Twould seem as much, Captain. I can find no trace of me ward. 'Tis not like Annalea to wander off, unaccompanied."

The captain began shouting for Annalea, and this brought cook to join us.

"Beggin' your parden, sir, but I saw the young miss a time ago, when I went for stock out to the garden."

"Did she speak to you, cook?" asked the captain.

Cook replied, "No, sir, I don't think she took notice of me. She was talkin' with that other man."

"What other man?" the captain demanded.

"Looked to be one of your men, sir," cook explained, "but not one I knows. Mayhaps a new man?"

"Macathwee," I remarked. "It must be Macathwee. He is the newest man, and the only one cook's never laid eyes on."

"Did anything pass betwixt them?" the captain asked cook.

And cook related what he'd overheard.

"He asked the lass, 'Why so glum?'

"And she says to him, ''Tis no fit way to spend a birthday, waiting on everyone's pleasure–and having none of your own.'

"'No fit way, indeed,' he pipes in, 'skulking about this old keep on your "special" day.'

"That truly got her attention, and she said to him, 'That's right, me "special" day! Did you hear that from others? Did they speak of it?'

"'No,' he replied, 'just from you. I've heard not from the others 'bout anything "special."'

"She seemed right disappointed when she said, 'Then they've forgot me birthday.'

"I remember, he put his arm 'round her and sought to comfort her with, 'Well, you are obviously a young woman now, and mayhaps they reckon you are too old for birthdays, parties and the like.'

"She looked to the ground, but he lifted her face with his hand and said, ''Sides, a comely young woman like yourself is needing no such childish diversions. You should have yourself an adventure, and find a beautiful place all your own!'

"Then I comes inside and didn't hear no more."

"Did you see them leave together, cook?" the captain asked.

"No, sir," he answered, "I didn't even think about them leaving. I considered they come with Mr. Crockett, to sup with you."

"I know it was Macathwee, and he's taken her off to see that flower patch he told her of," I said to the captain.

"And where might that be?" he asked me.

"I've not a clue, Captain," I responded. "He never said where, just told the lass he'd take her there."

"I can't believe Annalea would abandon us like this, without notice: so inconsiderate," the captain remarked.

To which I replied, "Aye, but you must admit we've spun her around a bit much this day, ourselves."

The captain took command of the situation, instructing cook to hike the perimeter of the compound, scanning the areas betwixt for Annalea, and bringing her directly to him, if found. I was directed to search the lee side of the island, where flowers patched in mead and on knoll. The captain was taking hisself down to the settlement. If she was not found there, he'd put every man-jack to scouring the island–'til she was found.

As cook departed, I spake to the captain. "'Tis certain Macathwee saw and heard all the people preparing the festivities for Annalea. Why would he turn the girl's head so? I tell you, Captain, I don't like the smell of things!"

"'Tis why we act now, Crockett!" the captain responded.

And we were away.

I found meself trotting at a quick pace, just knowing the lead they had on us. I did not trust that lad, Macathwee. Then again, I hardly knew Macathwee. What really bothered was Annalea being out of me sight. Most likely, there was nothing amiss. Still, I felt the guilt of it. She who relied on me, looked to me, and loved me: and I cast her off to be about me grown-up business. But, mayhaps, there was nothing amiss. I ran faster.

As I neared the lee side of the island, I could see where someone, leaving the path, had trampled the grass, recently. I bolted in that direction. I followed this trail 'til I reached a slope running up to a prominence which, on the far side, hung high over the river. I left off tracking and climbed to the top to look about.

Sure enough, on the far side of the river, I spied two figures. I could tell it was Annalea and Macathwee. They were sitting in a bed of flowers. Macathwee had his arm around Annalea, and held a flower against her cheek. I thought to call out, but I was too winded from the chase. Had I called at that moment, things might have ended differently–or, mayhaps, the inevitable simply delayed.

But events turn in the twinkle of an eye. And some things are meant to involve you, 'though fate may puckishly stay your hand from action. And in that twinkling of time–at a distance beyond me reach–events turned from the serene to menacing. What I saw sickened and alarmed me. As Macathwee's right arm pulled Annalea closer to him, his left hand fell upon her knee then quickly rose, under her clothes, between her legs to where his hand never should be! At first, Annalea seemed stunned, and he continued to grope her, pulling her all the while toward the ground with his right arm. I attempted to shout out, but Annalea screamed at him and slapped his face, at that same instant. Me yell went unheard.

I looked for a means to get down that sideling slope, and 'cross that river as fast as I could. Me eyes were upon them all the time. The blackhearted swine slapped Annalea clean 'cross the face, knocking her to the ground! He jumped upon her, his legs astraddle hers, and pulled her clothes from her. Annalea screamed like a bloody banshee! The Lord hisself couldn't've heard me shouting through all that. And 'twas certain Macathwee didn't hear me, for he continued his odious ways. Hunched over her, with his hands pressed hard against her shoulders, he released his grip to undo hisself. 'Twas then Annalea reached up with both her small hands and scratched at his eyes! He lurched back and let out a howl. With the instincts of a fiend, Macathwee reached across his sash, pulled his dirk from its scabbard, drew it up over his head and prepared to strike sweet Annalea in the heart!

I was speechless, choked up in horror, as I watched from across the river. As his arm cocked back, then forward, the point of his blade swooping towards Annalea's breast, a strong black hand grabbed his wrist and with a jerking twist, sent the blade into Macathwee's heart–clear to the hilt! It was Orke! Orke had saved me Annalea! Regaining me wits, and me voice, I shouted out to Orke. He seemed not surprised to see me there (but, then, nothing took Orke by surprise). Doubtless, coming upon the scene, he had immediately noticed who was where and what was happening and, instantly, what must be done.

Orke informed me that Macathwee was well dead, and Annalea seemed unharmed, but she was unconscious. He said he'd carry her and meet with me at the crossover. I agreed and started along the riverbank. Me eyes seemed drawn to Macathwee's carcass. I thought several times to cross the river and assure meself the blackheart was truly dead. But as me mind got clearer I realized, if Orke strikes a mortal blow, a man can be nothing but dead. At the crossover, I met up with Orke, still carrying Annalea who was now conscious and obviously shaken by her experiences. 'Though Orke held her snugly in his strong arms, she clung to him with a grip so tight, 'twas like a tourniquet. Methinks 'twas not a fear of falling to the ground but, rather, a fear in the mind of falling victim to the likes of Macathwee.

"Orke, me mate, you are a blessing from God!" I shouted to him.

I could see the colour returning to Annalea's face. She raised herself in Orke's arms and, lifting her head, she kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Orke. I love you, Orke."

We spake not another word as we walked back towards the settlement, Orke bearing Annalea all the ways. As we neared the settlement, we were joined by several others who'd, themselves, been out scouring the countryside for Annalea. They pressed on us, seeking to pet and comfort Annalea, and ask questions. Orke and Annalea said nothing, so I took it upon meself to recount our recent tribulations to each soul who approached.

When we finally reached the flat, and she could see all about the settlement, festooned like Mardi Gras, Annalea lit up. "Me birthday! Me birthday! I'd forgotten me birthday!"

And then the tears started flowing. Ironically, the day's object had been met; Annalea was surprised.

## Chapter IV

# Orke

Mam' Tiére took the weeping child from Orke's arms, and, accompanied by a large contingent of wenches, they disappeared within the common house. Cook tapped a keg and the captain led us all in a toast and spontaneous tribute to Orke, the saviour of our little angel. As we drank, Orke explained to me how he happened to be at that spot at the right time.

It seems our man Forbes, the one designated to hike up and notify the captain when all was ready for the festivities, considered that chore was enough due from him. When all was set up and things were in order, Mam' Tiére searched about for Forbes. She was informed by Leona that he was spotted meandering toward the black quarters with Naomi and a jug of rum, hours afore. Naomi! Now there was a ripe plum with a pit-size brain! Leona was set to fetch them, but Mam' told her no. Forbes'd be too far besotted by now. Orke overheard and volunteered to hike out to the captain's quarters.

When half a league gone, he saw a man approaching at a fast clip; it was the captain, hisself. Most out of breath, the captain told Orke he had no time for explanations, that Annalea was missing and they must make for the settlement. Orke held the captain back and informed him that he'd just come direct from the settlement and Annalea was not there. Then the captain explained what had happened, giving Orke the details that we knew. Without a word–not so much as a fare-thee-well–Orke lit out a-running, leaving the captain standing in the path, amid-sentence.

Orke had heard enough! He'd been with Macathwee, out on a routine forage, when he'd plucked those flowers for Annalea. So Orke knew the place to go. He also knew the why, since he'd recently come upon Macathwee taking liberties with a black child down behind the quarters. He said he'd let that one go with a smack upside Macathwee's head. So Orke was off with determination, and arrived on the spot at the critical moment. The rest I've told you.

By now, it was past nightfall. Lanterns, hung from every available overhang early in the day, were all lighted, and decorations hung from rope and bough festooned the open area. A mild breeze played these ornaments mischievously, creating strange shadow dances upon buildings and ground. A feast had been prepared and left, thus far, untouched. People milled about, chatting rather quietly. There were all the makings of a banquet, save the guest of honour. But all understood the why of it. And all understood there would probably be no festivities that night. Yet we all stayed where we were, to await the outcome.

As I reviewed the events leading to this moment, I chastised meself for errors of judgement and conduct. Many things should've been done differently. More precautions should have been taken. And, mayhaps, more attention paid to the fact that Annalea was not a wee child, anymore. She was not yet a woman. No, far from it. But she was well on her way to becoming one. How do I prepare her for that? How do I prepare for that?

Presently, the womenfolk rejoined us. In their midst was Annalea, all cleaned up, looking beautiful–and smiling. Everyone gave a thundering cheer for Annalea.

When it quieted a bit, Annalea said, "Am I too late to sup? I've not eaten all day."

The assembly broke out in a roaring chorus of laughter, sparked more by relief than humour. Me mates started playing music, the wenches started serving food, and the festivities were underway.

Mam' Tiére came over to me and said, "Da li'l 'princess' be fine. She know dis bad stuff none of her fault. We tol' her, sometime good folk jes' git caught up in da devil's doin's. An' da's all dis was. As what mo' she need ta know, yo' an' me'll speak, later."

With that, I joined Annalea, singing in the midst of the crowd. She gave me such a hug as near squeezed the life from me. And I gave her a kiss that placed me heart on her cheek. As I held that treasure in me arms, it was self-evident the great debt I owed me mate, Orke. Without Orke, there'd be no more Annalea. And there was a time when a sane man would bet all his holdings there'd be no more Orke!

# ~~

Orke was a black buccaneer. Not the largest of our crew, but mayhaps the most savage fighter. If Orke had a knife, and you were fool enough to come at him–even with a cutlass in both your hands–your widow could never identify the remains. Fish bait would be the only use for the pieces of you that might be gathered. 'Tis me opinion that this animal savagery was his natural response to white opponents. (As a natural fact, most of our enemies were white. Our quarrels with natives were few, and largely unprovoked.)

Truth be told, it was as though Orke was two diverse spirits, competing in one body. One of these was a gentle soul–an admirer of life. But the other was a tortured soul–a dark being which disdains life. As a crewmate, Orke was always on the tack and had become, in me opinion–and I daresay the captain's as well–indispensable to the success of many a venture. As to his talents as a warrior, I believe I gave you the gist. And as a man, there was no better–no more loyal–companion than was Orke. Those eyes that appeared to me as blood red with rage, in the heat of battle, could shine in response to robust conversation, literally sparkle with laughter at the antics of a crewmate (or a bit of his own high-spirited tomfoolery), and fill with tears of sorrow at the death of a close comrade. When ashore at Nemusmar, Orke had his own quarters, lived amongst and consorted with mostly whites, venturing to the black quarters no more than any of his white mates.

As to the source of the demon side of Orke, the evidence was brandished on his body as well as soul. Never could I approach the man from behind, when his back was bared, without feeling a cringe to me own soul. For certain, I've hacked more than one man near to pieces, in the furor of battle. 'Twas whatever I must do to be the one alive at the outcome. When me enemy succumbed, I withdrew from me course of action. Thus was me intent: not given to sadistic pleasures by inflicting agony and a slow, suffering death.

To view Orke's backside, yea verily from his nape to his ankles, was to gaze upon a mottled, leathered hide with scars–oft' times reopened–badly healed and patterned across and over one another. That was the first thing I noticed about Orke when we took the packet he was on, so many years back. I was behind him when we brought the slaves on deck to hear the captain's usual "offer." For a man so oft' unmoved by the horrors of battle, as such I was, I remember cringing at the sight of that tortured body, with so many scars still fresh.

Orke was the only slave on that ship in chains, and after the captain's speech was delivered and interpreted by those of our mates what spake the Spanish and French, he was unshackled. 'Twas then I noticed the second thing about Orke. I saw that blood red look of his eyes and watched dumbfounded as, with one great leap, Orke was upon the captain, wrenching out the life with his bare hands. Instantly regaining me bearings, I grabbed a nearby mallet, rushed Orke and smashed the mallet down upon the rawest sores of his back. If you've heard a banshee wail, 'twould be like a songbird's voice when compared to that unearthly screech that came from Orke's very soul. His body folded upwards with head and legs higher than his back as he lifted from the captain and rolled onto the deck writhing in pain–and anger. So many of our crewmates jumped upon him I could no longer see even a patch of black skin below that heap.

To me, it was an interesting matter of the human nature of men that Orke was so soon to forgive me that blow and, eventually, become one of me truest mates. Of course, it first was necessary that the captain forgive Orke, and that was not a convenient matter. The entire return voyage to Nemusmar, the captain remained unconscious and, methinks, nears to death. Back on shore, he was returned from rough waters, but remained groggy for yet another day. At first, awares only of his surroundings–and with no remembrance of our latest venture and its odd conclusion, it was set to me to relate all that occurred to the captain. He determined that a trial should be held of this brute slave the next day, at noon, followed by the hanging, and then fell to rest 'til nearly trial time.

You might set it down to the flukieness of our ways, and our staunch adherence to our own law, that Orke was still alive to face this trial. Every man-jack on that packet, that day, felt as did I: attack me captain and your life is forfeit. What saved Orke was probably the strike I laid upon his morbid back. Our poor captain was rendered unconscious, but not quite dead. Dead was simple: no captain, no Orke. As I commanded in the captain's "absence," I instructed the blackie be no further harmed, but rather clapped in irons, to await the captain's outcome and determine his pleasure–should he recover.

Back on shore at Nemusmar, Orke was locked securely in the larder of the common house, still in chains and with a two-man guard constantly afore the barred door. I was in continual transit betwixt the captain's quarters, to provide for his needs, and the common house, to learn what I could of our prisoner, at the captain's behest. 'Twas at this point in time, while questioning Orke in vain, and then interrogating the other slaves taken from that packet, we discovered that Orke knew none of the European tongues, was only four months from Africa (most of that time under transport to the Indies), and could barely be understood by any of the other blackies.

This turn disquieted the captain. Not so the crew, what'd assembled a handsome gallows for the occasion–or the landlocked, who'd prepared a fine after-hanging banquet and were decked out in their party best. But the captain was a thoughtful man: oft' times an annoying quality, it seemed to the rest of us.

The captain was no procrastinator; whatever assailed us, he made the right decision instantly and we acted upon it without question. Many's the time his decisiveness saved our hides. But, on the other hand, he was not one to rush to judgement when another man's life hung in the balance. The captain felt a need to know a man, and understand his actions, afore he passed on him. And Orke was a puzzlement to the captain–to us all. ('Course that didn't bother us in the slightest, as a hanging was a festive time, if it was not your own!)

So the captain summoned me to his bedside, instructed me to postpone the trial for three hours, dressed hisself (with some help) and we prepared to the black quarters. There we entered Mam' Tiére's quarters and sat at her table. The captain drank of the herbal tea she prepared to aid his weakened body, and sought her opinion of this wild African who near cost him his life. What Mam' spake of the brutality of a slave's life (especially a strange slave right out of transport) was not news to the captain. He'd witnessed first hand the devil at work in Christianizing Indians and Negroes alike. And he'd seen the monster in the gentleman who owns and commands another man, body and soul. What he was unfamiliar with, and became fascinated by her telling, was the slave's experience in transport and before such, as a captive in his native land. The miseries Mam' described went far beyond the captain's ken. And he a man who'd seen and suffered (and, mayhaps, inflicted) quite some miseries, in his time.

## Chapter V

# The Savaging of Innocence

Mam's personal history traced back to a small tribal village in the west of Africa. And she stretched her memory of experiences over a lifetime–more years than she could put a number to–to find a young girl that was herself. Yet, as she said, 'twas not herself. This was a young, innocent, happy girl, yet too young for the ceremony that served her people as a passage to womanhood. And this was a free girl, who knew nothing of tyranny and suffered only the gentle authority of her parents and the tribal elders. She spake of fearful happenings that day the black raiders struck her village.

And she was old enough to know what it meant from the stories and warnings of the elders. She'd witnessed raids and pitched battles afore, betwixt her tribe and their natural enemies, over hunting grounds and water rights. But this was different; the bloodletting was horrific–and entirely one-sided. These men had firearms. And 'though these raiders were black, they were not the colour of her tribesmen or their natural enemies. More significantly, on one of the men she saw something she'd never seen afore: a white man's pantaloons.

In an instant, the tranquility of her early life ended, and the brutality that marked most of her life began. This instant was punctuated by a raider's club that struck her brow and near sent her to her ancestors. She awoke on a different day, in unfamiliar surroundings, naked and tied to other captives with coarse and thickly braided rope. Some of the captives she saw were from her tribe, but most were not. Of her tribes-people, only a few were men. These few had been struck unconscious, bound and dragged away—as had she. Most of the men of her tribe–including her father and uncles–fought to the death.

"Admirable warriors," the captain pronounced them.

She went on to tell us of the forced march, for countless days and nights, to reach the "boundless river" (our very Atlantic). The men, women and children were pulled, pushed and prodded along. Laggards were beaten, and those too weak to continue were killed–in various ways, as amused their captors.

Each eve, shortly afore dusk, a spot was selected where the captives could be huddled together in a circle and protected from predators, man and beast alike. This was the only protection provided. And each eve the captors would take their turns selecting from the young women, dragging them a few score yards from the encampment, and raping them. Many times these young women were returned to camp beaten and bloodied–even those who offered no struggle. 'Twas the second night of her captivity, Mam' remembered, that the man in pantaloons came for her. He stood and leered at her small, naked body for several moments. She said 'twas the first she could remember of feeling shame from being naked. He unbound her, wrapped a huge hand 'round her neck, pulled her to the edge of camp, made her kneel behind a tree, dropped his pantaloons and buggered her—repeatedly. He continued to use her so, twice daily, 'til they reached the coast.

There was little food and water provided on this march, and no amenities. The captives learned quickly to tolerate wearing their own excrement, and that of others. To complain about anything–to speak at all–brought immediate retribution.

When they arrived at the coast, Mam' saw such a throng of people she believed all the tribes of Africa had been captured and brought to this one place. And she saw many other new things that day. The first she noticed was the "boundless river:" and on it, two massive "canoes" with giant "tree poles." The next that caught her eye was white men–the first she'd ever seen. But originally, what caught her attention was their pantaloons–like those worn by the man who molested her so brutally, and so often. She stood frozen and felt her heart stop when she imagined they would all surround her and "share" her, in that way. Then the hard tug of the rope, as she and the other captives were dragged away from there (where the white men stood) snapped her back to reality and belayed the panic in her breast.

At this final encampment, Mam' spent one night. It was the first night in many she went unmolested. Doubtless 'cause the men who'd captured them had gone. They were replaced by new guards. All of these were black men in pantaloons. But by this time, homesickness, heartsickness and sheer exhaustion had brought Mam' to the point where she no longer cared what they did with her body. She fell asleep thinking–for the first time in her life–death would be a blessing, and she would bless the man who took her life. Yet she needn't have feared. That night, those guards kept their distance, merely watching over the captives.

Just after dawn, the captives were rousted and led down to the water's edge by their guards. Already assembled, when they arrived, were several other groups of captives and a smaller group of long-haired men garbed in blouses and pantaloons. Mam's group was led to the front, their rope bonds were cut and their guards stood 'round them in a loose circle, pointing muskets towards them. But Mam' noticed only the group of white men just beyond. They were white men! They were not as she'd assumed them to be, the night before. They were not men with white makeup, as she'd witnessed in spiritual ceremonies many times. They were WHITE MEN! And more odd looking to her than the monkeys and apes that lived among the trees. With their long, shaggy, fur-like hair that hung off their heads and ran down their backs–mostly matted and gnarled like a killed animal left too long unattended.

"An' dose faces! Ta Gawd!" I can still hear Mam' exclaiming to the captain. Chiselled-sharp features like the "evil spirit" masks used in ceremonies, 'twas how she described them. And many had more long, matted hair hanging from those ugly faces. Their skin was the colour of sickness and death and their bodies reeked with a most unpleasant odour. She convinced herself that these were the evil spirits whose coming her tribesmen had always feared; and they had failed to placate these spirits in their sacred ceremonies. So now, she felt, she and all the people of all the tribes were lost to these demons, forever.

"When I looks back on it," Mam' told the captain, "I re'lizes dat all I'd been tru, up ta den, had on'y jes' brung me up ta da gates o' hell."

At that point, the captain begged Mam' pause, that he might take some more tea and ponder what she'd told him. Once recomposed and feeling a might stronger, the captain spake. "Have you more to share on this, Mam'?"

Mam replied, "Yer aksin' me ta walk ag'in tru dem gates o' hell."

The captain said, apologetically, "I need to know, Mam'."

"I knows ya does," said Mam'; and she set forth to revisit her demons.

The ugly white "demons" dispersed, each going to a different group of captives on, or near, the beach. Mam' remembered the one that came to her group for his large, hooked nose and a scar that ran from his ears to his mouth.

"An' dem ears!" Mam' exclaimed. "Dey seemed ta stick out an' point fohwa'd, like da jackal a-lis'nin' foh da lion."

Her "demon" barked something she could not understand to the guards, and they began forming the captives into a ragged circle. He then went through the group, squeezing the women's breasts and the men's muscles, peering into mouths and ears and eyes. Occasionally, he would push a captive out of the circle and some guards would drag the cull off.

When he came to her, he pushed his hand 'twixt her legs and ran his forefinger against her genitals. He withdrew his hand and, patting her cheek, gave her a sneering grin.

"He was a toothless, ugly demon," Mam' said, "an' when he touched me, ma skin turned cold."

On a command from the white man, the guards arranged the remaining captives in the group into a single file, and for the first of many times, clasped them into shackles of iron. Presently, they were tugged along in their leg irons to the water's edge and boarded on several long, wide "canoes." Mam' remembered that for no apparent reason they were continually flogged with whips as they were pressed along. She remembered the sting of the whip and the look of it. Again, something new–something evil. Their captors had beat them, but they used what was handy: clubs, sticks, brush. These new implements appeared to her to be purposefully made by demons, to do the work of demons.

The "canoe" she was boarded was crowded with captives, and white men armed with whips and muskets sat fore and aft. She was forced to kneel in a penitent's position, with others pressed so close she struggled to breathe. The white men did not speak and the Africans dared not speak. This she found the most distressing. In her mind, the most fearful, horrific thoughts held sway. She was convinced that the demons were taking the people to their world, where they would be brutalized, tortured and eaten alive. She was near panic from the fear screaming in her brain. But around her was complete silence, save the sound of the waves lapping against the boat. If only she could talk of her fears to the other captives–if only she could talk at all!

All too soon she was surrounded by sounds, noises and yelling voices in tongues she could not understand–demon tongues. From the instant they arrived at that giant "canoe" with the massive "tree poles" amidst it, the white men started yelling at the captives, in their senseless, barbaric language. Mam' was shocked out of her inner horror and returned to the frightening present by a white man shoving his face right against hers and screaming some mindless babble in an angry, insane voice. The captives were being yanked, pulled and hoisted up onto the top deck of a large slave ship. And–whether they shared Mam's fearful fantasies of demonic purposes, or were just reacting to the shouting fury of the white men–the blacks were screaming, too. But according to Mam', they were not screaming words, more crying out like wounded animals–even when no one was touching them.

Mam's group was the first to be placed on decks. And, for a brief moment, this new thing–this giant "canoe"–was less fearful and more impressive. Imagine, a "canoe" so large her entire village could travel in it! But as more groups of captives were hauled on board, and all were pressed together, reality soon closed in about her. She was surrounded by human flesh, and all this flesh showed goose pimples: the sure sign of fear and stress. From within this din, Mam' was surprised to hear a familiar voice. 'Though the speaker was no more than a few feet away, Mam' could not see him for the taller, larger bodies pressed between them. But she knew from the voice and the language he spake, it was her tribesman.

With his fateful words, "The slavers have us for good, now!" Mam' ceased to think of herself as that innocent, independent African girl, or as a captive; she began to think of herself as a slave.

Mam' tried to call out to her tribesman, but the moaning and shuffling of the others drowned her out. Everything was motion, now. She was being pressed this way, and pushed that way, from all directions. She could not tell if more slaves were still being added, or the "cattle" were just being herded about. No matter, she could not safely do what her heart desired: reunite with her tribesman by falling to hands and knees and crawling to him through the legs of the throng. She knew if she went down she'd never come up. She doubted they'd even notice they were trampling her.

But as they swirled about on deck, that familiar voice called out her name! She hesitated before turning her head, afraid to believe he was there. When he repeated her name, she snapped her head about to see a familiar but sad, haggard face. Instinctively, she reached her arms around him and pulled herself to him, pressing her cheek firm against his chest. For a brief instant, she actually felt herself safe–a reminiscence flashed of being home. He stroked her head and spake her name again, softly.

In a voice still more child than woman, she said, "Please, please save me. Please take me home."

Then she gazed up at the haggard face softened with tenderness and streaked with flowing tears. Softly he said, "Only death can save you now, child. Only the ancestors can take you home."

Then, with his arms clasped tightly around her, he bowed his head over hers and continued sobbing. She felt peculiarly safe, as if held in the embrace of her entire tribe. They stood like that for several moments. Then the tumult stopped. And once again the real world crashed in on her. The screaming white demons were back, moving through the fray. This time, they were separating the males from the females. Mam' was ripped back into reality when a white man shouted something in her ear, grabbed her around the waist, pulled her from her tribesman and flung her into a group of women slaves.

"Da las' I knews of any ma kinsmen was den," Mam' said, choking over the words. "I could heah his callin' ma name, ovah an' ovah, as dey drug 'im aways."

"What was your African name, Mam'?" the captain inquired.

"I doesn't speak dat name, no mo'; no' will I answer ta dat name in dis lifetime–in dis whiteman's world," Mam' said, firmly. "When I passes ovah an' I heah dat name, I gwan know it be da Lawd callin' me, 'cause da devil an' his demons ain't never gonna know dat name!"

"Well, I'll not be asking you to share a confidence you hold with the Lord," the captain remarked. "But share with me, if you would, the experience of your transport to the Americas."

"Even as a sea dog, an' da cap'n of sea dogs, d'aint no ways ya kin know of it," Mam' told the captain. "Mebbe if ya was keelhauled 'cross da ocean ya'd know da mos' of it, but...."

Mam' stopped at that, and sat staring at the table for several moments. Her eyes were fixed, but there was no sign her spirit still was there. The captain wondered if Mam' stopped breathing.

Then, just as suddenly as she stopped talking, she started again–'most as if she was unaware she'd ever stopped. "An when dey drug us down dat hol', it was like da bowels of hell!"

Mam' described how the women were dragged and shoved into the hold of that ship, each one screaming and wailing–probably less from physical pain than from the private fear that tormented each individual mind. As Mam' put it, they were all going to hell, but each one's voyage must be different and personal, in the mind. Below decks, her visions of hell were confirmed.

The women were being stacked and chained bare-skinned against rough-hewn planks and beams. Every possible space in that great ship's hold was packed tightly with human cargo. Yet again being mishandled like some errant dog, Mam' was being hauled along by the scruff of her neck. The white man carrying her stopped in front of a woman who was chained lying on her back, with her shoulders lifted and the nape of her neck pressed against the bulkhead. The white man barked a command to another white man, who bent down and spread the woman's legs. The white man holding Mam' pushed her down in the space created, flat on her stomach with her face pressed in the woman's crotch.

"By God, Mam'!" the captain exclaimed. "You don't mean to say...."

"I does!" Mam' returned. "When dat po' woman could hol' back no mo', I wore it, an' I tasted it!"

The captain tried to understand when Mam' said how little that bothered her. In her mind, she had already accepted agony and death as her lot. Of course, all the slaves were living in their own excrement and vomit, and that of others. The white men offered no remedy for the situation. In fact, as the journey went on, they came below decks less and less often. Mam' believed the conditions of the slaves were making the white men sick, too. And since they could walk away from it, they did so.

Still having a bit of humour about her, Mam' cackled as she remembered the "drought" that brought her some relief. Food, for the slaves, was rarely provided and seldom missed—being mostly a vile and putrid, vermin-infested slop not fit for hogs. Eventually, most of them began to "dry up," since there was no "hemp" to make "rope" (so's to speak). Her reprieve concluded when the woman became sick from what sounds like the dropsy. Mam' said 'twas like the woman was dissolving into liquid and sludge and pouring it out upon her.

At the worst of this, a white man came and unclasped her irons. He latched onto her arm and drug her up on deck. She felt immensely grateful to this man for his act of kindness. She was out of the putrid hold, gazing at blue skies in bright sunlight that bothered her eyes–but didn't. The air was fresh and unscented. Someone was pouring water over her and scrubbing the crud off her hair and body. It was the man who'd delivered her from hell's very bowels. She smiled up at him, but he looked back at her with no expression. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And for a long time, she held that breath: fearing the next would not feel near so good. She felt clean, cool water run down her legs and off her toes. She opened her eyes and noticed several slave women about the deck. Some were themselves being scrubbed by white sailors. Others were being held by sailors, who fondled them and laughed with each other. She could see one sailor already "humping" a slave girl, whose mouth was open–as if in a scream–but no sound came out. Only the stream of tears from her eyes gave evidence of her real pain.

'Twas then Mam's "saviour" grabbed hold of her from behind, bending her forward at the waist. With the flat of his hand, he held pressure to the back of her head, as to instruct her to stay in that position. When she felt his callused hand run up the crack of her ass, she knew 'twould be the situation in the jungle, again. So she braced herself. But what she "knew" was wrong. She felt the girth of his shaft run down the crack, then under the ass and come up betwixt her legs. And hard up it came, and fast! She felt the full penetration in one mighty assault. At first thrust, he'd rammed his shaft inside her, up to its hilt! He'd as well run a dagger complete in her stomach, for the agonizing pain he'd delivered. Worse even than the buggery she'd endured, Mam' felt her body being ripped open. And, for the first time in a long time, she cried; and unlike t'other slave girl, she cried out loud.

Mam' said she'd never before in her life, nor since, screamed so loud and so long. Incredibly, this had no effect on her tormentor. He continued to thrust up inside her, pull out, thrust in, until he stopped sudden, full in her, with his shaft swollen to the ends of her endurance. At that instant, he grabbed her shoulders, pushed down on them, screeched loud enough to drown out her screams, and opened the flood gates: gushing his foul slime within her. Her cavity being more than amply filled already, the pressure of this additional substance created such pain as to drop her to her knees, delivering his shaft from her scabbard. She could feel his slime continue to spill out onto her head and back.

Her assailant kicked her ass, knocking her flat on her face. He then turned and walked away, laughing. For a moment, she lay motionless with her face to the deck. She wished she could seep into the wood and the wood all around would protect her. But a cold chill ran up her spine as she realized her vulnerability, lying there. Other sailors may come and assault her. She quickly turned herself over and sat up. If they would do to her, she could not stop them, but she would try–she would make them suffer. But as she looked about, she saw the sailors were otherways occupied. Some glared over at her and laughed, but no one else seemed interested in so young and small a girl. At least not at the moment. Now, she looked down at the bruises and blood on her legs and crotch, and the yellowish slime that pooled there. She felt a sickness in her stomach she'd not felt even in the putrid bowels of the hold.

It suddenly occurred to her there was only one release from her torment–only one deliverer from her tormenters–death (as her tribesman had told her). She drew herself to her feet and calmly, deliberately, walked 'cross the deck toward the sun, and the waiting sea, below. She looked not about her, caring of nothing or no one, save her own determination to release herself into the arms of her ancestors.

She was deterred in her action by the sight which came afore her eyes, within feet of her object. Two white men stepped in front of her, carrying the body of a woman. It was she–Mam's "companion" from the hold. Her body looked as sickly white as the demons who bore her. And her limbs seemed swollen and contorted. The white men were obviously uncomfortable, fidgeting as they maneuvered the carcass to throw it overboard. The stench from the woman wafted clear across the deck, and the sight of her made even the demons queasy. But Mam' looked at her, anyway. She had to–she could not divert her eyes. This was one of her people. A woman she'd never really known, but a woman in the same circumstances as she–a woman on the same voyage as she–a black woman–a slave–a member of her new tribe.

## Chapter VI

# Her New Tribe

As Mam' sadly gazed upon the woman's troubled countenance, 'twas then she noticed her eyes roll in her head and then fix on Mam'. She saw the lips of her mouth moving to form words. The woman was still alive! Mam' looked up quickly at the face of the white man holding the woman's shoulders. She could tell by the surprised look of his face that he saw it, too. The woman was still alive! Then the white man looked at his companion, nodded, and they heaved the woman into the ocean.

"Dey knew she be alive, and dey chucked her out, anyways!" Mam' declared. "An' dey's many a times I seen dat occur."

Had she retrieved her senses, sooner, Mam' might've joined the castaway, that day. As luck–or fate–would have it, the two sailors did not dally, nor even peer over the side to view the result of their action; mayhaps they could not stomach it. They returned amidship, grabbing up Mam' as they came along, and returning her to her place in the hold. She was shackled alone in the cramped space she once shared with that sorrowful woman.

As she lay there, Mam' struggled through the turbulence of conflicting emotions; she felt privileged to have that small place to herself; she was relieved she'd no longer have to suffer from that woman's sickness and tolerate her effluence, her noise, her presence. She found herself thinking how glad she was that woman was gone. Yet she felt a morbid shame that spread through her soul and sickened her: to realize that she could harbour such selfish, evil feelings. She fell off to sleep that night hating herself as much as she hated her circumstances. But Mam' always was strong as teakwood (and bold as brass, for that matter). By the next morning, she was less angry at herself and more steeled to survive her ordeal and fight to preserve her life–if not her dignity–'til the end come.

As the days and weeks passed, Mam' found herself more and more bonded, by the spirit, with the men and women of her "new tribe." 'Though she could find no one who spake her language, there were slaves from neighbouring tribes whose words she could sometimes understand–and who seemed to understand her. And from many of the other slaves there were little gestures, little acts of kindness, concern and consideration that caused Mam' to know she was not all alone, condemned to the isolation of her own mind and the fearsome nightmares that festered there.

A sense of belonging in that new tribe bolstered her mental resistance to the white men's control. Still, she could not physically resist their wanton lust or brutality. The humiliations, the rapes and the buggery continued to be her plight. Most of the whites preferred young, bountiful women in full blossom. But those among them that desired her, and others like her, used her frequently, often "sharing" her as a group. For these reasons, Mam' came to prefer the hold to being on deck. The hold may be putrid and stultifying, but she felt safer and saner there. The apparent beauty above decks–the sun in the bright blue sky, the pure white clouds, the sparkling waters–was a mockery. 'Twas as walking through hell, while just beyond was an unreachable, heavenly background. To Mam', her small, cramped space in the hold was her sanctuary.

But there was no permanent moral standard Mam' could cling to, over time. Even in simple terms, like good versus evil or we against them, Mam' found the foundations of her beliefs were constructed on ever shifting sands. The white men, for an instance, were demons–and indefensible. 'Course there was that one white boy on the ship. Mam' hated the sight of his gaunt, white face; but she lit up like a candle when he come 'round. For certain, he was a white demon: one of their species. But his actions were different. 'Twas almost as though he had a heart, and–mayhaps–a soul. Oh, like t'others, he'd oft' put his hands on Mam'. Yet he'd never harmed her, and he'd never molested her.

The first time she took notice of him was up on deck. Her abusers had finished with her, exhausting her and themselves as well. And they had pushed her so hard and frequently upon the wood deck, her face and limbs were scratched and bruised and her nose was bleeding. They simply left her lying there, and walked away to partake of some rum and rest. Mam' was too exhausted, too sore and too humiliated to move. She experienced that familiar fantasy of seeping into the wood of the deck and hiding from the world.

What brought her back were white hands, lifting her by the shoulders and raising her to her knees. Her only thought was, since he didn't just mount her on the deck, he must be wanting that other thing. However, he continued to raise her to her feet and led her along the deck, further away from her abusers–and other curious eyes. He brought her to a spot where old canvases were piled in a tall heap on one side, and empty casks stood on the opposite side. Apparently, what he intended required privacy. In the midst of this refuse, he stopped her. He nudged her on her shoulders until she again returned to her knees. Knowingly, Mam' shut her eyes and waited for it to happen. Strangely, she thought, 'twas some time acoming. But when it came, it startled her such that her eyes and mouth snapped open wide!

The bucketful of water he splashed over her head was cold, and unexpected. She was, at first, stunned, and then began to shiver. The white lad began to wipe her down with a large rag. He touched her everywhere, but never wrongly. Gazing at the lad as he wiped blood and dirt from her defiled little body, she noticed he was quite younger than the rest of his kind: mayhaps a bit older than her. And then she noticed something else; she didn't hate him. 'Twas the first time she looked into a white face without feeling anger and hate. And, lastly, she noticed she did not fear him. She felt herself calming to his touch and soothed by his words. 'Though it was the same meaningless babble as always spewed from the whites, 'twas the sound of his speaking–the softness in his voice–that comforted her. And he continued a stream of words, as he gently cleaned her. Surely, he knew she couldn't understand a word, but he must've sensed the calming effect it had on her.

He finished his chore, shut his yap, took her chin in his hand, looked into her eyes and smiled at her. This, again, startled her, and she went bug-eyed. But Mam' remembered smiling back at the lad afore he turned his eyes away. Mam' realized she'd not witnessed a friendly smile since that last day in her village; and she quite believed she would never smile again in this life.

Then, suddenly (as he seemed to do everything–suddenly), the lad took to his feet and left her there. He left her there alone. The white demons would never leave the slaves be alone.

"Hell, dey don' leave us be, at all!" Mam' exclaimed. "But I don' be scared," Mam' continued. "I likes dat hidden place."

Mam' said she felt she was in a safe place.

As suddenly as he'd disappeared, he reappeared. He handed Mam' a cut of hardtack. It was clean: no maggots or other vermin, no dirt nor grease. And he gave her a cup of clean drinking water. When she'd finished these, Mam' sat with her back against an empty barrel, switching her gaze from the lad to the stars that had just come out. Feeling comforted and relaxed, she fell off to sleep.

Mam' awoke with a start, an arm jostling her shoulder. It was the white lad, and he spake softly to her in that unfathomable tongue. Mam' was not frightened; she sat smiling at the lad. She was still somewheres betwixt her dream and her new safe place, with him. And she would not willingly let go of that dream. It put her back in her village, several years younger, cradled in her mother's arms. But the lad seemed insistent on bringing her 'round. He had his hands on her arms, pulling her to her feet, gently but firmly; and he kept repeating the same phrase.

The lad guided Mam' back to the hold and her small "sanctuary," there. As he sat her in her space, he again repeated that phrase. Mam' looked into his face and nodded in agreement. She knew not a word of his tongue, but she sensed he was saying, "You must return to your place, or you'll be missed."

That was Mam's first experience of kindness from a white man. She learned not all were demons; some could be good–indeed, very good. In time, she developed a sense of whom she could trust; and they became her "tribesmen," regardless of colour. She also learned that by paying attention to the white babble–studying the speaker and his countenance, as he spake–she could sense what was being said, and eventually put meaning to words. This "sense," she practiced with all whites–good and bad.

The young white lad remained Mam's friend and only protector for the remainder of the voyage.

"I comes ta b'lieve dat, mayhaps, one of Mam's lovin' ancestors dun come back, disguised in da fohm of a demon–a white boy–ta protect Mam', keep her strong–keep her alive!" Mam' explained.

'Though she realized 'twas not her alone he was inclined to kindness towards (oft' times, she saw him slip bits of hardtack or mouthfuls of gruel and sips of water to other slaves), 'twas to her he was most accommodating. And he cleaned her fairly regularly. And he accompanied her when she left the hold to go on deck. This served to protect her from the routine of abuse she'd thus far suffered. Not that it ended, entirely. Her accosters became annoyed by the constant presence of the lad during their moments of leisure and need.

Mam' recalled the worst beating she'd ever received on that ship. 'Twas a pleasant enough eve, and Mam' looked forward to her release time. She was fairly parading across the deck (as she tells it) with her young, white protector walking aside her, holding her arm firmly, as in a show of indifference for the benefit of the rest of the crew. Mam' was anxious to go to their hideout: to see what small surprises he might bring her, and play her game of making sense out of his white babble.

As they approached to within feet of their spot, her "regular" assailants fell upon them. Two of 'em grabbed her, one by each arm. They flung her backward against the empty casks, and moved on the lad, hisself being held by two men–one at each arm–while a third, larger man stood behind him locking the lad's head in his arm. They proceeded to pummel and bludgeon the boy, helpless in their grasp.

Mam's outrage at their attack on her protector was so intense she reacted instantly, with no fear or inhibition. She flew at the assailants in a rage, flailing about, smacking at their heads, clawing their skin and biting faces, necks and arms, as she could. She drew blood from each perpetrator. She also drew their wrath. They went at her with fists flying: punching her head, her stomach, her face, her back, her limbs. She felt her body breaking and her spirit crumbling. She fell unconscious–mercifully.

She knew when she came to, she'd been raped and buggered many times over. But this time, she could tell, it was done from rage, not lust.

"An' ya sees dis scar on ma te't, wha' some basta'd was chewin' while he does me," Mam' said, exposing a breast to view. "I knows Mam' been marked by a demon," she continued. "Ma body belong ta da demons. But ma soul belong ta da Lawd!"

Mam' said when she could, she crawled over to the lad, unconscious but still breathing. She had nothing left to give: no strength to help. She kissed him on the forehead several times, and lay upon him, as if to protect him. Morning came, and they were discovered and awoken by a sailor. During the night, when all the slaves had been returned to the hold, Mam' had indeed been missed. Now found, Mam' and the lad were brung afore a man of great authority (whom she then thought to be the chief "demon" and later understood to be the captain of that slaving vessel).

Mam' and the lad were surrounded by a circle of white men, all pointing here, then there, and chattering continuously. That noisy white chatter, when constant, became to Mam' as the din of the ocean, when cut by the ship's bow. If you attend it, the sound could overwhelm your senses and drown out your very thoughts. If you attend not, the sound seemed to grow louder, move faster, and disappear: as if drowned out by the sound of your thoughts.

The looks and the gestures, 'though, she could not ignore. She felt humiliated, standing there naked, bruised and cut, surrounded by fully clad white men, ogling her. To add to her shame, she peed on herself, when frightened by a loud clap of the ship's bell. She felt as all were watching the urine drip down her leg.

The captain barked, and the crew came silent. He then approached the lad and started talking to him, softly. Mam' had assumed they were in great trouble, but from the tone of the discussion 'twixt her lad and the captain, she realized she was wrong. Apparently, much had passed while they slept.

The lad pointed out each of their assailants (already contained in a group, by the other sailors). The captain barked, again, and the men were grabbed and tied, and their backs bared. In front of the ship's complement, and Mam', each perpetrator was flogged, twenty stripes. This was Mam's introduction to the white man's justice. But she believed then (and knew for certain, later) that the "justice" was for her white companion–not her black self.

The truth of this was demonstrated for Mam' by the fact that these scalawags never went within forty paces of the lad for the rest of the voyage. And they never bothered Mam' when she was up on decks with the lad. But, when opportunity presented–on an irregular basis–when any one of 'em chanced on her alone, he'd have his way with her. And now it always was more the product of anger and revenge than lust.

Mam' was becoming educated in life's realities. Along with unimaginable meanness and cruelty, kindness and gentleness could coexist. Occasionally–rarely–she might meet a white man with a soul. But she knew, in her heart, it was the black people she must look to. They, she could count on for kindness and support. On that slave ship, Mam's education continued. And the lessons were ever changing.

She recalled an occasion when many slaves were hauled on deck and formed into several lines. She didn't remember the purpose, only the occurrence. Mam' could seldom guess what the white demons were going to do, or what they wanted, but she always felt comforted when surrounded by her own people. The whites moved about as if inspecting: talking amongst themselves about her people. From behind, she felt two large, manly hands grasp her ass and then begin rubbing. Soon, she felt a digit enter and move rudely up her anus. As by habit, her shoulders slouched forward and her eyes cast down to her feet. Then, for some reason, Mam' shifted her head around and her eyes up. What she saw standing there, with his finger still up her ass, was a big, black man with a sheepish grin on his face.

"A black man! One of ma own peoples! Someone who'd suffered da same indignities, humiliations an' physical pain we'd all shared. One of our community. And he could do dis ta me?!"

Mam' went berserk! She lashed out at the culprit, dragging skin from his face with her claws, like a lioness. She threw herself upon him with such fury, he fell back. She pummeled him with her fists, stood and smashed her foot hard down on his groin. Her eyes were filled with rage and overflowed with tears. She could not see the blood and horror on his face. She was on him, with her knees dug into his stomach, striking at his head, when the two white men reached to pull her off. One grabbed at her right shoulder, but she shifted it down and escaped his grasp, swinging her right arm over to her left. The other one grasped her left arm, so slippery from sweat that his grip slid 'til he anchored her wrist. The tears had left her eyes, but the rage remained. However motivated by the rage, Mam' was no longer blinded by it. In the instant she swung her head toward the white man grasping her wrist, she saw it! Her right hand reached for the cutlass in his sash and, with one continuous movement, she pulled out the blade, ran it across the black man's throat, swung it high over her shoulder and released it. The only sound she remembers was that of the cutlass splashing the water.

In a chaotic world–in her fragile state of mind–that black man had robbed her of the last crumb of social sustenance: her belief that her people would never harm her, that she could always feel secure with her own kind. Now, she felt so terribly, terribly alone, standing on that deck, splattered in that black man's blood, held fast by two white sailors and surrounded by slaves. She felt terribly alone. But she did not feel remorse.

Three more white sailors stood afore her. They stooped to grab the dead man's body and with a few steps and one loud yell, heaved the carcass overboard. Mam' would again witness the white man's justice. 'Though this time, it was she who would feel the lash. She felt the sting, but it was no worse than so much inflicted upon her in the days and weeks just passed. Mam' couldn't recount the number of lashes she received. She passed out during the process. 'Twas not the pain of the punishment that took her out, but the overwhelming weight of events most recent. You can be certain this did not stay the executioner's hand, nor interrupt the rhythm of his flail–I've seen that sort too often.

The next that Mam' remembered, she was being carried by her white lad, back to her place in the hold–her "sanctuary." That night as she lay awake, with her eyes shut so she could "see" the stars, she reflected on that day's events and the white man's justice. 'Though she felt no remorse (then or ever) for her actions, she had killed a man. And the punishment was a few lashes? Mam' realized she was not punished for taking a man's life, but for the loss of his monetary value to the whites.

We could see the fatigue in Mam's eyes, and hear it in her voice. The captain begged her stop and rest, and suggested we might continue another time. But Mam' was determined to put that young girl to rest, having awoken her from the blissful sleep of distant memory. It had always been Mam's way to live in the present with her eyes to the future.

As she told us, "I gwine leaves dat girl be, an' da Lawd'll resurrect her in da nex' world." And so Mam' continued the voyage for the captain's sake and her own, to be finished with the transport once and for all. Her stories were replete with physical, sexual and mental abuses, on a continual basis, of the same nature as those I've revealed to you. And the despatch of the slaves: 'twas a morbid business, the slave trade, 'though doubtless a profitable one, to accept such losses as Mam' described–to the extent that their cargo was more than halved by journey's end. Slaves died of disease and were cast away. Slaves died of hunger, of physical abuse and some, seemingly, from a sheer lack of will to live; all were cast away, unceremoniously. One still day, Mam' remembered, when the sheets just hung and the ship would not move, eight slave corpses lie out in the waters hovering about the ship like the spirits of dead men haunting their murderer.

Other slaves tried and succeeded at that which Mam' had failed: to leap into eternity, from the decks of hell into the watery gateway to the spirit world. This was more common in the sooner part of the voyage. To prevent such losses, sailors were posted in a large circle, containing the slaves and interceding should one attempt departure. 'Course, as Mam' said, there were more than a few healthy slaves flung into the sea while protesting vigorously. Seemingly to her, this was done at the whim and discretion of the whites.

Mam' related her mix of emotions at seeing land once more. It lifted her heart to believe this voyage would end. But thoughts of what might lie ahead brought on such apprehension that she developed a shiver which still animated her days later, naked and chained on the white man's auction block.

Sitting back in her chair, Mam' wrung her hands and then put them on the table, palms down. She pushed hard against the table, simultaneously rising from her chair. This impressed me as the physical manifestation of her thought process.

With the words, "Das wha' it be fo' me–fo' all of us. An' I gwine talk on dis no mo'," Mam' pushed the little girl who used to be her back into the distant past, and walked away from the table and the conversation, leaving the captain and me alone to ponder the tragedy of transportation.

## Chapter VII

# To Have This Thing Done

'Though still physically weak, the captain's course was set by a strong spirit and a willed determination to have this thing done. As we returned from Mam's, he instructed me to call an assembly and bring forth the prisoner. I sent out the word, and–jubilantly–we prepared for our trial, our hanging and our banquet (in that proper order, of course). 'Though wigless, I was prepared to act the part of prosecutor and set forth the evidence. But the captain, he was judge, and he said he knew what had occurred and, mayhaps, the whys of it. And there'd be no need for jury. If there was an injured party, it was him; and he would deal with the matter direct.

Without explanation to the rest of us, he called to the black bucks and wenches to gather 'round him, and began to interrogate them. In particular, he meant to know which among them could converse with this rogue slave: which had understood his palaver, which knew of his tribe. It came out that Reena was the lass who knew the most of this buck. 'Twas she who'd gained his confidence and conversed with him. Her tribe was not far distant from his, in Africa, and their tongue was near the same.

Reena! Shy, and yet coquettish little Reena! None of the lads had made any headway with this wench. Still, there was something about this buck that captured her attention–and sparked her interest.

"Dis boy's name be Orke," Reena told the captain, "an' he been real bad used by da white man. Da anger in him be purely seethin' out. But I know he be a good boy. He be a sweet boy."

The captain took special note of this last remark, and told Reena to sit aside him, take her time and tell him what she knew of this Orke. The story she related to the captain and the rest of us, described Orke's journey from heaven to hell: from a respected place as a young but accomplished warrior, through the trials of transport–the pain and degradation–that led him to this place, this day. Those of the white race sat and listened, mostly slackjawed. Most all this was new to them–and disturbing. And it seemed the more ironic to hear such distressing tales from such sweet lips; realizing full well that even the teller–the bashful and angelic Reena–had experienced the same horrors, first hand.

As to the blackies in attendance: they sat listening, somberly. As one bad experience after another was told, you'd see some nod knowingly. Others might emit a low groan. Eventually, many were in tears–weeping openly and unashamedly. I knew that for the captain and meself, the story of Orke was a human tragedy much similar to that of Mam' Tiére. When I discussed this day's considerable events with the captain, late that eve, he told me there'd been a moment of revelation for him: when he realized for the first time, it probably was the same for most all the blackies seated afore him.

When Reena had finished her tale, the captain commanded that the slave, Orke, be brought before him and seated next to Reena. Still sturdily manacled and hobbled, Orke appeared to be a man shrouded in doom. His anger dissipated, he displayed the resignation of a condemned man. The captain instructed Reena to explain to Orke (as best she could) what he was about to say.

He looked directly to Orke and spake slowly and calmly. "I understand, as well as any white man can, all that you've experienced and suffered through since you were stolen from your homeland."

After this–and at varying points, therefrom–the captain gave pause to allow Reena to explain the substance of his words, to Orke.

Then he continued. "And because of all this, I understand your humiliation as a captive, your anger as a man, and your savage response as a warrior. Were I you, I would feel and do as much–as so would any man you see here. Therefore, 'though you attacked me and attempted to halt me life, I cannot blame you–I cannot hate you. What I can do is free you!"

Here, the captain paused longer, to be certain Reena explained fully, and Orke understood. While she spake, the captain watched Orke's face, as did I. Just as she was completing her translation, I saw Orke's eyes come alive! No doubt, it was this talk of freedom that sparked him.

And I believe this was the captain's intent. For he pursued this course when he continued, "But the doing is not as simple as the saying. Were I to simply let you walk away, where would you go? There is no way back to Africa from here! And any civilized place we might set you down would end you back in the slave trade. Could you fend for yourself alone, on some other island? Methinks not against the wild natives about. Or should you stay here, on Nemusmar? You do not know our ways or our purpose. And I'm doubtful it is safe for us to simply turn you loose.

"So. Orke is it? Well then, Orke, I've a proposition for you. For the upcoming month, you shall be detained on Nemusmar. We'll need to confine you to quarters, for your safety and ours, but all shackles shall be removed. We lost Kettle last month, and his place is available. 'Tis small, but'll afford you a good deal more room than the larder.

"Reena, aided by Mr. Crockett, Mam' Tiére and others, as I designate, will provide you with food, clothes and other necessaries. Working through Reena, the others will instruct you in our ways and our law; and I'll advise you to learn our tongue. At the end of the month, we shall reconvene to complete the particulars of me proposition, and you'll be required to make a choice; whether to leave this place and be put down at a safe harbour, never to return to Nemusmar, or to accept our 'offer' to join our company and share equally in all our endeavours. Should you decide to join, I'll put it to those you see here assembled to accept or deny your membership."

So, over the next month, 'twas me primary duty to attend Orke on a near daily basis. With freedom in his mind, he grew more comfortable with us, every day. And Reena was there all day long, every day. She took on the responsibilities of teacher, cook, nurse, "mother" and more. Inside a fortnight, she was staying over with Orke, every night. Thus, I knew long afore the appointed time of decision, Orke would be staying amongst us.

## Chapter VIII

# The Master Plan

Over the next few years, life on Nemusmar was a bit more tranquil. Out at sea, in the practice of our chosen profession, this was not so. We lost a lot of good mates during those years. The merchants seemed better armed and more prepared. And patrols seemed to increase tenfold. But back on that island, 'twas a world apart from the relentless struggle to remain free and solvent. Annalea was blossoming into that young woman I now accepted she'd become. And due to her proliferating every type of native flower, me quarters–and all the surrounds–were continually bathed in exotic fragrances.

There was a good deal of new construction on Nemusmar, at that time. With the increase of patrols, and other naval activities in general, the captain became convinced that discovery of our hideaway was inevitable. He knew we must have a strategy to discourage "visitors" and prepare ourselves for the defense of the island. I had suggested we simply attack and sink any ship that come within ten leagues of Nemusmar. But the captain scuttled me plan, and rightly so, saying as how that would attract more attention–and more patrols–to this area.

"When at sea," he said, "we'll routinely scout along the outer shoals. We'll track any vessel we scope in our waters. If their approach is too close to the island, we'll attack from beyond: as if we'd been tracking them some great distance, and had just closed in. Whether we sink them or just chase them off, they must not be awares we were in these waters, waiting.

"Ashore, we must prepare for a land battle. I want to see a bulwark on every defensible structure. And, along the entire shoreline, we'll need entrenchments and embankments, for fortification, as suits the terrain. As onboard ship, each man shall have a station assigned. We'll schedule regular military drills and mark time for the whole operation."

"'Tis a fine plan, Cap'n," I commented. "This island fortress of Nemusmar shall be impenetrable!"

"Were that it was so, Crockett. But, I fear, it is so only in your imagination."

"How so, Cap'n, if we prepare all you've said?"

His countenance reflected the grimness of his thought, as did his words, "We should have little trouble repelling occasional bands of freebooters or over-zealous adventurers, but I rue the day a royal patrol comes upon this blessed isle. Even should we repel them, others will come–in ever greater numbers–'til Nemusmar is vanquished. No, Crockett, me plan is not to fabricate an invincible island fortress. Me plan is threefold: to discover any menace, to protect ourselves from being overrun, and to evacuate our people and possessions in a ordered–yet expeditious–manner."

"Leave Nemusmar, Cap'n?" I was truly taken aback.

"We always knew the day would come, Mr. Crockett," he responded, "and I'm hopeful that day is yet far in the future. But we must be prepared for it. We must plan now!"

And so we did. As a self-designated committee of two, the captain and meself (mostly, the captain) developed his ideas into a fully blown, highly detailed plan. We spent nearly a fortnight creating lists and diagrams. In the process, we inventoried every possession on the island, and all provisions and every person and all their attendant skills.

In this, we had the considerable aid of Orke, Reena and Leona. Orke had knowledge of the fighting capability of every one of our mates. (He even knew the worth of cook, in close quarters confrontations.) Orke was the man to designate the best fighter for each station, and the captain seldom second-guessed his choices.

Leona was the most likely candidate for her job, as well. Having been the personal slave (and a bit of a pet) to an old widowed woman who ran her plantation herself, Leona had learned more than a thing or two about managing people and projects: recognizing talents and matching skills with tasks. As her mistress became older and increasingly debilitated, it fell to Leona to manage the woman's estate and affairs. It amazes me that one so young and mild of manner could be so capable.

And as it turned out, there were many skilled artisans and craftsmen within our "tribe." There were men who'd–in simpler days–been carpenters, blacksmiths, worked in the textile trade and so forth. We had even our own gunsmithy. As to those who'd always been sailors, there were many who'd worked wood and metal in ship's repairs, and the like. Leona found us a talent for every need and a use for every talent!

And sweet Reena: she did as much in organizing the women's labour. That included those "ladies" who believed being "ladies" was enough to require of them. With angelic charm, her personable ways and the subtle skills of a diplomat (not to mention her seductive charisma), Reena could get the most effete "lady" to literally beg to cut and sew sackcloth.

Annalea put her hand in this project, too. Much of the finished work had her stamp on it. Early on, she made plain that she'd not let our construction and confusion mar the beauty of her island. And so the captain assigned her the responsibility for oversight of finished structures, and a free hand to do as she see fit–so long as it not interfere with the function for which it was designed.

Annalea had learned so much during her tenure on Nemusmar. From the ladies of the island, she learned of style, grace and elegance. And, thanks to Mam' Tiére's supervision of the process, Annalea learned to temper refinement with common sense and Christian courtesy. Her letters and ciphers she was owing to the captain and me; and her love of literature came out of the captain's voluminous library.

We'd take credit for her discernment, too, but that was most likely a product of Mam's tutelage. Her kind, gentle nature was also the influence of Mam'. Her love of music and ability to perform was owing to as many good souls as we had to entertain her with the pipe and the fiddle and the rest. Once returned to England, our Annalea would shine in the company of any refined and educated young ladies.

Me mind often stumbled over that thought: that thought of England, and Annalea leaving us–and of her family. What of her kin? We'd had naught back from them despite me continuing efforts as regards that matter. I'll grant you, as Annalea grew and me love for her grew, these efforts were conducted in a cursory–half-hearted–way; but me intentions were correct, and me desire to see her safe to home and happy in the bosom of loving kin was sincere. So I was perplexed and frustrated by the silence that followed me many despatches to England. Had I been mistaken in me research? Could I have selected the wrong correspondents? Could me despatches have failed to reach those correspondents? Yet, inquiries to others in that area had brung a timely response. I could not avoid these concerns, but I could not dwell upon them, either. Besides, every day without answer was another day with Annalea!

Of course, me duties on ship and shore occupied me mind most of the time. This new project allowed me little time to idly mull over vagrant thoughts. And 'though the captain was gravely concerned for the urgency of our preparations, he shared his fears with none but meself. So, with no air of impending doom to cloud their attitudes, our island community embraced the project as a new adventure and an excuse to celebrate as each milestone was achieved.

As to our possible evacuation, the captain kept these plans close to the vest, not wanting to spread needless anxiety amongst our people. All that the captain would reveal to them was the need to muster, each to a station other than first assigned, should he issue the command word, "congregate."

"'Tis enough for them to be considering for now, Mr. Crockett," the captain told me. "More shall be revealed to them as the time appears appropriate."

"But, 'congregate,' sir?" I asked him.

He laughed and explained, "I needed a word I'd not commonly use–or accidentally utter."

It mattered not to our people. They assumed this second station was a fall back, defensive position. No one, apparently, considered evacuation. And so the work went on smoothly, with the workers enjoying high spirits and good camaraderie. Every person was conscientious and every detail was attended. 'Twas our master plan, and it was masterfully conceived and executed.

## Chapter IX

# Carnage

While surveying the local waters one day, in keeping with the primary article of our plan to prevent intruders, we glassed a ship that appeared to be closing on our island. This a routine survey, the captain was ashore and I was in command. Believing we'd not ourselves been spotted, I instructed the helmsman to bring us about at once and take pursuit from the west. They were a sleek ship and cutting in excess of five knots. They were pushing real hard to be somewhere, fast. 'Tis probably why they'd not spied us. But we'd be hard pressed to catch them, if they kept up that pace. 'Course we were not looking for a prize, so if they sailed on past Nemusmar (at a respectable distance), then no harm be done. Should they make land, on the island, we'd be on them soon enough.

As we closed on them, I realized their haste was purposeful; they were themselves closing on a Spanish galleon near landfall on our island. Now, that was a predicament! Two ships filled with armed men, within spitting distance of Nemusmar. I worried we were not up to the challenge, but I determined to forge ahead. I considered that was the course the captain would choose. What made me mind for me were the distances betwixt ships. We were still long from closing on our target, but they seemed totally unawares of us, being intent on catching their prey. To delay would give them time to discover us and react. Right now, we had the advantage, and I was certain options would present themselves.

The galleon was no match for the corsair. She tried to come about for cannon shot, but the corsair outmaneuvered her. The brigands did not even attempt to fire on the galleon's masts. She was full trapped. Where could she go? The corsair moved in on the galleon's starboard and commenced to board "visitors." Close quarters combat ensued, and the Spaniards were getting the worst of it–appeared they'd be quickly overrun. Through me glass, I could see the flare of a hundred small arms, being fired from both sides, and the blast of a dozen grenades. Then there was such a cloud of smoke, I could not determine the action.

As we closed on that melee, I determined me strategy would be to bring me port cannons to near point-blank range of the corsair, disable her masts to prevent flight, and endeavour to sink her without boarding, if possible. The Spanish were of no immediate concern to me, being otherwise occupied. Were I successful in sinking the corsair, and the brigands abandoned her for the galleon, I'd have more concerns; they'd have new wood to guard them and fresh guns to fire at me! But I was no visionary, like the captain. I must go one step at a time. So–not to worry–we still had the advantage, and–once again–I was certain options would present themselves.

When in perfect position, at me command, the swivel gun and first battery of cannon were fired, bringing the masts toppling like saplings in a hurricane! This grabbed the attention of those boys still aboard the corsair. But afore their brains could even fathom what the hell was going on, I loosed me second battery of cannon into their hull, shaking the beams of that ship and causing her keel to rise several feet toward port afore righting herself. T'was not a man left on his feet, aboard that corsair, as I prepared to fire me next volley. Some of those in the corsair as scrambled to their feet might've wished they had not, as our blast caught them full aface! It seemed this conflict was less troublesome than I'd predicted; if we could keep knocking them down and away, like this, 'twould be more like a game of bowls than a battle.

Their captain, who–at present–was "visiting" aboard the galleon, gave the order to abandon ship, realizing, no doubt, I'd never let them near their starboard guns. They made haste for the galleon, which was not yet secured, and some were got by the Spaniards. It appeared these brigands were not novices. Nor was their captain. Tactically assessing their situation, instantly, he issued a slew of commands to ready the galleon for defense, while still grappling with the remaining Spaniards for control of the ship. I could not hear his words, but I could spy him. And seeing his crew scurry to implement his orders, put me mindful of our very own crew, under the command of our captain.

Interesting as this was, I was not amused. While the corsair was afloat, it provided them a shield, and time to plot a course of action. The masts of that galleon–aye, the whole ship–were still quite intact. They might attempt a run–or feign a run and come about on the attack. Or they might hold fast while I'm sinking the corsair, and fairly blast me out of the waters, at first opportunity. As I'd predicted, options were indeed presenting themselves; but it was their options, not me own! I could not be certain what to do, only what not to do. I could not back away.

I was snapped back to me senses by the clap of cannon fire–and it was not our own! Could those fools be trying to blast us through the corsair? Again, the cannon's roar! And I saw the galleon's mizzenmast topple. And the flash of powder had come from onshore. It was our lads, blasting away at the galleon! When the smoke cleared a might, I could see longboats filled with our men, making towards the galleon. Me befuddled mind was now as clear as the course of action I must pursue; I'd blast that corsair out of the waters, hammer at the galleon's broadside, continue to close and utilize every cannon and firearm aboard to clear the decks of that scum, so me mates could board her, unmolested.

And so it occurred, in a smoke-filled, bloody riot of events. The enemy thought to put their port cannon to our land fortifications, then to the longboats–but with no success. Either they couldn't figure the angle of fire for those Spanish cannons, or–more likely–the panic had set in. 'Twas evident their situation was quite precarious: being closed from port and starboard, with land and ship guns assailing them from either side. And for certain it was the panic that caused them to open up their starboard cannon. Not a shot reached us! They were simply hammering the corsair from one side, as were we from the other. And timbers went airborne, now! I was more concerned for me crew being harmed by flying beams and planks than cannon shot.

By now, I felt exhilarated! I'd caught that first whiff of victory! Do you know what I say? The uninitiated would dismiss it as the smell of sulphur and gunpowder, but a campaigner knows that odour. It may contain some of the particles of battle, but it has also a sweet smell. And amidst the choking dust of combat, it comes to you as clean air; and you breathe it deeply! Then, somehow, you know–you just know–you will not fail. That scent of victory motivates you; it draws you like lust for a woman. Only a novice–or a fool–would settle back to savour this aroma. An old campaigner knows this smell of victory grows stronger, sweeter, clearer and cleaner as you press on to final victory. Then 'tis time to savour!

And so, all hands pressed to. I could tell me mates relished the prospect of combat with this foe. These were not so many merchants guarding their purses; nor were they soldiers fighting someone else's battles. These were true campaigners–freebooting warriors like ourselves. No other combatant could ever prove as worthy an opponent, to such as ourselves.

The shore guns became quiet. From this I knew–'though I could not see them–that the longboats must have closed on the galleon to the point where boarding preparations were in order. There was not much left to the corsair: just a hull and a charred hulk teetering in the wind, as she burned to the water line. Me mates were itching for combat and anxious to get a hand in; and I believed I might have an opportunity to come around aft of the corsair remains and provide "visitors" to the galleon across rope ladders.

But first, I must follow through the plan I'd set in motion. Every gun as could be aimed towards the galleon was positioned to clear the decks. Every man what held a firearm was directed to find a living target. This all was done in the quick-to, as our mates in the longboats were now most vulnerable. The guns ashore could not assail the galleon without a risk of hitting our own. 'Though request for surrender would be shouted to them, 'twas given, these brigands would never accept. And they'd pound our lads with all they had! Me responsibility was to prevent that, and to clear those decks without delay; otherwise, I'd be shooting me own as they attempted to board.

So we were ready in the quick-to, and all fell absolutely silent for a few moments. Our entire complement held their breath–and their aim. Upon me command, "Fire!" we loosed everything as one gigantic crack of thunder and lightning! Even through the billowing smoke, I could see bodies and pieces of bodies jettison the galleon. Higgins, me bo's'n, provided me a word with which I was unfamiliar, to describe the event. Carnage, he called it; and carnage it was.

As now we were pulling about, to come around the smoldering hulk of the corsair and meet just aft of the galleon, I spied the first of me mates from the longboats climb aboard the galleon. Most as by nature–and as one would suspect–the first aboard was Orke! With a cutlass in one hand, and an extended, double-edged dirk in the other, he was slicing a clean path through the remainders of that crew as came to "greet" him. I achieved me destination and me lads heaved our ladders and began to scurry onto the galleon. A dozen or more from the longboats were already upon their decks. The brigands were being encircled by our lads, amidship. I glanced towards Orke, still hacking and stabbing–eyes looking as red as the blood of his victims. And these "victims" were uniformed soldiers. There were still some Spaniards alive?!

Orke had disposed of most of these "remnants" and was pressing on towards the real enemy: the brigands. His eyes diverted by the flash of their captain's pistol (intended for him, but passing wide of its mark), Orke almost failed to see the thrust of a sword by one last Spanish soldier. Yet, by good fortune, he did see; bringing his cutlass down like an executioner's axe to a chopping block, he severed the man's forearm! He did not, however, see the man behind him who thrust a dagger into Orke's right shoulder, causing the cutlass to fall from his hand. Orke swung about to confront his assailant with his dirk, but another of our lads had already taken him down with a club laid upon his skull.

Orke and his boarding party now gave their undivided attention to their "host," the brigand captain, and his band of intruders. Our men closed and tightened the circle of combat. The brigands were forced to fight back-to-back. Orke made his way through the clamourous throng of our mates to confront the brigand captain, directly. The wound to his shoulder seemed to be a problem, as his good, right hand just hung by his side. But his cutlass he wielded in his strong, left hand. I was not concerned, as Orke's second best was better than most men's best!

This captain held a cutlass in his good hand, the blade glistening scarlet from the blood of several others. In his off hand, he held a pistol–spent and useless. He appeared to be a youngish man, for a captain; I'd place him somewheres afore twenty-five. He had a short-cropped, black beard, sharp blue eyes, and a perpetual grin on his face. As their lot worsened, that grin seemed to grow, in proportion: an adventurer after me own heart!

As if they were a crowd on a dance floor, the mob of combatants pulled back, widening the circle to make room for the dancers. The "dancers," who took centre to engage each other, were Orke and the brigand captain. The captain let the pistol slip from his hand, and one of his own passed him a dagger. This put him up on Orke as they each looked for an opening. The captain feigned an opening with his cutlass, then thrust to the heart of the matter (Orke's, that is) with his dagger. Orke raised his cutlass to fend off the captain's cutlass, but–ever awares–he noticed the man shift his weight, and brought his cutlass down just in time to carve the daggered hand. As that blood-drenched dagger slapped the deck, it was obvious that hand would never hold another.

But that captain was a strong man. He but flinched a bit, winced from the pain and started flailing with his cutlass to put Orke back a ways from him. To reflect on a wound, in the midst of battle would be fatal. Having put Orke at a distance, the captain stepped back hisself, cocked his head to the sky and drew a deep breath. When his head came back down, there was that devilish grin, again. Orke allowed the man this moment, and hisself, drew long, deep breaths. As the parties reconvened hostilities, each seemed a bit more cautious; each now had a gauge of the other man.

'Twas as watching a fencing duel, if you can imagine fencing with cutlasses as foils. And each man was backed by scores of "seconds," each urging his own man, and chafing at the bit for his chance at the action. This captain was young, but, obviously, a seasoned warrior, skilled with a blade. Our Orke was a phenomenon. He seemed, as if by magic, to know where to defend, just where to place his blade, afore his opponent had thrust. He did this by studying a man totally: the movement of his eyes, facial twitches, tensing of the muscles, a switch in position or a shift in weight. I swear, Orke's greatest weapon was his brain!

And, thus, it continued: thrust–parry–thrust–parry–the clash and clang of metal striking metal with brute force! And garments were ripped and skin was snagged and scratched, but neither man could achieve a killing blow. Each moved about in a semicircle, trying to outmaneuver the other. While doing so, and searching for that perfect opening, each took caution that his back was not displayed to his enemy's companions. Even amongst an assemblage of saints, could lurk a dishonourable soul (the Lord had His Judas); and this was no assemblage of saints. 'Twas evident to me, that even though both were wounded–and Orke was fighting with his off hand–these two warriors were a fair, even match. And only the wearing of time, effort and tiredness would draw the outcome and produce a victor.

When that moment came, I–as most all present–realized it, afore the culminating blow was delivered. The brigand captain exerted all his near-spent energy into a thrust of his cutlass that barely missed skewering Orke's throat. That was alarming! Orke was tiring, and his reflexes were slowing. But what truly demonstrated to me that the climax was at hand, was the slow, hesitant way that captain recovered from his thrust, and the look of total exhaustion on his face. We all knew, 'twas over.

As if merely an instrument of fate, proceeding to a foregone conclusion, Orke harpooned the brigand captain. Everything stopped as the man stood there full stunned, hunched a bit, with Orke's cutlass run through him. He fell back upon the deck, and Orke's blade, still firmly in that strong, left hand, reappeared from out of the captain, coated in crimson. That man had to be in excruciating pain; but he looked up at Orke and grinned. Orke stepped up to the captain, bowed, kissed the hilt of his cutlass and delivered the coup de grace: which was the honourable thing to do.

And then did all hell break loose! Those brigands tore loose from their confinement and tore into me mates, screaming like Indians in a war party. From the savagery of their attack, I thought for a moment they might surround and overcome our lads. But it soon was evident, the fire was gone from their campaign. They were fighting in response to the hurt: like wounded animals. And, as with badly wounded animals, they gave in suddenly, and all at once.

Our boys quickly disarmed those brigands what still held weapons. Then they were all herded amidship and bound together with whatever rope as was available (including some rope ladders). What followed was a most peculiar scene. Having secured the brigands–who no longer offered any resistance–in a bound, huddled cluster amidship, our lads pulled back a few yards from them and went to sitting, leaning and sprawling on the deck, in sheer exhaustion.

The two groups of belligerents–just moments from being mortal enemies–lounged there, staring across at each other, emotionless. Doubtless, we were as drained of emotion as we were of physical strength. As I'd predicted, these campaigners had proved the most worthy of adversaries. Still, 'twas something to contemplate that with all we'd just been through, we'd end up like this: silent, gaunt-spirited, not a shred of malice, and no inclination on the part of me mates to truly savour our victory. We passed considerable time in this fog-like state. (Frankly, I've never attended a sermon where men sat so quietly for so long.)

As with all the others, I was caught in this odd moment, to the point of neglecting me duties to secure from battle stations and repair from the galleon. This was brought to me attention by the commanding voice that cut through and lifted that fog that bound us in limbo, "And what the hell is this, Mr. Crockett? Were you conducting a prayer meeting on your watch? Do you expect the saints and the Holy Spirit to secure your ship for you?!"

Our captain's sarcasm could cut through any fog: physical or spiritual. And speaking of spiritual, how came he aboard without notice?

## Chapter X

# A Captain's Prerogative

The captain assumed command and we all jumped-to. The captured brigands were loaded on longboats and sent ashore, under guard. I and me crew repositioned our ship to enable offloading from the galleon. Then began the task of scouring the galleon clean of all treasures, weapons and useful implements. Simultaneously, the process of identifying and disposing of carcasses was performed. Our own were returned to the island for burial. The dead brigands and Spaniards were disposed of less ceremoniously. Let me tell you, the quantity and quality of treasure on that ship was the greatest I'd ever seen. And from the count of Spanish dead, the captain deduced they were sailing with a considerably reduced complement of military–no doubt, to allow for more cargo. This was why they were so quickly overpowered by the brigands.

We continued past nightfall and through all the next day, unloading and transporting the contents of that galleon; such was the wealth that befell us. That done, she was burned to the waterline, lest her remains attract more unwanted guests.

Back ashore on the third day, our labours completed, we gathered at the settlement to divide the spoils, as was our custom. Such a stockpile of riches assembled at one place, you've never seen in your life! And so much of it gold, glistening in the sunlight so brightly you could not rest your eyes on it for long.

All me mates and the landlocked were in high spirits, joking and cavorting and near giddy over the prospects of such wealth. We waited anxiously, and with some impatience, for the captain's arrival; for it was his privilege to divvy the loot into portions, assigned for each member of our community. And it was his responsibility to ensure that each got an equal share. Left to our own devices, we'd have reduced that mountain of profuse abundance to naught in a matter of minutes: scrambling and fighting, each carrying away what he could rest from the others.

'Course this would not be fair to those weaker or slower. But we were weak and lowly mortals, standing afore the seductive treasures of a kingdom. This was exactly the kind of temptation that brought good and reasonable men to fight and kill each other. And this was why we needs a captain!

The only "guard" of these riches–and the only one who could guard without confrontation–was Annalea. Her pleasing countenance and calming tone, when she spake of the practicality of self-restraint, managed to keep the hounds at bay. The only near problem was caused by Sophie, who took her opportunity when some of me overanxious mates caused a small row over who deserved possession of a certain gilded and bejeweled crucifix. This "discussion" distracted the crowd long enough for Sophie to claim herself an unwarranted prize.

That was one of them moments which showed me the astuteness of Annalea: that quality of individualism that set her apart from the rest, combined with the skills of command which put me so in mind of the captain. While the crowd watched the row, Annalea watched the crowd. Sophie's acquisition went not unobserved.

And, you see, that's what I means about those special qualities of a leader: that ability to place yourself above the mind and deed of the mob–to take the overview, and see things at large. That was within the captain–and that was within Annalea. For a bloke like me–who'd like to fancy hisself a leader of men–it was natural to attend to the detail. I'd always do as I did that day: jump immediately into the dispute and defuse the powder keg. But that's not the action of a true leader. Such a leader knows his people. He knows the troublemakers, and their capacity for mayhem. And he knows his lieutenants, and their capacity to control the others. With a watchful eye to this, a true leader is free to look beyond the particular. And that is the captain. And that is Annalea.

Annalea approached Sophie from behind. Sophie had her back to the crowd. She was a bit hunched over, struggling to put on a rather cumbersome necklace while simultaneously attempting to conceal the bulk of its ornamentation beneath her blouse. Annalea put her hands upon Sophie's neck, assisting her in adjusting her bobbles, and startling her in the process. But, true to her type, Sophie was not long thrown off her game. She came right back with a defiant look, as if she was the victim of some spurious slander.

I can imagine the lie sitting on her lips, "'Tis mine! From me mother I've had it! I've always had it!"

But the lie was never uttered. Annalea did not wait for the lie. Annalea had no use for the lie.

Quietly, but not softly, she spake to Sophie. Annalea's hands were upon Sophie's shoulders. She held her still, glared into her eyes and said to her, "'Tis the loveliest thing I've ever seen upon you, Sophie. It so suits you. I am amazed I've never noticed it on you before. So impressed am I, that I shall say to the crowd what I've now said to you."

Having said this, and no more, Annalea continued to hold Sophie's shoulders–and Sophie's attention with her stare–as if to punctuate her statement. After a moment, Annalea released her grip from Sophie, turned away from her, and walked toward the crowd. As if timed for her arrival, the dispute amongst me mates was ended and camaraderie was restored.

Annalea turned 'round and saw that pretentious bobble of a necklace replaced prominently on that glittering tower of wealth. Annalea spake loud, that all might hear her. "Friends, I've noticed that unusual neckpiece that stands out from the rest. And when this wealth is shared, I would see that adorn no other but our dear Sophie, if none here object."

When I looked over and saw the tears gush from Sophie's eyes–in seeming contradiction to the smile bursting on her face–I realized there was more going on than met our eyes and ears. And when I finally learned the whole of it, it confirmed me belief. Annalea not only knows how to be a leader, she deserves to be a leader.

"Do you choose to usurp me position, young mistress?" the captain spake to Annalea, thus announcing his arrival. "Am I so tardy that it was necessary to elect a new captain in me absence?"

Annalea smiled at the captain. "'Tis not mutiny you find here, dear sir, but anticipation. None here would usurp your authority. Indeed, all anxiously await your prerogative."

"Then all gather about me and I shall exercise that prerogative!" he exclaimed to the crowd. "That is, if you can all part your eyes from this tower of royal trinkets and place them upon me!"

We all came silent and attended the captain.

"Aye, 'tis a king's ransom we behold–and are holding," he said. Then he waited 'til our cheers quieted, again. Decorum restored, he continued. "I believe you all know the high regard and abiding respect I bear for each and every one of you. And yet it must seem the greatest disrespect I've displayed in absenting meself for so long and delaying the performance of that singular duty which has you so excited–and, rightly, impatient. But I can assure you, dear friends, it was no disrespect for you which delayed me. 'Twas the weighty considerations of your best interests that prevented me sooner arrival. I had cause to ponder the dimensions of opportunity presented to us by possession of this golden hoard. And it is me awesome responsibility to ensure we make the most of our good fortune and not squander our opportunity."

The common look of excitement–so recently on every face–was now replaced with one of puzzlement. What the hell was he talking about? All that was needed was to sift and sort and assign our prizes. Why must the captain always make the simplest things so complex? 'Course if I'd been watching the signs, remained on the tack, stayed the course–if I'd just been paying attention, I'd've foreseen where the captain was going: the fulfillment of our Master Plan.

To an audience of perplexed faces, the captain continued. "Were I to divide this mountain, today, and hand each of you a sizeable portion, what would you do with it? You cannot readily spend it. Would you adorn yourselves with gold, and decorate your quarters in it? And what would you do with the rest of it? Bury it on the grounds?

"Dear friends, 'tis time to be practical. Those among you who've been part of this community since our earliest days, have oft' heard me speak of our object. For those who are newer among us, I will later recapitulate. But suffice it, for now, to say that our object has always been to achieve the wealth and means to allow every member of our band to return to the civilized world, independent and secure from want–and secure from the minions of law. The wealth, we now possess. And the means can be developed. Surely, all can see this is the best opportunity we shall ever have to achieve our object."

From many voices, came similar words. "Leave Nemusmar?"

And the captain answered them truly ('though did seem to me, he couched his real concerns, a tad, in his response). "Leave Nemusmar, aye! Leave Nemusmar so that all of us may fulfill our own, particular destinies. Be not dismayed! This shall not occur tomorrow, or the next day; nor is it likely in the next year. This thing shall require the most rigorous efforts toward perfect planning, and shall involve each of you. Such shall be necessary to ascertain the precise needs and desires of each man and woman, and to map a certain course for each individual."

Higgins spake out loudly–above the din of the crowd. "How long will this take, Cap'n?"

To which he replied, "Every bit as long as it needs to! Every detail–every needed activity–shall be set and confirmed for each one of you, afore we consider to bid farewell to this paradise which so long has sheltered us. When we finally depart, it shall be with the knowledge that we're not leaving home–we're going home! And to a better life than we've yet known!"

A resounding chorus of huzzahs drowned the next several words the captain uttered; and he paused long before repeating them. "I feel we have agreement. Then let me dispense with the duties at hand. I suggest that each of you be apportioned a few trinkets off this mound, as souvenirs of our great adventure. The rest we shall sequester in the large vault recently constructed beneath me quarters. There it shall be kept together, and kept safer than were it scattered about in so many households. And–in good time–as each of you embarks on your new life, you shall carry your wealth away with you."

Sophie stepped from the crowd, pleading with the captain, "Please, sir, me neckpiece.... I means that neckpiece.... Annalea... she... I...."

This interminable babble was stifled by the captain's laughter, which quickly infected the rest of us, producing a river of laughter which rippled through our ranks. Mam' Tiére spake the reason for our humour. "Dat woman don' hear nothin' 'cept dose voices talkin' in her own head!"

But the captain set this aside, preferring his own chiding response. "Ah, indeed," he chortled, "Captain Annalea: your new leader. She did make a 'proclamation,' did she not? Well, compose yourself, Sophie. As I said afore, each shall leave here with a trophy of this venture. And this is for you!" He grasped the gaudy bauble from the stack and tossed it into Sophie's eager hands.

The rest of that day lumbered on: sort of like a dazed turtle trying to find its pond. Instinct told you that your destination was out there somewheres–that your rest would come–but where and when you'd find it you could not foresee. Our community having, once again, given its full support to the captain's wisdom, all that remained was to give each member a token and process and secure the rest. As if that were a small thing!

Imagine, if you could, transferring one bank of the Thames to the other bank–one shovelful at a time. Meaningless drudgery! Were I captain, I'd have parcelled out that treasure, made each man responsible for what he drug away, and be done with it! But I am no captain. For certain, I gives orders. But 'tis always based on the direction set by another. And, in this matter, his direction was that this colossal golden heap be inventoried, parcelled by individual, packed in empty casks, carted to his quarters and stored in his vault.

This was no work for a seaman; this was the lot of some lowly cleric! Oh, the captain had his clerics–his usual clerics. This much I could foretell. So, 'twas no surprise when he conscripted Annalea, Leona, Higgins and (of course) meself for this onerous task. Orke was assigned to press men into service for loading and carting and unloading and storing. And, of course, "Cleric" Crockett had to accompany each and every transport, to verify the inventory as it was stored in the vault. And–to avoid the rather cumbersome and time-consuming task of revealing and unlocking the vault with each delivery–it became necessary for Orke, as the most trustworthy, to remain with the storage, as guard. So I had added duty to oversee the workers, en route.

Not that me mates aren't trustworthy! I'd have trusted each and every one of them with me life and me fortune (mayhaps even me woman–mayhaps not). But our minds work very similar. 'Twould be easy for meself–reminiscing on this most recent adventure–to consider that I'd certainly done more than some others had done: risked more than some others had risked. Do I not deserve a few extra trinkets to compensate me suffering and reward me bravery? Why, of course I do! What's a few extra trinkets? Never be missed. And if any of me mates said he thought differently, I might nominate him for sainthood–or, more properly, suspect him a liar.

So the day wore on. And this dazed, old turtle poked along, caring for nothing but his well deserved rest–should this journey ever end. As to the captain: oh aye, he performed his duty. 'Twas a sight to behold: him dressed in his best uniform, wearing his finest accoutrements, standing all afternoon 'neath a shade tree, parcelling out trophies to each member, accompanied by a few pompous words (as if bestowing knighthoods). This "drudgerous" routine he broke, with liberal sips of his favourite wine.

Ah well, the privileges of rank are surely deserved. I should know. It was me standing as the captain's right hand–the ranking that honour bestowed–that afforded me the privilege of attending to every odd job and every ancillary task (be it mundane or urgent and deadly) that captured the captain's whimsy. I half expected he'd slip one day, when needing "Mr. Crockett," and call for "Mr. Lackey!"

Finally. Finally–in the dead of the night–the last of that burdensome treasure was planted in that godforsaken vault. All was locked and secured and we were done with it. I'd seen and handled and accounted and lugged and been burdened by so much gold as to desire never to see or touch this troublesome metal again. Orke and I had gathered our comrades and returned to the site where our labours began.

As we walked, I pondered the thoughts that accompanied me. I remembered, as a lad, being awe-struck at me first observation of a genuine object of gold. I remembered feeling a surge of desire for such an object: an actual lusting that caused a tingle in me body. And this at an age younger than me first "tingling" for a lass!

I thought of a companion from home. Me best mate of me youth. And how he, as a young lad taking his first sip of spirits, fell insanely in love with that infectious beverage. While still a young lad, he'd indulged this romance to a point where the sight and smell of his paramour physically sickened him. He swore to me his intentions to break off the relationship and never more keep company with this seductive, but evil, mistress. Within a year, however, "she'd" consumed him. 'Twas neither a painless nor an honourable passing.

So now I thought, "As I've come to disdain me 'mistress,' will I be able to remove meself and avoid her seductive charms? Or is it too late? Will the powerful desire I've so long felt for her draw me back, to be unwittingly consumed by me own uncontrollable lust?"

Atop the mound that foreshadows the settlement, waited our friends: Annalea, Higgins and Leona. Our only true friends–for they had waited for us. Down below, in the heart of the settlement, flickered the fires and torches lighting the revelers who yet remained at the feast celebrating this past day's events. I would for me quarters, but Annalea insisted we join the revelers, and Orke threatened to carry me down bodily, should I resist the invitation. How could I resist?

This banquet had been ongoing since midafternoon, and most of our community had long since departed from it. Oh, there were a score or more of me mates lying about in grog-induced slumber; and another dozen or so, still on their feet, waited to greet us. But what purpose could our attendance serve, at this late hour?

The captain stepped forward to greet us. His presence bewildered me. I'd suspected by now he'd have long been at his quarters, slumbering contentedly over his cellarful of gold. I was equally taken aback to hear the accolades he lavished upon us: commending our conscientious, self-sacrificing attendance to duty, for the benefit of the community. Reena, at the head of a small company of wenches, brought us freshly cooked meats and a variety of succulent fruits. Cook served us drinks, and we sat at the long table eagerly anticipating our feast–while the captain made one of his long-winded toasts (no doubt inspired by the consumption of a barrelful of wine), paying tribute to our tireless efforts.

As he finished, I filled me maw with savoury mutton. As he continued, I choked it down. Afore we ate, we were to be given our trophies. I was mostly annoyed. I'd but moments ago sworn off any association with that accursed metal. But I'd not sworn off food. I loved food. I needed food. Now!

Orke's annoying hand upon me arm yanked me away from me new, true love, to stand with the rest, afore the captain. With some pomposity–'though, I admit, moreso with sincerity–the captain awarded us our remembrances of this occasion. I have no memory of the gilded bobbles presented to Higgins and Leona, but Annalea's prize provides a treasured memory of a glowing vision. 'Twas a sort of regal tiara, which when placed upon her, adorned her beauty, gracing her golden hair and crowning her angelic face.

Now with Orke, I knew his prize afore it was awarded. 'Twas always of the same kind. Orke had no use for trinkets, bobbles or any such fineries. Fact of the matter, he was one of the few unadorned freebooters I'd ever met. He disdained the wearing of jewelry, save for his single earring. It looked to be of rather inferior metal; but for Orke it was more a badge than an ornament.

And so, none were surprised when the captain handed him his usual allotment: a purse of gold coins. Yet we all were moved when the captain presented Orke with the pistol and cutlass once boldly brandished by that heroic brigand captain. Regardless the champion who wins it, such trophies would normally pass from the defeated captain to the captain of the victors. To our captain, this was rightfully Orke's property.

The captain embraced Orke, as an elder brother does to demonstrate his pride in a younger brother. Then he approached me. "Mister Crockett! Me dear Mr. Crockett. I am mindful of so much that I owe to you, that I could not–would not–presume to select a token appropriate to reward you. At your pleasure, Crockett, select any and all treasures that suit your fancy, from the vault."

While I was truly moved by the sentiment displayed, I advised the captain I'd lost me taste for the whore metal. His look of incredulity made me wonder if he thought me now a babbling idiot. But whatever he was thinking he put aside without comment.

Undoing his scabbard, he said to me, "This is the trophy I would present to you, Crockett," and put in me hands his favourite sword: the very sword he had worn throughout his days in the King's service.

I felt me spirit revitalized! I felt me carcass had been lifted from the grave, and me soul redeemed from limbo. I felt truly significant. I felt truly hungry. I felt truly exhausted. In the glow of the cookfire and the warmth of companionship, I ate and drank me fill, and fell to sleep on the long table.

## Chapter XI

# Spaniards in the Larder

I awoke the next morning (or was it the same morning?) to raucous voices and the clatter of iron chains reverberating through me noggin. Spying the captain seated on the grounds in his chair of judgement, I shouted out to him, "What is this, then, Cap'n?"

Turning towards me, he replied, "We've now to finish the final business of this episode. And to you a good morrow, too, Mr. Crockett!"

"Oh aye, a good morrow to you, sir," I humbly mumbled back.

Me head and wobbly body were in no fit means to sit through this charade. A mock trial is what it would be, for the most part. No doubt, at the captain's behest, early in the morn, the captive brigands had been drug from the "tomb," assembled in a line, clapped in irons and made to hobble up through the settlement.

Oh, the "tomb" was what we called our prison. Back when all our construction was being done, 'twas Orke's suggestion we build a place just for that purpose. I'd guess he had no fond remembrances of his own days locked in the larder, so many years back. In any event, the captain declared it unnecessary. As you'll remember me telling you, we took no prisoners in most normal circumstances. But the captain harkened to Annalea when she intervened to suggest that such a project might service our community.

As she posed it, with the growth in our membership came an increase in domestic problems requiring the captain's discipline. Aboard ship–'though seldom necessary–the captain's discipline was swift and severe, when required. Ashore 'though, things were less consistent. Since we had no proper facility to segregate several miscreants from our society at one time–thus allowing them to ponder and repent their sins against the community–punishment was random and somewhat whimsical.

A complaint brought by one of the ladies–as example–against several men, for drunken lewdness, might result in one getting locked away and one being whipped near to death, while another receives a stern (and protracted) lecture and yet another is sent home to recover in his bed.

By ameliorating justice, such a structure would prove most purposeful. The captain seemed to waver, but he was not yet convinced of the need. I have no doubt that his mind–at that time–was set on the need for manpower to erect fortifications.

Annalea quickly added that this structure might serve a dual purpose. "Consider, sir, if made large enough, and of the right design and materials, it could contain several errant members and provide storage for roots, fruits and other plantstuff and sundry other stores."

The captain relented. "Fine, me dear, you shall have it your way. And I know just the men for this job. They are right, experienced sappers! I shall have them assigned to you, this day. Oh, when the task is complete, have them report back to me. I'm mindful of a project that needs to be done at me own quarters."

Since this building was constructed as well to hold stores as men, in the design of a massive root cellar, it was of solid stone–more underground than above ground–with but wee air holes randomly cut in near the roof. Locked in there more than a day, you'd repent. Locked in there more than a fortnight, you'd go mad! By its design and appearance, it came quickly to be known as the "tomb." And–quite conveniently–construction of the "tomb" gave these sappers the practical experience required to construct a sunken vault.

The location of the "tomb" was rightly placed, too: being at the extreme far side of the settlement. It was out of the ways of most daily comings and goings, further isolating any inmates from even as much as the familiar sounds and smells of social life. And more to our convenience, the "tomb" was within a short hike to a small cove, where longboats might unload "guests" and booty harvested from the sea, thus avoiding the arduous trek 'cross the island to reach the settlement from ship's dock. This was the route by which our brigand "guests" and treasure trove made land on Nemusmar.

Well, as I've stated, a trial of freebooters was most a charade. If you'd survived the battle, you'd survive this. Course it was an extreme rarity that would see us at odds with others of our lot. This was the greatest pitched battle we'd ever encountered with another company of freebooters. 'Though they'd been the enemy–and 'though they'd cost us comrades–I knew me mates respected them, and I believed they respected us. And I believed they were most brave warriors, who accepted their defeat and were prepared to meet their fate.

But our way was to incorporate, not decapitate, such hearty souls. For certain, there'd be a culling. 'Twixt what me own mates had witnessed in the battle and what our vanquished foes might offer of the failings of some of their own company, there'd likely be a few less heads to count by nightfall. The rest would be made the "offer," and would most likely swell our ranks.

For me, 'twas ironic to think that those surviving brigands, who'd hunted that galleon, persevered to overtake her, fought so hard to overrun her, fought valiantly but futilely against us to protect the wealth that was within their grasp–that these "unfortunates" would come to receive an equal share in those riches. But aye, that was our way–our law.

With this peculiar thought in me head, near drowned out by the noisy chatter of "trial" preparations all about me, I hustled meself to the quarters of Sarah and Cynthia–the sisters–to find a soft, comforting bed. Oh, not what you are thinking! I knew the sisters were for certain at the doings; and their place was the closest. And I was in no circumstance for a long hike. And–well–I knew the sisters.

# ~~

I awoke late that same day to discover the sisters inventorying me particulars. If they were bent on fondling me possessions, I'd no desire to thwart their curiosity. I gave them a good, long, hard looksee. Their curiosity finally exhausted, the sisters prepared some victuals and we supped in the familiar comfort of their bed.

As we et, we gabbed: mostly a light-hearted chiding of each by the others as we reminisced the last few hours' recreation. And there was a lot of garbled nonsense spaken that made no sense to me. To tell you, with sisters as close as those two were, one would often finish speaking for the other. And nearly as oft' as not, one would start a phrase, then stop, mid-thought. But the other would also leave it incomplete. 'Twas as if both knew the destination, and what lie at the end–so why continue the journey? Being the odd third to this matched set, made the conversation both amusing and confusing.

With no particular interest, beyond contributing to the conversation, I asked the sisters about the outcome of the "trial." Much as I'd presumed, there was a ritual hazing of the prisoners–intended to scare some life into them. But this batch did not scare readily, Sarah noted. The high jinks and pranks me mates attempted fell largely on muted, expressionless faces, she told me. Realizing this, the captain cut short that part of the process and had the prisoners separated and prepared for interrogation.

Cynthia believed, at that point, that the brigands all still considered their lot was death. With nothing to gain–and nothing more to lose–those that spake, did so frankly. As not to belabour over the details, the outcome was that a full dozen lads was made–and accepted–the "offer;" and the remainder were despatched to the devil, by way of the gallows.

"Well then, things went just as I suspected," I said to the sisters, with the justifiable arrogance of a man who knows all. (And knows that he knows all. And is careless enough to display it.)

Sarah piped up, "Then tell us what you'd forecast for the Spaniards, Prophet Crockett."

"Spaniards!" I exclaimed, being most completely blind-sided. "What bleeding Spaniards?"

"Methinks we are visited by a false prophet, Sister," Cynthia remarked sarcastically.

"Aye, Brother Crockett is no soothsayer," returned Sarah.

"Methinks friend Crockett looks the fool," Cynthia said completing their verbal admonishment of me.

Thus reduced to me natural state of ignorance, I had to acquire the countenance of the goat, and unassumedly–sheepishly–inquire of the all knowing wisdom of the sisters, that they might share their knowledge with me. They had me! I hated that. And I would normally have bolted their quarters in a demonstration of grand indignation. But me quick sense saved me from this. Did I truly want to walk out about the compound displaying me ignorance to all I would meet?

I moved to regain some self-respect (while retaining me self-control, with great difficulty). "Ah, me dears, with all we've shared–and with all the things I've done for you–this is how you'd use me? Why I've always thought of you as me own sisters–sort of. And have I not treated you so?"

"You'd do thusly unto your own sisters?" Sarah mocked me. "You are a fool and a lecherous old sod."

"And an outstanding example of both," added Cynthia, completing her sister's deposition on me character.

Not to let go–nor submit to the tyranny of the petticoat–I asserted, "Any activity or conduct on me part which gives offense shall be forthwith forsworn. There shall be nothing in me conduct with you as would impugn the character of a lady."

This brought about the expected result: some hemming and hawing on the part of the sisters, followed by their retraction of all libelous innuendo, their reaffirmation of the little pleasures they receive from me hands, and–most importantly-the restoration of me position of authority in these relations. Now I could control the conversation and interrogate them in a manner necessary to reveal what I wanted to know.

So, what of these Spaniards? The bastards were beginning to take on mythical status in me thoughts. Since first I'd spied that Spanish galleon out to sea, closing on Nemusmar, they'd seemingly infested me brain. For every time I believed I'd seen their demise, at the hands of the brigands or me own mates, still other Spaniards would crop up. Most like some vile insect that continues to spew progeny even beyond death!

The sisters confirmed there were yet two Spaniards alive: cast in amongst the brigand prisoners. To spare them from possible revenge at the hands of the brigands, and to keep them whole until the trial, the captain had them separated out and locked together in the larder. 'Twas quite late–according to the sisters–after the brigands had been sorted out and dispensed with, that the two Spaniards were brung before the captain for judgement.

In me absence, Higgins had supplied their defense. At the appropriate moment, he stated there was no defense for what they were, and he rested. A chorus of, "Guilty!" shouted by those assembled, anticipated the captain's, "How say you?" Leaving him only to say, "So say you," and pronounce sentence.

Oh the crime–the charges? That they were Spanish military operating in waters that were doubtless the proprietary concern of the British majesty (we had some loyalty, sort of) was sufficient cause to stretch their necks from trunk to treetop. And so they were sentenced to be executed, immediately. The Spanish was spake to inform them their lot. Sarah reported they gave some response of astonishment. But no one paid heed and no one translated their words.

Only the angry words of the surviving brigands–now enlisted in our community–brought the proceedings to a halt. They demanded that these accursed Spaniards not be allowed the privilege of departing this world by way of the same gallows from which their former comrades had so recently been sent to meet their maker. They argued that those comrades–even the most treacherous and most cowardly amongst them–were, after all, "loyal British subjects." They said they would not allow this vile Catholic scum to besmirch the "sanctity" of their mates' "passing." (They were bloody hung!)

Apparently, this was too much for the captain to reason out and put words to. I can imagine him wondering if he'd hung the right men–or enough of them.

In any event, as he cast about for a suitable substitute of the gallows, Higgins shouted out, "Just shoot the bastards!"

To this the chorus replied, "Aye, shoot the bastards!"

Now this seemed a reasonable solution, to the captain–and by mandate, no less. He called for firearms to be brought out and prepared and for the condemned to be marched to the cove, beyond the "tomb." There they would be weighted from ankles to neck in heavy irons, stood with their backs to the sea, despatched by a single volley, and their carcasses dragged out to deep waters. The encumbrance of chains would pull their unholy remains to the sea floor, to be devoured by the denizens that occupy that dark and morbid realm. This was explained to the Spaniards, in their tongue.

Cynthia said she noted, and admired, how the Spaniards marched out of that settlement without a word of protest, and with their heads held high. As if holding themselves to be men of honour, at the mercy of barbarians. She described the odd procession to the sea as part carnival, part funeral march. Most of our lot were jubilant: skipping along, frolicking–letting out hoots and calls intended to jar, mock or intimidate the Spaniards. Our new recruits, however, maintained a somber demeanour: acting the part of military guard. And the two that were doomed remained stoic.

Sarah considered all this mostly a tragedy, and partly a waste. I understood her feelings. The women, as a rule, were not combatants–with some remarkable exceptions. But specifically, for women like Sarah and Cynthia, the enemy was an unseen, unfelt–'though ever present—danger. They hated our enemies in abstract ways: a response to the constant fear you could not put flesh to.

If they actually saw an enemy, it was only because we'd defeated him. His physical appearance, to the wenches, would be that of a humbled, docile, broken and–quite probably–bleeding man. And this image would evoke sympathy from the tender side of a woman's nature. So I well understood how them that were detached from the heart-pounding physical exertion and danger of battle–them that never watched death charge at them, and steal up mates in horrific binges of human slaughter–that them as were landlocked could afford a sensitivity that would be a fatal deficit in a warrior.

"The older one looked a noble man: prideful, confident and bolt-upright of posture," offered Sarah. "He displayed the military bearing of a man who'd known years of service–and of scars and pain. And quite recent, he'd lost most his forearm–hacked away in battle."

"I believe that was Orke's fine work!" I interrupted Sarah to enlighten her on those moments in the battle still vivid in me mind. But she dismissed me oration as inconsequential and disruptive to her line of thought.

"He was older, greying, with a thick jaw and dark eyes that always seemed to be looking just past you," Sarah continued. "Now the younger one had not a military appearance, nor did he wear a uniform. He had the look, the attire and the attitude of a nobleman. And he was so...."

"Oh aye! He was so absolutely gorgeous!" interrupted Cynthia, with lustful exuberance.

"A gorgeous man?" I queried, teasingly.

"Most assuredly!" Sarah bleated at the back of me head, as I was still looking at her sister for response.

As I swung meself around to face Sarah, most naturally, 'twas Cynthia who continued. "Handsome would do no justice to the countenance of this young stud. His head of hair: full, black, shining and free to the wind; his manly physique, displayed with elegant mannerisms–not the boorish strut and swagger of a soldier or seaman; his face, that of a Greek god, with smooth features and lavish lips."

The strange groan that Sarah uttered at that moment, I have no explanation for. But it was now quite evident to me why Sarah considered these proceedings a tragedy and a waste. "While I regret your 'loss,' me dears, these Spaniards, after all...."

"And as he bravely marched that path, heading towards his doom," Cynthia spake into the air, neither hearing me words or acknowledging me presence, "I thought, 'he lacks but the cross, to be the image of Christ approaching his crucifixion.'"

"Oh, blimey! We shot the Son of God!" I blurted out sarcastically, hoping to bring the sisters back down out of the clouds. I stood up and turned to face them both. "Dispense with these visions of gods and speak to me of their mortality–and specifically the demise of such!"

Cynthia began to tear up at these harsh words. I would not be put aside by this display of emotion, or waste more time mollycoddling the very sensitive Cynthia. Rubbing me hand back and forth across the side of me head several times, in a subconscious display of agitation, I turned to Sarah and stared with a wide-eyed glare that demanded attention.

"Well.... Well...." Sarah shifted her eyes about, to avoid me gaze as she recollected her thoughts. "Well, 'twas as we said–as the captain said to do; they were brung to the appointed place and prepared for execution. They were stood against the sea, with waves lapping at their boots, while being adorned in heavy, rusted old chains. At a distance of perhaps twenty paces in front of them, stood the men selected by the captain to do the deed. Each of these was issued a loaded firearm and instructed by the captain to raise it and take aim, at his command–and fire only at his command. Then the captain had his words translated into the Spanish. He first asked them to give their names."

Sarah fell silent and seemed to get lost again in her thoughts.

"And?" I asked, as the moment stretched towards eternity. But she couldn't pronounce–or rightly even remember–their names.

"They were kind of foreign sounding," said Cynthia, now composed enough to contribute her piece.

"Really? Mayhaps they were Spanish sounding?" (I most oft' resort to sarcasm when annoyed.)

Oblivious to me taunting ways, Cynthia responded, "Aye. And when the younger man delivered his name, it had so many words, 'twas like a full sentence long."

"No, sister," Sarah corrected, "'twas more like a poem: beautiful sounding words, and with a girl's name stuck somewheres in the middle."

"I've no need for dead men's names, nor for this silly, female confabulation. Will you just tell me of the massacre? I mean execution. And say it straight and quick!"

Sarah snapped back, "If you are a prognosticator who's foreseen all outcomes, then you'll gain no insight from our 'silly, female confabulation!' But you are not near clever as you think. Even a wise man is made the fool by presumption; and you are no wise man!"

I set back upon the bed and surrendered. "I'm sorry me sweet; pray continue."

'Twas apparently Cynthia's turn. "The older man spake out, and his words were translated to the captain as a request for a confessor. The captain told him there was no one available as could provide for the sacraments of his church. He said this with sympathy in his voice, and offered the condemned men a few moments to converse directly with the Lord. He commanded all to remain quiet and still for this time–and so we did."

Sarah picked up the story. "When the captain continued speaking, he was right somber, again pronouncing sentence upon the condemned. He spake briefly, but eloquently, about the necessity and justice of what we were about to do.

"Then he moved closer towards them and said, 'You men who are about to die: have you any final words to speak to those assembled?'

"The older man said nothing. He just stood bolt-upright and stared out in that way he had–seeming to look just past you."

"But the younger man," Cynthia returned, "he started speaking in perfect English! We were all dumbfounded.

"He said, 'Maybe there are just wars. Maybe there are honourable deaths in battle. But there is no justice in what you do here, today. You have no cause, or right, to execute us under law. And when you murder us, that action shall dishonour you, not us. I am not afraid to leave this life. But I shall not quietly submit to this farcical pretence at a legal process sanctified by justice! I've listened to your conversations. You talk about adherence to your own law, about equality in community, about nobility and honour in your activities and your cause. But these are just empty words. You know nothing of human dignity. You are nothing but murderers. You are just pirates. As you think to condemn me, I do so condemn you, before God. And He is the only true judge of man. And His is the only real justice.'

"Dead silence. We all stared at him in disbelief. 'Twas so unexpected!"

"As if your horse had gained a voice and delivered a lecture on all your failings!" Sarah completed her sister's thought, then continued. "The captain's pride was pricked by this barbed-tongued rhetoric, and he begun to debate the young man in chains, standing in the sea wash. Higgins interrupted to again shout, 'Just shoot the bastards!'

"The captain turned on him with an icy stare that would freeze your heart fast, amid beat. No one else dared interrupt, for some time.

"Though the captain is a great man of words, I could not understand the arrogance that made him believe he could reason this poor young man into accepting his fate as just and honourable."

"Aye," agreed Cynthia, "as the two men jousted with words and ideas, I found more reason in the other side of the argument. I had a dark foreboding that we would be just murderers; and I became anxious of the outcome. As the debate heated up, so too did the protagonists. What started as calm deliberation from both men, ended in a shouting match: each man trying to bombard the other by hurling logic at the top of his lungs. Finally, the Spaniard fell silent."

"Obviously, a strategy to shut down the captain," contributed Sarah. "And after rattling on a few more minutes, the captain fell quiet, too, being most likely too hoarse and exhausted to continue–for he'd surely never run out of words!

"At this moment, the Spaniard spake again. His voice was loud, for all to hear, but his speech was calm. 'If you would murder me, do so. But do not continue to torture my intellect with your self-righteous ignorance. I am repulsed by your company, and I shall tarry no longer. Murder me now!'

"I could swear I heard the captain say, 'Gladly!' but in a definitely more pronounced tone, he ordered the executioners to raise and aim their weapons. I clasped me hands over me ears and clamped me eyes shut. I wanted no part–no participation–in this terrible thing."

"Would that I could've done the same," said Cynthia, "but I was too caught up in the emotion of the thing. Me senses were compelled to focus on the tragedy unfolding before us."

"By God!" I was on me feet again. "Cannot one of you just say, 'Bang! Bang! They both fell dead!' and at least put me out of misery? Try to communicate with women and all you get is blathering, emotional gibberish!"

"And that is what little you think of women, friend Crockett?" Cynthia asked, setting out the snare.

"Indeed it is!" I replied, stepping into it.

"Would that include your precious Annalea?" asked Sarah, tightening the noose.

"Mind your tongue, woman!" I reacted, with a hand raised to slap her mouth. ('Tis something I would never do. But it makes a good show of it, and serves to visually reinforce the sincerity of me words. And the sisters always seemed to respond more positively to the physical than the verbal.)

"Mind yourself, Mr. Crockett!" spake Cynthia. "Dear, you know how much we loves Annalea. But we've more to tell. And if you've no time and no interest for 'blathering, emotional' women, then we'll not tell you what role Annalea played. For–after it all–she, too, is a woman."

Full trapped, again!

This time, I said nothing. I did nothing. I just sat quietly–penitently–on the edge of the bed, with me head bent, looking to the floor, me hands clasped together and me arms resting on me legs. Whipped!

Both sisters commenced talking at once, but Cynthia won out. "...aye, and then 'twas as the captain commanded his squad and prepared to issue that singular word that would propel them to their watery grave, he glanced back towards the condemned men and saw Annalea positioned 'twixt he and them. Oh! Me dear Crockett! 'Twas for certain I feared that any sound the captain uttered from that moment would cause an explosion of gunfire and the cruel end of your sweet pet, Annalea!"

Sarah could remain silent no longer. "'Though I was buttoned up like a clam, I could hear and feel a tremendous gasp arise from the crowd. I popped open me eyes to gaze upon our Annalea standing in harm's way! And then–in less than a blink–the captain put hisself 'twixt she and the gunmen!

"He found his voice to shout, 'Have you gone daft, lass? Stand aside, right now! Are you deaf, girl? I said right now!'

"'I would not be moved, I would be heard, sir,' Annalea protested.

"The captain yelled over his shoulder, 'Put up your weapons and stand down!'

"Returning his gaze to Annalea, he said, 'Speak now your piece, lass, but make it brief.'

"'Tis unlike you, sir, to be so unfair,' Annalea responded.

"'Unfair?' the captain was obviously offended. 'How come you to say this to me?'

"Annalea had succeeded in putting the captain off his mark–which was the best way to get his attention. 'Firstly, sir, you demand that what I might say on behalf of these men be brief; yet your condemnation of them is eternal. Secondly, I've seen you deliberate at length over the fate of some cutthroat; yet, in the case of these men, you scarcely drew breath 'twixt the indictment, the judgment and the execution–because they are Spanish. Others have contested your will, on the sea and on land; others have drawn our blood and taken lives from us; and, yet, these others have been allowed the opportunity to redeem themselves, demonstrate a potential benefit to our community, and be made the "offer." But not so these men–because they are Spanish. If I cannot appeal to your sense of chivalry–to a sense of fairness–then might I appeal to your entrepreneurial nature: the logic of enterprise. Allow me to paraphrase that which I've been told that a coolheaded man of business once said, in a moment of heated passions. These Spaniards present no threat, and cannot bear witness against anyone–but they might serve. The young gentleman, especially, might fetch a large ransom for the small price of keeping him alive.'

"Having spake what was on her mind, Annalea looked to the captain, her eyes brightened and just the whisper of a smile upon her lips.

"The captain's eyes were also brightened–and a full grin broke across his face. 'I've been cut and sliced in many a duel, but to be pierced to the heart with the rapier of me own words....'

"There was an extended pause as the two of 'em stared long at each other, firmly, but with affection. Eventually, the captain continued, 'Should his ransoming take as long as that one of which you speak–and for which I still await–I'll be an old man, indeed, when I see me reward. But, as this venture has already been most profitable, I suppose I can forgo this act of "vengeance," and look patiently towards another profit. But he best be of some use to us, in the meanwhile. And the other one, too.'"

Then came Cynthia. "Not taking to the sound of his words, or the turn in events, the new 'recruits'–sworn enemies to the hated Spanish–became boisterous. They demanded their pound of flesh–their revenge–in vulgar and threatening terms. The captain took this as mutiny, and ordered our armed men to seize them and hold them under arrest.

"In terms they'd understand–much as the terms they'd used, which shall not reissue from this mouth–he informed them that he'd tolerated all he would from them. He would not tolerate insubordination. They were not going to override his orders or question his decisions. They were, however, going to spend yet another night in the 'tomb,' to consider seriously and exhaustively if they were capable of living and working amenably in our community.

"'Remove them from me sight!' the captain ordered. 'I've had enough of these doings–and I am for me quarters.'

"Having already cleared the crowd, the captain looked 'round one more time and shouted to Annalea, 'Until I've made a final decision in this matter, these Spaniards shall be under your direction, Mam' Tiére's care and in the custody of Mr. Crockett–wherever the hell he is!'"

"What!" Now I was on me feet to stay!

## Chapter XII

# To the Court of St. James

"That's near all there is to tell, love," Sarah said. "Annalea asked Orke to free the restrained Spaniards, and so he and Brigstaff removed the rusted iron chains and stood by, 'lest they became angry and violent and needed subduing. But they just stood right there, and didn't move. They had not the look of victors: there was no exaltation of freedom, for them. They just looked exhausted–and abused."

"No more to see," Cynthia added, "the crowd broke and we all headed home. When we left, Annalea, Mam' Tiére, Brigstaff and Orke were standing 'round the men, talking quietly with them. Then came we straight home, to attend you."

The sisters had taken me on an incredible journey–as much emotional as informational. Now–feeling more drained than when I arrived–I had need to depart. I graciously thanked the sisters for "enlightening" me and made haste for me own quarters. I knew it would do me good to distance meself from the occurrences of the past several days, and put me mind to a true rest. I anxiously sought me own hearth and berth and the quiet repose that awaited me there.

As I burst through me own door–feeling as a man adrift in a storm at sea, whose finally lucked upon a patch of dry land–I was confronted by Mam' Tiére standing full in me face and scolding, "Hush yo'self yo' scruffy ole vagabond! We has comp'ny here, an' yo'll rise 'em up fo' sure!"

"Don't speak to me so, in me own abode, you cantankerous old cow!" I responded, regretting those words as soon as I uttered them. Darting aside, to avoid the thrust of her hand, I spat out some sort of apology and came silent.

Annalea came 'cross the room to provide me a welcoming hug and a warm kiss. I held her tight and, turning me head to Mam', said, "There, now. That is a cordial welcome home for a tired man who has endured much: a nice hug and a kiss. Now, why can't you be more like that, woman?"

Mam's countenance was still quite stern, and she replied, "I'd sooner kiss a dog's hind quarters, dan kiss dat grizzled ol' rump yo' calls a face! An' as to what yo' endured: I knows whar yo been, an' I knows what yo' 'endured'–yo' poor ol' bast'd."

"And this 'dog' whose hind you've been 'romancing,' should I suspect he is the company for whom we are pussyfooting about?" I dared say this, having Annalea 'twixt me and Mam's violent right arm.

"Oh, Papa, you are the silliest one!" Annalea spake, looking up to me with those big, soft eyes of hers. Those eyes were almost bewitching. When she looked at you, full-eyed like that, she literally captured your gaze–and focused your attention, complete on her. Everything else about you dissolved into the background. You could no more ignore Annalea than you could ignore the violent act of birth, or the commanding voice of God.

Annalea continued, "Papa, have you not heard of the fate of the last two Spaniards from that ill-fated galleon?"

"What?!" The spell was broken. "You'll not be telling me that 'dog' of which we jest is for real some Spanish cur?!"

Mam' Tiére was upon me, thinking this violent outburst might cause me to harm Annalea–or meself. She forced me arms down to me sides and wrapped her own arms around me: effectively locking me in place, and making a struggle impossible. The strength in that woman's arms complemented the strength in her spirit–unexpected, unbelievable and overwhelming!

The noise from this scuffle brought two men bounding into the room. While still struggling with Mam', one man grabbed me arms, from behind, and the other wrapped his huge hand 'round me throat. I knew it must be those omnipresent Spaniards! Mam' released me and shouted at the men, "Leave him be! He da massah of dis house!"

Seemingly startled, the two men released their grasp. The younger man came 'round to face me, "A thousand apologies, Señor; we believed you to be an intruder."

When again I could breathe and speak, I told him, "I am looking at the only intruders under me roof!"

He was quick to respond with, "Apologies, again. I would never intrude to another man's abode, nor impose my company where unwelcome!"

"Papa, please!" Annalea interposed. "No, Señors, stay! Papa, please sit at the table, and I'll fetch you some wine. Everyone just sit; we must talk."

I was then too gone for standing. So, with no further disagreement or grumble, I sat meself at the head of the table and awaited me beverage. As Mam' hastened off to help Annalea fetch wine and goblets for all, the two Spaniards took chairs to either side of me. Not a word passed. We sat sullenly and silently.

After what seemed like a fortnight, the ladies returned and set to serving each of us a drink. They also set out cheese and fresh fruit–which, for some reason, softened me mood. A good taste of wine, a good taste of food and the radiant glow of me own hearth, served to make me a more compliant man. And so, in a soft, relaxed voice I began a conversation, "So now, 'twould seem I am 'master of the Spanish keep.'"

This resulted in spontaneous–albeit nervous–laughter from the ladies and the young Spaniard. The old Spaniard did not understand me English. He remained somber and stared at his companion curiously. The young Spaniard quickly translated for the older one. The old Spaniard remained somber, nodded his understanding to the younger, and stared at me curiously.

The young Spaniard looked to me with a smile I did not return. "And we are most grateful to be in your 'keep,' Señor. Las mujeres–the women–your women–they've been most gracious to two such wretched souls–as we have become."

I made some gentle noise about me inconvenience, about me perplexity on how the situation had come to land in me lap, and me personal anxiety 'bout providing sanctuary for me sworn enemies in me own home. Ignoring–as usual–me personal dilemma, Annalea and Mam' commenced a round of chitchat which drew us all into conversation: all, save the older Spaniard. The younger one, however, became quite loquacious. Seemingly well recovered of his recent ordeal, he smiled and laughed, and questioned and spun a few yarns. As fluidly–and fluently–as you please.

Finally, I asked the question that had been in everyone's mind. "How come you to speak such good English? 'Tis near as good as me own."

"'Tis, mayhaps, a bit better, Papa," Annalea felt obliged to contribute.

A scolding look was me reply to her, and I continued me interrogation of that young-cock Spaniard. "Is it your situation to be planted in our colonies as spy for 'his Catholic Majesty'–the heretic king?"

Again, the pup smiled at me. "Ah, no, Señor. I come not to spy, but to negotiate with his Royal Majesty's friends–and adversaries. I learned your language and your customs through years of living and studying in your homeland. I was a small child when my father was appointed by his Majesty as Ambassador to the Court of St. James. All my formative years were spent in England–save the occasional sojourn to España. My father was a loyal and devoted subject–and personal friend and confidant–of his Majesty. But he came, also, to admire and love the English people. When my mother died, after many unhappy years spent at the English court, my father married an Englishwoman–with the permission of his Majesty, and the English king.

"As to myself: I was raised with the children of English royalty as my playmates and confidants. I was schooled and tutored with them–as they were. The royal court and courtiers filled my days, and my life. As did my father, I formed many close associations and bonds of friendship in England.

"Yet, my father was able to encourage and nurture within me a devotion to España and pride for who and what I am. This he did while downplaying the rivalries between our two peoples and emphasizing how much we had to offer each other. I truly believe this was the agenda of his political life and his diplomatic career: not to seek advantage through some Machiavellian strategy, but to create bonds of trust and respect between our two nations, resulting in mutual advantage. A marriage–if you would–between two disparate but equal partners. He believed the benefits of such a partnership would be boundless.

"Again–in this, I am my father's son. I share his beliefs and his hopes. When he died, I was offered a position at court by his Royal Majesty, when I returned to España. But I did not wish to spend the next several years–perhaps, the rest of my life–as a courtier. Through my father's connections, and by the grace of his Royal Majesty, I was able to procure a position that would enable me to travel the world, to all his Majesty's possessions, and represent his interests in matters where a high-ranking official could not–or would not–be involved."

Fearing the pup would never stop talking, I interrupted. "So much for your past. Your future depends on the will of our captain, not some 'Spanish Majesty.' Now, just so's I'll know, how are you known?" I noted the confused look on his face and readdressed the issue, "How are you summoned? What the hell are your names?"

"Pardone, Señor. My companion is Gaspar Monastario, honourable sergeante in his Majesty's Royal Army. And I, Señor, am Don Estaban María Luis Philipe De la Montoya–your humble servant."

I emitted an audible groan. "Praise God we've just the two of you to contend with. Were you an entire company, we'd lose the whole of a week on introductions, alone. Now, enough is too much. You may stay–for now. Go back to your rest. I'll sort this out on the morrow."

"Oh, Papa...." Annalea thought to express her feelings.

But enough was too much. "Bother me no more, tonight, child. I must sleep!" And so, finally, I did.

## Chapter XIII

# Kingston!

Came the morrow, and nothing was sorted out. Nothing's ever sorted out on the morrow–just postponed, overlooked and forgotten. By the time I rose, 'twas to an empty house, anyhow. More's the better, 'though; for I could not've endured yet another round of confabulation such as had twisted me soul and knotted me stomach over the past few days. I had me own breakfast, in me own company, and resolved to spend the day in quarters. For one day, life could go on beyond me doors, without me assistance–and thus less harm to me.

In this respect, I succeeded; me bruised spirit was recouped by midday. I was past trying to sort through and resolve the issues and events of the past few days. 'Twas all beyond me capabilities–me faculties. I determined to set back, act detached, and allow events to unfold afore me.

By nightfall, 'twas evident the world shared me value for disassociation; not a soul came to me door to seek me out, or take me out. 'Twas a most marvelous solitude: no one–nothing–not a sound. But that was the cursed cleverness of the world I would forsake. It need not seek you out.

If it ignore you long enough, you are caused to ponder the situation, and you become engulfed by the riddle of "whys." "Why is Annalea so late?" "Why is Mam' Tiére so late?" "Why are those accursed Spaniards not here?" "Why are trouble and strife always me lot?" "Why am I so bothered when there is no one about to bother me?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"

Finally, at about midnight, I could contain meself no more–nor be contained, no more. I flung open the door to me quarters, stepped outside and confronted me adversary: the world at large. Quite aloud, I spake the words, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" I felt a release of frustration from me outburst.

'Twas then, while howling at the moon and looking out 'cross the landscape, I spotted him setting there on a log, besides a great tree, just staring at me–silent and staring. 'Twas that blasted, one-armed, Spanish soldier: silent–staring. I felt a right git! I waited for the flush to leave me face, and I marched meself over to where he sat.

"And what sort of night creature is this? What sort would lurk about in the shadows, spying on a man? A wretched Spaniard, that's what sort!"

No response. Just silence–cold, staring silence. I thought to rail at him further, but I just stared back. Silence. Silence and tension. Then, at once, 'twas broken by the hiccupping sound of giggling laughter echoing off the boundaries of stillness.

It was Annalea, and she was not alone. That Spanish puck was with her. As they approached–her on his arm–she spake a few words and then laughed, and then he laughed. Then he spake a word, and she laughed, and he laughed, again. And so this continued all the ways to me door. They sailed on past, mindless of me and the older Spaniard, silent in the shadows, watching them parade on by.

I watched them jauntily walk through the doorway, closing the door behind them. Then I turned to look upon the Spaniard, still perched on his log. He looked back to me and said, "Qué?"

I left the Spaniard to skulk in the night and returned to quarters. Pushing through the door, I startled the youngsters. Annalea jumped up from her seat next to the boy. "Oh, Papa, I thought you were asleep in bed. You surprised me."

"Surprised you, child? Why? I could as well've been Mam' Tiére coming to home."

"Mam' is spending the night in the black quarters," she replied, "tending to an issue of community. And, aside, Mam' would never slam through a doorway like a raging bull!"

"I apologize, sweetheart, but that damned Spaniard skulking in the dark just put...."

"Is Gaspar still out there?" The young puck cut off me words, then bolted out into the night to seek his companion.

"Oh, Annalea." I sat next to me angel and rested me head upon her shoulder.

"What is the matter, Papa?" she spake sweetly, while gently stroking me face with her hand.

"It is just everything, child. I feel an old banty put off her roost. I feel cast off from me own life. I feel at odds with the world."

"I understand, darling Papa," she said softly–and directly to me soul. And I believe she did understand. Not from me telling. But from her deep knowledge of the people she loved, her natural sympathy and the wisdom of womanhood.

And finally, in the comfortable caress of that angel's wings, I felt all me frustrations released. As if a twelve stone weight were lifted off me, I felt limber, again. I felt refreshed. I felt truly loved. I realized Annalea is me world. She encompassed the beauty, the righteousness and the significance of life itself–for me. And I now saw that she was so much more–for me. She served me, simultaneously, as blessed daughter and loving mother.

With me world reassembled and me life reinvigorated, I settled in again–quite comfortably–to me roles as master of household and majordomo for all Nemusmar. When Mam' returned the next morning, I set about me rounds with me spirits and sense of purpose renewed. For the first time in memory, 'though, I did so without Annalea "clipping at me ankles–chattering and chirping all the way–and all the time."

She had excused herself based on a promise to the Spaniards to take them the length and breadth of Nemusmar: to familiarize them with every square inch of land, and the fauna and flora, to boot. I saw it as most a waste of time–and Annalea's good graces. But me spirit did not flag. Me darling sprite had provided me renewed confidence and sense of purpose. I was able to gracefully dismiss her company and was contented with pursuing me own tasks, and me own thoughts.

This routine went unbroken, for near a fortnight. Annalea's time was virtually consumed with attending to that Spanish lad. Finally, one fine morning, she decided to rejoin me. It was, doubtless, partly due to me nightly grumbling at the supper table, but moreso, I think, a bit of guilt on her part for neglecting her duties. These were self-ascribed duties rather than assigned ones, to be sure–but duties nonetheless.

It had long been Annalea's habit, when walking out with me, on me routine, to inquire and attend to the well-being and the needs of members of our community. Who was sick or injured and neglected? Was some wench near time for birthing? Was there some intelligence Mam' Tiére might need from the black quarters, when she could not herself trek out there? Was anyone attending some poor soul locked up in the "tomb?" These were among the duties Annalea felt guilt for neglecting.

And so we joined our paths and combined our efforts to fulfill our obligations while enjoying each other's company. About midday, we stopped at the settlement for necessary sustenance.

As we et and relaxed, I broached a subject that had been long on me mind. "Darling, 'tis been some time since I've made me rounds of the settled islands. Asides a mountain of gold, there was a rich harvest of supplies on that galleon; and it's not been necessary for me to trek about for provisions. Frankly it might be some time, yet, afore such is necessary. The thing is 'though, lass–as you know–'tis at such times that I makes the effort to contact your kin."

"You are me kin, Papa. And the captain. And Mam', and Orke and all of our people on me island!" Annalea interrupted me.

"I understand, pet," I continued. "And that shall always be so. Wherever you are in this wide world, me heart–the hearts of all that loves you–will be with you. But it is only right that you should know of your blood kin–and that they should have the privilege of knowing you. 'Tis me intention to make another trek, day after next, and–this time–I'd like you to accompany me."

"Aye, Papa!" was her immediate response. "Oh, to see and hear and smell and taste and experience all the things you've described from your trips.... Oh, 'twould be just marvelous! Might Don Estaban accompany us, as well?"

"What! That little puck?" Me reaction to her request was immediate and vocal. "I'd wanted this be our time together: a special voyage we'd always remember."

I looked to Annalea, full expecting a vituperative argument to unfold from her lips. But she just set there: sullen faced, eyes downcast. I looked at her a moment, waiting for a change–a powder spark to ignite her temper. Nothing came. It was evident to me that–believing this to have so much significance to me–her sensitive, loving nature was preventing her tongue from revealing her mind and causing me hurt. So she spake not. Nor could she look to me, for fear of revealing her feelings and, mayhaps, harming mine.

But, in truth, it was her happiness that was most significant to me. I wished mostly to share in that happiness–not monopolize it.

"Well... if you would... I suppose 'twould be no harm in you bringing along your 'playmate.'" I thus relented to an argument never posed. Her face lifted, her eyes brightened and her lips seemed 'bout to release a squeal of delight. But she caught herself and held back from emotional outburst. Doubtless, she considered a display of eagerness might be insensitive or cause me a change of heart.

So the words trickled out slowly. "Well... Papa.... Well, Papa... if you think it is for the best. Well... then I suppose...."

I did not have all day for this sentence, so I interjected, "Aye, indeed, child. I am certain 'twill go just fine. His English is most good enough to pass. 'Course he is needing some other garments. That Spanish gentry 'frock' he wears would be a dead giveaway. And, 'twould seem the captain has no plan for these Spaniards, save allowing them amble about this island 'til their ransom is set."

So, it was settled. On a truly fine morning–just at sunrise–we set me skiff down from off the ship into empty waters, just beyond eyeshot of our first destination: a middle-sized island with a settlement, a small detachment of his Majesty's lads–on contingency–a colony of rather incompetent merchants and less successful farmers, their wives and children and a small collection of African slaves who seemed to spend a vast portion of their day avoiding their white masters–and avoiding work. Were it not for a few competent wives and industrious Indian slaves, doubtless no one on that spot of land would ever eat–or successfully complete one simple task in life.

Whatever the king's purpose for planting this conglomeration of misfits on this tropical plot, it served to me advantage. Left to their own devices, they could not sustain their little community and resupply their basic needs. Thus, they were always hungry for gold and silver and any precious stone as might come their way. Their need–and their desire–made them an unquestioning lot, eager to fill any request. I found them a ready source for military provisions: from flint, powder and shot, to the most durable steeled blades. Such things, as I might forecast a need to obtain them, these gallants would procure from their suppliers and have waiting at me next arrival.

Not that they ever asked, nor cared, but I'd oft' told them a yarn of how–in the progress of me legitimate trade–I regularly stopped at places frequented by buccaneers, who paid for me goods and services with the bobbles they'd "harvested" from the seas and port towns. (Well, it was a partial truth.) I oft' wondered if their suppliers ever questioned the need of such continual replenishment for such a tiny retinue. Doubtless, they had some fabrication similar to mine that they passed along to those who mattered. And, doubtless, those who mattered cared as little of the source as they cared a great deal for the bounty.

The leading members of this community seemed uncharacteristically reticent, at first, about discussing business–or much of anything else. I'd never before brung anyone along on me previous visits to them. But the beauty of Annalea, and the charisma of the young Spaniard, soon warmed them to our company. Frank conversation and trust ensued.

I introduced the lad to them as Thomas. I'd thought to call him Stephen, which was his true name, in English. 'Twould be more likely he'd associate with the name were it announced unexpected. The problem came in pronunciation. As good as was his English–and as clever his accent–he could not naturally say "Stephen" without some forethought and considered effort. Otherwise, it always came out "Estaban;" and that would not do.

As to his clothing: I dared not dress him as a seaman or farmer or a craftsman, or an anybody. I was not convinced he could play a role. So he was dressed as nobody: in the dullest, drabbest most mundane garb we could find. If he resembled any class, it was the unskilled, indentured servant. What I hadn't figured on, was the power of personality. That quality of class and breeding–and that very individual quality of charisma–that allows a unique spirit to shine through the blandest trappings. This lad could not go unnoticed.

Settling down to business, I began to negotiate price and quantity. This was mostly a game, for in the end, they needed me a bit more than I needed them. Still, there is something about a poor businessman. Rather than realizing when best off, he seems compelled to conduct business–poorly. So we'd take our turns to barter and bellyache, and in the end, I'd have the provisions I desired at the price I wished to pay. Don't misunderstand, they were very handsomely paid; after all, I needed them solvent and happy. So as to provide for this, and allow the leaders to show worth to their community, I quickly established a low settlement from which I would not budge–and then allowed them to drag me back up to the amount I'd intended to pay from the start.

Finding these proceedings dry and tedious, the young'uns took themselves off to explore the surrounds. They excused themselves, politely enough, but this went largely unnoticed by those so intently focused on the heated negotiations. Having little need to focus on such matters, I threw another trinket into me pile of possibles–for their contemplation–while I took a moment to instruct the children where to go and what to look for.

Business done, victuals were prepared and offered (and damn good vittles they were). Our hosts would delay while the young'uns were found and fetched, but I'd have none of that. We'd be all day on that sorry little lump of land and sand. And I guessed 'twould be Annalea's preference to examine the vegetation of this plot, and explore for wildflowers. I did request, instead, that they provide some sturdy young backs to load me waiting boat, while I dined and amused me hosts with tales of me fictitious travels–as a "merchant." Oh, there was plenty of truth in the places and experiences I revealed; but it was all done under a much different guise than itinerant pot-swapper.

Well, as pleasant as that all was, Annalea and the lad returned afore I knew it, and reminded me we had a good deal to travel and much to do, afore this day was through. With me new acquisitions already on board me boat, we set out to meet our ship, again–just beyond eyeshot. This trek was time-consuming, but necessary. 'Twas best to undertake this process incognito.

The young'uns seemed a bit bored, but their spirits hadn't flagged. And I knew our next port-o'-call would spark a good deal more interest. Again, well beyond eyeshot, we were dropped off. We headed hard for land, and I swear you could hear the evocative din of strange activity–and stranger music–near a half league away.

This prelude had captured Annalea's full attention, long afore we reached port. As we pulled in 'twixt several large ships at anchor, and she caught full view of the bedlam in the busy little port town, she went bug-eyed; and as she watched the colour and confusion of seeming chaos amongst the busy–preoccupied–inhabitants, a grin grew on her face that nearly spread to her ears. And those bug-eyes began to sparkle! As I fastened to the mooring, I watched Annalea–still sitting in the boat, her face moving back and forth, studying the characters darting afore her eyes: like she were an audience of one, watching a play–or, more likely, a circus.

When I beckoned her to leave the boat, she stood up and stepped off without acknowledging me and without releasing her eyes or attentions from the activities onshore–as if she was stepping onto the stage and becoming one of the players. Certainly, she'd seen such tumult–a similar thronging of people–every time we'd docked our ship back at Nemusmar, ever since she was a wee bit. But that was familiar. Those were her friends–her people–her family. This was a whole lot more.

The wonderment it caused her brought joy to me heart. For me, the world was continually remade through the eyes of Annalea. I cannot imagine how different–how drab–the experience of life would have been for me, if this dear child had not been part of it. Mayhaps I'd've seen as much wonder in the world, meself, when I was a child, had I paid more attention. But I'd always been focused on some particular or another. I s'pose that's common. Now, with older eyes, I could clearly see the joyous discoveries of youth–through Annalea.

Even when the Spanish lad spake direct to her, she did not acknowledge him. Mayhaps, we were like background figures in a painting, unnoticed while the eyes still scanned the main characters, seeking a theme–a motif. At a point when I realized she'd never move, I took her gently by the arm and began to conduct her down the street, with the lad in tow. He obviously was amused and interested in the sights and sounds that surrounded us. But he was well travelled, and this had not the newness and excitement for him that it had for Annalea.

Fair shouting in her ear as I led her along, I announced the names and purposes of the buildings we passed. 'Twas at a small tavern that she stopped us cold and begged to go in. Not–mind you–due to the eloquence of me description, but to the alluring melodies which exuded from that place. I looked to the lad, he shrugged his shoulders, and we followed Annalea, who was already most ways over the threshold of that tavern.

Stepping over that threshold was like stepping into an abyss; there was nothing afore your eyes but emptiness. You find yourself walking into a mist shrouded in clouds. Must've seemed to Annalea as if she was entering a magic fairy land–or the outskirts of Satan's lair. In fact, it was a shroud of tobacco smoke layered over a dense fog of ancillary emissions from a poorly vented chimney, various candles and oil lanterns, and moistened by the not-so-sweet breath of too many souls in such a wee "chapel."

'Twas but gradually that your eyes came accustomed to the sting and the hazy lighting. The denizens of this "swamp" had that advantage of being acclimated–and seeing you afore you could see them. Annalea discovered that, when a hand seemingly came out of nowheres and grabbed her ass. She jumped and let out a whoop! She peered through the cloud, to make out her assailant, but still saw mostly shadows. It didn't matter. Being accustomed to such surroundings, and able to quickly focus, I brought a fist down hard on the culprit's head, driving him down like a mallet to a peg. He did not pop right up, as I half expected he would. Either he was truly hurt, too besotted with grog or–most likely–just the weakest sort of a coward, who dares only grab for a woman in the dark–anonymously–lecherously–cowardly.

Annalea set little mind to this distraction. What commanded her attention were the sounds of music wafting through the murk. You could make out the melodic sounds of fiddles and fife and pipes. "Gentlemen" seated about the musicians were quick to rise–offering to share a seat with Annalea. She took a seat in the midst of the players, and the lad and I came down aside her–to the chagrin of the "gentlemen." They grumbled a might and moved on. As was me habit, I kept me hand clasped to the hilt of me cutlass–not so much from expectance of trouble but for the avoidance of trouble. A mock cockery–some display and an attitude of violence–is part of the game with men such as these. And to call a man's bluff is a risky business. If you were wrong, he'll hand you your head (or throw it to the omnipresent dogs). So, unless you are ready to die that day–for pride's sake–you make a few gruff sounds of your own ('though nothing challenging) and walk away with your head–if not your pride–intact.

Annalea stared spellbound at the players. And they stared at her, as they played. She must've seemed a vision afore their bloodshot eyes. In no time, she was singing along with every ditty they could conjure up. They must surely have wondered how this divine little angel, with the mannerisms and accouterments of a lady, could possibly know all their risqué old mariners' tunes. But, of course, they knew not her background–nor her tutors.

By this time, our eyes and our spirits had fully adjusted to our environs. Without so much as a shout for service, I found a brimming flagon placed afore me. I drew a cup of its favourable content, and thought to meself, "How congenial!" Then I noticed the why of it. A bevy of serving wenches was hovering about us, attempting to get the attention of–and to please–our handsome young companion.

The Spaniard seemed flattered by the attentions of these giggling girls, but modestly declined their displays of affection. While never questioning his honourable character, I did wonder about the sincerity of his modesty. These none-too-bashful colleens were quite suddenly–and rudely–put aside by another, more aggressive, flock of females: an assortment of whores from the bordello attached to this "chapel." The serving wenches were easily rousted; they were no match for harlots in heat. And these "convenient" women liked very much what they saw in our Spanish puck.

One lass stood behind him–her arms about his chest, her long black curls draping over his shoulders and her bare breasts stroking at the nape of his neck. Another lass, with strawberry hair, plunked her well-sculpt ass in his lap, while a third lass–too late for the lap–knelt aside him and began stroking his loin. Lucky for me, there was a fourth lass, with no place to go but me own lap. I could feel her ass was ample–but also well-sculpt. She wrapped her arms about me neck, and pressed her cheek hard against me face, but her eyes were unceasingly on the lad. It seemed to be the fashion with these ladies to go about bare-breasted, and those of hers were also well-sculpt–creamy-white, with large, pink nipples. Me hands were upon them afore me wits could control them.

Now, the lass perched upon the lad had her breasts quite modestly concealed; 'though you could tell they were most ample. Not to be outdone by her "sisters," she flung the coverings aside–with much bravado–allowing her "attributes" to spring forth, literally in the lad's face. She obviously appreciated the immodest, and frankly lustful leer of his countenance at this unexpected–well-rounded–turn of events. Amazingly, the lad was quick to compose hisself. But she was a professional, and not so simply dismissed.

She moved her fingers caressingly through his hair, gently wrapping large strands 'round her fingers. Then, with this firm grip on his locks, she pulled his head down to meet her teat: actually trying to cram the large, rock-hard nipple into his mouth. The show was not quite finished. Pulling back her skirts, she exposed her lower quarters to demonstrate that there were no further garments–no other obstructions–'twixt his hand and her intentions.

I saw excitement in the lad's eyes and eagerness in his muscles. Then–suddenly, his look changed to one reminiscent of a street urchin caught with his hand in your purse. Annalea was glaring at him! He came to his feet, full-erect–dumping the whore to the floor. His countenance was now that of a simpleton. He looked to Annalea and just shrugged his shoulders–again.

"Now, Thomas, that is no fit way to sit a lady," I chastised him. I would like to've shown him how it fits, with a slight tweak of me hand now resting on me lady's thigh. But with Annalea present, there was nothing appropriate I could publicly do but bite me lip–me own lip–move me hand away from temptation, and just politely stroke her bare breasts–like a gentleman.

There could be nothing much gained by our tarrying longer in this place. As rousing as that music was for Annalea, the lad and I were coming too much aroused to remain dignified in her company. I saw to a tankard for each of the players and Annalea thanked them sweetly for their music. They fell over themselves to kiss her hand and thank her for her sweet presence. (All I got from them was a nod of acknowledgement.) To each of our half-naked amusements, I handed a small nick of gold. I've oft' found that a splinter of gold goes as far as a man's shaft, in satisfying the lust of such coquettes.

All assembled, we were back out on the street–arm-in-arm-in-arm. The sun was brightly shining. The sun is always shining here! The circus is always in town. The town is a bloody circus! Hell, this is Kingston! And there is no other town like this any place on this earth.

You might catch a piece of this in Liverpool, and a whiff of it in Paris, and a reminder of a cobblestone path in London–an air of Africa and the oddities of the East Indies–so much, from so far brought together in one small place. It is by nature berserk and cosmopolitan and bucolic and enchanted. Hell, this is Kingston! Oh, 'tis not so grand as Port Royal: that once-glorious gem of imperial Britain–the largest metropolis I'd experienced in all the known world. Sadly, many of me old haunts from the past days, as well as many friends who now haunt that past, are lodged deep below the waves–well beyond the present shoreline–ever since that singular tragedy (what some back-bench crips in parliament refer to as "God's day of retribution").

But there still was so much to see and do in this new "olde towne." Much of the "olde towne" remained: including some of the magnificent brick edifices with their elegant interiors. And much remained unchanged. Elements that had given her an unsavoury reputation as "wicked" were still in abundance. But there were also some new practices–far worse to some sensibilities.

As I'd mentioned afore, everything we'd seen seemed magical and delightful to Annalea–as if walking into a play or a fairy tale, and stepping into the midst of a carnival. Everything, that is, until we entered upon a small square where the shouting and confusion were not of the joyous nature she'd come to expect. Instead, our ears were assaulted by haranguing: voices making demands, giving commands, shouting up chattel for auction and bids for purchase–and frenzied arguments erupting from every corner. The chattel for sale–the cause of all this commotion–was African slaves.

Annalea's eyes saddened (and, doubtless, her heart dropped with her spirits) as she beheld the sight: mournful, naked, dirty, beaten blackies, tied to posts like horses–some in chains like convicts–being paraded, demonstrated, auctioned and sold like cattle. "Oh GOD! Oh Papa! Look! Look! Did you see? Did you see that? Did you see what he did to her?!"

"Aye, pet, I saw," I replied. I grabbed her arm to prevent her storming the auction block and getting us all killed. "I should've had you forewarned, love. Me 'olde towne' is no more. It is more a ghost of what once was. For certain, the bawdiness remains–and a good deal of the wealth and rapaciousness that spawned the legend of Port Royal. But there are 'new' people here, now, and 'new' ways. Above the courtyards and the belfries, the sun is always shining; but in ever-increasing, shadowy nooks of the towne, dark clouds appear and linger. I swear to God, the slave trade stains a man's soul and darkens his surroundings, to boot!"

I held both her arms and looked into her face. It was angry and red and crying. "But I've told you of all this, before, me darling. I've tried to explain the why and...."

"But... oh, Papa... 'tis just wrong!"

"Annalea, you must look upon it as just a business...."

"No... no, Papa! No business! The devil's doings! How can you say these things, Papa! What if she were Mam'? What would you do? And look! Look over there! Over there, Papa! That girl is the spit of Reena! And at the block, now: that proud-looking buck could be our own Orke! Would you do nothing, Papa? Nothing?!"

"At the ultimate cost of me life, for them, I would do everything, pet! But for the rest of the world, I can do nothing."

I summoned the lad to help me restrain Annalea.

"We are off, now," I said. "There are other, better spectacles, far more suited to the likes of us!"

Annalea was still weeping–weeping in anger–when we came upon a well, some distance from that misery. I sat me sweet on the edge of that well and spake what was in me heart. "'Tis the way of the world, love. Now understand, I could never conjure up a single word in defense of the slave trade. Nor would I–could I–ever offer a word in such defense, for fear that the lie would cause me tongue to burn to cinder in me mouth! But there are things–nasty things–in this world beyond our control, unless we control the world. Near as I can tell from me readings, this bad business of man enslaving man has been going on so long as man has existed. Slavery has been a part of every condition: from barbaric tribes to civilized nations. There was a time, Annalea, when our people were taken and held in bondage by others not dissimilar to ourselves. And you've seen for yourself how the natives of these lands bind and trade and use others of their kind. 'Tis not good, but it seems by nature and tradition to be a condition of human society.

"No, darling. I could never defend slavery or the process of it that passes for respectable business. But I do believe this: that all works are God's work. Even the devil's doings are within the sight of God. Nothing happens without purpose. And 'though the estimate of that purpose is beyond such as me, I must bow to the divine and just wait see. Me personal prejudice 'bout the 'trade' aside, I'll say this: without this African slave trade, we'd've never known Mam' and Reena and Orke and the other blackies we cherish. And they'd've never known this different, but opportunistic environment. And without people like us, who've always felt enslaved by the restrictions of a self-serving, mindless social order, they would not have the freedoms and respect and opportunities they deserve.

"To set you a straight line, pet, let me add something; in talking and dealing and doing with me brother Orke, I've come to understand this: Orke shall always resent what was done to him–and what was taken from him. He still has dreams 'bout what might have been, in his former life. Yet he is even more proud of the life he has since made. He has stated that this is the life he would choose and, even given the opportunity, he would not now choose to return to the former life and forsake his current position and prestige. This, we have sponsored. This, we can do. And as much for Mam' and the rest. If this is not God's intention, then I know of no alternative."

Reflecting on all of this, she said to me, "Cannot things be changed, Papa?"

"I don't know, pet, mayhaps. I know this: you do make a difference. You spend your entire life amongst other people: most familiar, some strangers. How you live your life will affect other people–and can change some. I've never seen angry words or acts of violence really change a body's mind. But the silent, unembroidered example of someone you admire, observed in daily life, has a subtle but permanent influence. You stay your course, darling, and you'll find that the souls who populate your world will eventually be of a like mind."

Our young Spanish companion set down aside Annalea and took her hand. "He is right. I observed this in my father's life; he was a great influence for good will amongst people, in the lives he touched. And I have observed this same quality in you, chiquita."

It was time to move along. If you sit still in this place too long, a crowd will form about you. Everyone here is curious as to what everyone else is doing. Not wishing to be a curiosity, I gathered up me wee entourage and set off to seek a distraction–something to change the mood. What was needed was some amusement.

In Kingston, if you want a change, just go 'round a corner. If you seek a bit of amusement, or a little excitement, it is 'round another corner (or secluded behind some doorway–invitingly left ajar). So, not surprisingly, we'd only to whisk over a few score of cobbles, turn that corner, and there was a frolicking crowd gathering about a group of minstrels and performers. There were musicians and jugglers and acrobats and so on, to interest and amuse the crowd. And there were so many giggling, flirtatious women within the crowd to amuse the likes of me. So we three just blended in with the crowd, laughing and gawking and cheering and gawking and singing and gawking.

From behind me, a commanding voice boomed forth: "Why is this scum planted in a man's path?"

Hand on hilt, I turned about–a snarl on me lips–prepared to do battle. What faced me was a grinning goon of most familiar form. "Nesmith! You ugly, deceitful, surly old bastard! 'Tis the best to see your gruesome face!"

Nesmith turned to his companions and introduced me. "This is Crockett: the old campaigner who once saved me life, only to fleece me twice at gambling, and–many more times–separate me from a favoured wench!"

The children were absorbed by the entertainers, so I thought to forgo any further introductions and fell into conversation with Nesmith and his mates. We moved away from the crowd so's to hear ourselves speak. The conversation was lusty and hardy, if not downright boisterous.

More than an hour must've passed that way. Nesmith and I had much to catch up on. And each of us in that group had at least one unusual seafaring yarn to spin. At the time they started getting itchy–favouring some grog and some wenching–I knew it was time to part company. They served me an invite to join in their planned debauchery, but I graciously declined. After all, I had responsibilities–and a sort of schedule to keep. Yet it was mighty tempting. I knew these lads could raise hell and teach the devil a new dance!

I returned to where the crowd had been watching the amusements. There was no crowd. There were no more entertainers–just a handful of revelers casting about for companionship. Apparently, in me absence, everyone had moved along–including Annalea and the lad. Mayhaps they went seeking me. Or, mayhaps, they just followed the crowd. They'd have no idea where to begin to look for me in this maze of construction and obstruction; so I'd opt for the latter, and try to follow the crowd.

'Twas not a hard thing to do. As I went along, I asked those I passed if they'd seen this travelling throng, and I'd be given directions which enabled me to catch up with them pretty quickly. As I swiftly moved along, I experienced a moment of panic, brought about by a fleeting remembrance of a similar circumstance. Annalea out of me reach–out of me sight... Macathwee... danger! Just a fleeting thought. Mayhaps, there was nothing amiss. I ran faster.

I could hear loud music and people laughing, ahead of me, but I could not yet see the crowd. Passing an alley, I could hear shouting, the angry clang of metal and the choking gasps of a man dying! I stopped short, turned in me tracks, and dashed back to that alley. At the terminal of that crack in the architecture, there was Annalea, in the midst of a skirmish. And out in front of her–acting as her champion–was the Spanish lad wielding his sword against three would-be attackers, like a craftsman whittling a chair leg down to size. At his feet was the very man I'd just heard moan–now dead.

The lad was doing just fine with the three, but a fourth culprit looked to blind-side him, so I skewered the bastard! Meanwhile, "Thomas" had dropped another assailant, leaving two. Two of the stupidest would-be cutthroats I'd seen in some time! They were up against a cyclone, and thought somehow they could subdue it! 'Though this made right good entertainment (best of the day), I'd not the patience for the outcome, with Annalea so near harm's way. So I shot fool number one through the brain, and when fool number two turned to see his comrade fall, he was done. The "whirlwind" cut him down!

Seeing Annalea was unharmed, and the lad but winded, I stepped over the last fallen carcass to address them. "Right, then. What is all of this? The jugglers and acrobats were not enough amusement for the two of you?"

"'Twas nothing, sir," "Thomas" offered. "Not but a misunderstanding. These 'gentlemen' mistook Annalea to be part of their entertainment."

"'Twas more than an inconvenience, Papa," Annalea contradicted. "I was quite put upon, and quite put out. I am scared, now, thinking what might have become of me had not Esta... 'Thomas' been present–and been all the man he is!"

Stung to the heart by these words, I apologized profusely to Annalea for abandoning her.

"No, Papa, 'twas not your fault," she assured me. "'Twere we who chose to depart your company and stray with the throng. There were so many frolickers, I hardly noticed a gang of men who seemed to shift their movements to coincide with ours. At some point, it became obvious to me that their loud, lewd remarks were intended for me. Thinking to avoid them, I took 'Thomas' by the arm and foolishly moved away from the crowd, to the edge of the buildings. As we came aside this alley, those men decided to seize their opportunity. Mayhaps they considered 'Thomas' no threat: a mere baldfaced, bumpkin of a boy. For they merely pushed him aside, grabbed me and dragged me hastily down the path. It all happened so fast, Papa, I'd not time to clear the scream inside me past the lump formed in me throat!

"They had to stop at the terminal of the alley; but they no doubt believed they had me fate sealed. As for meself, I had no time to think or consider, only to observe. I was turned about to face a grizzled, one-eyed goon who held me in place with his hand clutching me hair, tightly. I'd seen this man, afore! I'd spied him watching me at the tavern. I realized they must've been tracking us since then!

"But in the next instant, he was gone and I was looking at 'Thomas'' face! The lump in me throat went down, but I'd lost the urge to scream. I was preoccupied marvelling at 'Thomas'' skill with the sword. He kept those men at bay as easily as you might shoo so many dreary flies away from your biscuit! Then you arrived, Papa, to save the day!"

"Right, hardly," I muttered.

"Truly, sir," "Thomas" said, "without your intervention, the fight may've lasted longer."

"May've?" I grumbled.

'Twas all for naught. Me feelings need not be assuaged. I was glad of the outcome, and thankful for "Thomas." Once I felt comforted enough to break from me embrace of Annalea, I embraced the Spaniard, telling him, "I'll not forget this, lad."

We departed quickly, leaving the mess behind to be cleaned up by the authorities—such as they may be. Time was catching up with us, and I needed to go off to the chandlery, where I could arrange posting another notice to Annalea's kin. I stated as much to the two of them, but Annalea refused to come along. It was in her heart, more than her head, that even this attempted connection with relatives unknown, would distance her from her "family" on Nemusmar. But I felt the right of what must be done–what was proper–and I'd not be swayed from me course.

The necessity at hand was to occupy Annalea's time–while I was about me business–in a place and manner conducive to her safety (and, therefore, me peace of mind). Kingston was not just a tropical Sodom and Gomorrah. There were families in Kingston. Well-placed families. 'Though the patriarchs of some of these families came to wealth in ways more scurrilous than piracy, this was not the time for casting stones about. They were proper families with proper manners and the king's own for protection. Their outdoor activities were always open to those of their own ilk.

So I had all the necessary ingredients for ensuring a pleasant interlude for me sweetie, in me absence. I knew the location of their gathering, I knew these patriarchs, and I knew their secrets–mostly past lives of which their beloved families were not privy. So with a bit of a hike from these environs, a few introductions, and with the obvious comeliness and refinement of Annalea and "Thomas," I had found a safe harbour in which to leave me precious. Not that safety is ever really ensured, as a commodity. The Lord knows there are more lechers in silk than in sackcloth. But I felt no compunction about leaving the lass under the lad's care and protection while I performed me God-sworn duty to contact her natural family. So, with directions and instructions of where and when to meet me, I left them to their niceties and went off to complete the day's final business.

When finished with me final transaction of business, I handed off me communication. Preparing to leave, I noticed the man who'd received it went hastily to speak to two gentlemen who'd been loitering there since me arrival. I say "gentlemen," due to the cut and cleanliness of their garb; but, reflecting on the moment, I'm doubtful they were gentlemen: they dressed more like barristers. But the odd thing which caught me attention, was the way he waved me correspondence as he talked–and the two men looked at it. He said a few more words to them, and then glanced back towards me–and the two men looked at me. I could not make out what he was saying to them, but I was certain it could not concern me. After all, this was no time in life's game to become irrationally suspicious. Recouping me senses, I determined to mind me own business and be about me own business.

At the appointed hour, I met Annalea and "Thomas" at the point where we'd first arrived in the "olde towne," so many hours afore. They were sparkling with conversation–literally brimming over with chatter about the day's experiences. But I hastened them to the boat, for we had to be underway. Taking a last look over me shoulder to glimpse the gaiety of the towne, I spied those same two "gentlemen." I know it was the very same two! One was talking to the other and pointing directly at Annalea.

Well, I had enough! Irrationally suspicious or not, I would confront these two! But as I full turned and began to move towards them, they slipped in amongst the crowd. 'Tis for certain, I could have picked them out, but I was halted by Annalea. "Papa, what is it? If we delay our departure, we'll never find our ship in the dead of night."

She was right, of course. And once off the island, I'd never see those "barristers" again, anyway.

## Chapter XIV

# A Good Deed Punished

The next several days, back on Nemusmar, I'd no concerns whether Annalea would accompany me on me rounds. She literally drug me out of bed each morn, she was so anxious to start out. Each and every soul on Nemusmar must hear of her adventure, from her own lips; that was her mission. She whipped up so much interest and enthusiasm with her narratives, that the whole island wanted to accompany me to Kingston. Now, that would've been a sight, had I been able (and willing) to arrange it. 'Twould've been the greatest invasion since the doomed Spanish Armada! Least from the perspective of the inhabitants of Kingston that is how it would appear–an invasion.

And in the black quarters, they were damned near plotting invasion! The description Annalea gave them of the horrors she witnessed at the slave auction was all too familiar–and of most recent experience–to so many of the blackies. There was more than a bit of posturing and boasting amongst the bucks, regarding how each would lead a rescue mission–and the details of how the auctioneers and masters would be disposed of.

In the end, they took their bravado and frustrations to Mam' and Orke for guidance and leadership. Orke dismissed them outright; it was a fool's errand, and he was no fool. He well knew the strategic problems of such an undertaking. And Orke's thinking was like mine: any price for victory, but not a farthing for anything less. And this "righteous war" would have less chance for success than had the Armada. There could be no success. 'Twould only produce rivers of blood, on Kingston and Nemusmar.

The element of surprise would certainly be there. Such an attack, for such a purpose, would be totally unexpected. But reaction would be neither slow nor weak. And if you succeeded in liberating every black slave in Kingston, what the hell would you do with them? You couldn't leave them there. There's no safe place to put them down. Bring them back to Nemusmar? 'Twould be the ruin of us all! Anyone–of any flag–foolish enough to attack Kingston (successful or not) would be hunted down, on the sea and on the land, and decimated. The power that fortifies Europe, reaches 'round the globe.

Mam's approach was different than Orke's. To each, in his turn, she would listen patiently. Then–gradually feeding them small bites of logic and wisdom–she'd bring each, in his own way, to see the errors of his judgement. This was common practice for Mam': the way she'd resolved so many potentially volatile situations in the past. And when you left, with Mam's decision planted firmly in your brain, you were convinced it was your own decision–arrived at by introspective consideration.

So much for the grande crusade! But some of the whites on Nemusmar–those newer recruits–were made nervous by all this agitation. They feared insurrection! They talked wildly of a bloody uprising of blackies on Nemusmar, massacreing whites in their beds. Uprising to what? For what? This already was their island, too. And they were full partners in our enterprise.

The captain was quick to get wind of this, and quick to respond. He rightly judged that what these men feared were ghosts of their own creation: not a black revolution, but violent acts of hatred and retribution. For it was well known that certain of these men had sailed on slavers, in the past. The captain's commandments were decisive in quelling the antagonism of this lot. Bluntly put, he stated that any man who continued these diatribes would be hung, outright. And any man who acted on these impulses would wish he'd been hung!

Thus, all factions were soon quieted. Everything returned to normal on Nemusmar, without bloody confrontations or need of the gallows. Annalea was admonished by the captain for lack of restraint, and the need for a common sense think-through, afore casually lighting fires to dry kindling set in the midst of powder kegs. So, all to the good, peace was again restored to Nemusmar.

Although, as an old salt, I admit I gets a bit edgy if things become too quiet–too still: the calm before the storm, and all that, you know. But that mood passed me quickly, being as we were making ready for our next great venture. I know, you'd think the pluckings from the galleon would be enough to satisfy any greed, but–more to the point–you can't keep a war horse in the stable, too long. We all were champing and chafing at the bit for need of action. And of this, the captain would not deny us. He was making plans for yet another brilliant campaign.

As for Estaban–Don Estaban, the Spanish puck–I must admit me opinion of his worth and his welcome were greatly improved. Not so that old Spanish skulker, whose very presence served to annoy me. But after his brave, unhesitating defense of me Annalea, I begun to see the lad through new eyes. I found meself inviting him to join me in me rounds, and explaining our purpose and our ways to him; and talking and joking with him as if he were an old mate. It was a most peculiar situation, feeling this affection growing for the spawn of an enemy–a Spaniard! I began to know how it would feel to have me own son–and a son to be proud of.

I even toyed with the idea of recommending him to the captain for initiation into our ranks. But the more I thought on this, the more I thought better of it. The boy was demonstrably a man of many skills: a warrior, a diplomat, a gentleman, an adventurer and a bit of a poet. And 'though he was a Spaniard, that need not be a permanent disqualification. Many a man who came aboard our ship, and ultimately became a member of our community, was of an original persuasion that would seem an ill fit for our life. Yet through "miraculous" conversion (usually a heartfelt desire to break with the past), they adopted our philosophy and adapted to our ways.

Still, the lad was a whole different matter. He'd not come to us by choice; 'though that, in-and-of itself, was seldom a deterrent. For certain, chains or metal bars were not required to keep him in place. But he would never fight against his own flag; his sense of honour would prevent that. Frankly, I doubt he'd voluntarily fight against any other flag, unless truly provoked; his sense of humanity would prevent that. And lastly, but most significantly, he envisioned for hisself a life much broader and grander than any that could be lived on this island (or, mayhaps, in this hemisphere). He would travel the world in the service of his king: making a name for hisself, and perpetuating his family name. So–sadly, reluctantly–I determined I could never see this lad happily "adopted" into me "family."

Aye, it was a period of harmony, on Nemusmar–except in me household. 'Twould seem me Annalea had grown quite jealous of the relationship 'twixt me and her playmate. She still was making her rounds as I was making mine; but our paths would stray when I refused to tarry over her missionary acts, and took off with the lad for less stagnant, more manly pursuits. Quite often, we would not connect with her, again, for the entire remainder of the day. And if we found our way to the settlement after nightfall, we'd most likely be drinking and carousing with me mates 'til damn near the next day's light. 'Twas grande to have another man in the "family!"

I could not get me Annalea–me normally quite understanding Annalea–to share me view on this. And when I turned to Mam' Tiére to back me on this "bond of male friendship" and need for time apart from the world of women–based on her vast experience and deep understanding of human nature–she immediately rebuffed me. "Da womens 'spect dere men to be near at hand. But men like yo', always out at sea or stuck under foot, ain't nevah whas dey's s'pose to be. An' yo wants Mam's blessin' for yer self-servin' absences?"

Mam' gives no quarter. So I turned to the lad; who, in the presence of Annalea, turned to mush. I stand alone. I retreat.

Traveling alone now, most mornings, I made fast me preparations for our upcoming sojourn to unsuspecting ports. The lad quickly slipped from being me boon companion to being Annalea's attentive lackey. She was seen nowhere but that he was in close proximity. If she was inside midwifing a birthing, he was outside cooling his heels. Even the new father would have the common sense and decency to be off to the settlement, quaffing a few–putting some distance from the process and giving the women some privacy in their doings.

One particular eve, I'd finished all I'd planned, and made it back to me quarters afore dusk. It looked to be a beautiful nightfall approaching, and I decided to make the most of it. I thought to take the "family" (even that Spanish skulker, if necessary) to the settlement for a bit of fun. On a fine night like this, the sisters would no doubt be in attendance, and after a joyous night of festivities, Mam' could return to quarters with the children and I might just saunter off with the sisters for a bit of a frolic.

But when I arrived to home, Mam' was alone. The others had not yet returned. They'd stated in the morning their intention to end their day at Quentin's Corner, so's Annalea could witness the birthing of a barn animal. That was not far, so I decided to go and fetch them. I told Mam' to prepare to go out, and I was off to round up me flock.

'Twas but a short jaunt up a meandering path to Quentin's. An' near all the ways up, you did catch the fragrances wafting from flowering fruit trees and such as was planted there abouts. This was a localized area of produce and livestock for the community. We even had our own stables. The perfect environment on the perfect eve to set me mood toward the gay and romantic.

It was just past dark, but the moon was so full of light, 'twas most like walking into the darkness of a cloister and then proceeding down a torchlit passageway, with all visible afore you, 'though your surrounds are shrouded in darkness. It was a cozy feeling. Then the feeling suddenly went from cozy to cluttered when I spied that old Spaniard leaning on a tree, aside the path–once again, skulking! I thought to ignore him and be about me business. But he stepped out from the shadows, with his one good hand raised, and began blathering something in the Spanish. I chose to ignore him and be on me own way.

As I entered the Corner and approached the structures we'd erected there–to contain and process domesticated animals–the aromas of flora faded and were replaced by the pungent odours of fauna–and many of them, kept in close quarters. Not a bother. This all is part of the natural life–a good life. I could see no one about the place. I scanned the entire area, and squinted into every corner. No one.

But, as I passed the barn, I thought I heard groaning, inside. Farm animals doesn't groan. I peered through the half-opened door to discover what was amiss. The bright moonlight shining through the open hatch over the hayloft full-lit two figures naked in the hay. A tidal wave of horror flooded over me, causing physical sensation and boiling me blood. The poor soul groaning was me own Annalea! And that Spanish puck was on top of her thrusting his lance within her, harder and faster and faster–brutishly ignoring her pitiful groans, as he feverishly strove to satisfy his own lust! He was fiendishly raping me baby girl!

Oh, me God! This was too much! This was beyond comprehension! I was ready to skin the bastard son of a Spanish whore! I was conscious, then, of me blade in me hand, and me hand raised to strike, as I moved through the shadows towards those writhing, interlocked bodies. Then–suddenly–I stopped cold in me tracks; me murderous rage abated, as Annalea's cries pierced me ears: "Oh, Estaban! I love you! I love you! I love.... Oh, Estaban! Oh, Estaban! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Aanngh!"

Annalea was not groaning–she was moaning! She was transported with rapture! She was freely and gladly making love. And obviously enthralled by the sexual act. Me mouth dropped, and I nearly dropped me blade.

When me wits returned to me, I remember me first thought was, "I must not make a sound!"

Then, after a few moments, I remember having me second thought, "Oh, m' God, I'm staring at them! I can't believe I'm staring at them!"

For all that time, they were unawares of me lurking in the shadows. What noises I made, did not penetrate their sanctum. It was obvious their senses could only hear, feel, taste and perceive one another. I averted me eyes and I skulked away.

As I stepped back out into the night, I found the air now smelled foul; and that matched me mood. I proceeded, stumbling down that meandering path, like a drunkard–or, more so, like a man most stunned by a blow to the head. Again, that old Spaniard stepped out afore me. He looked in me eyes quizzically, and said, "Qué?"

I remember, I struck him. I don't remember if he went down. I moved on, crestfallen and heart sinking.

I stumbled back into me quarters, not fully conscious of where I'd arrived. Me mind was so full of thoughts–mean thoughts, screaming through me brain. For all the noise and confusion inside me, I neither heard, nor noticed Mam' Tiére before me, until I plowed right into her. She lambasted me for being clumsy or rude or drunk or all of these. I heard her words, and now I knew she was there; but I did not react to her. I was still in me own state of mind. I just stood there, sallow-faced.

"Wha' da hell be da matter wit' ya?" I think she said. "Something be very, very wrong!" I know she said, now shaking me violently. "I kin tell it in yo' eyes! It be da 'princess,' ain't it? Somethin' be wrong wid da 'princess!' Wha's wrong wid ma baby?"

Silence.

"Cum to, ya ole' goat! Tell Mam' wha's happened!"

I stammered a bit. I did not know what to say. Me thoughts were still too confused to speak of them. I did manage to utter some compensatory words. "She is not hurt. Not that way hurt."

Not to be compensated by these words, Mam' retaliated, "Wha' da hell do dat mean, 'not dat way hurt?' Is da chile hurtin' or not! Do she need Mam'?"

A bit more composed, I said, "No, no, she is not physically hurt; she is fine. If anything, she is happy."

"Den wha' be da matta wit ya? Be it da boy?"

"Oh, he is just fine, too! And doubtless very happy! That high-talking, Pope-loving, trust-betraying, back-stabbing, licentious son of a bitch!"

Mam' stood back and stared at me. For what seemed the longest time, she just analyzed me countenance. Then she looked into me eyes and begun to cackling, like an old hen. This cackling laughter annoyed me seriously–and brought me 'round, completely. "What, woman? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I thought to slap her face, 'til I realized I wanted to slap her face not to bring her 'round, but just 'cause I wanted to slap her face.

She cackled more and more, 'til she damned near choked. Then she stopped suddenly, composed herself, and looked to me compassionately. Softly and gently, she spake. "Ya 'discovered' dem, didn't ya?"

I gave her me best example of a puzzled look; 'though I reckoned where she was heading.

"Ya 'discovered' da chillens doin' dere 'stuff.' Doin' da 'deed.' Da's it, ain't it?"

I gave Mam' me best example of a "you must be daft, woman," look; for I deeply did not wish to discuss this.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaimed, as if congratulating herself.

I near exploded with anger. "What do you mean, you 'knew it?' You knew of these goings on and you permitted it? You knew of these goings on and you didn't tell me?"

"Don't ya go turn mad dog on me! Ya jes' shut it an' listen to wha' Mam' gots ta say, 'fo' showin' yo' fangs!"

I was seething with anger; but I complied. This, after all, was Mam' Tiére speaking.

"Set on yo' ass, an' listen ta me." I acceded, and she sat aside me. "It's not da knowin' from da seein' or da hearin' I's talkin' 'bout. It's da knowin' dat da heart p'ceives. An' dere be nuttin' dere fo' me ta tell ya. Wha' be 'twixt dat boy an' dat gal be dere fo' da whole worl' ta know. An' it's jes been growin' stronger an' stronger 'twixt dem since first dey fixed eyes on each other."

"Do you think me blind, woman? Is that what you're saying? You think me blind, or just inattentive to me responsibilities?"

Despite the harshness of me words, Mam' remained unruffled, and her words were meant to soothe. "In dese matta's, da papa always be blind. And ya be da papa to da 'princess.' Nuttin' ta do wit' attention. Ya never gonna see wha' ya don' know ta expect. An' in a papa's heart, his li'l gal be always da sweet, tender, lovin' flower o' innocence who adores him–an' him alone. No natu'al papa kin 'magine his sweet babe wit' another man. Lovin' another man–let alone 'bein'' wit' dat man? Incrompr'hensible!

"However it cum, dat instant when ya realizes dat gal ain't no baby, no mo'. Ain't yo' sole p'session, no' mo'. An' it cain't never be da ways it use'ta be–never again. In dat instant, yo' whole worl' c'lapses. Yo' hopes an' dreams vanish. Yo' reason fo' bein' dis'pears. An' ya panic, 'cause somethin' ya never expected invaded yo' worl' an' destroyed it. In dat instant."

Now I reacted. "I will not be destroyed! She will not be destroyed! The cursed Spanish cur who caused this fiasco shall be destroyed! That wretched ingrate who sups at me table, is sheltered 'neath me roof, trusted as a friend, treated like a son–and repays me with treachery–that monster who violated me daughter: I will destroy him!"

In the face of me outburst, Mam' struggled to retain her calm. "Ain't no one gonna be destroyed. Wha's gone–wha's been wiped away–be a view of life dat be nuttin' mo' den a fairy tale ta start wit'. Nobody kin destroy a somethin' wha' ain't real ta start wit'. Any loss, real or imagined, be a true loss–a real disaster–ta da one who have it. An' like da death o' a sweet friend, o' a chile; ya gets angry. Not really from da s'posed wrong dats been done ya; but from y'own guilt. Yo' failure. Yo' ign'rance. Yo' sins. It be all yo' fault.

"But dere be no fault. When somethin' natu'al happens, it ain't yo' fault, an' it ain't even 'bout ya. It's jes' nature and da lovin' will o' Gawd. Ya gots da right ta mourn fo' da loss ya p'ceives. It be understand'ble ya should struggle wit' da pain o' unexpected, insuff'rable change. But dere be no right ta interfere wit' da natu'al process of nature; and dere be no tol'rance fo' da guilt of da self-righteous. Dem wha's so self-impo'tant dat if anythin' conspires to change dere 'reality'–'cludin' nature, o' Gawd, Hisself–dey has de audac'ty ta blames demselves. Like dey's mo' impo'tant–an' mo' responsible–den Gawd, Hisself! One thing ma people knows, 'stinctively. Nature be worshipful; 'cause nature be beautiful. Wha' ya gotta accept, be dat wha' happened wit' da 'princess' be beautiful. 'Cause da 'princess' be beautiful, through and through. How does I know? 'Cause we made her so! Yo' an' me an' all da rest. We made her beautiful! An' so she be. An' dis be of her choosin'. Dis be her time. An' das wha' be. Nuttin' mo'. Grieve fo' yo' feelin's, but den accept. Be da papa. Celebrate yo' daughter's life."

I sat there moist-eyed, sullen and silent, pondering Mam's words, for some time. Then there was no more time to feel or say anything. Annalea came bubbling through the doorway, with her "companion" close behind her, and that ratty old Spaniard close behind him. Annalea was fairly floating 'cross the flooring, and beaming a smile from ear to ear. Mam' Tiére caught Annalea up in her arms as they met.

Near lifting Annalea off the floor, in embrace, she said, "How be Mam's babe, tonight?"

Annalea gushed, "Your 'babe' is simply marvelous! Dear Madam, how could one not feel marvelous on such a magnificent night as this?"

Then Annalea looked towards me. "Oh, Papa! What is it?"

Instantly, she was at me side. She began to stroke me hair. Then she sat aside me and repeated, "What is it, Papa?"

She looked me full in the face with a concerned countenance that indicated Annalea was fully attentive to her papa, and seriously interested in resolving his problem. She would listen to whatever beset me, consider it, and fix it. I just stared back at that contemplative face. That angelic face, crowned in golden locks. Those penetrating, blue eyes. Those sweet lips which spake only of good–adorned by a slight pout, which produced an accented seriousness, reflecting her true disposition. I looked upon the face of this young woman who called me father. I looked into the soul of this woman who loved me unquestioningly. I looked at this woman. For that she was: a woman. Not a babe–not a child–but a woman! A sensitive, warm, intelligent, caring, giving, marvelous woman! And beautiful–so beautiful! In face, in form, in mind, in spirit–purely beautiful. And I had made her beautiful! I, and the others–but, I a lot! There was no sin in this woman. There could be no shame in this woman. I looked at this woman: this one, good thing I'd made in me life–this shining example of womanhood. The frustration and anger and guilt I'd felt afore, collided with this overwhelming, massive sense of pride that now flooded me being.

I broke out in tears, and–simultaneously–in laughter: like a man gone suddenly mad. Annalea was startled by me outburst. Without comfort of explanation, I simply reached out and grabbed her, kissing her all about her face and head, hugged her tight with me head resting over her shoulder, and continued me hysterical, blubbering outburst. No more words were needed 'twixt us; Annalea began, also, to cry. As I lifted me head from her shoulder, we looked into each other's faces–now, both of us laughing, while tears flowed from our eyes.

The Spanish lad seemed chagrined. "I am missing something, here. Is there something I should know?"

I looked towards him and rose to me feet. "Something? Something?!" Moving hastily at him, I pushed aside the old Spaniard who thought, gallantly, to stand 'twixt us in defense of the lad. I literally lifted Estaban from the floor and repeated, "Something?"

Then I kissed him on the forehead and replaced him. To this day, I don't know why I did that.

The old Spaniard was still struggling to regain his feet. I grabbed him by the lapel and yanked him back to an upright position, as I turned to address Mam'. "I promised you a celebration to equal the wonder of this night; and such a celebration we shall have! I feel suddenly renewed: strong and alive–like a new bull in a fresh spring meadow. We'll off to the settlement, as planned. And woe be to those who intended an early night; for we'll rise the living and, if necessary, raise the dead, to fill our ranks with celebrants!"

## Chapter XV

# Conflagration

A young man attempts to express his thoughts. It all sounds quite idealic, sir, but....

'Twas idealic! His older companion cuts him off. And from that night–for some time to come, it remained so. 'Twas like a portrait of a family harmony, suitable for framing and display!

I see, the young man returns, but what of...?

Aye, aye! the older man interrupts, impatiently. But first, we've time for another drink–and, mayhaps, a bite of grub. Yo, lassie!

When served, the old sea dog eats as though ravenous; and the young gentleman dares not interrupt until the last morsel has passed his lips and noisily flushed down his gullet. Mustering his gumption, the young man says (in a strident voice), Now then, sir, the hours pass well, but we've yet to–

Ah, you're right on the mark, lad. The older man is not about to relinquish his pulpit to a young pup–not even for the sake of one sentence finished.

April 19, 1718, at that shadowed corner table in the Boar's Head Inn, in Bristol, the grizzled old sea dog still sits with the younger man in gentleman's attire. And the story continues.

'Twas in the midst of another moonlit night, so serene you could believe that heaven descended through the clouds to embrace Nemusmar. On such a God-given night, it was more incomprehensible that the fragile, flickering ember of our existence should be overwhelmed by a conflagration so swift, so intense, so ferocious as to sear away the happiness of years and turn even memories to char.

Again, that night, I was down at the settlement with me mates. Ah, how can I describe that mood, when your spirit transcends your mortal coil? You seemingly float. You fly! Not like a bird, encumbered by its own substance; but absolutely unencumbered–unrestricted. As if flying with the angels! That was how light me heart was that night; I was flying with the angels! But soaring with the angels is not a mortal's lot.

Me "wings" were clipped and me spirit plummetted back to earth, when I heard a human voice shrieking in me ears, "Fire! FIRE! By Jesus, it looks to be hell's own fire!"

The fear in Higgins' voice matched the fright in his eyes. And Higgins was not a fearful man. This had to be bad. I burst out the door of the common house!

The entire sky seemed brightened, as if by some massive torchlight. Looking out 'cross the land, toward home and the water's edge beyond, the sky just above the horizon was crimson coloured–a thick blood-red, blotched with columns of pitch-black smoke. This could only be the backdrop caused by massive explosions and monstrous fires. And these could only be the result of a heinous attack on Nemusmar!

'Twas all at once evident; the greatest catastrophe to ever besiege Nemusmar was now at hand! As I ran from the settlement toward the conflagration, I imagined the worst. To paint the whole of the sky with such an unnatural hue, every wood structure at that end of the island must be afire: me quarters, me neighbour's, the captain's–oh, God, even our ship! If all that was given, then this was invasion!

I ran towards home as fast as me legs could carry me. Me mind was filled with horror. "What if Annalea...?" I could not, then, bring meself to put words to me thoughts–for fear 'twould make it happen. Even now, I cannot bring meself to utter words that contemplate the horrific demise of me Annalea!

Naught to do, but keep moving! Naught to think, but observe the display of mayhem which unfolded afore me! As I bounded down the path, approaching me quarters, I was overwhelmed by several others of our "tribe" scrambling helter-skelter away from the areas of devastation. Some were burned, some were bleeding; all were horror struck! Me shouts to stop them, and question them, were to no avail. I grabbed Brigstaff to halt him, but the fear in his eyes was maniacal and he fought like a raging bull to escape me grasp and continue his flight.

As I cleared the last rise, I saw for meself the truth of it–and me heart sank in me chest. Our ship, and all the rest were ablaze! And silhouetted by these flames–against the night sky–were more sails than a body could readily count! So many as to mask over the natural features of the sky. An eerie foreboding of doom swept over me. But I did not dwell on those clairvoyant messages. I could not dwell on such–as I was about to be deluged by soldiers! Uniformed, armed, blood-crazed British soldiers!

No man could ever–with justice–call me a coward. Yet no man shall ever call me a fool. I turned tail and ran for me life. With so much commotion and so many fleeing "rabbits" to pursue, I was not certain if those "lobster-backs" had really even noticed me. Be that as it may, if discretion is the better part of valour, a flanking move was the better part of discretion, for me–at that moment. Soldiers, I knew, had the fortunate habit of boxing together and moving in straight lines, on a set course. This makes them difficult to confront, head on, but easy to avoid!

I made me way through scruff and bramble–most on me hands and knees, to diminish me profile. Once beyond the column of "lobster-backs," I sprang upright and bolted towards me quarters. Adding jeopardy to me already perilous plight, was the cannon shot still pounding from various ships. Seemed to me a dastardly practice, continuing bombardment when you've already a great company of men ashore, thus putting your own under the gun. But I reckoned as to how naval types have little use or regard for army types.

I could now clearly see the charred remnants of me quarters. Oh, to God! Nothing full-standing! Even the chimney was toppled by cannon shot! But of greatest urgency, the people! Where were me people? God forbid–they must not be under that rubble!

In a heartbeat, I was standing at the singed remains, screaming at the top of me lungs, "Annalea! Annalea! ANNALEA!"

No reply! I cannot say there was but silence; from all about me, screamed noises in me ears: gunfire, whizzing bullets, human shouts, human cries, the crackling and popping of timbers still ablaze! No reply did not mean no hope. They were here–they were alive–I was certain! They just could not hear me. So I must search them out! I moved about, pushing aside large objects–timbers, furniture, doors and the like–as I could, hoping to spy nothing. All the time, I was shouting toward the outskirts of the compound, "Annalea! Mam'! Estaban! ANNALEA!" hoping to hear something!

Me pleas were answered—wrongly! 'Twas as if two snakes hissed past me head, simultaneously. When a third ball ripped through me blouse and sliced me forearm, I knew those "hissing snakes" were bullets. I'd been discovered and was under attack! I saw six or eight of the bastards on the far knoll: three appeared to be reloading and the rest appeared to be aiming–at me! I did not tarry!

I was doubly angry at those mercenary assassins! On the second part, I could not engage the bastards–for I had no firearms. But the primary was that they prevented, or at least delayed, the rescue of me loved ones. Could I have remained alive, just long enough–magically avoiding their shots–I'd've been up that knoll like a whirlwind and ripped the head off each of those "lobster-back" murderers! But I had no magic–just resolve! And I would ferret out me loved ones, despite the annoyance of this nest of angry "hornets!"

As it turned out, there was nothing or no one to be found thereabouts–most likely, a blessing, considering conditions. I decided to make for the captain's quarters. Mayhaps, they'd all gone there to gather and defend. 'Though–from the look of things–that would be in the thick of it: the centre of the "hornets' nest."

Me present problem–and current danger–still was those "lobster-backs" upon the knoll. What little cover was offered, I'd taken when I spied those assassins about to loose a volley. This spared me skin, but prevented the discharge of all them muskets. In the meanwhile, the original shooters had reloaded. Unlike that column of soldiers on the march I'd met, these bastards would not simply move along. They were, doubtless, one of so many companies formed to scout out and capture or kill individual targets, such as meself.

Predicament. What to do? It was too flat and open thereabouts to make a run for it. Now, a British soldier is no skilled marksman–unlike a hunter who must spot and bring down evasive, fast-moving game. All the skill required is to point (approximately) in the direction of the enemy, and pull the trigger. After all, a "lobster-back" and his opponent are usually standing still, each in a large horde of his own, no more than several paces from the enemy. Just pull the trigger and you are damned near bound to hit something.

So much said for their individual capabilities. It still was too risky to run through the open with a clutch of the bastards firing in your general direction. You might find your brains splattered, by a simple, random misfortune. And was I to stand stark still, like some stupid rabbit in tall grass, they'd simply come down off that knoll, muskets primed and ready, ferret me out, and blast me to kingdom come!

It was necessary for me to cause them to discharge their firearms. I stepped boldly from me cover, stared up at them, shook me fist at them and–as loudly and crudely as possible–cursed the bloody birth of each of their mothers! Having acquired their full attention, I scurried back into me rabbit hole, while all those muskets popped in unison! Did you know that a well-trained, British soldier can repair and refire in a matter of seconds? I did! And I knew what I must do! While the crack of their shooting still reverberated in the air, and the cloud of burned-powder smoke arose from their firearms, I was on me feet, cutlass and dirk in hand, charging up that knoll, bellowing the most blood-curdling native war cry I could remember!

They were dumbfounded! Britain's best were under attack by an army of one raggedy old buccaneer: meself! They had no options (as I'd planned). They had to quickly collect their wits, grab their blades and move down that knoll, to confront me. Regardless the number, this is me advantage. In this kind of battle, I am the master!

I quickly–methodically–danced through and around the bastards, working me blades like a new scythe through dry hay. I carved each man at least once; and each cut made a gash–not a scratch! They were near helpless without loaded muskets. 'Twas less a fight and more like a cattle slaughter. Each blow I delivered was purposeful–not the wild flailings of a madman; but the depth of each cut was doubtless strengthened by anger–at the damage these assassins may've already perpetrated!

I felled each one, and ensured his demise. None would be left to suffer–or to tell of me whereabouts. I could not tarry to relish me victory. Every second must count. Even if still unharmed, me loved ones–as all of us–were still in peril, and might be mere moments from death!

Feeling morbid–and a bit dishonourable in the doing–I unclothed the dead soldier closest to me own size, and donned his coat and cap. These men were committing dishonourable and dastardly acts, themselves, so any compunction I had about doing as I had to do, soon evaporated. Were I strolling through Piccadilly Square, you might think me an odd-looking "lobster-back," and spot me as an outright fraud. But in the midst of that chaos, no one had much time for attention to detail.

Now I could hope to move, unmolested, toward land's end: into the absolute centre of the "hornets' nest"–the heart of the "beast." Me ruse worked! There was a confusion of "lobster-backs" moving to-and-fro, each too preoccupied to notice another. But I did take notice of them. It was necessary to study them and notice their actions, to ensure I was not discovered unawares–and to gain some intelligence of this operation. As much as was possible, I exposed only me back to those who might gaze me way; as the long back of that coat, and that cap, were me only disguise.

Most of those soldiers looked a pretty raggedy lot, themselves. Disheveled, dirty and bloodied, they'd obviously been shown, by me own lads, that–"hornets" or not–to attack Nemusmar was to step into a wasps' nest. Britain's "best!" I'd no doubt me mates could take them out, five or ten to one; but the numbers put upon us were overwhelming. An ant is nothing to an ox; but if you could gather all the ants in the countryside, they would take down the ox. And these bloody, red "ants" were swarming all over Nemusmar!

And the suddenness and ferocity of this attack were unbelievable! It must've been long in the planning, and a secret more closely guarded than the king's number of royal bastards. Me memory flashed to the captain's code word, "congregate." If the command had been issued, I'd certainly not heard of it. Was the captain even alive long enough to utter it?

I made me way, hastily, up to the captain's quarters, moving along that same path I'd so often–so pleasantly–trod with wee Annalea. As I made me approach, the signs of devastation were all about me. It is too sad, even now, to relate or elaborate all the details for you. But I'll tell you this much, 'twas obvious a stand had been taken. I came upon more than a score of "lobster-back" carcasses, near trail's end, and then, sadly, the bodies of half a dozen of our own lads–none of whose names I mentioned to you, afore, save one. 'Twas cook! That grizzled, grumpy, old pot-polisher–and self-appointed bodyguard to the captain. He was lying across what most recently was the threshold of the captain's quarters, a bloodied cutlass clenched in one hand and a spent pistol in the other.

I was heartsick. I turned him over, to gaze upon his countenance. His look was severe but composed. I'd expected to see his face twisted in pain, as was his body; after all, you see, they'd blasted his gut clear away! But his expression was near serene. That brave warrior knew death was imminent; but he did not fear it–he embraced it!

Once again, I plowed through rubble, hoping not to find trace of me loved ones. I could not tarry too long amongst the ashes; for–again–I thought even a moment's delay might prevent me rescuing me family. But I searched, thoroughly. I did not stand out, as several of Britain's bastard sons were poking about the ruins, seeking trinkets and souvenirs. I'd've kissed the devil's genitals to've been able to hand-deliver each of those corroded souls to his fiendish domain of eternal damnation–forthwith! But there appeared to be two full companies of British regulars posted guard on that compound. They'd doubtless realized 'twas the captain's lair, and they'd best keep it secured. Mayhaps they thought it would attract stragglers–like me.

I was having no success in finding even a clue as to the whereabouts of me family. I spied a young, innocent-looking, British soldier combing through the debris. He looked too inexperienced and unsophisticated to cause me any danger of discovery, so I decided to interrogate him. "Ah, laddie, are you finding anything?"

"Well, aye, sir," he replied, "a few things: mostly some coin."

"Very good! I've hope for such luck, meself. By-the-by, laddie, you look a right mess. Were you in the thick of the fracas to take this place?"

"Aye, sir, I was that! And it was holy hell! These pirates are the most stubborn bastards! They damned near killed me!"

"Ah, I know, it is terrible. 'Course these buccaneers are the world's greatest fighters!"

"What?" he seemed offended.

"Um. Curse their souls!" I added, to indulge the stupid pup. "But now, tell me lad, 'we'... uh... obviously overcame the 'pirates.' I've seen the bodies about. But were there more inside that needed killing or capturing?"

"No, sir. Not a soul was inside, when we broke through."

"Hmm," I pondered, "do you suspect some escaped during the fracas?"

"'Twas possible," he answered. "After all, the scum prevented us from surrounding the place 'til near the last man fell."

"Aye, the 'scum.'" I responded. I'd've twisted his head up his ass–just to further his education–but 'twas not the time nor the place for that. So–since he'd unwittingly provided me a bit of hope, I wished him "happy hunting" and departed. I wondered if these "lobster-back" bastards would ever discover that somewheres under their feet lie a subterranean vault, and–within–enough gold to ransom a king and his court.

I determined to make haste for the harbour, and discover if any of me people were held there as captive. I had to make me way through several platoons of soldiers to clear the compound. I came upon an officer addressing his cadre. Noticing me approach, he barked some command at me.

"Aye, aye, sir!" I responded, and continued to walk away.

I made water's edge, in moments. Here, too, was commotion. And all the king's men were preoccupied with their tasks: landing men and munitions, organizing, arguing strategy. And there were captives. Looked to be more than a score of our people: no men, just woman and children–and all blackies! These wretched souls, the bastards would keep alive–for the monetary value of their black hides. Doubtless, any whites they snared would've had no value to them–even women and children–and they'd've gone under the sword. I feared for the fate of me people, here bound, for I knew these soulless bastards would greedily return these sweet souls to slavery. And there was nothing I could do, at that time, to save them. These bastard soldiers–as so many others–acted in the king's name, with impunity. This king had much to answer for–and God shall be his inquisitioner.

In spite of the chaos all about me, I did take notice of one significant difference. The offshore blasts of cannonfire had ceased; doubtless because some of the ships' complement were ashore. Most–as I could see–were officers. And standing, talking to a man of captain's rank, were two familiar figures: those dreadful "barristers!" I was so overcome by the sight of these two vultures–here, on Nemusmar–that I did not heed what that captain spake to them. But I was struck–as if by lightning–when he ended by addressing one as "Mr. Pankhurst!"

## Chapter XVI

# Evacuation!

I found meself staring at these men, agog. Always a winning strategy, if you means to draw attention to yourself. Not too smart! Even the nearsighted–given this much time to study the matter–might discern that I was not a shining example of a regimental regular. To worsen me lot, those two "barristers" were likely to recognize me from Kingston, and set the hounds on me. I turned away and moved away.

Looking out on the water, I saw several ships of the fleet, with sails unfurled, riding at anchor. And there was our beloved vessel: no sails, no masts, just a ruined hulk. I won't even attempt to express to you the emotions caused me by that sight. There was nothing left for me there, and no good I could do, save garner information.

Eavesdropping on any and every conversation as I milled about–attempting to appear consumed in some duty–I gained more insight into this operation. 'Twould seem they'd long sought us out. Furthermore, that operation had as much to do with that man, Pankhurst, as it did with the king's business. Was all this done to "rescue" Annalea? The expense of these doings had greatly to exceed the modest ransom requested. And the cost in blood? It made no sense this way. But if it was true, if this was a rescue mission, then there was strong reason for hope that Annalea was alive and unharmed–and a glimmer of hope that anyone attending her would be likewise unharmed.

I also discovered that they'd become awares of our own use of spies and intelligence to track the movements of royal patrols; that had prevented them from combining and moving on us in force, 'til the last possible moment. So, they'd not dared enter our waters, prematurely. They'd not wanted to take us on with less than full force, nor tip their hand, allowing our possible evacuation and escape. They meant to destroy us!

But 'til they landed, they had no idea how vast Nemusmar was–how many natural features they must contend with; nor did they realize how great were our numbers–and ferocious our warriors. Word was, their approach to the settlement was stalled. Something else caught me interest; they were offloading animals. And onshore, these fine horses were being assembled and decked out with saddles and bridles. I overheard some blokes saying as how the cavalry should be able to break the stalemate and overrun the "pirates." That was interesting. Mayhaps–I thought–I should discover more of their plans, afore slipping away to join me people. As best I could–ass-end-to, as to avoid recognition–I sidled closer to those officers, that captain and that Pankhurst.

The captain had been joined by an army officer of senior rank, who was giving orders to several officers in attendance. He told them there was to be no quarter given; there were to be no prisoners–and no survivors, save the black slaves who could be dropped and sold at Kingston. "The rest, regardless of sex or age, we've made no provisions for, and we've no use for–other than 'ballast' for the gallows. And I'll not nursemaid the scum back across the ocean to England, just for the formalities of a trial. Make certain that every last one of them is dead, and then torch everything that will burn."

The British captain added, "Remember what we said earlier. Any man who brings back the body of a young, blonde-haired woman, gets the bounty of a guinea. And if it is the right woman, the bounty shall be two guineas."

One of the officers asked, "Should we try to bring her back to you alive?"

Quite loudly and emphatically, Pankhurst hisself answered the question, "NO!"

Enough! I heard enough! I knew all I had to know. Now I must act! Sprinting to where the horses stood ready, I leaped into the first available saddle, drove both me heels into the beast's hide, and charged headlong through the multitude, making good and prompt me escape. I did not look back to see–nor did I care–what those scoundrels made of this bizarre departure. I heard some shouting–but no shooting. I knew I'd get clear of the bastards!

Admittedly, it had been awhile since I'd been ahorse, but when you've a knack for something, you never lose it. And we cut trail, swiftly, as if that horse had winged hooves! As I approached ever nearer the settlement, I moved through numerous companies of British regulars–too bruised and shaken by battle to notice or care what I was about. As I cleared the last rise, and first glimpsed the settlement, I was heartened to see 'twas not ablaze. That meant me lads still held sway.

At the base of that rise, I pulled fast the reins and shouted that horse to a halt. Thankfully, I'd thought to undo and discard that soldier's coat and cap; 'twould not do, to be mistaken–and shot–by me own, as some crazy, "lobster-back," one-man menace on the charge! As the uniform fell to meet the dust of the trail, I was already at the outskirts of the settlement. I slowed me mount to a trot. Now, I was again disheartened. Strewn all about me, on the ground, were familiar faces–beloved faces of compatriots. Dead, stone-cold faces–some with eyes fixed wide open–staring at me, or past me, as if to petition succor from the Lord, hisself!

The crack from a volley of musket-shot brought me back to earth! And the sudden crumpling of me steed from under me sent me tumbling into the earth head-over-heels-over-head-over-heels! I came right back up, bruised and smothered in dust–and fighting mad! I gathered me cutlass and waved it like a maniac, jumping and screaming curses at those in the settlement!

Back came a loud voice. "That can only be Crockett! Hold your fire! Is that you, Crockett?"

Could be only the captain's voice–and as sweet to me ears as the voice of Gabriel.

"'Tis indeed me, Cap'n!" I shouted me response. "And I do so humbly apologize for arriving tardy to your affair! By-the-by, under the present circumstances, is it economical to be shooting at your own best man?"

"Me best man? How the cock does crow!" was the captain's reply.

Me mind moved directly to me most important question; but afore I could ask it, came the answer. "Papa! Papa!"

Me Annalea was safe! For now.

Curiosity had brung several "lobster-backs" to the top of the rise. Beaten back and disoriented 'though they were, they'd not miss out on such an easy, lone target as me–right out in the open, and within range of their muskets. Did I mention what poor marksmen these regulars were, as individuals? I took their first few shots to be notification of intent.

Looking quickly about for the nearest available cover, I dove behind the carcass of the dead horse! The next few shots penetrated his hide. Me mates in the settlement now let go an explosive volley in the general direction of the enemy. I'd've guessed those "lobster-backs" were out of musket range from the settlement, but they were too shook to consider distance; they scrambled behind that rise.

Then came a crashing sound as if the heavens opened up to loose a deluge! I could hear the cannon ball whizzing overhead! It landed just aft of the rise and returned a spray of red material–some bits of uniform, some bits of flesh and bone. Me lads had cannon! No wonder those "lobster-backs" were so skittish ('though their discretion was to no avail–being, as it was, retarded).

I stood up from behind that poor horse and leisurely dusted meself off and strolled into the settlement. When me eyes spied Annalea, come out to greet me, me stroll became a trot and then a gallop! A broad smile was on her face and tears were in her eyes, and her arms were outstretched, wide. I caught her up in me arms and swung her 'round and 'round and 'round and 'round. Her golden hair danced and splayed through the air like a gossamer halo surrounding and crowning the Lord's own favourite angel! And when her feet touched back down to earth, that "angel" resumed (without changing) to be a "princess!" I'd've liked to express to her, at that moment, all me fears and emotions, and tender her me love and devotion; but I could not stop bawling like a baby!

Then all was pandemonium as me mates rushed out to greet me, and swamped us in the process. They literally carried Annalea and me back behind the barricades. I was just overwhelmed with joy to see all those haggard–but beloved—faces. And the smiles on those faces brought hope back to me heart–as the first sight of Annalea had brought me happiness and deliverance.

Orke swung me down and around and placed me right afore the captain. "Ha, ha! Well, Mr. Crockett, better late than never! I'd thought I would have to win this war without your able assistance. Did you oversleep this morn?"

I reached out and embraced the man, kissing him on the cheek: and then the same with Orke, and then Estaban–who was standing by Annalea. I could have kissed them all! But then I spied Mam' Tiére seated on a stool, cradling a wounded arm just recently bandaged–and showing the crimson of fresh blood through the bandage.

I moved right to her. "Those bastards!"

I knelt aside her and she laid her head upon me shoulder. Always preferring to be the comforter, not the comforted, she said, "It go'n be alright. Yo's heah, safe'n sound, an' da family am t'gethah, agin. Das all dat mattah. Now, doncha go fret none."

Annalea came over to join us in this embrace, and for a few moments, our spirits combined as one peaceful, unperturbable soul. We broke off, reluctantly, when I heard the captain's voice, "Mr. Crockett! A word, if you would."

I returned to the captain.

"Crockett, we've much to speak of."

"Aye, sir, and mayhaps a great deal more than you realize."

I'd pricked his interest–and his concern.

"How so, Crockett? Is there a more urgent matter than that which envelopes us, and of which I am unawares?"

"That of which I speak is a crisis of considerable proportion, Cap'n, but not a more imminent threat. It is more a matter of relevance."

"Crockett! You seem to deliberately avoid saying more than you tell!"

"Aye, Cap'n, it is deliberate. What I've need to tell you, is not pressing but it best be private–for now."

"Well enough, Crockett. I've urgent rounds to make in preparation for the next onslaught. I doubt we've much time. Try to rest a-spell. We'll meet alone, when I return."

He turned on his heels and made for the door. I shouted after him. "One immediate concern, Cap'n! They've horses! Their next attack shall be fronted by cavalry!"

I moved to a quiet, secluded, corner table (much as we are at, now) to sit alone and rest and recuperate. Within moments, I was joined by Annalea, which was nice. And then I was joined by Mam' Tiére, which was fine. And then came Orke–quickly followed by at least a score more! Obviously, I'd have as much opportunity to remain unmolested as a boisterous Protestant ambling through the Vatican! And each and every "visitor" had a story of recent peril and valour which demanded telling, at that moment. And all at the same moment!

And they all were thrilling tales, well-worth the telling. But I was most eager to hear from Annalea and Mam' Tiére. And I was most curious as to why I'd not noticed them in that flood of émigrés escaping from the "lobster-back" menace, as I fought me way "upstream," against that tidal wave of humanity. Discovering them was me object. And they could sail right past without me notice?

I shushed and shushed the rest, that I might hear just Annalea speak. Then I begged her pause her own narrative which had been lost to me in the confusion. "Start again, me love, and tell us of your night."

"Since you were not home, Papa, we had a most enjoyable eve. I... I mean, since you were not there, we set out to enjoy the eve. I mean... I...."

"Wha' da po' girl mean," Mam' could endure this prattle no longer, "be dat wit' no man under foot–needin' reg'lar, unendin' carin' foh–womanfolks kin enjoy dey own comp'ny, an' dey own ways."

"Aye, Papa," Annalea returned, restored, "'twas just Mam' and me. We went out under the stars and had a wonderful gab: most to do with women's particulars."

"And where was your 'shadow' all this time?" For I was surprised that they could bear to part company.

Ignoring me facetiousness, she answered, "Don Estaban and Gaspar were invited to dine with the captain. As you know, he's much avoided them since their initial meeting. And he's been particularly cool toward Estaban since they bandied words and philosophies, on that memorable day. The captain decided 'twas time to take the measure of these men. What other motives, or intentions he had for them, I don't know; but I was glad for the meeting, and hopeful of the outcome.

"Having dear Mam' to meself, and trusting in a rapprochement between the captain and Estaban, I was in a serene state, and of an optimistic disposition. That was all I meant–and what I was trying to express–when I said 'twas an enjoyable eve, without you there, Papa. I know not how many hours passed, sitting under the stars, basking in the luminous glow of that perfect moon. Mam' and I prepared to retire, within, when we heard such a thunderous rumble as seemed to cause the ground 'neath our feet to quake. Mam' noticed the sky out over the harbour seemed afflicted by vacillating daylight. In an instant, that part of the sky came as bright as noontime–and the stars disappeared from the sky! Then–gradually–it darkened, again. And as the starlight began to flicker through the darkness, again came the dawn–instantly and brilliantly!

"Sheer fright drove us indoors, where we huddled together in the dark for several moments, listening to the booming 'thunder,' beyond. We stayed absolutely silent–listening, waiting for the world to end, and half expecting to hear the voice of God. What we heard, instead, were human voices: muffled–a bit distant–obviously speaking English, but sounding unfamiliar. Mam' said we were letting our imaginations carry us away. It must be you, or Estaban, or both, come to explain that strange display of light and noise, and put our minds to ease. We unlatched the door and peered outside. But what was presented was not you, but strange men in uniform, prowling about. And one headed direct to our doorway!

"We slammed-fast, threw back the latch and bolted that door. Mam' scrambled for your loaded musket hung over the mantelpiece. And I retrieved your pistol and a cutlass kept by your bed. The banging outside the door–and against the shuttered windows–became ever more intense. 'Twas obvious they were hammering with more than fists and gun butts. That sturdy, hardwood door began to crack–and then splinter! The shutters off the windows came flying 'cross the room in pieces!

"A tall soldier with a sword in his hand attempted to hoist hisself through the window. Mam' shot his face away! A man who'd been attempting the same at the other window took heed and shrunk fast-down, releasing his grip from the sill. But our relief was short-lived. The door burst apart, splinters flying everywhere and hinges fell to the floor, as the large log that'd battered it finally broke through!

"The first soldier that dared cross that threshold, pistol in hand, I shot with your pistol, Papa. Would that the ball had gone through a dozen more! But it did not, and they kept coming! We sought to retreat, as the next one came at us with drawn sword. I raised your cutlass to deflect the blow, the strength of which snapped the cutlass from me grip. I prepared meself to meet the Lord, as that soldier swung back his blade to deliver the fatal thrust! Yet the Lord was with us, acting through the strong arm and brave heart of Mam'. In less than a heartbeat, she'd retrieved your cutlass and–leaping at the man–drove it hard-down on the man's skull, halving it and spilling brain matter all over us!

"Now the room was filled with angry soldiers. The first that could reach us slashed Mam's arm, causing the loss of that cutlass and leaving that horrible wound you've seen. It appeared to be Mam's time to join the Lord. But the Lord was our Saviour, and his instrument was Gaspar, who came running through that shattered doorway like an avenging angel, wielding a long, sharp pike which he ran clear through Mam's assailant!"

"HA! The old skulker finally served!" I blurted out. "It's about time that Spaniard earned his keep! Where is the old bastard? Let me compliment...."

"Papa! Gaspar is dead!"

"Oh, pet, I am so sorry. Estaban, I meant no disrespect. He was obviously a good and courageous warrior."

Annalea continued. "Those ungodly soldiers fell upon him afore he could even remove his pike from the carcass–stabbing and hacking at him–venting their hatred, and fear. Through the tears that had formed, I glimpsed Estaban, and me heart leapt! First he, then the captain, then Orke, set upon the scoundrels and disembowelled them! Relieved and exhausted, we all embraced, standing in a river of blood.

"As I discovered from Estaban, they'd been delayed by the necessity of hacking away and clearing out several of the king's own, trespassing on our grounds. Being the closest to our quarters, Gaspar–when he heard me scream–charged through the doorway to our rescue–and his doom. Oh, Papa, if we'd only the time to do him a Christian burial–or, at least, pray over him. But the captain was insistent we not tarry, so we had to leave that brave soul there, smothered in the carcasses of those devils."

"Don' worry, chile," Mam' interjected, "da Lawd knows his own!"

"So the place was still standing when you left?" I asked.

"Aye, Papa. Is it no longer?"

"I'll explain to you later, sweet. Tell me what ensued, when you left home."

"Well, the captain insisted we leave without hesitation–and without time to gather anything. But Mam' and I delayed; we would know your whereabouts–and your condition. When you did not appear with the others, we feared for your safety. None had seen you since the day before, but the captain tried to assure us of your well being–and the urgent need for departure. I insisted that we must be here when you come for us (as I knew you would, Papa), and Mam' was adamant that we would not leave 'til you arrived. Whereupon, Orke dragged off Mam', and the captain and Estaban picked me up and carried me away! When the captain convinced us 'twould be smarter to search for you than to wait for you, we ceased to struggle and were allowed to walk–or run–on our own.

"I wondered out loud if we were making for the captain's quarters, for protection from these roving bands of soldiers. Estaban tried to explain to me the magnitude of our peril: that we had more to contend with than a few isolated bands of marauding mercenaries. I should've realized that, meself, for the deafening boom of cannon and the bright blazes of so many fires, raging all about us. As to seeking shelter at the captain's quarters, I saw for meself the hopelessness of that prospect. Oh, Papa, the devastation!"

"I know, pet, I was there."

"Papa, we had to hold our breath and quietly skirt 'round the property to reach water's edge. Looking at those ruins and the corpses strewn all about, I could hardly imagine how Estaban and the others escaped being massacred. And I broke down, sobbing when I reflected on how many happy hours of childhood I'd spent in those surrounds with you and the captain and cook. Afore me bawling could attract a regiment, Orke clamped his hand tight over me face and hefting me over his hip, gently and silently carried me through the brush. The last few hundred yards were the most fearful: literally inching our way towards the water's edge–fearing detection at any moment. Soldiers were swarmed like locusts within and without that compound. Discovery must mean our end. No matter how valiant our little band, we'd soon be torn asunder.

"Finally–mercifully–we reached journey's end. The captain brushed away the scrub that cleverly concealed our salvation: a longboat with oars at the ready! Orke stepped into the water and lifted away the rocks from the line that moored that boat. And Estaban assisted Mam' and me in boarding. Within seconds, we'd shoved off. We crept gradually along the shoreline until we'd rounded the isle and come into the cove, just nigh of the 'tomb.'"

The captain burst through the door of the common house. With no hesitation in his stride, he moved immediately 'cross the room and cut rudely through the crowd there gathered. "We shall talk now, Crockett!"

"Aye, certainly, Cap'n," I responded, sitting up in me chair, "but first I must co–"

"Now, Crockett!"

"Aye, certainly, Cap'n!" I was on me feet.

"Come with me, quickly, Crockett!" He'd as better said, "Follow me, if you can;" for it was as much as I could do to give chase as he dashed back through the door and out into the light.

With some considerable effort, I finally caught up to him on the far side of the settlement, departing the outskirts, heading down the path toward the "tomb" and the cove, beyond. Already exhausted from the past night's adventures, this spontaneous sprint left me too winded to speak intelligibly, "Cap'n! I... we must... we speak... you stop! ...must talk!"

"Not yet!" he yelled, without breaking stride. We came upon the "tomb" and he stopped, short.

I damned near ran over him. I'd full expected we were running into the ocean!

"I apologize, Cap'n."

"'Tis alright, Crockett. I should apologize for putting you through this; but time is not our ally. Now, quick-to, inside!"

I stepped into the "tomb" with the captain right behind me.

"Here we can speak," he said.

I'd wished to talk privately; but I'd not've thought it necessary to be "entombed" to do so!

The captain continued, "In short order, I must lay out our future to you. But first I must know about this 'crisis of considerable proportion' of which you spake."

'Twas obvious to me the captain was gravely concerned, as he'd remembered me exact words. In abbreviated format–but with exaggerated gestures, as was me way–I presented to him the long in short of me expedition from the settlement to the harbour and back again. And I provided him the intelligence I'd gathered on the way. Saving the best (or worst) for last–with full dramatic effect, I revealed the presence of the "barristers" and the identification of Pankhurst.

This revelation stunned the captain, same as it had me, originally. He found need to sit down, suddenly. Then he looked up to me, still standing. "Our poor, dear Annalea. What could this mean? Well, if she is the prize they seek, they shall be grievously disappointed! I guarantee that, Crockett!"

I sat aside him. "I know what you feels, Cap'n: how it boils the blood! But where it concerns Annalea, I must be realistic. We can guarantee nothing. I see our cause as hopeless. Aye, we could hold out awhile longer–and we shall: mayhaps another day, mayhaps two. But our finish is inevitable. I've told you in detail of their overwhelming strength and their irrefutable determination. Ultimately, they'll take the day."

I took note, by the way his eyes widened and his breaths quickened, that the captain was about to interrupt me–no doubt, with some blustering pomposity about how we'd vanquish the foe. But I'd not be done so, this time. I rose to me feet and, looking to him harshly, I said, "Afore you utter a word, hear me through! I've no comprehension of why they'd want me sweet angel dead–or what they might do to her if taken alive. But I'll not find out! And no one shall benefit from her death! I've made me decision. I know what I must do!

"No matter how hard or bloody the fighting, today, we must each take the time to spend a few, last, cherishable moments with Annalea. Tomorrow, afore dawn, I'll ask her to walk out with me–one final walk. We'll walk to the edge of the settlement, where firewood and kindling are stacked. And there–then–with her eyes to heaven, I'll send her soul home. I'll shoot me own, beloved child, and then burn her body–so that no bastard shall ever find her, or know of her!"

All that said, I fell back to sitting and cried into me hands.

"Crockett, dear Crockett," I heard the captain seeming to console me. "If I believed–for the briefest moment–you were capable of such a deed, I'd slit your throat, right now!"

"But Captain...." I blubbered.

He slapped me on the knee and bewildered me with his grin. "Annalea shall not perish! Nor Crockett! Nor I! Nor as many souls as I can save! Crockett, I have a plan!"

Well, to be honest, I was not immediately enthused. 'Twould be easier, and quicker, to count every ant on every ant hill on Nemusmar, then to recollect how many times he'd uttered those words, "I have a plan!"

But I thought to meself, "Take stock of your wits. You are drowning, and the man is throwing you a line. Grab onto it!"

After all, this was the captain, and–for true–he was a marvel! I'd witnessed him–time and again–guide us through the worst storms and the fiercest battles. And it always was as if he'd foreseen the outcome. 'Course this was the worst anything ever was–or could be. Was he capable of meeting this challenge? Of course he was, he was the captain!

"I know," he continued, "'twould seem we've failed to properly conduct our master plan, but no plan we could conceive would have prevented an invasion of such massive proportions–so cunningly contrived and concealed. And, while I honestly did not imagine we'd be confronted with Armageddon, itself, I was always a bit suspect of our capability to execute that plan as intended. Therefore, I've long considered other alternatives and–with the knowledge and aid of Orke, alone–made other arrangements."

"Orke? Alone?" The hurt shown on me face must've been evident to the captain.

"Crockett, you are too close to Annalea. And you and she, too close to Mam' Tiére. And Mam' feels responsible to her people. Me secret preparations would have not remained secret for a week. It had to be Orke! Now, it is too dark in here to see what I've to show you. Take down that torch and light those lanterns."

Having done so, he beckoned me to help him push aside the stone slab on which we'd sat. For a second, I feared he was exposing some rotted corpse. Or mayhaps he was raising Lazarus to help us scare the "lobster-backs." As he swung a lantern over the opening, me eyes squinted from the dazzling reflection of golden objects. I'd been sitting–and crying–over the Spanish gold!

I cried out, "Blimey! 'Tis here! 'Tis all here!"

"Shut yourself, Crockett! We've no need of the town crier! Anyway, 'tis not all: but nearly half. We'd never be able to take it all, without the ship; and at that, with all our people–as originally planned–'twould have meant several trips over considerable time. All that is past now. We'll take all we can, and blast this structure with powder when we've finished. Hopefully the rubble will bury the rest, safe, 'til we return."

"Take it? Take it where, Cap'n? How?"

"We're leaving Nemusmar, this day, Crockett. And we're not leaving as paupers. What there caught your eye is just the spillover of trinkets. The rest–underneath–is snugly stashed in small chests, easy to transport. I'd also had various provisions, from our preparations, moved and stored here and beneath the common house. I've lads assigned, as we speak, transporting stocks to the cove, loading and making ready."

"Loading? Onto what, Cap'n?"

"I've had every longboat and skiff and workboat–and every raft which can be lashed to a boat–assembled at the cove. And they're being prepared for our departure."

I was aghast. "You mean to take them into open water and across the high seas?"

"Do you have a plan?" he snapped back.

"No, sir!" I admitted.

"Now, all that remains to be done," the captain spake over me response (doubtless, knowing I had no plan worth considering), "must be done in the quick-to. We are near out of time. Meself, and those I've sent to reconnoiter, have spied the enemy's ships edging cautiously down the shoreline. As you reported, 'tis obvious they knew not the breadth and scope of this island. And the resistance, thus far encountered, has caused their expected lightning advance to become stagnant. In their ignorance, they may have concern about the possibility of yet another–unknown–harbour, with one or more other ships, now lying in wait for 'em. This is our moment; our enemy is disoriented and disorganized. And, for the moment, he procrastinates. And, be it only for a moment, the tide turns in our favour. This is our moment; and in this moment, you and I shall save the day!"

It appeared as if there were fires in the captain's eyes as he divulged the details of his strategy. As so oft' happened, I was spellbound by his eloquence and enthusiastic presentation. But I absorbed the details, fully, and understood me responsibilities, completely.

As we prepared to return to the common house, the captain finished with, "To set all of this in motion, I need only one thing more: a 'goat!'"

I smiled. "That should be easily acquired, Cap'n."

# ~~

With all the preparations that needed doing, simultaneously, the procurement of a "goat" was me first order of business. Me plan was simplicity, itself: from among the droves of "lobster-backs" scouting near the settlement, identify and isolate one of the more innocent, ignorant looking young bucks. Using Annalea as bait, and Orke as huntsman, we'd soon bag our prey. Of course, it concerned me that I must not only allow Annalea to be placed in jeopardy, but that I must be the agent of that peril. However, those were the most perilous times. And we stood to lose everything. Any, and every, risk must be taken, if we would save the day. It was, therefore, a necessity to risk Annalea in order to save Annalea!

But I would not expose her to danger, prematurely. I sent out Higgins, with a small company of lads, to roust a few likely pigeons for me game. Having found such a squad, relatively close-to-hand, he set the thing in motion. The first component of this plan was to separate individuals out from that unit. This, Higgins accomplished by scattering members of our group throughout the overgrown brush. Then–at intervals–each man would make noises or expose hisself, briefly, to the enemy: always moving away from them at oblique angles, and always feigning ignorance of the "lobster-backs'" presence. This strategy of multiple decoys caused the enemy to split ranks, quietly, and split again and yet again–each time, believing they'd be able to sneak up on their quarry and fire a good, clean, mortal shot.

Having culled a suitable prospect, Higgins delivered the signal. Shielding Annalea 'twixt our bodies–for fear of covert snipers–Orke and I moved her to a small grove of trees, direct in the path of our "goat." Annalea hid behind the largest tree, acting like a girl trying nervously–desperately–to hide herself away, yet "carelessly" exposing an arm or leg or her long, blonde hair, 'twixt limbs and the bough of that tree. 'Course she was never full exposed to someone who might take a shot. To get at her, that someone would have to approach her!

'Twas a simple, sweet little trap. With Orke perched in hiding, higher up in the branches of Annalea's tree, ready to pounce, and me concealed but at the ready with a double-barrelled pistol–in case me plan somehow went awry and Annalea was in real danger–we'd only to let the "goat" invite hisself to our party. And that he did!

Doubtless, he'd heard of the bounty on blonde-haired women, for he seemed to grow more and more excited as he crept closer and could readily glimpse strands of blonde hair amongst a sinew of tree leaves. As he came into full view, I could see his eyes brightening. He was grinning, and near drooling in anticipation. No doubt, he could already fancy those guineas jingling in his pocket. And he tried so desperately–so clumsily–to sneak up on her quickly and quietly. 'Twas as watching a farce enacted on a stage. It took me entire unemotional wherewithal to retain me composure and not laugh out loud. For certain, Higgins had selected a most likely candidate for our purposes.

As the moment came right, I gave Annalea a sign. This indicated that the time, the advantage and the "goat" were nigh. She maneuvered herself 'round that tree in such a manner as to cause the dolt to think he'd but to reach out and grab her. And so he tried. And when he did, Annalea reached out and grabbed him, so's to occupy his arms. The stunned look on that boy's face, when his quarry reached out and captured him, was most amusing to see–'though fleeting. Orke immediately fell upon him–from out of his perch in the tree–stunning the boy most completely.

The young soldier did not regain consciousness for near an hour after we'd dragged him back to the common house. He was tied, sitting up in a chair, bound 'round the shoulders to the chair. He could not depart! The other members of our little hunting party had all returned long afore, having despatched the remaining members of that British squad. As the captain had pointed out, earlier on, time was not our ally. So I was most anxious for our "goat" to quickly regain his senses. As I impatiently paced about, I wondered as why it was taking so long–as he had so little to regain, to start with!

As he finally, fully came to, the play was begun. The captain was standing within a few feet of him, leaning over a table with a large, crude map upon it, and babbling some nonsense to Higgins to ensure he had the boy's attention. This was confirmed for the captain by the way the boy avoided looking their way.

The captain beckoned me to join him at the table. "Now this is final, Crockett! We act, tonight, and there can be no further changes to this plan."

I spake up, "The bloody Brits think they have us backed against a wall. This'll be one damned big surprise for them, 'eh Cap'n?"

"Aye, Crockett. And they are thinking and doing just as I want them to–'til it is too late! Now, look to the map, while I review the details with you."

So I stared, fixedly, at that piece of parchment, while the captain spun his yarn. "Now, I'll divide me troops in half: one half under me command and the other half under your command. Each on our own ship, with a full complement of buccaneers, we'll move out and up the lee side of the island."

"And slip out to sea, Cap'n?" I feigned a question.

"Not hardly!" he responded. "We shall attack the invaders. Our invasion shall be unsuspected, quick and bloody and merciless!"

"But why? For what? Revenge?" I thought meself quite convincing.

"Be no fool, Crockett. I care not for revenge. But I will not leave me wealth!"

"What? Where?" I asked, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

"All our prizes, acquired over all these years, have been safely stowed away, Crockett. Gold, silver, gems, coins, jewelry and trinkets–riches beyond belief!"

"Where, Cap'n, where?" I knew I was becoming monotonous.

With a revelatory tone to his voice, the captain said, "Beneath me quarters–several feet under the ground–lies buried a tremendous vault, overflowing with unimaginable wealth. Would you set to sea without that?"

Not expecting a question at that moment, and with me wandering mind having taken residence elsewhere, I had quickly to snap me attention back to that mock conversation. "Uh... um... oh no, Cap'n! Ab... absolutely not!"

The captain shot me a stern look for not attending to me part, and then continued, "South of the harbour–well beyond the view of their fleet–we shall put down our landing parties: one on each flank of the compound. With the element of total surprise on our side, we'll make short work of the defenders. Once the grounds are cleared, every man'll be put to work loading treasure on the ships. Then we head north and go into the harbour. By that time of night, they should most all be sleeping. We'll make a bit of chaos there, me lad! I intend to set many of their ships ablaze and, mayhaps, sink a few. For certain, they'll be disabled from making chase any too soon. Then, Crockett, out to sea and on toward Kingston!"

Speaking out suddenly–though, actually, right on cue–Higgins shouted, "Cap'n! That young bastard soldier's been hearing every word we've said!"

Ushering in the culminating act in our impromptu performance, the captain said, "Ah, worry not about that one! He shan't long survive his interrogation. But if his presence annoys you, untie him and set him over there, on the bench by the door. Just stand guard over him. I'll finish with Crockett in a bit, and you and I shall take him outside and have a nice, friendly chat."

I piped in with me closing line, "And he'll not be coming back in, eh, Cap'n?"

Then we all forced a loud, nasty laugh–for the boy's benefit–and Higgins began untying. The lad was dragged 'cross the room and set on the bench. Higgins stood next to him–in front of the closed door–to "guard" him. At that moment, I doffed me cap to Mam' Tiére, standing by an open window. She returned me salute with a wave of her hand. This was actually a signal which initiated the following events.

The door burst open, suddenly, pushing Higgins aside in the thrust of two men urgently carrying a screaming woman. They rushed her onto a vacant table, in the far corner. We all moved over to her.

Mam' looked across to Higgins and shouted, "She be yo' wife! An' she be bad, shot!"

Higgins ran to her side, leaving his post–and leaving that door wide open. The young soldier just sat there for several moments, gazing about and attempting to assimilate everything. That damned dolt! I'd begun to think I'd have to lift him off that bench and throw him out the door!

Finally, he leapt to his feet and scrambled out the door! From outside–in his wake–you could hear the popping of several firearms being discharged, simultaneously. Naturally, it was all powder and no ball, 'lest someone accidentally shoot the boy afore he could deliver our "message." It was all for effect, and–I heard–it made the boy move much faster.

"Oh, to God!" Higgins' "wife" shouted, pushing him away from her. "A dog's breath is fragrant compared to that stench that spews from you!"

'Twixt the comical exit of that moronic soldier, and Sarah's outburst (you remember the sisters), we mere mortals could not contain our laughter.

It did nothing for our composure when Sarah proclaimed, "I damned well sooner mate Crockett's dead horse, afore I'd wife this Higgins!"

The captain's plan was working like a charm. Now, God save the dolt from tripping and breaking his own neck, the way he was running like a man set afire. Short of any such mishap occurring, we knew he'd sow the seeds of greed, dissension, fear and chaos, as he screamed out his "discoveries" all the way from the settlement's edge to the harbour. Gold-lust would soon grip those regimentals, and panic–stoked by obsessive suspicion–should seize their leaders. And we would seize the moment!

The captain had everything organized–to the smallest detail. And soon our spies returned–in very quick order–with word that the "lobster-backs'" lines had begun to disintegrate: foot soldiers were deserting and running back towards the captain's compound, artillery pieces were left abandoned and a cavalry unit that had recently arrived, milled about–unsupported and confused–and then turned tail and galloped back towards the harbour.

The captain gave the command, "We shall evacuate Nemusmar, now!"

There was no mad scramble–no hysterical mob of people moving pall-mall, fearfully trying to escape. There was no repeat of that flight in desperation I'd encountered when first I crossed the island in search of Annalea. There was no need. There was only calm, deliberate activity. Now, the captain was in charge–and our enemies were disoriented.

All went quickly and smoothly, in full accordance with the captain's instructions. Once our people were all safely removed from the common house and the surrounding structures, those assigned made gun powder trails across the floors, leading to kegs of powder. Long-burning candles were set to tip into, and ignite, the powder, when someone attempted to open a door or shudder. The captain said that would be our parting shot–our final injury to, and denigration of, the enemy's ambitions. And since such a blast should be audible and visible, way out at sea, we'd know when they'd recouped and discovered our absence–and how soon they might come after us!

The captain entrusted Higgins–and a few assistants–with the task of assigning passengers to the loaded, waiting vessels (such as they were). I would have preferred to perform that chore, meself, but the captain insisted I accompany him back to the "tomb."

As we arrived, he turned to me and said, "Well, old matey, this is it. All we can take with us has been removed and secured. What remains–and it is considerable–you and I shall move and pack in the trench prepared under that slab. And when we reduce this building to a pile of rubble, only you and I shall know of its existence and location."

I had to comment, "So we are down to it: the final act in this tragedy."

"No tragedy, Crockett! A drama—aye! But no tragedy! This is a new beginning for us: the opening act of a great new adventure! And I depend on you to support me in this, and reinforce our people's morale with this message–with this new mission! If their emotions are bankrupt, and their hearts are anchored to Nemusmar, we shall perish. Our survival depends on optimism and uncommon zeal." I understood, completely, and concurred, wholeheartedly. Our duty soon done, we ran hard for the cove as the "tomb" exploded into the sky.

When the captain and I arrived at water's edge, all were boarded and anxious to depart. However, the captain noticed what he considered to be a flaw in the passenger arrangements. Higgins had–with the best of intentions–packed all the blackies together on one float, accompanied by Mam' Tiére, for guidance, and Orke, for protection. But the captain would not have it. He knew that with one single, lucky capture, the British bastards would have all our black people–and have them all, soon, back in slavery! In the event of confusion and possible escape of at least some of our vessels, he felt their vessel would be targeted for first capture by the mercenary bastards. 'Though time was still not our ally, the captain would take the time to make this right. He went 'round to each vessel, commanding everyone he pointed out, to disembark. Then, he mixed a parcel of blackies onto each vessel, with instructions to the whites to cover them if discovered by a ship: any ship–British navy or otherwise.

Arrangements thus fixed to solve this problem and suit the captain's purposes, we addressed another concern of his: to avoid clumping all the leadership together. Therefore, he would travel in one vessel; I, in a different one; Higgins, in yet another, and so on. For survival's sake, he wanted the leaders divided amongst our people; but–at once–he wanted the leadership of black and white united and continuing. Thus, Mam' Tiére would accompany me, in the ketch; Orke would be with the captain, in a longboat; Leona with Higgins, on me yawl; and the like.

Some separations would not be tolerated–if considered. Obviously, Annalea was with Mam' and me. Reena must go with Orke. I did engage in a minor dispute with the captain, as regards including the sisters on me already cramped vessel; I did not prevail. The captain, as usual, was correct. Mine was the largest and most seaworthy vessel available to us. And his first consideration was for the young children, who needed the security of more wood 'twixt them and the deep waters. Also, to the degree possible, he would keep families together. The only alteration I could make to this company–without shaming meself–was to insist on taking more buccaneers, to protect this seagoing colony: even if I had to perch them on the masts!

In this process of disembarking, reembarking, discussing and switching 'round, time was being lost; and many were becoming anxious. But–afore we could leave–the captain had to make one final speech. Striding up and down that beach, sometimes knee-deep in the waters, he shouted to be heard by all assembled. He strove, eloquently, to imbue our people with a sense of mission: to consummate our original compact–those plans and purposes he'd espoused all these years. He thought to inspire them to undertake this bold, new adventure with the same passionate self-confidence that motivated and determined every activity in his own life. Out of deference–not inspiration, nor zeal–came a rather anemic, "Hurrah," from our tired, beleaguered group. Still-and-all, the captain seemed satisfied with the response, and gave the order to cast off.

As our fragile fleet of disparate vessels–swollen, if you would, with desperate people–pressed into the waves, I looked about me, somberly. I saw no missionaries. I saw, rather, a gloomy–chastened–band of outcasts: pitiful refugees with no home, no prospects and, likely, no future. From that moment–as I remember it–I stood and looked to the sea. I would not–could not–look back.

But Annalea sat there, next to me, her eyes affixed on that diminishing isle, sobbing continuously, "Me people... me family... me island... me world... Nemusmar...."

## Chapter XVII

# A Princess in Exile

As agreed upon, each vessel attempted to set itself a heading that put it a league west of its starboard-side neighbour. Following such a tack would soon enough spread our small "fleet" across the waters: each one out of eyesight from every other. You might consider it smarter to have hung together for protection and mutual assistance, but it would've been folly to attempt. First of all, only the ketch and the yawl were crafts that were truly maneuverable and somewhat capable of crossing the high seas on a set course. To have attempted to keep all of those floats together would've been a disastrous waste of energy and time. 'Twould also have made it easier for the British fleet to discover and destroy us, all at once.

Separation was necessary for survival–of as many as possible. Considering the mortal dangers we faced–from man and nature (and God, if we were not in His good stead)–only the youngest, most innocent children on that voyage would have expected that all could live through such peril. It was given to the company of each vessel, should they be captured, to provide a convincing yarn about the recent–most anguished–demise of all the others. We knew all our people capable of presenting and defending such a ruse–even under threat of torture or death–to protect their compatriots.

Our immediate object was for me, in the ketch, and Higgins, in the yawl, to make with haste for the nearest island inhabited by friendly natives with who we'd traded–and who we could trust. In such craft it would take most of a day to make the crossing; but that was far sooner than any longboat could achieve–if it should make it at all! The plan was–if Higgins and I made it, either one or both of us–to quickly make arrangements with our native hosts to provide security for our people, offload, and head back across the sea in search of survivors in smaller craft. We'd repeat this process–sweeping and surveying the waters 'twixt Nemusmar and there, 'til we were absolutely certain there was no one left to redeem from the sea! Those on longboats and smaller vessels would need to avoid the Royal Navy, struggle with unpredictable seas and endure harsh weather–mayhaps for several days.

Our crossing was bad enough. Less than half the way across, we ran up against a gale that threatened to push us all the ways back to Nemusmar–or peg us to the bottom of the ocean, if we resisted! I was grievously concerned for the welfare of our people, left behind to buck the waves in those tiny floats–like so many leaves against a stiff wind. But I was most urgently concerned about Higgins and that lot, riding out there somewhere on me tail and heading that light boat into the brunt of this angry storm!

We passed most of that night fighting against raging winds and high waters. Sadly, we lost a few souls, overboard. At one instance, two small children were swept away–and their mother, who tried to grab them. It happened so quick, no one could even respond 'til they were already full lost from view. 'Twas as if God just snatched 'em up to heaven, in the blinking of an eye. Least, I hope He did. And two of me mates–Hartshorn and Wiggins–gave up their lives while trying to arrest sheets in the savage wind.

It was almost too much for me. I'd not slept in what seemed a fortnight–and could not find memory of the last time I'd eaten. But I commanded that vessel; and I was responsible for all the lives onboard. Aye, I was responsible even for those lives that were lost. I shall always carry the guilt and shame of it. I was determined to lose no more.

A ketch is no grande ship of the fleet, with sturdy, elegant cabins and various thick-hewn, plank decks 'twixt you and the sea. But we had a sturdy deck and bulkhead, and yards and yards of rope available. I made those people kiss the deck, with the smallest, lightest adults on the bottom. Curled betwixt them, were the children. Then, layered in a crosshatch pattern–as to allow air through, and prevent smothering–the heaviest adults went on top. Meself and a handfull of mates, as were necessary to man the ketch and try to keep her afloat, tied ourselves to beams–allowing each man eight yards of line. Afore we fastened ourselves, we literally lashed our people to the deck: creating a vast net out of crosshatched lines pulled snug over the similarly patterned pile of their bodies. The poor souls. They looked for all the world like a fisherman's most abundant haul!

By dawn, we'd broken through the storm, with no more lives lost. Me mates and I unharnessed ourselves and set free our catch of human "fishes." Annalea and Mam' set to helping and comforting those in need. Some had been badly banged, bruised and scratched. A few were severely cut and in need of bandaging. Most were just completely spent from the whole, damned experience: all of it–from that last, peaceful eve on Nemusmar, 'til that bright, hopeful dawn. 'Twas good to feel you could breathe, again, but the voyage was not yet finished. And the future was all uncertainty!

The sheets reset, and all put in as right order as possible, I leaned back against the mastpole and shut me eyes, to rest them from the bright sun and salt air. I'd not intended to, but I must've dozed. I must've dozed a long while! For when I awoke, the ketch was pulling into port. And not some island port. Methinks 'twas Bristol. I know 'twas England! We'd made it back to England! I was elated beyond words!

As we pulled up to the dock, Annalea said to me, "Oh, Papa, you've brung me home! You promised you would, and you have. I'm home! Thank you, Papa! I love you, Papa!"

I looked down to see her holding me hand: me sweet, beautiful, golden-haired angel with the beaming smile. Annalea looked to be about five years of age. We stepped down the planks and onto the dock.

There was a tumultuous crowd there to greet us, and they were cheering us, hysterically. At the forefront of this host of well-wishers were the captain and Mam' and Orke and so many other familiar faces. From the midst of this sea of faces came Estaban–Don Estaban, a full grown man! He picked up Annalea, kissed her and hugged her and then twirled her around. He put her down, gently, afore me, and suddenly her bright smile turned to pallor, from fear.

She began to cry and then to scream. Someone pushed out of the crowd and snatched her up! It was Pankhurst! The crowd seemed to melt away, allowing him to flee with the screaming child. Naturally, I gave chase, but seemed unable to advance–or even get me bearings. 'Twas as if I was running in place in a scorched, ravaged, desolate land. I looked down and spied a crushed flower. I reached down and picked it up. It disintegrated in me fingers. I looked about me at the ruin and desolation in that place; and I knew I was back on Nemusmar! Save for me, there was nobody–nothing–there.

I fell down on me knees and screamed, "ANNALEA!"

"Papa! M'God! What is it? You are scaring me. You are scaring us all! Are you alright, Papa?" 'Twas a full grown, soiled–but still beautiful–young woman what brought me back to me senses: back to reality and me responsibilities.

Again I was surrounded by a crowd–this time, a real crowd. A crowd of concerned faces.

"Papa, you look so pale. What is it? Do you feel ill?" Annalea's concern for me was constant, and heart-warming.

I attempted to dismiss this concern as promptly as I could. I affected a sheepish grin and with mock laughter, I responded, "Oh, you know how it is, pet. An ol' codger like me can't seem to keep his eyes open. And when I doze on me feet, I must dream I'm still fighting the enemy."

"But you were screaming, Papa!"

"Well, I was dreaming I was fighting, love. I didn't say I was winning!"

"But you were screaming me name, Papa!"

"Hmm, fancy that, me dear. Fancy that. I guess I was missing you. And here you are! So all is right in the world!"

I never told Annalea the true details of me dream–nor anyone else–for some time. But I knew it was a message–from God, or from me own guilt-ridden, crippled soul. I knew it must mean something, but I could not fathom what. I was not a man given to nightmares. When I dream, it is nearly always of combat or wenches. And I am all ways victorious in these. Well, at least in me dreams. But this was like travelling in time, as well as in place. This was not merely a dream!

I was spared any further explanation to the unsatisfied inquisitors who then plagued me, by a most imperative distraction: a loud voice proclaiming, "Land, ho!" Everyone scrambled for a view; but there was not much to see–not yet! The dot on the horizon grew larger but gradually. After all that gusting from before, now there was barely a draft to move the sails toward shore. Nonetheless–the rest of the way, all were on their feet in expectation.

As we approached to a point where the island most filled the horizon, there was a visible, smoky haze hovering just above it. It appeared too dense to be from cooking fires–and too thin to be volcanism. What the hell was happening out there? I wondered this; but I did not speak it aloud. Our people had enough to be anxious about. I was reluctant to project unfounded concern upon those overburdened with worry. When a couple of me mates commented on that peculiar circumstance, I said I could not explain it. Mayhaps it was the output of some distant volcano or woodland fire that drifted out to sea and hung over that island. But whatever it was, it really didn't matter. We'd be soon upon that island, and I was not concerned. Least, that was what I told them.

They all seemed appeased, for the time being. All save Estaban. Did I not mention he was aboard? With Annalea on me vessel, where else would he be?

He got me alone and said, as quietly as possible, "Señor Crockett, I do not wish to alarm you, but something is amiss on that island."

I returned the whisper, "I know, lad. But I don't know what it is. Do you?"

"No, Señor."

"Then we'll talk no more of it. But stay alert. I may need your assistance in organizing something when we alight, on shore."

Our ketch was gradually drug toward shore, riding the crests of sporadic waves, in a somewhat jerking motion. Soon enough, I was able to drop off a small landing party. I did not like what I saw from onboard. The haze-like shroud which hung over the island was, in fact, composed of dissipated smoke. But I was far more concerned, at that moment, by what I did not see–people!

Now that was unnatural. The natives who inhabited that isle had a well-organized society. They were vigilant, protective and wary of strangers; but they were not shy. If they recognized you as friends, there'd be a welcoming party on the beach to greet you. The bucks would be unarmed; the older women would have fruit to offer, and the young native girls–in all their naked beauty–well, they were just so welcoming!

'Course, if they did not recognize you, there'd be a different party on that beach to greet you: a war party. And you best be able to make fast friends, as they'd little patience for strangers, and no patience for procrastinators. But, to put no one on the beach? Something must be very wrong. At the snail's pace with which we'd approached that isle, even the most unobservant would eventually have spied us. Surely, they knew of our presence. They must be hiding. But why? Cowardice and fear were contrary to their nature.

I was, thus, gravely concerned for the safety of our landing party. I feared ambush and massacre awaited them. I'd've wished to put down another landing party, with more firearms to protect them, but I could not risk it. Me first obligation was the defense of those on board. So those few set ashore would have to find me some answers, and fast–at the risk of their own lives. For if they became truly imperilled, 'twould be unlikely I could save them. 'Twas more likely I'd have to weigh anchor and head back out to sea.

And–of course–all this time, thoughts of me second obligation were constantly on me mind: to return to those waters where our valiant compatriots were struggling for survival–hopefully, still. These obstacles and distractions (if you would) all amounted to time ill spent.

"Oh, Cap'n," I thought to meself, "time shall never be our ally; time is our enemy!"

Now, more time would drift idle while I awaited answers. Being naturally impatient, and somewhat impetuous, I'd've as soon been down there onshore, meself, seeking me own answers. Yet me duty restrained me. Under protest from Annalea–who sensed me uneasiness–I delegated command of the landing party to Estaban. He alone I felt confidence in to perform this mission in me stead. 'Though, frankly, I feared for the outcome–and for the eternal contempt in which Annalea might hold me.

The landing party moved across the beach, up and over an embankment, and out of sight. I ordered all armed men to keep their weapons at the ready and their eyes trained on that embankment. Now, there was naught I could do but wait. And when duty hounds at you, and you need to be elsewhere and you are anxious for results, every moment lasts an hour. Unavoidably, me anxiety spread to me crew. Gusting sand and blowing brush spooked seasoned campaigners into seeing imaginary attackers near everywhere. And they'd aim their firearms at these ghosts–always a breath away from shooting needlessly into the dunes. This tension was too dangerous!

I kept a glass to that embankment, and when finally I spied human figures topping it–'though I knew not, yet, if they were friend or foe–I shouted, "Hold fire!"

As the front man came sharp into focus, I saw it was Estaban. And as the men all cleared that embankment, I found the count to be the same as I'd despatched: no less–and no more. So the mystery would continue.

Those on board gave up a thunderous cheer for our returning explorers, in gratitude of their safe return–and as a normal release of tension. They anxiously pressed to disembark and make to shore. But I'd not have it 'til I'd spaken to Estaban. I'd expected the lad to return to the ketch and report his findings, but instead, he signaled a request for me to join him on shore.

I prepared to shore, thinking to meself, "More secrecy: this does not bode well!" I was right on the mark; Estaban had wanted to consult me alone, so's not to alarm the others. And the tale he told was quite disturbing. That shroud of smoke was the result of a lush, tropical island being scorched to cinder! The native village, all their structures, and every living, growing thing–all were burned away!

"Where are all the people?" I asked him.

"That is the tragedy!" he replied. "They all are dead! We could find not one living soul!"

He described for me a scenario sadly reminiscent of recent events on Nemusmar. He said there were native carcasses strewn everywhere: shot up, cut up and burned up. It was evident to him that the slaughter was performed by white men with firearms. But what white men: English, Spanish, French–soldier or brigand? He could not say! He found not one white corpse, nor any other telltale evidence about–anywhere!

There was just no time for further investigation–or procrastination. I looked hard to Estaban's countenance and asked the one question that needed answer. "Is it safe to land our people?"

"There is no present danger to any of us," was his reply.

Under those circumstances, that was all I could hope for. I ordered our people be disembarked–orderly, but hastily.

When all were assembled on the beach, I gave it to be known that, in me absence, Estaban was their military leader. This brought about some grumbling from amongst the older campaigners. But I had no time for delicacy, for assuaging fragile sensitivities–old friends, or not! I warned them that any man–regardless of tenure–who fails to accept Estaban's authority, or attempts to subvert it, shall–upon me return–be set out to drift at sea alone in a small boat, with but one day's rations and water.

To Estaban, I said aloud (for the benefit of others), "Should anyone's conduct jeopardize the safety of the rest, just shoot him on the spot. There'll be no questions asked!"

I also gave it to be known that in all other matters, Mam' and Annalea shall make binding decisions. There was no debate on this. Then–as I was anxious to return to sea–I conscripted the two loudest "grumblers" to assist me on the ketch, and–with kisses for Annalea and Mam' (for I knew not whether I'd see them again, in this life)–I made haste for the boat. I'd've preferred to have several more hands to aid with the voyage–and fight the good fight, if necessary–but I felt it more important to leave every able-bodied man possible, for the security of our people. At that moment, those were the only of our "tribe" I knew to be still alive; and I meant for them to stay alive!

We pressed the sails hard on that ketch, to move in the winds at the greatest–'though not necessarily the safest–speed possible. The weather was vastly more favourable for this crossing; and visibility was outstanding. Higgins should have followed roughly the same tack I'd taken. And with the blessing of clear skies and calm seas, we'd spot 'em–if they were anywhere in these waters.

I anxiously scanned the horizon. Me concern gnawed at me gut. Granted, the yawl was a small, slow vessel, but with all the time spent in delay at that island, they should have caught us by now. Something had gone wrong, I knew; but I could only imagine what it might be. Could be their boat was sunk in the storm; or, mayhaps, they were all right but blown far off course–or any of many possibilities in between.

So we sailed and searched. Hours passed this way: straining to see what, evidently, was not out there. Finally, I spotted something that appeared to be floating, far across the waters. I put the ketch hard a-port, and made a beeline towards that sighting. Our approach brought us quickly to see it was wood debris floating on the water: mostly split planks and timbers. And on some of the planks and timbers were human bodies. I feared the worst had happened. There were very few bodies, considering the number of souls what had been on that yawl. And some of those bodies were floating betwixt the wood–face down!

But, of the bodies on planks and timbers, they were grasping and clinging to the wood; they were still clinging to life! We plucked those wretched but hardy souls out of the sea in the quick-to. Higgins had made it, and half-a-dozen of our old salts. Only three of the women and four of the children had survived. I let the ketch drift a bit, while we worked to resuscitate the haggard but fortunate few.

I personally attended Higgins, so as to get his report all the sooner. Just as soon as he was able to breathe, regular, he began to talk. "Arrgh... unggh... Mr. Crockett... it was the most awful...! I just.... I couldn't prevent it!"

"I know, man. I truly know." I sought to quiet his excited nature with expressions of sympathy and understanding. And I was quite sincere in this, being still burdened by the pangs of guilt from the lives I'd most recently lost. Yet he'd lost so many more! His anguish must've been immeasurable. Even so, I could not accept his being inconsolable. I needed him calmed down. I needed a complete telling of what happened. I needed to know if there might be any possibility of other survivors adrift out there, somewheres. And I most urgently needed to set me mind and activities towards those long left in peril–back out in those waters off Nemusmar!

With a bit of patience and a calming voice, I brought him to the point where he could relate specifics of their tormented night: the losing battle against the high seas and hurricane winds, the wrecking of the yawl, the plunge into the dark, cold, tumultuous waters, and the desperate attempts to save oneself and others. He told how he and the rest of our lads what had survived the original plunge into the sea had struggled desperately to grasp something to cling to, only to repeatedly loose their grips on safety to return to the waters in attempts to drag others–mostly women and children–to safety. He said many lost their lives in those attempts, when their own strength and endurance gave out and they could no longer fight the savage sea.

Tragically, they sacrificed their own lives in vain. Higgins told me that as the night and the horror dragged on, and weariness and discomfort turned to fatigue and chill, all but a few of those once saved, gave up their grips, surrendered their lives, and slipped silently–and finally–under the sea. Such a sadness gripped me, I had difficulty keeping the tears clear of me eyes. I remember thinking, "Thanks be to God that Annalea is not with me, here–now. For certain, her heart would burst from hearing about the sufferings of her beloved people!"

Having brung the survivors back from the threshold of eternity, I spared but a few more minutes, while–in the silent company of them aboard–I recited those few prayers I know, word for word, for the benefit of those cherished lives that had endured so much, only to be taken from us at this transformation point in our communal journey through life. I cleared me throat, and all morose thoughts that diverted me attentions from me duties, and shouted the orders to set the sails for a course back to the waters off Nemusmar. The weather still was with us; the waters were sparkling, and the winds–now up a bit–were in our favour. Were I a man given to belief in omens, I'd've taken these all for good signs. But–at heart–I believe we make much of our own luck; and this is fabricated from instance, object, perseverance, clear thinking, insight and timing.

I'd a firm grasp on most of that, but I still was troubled by the last; time–in any form of definition–seemed only to work against us! In relating such matters, I do have this tendency to emphasize the concerns what influence me thoughts and decisions. However, me attitude–in practice–is never to allow concerns or contradictions to delay necessary activity. Even if I was convinced that the ultimate outcome of a venture must be disaster, I would continue those actions that might delay or prevent that disaster, right to the end, accepting–in me stride–whatsoever may come!

By the time we'd distanced ourselves half the way 'twixt the wreck of the yawl and Nemusmar, I had all aboard on nerves' edge–from me own anxiety. Soon, now, we'd know for certain the fate of all our remaining people. And–at any time–we might be overwhelmed by ships of the Royal Navy. When finally we entered those waters where last I'd seen our people, on so many floats, I found nothing: no vessels, no flotsam nor jetsam, nor signs of any kind–nothing! Now, the worry in me gut was eating me up. I stomped up and down that deck, looking desperately over the railing and repeatedly shouting, "Where in the hell are they?"

As if in response, Higgins shouted, "There! Mr Crockett! Look there!"

Sure enough, he'd spotted a ship moving fast towards us. And soon, seeming to bear down on us. Damn the omens; this was not a good sign! Our people had no ship. British navy or other, this could only be trouble!

As their approach closed, I could tell by her lines she was not Royal navy. Come a bit closer, I could see she was a merchant ship: and very heavily armed–and aimed right for us! Why? I ordered me meagre crew to battle stations. Whomsoever they may be, if they wanted a fight, we'd give 'em one; 'lest they blew us out of the water, straight off! But that ship, she just slid alongside us, her port to our starboard. And much too close for sane use of cannon fire. I shouted to me mates to prepare to repel boarders.

I heard the voice afore I saw the face; but I knew it was him. Could be no other! "Crockett's face is repellent enough to prevent anyone boarding that 'dinghy!' 'Tis why I chose you for command, Mr. Crockett: for your repulsive qualities!"

"Thank you, Cap'n! Thank you very much! I am truly grateful. I know it takes an uncommonly arrogant bastard to tolerate a repulsive subordinate!"

"Well, Crockett, uncommon is–"

"Enough, Cap'n!" I had to cut him off. I was tired and frustrated, puzzled and impatient. "What in the name of Christ are you doing upon that ship?"

"Crocket, you should see and hear yourself. You have the bewilderment of a child. 'Though it is not so charming in an old sea horse such as yourself! Now, come aboard me ship, and I'll explain all to your satisfaction."

Once aboard, the captain acquainted me with days and nights of disaster, disappointment and daring do, similar to me own experiences. And 'though the tragedy I'd witnessed on me vessel was compounded on Higgins' boat, 'twas still exceeded by the great numbers lost in those waters off Nemusmar. It seems the storm we'd fought had, indeed, cut across the sea and into those waters, destroying all those floats the captain was unable to rescue, at a great cost in lives lost. It must surely have been terrifying for those lost souls–and their deaths must've been anguished.

But, mayhaps, the blessing was that they escaped capture by the British. For the whites, this would've meant humiliation and death–for the blacks, slavery and a fate worse than death. Black and white, alike–I was certain–would have chosen a watery grave over surrender! But as to that ship....

"A recent purchase of mine, Crocket–like it?"

Sarcasm. For me, it is a reaction to annoyance. For the captain, it is just another facet of his ongoing dialogue with life. Aye, talking to and at others is his means of analyzing and expounding all matters in life. And–sometimes–it is annoying.

And–sometimes–I respond sarcastically. "This is the best you could do?" was me retort. If he didn't wish to tell me how he came by this "bark," then he needn't (damn him)!

I chose to move the conversation along. "So, Cap'n, what about the military threat? Did you, in fact, hear an explosion from our booby trap? Did it, in fact, signal the resurrection of our enemy? Did they, in fact, come after you?"

"'In fact,' Crockett, an affirmative answer to all your questions. You were several hours gone from me sight when I heard that unmistakable roar: the echo from a tremendous blast of gunpowder. The noise boomed out over the waters–faint, at a distance, and then broadening to fill the air around you, as it passed your ears. 'Twas an unmistakable sound.

"I allowed we likely had a few more hours before any British ship might reach these waters and discover us. Mayhaps they'd postpone, 'til dawn on the morrow, to set out on a search. But hours or days, it did not really matter. 'Twere naught we could do about the situation–or to help ourselves in any way. We could but float, and wait–and hope to God. For fate had delivered us into His hands.

"And the Lord's hands seemed to me, at first, to be as rough as those of a shipwright! That weather that had nearly toppled you–and had decimated Higgins' lot–started pressing in our faces. As we tossed about in the waves, desperate in mind and desolate in spirit, God put forth a gentle hand. Riding majestically over those choppy waves–pretty as a picture–come this well appointed ship, on whose deck we now stand.

"I watched her approach with eagerness in me heart. I had not the least concern as regarded that mysterious vessel bearing down on us. It never, for an instant, occurred to me that she might be British navy. I knew, instinctively, she was provided by God. And, by God, what a timely gift she was!"

"'Twould appear, Cap'n, time is now your ally!"

"What, Crockett?" The captain was quite noticeably annoyed by me impertinent interruption in the midst of his thought. 'Twas as if I'd taken the wind from his sails.

"Nothing, Cap'n. I apologize; pray continue."

Still somewhat rankled, he proceeded, raising his arm to gesture grandiosely toward the sea, raising his voice to project his performance for all within earshot. "Well, as she glided gracefully through those storm waters, destined for our mark, I advised Orke and the other lads how to prepare for her arrival. As they came along side, their captain shouted out for our attention, and to identify who was in charge. I responded with pleas for succor and a brief, but descriptive explanation of how our ship was overladen and went belly-up in this storm, a few miles out (where I assumed it was more savage, still). Fortunately, I said, after the masts cracked and the sails came down, we were able to load up and cast off in these longboats afore the ship capsized.

"I told him I was master of a ship on consignment to deliver slaves, merchandise and other sundries from market to an island plantation. This seemed to convince him and, mercifully, he invited us aboard–to save us from the fishes. The storm continued to grow around us, as our people were hauled on board. The ship did seriously list, now, and the longboats (for there were, then, two of us, together) were pitching, dangerously, in the rough waves. I'd already cut loose the rafts we were towing, for fear they'd drag us to the bottom of the sea. Damned shame, for there was a king's ransom in gold, on each one!

"I insisted that our lads hoist up all the chests from the longboats, 'though, afore abandoning them. This brought a burst of angry words from their impatient captain, who wanted to escape the full wrath of the storm–and who'd been none too happy about having us to begin with. It was his master–a compassionate man who owned this vessel (and was, hisself, aboard)–who insisted we be saved from certain death. I begged the indulgence of that captain, informing him that there was considerable value in those chests; and half of it would be his reward, for saving it all. He became a more patient man, and set his crew to assist us.

"Once on board, I was introduced to our true benefactor, one Mr. Hiram Oglethorpe, and his beautiful daughters; who, at present, are below deck in the custody–I mean company–of Orke and a few lads. While I'd reasonably assured the safety of those who accompanied me, I was gravely concerned for the rest of our people. Knowing you as I do, Crockett, I am certain you suffered this same angst. So, you understand, I could not long postpone me move.

"The Oglethorpes were most cordial, but that captain and his mates were most concerned about all these blackies milling about, unshackled. I told him they were largely house and stable servants and were most trustworthy; that there was no reason for his concern. But he was quite insistent that no blackies–especially the bucks–were going to have unfettered access to all decks of his ship. He ordered them removed to the hold, under guard.

"This would not do! I needed Orke and the others to execute me impromptu plan. I don't have to tell you, Crockett, there is no greater lure for a man's attention–no better bait for his soul–than the awesome glitter of abundant gold! As that captain's men made their move to implement his orders, I made me move to implement me plan. I cracked open the largest of those chests, exposing the riches within, and exclaimed, 'Do what you must, sir, but first feast your eyes on your reward!'

"They flocked 'round like so many starving seagulls who'd discovered a solitary, beached fish. That was me moment, and I gave me signal! Producing our weapons, we seized control–and, ultimately, the ship. In a heartbeat, Orke had a lock on their captain, I'd grabbed poor Mr. Oglethorpe, and our mates held his daughters. 'Twas a bit awkward for a few moments. One can never be certain, in such a situation, if it shall resolve by word or by deed. They did outnumber us in armed men: free to act, but loyal only to the commands of their captain. And we would certainly not surrender! For us, it could have ended there. But it would be a blood bath, for certain!

"Oglethorpe implored their captain to surrender, for the sake of his daughters. But that captain dismissed his pleas, stating that we were pirates and would only kill them anyways–after raping his daughters. I would not be demeaned by this insufferable bastard, any longer. I raised me pistol to shoot his face off!

"But Orke twisted the man in his grasp slightly, placing hisself 'twixt that captain and me intended shot. Wordlessly, he was warning me that me shot would resolve nothing, and would ignite a powder keg! Those armed sailors would be on us afore the smoke cleared. I continued raising the pistol 'til parallel to me forehead, and used the muzzle to cock back me cap–as if that benign gesture was all I'd intended. I smiled at that captain, struggling to make me demeanour appear conciliatory.

"Not so easily consoled, he spit out the words, 'Damn, you should be hanged, brigand!'

"But Oglethorpe was adamant; the ship was his property, and the captain must surrender it, for the safety of all! For me own part, I suggested to this captain that under current circumstances, he would most definitely die. Yet should he heed Mr. Oglethorpe's pleas, his personal risk of dying would be offset by a reasonable chance of living. And I added–'though I doubted it had any currency for him–me personal word for the safety of all his people and passengers, should he order his men to stand down.

"Very reluctantly–no doubt with an eye towards securing his own longevity–he gave the order. Our men moved swiftly through his crew, removing every firearm and blade and bludgeon from their custody. The tension had passed. The look of defeat was on that captain's countenance, and a sorrowful look of bewilderment played on the faces of his crew.

"I reinforced me promise that no one would be harmed, so long as no one interfered with us. To ensure there were no mishappenings, I had that captain and his crew locked away in the hold and the stores. Mr. Oglethorpe and his daughters were confined to their cabins. Now, with a sturdy ship under me feet, and our own lads under me command, we could ride through that storm and comb these waters for our people!

"The bluster from that storm was actually a blessed aid in moving us towards the shores of Nemusmar at a breakneck pace. 'Twas as being privileged passengers transported by the power of a cyclone! Approaching the cove at Nemusmar, Crockett, just as near as was safe draught for this heavy and laden ship, I headed up the coast and began sweeping those waters for survivors. All guns were manned and the men fully alerted for action. I quite expected to run up against the British fleet at any moment. Surprisingly, 'though, during the first sweep, there was not a sign of them. Constantly scanning the horizon with a glass, I did not catch so much as a smudge of a ship's outline in the distance.

"With each pass, I gauged our alternating course to ensure me vision of the seas overlapped those waters just visited. Finally, we begun to spot survivors. As we did, we plucked the poor wretches and their cargo from their floats, sunk their vessels to avoid detection of their rescue, and moved swiftly on. Sadly, there was no time to mourn or pray over the dead. Crockett, I hit every point on the compass in me search, and scrutinized every patch of ocean possible. I had to accept that those I'd rescued were all that could be rescued. Increasingly, I was finding nothing but wreckage and debris–and less of that, as time and distance passed.

"'Twas on me final pass, back along the coast of Nemusmar–watching for signals from survivors who might've been swept back onto shore–that I finally was confronted (and then surrounded) by warships of the British fleet. You can imagine what ensued, Crockett. With all they endured at our hands (and deservedly so) these Brits were neither cordial nor patient. I'd prepared for the eventuality of this meeting as well as I could. Obviously, 'twould be futile–suicidal–to initiate a battle. Therefore, we must take the opposite tack and be seen as most compliant. Everyone had a role to play–everyone, save that captain and his crew, who remained held below, with pistols to the officers' heads.

"For Orke and the other blackies, 'twas necessary to clap themselves in ship's irons and assume the sullen demeanour of slaves in transport. The irons were not truly locked, of course–allowing them access to the weapons they sat upon, if needs be. This display was necessary, since now there were far too many of them to pass them off as house servants traveling with their master. So, the story was that they were part of a squire's estate, and they were being transported on commission, to be auctioned in Kingston for the benefit of the bereaved widow. Most touching–don't you think?

"As to the rest of me 'flock'–well, there were far too many (and some far too scurrilous of appearance) to make any pretence of passengers or simple pilgrims in transit. Hell, Crockett, with all bodies on deck, it looked like we were moving an entire nation across these waters! So–discomfort and inconvenience put aside–we crammed every soul possible below decks, in the unjustifiable hope that we could avoid a full search by the Brits, and convince them to hastily depart, afore our army of stowaways ran out of breathing air! Some children, wenches and our more reputable looking mates were assembled on deck, to provide a comforting illusion of the familiar: loyal British subjects, colonists, anxious to arrive at their destination.

"The last ingredients needed to complete this offering were suitable attire to present meself as the captain of this floating enterprise, and the cooperation of Mr. Oglethorpe. The suit of clothes was stripped right off their captain's back. And Mr. Oglethorpe's assistance was, graciously, forthcoming. Thankfully, Oglethorpe is a righteous and a decent man. Aye, he is a confirmer! You know what I mean, Crockett; a virtuous man–'though seldom found–once met, confirms your belief in the fundamental goodness of mankind. And such was evidenced in him from the first we started pulling our wretched folk from out of the brine. I had Oglethorpe and his daughters released and brought on deck, in the hope I could appeal to the feminine sensitivities of the young ladies to aid us in comforting the sorrowful women and children–chilled and drenched–as they were plucked from their floats.

"The girls were quite compassionate, but it was Oglethorpe who set hisself to seeing about everyone's needs and comforts. He has the natural humanity of a missionary tending to the sick and downtrodden. I thought to meself, 'This is a man I can trust and admire. This is a man I can do business with, to the benefit of us both.'

"So as we worked at our rescue, we discussed a scheme of mutual advantage. 'Twould seem friend Oglethorpe, formerly a gentleman farmer, had divested hisself of all his holdings in England, under the persuasion of his brother-in-law–whom he described as a businessman of shrewd repute. Together, they'd invested in this sturdy merchanter with intentions of using the man's business connections to establish a lucrative commercial enterprise in the West Indies. Expecting soon to recoup his investment–and with a lifetime of profits projected–Oglethorpe intended to realize his dream: to become a West Indies planter, on a large scale, and provide a life of advantage and refinement for his daughters, that would be far above their station, back in England. With the untimely demise of the brother-in-law, plans and circumstances changed; and all of the connections–impressed by that partner's business acumen–were unimpressed and disinclined to enter upon commerce with some bumpkin farmer.

"Having naught but that ship and a small cache of currency–by which he was able to man and supply his ship–he embarked from England to the islands in hopes of contracting services and building a trade. I'm sure you'd agree, Crockett, that a man of common sense would be still back in England, haunting the harbours, desperately seeking a buyer, and quite prepared to graciously settle for a portion of the ship's true value–if tendered in genuine guineas. But an optimist, such as Oglethorpe, would never consider such an option. A setback, for a pragmatist, is an unforeseen opportunity, for an optimist.

"The upshot of all this is that Oglethorpe had something we needed; and we had something he wanted. And what each could provide for the other was a means to an end: gold to purchase his dream life, in return for this sound ship to carry us to our new life!"

"But Cap'n," 'twas time to interrupt this long voyage of words, "the gold.... How much gold did you promise him?"

"Do I detect a rekindled fondness in you, Crockett, for that 'whore' metal?"

"It is not fondness, Cap'n," I retorted, "it is concern I voice for the needs and welfare, and proprietary claims, of our people!"

"Crockett, the words you utter to me, sometimes, I would consider–if from any other man–to be what some call 'fighting words;' and I would respond accordingly. But I always remember that your heart is better placed than your mouth! Our first, and greatest need–for all these people on board, all the people we've saved, and all those awaiting us on that island–is a sound ship: a ship of salvation! Aye, we could take this ship: offloading Oglethorpe, his daughters, that captain and his crew, directly into the waters, below–thus removing much dead weight and preserving our fortune. But that is not our way.

"That has never been our way. For certain, we've been compelled to do things that others have called dastardly. And many have called us pirates. But we've never considered ourselves pirates. We've always held that those we've fought and those we've robbed–regardless of station or title–were the true villains, and were known to God as such. We have always treated decent people decently. We shall do no less for these good and decent people!"

"Of course, you are absolutely right, Cap'n! So, how much?"

"It shall take most of the treasure on board this ship to accomplish the purchase. And some of that needs be given over to that captain and his crew, to buy their cooperation and silence, for a time. There'll be a small amount left, to take with us, not to mention what you've landed, with our people."

"What made it to the island was not much, Cap'n. And, as you know, what was on the yawl with Higgins is now scattered on the ocean floor."

"Rest your mind, Crockett. Of most importance is that those of us still alive can make a life. We've put off our enemies, financed our future, and still have enough treasure left for the short haul. With a ship such as this, we can always procure more. And then there is what was left behind, buried on Nemusmar. I vow some day to return and retrieve our fortune!"

"Aye, Cap'n! Aye... aye.... Uh... you started to tell of British 'visitors'–sometime, afore?"

"Come, Crockett! Surely you've gathered the gist of it all. We are standing on the deck, not hanging from the yardarm! How think you it turned out?"

"Well, I mean, Cap'n–I don't know. I mean, well I do know, but I don't know how. How?"

"Crockett, I must admit, 'twas smoother and simpler than I'd expected. When requested–at gunpoint (as it were)–permission for them to board was graciously granted. Several officers and a company of armed soldiers soon crowded our deck. As earlier I mentioned, they were far from cordial; and curt is too kind a word to describe their behaviour. But it was tolerable and there was no danger of a resort to violence.

"The officer in command of the troops was bellicose in the extreme; but the naval first officer was a normal sort, most what you'd expect of a seafaring man. Upon demand, Mr. Oglethorpe and I presented the documents he had at hand, defining our persons and purpose and justifying our presence in these waters. Then we told our tale of fighting the raging storm, spotting this island and heading toward land, for safety. We spake of how grateful we were to escape that storm and how relieved we were to happen upon a British patrol–fearing, as we did, there might be pirates in these waters or on that island.

"Our inquisitor pressed hard to know what we'd seen during our sojourn into these waters: especially, any sighting of a ship, or ships. I told him there were no ships, just ever increasing flotsam and jetsam–and then floating carcasses among the debris, as we approached these waters. He seemed satisfied. The same, no doubt, was all they'd found. That was when the naval officer spake out and said we were right to fear pirates about.

"He told of how this island had been 'infested' with pirates; but through the uncommon zeal of one of the king's loyal subjects, these 'traitors'–this threat to crown and commerce–had been discovered and most vanquished. Wishing to know all, Crockett, I latched onto that word, 'most,' and asked why he qualified this statement. He seemed a bit embarrassed for the telling, but tell he did. According to him, 'some' pirates who, no doubt, were already aboard two warships when the island stronghold was decimated, intended to slip 'round the island and strike a counterattack. They knew this because of the superb 'intelligence' they received from their own troops. They'd actually pulled the fleet out to sea to allow the pirates to believe they could enter the harbour, unmolested! They thought then to snare them there."

The captain's words tickled me so very much, I could barely stop chuckling to say what I needed to say. "Damn it, I love you Cap'n! Your plans fall into place like all the other players were marionettes: their actions dependent on your pull of the strings. Now, I no longer wonder what took them so long to recover and seek us out. It took'em that long to complete the process you'd set in place for'em. And, 'twould seem, their apprehension increased with every step!"

"You've not heard the best, Crockett. According to this 'informant,' when no pirate ships appeared–after allowing considerable time for a possible delayed arrival–they again resorted to their trusted 'intelligence' and set the fleet rampaging towards Kingston, for which they 'knew' the pirates were destined once they'd slipped away. The warships that had surrounded us were a detachment sent back to survey these waters 'just in case.' The main fleet is still pressing toward Kingston!"

Now we were both laughing so hard we were doubled over!

"Well, Crockett, now you know the gist of it–and the jest of it. But it is time to reunite our people. We should not tarry much longer in these waters. I don't want to incur another visit by those Brits. After all, we are running out of explanations–real or fanciful. And there must be some limit to their ignorance! Now return to your vessel, Crockett. We set sail for our new home, immediately!"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

## Chapter XVIII

# "Our New Home"

Back onboard, I pushed me ketch hard to keep close to the captain's ship, and he worked to cut speed and delay that mighty merchanter, attempting to keep us near his wake as long as possible. Inevitably, 'though, they must pull ahead. There was nothing, short of dropping the sheets and making a dead halt in mid ocean, to prevent this. And the ketch was considerably heavier, this trip, having boarded several of our people (including me mate, Orke) from that ship, to alleviate some of the cramping they suffered.

The voyage back to that island, "our new home"–me return to Annalea–was uneventful. The salt air, the glistening waters, the broad, bright sky and the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping the hull as we cut through them, served to soothe me haggard soul. I reminisced that, mayhaps, that was the why of me going to sea, originally–in me youthful days. When you are landlocked, and the world turns against you–whether from your own doing or not–you soon learn you cannot fight the whole of the world, nor any significant portion of it. So, for your safety–your very survival–it is necessary to hide.

And when one needs to hide hisself away, he naturally selects the smallest, darkest, tightest, most secluded hole he can burrow into. And so, that becomes your life: a life in hiding. Your life is diminished as your body is hidden–as both day and night you are secluded in darkness. The worst of it: your mind and then your spirit become cramped, darkened, isolated and diminished well beyond proportion to all physical discomforts.

But, through the luck of the toss–or simple expedience–should you seek to hide at sea, the whole experience is turned inside out. Once far out to sea–where land is but a memory–an entirely new feeling comes upon you. Your chosen hiding place opens up to you endless horizons; your "burrow" is the universe. And your mind and spirit can wander as free and untethered as your body. Mayhaps, moreso. Can you imagine–for a hunted man–the exhilaration of hiding out in the open?

And the vast, voluminous waters of the ocean prevent "the world" from discovering you, isolating you, trapping you and destroying you in the way that they would, if they could, remove you from the human experience like unwanted carrion. That's when you realize–when you are "hiding" in the broad expanse of the endless seas–that those who think themselves free back on land are, in fact, confined in tightly restrictive burrows of the mind and spirit. Their "freedom" is no more than illusion: God's sardonic magic trick!

And so I was healing from all most recent wounds and scars to the soul, as I was sailing across the universe–on that little ketch, with comrades at me side. As I watched the captain's ship pulling away from us, gradually–gracefully–I stood on the deck, a calmed, more serene man. I stood and watched with me hand on the hilt of me sword. Me sword–the captain's sword! The very sword he'd presented to me as award for valiance and faithful service. I'd always keep that sword. I'd always cherish that sword, and the memories of events–and be honoured by the high opinion me captain has of me.

This sword shall be in me company for the rest of me life–and to the grave. Yet, it shall never be me sword; it shall always be the captain's sword. 'Twas awarded to him for acts of uncommon valour in the king's services; activities of which he seldom speaks–for 'though he seems a bit pompous, he is not a boastful man. And when I reflect on all me years with the man–all me travels and adventures and successes (and excesses which I survived)–I feel privileged to have had such a friend, such a mentor, such a leader.

Me captain has no peers, not even amongst the royal heads of Europe (in their political "burrows"). This most recent episode in our ever eventful and exciting journey through this boundless life, reinforced for me all these qualities of the captain, and revealed ever more facets of the man's humanity. No, this shall never be me sword; it shall always be the captain's sword. As he's chosen to entrust his sword to me care, I am honoured to carry it–for him–through life.

Our ultimate arrival at that island of castaways was a joyous reunion of kindred souls. The captain's lot, having reached shore some considerable time earlier, showed evidence of having been bathed in overwhelming love and tears. And now, it was our turn. Me one, overriding concern was for Annalea.

She was constantly on me mind. I was worried sick that she'd long be inconsolable about the loss of Nemusmar, and the wonderful life we'd had there–the only life she'd ever known! If her heart was crushed, and she had not the will to move on, I knew not what I could do to heal her–what words I could use to console her–what possible future I could offer, to compensate her. With these thoughts in me mind as I stepped onto land, I felt as if I were about to be pulled down into one of them suffocating burrows of the mind and spirit!

And surer than predicting rainbows from rainclouds, me sweet angel was standing on that beach, waiting for her Papa to come and comfort her. Undaunted by the task ahead, I gathered me strength, acquired a smile, and threw wide me arms to gather up that babe as she ran towards me. She damned near ran past me, just reaching out and pulling me shoulder down to apply a quick peck on me cheek as, breathless from running, she puffed out, "Papa! I've been so worried about you! You are safe, thank God! Look't! Look't how many of our people made it! They need taking care of. There is so much to do! 'Bye!"

Then, from a distance–looking back towards me as she moved into the throng of survivors, "I love you, Papa!"

Well, mayhaps I exaggerate a problem when I contemplate it for too long. Lord knows I oft' miscalculate circumstances and their outcomes–especially when it involves women. Women! And someone once called the Chinese "inscrutable?" For certain, he met only their women! And I had this inscrutable little creature of me own to contend with. Of course, I should've known from the depth of her heart and the breadth of her compassionate nature, that me Annalea would never dote on her own afflictions of spirit and circumstance, so long as there were others in need–in need of what kindness, gentleness and love can proffer. As it turned out, Annalea's loving and nurturing ways were her own salvation.

"Be ya goin' ta loaf on dis beach all day, like a clam waitin' fo' de tide ta come back? Or be ya goin' ta move yo' lazy ass an' do a man's work?" Mam' Tiére's greeting was no more comforting than Annalea's, but more in character. Much to her chagrin, I used me still open arms to give her the squeeze that Annalea had eluded. Considering all she's seen and done in her life, it surprised and delighted me to see Mam' blush, as she did. Therefore, I squeezed her all the more, and nuzzled her cheek!

"Oh, now! Oh, now!" That was all she could muster–that, and a girlish giggle! A long smooch later, I released her and set off to do her bidding.

I've learned a man must mind his womenfolk, in matters of a domestic nature. It is the Lord's own scheme to provide a role for man and a role for woman. 'Twas His way to create responsibility and cooperation, and make certain things got done in this world. To protest a woman's will, when she is in the right–within her own domain–is only to buck the tide, and incur God's disfavour.

'Though they are smaller–and some quite frail–the Lord has endowed these creatures we call women with all necessary weapons to subdue a man's will. Her tongue can be sharp, or lacy. Her countenance can be harsh, or angelic. Her voice can be shrill, or soothing. And the design of her carriage! The smooth, rounded outline that can distract a man from any calling, attract him to her, and keep him eagerly at her side. The spirit of a woman–that most inner sanctum of the female soul–is another expression of God's love that is both foreign and compelling to a man.

As to their weakness: that is more a façade of the feminine being–again, God's clever ruse. For certain, with a spontaneous display of muscle and energy, a male will most certainly overwhelm a female, in any physical challenge. But, in matters where endurance makes the victor, I've oft' seen men fall to the wayside as women stayed their course. Strength of character, strength of will and strength of spirit shall provide, endure and prevail, when muscle (and even physical beauty) have wilted and failed.

# ~~

That island–"our new home"–still looked rather desolate. Some shelters were already erected–lean-to style–by our first arrivals: mostly constructed with rags, hides, sticks and strings, and odd poles and even driftwood. At least we'd have some shade; for there was not much of that left available on this forsaken island. Damn near every plant was eradicated from the island, as were all the natives who once dwelled–once thrived–here.

I'd no real concern for the lack of vegetation–or shade–on this barren, blistered island. Not in the long term–nor even the short term. Nature recovers her floral accouterments right quickly in such tropical climes. Hell, I'd witnessed lands totally decimated by volcanic eruption, so charred, so poisoned, that even the fish in the seas could not survive coming within close proximity to that overboiled cauldron. And I've passed those lands again, sometimes later, referring to compass, charts and nautical plotting to realize where I was. For those recently barren rocks and ash covered slopes had so soon returned to a plush, tropical paradise. I knew this place would fare as well–and much sooner.

The immediate task was to make this isle hospitable to the host of human refugees whose needs could not await nature's rebound, no matter how prompt. As I mentioned, there was some shelter provided by our earliest arrivals; and they'd also taken upon themselves–under the direction of Annalea and Mam'–the gruesome task of gathering and disposing of the remains of those unfortunate native people. Bodies, and body fragments, were provided with improvised–'though sincere–Christian burial rites.

I pondered how that might've passed with their ancestors. Did it rankle them? Would the ancestors disown their tragic children? Still, people are people; and the good ones respect sincere and honourable intentions. I am certain it is no different in the spirit world.

Anyway, if ever there were a clean slate on which to write a new word, this place most resembled it. Yet what should our "new home" be like? At the end of this long day, I still could not answer that question. But with God's blessing of a peaceful, starlit night, and gentle, comforting sea breezes, answers and resolutions could be postponed while we finally–deservedly–rested: deep, prolonged, sublime sleep.

After our long repose–about midday–our tribe was active again. The captain soon set out our responsibilities for the day. The women were to inspect and organize those stores and supplies we'd salvaged from our various vessels. Annalea and Mam' were to prepare an inventory of such, for the captain. Some of the men were set to necessary tasks of labour. Some others, along with the older children, were sent out to scrounge up anything useful that remained on that island. Most of the rest of the men were put to fishing.

A selected group, excluding meself, were conscripted by the captain to accompany him on a voyage–a voyage of resolution. For he needed to resolve the issue of what to do with his unwanted passengers: that captain and crew who'd once manned the merchanter. Oh, the Oglethorpes were no issue–they were our most welcome, and appreciated guests–and they'd be included in our community 'til such time as we could provide them safe conveyance to their new life. But those sailors: there was no way they could be incorporated, or safely delivered to a port town. We might choose to reimburse them for their inconvenience, but we could never trust we were buying their longterm silence.

The poor devils had been kept below decks, locked up and guarded, cramped in the hold of that ship, 'til this very moment. The captain meant to ensure that they had not an inkling of where they'd been, who–or how many–we actually were, or what we were about. Leaving meself in charge of our "new home," the captain set sail, accompanied by a stalwart crew, to deliver these unwanted "guests"–with their promised share of the treasure–to a small but bountiful island, right off the trade routes, where they had a better than even chance of surviving 'til the next season, when they might hail a ship and secure their own rescue. Damned sensitive of him–the captain. I–as most–would not feel bound by obligations made under duress. And I–as most–would have sought a simpler, mayhaps extreme, solution. But I–as most–turn more to the sensible than the sensitive.

I saw to the captain's wishes, in his absence. Everything continued as he'd set forth, until he returned. We'd made some progress, by the time he got back, and we were able to put forth a feast of seafood–in quite comfortable surroundings–to celebrate his arrival. 'Though less festive than so many of our doings on Nemusmar, this first chance for party was relished by all our community. After we'd et some mighty good grub, had some music and a bit of revelry, it seemed a likely time for another good night's repose. But, notwithstanding me stated weariness and desire for sleep, I was instructed to gather up Higgins and Orke and a few of the other lads, to meet in council with the captain.

This was most unusual, for the captain to meet in council. When he'd a need to confide, he usually sought only Crockett for counsel. And quite often, he kept his own counsel—strictly. So, what could bring about such a departure from normal practice and habit? Since he would not reveal his intent, prematurely, there'd be no answer to the puzzle 'til all were met–in council.

The captain had selected a relatively secluded stretch of beach for this meeting, and he was already present when the rest of us arrived. That also was unusual, as the captain's habit was to enter a gathering only after all of the other participants had assembled. Thus gathered, we all stood there while the captain shook each man's hand and made small talk–as if he'd not seen us in a fortnight. Having had singular access to the captain's counsel–on most previous occasions–I thought boldly to cut to the chase and impose me own interests and curiosity, through a volley of questions.

He absolutely ignored these–without even acknowledging me–and began asking deliberated questions of each of us. This, too, was very different: no directives, orations, or pomposity. Just questions: direct–sincere–questions. And he sought, and listened carefully to, each man's opinion–on every question. 'Twas peculiar, for us–but a most comfortable venue. Much like a gathering of brothers: kinsmen, discussing family matters.

The nature of his questions seemed not to be critical–at the time. They had broadly to do with our current state of affairs–and more specifically, with details of a mundane nature. "How should we apportion the workload?" "What type of community could we develop, here?" "What is the likelihood of achieving sufficient crops from the land or harvests from the sea to sustain this community?"

I enjoyed this pastime so much, I began to feel guilty, as if I were loitering on the beach–and frittering me time away. Then came another unusual turn, as the captain began joking and bonding us with shared laughter. 'Twas not the usual brazen, boisterous style of humour most of us had seen from him, nor the facetious phrasings that reflected his sardonic wit. 'Twere the quieter, 'though still amusing, utterances of a thoughtful and congenial man. 'Twas yet another undiscovered facet of the man! I did not realize, at the time, that the captain was instructing us–by means of example. In dismissing this council meeting, the captain suggested that we remeet–so–at the close of each day.

As the days progressed, the council continued to meet. The captain increased its membership to include Mam' and Annalea and Reena and Leona and a few of the others. Everyone with strong, obvious leadership qualities was incorporated into this exclusive circle, save one; Estaban was never invited to attend. He was obviously, purposefully excluded. I questioned this. Annalea questioned this. But the captain was unapproachable on the subject. We determined he must still hold a resentment towards Estaban. And yet we'd oft' spy them together, talking privately and solemnly. 'Though—apparently–cordially. Yet another mystery!

As to those committee meetings, many decisions were taken to expedite and secure our tenancy of that island–most ideas being prompted or initiated by the captain who predetermined needs and means. But near every item and issue was discussed at length, afore a final decision was made. Thus, we determined matters such as where and how to locate fresh timber and other needs from distant islands, and where and when we could begin to visit port towns without fear of discovery. And so, things got done–and done promptly–by committee.

Yet, at any and every junction–some problematic fork in the road to our communal destination–'twas always the captain's opinion which held sway; 'twas always the captain's path we chose. This was quite natural. 'Twas folly to argue with his logic.

For an instance, when the topic of fortifications was broached, there were many among us as would set that as the highest priority: ahead of lodgings, common buildings–even ahead of ensuring sufficient food and water! The captain realized this lopsided thinking was the result of anxiety: a response to the hurt and fear that still woke many in the night and haunted their days. The captain's "opinion" on this served not only to reorganize our priorities, but to redefine our purpose: our communal charter, if you would. He declared that such construction as was contemplated by many would serve us ill. Impenetrable fortifications were impossible to construct. Consider, he told us, how many "impenetrable" fortifications we ourselves had overcome, in our time. And, in our case, such imposing defensive-work would serve only as a beacon to those who would continually seek us–and were hell-bent, and fully capable, to destroy us.

No, we would not draw them to us. Sensible fortifications, capable of deferring marauding Indians or attacks by roving bands of mercenaries, should suffice. And then the captain came to it–our reconsecration. "Dearest friends! We are no more at war with the world. We've not, now, the wherewithal. At best, we could make one last, gallant stand, departing this world in a fiery, hellish bloodfest that would eradicate any trace of our ever existing! Then our enemies would win all; and we would lose all. And we have lost enough!

"I would prefer to see us survive, and flourish! We've at hand the semblance of a misplaced colony of settlers. I would recommend that we develop that semblance into reality: a viable settlement of pious, virtuous pilgrims and loyal subjects. I say that we take a foothold on this injured, isolated pile of scrub and sand, and build a permanent community! What I suggest to you is a life of fishing, cultivating and trade–a genuine opportunity to flourish. A genuine opportunity to live free!"

I remember thinking, "For a man with no legitimate heirs, it seems as though he is creating his own posterity."

I also found his new affinity for the pastoral life alarming. 'Twas not just the radical departure from all we'd been and all we knew. There was no fit 'twixt that and me present circumstances: specifically, me grave concerns for the welfare of Annalea. Yet–just like everyone else in attendance–I nodded me approval and mumbled a pretence of understanding.

That was a strange time for me. Just too many changes–and me world seemed to be pulled out from under me feet. 'Though other times it felt as if the world was in the right place, but I must be standing on me head! Like this situation with the captain. He seemed unapproachable as regarded any question about his curious conduct of late.

Understand, we shared each another's company for hours on end–on a daily basis–directing the activities and addressing the needs of our people. Much of this time was spent in genial conversation on divers topics, as was our practice for as long as I could remember. And, as far back as memory serves, we'd always confided in one another. There was a bond 'twixt us of understanding and trust which we shared with no other man alive. But now when I, Crockett, his best–mayhaps only–friend in this life, begged he confide in me his thoughts about "councils" and "Estaban" and "colonies" and such, I was continually rebuked. 'Twas not that he would change the subject. 'Twas that he would not speak again until I changed the subject.

And changes in the captain's attitudes seemed to result in differences in behaviour amongst our people. Events in me daily life, once well structured and comfortable, seemed to occur randomly–out of sequence. All these changes seemed irritatingly irrational. Most of me waking hours, I seemed to be walking through a bad dream. And that realization caused me to harken back to that other dream.

As one can well imagine, those were very busy times. And such activity most usually serves to take the boil off me brain, when I've overthought a problem or predicament. But not this time! Hard work could not cure me agitation or relieve me troubled mind. The slowness with which I performed any accustomed task and the number of times I caught meself at an indeliberate halt–daydreaming–made me wonder if I should report me as a slacker!

Others noticed this in me–Annalea, Orke, Estaban, the captain and the sisters–and attempted to help or console me. But they could not help, and I knew not what to say to them. When I could handle this alone, no more, I turned to the one person who hadn't troubled me about me affliction of the spirit–the one person who might actually understand and be able to help: Mam' Tiére.

## Chapter XIX

# When the Life Spirit Beckons

When finally I approached her–in me full desperation–she was hard at work, in the midst of business. I stood and looked to her and asked if she could spare me some time. She looked very hot and tired and was sweating profusely. The response she gave me would burn your ears off! But the gist of it was that she'd no time to waste gossiping with an idler like me. I meekly apologized for the interruption and suggested we might talk mayhaps another time. She looked up at me with a sneer, as if to warn me off; but something in me countenance must have softened her attitude towards me, for her words were gentle, "No, hon'. We kin talk now."

We walked out together to get clear of the ever present ears and eyes that seemed unavoidable in that cramped settlement. All such pursuits for privacy inevitably led to the beach; 'twas broad and extended the full circumference of the island. Mam' said not another word as we walked along, patiently waiting for me to collect me thoughts and open up me aggrieved soul to her. It came slowly, but eventually I was able to unburden meself to her.

"I knew ya be troubled," she said, "same as t'others knew. But I also knows how suff'catin' kin be da well-meanin', when dare over attentions outweighs dare und'standin'."

I knew I was confiding in the right person. And I gave her a verbatim rendering of that troublesome dream. For–unlike most other dreams–I could remember every detail.

As I completed the telling of me rather exotic dream, I looked to Mam' for answers. But she offered none; she just kept walking. Then she stopped, cold, and turned to look at me as if she was ready to speak. But she turned right away and commenced walking again. This unexpected–inexplainable–behaviour caught me off balance, and I scooted to catch up to her.

As I approached within a few feet of her, she started to speak, 'though still walking and still looking straight ahead–out towards the ocean and that great expanse of sky, "I b'lieves ya be transpo'ted."

Then she stopped walking–finally and fully–still staring out towards the waters, and beyond. I came 'round front to face her. "'Twas real? You believe 'twas real?"

Mam continued. "Ya needs ta know dat ever'thin' in da worl' be connected. In nature, nuttin' be unknown o' undiscovered. Wha's in yo' life, wha's in yo' mind, wha's in yo' heart–an' ever'thin' dat been, an' ever'thin' dat gwine be–jes' all one thin', in nature. Das why ma people respects nature. Not 'cause dey's sup'sticious; not 'cause deys ign'rant. 'Cause dey knows wha' yo' don' know. Dey seen wha yo' kind refuse ta see. Dat every livin' thin' be connected. Dare be but one spirit of life, an' we all be part of it: de ancestors, ya an' me, all da plants an' an'mals, an' all dem yet ta be.

"Yo' kind, dey mock da man wha' talk to da spirit in da tree. He ain' so stupid. He don' 'spect dat tree gwine git up an' walk 'round. He be smarter dan dat; he smarter dan yo'. He be respectin' da spirit of life wha' be in dat tree–as in all things. He jes be usin' dat tree ta connect wit' da life spirit.

"I thinks somethin' been tryin' ta talk to ya: da spirit or somethin' in da spirit. It done taken yo' spirit up an' moved it 'round, ta show ya things dat use ta be an' am–"

"And must be?" I interrupted.

"An' may be," she continued. "I be thinkin', 'may be.' Das why da callin'. Das why da journey. Make no sense ta show ya whatcha cain' do nothin' 'bout. Das jes' a punishment; an' ya ain' a bad man. No, I 'spects it be a warnin'. I 'spects it be a gift, 'cause of yo' great love fo' our precious 'princess.'"

"But just what does it mean?" I begged Mam' for edification. For a moment, she seemed to grope for an answer, and then replied.

"I don' rightly know. It all be too confusin' ta me. But I know dis; if da spirit done called me, I couldn' rest 'til I'd thought it out, an' fig'red out da meanin'. An' den I'd act, swiftly an' surely. An' no man, an' no army of man, could stand in da way of Mam' doin' da spirit's biddin'!"

"Thank you, Mam'! I still don't understand it. I don't know what this all means. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I do feel considerably better. Thank you."

"Well, we gwine sit here an talk 'bout dat," she said. "We gwine ponder dat, together, hon'."

So we worked the pieces of that puzzle, together, 'til late up into the night, missing supper and that eve's council meeting. And then worked it through the night, missing sleep–but not missing sleeping. The discussions we had, and the thoughts Mam' presented, were far too provocative to contemplate sleep. 'Though I may never be able to interpret all the details of that dream–or vision, or whatever it was; by morning, I felt I'd a grasp on the message behind it all.

# ~~

You would think I'd sleep all day, after such a night; and I tried to. But there was too much excitement in me brain, for sleep. I was soon up and off to the captain's lodgings. Lodgings? The improvised lean-to he called home was a far cry from the elegantly furnished quarters and stately compound he'd inhabited for so long, on Nemusmar. Yet the captain was not one to bemoan a loss of the trappings and luxuries that status provides, let alone some furniture and gardens. Hell, walls are walls. He went with the times and the flow of events. He never grumbled about what used to be; he made good of what was–right then.

'Course, even in these rustic surrounds, you still had first to approach his attendant and be announced. He was still a man of airs. But–in his case–no one considered it a fault; it suited him. And he deserved the respect.

Once announced, I was immediately greeted by the captain. I began to apologize for absenting meself and Mam' from the previous night's council meeting, but he cut me short, assuring me that there was no need for explanations where Mam' and I were concerned. He simply assumed our absence was caused by more pressing matters, and his only concern–when we did not appear–was for our safety and well-being. But, since he soon discovered our whereabouts and condition, he had no concern at all. (Damn, he knows everything!)

Amenities and pleasantries completed, I moved to the issue of the moment; more particularly, the mission which now motivated me very life. "Cap'n, I'll get straight to it, and I'll ask you to hear me out and not think to change me mind in these matters, as I've struggled with me thoughts long and hard to reach the decisions I'm about to tell you."

Without reviewing all the whys and wherefores of which he was full awares–or the details of me dream, which he needn't be bothered with–I explained to the captain that I couldn't be a permanent member of this new settlement; I'd Annalea's safety to consider and I feared the later we delayed our departure, the sooner might come her discovery and her death–and the ruin of all on this island. 'Twould be another Nemusmar; 'though this time–no doubt—conclusive. I would have her away from here and, eventually, established back in England–regardless her accursed kinsman.

"This turn does not surprise me, Crockett; I'd fully expected it. True, I'd originally hoped you would serve as me replacement at the helm of this fledgling colony. But, with greater consideration, I realized the peril Annalea was in, so long as she's in these waters, and the threat that poses for the whole community."

"Beg pardon, Cap'n, 'replacement?' Your 'replacement?'"

Suddenly–through discussion–the veil of me ignorance was pushed aside, and many riddles became solved, in an instant! The captain explained how he could never live the life he now espoused for our people. He'd long considered change, for hisself, but the desire, the need and urgency were culminated in the destruction of Nemusmar. He told me his first duty–his first thought–was always for his people. Now, he believed, he'd done all he could to enable them to survive and flourish. With the changes he contemplated, he may–in the future–be better able to continue helping and protecting them.

"I would understand these 'long considered changes' you spake of Cap'n; and I still don't see me role in all this."

"Well, Crockett, I know you've been keenly curious about me ongoing discussions with young Estaban, going back to that fateful night on Nemusmar."

"Aye, Cap'n, most certainly!"

What followed were revelations for me: some surprising–some disconcerting. 'Twould seem that supper he'd had with Estaban and Gaspar was not some intended reconciliation, but an intended venue to reveal and discuss a plan he'd concocted which would dramatically impact our way of life, on Nemusmar. "The winds of change blow all about us, Crockett. We noted the first gusts some years ago, you'll remember. There came a change in direction; the winds which seemed always to blow in our favour, seemed–from then–to favour the opposition. It required ever more wiliness and perseverance–and bloodshed–to ply our trade. That abrupt change in the winds of our good fortune has unrelentingly increased from gust to gale to the tempest which finally engulfed us!

"Do you remember, Crockett, the way 'twas, when we first came to these waters? We had ambition, we had zeal, we had a fast ship and a handpicked crew of seasoned buccaneers. We were completely unfettered."

"Aye, those were the best years, Cap'n. We had all that and youth!"

"Aye, Crockett, youth: with its unbounded expectations, and pretensions to immortality. But we let that unique freedom slip from our hands when we allowed for change; I guess we needed change.

"Don't mistake me, Crockett, those too were marvelous times, especially after we planted our community on Nemusmar. For several years, it offered me a baronial life which, immodestly, I felt inclined to–and quite readily became accustomed to. Yet I never ceased taking gauge of the changing winds and where I was standing in relation to the turbulence of the changes being wrought. It finally came clear to me mind that our growing 'tribe' on Nemusmar was a permanent community. True, some would leave and some would die; but others would come and others would be born there. And even when we were no longer able to support the community through the continuation of our enterprise, our people would–by and large–choose to relocate as a community.

"Such a life would not serve me well, Crockett. Nor could I well serve the community as a token 'squire of the manor.' All of these considerations led me to conclude that I must chart a new course for me own life. And these considerations brought me to identify Estaban as a likely collaborator."

As the captain disclosed the purpose and details of that meeting, I reflected on prior experiences and similar circumstances that caused me to think, "'Course if I'd been watching the signs, remained on the tack, stayed the course–if I'd just been paying attention–I'd've foreseen where the captain was going, and I'd've anticipated unprecedented changes."

His intention was to offer Estaban a release from his oath to remain bonded as hostage for ransom in exchange for services Estaban could provide through his station and good offices. The captain's idea was simple but unique. He would take to sea, as in our earliest days, with a handpicked crew of buccaneers–mostly old salts who'd never adapt to a mundane, landlocked life–and the Spaniard. Using Estaban as an intermediary, he would offer his services as a protector of the wealth of a client settlement, and defender of the lives and property of said client community. 'Twas true, our endeavours were increasingly hampered by the strategic arming of the merchanters, and the ever increasing royal patrols, but these things were more a hindrance than a deterrent. Roving bands of mercenaries and opportunists could usually avoid detection and strike the weak and unwary–at their pleasure. The services the captain could offer were a viable alternative to the regimented attempts of authorities to protect against the randomness of "pirate" attacks.

The captain had no intention of providing such services while sailing under the Spanish flag–nor the English, nor the French, nor that of any nation. His only duty–his only loyalty–would be to his clients, and he would defend them against attack by buccaneer and military mercenaries, alike. This, he would do in return of a retainer and proprietary rights to ships, cargoes and sundries he might seize while in the commission of his duties. Bloody brilliant! 'Twas the entrepreneurial side of the captain, mated to the warrior side.

"And in this capacity, Crockett, I thought to be able to extend me protection and aid to those left behind on Nemusmar, without hindering or endangering their prospects by me continuing presence."

"I'd much've enjoyed that life, Cap'n; 'though I don't know how I could tolerate such long separations from Annalea."

The captain smiled and said, gently, "Frankly, old friend, you were not to be invited."

Studying me wide-eyed, drop-jawed countenance, he continued. "You could never be–in this lifetime–so long separated from Annalea. And though it meant sacrificing me best lieutenant, there was no other that could be trusted and depended on to lead our community in me stead, than Crockett."

"You do so overestimate me worth, Cap'n."

"I think not, Crockett. And I'd no intention of deserting you, forever. Me presence would not've been continual, but it would've been known. In any event, we well know how the moment for such decision was lost. 'Twas me intention to resuscitate these plans once I'd prepared all on this island."

"Then you still plan to go, Cap'n?"

"Aye."

"And you plan to take me and Annalea?"

"Aye."

"Then who shall lead this 'colony?' Oh, the council!"

"Aye!"

"So things are pretty much settled, in that regards, Cap'n."

"Not completely, Mr. Crockett. The council should work for them left here; but you always need a leader: not necessarily a single leader, but definitely a singular leader."

"Say you what... again?" I stumbled through me question.

And the captain, he elaborated for me: "There must be one strong individual at the helm who acts in full compliance to the will of the council and yet can exert the necessary influence to resolve any deadlock and can respond and command wisely in crisis–without reference to, or deference to, the will of the many, who'd literally procrastinate their lives away. Spontaneous decision while under extreme duress is not well made by committee."

"So... you are saying they needs a captain, Cap'n?"

"Hmm... aptly put, but inappropriate to their situation, Crockett. They need a civil leader, without military bearing or authority–but with those same capabilities."

"Orke!" was me immediate reply.

"Orke could not stand that life, Crockett, even for love of Reena."

Both at once, we uttered, "Higgins!"

"It shall fall to Higgins," the captain continued. "He is the only one I've not been able to eliminate as I've pondered candidates for this appointment."

"Do you think he is prepared, Cap'n?" Many and various doubts now poured through me brain.

"He is as good as we've got, Crockett. And as much as is needed in a civil administrator. Were he to try and become more, our lot would hang him from the first tree to reach decent height on this recuperating little island."

"Well then, Cap'n, 'twould seem I've naught left to do but ask when we depart and whither we are bound?"

The captain demurred responding to the latter, but as to the former, he said, "Sooner than you might suspect, Crockett."

That wry comment made me believe I'd best inform Annalea, without hesitation. But locating that perpetually occupied, seemingly indefatigable girl–even on that small island–was no simple feat.

# ~~

Unfortunately, me homeless little dove was quite busily constructing a new nest for herself on the island. Her days were most filled by the concerns of others, and her attempts to remedy these concerns. But her nights were filled with family matters, with planning a new domicile, and with Estaban. She'd not be keen on me intent to uproot her again. Me one incentive–for her–was that Estaban must go and if she wished to stay, their inevitable parting would be all the sooner. 'Though to use this fact, alone, to sway her mind, would be as cruel as pulling a rug from under her feet just to see her move. She would never understand why the captain and I saw need to force the issue, now. Why could we not delay our plans awhile? What was the imperative? And she'd not readily be forgiving us for pursuing what she'd believe to be our own selfish interests.

I had to accept it was unavoidable; I must reveal to her all that I know of this situation with that nefarious Pankhurst. I must apprise her of her imminent peril. If that were not enough to move her, she would soon–and readily–draw the connection between her presence on Nemusmar and all of the tremendous devastation, the terrible suffering and the unconscionable loss of life exacted on her people. The realization of the grave danger to every life on this island–caused by her mere presence–will make her insist upon leaving. I just dreaded being the one who must lay all of this at her feet. Yet there was not another soul who could, or should do this deed–save Mam' Tiére. And God save Mam' from such a dreadful task. No, it was me own obligation—alone. The message was so weighty, that only a papa could carry the burden of delivering it to his daughter.

So I tramped about the island for an hour or so; but I always seemed to be just trailing in Annalea's footsteps, arriving at any given place just aft' her departure. As I came to pass our lodgings, I thought to meself, "A clever hunter does not go banging about the forest, ever in the wake of his prey. If he comes upon that animal's lair, he does rest there quietly, and simply lie in wait for his prey to return to him."

I'd thus convinced meself that a short nap was in the offing, and was quite practical, while I awaited me sweet birdie's return to the nest. Apparently, I set a better trap than I know; since I was awoken by voices speaking in a manner that would indicate that those talking believed themselves alone. Being roused, thus, from me sleep, I was at first disoriented. It sounded to me as if Annalea was talking to herself–or causing an echo of her speech. What I was hearing were three very similar, sweet, giggly, girly voices.

It took a few minutes for the sleep to leave me ears and the fog to leave me brain; and then I realized it was Annalea and the Oglethorpe sisters I was overhearing. To a growed man's ear, little girls' voices are so sweet, and women's private conversations so strange. And at the age of these young ladies, it was an indescribable mix of the two. I don't consider meself nosey, or disrespectful of the rights of others to privacy; but me ears were drawn to the nymph-like voices, and I deliberately kept me presence hidden.

I thought it wonderful that out of all this, something nice had happened. Annalea finally had peers: playmates of her own age and gender, whose European education and upbringing complemented and enhanced the tutelage we'd provided her. I so enjoyed hearing her bubble over with giddy laughter. I'd oft' felt touched by the sweet, murmuring sound of that little girl voice–through all her stages and ages. Yet it never occurred to me she was mostly interacting with growedups: trying–even at her youngest–to speak to their level of understanding. How very different the sound–and the usage of words–when youngsters (especially girl youngsters) communicate with their own, thinking no one else is about. 'Twas fascinating!

Then I considered a devilish trick; I'd prance 'round the corner and surprise them with an "Aha!" That would embarrass the little dears! But the worm did turn, and I seemed destined for embarrassment. The innocent patter of the fledgling women had turned to matters of boys and love and sex. From the halting, naive–giggled-over–questions of the Oglethorpe sisters, I could assume their total inexperience in such matters. Their obvious innocence caused them to gasp and giggle at each of Annalea's answers, and caused them to press earnestly for ever more detail!

Blimey! What a predicament I'd put meself into! I thought, "Well, I suppose–should the subject ever come up–I could ensure Oglethorpe of his sweet daughters' innocence and virginity."

But that is not a subject easily broached with another man. And even if the news is good–reassuring to a troubled mind–a father does not wish to hear it of his daughter, especially from another man. Most would prefer to ignorantly assume their daughter's childlike innocence, at least until her belly betrays the undeniable presence of her first offspring. I knew that feeling; I understand that desire for blessed ignorance.

What added discomfort to me predicament was the level of detail Annalea provided in her answers. Areas of physical and emotional delight, expectation and profferance, of which I'd little understanding. I mean, I'd been present–unintentionally–at one such joining as she now described. I was an unseen, uninvited witness to more than I'd ever expected me eyes to behold. But I'd neither seen nor understood the depth and detail of what she was now illustrating in word to these captivated young women. And these innocent, young virgins seemingly comprehended and related to her words and intent much better than did I!

The three little pixies continued, so. They were having themselves a marvelous time. While their earlier conversations were enchanting to me ears, their prolonged discourse on matters so tender and personal were now torturing me conscience. That–coupled with the fact that I'd soon relieve me bowels in me own bedding if I delayed departing for the outbuildings much longer–caused me to fake the commotion, grunts and other noises of a man who'd just awoken and was coming about. Having thus given them a moment's notice, I rounded the turn to face them, pretending surprise at their presence.

Three sweet young pixies sat on the matted ground staring up at me–their jaws all hanging open. As if concerted, simultaneously, the blood drained from all three faces–giving each a pale, ghost-like pallor. In an instant, the blood returned with a rush, causing each such a blush as would make a rose seem pallid.

"Oh dear," I thought, "what have I done to these poor children?"

But afore I could utter a word of comfort, or even greeting, one Oglethorpe sister was on her feet and dashing out the doorway. Looking to the other Oglethorpe sister, I attempted a kind smile and prepared to speak, gently. But her mouth closed, her cheeks crinkled, her eyelids drooped and she began weeping, uncontrollably!

Annalea–now on her feet, with her fists pressed into her hips–scolded, "Oh, Papa!"

I was bewildered, embarrassed and remorseful; but, mostly, I was pained from so long denying nature's call. I meekly called back, "Sorry!" as I whisked out the doorway.

Nevermind the embarrassment of social situations we find ourselves inexplicably thrust into, I was within moments of causing meself far greater embarrassment in public–a social "stain," if you would. I moved like a rampaging bull to the closest available outbuilding and burst inside. Quite of course, that was where the first Oglethorpe sister had taken sanctuary. This sudden invasion was enough to startle her and put horror in her face; but the site of me drawers already drawn down to me knees–in eager anticipation of the release I sought–certainly did nothing to alleviate her fear. She screamed like a wild banshee! Without recovering me pants, I grabbed her by the arm and threw her out of the building–still screaming!

As I took me seat, relieved me pain, and gradually regained me composure, I could hear her just beyond the door–doubtless, still perched on the ground where I'd dumped her–screaming and screaming and screaming!

"Oh yes, 'tis wonderful to involve the female side of nature in your life! Especially the young'uns!" Having relieved me bowels, I sat mocking and chastising me previous attitudes. As I collected me thoughts, and corrected me clothing, I could still hear her beyond the door, still screaming–but fainter, and continually interrupted by urgent gasps for air.

When I came back through the door, I found–not surprisingly–a crowd had gathered 'round her. But she would not allow anyone to touch her or help her or speak to her. I thought, at first, to apologize to the young lady, and explain this happenstance, and all that preceded it, to this mob of curious onlookers.

But then I thought better of it. "I am Crockett! Crockett has a standing in this community! Crockett need explain hisself to no man!"

And then–quite aloud–I spake to the crowd. "If you miserable, bloody shirkers don't shove off and find yourselves usefully occupied, I'll put you to sleep with the broad side of me hand! Move out, you lazy bastards!"

That (mayhaps coupled with the strong odours emanating from those buildings) caused them to clear the area, directly. Now I was left with naught but that sack of rumpled girl, still squat on the ground. Near all out of breath–and doubtless exhausted and bewildered by her experiences with this gruff, tyrannical, "obscene," old man–her screams were now reduced to a mild sob, and then played out in a whimper. Enough was enough; mayhaps I could make it right, later. For the time being, all I could think to do was to grapple her up like a sack of flour, and lug her back to me quarters–and Annalea.

As I returned, carrying this lump of girl in me arms–obviously afraid of me, yet afraid to let go of me–Annalea cried out, "Papa! What have you done to her?!"

All remorse, embarrassment and other foolish notions were gone from me brain. Rather than apologies and explanations, 'twas the stern voice of her papa which Annalea heard. "Go and fetch the other Oglethorpe girl right now, pet. We must return them to their papa, straight away. For you and I have matters of great concern to discuss, privately and without delay."

Annalea sensed the urgency of me words and, ever the obedient daughter, she set to acting on me wishes without further comment or question.

Once arrived at the Oglethorpe lodgings, I'd hoped to simply dump the sisters into the care of their father, thus fulfilling any obligation I felt for maintaining their welfare. However, Oglethorpe seemed aghast at the distressed condition in which I returned his daughters. Upon his countenance were written a hundred questions, that only I could answer. Feeling obligated to the man for all his kindnesses towards our people–and sharing a father's ceaseless concern for daughters–I decided to spare a few moments to explain the circumstances which produced, ultimately, two such disheveled creatures.

Looking to Annalea and the sisters, I commanded, gruffly, "Sit you down, here, and await us!"

Placing me arm gently over Oglethorpe's shoulder, I bid him walk out with me, so's we could talk in private–man-to-man. Oglethorpe found the entire episode most amusing; and when I narrated the outbuilding incident, he doubled over in laughter. Tears were still flowing from his eyes when he regained his posture. I tell you–as the captain first told me–there was nothing about this man you could not like.

As we approached the girls, upon our return, Oglethorpe looked to his disconsolate cherubs and began again to laugh. Doubtless believing I'd revealed too much of their most intimate conversations, the girls' faces were again emblazoned from the blush of embarrassment and shame. And me former "privy companion" released a flood of tears and sobs that made me ears burn and me head ache! Shaking me head in obvious annoyance, I looked to summon Annalea and beat a hasty retreat.

But Annalea–having regained her mature demeanor–was ahead of me. "Come, Papa, you said we had matters most urgent to discuss."

"Aye, pet!"

As I headed down the path with Annalea, Oglethorpe put an arm around each sulking and sobbing daughter and walked them into their lodging.

# ~~

I thought to return to our lodging for our discussion; for that was where Annalea now was heading. Then I thought more on it and better of it. Such a conversation at the lodging would have to involve Mam' Tiére, who resided with us. Not that such would provide a problem. Mam's counsel and tender persuasions would most likely ease the matter considerably. But I'd already determined this to be me own duty, as papa. I'd not cower 'hind Mam's skirts while she delivered the distressing news to me baby. 'Twas blessing enough to know Mam' was there to console our precious, aft' I shattered her world.

So I redirected Annalea's footsteps, and–once more–I headed for the seclusion of the beach. When we were full alone–far from prying eyes and curious ears, I stopped her near the water's edge, and turned her to face me. I'd expected me inquisitive little sprite to have belaboured me with a thousand questions by now; she never is patient when she knows you know something she knows not! But not a word–not a sound did she utter through our entire trek to that spot. 'Twas as if the weightiness of what would be exposed was already pressing upon her, binding her mind and muting her tongue.

She now stood afore me–me hands resting on her shoulders. She looked up into me eyes and said only, "Aye, Papa?"

A shiver ran fast down me spine; I actually felt meself tremble. What had occurred to me (as if transported, in that instant) was the culmination of an event I'd briefly contemplated on Nemusmar–while under the influence of most dire distress. When I thought I would have to shoot me own daughter! When I thought that was the only way to salvage her soul from the wickedness of this world. And as she stood afore me now, 'twas exactly as I'd envisioned it would be, on that fateful moment. I felt the most scurrilous assassin!

I'll not, now, recount and relive the tribulations of that hour. Knowing all that's gone afore, you can well imagine the emotions, the exasperations and the angst that played out. Everything I'd considered–everything I'd contemplated–everything I'd dreaded: it all was said–and felt, and suffered–on that beach! In the end, Annalea accepted it all. And I knew that in a short time, her brave heart would enable her to face it all. But that time was not yet. Drained of emotions and words, we sat down together upon that beach. She laid her head in her papa's lap and–for the first time since our arrival on that island–she cried. The tears flowed well up into the night. Hers and mine.

Concerned by the lateness of the hour–'though doubtless she knew the reason for our absence–Mam' Tiére had made her way out to, and along, the beach. Having located us–unbeknownst to us–she sat at some distance from us, allowing that moment of man and girl–bonded in the spirit–to play through. When the sobbing had diminished to an inaudible level, she approached us.

She came 'round afore us, humming softly as she approached, so's not to startle us. "How be Mam's two best loves? Ma baby an' her papa?"

We both looked to her–warmly but wearily. As she sat down aside us, Annalea shifted her position to hug Mam' and rest her cheek on Mam's breast. Then–as I'd conjectured–the healing began. Mam's soothing, sensitive and most sensible words put matters in a perspective I could but awkwardly replicate. The tears were gone. Smiles ensued. Not the joyous smiles which presuppose eruptive laughter, but the embellishment of a countenance reflecting inner contentment.

# ~~

Several weeks then passed in preparation for the changes that would take place. There were two bodies that now met, daily. The first–the council–continued the program set for it by the captain, 'though now, with the knowledge that they'd soon be on their own. To reinforce this–and enable them the sooner to put this into practice–the captain absented hisself, meself and some of the others, from their daily meetings, leaving Higgins in charge, and providing decreasing oversight of their processes.

The second body to assemble daily included those who'd be involved in our next, great adventure. 'Course, by now, our lot viewed anything the captain described as a "next, great adventure," with "great" trepidation! 'Twas surprising to me, at first, to find how many of our compatriots were quite willing to forego the adventurous life of yore. No doubt, recent events played heavily in easing this transition of the mind: from fighter to farmer, from marauder to merchant, from "pirate" to "pilgrim."

Them as were still reluctant to part ways, were informed by the captain–in no uncertain terms–that if they'd not already been selected for the ship, they were intended for the shore. Their only other option was to be put ashore elsewhere, by Higgins–at his convenience. Higgins would command the ketch being left behind to service the new "settlers."

Most begrudgingly, the captain made some alterations to the ship's list. Of course, Annalea and I were now included; and naturally, Mam' Tiére would not be parted from her precious "princess." The captain must have Orke on board, and Orke must have Reena. 'Though the captain had considered her as replacement for Mam', 'twas most obvious Leona would fill that post.

Catching the captain at an off moment, he even allowed for the sisters to join us, "For your pleasure and amusement, Crockett," he told me.

And, of course, there'd be Estaban. No more disguised as the doubtful "Thomas," he was returned to the elegant garments in which he first arrived on Nemusmar. He was noticeably the most excited and enthusiastic of our lot, regarding this anticipated voyage. Finally–all preparations completed, all farewells spaken, the day and time for departure had arrived.

We were most all prepared to shove off. But one thing detained us–the one thing that remained undone: the requisite address to the people, from the captain. Me only concern was that he complete his sermon afore the tide changed! In fact, his brevity amazed me, and near caught me unprepared to leave on time!

"Dear friends. I address you for the last time as your captain; 'though with God's favour, our paths will cross again and again–throughout this life. I cannot help but feel I leave you with some disappointment; for over the many, happy years we spent in community, I made many claims to provide for your future welfare–and many promises which, presently, I cannot honour. I am not done with you. I am not done being involved with you. I am not done being involved in your lives. I am not deserting you. But I am not making further promises. I would not presume to bolster new hopes–which may prove illusory–afore fulfilling commitments of old.

"You shall all be in me prayers, and in those of this company. May I hope that we shall be remembered in yours. Since this is not goodbye, I shall not say the word. I shall simply bid you adieux."

Being practically in a snooze, his abrupt ending jolted me into unprepared activity. I could not have imagined–at that moment–how apt was his use of language, in his parting words.

## Chapter XX

# Well Occupied

Including me in the choosing of destinations and the plotting of courses, thereto, was never a necessity–but 'twas most complimentary. On this occasion, how-some-ever, I was not extended that compliment. Nor was Orke, or any other, consulted. The captain and Estaban planned and plotted and prepared; and the rest of us were simply informed, aboard ship. Did not really matter; for most of us were there simply to follow the captain. Only Mam' and I had a further agenda: Annalea.

Once underway–and all secure–the captain gathered us amidship and detailed our purpose and our destination: which was well into Spanish-held waters. He also revealed the story we'd issue to authorities–as we may encounter them–to explain and justify our circumstances. These, I know, were his intended topics; but frankly, I could not repeat to you one detail of that discussion. I'd not been able to concentrate on any matter but one. Me mind was restive. I had urgent need to resolve the issues regarding Annalea's return to England: specifically, the how and when of it! Nothing else mattered to me. Nothing else interested me.

The greatest cause of me anxiety was that I'd not been able to get the captain's time and his ear to discuss the particulars of me resolve, and how they fit with his grandiose plans. And now we were sailing off to God knows where–in the wrong direction, ever further from England and Annalea's destiny. As soon as the captain finished informing the crew, I approached him.

"So, Crockett, what do you think?"

"I think we needs talk, Cap'n. Now, if you've a mind!"

Thankfully, the captain saw me request as urgent–rather than impertinent–and we went straight off to his cabin. I expressed me concerns to him, and me doubts as to the wisdom of our accompanying him on this adventure, greatly delaying our objective.

"Crockett, I've never guided you wrong. And right now, delay is the proper thing–the strategic thing–for you to do. British held waters and the trade routes between will be teeming with patrols and ships of the fleet. They're doubtless in the area for more than Annalea. Mayhaps, there's been a perceived threat of continental war, and they are here to secure the region. We've seen that afore; and when the war clouds blow over, they are gone. But regardless their mission, travels in these waters are treacherous for us all while they are abouts–and moreso for Annalea!

"Short of all out war, which would bring chaos and devastation to this entire region–on a scale much greater than we witnessed on Nemusmar–there is naught I can imagine that would detain so many ships of the line in this area, indefinitely. Eventually, our needy king and his greedy ministers shall become annoyed at having such a piece of their navy committed to the boondocks of the empire. As you well know, Crockett, their eyes still are on the East; and they prefer to have their warships available 'twixt the continent and there. 'Til they depart for good–and they shall–'twould be suicidal for you to attempt the crossing to England.

"But, a little patience and a little cooperation on your part, Crockett, shall find you much better suited. Right now, I have one ship for us all–and a merchanter, to boot. She is the best of her class, for certain, but only a merchanter–just the same. If me plan bears fruit–and I've no reason to suspect it won't–I'll command more ships of varied type, in the not too distant future. And once safe to do so, Crockett, I'll set you and Annalea and Mam' onboard the best one–with a trusted crew and a course plotted true for home."

"Then you'll not accompany us, Cap'n?" I was truly disappointed by this prospect.

"Unlikely, Crockett. 'Twould not be safe–or wise–for me to return. And 'sides, who'd mind our enterprises here?"

"I don't know, Cap'n; I just don't know 'bout all of this." I felt meself becoming frustrated–and verging on exasperated. "I'd do anything for me Annalea! I'd go to the ends of the earth for her; I feel I'm doing that now. I'd readily die to preserve her life! But with all the unknown that faces us... the unimagined challenges to returning her safe to England and restoring her–if possible–with decent kin... and providing her a provident and prosperous future... I fear I am not the right man for the task. I fear I am less man than is needed to surmount these unforeseeable obstacles. And to utterly fail Annalea would be–to me–a fate worse than death: a fate worse than torture and death. If needs be, I'd foreswear any future contact with Annalea–never in life to lay eyes upon her, again–if 'twere necessary to convince the right man to undertake her crusade!"

"And you believe me to be the 'right' man, Crockett?" The captain seemed mildly amused.

"The right man! The only man, Cap'n!"

"You've truly a dramatist's soul, Crockett! Your pronouncements are always so reminiscent of a novice actor–or an overindulging rector! You are the right man, Crockett! You are the only man to protect and provide properly for our Annalea! If I am able to offer service to you, in support of your own good actions, I'll be most happy to. But for now, you understand the need for delay. And the opportunities to further refine our plans will come as events channel us towards our destiny."

Is this what I sought to hear? Not quite. I never get quite the response I seek from others. I know not why, but others think so differently than me. What seems to me to be delivered as simple, straightforward and logical, comes back to me twisted and altered as it gets turned 'round in their mouths. Therefore, I never expect to get the response I seek from others. And I am seldom disappointed!

So the captain did not say the words I'd've put in his mouth. He did not ease me burden by a guarantee to solve all me problems. But, now, I knew he was thinking of it; I knew we would talk more of it. That would do.

Our voyage continued on a course which gradually arched towards a southwesterly direction. The waters were calm but there was a favourable gust in the winds. For certain, we'd need to manipulate the sheets a might to maintain that gust in our favour; but at least we were not laid out in dead waters, for any stretch of time. We were very fortunate not to come upon more British navy, nor other ships of any flag–or any purpose, for that matter. We deliberately avoided any approach near land, which might promote such unavoidable contact. We'd provisioned very well when departing our little island, intending to forego landfall 'til we reached our destination.

This had involved another readjustment to previously announced plans. The captain had committed his word to Oglethorpe to deliver him and his daughters and his newly acquired treasure to a safe port. Situations being unpredictable, and conditions being as they now were, our arrival at any port city might well mean the discovery and ruination of us all. And there'd be no gain to the Oglethorpes, as they'd be hung alongsides us: execution for association.

Now, the captain's word never is given lightly; and he'd readily surrender all–be it personal fortune, or his very life–to uphold a bargain thus made. But he is not such a cavalier, when he must sacrifice the lives of others in the mix. This proved not to be a consideration when dealing with a man the likes of Oglethorpe. Being a right good judge of a man's character, he knew the captain would never renege on a pledge. Thus he broached the subject with the captain, stating he'd not be the cause of putting all these people in jeopardy. He said he'd willingly entrust hisself, his girls, his fortune and his future to the captain's care, 'til such time as they could be safely landed.

The captain was grateful to Oglethorpe for his understanding and his uncommon decency, and sought a resolution to the dilemma with marked determination. The solution he'd settled upon involved surreptitiously contacting "businessmen" in Kingston who owed all to the captain, as the agent of their prosperity. So it was set that they'd rendezvous with our ship at a charted point and a time designated by the captain. And these men would follow through, faithfully. They knew better than to "disappoint" the captain. So you see, all was prepared and provided for at the outset of this voyage.

Life aboardship always is different–more restrictive–than life ashore. This is natural enough–and comfortable enough–in the company of men who comprise the ship's complement. Each is most occupied with the endless duties of maintaining the craft, preparing for, or recovering from, the natural hazards of life at sea and conducting the business that compels us to traverse the vast oceans. Excepting any long spell spent lying dead in the water, time and effort move companionably, and at an acceptable pace.

Now with idle passengers on boards, that is another matter. And with women on boards, that is another matter, still! Now, don't misunderstand me sentiments. I am not one of them superstitious lot who prophesy shipwreck and doom from the demise of an albatross or the transport of some petticoats. Hell, if women were bad luck aship for true, then every damned one of them slavers out from Africa would have sunk to the depths of the ocean, from all the black wenches they'd cramped and manacled aboards ship! (And, probably, more to the relief of those miserable wretches it would've been!) No, such are not me sentiments. We loves our women. We treasures our women, and we respects them. So there'd not even be concern over lustful improprieties.

The true concern was over the number of people and provisions added to normally tight quarters. Also, while our women were a hardworking lot, willing to pitch in and take on any task or chore–not the frivolous, layabout kind–this seldom complemented the shipboard routine of a crew with assigned duties inflexibly performed. Add to this the stress placed upon men whose natural state is crude and vulgar. Aboards ship, they are with their own–in their natural state–and they acts accordingly. But while our mates are louts by nature, they've good hearts and tender feelings towards our beloved women.

Ashore, it is almost comical to see the extent of politeness they attempt to assume around our womenfolk: like so many foppish courtiers. But such games are played out in dribs and drabs, of short duration. Back on Nemusmar, 'twas only necessary for them to act the fop or fool on occasion–while in the company of women. Most of the time they'd dodge off to the settlement to consort with their mates–and be themselves, amongst themselves. Then, soon enough, they'd be off to sea and back to their natural state.

Yet this was different; this liaison with the fair sex was prolonged, unavoidable and unnatural–for some of these men. Imagine waking up every day, trying to force a broad smile, and retain that smile throughout the day–regardless of what happens–until you drops off to sleep at night. In but a few days, your face would be so sore you could barely use your mouth for eating or spitting! And that was how it was for these poor blokes. They were trying so hard to project the manners of choirboys, and the pressure was building on them. There was no release for their stress. This, combined with the arduous routine of life aboards ship, and the peculiarity–the uncertainty–of our mission, made time crawl, and the journey seem protracted. This was becoming a most unhealthy–potentially dangerous–climate.

'Twas certain the men did not understand this; nor would they've known what to do about it. But I noticed increasing tension amongst them, several times resulting in violent clashes 'twixt lifelong mates. One final episode resulted in a near fatal knifing. Not fatal due only to the intervention of Orke and the skillful mending of Mam' Tiére. But final, I say, 'cause now I approached the captain with this matter; and anything that might jeopardize the ship or our object, became his first priority.

The captain deemed the solution to be a simple matter of voluntary quarantine. He requested of the ladies that they delay coming topside in the mornings, by an hour; that at about midday, when the heat from the sun–direct over head–was most oppressive, they retire below decks and occupy themselves there for a few hours. (That was most in their best interest, anyways.) Then in late day, after resting in the cooler eve's breezes–about when the air turns more to the chill and damp–they retire themselves for the night: allowing the men to romp and raucous 'cross the decks unabashedly, for a bit. All of this seemed to release considerable steam from the kettle. And time proceeded to pass tolerably.

All were well occupied–men and women–throughout the passage. In off times, our people amused themselves as they would: consorting and cavorting with whomever they chose. Annalea, quite naturally, chose Estaban. And the Oglethorpe sisters followed her about to see what might occur–thus guarantying nothing ever did!

Being mostly deserted by Annalea for Estaban (quite understandably), I rooted out company and companionship wherever I might find it. I spent some time with Orke, but he preferred his time alone with Reena (quite understandably). I thought I might put value to spare time by chatting with Mam' Tiére, and gaining more understanding of me visionary dream. But she soon became preachy 'bout me most regular companions of late: casks of marvelous wine stowed onboard–the best from the captain's old cellar.

Well, now, with the sisters aboard–Cynthia and Sarah–I'd not expect to be idled during me idle hours. But the sisters are fanciful and fickle–and grudging to lengths beyond me duration. Apparently, early one eve–after imbibing the juice of a most delectable fruit, since noon (I must learn not to overindulge meself)–I turned a bit randy towards the sisters, and a bit rowdy, too. 'Twould seem they did not appreciate this, or were just not in a proper mood for it. They became–at first–standoffish, and then peevish. I remember spouting some oration comparing them to cows in a meadow, and relegating their purpose in life, similarly. 'Though later reports back accused me of saying much worse.

Well, I attempted profuse apologies on every occasion when I might approach them; but I was continuously rebuffed. So be it. Me liquid companion–most savoury–and meself would find others to carouse with. Normally, after such a binge, I swear off the grape entirely–for several days. But when others goad you into modifying your behaviour–when they challenge your very faculty for sound judgement–then pride takes over. Fool's pride. And there is no more prideful fool than a besotted fool.

Anyway, after annoying most of me closest, dearest friends, I settled on Oglethorpe for companionship. Not that he wasn't a pleasant, enjoyable colleague, but he didn't really know or fit with most of our lot, who'd naturally fall in with their own. 'Twas not that they were rude or deliberately wanting to exclude him; they just did not think to include him. And when he put hisself about, there was that other little matter that, gradually, caused folk to avoid him. He was a talker!

Now, I've been oft' accused of raising enough wind to fill the sails; and Lord knows the captain's orations can last from dawn to dusk–with hardly a pause for breath. But it also is known that we've much of import to speak; and it always behooves the listener to endure it. But Oglethorpe–kindly, gentlemanly Oglethorpe–he just talks. And his conversation follows such a meandering course, he can seldom find his way back to port–or back to his topic, that is. Now as to me own naughty habit–the consumption of large quantities of that divine liquid–I'd half a mind to curb me indulging. Yet, after spending some time trying to navigate through the whirlpools and shoals of Oglethorpe's babble, the other half of me mind begged to be sedated. This seemed to work fine, and make us the more compatible.

Fortunately–or not–for Oglethorpe, I was too nauseous to imbibe (doubtless, something I et) on a singular night when he chose to discuss–coherently–something that troubled him. Oglethorpe–like all of us–is a complexity of emotions and ideas and ideals. But his primary role is that of father; and into that role he'd vested all his feelings and conscious efforts. So I listened patiently and compassionately as he related his concern for one of his daughters.

He spake of the one who'd seemingly not recovered from that incident on the island–me "privy companion." While both his daughters–he claimed–were excruciatingly reticent 'round strangers, they became quite gregarious once they'd got to know folks, and warmed to their company. He was certain I'd've noticed this in the one sister who was seemingly all over the ship yapping with anybody and everybody. (That one was like a parrot, much like hisself.) But the other one.... I don't remember her name; I can't recall the name of either of his daughters. For certain, he named them several times. As he droned on, I think me mind exempted that which it deemed trivial, in order to stay the course and sift out what might be significant. So I just remember them as the Oglethorpe sisters.

Anyways, the other one–the one that was not parroting in everyone's ears–she was the cause of his concern. That girl would only go about timidly following her sister, when her sister was following Annalea and Estaban. According to Oglethorpe, the girl spent so much time alone in the shadows, her colour was as pale as her spirit. He talked to her 'bout this–as had her sister–but to no avail. He was saddened to see his child so, and not be able to help her. I felt some responsibility for her condition, stemming from me participation in that incident on the island. So I told Oglethorpe not to worry, I would speak to the lass, meself; and I was confident I could set her straight and redeem her–body and soul–from the shadows! You see, boastful pride is every bit as arrogant and ignorant as drunken pride!

So the plan was made. On the following eve, he'd coerce her–if necessary–from her hideaway, and take her walking on deck. Now, harken to the clever subterfuge. I'd meet up with them–quite incidentally–and strike up a conversation. He'd excuse hisself, due to an impatient bladder. I'd take over with the girl, and solve all her problems. Good plan!

## Chapter XXI

# A Most Ravenous Jackal

Generally speaking, I take me prideful, cock-ready boasts quite seriously. And I attempt to fulfill such promises as if they were rightful bargains, committed upon serious consideration. So the next day, I voluntarily abstained from the grape, to ensure the crystal clarity of me august wisdom was at the ready–and was eloquently dispensed to this impressionable young mind. At dusk–being properly cleaned and presentably dressed–I moved to join Oglethorpe and offspring on deck.

I can't vouch for Oglethorpe's description of his daughter as pallid; her complexion went to beet red when I approached them. She instantly vanished behind him, having to crimp herself down–as she was the same height as her father. Oglethorpe seemed amusedly flustered, but he quickly composed hisself and gave me greeting. Actually, he overacted his surprise at our "chance" meeting: as if everybody did not expect to see everybody else, each and every day, in such confines as these. Then–all too suddenly–he excused hisself for nature and modesty's sake, and hastened below decks.

For just a moment, the daughter was stunned by the suddenness and uncharacteristic impetuousness of her father's actions. But I knew this bird would quickly take wing, so I put me arm around her shoulder–as if to embrace her, but most to prevent her flight. The poor thing was now full stunned and seemingly cringing in on herself. To stem the tidal flow of tears I saw welling towards the surface, I abruptly gave her a pinch on one cheek and a peck on the other, and flung out a compliment as quick as you please. "Oh me goodness! Are you not just a vision of feminine loveliness, this eve? I'd be right flattered if such an attractive woman as yourself would walk about with me, awhile, just while we await your father's return. Would you accompany me awhile, me sweetest deary?"

Then I cast a broad grin upon her, hoping to appear kind and warm and sincere–and harmless. She studied me countenance a moment, then thought her private thought, and then agreed–gleefully. Suddenly, gleefully. Well, me personal charm has oft' been commented upon. But to have such impact, and change gloom to glee? Marvelous!

As we promenaded 'cross the deck, she wrapped her arm around mine; but she kept her face down, and her eyes fixed to the boards. I could glimpse a faint smile and a still bright blush upon her face. Now that I'd so easily and obviously charmed her over, 'twas time to impart me wise counsel to this confused cherub, and thus convey her spirits into the light. (I remember thinking something like that.)

"Now, darling girl, there is just you and me out here in the moonlight. Ignore all others–and the boards 'neath your feet–as if we were stepping out alone, 'cross the deck, off the stern of the ship, and walking directly over the waves."

Those words seemed to comfort her, and put wonder in her eyes. I just walked and followed her gaze. When I could see stars reflected in those eyes, I continued me sermon.

Cutting boldly to the heart of the matter, I told her I knew what made her reticent of speech, and reluctant of company: embarrassment–embarrassment and shame. I abruptly cut off any denial on her part. I told her I knew 'cause I'd seen it, written on her face, from the first I come 'round that corner that day and interrupted their cozy clutch–her, the sister and Annalea–through each accidental encounter with her from that day to this. Embarrassment and shame!

"No one can prevent your embarrassment, love. You alone determine what embarrasses you; and, 'twould seem to me, you allow near everything to embarrass you. But that is almost an attraction in a girl like yourself: the reaction of sincere–if naive–innocence, as opposed to the affected coyness displayed by some young maidens. As to your shame, me darling: you've not in this life to be ashamed of. For the first part, contrary to what you've convinced yourself of, I've not told a soul–including your father–the details of what transpired on that particular day, nor a word of any conversation I overheard."

I told her she was a bit too sensitive and, mayhaps, a wee too innocent for her own good. She's a young woman now. She should expect to function and feel fully as a woman. There is no shame in that. There is no shame in wondering about that and talking about that–and even giggling about that. And there's no shame in being overheard in such by a man. A man like meself, who knows people and understands women–I told her–finds nothing shameful nor silly in such natural curiosity and frank discussion.

By now, she was quite obviously feeling very good about herself. She embraced me, practically in a hug, as we walked on–and I held her rapt attention. I was very impressed with me; 'twas going so well!

"But you know, pet, curiosity is an avaricious but insatiable animal. And talk–while always a pleasant amusement–can be of limited value, as well. You may find yourself spurred on by curiosity to ask a thousand questions of a thousand people, and never receive a satisfying answer. Were I to tell you of the exotic places to which I've travelled, and the strangeness of the peoples I've encountered, you'd no doubt be fascinated and bewildered–and, mayhaps, a wee bit beguiled. Mere words most oft' fail us when we attempt to describe in detail that which is truly a coupling of physical and emotional experience: a perception that is registered by the eye, but interpreted by the spirit. Until you've been where I've been, seen what I've seen, and experienced that which I've experienced, you cannot truly know of it–nor truly feel you understand it. And once you've been and seen and done and felt and lived with it all, you may agree or not with me actual perception–or me inadequate interpretation–of these things. But that would be of no matter; 'cause at that moment–for yourself, alone–you would know all of it."

She put her arms 'round me neck, and with the palm of her hands, gently moved me head downward to place me face against hers.

"Ummm," she purred. "Now I understand!"

She gave me a large, warm kiss on the lips and released me: dashing off into the night, presumedly to meet up with her father. In her wake, I swear I could hear giggly, singing sounds of contentment. What a success! I was most pleased with meself, that night!

# ~~

Having saved another soul from self-imposed darkness and despair, it was now time to pursue the more mundane practices of daily life. Oh, for certain, I immodestly savoured those moments when I was lauded, by Oglethorpe and Annalea and Mam' Tiére and the captain–and several others–for me seemingly miraculous success at transforming this reluctant caterpillar into a butterfly. But there were duties to perform, and nightly carousing to enjoy. One positive outcome was that the sisters–Sarah and Cynthia–began to warm to me again.

Oh, they seemed not yet ready to fully forgive and forget me transgressions, but that is typical of their nature. They always move but gradually onto the path to forgiveness; but, once upon that path, they do not stray off of it. It means that they've convinced themselves that they want to forgive you–and they'll eventually talk themselves into forgiving you. And since the path to forgiveness is on a steep, downward slope, they are impelled to move ever faster towards the end of the path! I knew if I could remain pleasant, and abide a little time on me hands, I'd soon have the sisters on me hands, again.

Finding meself to be the man of the moment–suddenly back in everybody's good graces–I put this to me advantage, to broaden me social circle during me free hours. Oh, I did not desert me Oglethorpe–not too soon, anyway. So with him tagging to me coattails, I began to reimpose me witty and personable ways on the rest of me friends. And with a few discussions intended to whittle down his overexuberant prattle–allowing breaks for breathing and actually listening–others began to find him an amiable companion.

Then I was able to, finally, go about again on me own. Well, not entirely on me own. I returned quite soon to me romance with the seductive grape. And–aye, I'll admit it–some nights I got mayhaps a wee bit... well... stinking drunk. But being by nature a happy drunk–never a mean drunk–when your friends are already inclined to favour you, they tend to tolerate such foolishness a bit more, for a bit longer than they might otherwise be disposed to.

Now I'll grant you that a lot of this time would've been more safely and sanely spent in companionship with the captain. And we'd've both enjoyed that, at most times. But he was totally preoccupied with this new life he was planning; and near every free moment was spent in conference with Estaban: discussing every aspect, and discovering every detail of this venture. Of course, the captain graciously included Annalea in their company, considering them–as we all did–to be near inseparable. But I doubt this pleasured her much. I understand she spent most of her time idly sitting with her arm around Estaban's arm, listening to them talk incessantly, and nodding off, frequently.

While I'd've been welcomed–and me opinions considered–I'd've been even less attracted to this ensemble than was Annalea. These plans held nothing for me. I had me one true object: return Annalea to England–to home–as expeditiously as possible. So there'd be naught in these discussions to spark me interest. And without that spark–that lights the fires of me imagination–I'd have naught to offer or contribute to these most auspicious conferences.

Besides, I hoped avoiding the captain's company might delay his discovery of the extent to which I'd now depleted his most precious stock! I rued the day when he made that fateful discovery. Although, the more I drank, the less I rued! Interesting, that.

So I knocked about, having me fun with everyone. And the object of that transformation, most recently performed by yours truly–the young Oglethorpe girl–was like a new pet at me heels, on occasion. Certainly, she was appreciative of whatever I'd done to lift her spirits, and I believe she was more comfortable opening herself to others while secure in the company of her mentor. So I spent near most of me time happily surrounded by old friends and Oglethorpes!

Then–for some stretch of time–I was able to elude the omnipresent Oglethorpes. 'Twas not caused by dislike; they were truly lovely people. But I had me own issues and needs to attend–unhampered. Mostly, I desired to lubricate the softer inclinations of the sisters, and thus ease them evermore near me companionable custody. Sadly, for me condition, they seemed all too awares of this. I would ply them with soft sentiments, appearing to sway their hearts towards me favour. Then they'd stop fast their affectionate responses and go to gabbing with each other–in their way–as if I was not present at all. I was far more teased than they were eased! They knew they had the upper hand, and they wielded it mercilessly. 'Twas in the midst of one of these pointless games that Oglethorpe came upon me.

I was actually quite pleased to see him. I could now depart the sisters' perturbing company with purpose–not with me tail 'twixt me legs, as usual. But Oglethorpe did not wish to depart their company, immediately. At this I was flustered. I had purpose in demeaning meself afore the sisters–in private. Yet I'd no intention of repeating such performance afore an audience. On the other side of it: were I to act and speak with me usual swagger–me public display–I might suffer a setback in relations with the sisters. And progress had been so painfully gained. So I moved to hasten Oglethorpe's departure, damn near shoving him away, "Oglethorpe, me good fellow! Well come! I've searched high and low for you. There is a matter most urgent I must discuss with you–now!"

But he was most insistent; he must have but a moment to speak to the ladies. I'd need to exit this awkward situation. "I must piss. I'll take me leave."

Pretending to modesty, I went 'round 'hind some piled barrels, where one might spray off the side. 'Twas not the call of nature, but the call of curiosity to which I harkened, and I bent 'round a barrel to hear him speak. He told the sisters he wished to host an informal banquet in me honour, the very next eve. This he would do in gratitude for the great friendship and concern extended to him and his daughters, by meself. The sisters replied they'd be most pleased to attend such a function, and would expect to be of service in the preparations.

In me haste to return, I clumsily pushed against the barrels, sending one plummetting, and damned near crushing Cynthia! Once again the fool, I stood afore them with a most scarlet blush upon me face. When the laughter subsided, Oglethorpe asked if I'd attend such a function–since obviously I'd overheard every detail. "I'd be delighted. Now, let us go!"

Having made me bumbling, undignified departure from the sisters, I was able to catch a breath and clear me head. With me senses and memory restored, I had to beg off the party, explaining to Oglethorpe that I'd be on me watch next eve; and I'd not ask the captain for a postponement. Everyone's services were stretched–while at sea–and 'twould be most unfair to ask another to sacrifice his free time: his necessary respite. Oglethorpe was not dismayed. He said he'd speak to the captain and the others and simply arrange it all for the following night. Splendid!

Needless to say, I was elated by the prospect, and in the mood for a party, immediately. But this elation was altered by the sudden arrival of the Oglethorpe daughter. Just the one daughter: the one I'd counselled. The other was continuously stalking Annalea and Estaban. But that seemed no longer to hold any fascination for this girl–doubtless, another result of me good counsel.

She was very sweet: a very nice girl. But I'd no desire to mind an infant–or me manners, or me language–for the balance of this eve. She grasped me arm, and we all walked along, together. She said naught, but kept looking up to her father. Finally, he stopped and told her 'twas alright to speak, for I knew all about their plans. She seemed delighted and became quite uncorked: bubbling over excitedly with her ideas about who should attend the party, and what should be served, and what should occur, and so on and on and on!

Attempting to recork his little bottle, Oglethorpe suggested to her that she go off to see the sisters–who'd so kindly offered their assistance–and tell them all about her excellent ideas. Oglethorpe was beginning to master the art of polite delusion: putting people off, in a kindly manner–learned, no doubt, by the example I'd set. Anyway, the daughter took right to her father's bidding.

She let loose me arm, once again took me face in her hands, kissed me lips and said, "I'll make it the most marvelous night for you! You wait and see! It shall be the most wonderfilled night! I'll make it so!"

And she was off to the sisters, with an exuberance that only youth can manage. When the two of us stopped laughing, I directed Oglethorpe to me cabin, where we spent the night priming ourselves for a party: imbibing profusely and discussing politics, religion and women's derrières.

I was fortunate to be able to sleep through most of the next day–as I had watch that eve, and naught to do 'til then. I needed that time for me head to regain a more normal size and shape than it felt to be in that morning. Thanks be to the Lord that the festivities were not held that night. For I had the desire to frolic, but I had the need for recovery. And I'd probably do meself some real harm. I must gain control; I must abstain from me frivolous ways. This night would provide for that; for I'd never drink when about me duties. Thank God, me sense of responsibility prevents what others cannot prohibit of me! Aye, this night seemed to offer a promising prelude to the next eve's affairs. While in the careful performance of me duties, I cannot imbibe and I cannot cavort; but I can most certainly occupy the long hours with pleasant chat and cordial embraces–if all is well. And all was quite well that eve.

Not long into me watch, I heard the soft patter of a woman's footsteps approaching on the deck. It was Sarah. She was very pleasant–from the outset–and continually smiling at me. But she was not very Sarah. She stayed quiet and played coy for some time. Then she moved in close and began to purr. She told me she wished to regain the comforts of me companionship and speak her affections for me, but she'd felt the need to be circumspect around her sister–knowing that Cynthia was still upset with me. I took her upon me lap, and spake as a friend–in soft and soothing tones. We'd reached an accord, and I was caressing away her inhibitions, when we heard the soft patter of another woman's footsteps approaching on the deck. Disappointed, I thought to hold her. But she gave me a strong, wet kiss on the lips and–with a smile most seductive–promised to connect desire with deed, the following night!

She was off from me lap, and out of sight, by the time me next guest arrived. Cynthia! Have you ever heard the expression "twice blessed?" Well, so I felt. And so I was!

Now, the sisters are so alike–in appearance and manner–that many are dismayed of telling one from the other. But I knows them too intimately to be so confused. To me, it is their minds that seem identical and difficult to separate. In fact, me time with Cynthia was a replication... no... an exact duplication of me time with Sarah. With no interruptions, however, me great hope was that the outcome would be much different–enjoyably so!

Heavy boots pounding hard upon the deck sank the vessel of me desire. Abruptly, Cynthia was in flight, and I had more visitors with which to contend. Some crew members appeared, dragging along another bloke. They sought justice of this man for rifling through their possessions, in the dead of night. Can't say I was glad for the interruption, but the call of duty must not be denied. And so much better it is, when the men seek authority in such issues, rather than resorting to more personal and violent solutions of their own devising. In such case, there is naught for me to do but decide if there is sufficient cause to hold the man against just complaint. That there was; so I ordered him shackled, to await the captain's justice, on the morrow.

Having dismissed the men–in due course–and having retained the peace, I'd no further obligations to occupy me time. I thought about the sisters, and how I might approach one–and which one I might approach. As I pondered means and methods, I observed the first rays of morning sun crack over the horizon, off the stern. Night was ending–taking with it the possibilities, and leaving only the promises. Oh, for the next night!

# ~~

But first I had to pass the day. Of course I'd need me rest–and there'd be plenty of time for that. When finally I was relieved from watch, I should've made for me cabin; but I was feeling too jubilant to sleep. I thought to spend a few hours in the company of me beloved Annalea, catching up on our lives.

She was occupied that day draughting lists of items for conveyance as requested by the captain and Estaban, as regards their venture (as concerned me not at all). But this was a simple and mundane task for Annalea. She could quite readily put her mind to this and provide scintillating conversation, simultaneously. We had a glorious morning together, and then I trundled off to me cabin and to me sleep.

It seemed I'd but shut me eyes, when came a banging on the cabin door. The captain requested me presence, on deck. 'Twould seem the accused man from the night afore claimed he'd been simply trying to collect on bad gambling debts. And that "Mr. Crockett" had agreed he'd the right, and had dismissed the matter, out-of-hand. But his enemies had gone against "Mr. Crockett's" orders, and had locked him up anyway. I hated to admit that we had a man in our employ of such disreputable character and such unimaginable ignorance as to believe he could put forth such a falsehood, they would not think to wake me to verify his story, and he would be released with no consequences to follow. I reported to the captain, and then lingered on deck–in the ship's company–to witness and relish each stroke of the lash, as it slapped flesh from the hide of a most ignorant nuisance who was costing me rest!

Returned to me cabin, and desperate for me bed, me head went down and me brain went out—simultaneously. I'd not've thought it, but a few hours were actually passed in gentle slumber afore the next interuption. I dreamt I was lying in me cabin–in a coffin. I was as dead as a mackerel. And dressed out regally–princely–no, priestly! Several hooded men burst through the cabin door and surrounded the coffin. When they threw back their hoods, they had the morbid heads of vultures. And they were tearing at me vestments to reach me putrefied flesh! I was desperately trying to scream for help! But I couldn't, you see, being dead and all!

I awoke to the sound of me own voice screaming, "No! No! No!" This, to discover pandemonium in me cabin, and that commotion caused by wild men who'd been poking and prodding me to wake up! It was an assemblage of me mates, come to announce their intentions to celebrate with me, right then–as they'd all be at other duties that night. Once I'd plotted me brain into this world–no longer in the dream world–I joined them in laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Now sleep is important, but mates are moreso. I felt it most proper to carouse a bit with these lads, and continue me sleep when they left, in just a short while. And further, having just experienced me second bad dream–nightmare–the only two such dreams I could even remember having... I did not wish to be left alone to contemplate their meaning; that would prevent any further sleep. So, for a few moments spent with the lads, I was certain to feel much improved.

Some hours later, came a rap at the door, and the announcement that me mates were expected to their posts, in short order. At this point, I'd consumed more than half so much drink as I'd've expected for the whole night. But the night had not even begun–'though it was advancing on me rapidly. I must be asleep! So I emptied me cabin and tried once again. 'Twas not so quick and easy, this time, to go under. But, finally, I made it happen.

Finally, sleep came. And then it went! Hands upon me, pulling and shaking me. "Wake up! Wake up!" Annalea was persistent–and insistent that I come to, fully. "Papa, come! Papa, hurry! You are missing your own party. All are awaiting you. Wake up! Get up!"

"Ahhh... good day, pet."

"Not by the sight of you. You look awful!"

"Well, I did not sleep well, at all."

Annalea yanked at me 'til I sat complete upright in me bed. Scrounging about, she found a clean blouse and weskit and some breeches, and tossed them at me. "Hurry, hurry!"

She struggled to help me dress, but we were both too flustered, and arms and sleeves and leggings and whatnots were just getting tangled. She laughed and I laughed and we both gave up. "Do the best you can, Papa. I'll tell them you are on your way."

A kiss and a kiss and she was gone out the door.

Me arrival at the doin's was greeted with thunderous applause. Only me natural modesty allowed me to stand tolerant and humbly accept their accolades. As the din began to peter out, I raised me arms and prepared to respond to this great and touching tribute. "Friends...."

"All well and good. Aye, that will do, Crockett." The captain curtailed the speech out from under me. Someone placed a large drink in me hands, the captain said a few kind words over me, and we all commenced to carousing the night away. 'Twas the finest tribute I'd ever had, or ever attended–for anyone! I shared a drink and a joke with every good soul aboard, that night.

Of course, me scheme was to spend a bit more time with the sisters; but every time I made an ambitious try, I'd be pulled aways by an Oglethorpe, or Annalea or one of the others. So, for Sarah and Cynthia, I kept making promises to catch them up, soon. As night became deep, and partiers began to tire and drift off, 'twere the sisters who tried to choose me out. But 'twas difficult to break off from the revelry and the most congenial companionship of me mates. I was definitely three sheets to the wind when last they approached. 'Twas alright, 'though. With a devilish wink, they promised to catch me up, soon.

I choose to believe I am not a man who'd overstay his welcome, or fail to note the handwriting on the wall (I consider meself a most perceptive bloke), but I was the last man remaining at me party, still standing. And I was right bleary-eyed. Having no one to fun with–and naught left to drink–I figured out the party truly was over. I thought, then, to seek out the sisters, but for some reason I could not get me bearings.

When I chanced upon me cabin, I gave up the chase and staggered inside. I stripped off me garments as I crossed the boards, and flopped naked and besotted into me bed. I fell off to sleep, immediately. After a bit, I could hear sounds in the cabin; but I knew I was dreaming. I was startled again, when I thought I heard footsteps approaching me bed. But it was pitch-black; I could not see–and besides, I was dreaming.

As I returned to me doze, I felt it! The delicate touch of a woman's hand... the tender, soft skin of a woman's body... the ample curves of a woman's limbs and torso... and the passionate heat of a woman's lust. One of the sister's had found me! In the darkness–too black to see–she made me to know where all the luscious commodities and compartments of her womanhood were. As I was nibbling the ear and the cheek pressed to me mouth, her head pulled away and moved down me body. I kissed and caressed the warm form that enveloped me. She was all over me–with the sexual hunger of a most ravenous jackal!

I'd near drowned me mind in drink, and now I was out of me mind with passion. We were all about that bed–and all-ends-to–nearly wrecking it: rolling about and tangled up like two cats in a catfight! And this old tomcat cared not whether he won or lost–for the rewards came all the same. And from the wails of me "opponent," I was satisfied she was feeling quite the same. What a night! I would doze off 'twixt bouts, only to feel warm, soft hands and lips gliding upon me skin–arousing me for yet another match. What a night!

Finally, we slept: deep and long–at first, locked in spent-passion's embrace. Then we drifted to sides: she, wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill–me, stark naked and uncovered, refreshed by the cool air against me warm flesh. The entire morning evaporated away while we lie there in blissful recuperation.

Then I awoke–in early afternoon. I mean truly awoke: that spark of ignition that brings you forth–ready and anxious to be about your day's business. Not that groggy, half-wakened state when you drag your ass out of bed. Despite all I'd put meself through, I felt truly refreshed and invigorated–as a fact, rejuvenated.

I lie there a moment–enjoying that unexplainable feeling of bliss and contentment–just staring up and thinking. The fuzz still mantled on me brain made most of the last day and night seem a soggy, blurry distortion of probable events. Then a warm tide of emotional sensation pulsed through me veins. I remembered sex: sex and passion and physical ecstasy! Now that was surely a dream. For the one thing, it was too perfect; and for the other, I was surely too debilitated to have participated.

But when me arm stretched out and me hand came down, it came down upon a lump: a human lump–a curvaceous extension of feminine pulchritude. It was true! It was real! One of the sisters had joined me–and joined with me. How marvelous!

Ah, Sarah! Ah, Cynthia! I brought forth an image of each one: the sweet countenance, the lush, well-rounded—comfortable–form. The little freckle on Sarah's nipple. The heart-shaped mole on Cynthia's inner thigh. And the cutest dimples on the 'hinds of both. Ah, Sarah! Ah, Cynthia! Ah, the sisters! But which one? I sought to discover this for meself.

Rolling onto me side, I moved a hand under her cover and began to probe and feel. I gently worked every crevice and curve. I ran the palm of me hand–with fingers gliding–over the expanse of her ass. I found the expanse to be remarkable–and unfamiliar. But a drink-fuddled brain does play tricks upon you–most often when picturing women's dimensions. They usually expand!

I took a breast full in hand, squeezing and stroking. This, too, seemed pleasantly beyond anticipated proportions. I moved to the other breast, and was equally rewarded. I glided me hand up, from rump to pelvis, feeling moist softness and a tickle of fluff. Now more than me curiosity was fully aroused. And she was cooing and wriggling sensuously, 'neath her cover. Which one? Which one? I had to know. And I had to know, now!

I yanked away the cover, to gaze upon the sister!

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I exclaimed.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" she replied.

It was the sister! It was the wrong sister! Not Cynthia! Not Sarah! It was the other sister! It was the Oglethorpe sister!

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I screamed in her face.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" she replied.

She reached out her delicate hand and touched me with surprising firmness. Me spirit soared and me body responded; but me conscience held me fast. I arose to me feet–full erect! I thought to yell something at her; then I thought better of it. Very calmly–very gently–and very succinctly, I said to her, "You must leave."

I braced meself in anticipation of another scream or a flood of tears, but I sustained neither. She looked up at me with that angelic face. She was truly glowing. Her broad smile was augmented by her full, plush, sensuously sculpted lips. Her eyes sparkled with affection. She was truly a tender and beautiful girl!

As she arose–unashamedly naked–and crossed the cabin to where her clothes were draped over a stool, I could not take me eyes off her. The bounteous and curvaceously voluptuous perfection of her female form made its own statement. This is no girl. This is a woman: a beautiful, seductive–incredibly desirable woman!

I should feel so ashamed of meself, just standing there naked and erect–as if at attention. But I could not force me gaze away from admiring her great beauty. I just watched–speechless and motionless–as she slowly dressed herself. And it seemed that time and activity had slowed greatly. Watching her dress was as watching a ballet–each movement gracefully and meticulously performed. All that time, she kept her face to me: the sweetest smile and that heavenly glow illuminating her countenance. Having completed herself, she moved a few steps towards me, placed a kiss in the air, turned and departed.

## Chapter XXII

Always, Dear Heart!

I was near full stunned by the whole experience. Still naked and moist, I flopped back down upon me bed and tried to ponder the situation: what had happened, what it meant and what might be the repercussions. But me brain could only concentrate on what had happened. It ran over and over in me mind, repeating and overlapping–like the singing of a round–and with certain parts enunciated, thus heightened and sharpened in me mind's eye. In this delicious, post-euphoric, self-induced trance, I drifted once more to sleep–and to such dreams as make you reluctant to ever wake again.

I lived, quite happily, in me erotic dream world, 'til near nightfall. Then I awoke. And when I awoke, 'twas with a troublesome thought which grabbed me consciousness, danced 'round me brain, and then plummetted to the pit of me stomach. What if the Oglethorpe sister talks about this–about us? She may be out there, now, talking about this–about us. To her sister! To Oglethorpe! To the captain... and Mam'... and... oh m'God, to Annalea! They'll all know! If they don't know already, they soon will. That look upon her face–that glow–and that gleam in her eye. She'll have to talk. She'll want to talk. She'll talk!

There was naught I could do about it. I could not prevent it, nor amend it. Mayhaps I could deny it. After all, was I not the innocent in this episode? 'Course, no one else would see it that way. Doubtless, I'd be accused of seducing this young innocent: luring her to me cabin and debauching her–stealing the fragrance from the flower, defiling the petals of first bloom.

Well, there was no use to hiding away in me cabin. Should an angry mob decide to storm me barricades and drag me without, I'd look a cringing, coward of a man. And that was not Crockett! Crockett can face anything! Crockett can face any man–or girl.

With me ire thus aroused (and me clothes on), I pushed aside the cabin door and stepped outside. But I was not greeted by angry petitioners or curious inquisitors. In fact, it appeared to be a rather humdrum time aboard ship. There were men set around, working fids, and women working needles–all occupied in the continual routine of maintaining and repairing. Some were chatting, some were singing–all seemed complacent. Well, 'twas hardly a mob pressing for a hanging.

I strutted by them with an air of carefree abandon.

"Yo ho, Mr. Crockett!" "Right, ho, Mr. Crockett!" "Aye, aye, Crockett!" "There is the man!" Lexical bombs exploded around me. I stopped and turned about to face me fate. With a stern expression and a set jaw, I scanned their faces and awaited their remonstrations. They, however, became silent, and displayed on their faces the expressions of children who'd just been scolded.

"Mind them not, Papa! They'd just love a bit of fun at your expense!" Annalea had snuck up upon me and put her arm around mine.

I thought to sweat through this, "Um, how so, pet?"

"They are just jealous. No one shall set forth a banquet in their honour. And not a man amongst them could endure through such ribaldry as you do."

"What?!"

"Oh! Sorry, Papa, I meant that in a good way! What I mean to say... well, there is no man equal to you, Papa!"

Acceptable. Non-accusatory. She did not know. She surely did not know! Nor did any of 'em. Not those clucking chickens on the deck, not Annalea, not the captain or Mam' or Orke–or any of 'em. The girl had not talked–yet!

I thought meself in the clear–at least for the moment. Feeling, now, particularly chipper, I continued me stroll about the ship, whistling a favourite ditty as I went along. But when I spied Oglethorpe coming me way–walking arm and arm with the daughter–I abruptly swallowed me tune and turned about face. But–of course–they hailed me down afore I could make good me escape. Once again, I had a sinking feeling which plunged to the pit of me stomach. I felt a right thief, caught with the goods. Only–in this case–the goods were hanging on Oglethorpe's arm.

Apparently, me guilt-driven angst was reflected in me facial expressions; for Oglethorpe noticed something was amiss and asked if I was sick.

"No... no, but I may yet be," was me cryptic answer. He apologized for disturbing me. They were on their way to sup with the captain and–spotting me–thought to inquire about me plans.

Having not found me about, all day, he'd been curious of me whereabouts, and welfare. He'd hoped I'd not been stricken down by the very party that was supposed to lift me up. Oglethorpe was on his way to me cabin, some hours ago, to discover for hisself what state I was in. "Unfortunately," he'd been waylayed by the captain and Estaban, on matters regarding their venture. By the time he finally broke from them, he met up with his daughter. She informed him she'd just come from me cabin, and I was quite firm and fit! I let out an audible groan.

The daughter told of spending the day in me "good care" after having spent the night visiting with Annalea. He expressed his eternal gratitude for all I'd done–and continued to do–for his daughter. If he'd only known all I'd done!

Oglethorpe commented on me pale complexion and appearance of queasiness.

"In truth, dear friend, there is something gnawing in the pit of me stomach–which I cannot describe to you. But–for certain–'tis something I had last night."

He seemed quite concerned, as if 'twere his fault.

"No, no," I said, "I most certainly did this to meself, and am quite deserving of the consequences."

The Oglethorpe daughter interrupted us. "Now, Papa, we must not keep the captain waiting. And we're detaining poor Mr. Crockett."

She wrapped her arms 'round me neck and pulled me hard to her breast. Straight to me face, she said, "I thank you, body and soul, Mr. Crockett, for all I've learned at your kind, gentle hands–and for the delights of the world you have shown and made known to me. I shall never forget. And I shall never forget you!"

I smiled–feebly. I wanted to shout, "Shut up, girl! Shut up!" But, with father there, I said nothing. I just smiled sheepishly.

Then she said, "'Til we meet again!" and published a most succulent and passionate kiss upon me lips, afore departing with father.

"Again?" Me brain was racing. "Meet again? That must not be repeated," I thought. "Does she plan to come to me, again?"

Now I had more to fret about. "Will she talk? Of course she'll talk. But when–and to whom? And when will she attempt to repeat that liaison? Tonight? Tomorrow night? Every night? What does she expect from this affair? Instruction? Love? Marriage?!"

Now I had much to fret about!

Mayhaps it is unnecessary to mention that I had not taste for the grape, that night–or for many nights to come. I felt about it much as I would a friend who recklessly beckons you follow him down danger's path; then deserts when the real trouble starts. So it was with this "friend;" it put me in the place, and mood and temperament for reckless adventure, but had nothing to offer–or to soothe me conscience–when I fell into it all, face first!

I returned to me cabin quite late–and quite apprehensive–that night. I stepped in, cautiously, lit the lantern, looked about, and inspected the bed to ensure I was quite alone. Satisfied I was on me own, I secured–and barricaded–the cabin door. Now, I could finally relax. I stripped off me togs, and prepared for me bed.

I'd hardly found comfort when came a rattling of the cabin door. I thought to ignore it! I blew out the light and went very, very still.

"Mis-ter Croc-kett," came a soft, silky female voice. "Mis-ter Croc-kett. I know you are in there!"

Still, I attempted to ignore her; 'though, honestly, the thought of her–the nearness of her–tempted me, sorely. Then, she demanded entry! Oh, m'God, she was getting louder and louder! I'd soon have the entire ship's complement at me cabin door!

I rose, naked, and dashed to the door. I pulled away the barricade and pressed me head fast against the door. In somewhat of a whispered shout, I said to her, "Darling girl! I am flattered. I am honoured. I am eager. But this is wrong! We can do this no more! You must forget this–and return to your father!"

"Me father?" came back a female giggle. "And him dead these seven years?"

I knew by the response, it was one of the sisters: one of the right sisters. Then I heard two female voices, simultaneously exhorting me for hiding out behind locked doors. It was the right sisters–both sisters! I gladly flung the cabin door open and greeted them, forgetting I'd not a stitch of cloth 'twixt me manly flesh and their intensely scrutinizing eyes. Their expressions of amazement and interest–and their harmonized girly laughter–reminded me of me state of undress. I ushered them in, hurriedly.

"Been a bit overanxious for the company of women, friend Crockett?" Sarah was the first to issue a snide remark.

"And from the way you've hid yourself from us, of recent, we'd expected to find you shy and aloof. But this is not a timid member which stands afore our eyes!" Cynthia must have her say, and make her point.

"Dearest ladies, you've no idea how excited I am by your presence."

"Well, we can see that most clearly, love," Cynthia responded.

To which Sarah quickly added, "And so shall everyone else, if you don't close that door!"

The door went shut, in the quick to!

Well, let me assure you, I did all that I could to make it up with–and to–the sisters that night. To keep them happy and satisfied, and stay in their good graces, would be me salvation from the Oglethorpe sister. If me free hours were spent cavorting with the sisters, there should be no opportunity of a recurrence with the sister! And so, a nightly dalliance with me sisters–Sarah and Cynthia–kept me well lubricated, and therefore able to slip through the clutches of anyone who might hope to grasp me–or grasp me heart!

But the day I dreaded–the day of reckoning–never came. The lass never approached me again, 'cept in the company of her father, her sister, Annalea or some of the others. And upon reflection, I feel the fool for wasting so much time and effort vainly trying to avoid the girl–literally trying to hide away, as if one could hide for long on a ship at sea. If you were not discovered, 'twas 'cause you were not sought!

And fearing the looks of scorn and condemnation on the faces of others–once all was revealed–I'd avoided contact and pleasant company with me shipmates through all this time. I could not even face Mam' Tiére. I imagined her righteous indignation and the wrath that would follow! Of course, I could not shun me Annalea. I would bear any scorn, any retribution–any shame–afore I'd suffer separation from me beloved child.

Then, of course, there were me shields–me nightly deterrents to the Oglethorpe girl: the sisters. It seems a remarkable irony, to me, that a man alone amongst women–in their world–is as ill placed as a cod fish in a desert; but men and women alone with naught but each other for comfort and support, create a world of their own–far better than the world we otherwise occupy. And thus continued me days and nights until that time–'bout mid afternoon on a sparkling, bright day–when we rendezvoused with the ship which the captain had "commissioned" to carry the Oglethorpes (and their treasure) to their new life. There was a great deal of fluster and commotion and gaiety, in preparing them off the ship–what with farewells and best wishes and scores of hands to shake and scores of cheeks to kiss.

I still was playing me own little game of hide-and-don't-seek, fool that I was. But I thought I was doing right; that I'd been very careful to avoid a tempest, and there'd soon be smooth sailing ahead, for me. Oglethorpe would not be launched, however, 'til he'd found his "good friend," Mr. Crockett, and said farewell. Annalea led the pursuit. Once found–and scolded for delaying all–I surrendered to me fate.

I extended an awkward farewell to Oglethorpe and the other daughter. But I near panicked when the daughter pulled me aside to speak privately. I believed she'd now expose all–and make her demands.

She took both me hands in hers and said, "You shall always be in me heart, as a most special friend. You've done so much for me, and I hope I've repaid you. Will you remember me?"

"Always, dear heart!" Me own words took me by surprise, as if spaken by another. She had the same marvelous glow to her face, as I remembered from afore. She hugged me and kissed me on the lips, and then on each cheek, and then again on the lips. She turned, and I watched her walk out of me life, gracefully–like a lady–as a woman.

All of me concerns had been for naught. I'd allowed me foolish guilt to cause me to act like a child. She had simply needed to use me. Not in some harmful way: not in some childish game. But in her passage to maturity. Had I been mature–not acting the willful child–I'd've realized and appreciated how she honoured me. 'Twas–after all–not a mere sexual thing; she could have had her pick of many younger, far more handsome, studs than me. 'Twas a matter of complete trust–of confidence in me abilities and consideration in providing for her needs. 'Twas a matter of giving herself over with full confidence and affection for the man who'd be her first.

Once I realized all this, I found I was glowing, meself. Annalea commented about the blush on me cheeks. "Did her affectionate farewell embarrass you, Papa?"

"Not at all, me child! Not at all!"

I felt very good about meself, actually. Not in that cocky, boastful way I'd impressed meself when I thought me golden-tongued sermons had done so much for the girl. But in a deeper, truer, far more personal way. For I knew that I had touched another person's soul, and made it lighter–happier. And I knew she'd done precisely the same for me. And this private, intimate knowledge was far more gratifying than the superficial adulation one receives from the arrogant public display of one's "virtues."

## Chapter XXIII

# A Most Reluctant Visitor

From that point on, everything was done earnestly. We were increasingly penetrating Spanish waters. Only one person was truly elated by this: Estaban. The rest–including the captain–were more than a bit apprehensive. For Annalea, her apprehension was caused by the knowledge that her separation from Estaban was approaching. For the rest of us, it was the discomforting thought of being surrounded–smothered–by our enemies. Placing ourselves at the mercy of the merciless Spaniards. What were we thinking?

'Twasn't long afore our anticipation was realized. Early in the morn–the day after we transferred the Oglethorpes–came a shout down from the crow's-nest: a Spanish galleon was spotted off the starboard bow. 'Twas moving across our horizon, and away from us. We could not know if she'd spotted us, as well. 'Though the anticipation had ended, the suspense grew over the next two days. During that stretch of time, we spied five Spanish ships–on five separate occasions. The second "visitor" was spied off the stern–seemingly approaching, as if in pursuit, and then veering off to a radically different heading. Most perplexing. The rest came upon us, made a modest approach, sailed near parallel for a few hours–as if studying us, carefully–changed course and went off. Most perplexing and harrowing!

Finally we were met by four Spanish war ships. They were not gaming. They approached–came straight at us–surrounded us, and made plain their intent; their guns were trained on us, threateningly. A shot placed 'cross our bow made clear their intentions. We struck our colours, to indicate we would yield–and soon we were boarded. They put aboard so damn many heavily armed soldiers, I near expected to be treading water as the ship sank and the ocean rose!

And the way those Spanish bastards eyeballed us. They figured we were English–and probably English pirates, to boot. So, in their eyes we were no more than scum, as they were in our eyes. The Spanish soldiers anxiously awaited orders to slaughter us; and we ached to kill them. The tension aboard that vessel was incredible–and near unbearable!

Their officer approached our captain, selected by dress and demeanor as the only obvious leader. But Estaban stepped forward, apparently introducing hisself in the Spanish babble. That officer–and most of the soldiers whose faces I studied–were taken aback. This was obviously unexpected and presented them a dilemma. They listened intently–curiously–to Estaban's story.

The Spanish officer asked him many questions–which he responded to quickly and courteously, 'though I could sense that Estaban was losing his patience with the man. Eventually they did stand down–a bit. I began to believe that episode would pass without bloodshed. The Spaniard ended the dialogue with what seemed a rather curt declaration. He then went to instructing his troops.

Estaban returned to where the captain and I were waiting, "It will be alright. I am certain he understood our situation. Of course, they have no authority to act on anything, they can only escort us back to port. But I am certain it will be alright."

"Escort," indeed! They commandeered our vessel, placing their own man at each station, and retaining sufficient armed guards to prevent our interference. I was bound to be a most reluctant visitor to the Spanish territories–as were we all, save Estaban. And even he'd lost the look of enthusiasm. Now that had me concerned. But he just kept insisting, "It will be alright!"

And so we endured this most humiliating passage. We displayed the disposition of a people enslaved: black and white. Soon, land was spotted on the horizon. Instead of the jubilant feeling of a homecoming, or the exhilarating feeling of an imminent attack, or the sensation of eager anticipation when approaching an undiscovered landfall–all familiar emotions I'd experienced at first sighting of land–I had, instead, a sinking feeling and a sense of dread. As the coastline grew on the horizon, it appeared to me as the gaping mouth of a monster–set wide to swallow us whole!

This was a most ominous perception. I was near consumed with foreboding–for all of us, but mostly for Annalea. How could I have allowed her to be placed in such peril? Of course, 'twas the confidence of the captain and the assurances of Estaban which made me acquiescent; but me confidence was rapidly dwindling. Our situation was ambiguous–and that was unsettling. I knew not what to expect and, therefrom, how to respond.

We were met on the dock by even more armed Spanish military. We were literally surrounded, three-to-one: six-to-one, if you included spectators. A rather senior looking authority approached Estaban, and the jabber began again. Our lot stood on the docks–baking in the hot sun, sweating in the oppressive humidity–while those two palavered amiably, but endlessly.

They were still jawing as the rest of us were herded off–urged by pike and sword–down the dusty trail, toward the walled city, oddly set at some distance from the port and their coastal fortifications. I definitely felt a prisoner–not a guest–as we were brought to a halt afore the massive gate that provided the only entrance to the city. Our guards were ever watchful and prepared to act with violence upon any slight provocation. Once inside, we were herded into a circle and guarded closely. From the tightness of quarters–the proximity of prisoner and guard and spectator–I could not get a reasonable view of the layout of the city. The sun was still baking us, and the humidity was still oppressive. And I hated Spaniards!

Eventually, we discovered the reason we were all just standing about. We had to await the arrival of Estaban and the Spanish official. Estaban came directly over to Annalea–and indirectly to where the captain and I were standing, and stewing.

He reported, "I am certain it will be alright. These are most peculiar circumstances. They seem to be having some difficulty understanding–or believing–all which I have told them. The majistrado wants me to clarify these matters. And he will need to verify my documents, statements–and position. I am afraid we will all be detained until this is resolved. But I am certain it will be alright."

I heard the captain of their guard shout, "Vámonos!"

'Twas the only Spanish word I recognized, having heard it over and over since first we became acquainted with our most hostile hosts. And the repetition of that singular word had eventually moved me from annoyed to nauseated. It had also caused me to be moved to this place in time, and an uncertain future.

So once again, we were being herded along–those Spanish sheepdogs nipping at our hooves. Estaban moved in step with Annalea until a guard stopped him in midstep and pulled him away from the flock. In a minute, he ran back to catch us up, and walked alongsides–'though this time, he was on the other side of the guards who flanked our ragged column.

"Apparently, the majistrado wishes to conclude our discussion, now. This is a good sign! But it shall take some time, and I cannot continue with you, now. So go along, my friends, to your accommodations. And please, try to relax–and enjoy your stay. You shall see that my people can be most hospitable. I shall finish this business and rejoin you, soon. I am certain it will be alright. Hasta luego!"

Now, I had come to know and respect–and appreciate–Estaban; I knew he was not a liar. Nor could I attribute ignorance, cowardice or vengefulness as intrinsic to his character. I could only assume that a natural affinity and trust for people of his own race allowed an inordinate gullibility to cloud his judgement and mitigate his caution. For the reality of that day, when contrasted with his words, would reveal him as the knave or the fool.

As we were herded alongside the stoutly constructed, defensive, outer wall, and deeper into the city, we were funnelled through what appeared to be their marketplace. I remember the sounds of squawking chickens being pushed from underfoot–and the sounds of squawking Spanish peasants, as we were pushed along through their midst, interrupting their mundane activities, and thus annoying them, greatly. I remember thinking I could not separate the squawking chickens and the squawking Spanish peasants from their sound, alone. Only should the rocks start flying at us, I would know 'twere not the chickens!

Safely through the marketplace–and once again hugging the outer wall–I spotted a long row of cells, fronted and enclosed by thick, iron bars. Their construction appeared to be as almost an outcropping of the massive wall; but their purpose was unambiguous. I could even spy a few dismal souls, sprawled or squatting in the dirt, locked-fast behind them iron bars. A quick estimate told me they could readily pack a dozen "visitors" into each cell, if comfort were not a concern. I approached these "accommodations," apprehensively, and moved passed them, gratefully.

We continued along towards the far end of the city. I could glimpse the top of the far wall. On the inside, 'twas roofed and there were several windows and some balconies evident, already. Their plan became apparent to me. Doubtless, they'd hold us up in those rooms–mayhaps, with guards posted on those balconies–while they investigated Estaban's story. 'Twas unlikely there'd be windows–or any other source of egress–on the outer face of that great wall; so they'd have little concern for our escape.

As if we'd want to escape into that desolate, Spanish-held countryside. But me only concern–at that moment–was whether the rooms would be cool and soothing and the beds soft and comfortable, as I'd great need of rest and recuperation. Finally, we reached the far wall. As I gazed across the span of the wall I could see from that end of the city, I noted–far to me left side–a large, panelled, ornately decorated door, made of a rich, dark hardwood–mayhaps mahogany. At the centre was a staircase, fixed of iron and climbing to a balcony–providing eventual access to those rooms that awaited us, above.

Lastly–far over to the corner, on me right side–was a gate constructed of wide, crudely-hewn planks, bolted to thick-block crossmembers and secured with an iron latch. Once opened, we were hustled through this gate. We were forced down into a dank, dark, windowless pit that had been cut into the ground, under the inner façade and against the outer wall. A group of me mates who were nearest the still open gate, led by Orke, turned on our Spanish captors–unarmed 'though we were–and made an attempt to withdraw to freedom. Orke had already relieved the bastards of a pike and a sword–and was about carving us an egress, straight through the Spaniards–when the captain shouted him and the others down.

Now, Orke was not an easy man to halt in mid-rage, but he had unconditional respect for the captain, and an unquestioning obedience to his orders. As the startled, frightened, Spanish soldiers withdrew beyond the gate, Orke and the others did not pursue them. Instead, he spit at them and threw down the pike and the sword. In their haste to retreat and close and latch the heavy gate, the Spaniards did not delay long enough to retrieve those weapons.

Whereupon, Orke picked them up again, turned his back to the gate–to face us–and raised the weapons up over his head, as in a display of victory! He actually had a broad smile on his face. We all applauded his victory with cheers and laughter. Considering our circumstances, that must have unnerved our Spanish "hosts," considerably. Well, to hell with them! (Whither they all were destined, anyways.) I cared not how many grizzled old campaigners there were amongst them; I was certain that none of them had experienced what our lot had struggled through, fought through and lived through–the women as well as the men! And, because of that, we could laugh at anything–in the face of anything, and especially in the faces of these mule-ignorant, Spanish bastards!

No one questioned the captain's command to stand down–to continue to resist would have been suicide. Even if we'd appropriated more weapons, we'd've been fortunate to hack our way through that great mob of peasants, let alone an entire regiment of well armed, war-honed hostiles. What concerned me at the time was the captain's disposition. He'd not seemed nor acted hisself since first those Spaniards boarded our ship.

The captain's emotions and concerns were seldom–if ever–written on his countenance. To read the man's thoughts and feelings, you had to know him deeply–and read deeply. His natural pride and accumulated experience of leadership were always displayed in his bearing. But this reticence–this facile acquiescence, almost sheepishness on his part–this quietness, fairly shouted of internal turmoil. I feared we had lost our leader: that his mind had somehow surrendered. That thought caused me a shiver of fear: the realization that if such were true, I'd be expected to lead!

There was so much confusion and noise and anger and shouting and cursing in that black hole, you could not harness a thought and ride it completely through to the finish. At any other time, such a tempest would've been calmed by the commanding, yet soothing, reassuring words of the captain. This time, however, that did not happen. In the midst of this chaos, he seemed to be all alone, almost unawares of the presence of others–leave alone, their commotion.

Very quietly–almost calmly–he walked hisself slowly to a far point in the pit, set hisself down and leaned against that stout, outer wall. I pushed through the bodies that enveloped me, and made me way to set alongside him. I don't rightly know if me intention was to probe his mental state, or ease it–or, hopefully, ease me own mental state of self-absorbed concern; but I began to interrogate him.

There was naught wrong with the captain's faculties; he immediately apprehended the gist of me awkwardly worded questions. "Have no fear, Crockett. You've not lost a captain. But I've much to contemplate, and I must do so, alone. And I must be alone to do so. There's naught else to be done, now, anyways."

Certainly, me feelings was a bit hurt, not being taken–not being wanted–in the captain's confidence. Still, I had too great a respect for the man to allow me overly-sensitive nature should dictate a response. I left him to his thoughts and found another spot to engage in me own contemplation. While the captain remained an island amidst this sea of huddled humans, I was soon joined by Orke, Annalea, Mam' and a few others.

'Though the captain might not've been of a mind to scheme and plot our escape, the rest of us could talk of nothing else. But what did we have to our avail? A pike, a sword and a horde of angry people. Mayhaps, there was enough manpower to pound down that gate and burst through to the open air. But then what? Bloody massacre, that was what!

'Twould be best if we could depart silently–unannounced. Examining our quarters, we could see the unlikelihood of that. We were backed by that enormous, formidably thick wall that, doubtless, ran several feet further into the ground–beneath the floor level. The floor itself appeared to be of dirt–dark and damp. The moisture soon seeped through your garments and made your ass feel soggy. But damp dirt can be readily tunnelled through, with a pike and a sword!

A few minutes trowelling through this "topsoil" revealed a hard, stone flooring just inches below. We probed the diameter of our "quarters" to verify it was the same all about: solid stone! Only the wall facing into the city, itself, appeared to be earthen. And this proved–with more probing–to be true. I don't think that construction was intended to keep prisoners from escaping; 'twas doubtless intended to keep enemy sappers from gaining access to the city.

Prisoners in the pit–if that was what it was used for–were apparently welcome to use their wherewithal to tunnel back into the city–where they'd, doubtless, be readily disposed of. We could not choose to go in that direction. We continued to survey our surrounds. 'Twas evident that the only air and light to enter that burrow came through seams 'twixt the rough planks of the gate, and a small porthole–no more than the size of a man's head–carved above ground level, through the adobe façade of the inner wall structures. This was meshed with iron rods allowing a slit of an opening at the bottom–mayhaps, for delivering food and water. Hatching a plot to escape from this dungeon would require considerable more thought–and the shrewdness of the captain. But he still was marooned on his island of self-imposed isolation.

As the few rays of light that slipped through those openings grew dimmer and dimmer, there was naught to do but calm down our agitated horde and attempt to rest. Mam' and Annalea and Reena were best at this: calming and soothing and tirelessly seeing to the comforts of others. Orke and I attended to our more boisterous mates, who resisted quieting–and required physical encouragement. Then–at Mam's insistence–small groups were formed and situated with instruction to huddle together, to ward off the chill and damp of the cold night.

Wrapped in Annalea's arms, with Mam' hugging me backside–and a sister on either side of us–I rose me head up to look over to the captain, and saw what I'd expected to see: ass to the cold, damp ground, back to the wall, head bent and arms folded 'round his shoulders–for warmth. He'd not sleep, that night. But I must.

# ~~

The dawning of the new morn brought no improvement over the previous day and night. The warmth that followed the sunlight took the chill away; but the damp never left. The moist cold was replaced by the humid heat. There was no recognition of the change, as there was no hesitation 'twixt the two extreme conditions. The result was the same: discomfort in the extreme.

The light and the heat caused bodies–once clustered for warmth–to separate and start groping and groveling around. Some were depressed, many were disoriented–all were hungry. We'd nothing to eat in a day and a half! The rumble in the stomach became a grumble in the throat. This was expressed in a clamouring for food. The pit seemed to vibrate with the roar from hungry mouths and angry hearts.

The commotion brought Spanish faces to the barred porthole. I don't know their tongue, but it would've been evident to a deaf man that they were just cursing us out, in the Spanish. A couple of our lads who could speak the Spanish were moved forward and encouraged to stress our need–our demand–for food. They babbled back and forth with the faces at the porthole for a significantly long time. When Annalea asked how we were doing, she was told, "not so well."

The Spaniards thought to mock our hunger and thus amuse themselves. I took up Orke's pike and smashed it hard against the metal bands of that porthole–nearly slashing a Spanish ear. "If I don't see food for all of us here, 'pronto,' I'll drive this pike through any Spanish face that shows at that opening! Tell the bastards that! And tell it just as I said it!"

Not long after, food and water arrived. 'Twas not palatable, but 'twas plentiful–vermin free, and edible. And the water was heavenly cool, 'though a mite brackish. The Spaniards did not open that gate; so service was annoyingly slow, as necessarily small pans of food and water were gradually slid through the opening in the porthole and passed 'round to all. And for dessert? About an hour after the "feast" had ended, we heard a clamour outside the gate–for a change. There was a rattling of wood and metal as the gate opened, stubbornly. The opening was immediately filled with the bodies of armoured Spanish soldiers, all pointing pikes into the pit. They stood, thus–stoically–for a few moments, probably awaiting our reaction. Then a figure pushed and muscled his way through this glut of Spanish military and presented hisself. 'Twas Estaban!

I stepped forward to greet the lad, commenting to him that I'd not witnessed such rigamarole since I'd been present–on one memorable occasion–for the king's entrance at the French court. But Estaban seemed not to hear me words. The lad was aghast to find us in such a condition: most buried 'neath the city walls!

"Dearest friends... I... I... I most humbly apologize for this treatment. I never imagined.... I cannot imagine.... Annalea!"

When the young lovebirds broke from their caress, Estaban looked to me and shouted, "This will not do! This will not do!"

With his arm wrapped in Annalea's arm, he moved back to the gate, and the mob of Spaniards guarding it. He attempted to shuffle through them, but they would not let him pass. Estaban shouted some Spanish at them, and they shouted some Spanish back to him!

Looking frazzled–and overheated past a boil–he returned Annalea to me side, and said, "I tender a thousand apologies for the misconduct of my people. I shall go right away, and straighten this out with the majistrado. Please be patient; I am certain it will be alright."

Me arm lunged out–as if by an instinct–and me hand clasped his throat, "Don't ever say those damned words again!"

Then I pulled him to me in an embrace and said–for his ears only, "Do what you can for Annalea, boy."

He was exasperated, and he seemed near to tears. He turned and hurriedly made his way through the Spanish soldiers: passing 'twixt and 'tween those unyielding pikes. The Spaniards–and their pikes–withdrew, and the gate slammed shut! Me eyes had come accustomed to the vast spread of sunlight that shone through the open gate. Now, 'twas instant darkness; and I was blind to me surrounds for some moments. When me eyes adjusted to the dim light from the porthole–a faint echo of what was before–I could see me people were more agitated than afore Estaban's visit.

'Twas not a considerable stretch of time afore Estaban returned. The same rigamarole ensued as when last he appeared. Eventually, he made his way through and rejoined us. By God, he looked more pale than afore! I could bear no suspense. "Lad, you've got something stuck in your craw; spit it out!"

Apologetically, Estaban related the results of his petition to the Spanish administrator. No, that Spanish administrator would not budge. He was still uncertain of Estaban–and his fantastic story. Having presented hisself as who he was–with some documents to prove it–he fabricated a story of attack and capture by pirates, and rescue by good, honest English settlers (meaning us). He enhanced this yarn with the fable about how we put ourselves through peril and storm to secure him from the clutches of the British military and navy. Apparently, the administrator found all of this ludicrous–and told him so.

As for us, he'd no doubt we were English pirates and scum–not saints and pilgrims. He told Estaban he could sense our animosity towards Spaniards, as surely as he could smell the stench of our English blood. And he would not have such English roaming about in his city–nor even polluting his jail cells. He'd be happier to fill over the pit–with us still in it!

It took awhile to settle the consternation this caused our people, to a point where Estaban could continue. He told of heated argument with the administrator: making demand after demand, and being declined time after time. He protested that his right as a Spanish subject, his family name, his father's contributions to the crown–as well as his own–and his position in the king's service entitled him to better treatment. His protests were dismissed out of hand. Finally, he insisted that if we should not be released, he must join us in the pit!

"I told him I cannot remain in a comfortable abode while mis amigos dwell in the dirt!"

I had to interrupt him. "Comfortable abode?"

"Uh, s... yes." He stammered from embarrassment. "When they separated us–and after my meeting with the majistrado–they took me to a hacienda a few miles west of here. The family who owns the property has treated me cordially, as a welcomed guest–'though I've been kept there under house arrest. I have so much shame. I had no...."

"Calm yourself, lad. No one is blaming you for any of this." And I was sincere about that. "Pray, continue. Where do we stand?"

"Well, he would not hear of me joining you in this hole. He told me he did not know whether I was a foolish young Spaniard–kidnapped and still intimidated by the English–or a Spanish traitor–who had gone over to the 'cursed' English for money, or some other recompense–but I was obviously Spanish and he would not have me consorting with the English 'scum.' Things shall remain the same, he told me, until he has reviewed everything and made his final decision about our fate."

Estaban said he was only allowed to come to us upon his promise that he would not attempt to stay there with us. He was told that if his word proved worthless, the soldiers would come into the pit and hack their ways through the English "scum," to retrieve him! He said there was, however, one consideration offered. He was told he might take "his woman"–meaning Annalea–out of there, to abide with him at the "hacienda."

"Aye, by Jesus, aye!" I could barely contain meself. "Good work, lad!"

A chorus of "ayes" filled the pit as well-wishing supporters of me girl made known their approval.

The only discord came from Annalea, herself. "Absolutely not!" She turned on Estaban. "You... you who has said he loves me: how little you know of me! Did you think that I would consider, even for a moment, leaving me people–me papa and me family–in conditions like these? Are you a fool, or just a most selfish man?!"

The tears were flowing from her eyes and she was slapping him on the chest. From behind, I reached under her arms and pulled her back. She turned 'round to me, sobbing, and I cradled her in me arms.

Mam' began stroking her hair, and we both tried reasoning with the girl. We told her none would think the less of her for going. 'Twas, in fact, what we all wanted for her. I told her this might well be her last opportunity to be with Estaban, regardless of how events turned out.

"And... and, pet... and...." I gave her to know not to interrupt 'til I'd finished. "If the worst comes to pass, 'twould all've been for naught–meaningless, 'less one of us should survive and carry on, for all the others."

Annalea gave me a kiss, and she gave Mam' a kiss, and she turned and gave Estaban a kiss.

"None of you understand me," she informed us. "When I am separated from Estaban, I shall be heartbroken–and I shall hurt, inside. But should I be separated from me family, I would die inside. I'd rather die, completely, than to carry on–a hollow shell with no heart and no soul, and no comfort on this earth."

Those words put a number of us to weeping. Then discourse erupted about what to do–and more arguing 'bout whether Annalea should go, or Estaban should stay, or we should all make a mad rush at the Spanish guards, to gain our freedom or end this episode, once and for all! 'Twas then the captain stepped forward. Having found his voice, he put it to proper use. He stepped into the midst of the throng and commanded all to be quiet. He told us there'd be no suicidal rush on the guards. Annalea would not be forced to act against her will–or her heart. And Estaban would not attempt to remain with us.

Then he spake directly to Estaban. "Lad, you are the only device I have to get me people out and away from here, safely–with body and soul still intact. You must go back with them, regain and retain their good graces, and work diligently to establish your identity, and to convince them of your position and your honour. Only then will you be able to help us; and I shall expect you to do so. In the meantime, do not come to see us. Don't even ask about us–not even about Annalea. Feign indifference towards us. That may increase your esteem in their eyes."

Then the captain took Estaban aside, to speak privately. I could catch but fragments of their conversation.

"I have looked deep into me soul... considerations to be selfish... futile."

"But sir, this meant so much for all... the life... the community...."

"No... a different mission... for the better... in England!"

Estaban returned to Annalea. "I must go, now."

They looked upon each other as do two people in love, who realize they might never see one another again, in this lifetime. They fell into embrace. The rest of us moved away in silence, to give them their peace.

Not long after Estaban departed, it fell to darkness. Another night was spent huddled and cuddled together against the cold and damp. The captain had not wished to share with me his discussion with Estaban. But he did not return to the isolation of his thoughts, either. This time when I looked up and about for him, I spied him scrunched down 'twixt the sisters for warmth–and comfort, no doubt. He'd returned to the fold. This was a good sign.

The next few days were spent comforting one another, as best we could, and amusing ourselves, as best we could. I know it befuddled our guards to hear us chatting lively, joking and even singing. We were just glad to be alive, and–most important–still together. We even made up jokes about our own hanging, and little ditties to sing on the way to the gallows! Of course I was concerned for us all–and most fearful for Annalea. But she seemed quite mellow and content, just being with her "family."

## Chapter XXIV

# Vaya con Dios, Amigo

Quite unexpectedly, one morning–it must have been afore the crack of dawn–the gate suddenly opened and the Spanish guards burst through, pikes splayed like quills on an irate porcupine, as usual. I figured this was it. They intended to drag us out for an unannounced appointment with the executioner. Well, if we were going to die, 'twould be here–not at their impromptu circus, for their amusement. And some of them would be taken with us, as we embarked towards eternity. 'Course we'd part company soon enough, as our souls ascended to heaven, and theirs did not. Orke already had the pike and the sword in his hands. He handed off the sword to me, and we advanced towards the gate–and the waiting soldiers.

But the pikes spread and Estaban emerged. You could feel a sigh of relief, as much as hear it. He'd come because he had news. And he deemed it good news–a fortuitous event. Not only was the governor of this region in this region, but he would be visiting a pueblo a few days' ride from here. He was expected there within the week. And he might journey down to this port–or, he might not. Estaban could not take the chance. This man–this Spanish governor–was an old friend of his family. He could vouch for Estaban, thoroughly–and immediately. Estaban said he petitioned the Spanish administrator to provide him a horse and allow him to ride out and meet with the governor. Apparently, the administrator thought all this preposterous, and he refused.

Finally, Estaban issued a couched threat. "I told him to imagine–just for the moment–that my 'wild' stories are true. Then imagine that the governor does pay the courtesy of a visit–and verifies my story. My report to the governor regarding your conduct to me and my benefactors will most likely result in your dismissal from office–if not your outright banishment from his Majesty's colony. And my honour, Señor, will demand your life!'

"He relented," Estaban said, "but with the provision that an armed guard 'escort' me to visit the governor, for my 'protection.' He still does not trust me. But he does not know what to believe and he acts insecure. So I have him there. I must depart within the hour. But I go with a lifted heart, for I know he shall not dare to harm you, in my absence. And I truly know now that it will certainly be alright!"

I was jubilant, and had not the instinct to throttle him, this time.

There were scores of "fare-thee-wells" and hands to shake and hugs to take–and smiling faces all around. Finally, the captain found it necessary to intervene, again. "Well and good! All well and good! Just keep rejoicing, and his 'Excellency' shall be out of that town, out of this region and perched back in the court of 'His Most Catholic Majesty,' afore Estaban ever mounts his horse! Now give the children a few moments alone and then let him be on his way."

And so, Estaban departed us. And all our hopes and prayers rode with him. Some of our lot remained anxious of the outcome, but the captain assuaged their fears, telling them that any day, now, Estaban would ride back into this city–triumphantly–with their governor at his side, and we would all walk out into the sunshine and breathe the clean air of freedom, together.

'Though once he said to me–aside, "'Lest, of course, they've had a change in governor; and this one does not know–or worse, dislikes–our young Don Estaban."

Me face drooped near the floor, which caused the captain to add, "Don't repeat that, Crockett."

On a day not far distant from when last we'd seen Estaban–'twas 'bout mid morn, this time–the gate to purgatory opened, once more. Came the same faction of piked Spanish military to the entrance. We laughed and called mockingly to them–each by a name. Oh, not rightly their actual names. But Annalea had recognized that they always fell in, in the same order. So, for a bit of a laugh-up, we took to naming them. They became "Pedro the first" and "Pedro the second" and "Pedro the third" and so forth. (Pedro was 'bout the only Spanish name most of us knew, 'cept Estaban; and he was one of us–so 'twould not do to mock his name.)

Noticing they did not move–and no one else entered–we fell silent. "Pedro the third" spake out, but in the Spanish babble. The captain summoned one of our mates who spake the Spanish and bade him translate.

"Cap'n, he said, 'get out, get out, get outside!'"

"Ask him for what purpose," the captain said.

This done, the captain was informed that "Pedro the third" was not conducive to discussion, he just insisted we get out, "pronto." The captain made a signal with his hand and Orke and several of the lads moved meekly towards the Spaniards, as if conforming with their command. Orke reached out and plucked-up "Pedro the third"–with his military issue sabre still grasped in his hand–hauled him 'cross the pit and planted him afore the captain. Orke relieved him of his sabre and the other lads surrounded him.

The captain said, "Ask him–nicely–what this is all about."

The reply came back that we should get out–we should all go free. The captain considered this response, for a moment.

Understand, the captain did not trust the Spaniards. None of us did. In trying to think like a Spaniard, he postulated that administrator might set a trap. If he could claim that the "dangerous English pirates" were killed while trying to escape–or, mayhaps, overtake the city–then he would not be blamed. And he'd be shed of us, once and for all. I swear, I could hear those words speaking in the captain's mind.

The captain said to ask "Pedro the third" by whose authority we were to be released. Mayhaps the heat and humidity of the pit were too oppressive for a soldier in full uniform. He became downright rude. His answer, "Just get the hell out, you English son of a bitch!"

Taking the sabre from Orke's hand, the captain brought it up and creased the blade against the man's throat, and said, "Qué?"

"Don Estaban! Don Estaban!" "Pedro the third" managed to squeak out the name. Mayhaps feeling more generous–certainly more compliant–he told our man he had documents to prove this. He was then obliged to produce the documents. The captain studied them carefully. He told us the first was a message from Estaban, which referred to the second–a document signed and sealed by the Spanish governor.

"Estaban has notified us of our freedom; and that we must be released, unharmed, along with our ship and all belongings, and be allowed to continue on our way, unmolested. This, by order of their governor."

The captain paused to allow the "hurrahs" to ring out. We came silent soon, 'though, being anxious to hear if there was more.

"These documents were delivered into the hands of that obnoxious Spanish majistrado by two agents of the governor, who are expected to report back to him within three days that his order has been carried out. Otherwise, 'dire consequences to follow!'"

Another pause–more cheers.

"Friends, prepare you all necessary to depart these Spanish accommodations!"

As our people rejoiced, and scrambled to gather what meager belongings were scattered about–and odd parts of clothing used for bedding–the captain took me and Mam' and Annalea aside. He told us, "Estaban shall not be rejoining us, I fear."

The blood disappeared from Annalea's face, "What's happened? Why not? What has become of him?"

"He is fine, me dear. Nothing's happened to harm him. I should've been more cautious in me phrasing–more conscious of your feelings. The sadness is not due to his fate, but to his leaving us; for we all feel he's part of our community."

"Please, sir, what's become of him?" Annalea grew impatient with the captain.

"He states that the governor has insisted that Estaban remain with him. Apparently, he has much need of a competent aide-de-camp, and he wishes to retain Estaban in that capacity for the remainder of his survey of this colony. Estaban said he cannot refuse the request, considering the great favour the governor granted him, by using his authority–the crown's authority–to 'pardon' and release so many hostile, English 'pilgrims.' On the back-fold of this document are sentiments he intended for your eyes, alone, Annalea."

Annalea took the parchment from the captain, and we all left her to his words–and her thoughts. The rest of our lot were chafing at the bit now, eager for sunlight and open spaces. The captain held them back a moment, allowing Annalea her time. When she rejoined us, she was quite solemn: not upset, not emotional, just solemn.

She looked to the captain with determination on her countenance, and said, "Let us not linger, sir. We must have our people away from here."

The captain smiled. "Right you are, me dear! But a moment."

Turning towards the quilled Spanish "porcupine," which still occupied the gateway, he commanded, "Tell Pedro to remove the guards from yon gateway. If free men we are, then as free men we shall march–unperturbedly, and unescorted–into the daylight. Tell him we will graciously remeet with our hosts, out in the 'courtyard!'"

The Spaniards withdrew, and–heading a ragtag column of enthusiastic veterans–the captain, with sabre in hand, me holding the sword, and Orke with the pike, emerged into open space, sunlight and fresher air than we'd known for so long a time. All out into the daylight we came. You can imagine the euphoria. Free a caged bird and watch it soar. And so our spirits did soar.

Patiently awaiting our resurrection, were our "hosts"–those Spanish guards–and a small army of reinforcements, equally well-armed. Add to this throng the mob of curious onlookers, and you can imagine the city full-plugged with people. Had I been able to jump down from atop the high wall that bordered us, I swear I could've walked 'cross the city–stern to stem–stepping only on human heads, never alighting and never touching ground!

Two rather important looking Spanish officials approached the captain. By that time, I'd moved back into the column to rejoice 'bout our freedom with the sisters. I could not hear the words translated to and fro, but I'd no doubt those were the governor's agents, following through on their orders. One of 'em saluted the captain, and he returned the salute. The other turned towards the crowd and shouted something commanding, in Spanish.

'Twas almost miraculous, how the crowd moved apart–soldier and civilian alike–to form a corridor through their midst. It brought to me mind a vision of Moses parting the Red Sea. Following the captain's lead, we marched on–unabashed, and unmolested–through that corridor, and the partitioned sea of Spanish faces. This phenomenon continued not just within the city, but without–and all the ways to their docks, where our ship awaited.

The captain came to a halt afore the gangplank, stepped aside and ushered our flock aboard. When the last was boarded–without another word to the Spaniards, or a look back–he came aboard.

"Crockett! Take command. Cast off and put us on a course due east, for two hours."

Then he stepped into his cabin without another word, or a look back.

# ~~

Having arrived at that point in time which the captain had directed me to sail, I knocked upon his cabin door and was summoned within. The captain was bent over charts–several charts–he'd obviously been studying. He stepped away from his work and greeted me. "Take a seat, Crockett. There are matters I've need to discuss with you. I'd offer you a drink, but 'twould appear the only thing those wretched Spaniards forgot to return is me blessed wine!"

"Aye, there is a blessing!" I thought to meself, feeling a weight of guilt and discovery lifted from me conscience.

"And I've no taste for the grog," he continued.

"No matter, Cap'n." I took to me seat and awaited his remarks.

"Old friend," he began, "it must be apparent to you that events have not transpired in accordance with me elaborately constructed plans. And much thought–and diligent preparation–had gone into those plans. I've never afore had a well-set plan come to such a disaster–and at its inauguration! 'Twere as if God, Hisself–or some other supernatural power–had determined to veer me from me intended course. If that be the case, Crockett–I must confess, I shall submit!"

Me discussion with Mam' Tiére about the "life spirit" flashed through me brain, and left the imprint of a smile upon me countenance.

"By that grin on your face, I'll gather you know me heading, and I'll spare us both a long voyage of words. I've determined to put all other plans, schemes and purposes aside, and make it me sole mission to aid you in returning our Annalea to England, and to whatever awaits her–and us–on those distant shores."

"Aye, 'distant' is the word, Cap'n: distant in place, distant in time–and so distant in memory as to be likely as unfamiliar to us as it is to Annalea. But, praise God for your decision!"

The captain continued. "It still is premature for us to make the crossing. We must plan and provision for such a journey. I must prepare this for the most advantageous time–to avoid the turmoil of weather or warships."

"Bless you, Cap'n! Whether it take four or five months, or four or five years, matters little to me, now. Knowing that we are all set on the same course–intended for the same destination–is enough to give me heart, and renewed strength of purpose!"

"Aye, Crockett, I feel this is the proper course for me and the others, as well as for you, Mam' and Annalea. We'll detail our new plan, in progress. In the meanwhile, look to this chart. I want you to come about and make for this new heading."

I looked; and I looked, again. "But, Cap'n!"

"Just do it, Crockett! Summon me when we reach the third mark."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"And keep a sharp eye for Spanish vessels," he added. "Let me know, at once, if one is spied. I'll not be taken by surprise!"

So I brought the ship about, and set on a heading south by southwest. 'Though we'd been, still, in Spanish waters, I'd been quite at ease, so long as we sailed to the east. But west? Me stomach was bent to clench like a fist! What was he about? Was this intended to elude somebody?

When we struck the next mark, we veered into a northerly heading. Now, we were fairly hugging the coastline. As we finally approached the third mark–having spied not a single vessel, Spanish or otherwise–I felt a sense of relief. Interesting how the sensibilities can be so removed from the realities. Continuing on this course would soon return us whence we started! But I refused to trouble me mind–or me gut–any further. I notified the captain of our location. He emerged from his cabin–seeming in high spirits–and took over command.

I was conversing with Mam' Tiére 'bout the captain's decision, and the seeming influence of the "life spirit," when I heard the captain's shouted command, "Drop anchor!"

"Oh, to Christ, now what?" I expressed me consternation to Mam' afore hurrying off to see what was afoot.

When I joined him, I saw the captain was amused by me puzzled look. I asked, simply, "Well, then?"

He chuckled through his response, "Come, join me in me cabin, Crockett; we've time to spare."

We reemerged about two hours afore dark, and set sail once again. During this brief respite, I'd learned more 'bout the captain's thoughts and intentions, and the direction of our next venture, than I'd known from him in months. As second to hisself, I went about the ship instructing our lads of their stations and purpose, for the next event. Just afore dusk, we arrived at our destination: those Spanish docks we'd departed shortly after dawn!

All men at their stations–and all prepared, properly–we awaited the captain's orders. Quite calmly, rather matter-of-factly, the captain beckoned me to his side. "Think you, Mr. Crockett, that these Spaniards are unduly apprehensive 'bout English 'pirates?'"

I could not forestall the laughter this produced in me; but soon as I could answer, I told him, "Most assuredly so, Cap'n!"

"Well now, Crockett, I think you are mistaken in that. I don't believe the Spaniards are unduly apprehensive, at all. I believe they have every reason to fear English 'pirates.' And I intend to demonstrate that to you. FIRE!"

All hell broke loose! We put cannon shot to their docks, to their fortifications, to the few ships slumbering at anchor, and even to the walls of that cursed city. We discharged volley after volley after volley. 'Twas not so much light, but enough to see we were rendering much damage–and more than a few Spanish casualties. But most significant was what occurred aboard our ship. 'Twas not the attitude of attack–'twas not like any battle. 'Twas like a festival! Everyone was jubilant! You'd never imagine this involved life and death and wanton destruction. You'd believe you were witnessing revelers cavorting and playing games. 'Twas a frolic–a party!

But even a frolic runs its course; and every party must end. The captain ordered, "Cease fire!"

He stood for a moment–as did we all–enjoying the sight of the glowing fires from the Spanish docks, ships and fortifications, and then turned to me with a broad smile. "Enough said. Take us away, Mr. Crockett: on a heading north by northeast."

Annalea spake out, for the many who wondered the same. "Whither, Captain?"

"Home, child. To home, at last."

Quietly–softly–to me alone, Annalea asked, "And whither is home to me, Papa?"

# ~~

April 19, 1718, at that shadowed corner table in the Boar's Head Inn, in Bristol, the grizzled old sea dog still sits with the younger man in gentleman's attire. The young gentleman speaks,

But sir, the last missive I hold from you was despatched from the French territories, some time later?

There is a vast expanse 'twixt the Caribbean and the English channel, son: an expanse of time as well as distance. And the tide of events do pull and direct your course as certainly as do the ocean currents. Practice patience, lad, and you shall know all you seek to know. But I warn you, knowledge moves a man. It can cause a complacent man to trod a dangerous path. As you now know more of Annalea than any man alive–save meself–your foot is on that path. I think I've earned meself another drink. Ahoy, lass!

The young gentleman does not take a drink. He bides his time, patiently. He ponders all he has learned about this amazing young woman: the unorthodox life she's lived and the perils she's survived–and the perils she must certainly still face. He is uncertain as to why he was summoned to this meeting. What is to be his involvement in all of this?

As he sits quietly, he accumulates a thousand questions. But he does not press the old seaman. He bides his time, patiently. He knows the saga of Annalea will continue.

# The End

### Thank you for reading

Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar by Stephen James Shore

We hope you will enjoy the second volume in the Annalea series,

### Annalea, a Princess in Exile

Copyright Stephen James Shore 2009
