by Doug Walker
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Then one fine afternoon they came to Lisbon, a city perched on hilly terrain overlooking the estuary of the Tagus River, one of the best harbors in all of Europe. Leading the column, García could see a number of large ships at anchor and bustling activity of small boats moving like water bugs across the large expanse of the harbor. He led the march into the presidio.
From the commander of the presidio, García learned that Lieutenant Hidalgo had long ago departed for Florida. He was also told that the vessel La Anunciada lay at anchor, fully provisioned and ready to receive his troops. The presidio was jammed with troops being prepared for the assault on England. They could accommodate García’s men overnight, but they would embark the following morning and sail with the next tide.
With the troops bedded down, García, the two cadets, Jesus and his wife, Doria, went aboard La Anunciada and greeted its master, Captain Joao Alvares, a youngish man with a ready smile and a warm handshake. He was happy to see García, for the seamen were restless and eager to get under way for the first leg of their voyage, the 700-mile sail to the Azores. The captain was a bit surprised to see Doria, but found a small cabin for the couple. He was even more puzzled by the presence of Poncho, but immediately insisted on holding the dog and stroking its back.
The newcomers decided to spend the night onboard. García and the cadets would dine with the captain. Jesus, a seasoned scrounge, would set up housekeeping for the two of them. Another senior sergeant and a ship’s lieutenant also had wives along, which would make three women on the vessel.
García learned that La Anunciada was a vessel of 703 tons and 24 guns. It could squeeze in his 350 troops and carried a crew of 33. It was a converted merchantman from Ragusa.
García was provided with a good-sized cabin, plus an anteroom to be used as an office. Captain Alvares said the cadets would bunk in with the ship’s junior officers. García declined the offer and said they would share his cabin, and he would sleep in the anteroom, explaining that both would be busy with paperwork during the voyage. Discipline, regular exercise, sick calls, mess preparations and morning reports must all continue during the trip.
In the back of García’s mind, the name La Anunciada seemed to ring a distant bell. But he could not come to grips with it. Poncho, on the other hand, who had been at his master’s side during preparations for this odd time travel and had almost total recall, knew instantly the vessel they had boarded. But because dogs cannot talk, he could not communicate this knowledge. Time would tell.
The Yorkie often fell back on his knowledge of Zen to carry him through trying periods. That school of Buddhism stresses that the religious practice of meditation can be a strong healer. Ignorance created by our hate, greed and delusion blocks the individual from knowing that enlightenment is theirs. Centuries ago in another life, Poncho had studied under Zen Master Eihei Dogen.
He well remembered that master’s words: Learn the backward step that turns your light inward to illuminate yourself. Body and mind of themselves will drop away, and your original face will be manifest.
Fully loaded and underway, the long haul to the Azores was pleasant enough, cramped though the quarters were and despite bouts of seasickness. There were good days of blue with white clouds scudding overhead, and the sight of every sail unfurled and bent to the wind was one not easily forgotten. Sailing vessels leaving or entering port were never under full sail. So this was a sight landsmen never viewed. The circling and mewing gulls, white caps and the occasional porpoise. Deep water sailing. It was a lifestyle the adventurer in García cherished. The cadets seemed to treat it as a delicious holiday.
Then there was the food. García had taken great pains to insure that the troops would be healthy and relatively happy. Panforte di Siena, an Italian name for “strong bread,” had been baked as far back as the Crusades. It was a chewy sweet bread that could be baked in quantity and a welcome relief from the humdrum diet on cramped shipboard.
For special treats there was marzipan, a delight credited to the Arab, or Moorish occupation of Spain. Of course this required eggs as well as sugar and almond paste. Hens were on board, but egg production was limited, and the officers demanded, what else, but Spanish omelets. Of course there was Focaccia with sage, ideal for dunking into the morning chocolate.
They came to the delightful Azores, a group of volcanic islands scattered over 373 miles, circled over by Goshawks, which are actually buzzards, and marked by black cliffs dropping sheer to the sea. Volcanic energy, earthquakes, gas emissions, bubbling water, and clouds of steam persist. They dropped anchor at Sao Miguel at the settlement of Ponta Delgada.
The troops were delighted to feel dry land underfoot and find fresh water for laundry purposes. They washed caked salt from clothing and bodies. A camp was established, and the routine of garrison life began.
Just a week into this routine, when things were going very well in the moderate island climate, García approached Captain Alvares and asked when they would depart for La Florida coast. Time was passing, and he thought it his duty to join Lieutenant Hidalgo at the makeshift fort. Hidalgo’s vessel had not tarried at the Azores, but under orders to sail with all deliberate speed had taken on water and supplies and pushed off days before.
“I might have told you before, but there was no need. I sailed with sealed orders. We are to wait here.”
“To wait? To wait for what?”
The captain shrugged. “Wait for more orders. Is this not a pleasant place? Good food, good wine, a bit heavy on the seafood, but good.”
“Well yes. My troops seem happy here. I believe it’s a cut above La Florida. But wait for what?”
“Orders from Madrid via Lisbon. Perhaps we are to be joined by another vessel. Maybe not.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” García said. He was actually pleased. This would give him time to get his notes in order. And he was helping Jose hone his Spanish every day. Soon he would lose his speech impediment. “I am a soldier, orders are my life.”
“And mine,” Alvares grinned. “They might be stupid, they might be baffling. But we can only hope for a higher purpose. A glint of intellect here and there.”
So they waited. Weeks turned into months. The troops were trained to a peak. So much so that García worked out a plan to break them into small groups to teach the illiterates among them to read and to explore history with those already literate. More hens were purchased to lay eggs and for meat, cows to give milk, garden plots were laid out. La Anunciada was scrubbed and shined, her 24 guns were spotless. Then one day a fast schooner arrived from Lisbon, orders were passed aboard La Anunciada.
Captains Alvares and García were both present when they were opened. So were García’s officers, ship’s officer and the cadets. Alvares made the announcement:
“We are to return to Lisbon to join the great Armada that is being assembled to capture England and convert the English heretics. God save King Felipe II.”
The captain’s cabin erupted into cheers. No stinking Florida coast, but England with victory assured. Spain’s heel would crush the English rabble, and the true Catholics in that island nation would rise up and join our forces. They would rule like Dons and Grandees once Queen Elizabeth was beheaded, or better yet, burned at a stake!
Officers from both services and cadets alike embraced one another and fairly danced on the deck. “Let cowards stay behind!” one young lieutenant shouted. But the fact is each man felt he had been snatched from the jaws of death, an ignoble death in the wastelands of La Florida, and restored to participate in the most glorious conquest of the century.
Poncho knew all the time. He had looked over the Armada fleet more than once and was keenly aware that La Anunciada was among the vessels. He also knew the rest of the story and hoped his master would be wise.
Two weeks passed while fresh water, pipes of wine and other provisions were stowed away aboard the vessel. A standard ship’s provision for the men was “bacalhau” in Portuguese, or salted codfish; the
dish was so widespread its nickname was “o fiel amigo,” or faithful friend. The officers fared better. Chickens supplied fresh eggs; and a large number of rabbits had been trapped on the island and brought on board for the enjoyment of the officer’s mess.
Oddly enough García’s force had made a net gain while on Sao Miguel. Half a dozen men had deserted, but ten hardy island boys had been recruited. García preached that desertion might bring the death penalty, but he made little effort to find the miscreants. He suspected that some had been transported by fisherman to the island of Terceira. But why bother? They would be bored soon enough with island life.
The return trip to Lisbon was largely without incident. But García’s thoughts often turned to Lieutenant Hidalgo who headed an undermanned force on the coast of Florida. When he shared his thoughts with Captain Alvares, Alvares pointed out that they would “strike at the head of the snake” that threatened the flow of Spanish gold. “If we hold England, as we surely will, the English pirates will be caught by the throat.” García knew better. But he also knew that the archenemy of Spain, the major English “pirate” Sir Francis Drake, was in England, fully aware that Spain was piecing together the mightiest armada that had ever sailed the seas.
Shortly before the Lisbon landfall García had to deal with Sergeant Jesus. He learned that Doria had been practicing her trade both aboard ship and on the island. The newly weds had gathered almost every coin the enlisted men had and were now working on barter.
“You have deceived me, sergeant. You have slyly deceived me. A sergeant of your standing should not be running a brothel. And remember, there are diseases that could run rampant through the ranks. I don’t know what I shall do with you.”
“But my captain, what I, that is we, have done is a morale booster. The men are happy. It gives them something to think about, to talk about.”
“How you got by with it this long without my knowledge is something of a mystery. Did Cadet Francisco know what was going on? Was she a conspirator?”
“No, my captain. She had no knowledge of the transactions. But remember this, I did it for the good of the ship.”
“The good of the ship? A floating brothel? We approach Lisbon. I suppose I can simply put you both ashore.”
“My captain, please. We will soon be outward bound to defeat the English. In England we will be like royalty. We will crush them. You need me by your side. I have helped you, is it not true?” Poncho was seated in a chair enjoying every minute of the row. He knew his master needed Jesus. And he liked both Jesus and Doria, in spite of their shortcomings.
“I could lock the two of you in the brig and confiscate your gold and silver.”
“Our money! It was hard earned. A dream of a lifetime. Please, my captain. Spare us.”
“For the moment. There will be guards on your door twenty-four hours a day, different men who cannot be bribed. Only you will be admitted, and Doria may not come out. In Lisbon, I will decide your fate.”
“But, my captain.”
“That’s all. Leave me.” Knowing the fate of the Armada, García thought it would be an act of kindness to leave the deceptive couple in Lisbon with their gold. But there was fate. This troubled García. Could he change fate? Could he alter history by just one degree? Had it been he who had actually killed Don Alonso Albertina? There were certain things he could not reconcile in his mind. Chapel Hill was such a pleasant place. Why had he thrust himself in the middle of this Spanish maelstrom?
