The Disastrous Voyage of the Santa Margarita

by Richard Woodman

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Be quiet,’ commanded the captain-general, his deep-set dark eyes glittering in the light of the candles. Iago looked at him and smiled.

  ‘I think I remained upon my grating for only one night, for I recall only seeing one sunset, but a man cannot be certain of such things and the days I spent in China were without reckoning and blur my memory. As to rescue, gentlemen, it came quickly, unexpectedly, and was drawn to the wreck, or downwind of it in the aftermath of the storm, picking up what an impoverished people may find useful. I was included and found myself aboard a large fishing junk which might have been a pirate, for it mounted four dragon-guns. I was given water and then tied up as a devil, I afterwards learned when I had mastered a little of the language. The natives carried me with them through the tail of the storm and in due course they landed me somewhere west of the Pearl River, though exactly where I cannot be certain. There they released me and I was taken to their village headman who pronounced me harmless alone and made me work in the rice fields that lay upon the banks of a small river. Every night I was tied up and left to sleep with the chickens outside the house of the headman. He had a large family and several servant girls, one of which took pity on me and, in due course, took me to her bed – which in truth was more like a cattle byre but it was comfortable enough, dry and warm. The headman, who owned buffaloes and pigs as well as some rice paddies, did not seem to mind as I worked hard. I could see little alternative but to earn his good opinion, nothing could come of demanding anything more. The girl, though a poor and ignorant wench, nevertheless taught me the rudiments of their speech, though, due to the multitude of meanings attaching to the same form, my pronunciation was corrupt and often caused offence. Truly, it is an impenetrable language.

  ‘However, word of my curious appearance – a daily beard, an odd smell and an overlarge nose – soon spread and I was more laughed at than spat upon or beaten. I became something between a pet animal and a favourite hound, and given status accordingly. This is a most important quality, greatly esteemed among the Chinese of that province.

  ‘In due course I accompanied the headman, whose name was Cheng, to a small town called, I think, Sandy Headland. Here I was eventually sold to Cheng’s younger brother, who by virtue of his greater wealth had acquired higher status and owned two or three fishing junks. I think that the older Cheng owed his brother money that he could never repay and by trading me the debt was waived while his condescension in relinquishing his possession of my person increased the older Cheng’s status in his brother’s eyes. They knew that I was a seaman and I was put back to sea, working for some two years aboard a large fishing junk. One day the younger Cheng sent for me and said that he wished to invest in a venture trading a quantity of silk that he knew of to sell to the foreign devils in their islands, meaning the Philippines. He had heard that much silver might be made there and asked if I knew of the place. He too sought to raise himself in society but could not join any established merchants on account of his lowly birth and sought an opportunity to aggrandize himself. Thus he saw me as a possible way of advancing his cause. I said that I knew of the islands and could find them for his vessels, a fact that appeared to fill him with so much delight that I too was raised to new status, received a new gown and was promoted to mate of Cheng’s largest junk. Having stripped it of fishing gear, cleaned its stinking fish-hold and fitted it with some additional crude pieces of artillery, we loaded a quantity of silk and sailed to the Spanish islands, anchoring off a small village called, I think, Olongapo at the head of a bay . . . I was confined when we reached the shore, my task being considered over . . . But I see that I bore you.’

  ‘No! No!’ they all protested. ‘Do go on, Don Iago.’

  ‘Well, I shall cut a long story short. I do not think Cheng made much profit that voyage, not as much as he did afterwards when he permitted me to engage in the bargaining process. But on that first venture he had acquired more silver than he had ever seen in his life before. In due course, seeing that I was to be trusted, Cheng suggested that I marry one of his daughters and after a further year I struck a bargain with him, that, having established him as a merchant, I should buy my freedom from him and with that my right to do as I pleased. He did not, I think, guess that I meant to leave him, assuming that my marriage would tie him to Sandy Headland for the remainder of my life and that I should become his partner. Instead, gentlemen, I arrived in Cavite in one of Cheng’s new junks and, if I demonstrated an unfamiliarity with the Mass and the ways of my countrymen, it was because I had become almost a Chinaman, such are the ways of Divine providence . . .’ He looked at them and saw expressions of sympathy; they had taken his point. ‘You know the rest.’

  There was a long silence, then Olalde asked, ‘And your wife?’

  Iago shrugged. ‘It was not a union blessed by the Church,’ he said simply, and the young men about Guillestigui laughed as young men do about a woman cast aside. Amid the laughter the captain-general leaned forward.

  ‘Tell me, Don Iago, that sword you bear. It is not Chinese, I think. How did you come by it?’

  ‘It is from Cipangu, Excellency, where it is called a katana.’

  Guillestigui nodded. ‘Yes, I am aware of that. I am also aware that such weapons are not found in the possession of common men but belong to a race of warriors who dwell in those islands.’

  ‘That is true and is how it came into my possession. It was acquired by my master, by what means I do not know, but it troubled him, perhaps because it was foreign, perhaps because he was unworthy of it, or perhaps because he considered it ill-omened, but he presented it to me as a mark of his particular favour.’ Iago did not mention the weapon was a wedding gift and that Ah Fong’s father had traded the wicked sword blade out of foolish and drunken bravado. ‘They say,’ he added, ‘that the blades are ancient and that they are tried upon the bodies of three condemned felons whom they rope together for the purpose.’

  ‘That seems indeed an ill-omened thing,’ Alacanadre said, crossing himself. He was followed by some among the others, though neither Guillestigui nor Olalde were among them and merely grinned at each other.

  ‘’Tis assurance that the weapon is properly honed,’ he remarked practically.

  ‘I think you to be a man of good omen, Don Iago,’ the captain-general observed, raising his glass, ‘and I drink to your health.’

  ‘You are most kind, Excellency.’ Iago raised his own gleaming goblet and held it out for a servant to refill. He then raised it. ‘May I, Excellency, wish success upon this your enterprise.’

  And the evening ended with a series of convivial toasts.

  Twelve days out from Cavite, the Santa Margarita approached the Samar Sea prior to entering the San Bernadino Strait. As she and the San Geronimo prepared to alter course and make for the Embocadero, the lookout hailed that sails were in sight. Half an hour later they could see from the upper deck two ships approaching on an opposite, westerly course before the steady breeze: they were the inward flota bound from Acapulco for Manila.

  Despite the signals made by Guillestigui and the guns fired to draw attention to the Santa Margarita and the San Geronimo, the two ships stood on, ignoring them. Reluctant to lose any of the ground made so painfully to windward, the captain-general ordered the Santa Margarita hove-to, and the longboat to be swung out and lowered. He intended it to be sent to intercept the flota. Meanwhile, pointing to a deep bight, Guillestigui ordered Lorenzo to bring both ships to an anchorage off Ticao while they awaited the return of their boat.

  ‘Excellency,’ protested Lorenzo, ‘I am uncertain of the bottom hereabouts.’

  ‘Then do you look over the side, señor,’ riposted Guillestigui sharply, brooking no impediment to his intentions, ‘a blind beggar could see it for sand. Even a soldier knows an anchor will hold in sand, damn you for an old fool.’

  ‘Excellency, it is my duty . . .’

  ‘Damn your duty, Lorenzo!’ Guillestigui jerked his head in Olal
de’s direction and the Basque henchman moved towards the pilot-major.

  ‘Do as you are ordered, Don Juan,’ Olalde said almost pleasantly, ‘or I shall find employment for your entrails as a girth for my horses at Acapulco.’

  ‘I protest, Excellency, I am not to be spoken to . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, Lorenzo, but pray see that you obey my orders promptly in future.’ Guillestigui turned away and Lorenzo scowled at Olalde.

  ‘You have a care, you damned rogue,’ he snarled in a low voice as he went forward to call orders to the crew.

  ‘Oh, I shall, Old Fellow,’ Olalde grinned, ‘and care of you shall be my duty.’

  A moment later the Santa Margarita let her second best bower go from the bow and the heavy hemp cable rumbled out through the hawsehole. But despite further signals and the firing of several guns, the San Geronimo did not haul her yards and follow the captain-general’s ship into the bay. Instead, her sails filling with a freshening breeze, she shaped her course for the strait and the broad bosom of the Pacific Ocean lying far beyond it.

  As the longboat was manned, Peralta, whose duty it was to execute Guillestigui’s orders, called up and asked whether the boat should first make for the San Geronimo and order the não to anchor with the flagship, but the captain-general waved him away in pursuit of the two strange ships.

  ‘They are your quarry, Don Rodrigo,’ Guillestigui shouted for all to hear, his usually confident face wearing a worried expression, ‘and you must fly if you are to catch them.’

  Peralta waved and a moment later, the longboat’s sail hoisted and with Silva at its tiller, it left in hot pursuit.

  Iago was unable to discover why Guillestigui attached so much importance to making contact with the two ships, nor was he able to discover a reason from anyone else, though Olivera muttered darkly that it had either something to do with letters of credit and the captain-general’s commercial interests, or news of the reception Guillestigui was likely to receive from the viceroy in New Spain. The captain-general, Iago was given to understand, had once carried out a military campaign against the escaped slaves who waged a ceaseless guerrilla against the colonial authorities. Guillestigui had not merely suppressed them savagely but was alleged to have appropriated to himself a quantity of booty that the Cimarrones had themselves taken in raids on Church property.

  ‘I do not imagine that an Indian mission station possessed more than a crucifix and a pair of candlesticks worth more than a real, but Mother Church is a possessive old witch at times, and our illustrious chief has fingers as sticky as those of a brothel-mistress,’ Olivera confided with a grin.

  And ironically it was theft that caused the happy mood among the people of the Santa Margarita to show its first sign of serious fracture. On the morning after anchoring off Ticao, Don Baldivieso de los Arrocheros approached Iago.

  ‘Don Iago, I beg a moment of your time.’

  ‘What is it, señor?’

  ‘A painful necessity compels me to request that you search the effects of your servant, the dwarf Ximenez.’

  ‘Why so? What is the reason?’

  ‘My wife has lost a ring.’

  ‘And you think Ximenez . . . ?

  Arrocheros wrung his hands, his face working with impatience. ‘I am almost certain of it, Don Iago. Please, I attach no imputation to your own character . . .’

  ‘Upon my soul, I should hope not!’ exclaimed Iago, calling for the dwarf.

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Don Baldivieso here thinks that you have stolen a ring from his wife, Ximenez.’

  The shock of the accusation struck Ximenez like the blows he knew would follow if the accusation was falsely proved. His little world constructed out of the good opinion of others tumbled down about his ears. ‘Master! It is impossible . . . Why . . . ? I . . . ?’

  ‘Turn out his effects,’ Arrocheros demanded, waving his hands with excitement and outrage.

  ‘No, Don Baldivieso. I take Ximenez’s word.’

  ‘The word of a dwarf against that of a gentleman?’ Arrocheros spluttered.

  ‘Not against your word, Don Baldivieso, but against your accusation. It is a matter of trust, d’you see. If your wife’s ring is in the dwarf’s baggage it is not because he stole it, but because someone else did, and then put it there.’

  ‘Then it is that Chinese boy of yours. The ring will be found in the dwarf’s gear.’

  ‘No, señor, no, no . . . see, let me show you.’ Ximenez moved the short distance to his bed-place and, picking up his rolled hammock, lifted and shook it. A gold and jewelled ring fell on to the grubby planking and, rattling on its rim, subsided on the deck.

  Arrocheros warmed the silence with his satisfied smile. ‘I told you.’ He bent, picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.

  ‘You told me nothing more than where we should find your wife’s lost ring, not who had stolen it,’ Iago said quietly.

  ‘But it is obvious,’ scoffed Arrocheros, ‘defending your man does you credit, Don Iago, but your loyalty is misplaced!’

  Iago ignored him. Calling for Ah Fong he sent the ‘boy’ for Fray Marmolejo and when the friar came, Iago said, ‘I wish you to take the confession of Ximenez and ascertain whether or not he stole this ring, as I am told he did, from Doña Catalina. You may use the thumbscrew, if you wish.’

  ‘Master . . .’ wailed Ximenez.

  Marmolejo caught the meaning in Iago’s steady glance and nodded his head in understanding. ‘Come, my son.’

  For a moment both Iago and Arrocheros stood watching the friar lead the dwarf away. Then the disaffected merchant rounded upon Iago. ‘I do not understand you, Don Iago. The ring, it was stolen . . . why . . . ?’

  ‘Because the dwarf did not steal it.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘What use has a dwarf for a ring aboard a ship bound on a voyage of six months’ duration?’

  ‘He can sell it.’

  ‘Don’t be preposterous. Who is going to buy a conspicuous ring in the circumstances under which we exist?’

  ‘He may sell it at Acapulco,’ Arrocheros persisted, adding mischievously, ‘and gain funds to leave you. The dwarf is an ingrate, an opportunist.’

  Iago held up his hand. ‘It will do you no good. Do you not see, Don Baldivieso, that you and I are victims of a mischief-maker. By incriminating Ximenez we are made enemies. Marmolejo will find nothing but innocence, unless Ximenez confesses to some singular, small and irrelevant sin.’

  ‘Is that how you describe the theft of a ring?’ Arrocheros persisted sullenly.

  ‘No,’ responded a tired Iago. ‘It is how I describe masturbation.’

  The boat returned after two days. They had been unable to catch the two inward-bound ships, which had either failed to see them or, as was judged more probable, ignored them. Disappointed, Peralta, who had been entrusted by Guillestigui as his confidential courier, told the cadet Silva to put about and abandon their hopeless pursuit. When the boat’s sail came in sight from the Santa Margarita the crew were ordered to weigh the anchor. The cable was almost vertical before they realized the anchor was foul. Beyond heaving it short, they could gain no more.

  ‘¡Diablo!’ hissed a furious Lorenzo, going forward to stare over the beakhead and down into the translucent water. Far below he could see the dark shape of the anchor, one fluke embedded in a mighty coral head. He stumped angrily aft calling for the marineros to try again and for the topmen to let fall a backed maintopsail, but an hour’s struggle yielded no result beyond further worsening the pilot-major’s temper and angering the captain-general, who was already distressed at Peralta’s failure to make contact with the inward flota. Now any moment’s delay was intolerable to Guillestigui.

  ‘Can you not even weigh an anchor, señor?’ he snarled sarcastically at Lorenzo. ‘Must I be surrounded by incompetents?’

  ‘If Your Excellency insists on anchoring wherever he pleases he can scarce bring charges of incompetence upon the heads of those whose
advice he ignores and contradicts.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, señor!’

  ‘I am bound by my oath, Excellency, to do my duty to you,’ Lorenzo said awkwardly, aware of the delicacy of his position on the eve of so long a voyage, ‘to counsel you in all matters pertaining to the safety of the ship.’ But he rammed home his argument: ‘Now we must cut the cable and lose a second anchor.’

  ‘It is only one that I have lost, señor,’ Guillestigui snapped back. ‘You would do well to recollect that it was you who lost the first off Mariveles.’

  ‘That is a lie . . .’ an outraged Lorenzo began.

  Realizing that he had perhaps gone too far, Guillestigui sought to soothe the outraged pilot-major and went on, ‘But that is of little consequence now. We have no need of an anchor once in the open ocean and there yet remain three more.’

  ‘But they are of less weight, Excellency,’ replied Lorenzo desperately, seizing the olive branch Guillestigui held out.

  ‘Then let us worry about that when we sight the coast of New Spain. Do you cut that cable. There, does it make you feel better that I give the order?’

  ‘Not greatly,’ murmured Lorenzo, stumping forward again, and throwing a look of furious despair at Olivera, who stood at the break of the half-deck, ready to make sail. ‘God damn all soldiers who seek to become seamen,’ he said from the side of his mouth.

  ‘Amen to that,’ Olivera said to himself. And they all felt the great ship twitch as the hefted axes finally cut through her cable to release her.

  ‘Let fall there! Sheet home!’

  ‘Larboard braces! Haul! Helm a-larboard!’

  The word was called down below to the helmsmen at the whipstaff and after dancing astern for a few yards until her head fell off the wind and she could lay her course, the Santa Margarita began to move forward, gathering a bone in her teeth as she pointed her bowsprit at the narrows known to cartographers as the San Bernardino Strait but to her seamen as the Embocadero.