Captured in the Caribbean

by Sara Whitford

  Just as he approached the door, Captain Phillips came out to speak to Adam.

  “How is he?” Adam asked.

  “I found a surgeon in town. He’s in there with him right now. You’ll be able to go in and see him in a minute.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “He is now,” said the captain.

  Just then a young man, who must have been one of the surgeon’s helpers, came out carrying a bowl full of bloody rags. The surgeon was apparently finishing up his surgery on Santiago’s arm. Adam tried to look inside, but he couldn’t see much, because of the tight quarters.

  “I want to thank you for letting Captain Velasquez rest in your berth,” Adam said. “It’s a good and charitable thing that you’ve done, sir.”

  Captain Phillips smiled and wrinkled his brow. “Captain Velasquez? Goodness gracious, boy. You know good and well you don’t need to be so formal with me. I’ve already been told he’s your father. Ain’t nothin wrong with it if you say so.”

  Adam nodded. He didn’t know if or when he’d ever get used to people acknowledging he had a father, much less knowing who he was. “Yes, sir. Well, all the same I want to thank you for taking him in here, especially when you could’ve just as easily sent him back to his estate.”

  “Well, from what I was told,” said the captain, “that might’ve been the most dangerous thing to do—and not just because of his present condition.”

  “You’ve heard about that, then?”

  The captain gave a bit of a sideways nod. “A little bit.”

  “Well, I, uh . . .” Adam felt embarrassed. He wondered how much the captain knew, and if it had colored his impression of him to know that his father’s family had that kind of conflict within it.

  “Don’t even give it another thought,” said the captain. “Mostly, I’m just happy you’re back with us and safe. I’d have two people ready to have my head when we got back to Beaufort if I’da lost you down here.”

  Adam chuckled.

  “While the crew’s been tied up with your rescue mission,” said the captain, “I was able to get some men who work here for Mr. Gomez to help me get those frayed lines repaired. Now we need to head on back home—just as soon as we figure out how to handle this business with your father.”

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  The captain scratched his head and looked like he was thinking about whatever it was he was going to say. “Listen, I’m not sure exactly how to put this, but we’ve got schedules to keep. We need to get back to Beaufort by the end of the month, and I’m already concerned about the weather we might face on the way back. If we don’t make it back in a hurry, it’s goin to throw off the whole shippin schedule for the rest of the summer, and it ain’t like Emmanuel’s goin to want to send out letters to folks sayin, ‘Sorry. We might be a little bit late deliverin those things you been waitin on for months.’”

  “I see,” said Adam. He took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. The captain was right. Between the weather delays on the way to Havana and this whole ordeal with being kidnapped and all, the Gypsy was already days behind schedule. Captain Phillips couldn’t possibly wait more than another day—two at the most—before setting sail for Beaufort. Adam wondered what that would mean for him and for his father’s condition.

  He didn’t have time to give it too much thought, though. The surgeon came out of the captain’s bedchamber to speak to Adam.

  “You are this man’s son?” he asked, wiping the last bit of blood off of his hands on a white rag. He had a Spanish accent, but his English was very clear, as if he had spent a good deal of time in British territory.

  Adam nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m Adam Fletcher.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” He offered his hand for Adam to shake. “I am Dr. Santos.”

  “Pleased to meet you as well, sir,” Adam said, shaking the surgeon’s hand.

  “Your father is awake, and he says he wants to see you.”

  Adam tried to look past him into the cabin where his father lay.

  “You are welcome to try and talk to him, of course, but I am not sure how coherent he will be. I gave him some laudanum when I first arrived. It is a medicine that is made with a weak wine that has a little bit of opium in it.”

  Adam said, “Yes, I have heard of it.”

  Dr. Santos nodded. “Very good. Well, the laudanum has been helping him with the pain, but it has him in a somewhat euphoric state, so that may make things difficult to have a sensible conversation for very long. Also, he lost quite a lot of blood when he was shot.”

  “It’s just his arm, though,” said Adam. “I mean, you stopped the bleeding. He shouldn’t die from this, right?”

  The surgeon seemed pensive before he answered. “Well, let’s just hope he starts to improve and that infection doesn’t set in. Amputation is always something we would rather avoid, so his chances are much better if we do not have to go as far as that. What you must understand is that his body has been in shock the last several hours from the blood loss. The lead ball fractured his humerus. That’s the arm bone here.” Dr. Santos placed his right hand on his left upper arm. “And it grazed his brachial artery. That’s the major source of blood flow in the upper arm. I will tell you that it is a miracle that it was not all blown completely apart.”

  Adam’s wrinkled brow and tense stance betrayed his worry. The surgeon could apparently see his concern and seemed as though he wanted to say something to offer him some comfort. “Young man, take heart. The most important thing is that you got him here and your captain was able to find me in a very short amount of time. As great a distance as you were from any sort of immediate surgical assistance, he would never have made it to the ship if his injury had been even a small fraction worse. In fact, even with a master surgeon he would have certainly lost his arm and quite likely would have died.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows in anxious confusion. “So you’re saying as bad off as he is, it could be worse.”

  “Yes, I suppose it would be reasonable to say that,” said the doctor. “As long as he is still alive, he has a chance of survival, although I will not pretend that this will be an easy battle. But of any patient, I always say that if they are alive and not in complete agony, they are most certainly not as bad off as they could be. It is at times such as this that I thank God for opium.”

  “Has he had anything to eat or drink?”

  Dr. Santos shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t take anything.”

  “Should I try to get him to take something?” asked Adam.

  “You can certainly try. He needs to drink something at least to keep his organs from drying out, not to mention the laudanum can be binding.”

  That last bit was more information than Adam needed to know. He wasn’t even sure how to respond, so he just said, “Can I go in to see him now?”

  “Of course.” The surgeon walked him over to the doorway and said to Santiago, “Your son is here to see you.”

  As Adam stood in the doorway, he saw Santiago try to lift his fingers to acknowledge what the surgeon had said, but they barely moved.

  Adam stepped into the tiny chamber. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He wondered how he should address him. Dad? Father? Santiago? Captain Velasquez? Papá?

  Finally, he just decided to do what came naturally to him. “Hi,” he said tentatively as he moved close to his father’s bed.

  Santiago struggled to turn his head towards his son. “Ay, mijo,” he said weakly. He said something in Spanish, and then Adam presumed he repeated himself in English when he said, “Look at you! Such a handsome son I have . . . I am so proud that you are my son.”

  Adam understood now what Dr. Santos meant about the drug-induced euphoria. He didn’t want his father to potentially embarrass himself by talking too much like a drunk would.

  “Don’t worry,” he told him. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  He wondered if he should reach
out and touch his father’s hand or something, anything to acknowledge some sort of concern, but it felt awkward.

  “You do look like me, mijo, when I was your age. But maybe you are better looking . . . because of your mother no doubt.”

  Adam smiled. Even with his shoulder-length, wavy, blackish-brown hair clumped together with sweat and blood and his face washed out and drained of all energy, Santiago still was a handsome man. Adam could imagine how impressive he must’ve been nearly twenty years earlier.

  “Can I get you anything? Would you like something to eat or drink?”

  Adam felt helpless as Santiago appeared to struggle to shake his head. “I do not want to eat. I fear I cannot keep food down right now.”

  “How about a bit of small beer, then?”

  Santiago closed his eyes and gave a small nod.

  Adam went to fetch some for him. When he came back, Santiago opened his eyes and tried to prop himself up with his good arm.

  Adam instinctively leaned over to help him adjust the pillow beneath his head to raise him up. He then assisted his father in holding the mug as he took a few sips of the weak beer before resting it on a small ledge.

  “Now,” said Santiago, “bring that over here and sit down so you can talk to me.” He cocked his head towards a chair positioned under what looked like a table or desk that was built into the wall.

  Adam brought the chair over next to the bunk and sat down. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Tell me everything. I want to know everything about you.”

  Adam chuckled. “That’s a lot. Where should I start?”

  “What day you were born?”

  Such a simple question, and yet it hurt Adam to have to answer it. “The twenty-second of March. I turned eighteen just a few months ago.”

  “I wish I could have been there,” said Santiago. He smiled weakly, but the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  “Do you have a sweetheart?”

  Adam flashed his brown eyes upward at an angle, and a smile crept across his face.

  “You do. I can tell,” Santiago teased. “Tell me about her.”

  “Well, there is a girl . . . but I don’t know that she’d consider herself my sweetheart.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Hmm . . .” Adam thought about how to explain the situation with Laney Martin. “Well, this girl . . . She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but she’s a lady—I mean, she’s from a very good family.”

  “What is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that I don’t have anything to offer her right now.” Adam thought for a second, then declared, “But one day I will—at least I hope so.”

  “But is she kind? Is she virtuous? You should know those are the most important things,” said Santiago. “Far above beauty.”

  “Oh yes, she is both of those,” said Adam. Then he remembered something. “You’ve met her, you know.”

  Santiago looked confused. “I have met her? When would I have met her?”

  “She’s Laney Martin. You know her? She’s the one who has the dock where you unloaded your cargo last spring—the day we met.”

  “Ah! That girl?” Santiago raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. “I remember her. She is very beautiful.”

  “She sure is.”

  Santiago looked pensive, then said, “Work hard. Learn all that you can from Emmanuel Rogers, or whoever he tasks with training you. You will be then able to make a handsome living and earn this girl’s affection.” He raised his finger and wagged it at his son. “And then if she does not want to give you her hand, you are better off without her.”

  Adam nodded and chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  They were both quiet for a moment as they each tried to think of what to talk about next. Finally, Santiago said, “Have you been a good son to your mother? Are you respectful and obedient?”

  Adam pressed his lips together and tried to think of a way to answer the question that would be both truthful and yet not get him into trouble.

  “Hmm . . . I guess I’m like anybody. I have my virtues and my vices.”

  His father raised his eyebrows, indicating that he wanted to hear more about these virtues and vices.

  “Well, what I mean is I love my mama. I really do. I’ve tried to be a good son, but sometimes that’s gotten me in trouble.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Like my apprenticeship with Mr. Rogers. See, I ended up being forced into that because, well . . . I got into a fight with this boy, and Mr. Robins—he’s the magistrate—he gave me a choice between jail or an apprenticeship, so naturally I chose the apprenticeship.”

  “That seems like a very severe punishment for a simple fight between boys.”

  Adam gave a sheepish smile, knowing he would need to explain further. “Oh, well . . . you see . . . it wasn’t really my first fight.”

  His father gave him a semi-stern face and said, “You fight a lot?”

  “Well . . . a little . . . I mean, I used to. I kind of could have a little bit of a quick temper.”

  “What for? What would you need to fight about so much? This is not what makes you a man.”

  Oh boy, Adam thought. This will be interesting. “I know that. Most of my fights have been defending my mama and her reputation.”

  Santiago’s eyes grew large. “What? Why would you need to do that?”

  He really doesn’t get it. “You know, because as far as anybody in the town knows, she has been a single mother all this time. Nobody but Valentine knew you two had gotten married, and then you disappeared before I was born. We live in a tavern for goodness’ sake. What would you expect people to think?”

  His father rubbed at his cheeks and had a concerned look on his face. “I understand.”

  “Everybody has always just assumed I was a bastard. My mama has never bothered to try to correct anybody, but I have always told them that it wasn’t true—that she was married. Of course, she never had your name, though, so . . .”

  Santiago pressed his head against the pillow. He looked aggrieved by what Adam had said. “I am so sorry. And this is because I left?”

  Adam could tell that his father was being sincere, just as he could see that this aspect of his leaving was something Santiago had never really considered, at least not in any meaningful way.

  Adam shrugged. “Well, of course. Folks just thought she was an entertaining girl in the tavern. When I was young as thirteen or fourteen, I was running men out of the tavern who’d come in disrespecting her.”

  “You are a good son to defend your mother’s honor in this way.”

  Adam didn’t say anything. A million thoughts were going through his head, though.

  “Tell me why you never came back,” said Adam. “I mean, not even to check on us. You never even sent a letter.”

  Santiago took a deep breath, then motioned for the mug of beer. Adam helped him hold it so he could take a sip.

  “We thought we were doing the best thing—the only thing we could to keep you and your mother safe.”

  “Would you just tell me what happened?”

  “It is a very long, sad story.”

  “I don’t care. I think I deserve to know.”

  Santiago nodded. “You’re right. You do.” He looked as if he was thinking about how to respond before he started to explain.

  Adam listened intently and occasionally asked questions as Santiago told him about what happened the summer of 1747, when the Spanish attacked Beaufort, and how it led him to go back to Havana, never to return to Beaufort to be with his wife and child again. He told Adam how in the August siege there was a fire at the Topsail Tavern and a woman was killed, but it was the wife, or more likely lady friend, of one of the sailors who had taken a room there. She had been drunk and passed out in their room apparently, so she did not know there was a fire and couldn’t get out in time.
She didn’t burn up, but the smoke killed her. Her hair color and build were similar to Mary’s, so word had gotten back to Eduardo that Santiago’s new bride perished in the fire.

  “First of all, how did Eduardo even know about my mother in the first place?”

  “That man who kidnapped you—you remember him?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “His name is Hector Nuñez. He was one of my men a very long time ago. He sailed with me for many years. But at some time my uncle got to him. He paid him money and told him to keep an eye on me as we traveled, and if there was ever any news to report—such as could affect our family’s fortune—that he was to come back here to Havana and tell him right away. So that is what he did. Your mother and I were married on my ship. My old friend Alonso performed the ceremony. It was not official to your colony because we did not register it with the court, but in the eyes of God it was as real as it could be. The very next day Hector went missing. We worried something had happened to him, but later we learned that he had gotten passage on one of the vessels from San Augustin that had been sitting off the coast earlier in the summer to go back to Florida, where he then got another vessel to take him back to Havana. There, he told my uncle about my marriage. Apparently, my uncle sent some obscene amount of money to help finance one final attack on Beaufort—the one in August—and that is when the tavern burned.”

  “Your uncle told them to burn down the tavern?”

  Santiago shook his head. “That I do not know. I only know that he was behind the August attack and that he had hoped your mother would perish in it—and when he was told about the woman who died at the tavern, he thought she did.”

  “You must’ve known he was behind it then, huh? I mean, why else would you have left and come back to Havana, never to return?”

  “Alonso, God rest his soul. Alonso had been warning me for such a long time that he suspected my uncle of doing many terrible things, and that he had heard of awful things my uncle said. He told me many times the man was a snake in the grass, but I did not want to believe him. When I learned that Hector had not just disappeared but that he had gone to tell my uncle about my marriage, and that Hector was one of the men who set fire to the tavern, I—”