by L. E. Waters
Alvaro questions him. “Take a northerly course through unknown waters?”
“We have no choice. We can’t go back the way we came. Unless the wind changes, which we don’t have the patience for. Around the Irish coast is our only option.” The captain pauses and rubs his tired eyes, then looks at Alvaro. “Good Commander, raise the main sails, make north, and by God, get some rest.”
He heads straight to his cabin.
Alvaro goes to the ship’s master, Philippe, and says, “Raise the sails and follow the winds north. I’m going to rest, and you’re in charge.” He walks away slowly down ship.
A few hours later, a three-gun signal goes off. We clamber to the railing and try to see where it came from.
“That’s the signal to shorten sail.” Pepe’s proud he’s learned this.
“Is it from the duke’s ship?” Andres asks.
“Yes,” I answer, seeing the smoke still wisping from the cannon on the side of the flagship.
“It looks like the English are catching up to him, getting too close.”
“Why does he want us to slow down?” I ask, amazed I’m actually asking Pepe about this.
“I bet he needs every ship to slow down so that the English will back off.”
We wait for the orders to shorten sail to be made but hear none.
Philippe instead yells, “Do not shorten sail. We need to go ahead so we can heave to for repairs!”
“But the duke has signaled?” one sailor questions.
“We’re taking on far too much water. We need to make repairs up ahead, or we’ll be done for.” He points out to an Urca that’s far ahead still and has not shortened sail. “You see, others are doing the same thing. We must do what’s best for our ship.”
Everyone nods, and no one touches the sails. The rest of the armada shortens, and all others fall back. We must be miles ahead by the time we see the pinnace pull up with our ship. Shots ring out for us to slow down, and we’re boarded by armed soldiers.
“Where is Captain de Cuellar?” One haughty, over-embellished officer steps forward between his soldiers and demands.
Philippe points for me to go and fetch the captain. I run as fast as I can and hear Andres and Pepe in tow. I knock twice on his door and decide to open it after no reply. In the darkened cabin, there he lies with his broken snoring, eyes closed sleepily, and his mouth open in exhaustion.
“Captain!” I say too loudly.
He sits up and looks around wildly at the disruption, clearly reacting to what must be a matter of great importance, since no one would dare disturb him otherwise.
“What is it?” He grabs for his boots.
“A pinnace has boarded our ship, and a general wants to speak to you.”
His eyes drop down as his mouth purses. He must have realized what occurred for this to happen. He stumbles out of the cabin, and it seems all of the ship is on deck by now.
I watch as the captain straightens and walks more assuredly as he proceeds down the ship to the prow where the general stands. When he meets him, the captain regains all composure. He attempts to shake the general’s hand, but the general stares at him in disgust and only stands taller. “I am Senior Army General Bovadillo, and you, Captain de Cuellar, are under violation of the duke’s orders to stay in formation and not to advance. You are condemned to death by hanging, and you will need to go with us to the Judge Advocate’s ship immediately.”
We all watch as the captain rather nonchalantly turns slightly toward Philippe, and he glares at him with one eye narrowed. The group’s disrupted by Alvaro rushing into the fray with his hair all in disarray from sleep.
“General, this is a mistake! The captain’s not responsible!” he screams.
The captain calmly puts one hand up to stay him. “This is all a misunderstanding. I’ll go with the good general, and I’ll be back by nightfall.”
He turns to the general and asks, “Can I bring along my cabin boys to assist me?”
We gape at each other in surprise and wonder what this will mean for us. But he motions with a finger for us to follow him after he receives a curt nod from the general.
“What about your first mate and commander, sir?” Alvaro asks as he steps forward hopefully.
“No need for that; the boys will do.”
The captain steps onto the boards they laid across to connect the ships. Pepe crosses first, I follow, and Andres cautiously takes up the rear. As the captain stiffly leaps off onto the frigate, he glances back to Philippe. “It’s going to be either you or me by nightfall,” he says with a wink, then gives a salute and says loudly for all to hear, “You all report to the commander in my absence.”
Pepe, Andres, and I stand close together, and we watch as the captain turns to the soldier next to him. “So, soldier, where do you hail from?”
“Galicia,” the haggard soldier tersely answers.
“Oh, Galicia! I knew a certain captain’s wife from Galicia. Beautiful in the extreme! I never saw a more pleasing shape. Far too beautiful not to share with such a handsome man as myself, especially with her troll of a husband.”
That makes them laugh, except for Bovadillo, of course, who sits like he has a bad taste in his mouth the entire ride.
How can he be so jovial with what lays before him?
We reach the smaller ship all too soon. My stomach tenses as the judge stands there with a stern and unyielding look to him. There is another captain in the process of questioning. The captain strides forward, wanting to watch the interrogation.
Pepe, Andres, and I disappear behind those gathered to watch and speak to each other for the first time.
“Why would he bring us?” Pepe asks.
“I don’t want to see him hanged,” Andres says.
“If he’s hanged, what will happen to us? Do we get to go back to the San Pedro, or will we stay here?” I worry.
We glance around at the strange faces, and this ship seems much different than the San Pedro. I already miss our little bed under the ladder and Alvaro, who watches out for us.
“Bella!” I cry, realizing too late she is back on the ship.
Pepe and Andres appear sick at this, and we all involuntarily check back to where the San Pedro rocks low in the water in the background, one mile away.
Suddenly, the crowd roars, and we move around to see what’s happening. A group of men are dragging the other captain back toward the main mast as he protests and tries to pull away from his captors.
“This is a vendetta against sea captains, I tell you!” He spits on the deck. “You army generals blame us for your defeat. You think this is all our fault!” His voice rises to a scream. “You want to get a scapegoat, and here we are. Blame us for your bad judgment and poor timing. God will have my revenge!” And with that, they slip the noose over his neck, and three sailors pull his weight up with a terrible gurgling and choking sound. I close my eyes but can still hear the heaving of the rope, the kicking and banging of his feet against the mast, and then the quiet stillness two minutes later. When I reopen my eyes, the other captain hangs lifeless, his mouth and eyes open as he turns back and forth gracefully in the wind.
General Bovadillo yells, “Make sure to sail ’round to every ship and show our other captains why they should heed the duke’s signals!”
The pinnace leaves with the dead captain swinging to and fro with the rigging.
Pepe, who must not have closed his eyes, rushes to the railing and gets sick. The captain’s looking at his shoes when the judge calls him forward. The judge is an imposing figure, not of great height but of extra width. He wears all black velvet except for the white fluffy ruffs around his neck and hands. Thick gold chains and a large jeweled cross rest heavily on his black doublet. His eyes appear worn from too much reading, and his frown seems permanent. His hair is white and wispy, giving away his great age.
“Captain de Cuellar, you have been brought before me, accused of failing to obey the duke’s orders issued in Lisbon, which is a te
chnical offense and punishable by death. What say you?”
We hold our breath as the captain steps forward with his head bowed. “Your Honor, I am falsely accused of this crime.” He looks deep into the judge’s ice-blue eyes. “I am the captain of the galleon San Pedro, one of the squadron of Seville, that fought courageously and bravely beside the duke throughout the fight. I had stayed up for ten days straight to be sure I could command my ship through the greatest perils of the battle and did everything I could to bring success for Spain. I kept my eyes open for ten days, watching the wind and the Flemish shoals trying to keep my sinking ship afloat in the leeward wind.” He pauses here and gives an exhausted look. “After the good God changed the winds and the duke decided to go north around the Irish coast, homeward bound, the human frailty in me gave way to much needed sleep, and I left my faith in my second mate, which I deeply regret.”
He stops talking and, to my horror, makes his way over to Pepe, Andres, and me. We move, hoping he’s going somewhere else, but he puts his hand on Andres’s shoulder and mine and continues, “I have brought these three cabin boys who came aboard my ship in Corunna to serve as my witness to the events which occurred while I was exhausted in my cabin bunk. I have brought these destitute boys because of their innocence and open eyes, which the court can trust. Will the court hear their account?”
The judge looks surprised and taken off guard with this and nods hesitantly to proceed.
The captain nudges me forward. “Speak loudly and clearly.”
I’m pushed out into the middle of the circle and instantly feel naked. I glance back over my shoulder at Pepe, who looks behind him, embarrassed, and then to Andres, whose eyes are full of pity for me that I’ve been picked.
I try to speak, but my voice cracks. The silence makes me sweat much more. I clear my throat and begin, “Your Honor,” and I look at the captain who appears pleased with that touch. “What do you want to know?”
This breaks the tension, and some even laugh before the judge gives them a reproachful stare.
“Tell us what happened on your ship after you heard the signal to shorten sail. Was the captain in command?”
“No, we”—I turn around to point—“Pepe, Andres, and I were sitting on deck and watched as the captain came up to the leadsmen and commander, Alvaro, and told him to get some rest. The captain said he was going to get some sleep also, and that Alvaro should give the command to the ship’s master, Philippe.” I pause a moment, mindful of every word. “I watched as the captain made his way to his cabin, and Alvaro spoke to Philippe and went to his bunk.” I check with the captain now to see if I’m doing a good job, and he gives me an encouraging nod. “A few hours later, we heard the signal for shorten sail given by the flagship and overheard a sailor asking the second mate to give orders. The second mate replied he was not going to shorten sail since he needed to get ahead to heave to for much needed repairs because we were taking on so much water still.” I stop, and some seem like they’re waiting for me to continue, but I keep still.
The judge speaks. “When did the captain wake up?”
“Not until the general boarded our frigate and I was sent to wake him. I found him out cold.”
I look to the captain, who can barely contain his contentment with my answer and purses his lips to control his smile, but his eyes still glisten.
“Do the other two boys back up this story?” The judge looks to Pepe and Andres, who both nod strongly. “You may step back. Captain Cuellar, a last plea?”
The captain steps forward with his hands clasped below his belly. “I testify that I have fought stoically for the duke and the king, following every command and pushing the limits of my constitution. I ask you, if you do not believe me, go back to my ship and ask any one of the three hundred fifty men that I have been in charge of and fought with. If I have done anything wrong, and if even one testifies that I have, then put away your rope”—and his whole face tenses as he narrows one eye at the judge—“you can hack me to pieces!”
Everyone on ship is quiet, and their bloodthirsty look seen before while hanging the last captain now turns to a solemn respect. The judge looks to the captain, then to us boys, and back to the general.
“Write to the duke,” he instructs his page. “Say that I will not condemn Captain de Cuellar, who I do believe was not in command at the time of offense, unless I get a written order signed in his name. We will await his reply.”
The general turns and takes the letter begrudgingly and steps back onto his frigate to go to the duke.
“Thank you, Judge Advocate, for hearing my defense,” the captain says with his head bowed.
“We shall see what the duke replies.” And he walks back to his cabin.
We sit with the captain, who is busy making friends with the sailors on deck. He’s right in the middle of the story of his trips to the southern Irish coast, which make me wonder if he’s telling strategically to show his importance onboard, when the frigate comes back. It’s a promising sign that only the general’s page returns with a letter and goes right to the judge’s quarters. The captain winks at me and heads to where the page went. He doesn’t come back for hours, and when he emerges, he has his arm around the judge’s neck, and they’re both laughing like old buddies. Pepe, Andres, and I smile at each other in relief, and we hope this will mean we’re on our way back to Bella.
When the captain returns to us and tells us the news of the duke annulling the death sentence, Pepe asks, “So when will they take us back?”
The Captain replies with a confused look, “They won’t be taking us back. I’ve been stripped of my command, and I’m instructed to stay on the advocate’s ship until we return home.” He strains to get up. “No, this is our ship-home now.”
“Is this ship in better shape to make it home?” Andres asks hopefully.
“Oh, no, this one’s sinking too,” he says nonchalantly, “but thank you, boys. You did a fine job.”
As he walks away, the three of us look to the light we can see coming from the San Pedro in the distance, and I can hear Bella barking.
Chapter 9
We awake to the purple light of dawn. Pepe stretches with his hair sticking up and, with a pained expression, says, “I miss our spot under the stairs.”
Andres opens his eyes begrudgingly. “Every muscle hurts, and it didn’t help to have Luis kicking me all night.”
We tried to find a place under the stairs on this ship but found our clever spot was already occupied at every stair.
“We can go farther down into the ship, but the farther we go, the wetter it gets,” I say.
Pepe holds his nose and says in a hush to us, “I can’t stand the stink down here. They smell so bad.”
I look to the sick and wounded all sprawled about in every free space and know all too well the smell Pepe’s referring to: rot of many different kinds.
“I stopped breathing through my nose as soon as we came down last night, but I can taste it now,” Andres says with a grimace.
“Well, let’s go on deck, then.” I say as I hoist myself out from behind some of the barrels of water with a grunt.
“Hopefully we can find a better place to sleep outside the hold. The rats were especially terrible this close to the stores. I can still feel them crawling over me,” Pepe complains with a shiver.
Andres and I look at each other, knowing how Pepe always exaggerates.
“Right, Pepe, they crawled all over you but didn’t touch us.” Andres smirks.
He laughs. “I can’t help it if the rats only want me.”
Many of the ship’s healthier mates are on deck by now. No one with any strength left stays below longer than they have to. We find a place to stand on the crowded deck where we can hold the railing, since the ship’s constantly rolling on the heavy seas. We take in the surroundings, trying to see if anything has changed while we were asleep.
“I wish Alvaro was here so he could tell us what’s happening.” Andres squints his ey
es at the fine mist of rain that’s plagued us for the last three days.
“Well,” Pepe says, trying to fill Alvaro’s much larger shoes, “the English are still following us.”
“Do you really think so?” I scoff, and Andres laughs.
The captain surprises us by putting his large arms on Andres’s and my shoulders, squeezing the three of us together tightly and awkwardly.
“Beautiful morning, boys!” he says, far too happy, and makes me think of his nice dry bunk in the officer’s quarters he was given.
“What are we going to do, Captain?” Andres asks.
“Well, the greatest fleet that has ever sailed to conquer will limp away like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs.”
“You think we’ll make it home before the English get us?” I ask.
“Oh, them, no, they’re just making sure we leave. They won’t attack again.” He looks toward the north with his eyes squinted at the dark clouds gathering. “Let’s see, our ships are taking on water faster than we can pump, our water is dangerously low, and most of our stores are rotted, a gale is gathering, and we’re being pushed into unknown, uncharted waters.” He let out a long breath. “It will be another miracle if we see Corunna’s coast again.” He pats our backs and walks away.
We hear him bellow almost immediately and happily, “The good judge! Shall we have tea in your cabin and discuss our plan?”
“No need to discuss, my good man. I have the orders right here.” We watch as he clears his throat with a gurgling sound. “Crew, listen now, for these are the orders for our wayward journey home. ‘Hold north-northeast until you reach sixty-one point half degrees. After that point, there is much peril of being driven onto the coast of Ireland, so take great care to run west-southwest until fifty-eight degrees, then southwest to fifty-three degrees; keep heading round the Cape of Finisterre south-southeast, and there you will be safe to land on Spanish soil at any port on the Galician coast.’”
He rolls up the note for safekeeping and grabs for the deck railing as the ship rolls unexpectedly.
