Cavendish laughed. He handed the musket back to Moon. "They'll leave us alone now, Moon," he said. "All right, Tyler, get back and help clear off that deck."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Tyler. He smiled at Cavendish. "Thank you, sir," he added. Then he said diffidently, "Wouldn't you like that big fish for dinner, sir? It was so fresh, it was alive."
Cavendish said, "I would like it. And if there are any lemons, tell Cosmos I want half of one served with the fish."
"Aye, sir," said Tyler, happily. "I'll tell him, sir."
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Guana dropped astern. The wind was still from the north, and the Desire ran before it, under full canvas. Cavendish alone was on his deck.
He had made landfall correctly. That much was done. So also was the warning of de Ersola accomplished. For ahead were the Philippinas, Spanish islands, and the Desire boasted only sixty crew. A small force. And only one ship to combat the many the Spanish could send out for him.
He began to pace restlessly. There was one more thing he should do, before the next day or so was up. It was three hundred and ten leagues to the Philippinas. Eight days of sailing—or more, if storms blew up. The weather since he had left California had been so mild that he now expected storms. He looked up at the sail over his head. The mizzen would have to have new sail, in the anchorage he wanted to find. Safe anchorage, pleasant, not too warm. Drake had used the Celebes, but it was foul with heat and fevers there. Anchorage in the Philippinas would be best, even if the Spanish were near. Catherine had said the women were pretty enough, and the natives friendly. Aboard he carried the three Filipinos who had sailed on the Santa Anna. They could translate for him, so he could talk with the natives. The men could rest and eat, and work, and enjoy the native women. Eight days and he should be anchored in the Philippinas, unless they ran into foul weather.
They did. Six days out of Guana, the gray of morning did not lighten as the invisible sun rose. There was no wind; the Desire was almost becalmed on a molten sea. The sails slatted disconsolately.
"The blow will be soon," Cavendish said. "Master Fuller, strike all sails!"
The wind was upon them in so few minutes that men were still aloft. Below, the helmsman disconnected the whipstaff, and lashed the tiller. Cavendish went to his cabin for a leather jacket, and came out on deck to ride out the storm.
It lasted for two days. On the fourteenth day of January, at nightfall, the winds began to drop a little. The Desire dared to show a little canvas, and Cavendish spent his time between the poopdeck and the compasses and charts in his cabin. At the beginning of the middle watch, he went forward to speak to Fuller. The two men talked in low voices. The night was black.
"We'll lie at hull all during this watch, sir," he said. "I think we'll sight the Philippinas at daybreak."
"Aye, sir," said Fuller. The ship's bells struck the hour.
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"Time for the watch," Cavendish said. "I'm going to get a little sleep between now and four, sir."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Fuller.
Cavendish disappeared; he made his way alone aft with care, for the rain was slanting down into his face. He stumbled against a kneeling figure.
"What do you do here?" asked Cavendish, his voice harsh.
De Ersola shouted back, "I wanted something in my sea chest, sir."
There had been no place below to store de Ersola's chest; it had been lashed to this deck. De Ersola hung onto the running ropes. "I wanted something in my chest, sir," he repeated.
"This is an odd time to want it," Cavendish said. Neither moved, and the Desire pitched suddenly, and both had to heed not being thrown overboard. The wind was howling around them, and they were soaking wet.
"I could not sleep," shouted de Ersola. "I have always had a weak stomach."
His voice sounded plaintive and Cavendish knew that the admission of a weak stomach might very well be true, and it amused him. "Good night," he said, and left de Ersola standing there, on deck, in the dark.
He made his way to his own cabin where Havers waited for him. He rose when Cavendish came in, but tired as he was, Cavendish did not sit down.
"What news?" he asked, his mind on de Ersola instead of his question to Havers.
Havers puffed on his clay pipe; the cabin was blue with smoke. He said, "John Gameford is sick again, sir."
Cavendish was not surprised. He didn't expect John Gameford ever to see England again. It was an old illness that troubled Gameford, who was a cooper and in charge of casks and barrels aboard the Desire.
"Is he keeping any food on his stomach at all?" Cavendish asked.
Havers took the pipe from his mouth and shook his head. "We tried the hot wine, as before."
"Then leave him alone and let him rest and sleep," Cavendish said. "I'll see him in the morning. I've been watching the weight drop off him."
Havers put the pipe back in his mouth. "I have too," he said, and glanced at Cavendish, who looked drawn and weary. Was he losing weight, Havers wondered, or did he just imagine it?
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"Gameford has excessive pain in the stomach," Havers said. "But he doesn't complain. The storm tosses him a good bit."
"It will blow itself out in a few hours. We're lying ahull until daybreak, Havers. We ought to see the Philippinas when the dawn comes." He leaned over and pointed to his chart. "We should fall in with this cape, Cabo del Spiritu Santo. It should be a matter of minutes."
"I know," said Havers. He watched Cavendish sit down and bend over the chart, resting his head in his hands; and he watched the preoccupied look come over his Captain's face. Then Cavendish lifted his head.
"Havers," he said suddenly. "I want to speak with you a few minutes."
Havers crossed his legs comfortably. "Certainly, Tom."
Cavendish hesitated. "I've made a new will," he said. "It's in the box with our commission and the reports. I wanted you to know it was there, in case I shouldn't live to return to England. In case of accident."
"I see, Tom."
"You know how I am. I thought it wisest to take account of the fact that I might not return. All my share of this voyage, sir, and all my estates, go to the Señora Catherine, unless David survives. Then Trimley is his, or his heirs."
"I see," Havers repeated.
"You might be confused by the name of the señora." Cavendish paused, and Havers didn't know what he meant. "You see, Havers," he said, bluntly, "Catherine's my wife."
Havers, who rarely cursed, was startled into the first half of an oath. He took the pipe from his mouth.
Cavendish said, "It was complete madness, I know. It was eight weeks ago tonight, at just about this time, Havers."
"My felicitations, sir," Havers said. He started to rise and hold out his hand, but Cavendish was looking at the floor. Havers sank back into his chair.
"I lifted her out of the boat," Cavendish said. "I had wrapped a cloak of mine around her; her feet were bare. In the moonlight I could see her clearly."
He had been able to see the shadow of her lashes against her cheek; the wind had been soft, the moonlight shimmering over the
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water and the white beach. He had looked down at her, and holding her thus he had started up the beach.
Her eyes opened. "Where are you taking me?" she had whispered, finally.
"To find the priest," he said, almost roughly.
"But—" she said.
His even stride carried them toward the line of trees.
"I would wed you, Catherine," he said. "I want to wed you now!"
"Would it occur to you to ask me, Captain Cavendish?" she had asked.
Suddenly he had smiled. "It did not occur to me, wench." Happiness flooded him. "You have the most beautiful smile!"
Cavendish looked up at Havers. Then he said, "The priest consented to marry us, without witnesses. He lighted two candles, and we knelt; I took her hand, and we repeated the vows together. She was cold; she was shivering a little, the cloak fell off her shoulders, and I put it around her again. She was all mine, Havers, the way I wanted her to be. And now—I know it was madness to marry her!"