I fell against a man who was struggling with a bag of tools in one hand and a horn lantern in the other.
He did not recognize me in the gloom and must have thought I was a cabin boy, for he shouted something which I realized meant I was to take the lantern, so I did so and stumbled after him.
I followed him down into the bowels of the ship. It was eerie down there. I had escaped the roar of the wind and the torrential rain, but the air was close and fetid; the rancid smell of food was everywhere, and the groans and creaking of the ship seemed to proclaim her distress at the treatment she was being given and her inability to go on if the torture did not abate.
Men were working at the pumps. So we had sprung a leak; their faces gleamed in the light from the lantern.
I stood and held the lantern high. The man who had led me here was, I discovered, a carpenter’s mate and was there to find where the ship was leaking and to patch her up if possible.
The men cursed the ship and the sea and prayed for salvation all in the same breath.
I watched the men pumping with all their might, the sweat running down their faces.
They screamed at each other in Spanish, which I was beginning to understand a little.
They were all calling on the Mother of God to intercede for them and as they prayed they worked the pumps.
I saw Richard Rackell among them.
He noticed me too and gave me that rueful smile which I suppose was meant to imply contrition.
I retaliated with the contemptuous look I reserved for him and then I thought: This could well be our last hour on earth. I must at least try to discover what had made him deceive us so. I half smiled at him and the relief on his face was apparent. Someone shouted at me, for I had lowered the lantern. I was able to recognize what was required and held it high again.
That nightmare seemed to go on for a long time. My arms ached with holding the lantern, but at least that was better than inactivity. The galleon had taken on a new character; she was like a living person. She was taking a furious beating and standing up to it. I realized then a little of what Jake Pennlyon felt toward his Rampant Lion. He loved that ship perhaps as much as he could love anybody, and witnessing the fight for survival the galleon was making, I could understand that.
Two cabin boys came down to the pumps and one of them recognized me, for I heard him say something about the Señorita.
One of the men came over and looked at me closely. My hair hanging in wet strands down my back betrayed me.
The lantern was taken from me. I was pushed toward the companionway.
All about me were the rhythmic sounds of the pump; the carpenters were patching parts of the ship with thin strips of lead and ramming oakum into the spots where the sea was coming in.
I found my way back to the cabin.
Honey was distraught and when she saw me her face shone with relief.
“Catharine, where have you been?”
“I’ve been holding a lantern.” I was flung against the side of the cabin as I spoke. I got up and clung to the leg of the fixed table. I told the others to do the same. At least we could not be dashed about if we could keep our grip on that.
I thought the ship was going to turn over; she rose and leaned so that her starboard side must have been beneath the sea. She shivered as though she were being shaken and then seemed to remain in the position for minutes before she crashed down.
There was the sound of heavy objects being flung about. There were shouts and curses. If I had been on deck at that moment I should certainly have been swept overboard.
Honey murmured: “Oh, God, this is the end then.”
I felt my entire being crying out in protest. I would not die. There was so much I had to discover. I must know for what purpose we had been abducted. I must see Jake Pennlyon again.
After that, although the storm raged, it began to abate a little. It was terrifying yet, but the ship was still standing up to the storm and the worst appeared to be over.
For hours the wind continued to shake us; the ship went on creaking and groaning; we could not stand up, but at least we were all together.
I looked at Honey; she lay exhausted, her long lashes beautiful against her pale skin. I was overcome with a kind of protective love for her; and I wondered when her child would be born and what effect these terrible happenings might have on it.
On an impulse I bent over and kissed her cheek. It was a strange thing for me to do, for I was not demonstrative. She opened her eyes and smiled at me.
“Catharine, we’re still here then?”
“We’re alive still,” I said.
“And together,” she added.
For two days and nights the storm had raged, but it was over now. The waters had lost their fury; they were smooth blue-green and only the occasional white horse ruffled them.
There was cold food only—biscuits and salt meat—and we were hungry enough to enjoy it.
The Captain came to the cabin while the storm was still raging and inquired for us. I noticed how he looked at Honey, tender, reassuring.
“We are riding the storm,” he told us. “The ship has come through. But we shall have to put into port to repair the damage.”
My heart leaped. In port. It would not be an English port, of course. No Spanish galleon would dare risk that. But the word “port” excited me. We might escape and find our way back to England.
“While we are in port I shall have to keep you confined to this cabin,” he said. “You will understand the necessity of this.”
“If you could tell us where we are being taken we could perhaps understand it,” I said.
“You will know, Señorita, in time.”
“I want to know now.”
“It is necessary sometimes to wait,” said the Captain. He turned to Honey. “I trust you were not afraid.”
“I knew you would bring the ship through to safety,” she answered.
Something seemed to pass between them: an understanding; a rapport. I had never really understood Honey. It came of her connection with a witch and the strange way she had come into our household.
Edward was dead, it seemed, and she had mourned him, but for not as long as might have been expected. He had been a good husband to her and she had grieved, but she was not prostrate with her grief as I had thought she might be. Her main preoccupation was with the baby and the Captain’s solicitude had brought her great relief.
“As soon as the galley fires can be set burning there will be hot food,” he said.
Honey murmured: “Thank you.” And he left us.
“A maddening man,” I said when he had left us. “He knows where he is taking us and why, and he will not tell. I could shake him.”
“He has been good to us,” said Honey, “and it is another’s secret he keeps.”
“He has certainly found favor with you,” I said.
She did not answer.
The storm had died down; the ship, though battered and not quite her former dignified self, had come through. She was still afloat and capable of voyaging. It was a matter for rejoicing.
The Captain told us that there was to be a thanksgiving service on the deck and as every soul on board had been saved all were commanded to attend.
We should take our stand on deck with the others. John Gregory and Richard Rackell should stand on either side of us. We should come up on deck after the ship’s company were assembled and leave as soon as the service was over.