There was a keen wind following the ship and it was an impressive moment when we mounted the companionway, John Gregory before us and Richard Rackell taking up the rear. The men were lined up on deck: men of all ages and sizes. A wooden box served as a pulpit and on it stood the Captain. He looked a fine man with his rather pleasant face, yet stern. He was a mild man, but one had the impression that if the occasion demanded he could be fierce and forbidding.
It was a moment I would remember for many years—the chill wind billowing the sails, blowing our hair about our faces, ruffling our garments and seeming good after the stuffiness of the cabin; the sky a light blue with the clouds visibly drifting across; everywhere the smell of damp wood and sweating bodies and musty garments, to make one rejoice even more in that clean fresh air.
Life was good; one knew that when one had come near to losing it—yes, even to captives on a pirate ship who were being carried to some unknown destination it was good to be alive.
I knew in that moment that my zest for living would never fail me. Whatever was in store for me I should endure and remember that I intended to go on living to the full every minute of my life until I died.
The Captain read from the Bible; I did not now know what but it was beautiful; and the silence broken only by the wind in the sails and the sound of his voice.
I suppose everyone there on deck was giving his heartfelt thanks for life.
Then I was aware of the glances which were coming our way and that in the main these were directed at me, strange, almost furtive looks, looks which implied a certain hatred … yes, and fear! What did this mean? I glanced at Honey, but she was oblivious of whatever it was and a tremor of apprehension ran through me. I was deeply aware of how vulnerable we were.
The Captain was no longer speaking; John Gregory touched my arm lightly.
It was time for us to go below.
We had shipped anchor a mile or so from land and the Captain had come to talk to us.
“I regret,” he said, “that I cannot allow you to go ashore. It is important that while we are in port I make sure that you are well guarded. I trust you will understand.”
Honey assured him that she did.
I demanded: “Could we not at least go on deck for fresh air?”
He said that he would see what could be arranged, but we should have to give our word not to attempt any folly. “Folly being to attempt to return to our own home?” I asked, for I could never resist implying how these people had wronged us.
“That would not only be folly but an impossibility,” he replied gently. “You are in a land alien to you. How would you without means find your way back to England? You would be beset by dangers on all sides, so it is for your own good that I guard you.”
“And for him whose orders you obey?”
He nodded.
We were allowed to go on deck with John Gregory and Richard Rackell to guard us. We were about two miles from the coast. I saw trees and grass and a cluster of houses. It was good to look on them after seeing nothing but the ocean.
To her great delight Jennet was allowed to go ashore. We watched her climb down the ladder into the bobbing boat; her sailor caught her in his arms and she was laughing. I saw him pinch her buttocks affectionately and she laughed up at him. She seemed to have no regrets for her abduction. She was the most adaptable creature I had ever known.
I said to Honey: “Give her a man and she will be content.”
“She seems fond of her Spaniard,” said Honey tolerantly.
How I should have liked to step ashore. I wondered whether Jake Pennlyon had ever come here. It was possible, for I guessed it was part of Spain and that we were en route for the Barbery coast. He had talked of these waters. I looked to the far horizon where the sea and the land appeared to meet and I said to myself: One day a ship will appear. The Rampant Lion. He will come, I know it.
We leaned over the rail and watched the coast. We were not near enough to see people, but we could see the boats bobbing to and fro.
Jennet came back with tales of what she had seen.
“People jabbering away in Spanish!” she said. “I couldn’t catch what they did say. But my Alfonso he could.”
“I should hope so since he is a Spaniard,” I retorted.
She had been taken into a wine shop and had drunk wine accompanied by little savory cakes which had been “rare tasty.” She was full of the sights her Alfonso had shown her.
The next day we were taken into harbor and there we stayed while the repairs were attended to. The rigging had to be overhauled; seams had to be freshly calked; the shipwrights were busy.
All day long there was activity on board. Not only were the repairs carried out but fresh stores loaded. Some members of the crew deserted; the storm had no doubt cured them of their desire to go again to sea; there had to be replacements.
It was a busy time for them, an irksome one for us, and out of sheer boredom I began to consider plans for escape. They were absurd, I knew, because we were foreign women in a foreign land, without money and unable to speak the language—though we had by now picked up a few words—and one of us pregnant! But I found some comfort in planning. My mother had always said that I was impulsive. “Count ten before speaking, Cat darling,” she used to say. “And think well before acting.”
But it was a comfort to plan. I said: “We could dress ourselves as sailors. We could slip ashore and in no time we would be out of that little town.”
“Without clothes, without money, without knowing where we are?” asked practical Honey.
“We would soon find out.”
“It would be a worse fate than that which awaits us now. We have been lucky. The Captain is a good man.”
“He will protect you, Honey, because you have charmed him and he implies that he is protecting me for some purpose.”
“I do wonder what is awaiting us.”
“Could you not lure it from him?”
“He will never give a hint.”
I was frustrated. Constantly I looked for that ship on the horizon, but it never came.
Once I talked to Richard Rackell, for I was on deck alone with him.
“Why did you lie to us?” I asked. “Why did you pretend to be what you were not?”
“I did what I must,” he answered.
“You were ordered to come?”
He nodded.
“For what purpose?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You deceived us, you lied to us, you accepted our bounty and because of you a good man now lies cold in his grave.”
Richard Rackell crossed himself and murmured: “May God rest his soul.”
“And you are his murderer.”
“I would never have laid hands on him.”
“But because you came and worked with our enemies he is now a dead man.”
Richard Rackell’s lips moved; he was murmuring a prayer.
“You murder and ravish, you pirates and rascals and rogues!” I cried. “Yet you are all very religious men, I observe.” He did not speak and I went on: “And your affianced bride—what of her? You seduced her; you promised to marry her knowing full well that you never would. Am I right?”
He bowed his head.
“You have need of your prayers,” I said with sarcasm. “I hope you are repaid a thousandfold for what you have done to us.”
“Mistress,” he said, “I ask forgiveness.”
“There is no harm in asking.”
He sighed and looked out to sea.
I said after a while: “Tell me who sent you to us with your lies of coming from the North.”
“That I am forbidden to do.”
“But you were sent, as that rogue Gregory was sent.”