Proud Jake, a captive in such hands! How that must have maddened him.
He did not tell the whole of the story at once. I pieced it together as I learned of incidents here and there. Over the years, I promised myself, I should discover more and more and in detail, the whole terrible story of what had kept him away all these years.
I heard snatches of how they had been chained and marched through the jungle, of the mosquitoes which tormented them and were responsible for the death of some, of the leeches which clung to their limbs when they tried to cool them in the streams. And worst of all was the knowledge that they were the slaves of their Spanish masters.
He must have spent two years in the jungle before they sailed for Spain. Jake was a prisoner with some thirty members of his crew who had so far survived. They knew what they were heading for … Spain and the Inquisition. There would be no leniency for a man whose main reason for sailing the seas was to rob and plunder Spaniards and to destroy them.
Fortunately for Jake perhaps—although it seems strange to say “fortunately” in such circumstances—in the Mediterranean, the galleon in which he was sailing encountered several Turkish pirate ships and in the skirmish the galleon was defeated; Jake and his men, who were chained in the hold of the Spanish ship, became the prisoners of the Turks.
My poor Jake, sold into slavery! There was one small piece of good fortune, though, because he and those of his crew who were taken with him were sent to the galleys and there they worked together, year in year out, pulling at the oars.
He had lost count of time, but always the determination stayed with him that one day he would escape. He impressed this on his men: One day they were going to return to England.
He told me how he had dreamed of the homecoming, never allowing himself to believe for one moment that it could fail. Such vivid accounts he gave of the stinking galleys, of the endless toil, of the beating of the drum to keep them in time, of the galley-master brandishing his whip for those who flagged.
“Oh, Jake,” I cried, “what has this done to you?”
But he was the same as ever. He had come back, had he not? All sailors knew when they left home that they faced fearful odds. He had been fortunate all his sea life until that ill-fated day when he had chased a Spaniard and ill luck had sent him ashore to look for native help in a place which was already occupied by the accursed enemy.
“All the time I was biding my time,” he said. “I planned every waking moment. There were times when we were released from our chains. They had to keep us alive. I have a good and faithful band and we made the most of those moments.”
He would tell me more later. There were many hideous details to come. But first I wanted to know how he had come home.
He, with some fifty slaves, had overpowered the captain of the Turkish craft. They had seized her and after many adventures at sea had brought her back to Plymouth.
I said he must not go away for a long time. I wanted to nurse him back to health.
He laughed at that. He was strong as ever. “Hardship never hurt a man,” he told me.
But he seemed content to stay. The Rampant Lion was lost and he would build a new ship. He would want to watch her grow. He was delighted to hear that the boys had sailed with Drake. They should have their own ships to command, he told them.
And I think I was happier than I had ever been before. I had come to terms with myself. Perhaps, though, during his absence I had glorified Jake. I had to relearn so much about him. I had forgotten how coarse he could be, how demanding, and he had not lost his love of a fight. Although in my heart I rejoiced at his return, at the same time we argued endlessly.
He still taunted me for not giving him a boy and I was angry with him because he was inclined to ignore Linnet, and a more attractive girl and one more like him there could not be. She had taken a dislike to him too. I think when I had talked of him I had built up a picture which she now thought to have been false. They were constantly at cross purposes.
To my great joy soon after Jake’s return I conceived. This time I must have a boy.
How I longed for this son who would be born of a new Catharine, a woman who had come to terms with life and knew how good fate had been to her. Jake had been brought back to me, and whatever we said to each other in our heated arguments, I was certain that I could find no true happiness without him.
It had been a wonderful realization. And now that he was back I desperately wanted him to have his son.
Jake was busily concerned with the building of the new ship. He enjoyed the company of Carlos and Jacko and Romilly’s Penn, now thirteen years old, adored him.
The months passed. Jake often talked of his adventures and more and more clearly the picture of those years was built up.
Once I said to him: “Now that you are home and safe perhaps you will never want to go to sea again.”
He looked at me in astonishment and burst into laughter. “Are you mad? When I am building my fine ship. How could a sailor give up the sea? I’m going out to kill many more Spaniards yet. I’ve a score to settle…”
He had changed little.
He talked often of the boy we would have. “Our boy,” he said. “He’ll be the best of the bunch. We’ll call him Jake after his father.”
I said I would not call him anything else.
He had a name for his new ship. A Lion of course. The Triumphant Lion because this young Lion was going to avenge the old one. This one would be mightier, his claws would be sharper, his teeth stronger. She was going to sweep the Spaniards off the sea.
Everything was ready for my confinement. The midwife had been in residence for a week before the child was born. We were taking no chances.
And so my child was born.
I lay in my bed experiencing that strange mingling of exhaustion and triumph which will be familiar to every mother. Then I knew the truth. My child was alive and perfect in every way—except that it was a girl.
Jake came in. I saw his face puckered and distorted.
“A girl!” he said. “Another girl!”
I felt the tears on my eyes; they were running down my cheeks. I felt so weak from my ordeal and the sight of him there angrily bitter was more than I could endure.
Linnet was at my bedside. “Mother, it is wonderful,” she cried. “I have a sister … a dear little sister. Get well soon, dearest Mother.”
She stooped and kissed me, and when Jake strode out of the room she went after him.
I heard her voice. “You wicked man! You cruel man! She has suffered and you do not care. All you care for is to have a boy. I hate you!”
I heard the sound of a resounding slap and I thought: He has struck her.
I tried to get up but I could not. The midwife was holding me.
She said: “I will bring the baby to you. A dear little girl.”
She was laid in my arms and I loved her.
I decided to call her Damask after my mother.
Jake was penitent afterward. He, a man who had never disguised his feelings, had been unable to control his bitter disappointment at my bedside.
He came to see the baby and could not hide his distaste as he looked at the crumpled pink face of my second daughter.
He said: “It seems you and I were not intended to have boys.”
“It would seem so,” I answered. “You made the mistake. You said that you had chosen me to be the mother of your sons. It is your fault. You should not have chosen me.”
He laughed suddenly.
“’Tis no use crying over what’s done.”
“Nay,” I agreed, “we make our mistakes and must needs suffer for them.”
“Ah, Cat, we are in agreement at last. So I have got another girl who doubtless will grow up like her sister.” He touched his cheek. “The young devil,” he went on. “She struck me. Upbraided me for my treatment of you and then quick as lightning she upped with her hand and hit me across the cheek. That young woman will have to be taught a lesson or two.”