Including me in the choosing of destinations and the plotting of courses, thereto, was never a necessity–but 'twas most complimentary. On this occasion, how-some-ever, I was not extended that compliment. Nor was Orke, or any other, consulted. The captain and Estaban planned and plotted and prepared; and the rest of us were simply informed, aboard ship. Did not really matter; for most of us were there simply to follow the captain. Only Mam' and I had a further agenda: Annalea.
Once underway–and all secure–the captain gathered us amidship and detailed our purpose and our destination: which was well into Spanish-held waters. He also revealed the story we'd issue to authorities–as we may encounter them–to explain and justify our circumstances. These, I know, were his intended topics; but frankly, I could not repeat to you one detail of that discussion. I'd not been able to concentrate on any matter but one. Me mind was restive. I had urgent need to resolve the issues regarding Annalea's return to England: specifically, the how and when of it! Nothing else mattered to me. Nothing else interested me.
The greatest cause of me anxiety was that I'd not been able to get the captain's time and his ear to discuss the particulars of me resolve, and how they fit with his grandiose plans. And now we were sailing off to God knows where–in the wrong direction, ever further from England and Annalea's destiny. As soon as the captain finished informing the crew, I approached him.
"So, Crockett, what do you think?"
"I think we needs talk, Cap'n. Now, if you've a mind!"
Thankfully, the captain saw me request as urgent–rather than impertinent–and we went straight off to his cabin. I expressed me concerns to him, and me doubts as to the wisdom of our accompanying him on this adventure, greatly delaying our objective.
"Crockett, I've never guided you wrong. And right now, delay is the proper thing–the strategic thing–for you to do. British held waters and the trade routes between will be teeming with patrols and ships of the fleet. They're doubtless in the area for more than Annalea. Mayhaps, there's been a perceived threat of continental war, and they are here to secure the region. We've seen that afore; and when the war clouds blow over, they are gone. But regardless their mission, travels in these waters are treacherous for us all while they are abouts–and moreso for Annalea!
"Short of all out war, which would bring chaos and devastation to this entire region–on a scale much greater than we witnessed on Nemusmar–there is naught I can imagine that would detain so many ships of the line in this area, indefinitely. Eventually, our needy king and his greedy ministers shall become annoyed at having such a piece of their navy committed to the boondocks of the empire. As you well know, Crockett, their eyes still are on the East; and they prefer to have their warships available 'twixt the continent and there. 'Til they depart for good–and they shall–'twould be suicidal for you to attempt the crossing to England.
"But, a little patience and a little cooperation on your part, Crockett, shall find you much better suited. Right now, I have one ship for us all–and a merchanter, to boot. She is the best of her class, for certain, but only a merchanter–just the same. If me plan bears fruit–and I've no reason to suspect it won't–I'll command more ships of varied type, in the not too distant future. And once safe to do so, Crockett, I'll set you and Annalea and Mam' onboard the best one–with a trusted crew and a course plotted true for home."
"Then you'll not accompany us, Cap'n?" I was truly disappointed by this prospect.
"Unlikely, Crockett. 'Twould not be safe–or wise–for me to return. And 'sides, who'd mind our enterprises here?"
"I don't know, Cap'n; I just don't know 'bout all of this." I felt meself becoming frustrated–and verging on exasperated. "I'd do anything for me Annalea! I'd go to the ends of the earth for her; I feel I'm doing that now. I'd readily die to preserve her life! But with all the unknown that faces us... the unimagined challenges to returning her safe to England and restoring her–if possible–with decent kin... and providing her a provident and prosperous future... I fear I am not the right man for the task. I fear I am less man than is needed to surmount these unforeseeable obstacles. And to utterly fail Annalea would be–to me–a fate worse than death: a fate worse than torture and death. If needs be, I'd foreswear any future contact with Annalea–never in life to lay eyes upon her, again–if 'twere necessary to convince the right man to undertake her crusade!"
"And you believe me to be the 'right' man, Crockett?" The captain seemed mildly amused.
"The right man! The only man, Cap'n!"
"You've truly a dramatist's soul, Crockett! Your pronouncements are always so reminiscent of a novice actor–or an overindulging rector! You are the right man, Crockett! You are the only man to protect and provide properly for our Annalea! If I am able to offer service to you, in support of your own good actions, I'll be most happy to. But for now, you understand the need for delay. And the opportunities to further refine our plans will come as events channel us towards our destiny."
Is this what I sought to hear? Not quite. I never get quite the response I seek from others. I know not why, but others think so differently than me. What seems to me to be delivered as simple, straightforward and logical, comes back to me twisted and altered as it gets turned 'round in their mouths. Therefore, I never expect to get the response I seek from others. And I am seldom disappointed!
So the captain did not say the words I'd've put in his mouth. He did not ease me burden by a guarantee to solve all me problems. But, now, I knew he was thinking of it; I knew we would talk more of it. That would do.
Our voyage continued on a course which gradually arched towards a southwesterly direction. The waters were calm but there was a favourable gust in the winds. For certain, we'd need to manipulate the sheets a might to maintain that gust in our favour; but at least we were not laid out in dead waters, for any stretch of time. We were very fortunate not to come upon more British navy, nor other ships of any flag–or any purpose, for that matter. We deliberately avoided any approach near land, which might promote such unavoidable contact. We'd provisioned very well when departing our little island, intending to forego landfall 'til we reached our destination.
This had involved another readjustment to previously announced plans. The captain had committed his word to Oglethorpe to deliver him and his daughters and his newly acquired treasure to a safe port. Situations being unpredictable, and conditions being as they now were, our arrival at any port city might well mean the discovery and ruination of us all. And there'd be no gain to the Oglethorpes, as they'd be hung alongsides us: execution for association.
Now, the captain's word never is given lightly; and he'd readily surrender all–be it personal fortune, or his very life–to uphold a bargain thus made. But he is not such a cavalier, when he must sacrifice the lives of others in the mix. This proved not to be a consideration when dealing with a man the likes of Oglethorpe. Being a right good judge of a man's character, he knew the captain would never renege on a pledge. Thus he broached the subject with the captain, stating he'd not be the cause of putting all these people in jeopardy. He said he'd willingly entrust hisself, his girls, his fortune and his future to the captain's care, 'til such time as they could be safely landed.
The captain was grateful to Oglethorpe for his understanding and his uncommon decency, and sought a resolution to the dilemma with marked determination. The solution he'd settled upon involved surreptitiously contacting "businessmen" in Kingston who owed all to the captain, as the agent of their prosperity. So it was set that they'd rendezvous with our ship at a charted point and a time designated by the captain. And these men would follow through, faithfully. They knew better than to "disappoint" the captain. So you see, all was prepared and provided for at the outset of this voyage.
Life aboardship always is different–more restrictive–than life ashore. This is natural enough–and comfortable enough–in the company of men who comprise the ship's complement. Each is mos
t occupied with the endless duties of maintaining the craft, preparing for, or recovering from, the natural hazards of life at sea and conducting the business that compels us to traverse the vast oceans. Excepting any long spell spent lying dead in the water, time and effort move companionably, and at an acceptable pace.
Now with idle passengers on boards, that is another matter. And with women on boards, that is another matter, still! Now, don't misunderstand me sentiments. I am not one of them superstitious lot who prophesy shipwreck and doom from the demise of an albatross or the transport of some petticoats. Hell, if women were bad luck aship for true, then every damned one of them slavers out from Africa would have sunk to the depths of the ocean, from all the black wenches they'd cramped and manacled aboards ship! (And, probably, more to the relief of those miserable wretches it would've been!) No, such are not me sentiments. We loves our women. We treasures our women, and we respects them. So there'd not even be concern over lustful improprieties.
The true concern was over the number of people and provisions added to normally tight quarters. Also, while our women were a hardworking lot, willing to pitch in and take on any task or chore–not the frivolous, layabout kind–this seldom complemented the shipboard routine of a crew with assigned duties inflexibly performed. Add to this the stress placed upon men whose natural state is crude and vulgar. Aboards ship, they are with their own–in their natural state–and they acts accordingly. But while our mates are louts by nature, they've good hearts and tender feelings towards our beloved women.
Ashore, it is almost comical to see the extent of politeness they attempt to assume around our womenfolk: like so many foppish courtiers. But such games are played out in dribs and drabs, of short duration. Back on Nemusmar, 'twas only necessary for them to act the fop or fool on occasion–while in the company of women. Most of the time they'd dodge off to the settlement to consort with their mates–and be themselves, amongst themselves. Then, soon enough, they'd be off to sea and back to their natural state.
Yet this was different; this liaison with the fair sex was prolonged, unavoidable and unnatural–for some of these men. Imagine waking up every day, trying to force a broad smile, and retain that smile throughout the day–regardless of what happens–until you drops off to sleep at night. In but a few days, your face would be so sore you could barely use your mouth for eating or spitting! And that was how it was for these poor blokes. They were trying so hard to project the manners of choirboys, and the pressure was building on them. There was no release for their stress. This, combined with the arduous routine of life aboards ship, and the peculiarity–the uncertainty–of our mission, made time crawl, and the journey seem protracted. This was becoming a most unhealthy–potentially dangerous–climate.
'Twas certain the men did not understand this; nor would they've known what to do about it. But I noticed increasing tension amongst them, several times resulting in violent clashes 'twixt lifelong mates. One final episode resulted in a near fatal knifing. Not fatal due only to the intervention of Orke and the skillful mending of Mam' Tiére. But final, I say, 'cause now I approached the captain with this matter; and anything that might jeopardize the ship or our object, became his first priority.
The captain deemed the solution to be a simple matter of voluntary quarantine. He requested of the ladies that they delay coming topside in the mornings, by an hour; that at about midday, when the heat from the sun–direct over head–was most oppressive, they retire below decks and occupy themselves there for a few hours. (That was most in their best interest, anyways.) Then in late day, after resting in the cooler eve's breezes–about when the air turns more to the chill and damp–they retire themselves for the night: allowing the men to romp and raucous 'cross the decks unabashedly, for a bit. All of this seemed to release considerable steam from the kettle. And time proceeded to pass tolerably.
All were well occupied–men and women–throughout the passage. In off times, our people amused themselves as they would: consorting and cavorting with whomever they chose. Annalea, quite naturally, chose Estaban. And the Oglethorpe sisters followed her about to see what might occur–thus guarantying nothing ever did!
Being mostly deserted by Annalea for Estaban (quite understandably), I rooted out company and companionship wherever I might find it. I spent some time with Orke, but he preferred his time alone with Reena (quite understandably). I thought I might put value to spare time by chatting with Mam' Tiére, and gaining more understanding of me visionary dream. But she soon became preachy 'bout me most regular companions of late: casks of marvelous wine stowed onboard–the best from the captain's old cellar.
Well, now, with the sisters aboard–Cynthia and Sarah–I'd not expect to be idled during me idle hours. But the sisters are fanciful and fickle–and grudging to lengths beyond me duration. Apparently, early one eve–after imbibing the juice of a most delectable fruit, since noon (I must learn not to overindulge meself)–I turned a bit randy towards the sisters, and a bit rowdy, too. 'Twould seem they did not appreciate this, or were just not in a proper mood for it. They became–at first–standoffish, and then peevish. I remember spouting some oration comparing them to cows in a meadow, and relegating their purpose in life, similarly. 'Though later reports back accused me of saying much worse.
Well, I attempted profuse apologies on every occasion when I might approach them; but I was continuously rebuffed. So be it. Me liquid companion–most savoury–and meself would find others to carouse with. Normally, after such a binge, I swear off the grape entirely–for several days. But when others goad you into modifying your behaviour–when they challenge your very faculty for sound judgement–then pride takes over. Fool's pride. And there is no more prideful fool than a besotted fool.
Anyway, after annoying most of me closest, dearest friends, I settled on Oglethorpe for companionship. Not that he wasn't a pleasant, enjoyable colleague, but he didn't really know or fit with most of our lot, who'd naturally fall in with their own. 'Twas not that they were rude or deliberately wanting to exclude him; they just did not think to include him. And when he put hisself about, there was that other little matter that, gradually, caused folk to avoid him. He was a talker!
Now, I've been oft' accused of raising enough wind to fill the sails; and Lord knows the captain's orations can last from dawn to dusk–with hardly a pause for breath. But it also is known that we've much of import to speak; and it always behooves the listener to endure it. But Oglethorpe–kindly, gentlemanly Oglethorpe–he just talks. And his conversation follows such a meandering course, he can seldom find his way back to port–or back to his topic, that is. Now as to me own naughty habit–the consumption of large quantities of that divine liquid–I'd half a mind to curb me indulging. Yet, after spending some time trying to navigate through the whirlpools and shoals of Oglethorpe's babble, the other half of me mind begged to be sedated. This seemed to work fine, and make us the more compatible.
Fortunately–or not–for Oglethorpe, I was too nauseous to imbibe (doubtless, something I et) on a singular night when he chose to discuss–coherently–something that troubled him. Oglethorpe–like all of us–is a complexity of emotions and ideas and ideals. But his primary role is that of father; and into that role he'd vested all his feelings and conscious efforts. So I listened patiently and compassionately as he related his concern for one of his daughters.
He spake of the one who'd seemingly not recovered from that incident on the island–me "privy companion." While both his daughters–he claimed–were excruciatingly reticent 'round strangers, they became quite gregarious once they'd got to know folks, and warmed to their company. He was certain I'd've noticed this in the one sister who was seemingly all over the ship yapping with anybody and everybody. (That one was like a parrot, much like hisself.) But the other one.... I don't remember her name; I can't recall the name of either of his daughters. For certain, he named them several times. As he droned on, I think
me mind exempted that which it deemed trivial, in order to stay the course and sift out what might be significant. So I just remember them as the Oglethorpe sisters.
Anyways, the other one–the one that was not parroting in everyone's ears–she was the cause of his concern. That girl would only go about timidly following her sister, when her sister was following Annalea and Estaban. According to Oglethorpe, the girl spent so much time alone in the shadows, her colour was as pale as her spirit. He talked to her 'bout this–as had her sister–but to no avail. He was saddened to see his child so, and not be able to help her. I felt some responsibility for her condition, stemming from me participation in that incident on the island. So I told Oglethorpe not to worry, I would speak to the lass, meself; and I was confident I could set her straight and redeem her–body and soul–from the shadows! You see, boastful pride is every bit as arrogant and ignorant as drunken pride!
So the plan was made. On the following eve, he'd coerce her–if necessary–from her hideaway, and take her walking on deck. Now, harken to the clever subterfuge. I'd meet up with them–quite incidentally–and strike up a conversation. He'd excuse hisself, due to an impatient bladder. I'd take over with the girl, and solve all her problems. Good plan!
Chapter XXI
A Most Ravenous Jackal