Quite unexpectedly, one morning–it must have been afore the crack of dawn–the gate suddenly opened and the Spanish guards burst through, pikes splayed like quills on an irate porcupine, as usual. I figured this was it. They intended to drag us out for an unannounced appointment with the executioner. Well, if we were going to die, 'twould be here–not at their impromptu circus, for their amusement. And some of them would be taken with us, as we embarked towards eternity. 'Course we'd part company soon enough, as our souls ascended to heaven, and theirs did not. Orke already had the pike and the sword in his hands. He handed off the sword to me, and we advanced towards the gate–and the waiting soldiers.
But the pikes spread and Estaban emerged. You could feel a sigh of relief, as much as hear it. He'd come because he had news. And he deemed it good news–a fortuitous event. Not only was the governor of this region in this region, but he would be visiting a pueblo a few days' ride from here. He was expected there within the week. And he might journey down to this port–or, he might not. Estaban could not take the chance. This man–this Spanish governor–was an old friend of his family. He could vouch for Estaban, thoroughly–and immediately. Estaban said he petitioned the Spanish administrator to provide him a horse and allow him to ride out and meet with the governor. Apparently, the administrator thought all this preposterous, and he refused.
Finally, Estaban issued a couched threat. "I told him to imagine–just for the moment–that my 'wild' stories are true. Then imagine that the governor does pay the courtesy of a visit–and verifies my story. My report to the governor regarding your conduct to me and my benefactors will most likely result in your dismissal from office–if not your outright banishment from his Majesty's colony. And my honour, Señor, will demand your life!'
"He relented," Estaban said, "but with the provision that an armed guard 'escort' me to visit the governor, for my 'protection.' He still does not trust me. But he does not know what to believe and he acts insecure. So I have him there. I must depart within the hour. But I go with a lifted heart, for I know he shall not dare to harm you, in my absence. And I truly know now that it will certainly be alright!"
I was jubilant, and had not the instinct to throttle him, this time.
There were scores of "fare-thee-wells" and hands to shake and hugs to take–and smiling faces all around. Finally, the captain found it necessary to intervene, again. "Well and good! All well and good! Just keep rejoicing, and his 'Excellency' shall be out of that town, out of this region and perched back in the court of 'His Most Catholic Majesty,' afore Estaban ever mounts his horse! Now give the children a few moments alone and then let him be on his way."
And so, Estaban departed us. And all our hopes and prayers rode with him. Some of our lot remained anxious of the outcome, but the captain assuaged their fears, telling them that any day, now, Estaban would ride back into this city–triumphantly–with their governor at his side, and we would all walk out into the sunshine and breathe the clean air of freedom, together.
'Though once he said to me–aside, "'Lest, of course, they've had a change in governor; and this one does not know–or worse, dislikes–our young Don Estaban."
Me face drooped near the floor, which caused the captain to add, "Don't repeat that, Crockett."
On a day not far distant from when last we'd seen Estaban–'twas 'bout mid morn, this time–the gate to purgatory opened, once more. Came the same faction of piked Spanish military to the entrance. We laughed and called mockingly to them–each by a name. Oh, not rightly their actual names. But Annalea had recognized that they always fell in, in the same order. So, for a bit of a laugh-up, we took to naming them. They became "Pedro the first" and "Pedro the second" and "Pedro the third" and so forth. (Pedro was 'bout the only Spanish name most of us knew, 'cept Estaban; and he was one of us–so 'twould not do to mock his name.)
Noticing they did not move–and no one else entered–we fell silent. "Pedro the third" spake out, but in the Spanish babble. The captain summoned one of our mates who spake the Spanish and bade him translate.
"Cap'n, he said, 'get out, get out, get outside!'"
"Ask him for what purpose," the captain said.
This done, the captain was informed that "Pedro the third" was not conducive to discussion, he just insisted we get out, "pronto." The captain made a signal with his hand and Orke and several of the lads moved meekly towards the Spaniards, as if conforming with their command. Orke reached out and plucked-up "Pedro the third"–with his military issue sabre still grasped in his hand–hauled him 'cross the pit and planted him afore the captain. Orke relieved him of his sabre and the other lads surrounded him.
The captain said, "Ask him–nicely–what this is all about."
The reply came back that we should get out–we should all go free. The captain considered this response, for a moment.
Understand, the captain did not trust the Spaniards. None of us did. In trying to think like a Spaniard, he postulated that administrator might set a trap. If he could claim that the "dangerous English pirates" were killed while trying to escape–or, mayhaps, overtake the city–then he would not be blamed. And he'd be shed of us, once and for all. I swear, I could hear those words speaking in the captain's mind.
The captain said to ask "Pedro the third" by whose authority we were to be released. Mayhaps the heat and humidity of the pit were too oppressive for a soldier in full uniform. He became downright rude. His answer, "Just get the hell out, you English son of a bitch!"
Taking the sabre from Orke's hand, the captain brought it up and creased the blade against the man's throat, and said, "Qué?"
"Don Estaban! Don Estaban!" "Pedro the third" managed to squeak out the name. Mayhaps feeling more generous–certainly more compliant–he told our man he had documents to prove this. He was then obliged to produce the documents. The captain studied them carefully. He told us the first was a message from Estaban, which referred to the second–a document signed and sealed by the Spanish governor.
"Estaban has notified us of our freedom; and that we must be released, unharmed, along with our ship and all belongings, and be allowed to continue on our way, unmolested. This, by order of their governor."
The captain paused to allow the "hurrahs" to ring out. We came silent soon, 'though, being anxious to hear if there was more.
"These documents were delivered into the hands of that obnoxious Spanish majistrado by two agents of the governor, who are expected to report back to him within three days that his order has been carried out. Otherwise, 'dire consequences to follow!'"
Another pause–more cheers.
"Friends, prepare you all necessary to depart these Spanish accommodations!"
As our people rejoiced, and scrambled to gather what meager belongings were scattered about–and odd parts of clothing used for bedding–the captain took me and Mam' and Annalea aside. He told us, "Estaban shall not be rejoining us, I fear."
The blood disappeared from Annalea's face, "What's happened? Why not? What has become of him?"
"He is fine, me dear. Nothing's happened to harm him. I should've been more cautious in me phrasing–more conscious of your feelings. The sadness is not due to his fate, but to his leaving us; for we all feel he's part of our community."
"Please, sir, what's become of him?" Annalea grew impatient with the captain.
"He states that the governor has insisted that Estaban remain with him. Apparently, he has much need of a competent aide-de-camp, and he wishes to retain Estaban in that capacity for the remainder of his survey of this colony. Estaban said he cannot refuse the request, considering the great favour the governor granted him, by using his authority–the crown's authority–to 'pardon' and release so many hostile, English 'pilgrims.' On the back-fold of this document are sentiments he intended for your eyes, alone, Annalea."
Annalea took the parchment from the captain, and we all left her to his words–and her thoughts. The rest of our lot
were chafing at the bit now, eager for sunlight and open spaces. The captain held them back a moment, allowing Annalea her time. When she rejoined us, she was quite solemn: not upset, not emotional, just solemn.
She looked to the captain with determination on her countenance, and said, "Let us not linger, sir. We must have our people away from here."
The captain smiled. "Right you are, me dear! But a moment."
Turning towards the quilled Spanish "porcupine," which still occupied the gateway, he commanded, "Tell Pedro to remove the guards from yon gateway. If free men we are, then as free men we shall march–unperturbedly, and unescorted–into the daylight. Tell him we will graciously remeet with our hosts, out in the 'courtyard!'"
The Spaniards withdrew, and–heading a ragtag column of enthusiastic veterans–the captain, with sabre in hand, me holding the sword, and Orke with the pike, emerged into open space, sunlight and fresher air than we'd known for so long a time. All out into the daylight we came. You can imagine the euphoria. Free a caged bird and watch it soar. And so our spirits did soar.
Patiently awaiting our resurrection, were our "hosts"–those Spanish guards–and a small army of reinforcements, equally well-armed. Add to this throng the mob of curious onlookers, and you can imagine the city full-plugged with people. Had I been able to jump down from atop the high wall that bordered us, I swear I could've walked 'cross the city–stern to stem–stepping only on human heads, never alighting and never touching ground!
Two rather important looking Spanish officials approached the captain. By that time, I'd moved back into the column to rejoice 'bout our freedom with the sisters. I could not hear the words translated to and fro, but I'd no doubt those were the governor's agents, following through on their orders. One of 'em saluted the captain, and he returned the salute. The other turned towards the crowd and shouted something commanding, in Spanish.
'Twas almost miraculous, how the crowd moved apart–soldier and civilian alike–to form a corridor through their midst. It brought to me mind a vision of Moses parting the Red Sea. Following the captain's lead, we marched on–unabashed, and unmolested–through that corridor, and the partitioned sea of Spanish faces. This phenomenon continued not just within the city, but without–and all the ways to their docks, where our ship awaited.
The captain came to a halt afore the gangplank, stepped aside and ushered our flock aboard. When the last was boarded–without another word to the Spaniards, or a look back–he came aboard.
"Crockett! Take command. Cast off and put us on a course due east, for two hours."
Then he stepped into his cabin without another word, or a look back.