Infinite Devotion (18 page)

Pepe and I turn to see Andres rushing around, pulling his pants up and emptying his bucket over the side. In his rush, he doesn’t tie his pants tight, and every time he reaches to dump the bucket, his pants fall to his knees again. Then he pulls them half up with one hand, grabbing the bucket, he comes back running to us. He trips on his droopy pants and goes rolling to starboard with the dirty bucket. Pepe and I drop to our knees, laughing at the sight as Andres curses, “Stupid pants!”

We’re still laughing by the time we get belowdecks and hear the most cannon fire we’ve heard yet. Within a few hours, our ship’s taking fire, and Philippe comes down in search of us.

“Boys!”

Pepe pokes his head out. “No boys here!”

“Whatever you are, get down in the galleys and help pump!”

Unsure what that means, we go farther down into the ship and see the ship’s taking on water through small holes in the hull. A filthy man is sweating profusely at the pump, and I guess he must have been doing this for hours. Bella, who followed us down, puts one paw in the water and decides to go back up the ship.

“You boys better take this seriously. You stop for a minute, and we’re at the bottom of the ocean.”

He throws down the pump and walks away, and I quickly pick it up and continue. Pepe and Andres watch, and every time one gets tired, we switch. Every once in a while, something crashes against the hull with such force it sends the pumper to the floor. When we get back up, a new fresh leak appears. Even though there are four pumpers continuously pumping in our section alone, the water keeps rising.

“Can the cannons break the hull?” Andres asks as he’s pumping and staring at the hull.

Another pumper answers him, “Sure as the wind changes.” He spits, and I watch as the frothy spittle makes its way over to us in the putrid tide under our feet‌—‌obviously some are using the bilge to relieve themselves.

“This hull may take a few beatings, but it gets enough beatings and it’ll pop like a pimple.” He laughs at our worried looks. “But don’t you worry your pretty faces. You won’t know what even hit you.”

We don’t talk for hours after that. We don’t even know what time it is and if it’s still light out. No one has come down to relieve us or bring us water or food. Our stomachs are growling constantly, and surprisingly, it’s Alvaro who comes to our rescue.

“I hate to break you girls’ hearts, but your time’s up.”

I drop the pump gladly, and we run back up on deck. I hadn’t realized how stagnant and wet the air in the hull was, and the fresh rain-misted breeze that hits me is very welcome. It’s dusk, and in the faint light, I see we’re clearly losing the battle. The skies are grey and filled with the promise of much more rain, and the strong wind’s distressing the ocean. The English appear to have pulled back outside the pathetic formation that seems to have gone from the bird shape to a loose, hole-filled crescent shape, a sea of floundering sinking ships with split masts and broken riggings. As Alvaro hands us three wine bags and our rations, I watch as divers are sent overboard to try to repair some of the damage. Pepe, Andres, and I quietly sit to eat, and we look at each other in surprise, since Alvaro stays with us as we’re eating.

First, he stares out over our heads, but then he starts talking. “You missed quite a fight, ladies.”

We nod, and Andres asks, “Do you think they won?”

Alvaro lets out a puff of laughter. “I am sure they won.”

“How do you know?” Pepe asks.

“Look around you.” He puts his hands out, and his eyes flash with emotion. “The English haven’t had one ship damaged, yet every ship of ours has been cracked.” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand it. We have longer range, better gunpowder, and we’ve been hitting their ships with greater accuracy. Yet their hulls are not breaking, and ours seem made out of paper!”

“Tell us about the fight.” Pepe’s curious eyes open fully to absorb his tale.

“The English broadsided us within full range. Both our ships let loose with the cannons. All of the sailors took command and maneuvered as best as we could. I shouted to the English with our grappling hooks at the ready to ‘Come to close quarters!’”

Then he realizes we don’t know what that means, and he explains, “So we could board their ship
Spanish style
.” He stretches his legs out and begins chuckling at the memory. “So then an Englishman replies from the top of the mast with his sword in the air, ‘Good soldiers! Surrender on fair terms!’” He laughs. “And our musketeer gave him his answer with a bullet in the side of his head!” He can barely finish his story through his laughter. “And we all cheered as he fell from his great height.”

Pepe crushes a balled fist. “I wish I was there for that.”

Andres and I exchange looks, unsure how we feel about the story.

“Well, the English retreated after, and we called them ‘Protestant hens’ and clucked and strutted around the deck.”

“It sounded like we won, then,” Andres says, confused.

“They left, all right, but it seems we’re worse for the wear now.” Alvaro cleans his fingernails.

We hear an uproar on the ships near us and get up to watch as a vessel nine ships away begins to go under.

Alvaro gasps. “It’s the
Maria Juan
.”

The flagship sends out a rescue boat, but they save only one boatful before the whole deck slips under the darkening water. No one has to tell us there were more than two hundred men on that ship that sank below with the Virgin flag.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

No one feels like talking after seeing that, and everyone either goes to work repairing the ship or sleeps. After a whole day of pumping, I can’t tell you who fell asleep first that night, but the groaning and moaning of those injured during battle found us in our deep sleep. A sailor awakens us halfway through sleep that night, sending us to go back to the galleys.

“I never wished I was shoveling poop so much,” Andres says as we stagger back down into the ship.

The water is disturbingly higher. When we left, it was past our ankles, but now it’s mid-calf. We pump and pray until dawn.

“Captain calls all hands on deck!” someone calls down to us.

Everyone except the wounded and a few pumpers are present. There is a sea of defeated faces, even before the captain speaks. The crowd parts as the captain walks through. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with his swollen eyes and disheveled hair. He makes no eye contact and paces in a hypnotic trance for longer than is comfortable. Suddenly he glances up, almost surprised we are all still there.

He squints up at the sky and begins, “I’m not going to blow smoke up your asses and tell you we have a chance in hell here.” He brings his wise gaze around and looks in every sailor’s eyes before continuing, “You have all fought too bravely and sailed too skillfully for me to let you down like that.” He stares at his shoes for a moment. “I will tell you thanks to our talented leadsman here that we are a deadly six fathoms away from shore.” The sailors tense as I gather that must be far too close. “We have no choice here; the wind hasn’t changed and is forcing us on the shoals.” He pauses again uncomfortably long. “Goddamn Parma never showed, and with that, the leadsmen that know these waters. We’re like a blind man sailing right now, with the English waiting upwind, ready to attack at any moment, and we’re completely out of shot.”

I feel sick and watch as every sailor’s face falls even further than I thought possible.

He again scans the faces. “My courageous men, we’re awaiting either quick death or a miracle. Get out your rosaries, my Catholic sinners, and pray for whichever one you prefer.”

And with that, he walks back to his quarters in a solemn stride as sailors nod respectfully at his honesty. After he leaves, despair comes over like a heavy mist, and everyone retreats within to pray for deliverance. Pepe, Andres, Bella, and I curl in to sleep especially close that night.

“I don’t know how to swim,” Andres worries right as I close my eyes.

Pepe’s eyes open wide. “How can you not know how to swim, living right on a bay?”

“My mother never taught me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to sink,” I try.

Pepe says, “If we do sink, you just have to grab on to anything that will float.”

That makes him feel better than my lie, and I catch him glancing around the ship, probably looking for things that will float.

No one could sleep, though, since the feeling that at any moment you might hear the scraping sound of the hull tearing against the rocky coast and will have only seconds to escape keeps you awake.

By morning, we’re all exhausted. The winds haven’t changed but at least have weakened to some small relief. As we’re tiredly mucking the stalls, we hear a cracking of sails and a cheer across the deck.

Andres calls down, “Pepe! Luis!”

We bolt up the ladder and see the sails are flapping in the southwest direction, and the boat’s already turning toward the ocean.

“A miracle!” someone shouts, and everyone claps, not only on our ship, but celebrations ring out on every ship. The captain’s door opens, and he gives two brisk steps out to see what has occurred. Several tears trickle down his tense face, which cracks into a tight smile as he turns to go back into his room.

Not a single ship has grounded.

Chapter 8

The captain leaves the next day to meet with the war council on the flagship. When he returns, he gives orders to, “Obey the wind.”

Alvaro questions him. “Take a northerly course through unknown waters?”

“We have no choice. We can’t go back the way we came. Unless the wind changes, which we don’t have the patience for. Around the Irish coast is our only option.” The captain pauses and rubs his tired eyes, then looks at Alvaro. “Good Commander, raise the main sails, make north, and by God, get some rest.”

He heads straight to his cabin.

Alvaro goes to the ship’s master, Philippe, and says, “Raise the sails and follow the winds north. I’m going to rest, and you’re in charge.” He walks away slowly down ship.

A few hours later, a three-gun signal goes off. We clamber to the railing and try to see where it came from.

“That’s the signal to shorten sail.” Pepe’s proud he’s learned this.

“Is it from the duke’s ship?” Andres asks.

“Yes,” I answer, seeing the smoke still wisping from the cannon on the side of the flagship.

“It looks like the English are catching up to him, getting too close.”

“Why does he want us to slow down?” I ask, amazed I’m actually asking Pepe about this.

“I bet he needs every ship to slow down so that the English will back off.”

We wait for the orders to shorten sail to be made but hear none.

Philippe instead yells, “Do not shorten sail. We need to go ahead so we can heave to for repairs!”

“But the duke has signaled?” one sailor questions.

“We’re taking on far too much water. We need to make repairs up ahead, or we’ll be done for.” He points out to an Urca that’s far ahead still and has not shortened sail. “You see, others are doing the same thing. We must do what’s best for our ship.”

Everyone nods, and no one touches the sails. The rest of the armada shortens, and all others fall back. We must be miles ahead by the time we see the pinnace pull up with our ship. Shots ring out for us to slow down, and we’re boarded by armed soldiers.

“Where is Captain de Cuellar?” One haughty, over-embellished officer steps forward between his soldiers and demands.

Philippe points for me to go and fetch the captain. I run as fast as I can and hear Andres and Pepe in tow. I knock twice on his door and decide to open it after no reply. In the darkened cabin, there he lies with his broken snoring, eyes closed sleepily, and his mouth open in exhaustion.

“Captain!” I say too loudly.

He sits up and looks around wildly at the disruption, clearly reacting to what must be a matter of great importance, since no one would dare disturb him otherwise.

“What is it?” He grabs for his boots.

“A pinnace has boarded our ship, and a general wants to speak to you.”

His eyes drop down as his mouth purses. He must have realized what occurred for this to happen. He stumbles out of the cabin, and it seems all of the ship is on deck by now.

I watch as the captain straightens and walks more assuredly as he proceeds down the ship to the prow where the general stands. When he meets him, the captain regains all composure. He attempts to shake the general’s hand, but the general stares at him in disgust and only stands taller. “I am Senior Army General Bovadillo, and you, Captain de Cuellar, are under violation of the duke’s orders to stay in formation and not to advance. You are condemned to death by hanging, and you will need to go with us to the Judge Advocate’s ship immediately.”

We all watch as the captain rather nonchalantly turns slightly toward Philippe, and he glares at him with one eye narrowed. The group’s disrupted by Alvaro rushing into the fray with his hair all in disarray from sleep.

“General, this is a mistake! The captain’s not responsible!” he screams.

The captain calmly puts one hand up to stay him. “This is all a misunderstanding. I’ll go with the good general, and I’ll be back by nightfall.”