Infinite Devotion (20 page)

We hear him bellow almost immediately and happily, “The good judge! Shall we have tea in your cabin and discuss our plan?”

“No need to discuss, my good man. I have the orders right here.” We watch as he clears his throat with a gurgling sound. “Crew, listen now, for these are the orders for our wayward journey home. ‘Hold north-northeast until you reach sixty-one point half degrees. After that point, there is much peril of being driven onto the coast of Ireland, so take great care to run west-southwest until fifty-eight degrees, then southwest to fifty-three degrees; keep heading round the Cape of Finisterre south-southeast, and there you will be safe to land on Spanish soil at any port on the Galician coast.’”

He rolls up the note for safekeeping and grabs for the deck railing as the ship rolls unexpectedly.

As soon as he braces himself, he commands, “These are vague instructions, we all know, so we will have to do our very best to tirelessly keep this sinking ship afloat and off the pitiless Irish rocks. As dangerous as this route will be, we will never make it with the stores of water and food we have left. I hate to do this to my already starving crew, but if we have any hope of touching Spanish soil again, I must put everyone, at every rank including myself, on starvation ration immediately. Every person shall receive half a pound of biscuit, a pint of water, and a half pint of wine a day.” Everyone looks down at their already wasting stomachs. “My greatest concern is that of water. The horses and mules must be thrown overboard at once, since we cannot afford a drop to them. See to it!”

The horror of this hits me, and I can’t believe they’re going to throw the animals overboard.

The captain yells out, “The wind’s too strong to drop them in with the boom hoist! We’re going to have to take each one up on its own to be sure we don’t tear up the deck with their steel shoes!”

A sailor shouts, “We’re starving, Captain. We should butcher them instead!”

“These are the duke’s orders, my mates. Besides, our ship’s taking on water, it’ll do us good to lighten the load.”

The sailors split into groups and march to the different areas where the beasts are kept. I can hardly watch as the first beautiful and shining stallion, with dark chestnut hair comes prancing out up the plank from the stables. The horse takes in the much-needed fresh air and whinnies happily to be out of the darkness it was kept confined in for months. It steps stiffly with lean muscles as the swarthy sailor pulls begrudgingly at its reins to the stern of the ship.

I turn back around to the protests of the horseman responsible for the horse they just brought up. He’s struggling between the strong arms of two sailors. He yells out, “These are cavalry-trained Andalusians! You can’t just throw them overboard!”

The sailors look to the captain as they lift him up to keep him from running toward the horse. “Take him below, and don’t let him up until the last horse is dealt with.”

The man lets loose one final defeated scream before fading belowdecks. The railing’s unfastened and swung away, and the sailor brings the willing horse up to the edge. Men light and swing blazing torches behind and to the side of the horse, keeping it from turning around. When the poor horse sees the drop below into churning white water, it squeals and rears back, but before the horse can pull away, two thick sailors both push the horse’s hindquarters with such force that the graceful horse goes leaping off the ship.

It’s like some strange dream to see this wondrous sight‌—‌this shining beauty flying through the air, mane and tail wisping in the wind of the sea‌—‌delicate black hooves kicking to stop the fall. The shrill fearful whinny cracks the surreal fantastic slow motion and brings the horror to a climax as the dark horse breaks the even darker, angry water with a painful slap. I stop breathing, as does everyone perched over the rail staring into the ship’s wake behind. We all take in a deep breath of relief as the dark head surfaces. The frightened horse fights to stay afloat in the current of the ship and spins out in every direction frantically. Its once-calm eyes are now so wide the whites show and its nostrils flare, sucking in and snorting wet air.

As we’re watching to see if the horse will swim in the direction of the nearest coast, a voice barks out, “Out of the way!” and Pepe pulls me back just in time as another disagreeable sailor pulls up a grey mare, almost identical to the first mare I touched on the
San Pedro
. A tear streams down my check against my permission with a burn as I see my faint reflection in its dark shiny almond eye. I disappear as the animal flutters its long white eyelashes. She gives me a knowing snort and accepts her fate as she jumps off into the air with only a hind slap. She surfaces also and goes paddling off in the same direction as the bay.

We watch in horror as mythical horse after horse goes flying off the ship. Some go easy while others go rearing and kicking, but each one ends up in the wake, paddling for their lives. Ships all around us are following the bitter order, and the concert of the frightening, primitive whinnies of the struggling horses echoes over the churning sea to us.

I hope never again to see such a horrific and strange sight. After the last one goes over, I take Pepe’s and Andres’s hands as we bow our heads, and I say, “Pray that each horse makes it to shore.”

At this, Andres lets go of our hands and takes out his wooden cross around his neck and begins chanting under his breath something foreign-sounding to us. A strange haze comes over his eyes as he focuses on the French coast. Without a word, Pepe points in the direction of the horses, and I watch in awe as each one turns and starts toward land. Pepe and I exchange looks as we realize we don’t know much about Andres after all.

Chapter 10

I’m riding the flying grey mare through the sea. The damp salty air is soaking my hair, and it whips my face with great stinging force. I hear Pepe to my right and Andres to my left and see up ahead the captain on the bay. He’s far ahead, and I worry I’ll lose him. I give a kick to the mare’s flank, and she speeds up and dives closer to the water. I lose my focus as my eyes are hypnotized by the flashing surface right below. A crack of thunder lashes out, and I look up to see a dark, menacing cloud in front of us. The captain is bravely screaming at the clouds as the winds picks up and large waves reach for him on his flying horse. A crack of lightning strikes out right between Pepe and me, and when I open my eyes again, he’s gone. Suddenly, Andres is no longer on his horse but is clinging to me on my horse, but the weight makes the horse drop like a pebble into the black ocean, and when we come up, we’re clinging to a door. There’s no sign of Pepe or the horses. The captain calls to us, and a light shines around him on a green and shining shore as a wave comes over our heads.

I wake to Pepe’s groan as I come to the realization that I had kicked his back, trying to stay afloat in my quickly disappearing nightmare.

“Easy!” Pepe mumbles. “What’s wrong with you?” He swats tiredly at my foot.

“You keep doing that, we’re going to make you sleep near the moldy cheese barrels over there,” Andres says without moving under his arms wrapped around his head.

“I had a terrible dream.”

“So keep it to yourself and let us sleep,” Pepe says.

I think about the dream for a while in the humid, smelly dark of the hold. It wasn’t just a dream. I can tell it’s a warning. My eyes focus on the glistening drops of water that are seeping through the ship’s walls, like beads of sweat on a horse’s hide. My eyes begin closing again as the sounds of snoring, farting, and rolling cabin mates continue in the background.

“Shetland straight ahead!” the lookout bellows.

The deck’s packed, since the storms of the last few days have weakened and allowed us all a reprieve.

“Well, at least we’re staying on course,” Pepe says.

“I’m just glad the English stopped following us.” Andres checks back. “Seeing them in the shadows of our sails was terrible.”

Pepe squints up at the sails. “Even though the wind’s been strong we seem to be only moving two or three knots.” He leans over the rail and peers into the ocean. “I bet the whole hull’s full of barnacles by now, slowing us down.”

“How very right you are.” The captain saunters up with a smile. “We usually careen them every summer, but we didn’t get the chance. But look on the bright side, those barnacles are probably the only thing keeping this ship together.”

He walks away, laughing, with his hands clasped behind his back.

We hear some hollering on the starboard side and rush over to look. There are some small fishing boats huddled in the waters. The crew slows the ship, and the small boat is dropped with a few sailors holding a purse. My stomach begins to growl as we watch the sailors purchase every last bag they had of dried fish. The whole deck cheers as the men swing the bags onto the deck, and we all grab for the fish that spill out. My hands come up empty as I watch the sailors take the bags to the judge’s quarters for rationing. I turn back to see Pepe’s managed to get one and is hiding behind the mast so no one will fight him for it. We run over to him, and he sighs as he fights the urge to stuff the whole thing in his mouth. He hands us each our share. “You better remember this.”

Even though the next few days are fair, it seems fewer and fewer of the crew are on deck. Every night we go to bed, we see the men are falling ill at a frightening rate, crowding the holds. As quickly as the good weather comes, the bad weather rolls in, and we awake in the night to hail hitting the deck with such force that it sounds like it will go through wood.

“Every able man either on deck or to the pumps!” Captain de Cuellar shouts down belowdecks.

Given the dreadful sound of the hail, I go straight for the pumps. We haven’t been at the pumps all week, and we’re surprised at the level of the water. All of the pumps are being manned but we wait; we didn’t want someone forcing us on deck. I try to squat but find the water so high, it reaches my rear. So we stand there awkwardly, watching the tired, wet, and dirty men work. I notice there are not only the soldiers present pumping, but there are caulkers tiredly filling in all the increasing cracks in the hull.

Andres gasps. “The ship
is
coming apart.”

This gets the attention of one of the caulkers, who turns and shouts, “She’s been spewing her oakum all week. Treenails have begun to loosen. I give it a week before the bolts pop!”

A rush of dread flashes through me.

The man continues, “So I’ve been plugging holes and seams for a week, but once those bolts go, no amount of caulk will keep this ship together.”

A dripping wet man comes from another part of the ship with a long plank of wood. Another man stops pumping to assist him to hold up the plank over the biggest seam. I pick up the pump, and the soldier gives me a nod of thanks as the sledge hammer clangs the plank into place.

We work the pumps all night, and by morning, we’re soaked. It doesn’t matter if we go out into the rain, since we can’t get any wetter. The ship’s rolling in the turbulent seas, and there is only dark grey all around us‌—‌the sea to horizon, the land to the sky. Everything grey. The rain is coming down slanted, just so it hits me right in the face. We huddle together at the railing and look out. There isn’t another ship visible in this fog. What a desperately alone feeling. If we went down here, there would be no chance of rescue, although no ship would take any more men on in such similar hopeless condition.

Either we’re going to sink or make it back somehow. Suddenly an especially large wave rolls the ship, and I lose my hold and start to go with the momentum, when Pepe quickly grabs my arm and pulls me back to the railing. I nod in quick thanks, barely seeing him through the rain, and even though I’m cold and wet, I feel warm knowing I’ll always have Andres and Pepe watching out for me.

“I don’t feel so good,” Andres says, pale with purple chattering lips.

“Yeah, you don’t look so good either.” Pepe laughs, but he nods to me to help him get his head clear over the railing just in time as he vomits.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, pull me back down,” he gets out between chattering teeth. He slumps down against the ship.

“I want to go up to the crow’s nest!” Pepe shouts right next to us, but we can barely hear him through the wind.

Andres shakes his head in disbelief, and I shout back, “Why?”

“I want to see the storm from up there!” He points.

I shake my head also, but he turns and starts to walk against the roll which slowed him, but then the roll changes, and he stumbles double-time, careening against the main mast. He turns back, embarrassed but smiling at us, as Andres and I now cling to each other for balance while we watch him kill himself. Once he begins climbing, he looks like he’d done it a hundred times before, with an ease that laughs in the face of the tempest. He’s beaming with pride as he drops into the nest, and he stays there for hours, watching the clouds roar by and dump their burden on us. The mast rocks twenty degrees back and forth, and he rides it like a giant horse on a frolic. Andres and I decide to go down to sleep and wonder if he’s planning to sleep up there, but I feel him squeeze beside us as wet and sloppy as a sponge. Once he’s with us, I can finally drift off to sleep.