Infinite Devotion (17 page)

“Hey, you guys, come down!” Andres calls from the deck now, and Pepe and I are hesitant to leave. It’s a view we would never see again in our lives. One of those instances you know you’ve witnessed something extraordinary. Pepe smiles at me and starts down.

We inch for hours at a leisurely sail, watching as Alvaro takes a reading with his line every hour or so.

“Where are all the ships?” one sailor next to us asks.

“Yeah, not one fishing boat within sight.” Alvaro squints with one side of his mouth drawn.

Suddenly, a lookout shouts, “Land on the port bow!”

The captain’s amongst us at once, and the other ships around us come to life, all hoisting their crucifix and the Virgin flags.

Three guns shoot, and the captain calls out, “Thanks be to God and the king, who have allowed us to get this far, and Lord have mercy on England.”

As we approach closer to shore, the darkness sets in as every beacon upon every hilltop along the coast ignites, announcing our arrival‌—‌lighting our way up the channel‌—‌ironically, welcoming.

That night, it’s hard to fall asleep, and after lying still and quiet for many minutes out of the silence, Andres says, “I’m glad I came with you, Luis.”

“Hey, what about me? I’m the reason we’re here.”

We both throw wood shavings that littered the floor at Pepe.

“Yeah, great idea,” I say.

“I meant I’m glad we’re all together.” Andres’s eyes fill with water.

“Me too,” I say, hoping not to cry too.

“Me too,” Pepe quietly states.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The next day, at dawn, we awake to shouting which found its way down under the ladder where we slept. We go up right away.

“They beat us to windward!” yells the captain, grinding his teeth and hitting his fancy blue velvet on the railing of the ship.

Standing up on deck, I can barely see through the squall of rain. Squinting, I faintly see the sails lined up upwind of us. The English navy has made it out of their harbors.

“How did they do it in this wind? I thought we had them trapped.” He kicks a bucket over. “Now they’ve gotten upwind!”

Alvaro turns to us. “Go water and feed the horses. Skip the mucking and make sure they’re tied in the stalls. After, go below. There’s going to be fighting soon.”

He pushes Andres in the direction of the horses, and we obey. As we’re filling up the water buckets, gunfire rings out, and we quickly throw hay and scamper down under the ladder. Every time the cannons shoot, Bella runs out under the ladder and barks fiercely. Our own ship doesn’t fire any cannons off, but we hear ships around us, battling. After a few hours without damage, we sneak on deck. The sailors are hastily running back and forth on deck, untying and tying the rigging to change course and maneuver as the soldiers on our ship come out with their swords, muskets, and arquebuses. The smaller English ships are navigating more quickly, darting out of range, but with their cannon fire falling short also. A few ships have some rigging damage, but the majority of the ships seem without a scratch. By afternoon, the fighting ends, and the waves lap against the boat as our captain’s called to the duke’s ship for war council. We stand next to Alvaro as he blows a happy melody on a small whistle he carried in his pocket.

When the captain returns, Alvaro asks, “What are our orders from the duke?”

“We’re waiting for Parma to join the tea party as they promised… Cowards.” He spits off the deck. “But if bad weather comes, we’ll have no harbor big enough for us all.”

He stares off to grey clouds in the distance.

“So we have to keep to the helm and sails to keep this formation until Parma decides to join us?” Alvaro asks.

“If we break this formation, even one ship, we’re back to Philip with an English boot up our britches.” He starts off to his cabin again. “Oh, that and the proclamation has gone out that the king will hang any captain of the ship that breaks formation. And I’ll be taking my leadsman and commander with me.” He laughs all the way back.

Two terrible things happen that night. The flagship, the
Don Pedro,
collides with two other ships in the night due to the close proximity of the ships. The
Don Pedro’s
bowsprit and forestay were carried away, causing great distress on our own ship of impending collision. A few hours later, just when we drift back to sleep, our eyes open at the sound of a great explosion. All hands run to deck, and Andres is almost trampled in the chaos. About five ships away, the
San Salvador
, a vice-flagship, is up in flames. All night, a rescue attempt is underway to put out the ship and rescue survivors, but in the chaos, the crippled
Don Pedro
drifts away, out of range of the fleet.

Orders are given to gradually move in formation up the channel. We move so slowly that we can see the thatched roofs and church steeples of the quant English villages on our way across Lyme Bay. We spend a calm night drifting in formation in the bay, but by morning, the wind and the sea begin churning.

“A beautiful northeast wind, Alvaro!”

“Yes, Captain, it will be in our favor!”

Alvaro turns around, points for us to go to the horses, and then points belowdecks. We get the message and obey. This fight is different. The cannon fire and the guns won’t cease. Our ship shudders every time the cannons are fired, and we expect to see massive casualties when we come on deck that night but see none.

“Alvaro, no one was hurt?”

“Oh, Juan had a nasty kickback of the cannon and was sent below, but other than that, not a scratch.”

He lights his pipe and turns to us. “You see, the English are faster than us, but as long as our longer-range cannons stay in the positions we’re in, it’s at a standstill.” He looks concerned, suddenly. “Either Parma shows or we’ll have to last as long as our supplies do.”

Fighting begins again, but this time, we stay above deck. Alvaro notices us but doesn’t point us belowdecks. Andres, Pepe, and I all hang over the starboard side as the British ship’s sides flash at the gunports, and we each point to where it will land in the water. Every once in a while, the cannonball will hit with a weak thud against one of the closer ship’s strong hulls. But what we really enjoy is when one hits and crashes through the upper deck, sending splinters flying through the air. We’re sorry when the fighting stops that night and can’t wait for it to continue the next day, but the winds change.

The armada begins to move up the channel again, with the English trailing behind, provoking skirmishes, testing our borders. Finally, reaching the Flemish coast, we all anchor. Parma never came.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

At midnight, an English signal gun goes off, and it summons all the sailors to deck.

“What is it?” I ask Pepe, who is the first up the ladder.

“It looks like the English are up to something,” he says as we hand Bella up.

Alvaro’s at the bow with a leg up on an overturned bucket, and we immediately go to him. He’s watching the commotion of boats taking sailors off some of the English ships. He directs Pepe. “Go get the captain right away.”

Pepe’s off running as eight ships’ masts in the distance catch fire, the sails still open and flapping in the pitch dark. From this distance, it appears like eight burning crosses.

Immediately, the sailors go running around the ship like a disturbed beehive. Everyone shouts, everyone runs; all the while, my eyes are fixed on the mesmerizing fires coming toward us. Halfway across the bay, they burst out in flames across the deck and down below, with fire spurting out from their gunports.

Alvaro shouts, “Don’t cut the anchors! Leave the anchor buoys as the duke instructed!”

But no one’s listening.

One sailor screams, “Giambelli’s infernal machines! They’ll kill us all as soon as they explode!”

“Cut the cables!” another sailor yells as he runs and hits the anchor lines with an ax.

The captain fires off his gun. Pepe’s heaving from the running he just did, with his hands on his knees.

“Attention or I’ll shoot!”

All on deck regain their composure as ships collide around us.

“Hear that, boys? That’s the result of idiot sailors who all cut anchor just to collide with the one hundred thirty ships ass-to-ass in this shallow harbor!” He scans his loaded gun around the deck at every sailor. “Now do as I say, or I will shoot every last poltroon here.”

Behind the captain, small pinnace ships tow two fire ships away, but the remaining six are still advancing, threatening to explode any minute.

He turns and barks to a group of sailors, “Heave the anchor buoys overboard and up mainsail!” He points to another group who goes off dutifully.

“Bring the ship’s head round!” he screams up to the sailors climbing the riggings. “Then reset the sails for a safe course!”

He then turns and says to Alvaro, “Get to the helm and steer clear of the fire ships, but keep up off those damned shoals!”

Everyone ducks at the sound of the explosion, even the captain, but after a moment, we realize it’s English cannons going off. Though it wasn’t the explosion we expected, the cannons severely damage the ships that are trying to tow the fire ships away and cause the pinnaces to give up towing the remaining ships coming at us.

We gasp as we barely miss other Spanish ships racing for safety. Pepe, Andres, and I watch the six remaining ships float, blazing, past the spots our ship had just rested. We wait for the explosion, but our hearts sink as they uneventfully burn themselves down.

“Eight ships can scatter one hundred thirty ships!” the captain says, shaking his head. “What a trick.”

“Captain, where should we go?” Alvaro asks.

“The duke wants us to drop anchor immediately, then go back to the anchor buoys in the morning.”

“But, Captain, the crew cut both our anchors. All we have is a kedge on board, and that’ll be useless with this tide.”

“Well, then, we must go with the tide and see where we are at dawn.” The captain stares out across the water. “There must be three hundred anchors at the bottom of that harbor now.” He looks at Alvaro. “I’m beginning to wonder which side God is on.”

With that, he makes the sign of the cross up to the Virgin flapping on the flag above us in the wind.

Chapter 7

I awake alone in the morning. I must have slept through Andres and Pepe leaving. As I hurry out under the stairs, a strange panic of being forgotten hits me. Images of Pepe and Andres plotting to leave me behind and going off together happily flood my brain and only make me climb up on deck faster. My heart slows as I come upon the sight of Pepe leaning against the mast, washing his face, alone.

“Where’s Andres?” I ask.

He points as the water’s streaming into his squinted eyes between splashing. I look where his finger leads and see Andres sitting on a bucket with his pants down around his knees. As he spies me, he gives an unabashed and lazy wave, and I laugh inside about my paranoia. Not wanting to go to Andres in his activity, I turn back to Pepe, who’s feverishly throwing water, not only on his face, but splashing out around him, getting everything wet.

“Hey, what about the water shortage?” I say with a smile.

“Eh,” he says as he’s wiping his face now. “This is the only way I can do it without touching my face.”

“Everyone touches their face when they wash.”

“Not me.”

The deck’s busy for this hour of the morning. The sailors carry a look of worry and a task on their minds. I should’ve been more concerned with what’s happening around us, but I still feel unsettled.

I venture, “Why did you guys leave me down there when you woke up?”

He shrugs. “We tried to wake you but you were dead to the world.”

That makes me feel even better, and I realize there’s nothing to worry about.

“How are you doing over there, Andres?” Pepe yells down deck.

“My rear’s sick,” Andres says, and we both laugh and roll in the folded canvas under us.

“Seriously, I might need some more rags over here,” Andres pleads.

Pepe checks around and finds some ripped-up cotton and goes over to give it to him. He reaches out with his head away and drops them just within Andres’s reach and runs back like a cannon went off.

“Hey, I can’t reach it!” he says as his white rump pulls out of the bucket, exposing the red indentation the bucket was causing. Once he has them in his hands, he yells, “They’re dirty!”

We’re having so much fun that we forget all the commotion. Suddenly, Alvaro’s voice comes within earshot. “We’re trapped on a lee shore!” He hits his hand on the mast.

Philippe says, “We all got back into formation as best we could without anchors”—he points to Alvaro—“and that was quite a feat.”

Alvaro scans the water. “We’re still stuck with this wind, and the English have the upper hand again.”

A shot of cannon fire rings out, and Pepe and I stand up to see where it’s coming from. I catch Andres standing, pantsless, with his mouth open in surprise and worry, looking for the direction of fire.

“The English are firing on the duke’s ship. It’s begun again.” Alvaro commands the sailors out of the path to the captain’s quarters.