Annalea, A Princess In Exile
by Stephen James Shore
Copyright 2009
All Rights Reserved
Chapter I
A New Course for Us
The captain had charted an entirely new course for us–on the sea and in our lives. I can tell you, spirits were high, those days. The future was uncertain, but the future is always uncertain. Any man who thinks his future certain, is certainly a fool–and certain for disappointment. So we were unconcerned–but not incautious. We'd still days to travel through Spanish waters–and the captain's instructions to strike at any vessel spied, regardless flag or form, afore they spied us!
But the sailing was good: the weather fine, and the crossing uneventful. The captain thought to expand on our guise of an entrepreneurial merchanter commissioned to transport a group of deposed settlers and their slaves. This time, we'd seek asylum in the French territories. This would prove more advantageous, since–at least–so many of our lot could converse in the French: the captain, Annalea, Mam' Tiére, Reena and most of the former slaves, and most of the crew and the women aboard–most everyone, save Crockett. Oh, I know a word or two. I actually understand several more of 'em than I can pronounce–for some strange reason. But I'd not wish to be plopped down in the heart of Paris and have to talk me way out of that country. I'd probably never find the city limits!
But loquacious or tongue-tied, I was bound with the rest to the Bay of Mobile and the settlement on the bluffs which serves as the colonial capital of Louisiana. This was all new territory for me, 'though not so for some of our people. The captain, for instance, became acquainted with the area during various campaigns, some decades afore. And now, he'd already plotted the area and marked out place names that were foreign to me in location as well as sound. Places like "Mobile," and "Dauphin Island," and "Biloxi," and "Fort Maurepas."
I particularly disliked the sound of that last one: "Fort Maurepas." It brought forth discomforting visions of military, jails and gallows! But what choice had I in any of this? None. So, onward I must go–in uninformed optimism. Vive la Frenchies!
We did not make right for any port, town or settlement. With the expansive coastline of the mainland, and various small islands available, 'twas easy (and wiser) to make landfall unannounced. This we did. We found a small inlet which provided us with security, and we put ashore. The captain organized a hunting party and sent them out to harvest fresh meat and scout the vicinity.
A campfire was started, and I sat with the captain, afore it.
"Are you thinking we should settle here, Cap'n?"
"No, Mr. Crockett. But I am considering whether this secluded place might not make an ideal base for future ventures."
I did not understand this. "I thought our intent was to hide away, amongst the Frenchies?"
"That is part of it, Crockett–a considerable part of it. But, of still greater consideration is the acquisition of the goods and monies necessary to prepare for, and undertake, the great Atlantic crossing. And there must remain enough wherewithal to provide the security and influence that money can purchase back in England."
"So, what is the problem, Cap'n? Bound to be a goodly amount of traffic in and 'round the bay, methinks. Why, we could live in relative comfort at the Frenchies' settlement, and just pluck prizes out of the waters–almost at will. 'Twould be like setting in your quarters and casting a line out your window, direct into the sea, and pulling up a fish every time! Nothing wrong with that, eh, Cap'n?"
The humourous intent of these images I verbally conjured was missed by the captain. "Firstly, Crockett, you should know better than to propose such a scheme. Never piss in your own parlour! Secondly, you've need to know that most vessels sailing in that immediate area are bound to be French. And French vessels are even more pathetic than English vessels, as regards the quantity and quality of treasure that might be acquired by harvesting them.
"No, me plan is to establish and maintain the guise we've prepared, and to dwell respectably amongst the French. We must be seen as kindly, generous, hospitable neighbours: not threatening in any manner. As an industrious merchant, it shall–of course–be necessary for me to go out to sea quite often, to ply me trade. It shall be then–from a place such as this–that we shall conduct our true business. With the lads, and not the ladies, aboard we shall take to the high seas, bound for the shipping routes trafficked by Spanish galleons thinking to export the treasures of the colonies to Spain. We shall relieve them of their burdens, return our prizes to a place such as this, and return to the French settlement as seemingly competent merchants–with a few extra coins in our purses, to spread around."
"Delightful, Cap'n! And so much the better to attack and sink Spanish ships, and kill Spanish soldiers, and take Spanish gold. Methinks I speak for all when I say it shall be the ideal combination of profit and pleasure!"
I had but one more question on me mind, at that time. Looking about me at the relatively flat landscape, impenetrable to the eye due to overgrowth and bramble–where each soggy bit of earth seemed to sink under each footstep–I asked, "Cap'n, are you expecting us to make for the French settlement overland, through this bog and mire?"
"No, Crockett, that would not be wise. Should we present ourselves at the French settlement from out of the woods, they might mistake us for the pesky Spaniards and fire upon us."
"Well, Cap'n, we all are plagued by those pesky Spaniards, for certain. But I'd like to know how they tolerate these pesky mosquitoes! Damn, these things bite! Like a plague of tiny, flying alligators!"
In due time, the lads returned–with a deer, a raccoon, several squirrels, and some other thing I didn't even want to know about. And they reported that the surrounding terrain was tangled, frustrating and damned near impassable. That was just what the captain had wanted to hear. With our back secure, anyone who'd come looking for us–or our treasure–could approach only from the sea. Thus we would spy any visitors, and be prepared to greet their arrival!
So, we et, and the captain planned: laying out the purpose of this hideaway and the process for bringing his plan to fruition. Later, we walked the area and the captain marked out a perimeter, within which our enterprise would operate–and our profits be hidden. The captain set forth assignment of what needed to be done, and who would do it. Satisfied that enough had been accomplished for that day, the captain announced we'd make camp there for the eve, and sail on to the French settlement on the morrow.
Everyone seemed to settle in fairly well, and–except for the guards posted–everyone soon fell to sleep. Everyone save one: Crockett! There was no way I'd fall asleep with those infernal mosquitoes feasting on me hide! 'Twould seem they never give it a rest. I rowed meself back out to the ship, and had a better night's sleep there.
Matter of fact, I was still snoozing–quite pleasantly–when I heard the clamour of noisy boarders. 'Twould seem the discomfort of our secluded hideaway–what I'd call a mosquito infested swamp–had finally gotten the better of all hands, causing all to rise early and hasten back aboard ship, without waiting for sunlight or sustenance. Having had the good sense to reason this out the night afore, I was well rested and not of the ornery temperament of the others. I sympathized for 'em, sort of.
But I truly felt sorry for Millbrook and his crew of five, who'd been instructed by the captain to remain behind: to begin the preparations for the site the captain had planned. And also to serve as lookout. From that time onward, the captain would not leave that site unmanned. He would know if anyone had been there. And he'd know–by signal, on approach–if anyone was lurking there, in wait. There'd be no surprises!
~~
April 19, 1718, at a shadowed corner table in the Boar’s Head Inn, in Bristol, a grizzled old sea dog sits with a younger man in gentleman’s attire. The young gentleman interrupts the older man’s story and brings forth a document. This, sir, is the last missive I hold from you. It was despatched from the French territories. Does this indicate...?
But the old sea dog will not yield his dominance in this conversation. Practice patience, lad, and you shall know all you seek to know.
There is not much I can tell you 'bout the details of our time in the French territories, 'cepting the weather–which was warm–and the insects–which were constant. Not having a fair enough acquaintance with the French tongue, I tended to hold back from intercourse with the inhabitants of the region, and kept to the background as much as possible. 'Course, 'twas not always a simple matter for me to know when we were in or out of the French territory. Like all the Europeans, the French tended to claim most everything as their own–even places they'd never been. And as far as the Spanish were concerned, the French had no territory–they were just trespassing on Spanish territory. No matter, the eternal tension 'twixt those two natural rivals kept them occupied to a point where they were less bother to us.
Our arrival at their capital seemed not to cause any particular consternation or concern 'mongst the French settlers. Upon landing, the captain approached their officials with Annalea and Mam' Tiére in tow: obviously to soften and enhance the first acquaintance. I stayed aboard ship–happily so–and kept all prepared for a hasty retreat, if necessary. But 'twas not necessary; our amiable ambassadors charmed the breeches off of those Frenchies. And they took the captain's story, hook, line and sinker.
Over all, I'd have to say that those Frenchies proved a most agreeable lot: not suspicious, or intolerant or malicious by nature. For certain, French and English did not often reside together in the embrace of Christian brotherhood; but–at that time–most of the bad blood was felt and spilt back in Europe, or somewheres in the far northern climes of that immense western continent. As I've said, the Frenchies thereabouts had far more concern for the encroaching Spanish. They seemed rather pleased to accept someone like the captain: obviously a seasoned mariner and merchant, with an impressively armed vessel, who was compatibly hostile to the Spaniards!
And there was an attitude about the people that you more oft' find in those parts of the world than back in Europe with its highly restrictive, class-ridden social barriers, and its prohibitive institutions. I swear that is why they were all created: prohibition of human freedoms–the state to prohibit the mind from freedom of thought, the law to prohibit the body from freedom of action, and the church to prohibit the soul from freedom of choice. But out in the wilderness, where political boundaries can't really exist, all the prohibitions tend to break apart, and the people tend to resort to their own moral values–those natural truths that emanate from the human soul–and a dependence on themselves for physical, moral and spiritual support.
I've encountered this, time and again, in those parts of the world. And–several times–I've seen that newer, better order of life crumble and then disintegrate in the face of increasing European influence on older, established settlements. Once things are a bit more comfortable, the stay-at-home, unadventurous Europeans start to trek over, bringing along their refinements and their prohibitions: social cancers which rapidly devour human liberties.
Yet another thing 'bout these Frenchies that made them seem compatible to our lot, and amenable to our presence, was the complexion of their community. There were black skins and red skins and white skins–of various hues, mixed and mottled–much like our own complement. And 'though land could not be purchased from these French colonists–they'd no authority to sell the crown's property to outsiders–we were granted use of a fair-sized parcel of land in return for a fair-sized monetary "contribution" to their communal coffers, and the offer of assistance in repelling any Spanish visitors who might appear, unexpectedly. The captain set our men to work logging and our women to work clearing that parcel; and soon, sufficient log buildings had been raised to serve as abodes, a meeting hall and storage barns. The grandest edifice–if your tastes are not too particular–was the log house intended as the captain's quarters. When he ordered several of his most treasured possessions be moved from ship to shore, I realized we'd be settling down for some spell of time.
When I think back upon me own life, I realize that I never really seem to be settled; I always seem to be on the move. Even if I'm in a place where I'd like to settle, I'm soon caused to move. And whether staying or going, there is always so much to do: preparing to settle, sustaining the life, preparing to move on, and so doing. Times of ease and quiet seem so brief: like those tiny spans of flat water that pass 'twixt ripples in a pond. Understand me, I find activity to be a blessing! At times of great stress–physical, emotional, mental–without considerable activity to occupy me faculties, I am certain I'd go mad. And so it is for several others. And so it was for Annalea.
The soul of me loving child is one that, by nature, reaches out to others, not inwards, seeking its own solace. And so long as there are others in need of comfort and kindness, she is continually active and occupied on their behalf. I swear, if 'twas not so obvious a difference in colours, you'd have to believe she could only be Mam's child–their natures are that close. But, comes the time when all things are settled and quiet: that brief respite of flat space, 'twixt the ripples of our life.
This came within a few months of settling in the French territories. The captain's guise of a merchant in the bay–while actually a privateer on the high seas–was working perfectly, like the synchronized movements in a finely crafted timepiece. Ashore, there was harmony 'twixt ours and the French community. Even the local natives were more hospitable than hostile. I believe their friendship had been acquired early on, by the receipt of French trade goods and the assistance of French arms in repelling their natural enemies. These Indians were equally appreciative of the trinkets and hard goods we were now able to provide them. The captain had one fast rule: He would not trade in firearms, gunpowder, liquor or people. This was not a policy designed for the natives. He held the same regulation for all: Brits, Portuguese, French, Spanish, whomever. Whatever liquor he had was for consumption by his people and chosen guests. Firearms and gunpowder are tools of the trade–and always indispensable. And trade you in people? You'd not taste our liquor–more likely our gunpowder!
But I digress. The local natives would try for all–as you would expect from any enterprising people. But, unquestioningly, they would settle for what was offered. And the captain was always generous in providing anything that did not fall within his "holy trinity": the firepower, the liquor and the people. I so respect him for that.
Businessmen in London can present you logical arguments for trade in human souls; natives in every part of the Americas that I've traversed would present you a logical argument as to the necessity of trade in human souls–anyone not of their tribe. The captain had an expression to define this, which we all cherished, "Even bullshit may serve a function, if it notifies the cows of his presence. But if the animal is absent, then one must seek another source for the obvious stench."
But considering the luxury goods the captain had available to offer those natives, the trade was very popular. In return, they provided us with venison and vegetables of a quality and quantity that allowed our people more time to prepare for our intended journey, and more time at sea acquiring "necessaries"–and less time ashore, consumed with the mundane trivials of sustaining daily life. All in all, 'twas a right comfortable and prosperous situation for us!
I was certainly active enough–with all me duties, aship and ashore–that I'd no time for a troubled mind. But that was not so for Annalea. As time passed and life improved, and there was less need and demand for Annalea's selfless assistance to others, she began to become self-absorbed. She began to separate herself from community. Quite uncharacteristically, she absented herself from the daily mix and mingle of the womenfolk. Festivities 'mongst ourselves (which were commonplace in those days) and festivities over at the French settlement (which occurred frequently) were seldom attended by Annalea.
I am ashamed to admit, I was some time in noticing the change in Annalea, being so preoccupied with me duties and–in leisure–with the sisters and with plotting about how I might become intimately familiar with some of those charming French coquettes at the settlement, without having proper use of their tongue. So, when finally I awoke to the situation–or rather the realization that there was a situation–I was quite perplexed, as if this had come about suddenly. Annalea was unresponsive to me approaches: not wishing to be questioned or discuss her feelings. At first, I thought she was angry at me for neglecting her.
As is quite often the case, it required Mam' Tiére's knowledge to straighten me away. "Da 'princess' be pinin' 'way fo' her man."
"Estaban?"
"Who else?" She looked at me as if I had two heads–and not a brain in either of 'em.
"What're we to do, Mam'?"
"I don' know. I been tryin' an' tryin'–ev'thin' I kin think o'–ev'thin'! But nuttin'.... I don' know!"
Seeing Mam' that way–so bothered and perplexed–bothered the hell out of me! I depends on her to have the answers! Needless to say, we spake often–and of nothing else–over the next few days. 'Twixt ourselves, we raised many questions 'bout Annalea's condition, and answered them all, ourselves–often to our own satisfaction.
But this did nothing to truly help Annalea, or bring her out of her deep sorrow. Our failed attempts at contriving the wisdom necessary to resolve her problems were delaying any true resolution, and creating a gulf in understanding–and patience–'twixt us and Annalea. As a matter of fact, me sweet baby girl was beginning to act like a spoiled child. Were Mam' or I to just step into the room where she was sitting alone, moping, she'd snap right at us–like one of those indigenous turtles!
"Don't speak to me! Leave me alone! Leave me!"
The first time she spake thus to me, it broke me heart; but I acquiesced to her demand. The first time I overheard her speak thus to Mam' Tiére, I burst into the room quite prepared to slap that obstinate attitude from off her pretty face! Both were startled by me actions. Mam' stepped forward to intervene and stay the hand of anger. Annalea looked up, stunned, then burst into tears.
I thought, at first, that these were tears of fear: seeing her loving papa coming at her violently–like a madman. But as soon as she was able to speak, I realized those were tears of sorrow and remorse: remorse for her disparaging words and ill treatment of her loved ones–and sorrow for her own deep, personal loss. 'Twas as though she'd come back from near death. And she'd returned filled with emotional suffering: grieving the loss of her lover–as if, truly, he'd died.
I felt foolish, I felt sorrowful, I felt bewildered. I knew not what to do–nor how to do. Mam' let me know there was naught to do but console Annalea as best–and as gently–as we could. There could be no questioning, no giving advice–just listening and consoling.
"Let her heart start ta mend itself, an' den–gradu'ly–we kin reach out an' start ta heal da spirit." That is the kind of wisdom for which I depend on Mam' Tiére!
Mam' insisted we not leave Annalea alone over the next several days. She must continue this process of mourning until completed. And if allowed to be left alone, she might sink back into that crypt of sorrow–that grave for the living that bodes the death of the soul. We should not question or advise, but we must encourage her to speak–to empty out her mind of the debilitating thoughts that have been harbouring within, for so long. Our words might distract her, or cause her to speak of conscious matters–not those things that her heart needs to say.
So, Mam' caused it to be arranged that the family would remove ourselves from communal contact for a period. She made it right for me to absent meself from me duties–the captain was most accommodating–and she set Reena in charge as her own replacement. I asked her what were we to do? How were we to physically separate ourselves from all others?
Unfortunately, she had a plan. We would provision a flatboat and proceed–just the three of us–upstream to an isolated point where we could "bivouac." This was her fancy "parlay" for "making camp." I would do this only for love of Annalea.
I was quite apprehensive about this venture. I knew not the terrain–nor the hazards it might contain. I dreaded the thought of those eternal–infernal–mosquitoes; and I knew right well they were not the only things in that region that bite, and drain blood! And not all the native tribes were so friendly. Certainly, those resident were amiable enough. But there were others; and they put out hunting parties, and raiding parties, and war parties. Were those any surrounds to seek a soul's salvation?
Mam' simply scoffed at all me apprehensions. She'd become more familiar with those surrounds than had I–and with the people and plants and animals that inhabit those surrounds. I believe there was a time in her life when she'd become quite familiar with living in the bogs and "bayous." And so we headed out, well-provisioned for several days'–and nights'–stay in the "jungle."
All that first day, I tried to hide me natural wariness behind a mask of smiling pleasantness. We finally came to camp–"bivouac"–at a large lean-to used by friendly natives when on hunting excursions. Apparently, Mam' had known of this spot, all along. She'd merely omitted informing me about it.
So, 'twas a difficult time for me. Me greatest concern was for the mental well-being of me precious Annalea. Yet, I could not speak freely me feelings for her, in accordance with Mam's instructions of how to treat this. At that same time, I was distracted by me concerns for the well-being of us all–all alone out in the wilderness, like three little tadpoles in a lake full of bass!
'Twas only late that first night, well after nightfall–lying in that lean-to, cuddled-up with me sweet Annalea and me indispensable Mam' under the comfort of warm, dry blankets–that I finally felt that spiritual release that comes to you when you realize everything is going to be alright. In our little nest, we were able to separate ourselves from the cold, the damp and those accursed, omnipresent mosquitoes. Annalea unburdened herself.
She harkened back to those words she'd spaken–not so long afore–in the depths of that Spanish pit. "Papa, do you remember that day when Estaban came to find us held down underground, near entombed by his compatriots?"
"I most certainly do, pet."
She continued, "I said then–and I feel the same now–I could not choose him over me family: to be with him, and without you. And I knew that we two must soon have our parting, Estaban and me. But I always thought we'd have that one final moment together–that moment of parting. And I believed I'd know when that moment would be–and come prepared for it. But at that moment–in that dungeon–I did not feel it to be so. I believed our moment had not yet arrived.
"So, when fate intervened, cruelly, to separate us, thus–and eternally–I was unprepared and overwhelmed. Much as a fisherman's wife, whose husband goeth, daily, to harvest the sea, and returneth, nightly, to hearth and home–day after day, year after year. Then–on one quite ordinary day–he goeth, as usual, to sea. But–on that quite extraordinary night–he doth not, as usual, return. And she–the wife–never knows why, or if he might return–unexpectedly–some night. And time passes. And she grieves–but she hopes. And her mind tells her better; but her heart will not listen.
"Not knowing where Estaban is–or how he is–and his not knowing of me, causes a yearning I can neither satisfy nor abandon. 'Though we be parted by hundreds of miles, I cannot compel me mind to move on. Me heart is still in that Spanish city, awaiting his return–and me thoughts are locked in step with me heart. I cannot seek him out; and–if he so chose to search for me–he'd never think to find me here, amongst the French. I shall never see him again, in this life!"
Tears ensued: torrents of heart-wrenching tears, and wails. I comforted the child with caresses; but I'd no words to console her–those would come from Mam'. As the tears subsided a bit, and the sobs became muffled, I released Annalea to be taken over and cradled against Mam's bosom. Rather than make an attempt to tell Annalea just how she must solve her problem, Mam' related her own struggle with yearning and heartbreaking loss. She told of forced separation from mates and her own children–and the harrowing experience of how she had to endure these hardships, and go on. And why she went on: first for others who needed her–whose lives she'd affected; second, from spiritual connection with those lost loved ones; and thirdly, for herself, for she'd early resolved that no matter what was done to her–or what was taken from her–she would never submit to anyone but God. And to fail to go on would be to fail herself: to submit to those who would use her and crush her.
Mam' and Annalea spake together of their losses and their grief all through the night. I thought to sleep, but found meself listening with interest and marvelling how women heal themselves by sharing their pains and frustrations. By sharing their hearts! This aptitude for healing conversation works so well for women, I was almost envious. I could not imagine meself and another man–say, the captain–setting together, looking intently into each other's eyes and opening up our hearts for display: as women so naturally do. Not that it is too "girly" a thing–or too unmanly–'twould be just too uncomfortable.
I know of what I speak, for most men of me acquaintance will gladly talk at length on any topic–save something personal that is bothering them. And the few men I've known who were of a nature to detail their personal matters to me–in the way women commonly do–made me very uncomfortable just listening to them. If they were friends, I'd try to be polite and listen; but me mind would be all the time searching for a reason to depart–or at least change the subject.
After all me years of observation, I believe I finally worked through–in me mind–why this manner of mutual repair is effective in women and not so in men. 'Though, when I've presented me thought to women, they've treated it–and me–with disdain. I see it as a matter of nature: a woman's nature–a woman's more submissive nature. Them as would deny this, point immediately to women like Mam' Tiére–who would not willingly submit to anything or anybody! But they are far off the mark.
It is within a woman's nature to willingly submit her body, her mind, her heart and her soul–at a time of her own choosing–to persons of her own choosing. And this ability to open herself freely–completely, and most trustingly–is what enabled another to touch her and love her, or mend her. Men, by nature, are defenders–more so, even, than aggressors; and it is most unnatural for them to remove their defenses and, trustingly, expose themselves completely to the mercy of another. Be we cockers or kings, we all are subject to our own nature, and bound to act in accordance with our own nature. That is most likely why pigs don't fly–and men don't cry. It doesn't mean pigs wouldn't like to fly–or men wouldn't like to cry. We cannot defy nature.
And I truly believe that this natural submissiveness in women is a gift, not a flaw or a fault. I believe this gift has been a boon to mankind through all the ages of our tenure on this earth, and an undeniable asset to our provenance. This willingness to submit to something by choice–and embrace it completely–is far removed from the slave's submission to the whip, or even a child's submission to the hand of a parent. By nature, it is women who're first to come to love, first to come to religion, first to desire peace, and so on. Once convinced of a thing, it is natural for a woman to submit to it completely–unguardedly.
Not so, a man. He is best seduced by a woman–using her words, her wit and her wiles–to let down his guard and be accepting of a thing. Especially, a new thing. I am certain this hails back to the days of Adam and Eve. Many talk of the "Curse of Eve" as emblematic of her role in the downfall of mankind. Many of the same attribute the "Mark of Cain" to all of the black race. Methinks these designations serve the interests of the teller better than they serve the truth.
As to the tale of the Garden of Eden–and mankind's banishment therefrom–there are some that believe that the journey was foretold. After all, without Eve's intervention–her "submission" to truth and knowledge, her seduction of Adam, and his reluctant acceptance–there'd be no mankind. There'd be no you and me. And so many consider themselves God's "chosen," they'd never accept they were not always a part of His great, eternal plan.
So you see, in the minds of many learned and devout people, what was had to be! And Eve was the necessary conduit of all that was to be. God's chosen conduit–imbued with the ability to submit totally, by choice, to significant matters that reach the heart and soul. Consider this: If left to that dullard, Adam, the "great, eternal plan" would never unfold. There'd be no mankind! He'd just set on his ass, contentedly talking to the plants and animals–full of hisself and unawares of all else–through all eternity. I'll not be saying men're not adventurous–as I be so, meself; but it most oft' takes a spur of some sort to set us in motion.
Men and women, each–by nature–so different than the other and, thusly (mayhaps), each so necessary to the "great, eternal plan." And that is why I could marvel at the wonderful connections women share, and admire the healing attributes of those gently connected souls. But I could never participate in their ceremonies.
~~
Dawn broke, unnoticed, as the women's conversation continued. I found meself dozing and waking, throughout the day–and I noticed the same of them. Did not seem to matter, to them. They'd chat when both awake, and contemplate these matters, each, when the other slept. And sometimes I'd catch one chatting gently and sincerely to the other, knowing she was asleep. And once, I caught Annalea doing that to me–when suddenly I awoke. I've no idea what that was all about. She stopped as soon as she noticed I was awake, and she'd not repeat what she'd said! Women! I love them, sincerely; but quite oft' they unnerve me!
After spending the day thus, I'd no hope of a restful night's sleep; and yet it was too late to embark for the settlement–even if I'd been able to convince the women to go. So I settled in for a long, uncomfortable night. But 'twas no such. There were no long talks–nor tears, nor tussling about with blankets and bedding. We all found it easy to fall off soundly to a blissful sleep, snuggled together as if secure in a womb–without knowledge or concern for the wilderness beyond.
The next morn, we all arose with the dawn. And all seemed chipper–nay, downright cheerful! Annalea was humming some sweet ditty as she prepared the campfire for cooking. And Mam' was unconsciously pulled into humming along, as she set the bed site to order. That music was the closest sound I've ever heard to the harmonies of angels. And both of me earthbound angels expressed great confidence in me abilities to provide a feast of fish for their breakfast. We had need, as we'd depleted our portable larder.
I did not disappoint. I presented them with as many fishes as the Disciples presented our Lord–and with need but to cook them, not to multiply them. I must admit, I truly enjoyed that day. Annalea was as reborn. And Mam' and I were practically giddy in this aspect. We were most like three small children–boon companions–on a frolic, that day.
But the back of me mind was always a bit unsettled. Should we now return to our people? Should we linger here a bit more? I was always trying to fathom the right thing to do, from out of the depths–and the murk–of me mind. About midday, I had this settled for me.
Annalea determined she had need to bathe. The separation would provide me an opportunity to discuss matters with Mam', privately. Not that Annalea could have complete privacy for her ablutions. There'd be no way I'd leave her out of me watch in that wilderness.
The beauty and tranquility that surrounded us could–unexpectedly–be shattered by the sudden appearance of a voracious carnivore or a ferocious hostile! No, modesty was not worth the price of tragedy. But we found a pleasant pool with a convenient knoll situated within yards of our intended bather. There I sat with Mam'–and two loaded firearms upon me lap–where we could keep a watchful eye upon our child, while discussing her in private.
This seeming intrusion upon privacy had no concern for us. We'd lived together as a family for all these many years and false modesty had no place in our cluttered quarters–or our lives. We'd witnessed each other in all aspects of life. For members of a close family, such as we were, privacy was more a matter of respect than morality.
So I had me opportunity to inquire of Mam' regarding her opinion of the situation–and of Annalea's state of mind. She was quick to reproach me. 'Twas the state of Annalea's heart–not her mind–that must concern us at first. The heart speaks to the mind, she informed me. If the heart is sick, the mind is sick. If the heart is sad, the mind is sad–and confused; for the mind can find no answers–no solace–in the logic of the outside world. Heal the heart, soothe the mind.
Annalea returned to us, sparkling and radiant. As she wiped away the remaining droplets of water off her skin, and donned dry garments, she broke the silence which had commenced when she left the water. "Am I not to be privy to what you loving, old 'conjurers' have cooked up for your Annalea?"
Mam' gave our sweet a gentle swat to the side of her head. Laughingly, she exclaimed, "Hush yo'self, chile, or dis hand'll fall a whole lot harder on da soft o' yo' ass!"
"Aye," I thought to join the sport, "be not disrespectful of your elders."
Of course, she came back–sprite that she be, "Oh, I am so sorry! Had I thought, afore approaching such elderly, I'd not have spaken out, at all–for fear of frightening, or awakening, you!"
Mam's hand then fell to the soft of her ass, and as the clap of it resounded through the woodlands, we all took a fit of laughter.
What Mam' and I had decided, during our private discussion–or, rightly, what Mam' had decided, and I had concurred with–was that Annalea had returned remarkably far from the depths of her sorrow–and in such short time. Things were going well in the here and now. There was no need, nor reason, to change things abruptly. And so we remained, quite blissfully, in our little "Garden of Eden"–that remote but idyllic patch of wilderness–for several more days. We were out there so long–and involved in so much–even I needed to bathe afore returning to civilization!
I really enjoyed meself. And, frankly, I could happily have gone on living like Adam with two Eves, amongst the plants and animals–in the splendor of the "garden"–indefinitely. But one eve, as we sat rather dreamily 'round the campfire, Mam' simply announced we'd be packing up and heading to home at first light. Apparently, the healing process was over. And so it was, we returned to our people with our precious angel seemingly well repaired: heart, soul and mind.
Back amongst our French hosts, everything did go remarkably well, and we remained fixed for another season. The captain kept our enterprise afloat–literally–and the profits were steadily mounting up at our hideaway encampment. Or so I was told. I'd seldom venture out into the boondocks. When aship, I'd offload whatever booty there was to be planted in those grounds and leave others to do the actual planting–'mongst snakes and mosquitoes and whatnot.
But I relished me time ashore on that island where we left our old "tribe": the survivors of our community on Nemusmar. True to his given word, the captain made frequent trips to that isle, to share the booty and provision our people. When possible–when not at our trade–Annalea and Mam' and Reena and the sisters would swell the ranks of joyous visitors at these happy reunions. Higgins and the others had done a fine job of establishing a self-sufficient community. With the share of our "harvest" which we provided to them, they acquired additional vessels for fishing and transport, as well as a variety of tools, edged weapons, firearms, and a healthy surplus of gunpowder.
Our arrivals were always so joyous–and our departures so sorrowful. For 'twas well understood that a promise of our return was tenuous, at best. Working at a trade which by its very nature placed you at war with the world, meant that each venture was, in fact, a campaign–and each campaign, a gamble, at the highest stakes possible. In a world such as ours, no one can guarantee they'll again set eyes on a certain someone, from one dawn to the next.
Beyond the permutations to life's intentions, coinciding one's fate with God's will–and beyond the malicious interventions of man, and all such unforeseeable hazards that could prevent reunion–was the understanding that sometime soon our preparations for the long voyage to England shall be done. And, at any time, we may needs depart this region without notice, never to see each another again. Doubtless, 'twas these thoughts–this most certain knowledge of the future, which inhabited all our minds–that made each arrival as joyous as it was unexpected.
And so, we continued that life and made our preparations in keeping with our plans. The problems with plans, however, are the limitations of planners. For one thing, you cannot consult all of those who might have impact on your plans. Would the Pope consult with the Archbishop of Canterbury 'bout plans he might have for the Irish? So it was that others–not invited to confer–should instigate our departure from the French colonies.
As I recollect, ‘twas not our last visit to our community on that far away island, but near to it. I’d no more’n set a foot down on dry land when came Higgins running up to us, bellowing out his report. “Cap’n! Mr. Crockett! We seen ‘im! We seen ‘im! Aye, we did! And we talked with him–sort of.”
The captain reacted with, “Whom did you see, man? And where?”
Mayhaps, ‘twas a lack of attention–mayhaps, his own excitement–but Higgins responded only to the latter. “Out at sea, Cap’n–out at sea while we were fishing!”
Then there was just silence. Higgins stared at us, and we stared back at him. Finally, the captain lost his patience. “Damn it, man, whom? Whom did you see out there? St. George? Oliver Cromwell and his New Army? Lord Neptune?”
“Pankhurst!" came the reply. “‘Twas Pankhurst... sir.”
“What?!” came forth from the captain and meself, simultaneously. And I begun to follow this up with, “B’Jesus, Cap’n, if that....”
But the captain belayed me outburst. “Alright, Crockett, alright! Now let the man tell us....”
“Aye... sorry, Cap’n.”
“Well, Mr. Higgins?”
Having had the opportunity to blurt out the news he’d had pent up inside him for more than a fortnight, Higgins continued his report with a much calmed demeanor and delivery. He told of a deep-water fishing voyage he and the lads had undertaken, several and many leagues out from the island. He’d hopes of a big catch of huge fish. But he never expected to encounter a school so massive–nor so dangerous.
His little fishing boat was surrounded by a flotilla of killer sharks–the king's own fleet. And presently, he and some of the others were hauled up onto the deck of the flagship, like some pathetic catch of minnows.
“And there on that deck we were met by that Mr. Pankhurst,” Higgins informed us.
“How do you know it was him?” I asked. "Did you ever lay eyes on him? How would you know if it was him?”
And Higgins explained, “‘Cause... ‘cause an officer said to ‘im, ‘Here they are, Mr. Pankhurst.’”
“Oh,” I acknowledged.
“Shut it up and let the man tell his story,” the captain advised me.
And so I did. And so Higgins did.
“Well, this fellow... Mr. Pankhurst... I remember Mr. Crockett telling us all he was the cause for the destruction on Nemusmar. Anyhow, this fellow... Pankhurst... he came right down on us, like an avenging angel–but more like one of Satan’s angels. He insisted we must know something of Nemusmar, of Annalea, of pirates.
“What did you tell him, man?” the captain was anxious for this answer–as I was, meself.
“Nothing, Cap’n,” Higgins insisted. “I swear!”
“You need swear to nothing,” the captain said–to calm the excitable Higgins. “We’ve known you long enough and well enough to know you’d not lie to us. Pray continue, Mr. Higgins.”
“Well, sir, we just denied everything–and denied knowing about anything. We’d never set eyes on Pankhurst or any of the rest of them, afore then. And it be as likely they’d not eyed us afore then. So we held to the pretense of being what we appeared: a small but enterprising flock of fishermen.”
“And you believe they took you by appearances?” I asked of Higgins.
But he could not say with certainty. “I think the naval officer took us to be as we appeared. But that fellow Pankhurst–he just didn’t want to accept it as so. He didn’t want to believe, nor even hear, anything other than what he expected to hear–what he needed to believe. He put to me mind the image of a man who stood afore a treasure room, angry and frustrated–prevented access by a massive door which stood closed and locked ‘twixt him and great wealth. And he eyed us as if we held the key to unlock that door. He was relentless in dismissing our denials and pressing for the answers he expected us to have. The answers he demanded we provide.”
“And?” I was still anxious of the outcome. If Higgins had provided Pankhurst even a suggestion of hope, well–
“And he got nothing from us, Mr. Crockett. Finally, the captain of that vessel ordered we be put off, back onto our own little boat. Pankhurst became enraged. His frustration and anger with us boiled over and scalded that captain with scolding and abusive language. I was complete amazed that captain didn’t have that Pankhurst clapped in irons–for the sheer arrogance of the man. I reckoned that Pankhurst must have that much power. As abrupt as be our departure, I could still hear a long stream of angry words pass ‘twixt those two men, debating the virtue or folly of continuing their venture.
“But I’d not’ve cared to tarry until the conclusion of that debate. I believe ‘twas God’s own hand that delivered us back onto our own little fishing boat. And I took His blessing as a strong hint to make fast underway. And so we did!”
The captain thanked Higgins for his enlightening report and then dismissed the company, at large, that he and meself might confer upon the situation. I could not believe the Devil, hisself, was still in these waters. That devil–that man Pankhurst–who struck me as some dour barrister when I first eyed him spying on our Annalea, way back then in Kingston. That Pankhurst–of the same surname and, most likely, of the same family as our Annalea–who pronounced a sentence of death upon me beloved girl, back then when he appeared on Nemusmar and brought total destruction to the lives of us all. Will he never cease? Will this never end? Will this mean our ending? I laid all me concerns upon the captain and awaited his remarks.
“If Higgins’ report is accurate, Mr. Crockett, then we must believe they have again moved on. I find it difficult to believe they tarry so long in these waters. It cannot be simply a response to our enterprise. They decimated our stronghold on Nemusmar, caused the ruination and death of so many of our people, and damned near destroyed us all. And now, as we conduct our business primarily against Spanish targets of opportunity, we should be of no concern to the Royal Navy. If anything at all, they should be amused by the tribulations put upon Spanish trade. Only the quest for Annalea provides any logic to the continuation of this campaign, involving such a large fleet of the Royal Navy.”
“And that is the puzzlement, Cap’n. We’ve still no clear idea what they are wanting of our sweet, innocent girl. Aside of her probable kinship to that nefarious Pankhurst, none of this makes any sense at all!”
“Aye, Crockett, aye.” The captain pondered me words. And then he returned, “This man, Pankhurst, must truly be powerfully connected. But powerfully connected or not, Mr. Pankhurst is not–to me best understanding–king of England. Eventually–and I do hope sooner rather than later–the rightful king is going to want all of his ‘boats’ back. The argumentative relationship ‘twixt Pankhurst and his Majesty’s own–as reported to us by Higgins–may be a sign of the strain in that relationship which will provide for their departure from these waters for all and good, sooner rather than later. Until such time, Crockett, it will behoove us to stay in our own waters–and stick close to our own guns.”
But if life be a maiden, I would depict her as somewhat fickle but most definitely unpredictable. For a considerable time after receiving that bad news from Higgins, I concentrated all me worry and concern on keeping Annalea safe–keeping us all safe–from the clutches of that continuing threat: that mysterious and deadly Pankhurst. But ‘twere not him and the Royal Navy what instigated our untimely departure from the French colonies.
The Spanish were the instigators, and warships were their instrument of involvement. Fortunately, we were just returning to the French settlement from a brief visit with our island community. And, fortunately, the women were not aboard. We'd had an exceptional "harvest" less than a half day's sail from the island. So we'd decided to surprise our friends with presents and layover there. Had we returned home directly, we might still have been in our beds–and our ship a sitting duck–when the Spaniards attacked. As it was, having deposited our treasure at the hideaway, and having no women aboard to worry over–and having nothing aboard but guns, men who despised the Spaniards, and ample gunpowder to blow the devils back into hell–and having no cause to show concern or quarter, we went at them in a frenzy!
The Frenchies had done an admirable job of holding 'em at bay, but the outcome was too close to call. That was so, until the captain called it. "There is a stench accosting me nostrils! I shall have that garbage cleared from this harbour, forthwith!"
And so it was done.
The Spanish carcasses–and bits and pieces thereof–were grudgingly heaped onto a longboat which was dragged out to sea, set adrift, and then sunk. Cannon, powder, weapons, useable provisions and equipment having already been stripped from their ships, disposal of the Spanish remains was the last task afore burning those vessels to the waterline. I can tell you, we received a heroes' welcome from those Frenchies. They believed us to be the saviors of their settlement, and applauded themselves for having the good sense to take us into their community. Mam', Annalea and the rest of ours were already there–having come a-running at the first cracks of gunfire, to see what was afoot and help as they could. So all were in attendance when a feast of celebration was announced.
We celebrated all night with our friends and neighbours, and felt as one community standing together successfully against the encroachments of the outside world. And the captain graciously accepted the Frenchies' toasts of gratitude–toast after toast after toast. They toasted me, as well. I just kept smiling. 'Twas all in French. I'd no idea what they were saying. They may've called me a "miserable son of a bitch who smells like a swamp beast," for all I know. I just kept smiling and left the "parlay" to Mam' and Annalea and the captain and everybody else.
After such a celebration, I usually expect to spend the next day in recuperation. 'Twas not to be so, on that occasion. With less than two hours sleep behind me, I was roused by a summons to the captain's quarters. Half-dressed, half-naked–I don't really recall–I stumbled 'cross the path that led to his cabin.
He'd not yet slept hisself, and–cordialities out of the way–he got right into it. He told me that, while the Frenchies may be convinced that we were their salvation from marauding Spaniards, he believed it was our activities in Spanish waters that drew them here in search of us. If that was so, then we put our friends at risk as much as ourselves. He did not wish to see harm come to them on account of our activities; nor would he allow us to get trapped in the midst of some French and Spanish conflict.
"Crockett, I believe we've acquired all we can and, in fact, have all we need for our intended voyage. I want preparations begun this very day, with the intention to evacuate all our people from this place, in six days time."
"Six days, Cap'n? Is that enough time? And, surely, this is not the best season to make the crossing!"
"Such concerns are mine, not yours, Crockett. Just have this thing done. You've six days."
"But, Cap'n... six days...?"
"But, nothing, Crockett! I am tired and in need of a rest; and you would delay me in idle debate? Just see to it!"
"Sorry, Captain." I felt as I must've looked, a shabby orphan perpetually out of place–with no proper place to be. Not certain if he was done scolding me, I stood in place another moment, then turned slowly, toward the door, looking about for the cap I'd thought I'd brought–but had not.
"Dear friend," the captain responded to this pitiable sight, "I regret that so oft' I misuse you. I take your loyalty–and your understanding–as given. I apologize for not considering your sensibilities. We shall have ample time to discuss our upcoming venture. But at this moment, I must take me rest."
With that, he left the room–and left me still seeking the cap I'd never brought. Back out on the path to home, I considered how fortunate it is that one of us should have a good rest. I was not the fortunate one. Oh, I considered crawling back into bed and simply ignoring this episode–like a bad dream. For certain, I was most asleep as I walked. But I knew damned well that the seed of urgency the captain had planted in me brain would germinate quickly, producing a crop of anxieties that needs be harvested. I'd not sleep. But, at least, I'd not be alone in this. There were several other unfortunates upon whose doors I must be knocking–and upon whose labours I would be insisting. After all, I could not begin to make ready all that must be prepared alone.
Not to be reproduced or otherwise used without the express permission of the Author.