Blackwell's Homecoming (Blackwell's Adventures Book 3)
Page 13
Early in the morning the guard entered Aloka’s cell and pulled him to his feet. He barked something at him, while pinning him to the wall with a meaty fist on his shoulder. The guard gestured toward the open cell door with his head, and dropped his hand.
“I can walk.” Aloka’s voice came out a croak, he was so parched.
He staggered just in front of the guard, his heart pounding, for they were moving in the direction from which the screams always came. Down a corridor, Aloka’s stockinged feet slipping on the moist stones, up a pair of stairs, and into a courtyard. Aloka’s heart lifted with the sight of the new day. At the same time he tried not to look too closely at his immediate surroundings. They passed whipping posts and wheels stained dark with blood, as they made their way through the prison yard.
The guard halted at the great wood and iron door, undid the antique lock, and waved Aloka through. Aloka stumbled forward, and the guard helped him along with a boot to his backside. He sprawled face forward in the dirt of a cart track.
Several pair of hands lifted him up, dusted him to some degree, and Aloka found three Portuguese soldiers looking at him not unkindly. They made wry faces at the smell of him, took him by the arms, and bundled him into a cart pulled by an ancient mule. The soldiers climbed in with him and signaled to the equally ancient mule driver.
Aloka swayed upon his bench.
“Agua, señores. Favor.”
One of the soldiers handed Aloka his water flask, and when the others saw his greed and his joy, they immediately offered their own. After this reviving draught, the sweetest he’d ever had, and the civility with which it had been given, Aloka felt his heart soar. He poured a small amount of the water remaining into his cupped hand and rubbed it over his face, but he dared not touch the lump on his skull matted with hair and blood.
The cart brought them to a small jetty, and the soldiers assisted him from the cart into a six-oared boat. Aloka was out in the clear day, his heart beating with excitement, and once more upon the water, after a confinement in gloom, darkness, and fear. He relished the clean smell of the air, slipped off his slimy stockings and dropped them over the side. He began to look about him like one of the living again. The oars were manned by diminutive men with ropey muscled arms, who were pulling for the fortress on the outcropping of rock they’d seen when coming into Rio de Janeiro.
He had uncommonly good eyesight and was able to just make out Albion in her berth opposite Pray de Grande, but Blonde was nowhere nearby. Aloka thought briefly about escape. He could slip over the side of the boat, he was not shackled, swim a few hundred yards under water and come up at some distance. In peak shape he could have swum the entire distance to Albion, it not being so very great. But his head was tender, he was shaky on his pins after having eaten nothing for two days, and if he had not had the precious water to drink he believed he might soon have expired. Aloka remained seated, and followed the soldiers meekly when the boat ground upon the stony beach and they led him into the fort.
The governor’s boat was sent for Captain Blackwell in the middle of the morning watch. He’d been up early, after a night during which none of them rested, and was meeting with Captain Bowles. Captain Bowles had been a lieutenant under Captain Blackwell on his previous South Seas voyage. He was now a fleshy, red faced, fair haired, and close to middle aged post-captain. On the beach for six years in England, Captain Bowles had been eager and pleased to accept the berth of first officer aboard the Albion yacht.
“Warp her out to a position here,” Captain Blackwell said, pointing to a hand drawn map of the bay and its approaches, “and then dispatch Narhilla in the gig with the men as we discussed.”
“I should very much like to lead them, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain Bowles, I am obliged to you. But I must have you aboard Albion, for the sake of the ship and my ladies.”
Captain Blackwell hoped this planning would not be necessary, and there was to be a diplomatic resolution. Aloka would offer Don Eduardo de Paiva his apologies, and be released into Captain Blackwell’s custody. Yet if there were difficulties, he still intended returning to Albion in company with his son.
The governor’s boat received Captain Blackwell, not in naval uniform, or to any piping ceremony at the side. He wore a black frock coat, a sword dangling at his hip, and carried a package under his arm like any civilian gentleman. Mercedes and Emma were upon the deck waving their handkerchiefs as the boat bore him away. More concern and worry were evident on his lady’s face than Captain Blackwell ever cared to see there.
At the entrance to the fort of Santa Cruz, Captain Blackwell made himself known and was almost instantly attended by a captain of artillery. The officer greeted him cordially in Portuguese, casting an appraising eye up and down Captain Blackwell’s person, and led him to the officers’ mess. Aloka sat at one of the long mess tables with his head bent over a bowl, a heel of bread clutched in one hand, asleep.
Captain Blackwell moved over to him, a great lump rising in his throat, and squeezed his shoulder. “Son.”
Aloka straightened with a start, looked at him closely, and threw himself upon his breast. Aloka clutched him for such a length of time, Captain Blackwell was obliged to say, his voice heavy with emotion, “Lord, son. You smell like a privy.”
The young man stepped away, sniffled, and wiped the tears from his face. “That’s because I’ve been in one. I never dreamed humans could treat each other so.”
“Do the Dons speak English?” Captain Blackwell asked in a low voice.
“The fat fellow on your right, and the mustachioed, feminine looking one near the end of the table,” Aloka replied in Hawaiian.
“Sit down, son,” Captain Blackwell continued in the same language, causing some of the officers dining near them to stare. “Finish your soup. You were about to plant your head in it when I came up.”
“I don’t think I shall take anymore, my stomach feels queer. But I will make the motions while we talk.”
Captain Blackwell inclined his head. “They say you insulted and abused the King’s treasurer. Is that true?”
“The insults and abuse were flowing pretty fast and heavy both ways, sir, as I recall. But I cannot think how it all started, except if it were when I stumbled, or however it happened, and knocked the man down.”
“Where was Kuanoa in all this?”
“Kuanoa? Last I remember he was just at hand. I was taking a cold but civil leave of Don Eduardo, and then we were upon the floor grappling, and when I tried to rise someone dealt me a most prodigious thump to the back of my head.”
“Are you wounded, son?” Captain Blackwell cried. “I thought you were merely covered in smuts.”
“It ain’t so bad now, Father, pray do not raise the hue and cry. I don’t want to be prodded by one of their doctors, I can wait for Mr. McNeath. If I am to be released, that is?”
The mix of youthful bravado, eagerness, and hope in Aloka’s voice struck at Captain Blackwell’s heart.
“You should be, but an apology may be necessary. Can you manage that?”
“That and more to gain my freedom, to be back aboard ship, to see my darling...”. Aloka trailed off with a sudden, conscious look.
“I am rejoiced to hear it. Though whether an apology is owing I much doubt. You should never have been in that gaol, you should have been here in military detainment and treated with the proper respect and civility due an officer. Whose spite put you in that place, I cannot say.”
Captain Blackwell’s voice had become severe, and Aloka shuddered.
“I wish I could forget it,” Aloka said.
They were silent for a time, seated side by side. The officers had finished their dinner and gone away. As they were quite alone, Aloka leaned against his father’s shoulder.
“Speaking of things better forgotten,” Captain Blackwell said, with a little clearing of his throat. “I have the sad duty to tell you, Emma and Mr. Montelongo were attacked the evening you were taken—”
“Easy, son. They held off the attackers, five thugs with clubs and cudgels, bawling all the while for the Blondes, who came up like good ’un’s and set the ruffians to their heels.”
“I should have been there!”
“Yes, you should have. It was a grievous mistake to leave Emma. The attacks were coordinated, do you see? They meant to separate you, and steal her. Had we lost her, it would have been a blow Mercedes could not recover from, to say nothing of the dear girl. Even if we’d gotten her back, how long do you think it would take a woman to recover from being in the hands of such rough men? Her experience in Lord Cochrane’s house would be nothing to it.”
Aloka looked too miserable to speak. He hung his head, his expression pained and remorseful.
“The Blonde has gone to St. Catherine’s to complete her water,” Captain Blackwell said. “Emma is aboard Albion with her mama. I’m sure Captain Verson and Mr. Montelongo would have taken great care of her, but her mother and I did not think it proper, since she was under your protection.”
“I shall do better, Father. She shall be my priority in everything. Unless...unless you see fit to keep her with you aboard Albion?”
“No,” Captain Blackwell answered at once. Mercedes would not like to be intimate with him with her daughter in such close proximity. He felt guilty this was his reason, and he said in a different tone, “Everyone deserves another chance. I don’t know if I ever told you that Mercedes was taken from me once. Because of my bad judgement and another man’s greed and ill-will. I was given a second chance, through fortunate circumstance and her own strong will to survive. I should not like to see you suffer through the same regret and guilt. It might have poisoned the rest of my days had things not turned out as they did. A woman like Emma is a treasure, son. Don’t think other men will not try to take her from you.”
Captain Blackwell was conscious of having delivered a long and perhaps unwanted lecture, but Aloka sat up straight and looked him in the eye.
“I want to get back aboard, sir, back to all my duties,” he said. “I can fight if I have to.”
Captain Blackwell helped Aloka to his feet, gave him his arm to lean on. “Have you given your parole?”
“None has been asked of me, sir.”
In a few words Captain Blackwell told Aloka about the disposition of Albion, and how his gig’s crew would be with them shortly.
“We shall wait, however, and give the governor a good while to do the right thing.”
They walked slowly to the main gate of the fortress, no one paying them the least heed, and halted where two sentries stood either side of the arched entrance. Captain Blackwell took Aloka to a bench and sat him down.
“I’ll go see whether Narhilla is come with the gig. I shall return directly.”
Aloka nodded, and when Captain Blackwell looked back over his shoulder, he had slid down to lie upon the bench.
Captain Blackwell found Narhilla round one side of the fortress. He was alone, the gig had not been allowed to land at the dock belonging to the fortress. He had brought the boat in to a civilian landing place pointed out by a helpful old muleteer.
“What orders, sir? How fairs young Mr. Blackwell?”
“Poorly, I’m afraid.” Captain Blackwell put a shoulder belt with a pistol Narhilla handed him over his head, and replaced his coat on top of it. “For the moment we wait. Leave two men in the gig and spread the others out within shouting distance. Then return to the fort entrance and await my signal.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Captain Blackwell found the captain of artillery with Aloka when he returned. The captain had one booted foot on the bench near Aloka’s head, and was bending over him. Captain Blackwell quickened his pace.
“Captain Bernal?” he said.
“Ah, Captain Blackwell. A letter has been sent you from the governor.”
He hastened to prop Aloka in a sitting position, noting how his eyes seemed to swim in his head at the change in posture. Captain Blackwell took his letter with a bow and a word of gratitude, and excused himself to read it.
“You know the letter’s content?” Captain Blackwell asked, returning to them with the brief note in his hand.
“Oh, yes, sir, its intent, more or less.” Captain Bernal smiled. “Mr. Blackwell is quite free to go.”
“Exactly so.” Captain Blackwell read from the letter. “‘Don Eduardo de Paiva having been persuaded that Mr. Blackwell acted only out of the impetuous temperament of youth.’” He gave both Aloka and the captain of artillery a severe look. “We shall take our leave, Captain.”
Aloka stood on his own and made Captain Bernal a shaky bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, and the very good dinner, Captain Bernal.”
Narhilla had appeared at the open fortress gate.
“May my coxswain pass in?” Captain Blackwell asked, nodding at Aloka, who he had taken under one arm.
“Of course, Captain.” Captain Bernal signaled to the two sentries. “Tell me, sir, do sailors always go about so draped in weapons?”
Narhilla hurried up to take Aloka’s other arm, a pistol and tomahawk in belts across his chest, and a cutlass at his waist.
“I don’t know about sailors, sir,” Captain Blackwell said coldly. “Seamen do. When ordered to do so. Good day to you, Captain Bernal.”
Aloka stumbled so in bare feet on the sharp rocks of the beach, that Captain Blackwell and Narhilla almost carried him to the boat, collecting the boat’s crew as they went.
Before getting in, Aloka asked, “Can we stop short of Albion, sir? I’d like to wash, I do not like to offend the ladies.”
“Of course we can, son,” Captain Blackwell said. “Mercedes has sent some of my clothes for you in this package.”
“I hope that means I have not entirely lost her good opinion.” Aloka pulled his shirt over his head, dropped his breeches, and left both on the beach before climbing into the gig.
Captain Blackwell accompanied Aloka into the water, when he ordered the boat to halt, in case he should need propping up. Aloka moved better in the water though than he had on land, always having been something of a porpoise. Together they swam a ways apart from the boat.
“There they go, the Black Savages,” said Barnes, at stroke oar.
All but the oldster, Narhilla, were disappointed at not being allowed to give the Portuguese soldiers a good thumping.
“Shut it, do you hear? And keep it shut,” Narhilla said, but without enthusiasm. He understood the men’s disappointment, even if he did not share it.
Blackwell watched Aloka bathing. He submerged carefully and repeatedly, combing his long hair underwater with his fingers. From a boy, both in his native land and in the Navy, he’d been raised to cleanliness. Seeing how diligently Aloka scrubbed himself with his hands, Blackwell could imagine what he’d suffered. When Aloka was done and resting in the water, Blackwell stroked over to him.
“You must think me uncommon nice to be so overset by a two-days’ confinement,” Aloka said, “when you endured years of captivity. On several occasions.”
“No one ever put me in a sunless hole. The French, and then Ata Gege, treated me with decency. Your people did far more than that, taking me to their hearts the way they did.”
Blackwell paused, panted, treading water. Aloka stirred the water far less than he did and still kept upright, hardly moving his upper body.
“The Hawaiians are a generous and good hearted people for the most part,” Blackwell said, when breath returned. “But they have the same failings as other men. Greed, lust, envy, and violence.”
Eight
If Aloka had any doubts about how Mercedes, or anyone else aboard Albion would receive him, they were dispelled almost from his first moment aboard. He was whisked below to the captain’s cabin by Doctor Sparrman, leaving his father on deck with Captain Bowles. In the cabin they met the ladies, a
nd he and Emma immediately fell into each other’s arms.
Neither could speak a word, and they only gradually became aware Mercedes and Dr. Sparrman were standing by trying hard not to gape at them. Aloka at last stepped back and extended his hand to Mercedes.
“Forgive me, dear ma’am, for not taking better care of Emma. You begged me when we parted on Blonde, to remember how you used to hold me on your lap, and be kind to your daughter.”
Aloka began to cry. In fact they all did, saving Dr. Sparrman, who looked on them askance.
“I shall do better, ma’am.”
“I hope and trust you will, dear. We are rejoiced to have you back, so glad. Now, you must allow Dr. Sparrman to examine you.”
Mercedes led Emma away to the captain’s sleeping quarters, after giving orders to McMurtry to bring a tankard of water and start a broth preparing for Mr. Blackwell. Aloka was taken into Doctor Sparrman’s hands, who palpated, prodded, completely undressed and examined him, for the Swede was a thorough man of his profession.
“Does your vision trouble you, Mr. Blackwell?”
Doctor Sparrman was mercilessly handling the now marble-sized knot on the back of Aloka’s head.
“The day after they pulled my cork, my vision was bad at times. My head hurt something tremendous, and I was nauseous on moving about. That has passed off, thank God, though my head does still hurt if I turn it certain ways.”
“The worst danger from a blow to the head comes in the hours immediately following, and you have come through that. Under ugly circumstances, I collect, sir. I am sorry for what you have been through, I’ve seen the places they keep slaves prisoner at the Cape.”
Aloka bowed, he could not at first trust himself to speak. “I wish there were something to be done for those poor souls. Perfectly inhuman treatment, because their skins are dark like mine.”