Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by S. thomas Russell

  “We have not drunk to the health of our steadfast ally, the King of Spain,” Barthe offered.

  That ruler’s health was toasted. And then that of his Queen.

  However, despite these quantities of claret, Miguel seemed terribly and inconveniently sober, as though he had sworn that very day to curb his drunkenness. Hayden was of the opinion that several of his officers were further into their cups than the Spaniard.

  Griffiths glanced his way and made a small shrug with his narrow shoulders. He rose to stoop beneath the beams. “I beg your indulgence, gentlemen, but I must take advantage of this momentary pause between courses to look in briefly on a patient.” The doctor stooped out, leaving the chair to one side of Miguel empty.

  The atmosphere in the gunroom was certainly jolly, as Hayden had hoped, but it seemed to him to have a forced quality to it, an edge of anxiety, perhaps. He could not say whom Hawthorne had taken into his confidence, other than Barthe and Archer. Several others had concocted “toasts” that would not normally have been heard in the gunroom, so perhaps his secret was concealed from no one present.

  The evening wore on, wine flowing with a liberality which, even safely at anchor, one seldom saw in the Themis’ gunroom—or perhaps any other gunroom. Miguel, however, was hardly more than mildly inebriated, and nowhere near drunk enough to pass into unconsciousness, as he had more than once since being discovered drifting in the Atlantic.

  Hayden’s emotions swung wildly from trepidation to almost unendurable excitement and then to worry that his marriage could not take place because Miguel remained stubbornly sober.

  The doctor returned, the next course served, glasses filled, conversation engaged in. A song was proposed and sung as the servants cleared away. Hayden noted the doctor filling Miguel’s glass, after which Griffiths nodded to Hayden, for what reason the captain could not say.

  Yet another course, after which Hayden thought Miguel looked distinctly groggy, his eyes fluttering closed and then snapping open. He slumped lower in his chair and, finally, if not for Hawthorne and the surgeon, would literally have slipped under the table.

  The doctor took the Spaniard’s pulse and nodded, apparently satisfied. He then pointed long fingers at Miguel’s glass. “This must be disposed of, and not drunk by anyone,” he instructed.

  “I will see to that, Dr Griffiths,” Wickham offered, taking up the glass with some care.

  “Whatever did you put in it?” Hawthorne asked the surgeon.

  “A mild soporific. He will wake in the morning refreshed and without any ill feelings.”

  “Lest they be towards his new brother-in-law.” The marine turned to Hayden. “How shall we proceed?”

  Hayden rose to his feet. “First I must up to my cabin to wake Angelita, if she sleeps, and then ask for her hand.”

  Hawthorne almost reeled back, and everyone else froze where they stood. “You have not asked for the maiden’s hand?”

  “Her brother was always hanging about.”

  Hawthorne glanced around at the others. “Well, what if her answer is no?”

  Hayden shrugged. “Then I suppose the wedding must be called off.”

  “My God, sir, I do hope you are confident of her answer.” Barthe was as incredulous as Hawthorne.

  “Is one ever perfectly confident, Mr Barthe?”

  Barthe shrugged, lumbered into his cabin, and quickly reappeared, bearing a package wrapped in plain paper, which he proffered to Hayden. “In the event that she accepts you . . .” he said.

  “What is it?” Hayden asked, as he reached out to take the offering.

  “A dress. It was meant for one of my daughters, but I think she will give it up in this cause. If it is not a proper fit, tell me; I have daughters of all heights and proportions.”

  As Hayden began for the door, Hawthorne barred his way. The marine held out his hand, and upon his palm lay a plain gold ring.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Some gold coins were donated—the blacksmith forged it on short notice.”

  Hayden could hardly believe what he was seeing.

  “You should keep it in your pocket, Mr Hawthorne. And thank you. Thank you all.”

  Up the ladder to the gun-deck, past the marine, and into his cabin. He deposited the package on a chair and found Angelita in her cot, reading by lamplight.

  “Captain Hayden!” she said, as always delighted to see him appear. “But where is my brother?”

  “Asleep, and not likely to wake before morning. I have come to ask you a question, but I fear you must rise from your sick-bed to hear it.”

  She laid her book aside with such haste it almost tumbled to the cabin sole. “If you will steady my cot and give me your hand . . .” Gingerly, but without hesitation, she swung her legs over the side and lowered herself to her feet. For a nightgown she wore one of Hayden’s shirts, with the sleeves severely reefed. It fell to her knees.

  “There, I am on my feet. What is this question?” she asked, and looked suddenly as frightened as a child.

  Hayden took her hand and went down on one knee. Her other hand went to her mouth.

  Hayden took a calming breath. “Doña Angelita, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  The tiniest little gasp, and then tears. A whispered, breathless, “Yes. Above all things, yes . . .”

  Hayden rose to his feet, and she favoured him with the sweetest kiss he had ever known.

  “But when?” she asked, drawing far enough away to bring his face into focus. “My brother will never allow it.”

  “This very night. Mr Smosh has agreed to perform the ceremony. He will ask you two questions. Are you one and twenty or older, and are you a member of the Church of England. You must answer yes to both. Can you do that?”

  “To be your wife I would tell a thousand lies. But where? Is there a church nearby?”

  Hayden waved a hand around his cabin. “This will be our church. I know it is very modest, and we do not have a special licence, but we do have a licence, and within the hour, we can be man and wife.”

  She looked around. “It will be a perfect church. It lacks only my family and all who are dear to me.” She turned back to Hayden. “But you will be here, and you will be my family now.”

  They embraced, though with care to her injured side.

  “I have something for you . . . a gift from the sailing master, Mr Barthe.”

  Hayden took up the package and put it into her hands. The ribbon was quickly untied, and inside was a lovely, pale cream dress; simple yet beautiful, Hayden thought.

  She held it up in the lamplight.

  “Perhaps not the wedding gown of which you have always dreamed,” Hayden said softly.

  “As long as you are the groom, I would wear a sack. It matters not at all. Tell Mr Barthe it is a most beautiful gown.” She grinned at Hayden. “The most beautiful I presently possess.”

  She retreated to dress and put up her hair. Hayden, already in clean linen and dress coat, took up a brush and swept away any dinner crumbs. He examined himself nervously in a mirror and concluded he would do.

  Angelita was not gone half of an hour but reappeared with her hair held up in the ribbon that had closed Mr Barthe’s package. A knock sounded at his door, and Hayden opened it a crack to find Hawthorne, and hanging back behind him in the dim light, his steward, several midshipmen, and hands, all bearing burdens hardly discernible in the dim light.

  “What is the verdict, sir?”

  Hayden suspected his marine guard had overheard and the news was already known.

  “The best possible, Mr Hawthorne: guilty of aspiring to matrimony and sentenced to a lifetime of it.”

  The marine broke into a grin. “May I be the first to say ‘Congratulations,’ sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr Hawthorne.” Hayden waved at the men linger
ing behind. “What is all this, then?”

  “Whenever it is convenient, Captain,” Hawthorne said, “we have come to ready your cabin for a wedding.”

  Angelita had crept up, and peered around Hayden’s shoulder.

  “Are you ready for our guests?” Hayden asked of her.

  She looked rather confused. “If it is the English way . . .”

  Hayden beckoned the men in. In a blink, the screens were taken down, cots and furniture removed, lanterns hung and lit, flowers arranged, a simple altar created. Mr Smosh gave directions here, and Mr Hawthorne there. A constant stream of men went in and out, and beyond, on the gun-deck, Hayden could see the hands gathering and talking quietly among themselves.

  “It would appear word has got out, sir.” Archer nodded to the crew collecting along the deck. “The gunroom servants must have let it slip, sir.”

  Wickham came in the door at that moment. “Sir, the hands have learned you are to marry this very hour and they have charged me to ask if they will be allowed to attend the ceremony.”

  “Where did they ever get such an idea?” Ransome answered before Hayden could speak. “You may inform them that they may not!”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Angelita said softly, “But they have all been so kind to me . . . Is it not acceptable . . . ?”

  “It simply is not done,” Hayden replied, “but then, we are far from the shores of both England and Spain . . .” He hesitated a moment and then turned to his first lieutenant. “Let us take down this bulkhead, Mr Archer.”

  Mr Hale and his mates had the bulkhead down in a trice, and the cabin now opened onto the gun-deck, where the men all stood, grinning and speaking quietly among themselves. Mr Smosh had a brief, whispered conversation with Angelita, which concluded happily, Hayden assumed, by the looks upon their faces. A few more moments of buzzing about, and then Mr Smosh called out for order and the hands quickly removed their hats and stood silent as penitents at the final judgement.

  Smosh stood before the opened gallery windows with the starlit waters beyond. He glanced once at Hayden, who gave a small nod, and the parson began.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God . . .”

  The words, which Hayden knew almost by heart from his attendance at weddings, flowed over him like an incoming tide and bore him onward. He glanced at his bride, standing not two feet distant, almost a-tremble with suppressed excitement, and he felt a peace descend upon his heart and his mind, as though all doubt and conflict and worry had been washed away by the words of the chaplain, and he stood there, made anew.

  “Therefore, if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

  Smosh waited a respectful moment and, when no one spoke up, continued.

  “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not lawfully be joined together in Matrimony, ye now confess it.”

  There was, Hayden thought, the matter of her age, and perhaps her religion . . . But neither of them “confessed,” and Smosh went quickly on.

  “Captain Charles Saunders Hayden, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt though love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as thou both shall live?”

  “I will,” Hayden answered clearly, his words echoing strangely along the open gun-deck.

  Smosh turned to Hayden’s betrothed. “Doña Angelita Campillo, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as thou both shall live?”

  “I will,” Angelita answered, her voice somehow filled with wonder.

  Smosh then spoke to the congregation. “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  As agreed, Mr Barthe, who was the father of daughters and the eldest present, performed this office.

  Hayden and Angelita then turned to face each other, and he took her right hand in his.

  Smosh then said to Hayden, “I, Charles Saunders Hayden . . .”

  “I, Charles Saunders Hayden,” the captain of the ship repeated.

  Quickly, it was Angelita’s turn, though, Hayden thought, she had hardly the breath to manage.

  The ring was passed from Mr Hawthorne to Hayden, who placed it on the open book in Smosh’s hand. It was then returned to Hayden, who slipped it onto the wedding finger of his bride’s left hand.

  “With this ring,” Smosh said softly, and Hayden repeated.

  “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Hayden and his bride knelt.

  “Let us pray.” Smosh spoke to all the men congregated there. “O eternal God, creator and preserver of all mankind . . .” When he had finished, he joined Hayden and Angelita’s right hands together. “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  He then, in the common way, pronounced them man and wife and blessed them.

  Hayden and Angelita rose to their feet and the entire gathered crew and guests sang Psalm 128, their voices no doubt echoing around the entire anchorage. Given that it was not the Lord’s day, this would surely give them something of a reputation as a pious ship.

  “Three cheers for Captain and Mrs Hayden!”

  And the men cheered as though they had just defeated all the French that ever were.

  Hayden and his bride held hands, suddenly wondering what they were to do now.

  Another song was sung, this one more sailorly but no less heartfelt. The hands went down to the lower deck then, to continue their celebration, and Hayden’s cabin was quickly reassembled and the table laid for a light supper, as a traditional wedding breakfast would not answer at that hour.

  It seemed passing strange to Hayden to sit at a table with his bride—his bride!

  And yet he felt a warmth of happiness and amity come over him so that he thought he must be aglow with it, as surely his bride appeared to be.

  The supper lasted barely an hour, and his guests went happily and quietly out. Hayden’s servant and steward assisted the carpenter, who made a low platform of two grates. Upon this they made as sumptuous a bed as they could manage, and then they too disappeared.

  Hayden waved a hand at the arrangement. “It is a modest marriage bed, I fear.”

  Angelita came near, and he put his arms around her.

  “It is the bride who is supposed to fear the marriage bed . . .” she whispered, “or at least feel some small anxiety.”

  “And are you anxious, my dear?”

  For a moment she did not speak, but then said very softly, “We have taken a great leap of faith together; we shall see where we land. Softly, I hope.”

  “As softly as we can.”

  Fifteen

  Hayden awoke to light filtering into his cabin, his limbs entangled with the limbs of another.

  “You wake, my darling.” Angelita spoke softly in his ear. “I have been lying here admiring my wedding band. It is so simple and perfect. No one could have choosed better.”

  She held her hand up in the light so that the newly forged ring glittered.

  How delicate her hand is, Hayden thought.

  She turned and kissed him on the lips, and then upon t
he eyelids and his cheeks. “I am so happy,” she whispered.

  “I cannot think you are as happy as your husband.”

  “Oh, I am quite more happy, I am certain.” She thought a moment. “What shall we do with this first day of our marriage?”

  “We shall find a house ashore that we might let, for you cannot come to sea with me once I am given orders.”

  “Why can I not?”

  “It is against the regulations, and it is too dangerous, as well.”

  “So we will find a house, then. What kind of house?”

  “A modest house . . . to go with our modest bed.”

  “If I am as happy in our house as I am in our bed, I shall be in ecstasy.”

  There came, at that moment, voices from beyond the door. And then one of the voices grew louder.

  “Why am I not allowed in?” Miguel said testily. “I share this cabin.”

  “The captain and his bride have not yet risen, sir.”

  “His bride!”

  Angelita looked at Hayden in alarm.

  “Before we find a house,” Hayden said, “there is another matter . . .”

  They rose and dressed quickly, Angelita in her wedding dress, and then Hayden allowed the door to be opened and Miguel pushed his way in, looking much the worse for the previous evening’s wear.

  “What is this about a bride?” he demanded.

  “Before witnesses, and before God,” Hayden informed him, “your sister and I were married this evening past, by licence and by the rites of the church of this land. It is legal and binding.”

  Miguel put a hand up to a beam to steady himself. “You were married outside of our church?” he demanded of his sister.

  “Outside of your church, Miguel. I am a member of the Church of England, now.”

  “I do not recognise it. You are not of age. Our church will not recognise this marriage.”