Fair Blows the Wind

by Louis L'Amour

  He received me at once and sat back in his chair. “If you have asked to see me at this time,” he said, “it cannot but be serious. What is it?”

  Risking arrest there and by him, if my crime, whatever it was, proved serious, I told him simply what had been done. I spoke of the broadsides and pamphlets I had written and now of the order for my arrest. Of course, I said nothing of my Irish ancestry, trusting not even him so much.

  I knew somewhat of the man. The Queen’s champion he was, but he had also lived a wild, reckless life himself and at present had his own troubles.

  He listened patiently. “They will not arrest you while you serve me,” he said, after a bit, “and no doubt you are safer here. Yet if you wish to go, then go you may.

  “However, I would suggest you serve me yet awhile. You have spoken of your wish to make money with your ventures. It is my wish also, but believe me, Chantry, one good prize and we should all be rich. I need money as much as any man. And I mean to have that prize.”

  Little I knew how much my life depended on the decision I was then to make, yet what might have happened if I had chosen otherwise? I only know my entire life was changed when I decided.

  How often it is that a whim may alter the course of our existences! How often the simple decision whether to go right or left when one leaves a doorway can change so much! A man may turn to the right and walk straightaway into all manner of evil, and to the left, all manner of good.

  It was ever my way to push forward, and ever my way to hold to a bargain. My word once given was precious to me, and I had promised to serve with him.

  “Sir George,” I said, “I dare not be arrested. I do wish to serve you, and to serve England in this hour, yet to be arrested would be fatal.” I paused, not wishing to explain why it might be fatal. I trumped up a reason, and logical enough it was, too. “I am convinced that I am to be arrested only to be murdered, that once in prison I would be set upon, when unarmed, by Leckenbie’s felons.”

  “Have no fear. You shall go aboard my ship, and no officer will reach you there, if I have to go to Elizabeth herself to protect you.

  “Look you…I have many men, but most serve in hope of prize money, of gaining my attention and hence preferment. Some are mere loiterers, putting in their time. Some are lusty fighters who have often proved their courage and strength. But none has taken hold as you have done.

  “Within the short time you have served me you have laid hold of problems and solved them. You know much of the ship’s care and husbandry. Any task I set for you I need never think of again, for it is done. You have proved yourself my strong right hand, and already I have mentioned you to Sir John Hawkins, if he should take command.”

  “And he may?”

  “It is possible. The Queen wants me nearby, although I should prefer to be at sea. Well, one more voyage, perhaps. At least one more.” He looked up at me suddenly, then glanced about to see if others were near. “Chantry, I shall give you this word and no other, because I wish you to remain with me. I have word…very secret word…of the sailing of a great Spanish vessel, loaded with treasure. I hope to seize that vessel.”

  He took up a bottle and filled two wineglasses, putting one of them before me. “Chantry, I will tell you this much. I have an Irish friend…oh, do not look surprised! I have an Irish friend who now serves Spain. The information comes from him.

  “We have much trouble with Ireland. Most of the Irish would gladly burn England to the dust. But—a very important but—they do not wish anyone else to do it. As one of them once said to me, ‘The English are our enemies, but they are our enemies. We do not wish to share them with others.’ Amusing, is it not? Yet I trust this man, and he has told me of this great vessel coming.”

  “When?”

  He shrugged. “I know not. Only that she will come and we must be out there, waiting.”

  “Will you have further word?”

  “Perhaps. I doubt it. Word is not so easy to receive. Possibly you, with your river-front friends, might learn something. But the less it is talked of the better. Look what I have to contend with—not only the Spanish but so many of our own people who would love to find such a juicy plum ready to fall from the tree.

  “I have a fine ship, but I am not Drake, nor Frobisher, nor—”

  “But you may be Hawkins?”

  He smiled. “That I may be, but even he does not know of this yet.”

  “I will stay with you, Sir George.”

  “Good!” He held out his hand. “I thought you might. Now go and finish up whatever it is you have to do and return swiftly, for I think we shall wait but little longer and then return to sea.”

  Leaving my plumed hat aboard, I chose a dark cloak and a flat cap to wear ashore. Then, armed with my sword, a dagger, and two charged pistols, I went ashore again and made my way to the place of Emma Delahay.

  Swiftly as could be I arranged my business with her. Sixty pounds in goods I trusted to her. “Do the best you can. When this is over, I shall be back. If I come not back immediately, do you administer my funds to my best interest and hold the profits for me, for eventually I shall come.”

  I wonder what strange hint of disaster caused me so to phrase it? Surely, I knew nothing. To my thinking I was but being cautious, having no knowledge of all that would transpire before I came across this threshold again.

  The Bonaventure went again to sea, and I with her.

  Fair blew the winds, and the sails filled as we breasted the seas for the French coast. Some Spanish ships were reported there and beating their way north for England. But we found them not, so Sir George changed course and stood away to the south for the Azores, casting about for prey.

  Owner of vast estates, he was encumbered with debts, and a rich prize might make up for all he had wasted in wild living. As he grew older he had also grown wiser, and wished to establish himself once more. Vessels laden with treasure from the Indies or the coast of America might be along soon, and it was one of these we sought.

  We had been but ten days at sea when, just as dawn was breaking, I heard the cry from the masthead, “Sail ho!”

  “Where away?”

  “Three points abaft the beam!”

  Our bows came around and we headed down toward her. She was a fair tall ship, a Spanish galleon fresh from the Indies by the look of her.

  The decks were cleared for action and we rounded to. As we came alongside we let go with a broadside that toppled the foremast, and shot away a piece of the bowsprit. We closed in then and Sir George motioned me.

  “You will lead the boarding party. Secure control of the vessel and make repairs at once, then keep in our company and prepare to assist.”

  As we came alongside I jumped to the rigging. Followed by the members of the boarding party, I made ready for the attack. Men were swarming her deck, but much destruction had been done by our broadside and whoever stood upon the poop deck seemed to have lost command.

  As one man we swung in close and over the narrowing gap. There was a brief, fierce struggle as we landed. A man rushed at me, swinging a cutlass. I greeted him with a thrust, then fired a pistol at a second man. Two more closed in about me but one of them fell before the blade of one of our crewmen, a husky lad from Yorkshire. We drove them back, and I noticed a slackening of effort on a part of the crew, men who appeared to be Basques.

  A dozen of these had grouped together. Suddenly, as one man, they dropped their swords and surrendered. One of them, a tall, blond lad with a splendid set of shoulders, merely handed me his sword. “Captain, we were forced to sea. None of us wished for this.”

  “Get forward then, and if it seems to you the mast can be restepped and made useful until it can be replaced, save it. If not, cut it away. Do you and your mates stay forward. Give us good service and you shall be freed.”

  They went quickly forward. El
sewhere the fighting had well nigh ceased. Here or there some hardened soul held to his blade. I disliked seeing good men die and persuaded some to surrender.

  On the poop the young officer awaited me. Near him lay two bodies, of whom one must have been the sailing master—though I knew nothing of the command on a Spanish vessel. The other appeared to be the second in command.

  The officer could be no more than sixteen—one of those given command, no doubt, due to family and prestige, with carefully chosen lieutenants who could carry the burden for him. Our fire had killed both, and now he was alone. A handsome lad, too, standing straight and pale with shock, but with no fear in him.

  “You have taken my vessel,” he said, staring at me in an incredulous manner. The shock was still on him, for our broadside had been remarkably effective. Fortunate for me, unfortunate for him. “It was my first command.”

  “And this is mine. If you give me your word to cause no trouble, I shall not imprison you.”

  “Of course, Captain, you have my word.”

  “Captain?” It was Wilsey, one of my own men. “Look!”

  Four ships were bearing down upon us, although still some distance away. We had, in the short time since boarding the Spanish vessel, become separated from the Bonaventure, which was hull down over the horizon. The oncoming Spanish vessels looked to cut us off.

  “Wilsey, get the prisoners below, all but those working on the forecastle, and make ready the guns.”

  Again I glanced at the oncoming ships and at our own vessel. “Tell Brooks I said to get some sail on her.”

  Of commanding such a vessel at sea, I knew little, scarcely more than the Spanish don from whom I had taken command. Nor had Sir George intended to leave me in command, I am sure. He had no doubt expected to come aboard and straighten matters out himself before we proceeded with our mission. Now I was alone.

  Ordering the young Spanish officer below, I moved swiftly to get the decks cleared and to pull away from the oncoming Spanish vessels. To escape from them meant also to draw away from the Bonaventure, yet there was no other way.

  I went below to the cabin, which was beautifully furnished. Disconsolate, the young officer sat slumped in a chair. “Do not despair,” I told him. “You shall be treated as a gentleman.”

  “But I have failed!”

  “One failure is not a lifetime, and this was no fault of yours. Remain here. I must go on deck.”

  With our foremast gone and much of our rigging damaged, I swiftly realized our chances of escape were few. Darkness was hours away.

  As I emerged upon the deck, Brooks came to me. “Captain, we are in a bad way. With the fo’m’st gone and damage to the rigging, we can scarcely make steerage way without repairs.” He glanced astern. “They’ll be up with us long before we can get any sail on her to speak of.”

  “The guns?”

  “Six of them out of action.”

  “Our men?”

  “No losses. Twenty-two men aboard, Captain, only some minor cuts and scratches. Nothing serious.” His face was stiff. “We’ve no chance, Captain. They’ll come up to us within the hour…two at most.”

  My thoughts raced, seeking every possible solution. Capture for the crew meant a Spanish prison, with small chance of escape or ransom. Capture for me meant the same, but the crew were my responsibility.

  The vessel moved easily upon the water. It was not a rough sea, and the wind was fair.

  “Brooks? Would you rather chance capture, or an open boat for England? It can’t be more than two days’ sail.”

  “An open boat?” His face changed as if by magic. The eagerness was apparent. “You mean now? They wouldn’t be apt to pursue, and…We’d chance it, Captain. I can speak for them. We’d all chance it.”

  “All right then, food and water, Brooks. Get the longboat over the side, out of sight of the Spaniards. Arm yourselves, but if they pursue, don’t resist and I will do what I can for you. But you’ve a good chance to get away.”

  He left on the run, and I turned to the Spanish captain. Of his language I knew a good bit, for Spanish smugglers were often off the Irish coast when I was a lad, and their officers had often visited us at my father’s home. Those who would be career soldiers went elsewhere, a career with their own army or the British being out of the question.

  “Your name, Captain?”

  “Don Vicente Uvalde y Padilla.”

  “I am Tatton Chantry. Don Vicente, you have lost your ship. Do you wish to regain it?”

  His eyes lit with hope. “Regain it? How?”

  “It is a matter of honor, Don Vicente. I will surrender the vessel to you if you will give me your word not to pursue my crew, allowing them to put off in the longboat.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, thinking it out. “My ship is damaged,” he said, “too badly damaged, perhaps. You foresee capture, yet you think of your men.”

  “We could stay and make a fight of it, Don Vicente. We might lose. Our other ships,” the plural was only a slight shading of the truth, “may come up to our aid. And they may not. I wish to save my men.”

  “And you, Captain Chantry?”

  “I would surrender myself to you…to you personally, a Spanish gentleman.”

  He smiled. “Ah, Captain! You are shrewd! I am permitted to show myself the victor, your crew escapes, and you become my prisoner, trusting to my honor.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How close are our ships?” he asked.

  “Close,” I admitted.

  He laughed, delighted. “Oh, this is beautiful! Beautiful! I must remember it, Captain!”

  He looked thoughtful. “Your flag is flying, Captain? I think we had better lower it before our ships open fire.”

  “By all means,” I agreed. “I have your word?”

  “You do. You do, indeed.”

  On deck my first glance was off the starboard side. The longboat was there in the water, sail up, making good speed. She was even now a few hundred yards off. I glanced at the Spanish ships. Slower, heavier to handle, they would need another half-hour at least, probably more. By that time the longboat would be over the horizon and out of sight.

  Turning, I looked at Don Vicente. Already he had opened the hatch and his men were emerging on deck.

  He studied me a moment, his eyes cold and measuring. Yet whatever came, nothing could help me now. For better or worse, I was his prisoner.

  CHAPTER 24

  A PRISONER I TRULY was, yet surely no prisoner was ever treated better! Whatever Don Vicente’s position, his influence must have been great, for his decisions in my case were not refused. He explained simply that his ship had been severely injured by our broadside, that we had taken the ship, and that he had negotiated its release and a surrender by me on the consideration that the crew be released.

  His brother officers accepted me as an equal and from the first I was well treated. In the weeks at sea, constantly using Spanish, my command of the tongue improved. It is a beautiful language, and having ever a love for the music of words, I enjoyed speaking it.

  We came at last to Cádiz. As our ship dropped anchor in the ancient harbor I felt a twinge of dismay. Aboard ship all had been well, but this was the Spain of our enemies, the Spain of the Inquisition. What would become of me now?

  Not long was I kept waiting, for a vessel put out from shore and came alongside.

  The officer who came up the ladder was a sharpvisaged man of perhaps forty, looking every inch the soldier.

  “Don Vicente? I am Captain Enrique Martínez. I have come for the prisoner.”

  “You have come for him? The man is my prisoner, Captain. Mine. I took him, I shall keep him. At least until such a time as ransom has been arranged for.”

  “But I did not think—”

  “That is right, Captain. You did not think.
Now you will have time for it. Let me repeat, the prisoner is mine. I might add he will also be my guest. If your superiors feel it necessary, they can find him where I am.”

  He started to turn away but the captain spoke again. “Don Vicente, I regret—”

  “Please do not. Regret is a vain thing, my friend, and you no doubt have pressing duties elsewhere. I might add for your personal information that when I was briefly his prisoner I was treated as a gentleman, and while he is my prisoner he, too, will be so treated.”

  His poise and coolness were remarkable. I stood very quietly, as Don Vicente walked away upon other business.

  “I am sorry, Captain Martínez,” I said, “but this was the agreement we made.”

  He shrugged. “Of course. I understand, Captain, and might add that you are fortunate, indeed. I am sure no prisoner Spain has ever taken will be better treated. Don Vicente and his family are noble in every sense.” He shrugged. “I was but doing my duty.” He paused again. “You may have trouble with the forces of Inquisition, for they are less likely to honor Don Vicente.”

  The home of Don Vicente was more elegant than any I had ever seen. The apartment to which I was shown was furnished sparsely but well.

  He was younger than I, Don Vicente, a handsome man and an only child. Once we were in his home, we talked much. We wandered throughout the world in our long conversations, but then one day he spoke to me of ransom.

  It was a question I had dreaded, for who would pay ransom for me? I was alone. I had no one. Some captains and leaders of men, such as Sir John Hawkins, had been known to arrange ransom for prisoners, but I had scarcely been a month at sea when this had happened.

  The Earl of Cumberland? But what was I to him? Nor was he a man of great wealth. Although he possessed vast estates, they were heavily encumbered. There was no one to come to my aid.

  My own small investments would pay no ransom. Once this was understood my chances of release would be few—or even of staying where I was. The Spanish no doubt thought me a young man of great wealth, and I had nothing.