Back onboard, I pushed me ketch hard to keep close to the captain's ship, and he worked to cut speed and delay that mighty merchanter, attempting to keep us near his wake as long as possible. Inevitably, 'though, they must pull ahead. There was nothing, short of dropping the sheets and making a dead halt in mid ocean, to prevent this. And the ketch was considerably heavier, this trip, having boarded several of our people (including me mate, Orke) from that ship, to alleviate some of the cramping they suffered.
The voyage back to that island, "our new home"–me return to Annalea–was uneventful. The salt air, the glistening waters, the broad, bright sky and the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping the hull as we cut through them, served to soothe me haggard soul. I reminisced that, mayhaps, that was the why of me going to sea, originally–in me youthful days. When you are landlocked, and the world turns against you–whether from your own doing or not–you soon learn you cannot fight the whole of the world, nor any significant portion of it. So, for your safety–your very survival–it is necessary to hide.
And when one needs to hide hisself away, he naturally selects the smallest, darkest, tightest, most secluded hole he can burrow into. And so, that becomes your life: a life in hiding. Your life is diminished as your body is hidden–as both day and night you are secluded in darkness. The worst of it: your mind and then your spirit become cramped, darkened, isolated and diminished well beyond proportion to all physical discomforts.
But, through the luck of the toss–or simple expedience–should you seek to hide at sea, the whole experience is turned inside out. Once far out to sea–where land is but a memory–an entirely new feeling comes upon you. Your chosen hiding place opens up to you endless horizons; your "burrow" is the universe. And your mind and spirit can wander as free and untethered as your body. Mayhaps, moreso. Can you imagine–for a hunted man–the exhilaration of hiding out in the open?
And the vast, voluminous waters of the ocean prevent "the world" from discovering you, isolating you, trapping you and destroying you in the way that they would, if they could, remove you from the human experience like unwanted carrion. That's when you realize–when you are "hiding" in the broad expanse of the endless seas–that those who think themselves free back on land are, in fact, confined in tightly restrictive burrows of the mind and spirit. Their "freedom" is no more than illusion: God's sardonic magic trick!
And so I was healing from all most recent wounds and scars to the soul, as I was sailing across the universe–on that little ketch, with comrades at me side. As I watched the captain's ship pulling away from us, gradually–gracefully–I stood on the deck, a calmed, more serene man. I stood and watched with me hand on the hilt of me sword. Me sword–the captain's sword! The very sword he'd presented to me as award for valiance and faithful service. I'd always keep that sword. I'd always cherish that sword, and the memories of events–and be honoured by the high opinion me captain has of me.
This sword shall be in me company for the rest of me life–and to the grave. Yet, it shall never be me sword; it shall always be the captain's sword. 'Twas awarded to him for acts of uncommon valour in the king's services; activities of which he seldom speaks–for 'though he seems a bit pompous, he is not a boastful man. And when I reflect on all me years with the man–all me travels and adventures and successes (and excesses which I survived)–I feel privileged to have had such a friend, such a mentor, such a leader.
Me captain has no peers, not even amongst the royal heads of Europe (in their political "burrows"). This most recent episode in our ever eventful and exciting journey through this boundless life, reinforced for me all these qualities of the captain, and revealed ever more facets of the man's humanity. No, this shall never be me sword; it shall always be the captain's sword. As he's chosen to entrust his sword to me care, I am honoured to carry it–for him–through life.
Our ultimate arrival at that island of castaways was a joyous reunion of kindred souls. The captain's lot, having reached shore some considerable time earlier, showed evidence of having been bathed in overwhelming love and tears. And now, it was our turn. Me one, overriding concern was for Annalea.
She was constantly on me mind. I was worried sick that she'd long be inconsolable about the loss of Nemusmar, and the wonderful life we'd had there–the only life she'd ever known! If her heart was crushed, and she had not the will to move on, I knew not what I could do to heal her–what words I could use to console her–what possible future I could offer, to compensate her. With these thoughts in me mind as I stepped onto land, I felt as if I were about to be pulled down into one of them suffocating burrows of the mind and spirit!
And surer than predicting rainbows from rainclouds, me sweet angel was standing on that beach, waiting for her Papa to come and comfort her. Undaunted by the task ahead, I gathered me strength, acquired a smile, and threw wide me arms to gather up that babe as she ran towards me. She damned near ran past me, just reaching out and pulling me shoulder down to apply a quick peck on me cheek as, breathless from running, she puffed out, "Papa! I've been so worried about you! You are safe, thank God! Look't! Look't how many of our people made it! They need taking care of. There is so much to do! 'Bye!"
Then, from a distance–looking back towards me as she moved into the throng of survivors, "I love you, Papa!"
Well, mayhaps I exaggerate a problem when I contemplate it for too long. Lord knows I oft' miscalculate circumstances and their outcomes–especially when it involves women. Women! And someone once called the Chinese "inscrutable?" For certain, he met only their women! And I had this inscrutable little creature of me own to contend with. Of course, I should've known from the depth of her heart and the breadth of her compassionate nature, that me Annalea would never dote on her own afflictions of spirit and circumstance, so long as there were others in need–in need of what kindness, gentleness and love can proffer. As it turned out, Annalea's loving and nurturing ways were her own salvation.
"Be ya goin' ta loaf on dis beach all day, like a clam waitin' fo' de tide ta come back? Or be ya goin' ta move yo' lazy ass an' do a man's work?" Mam' Tiére's greeting was no more comforting than Annalea's, but more in character. Much to her chagrin, I used me still open arms to give her the squeeze that Annalea had eluded. Considering all she's seen and done in her life, it surprised and delighted me to see Mam' blush, as she did. Therefore, I squeezed her all the more, and nuzzled her cheek!
"Oh, now! Oh, now!" That was all she could muster–that, and a girlish giggle! A long smooch later, I released her and set off to do her bidding.
I've learned a man must mind his womenfolk, in matters of a domestic nature. It is the Lord's own scheme to provide a role for man and a role for woman. 'Twas His way to create responsibility and cooperation, and make certain things got done in this world. To protest a woman's will, when she is in the right–within her own domain–is only to buck the tide, and incur God's disfavour.
'Though they are smaller–and some quite frail–the Lord has endowed these creatures we call women with all necessary weapons to subdue a man's will. Her tongue can be sharp, or lacy. Her countenance can be harsh, or angelic. Her voice can be shrill, or soothing. And the design of her carriage! The smooth, rounded outline that can distract a man from any calling, attract him to her, and keep him eagerly at her side. The spirit of a woman–that most inner sanctum of the female soul–is another expression of God's love that is both foreign and compelling to a man.
As to their weakness: that is more a façade of the feminine being–again, God's clever ruse. For certain, with a spontaneous display of muscle and energy, a male will most certainly overwhelm a female, in any physical challenge. But, in matters where endurance makes the victor, I've oft' seen men fall to the wayside as women stayed their course. Strength of character, strength of will and strength of spirit shall provide, endure and prevail, when muscle (and even physical beauty) have wilted and failed.