“Just eat it. Eat all of it, too. Even the rind will keep us from scurvy.”
“Someone will smell these.” But no one did, or if they did they had no idea whence it came, and so we crouched in our dark corner huddled together and ate. Although I might at one time have been loath to eat an orange rind, my hunger spoke over the bitter tang on my tongue. I stuck the orange rind in my cheek and sucked at it until it dissolved. It left a raw place on my tongue and I rubbed the spot against my teeth.
The next day passed with no sign of August or a Spanish galleon filled with gold. I felt renewed enough to feel both thankful to Patience and irritated at our situation, and I complained to anyone who would listen. That evening before I closed my eyes, I hoped for another stolen morsel from Patience, but she stayed at my side all the time and so was not able to collect anything extra. I believed she would do what she could for both of us, just as Ma would have done. It gave me some peace to know that.
At dawn calls from above awoke us. “Strike colors! Take the whip! At the guns! Man the sweeps!” This was followed by the sounds of hurried action, and from my tiny peephole I saw a set of oars thrust from our ship’s sides begin to move in tandem to a chant of “Yo-hope!” We turned sharply; the ship listed hard to one side until it rose upon the surface of the water. Our vessel cut through waves helped by sail and oar alike. Some woman of our group cried, “We’re going keel over!” and someone else hushed her.
Cannons bellowed off our port side and shook the ribs of the ship and all mine, too. I screamed and clasped my ears at the unexpected roar of them. They levied a full broadside and all of a sudden everyone on this deck lurched and fell as the ship turned into the wind, jerking and hauling with shouts from the oarsmen as it started moving full astern. We swayed again, falling upon each other, and felt the concussion of another full broadside from our ranks of starboard cannon.
In the midst of it I heard, “Run up the colors! Man the canoe!” I had no idea what the canoe was, but I knew the colors would either strike terror or a challenge in the souls of our prey. They would either surrender or begin a terrible battle in which we prisoners could die more easily than the sailors. If they sank this crock we were doomed.
What followed was eerie calm, a chorus of cheering, then more silence. The English had taken another ship by means of that wrenching maneuver that tossed us off our feet. I lost my fear as soon as I had heard the cheers, since the battle was won. I stood upon the wale and got my eye as close to the little hole as I could, wishing I were on deck to watch. We floated beside a great ship, as large as the one that had first taken us. The name on her aft was Castellón. I saw “our” longboat coming alongside the Castellón and men climbing aboard with no shouting nor fighting at all. Sailors from this vessel threw ropes between the two, stitching them together. I heard a drum playing and a whistle blew.
I peered right to left trying to see anything more, and was about to step away from the hole when I heard a pistol shot. Someone on our ship shouted, “Trap! It’s a trap!” and the air filled with the sounds of swords and axes clashing, men commanding orders, men groaning, dying, things and people falling overboard. Cannons roared from both ships. After many long minutes, the firing of cannons ceased, but pistol fire continued as long as the first battle. What had seemed a peaceful surrender turned to a bloody slaughter.