A float with Henry Morgan.
Henry Hunter, anxious to save Henry Morgan from sailing into a trap, goes with hero to
the governor Sir Thomas Mawson.
Between them they piece together what really happened on the night that the Aztec necklace
was taken.
Sir Thomas is anxious to know how Jeffrey became a convict.
Jeffrey tells him that he was the innocent dupe of a man named Blake who later arrived
as a convict at the island and who denounced him to Kitty.
Sir Thomas warns both Jeffrey and Hero that he has no option but to retake them into custody
and he puts them on their honor not to try to escape.
Delores together with Diaz and Kitty, still a prisoner, arrives in Cuba and Diaz is well
rewarded for his work and plans are made to capture Morgan.
Eventually, Sir Thomas returns to Jeffrey to tell him that Blake has confessed that
Jeffrey is innocent and so he is pardoned.
Due to the good work Hero has done, he too has given his freedom.
A sloop is about to leave Port Royal to overtake Morgan and his fleet and Sir Thomas tells
Jeffrey that he is to join her.
I can't express to Thomas the feelings I have.
Without doubt this must be the happiest day of my life.
Are you prepared to join the sloop?
Join her?
Why a hundred fighting men couldn't keep me away.
I too don't know what to say boss.
When I left my home way back in Africa, I never thought I'd see a free day again.
Lord I thank you for letting the sun shine so bright.
My heart is so full of happiness, my tongue is just dripping over itself.
I'd like to go down on my knees and thank you for all that you've done.
That will not be necessary.
I realize that if you not stayed by Jeffrey Hunter and nursed him back to health, Morgan
wouldn't have been warned.
He's not warned yet and he has a good staff.
But the sloop is fast.
With the very good wind behind you, you have every chance of overtaking him.
The sloop sails in an hour's time.
An hour?
Good.
We want to waste no time.
I dare say there's quite a lot you have to do.
You want some money to set yourself up, some new clothes?
Yes.
I haven't thought of that.
Well I'll give you what you need.
But you better hurry, you have not much time.
Thank you.
Thank you very much, Sir Thomas.
There's nothing to thank me for.
Your case was a miscarriage of justice.
You'll be compensated for the humiliation to which you've been.
Hearing my name is all the compensation I want.
You ain't saying goodbye to me, are you boss?
I ain't got no place to go now.
Freedom to an old negro like me means a lot, but it's like a new world I've been put into.
I'm a bit bewildered.
I don't want to say goodbye to you, Mass.
Jeffrey.
I ain't forgotten you saved my life.
I ain't forgotten that you treated me just as if I was a white man and not just a bit
of black trash and thin things I ain't never gonna forget.
I don't want to say goodbye.
You're going away on the ship.
Maybe I'll never see you again.
I'd rather be back as a slave and have you as my master.
You never do, hero.
And there's no reason why you shouldn't go on helping me.
What do you mean by that?
I had no thoughts of saying goodbye.
True, I'm going away on a ship, but I took it for granted that you'd be coming with me.
You want me to go with you, Master Jeffrey?
Oh, Lord, I thank you for being so kind to me.
Thank you for keeping me by my friend.
You want me to come with you.
I'm telling you, Master Jeffrey, that there's one person you ain't never gonna lose now.
No sir.
You're taking me away with you on the ship.
Hallelujah.
I go down on my knees and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Now come on, you blacks, can you wake up on your feet?
None of that nonsense.
Of course you're coming with me.
And we'll have to move pretty fast if you want to catch that sloop.
I expected when I returned, Kitty, to find you dressed in the fine clothes that I thought
you...
What are you doing still in those filthy rags you're wearing in Jamaica?
I want none of your clothes and I want none of you, so keep your distance, dear.
And they told me you had not looked over your fine house that I bought you.
And I don't want to sit.
I'll ask you to leave me be.
Are you not forgetting, Kitty, that you are not in a position to make demands of me?
In Jamaica, when you're at the Dolphin Tavern, you were a bondy servant, a little better
than a slave, but here in Cuba, you're not even that.
Yeah, my property.
I do with you as I will.
And you come near me.
I hate you.
I'm glad to see your spirit is not gone.
I was beginning to think you had become a milk and water woman.
Now, don't become that, Kitty, because if you did, then I would soon grow tired of you.
And when I grow tired of you, I'll not want you about me.
And then, of course, I'll have to get rid of you.
For your own sake, you'd best remember, always make yourself interesting to me.
Now, enough of this nonsense.
Dress yourself in the fine clothes that I brought you.
Appreciate the fine home you're living in.
I'm a man of wealth.
Now, I'm going to be a man of position.
Look what I'm giving you.
Don't you appreciate it?
Isn't it better to be here with me than a slave in a filthy dockside tavern?
I'd rather be a slave in a dockside tavern than living with you.
Have you not yet learned that anger hides your beauty?
It makes you glow with life.
I've been a very patient man, but now my patience is at an end.
Don't you come any closer to me, dear.
I'll have nothing to do with you.
And don't you put your hands on me.
And who is there to stop me, huh?
This is not the dolphin tavern, Kitty, when you can scream and have the men coming to
your aid.
There is no one in Cuba to help you.
No one, no one at all.
Open your sore, lovely throat and scream, scream loudly.
It will bring you no aid from those who hear you.
It will only bring to their faces an annoying smile.
And Kitty knows that what he says is true.
There is no one.
She is helpless, as helpless as a jungle-colored butterfly which has fluttered unsuspectingly
into the enmeshing, sticky strands of a spider's web.
But to give without a fight is against all her nature.
She is conscious of the fact that her anger has heightened her beauty, has made the hot
blood pound in Deut's head, has finally burst the dam of his impatience.
Her heart pounds within her.
Her mouth slowly opens.
Her small white teeth close over her lower lip.
She looks searchingly into his face.
It grows large before her eyes.
Horrible, vicious, glaring.
It fills the orb of her vision.
Fascinated with horror, she lets him put forth his hands to grasp her.
The shock of the cruel deep-digging fingers snaps the bond which paralyzed her.
Like forked lightning playing around the trees, she becomes a live, squirming, fighting thing.
Reserved and hidden strength, born of desperation, surges through her.
But Deut's strength is even greater.
A sloop noses out around the headlands of Port Royal Bay as daintily as a dancer.
It skirts the reef over which the ocean's swell breaks into a feathery white surge.
Quietly the steady wind fills the canvas so that the ship seems like a white cloud being
strangely guided over the deep blue sea.
A long, lean, narrow bow dips down to cut through the rolling sea, then rises proudly
up to meet the next swell.
And the coast of Jamaica steadily recedes behind the pathway of swirling wake the ship
leaves.
Up on deck, the trade wind plays chasing among the gold of Geoffrey's hair, gently caressing
his cheek.
And his eyes search wide over the expanse of sea, looking out to that point where the
two blues merge to make the distinct line which is the horizon.
But his happiness is clouded.
The memory of her face is before him, and a trust which he didn't fulfill.
But the inner voice will not be still.
Kitty has showed to him that she had complete trust that he would rescue her, and now, now
she's gone to a life of...
But I won't think of it.
I must not have her go mad.
I'll think of Henry Morgan in the morning.
I must give him.
I pray this wind will hold and we'll be able to overtake him.
And the wind does hold, and day makes way for night.
Stars pop their cold centuries-old light out from their cushion of blue, deep and almost
to black.
Like diamonds in the hair of a raven beauty, they winkingly look down.
Then their brilliance fades before the white, waxing moon which climbs from out of the sea
like a Dutch cheese which has been bumped slightly out of form.
As though in a new world of strange beauty, the sloop cuts through the ocean, its nightlights
bobbing like fireflies, the moon reflecting in the wake, making a dancing silver lane,
while the wind, gentle yet strong, fills the curved spreading canvas.
Over the arch of heaven moves the lady of night, chased by coming day.
Gently, she thinks to abdicate to her lord, the king of the kings of the heavens.
Bright, red, and full of life, he sweeps majestically into the sky.
The wind still holds steady and firm.
A circle of time repeats itself again and again, till the days run into a week.
Curaçao, Windward Island, Trinidad, all are passed.
Faintly, the coastline of South America lurks just on the edge of the horizon like a thin,
indistinct black pencil smudge.
South and further south sails the sloop.
It passes into that stretch of ocean which turns from depthless blue into a strange muddy
brown caused by the mighty Amazon spewing forth its waters into the sea.
Through the muddy waters out into the blue once again.
High up in the masthead, the watch is ever searching for the small fleet which is known
to lie ahead.
And behind the sloop, miles and miles astern, well out of sight, sails another fleet proudly
bearing the flag of Spain.
But the watch is looking ahead, not astern.
And then, then as the shots, there is a rush for the sails, voices jabber, fingers point,
hands shield sunlight from eyes.
And then away in the distance of the ships, looking small like pocket handkerchiefs, and
the coast of South America begins to loom large and take shape.
Cleaving through the roll as the sloop draws near and Morgan aboard the flying gow views
it with suspicion.
A flying English flag that were in enemy waters.
Have all guns trade honor.
After comes the sloop and Morgan, the glassed with eye, watches the longboat lowered and
put out towards the flying gow.
That man in the stern, can I believe my eyes?
By St. David it is.
Yes, it's Hunter.
Patchai, have a guard ready to give my visitors a welcome.
What game does Jeffrey Hunter think he's playing?
The moment he comes aboard the flying gow, I shall see that he's placed in irons.
And then Patchai, you can lock him below.
I'll deal with him when I'm ready.
Jeffrey Hunter had not realized that this would be his reception.
It is imperative that he makes Captain Morgan listen to him and believe his story.
Until they meet in the next episode of A Float with Henry Morgan.