The Last Prayer

The Last Prayer

I still remember 1568. I had only been a raw sailor then, all of 16 years old. The Ave Maria Beunavista, in which I had gone into Plymouth harbour, had been stocked with the pay of all the Spanish soldiers stationed in Flanders. It was my ship's captain, Bartolome de Torres, who had first got a whiff that the English Navy was planning a seige of the ship. He had tried to send a word to King Phillip II, but in vain. The English did invade our ship, and they did abscond with lots of money: money that should have rightfully gone to my brethren in Flanders.

*****

Almost 20 years later, we were back on the sea, in an all-out effort to root out English Protestants. Our Armada, and I recall that an Englishman even called it "invincible", with over 125 ships, was well on its way in the English channel; soon, our ships would over-run the English ships, destroy English hegemony over the sea and return triumphant to Spain, where a royal welcome awaited us!

It was a Sunday, and a mass was being conducted by the ship's Father Antonio de Benavides. He reminded us of Jesus's Coming, and we all listened in hushed awe as his voice spoke clearly about the everlasting Paradise that awaited the true Christian. He spoke about the futility of war against the anti-Christian Englishmen, and bemoaned its necessity for the good of humankind in general, and of Christians in particular. He told us that our duty as Spaniards lay in unflinchingly following our leaders; our honour as Christians lay in vanquishing the English; our ego as seamen lay in conducting a honest and sincere war at sea. We were all in high spirits at the end of the sermon.

"Juan! Juan!" The female voice rang out from the Cook's quarters, where Ysabel, my wife, was cutting potatoes. Would we never get fresh meat to eat? I think everyone on the ship has had sacks and sacks of potatoes!

"Yes, my dear Ysa, what is it?" I replied as my arms went around my wife of well-nigh 16 years.

"I heard that a big fleet of English ships is on its way to fight us. Is it true?"

"Yes, Ysa, it is. But don't you bother me now, I have lots of work to do."

"All right, but I will see you in our cabin by eight o'clock, okay?"

I nodded my head and ran to the Armoury. I was the Head Armourer, and it was my duty to ensure that cannon balls were always available, muskets were running smoothly, gunpowder remained dry and safe and scabbards and knives were sharp. It was a lot to do, but I had a staff of four; they were all busy as bees when I entered.

"How is everything?" I asked.

"Terrific, Sir, but do ye think our arms are a match for the English cannons and the sailors?" doubted Fernando, one of my helpers.

"It is not for us to think about these things. Let our captain worry about it, okay?" I replied.

We continued to work at a feverish pitch. To our left and right, other ships too continued to plow ahead, unmindful of the devastation that lay ahead of us ...

*****

It was about 1630 hours that we sighted the English schooners, skiffs and sailing vessels. They had sized us too, since within about 15 minutes of the sighting, we took the first hit on The Ave Maria Conquistadora that sailed beside us on our starboard side. The cannon-ball tore through amidships, and the ship began to take in water very rapidly. The sailor captain of that ship, Alfonse, was a brave, 40-year old who guided his men expertly for nearly three hours, but the ship sank at about 1910 hours; most of the sailors had climbed into the other boats, including ours, but three of them died anyway.

By 1940 hours, five more Spanish ships had been hit badly, and the English fleet was upon us. Their sailors literally jumped on to the limping, injured ships in our Armada and butchered my fellow-Spaniards savagely. In another hour and a half, darkness had set in and the ships retired for the night.

*****

The next morning, the fighting resumed early, and it seemed as if the night had not existed in reality at all. Presently, a large cannon-ball hit our ship. It tore through the main sail, uprooted the central mast and went clean through the deck and right down through the hull. Sailors were screaming. Many of my fellow mates fell through the hole into the sea. Four of them did not make it back. Next, the cook's quarters took a hit, and it was all I could do but run towards it to see if Ysabel was still alive.

I tore through the mass of dying or dead men till I reached the entrance to the kitchen. My worst fears were then confirmed. Ysabel had been cutting potatoes for the next day's breakfast when the large cannon had burst through. Ysabel never saw it coming; she had died, open-mouthed, with a knife in one hand and a half-peeled potato in the other.

I held her mutilated body to my bosom and cried till my tears dried up. Then, yet another cannon-ball came sailing through the skies and hit the stern section of our ship with a loud boom. The aft section of the ship jumped almost a meter into the sky. The stern sank into the sea and took nearly eight sailors who were smoking cigarettes and plotting a counter-strike against the English with it.

By noon, almost 25-30 Spanish ships around us lay in tatters. The sailors were screaming and asking us to take them aboard. How was that possible? Our own ship was sinking! The captain was rallying us around but even his inspiring calls were unhelpful since the writing was already on the wall. Our ship was rapidly taking on water and would get submerged in another few hours. Efforts to save the few women on the ship had now taken priority and they were being lowered into a small boat that would, hopefully, take them back to safety.

Father Antonio summoned us again for a Prayer meeting. His words were very clear: "Brethren! We have gathered here for what might possibly be our last Prayer-meeting. King Philip sent us to defeat the English. Sadly, though, we are being decimated by our wily enemy."

He paused. I could detect a reluctant admiration for the enemy in the tone of his voice.

He continued, "Jesus showed us the path of brotherhood and peace. We, having drunk from the chalice of Satan, chose to stray from that path. We have to pay the price. Our monarch may outlive us, but I am not sure he will be one of the chosen ones to taste the fruit of Paradise. In any case, brethren, our time has come. We may never meet again until after the Day of Judgement. May God grant us a speedy and painless death if that is His Will. Otherwise, the time has come to ..."

A fresh cannon-ball smashed into us as the ship heaved and began to sink inexorably. I saw Father Antonio being lifted into the air. He was mouthing the words of his last prayer even as his body flailed and fell back onto the deck.

"God, forgive us all ..." I screamed to no one in particular, as I made a run for the boat that was now being lowered.

*****

I survived, eventually, but with a heavy heart, and took to religion after my return to Spain. Today, I preach sermons in my locality. My theme for most of these sermons is, as you might have guessed, Peace and Brotherhood. I am waiting for God Almighty to call me to His bosom. I have eternity to atone for my sins.

-Signed:

Juan de Aguilera.

14 February 1590.

Afterword: This story was submitted for Round 4 of "Invalid Item" . It was a round winner and took me to the Finals!

Except for the names of the characters and the actual story-line, the Historical names and events are TRUE in nature.