Dreamboat Ch. 11

Usual standard declarations about age, ownership etc. apply here. All parts and sections of this story are the sole copyright of the author (2019).

After too long an absence, it's a pleasure to welcome you back to the next chapter in this long, expanding story.

This chapter has been a problem child beyond my every expectation. It has been rewritten several times to try and unearth the right way to tell this part. Pieces of it have been removed, put back, removed and rewritten. And then technical problems meant that it didn't reach the moderators despite my expectations. So once again it was in my hands, only to be rewritten once more when my muse, who has more patience than I think I deserve, persuaded me to put back the parts I'd cut out. That made the chapter far too long, so I had to break it into two and possibly even three pieces, depending how the rewrite of the second, longer part goes. Think of it as A, B and C if you wish. Here's part A.

The technical problem turned out to stem from my habit of copying and pasting non-English words from my research sources in order to ensure that the spelling (and the little diacritics above and below them) is accurate. The trouble is when these words carry a hyperlink that aren't apparent, My heartfelt thanks to the moderator who pointed out the problem, allowing me to finally fix it. I won't be doing the copy/paste thing again -- if a word is spelt wrong, or doesn't have the correct cedilla, accent or grave, so be it.

So, those who have had the patience, lean back against this fence, gaze out over the fields and the distant hills, hazy and bright in the afternoon sunshine, watch the cows slowly graze and listen to that voice on the wind, saying...

Let me tell you a story.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Chile, 1713

On this day, the 21^st of March in the year of our Lord 1713, with his blessings and protection, and by the grace of Maria, the Blessed Virgin, we have reached the great ocean at last.

Finally I have time to collect together my writings and accounts of the travels and tribulations of our venture into exploration and the quest for earthly riches. Many times I have feared that my end would come and the day of my judgement occur, but there is a modicum of peace in this place and I would take advantage of that to set down this account of our travels before we continue on our journey.

I, João Castello Branco, and my three younger brothers -- Miguel, Guilherme and Lourenço set out from our estate in Castello Branco almost four years ago, and we are in hope of being finally on the last part of our journey to restore honour and wealth to our family.

My memories of our departure have faded with time, but I can still see dear Mama and my sisters, Anamaria and Margarita, as they waved a tearful farewell to the four younger sons of our family. My older brother Miguel, newly become head of the family and estates, and holder of the title and all incomes, stood silent with his wife and daughter. I am certain that he was more than pleased to see the back of us, as it would free up his larder from our excesses, and his money chest from sponsoring our lifestyles.

He had gladly arranged for passage for the four of us and the fourteen servants and men-at-arms that we would take with us to the New World, pleased to see us out of his sight. I turned for a last look, and it seemed to me that he spat. There was little love lost between he and I, not since I found him and my Rosa in ... [Note: The rest of this passage is heavily scored and inked out. No record of the Rosa mentioned in this passage has been discovered through museum resources as yet. AM.]

We reached Santísima Trinidad y Puerto de Santa María del Buen Aires, both port and town lazily termed Buenos Aires by its residents, after five months at sea, all of us drunk with sea motion as we stepped onto dry land once again. None of us were the men we had been when we left Castello Branco, as my older brother had foregone the opportunity to explain that he had booked us passage across the sea as working sailors, and not passengers of noble birth.

Still, although I burned with indignation at this slight to my honour, I am not in the end displeased at the result of his betrayal of our blood. After this time, even young Lourenço is strong and healthy, no longer the milk-white dandy of the courts, adopting -- as did we all at that time -- the faux airs of ennui, permanent languor, ill-health and bored disdain. Now, I am delighted to see him as a young bull ready to face any matador in the ring of our great adventure.

Guilherme is a different matter, and has a cough upon his chest that even the most potent poultices cannot relieve, although he tells me he feels well. Apart from the almost constant hacking cough, I see little difference in his nature and constitution, and he seems happy to continue on our quest. I worry however, that he may have contracted consumption. He scolds me and tells me that I am as an old hen, and perhaps he is correct in this. But I worry for him.

The port and town, although conjoined, go by different names, and Santísima Trinidad was a pleasant surprise, without the stinks and miasmas of our port cities back home in Portugal, and is situated at the far end of the inlet where the Rio de la Plata empties into the ocean. At first I could not believe that we were sailing up a river, as neither bank was visible for days, although the blue waters had become stained with trails of mud from the contributories. With startling suddenness the de la Plata finishes in mud and swamp as if a dam has been placed across it, and on the south bank of this region, was Buenos Aires.

I was surprised at the number of establishments and houses that had already been constructed since the Spanish had reached here, and realised that this truly must be the land of opportunity. Of course, the houses had little of the sophistication and comforts of my own dear home, but it amazed and excited me in equal quantities.

The other matter that took me by surprise was the number of African slaves present in the town. I had expected that most of the slaves would be natives, but by their colour and facial features I could see they were indeed from Africa, probably taken by our ships in West Africa and sold on to the Spaniards. There were also numerous mulattos of various social classes, and it seemed that the Spanish had little hesitation in their breeding habits with the native women. However, the criollos and peninsulars held the power and it was with those that we determined to negotiate and trade. [Note: Peninsulars and criollos were slang terms for pure-bred Spanish; those born in Spain, and those born in South America of pure-bred parents. AM.]

During our passage, the captain had on several occasions taken me aside, as eldest member of our family, to ask my advice on several matters, such as finances for future voyages and whom to speak to at court to secure advancement in rank for his family. It seems our captain had made several profitable ventures and was looking for a higher place at the grand table with the right investment. I think that he made space in his hold for our supplies and trade goods in order to facilitate that.

We also discussed the plans of my brothers and I, and finally he offered to sell me a consignment of trinkets he had in his hold at a decent price for us to trade with the natives. These are curious, mostly polished iron bracelets and glass beads, with a few other things thrown in for good measure.

I agreed to this proposal and both of us seemed satisfied with the trade. At this he offered me port in his cabin, to which I readily agreed. After drinking foul well-watered wine for the last months, some decent produce of Porto seemed as a wonderful gift.

The captain grew expansive as we drank, and told me of the New World and the vast interior, where gold is as pebbles in the path, and silver common as wood. Iron and glass is extremely rare, however, and accoutrements such as the armour my brothers and I had stored in the hold, as well as the iron weapons we and our men carried, were much prized.

Captain Mendoza had seen us off the ship with a nod of respect, and we bid him farewell, if not with friendship, then at least comradely good cheer. We carried letters of introduction and had what we hoped would be a promising chance of an enriched future ahead of us.

Our biggest piece of luck was in the type of cargo we carried. My sisters had convinced me that what the people of the new world craved would be luxury items such as silks and lace, and had pressed me continuously to purchase a stock of these. What they had discovered by careful listening to the gossip in court was that the taxes on such items sent to the Americas were huge and therefore rarely carried. We had concealed bales of such items with clever and divers disguises and these were snapped up in trade in return for an astonishing amount of goods.

One of these items was a long string of slaves. I was most pleased at this, as a gentleman foraging for riches in unknown and hostile parts must needs carry a large amount of food, wine and other supplies. My brothers and I then spent days planning our expedition into the hinterlands.

One afternoon Lourenço, who habitually spent his days drinking in the lowest tavernas alongside the river, persuaded me after long hours of talk, to allow him to trade one of the bales of silk for a purchase he wished to keep secret. Reluctantly, and with threats of severe punishment if he failed to live up to his promises, I eventually agreed and waited for the revelation of his promised riches.

The next day, he came to me and gave me a large, heavy coin. It was gold!

He had fallen in with a crowd of rough miners and in a hand of cards had won the coin. The loss of it didn't seem to worry the miner overmuch, who confessed that he had several more. Lourenço had fallen in with him and plied him with much drink over the following hours. For the next two days, my brother had sought conversation with various people and then made his purchase.

When we saw it, the three of us stared with open mouths at what our youngest brother had obtained.

Two huge rafts formed from some pale wood, each with two masts and sails, floated calm at the edge of the river. We boarded these vessels, which rode high on the water and were almost as solid as the earth beneath our feet. They were constructed of long, shaped trunks bound together in such a way that each was linked but independent of its neighbours, and I realised immediately the wise thinking of this design for the river waters we would be facing. The forward end of each trunk was sharpened somewhat to a point and water would easily flow around and between the logs that made up the deck, combating the influence of an adverse current. If we should come across an unsuspected obstruction beneath the surface, the logs would ride up over it without the catastrophic damage that would face a rigid hull, and any severely damaged component could be unfastened and replaced. The added advantage of this was that such collisions would not usually tip everyone and everything from the raft. We marvelled at the ingenious simplicity of its design and at the lightness of the wood from which the rafts were constructed. [Note: In all likelihood, this was balsa, as there is a history of this material being used for coastal trading craft, but records are scarce that mention river usage. AM.]

There was a raised platform, the width of a man with his arms outstretched, that ran along the sides of the rafts. Lourenço demonstrated the use of this by taking a long rigid pole formed of a different wood, poking it down into the river bed and then walking backward along the platform towards the rear, pushing on the pole as he walked. This, of course, forced the raft forward. By enlisting our slaves to continually do this, each following the previous one in a circular formation, this would provide a form of propulsion that would take us upriver when the wind was not in the right quarter for the effective use of the sails.

The masts were kept solidly in place by at least a score of ropes that attached them to the hull in various places, keeping them supported at all levels. The sails, when drawn up from the deck, were huge triangular affairs attached to booms along the lower edge which had to be kept fast to the hull to keep them from swinging into the wind. This meant they could be adjusted to suit the wind from many angles. When that was impossible, the poles would be pressed into use.

The best of all, to my eye, was that there was room for all of us, along with our men at arms, slaves and livestock as well as all our supplies, and with room to spare. They were the barges of the new world, now pressed into our service in a different occupation.

After a little more thought, I purchased a flat bottomed boat and attached both rafts and the tender to each other, the smaller boat floating behind and into which we would load barrels of gunpowder. We had a score of these and I decided it would be expedient and wise to keep them as far away as possible from the rafts where we would be living.

We practiced sailing the rafts, both with and without our human cargo, and quickly learned the advantages and pitfalls of their use. Secretly, not wishing the townspeople to wonder at us and spread rumours abroad of our affairs, we also drove the slaves to practice poling the rafts, until they became used to walking along the platforms, then quickly moving to the front of the boat again to take their place in turn once more. For slaves used to labouring in the plantations all the daylight hours, this was a far more pleasant task, and they took to it with a will.

In October of 1710, we set off once again, sailing the two rafts and one boat, stocked with all variety of human and other living creatures, as well as stores and trade goods, to cross the Rio de la Plata towards the estuary of the Rio Paraguay.

*****

Caribbean Trench 2017

Reid sat back with a sigh, rubbing at his most recent injury.

"Pretty brave people, facing the complete unknown with a song and a prayer, and not much more," he mused.

"I am wondering what Rosa was doing with brother," Sasha wondered aloud.

"Is that all you think about now, my pretty Russian doll?" Wren commented with a smile. "Sex?"

"Nyet," Sasha denied with a blush. "But this man is a broken-heart. Anyone can see this. This is why he goes to new world, to get away from hurt!"

"It wouldn't be the first time a two-timing bitch has driven some man to face death in a distant land," Honey chipped in. "I've known a few good guys who have upped and left everything behind simply to get away from a woman like that."

"Well, what if this older brother had been forcing Rosa to do his bidding?" came back Wren. "He's the lord of the manor, she's perhaps a servant girl or barmaid. It would be easy to threaten or bribe her into his bed. Let's face it, rank is more than just an aphrodisiac and the bastards use that power every day!"

"Not necessary to use power always. Sometimes just have power is enough." Sasha's peasant stoicism was showing.

"Any man with any power is going to use it, I'll give you that," sighed Honey. "It happens every time."

"Oh, you hit the nail right on the..." Wren paused as she saw Reid's raised eyebrow. "Except in the case of our captain, or course. He's the exception that proves the rule"

She giggled, rose to her feet and kissed him and then, making sure he was watching, wiggled her naked behind as she went to load the coffee maker. Sasha followed in her footsteps, kissing him with full-on passion and then moved onto loading slices of bread into the toaster.

Reid shook his head with a smile, turned back to the table and found Honey right next to him. More than surprised when she pressed her mouth to his, he stared into her startling green eyes for a long moment as they kissed. Then those eyes seemed suddenly to soften, changing from hard emerald to soft lush moss, and her full lips softened in turn and moved eagerly against his. He was more than happy to respond in kind and felt the soft caress of her lips as they moved against his, nibbling and nipping at him while her tongue entered his mouth to tantalise and tempt his into chasing after hers.

After a long moment, she pulled back from him. Only their lips and tongues had touched, but she was flushed and seemed very distracted nevertheless.

"I'll make some scrambled eggs," she volunteered as she straightened up and moved towards the stove. As he watched, she flipped the back of her skirt up, revealing her fine thighs and exquisite butt in a pair of white panties she must have got from the clothes locker, having quietly thrown the huge protective pair overboard in a symbolic gesture during a solitary watch. It was perhaps an empty gesture, but one she was happier to have done.

Sasha laughed at the cheeky gesture and bumped hips with Honey when she reached the stove.

"Rank is aphrodisiac for sure."

Honey smiled at her and flashed a grin back at Reid.

He licked his lips, tasting the Iranian girl and wanting more. Then he sighed and turned to them with a wry grin. "That's what the three of you got out of all that reading I did? He lays everything on the line to go somewhere that perhaps no European has ever seen before, but what's important is the spat between him and his brother over some girl? What about the adventure, the danger, the courage it took?"

The three of them stared at him as if he had suddenly turned into the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, needing to find a brain.

"The why is surely as important as the how," commented Honey.

"Of course." Wren agreed emphatically.

"Is romantic," was Sasha's contribution.

"We'll never know the answer," he pointed out.

"Answer is in here," said Sasha, tapping her forehead, and he understood what she meant. Once again he was struck by just how smart these girls were.

"Okay, maybe we'll find out more. There's quite a bit more of this journal," he said, scrolling down. "I'll continue after breakfast if you like."

There were contented murmurs of agreement.

Reid already had a vague inkling why the boat had brought them to this spot. Pointing them to the journal was somehow linked to that and he had an urge to scroll to the end to try and scratch that itch of curiosity. But, the morning was passing in an almost dreamy way as he read aloud to the girls, and he was enjoying it hugely. He would wait.

Breakfast was very enjoyable, Wren and Sasha both competing to try and make him spill scrambled eggs off his fork by sliding a foot up between his thighs at precisely the most effective moment, and laughing in happy triumph when they succeeded. When he finally crossed his legs, they grumped for a while and then concentrated on the discussion about the brothers Castello Branco.

After they all cleared the table Honey went to smoke a cigarette out on the rear deck. Reid took his cup and went to join her, standing and leaning on the guardrail as she lounged back on the curved seat.

As he glanced at her, something struck a chord within him. She was seated untidily, almost like a man, with her thighs spread wide and one ankle on the other knee. Her dress was pushed up and he could see the shape of her within the thin panties she wore.