Eleanor dreams of the Rosario Raid and finds out more about Woodes Rogers.

(Graphic Warning: Eleanor's dream of the Rosario Raid contains graphic violence, abuse and rape.)

Chapter 2 - The Hero

It was a very old dream, one she did not have for many, many years. A bell tolled alarmingly. "Frigates!" and "The Spanish!" people clamored in panic. Her father had his back to her as he packed whatever they could take with them. "Take the child to the woods, Elizabeth. Hide there with the others. I will join you as soon as I can." Her mother took her hand, but otherwise did not move. "Go!" said her father. "Now! Before the Spanish get here."

Eleanor pulled her mother's hand. "Mother! You heard father."

Finally they ran, out the door. The town's main street had overturned into a violent, flood of people stampeding in every direction. The shrieks of panic were so loud, she could hardly hear the bells anymore. Someone rushed into her and the next moment her mother's hand was gone.

"Mother!" she cried and turned around, but she could not see her. She ran one way, then the other way, while guns exploded in the bay and debris flew around her.

Spanish soldiers with swords and muskets drawn filled the street. She saw a child's brain explode at the impact of a shot and the body dropped to the ground before her feet. Somehow she had lost her shoes. Then a sword cleaved into the baker's wife belly. A Spanish soldier had his britches down and his naked, hairy butt moved frantically. She stared at the pumping arse with fascination. It's called fucking! The pirates talk of it at father's tavern. It was the first time she saw such a thing, and despite her fear and the violence exploding around her, she felt strangely excited by it. Eleanor gaped at the girl underneath him. That was the butcher's daughter, who was younger than she even, only eleven. The girl's body and head rolled up and down with the soldier's movement. Like a doll. Her open eyes and the slashed throat was all the information that Eleanor needed to know she was dead. Why is that Spaniard fucking a dead girl?

Somebody grabbed her from behind. She kicked him hard against the shins, wrestled herself free and ran and ran, until she recognized the rose-flowered petticoat. Eleanor dropped to her knees. "Mother," she whispered. Her mother's body lay broken, her soiled hand over her belly, her head to the side. It was almost as if she was sleeping, except for that weird angle of her neck.

A strong hand clawed around her arm. His eyes were full of fire. His face was splattered with blood. He spoke some demonic language to her as he shook her violently, then shoved her to the ground and pinned her down with his weight. No, her head screamed. No! No! Not like the butcher's daughter. While she felt her legs being shoved apart and the Spaniard concentrated for a moment on his buckle to unlace, Eleanor frantically searched with her hand. It settled around a rock of debris. She swung as hard as she could and the stone impacted his temple. That rock used to be part of the church.

"Pinche puta!" the Spaniard growled and punched her in the jaw.

She lay dazed from the blow as the Spaniard stared at the blood sticking to his fingers after he touched his temple. His face contorted to that of a monster and in his hellish eyes, glowing with Nassau burning around them. She could see he would crush her skull next - just like the butcher's daughter. As he raised himself, his face suddenly contorted and gleaming steel jumped out of his throat, reminding her of a story her mother used to tell her.

"Oh grandmamma, what great big teeth you have!"

"All the better to EAT YOU WITH!," said the wolf.

Eleanor screamed.

The shadow of a man stood over them, as the Spaniard's weight dropped onto her and held her down. Finally, she came out of her paralysis and wriggled to roll the dead body off of her. The shadow reached for her hand and pulled her up. He had long loose hair, all the way to his waist. A pirate, a warrior.

"Run, girl," he said gruffly. "Run to the woods." And then he was gone.

She ran, sobbing, tripping over dead bodies everywhere to the forest. The woods, her mind repeated to her over and over. The woods… woods… woods. Woods will shelter me. She hid under a brush, her arms around her legs, her head buried between her knees, rocking to and fro, trying to banish the sound of Nassau's slaughter from the presence and her memory.

When Eleanor woke, she felt the ship's movement. The air smelled fresh. She groaned as she picked herself up groggily. She must have slept through most of the morning and afternoon. As she sat on the side of the bed, Eleanor closed her eyes against a pounding headache. Why did I dream that nightmare again, now? It had been years since she last dreamt of the Rosario Raid and how she had hid in the woods of the island with the other survivors. For days alone, she had feared she was actually orphaned, until Mr. Scott found her.

The Raid had razed Nassau to the ground. Over a hundred people were killed. Fort Nassau had been destroyed and the guns taken. Eighty people were taken prisoner and taken to Cuba, including the governor. Eleanor was sure her father must have been taken as well when Mr. Scott and her could not find his body amongst the dead, unlike her mother. Eventually, it turned out that her father had sheltered in their inland house. With the other survivors, her father organized a bunch of skiffs to sail the willing to Harbour Island for refuge.

And then they were only two dozen, living in tents and huts on the beach, hiding in the woods and inland at any sighting of Spain and France. The English sent a newly appointed governor a year later. Edward Birch had looked upon the deserted island with dismay and inquired what had happened to Nassau. England cared so little about New Providence, they did not even know about the Rosario Raid. The new governor did not find the rubble and rabble worth his trouble and sailed off again a few days later. That was the last time any of them had seen the English at Nassau. Governor Thompson, who came after Birch, lived on the island Eleutheria instead. Not that it kept Edward Teach from murdering him.

There was a knock on the door. "Miss Guthrie? I am here with your dinner," said the midshipman at the other side.

"Thank you, Mr. Eames. You can come in."

The bolt was taken off and the door unlocked. In walked, Mr. Eames, in his bluecoat uniform and wearing a bag wig. He carried a tray with china plate, a bowl and sealed off pot. Mr. Eames set the plate on a small table and began to cut the pork for her. Meat, Eleanor thought and the smell of it brought water to her mouth. Her belly rumbled. She had not eaten meat in ages. She had not even been hungry for ages. Involuntarily, Eleanor rose and edged towards the table.

"It's the same as is served to the Captain General , miss," said Mr. Eames with some pride.

"Who?"

"The lord governor. He ordered the cook to give you the best piece." Mr. Eames was done cutting and laid a spoon beside the plate, stepped outside for a moment and then returned with a small pitcher and a tin cup. "Wine," he smiled at her. The knife he had used to cut the pork was tucked away. Eleanor moved the chair and sat down, while Mr. Eames smiled at her encouragingly. "It's all fresh," he indicated the beetroot.

Eleanor picked up the spoon and dipped it in the bowl of soup. The velvety cream and leek tasted like ambrosia. Eleanor closed her eyes and licked her lips in almost heavenly delight. Hunger was a meal's best sauce, she had heard say once. Now, she knew the truth of it.

"May I?" asked Mr. Eames as he gestured to her bed. When she nodded, he sat down. "The Captain General told me I should make sure that you take your time, and yet eat it all. To help you regain your strength for the voyage. He is most attentive that everybody eats well."

After a few more spoons of the soup, Eleanor had to deliberately pace herself. Her hunger demanded for more, to just take the bowl and pour it down into her throat. But her shrunken stomach equally screamed for time to deal with the novelty. "You speak as though he is exceptional in that?"

"Oh, yes. He was one of the first navigators who insisted to carry a load of lime on his ships. Against scurvy, you know. But despite that, still seven sailors died of it when he reached the Pacific after the Drake Passage. That's why he set out for Juan Fernandez. To replenish the stock with fresh produce and prevent further death."

None of these place names meant anything to her. "You seem to know a lot of his voyages."

"Oh, yes. I have his book!"

Eleanor turned around to look at young Mr. Eames. "You have his book?"

"Of course," the young man beamed. "He writes about possible navigation and trade routes of the South Seas. How to deal with mutineers, preserve the health of the crew. It's all important. And I hope to learn as much as I can from him, so that I can be as good a navigator one day. Nowadays his book is carried by most navigators both within the Admiralty and private companies, and more captains have adopted his methods to stock up on lime, since he managed to return with so many of his original crew."

"And yet seven died, you say."

"Yes, and more in battle," Mr. Eames admitted sour. With new vigor though he argued, "But more would have died without him. And none would have if England had only made sure to have a colony in the South Seas to replenish fresh produce."

"But the Spanish own all of South America," reasoned Eleanor. "Except for Brazil. But that is owned by their ally Portugal. Unless England goes to war again with Spain, the English will never have a colony there."

Mr. Eames sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

Eleanor set the empty bowl aside and pulled the china plate towards her. "And so England's eye has turned towards the Bahamas," Eleanor murmured more to herself than to Mr. Eames.

It had mystified her what England's interest in Nassau may be, other than ridding themselves of the pirates who attacked Spanish, French and English alike. That the English wanted to protect the trade between their colonies on the American shores she understood. But that they wanted to colonize it once again after abandoning it had perplexed her. Yes, when she helped Captain Flint by freeing Abigail Ashe, she had hoped to strike a bargain with the English and make them see how worthwhile Nassau could be to them as an intermediate trading port. But England had realized it all by itself. More, Rogers seemed some sort of visionary when it came to trade, the type of trade no Nassau pirate or smuggler would think of – global trade. He wanted to procure the most southern colony for ships that wanted to continue into the South Seas. And just getting a glimpse of such an economical mind marveled her.

Eleanor spooned a piece of pork, flavored with dried sprigs of myrtle berries, that melted in her mouth. The taste of it was so strong that it nearly made her dizzy. Mr. Eames got up and filled the tin cup with a bit of wine. By the second bite, she believed she would not need the wine to get drunk, as she already felt slightly inebriated from meat and blood. "So, Mr. Rogers managed to save the rest of his crew at this island Juan Fernandez."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Eames who sat himself down on her bed again. "And that with the help of Mr. Selkirk."

"Mr. Selkirk?"

"The night before the Duke anchored ashore off the island, they noticed the light of a fire burning, though it was supposed to be uninhabited. The Captain General feared it might be a patrol of Spaniards and sent a team to scout the island. It were no Spanish, but Mr. Selkirk, who had sailed with Mr. Rogers' partner and pilot before, Captain Dampier, on a previous privateering mission. The conditions of Dampier's ships were abominable. When they stopped there to replenish stocks and fresh water, Selkirk had declared that he preferred to stay on the island than sail with those leaky vessels ever again. The captain took him to his word and marooned him there with his things."

Eleanor realized this was the tale of the poor sod that Rogers had rescued. And as she listened to Mr. Eames telling her the story, she thought the boy might one day make a good writer himself if his navigation dreams never worked out. He gave her a colorful description of a burly Scotsman all dressed in goatskins and a goatskin hat. Then Mr. Eames told her how the agile, happy-spirited Mr. Selkirk hunted wild goats for four years and for Rogers' sick sailors.

"It sounds more like Mr. Selkirk saved the crew, rather than Mr. Rogers saving him," she said.

Mr. Eames chuckled. "In a way it was. In fact, when Mr. Selkirk learned that Dampier was part of the Captain General's venture, he first did not even want to leave the island. Only on Mr. Rogers' assurance that Dampier was his pilot, not a captain of either the Duke and the Duchess, did Mr. Selkirk agree to come." Eleanor smiled, intoxicated from the wine and the meat. Mr. Eames noticed she had finished her plate. He jumped up to lift the lid of the little china bowl, and revealed freshly picked strawberries in there. "We have a very good summer." Eleanor accepted his assertion about English weather without discussion. To her it seemed miserable weather, but then she was used to having sun almost all year round. "Lord Governor said it was very important that you eat these. For your health."

Eleanor smiled at him, and the young man started to blush. She picked one of the heart-shaped strawberries and popped it in her mouth - an explosion of sweetness. A fresh strawberry tasted of the sun and a refreshing, sweet summer rainshower. "Hmmmmm." Mr. Eames' blush became a deep red, and he licked his lips underneath his downy effort of a blonde moustache as he watched her. She held out the pot to him. "Take one. You will not have any of those either in a long while I believe."

The young man shook his head fervently. "No. Captain General had me buy them this morning especially for you from the woman who sold them on the market behind the docks." Mr. Eames looked at his feet, clearly embarrassed. "He explained me how long you have been at Newgate and that your circumstances there would have been deplorable."

Eleanor popped another strawberry in her mouth. "I will not get scurvy because you ate one of these." Finally, Mr. Eames smiled back and picked the smallest strawberry out of the bunch. "You mentioned the governor managed to subdue a mutiny."

"His crew wished to attack a Swedish ship. But Sweden was neutral during the War of the Spanish Succession. Hearing none of it, he flogged the leader of the mutiny, had him clapped in irons and sent back to England on the first ship they encountered."

"And the rest of the mutineers?"

"He put them on a smaller ration for a while."

"I am much entertained by all these stories," said Eleanor. "But the one question I keep wondering is – Who is Woodes Rogers, as a person?"

Mr. Eames looked unsure at her question. "I do not know how much I am allowed to tell you, miss."

She held out the strawberries to him again. "Surely, you are allowed to tell me how he got into the shipping business? How important his family is? Just the public knowledge. I am supposed to work for him. He is my employer. How could I serve him well and proper, if I do not even know these basic things?"

Mr. Eames eyed the berries she held out to him, obviously thorn between eating another one or leaving them all to her. He reached for another strawberry, while looking self-conscious over it. "His late father had a shipping business in Bristol – a merchant and Newfoundland fishing captain with a share in nine ships. Mr. Rogers started his own apprenticeship as sailor when he was eighteen."

"Isn't that somewhat old?" remarked Eleanor.

"Um… yes. His father had hoped that Mr. Rogers would enter the law or church. His younger brother Thomas could still get into the business. But then Mr. Rogers insisted he wished to follow in his father's footsteps himself."

Eleanor found this rumor most peculiar. Why would a man prefer to be a sailor on a ship over having a comfortable life in the law, especially when he had the backing of his parents to pursue a life of leisure? She was sure there must have been a particular motivation or reason for a man of eighteen to decide he would rather suffer swabbing decks than study law. "So, he completed his apprenticeship, I assume. How many years does that take?"

"Seven." Mr. Eames picked another strawberry from the bowl.

"How many years do you still have to learn before you can be promoted to lieutenant, Mr. Eames?"

"M-me?" he stuttered. "Three years more."

She came to sit beside him on the bed. "What about his wife?"

"He married into the Whetstone family," said the young man. When Eleanor's expression remained unimpressed, he explained, "Mr. Rogers' late father-in-law, Sir Whetstone, was his father's friend and neighbor, one of the wealthiest men of Bristol. He was made Rear-Admiral and knighted."

She frowned. So, he became a son-in-law of one of the highest ranked officers in the Royal Navy. She was suddenly struck by an idea. "How long after he finished his apprenticeship did he marry Miss Whetstone?"

Mr. Eames seemed dumbfounded by that question. "Not long after, I think. Within months."

There. I knew it. Whether for mercenary reasons or love, Rogers decided on his current career for marital purposes. "Why did Mr. Rogers turn to privateering when he owns such a profitable company?"

"French privateers of Madagascar captured and destroyed almost half of his merchant fleet during the War. He desired to recuperate his losses."

"What about the capture of the Manila galleons? Those made him a rich man, no doubt," said Eleanor.

"Oh, no, miss," said Mr. Eames. "There was a lawsuit with the East Company about having sold sea-unworthy ships to the Dutch in Guam. He had to pay his investors, the East Company and he had hardly anything left to pay the share of his crew who also filed a lawsuit. He had to file for bankruptcy, even sold his Bristol home."

"What about the profits from his book?"

"All went to paying off personal debts, miss."

Eleanor was stunned. It sounded like Rogers was as penniless as she was. All he had left was some fabled notoriety and connections. For a moment she mused that he and her were pretty much in the same boat. She chuckled when she realized this was literally true. But the difference was that his connections were English, and hers were the pirates of Nassau – who hate my guts.

They had long finished the strawberries, and in the growing darkness, they had become two shadows talking. "I think I must go back, miss." The young man rose from the bed. He gathered the bowls and plate onto the tray and put it outside. "Do you wish me to light the oil lamps?"

"Yes, please."

After he lighted the wick that floated in the lamp oil of her sole lamp, he bowed."Goodnight, Miss Guthrie. I will leave the wine for you." Mr. Eames walked out, locked the door and bolted it.

Eleanor drew up one leg and wrapped her hands around her knee, thinking over all that she had learned. Woodes Rogers intends to make Nassau a prosperous trading harbor. This English venture could make her own abandoned dreams for Nassau come true. The sole reason Eleanor had refused to leave with her father for Harbour Island after the Raid was because it had been her mother's dream to see the place prosper. Eleanor had tried to make it work with the pirates. Aside from building her personal business empire, she had used the money spent in drink in her tavern to rebuild Fort Nassau, homes, sewage. But the pirates were satisfied with living in tents, drinking and fucking. It had frustrated her to no end how unwilling partners they had been in all of it. Only Captain Flint had similar dreams. But now Nassau had an alternative to Flint – it could have this Woodes Rogers.

Finally, Eleanor unbuttoned the black dress and kicked it aside. In her chemise, she lifted the blankets and laid herself down onto the bed. She dozed off with visions of what Nassau could become in her mind, feeling at peace with her fate for the first time since the Rosario Raid.

Unbeknownst to Eleanor, Rogers sat in his chair at his desk of his quarter, thinking about what Mr. Eames had told him after he inquired with the midshipman how Miss Guthrie was taking her imprisonment aboard the Delicia and whether she had eaten all nutrients. It disturbed him greatly how she had managed to get that much information out of the young man. The issue was not the information itself. Mr. Eames could not have told her anything that was not common knowledge. Had she ever read his book, she would have discovered it for herself without interrogating a young man. It was the fact that she had manipulated Mr. Eames that concerned Rogers – using her wiles and offering the boy strawberries.

However, when he had told Miss Guthrie upon first meeting her that he was prepared, he spoke truthfully. He knew something about how certain women would manipulate a man into getting what they wanted – whether it was information, money, marriage. Mr. Eames was slightly younger than he had been, when he had been beguiled and manipulated by a girl no older than eleven even. So, Rogers did not blame the young man. But he would put a stop to Miss Guthrie manipulating anyone aboard his ship. And the sole reason he had let Mr. Eames service Miss Guthrie was to give her an opportunity to show her true colors.

(Historical facts
Rosario Raid (1703): the aftermath I summarized is based on known facts.

Woodes Rogers: his book of his 3-year voyage is shown in Madi's hands and referenced by Chamberlain and Rackham. Thus we can assume these facts are also part of the canon-show.

Eleanor's age: she took over from Mr. Scott at 17 and Teach returns to the island 8 years later. So, Eleanor is 25 in S3 (late summer and early fall 1715), and thus born in 1690. She would have been 12-13 during the raid. Aside from Madi, Eleanor is one of the only original Nassau inhabitants in the series, and why she thinks "I am Nassau" in the first chapter.

Rape in the dream: She either witnessed a rape or nearly escaped a rape attempt (only one actually happened, not both). The rape of the "butcher's" daughter may be symbolic of the loss of her childhood, destroyed and fucked by the Spanish, while a Spaniard did try to attempt to rape her. Or she did witness the necrophilic rape of the butcher's daughter, and then projects a dream-assault onto her 13 year old self. Represents Eleanor's toxic bond with violence and abuse, and how sex comes into play in this.

The hero: A pirate helped her to get to safety during the raid (may have been Vane). She hoped that Vane would be her savior, her protector and thus may have conflated both. Since Vane watched Eleanor strut the beach when she was 13, he was on the island in 1703. Eleanor's mother would not have allowed her on the pirate beach though, so he may have arrived after. The dream-hero symbolizes "pirates protected Nassau" (Eleanor = a Nassau). Pirates also brought violence, abuse, desperate living circumstances. They are both a threat as well as a protector. So, Eleanor seeking shelter in the woods (woods- Woodes), and the pirate sending her away symbolizes Eleanor turning her back on piracy.

Roses, myrtle berries, strawberries, Eleanor's mother: the rose, the heart-shaped red colored strawberries and the myrtle berries (with the pork) are symbols of love (Venus, Aphrodite, Freyja). Eleanor's ability to love died in the Rosario Raid (her mother's death in the rose dress). The eating of the strawberries and myrtle berries aims at restoring her health - mental and emotional health through love.

Little Red Riding Hood, Charles Perrault: the long teeth to eat with in relation to the odd sight for Eleanor seeing a sword come out of the Spaniard's throat.)