 A Float with Henry Morgan A float with Henry Morgan is written for radio by Warren Barry and a George Edwards production A Spanish ship captures the English merchantman, the Elizabeth Ann, upon which is sailing Antoinette Delacy, a French kinswoman of the English governor of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Motford. The governor of Spanish Cuba, Don Pietro Pizzaro, to whom Antoinette is taken, discovers that Sir Thomas Motford has never seen her. And so his daughter Delores Pizzaro begs to be allowed to go to Jamaica, escalating as Antoinette Delacy, to enable her to trap the English buccaneer Henry Morgan, and to recover a fabulous necklace which Morgan has taken. In Port Royal, Morgan befriends a young man named Jeffrey Hunter, and offers him a birth upon his ship, the Flying Gull. Unexpectedly receiving an order to sail, Morgan sends Hunter to the Dolphin Tavern to round up the crew. Hunter has trouble with a seamen called Deats, and is forced to knock him out. Kitty, the serving wench, is attracted to Hunter, but he spurns her and takes Deats back to the Flying Gull. All of your crew who could stand on their feet should be aboard, but not Captain Morgan. And there's one who cannot that you're carrying, is it? He'll be all right. Yeah, tip him off your shoulder. You come too. So it's Deats, is it? You warn me, Captain Henry, I might have trouble with Deats. Aye, Hunter, what happened? He seemed reluctant to obey your order and return to the ship. He was foolish enough to draw a knife upon me. Did he now? I thought somehow he would. Just hold a minute now, Captain. Why did you send me to round up the crew? None of them know me. No one was to know that I had your authority. Are you blind, lad? I wanted to see if you're the sort of man who could command the respect of other men. I admit I was interested to learn whether Deats had bring back your corpse or if you'd bring back Deats. I knew you both would not walk back aboard the ship of your own free will. So it was a test of courage, eh? It was to test you, man. Yes, you'll do, Hunter. You'll be my man from now on. Well, thank you, Captain Henry, but I know not of sailing. Well, then, what do you know? No questions to be asked. Remember, Captain Morgan? Well, learn in time, if you want to tell me. As for seamanship, you learn that, too. You're not frightened of Deats, are you? If I was, do you think I'd still be sailing under you, Captain Morgan? He hates you. He would have hated you in any case because you knocked him out, but he'll loathe you for being placed above him in authority. He goes back before the mast where he belongs. You're placing great reliance in me, aren't you, Captain? Sailing the seas as I've been all my life, you know where you can place your trust. I suppose there were plenty to witness you knocking down the arts tonight. Quite a few. Amongst them was Kitty. What do you know of her, Captain? Look, you lad, I'll give you some advice. When we sail into Port Royal, keep away from Kitty and the Dolphin Tavern. The rest of your crew don't follow their advice. Why should I? Because I don't need to know your past history to know that you're a gentleman. That you come from a good home. You've never met a girl like Kitty before, and Kitty being Kitty would soon know that. Well, I don't understand you, Captain. Look, you man, there's not a sailor who's gone into the Dolphin Tavern and has not fallen under the charms of Kitty, the Buccaneers' bell. That's all she is, the Buccaneers' bell. I care not for the men who have fallen for her charms. I want to know the girl herself. She's all violent passion, hate, and love. Indirectly, she's been the cause of a dozen men's deaths. She has the beauty of fire that blinds men's reason. If she loves, she loves for the moment. When she hates, she hates for all time. Her name's known throughout the Caribbean Sea. Men fear her and get long for her. Don't become like other men, Hunter. You still really haven't told me very much about her. Where's she from? What is she doing in Jamaica? Well, she comes from Ireland. I understand she was sent out here from England on some charge. Now we've talked long enough. Full tides in half an hour. We must be under sail by then. Now take away this carrion and come back to me. Up on deck, the watch peers up through the vines of rigging past the tall slender masts and yard arms over which swarmed a minute of figures, struggling to set and position acres of white canvas. Up into the sky, he gazes, which is already lightening with a chilled gray which precedes dawn. The stars have lost their luster, becoming misty and pale. Gently, he snips the air. Experience, born at sea, tells him that a change is coming. The keen eyes discern in the lightening sky clouds scouting across the dimming stars like frightened fours. Surely it's going to blow and blow cold. Gently, the wind blows with the coldness of dawn. Small waves whip up into foam on their crests and faintly, the rigging whistles while men draw their coats tighter around them and think of their woollen sweaters lying in their lockers. Yellow, streaked with wind clouds, becomes the sky in the east. And slowly, the islands of Jamaica and Cuba merge from the darkness to take their daylight shape. And on the foreshore of the Cuban coast, secluded and quiet and not far from Havana, a small party stands on the shingle of the beach. Their clothes wrap tightly around them in a futile effort to keep out the biting wind. The sea, gray, cold, and white kept throws itself on the beach. Daylight spills over from the east, revealing a sloop standing offshore, swaying like a drunken man in the troughs of the ocean. A long boat pulled up on the beach, shudders under the impact and slabs back the waters that swirl around it. The rocks on the shore are wet, cold, grim, and cruel. And the faces of those on the beach seem white and expressionless in this light, which is Tweek's night and day. Who's getting light, Father? She. Are you sure, Delores? There is nothing we have overlooked. Once you leave the shelter of Cuba, you're at on your own. If the girl Antoinette told the truth, there is nothing else for me to learn. Wherein cannot land fair, I will arrive. My story must be accepted that I am Antoinette Delessie, that I am the sole survivor of the Elizabethan. Sir Thomas Mottford will take me in, give me shelter. I will meet Morgan. I will know what has happened to my estate necklace. I will learn Morgan's plan. How will I know if you are in trouble and want aid? You are a shut off from me. Cortez will be coming every so often to a quiet spot on the Jamaican shore. He will bring you back reported to how I am faring. And should I be discovered, you have the real Antoinette Delessie safe in Cuba. And Sir Thomas Mottford will willingly exchange me for her. Look, Father, Cortez is waiting with other members of the crew in the long boat for me. It is growing light. I should be on my way. Say goodbye to me here. I will see you when I return. I will not belong. Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Delores. Take good care of yourself. I will remember that you are doing this for the sake of Spain. Goodbye. The early morning air loudly carries the grating of the boat as it is pushed over the gravel and then slap, slap it away. Delores looks at the receding shore as the bond between her and safety stretches to breaking point. This is goodbye. From now on, it is Antoinette Delessie. Antoinette Delessie. On shore, Pizarro sees a small boat reach the ship, watches the ship weigh anchor, and then strains his eyes until it disappears to merge into the nothing which daylight has made in the horizon. The bond between Delores and safety has snapped. The sun climbs up from his bed. Disperses the cold and glares fitfully through the flying clouds. The curve of the ocean hides two ships, which pass far apart. The day drags on, and the flying gull tax and re-tax looking for a ship which has already been lost. No, I'm afraid it's no good looking any longer for the hunter. We're almost back to Port Royal and not a sign of the Elizabethan we've seen. What's the explanation, Captain? Well, only one of two things could have happened to her. She's been delayed by adverse weather, or else the Spanish got her. And if the Spanish ever haven't helped Antoinette Delessie, the governor's kind of woman, set the course for Port Royal. Aye, Captain. So your first official assignment has by admirable ends in failure, Captain Morgan. Aye, Hunter. So it would seem if the Spanish have got her, there's no need for us to continue our search any longer. And if the Spanish have got the Elizabethan, what will happen to those who bought her? Well, the Spanish positions have slave markets just the same as Jamaica has. See fairings rather grim and heartless, isn't it? Well, by the way, Captain, yes, there's been sending messages all day. He wants to see you. Ah, I'll see that treacherous scum when it suits me. Let him stew a while in his own guilty conscience. All folks, sign it just now, will there? What's that? Where? See? There, over there. Ah, it's gone. Lost in the truck of the wave. Yes, look, there it is again. Yes. Turn about, Helmsman. We'll pick them up. All right. Slowly the flying gull obeys the hand of the helmsman. The sails flap, then adjust themselves to the new direction. And the distance between her and the small craft gradually lessens. Men crowd the rail calling, and above them has heard the voice of Morgan. Hunter, stand by to pick up any arguments. It only appears to one person in the boat. Well, I believe it's a woman. Look, she's standing up weeping. Vice and David, you're right. Stand by to throw a rope. Gracefully and with dignity, the flying gull draws alongside the cockle shell. A rope is thrown and caught. A rope ladder let down over the side. And down it climbs Hunter. Thank heavens, Mr. I am so pleased to see you. I have had a frightful time. Here, let me carry you. I'll have you aboard in no time. Swiftly picking her up, Hunter climbs back up the ladder amidst the cheers and cheers of the crew. Morgan is on deck to give her welcome. Madam, I give you welcome to the flying gull. Monsieur, you are English. I am safe. Take me at once to Port Royale. My kinsman, Sir Thomas Mottford, will give you welcome. You're kinsman? Yes. My name is Antoinette Delessie. Morgan looks at Delores with surprise, and a murmur runs through the crew. But from the back of the crowd of men, two angry black eyes watch the rescue and now look with interest on this dark, beautiful woman. But Diatz, the renegade Spaniard, although crazy for kitty, still can look with interest on beautiful women. And as his eyes search her face, his expression changes. Who is she? Antoinette Delessie, the governor's kinswoman. Antoinette Delessie. Then I have seen Antoinette Delessie's on the place before. I don't forget beautiful women. Is Delores' plan already doomed? Has Diatz remembered her true identity? You want more of this in the next episode of A Flute with Henry Morgan.