The Wake of the Lorelei Lee

by L. A. Meyer

  forty females, aged thirty to thirty-nine,

  fifteen women, aged forty to forty-nine,

  and eight, aged over fifty.”

  Higgins folds his paper and says in conclusion, “Two hundred and thirty total. Additionally, twelve children under ten. All declared to be fit and in good order.”

  Higgins, having recited all that, steps back.

  “Very good, Mr. Higgins,” says the Captain. “Now listen to this, all of you. You are being transported to the penal colony for having committed various crimes, and for the purpose of populating a continent. Here are the rules:

  “Number one, obey all rules.

  “Number two, stay off the quarterdeck, the place where I am now standing. Other than that, you may have the run of the ship.”

  What? I can’t believe it!

  “Number three, don’t touch anything and stay out of the way of the seamen when they are performing their duties. When you hear the Bo’sun blow three times on his pipe, you will hurry below and stay there.

  “Number four, there shall be no thievery or fighting aboard this ship. I have mentioned the Bo’sun’s rod and I will now warn you about the ship’s brig—it is very low in the bilges and not a pleasant place. So, ladies, be good.”

  Captain Laughton pauses to take a breath and to look out over the multitude, patting his broad belly and looking very satisfied. Then he goes on.

  “I intend for this to be a happy ship. You shall all be fed very well, as I want to deliver you plump and healthy to your new home. It will take us between five months and a year to get there, and you should know that the East India Company will receive an extra fee of ten and six for each of your dear bodies received intact, and we intend to collect that bonus. If you are delivered bearing a child within your womb, we shall get twelve and six, a child at your breast, fourteen and six. If you are the mother in either case, you shall receive a shilling for your trouble”

  Another pause, while Captain Laughton takes a drink from the coffee cup offered up by a small boy by his side.

  “Ah, that is good,” he says, smacking his ample lips. “Furthermore, I now announce that every man aboard may take a wife . . .”

  There is a tremendous roar from the men in the rigging.

  Hooray! Hooray! Hooray for Captain Laughton!

  He listens to the cheers for a few moments and then makes a cutting motion with his hand and there is dead silence. They may love him, but his authority is absolute and they know it.

  “With the following caveats. No woman shall be forced, and no one under the age of sixteen will be allowed to participate . . .”

  Another roaring cheer.

  “. . . whether female or male.”

  This occasions some heartfelt groans from the four ship’s boys sitting overhead in the foretop.

  The Captain, hearing those groans, looks up. “Cheer up, my lads. It will be a long voyage, and you may yet come of age during it.”

  Much laughter from the crew.

  “Now, to continue,” says Captain Laughton. “We must talk of serious matters. To wit, your lodgings.”

  I wonder at this, but I do not wonder long.

  “You will have observed that this ship is admirably fitted out for the carrying of passengers, and, as such, there are some quarters more desirable than others. Of the three decks in the main hatch, it is plain that the top one is the most desirable—more light, more air, quicker access to the deck.” The one that I and my girls have claimed, I think with a certain trepidation. “And, there are ten cabins up forward . . . small, yes, but private.”

  What is he getting at?

  “After we leave Gibralter, we shall auction off the four hammock levels to the highest bidder,” announces the Captain with a greedy little smile. “We shall work it out, ladies.”

  Guffaws all around from the ship’s crew . . . but not our Crews.

  A voice speaks up. It is Mrs. Barnsley. “But, Guv’nor, ’ow the hell are we to make any money out ’ere?”

  “Well, Mistress,” says Captain Laughton. “There are many jobs to be done on this ship—laundry, sewing, cleaning of the heads, and kitchen help—all jobs my seamen don’t particularly like doing, being seasoned sailors and all. There’s money to be made, you see.”

  “Me and my gels don’t do that kind o’ work,” retorts Madam Barnsley, puffing up. She is a large, florid woman who wears a crown of fake blond curls under her mob cap. To me, at the moment, she rather resembles an irritated hen.

  “Ah,” says the Captain. “I have been informed as to the nature of my cargo, and I perceive you to be Mistress Elizabeth Barnsley. There are several other of your profession aboard as well. Am I right?”

  Madam Barnsley gives a curt nod.

  “Well, then, Mistress, I am delighted to inform you that we will be making a port visit to Gibraltar in a few days to take on fresh water and a few more passengers. There are many men there, and you—Mistress Barnsley, and others of your . . . profession—will be permitted to ply your trade there.”

  There is a common gasp of astonishment, mine included.

  “But you must know that I will take twenty percent of your commerce to my own coffers.”

  “Twenty percent!” retorts Mrs. Barnsley, a stern businesswoman and one not used to having terms dictated to her. “That’s robbery!”

  “Twenty percent, Mrs. Barnsley,” says the Captain. “Else you and your ‘gels’ will stay below, entertaining each other, during our port visit to that very active town.”

  I see Mrs. Barnsley gritting her teeth. “Twenty percent, it is, Captain. For now.”

  “Good,” say Captain Laughton. “Now our business is done. It is Friday, so all hands commence ship’s work. There will be holiday routine tomorrow afternoon, good food, and a ration of grog on Sunday, with singing and dancing on the fo’c’s’le. Turn to.”

  With a final cheer, the men in the rigging swing down to the deck, eyeing the lot of us as possible wives, and the women, not knowing what else to do, retreat below to their berths.

  When all are back at their various levels, I lean over the edge of the balcony and call out, “Ladies, we’ve got to talk.”

  In the gloom below, Mrs. Elizabeth Barnsley’s angry red face appears.

  “What you want, girl?”

  “I think we’ve got to organize. In teams, like, so we can better our condition.”

  She looks up at me.

  “And just who the hell are you?”

  “Mary Faber. And I’ve been to sea before, so I know how things work.”

  “So what? All I noticed was you grabbing the best deck for you and your gang.”

  “Yes, but . . . I can—”

  “What you can do is shut up. You and your gels is nothin’ but Newgate trash . . . thieves and such. That’s all you are. Me and my gels has been workin’ an honest profession. Ain’t never stole nothin’. . . Just give o’ ourselves for the joy o’ our gentlemen. That’s all we did.”

  What? Trash?

  “Aye, I’ve noticed you’ve claimed the nice deck, but we’ll see who’s sleepin’ there after Gibraltar, sweetie, and I’ll wager it’ll be me and my gels, not yours. Now, get yerself off, twit.”

  Well, I guess Plan B ain’t gonna be workin’ neither.

  Chapter 16

  The Shipping Gazette

  Edition of June 23, 1807

  ———

  Excerpts of the Court-Martial of Lieutenant

  James Emerson Fletcher, Royal Navy,

  held this week at the Naval Base at Portsmouth,

  Vice Admiral Wm. Chamberlain, Presiding

  ———

  Dear Reader,

  The following is an account of the more cogent aspects of the testimony of evidence presented against Lt. Fletcher and his replies thereto. He was charged by this Court of the Crime of Conspiracy to Defraud the King of His Rightful Treasure, in Collusion with the already Condemned Mary Faber. Your Reporter was present during the entire proceedings.<
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  All were sworn in, the charges were read, and Lt. Henry Flashby, Royal Navy, was called forward to give testimony.

  King’s Counsel, the Honorable David St. George:

  “State your name.”

  “Henry Flashby, Lieutenant, His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

  “And were you not on His Majesty’s Ship Dolphin, during a mission to the Caribbean Sea this past year?”

  “I was.”

  “And in what capacity?”

  “As Intelligence Officer, to oversee the execution of the Mission.”

  “Which was . . . ?”

  “To recover gold from a sunken Spanish galleon.”

  “Did the mission succeed?”

  “Yes, to a degree.”

  “To what degree?”

  “To the degree that the female diver on the wreck, Mary Faber, known to the criminal world as Jacky Faber, did not allow the King the full measure of the recovered gold, gold sorely needed to fund the Treasury in this time of war.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she set aside a large amount of the gold for herself . . . and her friends, of whom Mr. Fletcher is one.”

  At this point, Attorney Joseph Williams, Barrister and Counsel to Mr. Fletcher, leaped to his feet and made objection to the implied insinuation.

  “My lord, the Witness is making allegations against Mr. Fletcher that cannot be proved!”

  Admiral Chamberlain:

  “Objection denied. Come, come, Mr. Williams, it is common knowledge that the female has already been convicted and condemned for her crimes, and also that the Defendant has had a long-standing relationship with her. Let us proceed. Mr. St. George.”

  “Lieutenant Flashby, just how did the female in question manage this theft of the King’s property?”

  “It was my theory, as a trained Intelligence Officer, that she had secreted great amounts of the gold from her ship, under cover of darkness, to an island known locally as Key West, and had it buried there.”

  “Ah, just like the pirates of old, eh?”

  “Yes, Sir. I attempted to intervene, but was deceived by the female and subjected to grievous personal harm.”

  “Your Honor, I object. This is nothing but supposition.”

  “Pretty reasonable ‘supposition’ I must say, considering the girl’s past history!”

  The esteemed Panel took a few moments to guffaw at this.

  “Proceed, Mr. St. George.”

  “Yes, Sir. Now, Lieutenant Flashby . . . what led you to believe that something of this nature was happening?”

  “I overheard a conversation between the girl Faber and Mr. Fletcher onboard the Dolphin. They thought themselves private on the fo’c’s’le, but I was there . . .”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And I heard her whisper to him, ‘Steady on, Jaimy, if there is much gold to be found, then we shall have a good bit of it, count on that! Steady on, my love, and to hell with the King!’”

  It was here that Lieutenant Fletcher appeared visibly agitated, and had to be restrained by his attorney.

  “You swear that to be true, Lieutenant Flashby?”

  “On my honor, Sir.”

  “Very well, you may step down. Mr. Williams, you may call your first witness.”

  “I call Captain Hannibal Hudson, Master and Commander of HMS Dolphin.”

  Captain Hannibal Hudson was summoned to give testimony, but even though he pronounced himself fully convinced of the innocence of Mr. Fletcher, he could not provide corroborating evidence and was asked to stand down.

  “I now call Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher, to speak in his own defense.”

  This was later to be seen as a not particularly wise move on the part of the defense, as Mr. Fletcher seemed to be in no mood to be amenable.

  “Your name, Sir?”

  “James Emerson Fletcher, Lieutenant, Royal Navy.”

  “You have pled innocent of all these charges.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you refute them?”

  “By calling that goddamned Flashby a bald-faced liar, Sir!”

  “Please, Sir, restrain yourself, or I shall find you in Contempt of Court!”

  “Contempt of Court? Why, Sir, if you believe the lies of that sniveling coward, then I have nothing but contempt for this goddamned Court!”

  Not a wise thing for Mr. Fletcher to say, as it turned out. He attempted to lunge at Mr. Flashby and was prevented from doing that gentleman physical harm only by the swift action of several burly bailiffs.

  “I’ll kill you, you slimy bastard, if it’s the last thing I do on this earth!”

  “Order! By God, I’ll have order here or I’ll slap you all in the brig! Order!”

  Mr. Fletcher was again restrained, a look of pure fury upon his face, as quiet was once more restored to the proceedings.

  “The evidence has been heard and we are ready to render a verdict. Do you have any final words to say for yourself, Mr. Fletcher?”

  “Verdict? Yes, and I know what the verdict will be, and you can all go straight to hell!”

  “Sir! Please control yourself!”

  “If you are going to hang her, then you can hang me by her side! That is the only request of this so-called court that I will make! Together we shall leave this corrupt world, kept apart in this life yet joined together in death, and damned be to you all!”

  It was plain to your humble reporter that Mr. Fletcher had not yet been apprised of Miss Faber’s fate—that she had been sentenced not to hanging but rather to Transportation for Life. Had Lieutenant Fletcher but known that and had managed to control his temper and not deliver that vain glorious closing speech, his future might have been much brighter.

  “Very well, Mr. Fletcher, you have been found Guilty of Conspiracy to Defraud the King and are sentenced to the following. You are to be stripped of rank, banished from the Service, and Condemned to Seven Years Transportation to New South Wales! Take him away!”

  Mr. Fletcher was removed from the courtroom and taken to the Hulks. I thank you for your attention to this article.

  I remain Your Humble Correspondent,

  Joseph Michael Marks

  Chapter 17

  Despite Mrs. Elizabeth Barnsley’s refusal to follow my advice, the women of the Lorelei Lee do form up into groups. In addition to Mrs. Barnsley’s considerable bunch—now called the Lizzies, after their leader—there is a large brothel from Liverpool called the Judies, because of the song, and another from Glasgow, called, quite naturally, the Tartans. The Judies are led by Mrs. Berry, and the Tartans by Mrs. MacDonald, both large women of a certain age, and while they are formidable, ’tis plain that Mrs. Barnsley is the top madam and equally obvious that she intends to remain in that position . . . and that she will brook no smart lip from a snip like me, as she has made very plain.

  This sure ain’t the Bloodhound, and these women sure ain’t the girls of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls.

  And so it is, by former affiliation and inclination, that the female Crews are set. There will be minor defections, but things will remain essentially as they are: the Lizzies, the Judies, and the Tartans . . . and us.

  My group is called the Newgaters Crew, since most of us came from that foul pit, or from places very similar—convicted thieves, scammers, petty criminals, and such. Knowing that things will get political very soon with battles over turf down below decks, Maggie and I had circulated through the bunch of uncommitted felons to find what we thought were the best of the lot and let them join with us. There were some real hard cases amongst the throng, so we were more than willing to let those join up with the brothel crews. We’ve got twelve in our batch, counting me, and they all seem like good sorts. The seven new ones in our the group are Ann Marsh, Hannah Bolt, Catherine Wilmot, Sarah Verriner, Phoebe Williams, Elizabeth Parry, and Isabella Manson. I suspect there will be more, but we shall see.

  When we’re through with our recruiting, I call them all togeth
er for a meeting. They sit before me on the deck of the top level.

  “All right, girls, listen to me if you will. I’m the one speaking because I have been to sea before, so I know the way of things out here. First of all, you should know what will not be tolerated on a ship. Thievery, is one. I know that some of you have been convicted of this crime, myself included, but don’t steal anything else, ladies, for it will get you whipped if not worse. Y’see, a sailor has stashed all of his worldly belongings in his seabag, and since it’s stowed right next to his hammock, it’s easy prey for a scoundrel, and he pure hates it when somebody steals some of his stuff. So, none o’ that. Number two, fightin’ and other disorder. This angers the officers above all else. If someone provokes you or slanders your name, you come see me and I’ll take care of it. And trust me, I will. Otherwise you will feel the sting of the rod or the lash. I myself have suffered the horrid bite of the whip, and believe me, girls, it ain’t at all pleasant. Do you see this whip scar here?”