The Wake of the Lorelei Lee

by L. A. Meyer

  That, however, shall not be the case.

  Much later, when we are wrapping up things with the Indomitable, and I am surfacing from my last dive, coin in fist, I see that a small cutter has slipped in alongside the Lorelei Lee. Do I remember someone saying we would pick up a few more female convicts on Gibraltar? I think I do, but I dunno—my mind is so fuzzy from the day’s dives. I rap the side of my head a few times, to clear my left ear, and watch the poor wretches being brought onboard.

  There are five of the usual drabs, heads down and weeping, and a couple more whores, heads up and cursing, but then there is one more . . .

  Her head is up and her hands are bound, but she is not cursing, no. And from under her cap red curls spill forth and she is . . . she is . . .

  Mairead?

  Chapter 27

  The instant I see that it is Mairead Delaney McConnaughey, her own self, being brought aboard, I fly out of the water and dart up the Lorelei’s gangway and onto the deck where the new convicts are being entered into the ship’s manifest . . . by John Higgins, of course.

  I run to her and grasp her arm. She stiffens and then looks at me as if she expects to be hit. There are some bruises about her eyes. Those sonsabitches . . .

  “J-Jacky? Is it you? How . . . ?” she asks, confused, her green eyes wide.

  “Never mind that now, Mairead. We’ve got to get you settled,” I say, looking over at Higgins. “Mr. Higgins. Can you have this one released? I’ll take her into my Crew.”

  He lifts an eyebrow but does not display the slightest surprise, even though I know he recognizes the girl standing there, her ankles in chains. He lifts a finger and motions for her manacles to be taken off. When that is done, she collapses against me, sobbing.

  “Oh, to see a friendly face, Jacky, you cannot possibly know . . .”

  I embrace her trembling form and smooth the tendrils of her red hair from her forehead. “Things will get better, you’ll see,” I say, and lead her over to Higgins.

  “Name?” he asks, coldly.

  She looks at him and starts to greet him, but sees his warning head shake, and she whispers, “Mairead . . . Mairead McConnaughey.”

  “Age?”

  “Seventeen”

  “Place of birth?”

  “On a farm in Bonnettstown, just outside Kilkenny, Ireland.”

  “Crime?”

  She thinks on this.

  “Uh . . . Rebellion, I think. I don’t know . . . I wasn’t doin’ nuthin’. . .”

  “That’s what they all say,” Higgins says dismissively. “All right, you may take her away.”

  As I lead her off, I ask, “The ones you were brought on-board with, are any of them your friends?” I ask, planning to go collect any who might have befriended her.

  “No. I was put on that boat only last night. I know none of them.”

  Well, that makes things a bit simpler.

  Sending Maggie off to collect my Newgaters Crew, so they can welcome their newest member, I take Mairead down to our laundry room. On the way, I bellow into the galley next door, “Cookie! Hot water for a bath and some of your fine soup! Coffee, too. And thanks!”

  I sit her down next to one of the tubs and explain to her the lay of things around here, and she nods, taking it all in. I know her mind is reeling from all the recent events, but she seems to be calming down . . . now composed enough to ask me, “Why are you dressed like that, Jacky? And why are you all wet?”

  “I have been diving for coins, Mairead, to make our Crew a bit of money so that we can buy some of the things we need,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “There are two hundred workin’ girls out there plyin’ their trade right now, and if we are to hold our own, we must have money, too. Though not a hell ship in any sense, the Lorelei Lee is a pay-as-you-go ship, if you take my meaning. Ah, here’s something to warm you.”

  She nods and says, “Well, with me own eyes I’ve seen you doin’ a lot crazier things than that, and me, too. So I guess it’s all good.” Then she buries her nose in the mug of steamy soup that Mick has brought in. “Oooh . . .” She breathes out. “That’s soooo good.”

  “Pretty thing, she is,” says Mick, eyeing Mairead as he leaves to get the hot water for her bath. I give him a glare and he answers me with a shrug. And not for you, Mick, I snarl to myself. She’s a married woman and a good wife to her man, so lay off, swab.

  Keefe and Mick come in with the buckets of hot water, and we pour it into a tub with some cooler water and work up some suds. Then I shoo out the two men, and when all my girls are in and wondering at this new red-haired addition to our Crew, I shove the wedges under the door and get Mairead stripped down and into the tub. From the looks of her, after having been in the gentle custody of King George for some time, she is well in need of a good scrub down.

  And when she is in the water and exclaiming, “Oh, Jacky, this is just so prime!” while I am running the soap through her hair, I continue to tell her the way of things—who to trust and who not—and then I demand of her just how she came to be here.

  “Ian and I had gone off to Waterford to collect the crew for your ship, as you had asked in your letters, and when we were there, we met up with Arthur McBride and his boy-os, never a good thing in my estimation, but Ian wouldn’t listen, and so the lads went off to a meetin’ o’ the Free Irish association or somesuch. I went with ’em and waited out in the coach, bitin’ my fingernails. Then, what I feared most did happen. There was a great uproar and the police did come and the boys were hauled off to jail. And then me, too.”

  She pauses in her recitation, looks down at her hands, and then quietly says, “I’m sorry I showed myself so weak out there on the deck, Jacky, me bawlin’ and all, but y’see . . . I’ve been feelin’ right poorly sometimes lately. Mostly in the mornin’. . .”

  Uh-oh . . .

  “You see, Jacky, I . . . I am with child.”

  Oh, Lord.

  That does it for me. The consequences of my actions come roarin’ back at me, and I bury my face in my soapy hands, all my false bravado gone.

  “Oh, Mairead, I am sorry, so very sorry. If it hadn’t been for me and my foolish schemes, you wouldn’t be here now. You’d be back at the Home for Little Wanderers, waitin’ for the arrival o’ your pretty little baby, and Ian would be standin’ there by your side. Instead, you’re here on a convict ship headin’ for the other side o’ the world, and for who knows what. And poor Ian’s off, too, and . . . I’ve made such a mess of things.”

  My chest is heavin’ for real now, as I keep rockin’ back and forth, and my Newgaters gaze upon me with wonder at my distress.

  “There, there, Jacky,” Mairead says, taking my hand and holding it to her cheek. “No one knows the future. Only God knows . . . and maybe He ain’t so sure sometimes. So don’t worry yourself about it . . . Hush, now, girl.”

  And then, later that night, as we both swing in my hammock, my face buried in her mass of red curls, I think, Yes, I am sorry for what I have done, but still . . . I have learned that my bold Irish crew is going Down Under with me, and I wonder . . . Can that be such a bad thing?

  Hmmm . . .

  Chapter 28

  I manage to arise the next morn—despite my anguished feelings of responsibility for having wrecked the lives of those most dear to me—and entrust Mairead to the gentle care of Esther Abrahams, who will see to her breakfast and show her about the ship. I then go topside to resume my diving bit. After all, I now have one more charge—one for whose current low state I am directly responsible—and this is our last day in this very lucrative port. So, guilt aside, money must still be made.

  Yesterday I had given Mairead a set of my clean linen to wear when she arose from her bath. The clothes she had worn upon arrival, which were not in such bad shape, had been plunged into the bath water, scrubbed, and then hung up to dry. I am sure they are dry by now, should she want to come topside. We shall have to make up a Newgater’s rig for her.

  All right, then, out
on the dock, down to the next ship, hands on hips, chin up, girl, and back into the game . . .

  “Ahem! You sailors of the Redoubt and the Laurentian! I am Jacky Faber, famous in legend and song, as you well know, and I am here to sing and dance, and yes, even dive into Neptune’s chilly waters for your manly pleasure! So free up your gold, mates, and I will give you a show!”

  Coins are tossed, and I dive, scoop them up, surface, give the coins to Maggie and her purse, wait, and dive again . . . and again.

  There are some surprises. When I’m coming up from one particular dive, after retrieving a shiny shilling, I hear from the deck of the Redoubt a shout from the man who had flung the coin, “Jacky! Come up here and I will give you two shillings for that one!”

  As I clamber back on the dock, I call out to the man, “Why would you do that?” But a shilling is a shilling, all the same, and so, without waiting for the man’s answer, I dart up the Redoubt’s brow and deposit the coin in the man’s outstretched hand.

  My question is echoed by others about me on that ship’s deck—Wot, Jim? Why not make ’er dive for it?” and ”Roight, Jock, I like ’er much better drippin’ wet. Make ’er put ’er little butt in the air to go down for her coin.”

  The first sailor then puffs up and says, “Do ye jest, mates? Do ye not know that this ’ere little bit standin’ in front o’ ye, drippin’ on the deck, is none other than the renowned Jacky Faber, none other than Puss-in-Boots of great fame her ownself?”

  “Can’t be ’er. She’s dead—’ ad ’er ’ead cut off by the Froggies.”

  “Nay, she ain’t dead, Amos. She’s right there! Show us yer tattoo, dearie.”

  I oblige the man by peeling down the top edge of my swimsuit bottom to expose my Brotherhood of the Dolphin tattoo.

  “See that? It’s ’er all right. Me own dad, Billie Barnes, sailed wi’ ’er on the Wolverine, he did. Havin’ only one leg now, poor soul, he’s back in Bristol wi’ his pipe and cup and ’is pension and ’is memories, but fer sure he’s got that Vengeance-for-Puss-in-Boots tattoo big and bold on ’is arm, as do you, too, Lucas McCain—I seen it—and I know he’d appreciate a coin from the lass’s very own hand, specially since she saved his own dear life from drowndin’ one time. We shall ’ave it mounted and framed, then set up on the mantelpiece for all to gaze upon and admire.”

  Well!

  After that, the coins fly right freely, and I reflect that sometimes fame ain’t so bad after all.

  Back down into the briny, you, and don’t let your foolish head get swelled.

  More of the usual coin tosses, and then, to warm up a bit, I take up the pennywhistle to play a few merry tunes and dance along with the melodies. Then, back with me into the salt. More coins, and then, another surprise . . .

  Well, it ain’t really a surprise, since it happens almost every time in situations like this. A sailor leans over the rails and pipes out, “Here’s a whole half a crown, sweetheart,” says a sailor on the frigate. “It’s yours if you go down and get it without yer knickers and top on. Jes’ like that girl there.” He points at the Lorelei figurehead. “Who, by the way, looks a lot like you.”

  That proposition is met with cries of “Hear, hear!” and “I’ll add a shilling to that!” and “I will, too, and I’ll double it, I will!”

  I was expectin’ this, for it always comes. Just why they want a look at my scrawny self, I do not know, but they always seem to. Men, I swear. But . . . that is a bit of money . . . and I am not very shy in that regard . . . Then I look up at the rail of the Lorelei and there stands Ruger, who calls down, “And another half crown from the Lorelei,” and I know I cannot do it because it will only cause me trouble on the Lorelei later on. I decide to make a joke of it.

  “Sorry, mates. I’d love to do that for you if it would bring you some measure of joy. But y’ see, I cannot, for the sea bottom is full of gnarly beasts and sea serpents, and I have to do battle with ’em every time I dive after the coins you so kindly toss. See the tooth marks on me ankle there? Those was put there by ’orrible sea snakes, which writhe and slither in their holes down there.”

  I point to a scratch on my leg that I had gotten from gettin’ too close to a barnacle-covered rock.

  “Y’ see, mates, if I was to lose the next battle wi’ them awful creatures, well, I certainly couldn’t go up and stand in front o’ Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates without me knickers on, now could I?”

  Great laughter, and Mr. Ruger turns from the rail and disappears . . . for now, anyway.

  The coins tumble down, and I go after them.

  Later, when I’m having another dry-off pennywhistle, dancing-about-time, I hear yet another call from the deck of the Redoubt.

  “Och, ye dance and play very well, Miss, and I have a fine guinea up here for you. But you must come up here to get it.”

  Hmmm . . . I’m thinkin’, I’ve already been up on that deck today and escaped harm . . . and a guinea is a guinea . . .

  I bounce up on the deck and look for the man, who, as I now recall too late, spoke in a distinct Scots accent . . .

  Then I gasp as a man slips around the capstan and a large hand wraps about my throat, holding me fast in the shadow of the riggin’. A once very familiar face looms into my view.

  “Gully!” I croak. “You!”

  “Aye, ’tis me, Moneymaker. Yer old partner . . . and it looks like you’re still makin’ it . . . Money, that is.”

  “Let go of me, Gully MacFarland. One scream and my friends will come after me, they will. I’m part of Captain Laughton’s cargo. I’m worth ten and six to him, and he would be very angry if you messed me about. Angry enough to have a pathetic drunk of a seaman strung up on the yardarm.”

  “Now, now, Moneymaker. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just wanted to thank you for getting me cleaned up and sober.”

  “Right, Gully. If you think I believe that for one moment, you’ve gone off your head!”

  “Nay, nay, ’tis true. I’m a changed man, Miss. And listen to this: All of the Captains are meeting tonight for a last dinner on the Surprise before we all leave this port, and I’m to play for them. You, too, I hear. Why don’t we put the old act together one more time? And then maybe we’ll talk about the Lady Lenore.”

  There is a trill from a Bo’sun’s pipe signaling the Redoubt’s crew to assemble.

  “Gotta go, Moneymaker,” he says, giving my neck a final squeeze. “See ya later.”

  And he is gone.

  I stand astounded. The last time I saw Gully MacFarland was back in Boston when I had him tied to a wheelbarrow to deliver him to the Royal Navy for impressment, to this very ship here. This, after he, in a drunken rage, had slugged me so hard that I feared that I was going to lose my left eye. I did not lose my eye, but Gully certainly did lose his freedom . . . and his beloved violin, the exquisite Lady Lenore.

  Imagine that . . . First Mairead, and now Gully MacFarland. Gilbraltar certainly has been a place of wonder for me.

  It is evening, and we are in the great cabin on the forty-four-gun frigate HMS Surprise.

  All five Captains are there, as well as some other officers. First Officers, mostly, but a few others, as well. One, I see, has on the uniform of Ship’s Surgeon, and I also see Enoch Lightner being seated at the great table, and of that, I am glad. I am also happy to see that First Officer Ruger is not in attendance.

  The glasses are filled and the dinner is served as Gully and I play softly in the background . . . softly, that is, till the food is eaten and the wine works its will, for then we are called upon for more lively stuff.

  And we give it to ’em.

  Gully has lost none of his touch with the fiddle. We’d had a bit of time to brush up on the old routines and had them down fairly well by the time we were called upon to play. Gully stands and we rip into “Billy in the Low Ground” and then “Morpeth Rant” and then “Handsome Molly,” with me on the concertina and vocals.

  We get great roars of approval and tear into t
he meat of our old repetoire, “John Barleycorn” and “Jenny Is a Weeper” and . . . oh, just all of them, and it is so grand to play them together again!

  After the first time Gully’s bow hits the strings of the Lady Gay—yes, I had lent her to him, for she was ten times better the fiddle than the poor worn and damp instrument he had—the Shantyman’s head jerked up and listened. Though he said nothing, I sensed that he knew he was in the presence of a master.

  The party got more and more raucous, and soon the table was bellowing out “Hearts of Oak” and “Rule, Britannia” and “God Save the King.”

  And later, of course, things got down and dirty, so we did “The Cuckoo’s Nest” and “Captain Black’s Courtship” and “The Spotted Cow.” I couldn’t believe it, but Gully did “Fire Down Below” and “The Parson’s Little Daughter,” and I accompanied him on the pennywhistle and, to my shame, on the vocals. The Shantyman added his deep baritone, too. Though obscene, it all sounded awfully good. Oh, well, when in Rome . . .

  In the heat of the evening, the Captain of the Surprise offered to buy me, but good Captain Laughton demurred—“Nay, Jack, she is a convict, not a slave, and I am bound by contract to deliver her body relatively intact to New South Wales . . . and, frankly, we have been enjoying her music too much to let her go. And by the by, Captain, did you know that she is famous? Yes, I am told she is. Seems she got in a bit of mischief with the Admiralty . . . Here, here, come over here, girl, and tell us something of yourself.”

  I go over to answer their questions, playing the part of the demure and very misunderstood young thing—a poor girl buffeted about by the cruel winds of Fortune—and eventually I am let go. Then, sensing the party is winding down, Gully and I deliver our old closing song, “The Parting Glass.”

  Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company.

  And of all the harm that ere I’ve done,

  Alas, was done to none but me.