by L. A. Meyer
Afterward, we go back on deck and Cheng Shih and Brother Arcangelo return to the Divine Wind. I know that she has business to conduct with the captains of her fleet. Duty calls all of us, even Chinese pirate admirals . . . but, she will be back, I know.
As I look out over my deck, I see that Mairead, having finally unwrapped herself from her Ian, has brought up Enoch Lightner from below. He appears on Mairead’s arm and holds his face up to the sun, which he cannot see, but which he can certainly feel.
“Shantyman!” I call out upon seeing him. “Sing us away to Mindanao!”
He does.
Chapter 66
Soon after we had gotten under way, bound for the resting place of the Golden Buddha, cheer returned, full force, to the decks of the Lorelei Lee. All the girls, Newgaters and Crews alike, were soon up from their confinement below, and the decks and ratlines were festooned with white petticoats to the wonder, I am sure, of our Chinese escorts.
Cheng Shih has forbidden any contact between my Crews and hers—the penalty being loss of ears. Pretty wise, I’m thinking. But no matter—my girls get plenty of action with the crew of the Cerberus, said crew being delirious with lusty joy at the marriage of our two vessels. Naughty boys. Wait’ll I tell your mother, Arthur McBride. And Padraic . . . tsk, tsk . . .
Small boats steadily ply back and forth between the Cerberus, the Divine Wind, and the Lee.
On that first day, back in command of the Lorelei, I assemble the officers to tell them of my plans. But first, I meet with the Mmes. Barnsley, Berry, and MacDonald.
Higgins again sets out a nice spread, and I know the madams are pleased to finally be in the great cabin—even if I’m in it, too. They make a show of fine elegance by lifting their wineglasses, with pinkies extended, and sipping delicately from the contents, while nibbling delicately at the cakes, cheeses, and sweetmeats laid out. Ravi, dressed in full Sinbad rig, goes about refilling glasses as needed.
I put myself back in my Royal Navy Lieutenant’s gear for these meetings, deeming it more appropriate than my silken dragon costumes. After all have tasted the bounty of my table, I begin . . .
“Here it is, ladies,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a certain air of arrogance. “It is your choice. Do you and your girls wish to return to England, go on to the colony in New South Wales, or be put off in a random port? We are right now off the coast of Java.”
I am fully aware of my appearance and position of authority, and how it must gall them to see me here, offering them terms. Suck it up, ladies.
Hardened veterans of Life’s hard roads that they are, they do just that. The three madams consider, confer, have a lot more of my wine and foodstuffs, and then Mrs. Barnsley speaks up.
“Ain’t nothing for us back in England—they’d just send us back again, and I for one am heartily sick o’ the sea. And we sure don’t want to be dropped off just anywheres,” she says, thinking of the very fearsome-looking Chinese swordsmen who strut about our deck. “No, we’ll take our chances in Australia—least we know the men there is decent British criminals.” So the matter is settled.
The ladies are ushered out and the remaining officers of the former convict ship Lorelei Lee are invited in. I rise to meet them, knowing that this will be a very delicate meeting. I need these men, and I do not know if they will agree to serve on what they will now consider to be a pirate. We shall see.
“Good day, gentlemen,” I say, as Messrs. Seabrook, Gibson, and Hinckley file in. “Please be seated and refresh yourselves.” They look at me somewhat dubiously as I stand, not quite five feet of me, drawn up at attention in my naval rig—snug blue jacket with gold buttons and braid, and lace spilling out of my collar and cuffs, tight white trousers, and shiny black boots—but they go to their places and sit. I march to the head of the table and place the Faber bottom in the Captain’s chair, fold my hands before me, look about at all, and begin.
“Sirs, let us speak plain and see if we can come to a common accord. I would like it very much if you gentlemen would continue in your current posts, as First, Second, and Third Mates. I value your seamanship and your ability to run a tight ship—men with such skills as yours I am sure I would not be able to find in Botany Bay, and I do not want my Lorelei Lee sailed by untested officers.”
I pause to take a sip of my wine and to let that sink in.
“If you accept my offer, you will continue to draw your pay as employees of Faber Shipping Worldwide, as well as receive a generous share of the head money we expect to get when we deliver the convicts. If you decline my offer, you will be put ashore with said convicts to languish until such time as passage back to England can be arranged. You would be penniless, and I fear the accommodations in the prison colony might not be to your liking—very short rations, indeed.”
“But what of . . . legal considerations?” asks Mr. Seabrook.
“Ah. You worry that someday you might be brought up on charges of being members of a pirate crew and party to a mutiny, as well you might. But look at it this way,” I say, ready to make my case. “The Lorelei Lee was once mine, owned by Faber Shipping. It was then owned by the East India Company and used as a convict ship. In that capacity, she was captured by a Chinese naval force and then returned to me, in exchange for services about to be rendered.”
They are attentive, and I go on.
“So you see, gentlemen, in each of those changes in ownership, mutiny was never committed. You are all merchant officers, not Royal Navy, and so you will simply continue to serve your ship in all honesty. Should the ship subsequently be involved in something . . . well . . . irregular, you will be held blameless. It will all be on my head.”
Mr. Gibson still looks unconvinced, and I do not blame him—a man has only one neck and he hopes to never let it be caught up by the hangman’s noose. “I don’t know . . .” he says.
I give that a bit of thought and then say, “If you are worried about future retribution, then let us seal this pact with the traditional Pirate’s Choice—join with us, stand onboard as brothers, or else walk the plank.”
With that, I rise to go pick up the pistol that has been placed upon my sea chest. Coming back to the assembled company, I place the barrel next to Mr. Seabrook’s temple. He starts, but does not move.
“Do you, Mr. Seabrook,” I ask, “agree to follow me, else your precious life be forfeited?”
He nods. It is plain to all at the table that the pistol is not cocked. They do not know that the gun is not loaded, but I do. I go next to Mr. Gibson and point the pistol at his forehead.
“Do you, Mr. Gibson, agree to continue to serve upon the Lorelei Lee, upon pain of death?”
Another nod.
“And finally, young Mr. Hinckley, do you also agree to turn pirate on the salt sea and serve both me and my ship?”
“Oh yes, Miss Faber,” vows the young boy enthusiastically. “I really do.”
“Good,” I say, lowering the pistol. “That should satisfy any Court of Inquiry. Should you someday come up on charges, you can truthfully say that you were forced at gunpoint to join the merciless La Belle Jeune Fille Sans Merci, and you will be acquitted. So. We are agreed?”
Nods all around, especially from the grinning Mr. Hinckley. Ah lad, nothing like the promise of a little adventure, is there, young sir?
“Very well,” I say. “The matter is settled. Now this is what is going to happen. We will proceed to a spot off the coast of Mindanao, where Admiral Cheng Shih has marked a place where there is sunk a large golden statue—a Buddha, as it were. I will dive down and get that statue for her, and when I do that, Cheng Shih will release the Cerberus and the Lorelei Lee. Captain Fletcher of the Cerberus has already indicated his intention to deliver most of his cargo of convicts to the penal colony at New South Wales. I have spoken with the leaders of the girls upon this ship and, given several options, they elected to also go to Australia, as have my Newgaters.”
I pause for breath, then continue.
“After th
e two human cargos have been placed on Australian soil, and the head price collected, the Cerberus and the Lorelei Lee will depart, the former under the command of Captain Fletcher, to wherever he directs her to go, and the Lee back to her home port of Boston, under the direction of John Higgins as Commander and Mr. Seabrook, here, as Master. This ship will then resume her duties as flagship of Faber Shipping Worldwide. Each of you gentlemen can expect to continue gainful employment in your present capacities at that firm.”
“Captain Fletcher?” asks Mr. Gibson, his eyebrows raised. All here know of my connection to Jaimy.
“I am hoping that someday Mr. Fletcher will consent to sail his ship under the Blue Anchor Flag,” I say primly. “But we shall see about that. Any other questions?”
“But what of you, Jacky . . . er . . . Miss Faber?” asks young Mr. Hinckley, with, I think, real concern in his voice.
I take a deep breath. “Do not worry about me, Mr. Hinckley. Cheng Shih has indicated that she does not want to let me go, and I did make a bargain in that regard, and so I must stay with her. Any other questions?”
“But can we not help you in that regard?” asks Mr. Gibson.
“Just look out there, Sir. There are at least twenty of Admiral Shih’s ships out there, each one full of Chinamen and all armed to the teeth”
There are no further questions.
But joy and cheer does return to the Lorelei Lee, even if, for me, it is a bittersweet time, knowing that soon all will sail away, and I will remain. But, hey, I will abide, and I will see what happens.
Just like in the old days, when we had good Captain Laughton with us, we put on musical shows, and this time we invite our Chinese allies over to watch. Cheng Shih is especially delighted when I play my fiddle and dance at the same time, yes, that nails her pretty good . . . as does our little play “Villain Pursues Virtuous Maiden.” She claps her hands in joy over that one. Brother Arcangelo tells me the play is similar to many in Chinese culture—simple plot, much overacting, broad gestures, garish costumes, some action, and a happy ending. Cheng Shih, Admiral of the South China Sea, fairly shrieked with delight, covering her mouth and collapsing in uncontrollable giggles when my tearaway dress came off.
Yes, and Ravi was reunited with Josephine and me with my Newgaters—Mary Wade, Molly, Maggie, and the rest. Ian and Mairead were given a cabin on the Lee and they are in it quite often. Ian does have duties other than that of making another Irish baby with Mairead, he being Jaimy’s First Mate over on the Cerberus, but still, he manages to get over here quite a bit. I think Captain Fletcher is being kind to him in that regard.
Me, I don’t get to see Jaimy at all. Ah well, I know he is busy. So am I.
Yes, we sailed, we sang, we danced, we ate, we drank, and we got to that spot off the coast of Mindanao where rests the Golden Buddha.
Chapter 67
When we came upon the buoys marking the spot, and Cheng Shih’s navigators took bearings and assured us we were in the right place, I left the deck of my Lorelei Lee and said to Higgins, “Please, John, my swimming suit, if you please. And my goggles and fins, too.”
He is not all that happy to do this. Please be careful, Miss . . .
Oh, bother, Higgins, you know I always am.
Soon I am rigged up to dive, and I step out onto the deck of the Lorelei Lee.
Cheng Shih is waiting by the diving bell, which has been placed on the deck, ready to go. Seeing me dressed as I am, she immediately orders every male to face away. The Chinese sailors do it, as they are the only ones who understand what she says.
I figure I’ll do some exploratory free dives first, and so I go to the rail. Cheng Shih watches, I believe a bit fearfully, as I adjust goggles, tug down bottom of suit, and dive in.
The water is clear—not Caribbean clear, but clear enough, more green than blue—and I can see my way.
I grab one of the marker buoy lines and head down.
Hmmm . . . Nothing yet at about one hundred feet, but then I didn’t expect anything. I mean, Cheng Shih would have had some pretty expert divers working on this thing. No, so back up to prepare the bell.
As the bell is being readied, there is an unlooked-for setback. From behind me I hear a thud, a cry, and a splash, and I turn to see that Chi-chi, who had been lurking nearby, attentively awaiting any order from Cheng Shih, had been struck and knocked over by the boom as it was being swung over the deck to pick up the bell. I look over the side just in time to see him and the soles of his slippered feet disappear below the surface.
I wait a second to see if any will go to his aid. None do.
Damn! At least this time I’m dressed for it. I arc myself over the rail and dive into the water.
The water, although not as clear as those blue-green Caribbean waters, is clear enough for me to see him sinking down, down, ever farther down into the depths, his pigtail sticking straight up from his head, his arms and legs thrashing about in panic.
What no sailor—be he Chinese or Brit—seems to know is that if you have a lungful of air and hold it tight within you and stop struggling, you’ll bob right back up to the surface. ’Tis plain that Chi-chi, also, does not know that, for he flails away in vain, sinking ever lower.
I follow the stream of silver bubbles that leads down to him, grab his pigtail, then kick hard to bring us both back to the surface. When he hits the air, he sputters and coughs, and pukes up great quantities of saltwater. His eyes roll about wildly, but he seems all right otherwise. I get us to the ladder that’s rigged on the side of the Lorelei Lee, and hands reach down to pull him aboard.
I expected some expressions of joy at the rescue of what has to be a valued servant, but I hear none. Instead Cheng Shih lets fly a string of Cantonese invective, pointing an accusing finger at Chi-chi, who stands there trembling, very wet and very abashed and sheepish.
Hey, it wasn’t his fault, I’m thinking, getting ready to climb into the bell. Leave the poor guy alone, for heaven’s sake. Course I don’t say that to Cheng Shih, who seems right steamed.
She ends with “Meng chi jyut! Suen ta!”
Chi-chi bows to her and then comes to stand next to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask of Brother Arcangelo. “What did she say to him?”
“She called him a stupid, ignorant, clumsy worm,” he replies. “And she directed him to go to you.”
“To me? Why?”
“Because, my dear but inept student of the world’s philosophies,” sighs the indulgent churchman, “the Chinese have a belief that if you save a person’s life, you have interrupted his karma, his destiny, and are therefore responsible for him the rest of his life.”
What?
“It is true, Miss. He is now your slave. Cheng Shih has given him to you.”
“But I won’t have it,” I say, aghast. “I am against slavery in any form.”
“If you refuse, they will merely throw him back in the water to complete his karmic journey to the bottom of the sea.”
I throw up my hands in exasperation. I will never understand anything. “Let’s get to diving. That’s something I know about. Karma, indeed!”
I go over to the bell. Higgins, with towels at the ready, stands nearby with Ravi, regarding poor Chi-chi standing woefully next to me, then casts his eyes upward toward Josephine perched in the foretop and murmurs, “My, my, Miss, how your tribe doth increase.”
I cut the ever-so-droll Mr. Higgins an evil glance and readjust my goggles.
My diving bell is hoisted off the deck and I go to get under it, but Cheng Shih grabs my hand and looks in my eyes. She seems anxious and looks dubiously at the bell with its many signal lines trailing out beneath its bottom edge.
“I’d rather have you, Golden Child, than any ten Golden Buddhas,” she says. “Do not do this, dear one.”
Brother Arcangelo barely finishes translating this when I squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry, Beloved Shih. I will be all right. We have a bargain and I must do my part.”
I pl
ant a kiss on her cheek and give her a rakish wink.
She lets go my hand and I get under the bell and onto the seat.
Let’s go.
Hello, Bell, it’s been a while since we’ve explored together, hasn’t it? Good to see you’re still in fighting trim, strong of iron wall and thick of glass window, protecting my frail self down here in the awful depths, eh?
The bottom of the diving bell is, like any ordinary church or tower bell, completely open, and I can look down through that opening, past my dangling feet, as if through a clear lens. Professor Tilden, the supposed man of science who first convinced me to go down in this rig, maintained that it was the atmospheric pressure that kept the water out of the bell. Well, it keeps it out to a degree, but the deeper you go, the more the water creeps up the inside, the air inside being compressed, you see. Me, too, it seems—compressed, I mean—as I found out that time when I swam up to the surface outside of the bell after being so compressed, resulting in great, stupid, glorious rapture, and then great pain as the gases compressed in my body elected to bubble out through my joints. The bends, it is called, and Dr. Sebastian, my good friend and scholarly associate, said I was lucky to have survived. Believe me. I am much more careful now.
The surface of the water below my dangling feet, which started out a scant few inches above the bottom edge of the bell, is now about eighteen inches below my toes.
As the bell sinks, with me tucked inside, I think on things . . .
After I bring up the Buddha, the terms of the bargain will have been met, and the Lorelei and the Cerberus will sail off—with all my friends, and yes, with Jaimy, too, and I will be left behind on the Divine Wind with Cheng Shih . . .
I look out and all is just green beyond my window. It is bright but grows darker as we go ever downward.
