by L. A. Meyer
He bows and goes below.
I proceed to the brow and signal to Mr. Hinckley that all may depart. The Bo’sun puts his pipe to his lips and blows long and hard, and there is a great cheer as the Crews begin to go off.
Mrs. Barnsley leads the way, of course, followed by her “gels,” and then the Tartans and the Judies descend to the waiting boats. My Newgaters are the last to go.
“Goodbye, Mary Wade,” I say to the youngest of my crew, and hug her to me. “I am sure you will do well here. And Mary Reibey, please steal no more horses, and Ann, oh, I hate to see you go, but it’s all for the best, you’ll see.”
I had seen to it that each of my Newgaters now carries a bundle containing a fresh dress, clean linen, soap, brush, and a small packet of money to start them off in their new life. Two pounds six, which is more than they had when they came onboard my ship, that’s for sure. I also begged Esther Abrahams Johnston to look out for them till all are settled, she having some influence as wife to the Garrision Commander. She said she would, and I believe her.
“Goodbye, Esther,” I say, clutching her hands. “Go now to your husband. He is a good man and you shall be a good wife to him, I just know it.” She nods, turns, and is gone with the rest.
Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I turn to the next to go, only to see that just as I had expected, I’m losing two more of my crew. I hate to see this pair go, even if they are the most hapless of sailors.
“I likes me Maggie, and she says she likes me, too, so I’m sticking with her,” says Keefe, his seabag on his shoulder and his arm around my good friend Mag, who grins at me as I place a goodbye kiss on her cheek. We all stand at the brow as they go off.
“Didn’t we have some times, then, Jacky, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did, Maggie, and there’s better times comin’, you’ll see,” I say, tearin’ up even more than usual in times like this.
“They say they’ll give us free colonists some land and a plow, some seed and a mule,” says Mick, standing by his Isabella. “So we’ll give farmin’ it a shot. God knows we wasn’t very good at bein’ sailors. Plus Bella here is with child, which she says is mine, so we’ve got to see what the little blighter looks like, eh?”
“Indeed, Mick. Goodbye to you both. I know you shall prosper.” I plant a farewell kiss on his weathered cheek, and they all go off to follow their destiny . . . their karma, as I am beginning to see it.
Cookie, however, elects to stay onboard the Lee.
“The ladies was lovely and I know I’ll never see their likes again,” he says. “But I was born at sea and I reckon I’ll die there, too.”
Jezebel also elects to stay.
When I’ve see them all off, good and proper, I return to my cabin, where Higgins, Ravi, and yes, my dear Jaimy, looking absolutely lovely in his captain’s gear, are therein. True, he might now be a pirate in the eyes of Mother England, but he still looks grand.
“Please sit, everyone,” I say, and doff both wig and hat. “And let us lift a glass or two in celebration of our new freedom . . . and maybe in our new wealth. Higgins, what have you to report in that regard?”
Ravi places a glass in front of me, and Higgins pulls an envelope from his vest and hands it to me.
“I have here a check drawn on the Bank of the East India Company in the amount of four thousand, six hundred pounds sterling,” says my good Mr. Higgins.
“Not a bad haul, considering,” I say, handing the check back to him. “We shall be able to meet the payroll of Faber Shipping Worldwide this pay period, I believe, Mr. Higgins.”
“Even so, Miss,” agrees Higgins. “And a good deal left over. We should tender our heartfelt thanks to John Bull and the East India Company.”
“Yes, we shall, Higgins,” I say with some satisfaction. “I think they both will, indeed, regret the day they sent Jacky Faber in chains to Botany Bay.”
Higgins laughs. “I am sure they will, when their bespectacled accountants, hunched over their ledgers, run their ink-stained fingers down over their columns of figures . . . and wonder just where in the world a large amount of money went missing.”
“Serves them right,” I say. “They had it coming . . . And now, Captain Fletcher, how did the Cerberus fare?”
Jaimy pulls out his own check and looks at it.
“Five thousand, three hundred and sixty,” he says. “Not bad.”
“Not bad, indeed, dear,” I say, growing serious. “But now I must talk to Captain Fletcher . . . alone . . .”
All rise, except for Jaimy, and they bow and leave. When they are gone, I go and place myself in Jaimy’s lap. After I place a good one on his lips . . . oh, yes . . . I commence with what I’ve got to say.
“Jaimy. We need to think clearly about some things. This place is in turmoil, and for us it is dangerous. There is no food, no supplies, and Major Johnston reports there is a rebellion brewing over the cutting off of the rum ration. And you and I, and your Irish crew as well, are all escaped convicts . . . Mairead, too, and Ian, and all the rest . . .”
I pause for breath and nuzzle my face into his neck. “We must run.”
“We must run, Jacky? After all this?” he says, running his hands up my back. “No, I won’t have it. We have two ships—pirates, I know—but I have gone through too much to be denied now.”
“I know, dear, but we must think,” I say, breathing heavily into his ear. “Your ship is unarmed and helpless. You must run up to Batavia—there is an English bank there—and deposit that check, then spend every cent of it on guns for your ship! Every cent! Arm yourself to the teeth!”
“But—”
“Please, Jaimy, listen to me. If we tarry—and you know I want to so very much—we might be lost. And to have come all this way only to fail . . . I couldn’t stand it. Be off, love, and be safe. I’ll meet you south of Batavia, off a place called Singapore. Then we can relax our guard and enjoy peace . . . and each other. Please, Jaimy, fly away! The Golden Dragon pennant will protect you on your way there.”
I give him a packet containing that flag . . . and one other.
“One kiss, love, and off! Please tell me you will!” I plead.
He does, though it tears my heart out to see him go.
I watch the Cerberus raise the Golden Dragon pennant, drop the mainsails, catch the wind, and then heel off. Flying also is the other flag I had made for him on the way to this place. No, it is not the blue anchor of Faber Shipping, no. I know he is not yet ready to fly that flag. It is the Jolly Roger, just like mine, flapping all bold in the wind.
Might as well be hanged for a wolf as for a sheep, I always say . . .
Chapter 70
I’m lolling about on my foretop, thoughts of the future slipping in and out of my mind as the Lorelei Lee pounds up the Strait of Malacca, heading north. We expect to rendezvous with the Cerberus in a few days, maybe even sooner.
I stretch out lazily in the sun and gaze up at the flags snapping in the breeze above me, the roguish Jolly Roger grinning above the Golden Dragon pennant. When that dragon flag waves, it looks like the dragon’s tail is twisting on itself, over and over, in the wind. Very effective, and very beautiful, and I reflect on how very clever are the Chinese. I am clever, too, in my own way, and had several copies of that pennant sewn up on our way down to Botany Bay, just in case I add any more ships to my fleet.
Another lazy stretch and a heavy sigh. Ah, yes . . . Here, Josephine, a bit of a scratch behind your ear? Feels good, doesn’t it? I’m dressed in my cool Chinese silks and Josephine is clad in her natural reddish hair and both of us are content to be just sinfully slothful on our perch aloft on this perfectly beautiful day. Ummm . . .
My sluggish mind tells me that once I meet up with Jaimy again, we’ll have to decide where we are going to go and what we are going to do. Shall we stick around in the South China Sea, raiding a town here and there for plunder and supplies? When Jaimy arms the Cerberus, we will be a strong fighting force. But no, that doesn’t seem to
be quite the way to go. The shipping and the seaports we have seen around these parts seem rather poor and meager, and I really don’t like that sort of thing anymore—taking other people’s stuff and all—since I find I don’t like it when people take my stuff, no, I don’t. I think of the recent loss of my precious Lee, and how I had ached until she was returned to me. I pat her smooth foretop deck beneath me. Never again shall you slip away from me, I swear it.
Down below on the main hatch, I hear Ravi going over English lessons with Mr. Lee Chi . . .
A . . . Bee . . . Ceee . . . Dee . . .
Ah . . . Bay . . . Chee . . . Day . . .
No, no, Sahib Lee . . . A . . . Bee . . . Ceeeee . . . Deeee . . . Like that.
Ravi is patient and Lee Chi is coming right along. Both Higgins and I agree that he will be a valuable asset to Faber Shipping when we open up the China trade. Yes, we’ve changed his name a bit, thinking “Silly-silly” was just not a fit appellation for an employee of said august corporation. After much gesticulation and sign language, we discovered that originally his family name had been Lee, so we combined it with Chi, and we went with that. Mr. Lee has been instructed in other things, such as how I like my bed made—nice and tight, with the corners folded in just right—so has relieved Ravi of those duties, freeing him up for other pursuits. As soon as Lee Chi has learned enough English to understand that he is no longer a slave but rather an employee of Faber Shipping, he will be informed of his new role in helping us open up trade. Till then, hey, he is an excellent servant, and I can appreciate that, having been one myself.
Lee Chi, has, in fact, just this morning drawn a bath for me in my lovely little copper tub, and has washed, combed, and rebraided my pigtail. He has even given my head a bit of a shave as I intend to keep it in the Chinese style for as long as I am in these waters. And oh, how I would love to prance into the dining hall of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls coiffed and attired like this! Would that not be a howl? Oh, yes! I allow him to take his razor to my armpits and touch up my lower legs, as well, as I will soon be entertaining Mr. James Emerson Fletcher and I will want to be at my smooth best. However, I do instruct Lee Chi and his razor to leave my nether part alone.
I have to chuckle at that, and Josephine notices and looks at me curiously—very perceptive monkey that she is—and then I have to laugh again over one thing that was especially amusing on that otherwise very tense day back there at the penal colony. As the Cerberus had been discharging its cargo of convicts, one of that number who was struggling mightily had to be taken off bound and gagged. The guards who took custody of the unfortunate man were informed that he had gone insane on the way there, the poor man being convinced that he was a legitimate member of the ship’s crew and not a prisoner. He was written into the manifest as one Thaddeus Stevens, who had been transported for life for the crime of forgery, but was, in fact—heh-heh—the poor Weasel. Ha! Let’s see the creepy little bastard talk his way out of that one! Plus, Jaimy got ten pounds six for his wormy hide! And they say that James Emerson Fletcher does not have a sense of humor! Ha!
Ah, yes, and about Jaimy . . . I did hustle him off quite briskly down there ’round Botany Bay, with the excuse that he must immediately arm his Cerberus, and, of course, Higgins saw right through me, as usual, smiling his small smile as he set out my lonely dinner that first night away. Our other dinners on this trip have been joyous, with Messrs. Seabrook, Gibson, and Hinckley in attendance in my cabin, and with the Shantyman to provide music and laughter, but it wasn’t quite the same without good old Captain Gussie, he having passed on to a place hopefully joyous enough to contain the spirit of that happy man, and Mairead, back on the Cerberus and bedded up with her dear Ian, and all the members of the Crews right now spreading the joy of their presence through the colony at New South Wales. Still, we maintain our cheer as best we can.
“All right, Higgins, you see right through me, as always,” I had said, poking at my otherwise delicious dinner.
“Whatever do you mean, Miss?” he’d asked, knowing full well what I meant.
“Yes, I sent poor Jaimy off with only a kiss or two, when he had every expectation of . . . you know . . .”
“I had no notion.”
“Of course you didn’t, my ever present mentor. Of course, you didn’t . . .”
It’s at least five months back to the Atlantic, and maybe I don’t want to be with child during that time. Maybe I want—Oh, I don’t know what I want. Everything is just so damned complicated. I don’t know . . . Maybe I’ll just relax and let my karma take me where it will . . . Maybe I am turning Chinese, after all . . .
I turn my head to watch the shore of Sumatra slipping past, several miles out to the west. That shore is quiet, unlike the Australian shore we had left on our starboard side not many days ago. That place had constantly reverberated with low, weird humming sounds that I knew came from no human nor animal throat. There were drums, also, and buzzing noises, and I had a strong suspicion that the local inhabitants were expressing their joy over the prospect of John Bull setting up a colony on their land—the same so-called joy that Tecumseh and Chee-a-quat and his people felt when it happened to them, I suspect.
I look up again at the dragon pennant twisting in the wind and think back to the parting with Cheng Shi. After our ships drifted apart, I had looked back and noticed her standing on her quarterdeck, looking back at me. I stood there myself until such time as the Divine Wind slipped beneath the horizon. It was the least I could do for her. Joi gin, Beloved Shih.
I settle back against the mast. Complicated, complicated, everything is so damned com—
“On deck there!” shouts the lookout, high in the mainmast. “Ship. Flying English colors! Two points off starboard bow!”
Booooooommmmmmm . . .
The sound of cannon fire rumbles across the water.
In an instant I roll off the foretop and hasten down to stand next to Mr. Hinckley on the quarterdeck, my glass to my eye. Can it be Jaimy, come to the rendezvous?
No, it is not. It is that damned annoying Dart, the Royal Navy sloop-of-war assigned to guard the Cerberus on its way to Botany Bay. Why the hell does she have to turn up now?
“Beat to quarters!” I cry. “Man your stations, man your guns, but do not yet open your gun ports!”
I peer again at the Dart. She had hidden behind a headland, which is why we didn’t spot her right off. Damn!
“All stations report manned-and-ready,” shouts Mr. Hinckley, looking rather pale. He is a good lad, but he has never been in pitched battle before.
“Good, Mr. Hinckley. Stand ready. I do not wish to fire on a British ship. But, by God, before I go back into captivity, I’ll fire on King George himself, I’ll—”
“He is signaling, Miss,” says Mr. Hinckley, his eye to his glass. We have been joined on deck by Mr. Seabrook, Mr. Gibson, and Mr. Lightner. “It is a blue pennant with a white stripe. What can it mean?”
“It is the Numeral Two Pennant,” answers Mr. Lightner, the only Royal Naval officer aboard, except for me, and I am not all that good at the meaning of the signal flags. “It means he requests a parley.”
Another flag races to the top of the Dart’s mast top.
“Red pennant, with white stripe,” reports Mr. Hinckley.
“Plain text to follow,” translates the blind Mr. Lightner.
“There’s an H flag,” says Mr. Gibson. “I do know the alphabet flags . . . yes . . . and there’s an E . . . and an L . . . and yet another . . .”
“Hell?” I say, mystified. “What could that mean?”
“There’s more . . . an O . . . and now a P . . . and there goes a U . . .”
“Hellopu?” I wonder. “It sounds rather . . . East Indian . . . I don’t know . . .” I look to Ravi, but he shrugs and shakes his head.
“He’s hoisting another one . . . It is an S . . . And there’s another one, the same . . .”
“H-E-L-L-O-P-U-S-S,” repeats Mr. Hinckley, mystified.
<
br /> Yes, they are confused, but I am not. No, I stand astounded, for I know what the flags say . . .
Hello, Puss . . .
Chapter 71
A boat is lowered from HMS Dart and is rowed over to the side of the Lorelei Lee. A ladder is rigged over the starboard side, and in a very short time, Mr. Joseph Jared steps onto my quarterdeck. There have been times in my life when I have been very glad to see this rogue, but this is not one of them. Right now I stand astounded . . . and somewhat worried.
The boarding party is bristling with pistols and cutlasses, but Jared is armed only with his cocky grin . . . and a courtly bow.
“So good to see you again, Jacky,” he says, gazing in open amusement at my silken garb, my shiny smooth head, and the Chinese sword strapped to my back. “And Mr. Higgins, too. It has been a long run from the old Wolverine to here, has it not?”
“Indeed it has, Sir,” says Higgins, returning the bow. The other officers say nothing, but I know they, too, are extremely concerned by the arrival of a well-armed Royal Navy ship while they stand onboard a ship flying a pirate flag.
“Good day, Mr. Jared,” I say, as coldly as I can. “May I present my officers . . . Mr. Seabrook, First Mate, Mr. Gibson, Second, and Mister Hinckley, Third.” Each bows in turn. “And my Sailing Master, Mr. Lightner.”
Jared acknowledges each, casting a wry eye at me when he nods to the plainly blind Enoch Lightner.
“Gentlemen. I am Lieutenant Joesph Jared, Commander of HMS Dart, at your service.”
Commander? How did Joseph Jared, whom I first met as a common seaman onboard HMS Wolverine, end up as Captain of a Royal Navy ship? And here, of all places?
“Well, then, Captain Faber, might we repair to your quarters?” he asks me. “We have much to discuss.”
“Like what, Captain Jared?” I ask.
“Oh, the terms of your surrender, and all that . . .”
