by L. A. Meyer
Captain Renaud invited Captain Hudson up for dinner each night after he had recovered from his case of mauvais poisson, and I went with him, but not as a guest, for I am a mere midshipman—no, it was as translator, for Captain Hudson's French is not good. So, instead of sitting at the table and partaking of the wonderful spread of food out there in front of me, I stood at Attention behind my Captain's chair, and spoke only when necessary. It was exquisite torture, given my appetite, but I managed to endure.
When we reached France, however, all the pleasantries were over and we were taken, Captain, officers, and men, and stuffed down into a foul prison.
Chapter 11
The prison at Cherbourg is built in the shape of a U, with the men being put in one wing of the jail, and the officers in another. We are, of course, not the only ones here. There are some who have been in this prison for months, even years, poor buggers.
There is a courtyard within the U, with a whipping post in the center of it. We have already been treated to the sight of prisoners being tied to the post and lashed for minor infractions of the rules. To close the top of the U, there is a great iron gate, with sharp spikes on the top, to make anyone considering escaping that way think twice.
All of us are equals now, in our confinement—the Captain, Dr. Sebastian, Mr. Bennett, and the other officers choose their sleeping spots, but one is much like any other. In our section, there are single bunks built into the stone walls, shelves like. We are given blankets and straw mattresses, and I figure it best that I sleep alone, so as not to cause discord among the officers and all. I mean, I know I ain't much, but I am a girl, and after a while here, some men's thoughts may turn to ... well, you know. I make up my bunk right below Joseph Jared, and that first night I curl up in my customary ball, drawing my knees to my chin, say my usual prayers for Jaimy and the rest, so I figure I will get through the night all right.
But it doesn't work out that way at all.
That first night in prison, after sleep comes upon me, they come for me in my dream—the Newgate Hangman, the Pirate LeFievre, Captain Scroggs, Pap Beam, and all the rest, each of them hollow eyed and ghastly, like skulls, wavin' nooses at me, and then Sammy Nettles comes and gets a rope around me neck and giggles, Now, Smart-mouth, now yer gonna get it, and get it good... and I start thrashin' about and pleadin', No, no, please, I'm just a poor girl what's always tried to be good and oh, God! I beg of you...
I feel a hand across my mouth, I open my eyes and look into those of Joseph Jared whose hand it is that stifles my nightmare cries.
"You're goin' to give yourself away, Puss," he whispers in my ear. "Some of them Frenchies out there might understand a bit of English. We've got to fix this, Jacky. How are we gonna do it?"
I know right well how to fix it. To hell with discord and propriety.
"Get back in your bunk, Joseph," I breathe, my breast heaving and my breath still ragged from the horror of my dream, "and I will join you there. That will stop the nightmares. It always has."
He, clad in his drawers and scant else, it being a warm night, climbs back up into his bed, and, in a moment, I climb up, too. I get between him and the wall and he puts his arm around me and I put my head on his bare chest, take a long, slow breath, let it out, and fall into a deep, deep sleep.
I do not like sleeping alone.
I, of course, did sleep more soundly each night after that, and I contrived to be the first one up in the morning to conceal the fact that I had just crawled out of Joseph Jared's bed, but, really, I think I fooled no one. Still, the other officers let it go and pretended not to notice, preferring peace over discord, and I was able to sleep without waking everyone with my screams.
One night, however, I was roused by some small sound so I lifted my head to peer out over Joseph's sleeping form and thought I could make out Bliffil standing at the cage door and whispering to the guard outside. Since I was halfway between sleep and wakefulness, I could not be sure of what went on, but I thought I saw Bliffil pass something to the guard.... A message? Money? I don't know ... I put my head back down on Joseph's shoulder, sighed, and went back to sleep.
Other than that puzzling exchange, if, indeed, that was what I saw, things are worked out. Captain Hudson is given the possibility of parole, but he refuses, preferring to stay with his officers and men to share in their suffering. I am not sure, but I have the feeling that he also stays to protect me from Bliffil. I have always had such good friends.
There is an open privy in the room, and when it is my turn to use it, the others turn away and belt out "Rule Britannia" at the top of their lungs.
Rule, Britannia,
Britannia rule the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves!
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame,
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
Captain Hudson lustily leads the chorus again after that fourth verse, and it gives great amusement to our guards while nicely covering up my doings.
Rule, Britannia,
Britannia rule the waves!
Britons never, never, NEVER!...shall be slaves!
We are there for about a week when a guard comes to the door with a French officer and he says, "Capitaine Hudson, you are being exchanged. Monsieur Bennett, also. Come with us please."
I translate and the Captain stands up to address his officers, all of whom get to their feet. "I must go, gentlemen, but rest assured I shall be tireless in attempting to secure your release."
All express their joy at the Captain's release, but he waves them off and goes up and stands before Bliffil. "Mr. Bliffil. I will be keeping an eye on what happens to our Midshipman Kemp, here. Count on that, and know that I will hold you accountable if anything untoward occurs. Do you understand me, Sir?"
Bliffil, his face dark and his lips pinched in anger, nods.
"Good," says Captain Hannibal Hudson. "Good luck to you all. God save the King. God save the Service." He shakes hands with each of his officers, including me, and embraces his friend the Doctor, saying, "We shall meet again soon, brother."
And with that, he and Mr. Bennett are gone.
Soon after the senior officers have left, Bliffil starts in with his insinuations.
"When Warrant Officer Jared there decides to finally mount her," he sneers, "will we stand back and sing 'God Save the King' to cover the sounds of their coupling?"
"You will leave off on that kind of talk, Mr. Bliffil!" warns Mr. Curtis, now the ranking officer, but Joseph Jared says much more.
He leaps forward and grabs Bliffil by the throat and slams him up against the stone wall of the prison. He thrusts his face within an inch of Bliffil's and snarls, "One more word and I'll snap your neck, you miserable piece of dung!"
"I will see you court-martialed for laying your hands upon me!" snarls Bliffil, furious.
"I don't give a good goddamn what you will do. All I know is one more word against her, and I will kill you, right here, right now," says Jared, evenly, and he begins to twist Bliffil's collar in his fist, slowly tightening it. Bliffil's face turns white, then red, then a most alarming shade of purple. He gasps for breath, but that breath does not come till Jared suddenly releases him and he falls to the floor, gasping, his hands to his throat.
After that, we resume the normal routine, one that is sure to be ours for weeks and weeks, months and months, and maybe even for years and years.
However, several days later, that routine is disrupted, especially for me.
There is a commotion at the door to our cage and another group of naval officers is thrown in. Their leader is with them, a Captain Blackstone of HMS Mercury. I'm wondering why he seems oddly familiar, when a litter is brought in, bearing a badly wounded young man. The stretcher bearers rudely dump him on one of the bunks and leave.
Dr. Sebastian looks at him and shouts after the departing guards, "This man needs to be in hospital!
" But the guards say nothing.
I, too, can say nothing, for I am stunned beyond speech.
The wounded and unconscious young man is Jaimy Fletcher.
Chapter 12
I fall to my knees next to Jaimy's bunk and lay my hand on his forehead and find it hot and damp. Oh, Jaimy, what has happened to you?
There is an angry red groove that slashes through his dark hair on the right side of his head. Crude stitches have closed the cut, but not very well, even I can tell that. The wound still seeps and his face is covered in crusted blood. I must ... I must...
"Mr. Kemp," says Dr. Sebastian, with a warning glance at the ever watchful guards, "you will remember your place. You must stand aside, please. I know that you feel for your friend here who is, indeed, in dire straits, but leave the medical things to me."
Dimly, I'm aware of Captain Blackstone recounting how HMS Mercury was taken—it had been sent off from the main convoy on a foolish errand to guard a fat, slow merchantman that wanted to put into a port in North Africa to take on a cargo of Egyptian cotton, and was surprised on the way back by a French squadron. They fought valiantly, of course—three dead officers and seventeen men, and many more wounded—but were eventually brought low and their colors were struck. "There were just too many of them," he laments sadly, shaking his head. "Just too damn many..."
The Doctor puts his fingers to Jaimy's wrist to feel the pulse, then he puts his ear to Jaimy's chest and listens. "His heart is all right, which is good."
Captain Blackstone comes to the Doctor's side. "He was hit a glancing blow from a cannonball as he stood by my side on my quarterdeck. He fell there and since then has wandered in and out of consciousness."
The Doctor nods. "Severe concussion." He, too, reaches up to feel Jaimy's forehead and then takes a whiff of the wound. "Some fever. Probably some sepsis from the wound itself. He will either live or die from that, but I worry more about the damage to his brain."
I stand aside, wringing my hands. Oh, Jaimy, it can't come to this! It just can't end here...
"Mr. Kemp, please tell the guard that I need my loblolly boy and my instruments. If he hesitates, remind him that I worked on both the English and the French wounded when first I was brought here. I'll also need more water and cloths. This man needs to be cleaned up."
I go to the door to plead for what the Doctor wants. When the guard, a French Marine, looks doubtful I say, "Please, Corporal, please do it. After all, we are all of us, yes, me and you, too, only poor sailors, sent out on the wild and wasteful ocean by our countries to do their will. Can you not help a fellow sailor?"
We get the stuff and the Doctor sets to work. He restitches the wound, while Stritch and I strip off Jaimy's soiled uniform and wash his body as best we can. When he is covered again with a clean sheet, the Doctor steps back and says, "I've done all that can be done."
I sit by Jaimy's side through that long day and night, putting cool compresses to his forehead.
Once during the night he becomes restless, and, by the dim light of the full moon that comes in through the high, barred window, I see that his eyes open.
"Jaimy, please lie still. It's me, Jacky."
"Jacky? No ... not you," he says, his eyes wild. "The Devil ... taunting me again ... can't be..."
"It is, Jaimy..."
And then he drifts off, and again I put the cold rag back on his brow.
Later, in his delirium, he talks with someone named McCoy. "No, no ... I killed you. Cut your throat ... blood on my hands." He twists in the bed. "Beatty?...Blew your brains out. You can't come back at me, neither of you can; you're dead, both of you, you're..."
He subsides and I put the cloth back on. Then...
"Clementine? What ... wait ... no, don't go..."
It doesn't matter, Jaimy, just please don't die. Please don't.
Chapter 13
The next morning I wake with my head on Jaimy's chest. I had intended to spend the whole night mopping his brow, but sleep overtook me and I was weak. I'm sorry, Jaimy. I really did try.
Jared appears at my side, buttoning up his jacket.
"How is he?"
"The same, I'm afraid. He goes in and out."
"Well, here, you must get something to eat, I'll get—"
But he gets nothing, and neither do I.
There is a rattling at the front door lock and it opens and four soldiers march in, followed by two men in civilian clothes. I see Bliffil rise and edge toward the door, his face expressionless. He points to me and the two men come forward.
Uh-oh.
"You will come with us, Jac-key Fay-bair," says the taller of the two, in English. "Corporal, take her out."
I am betrayed ... I am undone...
Jared leaps from my side and grabs Bliffil by the throat before he can get out the door. "You dirty bastard. You gave her up, and I'm going to kill you for it."
Bliffil says, "No, no! You don't understand! You don't..."
But then Jared's balled-up fist smashes into his face and his nose flattens and his nostrils spurt blood all over his shirtfront, and he doesn't say anything more. Joseph is about to hit him again, but the butt of a French Marine's musket slams into the side of his head, and he goes down.
"Back! The rest of you! Back against zee wall!" shouts the tall Frenchman. Sharp bayonets force my friends back away from me. Bliffil, holding his hand to his face, rises unsteadily to his feet and staggers out the door, supported by a soldier. A barrage of curses and threats of future retribution follow him out. "Take her! Bind her hands!"
Hands are put on me and I am dragged out the door and into the hallway. I take one last look at Jaimy and then the door is closed and locked. Good-bye, Jaimy...
The tall cove puts his face to the grating on the door and shouts to my friends inside, "You, English! You will be treated to a spectacle! Look out into the courtyard in a few minutes!"
My hands are bound behind and I am shoved forward, down the hall, around a corner, and then into the bright light of the courtyard. The place is empty, except for the whipping post and a box with a board leaning against it. Am I to be whipped?
My mind reels as I am pushed relentlessly forward, but, strangely, not to the post, but rather to the box. What is going on here?
"English! My name is Monsieur Jardineaux! I am the Chief Prosecutor in this district!" Faces appear at the prison windows. I think I recognize Davy's face among them.
I am taken by the arms and forced to stand on the box.
"What we have here...," continues Monsieur Jardineaux, gesturing to me. He is plainly enjoying himself. "...ees the pirate Jac-key Fay-bair, sometimes known as La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci. Not looking very belle right now, ees she?"
I don't say anything. I just try to keep a semblance of the Look on my face.
"What we also have here is an object called a bascule." He points to the board and nods to two of the soldiers. They immediately hold the thing up in front of me and I see that there are three sets of straps hanging on it. I also see dried blood on the upper end of it. I start to tremble. Is it a device for torture? Oh, no ... Please, Lord, let my end be quick.
"And what is this bascule, you are wondering, eh? Well, it shall all be made very plain to you, yes, very plain. Strap her in," orders Jardineaux, and I am shoved chest-first up against the thick board.
The bloodstained top edge comes up only to my breastbone, and as the straps go around my shoulders, my middle, and my knees and are firmly tightened, I realize with the deepest of dread just what this board is for, and it hits me that my prayer was just answered—my end will be brutal, but it will be quick. Thank you, Lord. Now just help me not disgrace myself and bring shame upon the Service. Head up now, girl, for the last time ... Stop blubbering, stop it now!
"What you see here is the very board that binds the condemned down on the base of Madame La Guillotine."
There is a roar from both galleries of English prisoners. We'll get you, you frog-eatin' bastards! We will av
enge you, Puss! We'll kill ten thousand of them for the one of you. A hundred thousand! Miserable cowards, to kill a girl! We'll hunt Bliffil down to the very ends of the earth, and he will not die slow, count on that! Oh, this can't be happening! It can't—
"Calm down, gentlemen, and attendez-vous," says Jardineaux. "I regret that the guillotine could not be moved here so that you could witness for yourselves this—"
"What about a trial?" bellows someone from the officers' quarters, echoed by many a hear! hear! "You call yourself a lawyer!"
Jardineaux raises his thin, dark face to Captain Blackstone at the window above, for it was he who called out.
"My dear sir, there has already been a trial, in absentia, and she was found guilty, most guilty of Piracy and Murder and sentenced to death. Simple as that. And now that we have her, that sentence is going to be carried out in full. We shall see just how much mercy Madame Guillotine will have for Jac-key Fay-bair, the Beautiful Young Girl Without Mercy, as this one was called after she wickedly tortured and killed French citizens. I suspect it will be very little."
More roars and curses from above. Things—cups, bottles, pieces of chairs, anything that will fit through the bars—are thrown down, but all is in vain and all dismissed with a laugh from Jardineaux.
"If I may continue: I regret that the guillotine could not be moved from the center of town at such short notice—you see, a number of counterrevolutionaries had recently been captured and had to be accommodated."
Jardineaux leaves my side and advances to the high, strong wooden gates that guard the outside entrance to the courtyard. "Pin up her hair!" he shouts as he walks. "The High Executioner does not like to have hair in front of his blade, especially if it is female hair. He swears it dulls the edge, and we can't have that, can we? If the Queen, herself, could have had her hair pinned up on her journey to the same place, then why not this piece of trash?"
