by Scott Cook
The inlet into which they sailed and which was now about a mile to the east was labeled as Jove inlet on the British chart. She knew some of the history of Spanish Florida from her research done during the long hours of the passage from Portsmouth. A local Indian tribe known as the Jobe lived very nearby at the mouth of the Loxahatchee River. Some English pilot or other had misinterpreted the Spanish spelling or pronunciation of Jobe… pronounced Hobe, as one would pronounce robe… and called the place the Jove or sometimes Jupiter inlet. Jove and Jupiter being interchangeable in Roman lore and their name for Zeus.
She also knew that Jupiter inlet, to use the English vernacular, was a much-frequented stop for vessels that passed along the Florida trade route as a good location for fresh water and firewood. When push came to shove, which it surely must, she would at least know from where they started upon their flight.
What’s more, no one had bothered to mark the chart over the last three days and more. Which meant that Meraux most likely had no conception of where his ships now lay. Was that important? Kate couldn’t be sure but an advantage was an advantage after all and one couldn’t say fairer than that.
Eight bells struck below to indicate the end of the afternoon watch and the beginning of the first dog. She’d insisted that at least for the brig, regular naval time keeping was still to be observed. Meraux hadn’t objected, only shrugging and allowing her this indulgence. His own vessel had no bells ringing and thus far, she hadn’t seen much of any kind of watch system. Of course, they were riding at anchor, but still…
She looked down onto the deck below and watched for a moment as the strange squat figures, foreshortened by perspective, ambled about. It was odd to watch this, the compact bodies with long limbs stretching out in front and behind as they moved. It put her in mind of some manner of child’s toy.
One of those figures, it was clear, was Meraux. He stood near the wheel on the quarterdeck, appearing to cast about for something. After a moment or so, his face turned upward and he seemed to be looking at her. He shouted something that she couldn’t quite make out and then waved.
It rankled Kate for this bastard to think he could simply summon her whenever he wished. It therefore pleased her to turn away and ignore him. She knew that sooner rather than later, the Frenchman would send one of his men aloft by way of a summons.
The wait proved to be short. She could see one of the privateer’s men making his way up the ratlines. She noted with contempt that the grass combing bugger came into the main top through the lubber’s hole rather than up the futtock shrouds like a right seaman.
Each of the brig’s masts, like those on a man o’war, had platforms at the head of the lower masts called fighting tops. These platforms allowed for comfortable observations and as a base of operation for the handling of the upper masts and sails. Additionally, and especially in fighting ships, the tops allowed for men to fire at enemies from an elevated platform with muskets and swivel guns. Lastly, the tops anchored and spread the shrouds for the top masts. Each top had a hole near the mast through which the lower mast shrouds and their rat lines, the horizontal ropes between shrouds that acted as ladders, were led. This hole was referred to as the “lubber’s hole” by nimble sailors for obvious reasons.
The seaman like way to go would be to transfer to the outward leaning shrouds that supported the top. Called the futtock shrouds, these lines ran from the lip of the top and angled inward where they joined the lower shrouds and to the catharpins that spread and tensioned them. A sailor had to hook his fingers and toes into the ratlines here and hang, suspended high over the deck at a fifty-five degree angle, ascending backward. Then, if the sailor wished to enter the top, he’d swing his feet over the top’s low bulwark and haul himself in. It was a feat that grew mindlessly simple over time but that often gave newcomers a considerable fright even to watch.
Kate watched the French sailor look up at her and frown. Just as he opened his mouth to shout something she knew she’d resent, Kate grinned down at him from her perch near the head of the top mast, leaned far out over empty space and took hold of a back stay. She gripped it in both of her strong yet elegant hands, squeezed the heavy line with her feet and slid the eighty feet down to the quarterdeck, landing lightly on her feet with a thump. She chuckled and turned to Meraux.
“May I take it you have something you’d like to discuss?” Kate asked with a great deal of complacency.
It took him a moment to regain his composure and smile at her, “Impressive skill, Catherine. Yes, I wonder if you’d care to sup with me. In an hour, say? I’ve also invited Mr. Bentley, the surgeon and a few other guests.”
“Indeed,” she said coolly, standing erect with her hands behind her back. “That’s singularly gracious of you, Captain. To invite me to dine in what is, in truth, my own cabin.”
He chuckled, “have we not gone over this, Catherine? In spite of your playing at being a ship’s captain… an amusing notion for a woman, especially one so young… this vessel is now mine. Let us keep that in mind, s'il vous plaît.”
Now she chuckled, “So you say. Very well, then, Monsieur Meraux, I shall join you after I’ve visited my men and scrubbed up a bit.”
“I look forward to it,” Meraux said, sketching a bow.
Kate turned and descended the companion ladder to the accommodation deck and then below to the orlap. She made her way forward through the dim light that filtered down from the hatches and deck prisms above and entered the sick berth. Doctor Miles wasn’t in attendance and most of the invalids were resting quietly. She approached to Danvers’ cot and leaned down close to him.
“Danvers… Danvers, there… are you awake?” She said softly enough that if he was asleep she wouldn’t have disturbed him.
Aye, mum,” He said quietly. Over the last few days, he’d transitioned from addressing her as miss to the familiar form of ma’am. Kate believed it’d happened without either of them having taken any notice of it the first few times. She found it reassuring as well as touching.
“How do you come along, eh?” She asked.
“Prime, mum, prime, I thank ye’,” he said. “Howsoever… if I had my way, mum, I’d be on deck adoin’ of somethin’ useful, like. Stead o’ lyin’ in this here hammock, alanguishin’.”
“Indeed,” She said. “Perhaps doing something about these goddamned Frogs?”
In the gloomy light, his brown eyes met hers and seemed to gleam with a predatory light, “Aye, Miss Cook, Aye.”
“Good,” She said, casting a quick glance around to see if any of the enemy invalids were eavesdropping. “Listen now, Danvers… Captain Woodbine has charged me with the command of this brig.”
“Aye, mum… I know.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
He grinned, “Which it’s a bit unusual, mum… but the way you took charge during the action… the way you stood over me and fought off them Frogs… I’m much obliged to ye for that… well, I can’t think of no one better.”
“Thank you, Danvers,” Kate said with real gratitude in her voice. “But however… without we retake the brig, it’s all for naught. Along that line, though, I’d like to rate you my coxswain if that would agree with you.”
He smiled, “I’m much obliged for your good opinion, mum… I’d like that indeed. Like it of all things… Cap’n.”
“Very good, then Coxswain Danvers,” Kate said, patting him on the shoulder. “As your first official duty, I need you to get word to all of our men. I can’t very well hold a gathering… and we need them to be ready when the time comes. But it’s vital that the Frogs not be aware of our motions, do you hear me now? They must not smoke a thing before we’re prepared or all is lost.”
“Aye, mum” He said eagerly. “When do we go?”
“I’m not sure yet… but I think you’ll know when the time is right,” Kate stated. “The long and short of it, Danvers, is that when we rise up, it must be swift and decisive. No quarter to anyone who doesn’t immediately
surrender.”
“Aye…” he said thoughtfully. “And beggin’ your pardon if I’m outta line… but we must take both vessels.”
She grinned at him, “Catch as catch can, eh? Precisely! We must not get to Saint Augustine. It certainly will mean prison for you and the rest of the lads, and the total loss of this brig. I cannot… will not allow that to happen… I gave captain Woodbine my solemn oath upon it.”
“And you got mine,” Danvers said. “I’m with ye, and the rest of the lads will be too for certain sure.”
“Do you think you’re up to it?”
“I’m better’n I look, mum,” he said. “Ye can count on me.”
“Good man,” She said, patting him again. “All right, I’ve got to go break bread with that French butt-fucker… so stand by.”
Danvers only partly managed to contain his mirth, “Be mindful o’ that one, mum… he’s no gentleman.”
“Of that I’m sure… rest up, now.”
Kate was nearly to the after companion when she thought she heard something strange. Riding at her anchor as she was, and with the men above decks, the lower deck of the brig was singularly quiet. There was the occasional squeak of a rat in the hold, but otherwise…
There it was again… a sort of… whimpering? And the sound of a slap?
Kate stood stock still and listened. The orlap of the brig was mostly storage aft, with a berthing compartment amidships, the cable tier and the sick berth right forward. Abaft the crew’s berth was the bread room, sail room, boatswain’s storeroom, the captain’s store room and the spirit room. Where had that noise…?
A stifled scream! It was coming from aft, from the sail storage room. Kate inched forward silently, creeping up to the door. At first, she assumed it was one of the sailors having himself a go with a woman… but the only women on board were passengers. Mrs. Bentley, a handful of other married women and Francis Childers, a pretty woman in her early twenties who was on her way to South Carolina to marry a young tobacco farmer.
Kate sidled up to the door and listened again. She heard a growling male voice saying something harsh. Kate couldn’t tell what was said, but the tone was unmistakable.
She tried the knob and it was locked from the inside. That was the last barrier to her anger. Kate took a step back and kicked out with her right boot, connecting with the knob. Although some of the partitions aboard a ship, especially those in the officer’s cabins, were thin deal, the storage rooms were another matter. Heavy oak and most of them were also lined with sheet metal to prevent the rats from getting into them.
However, her kick was more than sufficient to overcome the lock and there was the satisfying snap of the hasp and a ting as the key fell inward. She grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. The dim light from a nearby overhead lantern cast the room in a murky light, yet it was enough to clearly reveal the scene within.
It was indeed Miss Childers, lying half on her back on a pile of number three sail cloth. Her skirts and petticoats were pushed up over her thighs and the filthy privateer had already begun to unbuckle his belt. In his right hand, he menaced her with a wicked looking dagger.
The man squawked something in surprise but Kate gave him no time to finish his curse before she was on him. With another savage kick, his knife went spinning into the darkness. As he turned to face his attacker, the man’s eyes bulged in shock.
The lantern hanging from a deck beam out in the corridor and a bit forward revealed only a dark silhouette that filled the doorway. The man saw a tall, strong looking yet slim figure advancing on him. He made an abortive attempt to scurry away but there was little deck space in the crowded storage room. He soon found himself backed against a wall of tightly-packed canvas.
Lights exploded in his vision as a fist struck him on his jaw. Then another… and another… he tumbled sideways, tripping and sprawling onto another stack of sails. As he did, he caught a better glimpse of the man who’d burst in.
Not a man… tall but too lean… no, it was that uppity girl! The one who fancied herself a sailor! This realization emboldened the man and he lurched forward to try and take hold of her. They grappled for a moment, his hands brushing across bountiful breasts covered by broadcloth and a shirt beneath and then gripping a pair of upper arms that bulged with muscle. That surprised him. He knew she was strong, being so tall, yet the feeling of hard muscle that now bulged with effort was a shock. As much as the shock of her strong hands coming up between his arms and then pushing apart, tearing his hands off her and then forcing his arms back.
She was immensely strong! Easily as strong as he was if not more so! Who the hell was this bitch?
Even as he formed that thought, a knee came up between his legs and a million stars burst in his vision as a wave of nausea rushed into his throat. Her hands released him and he crumpled to the deck, assuming a fetal aspect and gagging audibly.
As she stood over the man, Kate recognized him. It was that foul sentry who’d challenged her the other day. She sneered down at him and bent low, close to his ear.
“I’ll have the goddamned flesh off your back for this, you frog eatin’ son of a bitch,” She hissed, grabbing a handful of his now loose hair and jerking his head around to face her. “I’ll have you flayed by the cat and then you’ll caper from a gibbet before the sun sets! Do you hear me, you French lump of shit!”
She slammed the man’s head back onto the deck with a resounding thump and turned to the woman now struggling to get herself in order. Kate moved to her side and wrapped Francis in her arms.
“Francis, its Kate! Are you all right?”
“Kate…” The woman said shakily. “Kate…? That man, he… he…”
“Kate held the woman’s slender body close to hers, stroking her hair, “It’s all right now, Fanny. Did he hurt you?”
Francis was sobbing now, “No… that is… he didn’t… you came in just as he was…”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Kate soothed. “But it’s all right. He won’t hurt you. Come, let’s get you back to your cabin, shall we?”
“I’m… I’m all right,” Fanny said somewhat unconvincingly.
“How did he get you down here?” Kate asked. She bent and began to search the man’s crumpled form. He didn’t even try to resist.
“He… he said that Mrs. Andrews had missed her footing in the dark down here,” Francis explained, seeming to calm a little. “Asked if I’d come down and help him get her to the sick berth or to her cabin. He was very polite and charming… you know… how the French can be at times?”
Kate chuffed disdainfully, “Charming indeed…”
She found something jammed into his belt and pulled. It was a double-barreled pistol. She couldn’t be sure in the gloomy lantern light, but she thought she recognized it as a Joe Manton. Joe Manton was a master firearms maker in England. He specialized in rifled pieces that were quite accurate and reliable. She knew that captain Woodbine had had a pair of Manton’s in his cabin. They were expensive and not often to be found among the common sailors.
“So you’re a thief now as well,” Kate sneered. “I would expect nothing less from a scum sucking pirate, after all.”
“You… you putain!” The man gasped. “You think anything will come of this? The captaine will do nothing!”
“We’ll see,” Was all Kate said. She picked the key off the deck and ushered Francis out. The lock on the door was burst, making the key superfluous, of course. She sighed and simply closed it behind her. After escorting Francis up to the guest cabins and leaving her in the care of the Bentley’s, Kate stalked aft, her indignation boiling over into rage. She all but stove in the door to the captain’s cabin.
Meraux was sitting at Woodbine’s desk again, examining several documents. He looked up in surprise. A brief flash of naked anger flittered across his features before being replaced by one of assumed nonchalance.
“What—Catherine, what is the meaning—“
“Come with me,” She ordered, her rage barely
contained.
She’d had the forethought to hide the pistol in her own cabin. Had she brought it in with her, the temptation to use it might have overcome her.
“What is it?” Meraux said irritably. “I’m busy and have no time—“
“One of your filthy fuckin’ sailors tried to rape one of my passengers,” Kate growled. “He’s currently in the sail room and I want to show you! Please come with me, captain.”
Meraux’s eyes went wide but he did get up with a sigh. He followed her down to the sail room where she flung the door open. The miserable sod was still in there, now sitting up and leaning against the sails, one hand cupping his abused privates.
“What happened?” The privateer captain asked.
Kate explained what she’d heard and what she’d done.
“Gaspard!” Meraux snapped. “You disgusting fool! What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Monsieur… I… it is not true!”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Are you really going to sit there and give me the lie on my own goddamned deck! After I caught you red handed in the act, you flaming son of a bitch!!” Kate exploded. “I want this man seized to a grating and given four dozen lashes immediately! And then I’ll see him dangling from the yardarm! We had an agreement, captain Meraux! This filthy beast violated it and tried to violate a young woman. For this there can be no defense! No defense whatsoever! Do you hear me!?”
Meraux was intrigued, surprised and even mildly aroused by the depth and strength of her enraged conviction. He was perhaps even a bit worried, too. This big strong girl was a warrior that was certain. She was something right from the pages of Homer or Virgil. A powerful Amazon warrior Goddess. A force of nature that would have it her own way regardless. It made him want her all the more.
“Sacre bleu…” he muttered under his breath.
“Well?” Kate demanded.
