Rapture of the Deep

by L. A. Meyer

  ...because now ... there is Davy.

  It was the day after my supposed wedding and I was brought back to the Nancy B., with strict orders to behave myself, and there he was, standing on the quarterdeck. And it was so good to see the scrappy rascal again, looking all fine in blue trousers and jacket and red striped shirt, that I clasped him to me, crying, "Ah, Davy, well met, well met indeed!"

  "You again," he said with a wide grin. "I thought we were done with you for good and ever, Jacky."

  "You see, I do have a way of popping back up."

  He put his hands on my shoulders and his gaze softened as he looked in my eyes and said, "Ah, Jacky, when I saw that blade come down and then the executioner lifting up the head by its hair for all to see—hair that looked a lot like yours—well, I thought that ... I thought the old Brotherhood of five was now reduced unto three, I did." Then remembering his old cheeky self, he looked off, coughed, and added, "And good riddance, I thought at the time. Old Boney has done me a favor and gotten rid of that pest for good and ever."

  I gave him a poke with my finger. And that's not all you did, Davy. You also led a riot in the prison and got yourself flogged for it. That's why you've got these stripes on your back and that's why you have this new tattoo here on the back of your hand.

  I grabbed his wrist and held up his hand, to look at the tattoo. It was of a cat and, from the rendering of the chest and hips, plainly a female cat, wearing boots and brandishing a sword with Puss-in-Boots written above and the single word Vengeance written below. Mr. Peel had told me about that particular tattoo, the one that was being etched onto various arms and hands about the fleet, in memory of the death by guillotine of the girl pirate La Belle Jeune Fille Sans Merci, but that was the first time I had actually seen one of them. And here it was on Davy. Imagine that.

  "And now three members of that old Brotherhood will again trod on the same deck, and a fourth not too far off. Ain't life strange sometimes?"

  "Aye, it is, Jacky, and stranger yet is the fact that Puss-in-Boots is the boss of that same deck. Don't know how I'll be handlin' that."

  You'll get over it, Davy. I ain't that hard a taskmaster.

  I ran my hand over his back, feeling the furrowed lash marks there. "I heard you were whipped, Brother, and all on account of me. I am so sorry," I said. "I know I am so very hard on my friends." And I hugged him to me again, putting my head to his chest. "But let us speak no more about that." I lifted my head to look into his eyes. "You know we are going to the Caribbean, but we are stopping in Boston first."

  And those eyes did light up. "Oh yes, Jacky, I do know that!" he exulted, and I knew he was imagining his reunion—and I do mean re-union—with Annie, my own dear friend and, most recently, his own dear wife.

  I gave him a punch and said, "You'd better be good to her, Davy."

  "I am very good to her," said the rascal with a saucy wink. "Just ask the lass—after I've been there a few days—just how good I have been."

  I gave him another poke and we both turned to the outfitting of the Nancy B. Alsop for the coming voyage across the raging sea.

  During the week following my involuntary reenlistment in the Naval Intelligence Corps, we made mighty preparations for getting under way. In addition to loading on stores—the usual flour, salt pork, dried peas, crates of chickens, oatmeal, dry soup, and rum—we added a carefully packed cargo of fine Wedgwood china. Jacky Faber may now be an agent of British Naval Intelligence, but she is still a merchant. We also used the time to set up a laboratory under the main hatch, for Dr. Sebastian's use. When we were done, he came to visit and pronounced himself very satisfied with the results and most excited about the upcoming expedition—the scientific part of it, anyway. Dr. Sebastian would make the later crossing, on the Dolphin, as he had family business to attend to, and because, I think, he really did not relish sailing across the Atlantic in such a small craft as mine. After all, the Dolphin was two hundred and four feet long at the waterline and the Nancy B. a scant sixty-five.

  It was decided that my schooner would leave a week before the frigate, as I would be ready sooner than they, and besides, for reasons of secrecy, it would not be good for us to be seen sailing together. Captain Hudson decided to pay a call on us as we were preparing to get under way, and I was so very glad to see the good Captain again, he who watched out for me as best he could back there on the Dauntless, and later when we all were crammed into that foul French prison. And I was further delighted to find that Lieutenant Bennett was again with him, as he was assigned to be his First Mate on the Dolphin.

  However, at a final meeting in the First Lord's office, I was not delighted to learn that, much to my disgust, Lieutenant Harry Flashby would also be assigned to the Dolphin, and as Second Mate, no less!

  "You must be joking!" I cried, when I first learned of this. I jumped up and pointed my finger at Flashby, who stood smirking by the door. "The first time we met, he tried to ravish me and I was but fourteen years old and lay unconscious. And the second time he managed to get me in his foul clutches, he tied me to a chair and tortured me! A fine choice for Second Mate of HMS Dolphin, I must say!" That will also make the vile bastard Jaimy's superior officer and you can count on Flashby's doing his best to make Jaimy's life miserable...

  "Now, Miss," replied Peel, in what he must have thought was a soothing voice, "those were different circumstances. You understand we must have an agent onboard who has military experience, to watch out for our ... interests, should the mission succeed."

  And watch me, too...

  I was not mollified.

  The day before we leave, I have another visitor.

  At dawn she appears on the dock next to us, holding a small bundle of what I assume to be her clothes, other than those she had on her back, along with everything else she owned.

  It is Joannie Nichols.

  "Joannie? What are you doing here?" I ask, going to the gangway.

  She looks up at me. "I want to go with you," she says, and hands me a letter, which I promptly open and read. It is from my grandfather, Reverend Alsop, Headmaster of the London Home for Little Wanderers.

  My Dearest Mary,

  As you read this, I know that Joan Nichols stands before you, asking to be taken with you on your next journey. How she knows where you can be found, I do not know, and she will not tell me.

  Joan is a good child, but she has a stubborn, restless nature—she has already left the Home on three separate occa- sions, but has eventually returned each time. She is polite, has good manners, is good at sewing, and has learned her letters, but she has expressed no inclination for going into teaching, manufacturing, marriage, or service, which as you know are the options open to our girls.

  If she does not come back, I will know that she is with you and I wish you both Godspeed.

  Wishing you lived a more settled life, I am

  Your loving grandfather,

  George Henry Alsop

  I fold the letter back up and look at her standing, head bowed, on the wharf.

  "So. The lure of the street proved too much for you, eh?"

  "Sometimes. They were nice at the Home, but..." She lets it trail off, and I know exactly what she means.

  "You realize it's dangerous out on the sea?"

  "I do."

  "How did you know where to find me? It's supposed to be a secret."

  "We're here in Cheapside. I've been in and out of the Home. I know what's happenin' on my turf, I do. I have friends both in the Home and on the streets. So I know."

  Hmmm ... Scrawny, but with a smart mouth on her. Maybe twelve or thirteen years old. Red rough hands and pointy nose. Awkward. Hands and feet too big for her gangly body...

  Just like I was.

  I sigh and think, She's wise in the ways of the streets, so at least I won t have to baby-sit her. So, what the hell—if I re- fuse, she'll just work those streets till she is devoured by them, and sailing with me is better than that. Not much, but some.

  "Al
l right, Joannie. Come aboard. Your billet will be that of Ship's Girl. You will help Mr. Tinker in the cooking of food, and you will mop and clean and do anything else that is asked of you." I give her a stern look. "Is that understood?"

  She nods and runs up the gangway, the joy plain on her face.

  "Draw some light canvas from our stores to make yourself a pair of proper sailor's pants, as you certainly cannot perform your duties in that dress. When you are presentable, report to me."

  In less than ten minutes I see her up on the crow's-nest, sewing away, and singing.

  This morning we cast off, now riding the Thames's river current and the tide down to the sea. It is a beautiful day for a departure, if such a leave-taking must be made, the sky clear, with but a few scudding clouds, the breeze brisk, and the air warm.

  As we pass Bournemouth, I see a Royal Navy frigate lying at anchor, golden porpoises entwined about her name on the stern, a newly restored figurehead of a scantily dressed woman on her prow, and my breath catches in my throat.

  It is the Dolphin, the ship that took me in and gave me a home when I had none, the place where I was taught all the sailor skills I now have and where I met and joined the Brotherhood and where I first fell in love with a fine boy.

  I force myself to be strong and not cry, and say to Jim Tanner, my very skilled helmsman, "Bring us close to that ship there, Mr. Tanner, if you would."

  We have the wind behind us, so it is an easy thing for him to do, and as we swing alongside the dear Dolphin, I see Captain Hudson and Lieutenant Bennett and, yes, Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher on the quarterdeck. They all look up, surprised, as I cup my hands to my mouth and merrily call out, "We'll beat you over by two weeks, you sorry lot of swabs, just see if we don't!"

  There are cheers and laughter from both ships as we sheer away and head off to the rolling sea. I stand there a long time, looking back, and I think I see Jaimy doing the same.

  PART II

  Chapter 9

  "Back in good old Boston!" I crow, as the sleek Nancy B. slips by the more clumsy craft in Boston Harbor on this fine day, all her sails tight as drums, flags out and snapping, heading for Long Wharf. Oh, how good it is to be back and, for once, not being chased!

  As we approach the town docks, I see a likely spot. "There, Jim," I say, pointing. "Right behind that merchantman. We'll tie up there. Careful, now."

  Jim Tanner is at the helm, Davy and the others tending the sails. Joannie Nichols is by my side, jumping up and down in her excitement at her first glimpse of the New World. Daniel Prescott is there, too, but he affects the more world-weary, seen-it-all-before attitude of the experienced sailor, for all of his twelve years. I know he does this to impress Joannie, but I also know he is just as excited as the rest of us to be back in Boston, our dear home port.

  As we edge in, taking down more and more canvas till there is none left up, we let the breeze and the tide nestle our stout little schooner into her berth. Ah, yes, home again, girl...

  While we're maneuvering in, I notice a girl with flaxen hair standing on the dock, dressed in the serving-girl gear favored by Mistress Pimm of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls located up there on that hill. When she sees that it is us and that it is Jim Tanner who stands straight and tall at the helm, she falls to her knees and clasps her hands in front of her, her head bowed. Yes, Clementine, I say to myself, once again, your prayers have been answered. I speculate that she had gotten hold of a telescope and stolen chances each day to climb up onto the widow's walk on the top of the Lawson Peabody to scan the incoming seagoing traffic, and today she was rewarded, and I wish you the joy of it, Sister, I do.

  Tink throws over the land lines and a dockhand ties them to the wharf's bollards. We are secure, the Nancy B. now a thing of the land and not of the sea. The gangplank is laid across. And no sooner is it done than Clementine hops over the rail and is wrapped around her Jim, and he wrapped around her.

  "Clementine! Dear girl!"

  "Oh, Jimmy, I'm so glad! So glad!"

  "Good to see you, too, Clementine," I say to she who has not spared me so much as a glance. "Ah, well ... Jim Tanner, be off with your girl. We'll get things shipshape around here and we'll come get you when we need you. Keep in touch, now. See you in a few days." Jim throws his seabag over his shoulder, and they are joyously off without a backward glance.

  There is a thump of feet upon deck and I turn to see that Davy has come down from the mainmast, where he has been managing the set of the sails for the tricky way in. His sandy hair is neatly braided in a pigtail—hair the color and texture of which is so much like mine that people have sometimes taken us for brother and sister. That and the fact that we bicker like any two members of the same litter of pups.

  Well done, Davy, is what I should say for his expert handling of the sails, but what I do say is, "Not bad, Seaman Jones, though there was a bit of a luff in the jib on the way in. Hope no true and worthy seaman was watching and chanced to see that. I should die of shame were it let out that I would allow something like that to happen on a ship of mine."

  He knows I am joking with him, so he grimaces and grunts, "Stoof it, Jack-o."

  I realize that he is about to jump out of his skin in his fervent desire to get close, very close, to his new bride, Annie, who he knows is working in the Lawson Peabody build-ing right there up on Beacon Hill. Right there, by God...

  "Now, is that any way to talk to your Captain, Day-vee?" I tease, giving him a poke in the ribs.

  Yesterday I had given him some money, 'cause I knew he'd be wanting to take Annie off for a few days' romp in a room at the Pig and Whistle, rather than suffer under her father's stern and sometimes not-very-friendly eye at the Byrneses' family homestead. After all, he is taking the man's daughter to bed, and that doesn't always set easy with a dad.

  "Your first pay from Faber Shipping Worldwide. Ain't that grand, now, Davy?" I had said, pressing it into his hand and grinning into his face. "It isn't much, 'cause you're only rated Ordinary here, Davy, very Ordinary. But it should serve. Ah, yes, I know that in the Royal Navy you are rated Able, yes, I know ... But here at Faber Shipping, we hold to a much higher standard."

  I do love to see his teeth go on edge ... Ah yes, just like old times.

  "All right, the ship is secure and I'm off," says Davy now, preparing to leap over the rail and sprint up Beacon Hill to the school. "Do I have permission to go ashore, Captain?" the last word spoken with a bit of a snarl.

  "Not just yet, Seaman Jones. You must calm yourself." I simper. "We shall go off and visit the Lawson Peabody together. I have to change, and you will stay right there till I get back," I order, pointing to the deck beneath his feet. "I shan't be long."

  I give him a bit of a finger wave and go below into my cabin, where I find Higgins laying out my Lawson Peabody School dress. I am out of my working clothes in a moment and into the uniform black dress.

  "What else will you need, Miss?" asks my good Higgins.

  "Just my mantilla," I say. "And my red wig."

  "What?" he says, eyebrows up.

  "Davy and I are going up to the Lawson Peabody, he to see his wife and me to see my sisters. Will you not join us?"

  "No, thank God," says Higgins, reaching into my seabag and pulling out the wig as if it were a large and particularly hideous spider. He shudders as he puts it on my head and fluffs it up. "I must go see Mr. Pickering concerning the disposal of the cargo."

  "Ah. Good," I say. "Well, please give Ezra my compliments and tell him that I shall see him later this afternoon. And please inform him and all the crew that we will have dinner at the Pig and Whistle this evening, Faber Shipping's treat."

  "I shall convey that message. But how can you wear this thing in public?" he asks, shuddering.

  My red wig is undoubtedly one of the more outrageous of the hairpieces I've picked up to hide my shorn locks—short hair on women is a scandal in many parts of the world—and the wig is very high and very long and is decorated w
ith yellow ribbons, and when it is in place, a cascade of ringlets hang by my face.

  "It is a joke, Higgins. I mean to have a bit of fun," I say as I wrap the black lace mantilla about my shoulders, ready, should I need it, to veil my face.

  "Well, I hope you do, Miss," says Higgins. "Here, you will need your cloak if it grows chilly outside."

  "Thank you, Higgins," I say, as he wraps the coat about me and pulls the hood up over my head, completely concealing my fake hair. "And now we must be off."

  Regaining the deck, I link my arm in Davy's and say, "Now, my fine young sailor lad, we shall go to see about the Lawson Peabody and all who lie within it."

  As we walk through the narrow streets near the docks and then up across the commons, I revel in the old familiar sights and in the delicious cool of the late fall day.

  It is not long before we have crossed Beacon Street and are approaching the school. I stop and heave a great sigh while looking at the building, the scene of much grief and, yes, much gladness for me.

  Davy, however, is in no mood for such female wistfulness and charges on ahead.

  "Wait, Davy," I say, running to catch up with him. "Let's go around back and go in that way."

  And so we do,and as I approach the door to the kitchen, I say, "You wait out here, Davy." Then, lifting the latch, I add, "It'll be better that way, you'll see."

  I open the door and duck in. Sure enough, there's good old Peggy, working away at the stove. As she turns to look at me, I pull the mantilla from my face and say, "Hello, Peggy," and her eyes grow wide and she drops her ladle and says, "Oh, my good Lord, it's our Jacky!" and comes to enfold me in her warm embrace.