by L. A. Meyer
I knew the salute was coming and had decided to return it. My nine-pound guns, called that because of the size of shot that they throw, are puny next to the massive twenty-four-pounders of the Dolphin, but they still give out with a satisfying sound and can do much damage when called upon to do so.
"Fire, Mr. Thomas," I say, and John Thomas jerks the lanyard on gun number one, portside forward.
Crrrack!
I give it a moment and then say, "Fire, Mr. McGee."
Crrrack!
The powder smoke drifts away and I order, "Reload, lads. Davy, Tink, check the charges on the other guns, but leave the canvas covers on. I have a feeling we're going to have a visitor."
We have two nine-pound guns on each side of the Nancy, as well as a three-pound swivel gun mounted both fore and aft. The sailors tend to the cannons and then shortly give the thumbs-up signal. I nod and wait.
Dr. Sebastian comes up next to me on my quarterdeck. "You are expecting company?"
Professor Tilly had left us and gone aboard the Dolphin last night, there being no diving or other scientific research being done now, and relations still being rather cool between the two men of science since the near killing of me. Dr. Sebastian cannot forgive Tilly's failure to warn me about the Rapture of the Deep ... and the bends. The bell has been left in the Nancy's forward hold, which is good for three reasons. Number one, I think Tilly has lost interest in it and is ready to pursue his next foolish fancy. Number two, we'll need it to bring up the rest of the gold when we rendezvous in a week. The third is that I intend to keep it when all is said and done.
"Yes, Doctor," I answer, and before I can even scan the horizon, there is a call from Daniel Prescott on lookout above.
"On deck there! Ship to the east!"
Sure enough, the Dolphin was hardly out of sight when Flaco Jimenez's ship heaves into sight. I lift my long glass and see his colors flying at the masthead—a red devil's skull with the two crossed cannons below. El Diablo Rojo.
"Who is it?" asks the Doctor.
Dr. Sebastian could have gone off with Tilly, but he did not. I suspect our good Doctor, in hanging around with me, has gotten a bit of a taste for the high life—or the low life, depending on how you look at it. Plus, I'm sure he wants to get some more drawings out of me. We have done quite a lot already, including depictions of diving in the bell, but if a few more go into his leather portfolio, well, all the better, as he sees it.
"It's only Flaco," I say, snapping my long glass shut. "On the Red Devil."
"The pirate Jimenez? But—"
"Don't worry, Flaco won't hurt us," I say, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. "We were once members of the same ... fraternity. Plus, I have nothing onboard worth stealing"...fingers crossed behind my back..."But still..."
I do trust Flaco—up to a point. He is a pirate after all. But I do not trust that El Feo, not a bit. So I lift my voice.
"Battle stations everyone! Clear for action! Let's show him we have teeth!" My crew springs to their stations—Tink, Davy, McGee, and John Thomas to the port and starboard nine-pounders, Jim Tanner on helm, Joannie and Daniel to the hatch, standing by as powder monkeys. Higgins and I will handle the bow and stern swivel guns should the need arise. "Let's show him we are still in the game. Joannie, put up our black colors. Dr. Sebastian, best get below."
The girl gives an excited whoop, dives down into my cabin, and pops back out with my pirate flag. Then she whips down our American colors and hoists our Jolly Roger. I know what she is thinking—Look at that! A real pirate ship!
"Highly irregular," murmurs Dr. Sebastian, looking up at the grinning skull and crossed bones waving in the breeze.
"It's necessary, you'll see," I reply. "I will have to draw on some old friendships to keep us safe. Otherwise, we will have to fight."
"Trust her, Doctor," urges Higgins. Since "Battle Stations" has been called, he has brought up my sword and pistols and he straps them on me. The grips of his own two pistols stick out of his waistcoat, primed and ready. "She has a certain way with these brigands." Being one herself, Higgins is thinking, I'm sure.
The Doctor goes below to his lab, which I hope will not very shortly be turning into a bloody surgery.
The Red Devil is a fast little brig—I know because I had raced her many times on my sweet Emerald and almost lost a few times—with six twenty-four-pounders on either side. There are two chasers—nine-pound Long Toms mounted forward, 'cause that's what a pirate does, chase its prey, unlike an honest merchantman like the Nancy B. 'Course everything's a mess, with ropes hanging everywhere, stained sails, unkempt men lazing about the rigging and staring down at us—all things that offend the Royal Navy sailor in me.
Flaco swoops down upon us and pulls his ship alongside. Some good seamanship is shown as he matches his vessel's speed with ours so that he can call over from his quarterdeck.
"Hola, Jacquelina! Qué pasa, muchacha?"
I go over to my rail and Flaco goes to his so that we are face to face.
"Nada, Flaco," I call back. "We are nothing but simple sponge divers going in to Havana to sell our catch."
He looks up at the sponges drying on our rigging. Joannie has been diligent in collecting them in the shallows while I was below, collecting gold, but we do not have nearly the number that we had on our last trip into Havana.
"We know you are anything but simple, Jacky, my heart. We have been watching you, going up and down in that thing that looks like a cathedral bell. We are not stupid, nor are we overly greedy. Come, dear one, share with us. It will benefit us both. You give us half the gold, and we'll give you and your ship safe passage to wherever you want to go. What do you say?"
I say, "Get yourself off, Flaco. If you are good, I will let you buy me a drink at Señor Ric's when we get to Havana."
The rascal grins back at me. "Surely not a proper welcome for your once and future lover, Captain Flaco Jimenez."
"You flatter yourself, Flaco. I was never your lover, and you know it."
"Si. But it was a close thing, querida mía, and you know it was," he says. "So let us take up where we left off and let me board you now."
"You may board my ship, but as for me, you will board nada."
He motions to his man on the helm, and the ships come together. Then he hops aboard, flamboyant as usual—cocked hat on head, braided hair ending in ribbons, beads, and tinkly bells, teeth gleaming in his tanned face. He wears loose pantaloons tucked into heavy boots, a frilly white shirt open at the neck, and a brocaded waistcoat over that.
"You treated me badly when last we met, Flaco." I stick out my lower lip and put on a pout.
"I am sorry, my heart, but my machismo got the best of me." He grins, making a mock bow and putting one knee to the deck. "It always happens when I get close to my sweet little Inglesa."
"I don't like being dumped on the floor," I say, with a sniff, "by some second-rate pirate, like you did to me at Ric's."
"I do not mind being called a pirate, my soul, but I am wounded by being called a second-rate one by the very love of my life." He puts on a hurt look. I try to suppress a smile but am not successful. I find it very hard to stay mad at this jolly rogue.
"And now you will demand to search my poor little boat for this supposed gold?" I ask. "That is so rude and unkind of you, but go ahead. We have nothing to hide."
"The fact that you, my devious little rabbit, would allow us to do so assures me that we would find nothing, so we shall not look."
From the corner of my eye, I notice something that Flaco does not. His ship has drawn away from us, perhaps a little farther away than he would like. Then there are sounds that Flaco does notice—cries of alarm from his ship, the crack of shots being fired.
Uh-oh...
Flaco's head snaps up. His ship is pulling away from our side. "What? What is...?" And then he realizes—it's mutiny! He has been betrayed!
"Feo, you bastard son of a whore!" he shouts, shaking his fist. "Bring the ship back here!"<
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"Lick her boots, weakling!" shouts El Feo, now astride the quarterdeck in full captain rig, complete with feathered turban. The distance between us is closing again. "We just had an election, and you lost. El Diablo Rojo now has a real Captain!"
Flaco Jimenez stands straight and tall, glaring at his mutinous former First Mate.
"You go over and ask the girl, oh so polite," continues El Feo. "'Oh, please tell me where is the gold?' like a maricón, a fancy boy. What happened to your cojones, Flaco? When did you lose them? I do not know, but I think you lost them today for good! No ship, no famous pirate Jimenez!" Much laughter from the pirate ship, where stand many men with muskets aimed at us. I recognize none of them—Flaco's loyal men must be locked below, or else dead.
Grinning pirates holding cutlasses line the lee side of the Red Devil and they beat the hilts of those swords against the rail and shout out insults and curses. Muerte! Muerte! Muerte! Death! Death! Death to the gringos! Death to Jimenez! Death to the English girl! Muerte! They mime drawing their swords across their throats and point at us. Muerte!
Well, we'll see about that!
"I will now come over and show you how a man asks a stupid girl a simple question," El Feo says, coming over to the rail and pulling out a long thin knife from his broad leather belt. "Compadres. Shoot the old woman Jimenez." All the muskets are then trained on Flaco's chest.
I take a step away from Flaco and say, "Davy ... Tink ... ready...FIRE!"
Both of my lads jerk their lanyards at the same instant.
Crrraaack!
Flaco has wisely hit the deck, as bullets fly over his head and splinters fly from the side of the Red Devil.
El Feo bellows out, "Tiren los cañones," and his six twenty-four-pound portside guns roar out.
Craaack! Craack! Craaack! Craaash!
But the Red Devil is so much higher than the Nancy that the balls sail through our rigging and not through our hull. We lose some lines, and the foresail spar, but that's it, thank God!
"Reload, lads! Daniel, Joannie! Powder, grape! Hard Left your helm, Jim!" I shriek. The kids scurry below and return lugging bags of powder and canisters of grapeshot.
The Nancy turns and presents a much more narrow target for El Feo's guns. I note with some satisfaction that it takes his men a lot longer to reload than it does mine.
"Ready, Jacky!" shouts Davy and Tink.
"Hard Right!" I shout. "Fire when they bear!"
The Nancy turns to starboard and my lads lean over their cannons and...
Crrraaack!
Davy shoots and then Tink jerks his lanyard and ...
Crrraaack!
The grapeshot rakes the deck of the Red Devil, and there are screams from the other ship—a bee is small but she may still sting a bull—and many men lie still, but not El Feo. He has taken refuge behind his cabin during this exchange of fire.
"John! Finn! Take over the guns!" I shout. "Brothers, take up your rifles!" John Thomas and McGee rush to reload the cannons while Tink and Davy pick up their rifles and fire. Two men on the other ship pitch over and fall. Too bad neither of them is El Feo—he now comes back to stand on what is now his quarterdeck, confident that we have done our worst.
Not yet, Feo...
Flaco, in his rage, hurls down curses so obscene that even I haven't heard them before. El Feo's mother is especially featured in many colorful ways, I note, even though my mind is fully occupied with the fight.
On my order, Davy and Tink climb up to the crow's-nest with their long rifles and powder horns slung over their shoulders, cartridges in their belts. Once there, they commence to rain bullets down on El Diablo Rojo, and more men fall victim to their marksmanship.
"Pistola!" pleads Flaco, holding out his hands to me. I pull out my pistols and flip one to him. He catches it, then leaps onto the ratlines, yelling, "Show yourself, Feo, you miserable dog! Show yourself, coward!"
El Feo, for an instant out in the open, looks up at Flaco, raises his own pistol, and fires and shouts, "Tenga su madre, maricón!" but misses. Then Flaco fires, but he, too, misses, clipping only the tip of one of the feathers in El Feo's headdress. Feo takes that as a sign to once again duck behind his cabin.
"That's it, hide yourself, you cowardly bastard," shouts Flaco. He, himself, is not cowering but instead hangs there in full view of the musketeers on the other ship, and I worry for his safety. Bullets buzz and snap all around us. Although none have yet hit flesh, as far as I can tell, they are bound to get lucky soon, lousy shots or not. We've got to get out of here.
"Another pistol, Jacky, por favor!" yells Flaco, but I do not give it to him.
Instead, I say to faithful Higgins, who has stood by my side during all this hurly-burly, "Higgins, with our pistols, let us take down their helmsman."
He draws his two handguns and aims, as do I with my remaining one.
"On the count of three, we will fire. One ... two ... three!"
Our pistols bark out and the man at the wheel grabs his chest and falls. I don't know which of us got him, but one certainly did ... and I don't want to know.
"That'll slow him down," I say as we see El Diablo Rojo suddenly yaw to the right, being deprived of its helm.
Then I shout, "Left Full Rudder! Let's show him her tail! Go!"
We leap away from the pirate—Good girl, Nancy!—and though he chases us for a while, he cannot close the distance. And as night falls, he turns away, his nose well bloodied.
I let out the breath I have been holding for a long time and say, "Good work, all. Secure from Battle Stations. Let's have dinner."
Flaco stands desolate at the rail, watching the ship that once was his disappear into the dark. I know the terrible crushing feeling of losing one's ship and put my arm around him. "Come, amigo, you shall have dinner with me tonight in my cabin, and we shall talk of old times and maybe plot for the future. There will be another day." I give him a squeeze. "Hey?"
He looks down at me and nods. "Gracias, mi corazón."
We repair the damage, bind up any wounds, and set sail for Cuba.
Chapter 39
Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher
Onboard HMS Dolphin
En route to Kingston, Jamaica
Jacky Faber
Onboard the Nancy B. Alsop En route to Havana, Cuba
My dearest Jacky,
For once I am actually penning this letter instead of just making it up in my mind, for there is the very good chance, God willing, that I will see you again in a week and you might actually read it, unlike those many others I have written and sent out on the winds of chance.
This will not be one for our children to read...
I have the midwatch tonight, and so I must turn in early to my lonely bunk. But I know that sleep will not come easy for me tonight, for I will be again reliving our last night together in your cabin.
"Turn around, Jaimy, please," you had said after we had finished our dinner and were preparing for bed. I did so, thinking it uncommon shyness on your part. I heard a whisper of cloth, then...
"All right, Jaimy."
I turned around and beheld you and understood.
"And what do you think of your saucy sailor girl now?"
I was astounded to see you wearing the same impossibly light, filmy little dress you wore on that glorious day in Jamaica three years ago.
You lowered your eyelashes in the way that you have and whispered, "It's my Kingston dress, Jaimy, the one I wore on that happy day in Jamaica. Do you remember?"
Ah, yes, well I remember.
"I had it in my chest in Boston and brought it with me, in case we should, by some impossible chance, be married—you did say you wanted me to wear it on our wedding day, didn't you?"
I rejoiced to see you in that dear relic, but I liked it even better when it floated to the floor and I beheld you in your natural state. You stood in the soft glow of the lamplight, your skin impossibly bronzed in some places, the purest white in others. Then, smiling, you c
ame to me and put your arms about me, but ... I must stop thinking of that, else I drive myself mad.
I have taken to washing in very cold water each night before turning in to my solitary bunk, but I comfort myself with the possibility that you and I might very soon lie together again.
The midwatch comes in three hours. I shall try to sleep; but when I close my eyes, there you are again.
Good night, Jacky. With all my affection, I remain
Yours,
Jaimy
Chapter 40
Breakfast is over and cleaned up after, and I'm checking out the condition of my fighter in the coop behind the stove. I lift El Gringo to feel his drumsticks. Hmmmm ... much, much stronger now, I think with some satisfaction. The ever increasing lead weights that have been tucked into his vest have been good for him. He should be very light on his feet now when the vest comes off. Beware, El Matador.
Daniel and Joannie sit in front of Jemimah and listen like mindful students. Would that the scamps paid as close attention to the studies I assign them. Grrrr...
Jemimah clatters some pans and starts in...
"So it happen that one fine day Brother Rabbit was hoppin' along a path that a lot of the animals used, goin' about their business, him singin' a happy song, and glad to be off by himself for a spell. Y'see, Sister Rabbit did have her way with that man, and now there's a whole bunch of baby bunnies all over the rabbit shack, gettin' underfoot all the time and settin' up a fuss just like you two, and sometimes a daddy just gotta go off by hisself for a bit and pretend he still be a free-rambling man.
"By 'n' by Brother Rabbit come to a bend in the road and he perks up them big ears o' his 'cause he hears somethin' goin' on up ahead. When he rounds the bend, he sees a bunch of men diggin' a hole right in the middle of the path and he duck back in the bushes and lays back his big ol' ears to watch what they doin,' him bein' a curious sort of rabbit.
"He watches 'em for a while and he's thinkin', 'They's diggin' a mighty deep hole there and it's gotta be some kinda trap for us pore animals, but they dug it so deep wit' the sides so steep that they must have the big critters in mind.' The rabbit puts his front paws to his chin and thinks on it some more as he watch the men come out of the hole and lay light branches across it and then scatter some leafs over that so it look all natural. 'Nope, that trap ain't for us rabbits and possums and 'coons and such. No, dey lookin' for somethin' else ... sumthin' like dat big ol' brown bear dat's been lately tearin' up the Man's beehives down at the plantation and stealin' all his honey ... hmm...? Or mebbe it's dat ol' red fox what's been down in the Man's henhouse, pluckin' out some o' his fine hens and leavin' only the feathers behind ... hmmm?'
