by L. A. Meyer
The boats are put down in the rollin' sea and they rows around, but nothin'.
Nothin' but the dark and rollin' sea.
Maybe nobody saw. Maybe nobody heard. Maybe they'll think he was just drunk again and fell over the side in his drunkenness. Maybe nothin' will happen. Maybe.
I quivers in the dark for hours, huggin' me knees, and I thinks of Mary Townsend again and again and the rope across me throttle and the Bo'sun droppin' down on me shoulders to crush me throat and snap me neck, the same picture over and over and over till I'm whimperin' out loud, and then I hears the faint bells of the Four-to-Eight and I go up to stand my watch. I look over the side and I think of him down there, his blood leakin' out of him and his arms all out like he's flyin', but he ain't flyin', he's sinkin' down, down, and I'm thinkin' about him rollin' about in the dark depths of the black sea with his eyes open and starin', and I didn't do it I just wanted to get him off of me, and I didn't kill him I didn't kill him I didn't kill him. He drowned. He fell overboard. He drowned.
But that ain't the end of it, of course. The next morning blood is found on the deck near to where he went over, so all hands know it wasn't no accident. Sloat's friends swear the last thing they heard Sloat say as he went over was "Son of a bitch," which was just what he called Liam Delaney the last time they tangled, and Delaney, the dog, said he'd kill poor Sloat and damned if 'e ain't done it! Right, and Delaney had the watch, too, so 'e 'ad plenty o' time t' do the rotten deed! The murdering Irish bastard!
So it ain't me they're gonna hang.
It's Liam.
Chapter 27
They've got Liam all tied up and it tears my heart to see him treated so, him what only had kind things to say to me and who taught me stuff and never asked for nothin'. He blinks in the sunlight as he's brought out of the brig and into the Captain's cabin, where the trial is bein' held. Liam's face is a mask of anger, but there's hopelessness there, too. He knows.
The trial drones on and on. There's two Marine sentries in dress uniforms all red and white outside the cabin, with their rifles held across their chests so that their bayonets cross in front of the door. The witnesses are called in and then come back out, satisfaction on the faces of Sloat's mates, despair on those of Liam's friends. The Captain and his officers talk on and on.
The men listening in at the cabin window shake their heads sadly.
It looks like it's over.
Liam to be hanged and I'm the cause. I'll have to beat the drum as he's hauled aloft, all twisting and ...
No. This cannot be.
I runs down the passageway and ducks under the bayonets and beats on the door.
"What the Hell?" from within and, "Stop there, you!" from the sentries. One grabs me by me neck.
The door opens and Mr. Haywood is standin' there, all outraged as he looks out over me head and finally down at me.
"What do you want, boy?" he thunders.
"Please, Sir, I got somethin' f say," and that's about the last clear thing I says as I plunges into the room and throws meself down in front of the Captain, who's standin' at the lectern and about to pronounce sentence on poor Liam.
"I was the one what did it, Sir," I wails, me hands up and prayin' and the tears gushin' out o' me eyes. "He was on me and he had his hand across me mouth so I couldn't call for help and he wouldn't get up and he's so heavy and he was kissin' me and I couldn't breathe and he pulled down me pants and put 'is hand on me and I was out o' me mind wi' the terror so I pulled out me shiv and I only wanted to poke 'im a little so's he'd get up and leave me alone but instead he jumps up and he's bleedin' and yellin' and then 'e goes over the side and I didn't mean it, Sir, I didn't but 'e was so heavy and awful and I didn't know what else to do, I didn't know what to do ... see, look ye here..."
I pulls me shiv out o' me vest and tosses it on the deck. Sloat's blood is still on it and it sickens me to see it.
"See, Sir, it warn't Liam, it was me and I'm sorry, Sir, I'm sorry."
And now the snot's runnin' out o' me nose and mixin' wi' the tears and runnin' in me mouth, and I can taste the tears and the snot in me mouth but I don't care. I'm just howlin' wi' fear and gaspin' wi' sobs and snortin' tears and snot all over the Captain's rug and I keeps on sayin', "Please, Sir, I couldn't stand the hangin wi' the Bo'sun jumpin on me shoulders and me neck all wrung. Couldn't ye just knock me on the head and put me over the side if ye have to..."
"Take him out of here!" roars the Captain, but I don't hear him 'cause I'm out o' me mind, and when hands are laid on me I thinks they're gonna take me right out and do me right then and I lets out a scream that's got all the horror and terror that's ever been in me, and I screams and screams...
But all they do is take me out and throw me in the brig till I calm down and they have a chance to talk over what I just told them. Liam's in there, too, but at least he's untied now and sittin' on the bunk.
"That was a brave, brave thing to do, comin' in there like that," he says. "I owe you my life, Jacky."
"I don't feel so very brave," says I, and I goes over and lies down and puts me head in his lap and falls into a dead sleep.
The Marines come and get me in the late afternoon. They tie my hands in front of me. "Sorry, boy, rules are rules," and they take me in the Captain's cabin, where all the officers are looking dreadful and stern, and they take me up and make me face the Captain at the lectern. He looks haggard and there are dark bags under his eyes.
"Faber, I swear, if you start that screeching again I'll take you out and hang you myself. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. Place your hands on the Bible. Do you swear to tell the truth, before Almighty God?"
I swears that I do.
"Now, where did all this take place?"
"In the starboard-side rope locker, Sir."
"And what were you doing in this rope locker?"
"Sleeping, Sir."
"And why were you sleeping in the rope locker instead of in your hammock?"
Deacon Dunne is sitting at a small table writing all this down.
"Because my mates don't like me anymore."
"And why don't your mates like you anymore?"
I hesitates a bit before answering. "They think I'm queer, Sir."
"And are you?"
"No, Sir."
"What do you mean by 'queer'?"
"They think I stirred up the trouble between Liam and Sloat when I didn't do nothin' to stir up nobody."
"You didn't lead Sloat on in any way?"
"No, Sir. He scared me. I tried to stay out of his way."
"All right. Now tell us what happened in the rope locker."
I tell them, this time without the howling and crying and groveling. When I am done, there is only the sound of Deacon Dunne's quill scratching.
"Very well, Faber, you may stand down. Sergeant, take him away."
I turn away from the lectern and the Marine leads me back to my cell. They untie my hands. This time I am alone in the brig. They have let Liam go. I am the only one on trial now.
I look up to the light from the small grating in the ceiling high overhead. The grating lets out into the hold above and allows in a little light and air. I've seen a lot of things in my life, but this is the first time I've seen bars between me and the world.
"We're sorry, Jacky. We didn't know. We thought..."
It's night now and the boys have snuck up to the grating.
"That's all right, lads," I say, looking up. I think I can make out four heads in the gloom. "What do you hear?"
"They was in there for hours talkin' about it. They brought back some of Sloat's mates and Liam, too." I recognize Davy's voice in the darkness.
"Right. And they went down to check the rope locker and sure enough there was your blanket still there and there was blood, so that helps your story," says Tink. "And you got some of the officers on your side. I know Mr. Lawrence is."
"Mr. Haywood ain't your friend, though, that's for sure..."<
br />
This sends a shiver through me. I know the First Mate hates disruption and disorder above all things, and I ain't exactly been helpful in that regard.
"Jacky." This from Jaimy. "You wouldn't have been sleeping down there if I hadn't been..."
Silence.
"No. It's all right," I say finally. "You couldn't know."
Silence, again.
"I want you to go away now," I whisper. "My Will is here in my vest, and my stuff is in the third level of the middle hold, back behind the casks.
"And lads...," I says, tryin' to hold steady, "if they do me ... I don't ... I don't want you to watch. Find an excuse. Go down below. Or at least close your eyes. I ... I don't think I'll be very brave."
"All right," they say, all quiet and low.
"And Jaimy..."
"Yes."
"No—Nothing..."
Chapter 28
No, they don't hang me or do anything to me at all except let me rot in the jail cell all night long, rockin' back and forth on the bunk, knowin' the morn would bring either the sweet air of freedom in me chest or Jack Hemp hard across me windpipe. I know it's my free and easy ways that got me in this fix, and I resolves to be better if I survives.
At dawn the Marines come back for me and tie my hands, this time behind my back, and I think it's 'cause that way I won't be able to claw at the rope around my neck when I'm hauled up, which wouldn't look military, and I'm glad I used the chamber pot just before they got there 'cause I don't want to be disgraced that way. We march up the passageway and I hear a low whistle, and there's Bliffil in a side corridor, swingin' a little noose between his thumb and forefinger and lookin' at me over it and smilin', and my knees turn to water and my eyes turn back in my head, but one of the Marines slaps me around a bit and I manage to stand up before the Captain, who looks at me sternly and says, "We find that you, Jack Faber, acted in self-defense and therefore are to go free, but it is the hope of this courtmartial that your night in confinement will be a lesson to you to be more quiet and reserved in your demeanor, especially quiet for the love of God. Dismissed."
The next Sunday, Deacon Dunne gives a fire-and-brimstone sermon on sodomy that leaves very little doubt as to where he thinks Sloat is roasting right now, and everyone looks piteous at me and I wish they wouldn't. I have to look down all shy and I hear a few mutters of Bloody Jack and I guess I ain't never gonna get rid of that, especially if I keep on killing people.
I'm welcomed back into the foretop, and the boys are genuinely glad that I'm not swinging off the yardarm, which is exactly where my mortal remains would be hanging if things had gone the other way. It's all right but it still ain't like old times, at least not for me. After a while, when they're all talking and skylarking and don't notice, I go back to. my spot in the mizzen top.
I still plan to get put off in Jamaica and I have to get ready. The word is about that we are indeed going to Kingston and we'll arrive in about a week and a half, if the wind holds fair and we don't run into LeFievre.
My dress is basically blocked out now. I didn't have anything to go by in the way of style, so I thought back to Mrs. Roundtree and figured I'd make one like hers, all tight in the waist and looser up top. That's something to look forward to, release from the confines of this vest. The dress is long in the skirt because only little girls wear short skirts and I ain't going to be a little girl for too much longer. Besides I got to cover up the fact that I don't have any stockings and I certainly can't make st—Shoes! What the hell am I going to do for shoes?
I ain't never had a pair of shoes, not since That Dark Day, but I'm sure the finer families of Kingston will expect them in a tutor.
Next morning I sit next to Joshua Spenser at breakfast, as he is from Jamaica, and I ask him about the fine families of Kingston, the laws on singing in the street, and the wearing of shoes, required or no? I figure it being broad daylight and out in the open, he won't be tainted by my notorious company and he don't seem to mind.
"Well, boy," he says in that musical way the Caribbean sailors have, "I not be knowing of the fine families in Kingston, just some of the fine ladies there."
He grins in anticipation of the fine ladies.
"But I do know all the rich people live up on the high street above the town. They be right easy to spot when they come to town, bein' all white people and all finely dressed. As for shoes, one can get by with the sandals, which they sell in the market square. Very cheap."
That's a relief. If I get put off with any money, that's the first thing I'll buy.
"As for the laws about singing in the street, why, are you t'inkin' of desertin', boy?"
"No, Joshua, I'm only thinking of maybe picking up a few pennies in doing it when we're on liberty."
His face fairly glows with the prospect of shore leave in his hometown. "Wait you see, boy. On market day all the women they come to town with baskets full of foods and spread it out on blankets and in stalls, and there's the best rum and music, such music! And if it's Carnival time, which it is now, the party never stops, boy, I tell you true!"
I finish up my lovely gruel and wait patiently for him to get back on the subject at hand.
"Now as to the Law, boy," he says chewing and thinking, "there is Law, and too much of it to my mind, and the name of the Law is Sheriff John Stone, and he is no man to mess with. If he wants to let you sing and play your whistle in his street, he'll let you. If not, it's the Trenchtown jail for you, boy, and mark me, it's a place you'll not soon forget. Best check with the man first, boy."
I resolve to do it.
We've pulled up next to other ships we've come across, to get information on the pirates' whereabouts. They don't always want to stop to talk, but when a King's ship says stop, you stop. A shot over their bows usually convinces them. Britannia does rule the waves.
If the other captain has been less than friendly, the captains shout at each other through speaking trumpets across the water. If the other captain is civil, Captain Locke sends a boat over for him and has him to his cabin for a few snorts, which helps the conversation right along. One or another of us boys is always listening at the window, and it seems that LeFievre grows even more arrogant and has added more ships to his fleet. He burns all before him, be it village, town, or ship.
These nights I sleep in the old kip between the guns, with the boys in their hammocks swinging overhead. I don't want to be off alone again, as Sloat's old mates might not be of a forgiving nature. I beg off sleeping with Jaimy in our old hammock by saying that I don't like hammocks 'cause you got to sleep on your back in one and I like to curl up on my side.
Jaimy don't protest.
Chapter 29
The mood of the ship has lightened, what with Sloat gone and Bliffil restrained. Bliffil's recovered enough from his fight with Mr. Jenkins to start in to bullying the youngers again, but he don't mess with Jenkins no more. Mr. Jenkins tries to look out for the squeakers, but Bliffil is a sneaky one and he gets in his shots, though not as much as before 'cause now he knows someone may call him on it. I stay well out of his way, as his nose ain't quite so pretty no more and he knows who to blame.
The prospect of a port visit, too, especially one like Kingston is enough to lighten any sailor's load.
I'm stitching a line of white thread across the bodice of my dress to take the place of the lace, which the ship don't stock. The sun is high and bright in the afternoon watch, four bells I hear from down below, when I'm surprised to see Jaimy's head and shoulders coming up over the edge of the mizzen top. He don't say nothin' right off, just sits down lookin' miserable. I don't say nothin', neither.
"Why don't you come up in the foretop with the rest of us anymore?" he says finally.
I shake my head. "No, Jaimy. I just make all of you uncomfortable."
More silence.
"I'll bet you regret getting the Brotherhood tattoo now, don't you?" he says all sad and downcast.
We saw just how far that Brotherhood went, didn't we, I th
ink, but I say, "No, I don't regret it. When I got it we was all mates and I'll always remember that time fondly."
Jaimy seems to be trying to say something to me but he just can't get it out.
"What do you want to say to me, Jaimy?" I put up my needle and look him in the eye. He won't meet my gaze.
"When I was mean to you ... I thought I ... I was becoming one of those sodomites," he says, the words not coming easy. "Not with anyone else. Just with you."
Well.
"You'll just have to get over that, won't you," says I, all brisk and cruel. "As it ain't natural."
I return to my sewing.
He don't say nothin' at all, not for a long while.
"I know it's not natural and I know I'll have to leave the Service," he finally manages to say, hardly above a whisper. "Good-bye, Jacky. None of it was your fault." He begins to rise.
"Wait," I say, getting to my feet. "Before you go, I want you to hold this up so I can measure it."
"Wh—What is it?" he asks, all confused with the turn in the conversation.
"A dress," I say.
"A dress? For whom?"
"For me. Now stand up."
As he gets up, I pull off my white overshirt and pop open the top four buttons of my vest. I run my hand over my hair, fluffing it up a bit in the light breeze. I take a deep breath. "Ah yes. That certainly feels better. Now, Jaimy, hold it up against me ... Take the dress, Jaimy, come on. Don't be shy, now. Tuck it up against my ribs ... Right, push it up there, while I mark it. Hold it now. There. Thanks."
He stands stunned.
