I immediately run into the water and begin waving my arms about my head, shouting, "Help me! I'm an American, too!"
But I know it ain't gonna do any good because they are too far out to hear. And if any sailor aboard would train his spyglass on me, he would see what looked to him to be a demented, heathen Chinese person going mad on the shore. Certainly nothing to tell the captain about, certainly nothing to impede them from wherever they were going.
Oh, oh, oh! What to do?
Ha! I'll try semaphore! I arrange my arms and make the signals.
H ... E ... L ... P ... M ... E...
No good. Not a sail is slacked, and though I see the flash of sun off a long glass lens, their course is not changed. Stupid American sailors don't know Royal Navy signals. No, no, they're not stupid. You are! Think! It's going to get away! Think!
In despair I see the ship approach the point I just passed. Soon it will be around it and gone.
Damn! And it is a schooner, too, and it looks like a New Englander, which might know of the Nancy B. Damn ... How do you get a bloody ship to stop, for chrissakes? How...?
It hits me. I know how ... and others of my ilk know how ... We've always known how.
The Lorelei ... Yes!
I turn and pound back up the beach from whence I had just come, then round the point, the ship now being, for the moment, out of sight. Whipping off my top, I pick up a curved piece of gray driftwood and begin wading out to that rock I spotted before, the one close by the channel ... or close enough, I hope.
Reaching the rock, I climb up on it, grabbing a good bunch of seaweed as I go. I plunk my tail down upon the top of it, wrap my sarong tightly around my legs, put my matching top about my feet in such a way as to suggest a fin, arrange the seaweed on my head such that it covers my baldness and trails down over my breast.
There.
Sailors are always telling their superstitious mates tall tales about having seen mermaids at sea, and now they're about to get one for real. I lift my piece of wood and get ready.
As I see the prow of the schooner appear from around the point and the ship heaves fully into view, I commence strumming on my driftwood lyre and begin singing. I do a high, keening waaaaaaaillll, as loud as I can, so it will carry out over the water, but still keeping it sad and sweet, combining the sound of an Irish wake with the Oriental tunes I had learned recently, and adding a dash of my own innate weirdness, too. And hey, how about some beckoning words as well...
Come all you bold sailors and listen to meeeeee
Come sit by my side at the bottom
of the seeeeea...
I'll kiss you and caress you and cover you
with love,
And ne'ermore you'll toil in the cruel
world above.
I'm hoping for something like the siren songs of yore, like what those naughty girls would sing, they who lured poor Greek sailors to their doom on the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis.
I think I hit it pretty close.
If a fully rigged ship of the sea could have brakes like those on a coach, then this schooner would have used them, as it suddenly screeches to a halt in its watery track. All sails go slack, there is the glint off many a telescope lens, and I see, through the strands of my seaweed hair, a boat being lowered. And, yes, it's manned, and being rowed toward me.
Ah, yes...
I preen a bit, moving my shoulders about, and continue to sing as I wait for the boat. I do like being the center of attention, wherever I can find it, whether it be on a stage, in a tavern, or here, perched on a rock in God-Knows-Where.
I keep up the act, seaweed in eyes and all, to preserve the illusion to the end—after all, I don't want them to come upon me and say, "Aw, it ain't no mermaid at all, it's just some scrawny little bint. Let's leave 'er 'ere," now, do I?
When the bow of the boat scrapes against my rock, I sneak a peek ... and no ... no ... I don't believe it.
"Never did think much of you in the past, Jack-o, you bein' such a royal pain in the ass and all," says the grinning sailor who reaches out his hand to me.
"But I gotta admit, you got a real nice set o' tits there."
Davy...?
Chapter 17
"Now you will tell me, John Higgins, just how you and the Nancy B. and all my friends came to be here and why I am here and ... oh, God, I am so glad to see all of you that I really don't care why! Oh, please, just hold me!"
When I had been brought back to my dear little ship, blubbering with relief and joy at seein' Davy and John Thomas and Finn McGee in the boat, I was shocked beyond all reason to see Liam. Yes, Liam Delaney, my old sea dad, standin' there grinnin' at me and sayin', "Now ain't you a proper heathen sight, Jacky! I swear by all the saints that Moira was right. You are the worst of all possible bad influences on our daughter Mairead. For here I have to come halfway around the world to look after the two of yiz ... but still I'm glad to see ye, lass—"
He doesn't get any further than that 'cause I rush up and throw my arms around his neck and lay my face upon his broad chest.
"Oh, Father, well met, oh, so well met!"
He pats my shaking shoulders.
"My sentiments exactly, Daughter. Mr. Higgins, might we not take our little mermaid below and get her into something a good Christian girl might wear?"
I am taken below and stripped of what little sodden clothing I have on and plunked into my dear little copperbound tub, once again being scrubbed clean of my surface dirt and salt if not my mortal sins against God, Nature, and Good Order. Hot water is brought from the galley and poured over me... ahhhhhh... and Higgins gets to work on cleaning up the mess that is me.
"So, Higgins," I purr, writhing about like any slippery little eel in the sinfully warm water. "Give me the news, and tell me all. You can start with why my dear Nancy B. is here. Hmmm...?"
"Well, Miss," says Higgins, untwining my pigtail. "You will recall that when in the port of Gibraltar, on the Lorelei Lee, we both dispatched letters to various people—you to your various loved ones, and me to Liam Delaney, offering him the command of the Nancy B. should he want to use it to pursue his lost daughter, Mairead, and her husband, Ian McConnaughey, both newly condemned to the penal colony in New South Wales. I also offered him a draft in the amount of three hundred dollars on our U.S. bank to pay his expenses."
Higgins pauses in working on my hair and says, "I hope I did not exceed my authority in this matter, Miss? I was acting in the capacity of Vice President of Faber Shipping, the President, at the time, being incapacitated. If so, I am prepared to tender my resignation as a member of the Board."
"Incapacitated? 'Incarcerated,' you mean, Higgins." I laugh, for I was, at the time, a lowly convict bound for a life sentence in Australia. "No, you did absolutely the right thing, as you always do. You could've maybe told me ... but then again, perhaps you were wise in not doing so. Anyway, let it go. Continue."
Higgins resumes his ministrations, along with his story.
"So ... It is apparent that Liam Delaney, the enraged father, his being of Irish birth and temperament, cursed the British government straight to hell, and took us up on our offer. He immediately boarded a fast cutter from Waterford to Boston and presented my letter to Ezra Pickering, Clerk of Faber Shipping Worldwide, who, upon receipt of the letter, agreed to the terms. He was, of course, bolstered by a certain Miss Amy Trevelyne, who also wished to discover what had happened to the absent President of said Company and to aid in her possible recovery."
As I think on this, Higgins pauses in the scrubbing of my hair and curiously massages my shoulders, and though it is pleasant, I ask, "What? Is there something wrong with my shoulders?"
"Oh, no, Miss. I was checking to see if any parts of your corporeal being are actually made of cork. Like the bobbers that I believe fishermen use in pursuit of their finny prey."
"Right. Because I keep bobbing up, hey?"
"Indeed, Miss."
"Very droll, Higgins," I say, a bit huffily. "Well,
if anyone ever observes me sinking into Neptune's rather damp arms, I would advise you to wait for sure evidence of my demise, as I am certain that I will die not at sea, like any good salty sailor, but shamefully on land, when it comes right down to it."
"Oh...?"
"Oh, yes. When last at Dovecote, I shuddered when a goose walked over my future grave on a place called Daisy Hill. There my poor body shall ultimately lie, in a humble plot overlooking the sparkling sea. I am sure of it, so there... 'Home will be the sailor, home from the raging sea...'"
"Very poetic, Miss, if not completely rational."
"Well, so what? I have never been neither poetical nor rational ... and furthermore, as I have always said, 'a girl what's born for hangin' ain't likely to be drowned.'"
"We hope it shall not come to that, Miss," says Higgins. "However, we have more pressing concerns. To wit: What shall we do with this ... hair?" He lifts my poor limp and soggy and unbound pigtail twixt thumb and forefinger, with lifted eyebrows. "What to do? For once, I must confess I am at a loss."
I duck down under the water to consider this question, then come up, water streaming over my face.
"Let's keep it as it is for a while, Higgins. It might come in handy. Shock value and all. And in this part of the world, it does not at all look out of place."
"Very well, Miss," says Higgins, and he claps his hands lightly and...
Lee Chi!
Lee Chi, my faithful Chinese eunuch, steps into my cabin, bearing razor and scissors and a merry grin, and I am so delighted to see him!
"Nei ho mah! Lee Chi!" I exult. "Good day to you!" I grab his pigtail and plant one on his smooth shaven pate.
"Nei ho mah, Ju kau-jing yi!" he says, grinning and bowing.
"I thought it best to keep Lee Chi close to me, as he probably would be lost in the shuffle of the ships' crews. I did recall your last instruction that he be brought back to Boston and made fluent in English so as to become a valuable asset for our future trade with China. For now, he has proven useful as a steward."
"Mmm ... Good decision," I say, as Lee Chi whips out his razor and brings it to bear on my head. My pate is soon re-shaved, smooth and gleaming.
Hmmmm... I feel the Nancy B. heel over as her course is changed, and I say to Higgins, "Would you ask Captain Delaney to step in for a moment?"
I sink down below the sudsy water as Higgins goes to the door and calls out for Liam.
"She wishes to speak to you, Sir, if you please!"
Liam ducks his head in and gives me a questioning look.
"Liam," I say. "Please continue on a southerly course, as I have business with a certain ship that passed this way recently ... one flying a black flag bearing two crossed scimitars and a silver star. Have you seen it?"
"Aye. Yesterday. It looked like the rogue might try us, but the sight of our guns made him think twice, it seems."
"Hmmm, well, let us chase him down, shall we? And pull down our American colors and just fly the Faber Shipping blue anchor flag ... and cover the guns with canvas. I know it goes against your grain, but make us look sloppy."
Liam grins and puts two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Back in the piratical business, eh, Jacky?"
"Even so, Liam, for there are some people aboard that ship who need rescuing, and some that need ... a hard lesson."
"All hands aloft to make sail!" he roars as he goes back on deck.
God, how I do love the sound of that!
"So, anyway, Higgins, continue if you would. Some news of Jaimy Fletcher?"
"Ah, yes, that was a very tenuous situation—between him and Mr. Jared, Mr. Jared being a Royal Navy Officer and Mr. Fletcher now being an escaped convict. After your apparent death, however, the issue was resolved: Mr. Jared would accompany the Cerberus—HMS Dart's original charge, you will recall—back to London, whereupon the ship would be returned to the East India Company and Mr. Fletcher would be put ashore secretly in dark of night. This was agreeable to the very gloomy Mr. Fletcher, whose sole interest in life now seems to be to exact revenge upon Mr. Flashby and Mr. Bliffil, those two gentlemen upon whom he places the blame for your untimely demise. The Lorelei Lee would part company when the fleet rounded the southern tip of Africa, and return to Boston, bearing your Irish crew and the sad news of your death. All felt that it would be your wish that life should go on for Faber Shipping, even in your final ... absence."
I nod to that. Life does go on, in spite of everything.
"This was all decided when we met the Nancy B. entering the top of the Straits of Malacca. We came together and apprised the stricken crew of your fate. Liam's joy at seeing his daughter Mairead safe and in the company of her husband was tempered with news of your loss, and he decided to have one more try at locating either you or your remains. Your body could have washed ashore, you know, so it wasn't a totally hopeless quest. I elected to come with him ... for one last search."
He pauses and reaches for a towel.
"I think it would be best if you got out now, Miss, and we'll get you dressed. I assume you will entertain your officers for dinner?"
Was that a catch in his voice? Ah, dear Higgins, you are my dearest friend.
I am dried and my hair is combed out, to be braided later when it, too, dries. One of my simple chemises is floated over me and I sprawl out on my lovely bed... ahhhh...
Before he leaves me, he does something that destroys any rest I might have in mind. He places a tray next to my bed, and then leaves. On the tray is a plate of cheese and biscuits and various meats and two glasses of lovely wine and...
Two glasses? Why two?
"I have letters, Jacky ... from our friends in Boston," says someone entering my cabin.
Joy! I exult and reach for the letters. Then it comes to me that it was a female voice that spoke. Wot? There ain't supposed to be any girls here except for me ... I look up to see just who it is handing them to me.
Damn!
"You! You're supposed to be back in school!"
"Aye," says Joannie Nichols. "And you're supposed to be in prison in Australia! Neither one of us is where we're supposed to be. So there!"
"I'm gonna wring your scrawny little neck!"
"No, you ain't. You, yourself, gave me orders when last you left. Remember? 'You'll get to go on the next voyage, Joannie, I promise.' So here it is, the next voyage, and here I am, as promised."
"What about the Lawson Peabody? Mistress Pimm?"
"It was all right, the school and all ... They'll get along without me for a while. 'Specially Mistress ... who ain't got a whole lot of use for me..."
I certainly know that feeling, but... grrr...
The door opens and Higgins enters with fresh linen for the table and for me.
"Ah, you've met our little stowaway, have you? Well, if you want me to pitch her overboard, I would be glad to accomplish that task," he says, with gimlet eye fixed upon Joannie.
She does not seem unduly worried about a watery fate.
"Stowaway?" she says. "Yes, I did stow away ... hid down in the bilges for a whole night after Liam come aboard with the news that you was in jail again. Didn't surprise me none, you and your Cheapside ways. Didn't pop up till we were three days out. Damn hungry by then, I can tell you."
"What about Daniel Prescott? What did he think about all this, Miss Contrary-Who-Doesn't-Know-What's-Best-for-Her?" I say, placing an accusing finger on her nose.
"He was in bed. Broke his fool leg fallin' from the masthead. Doctor fixed him up," she says, her face softening. "But I didn't tell him I was goin'...just covered his face with kisses the night before I left." Sniff. "He'll be all right."
"Well, I am not pleased," I announce in my stern Mistress Pimm voice, with full Lawson Peabody Look in place.
"That's all very well, Jacky," she replies, a sly look on her face. "And probably you'd like me to leave ... But then again, maybe you'd like some news of the School ... and that Clarissa ... hmmmm? And Martha ... and, oh my, Dorothea and Mr. Sackett! Oh,
what a scandal ... and Rebecca and I got in just the worst trouble ... And wait'll you hear about Dolley. You definitely want to hear about her! Oh, yes, Dolley got married and—"
"Just you come sit down here with me, you little devil," I say, making room. "Let's hear it."
I mean, what girl could resist the delicious promise of something like that, really? Not me, that's for sure. I do like my news!
Chapter 18
"Seabrook seems a good steady man and he fits well as Captain of the Lorelei Lee. I could have forced Padraic on as Captain of that ship," Liam Delaney is saying, "but he lacks experience. Seabrook has announced that he will leave her upon arrival in Boston. We shall have to see what happens. If I am back by then, I shall be honored to take the post. Mr. Gibson will stay on as Second, mainly, I think, in the vain hope of seeing you again, but then again he is young and stupid and of a romantic nature. He is a thoroughgoing seaman, as well, so it is good that he stays on. That boyo Arthur McBride is Third Mate, and that is fine with me so long as he does not stand on the same deck as do I. As soon as I take command, he goes."
Arthur McBride has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way in his journey through the world, I reflect. But I rather like him—he has always brought me cheer.
"Yes, Father, that shall be the way of it, and the Lee shall begin her transatlantic passenger service, as she was originally intended ... before the last mess."
"The last mess, Daughter, that I believe you helped create."
"Yes, but I am more settled now, Liam, and I resolve to be good."
He looks up at my bald pate, which is surely glistening in the morning light, and snorts. "Right..."
"Ah," I say. "I hear the others arriving. Let us turn to dinner."
In troops Davy Jones, John Tinker, now Second and Third Mates of the Nancy B. I had been told that Jim Tanner, my usual helmsman and First Mate when I was on the little Gloucester schooner, had to remain in Boston, his wife, Clementine, being great with child and ready to give birth. "It killed him not to come, Jacky," Tink said. "But Annie and Betsey and the rest of us made him see the wisdom of it. He needs to be by his wife's side when she delivers him of a daughter or son."
The Mark of the Golden Dragon Page 10
