Only Life That Mattered

by Nelson, James L.

Jack gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It is easily done, you know. Any ship at anchor here could be had, nearly. Why, see that sloop there, the one that is stern to us? She is called the Nathaniel James and is all but ready for sea. I could make good use of her as a pirate. I wouldn’t reckon her to have more than a handful of men aboard. Go out at night with muffled oars, steal aboard her and she is mine, with never a worry.”

  “Oh, you are a wicked rogue,” Anne said in that tone she used when she was delighting in the proximity of villainy. “But I could help you, you know.”

  “And how could you help?”

  “I could go out for a visit in the daytime. Have myself rowed out in my finest silk dress with its scandalous décolletage and a wanton display of breasts. They would invite me aboard, the randy dogs, tell me anything I asked them. How many aboard, how well armed, what kind of a watch they keep at night. There would be not one surprise left when I was done with them.”

  “You think you could? You reckon you could pry from them every secret they had?”

  “Jack, darling . . . could you, of all men, doubt my ability to get whatever I might desire from a man? Be it information or whatever?”

  “No, my dear Anne. I do not doubt it. But how could I ever go on the account and leave you on the beach?”

  “I could go along as well. Disguise my sex, dress as one of your buccaneers. I can fire a pistol as well as any man, I was bred to it in my father’s house.”

  “Disguise your sex! As if you could do any such thing!”

  “I could, you know. I have done so already. My father dressed me as a boy until I was five years of age, or so.”

  “Why in the world would he do such a thing?”

  “He was pleased to pass me off as the son of a relative of his, said he was raising me to serve as his clerk. He was trying to fool his wife into thinking he had no contact with his mistress and bastard daughter, which was my mother and me, so that she would not stop his yearly allowance.”

  “The dog! But, sure, it is one thing for a mere girl to pass herself as a boy. How should such a fine woman as you ever pass for a brutish, hairy man?”

  “I should pass for a brutish, unbearded young man.”

  “Then you would be as wicked a villain as I am.”

  “I have turned adulteress for you, why not pirate?”

  “If you could be half as good a pirate as you are adulteress then you should sweep the oceans clean. But could you kill a man, my delicate flower? Could you shoot a man, or run a sword through him?”

  “Do not doubt it, my dear Jack.”

  And Jack did not doubt it, not for a minute. But it was just in fun, all this repartee, and Jack was relieved to think that he did not have to consider acting on any of these fantasies.

  And then as if by magic James Bonny appeared in front of him. Jack sat bolt upright as his hand moved toward his sword and he yelled, “You are a sneaking little puppy! Did you come through the kitchen, then, you damnable little coward?”

  “Nay, hold!” James Bonny yelled. He had obviously plucked up his faltering courage for this encounter and with great difficulty he held his ground. “I told you, there’s laws against adultery, and I got the law on my side. Here.”

  He thrust a paper at Anne and in her surprise she took it, unfolded it, and read. Jack watched her eyes move back and forth. Her eyebrows came together and the terrible clouds of rage gathered in her expression.

  “Been sniveling to the governor again, have you, you little bastard?” Anne hissed and half crumpled the paper in her hand.

  James Bonny folded his arms, mustered a look of defiance. “The governor is the law here, and all I’m asking is the law be enforced, and that means you’re my wife and you’ll commit no more adultery! And if the governor has to whip you till you see that, then be it on your head!”

  “Bastard!” Anne shouted. She grabbed up her wine glass and hurled it at James Bonny, who twisted so it bounced off his shoulder, and then twisted further to deflect the plate and the knife and the fork she hurled next.

  “Little goddamned worm, you fucking vermin!” Anne screeched. She cleared her throat, summoned up a mouthful of mucus and spit it into the summons that James had handed to her, crumpled it up, and threw that at him as well. “Son of a bitch!”

  By now Jack was on his feet, his sword drawn, though how he could be more intimidating than Anne, he did not know. James Bonny was backing away, was ten feet from them, when he straightened again, and shouted “It’s the law, Anne! And damn me if I won’t see it carried out!”

  “Get out of here, you son of a whore, you little puke!” Anne screamed, and over her curses James Bonny shouted back, “I’ll give you till tonight to think on it and if you don’t come back to me, I’ll have the law on you, damned if I won’t!”

  Jack took a step toward him and James turned and fled down Bay Street and it was quiet again, and in the quiet Anne’s breathing sounded loud. “Oh, Jack, Jack, whatever shall I do?” she said at last.

  “What was that he showed you?” Jack asked. He was relieved that she had rendered it unreadable so he did not have to admit that he could not read.

  “It,” she scowled, nodded toward the crumpled paper in the street, “is an order from the governor that I return to my husband. If I don’t he says he’ll have me whipped as an adulteress. Jack, I could not bear that.”

  “No, no, nor would I ever permit it,” Jack said. He sheathed his sword, sat, reached for Anne’s hand over the now cleared table. “We’ll not let this happen. We’ll think of something.”

  “But we have, Jack. We have thought of it. It needs only for us to act now.”

  “What . . . ?”

  “Our plan. For taking the sloop, yonder. Our idea of going on the account?”

  “Our plan?” Dear God, she can’t be serious! Jack thought. Did she think such talk anything more than play acting?

  “The sloop? But, my beloved, we have no crew, no . . .”

  “Your fellows will join us in this. George Fetherston, Dick Corner, John Howell, Harwood, Earl, the lot of them would follow you, and they are but down at the Ship, or on the beach. Small sloop like that, we would need a dozen men, no more, and they are to be had at a snap of your fingers!”

  The more Anne talked, the more excited she became and the more inextricably Jack felt himself being pulled in. He had not been lying about the relative ease with which they might take the sloop, and she had not been wrong in thinking she could easily scout out the vessel first and make her capture even easier.

  What objections could he raise? That he did not want to go pirating? God, she loved him exactly because she thought him some dangerous rogue! That he was afraid? She would spit in his face the way she spit on the governor’s summons, and then off to the bed of some bastard who was a real fearless villain and not just a sham of a one dressed up in bright calico clothing!

  Jack managed a half smile, an unimpressive effort that he hoped she would take as concern for her own safety. “Let us do it then, and the governor and his pardon be damned.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ANNE LOOKED GOOD, damned good, and she knew it. It amused her to think that she was now embarking on a new life, one more wild, more villainous than any she had known or even dreamed of, and she was using her oldest skills of seduction to do it.

  She still had the beauty and the allure to work her will on men. Life among the pirates had not ameliorated that in the least. If there was any doubt in her mind, then she had only to look at the men at the oars, Richard Corner and George Fetherston, who were facing her as they rowed her out to the sloop Nathaniel James.

  Fetherston, to starboard, was stealing glances whenever he could, his eyes flicking to her face, her breasts, her ankle which she left exposed for the men’s pleasure.

  To larboard, big Richard Corner was staring, unabashed, his eyes locked on her breasts like he was seeing some holy vision. His mouth was even hanging open, the unsubtle dog.

  But as bl
atant as they might be in looking, they were both of them loyal followers of Captain John Rackam. They knew that she was his lady, and so they would never do more than look.

  Anne didn’t mind the looking, didn’t mind letting the men think what they would. She enjoyed it, encouraged it, with a glimpse of ankle and an occasional lean forward, back arched, to give them a better view. If Jack were going to kill men for looking, for lustful stares, then he would have killed half of Nassau by then.

  The small boat moved fast over the placid water of the harbor, pulled by the strong arms of Fetherston and Corner.

  There was an urgency about their mission, not a moment to spare. James Bonny had gone whining to Woodes Rogers, reported Anne’s abuse of the governor’s orders. Rogers had summoned Anne to appear in person, and when she did he reiterated his promise to have her publicly whipped. To that threat he added a new twist—he would order John Rackam to do it.

  That was too much. Despite Calico Jack’s reluctance to take her pirating, which he assured her was owing only to his concern for her safety, they both knew it was time to act. Nassau was a safe harbor no longer.

  The boat weaved between the vessels that floated in the clear, bluegreen water of the harbor. Anne held her parasol demurely aloft to keep the brilliant sun off her skin, looked at each passing ship with a delighted expression, as if she was seeing the harbor for the first time.

  Finally they came alongside the Nathaniel James which seemed to loom over the small boat, though it was itself of no great size. Corner and Fetherston tossed oars, the boat bumped alongside, and Corner grabbed onto the chains with his meaty hand.

  A head appeared over the bulwark, looking warily down. Anne could see the barrel of a musket that the man held at the ready.

  “Pray, sir, do not shoot me!” Anne cried out, and watched the man’s expression change from wary concern to surprise and delight as he looked down into the boat’s sternsheets.

  “No, ma’am, never fear of that!” he said. “Might I help you?”

  “I wish to speak to the captain.”

  “Captain is ashore, ma’am. I am the mate. Might I be of help?”

  “Well, Mr Mate, must we shout at one another, or might I come aboard so we can talk in civilized tones?”

  “Oh, forgive me, ma’am, of course, of course! Allow me to see a bosun’s chair rigged!”

  “You are very kind, sir, but there is no need. I am no stranger to the ways of ships.” She stood and stepped toward the cleats fastened to the sloop’s side for use in climbing aboard. “I shall be but a moment,” she said to the men at the oars, as if they were watermen for hire, “and I require you wait for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said George Fetherston.

  Anne handed her parasol up to the mate above, grabbed on to the cleats and climbed, her eyes down so she could see where her feet were stepping, giving the mate a good look at her cleavage. Three steps and she was up to the deck and took the mate’s proffered hand.

  “I had thought this an honest merchant vessel, sir, but I see you are armed like some buccaneer.” She nodded to the musket. “You will not take me captive, I pray.”

  “No, no, ma’am, never fear.” The mate smiled at her concern. “We are honest merchants, to be sure. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Paul McKeown, mate of the sloop Nathaniel James.”

  “Good day to you, sir. I am Miss Patricia Clark.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. As to the musket, in truth there are a wicked lot of pirates in Nassau, and it behooves us to be prepared. We keep the one musket on deck and charged, but that is it.”

  “Such precautions are sensible, and speak well of your vessel,” Anne said. There was one other man besides McKeown on board, and he smiled shyly and nodded his greeting. Arrayed along the sides were eight 4-pounder cannon, their tackling neatly coiled down, belying the mate’s assertion that they were but honest merchants.

  “Might I be of assistance to you, Miss Clark? You had mentioned wishing to speak to the master?”

  “Yes, just so. I am looking to take passage, and I have heard abroad that your vessel might be bound away for Barbados? Is that right?”

  “Right indeed, ma’am. We’ll be taking passage to Barbados once our cargo is put down.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. I am in a great hurry. But would you have room for a passenger on so small a ship?”

  “We have one cabin, ma’am, and it is not generally taken. It is small, to be sure, but clean, and comfortable. If you would like I could have it fresh scrubbed, even painted this afternoon, so it would be to your liking.”

  “Scrubbed would be fine, sir. There is room on the floor for my servant girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the mate assured her, though he did not sound so sure himself.

  “Good. Might I see?”

  “Certainly, ma’am. This way, if you please.” McKeown led the way aft and down a tiny scuttle that led to the cramped deck below. Anne followed, bending low to avoid hitting her head, counting the stairs, fixing in her mind the location of hand-holds, doors, obstacles that might trip her up in the dark.

  “This here is the cabin, ma’am,” McKeown said proudly, holding open the door to a room that was half as tall and a quarter as big as the closet she had enjoyed in her father’s home in Charles Town.

  Anne looked it over, nodded her approval. “But what of that door, back there?” she asked, pointing to a door in the bulkhead all the way aft.

  “That is the door to the master’s cabin, ma’am. And this here . . .” he pointed forward toward the forecastle, “is crew berths.”

  “It must be terribly crowded, all of you men aboard this little sloop.”

  “It can be, ma’am. But for now the captain is sleeping ashore, and it is only me and the other fellow aboard.”

  “I see . . .” said Anne.

  They made their way back on deck and Anne said, “Your vessel seems quite adequate, sir. When might I apply to the captain for some notion of when he might sail?”

  “I fear Captain Larson will not be aboard before noon on the morrow. If you could tell me where you are staying, I could send word to you.”

  “That is kind, sir, but it is not necessary. I do so like to get out on the water. Perhaps I shall call again tomorrow?”

  “That would be my greatest delight, ma’am,” the mate said, and his words were entirely genuine.

  “Tomorrow, noon, then.” She met his eyes, giving him her most seductive smile. “Or perhaps I shall return even before then. One never knows.”

  Two A.M.

  That would be . . . Anne tried to recall, four bells . . . no, three bells. Three bells in the middle watch. She wondered if the pirates worried about such niceties.

  The raucous sounds of the Ship Tavern, one floor below, had abated enough that Anne could hear, faintly, the cries of “All’s well!” from Woodes Rogers soldiers as they paced their watch along the crumbling walls of the decrepit fort.

  “All’s well!” another cried, and Anne thought, Such they know.

  A swell of noise from below stairs drowned out anything more from the window. Anne stood, took a few tentative steps in the unfamiliar square-toed shoes. Once they were under way she would start going barefoot, get her feet toughened up, but for now it had to be shoes.

  Not so bad. The fit was good. She could feel the places where they would hurt until they were broken in, but for now they were tolerable. She picked up her shoulder belt, slung it over her shoulder. At the end hung a cutlass, the weight heavy on her shoulder, pressing against her breasts, but she liked the way it felt. She rested her hand on the weapon’s hilt, took a turn around the room. Yes, yes.

  She wished she had a mirror, but that was not an amenity with which the squalid rooms above the Ship were provided. She looked down at herself in the light of the two candles on the wash stand. Square-toed shoes, wool stockings, and loose, wide-legged sailor’s slop trousers. A wide leather belt around her waist, a sheath knife in the small of her ba
ck.

  Tucked into the trousers was a big cotton shirt, purposely oversized to hide her breasts, which it did, to some degree. The shoulder belt hid them a bit more. Over that she pulled on a man’s coat, blue wool with wide lapels and big silver buttons. Jack had already plaited her hair and bound it up with a strip of leather. She could feel it thump against her back as she moved, like a soft cudgel. She tied a red cloth around her head and pushed a cocked hat down over that.

  She put her hand on the hilt of the cutlass once again and struck a manly pose. She smiled, then laughed out loud, carried away by the dash and boldness of the thing. She had thought it daring to marry the penniless James Bonny, to brow-beat him into running away to Nassau, but that was a trifle compared to this, embarking on a career as a pirate. A genuine, full-fledged pirate!

  She laughed again and shook her head. She picked up the brace of fine pistols that Jack had bought for her, tied together with half a fathom of bright ribbon, draped them over her shoulders and tucked them under her coat. She looked around the small, ugly room that had been her home since arriving in Nassau. So many memories it held.

  But memories were for old women, and she was not that, nor did she think she would ever be. A short life and a merry one, that was what the pirates said, and that was for her.

  Time to go. She blew out the candles and stepped through the door, relishing the novel weight of the weapons slung over her shoulders, the way they thumped against her as she walked.

  Gone were the heavy skirts and petticoats that twisted around her legs and impeded her movements, the tight bodices with their damned whalebone stays, the ungainly false rumps and panniers.

  Now she was dressed like a man, like one of the dangerous fellows gone on the account. Simple, functional clothes, they did not slow her down. They were clothes designed for action, not so much slip-covering to turn a woman into a living ornament, a human decoration that could do no more than oversee a household.

  Down the narrow stairs to the low, smoky tavern where those who had not yet staggered off or passed out were still carousing. Half the men in the room—nine, including Jack Rackam—were there for the same reason as herself: preparing for the night’s work. For Anne, that meant donning the mantle of a pirate. For those that were pirates already, it meant fortifying themselves with rum.