“Why sign at all?” asked Fin, still unclear.
“To hold men to their word. No one that signs can be held innocent if our mutiny ever comes to light. And no man’ll point his finger to blame another while his mark is scrawled round with the rest.” Before Fin could inquire any further, Tan stepped forward, knelt down, and signed his name along the curve of the circle. Before he’d finished, Topper had knelt beside him, followed by Sam Catcher. Soon, all hands on deck were huddled around the parchment waiting for a chance to seal their name to the ship. Fin was more than willing to do so as well, and she moved forward to join the huddle, but Jack called for her to hold and motioned her to come to him.
“Listen up, boys,” barked Jack. “We got another matter to settle.” The huddle turned its eyes back to Jack. “You all know, of course, that Button here is been keeping secrets under her shirt.” Jack chuckled at Fin and the crew roared in laughter. Fin tried not to blush. “Now I know some got problems having a woman on board. I hear your grumbling, and we got to make an end of it right here. If the crew agree on the one hand, then she’ll be put ashore in Charleston and not trouble us again, or if the crew agree on the other, she can stay aboard and continue the fine job of sailoring she’s been at since the day she come aboard.”
“Bad luck having a lady on board, Jack!” shouted Art. Murmurs of assent arose here and there.
“Aye, I heard that foolishness, but that bad luck is the only reason we’re rid of Creache and the reason I’m here alive instead of feeding the sharks. Tan’ll say the same, I’d wager, and Knut.” Knut started at the mention of his name and looked around to see whether or not he might be in trouble.
Tan stepped forward and turned to the crew, “Fin’s as good a sailor as I ever saw and a far sight better than most. If she goes, I go too.”
Topper here-here’d his support, and a volley of other cheers backed him up. Fin stood next to Jack, her eyes down. She didn’t want to look up and see who wasn’t in her favor.
“Well, as ye can see, I think most are agreeable to having her stay, so the question is, can those that ain’t, abide it or nay? If it’s bad luck you’re whining about, then I’d say she’s a far sight better than the luck Creache brought. So what of it, Art?”
Fin looked up and discovered Art staring back at her in fierce consideration. Then it seemed a wave washed the disapproval off his face and his lips turned up.
“I reckon it’s no further harm.” He looked around at the others who had been wary of her and nodded at them reassuringly.
“All right then, make your mark, Fin,” urged Jack as he motioned to the Round Robin. Fin bent down and, with a surge of pride that she’d been found out and found worthy, she signed her name with confidence.
“Last order of business then,” continued Jack without waiting for Fin to finish. “We need to elect a captain, and before you even start, don’t think for one minute it’ll be me!” Boo’s erupted at Jacks refusal. “I don’t aim to filthy myself by wearing the title. I was born tar, and I’ll die tar. So who else?”
Tan stepped forward to speak, “Who says we need a captain, Jack? I don’t think no man aboard is anxious to fill them shoes just now. I say we keep on like we been. Besides, we never needed Creache. You’re still first mate. You run the ship and we’ll run it for you.” The crew found this idea a good one and let it be known.
“Well, we got to have someone making the decisions. Where to trade, what to trade—them things don’t figure themselves,” protested Jack.
“We’ll do it democratic then, put the matter to the whole crew. We all signed the robin in kind, and we’ll all run the ship the same.” Most of the crew enjoyed the idea and stamped and hollered their opinions. Jack raised his hands and hushed them all back down like a conductor.
“All right, all right. Can’t say as I got a good feeling about it, but I can go along since the rest seem willing.” A loud cheer of whoops and hurrahs went up and the matter was settled. “I say that since we ain’t going to put up a captain, we put Button up in the cabin, for decency and what all. Anyone got a problem with that?” A solid wave of head shaking rolled over the assemblage and Jack looked satisfied. Fin felt relief and was thankful. “Good. The cabin’s yours, Button,” Jack nodded to Fin. “Our first stop is Charleston I figure. We need food, water, and some good, dry ground to wet with a bottle. Anyone got a say in the matter?” He looked around at the crew, and the crew looked around at each other. No one spoke out. “All in favor of putting in to Charleston for provisions and play, say aye.”
“AYE!” sang a chorus.
“Then let’s turn to and make it happen. Topper, you and Tan see to the navigation. The rest of you dogs get to work!” The ship jumped to life as the small gathering split to the four corners of the ship like ripples from a stone. Jack wasted no time pondering anything but the eloquence of the next curse to hurl and set to reminding the crew that he was back, he was in charge, and he didn’t keen to sloth on his ship.
CHAPTER XIX
After the signing of the Round Robin, the Rattlesnake enjoyed a prosperous season under the swarthy arm of Jack Wagon. As the crew had agreed, they put in to Charleston for provisions, and while there, Jack and Tan managed to eke out a few good sailors of dubious ethical declination to bolster the crew. When they raised sail for open sea again, they were forty hands strong and felt like new men.
With new sailors aboard, and some green enough to look youngsters even to Fin, she discovered that she felt more weathered and proven among her peers. She wasn’t the fresh new tar on deck any longer, and Fin cherished her newfound sense of belonging.
Despite her oft-repeated protests, the entire crew remained adamant that she keep her berth in the captain’s quarters. To make matters worse, Topper was calling her Captain Button in friendly mockery and even going so far as to yell, “Captain on deck!” every time he saw her step out of the cabin. Much to her outward dismay, and inward delight, the affection was soon adopted by the entire crew. If a stranger stood on deck and observed, he’d think himself aboard an odd vessel indeed, where the young Captain Button—if the quartered berth and crew’s calling were to be believed—was not only often seen with swab in hand or working the ropes like any common tar, but was, of all things, a woman.
With nothing left to hide, Fin stopped minding her hair and cutting it short. It grew wild and hung long about her shoulders if she didn’t keep it tied back with a cord. Months at sea had sun-darkened her skin, and she wondered if Peter would even recognize her when she managed to find her way home once again.
After their parting with Creache, she pleaded with Jack to ask the crew about putting in at Savannah so she could check up on Peter. But Savannah, Jack grimly informed her, was now under British blockade, and trying to put the Rattlesnake within fifty miles of the port would be asking for more fight than they could fend. So Fin had to console herself with memories far and faint, and she wrote letters to Peter every chance she found. She longed to hear back from him but it wasn’t safe to give an address for fear the British would follow, so always her tidings were vague and imprecise.
What news they heard of the war was seldom encouraging. George Washington and his colonial army had met with defeat after defeat and the British were certain of their eventual victory. Rumor hinted at a possible alliance with France that could turn the tide, but as yet no one had seen French colors flying on incoming warships.
If the landward war went ill, however, it wasn’t for lack of action by the Rattlesnake. They raided fourteen ships in three months. Mainly, their prey was of British merchants, but once they boarded and commandeered a frigate of the Royal Navy when they caught it unawares in a fogbank near Chesapeake. Tan and half the crew sailed it into Plymouth and sold it as trophy to a local politician. Of course, the great success of the Rattlesnake in her privateering career did little to endear them to the Royal Navy. They sometimes spent as much time running from the Union Jack as they did running it down. In the late autumn o
f 1776, the Navy was so thick in the waters of the West Atlantic that Jack sailed them down around the horn of Florida where they peddled in the Caribbean for the winter. But when spring returned to the colonies, so did the Rattlesnake. The entire crew missed the waters, small towns, outer banks, and shorelines of the Eastern Coast, and all were glad to return, British or no.
They found upon their return that not only had the Rattlesnake’s reputation grown, but so had Fin’s. Tavern talk was quick to fix upon something as scandalous as a woman employed as a sailor, and the Rattlesnake was rumored to have a woman as captain no less. Some claimed she was Anne Bonny’s ghost, and others charged she was Mary Reed’s long lost granddaughter, but all agreed she was a fearsome captain that gave all hell and what-for to the British. Fin rolled her eyes at such things and had to endure constant teasing from the crew. They knew better than to believe the barroom exaggerations, but they seemed to take great joy in being on the inside of the joke and often furthered the lies themselves.
She once came upon Topper regaling a barroom full of men with ridiculous tales of her ferocity and cunning. He was standing on a table with his hands outspread and his audience gathered around like children listening to a campfire yarn.
“I seen her shot through the heart and fall dead as driftwood! Seen it with me very eyes! We give her body to the deep but the devil himself feared she’d mutiny and throw him down from the throne of hell. So he set her adrift from the burning lake, and she sailed back into the seven seas upon a raft of the damned that was lashed together with nothing but the tatters o’ ruined souls!”
The men around Topper gasped and swore and one made the sign of the cross.
“That’s right! The Burning Prince of the Pit cast her out of his hall, and her hair still burns fiery red to tell of it. When her gaze falls on a Union Jack, fire leaps from her eyes and she smells of brimstone. When once I was standing too close to her I nearly got burnt myself!” Topper tugged at his shirtsleeve and sniffed it. “Still smells o’ the devil’s fire! Smell it! You there, smell it for yourself!”
A young sailor stood up and leaned over cautiously to smell Topper’s shirt. He took one sharp sniff and his eyes snapped shut and began to water. The men around him looked on goggle-eyed and called on the saints to save them.
“Smells o’ the devil, it does!” cried the boy.
Fin rolled her eyes. She had no doubt that Topper’s shirt stank badly enough to bring water to a man’s eyes.
Then Topper spotted her standing at the back of the room. He jerked himself upright and snapped his heels together.
“Captain Fin Button on deck!”
Every head in the room snapped around, and dozens of wide, fearful eyes stared at her in horror. In the far corner of the room, one poor drunken sailor dropped to his knees and shouted a Hail Mary before begging the Lord to forgive his trespasses and protect him.
Then they began to laugh.
“You had me going, Topper! Thought it was really her.”
The fear and terror drained out of their faces when they saw she was nothing more than a slight girl without any sign at all of an aura of fire and brimstone. Within moments, every man in the room was in the throes of laughter.
“Ha! We thought you was Captain Button,” they shouted to her. “Burn you, Topper!” Someone threw a mug at Topper’s head, and he ducked. He climbed down from the table and hurried out of the room, dodging another thrown mug and a loaf of bread as he went. Fin chased him out and caught up with him in the street.
“Was all that really necessary?” she asked.
Topper giggled and shook with glee. “No, but it surely is fun to get ’em worked up!” He slapped Fin on the back and she caught a whiff of what had already made one man cry.
“You really must wash that shirt.”
Topper roared with laughter.
Back aboard the Rattlesnake, Fin pestered Tan at every opportunity for further fencing lessons, and he was quick to take up where they’d put off, which more or less meant swatting Fin about like a child. But week after week, Fin improved, and by the time the ship was again prowling the coast of New England she was no longer ending lessons with bruises and bleeding fingers.
In April of 1777, the crew agreed to slip into Wilmington to take on provisions, dry up a tavern, and have news of the war. Jack ordered the anchor dropped in the harbor, and the crew rowed the distance shore to keep the ship as far as possible from snooping officials who might wonder after the captain or seek news of his whereabouts.
Fin’s first order of business, as usual, was sending a letter out to Peter. Knut waited quietly as she scratched away at the parchment on the table. She told Peter about the Caribbean and its beaches, long and white as the moon, lapped by clear waters and cool wind. She filled him in on what fortune they’d found in aiding the war and hoped sincerely that the British would be gone soon and she’d be free to come home.
The letters brought back memories that were almost far enough away for her to forget. The writing brought them closer, reeled them in from the grey waves that tried to drown them. Memories of Bartimaeus, Peter, her bell tower. It was a different world to her now, a different life. Peter would have finished building the house long ago, but as much as she longed for it, hoped for it, she couldn’t quite imagine herself realizing it. It was too far away, too different. She loved the sea and her ship. She loved the men she now thought of as family. She didn’t like to think about leaving them behind when the war ended. She didn’t have to consider the breaking away when she left the orphanage, left Peter. At the time it was her only choice. But she had choices now, and she couldn’t reconcile the two desires. She shook it out her mind. Such choices were far and away from her now. She finished the letter, wished Peter love, and folded it up.
Tan joined them in the rowboat and they paddled their way toward the waterfront through canyons formed by tall ships; on all sides, ships loomed high like walls of creaking stone. They wended a path to the dockside, tied the boat fast, and climbed up into the city.
Tan grinned them a farewell once they were ashore, and Fin, with Knut in tow, struck off on her own. She made straight for the postmaster to send her letter on its way and then set her mind to leisure and luxury.
The city was full of the smells and sounds of land-bound life that Fin often forgot when far out at sea: the earthy scent of animals and the clatter of wagons, the solid sound and feel of your feet upon the ground, the coming and going of a multitude of other people. The din of thousands of conversations floated up from the streets and out of buildings to form a subtle chorus that one never quite noticed until it was gone in the dark of night or swallowed by the quiet expanse of the sea. The sounds and people made her nervous at times. She’d spent all her life in the country or on the Rattlesnake, away from such clangor and bustle. She felt like an intruder in the city and was anxious to be away.
As they crossed the town square, Fin noted on the wind the sickening smell of death. It made her shiver. She looked around expecting to see a dead chicken or dog, even though she knew instinctively it was something else. On the seaward side of the square, framed against the open ocean by two buildings, was the source of the odor. Swinging heavily in the wind like wet flags were the bodies of two men, hanged and decaying. One was little more than a skeleton, desiccated and leathery; the corpse must have been hanging there for months. The other, however, was no more than a few days old. Its eyes were freshly plucked out by carrion and the sockets stared back at her, gaping and empty. The mouth was pulled open in the quiet groan of the dead. Below the corpse, a wet spot spread upon the ground where blood and worse dripped into a fetid puddle. A dog lapped out of it a gruesome meal. Fin shuddered and felt her stomach rise.
Knut stared at the display as if it were no more unusual than sides of beef hanging at market. A makeshift sign hung on the beam that suspended the bodies. It explained simply, Pirate. A flood of memories came back to her, memories of Bartimaeus smiling as he fell, the rope’s cruel j
erk. He’d have hung like this, her gentle Bartimaeus. They’d have made a spectacle of him, but Sister Carmaline humbled herself and begged them otherwise. At the time she’d been too stricken and numb to consider what fate Carmaline had begged him away from. Now she understood. Tears rose. How had he been capable of such a life? An outlaw. A criminal. Had he been friends with Creache—friends? When he’d yelled at her—the one time he’d yelled at her—it was because she forced him to dredge up his past, to talk about it. In that one moment, she glimpsed the fire and anger in him. Maybe he had that murderous glint in his eye for years at a time while he worked his piracy with Creache. She tried to imagine him that way, as a man who deserved the same end as the bloated and rotting corpse swinging in the square, but she could not.
Her Bartimaeus was no pirate. Whatever had happened to him in London, whatever blessing Reverend Whitefield had spoken upon him had remade his person entire. Even when he’d come for her in the woods and murdered a man, he never looked the pirate to her. Yet he paid the price of piracy. Even gentle Bartimaeus had not been able to escape his past. He swung like a common criminal. And he smiled. He tried to change himself, but in the end he hadn’t changed a thing. And he smiled. Fin pushed away her memory. She had murder in her past too. Somewhere out there British soldiers were looking for her. If they caught her, she’d swing. She’d rot in the town square. She’d be as dead as Bartimaeus.
“Come on, Knut. I don’t like the smell.” She grabbed Knut and herded him off, away from the dead, and didn’t look back until the smell was gone. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to smile at that end and never meant to find out.
They shopped the market and gorged themselves on fresh, sweet fruits of every color. Fin stuffed both her pockets and Knut’s full of rosy peaches before they wandered on. Knut, stuffed all over with fruit, looked even knobbier than usual. The peaches bulging from his every pocket gave the impression someone had beaten him silly with a stick and raised peach-sized welts all over his body to tell it. His face didn’t betray a whit of the ridiculous looking body it was attached to and Fin could hardly suppress her laughter.
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