Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  My Dear Sir:

  It is with regret that I must inform you of the death by natural causes of Captain Abraham Scroggs, late commander of the HMS Wolverine.

  However, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that since taking command, as ranking officer aboard, I have taken three French merchant ships laden with cargo as prizes. I wish you the joy of your share of the prize money.

  Although it has been a great honor to serve the King in the way I have done, I know that you are sure to want to replace me as Captain of the Wolverine with an officer of higher rank. I await your word on this.

  Your most humble and obedient servant,

  Acting Lieutenant J. M. Faber

  Master and Commander, HMS Wolverine

  I had told the Bo'sun that after the prisoner drop he should leave one boat in the water alongside and ready to go. I also sent word for Midshipman George Piggott to make himself ready to take command of that boat for the delivering of a letter to the Flag officer. We are at the southernmost tip of our patrol and so the boat should reach the flagship in a short time—maybe in as little as four hours. So they'll get the word and have time to make preparations and be here tomorrow, but will not have enough time to do it today.

  I take my folded and sealed letter topside and go to the rail and look down at the boat. The crew looks up expectantly. I feel something against my leg and look down and find George Piggott standing by my side.

  "Make us proud by your behavior, Mr. Piggott. Stand up straight and strong. Show the Flagship what a true Werewolf looks like." I put my hand on his shoulder and leave it there.

  "So you are going to leave?" he says, very quietly.

  "Yes, Georgie. Tomorrow, sometime. Depending on when the Flag sends someone over."

  "What are they going to do to you, Jacky?" he asks. He looks off into the distance.

  "Oh, don't worry about me, Georgie. I'll be fine. I always am." I reach over and ruffle his hair. "I always bob up, somehow."

  "I'll never be brave like you, Jacky. I ... I should have stayed a ship's boy." He looks down at his feet.

  "Come, Georgie. I know you liked being a ship's boy—so did I, when I was one—but you can't stay a ship's boy forever. Tucker and Eli and Tremendous will be seamen in their own right soon, you know that, don't you?"

  He nods, takes the letter and puts it in his jacket, salutes, and goes down into the boat. The sail is lifted, pulled taut, and they are off.

  The Bo'sun's Mate comes up to me and says, "All ready for Inspection, Lieutenant."

  I nod and follow him to make the Inspection, but I do not inspect, as I know everything is in order. Instead, I look into the eyes of each man and shake his hand and thank him.

  Shaughnessy ... Wilson ... Grimes ... Harper ... James ... York ... Bowdoin... the list goes on and on, all one hundred of them, bless 'em ... Scott ... Irwin ... Corbett ... Coughlin ... Reilly...

  Finally it is done, me havin' already dissolved into tears by about the first twenty of 'em.

  There is a podium and I mount up behind it and wipe my eyes. I look out at them at their stations on the deck and in the rigging, and when I think I can speak, I do.

  "Werewolves!"

  There is a roar in reply.

  "Tomorrow I will leave this ship, and I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to see that you get your rightful shares in the prizes we took!"

  Another roar. I lift the bag of money and put it on the podium.

  "Right now, we have this bag of money that we took from the captains and passengers of the prizes. We have totaled it up and divided it, deciding not to wait for the Prize Board to decide on the rightness of it, for did we not stand on board as brothers? Did we not?"

  A roar. Werewolves! Werewolves! Werewolves!

  "Well, this little bit comes to five pounds six per seaman."

  There is a great sucking in of breath. That is quite a sum of money to a common seaman. 'Course I had added a bit from the Captain's stash, to sweeten the pot, like, figuring the men had it comin', putting up with Scroggs for all that time like they did. And the spies were carryin' a good bit of change, too. They certainly were.

  "This will be entered by your name on the ship's log, along with your regular pay. You will receive it when you go off the ship."

  We can't give it to them now, for they would certainly gamble, even when told not to, and all the money would end up in the pockets of a few of the sharper ones.

  "As I am going off the ship, if there are any of you who wish this money to go to your wives or families, and they live near London, tell the Purser, and I will be happy to see that it happens."

  I pause and look out at them for the last time as Master and Commander of the Wolverine. "As for now, there will be a special dinner prepared from the stores of the last ship, an extra tot, a bottle of perfume for each of your wives or sweethearts, and holiday routine for all!"

  Another roar.

  "And an extra shilling for the man that first puts a pennywhistle in my hand!"

  Chapter 22

  James Emerson Fletcher, Midshipman

  On board HMS Essex

  On station off France

  My Dear Jacky,

  Although I despair of ever hearing from you again, much less actually seeing you and taking your hand in mine, I shall continue to keep corresponding with you in this manner as it does give me some comfort in that I feel that I am communicating with you on some level, spiritual or otherwise.

  I am still studying for my lieutenancy, though I take no joy in it, my real interest in this life having taken to her heels and run from me, and I am back on board the Essex, on patrol off the French coast.

  I have sent word throughout the fleet concerning the possibility that you were somehow contained in it, though in what capacity I cannot imagine. If you are here, could you be posing as a boy again? No ... not likely. What would be the point? Could some unscrupulous officer have ... no, I will not think of that possibility.

  If you could read this, you would be happy to know that I have placed your Judy and my Hattie with a lovely old woman, Lady Chumbley, who is greatly in need of their company and care. Judy and Hattie have been getting along famously. It is a good post, and though it will not last forever, I believe all concerned are happy.

  Judy had told me, in vivid detail, a good deal of your life on the streets, before you had joined the company of the Dolphin, and while I took her wild tales with more than one grain of salt, I did enjoy hearing stories of you, however fanciful. However, I was disabused of the notion that the stories were exaggerations, to a great extent, when Judy, before being conveyed to Lady Chumbley's residence, asked that she be permitted to visit your old "kip," as she put it. I agreed, of course, but only on the condition that I be allowed to accompany her. She protested, thinking that not at all wise, but I persisted and she finally agreed.

  Upon gaining the place, that dank place under the old bridge, it was all I could do not to draw the handkerchief soaked in cologne water that I kept in my sleeve as protection for my nose from the smells of the city, and putting it to my face and keeping it there. In deference to the children living there in that place, though, I managed not to do it. Even so, I was aghast at the thought of you, my brave but still frail and fine flower, living here in this squalor all those years. I truly cannot put my mind around it all.

  The urchins received Judy as an old comrade and there were expressions of great joy as she doled out portions of her meager earnings into each hand, money, I then realized, that she had been saving up for just such a purpose. I, however, was viewed with the greatest of suspicion. I suddenly felt ashamed of my own wealth and position.

  The excited conversation flowed and I was astounded to hear from the girl Joannie that you had visited here on your arrival back in Britain. It seems that all the whole world has had the joy of your company, all except me.

  Judy informed me, upon our taking leave of the place, that, had I ventured in there and had she
not been with me, I would have been clubbed, stripped, and left unconcious and naked in the street in under two minutes, but I cannot quite believe that. They are just children, after all.

  So, to sum it up, Judy and Hattie seem content and contemplate their futures with happiness, but that same happiness, however, continues to elude me, as word of you and your whereabouts are still unknown to all. In desperation, I had written to your school in Boston and have received a reply from your friend Miss Amy Trevelyne to the effect that you have not returned there and she is frantic with worry over your safety. I fear I have done wrong in alarming her, but I saw no other path in trying to find you.

  In addition, I have sent ... wait ... there is a knock on my door...

  It is with a shaking hand that I report that a boat has just pulled up alongside bearing a very small midshipman with a letter from one of our smaller patrol ships. My Captain informs me that it concerns events that have recently occurred on HMS Wolverine. It seems that its Captain has died, its officers are missing, and the ship is being commanded by a J. M. Faber, Acting Lieutenant.

  Good Lord.

  We leave in the morning,

  Jaimy

  Chapter 23

  We are not far into the Morning Watch when we see the boats approaching—both our lifeboat, which I assume carries Georgie and my boat crew, and a larger boat that bears a commodore's flag.

  Well. It looks like we're going to get the royal treatment here.

  "Beat to Quarters!" I say for the last time. "Let's look sharp for the Flag, his own self!" The Werewolves fly to their stations.

  I go over to the large table, which once again has been set up on Three Hatch. There are chairs set out and plates laid with the finest delicacies from both the Captain's stores and those of the prizes, along with bottles of rare brandies and vintage wines—burgundies, Bordeaux, ports, sherries, and Madeiras.

  When I had Higgins set it up, he had asked discreetly, "Not in the cabin, Miss?" and I said, "No, Higgins. I know that would be the usual place for this sort of thing, but I don't want to be anyplace where they could take me quickly, and bind me and confine me and stuff me in a sack, out of sight of my crew," and he nodded and said, "Very wise, Miss," and then he set about his task.

  The boats draw closer. I take my long glass and see that the Wolverine boat carries just my small midshipman, our original crew, and a few other sailors—probably the new Captain's coxswain and other enlisted staff. I swing the glass to the other boat and see much gold on lapels, shoulders, and hats. That will be the new Captain and Commodore Shawcross. Why is he, himself, coming over here? Probably for a little excitement—patrol duty is as boring for a commodore as it is for a seaman. There is one man with one swab of gold on his shoulder—that will be the new Captain of HMS Wolverine. I hope for the sake of my crew that he is a good and a fair man. We shall see. Hmmm. There seem to be only two more officers in the boat with him. That is good. I want to try to get the new Captain to keep Jared, Harkness, and Drake as warrant officers, as, by God, they have earned it.

  I swing the glass back to the smaller boat and see Georgie standing up in the prow, directing the approach. Good boy, Georgie! The gangway is down, waiting for your arrival, but let the Flag boat get there first, that's a good boy...

  I swing the glass back to the Flag boat one more time before putting it down and...

  Oh ... my...

  The glass starts trembling in my hand. There, standing next to the mast on that boat, is none other than ... him.

  No. Get hold of yourself, girl. You have been good and strong, you have not thought of him even once since he proved false. You have done well. You have survived without him. Treat it just like meeting another old shipmate ... the same as when I saw John Harper, another man from the Dolphin ... just another old shipmate ... no less, and certainly, no more ... It does not matter ... Calm, now. Calm.

  I advance to the place where they will come aboard and inspect my quarterdeck crew. Tucker, Eli, and Tremendous are fitted out as side boys, looking nervous, but they'll do all right, I know. Then there's Ned and Tom and Joseph Jared and Jack Harkness and Peter Drake all drawn up and looking fine, and then there's me with Midshipman Robin Raeburne standing straight and true by my side as First Mate.

  I'm not wearing the pistols—I had Higgins pack those, figuring that my mere presence in tight white trousers tucked into shiny black boots would be scandal enough—but I do have Persephone strapped on and I am wearing my Lieutenant's jacket with gold lace woven through its lapels over a new dress shirt that Higgins had somehow found, with creamy lace spilling out at my throat and wrists. And, by God, I have the Look on my face—eyes hooded, chin up, lips together and teeth apart, as Admiral Shawcross, Commodore of Squadron Fourteen, steps upon my ship. Following close behind him is the new Captain, and, I suspect, the new First Mate of the Wolverine. Then ... and only then does Midshipman James Emerson Fletcher step onto the deck of the Wolverine.

  The Bo'sun starts his shrill trill and the side boys whip up their hands in salute, as does everyone else on the quarterdeck.

  I step forward and take off my hat, a cocked hat that we had taken from the Dutch Captain that Higgins had somehow altered to fit me. It is all dark blue and gold and I feel ridiculous with it on and am glad to take it off. I bow and tuck it under my arm, as I have been instructed by Higgins.

  The Commodore merely looks me over and does not return the bow. A definite snub. Very well, Commodore.

  "You would prefer this, then, Sir?" and I dip down in my lowest curtsy, pantomiming the holding out of an invisible dress. The Look is hard upon my face as I rise. If they were expecting a pipe-chewing harridan as a female Captain, they do not get it. If they were expecting a simpering, frightened female, they don't get that, either. What they get is a Pimm's girl, pure and simple.

  This time he barks out a laugh and gives an offhand salute. He looks about at the ship—the newly scrubbed decks, the shining brass. "This is Captain Trumbull," he says, gesturing to the new Captain. "He will be taking command of this ship."

  I bow to Captain Trumbull. He does not bow back. He is a dark cove, of slight build and a long, blue-jawed face. He does not seem to be possessed of a great amount of humor and he certainly does not seem to approve of me.

  "Shall we get on to the business at hand then? Will you take refreshment?" I say and motion Commodore Shawcross and the others to the table. He greedily surveys the spread on the table. His girth shows him to be a man of some appetite, and he wastes no time in going to the head of the table, and, after a seaman pulls out his chair, he sits down. After many months on station, even the stores of a commodore must be growing lean.

  "Some wine with you then, Sir," I say, nodding at the Weasel, who has been pressed into this service by Higgins. He has been cleaned up and put in a white steward's uniform, and we have promised him a grisly death if he messes up. He shakily pours from a dusty old bottle of extremely rare amontillado, which looks like it came straight from the catacombs of Rome. The other officers come to the table and are seated, a specially selected seaman behind each chair. It is then that I, too, sit.

  The Commodore smacks his lips over the wine. "Ahhhh ...," he says, unabashedly, "it's been a long time."

  "I hoped you would like it, Sir, and I took the liberty of setting aside a crate of it for your own personal use," purrs I. "I'm sure the Admiralty would not mind. There is also some French perfume for your lady, Sir, as well as many foodstuffs that would surely spoil if not used right away." The Commodore looks at the pile of stuff to the right of the quarterdeck, the most prominent of which is the box of wine plainly stamped h. m. Fletcher & sons, importers of fine wines. brattle street, London on its side, and beams his pleasure.

  "I'm beginning to like this girl," he says. "How many prizes, then?" he asks, smiling in anticipation.

  The man who will become the next Captain is not smiling. The slight, dark man does not look like he has spent a large part of his life in idle pursuits.
He has a sharp face, with prominent nose and piercing black eyes. He is not drinking the wine. Instead, he is looking around at the rigging, the trim of the sails. As well he should. That's what I would be doing, were I in his place.

  "Three ships and four full cargoes," say I, quickly, stressing the four and not the three. "Wine, perfumes, china, silks, cheeses, hams, the list is endless, Sir."

  "Good, good," says he, contentedly.

  I gesture for the serving men to fill his plate.

  I do not look at Mr. Fletcher directly, but I observe him out of the corner of my eye. He is seated across from me, staring intently at my face. He appears to be struggling with the desire to say something, but, of course, he cannot. Rules, you know. But you know, if it were me, I would say something and damn the consequences. I would jump across the table and wrap my arms around your neck. But, then, that's always been the difference between you and me, Jaimy. Always. I do not allow our gazes to meet.

  "Ah, but now we must get down to it," sighs the Commodore. Another truffle slips down his throat. "The matter of the dead Captain Scroggs. Would you care to explain how that happened? And how you happen to be sitting here in the uniform of a Lieutenant in His Majesty's Service, addressing in familiar terms a Commodore of the same service?"

  I lean back and take a sip of my wine and begin. "I was taken by a press-gang in London, Sir. They mistook me for a man because I was dressed as a jockey at the time—it was a lark, a prank I wished to pull on a former friend of mine, a prank which, as you can see, backfired upon me. At any rate, I was brought aboard here and read into the ship's company. Since it was apparently well known that I had been made a midshipman by Captain Locke on HMS Dolphin, Captain Scroggs appointed me as such."