Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  "How much have you read of these papers?"

  I cock my head as if I'm thinking. "I've read all the stuff that's in English and French. I can't read much Latin or any German and some of it seems to be in that. And much of it's in code."

  "Hmmm...," he says, and looks again at the man in black.

  "Does that seal my death warrant then, Sir?"

  He doesn't answer the question. Instead, he asks another: "Where are these papers?"

  "They are sealed and in the care of my lawyer. He is directed to give them to the newspapers in Fleet Street if I don't return from this interview by five o'clock today."

  "You had reason to think we would harm you?"

  "You would harm me, or any thing or any body you had to harm in order to win this war. I know that. I am not stupid." I gulp and take a shaky breath. "But if you were to tie me to this chair and torture me to find out the location of the papers, I believe I could hold out till five o'clock. I believe I could."

  Viscount Melville is quiet for a while, just looking at me, and then he gives out a short bark of a laugh and says, "I believe you could. Now, what do you want in return for these papers?"

  "Besides the joy of knowing that I have served my country? Nothing, except for the matter of the prize money for my men. You can authorize that with one stroke of your pen, Sir. Do it and you shall have the papers on your desk in the morning."

  "And that is all? Nothing for you?"

  "Will you say, 'Well done, Lieutenant Faber! You are a credit to the Service and good luck on your next posting!' Will you say that?"

  He snorts. "No."

  "Will you give me my share of the prize money? A Captain's share, for that is what I earned?"

  "I cannot."

  I shrug. I expected nothing more. "Well then. Just a Letter of Marque, then. It is nothing to you to grant such a request."

  He barks out a laugh. "A Letter of Marque? A document authorizing you to be a privateer? Whatever will you do with it?"

  "I just might find a use, Sir..."

  Sir Henry Dundas looks at the other man. He shrugs and nods. The First Lord looks back at me. He is silent for a while, sizing me up, I think, and then he says, "That is quite a tale you tell. Do you know that you are not unknown to us? That we have received word of you and your actions?"

  I am shocked. "Commodore Shawcross has already made..."

  "Not Commodore Shawcross. We have been getting reports from our French contacts ... reports of one Captain Jacky Faber, the Female Pirate, who wears a sword and two crossed pistols and who is the Scourge of the Normandy Coast."

  My mouth hangs open—it's been less than a week! He goes on.

  "La belle jeune fille sans merci, 'the beautiful young girl without mercy,' they call her, she who laughs as she tortures and kills prisoners..."

  "That is a lie! I told you what I did there! And I wasn't a pirate. Those were legal prizes!"

  "Rumors, Miss, rumors that become stories, stories that become legends." The First Lord of the Admiralty leans back and smiles. "We will meet all your demands, Miss Faber. We shall have all the necessary paperwork drawn up by tomorrow. Please bring the papers you have in the morning. You have my word of honor that there will be nothing untoward done as regards your personal safety."

  His smile deepens. "I have a feeling we will be seeing more of you in the future, Miss Faber. Good day to you, now. It has been a pleasure."

  I delivered the spy papers the next day and received my Letter of Marque and a letter signed by the First Lord that the prize money for the Wolverines would be paid and paid quickly. I examined the Letter of Marque and it looks genuine—and why shouldn't it be? They figure I'll never be able to use it 'cause I don't have a ship and ain't likely to get one, neither, so why not give it to me? Just humor the silly girl, is all.

  I dispatched my own letter to Robin on board the Wolverine that all was set regarding the prize money and took a coach back to the ship and was greeted by a blur of pink cotton.

  "Mistress! Oh, Mistress Mary, I thought I'd never see you again!" wails Judy, throwing her arms about my neck. I see Higgins behind her, holding my old seabag and the fiddle case that holds the Lady Lenore. I am very glad to see all of them.

  "I found out from the Fletchers' butler where she was, Miss, and went to fetch her," explains Higgins.

  "Thank you, Higgins. Now, Judy, dry your eyes. You can see I have a way of popping back up. Let us have a bit of lunch and you can tell me all that has happened to you."

  We go down into my cabin, my lovely cabin, which sparkles and gleams under Higgins's care, and have a fine reunion.

  I am told that the kind gentleman, Mr. James, Mr. James Fletcher, that is, and oh, Miss, what a kind gentleman he is! had gotten her and Hattie a fine post caring for a dear sweet old rich lady and Judy herself would have been most happy if it weren't that she was so worried about her Mistress being gone and she would have spoken more of Mr. Fletcher, saying, "You should give him one more chance, Miss, he seems so ... " but I forbade her to speak his name and she obeyed me, even though she didn't want to.

  I tell her some of what has happened to me and about the Emerald and all and it's decided that she should stay in Lady Chumbley's service till the dear old woman goes off to her reward and then Judy would join me again. It's best that we get things settled with the Emerald first, as there is a lot to do on that score—it's going to be hard enough getting a crew with one woman aboard, let alone two.

  I had given the Admiralty the packet of information on the spy network, but I did not give them the information on the smuggling operation, figuring why get a lot of people in trouble over a little under-the-table importing? Especially Mr. Hiram Fletcher, Jai—his father, that is. I mean, it's one thing to steal a man's wine, quite another to get him slapped in jail. Or worse.

  And, of course, I didn't tell the First Lord about the Emerald. It's such a small thing, considering everything else he has on his mind. Who's gonna miss a little ship like her in this great big war?

  I've cast about, trying to hire a crew for my ship, but I've met with no luck—even men in the worst of circumstances, men desperate for work and money for their families, will not serve under a woman, much less a girl who still doesn't look much more than fourteen.

  I know that men will not follow what they call a "petticoat captain" and so I will have to find a Captain for the Emerald. It irks me, but what can I do?

  I am standing on the unmanned deck of my ship, pondering the problem, when who should I see but my future Captain come running down the street, looking over his shoulder in fear that something might be following him. He is dressed in tights, jerkin, and doublet, and he ducks by the side of a building, peers out when he sees no one coming, and then makes a dash for my gangway and storms up the ramp and jumps aboard.

  "Ozgood," I say. "What now...?"

  "No time for that, Miss," he says, and dives down the center hatchway. "You ain't seen me now, mind?"

  I stand there in astonishment for a moment and then a mob comes round the corner at the head of the street. They are dressed in a motley fashion—some in modern dress and some in tights and doublets—and all shouting and waving swords and clubs. One, who is dressed as a king, has a scepter ... and is that a two-handed broadsword?...a battle-ax? There are several women, too, each seemingly as outraged as the men. One, in a costume I take to be that of Ophelia, is very much with child.

  They stop and look about, and, not seeing the object of their hunt, they see me.

  "You there! Girl! Did you see a man running by here—big, with black hair?"

  I put on the waif look. "Oh, Lord, yes, Sir, and 'e scared me most terrible and so I scampers up here so as to get away from 'im! He run down that street there, Sir!" and I point down a street that I know goes a long way.

  The crowd roars and heads off in the direction of my point.

  When all is quiet, I go below to see Ozgood. I find him hiding behind a cask in the main hold. "Now, Miss, it ai
n't as bad as it looks, y'see..."

  "Don't bother, Captain Daniel Ozgood, Master of the Ocean Sea," I say, smiling down at him. "Higgins! To me!"

  "You do not have to be a Captain, you only have to act like a Captain, something I am sure you will be very good at. Treat it as a part, a part for which you will be paid. I will be by your side at all times and I will tell you what to say and do."

  My bold sea Captain looks dubious, but he gets into the mariner's uniform that Higgins had gone and got. Black pants, big black boots turned down on top, and a black jacket with two rows of gold buttons and a high, stiff collar. Two thick belts cross his chest and another goes around his waist. It is all topped off with a black cap that has a shiny leather brim. The more Ozgood gets into the gear, the more he gets into the part. When all is done, he puts hands on hips, throws back his head, and roars, "Avast there, me hearties! Splice the main brace! Arrrrr..."

  He will do just fine. If we can just shut him up.

  Last night I did a performance at a local tavern, The Full Fathom Five, just to get my hand back in. Higgins didn't want me to do it, but I told him just how many times I had done just such a thing, and so he relented but insisted on coming along, so the crowd was treated to the spectacle of a small female performer attended by a large gentleman's gentleman in full fig. It went well, considering that I'm a bit out of practice, and it was wonderful to have the Lady Lenore back under my chin, and my dear pennywhistle back on my lip, and my feet tapping out the steps. I put out the word then, during breaks, about the Emerald's taking on hands, assuring the sailors that we would have music and good times as well as hard labor on that fine ship.

  When we did the actual hiring, Ozgood glowered at them and I listened to what they had to say in the way of their character and experience. I sat off to the side, the good Captain's daughter who would be along on this trip, doing a bit of sewing, like a good girl. If I scratched my right eyebrow, the man was hired. If I touched my nose with my knuckle, not.

  Soon we had our crew, and two days later, thanks to Captain Scroggs's stash of gold, we were supplied, victualed, and off on the tide.

  Because of foul and contrary winds, it took us three full days to get across St. George's Channel and to the Irish port city of Waterford, during which time the crew figured out Ozgood for the fraud he was. When we got there, the entire lot of them left in a manly huff—Serve under a bleedin' female, I'll be damned, I will ... What kind o' fool did she think we was, what with 'er telling the big lout what orders to give like we couldn't see it?—but that's all right. Getting the ship here was all I really wanted them to do.

  I paid off Ozgood and reclaimed the captain's gear I had bought him back in England. I also gave him a letter of recommendation to Messrs. Fennel and Bean should he ever get to the States and need employment.

  "Thank you, Miss," he said as he went happily off toward Dublin with his money jingling in the purse that hung about the waist of his Hamlet costume. "That was the easiest role I ever played and the easiest money I ever made! Good-bye, Captain, and good luck to you!"

  Good luck to you, too, Ozgood, you merry fool, for I enjoyed your company greatly.

  So I have a ship with no crew, no captain—and with no captain, I know I shall find no crew. But I do think I know where to find a captain. And a fine captain at that.

  A clap of thunder brings me back to where I am now, which is in the rain, on the back of a cantankerous nag, and I'm aching with a sore bottom from three hours in the saddle. According to my directions, though, I am approaching my destination. There's the bridge over the small river, a large bend in the road, a stretch of moor, then a hill and then ... a small cottage, low, with a thatched roof and a dim light glowing in the window.

  I rein in the horse and he stands there puffing and blowing. I believe I see a face at the window as I dismount and tie the reins to a pump handle. I reach up and unbuckle the saddlebags and slide them off the horse's rump and go to the door. With water dripping off the end of my nose, I knock.

  The door is opened a crack and a pair of very suspicious eyes peer out.

  "Yes. What do you want?"

  "Your pardon, Ma'am, but my name is Jacky Faber and I was told that I might find Liam Delaney here."

  Chapter 25

  James Fletcher, Midshipman

  HMS Wolverine

  On Station off the Coast of France

  November 3, 1804

  Miss Jacky Faber

  Somewhere in the world, yet again

  Dearest Jacky,

  Well, at least I got a glance at you for a moment. Not that it settled my mind in the slightest. I still think about that encounter—when you would not meet my eye, when you left the ship without even speaking to me, and when, just before that, you kissed that damned midshipman and let him put his foul hand on your ... I can't allow myself to think of it ... let alone to write of it.

  I will, however, write of what happened on the Wolverine after you took yourself off, should you read this at some future time and find it interesting.

  Commodore Shawcross departed, soon after you left, with his booty, which included a good deal of Fletcher wine, I noticed. I know you thought that would hurt me, but it didn't, Jacky, not really. I don't care about that sort of thing—money and all. Ah, but the other things you did, and said, though, that did hurt me. If that was what you wanted, you certainly succeeded.

  When you left, you might have thought that I was calm and collected on the deck of the Wolverine, but, oh no, far from it, as your Bloody Mister Midshipman Bloody Robin Bloody Raeburne soon found out.

  After the Commodore was gone, Captain Trumbull wasted no time in bringing the Wolverine back under real Royal Navy discipline. Those men you had made warrant officers were examined and interrogated as to exactly why they agreed to be led by a girl.

  The first of them, the stolid Harkness, stumbled around a bit and came up with, "Well, Sir, the way she explained it, it seemed so ... reasonable ... like."

  And then the man Drake said, "It was a gradual thing, Sir. First Captain Scroggs made her a lieutenant, then the Captain got sick and the men got used to taking orders from her. And when we found the Captain was dead, why, she was still a lieutenant, so ... mutiny is mutiny, Sir, how could we have done any different?" He said this with a helpless shrug. Clever, he is. You chose well in your officers, Jacky.

  And lastly, there was Jared. Now, there's a proud one—when Captain Trumbull addressed him with "What's your name?" this Jared started unbuttoning his Master's jacket and said, "Joseph Jared, Sir. Seaman. Rated Able. Captain of the Top" as if to deprive the Captain of the satisfaction of demoting him to his former rank. When asked why he agreed to follow you, he paused as if collecting his thoughts and then said, "Why did I follow her? If you must know, Sir, it was easy. Pound for pound, Puss-in-Boots was the best commander I ever served under."

  The Captain, having only myself and Lieutenant Beasley as officers, decided to let the three keep their warrants. I think he was wise.

  So that is how you did it. You got the three most respected sailors on the ship to subscribe to your scheme, and the rest of the crew followed along. That, and appealing to a sailor's natural greed for prizes. A remarkable achievement, Jacky, even for you and your cunning ways, I must say.

  And, of course, the younger midshipmen would have fallen immediately under your spell—they are afraid of me, as the new Senior Midshipman, but they still will get on their hind legs and bristle at me if a word is spoken against your name.

  Which brings me back to the matter of Mister Cock Robin.

  The moment the Captain left the deck on other business, Raeburne and I did not lose a moment in expressing our mutual loathing for each other. We came up nose to nose and I cursed him to hell for defiling you with his touch, and he said he did a good deal more than touch you, and I roared out that I was going to kill him where he stood. And we drew our swords and were well into it, each intending to do nothing less than kill the other and to hel
l with the consequences, when the Captain came upon us and ordered us to stop or, by God, he'd hang us both.

  Captain Trumbull, seeing how things stood between us and desiring to make an impression on the crew, directed a bo'sun's chair to be rigged up to a boom on the port side of the ship. He ordered Mr. Raeburne stripped down and placed in it, securely tied. He has him swung outboard and then asks me if I would do the honors.

  With pleasure, I say with clenched teeth.

  "Down!" I order, and down, Jacky, down goes your dear midshipman to disappear under the icy water. And I'm thinking, with no small degree of satisfaction, "That'll cool your ardor, Mister Cocksure Lusty Bastard Raeburne." I count to six and yell, "Up!"

  He comes out of the water with his hair plastered over his face but with his eyes staring right at me. "You're a poor excuse for a man, Fletcher, leaving..."

  "Down!" I yell, and down he goes again. I wait longer this time before shouting, "Up!"

  "...her to fend for herself alone in this world!" The water streams off him and he is turning a shade of blue that gives me a grim sort of pleasure.

  "Down!" The nerve of the son of a bitch! Count often for you this time. I wait the count often. A slow count often. "Up!"

  He takes a great gulp of air and finds my eyes again and smiles a knowing, insinuating smile. "I was that close to having her, Fletcher, closer than you've ever been, closer than you ever will..."

  "Down!" Damn you to hell! You'll stay down there forever, you miserable...

  "Up," says the Captain, ending the game. "We don't want to actually drown him, Mr. Fletcher. I'm sure he is quite chastened and will not again challenge your authority as Senior Midshipman."