by L. A. Meyer
Raeburne comes up out of the water and is pulled over on the deck and his bonds are loosed and his body sprawls across the deck, seawater spewing out of his nose and mouth. Unbidden, Midshipmen Wheeler and Barrows collect him and haul him down to the berth. As they go, they fix me with looks of the purest hatred. I do not care. They can all go to Hell.
I stood on the deck for a long while and I felt my fury slowly fade. I began to think more clearly, and the more I thought, the more I was ashamed of my actions, or inactions, both then and in the past.
Raeburne was right. I am a poor excuse for a man. I should have gone back and gotten you as I said I would. I cannot blame the Service—when the Dolphin was broken up, I could have postponed being reassigned to another ship and gone back and gotten you. I had enough money. I could have done it. But I didn't. I thought it would be best for both of us if I were to assume my new post—and now I have lost the thing dearest to me in the world. Now I have nothing.
I went to my new cabin and got a bottle of brandy I had brought with me when I came aboard this ship and I went down into the midshipmen's berth. Mr. Raeburne was seated shivering in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, with Wheeler and Barrows and Piggott about him plying him with hot coffee. All turned and looked daggers at me.
"You three. Out," I said. They didn't move. "Do not worry. I have come to apologize to Mr. Raeburne for my conduct," and I bowed to Raeburne when I said that.
The three boys looked to him and he nodded and they left. I placed the bottle on the table and looked about for glasses.
"In that cabinet," he said, still looking wary. I got the glasses and put them on the table and then sat down across from him. I poured a good portion of the liquor in each.
"Come, have some brandy with me. It will warm you." hie didn't move. "I do beg your pardon for my behavior. It was inexcusable. You were right in all your accusations. Now have a drink." I raised my glass to him and then knocked it back.
He reached for his glass and lifted it.
"She is gone and we two have to get along," I said as he drank it down.
One-third of the way through the bottle, I tell him fondly about our days on the Dolphin. Halfway through it, he tells me everything of the events of that night when Captain Scroggs called you, dear Jacky, to his cabin. Everything ... in both your own cabin and that of the fiend ... Poor girl, to be faced with such a horror—although I am no longer in your heart and have no right to an opinion as to your virtue, I do see the wisdom of your actions of that evening and rejoice in the fact that you emerged unscathed. Three-quarters of the way through the bottle, I draw out an account of Robin's heroic actions in your defense, and, when we find the bottom, we are as brothers.
Today I sit here with quill poised above this paper and think: What would you and I be doing now, right now, if we had gone off together in Kingston that time and not gone back on the Dolphin? Probably raising crops of sugarcane and little fat babies.
Idle thoughts. Worthless, idle thoughts ... I wonder even if you will get this letter...
Jaimy
Chapter 26
That night, after I had knocked on the door of Liam Delaney's cottage and was reluctantly admitted, I said, "My name is Jacky Faber and—"
The woman who had let me in crossed her arms and looked at me standing there dripping on her floor. "I have heard Liam speak of you," she said with deep suspicion in her voice. "Mairead, go get your father." A girl of about fourteen, maybe fifteen, with curly hair the same shade of deep red as her mother's, looked me over with open astonishment and then whirled and left the room.
The room had a hard-packed earth floor, with a large, rough table in the center, exposed roof beams low overhead, and a fireplace on the other wall. It also had in it a number of children, ranging in age from about five to twelve, both boys and girls, all with big eyes and all trained on me. I could see from their clothing and the scant portions of potatoes set out for the little ones that things were not going well for them.
I dropped the saddlebags on the floor, pulled back my hood, and wiped off the drop of water that was hanging on the end of my nose. I was neither invited to take off my cloak nor to sit down, so I just stood there.
"Liam is just in from the fields. He is cleaning up. I am his wife. My name is Moira," she finally said.
I took the sides of my cloak and I dipped down into a deep curtsy. "I am very honored to meet you, Missus Delaney," I said, and as I came back up, Liam came into the room. Oh, Liam...
I had not expected to choke up upon seeing him, but I did. Tears poured out as I cried out, "Father" to the man who had looked out for me back on the Dolphin, he who was my sea dad, he who taught me the ways of a sailor, who took care of me when I had been beaten senseless, and, finally and most important, he was the one who pumped air back into my chest and started me breathing again after I had been hanged. "Oh, Liam," I cried as I stretched out my arms.
"Jacky! Is it really you?" he asked as he wrapped me in the bear hug of his embrace and I put my head on his shoulder and wept there for a moment. "You could not be more welcome! Here, here, take off your cloak! Moira! Set a place for her!"
The girl Mairead had come back into the room with her father and a young lad of about sixteen years, he having the same red hair as hers.
I stepped back from Liam and unfastened my cloak and took it off and handed it to Moira, who didn't look much like she enjoyed taking it, nor was she overjoyed at setting a place for me.
Then hearing a gasp from both Moira and Mairead, I looked down at myself.
In my excitement at seeing Liam again, I had forgotten all about my pistols. They were held, as usual, in the leather belts that cross over the chest of my blue and gold lieutenant's jacket.
Ooops...
"I'm sorry, but I was coming alone and I didn't know what to expect...," I said by way of explanation for the guns. I didn't know how to explain away the fact that I was wearing boots and trousers, which are now quite speckled with mud, so I didn't try. The boy looked just as astounded as his sister.
I came right out with it. "Liam. I've got license to be a privateer. I have a fine ship and I want you to be Captain of her!"
Before any could reply, I reached down and picked up the saddlebags. "I hope you don't mind that I brought some food and drink along. Perhaps we could speak of this over something to eat. Maybe some sweets for the children?"
I began bringing the things out of the bags—fresh loaves of bread, butter, cheeses, sausages, a roast beef, cakes, puddings, sweets, and several bottles of the finest wine. The wonder on their faces over my words about the ship was replaced by wonder over the food. When Higgins was putting this feast together I told him not to spare the expense for I wanted to make it as grand as possible because I wanted my mission to succeed.
It did.
The last thing I pulled out of the basket was a small leather bag that clinked when I tossed it on the table in front of Liam. "An advance on your pay as commander of the Emerald, Captain Delaney."
I think that's what really did it for Liam. The name, that is, more than the gold.
It was decided that Liam would be Master and I would be Owner. He would have all the authority of a Captain, his word being law in matters of discipline, operation, and safety of the ship, while I would direct where the ship went and what it did. I told them of my time on the Wolverine and the easy pickings to be got by nailing those smugglers that had gotten through the blockade—Money, Liam, real money! And it's patriotic to boot! We'll be doing our bit by disrupting the enemy's shipping, upsetting his commerce, like. This chance won't come again! That blockade won't be there forever! Moira wrung her hands and protested, but it did no good—The potato crop is failing, Moira. My brother John has no land and he can farm this place and bring in what he can from it.
Liam will pick the crew but the seamen would have to know that I would be aboard and am an eccentric—pants and swords and all—and then Liam's son, whose name is Padraic, spoke up and begge
d to be part of the crew, and this got Moira really wailing, and I say, It ain't like they'll be going off for years, Missus, we'd be back every few months or so. And an angry Mairead pipes up with Well, if he's goin', why can't I? It doesn't take much to see that the girl is sick to death of changing dirty nappies and is sick of waiting around to be married off so she can have a batch of babies of her own and so can change even more dirty diapers. She was told to hush and to leave the room. She ran off in a huff, but was soon back.
When all was decided, and all had eaten and drunk their fill, I took the saddlebag again and this time pulled out the Captain's uniform I had bought for Ozgood's temporary use and I gave it to Liam. Higgins had brushed it up and added a bit of gold here and there.
In the morning, Liam was wearing it when we left for the Emerald.
"Ain't she beautiful?" I exclaim, bouncing up and down in the saddle and pointing at the Emerald, lying there like a jewel in the harbor.
"Aye, she is that, Jacky," says Liam. "As fine a ship as I've ever seen. Looks right new, too."
"Sound as a drum, with new copper on her bottom," says I. "Come on! Let's go aboard your new command, Captain Delaney!" And I give my heels to the horse and down to the ship we clatter.
"Haul away, there. Careful," says Liam. An eighteen-pound cannon is being hoisted in the air by crane and swung aboard the ship. I had felt, and Liam agreed, that we needed two more guns on each side and a Long Tom up forward for the job we mean to do, and those are being hauled aboard and blocked and rigged under his watchful eye.
"Padraic. Go see Nader and see if he can rig a better chock for Gun Number Six there. It looks like that one might slip if the work gets hot."
"Yes, Father," says the young man, so delighted to be here that he can scarcely contain himself. He gets a warning look from his dad and says, "I mean, Aye, Sir!"
Padraic dives below to find the shipfitter, while Mairead stands with me on the deck watching all the confusion. Liam has brought his family down here to Waterford for the fitting out. Mainly, I think, to set Moira's mind more at ease, and further, I think, to show her what a little money in the pocket can do. While it may not have made much of an impression on Moira, it certainly made one on her eldest daughter.
"I'm not going back to that dirty little farm and I'm not going to marry that dirty Loomis Malloy like he thinks I'm gonna and you think I should just because he's got that scabby little bit of land!" she shouts at our stern Captain Delaney, who's trying to maintain a bit of dignity here on the quarterdeck of his new command.
"Your time will come, Mairead," I say, trying to smooth things over for Liam, who looks about ready to have her dragged bodily off the ship. "You'll just have to wait a bit."
She shakes her curly red locks and glares at me. "You didn't wait. Why should I?" I ain't got no answer to that. She breaks away and climbs up the ratlines to the maintop to pout and sulk. I recall that when she came on the ship three days ago that it wasn't five minutes before she found her way up into the rigging. Ah, well...
Higgins stands by the gangway and checks off items in his notebook as dockyard laborers haul aboard stores for our upcoming foray—barrels of salt pork, kegs of rum, sacks of flour, and the like. John Reilly, an old man-of-war's man who Liam has picked for First Mate, is directing the stowing of bags of powder. There are also new cutlasses, muskets, wads, and ball—we hope we will not have to use them, but we do have to have them. Grappling hooks, too. And, since the Emerald is too small to have a brig, some sets of leg irons, just in case.
Liam takes a deep breath of the salt air and looks about with satisfaction. Aye, Liam, your farm was lovely, but you ain't no farmer, that's for sure, I'm thinking as I look at him.
Liam looks at me sideways. "You're becoming a young woman on us, Jacky."
I blush and say, "Nay, Liam. It's just the clothes."
"No. It's more the way you carry yourself now."
"You mean this?" And I rear back and put on the full-bore Lawson Peabody Look, the same one I had just used to put a chandler in his place a few minutes ago when he was trying to overcharge us for rope.
Liam laughs, and I say, "Well, I've been to school, is all."
The crew has been signed on, good Irish men and boys all. There are thirty-six of them in our company—enough to handle the guns and the ship in a fight, but not enough to be crowded and bring on an epidemic of jail fever, typhus, which has killed many more poor sailors than war ever did.
The families of the crew who came down to watch our preparations depart. Liam sends Moira and his own brood off, Moira in tears over the leaving of her husband and son, Mairead furious at not being allowed to come along. The girl sits in the coach with her arms crossed over her chest, staring straight forward and not saying a word to anyone when both Liam and Padraic kiss her cheek good-bye. Moira will certainly have her hands full with that redheaded fury, now that the girl has seen the bustle of the harbor town and has had a taste of freedom.
Such a lovely girl, Mairead—and such a lovely name she has ... It is spoken mah-Ray-ad, though it is spelled many different ways.
Everything is rigged and set, everything is stowed. All the stores are in. The upper edge of the Emerald's hull, wherein lie the gunports, has been painted green to honor both her name and the country from which she sails.
Tomorrow we go adventuring.
Chapter 27
The tide is right and the wind is fair for the channel.
"Shall we get under way, Miss Faber?" says Liam, coming up next to me on the quarterdeck. He had taken off his fine black uniform during the dirty work of fitting the ship out, but now it was back on, the black jacket with the broad leather straps, newly polished, crossed on his chest. He is a fine figure of a man, every inch the Captain of his ship.
"Yes, we shall, Captain Delaney," say I, and the order is given to cast off the lines that bind us to the land.
I had made a flag, about the size of a Captain's command ensign. Against the field of white was emblazoned a blue anchor with line twined about it—what we sailors call a fouled anchor—and when the last line slips from our ship, I have the flag cracked out at the top of the mainmast. The Emerald, the flagship of the Blue Anchor Line, Faber Shipping, Worldwide, is under way.
We clear the harbor and the wind catches her sails and my beautiful ship leans over ever so gracefully, and her elegant bow cuts cleanly into the increasing chop of the waves. I take a deep breath and my chest expands and my heart starts thumping so strongly that I fear that others might see it beat through the cloth of my jacket. I face into the wind and my lips peel back from my teeth in a grin of pure joy.
"She's a fine ship, and I wish you the joy of her," says Liam.
"Thank you, Liam," I say, looking up at the fine spread of white canvas above me. "And it is good being back at sea, is it not?"
He does not have to answer, for I know it to be true.
We tear out into St. George's Channel and then up into the Irish Sea. We sail 'round and around and up and down and back again to season our sailors. We sail up to Dublin, then further north to Dundalk, and then down to Cork till every man jack aboard knows her ropes and how to handle her in a light breeze or in a howling gale. The new men get seasick and cry out loud for Jesus to come deliver them from their misery and why, oh why, did they ever leave their dear little farm. But they got over it, just like I got over it when first I went to sea. I felt for them in their misery, though, as I know there's no worse feeling in the world.
There are some experienced sailors aboard and they quickly bring the green hands up to snuff—everyone knows that the lives of each of them depend on the skills of the others. Any slacker will be put off in the next port, without doubt or pity. There will be no slackers, not on my ship, there won't.
All the men work hard but none is more eager to learn the craft of the seaman than Liam's son Padraic, beautiful, red-haired Padraic. He has cast what he thinks are secret glances my way, but I think the gulf between us is so
great—me being Owner and all—that I won't have to tell him that I have decided to live single all of my life.
We have gunnery practice every day—Liam drilling the port guns and me the starboard—and we blast away at barrels, we blow up rafts, and we roar out broadsides at innocent rocky islands to the amusement of curious seals. The men start out inept and clumsy, falling over one another in confusion, but soon develop a gratifying smoothness in the operation of their guns. After they get good at it and feel proud of themselves, the gun crews take white paint to name their cannons—mostly in Gaelic, but I was told by Liam what they meant: Thundercrack, Widowmaker, Firespitter, Old Murder, and such. It is good. It builds team spirit.
At first it takes awhile for the crew to get used to me being aboard and walking around in my old sailor togs, or, on Sundays, my lieutenant's coat and white trousers and boots. But they do get used to me—after a bit. Especially when they find out that I know my business and that I know it better than they do.
These Irish boys follow me 'cause they've got an example in their own Irish history of Grace O'Malley, she who first went to sea by cutting off her hair and pretending to be a boy, just like I did. Now she was a real pirate—she captained not just one ship but commanded a whole fleet as well. She even met Queen Elizabeth one time and managed to survive the encounter. Sometimes I've even heard the crew call me their own Grace O'Malley. And I can't say as I mind. Like I really didn't mind Puss-in-Boots.
Like Grace's boys, our Boarding Parties are drilled on what they are to do when we come alongside a prize, like how to swing a grappling hook and such. Liam shows them the hacking and hewing art of the cutlass and I teach what I know of the parry and thrust of the rapier. There is practice with the muskets, with speed in reloading being stressed as much as accuracy. The rifles are too heavy for me, so I work with my pistols.
