by L. A. Meyer
Thinking of Jaimy gone brings a tear to my goggled eye. But hey, maybe I’ve already caused enough trouble for the poor lad and maybe he’d be better off with someone else—someone who isn’t in trouble all the time, someone who would be content to stay in that rose-covered cottage while he is off at sea, a loving soul to raise his children and wait longingly for his return from the merciless ocean. Someone . . . but, sadly, not me. Yes, I’m sure that would be best.
I squeeze my nostrils together and blow to clear my ears of the increasing pressure. Swallowing helps, too. I work up a gob of spit, swallow it down, and am rewarded with a click in each ear . . . Good . . . Hmmm . . . Still just green out there in the South China Sea . . .
But I cannot feel too sorry for myself . . . for did I not sign on for a life of adventure when I first set foot on the Dolphin back there on that dock in London? I did, so maybe being the treasured possession of a female Chinese pirate is part of that adventure . . . And after all, as companion to Cheng Shih, I shall see wondrous sights—China itself, and maybe the Great Wall, and Japan and Korea, and don’t forget my Cathay Cat, no, don’t forget him, nor the Kangaroo, nor any of those figments of my overactive imagination, and there will be other, even more magical things . . .
I lean back and wait as I go ever deeper.
. . . But not to see Amy again, nor Randall, nor any of my friends at the Lawson Peabody School, ah, that will be hard, indeed. But, hey . . . wait a minute, Amy—that day when Randall came back to us, all resplendent in his new U.S. Marine uniform.—did not that goose walk over my future grave, making me shudder? Yes, it did, and is that not proof that I will someday return to Dovecote, if only to be put in the ground? Or is it just a silly superstition? I don’t know, I—
Wait! The bottom is coming up!
A waving field of sea grass suddenly appears below me, I reach for the STOP signal cord and give it a hard yank. The bell stops its descent about twenty feet above the bottom and hangs there slowly swinging about.
Well. Time to have a look about, eh?
I adjust my goggles to fit tighter about my eye sockets, check the straps on my foot fins, take three deep breaths, holding the last one, and then slip out under the lower edge of the bell.
The bed of sea grass extends in all directions, with a patch of bare sand here and there. Small fishes dart about . . . some bigger ones, too, but none so large or so fierce as to cause me worry. I give a kick and float out over the slowly undulating seaweed.
Nothing to be seen, yet. Everything is relatively flat, unlike that place off Key West, with its chasms and drop-offs, where at last I located the Spanish treasure galleon Santa Magdalena, the source of all my riches and all my current trouble. It wasn’t the Magdalena’s fault, though. It was due to my inherent and all-consuming greed . . . But never mind, girl, that’s done with—keep your mind on your present work.
The expanse of grass seems endless, and I fear that we shall go through a long process of exploring the bottom, bit by bit, by moving the position of the Lorelei Lee a small degree each day. But wait, over there’s the line of one of the marker buoys that were dropped on the day the Buddha first took his salty dip. Must check, but first . . .
Back to the bell for some quick breaths, and then back out again to follow that buoy line to see where it might lead. Putting my hand upon it, I see that the other end of the line disappears into an especially dense thicket of grass. Testing it, I feel that it is still securely held by whatever weight was attached to it. That weight turns out to be heavy enough to support me as I go, hand over hand, down the length of the line.
I feel a sudden surge of underwater current, and the grass parts beneath me and . . .
There you are, you sweet thing.
The Buddha smiles beatifically up into the light, glowing all golden and beautiful. And, oddly, it does seem that enlightenment of some sort streams from his calm and benign countenance. He appears to be just as happy down here in the depths as up there in the air. I feel the same way, too, sometimes. There is a serenity down here beneath the sea, all clear and bright, that I often do not find up there, and I like—
Oh, never mind what you like, girl, just get on with it.
I give him a pat on his shiny bald head, and then kick back to the bell. Once in it, I pull the UP rope, and I feel the bell slowly rise. I will need about two hundred and fifty feet of half-inch line. That’ll be strong enough to get him to the surface, where stronger ropes can be attached to haul him aboard. No longer is it a problem of finding—now it is a problem of simple salvage.
As I sit on the bell’s bench, waiting to again join those in the upper world, a grin spreads over my face, and I’m thinkin’, wouldn’t it be a great joke on Cheng Shih, when the bell is pulled onboard the Lee, for me to flop out of the bottom of the bell, limbs all ahoo, water streaming from my mouth, seemingly dead and drowned?
No, it would not, says my bottom, damp but comfortable on the bell’s bench, remembering the cruel switching it got the last time I angered Cheng Shih. No, it is not wise to tease the Dragon Lady.
And so I don’t do it. Instead, when the bell is swung back over the Lorelei Lee’s deck, I spring out, yank off goggles, toe out of swim fins, and submit to being wrapped in a large, soft towel by Higgins. A hot cup of tea is put in my fist by Ravi, and I receive a very warm look from Cheng Shih, who I know despaired of ever seeing me alive again.
I issue orders for the proper line, and invite Cheng Shih down into my cabin for a bit of lunch . . . a private lunch, just the two of us.
After said luncheon, I squirm back into my swimming suit and head out to complete the job.
The coil of rope has been prepared and I slip back under the bell and sit myself down. The bell and I are lifted, and down we go again.
The descent this time seems quicker, and I am soon hovering above the lovely Buddha. I look about for the proper place to loop the rope about his holy form, but can find none. His neck is too fat and thick to put a noose about it. It would slip right off and would not be very respectful of a major religious figure. No, it will have to be something else . . . Ha! His left foot extends out from under his loincloth, and that will have to be it. I wrap the bitter end of the line around the chubby foot, slap on a few half hitches, and jerk the line twice.
The rope goes taut, and the Buddha begins his return to the temporal world—upside down, to be sure, but still beaming his light upon all about him.
I nip back into the bell and watch him ascend into the light.
The job is done, the bargain made.
Chapter 68
The Golden Buddha now sits placidly on the deck of the Divine Wind. I stand on the deck of the Lorelei Lee with Cheng Shih standing beside me, both of us dressed in rich silken jackets with golden dragons on our backs. James Fletcher stands in front of me and we are holding hands and saying goodbye. Small boats are moored alongside with crews ready to take Jaimy back to the Cerberus and me and Cheng Shih and Brother Arcangelo back to the Divine Wind. All our crews stand in the riggings, watching. Above us, at the masthead of the Lee, a dragon pennant flies, all splendid in green, red, and gold. A similar one snaps at the main mast of the Cerberus. Cheng Shih has given those to us to guarantee safe passage for our ships through the waters controlled by her mighty fleet.
I, of course, am crying.
“Goodbye, Jaimy,” I say, looking into his eyes for probably the last time. “Perhaps it’s better this way. Maybe it was never meant to be . . .”
His face is dark with anger and frustration.
“Jacky,” he says, his voice thick with stifled rage. “Surely we must be able to—”
“Look out there, Jaimy. There must be fifty of her ships lying not two hundred yards off. We wouldn’t stand a chance. Think of your ship, your men,” I say, sniffling.
“My men will fight for you, as will I.”
“I know that, Jaimy, but it is no use. There are the women, the children, to consider. She is letting everybody go, ever
yone ’cept me, and I think that’s a fair trade. And . . . and think of the fine adventures I shall have, the places I will see, so do not pine for me.” I gasp for breath. “I love you, Jaimy, and I know you love me, too, but I want you to go on with your life . . . I do . . .”
I turn to Cheng Shih, tears streaming down my face.
“Please, Beloved Shih, may I kiss him goodbye?”
Her dark eyes look into mine and she shakes her head.
“Fau!” she says, and turns from me.
What? She says no to such a simple thing? How can she deny me that little thing when she says that she loves me?
But she is not doing that at all. I look at her face and see that a tear glistens in her own eye. Visibly trying to control herself, she looks at me and says something to Brother Arcangelo.
“Cheng Shih wishes to say,” says the priest, “that you may go with your young man. She does not wish to cause her Golden Child, the one who has brought her much joy, such great unhappiness.”
Stunned, I drop to my knees before her. “Bless you, Beloved Shih! You shall forever rest in the heart of this unworthy one!”
She puts her hand on my head.
“Joi gin, ju kau-jing yi,” she says softly.
Brother Arcangelo does not have to translate—I know what she has said.
She then turns and walks away in a rustle of silk and a whiff of jasmine perfume. Cheng Shih, Admiral of the China Sea, goes down into a waiting boat, and is gone.
Brother Arcangelo follows, but before he goes over the side, he smiles and says to me, “Buon giorno, Signorina Faber. It has been both a pleasure . . . and an education.” He nods, blesses me, and then I see my unlikely friend, the Italian Catholic priest, Arcangelo Rossetti, Society of Jesus, no more.
Amazed, I stand on my deck for a moment and then fling myself on Jaimy, giving him the kiss of his life. Then I pull back and exclaim, “Jaimy! Get back to your ship! She is letting me go! Let’s get the hell out of here before she changes her mind!”
Jaimy stands on his quarterdeck on the Cerberus and I stand on mine on the Lorelei Lee. Both ships have all sails up and drawing, and we are close enough so we can hear each other call.
“To Australia, Jaimy!” I shout, waving my hand above my head.
“To Australia, Jacky!” shouts Jaimy. “I will join you in Botany Bay! And, by God, you shall then be mine, in all ways!”
“Yes, Jaimy, oh yes!” I reply. “And you shall have me in all ways . . .” I chuckle to myself. “If you can catch me,” I cry. “For I shall beat you and your gang of Irish scum down to Botany Bay, or me name ain’t Jacky Faber! Then we shall see about who has whom!”
Cheers from the lads on both decks.
I plant my feet on my quarterdeck and shout, “Sail on, lads, and let the Lorelei Lee show them her tail!”
I shout down to my crew, and then I sing out . . .
“Shantyman, sing us away!”
Enoch Lightner advances to his drum and commences to beat a slow march upon it, and, as the Lorelei Lee heels over into the wind, he sings out . . .
So heave away, my bully, bully boys!
Haul away, haul away!
Heave her up and don’t you make a noise.
We’re bound for South Austral-lia!
Part V
Chapter 69
“At the risk of sounding portentous,” remarks Higgins, who stands at my side as we watch the Crews prepare to debark. “Could we be witnessing the birth of a nation?”
The Lizzies, the Tartans, and the Judies, with the Madams Barnsley, MacDonald, and Berry at the lead of each of their Crews, wait for word to head down the gangplank in a state of high hilarity, and, yes, I believe, into history. The men on the land below can only gape up at them in complete astonishment.
“I believe we are, John Higgins,” I say. “Hey, you put boys and girls together and how can you miss? It’s all biology, my good sir . . . biology and a bit of time . . .”
Higgins gives a hint of a dry laugh at that. He stands on the deck of the Lorelei Lee dressed as her Captain. He could not impersonate our late Captain Augustus Laughton—no, Old Gussie was too well known about the various fleets for that to be pulled off successfully, and our good Captain had to be listed among those who had died on the way here, along with several of the older ladies of the Crews, a sailor who had been swept away in a storm, and a certain convict named Mary Faber, who had died of Unknown Causes. No, instead, Higgins poses as Acting Captain Ruger, and we all hope to get away with the sham. We stand and wait, with bated breath, to see if Jaimy can pull off his part of the deception. I myself stand on my quarterdeck, dressed in my Creole ship’s boy costume—ragged trousers, short curly black wig, straw hat, and pipe clenched in teeth—as Ship’s Boy Jacques Bouvier, Messenger of the Watch. I certainly could not impersonate any Captain, living or dead.
No, of course I did not race Jaimy and his Cerberus to this spot. My Lorelei Lee is much too swift for that to be any kind of contest. Plus, Jaimy’s ship had no armament, and we could not leave him sailing alone, helpless. No, we sailed in concert down the west coast of Australia. Did we get together, he and I, during that time? Closely together? Alas, no. We were both much too busy for that. No, we communicated only by signal flag, as we needed to get down to the penal colony as fast as we could, bending as much canvas on the slower Cerberus as possible. Jaimy is woefully short-handed on his ship and is finding it more and more difficult to handle his unruly cargo. I have given him Suggs and Monk, but that’s about all I can spare. My Crews are pretty much satisfied, but still . . .
And, actually, we are not in Botany Bay. That is a bay a little to the south of here that had originally been designated as the site of the penal colony but later deemed unsuitable, not having a proper safe harbor. No, we are in Sydney Cove, New South Wales, the site of the permanent colony. It has good, protected moorings, lots of sea room; it’s just not as poetic sounding as Botany Bay.
When we came to this place, the Lorelei Lee stood in first, followed by the Cerberus. Then the Lee gave out a lusty, rolling, twelve-gun salute, which, I am sure, got the attention of the inhabitants.
Ah, yes, I do love a bit of a show. True, but I also wanted to let them know that we were armed and could do them great damage should we choose to do so. That stockade wall over there, for instance . . . Several well-placed shots and the confined prisoners would pour out of the breach . . . Wouldn’t want that, Captain Bligh, now, would we? I am sure those prisoners are not in the best of temper, hmmmm?
We had arrived at the penal colony together, held a conference by signal flag, and agreed that Jaimy would go in first to present his cargo for payment, with us to cover him with our guns. Upon our anchoring, he immediately took leave for the shore and has been in the Commandant’s headquarters for a good hour now, and I grow ever more fearful. What if he is taken? He is still a convict after all . . . and so am I . . .
There are other complications to this. There always are. I had lowered a dory for Major Johnston, such that he could go in to assume command of the red-coated garrison, which he did, leaving his Esther to join him later, when all was set and safe. He soon found out, however, and had informed us as well, that the colony was seething with fury and on the edge of open rebellion and it was up to him to handle it. In short, Captain Bligh had cut off the rum ration to everyone, convict or garrison guard alike, and the place was in turmoil.
Damn! Has that man no sense? First the mutiny on the Bounty, and now here, too?
I hold my breath and keep my long glass trained on the colony’s headquarters . . . Come on, Jaimy, you can pull this off . . . and, yes! There he is!
I let out my breath upon seeing him. Through my long glass I see him return to his boat. He knows I am watching, so he waves an envelope in triumph over his head, and the boat heads straight for the Lorelei Lee.
“All right, Higgins,” I say. “It is our turn. If there is the slightest bit of trouble, I shall turn this place into a raging infe
rno! I will not lose you for all the money in the—”
“Please hush, Miss,” says Higgins calmly, smiling that little smile of his. “Was I not trained in the finest thespian tradition by none other than Messrs. Fennel and Bean? Never fear. All shall be well.” And he goes off, with the manifest of the surviving convicts, all in good health and a good many pregnant, to present the bill to a rather harried Captain Bligh, Commandant—at least for the moment—of the British Penal Colony at New South Wales. I continue to hold my breath.
Mr. Seabrook assumes the deck as Captain Fletcher of the Cerberus comes aboard. Jaimy and I go below and into my cabin. We are instantly locked in an embrace and it is oh, so good!
He leans me back and my straw hat falls off my head, as does my curly black wig. He reaches back and grabs my thick pigtail and pulls my head back, making my mouth fall open . . . and upon that open mouth he plants a kiss, yes, a kiss to make up for all those kisses never delivered over our star-crossedy ears. Oh, yes, oh . . .
There is a ringing of the ship’s bell, and then a discreet knock upon my door.
“Missy Memsahib?” I hear Ravi say. “Sahib Higgins returns in boat.”
I struggle out of Jaimy’s grasp and say, “There are things that need to be done, dear, just wait . . .”
I put my wig and hat back on, and again go out on deck—Ravi, see that Mr. Fletcher is made comfortable and has refreshment—just in time to see my dear Higgins come up over the brow.
He catches my eye and then taps his vest, wherein lies, I know, yet another check drawn on the East India Company.
Joy!
“Higgins,” I say, putting a kiss upon his cheek in my relief at seeing him back. “So soon?”
“Captain Bligh was . . . preoccupied, to put it lightly.”
“The Rum Rebellion . . . yes, I know. The poor man just does not know how to handle people. But, no matter. Please join Mr. Fletcher in my cabin. I’ll be in directly . . . I must say goodbye to my girls.”