by L. A. Meyer
Dig it out, Nancy, dig it out. We've got to get away, or all is lost.
John Thomas and Smasher McGee, both excellent seamen and seeing the way of things, leave the guns and tend to the sails, aiming to get the most possible pull out of them. The sails strain and the ropes holding them groan as the sailors bend their muscles to tighten up the winches, and the winds and good seamanship be thanked, the space between Lafitte and us grows ever more broad.
I breathe out a cautious sigh of relief—we are going to get away, and we didn't even have to dump the cargo.
"How did he know where to find us, Higgins?" I ask.
"Well," begins Higgins, musing on the question, "you did buy this boat from his boatyard, so he would know about that. And then we have made several trips, so it would not be difficult for him to pick up news of you from the various ports we have visited. He is not stupid and he does have his spies and informants, else he would not have prospered as he has. With your ... uh ... flamboyant ways, you leave quite a visible trail behind you. Our last visit comes to mind, in that tavern in St. Croix, when—"
"Higgins, I was just having a bit of fun with some of my mates from the old freebooting days. But I take your point."
"And, you must admit, Miss, you have tweaked his nose several times, and he owes you a few in return."
"Well, he had it comin'," says I, putting the glass back to my eye. "There's nothing I hate worse than a slaver." I see that Lafitte has been joined on his quarterdeck by his brother Pierre. He has a long glass of his own, and it is trained on me, I know. They seem to be in a jovial mood. Well, Messieurs, don't count your Jackys till they are caught.
"Daniel, let's load the after gun with a shot, if you please."
"Aye, Skipper," says the boy. He undogs it and points the barrel of the swivel gun skyward. He swabs it out and drops in the powder charge, then rams in the wad, followed by the ball, as he has been relentlessly trained. It's only a nine-pound ball, but it might cause a bit of trouble to our pursuer. Another wad rammed in and the lad says, "Ready, Captain."
Lafitte does, indeed, owe me a few. Not only did I steal four hundred and fifty of his prime slaves and set them free on the coast of South America—no, not just that—he also got his cheeks, both upper and lower, peppered with several whiffs of rock salt from the guns of my Belle of the Golden West that day on the New Orleans levee. Then, to rub even more salt into his wounds, I fleeced him the next night at cards, taking enough money from him and his brother to buy the ship on which I now stand. It was at the gaming tables at the House of the Rising Sun, the brothel and gambling den where I was so recently employed, and my success at cards was not entirely due to luck.
I crank the gun up to its highest elevation, judge the distance and angle, and then pull the lanyard.
Crraaack!
We watch the flight of the ball and are pleased to see it arc high in the air and then descend.
Jean and Pierre skip to the side as the ball crashes into the deck not far from their very well-shod feet. I hear Jean Lafitte bark a command and the ship begins to turn away from us.
"Ha! He's running! We scared him off!" I exult. "Look at him fly! Go to the Devil, Jean Lafitte, you miserable bastard!" I yell, all proud and smug with fists on hips and looking aft at the fleeing pirate.
I take another look through my glass and am surprised to see the Brothers Lafitte smiling and shaking hands. Hmmm. Why're they doing that? I've slipped away from them yet again; they should be unhappy...
Perhaps sensing that I'm watching him, Jean sweeps off his hat and bows low to me.
"Oh, yes? Well, I'll give you a bow, you poor excuse for a buccaneer what can't even take a poor little schooner. Try this!" And I whip around and put my hands on the hem of my skirt, fully intending to bend over and pull it up and present my backside to him.
But I don't do that at all, for there, directly in front of us, is a forty-four-gun frigate, and even before I can make out the colors she flies, I recognize her instantly as a British warship.
Damn! He's what chased off the Lafittes, not us and our puny guns! And he's edging between us and the shore! Damn!
"Jim! Hard left," I screech. "Don't let him get between us and the shore!"
But it is no use—the Sailing Master of the frigate must be very skilled, it seems to me, as he manages to keep the larger ship leeward of us, and so I know we must make a run for the open sea.
"Prepare to jibe!" I shout, "Jibe, ho!" and the Nancy B swings her tail across the direction of wind and the sail booms swing over and come to on the opposite tack with a snap! that leans her way over on her port side.
What the hell to do? I don't know ... Maybe she wants nothing to do with us? Maybe..."Dip the colors, Daniel," I order without much hope.
Daniel flies up the mast and lowers the waving Stars and Stripes six feet in salute. We watch anxiously for the return recognition.
The warship does not return our dip. Instead there is a deep Boooommm and smoke puffs from her bow chaser as she puts one across our bow. Damn, damn, damn, and double damn! She means to stop and board us!
We gain some distance, but she comes doggedly after us. She's bigger and heavier than us, but she has a greater press of sail. Still, I think we could outrun her if we weren't hauling all that damned granite. If we were headed north with our sugar, we could fairly quickly throw the kegs of molasses overboard and so lighten our load, but we can't move the stones that easily. Damn!
"What do you suppose she wants, Higgins? We certainly look innocent enough, don't we?"
"My thought is that she is probably looking to impress sailors," says Higgins, with his usual reserve. "Or could it be possible that ... Hmmm ... I have a bad feeling about this. Miss, please go down and change into Jacques. With your permission, I will act as Captain during this encounter, and it is to be hoped that all will end well."
Cursing myself for being inattentive to whatever else was happening on the sea while we were engaged with Lafitte, I throw myself down the hatchway and into my cabin. I'm already out of my buckskin skirt before I go through the door. Hanging on a hook on the wall is a cotton bag that I call my Jacques Sack. I open it and hurl its contents onto my bed. First, I jam my legs into the trousers, pull them up, tuck in my shirt, and tie the waistband. Then the curly black wig goes on, covering my still-short hair, and with my tanned skin and the battered straw hair I cram on my head, we have Jacques Antoine Fabierre, poor little Creole boy, not worthy of anyone's notice.
I hear another long boooommmm. I jam a smelly old corncob pipe twixt my teeth and run back on deck.
Damn! The warship is even closer! I look up into our rigging and see that we have every possible scrap of sail set.
I join Higgins on the quarterdeck, next to Jim Tanner at the wheel.
"Missy, I'm so sorry," says Jim, his face red with anger and shame. "I should have been looking forward, I should have. I was on the helm, I should have—"
"Put it out of your mind, Jim," I say. "We all were looking aft when this snuck up on us. The blame is all mine."
The ship looms ever closer.
"Should we even try to dump the cargo?" I ask of Higgins, who has his glass to his eye, trained on the other ship.
"I think not, Miss," he says, bringing down the scope. "It would only make us look more suspicious to them."
"Suspicious? Why, we are honest merchants, what's suspicious about that?"
"I think there is more to this than that. This ship was just too conveniently positioned."
"What do you mean, Higgins?"
"I suspect, Miss, that this is a very well-placed trap. It is all much too neat. I suspect that you have been set up."
"How so?" ask I, bewildered.
Higgins takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then explains, "Jean Lafitte, owing you for many past depredations against him and his company, has many contacts in the Caribbean world, including some of the British in their many colonies. He learns that you are wanted by Naval Intelligence
so he probably contacted those people to tell them where you are likely to be found. You will recall that the agents Flashby and Moseley were dispatched out of Kingston? So, he decides to forego the pleasure of dispatching you himself so that you can be brought to bay at the hands of the British and, ultimately, hanged. He even volunteers his ship to chase you into the net."
A chill runs up my spine. "Surely all this cannot be because of me, Higgins."
"I hope I am mistaken, Miss, and no, do not put your long glass to your eye again, as they are watching us most avidly from their quarterdeck. It would be best if you would go over with Daniel and assume your role as a ship's boy, for we are sure to be boarded soon."
Realizing the wisdom of this, I put down my glass and go over to stand by Daniel Prescott, who sits next to the forward mast.
"Sit down by me, Missy, and put the pipe back in your mouth."
I slide down and put the foul thing back between my teeth and settle back to await whatever Fate has in store for me. Damn!
I believe I hear the rush of water off the warship's bow nearby before I hear the call, "Bring your ship under our lee!" bellowed through a megaphone from the quarterdeck of the frigate.
Jim Tanner glances over at me.
"Do it, Jim," I say, and he throws the wheel over. The sails slack and we are taken. It is naught but a few moments till I hear the sound of the grappling hooks come across the rails of my dear Nancy B to dig into her and drag her alongside the man-of-war.
"Strike your sails!" shouts the voice from the other quarterdeck, and John Thomas and Smasher McGee look to me. I nod, and they loose the buntlines and our sails come billowing down to lie quiet on our deck.
"Prepare to be boarded!"
We are as prepared as any ship is when it is about to be violated by another against its will. There is the sound of many feet, many boots striking our spotless decks as sailors and officers from the other ship swing down upon us. The captain of the frigate gazes down on us from his quarterdeck high over our heads.
"This is an act of war," bellows Higgins from our own quarterdeck. "You may be sure this will be reported to the highest authorities!"
"Be still, Sir," says the captain of the other vessel. "We are merely looking for English deserters as, you know, of course, is our right."
"Your right as you see it, Sir, not as we see it." Higgins is managing an acceptable American accent—he is, after all, the only male on this ship who is British and who has actually served in the Royal Navy, and it would not be good for them to find that out.
"Be that as it may," says the captain, turning to one of his officers who now stands on our deck, "Mr. Fleming! Search their lower decks! Bring up anyone you find there! Examine the cargo for any contraband!"
Fleming, a young lieutenant, takes two sailors with him and heads down our hatch. While they conduct their search, the other officer addresses us.
"Who are you?" he demands of Higgins. The officer's back is to me, but still I keep my head down, the brim of my hat pulled low over my eyes.
"We, Sir," says Higgins, seemingly full of righteous indignation, "are the schooner Nancy B. Alsop, out of Boston and duly registered and documented in that city. I am her Captain, John Higgins, and this is James Tanner, First Mate. We carry a crew of two able-bodied seamen, John Thomas there on the right, and Finnegan McGee on the left, in addition to two ship's boys. That's all."
A man, surely the Bo'sun of the frigate since he wears the hat and jacket of one who fills that post and carries a knobby, a short, thick piece of rope, knotted at the end to use for whacking poor sailors about, confronts Smasher McGee.
"McGee, eh?" sneers the Bo'sun. "So yer Irish. Ever served on one o' 'is Majesty's ships, Mick?"
"Nay, yer honor," says McGee. "Though me sainted mither dropped me on me head when I was a wee'un and I grew up sort of thickheaded, I was never quite that stupid."
Oh, be careful, McGee, you might well end up servin under that very same Bo'suns Mate this day!
The Bo'sun gives McGee a slight smile as he knows he'll be gettin' even for that later, and then moves on to John Thomas.
"And what about you?" he demands, thrusting his knobby under John Thomas's bearded chin. "In what pigsty was you born, and have you ever deserted from a British ship?"
"Ah, no, Sir," replies John Thomas. "I was born and brought up on the island of Nantucket as a freeborn American. I was taught at my own mother's knee to hate three things: Mortal Sin, False-hearted Women, and the British Navy!"
Ah, lads...
The Bo'sun merely nods and says, "We're going to have a bit of fun with you two, ain't we?"
The search party that had gone below returns.
"Nothing, Captain," says Mr. Fleming. "Only stones as ballast. No other people."
"You checked thoroughly? You sure there are no others?" demands another voice from the quarterdeck of our captor. The voice sounds oddly familiar....
"Yes, Sir. Quite sure. Nothing but ship's stores and rocks."
"Then you will let us on our way, gentlemen," says Higgins. "We thank you for your kind help in chasing off the pirate. If you will be so kind as to ungrapple us—"
"Not so fast there," says that other voice, and from under the brim of my hat, I see that yet another officer's legs have appeared on our deck. "I will give a final inspection."
"I hope that Naval Intelligence did not pay too much for the information on the dastardly fugitive supposedly hiding on this little craft," says the Captain from above, obviously enjoying the discomfiture of what is sure to be an Intelligence Officer. This gets a laugh from the other officers, but it does not get a laugh from me. My own uneasiness increases tenfold—I am sweating bullets from under my hat, my wig, my vest, and any other part of me.
"Sir, one moment, if you please," says the newly arrived officer.
"Well, make it quick, for my lady and my children await me in London, and I would fain be off to join them!"
Hear, hear, says a chorus of men from the other ship.
"Yes, Mr. Bliffil, and make it very quick," adds the Captain, turning to his First Mate. "Mr. Bennett, make ready to disengage!"
Bliffil?
Oh, no! Could it be? I cautiously peer out from under the brim of my straw hat. It is! It's him, the bully of the Dolphin! And how bloody perfect for a piece of dirt like him to end up in the Intelligence Branch of their Service!
"I figure we'll take these two here," says the Bo'sun, pointing his knobby at John Thomas and Smasher. "They looks like they's real anxious to serve the King. And we'll take the helmsman, too. We can always use another one o' those."
I'm about to leap to my feet to protest this outrage, but Higgins beats me to it.
"Sir, you cannot! He is newly married, and his poor wife will be left alone and penniless! She will be turned out into the street!"
"Can't you just see my poor heart a-breakin', then?" The Bo'sun grins. He gestures to his men. "Take them."
"Wait," says Bliffil, who has been peering about during all this. He shoots his eyes over at Daniel and me. "Those boys—"
Uh-oh.
"You two! Stand up!" he orders, striding over in front of us, and Daniel and I slowly get to our feet.
He looks Daniel over and then shoves him aside to look me over much more carefully.
"What is your name, boy?" he asks, looming over me.
It's all I can do not to whip out me shiv and plunge it into the belly of the man who beat me and scarred me when I was but a little kid, but I don't do it. What I do is say, "Je ne parle pas anglais, Monsieur," and duck my head.
It doesn't work. He reaches over and knocks off my hat.
"Look at me, boy!" he barks, and flicks the back of his fingers across my face, stinging my cheek. I look at him, my heart sinking as I see the smile begin to snake across his face when his eyes spot my white eyebrow. "I believe the information we gained, Captain Hudson, will turn out to be quite accurate after all."
With that he whips out his ha
nd and yanks off my wig. Oh my God, I am lost!
"Well, damn me if it ain't a white boy!" says the Captain, astonished at seeing my sandy blond stubble.
"Not a boy, Sir," says Bliffil with great satisfaction, "but rather a girl, a very wicked girl we have been seeking for a long time. This is the wanted pirate and criminal Jacky Faber, and we have her at last!"
"Looks more like a child to me," says the Captain, doubtfully. "How do you know it's her?"
At that I put on the poor waif look, trying to look as big eyed, knock-kneed, and helpless as I could.
"Oh, I know her all right," says Bliffil. "I was on the Dolphin with her when I was a midshipman and she was a grotty little slut posing as a ship's boy." His eyes become glittering slits as he peers down at me quivering below. "She laid herself under half the crew before she was discovered. 'Tuppence a Lay' she was called, before I found her out and had her put off."
Lies, all lies! I cry out to myself, but I say nothing. I figure this is the time to burst out crying, and I do it.
The Captain, who I am figuring for a sympathetic sort when it comes to bawling young girls, asks, "But how can you be sure, Mr. Bliffil?"
"The wretch has a tattoo on her belly, Sir," says Bliffil. "I believe that will satisfy you as to her identity." With that he reaches out, grabs me by my shirtfront, and hauls me up before him. He puts the thumb of his other hand inside the waistband and begins to slide my trousers down.