Sea Witch (Sea Witch Voyages)

by Helen Hollick

  Sea Witch, knowing he was safe, took her own decision to break free. The last line snapped with a bang, hurtling into the air like a cracked whiplash and she plunged forward, the wind taking her. She had her beloved master aboard, and happy, showed the speed of a fleeing gazelle. By comparison, the cumbersome guardship was a clip-winged duck.

  Thirty One

  Jackson was a mediocre ship’s surgeon when drunk, not much better when sober. He did what he could, but making things hurt more, Jesamiah sent him away. A rum bottle was all he needed. He drank three quarters of it, rolled from his cot and stumbled towards the table where they had placed Tiola. He peeled aside his flag, the skull leering up at him in its parody of death. Revolted, he flung it away.

  She lay there ice cold to the touch of his fingers brushing against her cheek. Her beautiful eyes were closed, he would never see her wonderful smile again. Nor hear her voice with its slight lilt of a Cornish accent – how she said ais instead of yes; the burr of the ‘r’ in her words: Surr, luvver. No more of her easy, teasing laughter. Never more to share the fire in the passion of her love. Gone was the hope of holding in his arms a child made from their union of exquisite pleasure.

  He swallowed the bitter salt taste of tears.

  They would come to take her soon, to sew her into a canvas shroud, the last stitch going through her nose to ensure she was dead, a cannon ball placed at her feet to take the corpse to the sea bed. He had already decided when she went she would not be going alone. A ball cradled in his hands would take him down with her. He would not be leaving her.

  He lifted her left hand, expecting to see the ring he had given her. He had seen it there, his subconscious recognising it as he had tugged at her caught sleeve, had seen it glinting on her dangling hand. Clearly remembered seeing it – but it was gone, nothing was there except a ragged graze across her knuckles. Vaguely, he recalled dragging her hand over the barnacles as he had torn at the material of her sleeve. The cuts must have happened then, the ring dislodged. She had such slender fingers and the water would have made it loose.

  His breath sobbed in this new choke of anguish. Tiola had nothing to pay her passage. He twisted the acorn from his ear – he could not remember being without it, had been surprised that Phillipe had not ripped it from his lobe. A minor hurt compared to the rest of what he had suffered, but Phillipe had never been sentimental, had probably not understood its significance, seeing it purely as an adorning trinket. As most people assumed the ribbons to be.

  The tears were beginning to fall, the sorrow dragging him into a place of misery far deeper than any he had so far visited.

  “You can use this instead, m’darlin’.” He tucked the earring into the curl of her hand, would make sure before they came to take her that someone bound it there, safe. He had nothing of his own now as payment, did not care. He could always find a coin somewhere, it should suffice.

  “If I’m delayed arguing my passage, wait for me on the other side, darlin’, please?”

  He rested his head on her breast, his arm sliding around her waist. His tears falling like the tumble of rain. “If I cannot follow, at least I’ll know you will not be condemned to wandering the depths for eternity.”

  “I will not be condemned to anything. I have the Craft. I am a witch.”

  Jesamiah yelped, scrabbled backwards. His body, finally having enough of the abuse it had endured and being swamped with a generous excess of rum, crumpled on to the deck.

  Swinging her legs from the table Tiola smiled at his absurdity, the light of her ageless soul shining as it always did through her eyes. She knelt beside him, cupped his poor battered face in her hand and wiped the trail of tears with the gentle healing tips of her fingers.

  “Fine pirate you are,” she chided. “Look at you, all muddled in a heap.”

  He stared. Said nothing, just stared.

  She leant forward, touched her lips to his. She felt warm, smelt as she always had of summer meadows and fresh-cut hay, but now the scent was mingled with an additional faint aroma of tar and the sea.

  “You do take some convincing that I am a witch, do you not my luvver? I am not immortal, but there are only certain ways I may die. And drowning is not among them.”

  He slid his arms around her waist, buried his head in her living, breathing, comfort. And wept.

  She held him, let him cry, let him freely release the terror, pain and the grief. The relief. Nature’s way of healing, tears or laughter, both a catalyst to cleanse the tight-tied knots life so frequently tangled itself into.

  There was much work to do to put him together again for he was damaged and broken – but not irreparable. She knelt, holding him, rocking him as if he were a child, stroking his blood-matted, wet hair. Removed the one remaining ribbon. He would be wanting new ones.

  Tiredness was swamping him, the ache of exhaustion gradually replacing the outpouring of tears. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep, to curl up in his cot with Tiola, his arms secure around her, and sleep.

  “Promise you will never leave me again,” he said looking into her eyes, scared he might see something there he would rather not. That she no longer loved him, was not prepared to live aboard a pirate ship. Or, he swallowed hard, frightened of saying it, had to know.

  “Or perhaps you are wanting to return to your husband? To van Overstratten?”

  “Now why would I be wanting to do that?” Tiola kissed him, careful of his hurts. “You are such a fool Jesamiah Acorne. I swear, I do not know why I love you.”

  “Ah,” he said, attempting a lop-sided, awkward grin, the pirate trick of making a pretence of bravado and confidence. “Think how tedious it would be to always know everything.”

  Broken, but not irreparable. He was a pirate, was already mending. And she was a witch, already protecting and healing him.

  Beneath the oceans where light was unknown and unwanted, Tethys clutched a ring. It had belonged to the witch, and before her, to the man, the pirate. The one who had taken his name from the pattern etched into it, Acorne.

  She was a cunning one, that witch, with her look of innocent youth but ability of ageless competence! Tethys would need be careful of her, of the black-haired witch who smelt of the warm earth of the land and the tang of the sea.

  ~ You tricked me. ~

  ~ I offered you his ring. You accepted it. ~

  ~ I do not want a ring. I want him ~

  ~ He is mine, Tethys, the sea shall not have him. ~

  ~ He is of the sea, Witch-Woman. I am the sea and therefore everything of the sea is mine. ~

  ~ Not everything. I too am of the sea, for I have become part of his ship, as his ship is a part of him. We are inseparable, joined as one of three as the body, the shadow and the reflection are one of the same. Those who respect and love and need each other, Tethys, can never be separated. ~

  ~ I will have him, Sea-Witch. I will. ~

  Annoyed, Tethys sank deeper and deeper into the mud at the very bottom of the oceans. She did not understand this human emotion called love, for she had no such feelings of her own.

  She released the gold ring, let it drift, unwanted, with the current. She could wait for her prize, could wait for Jesamiah for he was mortal and she was not. There would be other opportunities for the collecting of trophies, for gathering the drowned bones of men. The bones of pirates.

  The sea rolled with the swell of the tide and the surf hushed on to the shore, echoing the faint and distant whisper that was the murmuring, lonely voice of Tethys crooning for what she wanted.

  ~ Jeshh..a..miah…Jeshh..a..miah……Jeshh..a..miah……~

  Author’s note

  Jesamiah Acorne did not exist, nor were pirates the charming rogues made familiar in movies and stories. They were ill-mannered thieves and murderers who never washed and were, more often than not, drunk on plundered rum. Heroes in novels cannot be like that. Jesamiah certainly is not – although he may not always be quite the ‘nice guy’ you expect him to be. He is, after all
, a pirate.

  The background details to Sea Witch, however, are mostly accurate, although I have taken liberties with dates. I have enjoyed researching the men who were the cut-throats who sailed under a skull and crossbones flag, the Jolie Rouge, the ships they sailed in and the era of the Golden Age of Pirates in the Caribbean (roughly 1680 – 1725) when Port Royal in Jamaica was known, for a while, as ‘the Wickedest city in the World’. But thorough research, an accurate historical time-line and interesting stories do not always sail well together.

  A quote I adore was from the superb UK comedy duo Morecambe and Wise: in a sketch parodying an orchestral concert, Eric Morecambe was playing the piano – very badly. When the conductor, André Previn, berated him for playing the wrong notes he quipped, “I am playing the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order.” Well, I am using the right events, but not necessarily at the right date!

  For instance, Captain Woodes Rogers and his companions were in Cape Town but in 1711, not 1716 (William Dampier in fact died in late 1715). Rogers became Governor of Nassau in late July 1718. I considered 1711 to 1718 too long a time-span for a novel such as this, and so I have compacted the dates and eased my conscience by adding this confessional apology. There is one other slightly inaccurate date: the Spanish Treasure ships sank off the Florida coast in a storm on the 31st July 1715 – not 1716 as I have portrayed. Henry Jennings made his fortune by raiding the warehouse where the salvaged gold was stored – if he had a pirate called Jesamiah Acorne with him it was not recorded. The only other fabrication regarding Jennings; he was not Vice Governor of Nassau. He did, however, accept a pardon and settled down to a respectable life on New Providence Island, so perhaps his role as mediator was not recorded either?

  Many pirates elected their captain and de-elected him if he was no good, usually by marooning him. The second in command, however, was the quartermaster not the first mate as in the Royal Navy and pirates did not have lieutenants or midshipmen. One disappointing note, there does not appear to be any evidence of pirates making their victims walk the plank. Pity.

  I originally based the Sea Witch on a combination of two famous vessels, Blackbeard’s Queen Anne’s Revenge and the Whydah, which ran aground off Cape Cod in 1717, but as I moved on to write the second voyage, Pirate Code, I realised I needed a more detailed model. I also discovered the vessel Rose, better known as HMS Surprise in the movie Master & Commander. My nautical editor, James Nelson was a rigger aboard her, even started his first novel in her Great Cabin and when I also met with the man who originally designed and built her as a replica – well, that was it, I had to use her as my template. Technically, she is a little later in date than the Sea Witch, and some of her style of rigging and a copper-clad keel is not quite right for the early eighteenth century – but then, this adventure is a sailor’s yarn of a tale, and is not meant to be accurate history. The Rose/Surprise is a beautiful ship. One day I hope to see her for real.

  I have tried to be accurate with my sailing details and beg forgiveness from anyone who knows their subject better than I. Errors are all my own work and not the responsibility of more knowledgeable sea-farers who have most generously given me advice.

  Chicken racing is a minor not very well known sport, somewhat less savage than cock-fighting, and as for the plundered haul of hats, the event really happened. I thought it would be fun to give the honour of it to my own loveable rogue, to Jesamiah Acorne.

  Long may he sail with a following wind and a calm sea, with Tiola to keep a sensible rein on his more outrageous exploits.

  Helen Hollick

  2011

  For those interested, the story behind how I ‘met’ Jesamiah Acorne is on my website: www.helenhollick.net/noteseaw.html

  Glossary

  Aback – a sail when its forward surface is pressed upon by the wind. Used to ‘stop’ a ship.

  Account – see On the Account.

  Aloft – up in the tops, at the masthead or any where about the yards or the rigging.

  Articles – Each man when coming aboard ‘agreed the Articles’. Some pirate ships were run on very democratic lines, the crew elected their captain, agreed where to sail, divided the ‘spoils’ fairly etc. Most rules were sensible things like no naked flame below deck; each man to keep his weapon clean and ready for use; and no fighting aboard ship.

  Bar – a shoal running across the mouth of a harbour or a river.

  Bare poles – having no sail up – the bare mast.

  Belay – to make fast or secure. Also: ‘Stop that’. ‘Belay that talk!’ would mean ‘Shut up!’

  Belaying pin – a short wooden rod to which a ship’s rigging is secured. A common improvised weapon aboard a sailing ship because they are everywhere, are easily picked up, and are the right size and weight to be used as a club.

  Bell (Ship’s bell) – used as a clock, essential for navigation as the

  measurement of the angle of the sun had to be made at noon. The bell was struck each time the half-hour glass was turned.

  Bilge – the lowest part of the ship inside the hull along the keel. They fill with stinking bilge water or ‘bilge’. Can also mean nonsense or foolish talk.

  Binnacle – the frame or box that houses the compass.

  Bo’sun – short for boatswain, usually a competent sailor who is in charge of all deck duties.

  Bow – the front or ‘pointed’ end of the ship.

  Bowsprit – the heavy slanted spar pointing forward from the ship’s bow.

  Brace – rope used to control the horizontal movement of a square-rigged yard.

  Brig – a two masted vessel square-rigged on both masts.

  Brimstone – formerly the common name for sulphur.

  Broadside – the simultaneous firing of all guns on one side of a ship.

  Bulkheads – vertical partitions in a ship.

  Bulwark – interior wall of ship.

  Cable – a long, thick and heavy rope by which a ship is secured to the anchor.

  Cable’s length – a measure of 120 fathoms or 240 yards.

  Capstan – drum-like winch turned by the crew to raise or lower the anchors.

  Careen – the process of beaching a ship, heeling her over to her side and cleaning the underside of weed, barnacles and worm; making essential repairs to the part of a ship which is usually below the water line. A careened ship will go faster and last longer than one that is not.

  Cathead – vertical beam of timber protruding near the bow, used for hoisting the anchor.

  Cat o’nine tails, or ‘cat’ – a whip with many lashes, used for flogging.

  Caulk – to seal the gaps between planks of wood with caulking – see oakum.

  Chain shot – two balls of iron joined together by a length of chain, chiefly used to destroy, masts, rigging and sails.

  Chandler – a merchant selling the various things a ship needs for supplies and repairs.

  Chanty/shanty – a sailor’s work song. Often lewd and derogatory about the officers.

  Chase – or Prize. The ship being pursued.

  Cleat – wooden or metal fastening to which ropes can be secured. Can also be used as a ladder.

  Clew – the lower corners of a sail, therefore Clew up – to haul a square sail up to a yard.

  Close-hauled – sailing as close to the direction of the wind as possible with the sails turned almost 90°.

  Cordage – rope is called cordage on board a ship.

  Colours – the vessel’s identification flag, also called an ensign. For a pirate, the Jolly Roger!

  Courses – lowest sails on the mast.

  Crosstrees – wooden platform partway up a mast to keep the shrouds spread apart.

  Dolphin Striker – a short perpendicular gaff spar under the cap of the bowsprit for guying down the jib-boom. Also called a martingale.

  Doubloon – a Spanish gold coin.

  Fathom – a measure of six feet of water.

  Fore or for’ard – toward the front end of t
he ship, the bow.

  Forecastle – pronounced fo’c’sle; raised deck at the front of ship.

  Fore-and-aft rig – sails set length wise not at right angles (square-rigged) to the hull.

  Flukes – the broad parts or palms of the anchor.

  For-and-aft – the length of a ship.

  Forestay – the rope leading from the mast to the bow.

  Fother – to seal a leak by lowering a sail over the side of the ship and positioning it so that it seals the hole by the weight of the sea. The canvas can be.

  Futtock – ‘foot hooks’.

  Futtock shroud – short pieces of rope which secure lower dad-eyes and futtock plates to the top mast rigging.

  Galleon – a large three-masted square-rigged ship used chiefly by the Spanish.

  Galley – ship’s kitchen.

  Gasket – a piece of plait to fasten the sails to the yards.

  Gaol / gaoler – pronounced ‘jail’ and ‘jailer.

  Grape-shot – or grape, small cast iron balls bound together in a canvas bag that scatter like shotgun pellets when fired.

  Grenados – early form of hand grenade.

  Gunwale – pronounced gun’l; upper planking along the sides of a vessel. ‘Up to the gunwales’ – full up or overloaded.

  Halliard or halyard – pronounced haly’d. The rope used to hoist a sail.

  Hard tack – ship’s biscuit. Opposite is soft tack – bread. Hatch – an opening in the deck for entering below. Hawser – cable.

  Heave to – to check the forward motion of a vessel and bring her to a stand still by heading her into the wind and backing some of her sails.

  Heel – to lean over due to action of the wind, waves, or greater weight on one side. The angle at which the vessel tips when sailing.

  Helm – the tiller (a long steering arm) or a wheel which controls the rudder and enables the vessel to be steered.