The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen

by Christopher Newman

  “Return fire!” Vixen shouted, climbing to her feet.

  There was a deep, creaking groan that went through the vessel like it was sobbing in pain. Her ship’s starboard side was more kindling than timbers, and soon water poured into her holds. Listing with a jerk, the ship lurched, sending many a man-jack overboard only to surface and strike out for land. Meanwhile, the UBS Dreadful closed in like a shark scenting blood.

  “We’re doomed!” Tom said, standing upon shaky legs.

  “Damnation!” Vixen snarled. “Out-foxed by my own wits am I! I surmised flying the flag of Effingham so near to her shores would keep us from being investigated.”

  “We must abandon ship!”

  “Nay, I will not slink from combat.”

  “Vixen, it will be ye death.”

  “Death comes for us all, Tom. I simply choose to greet it on my own terms, not running away like some lily-livered coward who hopes to evade it.”

  Another wave of white smoke billowed out of the Dreadful’s side, whisking away quickly due to the ocean’s breeze. In the wake of this, another volley slammed into her craft, snapping masts like twigs, shattering flesh into red mists and quaking the ship violently. Wiping blood cut into her face from flying splinters, Vixen noticed bemusedly the ship’s wheel was gone. Moving without direction from her hands, the Sea Fox curved and wallowed like a pregnant whale toward a rocky outcropping off the Effingham coast.

  “’Ware the rocks!” Tom said, spitting out blood. “Our keel will be ripped to smithereens!”

  “That be the least of our worries!” She laughed.

  “Strike ye colors!” a man’s amplified voice pealed out of a megaphone from the Dreadful. “Stand down and prepare to be boarded!”

  Looking about the sundered deck, Vixen snarled as her crew began tossing aside their weapons. With a growling oath, she drew her rapier and brandished it at the huge ship. Grappling hooks flew through the air to bite into the wood of her craft. The two vessels were soon tied to one another, and red- and blue-jacketed Marines began pouring over the side of the Sea Fox, herding her cutthroats toward amidships. Their bayonets gleamed, sending dancing sparkles into the buccaneer captain’s eyes. A squad leaped onto the poop. Vixen spat out an oath, her sight colored in a misty hate-filled rage.

  “Over the side, Tom!” she screamed, leaping for the railing

  Her lover followed suit, and when they surfaced shots rang out, splashing the water all around them. Swimming like all the demons of the deep were chasing them, Tom and Vixen struck out for shore.

  “I thought you said,” the flame-haired man started, “that you wouldn’t shrink from combat?”

  “Shut up and keep swimming,” Vixen retorted.

  Upon reaching the far shore, the two soggy sailors staggered up the dunes and quickly rushed into the forest. Dripping wet and dusted with a gritty coating of sand like some bizarre cookie, Vixen cursed her ill luck in language I’m not going to repeat. Plus I’m not sure I know what all the words meant.

  “What now, my Captain?” Tom inquired.

  “They’ll be sending a boarding party after us, so hanging around here isn’t wise,” she answered. “We need to strike into land and hope they don’t pursue us too far.”

  “Vixen! This is the middle of a war zone!”

  “We have to chance it or we’ll be just as doomed as my poor crew.”

  “Aye, they were a good lot—brave and true.”

  “I’ll miss every man-jack of ‘em. No captain could’ve been prouder of the scalawags under his command than I. Let’s go, Tom—the Dreadful is putting several boats in the water, and they’ve been kind enough to fill each one with Marines.”

  Striding into the foliage and trying not to look back, Vixen abandoned the ship she had called home for many years. Tom didn’t mention it when the single tear coursed down her soft brown cheek, for she would’ve just said something was in her eye. Plus, of course he had taught her too well the use of a sword.

  A Breakfast of Oath Meal

  Now sailors aren’t knowledgeable in the ways of woodcraft. Spending most of their time at sea limits, their experience for striding through the forest and learning where to step to remain quiet and… What was that sound I just heard? Oh, it is true enough buccaneers would venture into places like this, but only to buy treasure or find water. Still Tom and Vixen found themselves quite lost in the woods, rudderless and without a compass. They skirted a few farms and a village or two, but without a map to guide them, the two pirates had no idea where they were, nor which sovereign held this part of the world. Walking aimlessly, they ended up bedding down for the night just outside of a sleepy little hamlet until they could spy out whether it be held by friend or foe. To say it was a rough night would be stating the obvious.

  Morning came, and after a full day without sustenance, the two were as angry and temperamental as a she-wolf with a bad paw.

  “I say we just walk down and pay for a meal,” Tom snapped. “If’n they aren’t friendly, at least my belly won’t be complaining so much.”

  “No, but your throat will!” she counterattacked. “I’d rather not grace some gibbet just because I was hungry. Look at the condition of those folks! Ye be able to see their ribs jutting into their shirts. I reckon they haven’t a scrap of food to spare, and I don’t feel like slashing my way through a starving population just to quell my unruly guts.”

  “Devil take you, woman!”

  Tom jumped up and strode brazenly toward the cluster of smoking structures with nary a look back. Vixen hissed at him to stop, but he kept going. Cursing under her breath, she climbed to her feet to follow her mutinous first mate.

  Shoulders squared, he entered the town, and to her surprise not one of the inhabitants seemed to take note of it. Pushing forward with her longer legs, the she-pirate caught up to Tom and strode alongside of him. A small child, no more than eight years old, ran up. Dressed in dirty gray rags, her features were pinched and pale. Vixen and her mate stopped in the middle of the street.

  “P-please, ma’am,” a tiny voice said. “Do you have something to eat? My brother and I haven’t had anything since last Tuesday. Surely dressed in the fashion you are, you can spare us just a piece of cheese or a chunk of bread.”

  “I’m sorry, child, I have no food,” she answered the waif.

  “What happened here?” Tom queried.

  “There was a battle two weeks ago,” the girl answered. “Two armies went at it for days until one drove the other off. They took everything we had to eat, slaughtered our animals, ravished our larders and just left us here to starve.”

  “A battle, ye say?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Who rules this land, child?” Vixen demanded.

  “I have no idea, ma’am. For years we lived under the King of Effingham, or so the old graybeards in the village told us. Ever since I can remember we’ve been at war.”

  More and more people began filing out of the buildings. They appeared to be nothing more than skeletons thinly clothed in skin, hunger evident in their wet eyes. Like ghosts they drifted toward the two pirates. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled in misery while the dirty hands of the villagers thrust themselves out, palms up, silently begging for aid.

  “We’re starving—have pity!” a woman wept.

  “I-I have nothing to feed you with,” Vixen remarked softly.

  They didn’t hear her words. Pushing and shoving against each other, they penned the two buccaneers in amidst a ragged, filthy circle of humanity. Their cries turned to pitiful moans while their eyes pleaded and begged. The condition of both the village and its population violently yanked upon Vixen’s heartstrings. In the end, the fact that she and Tom had no morsels to share penetrated their gut-gnawing starvation. Drifting away, the decimated mob shuffled off in an eerie manner.

/>   “Why be this village in such despair?” Vixen asked softly.

  “War be not pretty, my Captain. These lubbers have been reduced to hungry ghosts because either the defeated or victorious army carried off all that be edible. Have you never seen the aftermath of such things?”

  “No.”

  “A wretched thing is war. At least when we pirates do battle, we have the decency to either sell or slay our enemies. Notice they didn’t bother to try to rob us—for gold cannot purchase that which isn’t being sold. Since they can’t eat it, it has no value.”

  The memory of her standing before her father’s marker, swearing in a loud voice to bring bloody-handed revenge upon the nation who had cast her out, came thundering into her brain. Every face that had turned her way bore the marks of her poorly thought out oath. Those lying motionless in the doorways, too weak to walk over like the rest, forced her to turn away in shame. Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks. The fruits of her ten years’ labor had been given a face, and it wasn’t a pretty one at all.

  One often likens enlightenment to being struck by lightning—but no storyteller ever remarks how painful this would be. To the teller of tales, enlightenment is a series of words that evoke an instant flashing of realization. This is the way of the world, my child. To suddenly know you have caused undue misery upon innocents is nothing short of being stabbed through the heart with a sword. Such it was with Vixen.

  “This is my fault,” Vixen muttered. “I wished this destruction upon those who treated my mother and me so poorly. I stood by my father’s grave and swore vengeance against Effingham, but I never saw how those who wished no ill upon my family would suffer.”

  “Aye, Captain, when you set about pitting Gaston and Effingham at war, we never thought Balzac would be so crass as to launch an attack on a weakened Effingham. We are to blame—and God’s punishment is now upon us. We are adrift amid a sea of hungry and battered faces, and I am ashamed to have been part of it,” Tom whispered, his voice thick with guilt.

  “Let’s leave. I can bear the stares no longer.”

  Trudging down the road, the two sorrowful swashbucklers walked the rest of the day without a word between them. Each step she took made Vixen feel a blow across her shoulders as if her guilt were lashing her like a whip. As she passed torn-up fields littered with the bloated, fly-blown bodies of man and animal, the stench of death filled her nose. Finally, after an hour, she found she had no more tears to cry.

  I’d love to say things will get better, but I never lie to those I offer my tales. However, the story isn’t over just yet.

  * * * *

  The road ahead was blocked by a pair of overturned carts. The flash of smoke rose just before the dirt kicked up in front of Milady Vixen. The report of the musket shot echoed in a dull, crinkling sound that carried over and past them. Reaching for her pistol still stuffed in her belt, the sea captain froze when a squad of red-jacketed men wearing white trousers stepped out from behind the barricade.

  “Halt where you are!” a rough voice commanded. “State your name and affiliation. Be ye friend or foe?”

  “They look like pirates, sir!” one of the chubby soldiers commented.

  “Don’t be daft, man! We’re twenty leagues inland—what would pirates be doing this far from the sea?”

  “We’re just wanderers,” Tom called back, raising his hands in surrender. “Our village was destroyed, and we set out on the road to find food and shelter.”

  “A likely story that one is!” the fat conscript muttered.

  “Your voice,” the infantry officer remarked, “it sounds familiar. Where do you hail from?”

  “I was born in Charlestown—in Effingham,” her mate stated.

  “Well, you’re halfway across the kingdom now. You have a look about you that calls to mind someone I once knew.”

  The squad, bayonets fixed, marched up the road while our two heroes stood stock still. Doffing his tall red-and-white-trimmed cap, the auburn-haired man neared. Vixen noted he was a tall, gangly soldier, probably twenty-two or so. His sideburns swept down his cheeks and connected with his bristly mustache but didn’t encompass his strong chin. His dancing blue eyes never left the face of the man beside her.

  “Who are you?” Tom said in a slow tone.

  “My name is Rhett Herring,” he answered. “Lieutenant with the First Battalion, Second Army of Effingham.”

  “Rhett?! By my troth, do ye not recognize me?”

  “Your face is seemingly familiar, yet I cannot place where I saw it.”

  “It is I! Tom Herring!”

  “T-Tom? My long lost brother? That cannot be—my family was told he was killed by pirates over twenty years ago!”

  “I survived! Oh Lord, can it be? Are you really my little brother?”

  “You would do best by confirming the rest of my siblings and the names of my parents.”

  “Aye! You be the youngest of us; next up the anchor chain came Tessa, whom we called Little Tessie, and then Clifton. Father’s name was Sheldon, but every man-jack I knew called him Salty from his days as a chief petty officer on the HRM Jack Benedict. Our mother’s name was Penelope. Be that evidence enough for the likes of you?”

  “Tom, can this be real?”

  “Avast ye! Do tell, dear brother, how fares the rest of our kin?”

  “Mother died of pneumonia last spring, but the rest fare well as far as I know. I haven’t had a letter from Tessie in several months. Clifton serves aboard the HRM Stout Heart, a frigate in His Majesty’s Navy. He took on a commission there to avenge your death.”

  “Aye, he would—he would at that!” Tom cheered. “We were like two halves of the same whole—Cliff and I.”

  “Come—I will vouch for you at the encampment. But ere I do, pray tell, who is this stunningly beautiful Negro lass who accompanies you?”

  “I be Violet Cornwell,” Vixen stated haughtily. “And I be a shipmate of your brother’s.”

  “Welcome all, then! Let us remove ourselves from this rude post and find you two something to eat. Hunger has stamped itself upon your faces. Sergeant Filibuster, you’ll hold this position until I get back. ”

  “Yes, sir!” the enlisted man said.

  As the squad turned to return to their assignment, Vixen’s heart fluttered with fear.

  “Is this wise?” she whispered to her lover.

  “I doubt anyone will recognize us,” Tom answered. “Lubbers take no note of those who sail upon the sea. In truth I’m shocked to see my youngest sibling in the army, for ever did the Herrings crave the open waters of the sea.”

  Vixen felt something was amiss—as surely as dark clouds on the horizon. Much like her illustrious sire—not the Duke of Cornwell, mind you—she had debts to pay, and Providence had come calling.

  Walking into the encampment, Vixen felt as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Every face that turned her way was just another chance for someone to recognize her as the infamous pirate notorious for attacking, looting and sinking the ships of their countrymen. Even the whistled catcalls as she strolled by didn’t ease her guilty conscience. She kept waiting for a shouted voice declaring outrage and labeling her for what she was. Were she of lesser mettle, she would’ve run away, but that just wasn’t Vixen’s style. Or maybe she was being stubborn, or worse, hoping to be caught to pay penance for her crimes. I really don’t know which one it was.

  The sights and sounds of the temporary military base appeared to go on for miles. Tan tents, tall and peaked, were placed with precision. In front of each one were muskets stacked against one another, mimicking the sleeping quarters’ shape. Cooking fires were lit, and the smells of simmering potato soup and fresh coffee made her stomach growl loudly.

  Something touched her backside unexpectedly. Refraining from running some leering-f
aced private through the gizzard, she slapped him across the face. The soldier fell to the ground with a crash amid the raucous laughter of his fellows. Vixen glared at the audacious bastard and administered a good swift kick in the pants as he stood up.

  “Sorry, Violet,” Lieutenant Herring said. “I’d reprimand him, but you’ve done enough, I think, to remind him of his manners.”

  “So, brother,” Tom began, “you’re an officer. How long have you been in the army?”

  “Ten years,” Rhett retorted. “They’ve been long and bloody years at that. I started out as a recruit, but the war took its toll on the ranks of the commissioned officers, and I was eventually promoted to this rank.”

  “If’n I might be so bold—you didn’t strike me as the military type when we were kids.”

  “Let us just say I had little choice in the matter. A press gang came through Charlestown and snatched up every man who could hear thunder and see lightning—I was sitting in a pub when they waltzed in.”

  “You were a conscript then?”

  “Yes. Ah! Here we are—this is the major’s quarters.”

  Looking up, Vixen saw this tent was bigger and directly in the center of the encampment. Flags stood before the entrance, flapping along with a guard beside each one, stiffly standing at attention.

  “I’m Lieutenant Herring,” Tom’s sibling said formally. “I’m here to see the major.”

  The sentries said nothing; the one on the left opened the tent’s door, and they walked past. Inside more surprises awaited.

  “Major Minor?” Rhett inquired.

  The man who turned around was scarred faced and favored his left leg. His saber slapped against his left hip, and his red jacket was stained and unkempt like he had slept in it. The jet-black hair upon his head was as wild and untamed as an ocean storm. Clean shaven and standing just over six feet tall, the hobbled officer regarded his visitors with a cold, calculating stare.

  “Lieutenant, what can I do for you? I’m rather busy right now, so if you’re wasting my time, I’ll stick you and your platoon to cutting potatoes until the Second Coming,” the major growled in a deep voice. “You’re a good officer, and I’d hate to reprimand you for something as trivial as what this looks like.”