Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  "Bo'sun! Ten of your best!" The Bo'sun takes the Cat from its hook on the mast and stands to the side, ready to deliver.

  I step forward.

  "Sir, I must protest. This man is a member of my division. I have always found his work and his seamanship to be above reproach."

  The Captain peers at me. "Is that so? Then give him twelve because of your mouth! Now!"

  The Bo'sun swings and swings hard. He can do no less. Should it be seen that he is holding back, he, himself, would be lashed to the grating and one more willing to swing the Cat would do the job.

  Yonkers stiffens. That's one. Then two. Three. He sags in his bonds. Four. Five. His back is red, now. Six. Seven. The welts on his back are now bleeding down into his trousers. Eight. Nine. Ten. Then my two added on. Eleven. I believe he is unconscious. Twelve.

  It is over. I hear Georgie being sick beside me. No one moves.

  "Take the slacker down," says the Captain. Two of Yonkers's mates go to him and cut him down and drag him off toward the fo'c'sle. They will take him down to the orlop and to the loblolly boy, and once again salve will be put on yet another bleeding and scarred back. This poor, unhappy crew...

  The Captain seems extremely pleased with himself. "Getting back in fighting trim! Nothing like it for banishing softness and idleness." He may be feeling better this day, but I notice his tic still works.

  He looks at me and the midshipmen standing there in a line and puts his finger by his brow and pretends that he has just had a great idea.

  "But why should the common seamen have all the fun?" he asks. "Midshipmen! Line up at the foot of the mainmast! You, too, Lieutenant Faber, being only an acting lieutenant, and so late a midshipman yourself."

  Uh-oh.

  We assemble in a line on the quarterdeck. The Captain paces back and forth in front of us, looking us over. I can sense Georgie quivering by my side. The Captain stops in front of me. He smirks as he looks me up and down. I keep my eyes cased, my face without expression.

  "Time to toughen up these soft lads," he says, poking me in the belly with his thumb. He turns and points up. "You will all race up to the main royal yard, touch it, and race back down. The last of you to reach the deck shall be bent over that cannon and get ten from the rod! Now advance to the mast!"

  We break ranks and go and put our hands on the ratlines. I look at the others. Robin's eyes are full of fury. The others' eyes are full of fear, especially Georgie's, for he knows he's sure to be the loser, sure to be beaten, sure to cry like a baby in front of the crew. Robin looks at poor Georgie and then he looks at the Captain and he takes his hands off the ratlines and I just know he's going to do something rash.

  I grab his arm and whisper, "Don't, Robin. I'll take care of this."

  But he ain't listenin', I can tell. I feel him move toward the Captain and I tighten my grip. "Robin. If you catch the Captain's eye, you will be in trouble. I need you, Robin, I do, and I need you alive. You will do me no good in the ranks of the Heroic Dead!"

  Robin looks at me and I push him back to the ratlines. "I have a plan. Let me handle this."

  Before Robin can ask me what I mean to do, the Captain shouts, "Go!" and we leap up the lines.

  I really put on the speed 'cause I want to make sure I am the first one back down and that everyone sees it. Up to the maintop, past the main, my hands and feet quick and sure on the ropes. There's the t'gallant yard and now the highest sail of all, the royal. I touch its yard and head back down.

  I meet the boys coming up on my way down, and sure enough it's Georgie at the rear, looking ashen. I continue down to the maintop, swing out on the ratlines and slowly climb down till I am on the last rung and there I stay. Within a moment Robin hurtles past me to the deck. He stands there and looks up at me, his eyes hot, for he has suddenly realized what I intend to do. Then Tom goes past and is down, then Ned, and finally, huffing and puffing, comes little Georgie. An instant after Georgie's feet hit the deck, I drop lightly down.

  I look my defiance in Captain Scroggs's furious face.

  "You would mock me, bitch? Then get over that gun!"

  "You would beat a little boy? And now a girl?" I say, my chin quivering in fear but up in the air.

  "Sir," begins Mr. Pinkham, "please..."

  The Captain ignores his first officer and swings his arm and catches me behind my neck and I go down. I get on my hands and knees and crawl toward the gun. I stagger to my feet and see that the Captain himself has taken the rod from the Bo'sun. I turn toward the gun.

  As I lay myself across it, I hear a hum. Hmmmmmm. It grows louder and I realize that it is the men, or most of them anyway, giving the time-honored warning to a captain that mutiny is imminent if he doesn't change his ways. The sound is made deep in the throat, the lips not moving, so the object of the mutinous sound cannot tell who is doing it. When the Captain moves close to a man, that man stops doing it, only to pick it up again when the Captain moves away.

  Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

  Captain Scroggs looks up at the men in the rigging and around at those standing about. "So, you mutinous dogs, you would warn me then? Well, let me warn you—you will stop that or I will pick four of you at random and hang you right now!"

  The humming dies away. Thanks, anyway, mates.

  The Captain looks about at his crew, and he smiles. "I thank you, men, for pointing out to me that there are much better uses for something like this," and he lays the rod lightly on my backside. "Much better uses."

  He flings down the rod and steps over me and grabs my hair, pulling my face up to his. "Your punishment is going to have to be more private, I see. Report to my cabin at the beginning of the Evening Watch and we'll see about you then."

  "Captain ..." The good Mr. Pinkham tries again.

  "Mr. Pinkham!" roars the Captain. "You will pen a letter to the squadron commander telling him of the lamentable state of the masts on this ship. Upon completion of that, you will have the port lifeboat put down and you and Mr. Pelham and Mr. Harvey and Mr. Smythe will personally deliver that letter to Commodore Shawcross and attend upon him until he gives a reply. Do you understand me, Sir?"

  Mr. Pinkham looks at me with sorrow in his eyes. He knows the Captain is sending all the regular officers off the ship so they cannot interfere with his plans for me.

  "No dinner or rum ration for the crew tonight, and no breakfast, either!" snarls Captain Scroggs, and he lurches down to his cabin.

  I go to the officers' quarters down on the gun deck, and I do not bother to knock as I go in. The time for politeness and manners is over. I find Mr. Pinkham seated at a table, writing. Mr. Pelham is at the same table and he is loading a gun. Mr. Smythe and Mr. Harvey are making themselves ready in a similar way. I go up to Mr. Pelham and lay my hand upon the gun and push its muzzle down.

  "Nay, Sir, you cannot," I say. "Should you mutiny because of me, he would only have to deny that he had any such intentions to disprove your claim, and then you would be court-martialed and hanged and he would still be the Captain and he would dance on your graves, count on it. If you try this, and I'm sure the men will be with you, all of you will have trouble to the end of your days because of it. No, Sirs, I will not have that. Being taken against one's will in a shameful way is one thing—to be hanged and choked and killed is quite another. Believe me, I know. Now, go. I can take care of myself. Please, Mr. Pinkham, write the letter, and then go."

  Mr. Pinkham looks up from his writing and gazes significantly at Mr. Pelham and the others. Mr. Pelham nods and then so do the other two officers and they all look at me. Mr. Pinkham is silent for a moment and then, in a firm and even voice he says, "I am not writing the letter the Captain wants me to write. I am writing an account of today's events. We have been keeping a log of the Captain's depredations, day by day, cruel event by cruel and heartless event. We have described the events in extreme detail and cited names and witnesses."

  Mr. Pinkham's demeanor is no longer the deferential one he showed the Captain—
his look is now one of steely resolve, as he goes on.

  "We will leave in the boat, aye, but what we will be carrying to the Commodore is not the Captain's stupid complaint but this very log, the evidence that will put an end to his tyranny. We know"—and here he stumbles—"we know this thing today ... with you ... and what is going to happen tonight ... will be the final straw and he will be broken and dismissed. I hope that gives you ... some comfort."

  Instantly, I see the wisdom of the plot. All of them, sent by the Captain, himself, to present the case against him.

  Mr. Pelham rises. "All four of us are agreed. But"—he struggles with the words—"but we cannot just leave you to..."

  "All five of us are agreed," I say, firmly. "If you rise up in arms against him now, all will suffer. No, it shall not be. Ridding this ship and the Service of that man is worth ... whatever it costs. Go, gentlemen, and Godspeed to you and your mission."

  All of them rise to their feet as I turn and leave the gun room.

  Later, the boat is put down and readied for the officers. I go to see them off.

  Before getting in, Mr. Pinkham looks me full in the face and says, "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I am," I say. "I know you to be a man of honor, Mr. Pinkham, and I thank you, Sir, for all you tried to do for me. It will be all right, you'll see."

  He nods grimly and goes over the side. The other officers follow him down into the waiting boat and it pushes off. The sail is raised and soon they are out of sight.

  I stand there watching them go. The Captain has surely cooked his own goose this time, I'm thinking, but a lot of good it's gonna do me. If I could just hold out for another day or two... but I know I ain't gonna be able to—not the way he's been up and roaring around today.

  I think about things and I come to a decision. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out and go looking for Robin Raeburne.

  I find Robin and the other boys in the midshipmen's berth. Robin sits at the table with his fists clenched, his face red with helpless, impotent rage. Ned and Tom look worried. They know something is up, but they don't know quite what. They just know that something is going to happen to me.

  Georgie says, "What's the matter, Jacky? You're just going to get a good dinner, is all, right?"

  "Right, Georgie," I say, ruffling his hair and smiling at him. "Now you and Tom run along. Ned, haven't you got the watch? I've got to talk to Robin."

  They leave, mystified and somehow wretched.

  "I'm going to kill him," says Robin, after they are gone. He continues clenching and unclenching his fists and staring straight forward.

  "No, you won't, Robin. You won't do any such thing. What you are going to do is come into my cabin." I reach out and take his hand and lead him into my little room. There is barely enough room for the two of us to stand. I close the door and turn around and say, "Kiss me, Robin, if it will please you."

  Astounded, he does it and we hold the kiss for a long, long time. When our lips finally part, I say, "Undress yourself, Robin."

  "What? Why ...," says Robin, confused.

  "Because I am going to give myself to you, Robin Raeburne, for we both know what is going to happen when I leave here. And because I want the loss of my maidenhood to be, well ... a good and loving thing and not a thing of tears and shame. I want it to be with someone for whom I have great admiration and affection. I want it to be with you." And if I am got with child this day, I will be able to tell myself that it is your child, Robin, and then I will be able to love it.

  I unbutton my jacket and take it off. I pull off my shirt and I drop my trousers and then pull down the drawers and step out of them and stand naked on the deck. I hold my hands out to my sides with my palms up and I say, "But only if it pleases you."

  He is speechless, amazed.

  "So hold me and kiss me again and then undress yourself, if it please you, Robin, and then I will lie with you and we will be as one."

  We come together again and I can feel his heart pounding against my own racing heart. When we part, our breathing has greatly quickened. I turn from his embrace and put my knee on my bed and then lie down upon it. "Be gentle with me, Robin. Treat me like a lady," I say, as I reach up for him.

  He rips off his jacket and fumbles with the lacings of his shirt and...

  ...and then there is a furious pounding on the door.

  "Lieutenant Faber! The Captain wants you in his cabin right now!" I recognize the voice as belonging to Private Rodgers, one of the ship's two Marines.

  "But I am not expected till the Evening Watch," I say, getting up on one elbow. Robin looks stricken to the core.

  "The Captain says right now, Miss, please! It will go hard for me if you don't hurry!"

  "Very well" I sigh. "I'll be right out."

  I rise from the bed and put my hands on Robin's sagging shoulders. "I'm sorry, Robin, I really am," I whisper so the Marine outside can't hear. "Kiss me one more time and then I must dress and go."

  "No," he says, standing, his eyes feverish. "No. Come, Jacky, and we will rush outside right now and throw ourselves over the side and sink down and die in each other's arms!"

  I kiss him on the lips and then put one on his forehead and smile my bravest smile and say, "Nay, Robin, I know myself and I know I am not a 'Death Before Dishonor' type. I have seen Death too many times up close to surrender myself willingly to his embrace. I do have great affection for you and I will not sacrifice you on the altar of my maidenhead. I will survive this."

  With that, I get dressed and, leaving Robin despairing and miserable behind me, I go out to meet my fate.

  On our way aft to the Captain's cabin, me between the two Marines, I notice no one is on watch. It's just the helmsman at his wheel, steering the course. It's a calm night, with scarcely a breeze and just a little roll to the ship, so I guess the Captain felt the helmsman could handle things by himself. This leaves him to the business at hand, that business being me.

  Halfway there, one of the Marines reaches around me and takes my knife from my side. "Sorry, Miss. Orders."

  I enter the cabin.

  Captain Scroggs is seated at his table with a bottle and two glasses in front of him. It is plain he has already been into the bottle as his face is even more puffed and florid than it was before. His steward is putting plates of food on the table in front of him.

  The Captain swats him away, catching him across the face with the back of his hand. "There's man's work to be done here, pansy. Get out." The poor man seems to be used to such treatment. He bows and leaves.

  That shows me what I can expect here, too.

  "Come in, girl," he says, "and sit down." I am not even to have the honor of my rank, it seems. Just girl, I think sadly. After all is said and done, just girl, and nothing more.

  "You there!" he says to the Marine guards who were about to take up their stations next to his door. "Go away!" The Marines look at me with sympathy in their eyes, but they go away. The Captain closes the door himself and turns back to me.

  "Sit down, I said," says the Captain. I pull out a chair, the farthest one from where he is sitting, and sit down. The Captain does not have his jacket on and his shirt is not laced up and it shows the grizzled hair thick on his chest. I look away from him so as not to be sick. I see that the windows are open. People will be listening.

  "Sir, I really don't ...," I say in a small voice.

  "Here. Have a drink." He grabs the bottle and pours a brown liquid into a glass and hands it to me.

  "I don't drink spirits, Sir. I took a vow."

  "A vow?" He laughs. "What nonsense. Do what I tell you and have a drink. That is the finest of whisky." There is menace in his voice.

  I lift the glass to my lips and pretend to drink, and then set it back down again. My hand trembles and he notices.

  "Have another drink. It will calm you. You may take off your jacket."

  "That's all right, Sir, I am quite comfortable..."

  "Take off your jacket!" he orders,
and puts out his hand and undoes my top button.

  I put my fingers to my jacket, undo the rest of the buttons, and I take it off. Then I start crying. I did not think this would happen. I had thought that I would be strong, that I would be able to take my mind away from what is going to happen to my body, but I can't. I can't. It shoulda been Jaimy, it coulda been Randall, it mighta been Robin, but no, it's gonna be this. I look into his face with its tic-torn mouth and wandering eye and I turn from him in revulsion.

  "Please, Captain, send me away maiden as I came!" I wail, tears gushing from my eyes. "The very angels in Heaven would sing your praises!"

  He puts his hand on my knee and I clap my legs together. He leers into my face. "Tears, is it now? That's fine. And maiden, too? Though I doubt it, I like it that way. I..."

  What ... What's that?

  There is a rumbling noise overhead.

  He looks up at the sound. We both realize what it is: It is a cannonball placed on the Captain's roof, right behind the quarterdeck, and left there to roll around with the motion of the ship. It is another of the traditional signs of impending mutiny.

  Thanks, Mates, but I don't think it's gonna do any good.

  The sound stops and the Captain frowns, but then turns his attention back to me. He kneels next to me and picks up the glass of whisky and puts it to my lips himself. "I told you to have a drink, girl. Open your mouth."

  With that he forces the glass between my teeth and pours it back. The spirits hit me in the back of my mouth and I choke and gag and it spews out over my chin and down my shirtfront. He looks at the whisky staining my shirt and says, "You want it rougher, then?" and he reaches over with both hands and rips my shirt open to the waist. I cry out and try to cover myself and...