Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  ... and it's another cannonball, rolling overhead.

  "Damn them!" roars the Captain, getting to his feet and charging out the door. "Who did that?" I hear him demanding of the helmsman.

  "I couldn't see, Sir," says the helmsman, "as I've got to keep my eyes on the course, Sir!" Through my terror, I recognize the helmsman's voice. It is Jared. He must have relieved the other man at the helm after I was taken in the cabin. You saw, Jared. You did.

  "Blast you! Keep your eye out then, or you'll pay for it with your back!"

  "Aye, Sir!"

  The Captain plunges back into the cabin, where I am now on my knees, prayin', with my hands up, palm to palm, in front of my ruined shirt, my eyes cast up to Heaven and sendin' out gallons of tears. He glares at me, his chest heaving, his face even redder than it was before.

  "What?" he snarls. "Praying for your deliverance? It'll do you no good. Get in that bed."

  "No, Sir, I ain't praying for myself 'cause I know I'm a good girl who never harmed anyone who didn't have it comin' and always tried to do right in everything the best I could. No, Sir, I ain't prayin' for me 'cause I know I'm goin' to Heaven when I die. No, Sir, I'm praying for you and your immortal soul and asking God not to cast you down to the lowest pit of Hell for the ravishin' of poor me, like you know He's gonna do if you do it, even if I ask Him not to, Sir!"

  He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. He puts his face in mine and I feel the rasp of his cheek. "Do you ever shut up? I don't care for any of that crap! Now get in that bed!" He flings me over onto the bed. "Get those clothes off!"

  "Oh, please, God!" I cry, sittin' up and putting my face in my hands and bawlin' away, my chest buckin', snorts and gasps and...

  There it is again. Two cannonballs this time, maybe three.

  Again he charges out. "Helmsman! What did you see?"

  "He scurried off 'fore I could see his face, Sir!" I hear Jared say.

  "Marines!" the Captain bellows into the night. I hear the pounding of booted feet.

  "Aye, Sir," says one of them, probably buttoning his coat.

  "You will station yourselves on the fantail and club into insensibility anybody you find there rolling cannonballs! Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Sir!" say the Marines as one. I hear them tread to their stations. Then I hear something else. I jump out of the bed and go to the door. It is the Hmmmmmmmmm sound coming from unseen men in the rigging. The Captain screams. "Mutinous dogs! I will see about you in the morning! Some shall swing! Count on it!"

  He comes back in. Any trace of humanity is now gone from his face.

  "I told you to undress yourself, girl. Do it now!" He pulls back his arm and backhands me across the face and I go down to the deck. I curl up in a ball, sobbing. I can taste the blood from a cut on the inside of my lip.

  Again the cannonballs rumble across and...

  ... and then there is the sound of muffled shouts and a scuffle. Then the Marines appear at the open door.

  "We've got 'im, Sir! It's that Midshipman Raeburne!"

  Oh, Robin, no!

  I look out and see poor Robin slumped between them. They are holding him up by his arms, but his head hangs down loosely from his shoulders.

  "Have you killed him?" asks the Captain, lurching back to the hatchway.

  "No, I don't think so, Sir. Just clubbed him up behind the head, Sir."

  "Too bad. Well, throw him in the brig, then. We'll see how he likes the feel of hemp around his neck tomorrow."

  Hmmmmmmmm ... The sound comes down from the rigging.

  "That's right, you hounds! Hum, hum away! First he will swing, then half of you!" I can see him shaking his fist at the unseen sailors in the night. The sound dies out, and he lumbers back into the room. I get to my feet, my heart in my throat.

  Maybe, if I can get him drunk and he sleeps long in the morning, the officers will be back and prevent him from harming Robin, maybe....

  "Come, Sir, have a drink with me," I say, and get up and go to the table. I try to smile. With shaking hand I pick up the bottle and pour a large portion into his glass. "Here, Sir! Let us be friends! Let us be merry!" I say, but I am sure I sound anything but that.

  He comes over to me. He is breathing hard now and must put his hands on tables and railings for support. "To Hell with all this!" He shouts and sweeps everything off the table with his arm. Plates break, glasses shatter. He knocks the drink out of my hand and it spills over me and the glass goes flying off into the shadows. "Come here!"

  He lunges toward me and grabs me by my hair and drags me to the bed. "Merry? By all means, let us be merry! Let's have a bit of a kiss, shall we?" He brings my face up to his and he slobbers his lips on my face and then throws me down on the bed again. Then he puts his hand on my chest and pushes me down flat on the bed.

  He stands over me, weaving, his eyes unfocused, and he whips off his shirt and comes down upon me, his sour smell reaching me before he does, and I gag and twist and turn and try to get away, but it doesn't do any good. He's on me and he's heavy and the sodden mat of his chest hair is on my face. Oh, God! He's got me pinned good. His fingers pull down my trousers and then, when those are down around my knees, his thumbs hook into the waistband of my drawers, and, in spite of all my wriggling, they start their downward journey. No! Please...

  WHAM!

  It is a tremendous sound. He jerks his head up, shocked beyond fury. It sounds like we are being fired upon!

  WHAM! Again. He raises his upper body on his arms.

  It becomes plain to me, in spite of my situation, that someone is dropping cannonballs down on the Captain's roof from a great height in the rigging. It's a wonder they don't come crashin' through.

  There are shouts and curses from outside and then there is silence.

  I look up at the Captain's face, expecting to see fury, but I don't see that at all. What I see is shock, pure and simple. The red has gone from his cheeks and his face is dead white. He looks off at something and then makes a choking sound. And then his arms give way and his chest comes down on my face again and I can hear his heart beat Thump ... Thump ... Thump ... then ... Burrrrp ... then nothing.

  Everything is quiet. I wait, turning my head to the side to get my nose out of his chest hair.

  "Captain?" I whisper. No answer. I listen real good for a heartbeat, but I can hear none. I wait for a while longer, 'cause if he's just asleep, I don't want him to wake up.

  There's no more commotion topside, so I guess my friends are resigned to the fact that their Puss-in-Boots has already been done, there being no further sounds of struggle from in here, and there ain't no more use in tryin' to help her.

  I can hear no heartbeat and there's no sound of breathing and there's no rise and fall of his chest and I'd know that, I would, bein' right under him as I am. I start to try to wriggle out.

  The Captain's bed is up against the starboard bulkhead and I try to roll him over in that direction so he doesn't fall out of the bed, but I can't. He's too heavy. I get my legs free and then squirm the rest of me out from under him and stand up and take some deep breaths. Then I pull up my pants and go back over to him.

  His eyes are open and so's his mouth. I put my hand in front of his face, but can feel no breath. I put my hand on his wrist, but I can feel no pulse.

  Captain Abraham Scroggs is dead.

  I force myself to think, dammit! I know I have friends on this ship, but not everyone is my friend. I remember that talk I had with Jared up there in the foretop that day, when he as much as said he didn't know what would happen if discipline on the Wolverine fell apart completely. I think of Muck and his crew in this regard. If I tell the crew the Captain is dead, there's no telling what they would do to me, there being no officers aboard to stop them. It would be a cruel joke to have escaped the Captain's vile embrace, only to end up under half the crew. I'm strong, but I don't think I'd survive that. Jared would try to help, as would Harkness and Drake and many others, but I just don't know...

&nbs
p; Ah. Here's what I will do.

  I will let the crew think the Captain has had his way with me this night and is now sleeping in total, satisfied bliss. Maybe he is in heavenly bliss, but I doubt it. The officers will be back in the morning and Mr. Pinkham will be in command and everything will be straightened out. And I'll wager it'll be a happier ship, for all that.

  That's what I will do. I feel better now. I always feel better with a plan.

  Unpleasant stuff first. I close the windows and pull the little curtains that cover them, and then I turn the Captain over on his back and a hard job I have of it, him being so heavy and all, but I get it done. I slide the sheets and cover out from under him. I take off his shoes and put them next to the bed as if he intended to put them on again in the morning. I'm about to pull up the covers when I see there is a key on a short chain dangling from his belt. I take the key off and put it in my pocket. You won't be needin' that down there in the seventh circle of Hell, Captain.

  I see that he has soiled himself a bit in dying, but it ain't too bad—he always smelled like he'd pissed himself, anyway. I grab his hair and lift his head and stick his pillow under it. Then I pull the covers up to his chin and cross his arms on his chest. Then I close his eyes with my fingertips.

  There, Captain. Sleep tight.

  Then I clean up the mess from the table and the whisky spills as best I can. I put a plate of the food and a bottle of wine aside. There's a tray on a side shelf and I pile the rest of the plates and glasses and food on it and take it to the door. I think about putting my jacket back on to cover my torn and whisky-stained shirt, but no—let them think the worst. That way I'll be able to keep this all secret tonight.

  I open the door and step out.

  "Call for the Captain's steward," I say to the Marines standing guard, and one of them goes off. I stand there looking all woebegone and sad until he comes back with the steward, whose name I know to be Higgins, in tow. He is a big man, dressed in a spotless white steward's coat. I had spoken to him briefly before and found him to be a very gentle sort of fellow and completely out of place on this ship. I hand him the tray.

  "Captain Scroggs does not want us"—here I choke back a sob, a small, maiden-no-more sob—"to be disturbed tonight. In the morning, tap on the door, and I will bring his food in to him. Is that clear?" The steward nods and takes the tray and leaves. With some relief, I think—it must not have been very pleasant being that Captain's man.

  I turn to the two Marines. We are alone, except for the helmsman, who I notice is no longer Joseph Jared but is instead John Harper. Was Jared relieved before or after the cannonballs were dropped from the top rigging? Did I hear "Here's one for Puss, you lousy bastard!" shouted out just before the second ball was dropped? I don't know ... I do know ears are out there listening in the dark and so I speak up for all to hear. "The Captain is worried for his safety because of what has happened here this evening. Therefore, he wants one of you to be on guard here at his door, around the clock. You will let no one but me in this door. One of you go get some sleep now, and relieve the other in four hours."

  With that I turn to go down into the midshipmen's berth. Ned, Tom, and Georgie are there, all looking miserable and confused. Me standing there with my shirt ripped down to my belly button and stinking of whisky don't help their distress any. "How's Robin?" I inquire as I go into my cabin to get my seabag.

  "He's in the b-brig, Jacky," says Georgie, sounding as if he's about to cry. "He's awake now and his head hurts." He's looking at my ripped shirt and stained pants. "What happened to you, Jacky, what..."

  Ned nudges him in the side and says, "No, Georgie, not now. Let her be."

  "Jacky, we ... we ...," stammers Tom, not able to look at me. It seems Ned and Tom have grown up some in the past few hours. They need something to do.

  "Ned. Go up and take the watch. You shall be the Officer of the Deck for real now, as there are no other officers left aboard. Tom, you relieve him for the Midwatch. I'll take the Four to Eight," I say. "Just knock on the Captain's door to wake me."

  Tom reddens and looks at the floor. I leave the midshipmen's berth and go back on deck. I walk across the fo'c'sle and across Three Hatch with my seabag slung over my shoulder for all to see, and I go back into the Captain's cabin.

  The deception is complete.

  Later, as I sit on the floor, eating the Captain's food and drinking his wine, I think on the nature of things. I'm munching away, not thinking it overly strange to be eating and soon to be preparing to sleep in a room that also contains a new corpse, as I've got to keep up my strength for what is to come. Plus, I find him a much more charming companion in his current condition, anyway.

  Then it hits me....

  And it hits me with the force of a blow. I am maybe fifteen years old. I am a girl. I am also an acting lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and, by the Naval Rules and Regulations as regards the chain of command, I am in command of His Majesty's Ship Wolverine.

  Chapter 14

  I hear the knock on the door at quarter to four in the morning and rouse myself from the floor where I had slept. I dress myself in my jockey gear yet again, 'cause my shirt and trousers are messed up, and my drawers, too, are soiled with the spilled whisky that soaked through to them. I do, however, put my uniform jacket on over the striped top, since it managed to escape harm. As did I, thank God.

  On with my boots and out the door, I stop to remind the Marine standing there that the Captain is not to be disturbed, and then go up on the quarterdeck. I relieve Tom of the watch and he goes below, too tired to think of anything to say to me other than the course we are steering and the knots we are making and the time we will turn to the next leg of our patrol.

  There is now a different man on the helm, and I don't know him very well, so, other than checking his course, we don't talk. I just plant my feet amidships, look up at the stars, and wait for morning.

  I had especially wanted this watch because I wanted to be out in plain sight when morning came so they can all get a good look at me in all my shame. What they think to be my shame. I've told the lookout to keep a careful eye out for the officers returning from their mission. Dawn breaks, but he reports nothing.

  At six o'clock, I send word to the cooks to fire up their stoves for breakfast. I tell them the Captain has had a change of heart, and so the men wake up to a hot breakfast, one they had no reason to expect. I want them in a good mood.

  What will happen to me when the officers come back? I suppose I'll be demoted back to common girl and taken back to England as fast as possible and dumped, which will be all right with me. I'll pick up Judy and we'll figure out something to do. It will be lovely to get the Lady Lenore, Gully MacFarland's fine, fine fiddle, in my hands again and back to playing in the taverns till I get a big enough stake to return to Boston. Who knows, if I work hard enough and am thrifty, maybe I'll be able to earn enough to buy a small boat and get Faber Shipping, Worldwide, started. I will miss Robin and the boys, but I will leave this ship secure in the knowledge that I did some good whilst I was here.

  At seven o'clock I wander over by the speaking tube and then suddenly stop, as if I had heard something from the Captain. I put my ear to the tube and pantomime listening to the Captain speak. After a few moments, I put my mouth on the tube and say, "Yes, Sir. Eight o'clock it is." I send word to the Captain's steward for him to have a tray ready for me to take into the cabin when I get off watch at eight o'clock. My Boston acting experience is coming in handy.

  I have fun going over in my mind what I will say when the officers come back. I plan to be at the rail when they come aboard and I will have the Bo'sun's Mate trill his pipe and say Wolverine, arriving ... when Mr. Pinkham's head appears, and he'll look all shocked and say, What? because that's how you announce the Captain of a ship when he comes aboard. I'll salute him and say, I wish you the joy of your command, Sir, and he'll be all incredulous. And I'll tell him he is, indeed, the commander of the Wolverine for the time being, at least, an
d that Captain Scroggs is dead, and everyone will try to look solemn, but everyone will be jumping for joy inside.

  It is so satisfying to imagine this scene that I do it over and over again in my mind ... I wish you the joy of your command, Mr. Pinkham...

  Men are coming on deck to commence their ship's work. Most look at me with pity, perhaps thinking of their sisters and sweethearts, while others can barely keep the leers and smirks off their faces as they pass. Well, she finally got hers, I know they are thinking, and the little busybody sure had it comin', she did.

  That's the expression Muck and his crew have on their faces as they file by. Let it be, girl, I say to myself. Just wait.

  Ned relieves me at eight and I tell him that if he needs anything to just rap on the Captain's cabin door and I'll be right out. He blushes and nods.

  Higgins, the steward, comes up with the tray precisely at eight and I take it from him and go in the cabin. I sit down at the table and survey my breakfast. It sure beats what we've been eating, that's for sure. There's two cups of coffee—thanks, Higgins—and a plate of real fresh rolls and butter, some little fishes with sauce, slices of ham—ham! Can you believe it!—and eggs! Three of them! Where the hell has this Higgins been hiding the chickens?

  Before I sit down and tuck in, I go and open the windows just a bit, but I do not pull the curtains. Then I sit back down and rattle the silverware as if two people were sitting down to breakfast.

  I make the lowest rumbling in my chest, Grumble rumble ratz ... hoping it sounds a bit like the Captain's surly voice.