Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  "Well, then," says the Captain with some satisfaction, as he comes up to stand next to me. "Mr. Fletcher. Since it was your gun that brought down her mast, I give you the honor of sinking the pirate. Fire at will."

  Oh, Jaimy...

  Jaimy nods and goes to the Number Six gun. He lifts the matchlock line and leans over the barrel. He ratchets two over and winches one up. He pulls the cord and the gun barks out its noise and flame. The ball crashes into the side of my dear Emerald, splintering the green and white checked top of the hull I loved so well.

  He is a good shot. He moves to the next gun. His next round catches her in her flank at her waterline and she begins to heel over. His next goes in my cabin window and out the other side. I hear her glass shattering.

  My beautiful ship is going down. My jewel. Jaimy ceases firing and stands at attention.

  I try to keep the Look on my face and my head high, but I can't, I can't, I just can't. Tears slide over my cheeks as my precious Emerald sinks.

  Her bow goes first, and then her tail lifts up, pauses a moment, and then she slips down beneath the waves. She always was the most elegant thing, and even in death she is graceful.

  The last thing to go under is my brave little flag. Faber Shipping, Worldwide, is once again reduced to one rather small, and very scared, girl.

  The Captain leaves me slumped there at the foot of the mast with orders that no one speak to me while they finish stowing what used to be my cargo. I will not meet Mr. Fletcher's eyes. You sunk my ship, Jaimy, you did, you did. And it was a good one, too! I try not to let black despair overwhelm me. I try not to let my head fall to my chest and my body sag in the ropes that bind me, but it is hard. I keep my head up somehow and look out over the sea, so I don't have to see the pitying looks from my former crew.

  "Call the Marine detachment," orders the Captain, finally. The two Marines march forward and stop in front of him, and me.

  Uh-oh.

  The Marines have their rifles at port arms, held across their chests. The Captain is between the Marines and me, and he turns to gaze upon me for a moment. He shakes his head and then steps out of the way.

  I have heard of this! A summary trial! Drumhead justice! I am undone!

  My knees turn to jelly and I start to slip down. "Please, Martin, Rodgers ... If you love me, in the heart, please, not in the face." I say this to the Marines and, crazily, I try to struggle to my feet to present my chest and try to make a good brave show of it for the sake of my crews, so they'll think well of me in years to come, though I don't know why I should care, but my mind is numb with terror and I see Jaimy ... Good-bye, Jaimy, I loved you... and Jared coming toward me, but someone beats them both to it.

  Georgie Piggott is standing in front of me, his arms held straight out from his shoulders, all of him shaking as he faces the Captain. "You're not going to sh ... shoot her, are you, Sir?"

  The Captain lets out an exasperated sigh. "What a ship...," he says under his breath. Then he says, "No, Mr. Piggott, I'm not going to shoot her. I'll let others dispose of her. Although I should shoot you for impertinence." He turns to the Marines. "Corporal! Take her below to the brig and keep her under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Her head is worth two hundred and fifty pounds in its current condition, and I intend to collect it. Be careful. I've heard she's a slippery one."

  I am untied and thrown down into the brig.

  Guess I was born to hang, after all.

  Chapter 47

  I am taken and tossed down into the brig.

  I look around. The bench. The ratty blanket. The chamber pot. That is all that is to be had at the Hotel Wolverine, except for dark despair—first it held poor Robin, then the unfortunate Mr. Luce, and now me. Corporal Martin stands guard at the door to the hatchway.

  I sit down on the bench and try not to bury my face in my hands and weep, but it is hard, very hard. What will become of me? And what will become of the Home ... oh, Lord...

  I am not down there twenty minutes when I have my first visitor. It is Captain Trumbull. He clasps his hands behind him and gazes at me through the bars.

  I jump to my feet. "My Letter of Marque," I say, pulling it out of my jacket front and thrusting it at him. "I believe you will find it in order, and that a grievous mistake has been made, one that has done me great harm."

  He opens it up and reads it. He smiles slightly. "Very nice, but worthless," he says. "This has long since been revoked. Its only worth now is that it keeps your crew from being hanged as pirates. We are sure that when they signed on with you, they thought the Letter to be genuine."

  "So everything I did will be seen as piracy and I will go to the gallows, even though I sailed in all innocence, thinking only that I was doing good for King and country?" I ask, chin up. "I, too, thought the Letter to be genuine."

  "How innocent were you when you absconded with a prize ship that belonged to His Majesty? When you did not turn that ship in to the Prize Court?"

  Well, there's no good answer to that, is there? I'm thinking. None that's gonna do me any good, that is, so I don't reply.

  "And just how innocent is this?" he says, and unfurls my Jolly Roger flag and holds it up in front of my face.

  I ain't got nothin' to say to that, neither.

  "But never mind," he continues. "It is not my job to judge you. My job is to deliver you to the proper authorities and they will dispose of you as they see fit. And I will deliver you, Miss Faber, count on it. We will be relieved on this patrol in about a week, and we will then proceed to London. I do hope you will enjoy your stay with us."

  I think on this and start to steam, but I hold myself back and reply, "I do wish you the joy of your capture, Captain. I am quite sure you will put the two hundred and fifty pounds to good and worthy use."

  "You may rest assured the reward will be put to good use. As for now, if you have a dress in your bag, please put it on. That is, if you have any sense of decency at all."

  I guess I don't. I wasn't raised proper, I think all hurt and surly. No. Don't. You've got to be good. Think.

  "I may not have a sense of decency, Sir," I say, "but I do have a request."

  "What? If you think you are going to get any special treatment you are sadly..."

  "No, Sir, but if you were to take my man Higgins as your steward, you would find your life much changed." This startles him a bit. "How?"

  "He was personal valet to Lord Hollingsworth and is very skilled in social things. Who do you have serving you now?"

  "I have been getting along with Weisling," he says, drily.

  "The Weasel," I snort. "He's not even good enough for the Midshipmen's berth, let alone for the Captain of a British warship."

  I watch for a swelling of the male chest and I get it. This is his first command and he is very proud of it.

  "Harrumph," he says, "I will consider it. Now I will take my leave of you. If you have any needs of a ... personal nature, please let me know."

  "Thank you, Sir. I shall," I say, and give him the full Lawson Peabody Fine-Lady-Though-Without-Skirt curtsy. Startled to see it, he almost bows back. Then he harrumphs again and leaves.

  I ask Corporal Martin to hand me my seabag so I can get out a dress and so comply with the Captain's order, but he ain't that stupid. I have to tell him where it is in the bag and he pulls it out, blushing all the while, what with his hand in amongst the lacy things, the smell of Frenchy perfume wafting out of the bag and up his nose. Then I make him turn around while I change into the dress. I choose my black school dress—it seems appropriate.

  Then I sit in silence for a while and think on my condition. I heave a deep heavy sigh. Full fathom five my Emerald lies, of her bones is coral made...

  ***

  A little later, the door to the hatchway leading down into my hold opens and ... he comes in.

  I jump to my feet and turn to face the wall and don't say anything.

  I hear him come up behind me and he, too, says nothing, but I know he's there, looking at
my back, which I make as straight as I can.

  When the silence becomes unbearable I say, "You gonna marry that girl, Jaimy? You should. She's very pretty."

  He still doesn't say anything.

  "Not that it matters to me, since they're gonna take me back and hang me and soon I won't be carin' about anything. So if I were you, I would marry that girl. You will have beautiful children, I know you will, she bein' so beautiful and all and such a fine lady. Not like me. I ain't ever gonna be a lady." I give a short laugh. "'Specially not now."

  I pause and worry my hands. "We were just babies, back there on the Dolphin. I should not have expected more than childhood friendship from you, Jaimy, I know that now. I don't blame you. I really don't. Now go away."

  Still he says nothing.

  "Did you enjoy sinkin' my ship, Jaimy?" I heave a long sigh. "I really loved that ship. I loved it more than I loved anything in this world 'cept for my friends, which you ain't one of, that's for sure. You smashed her and sent her to the bottom. Was it fun? Will you gain advancement from it? I do blame you for that, Jaimy. I'm sorry, but I do. I notice that you're a lieutenant now. My congratulations. I am sure you will go far in the Navy."

  Still he says nothing, and I've had about enough of this. "Why don't you just go away now..."

  He speaks for the first time. "Jacky. Please," and he goes around to the side of the cage and reaches out his hand for me.

  "Don't you touch me!" I flee to the other side. "Don't you ever touch me! Corporal!" I call out.

  Poor Corporal Martin doesn't quite know what to do, and he looks confused.

  "Get Mr. Raeburne! Please!" I say to him. I'm gonna start cryin' here soon, I know that.

  "Raeburne is no longer here." I hear this from Jaimy.

  I spin around, and, though I can hardly bear to do it, I look at him. "Why? What did you do to him?"

  "We came to sword's point immediately upon your departure and Captain Trumbull thought it wise to get him off the ship. He was transferred to the Revenge."

  "Captain Trumbull made a mistake." I puff up my chest. "Robin Raeburne is worth ten of the likes of you. He is twice the man you are, in all ways! Believe me, I know!" says I, thinkin' I'm twistin' the knife.

  Jaimy does not change expression. "Mr. Raeburne had the decency to tell me what happened that night with the Captain, so I choose not to believe you on the subject of Mr. Raeburne's manliness." So much for the twistin' knife.

  "Damn you, get out!" The tears are comin' fast now. "Get out!"

  Jaimy takes some papers from under his arm and puts them through the bars and onto the floor of the cell.

  "These, Jacky, are letters that I have written to you since that day at the track when you threw my ring at my feet and ran off. They are letters to you, the lost you ... a journal, really. I will leave you to think on these, Jacky, if you choose to read them. If you want to speak to me again, please send word. If not, rest assured I will bother you no more in this life."

  "Good. Go away," I blubber. "You proved false and I ain't reading any of your lies!"

  He bows and leaves.

  I look at the pack of papers. It's going to be a long night.

  Chapter 48

  I study the key that hangs on the wall next to where the Marine guard stands. It is about twenty feet away from my cell and it is very simply made—it's about five inches long, with a tab on the end and another tab about an inch and a half in on the shaft. The other end is a circle so that force can be applied when it is put into the square lock on the door of the cage and turned. I have watched the lock being opened when the trays bearing my meals are brought in. The lock mechanism does not seem complicated. Why should it be? After all, where could an escapee go?

  I arise this morning to see my breakfast being brought in by the Weasel, dressed in a white steward's uniform. Private Rodgers opens the cell door and the Weasel comes in under his watchful eye and puts the tray down on the bench. Then the chinless little bastard smirks at me, showing his brown teeth.

  "Ain't so high and mighty now, are ye, Missy?" hisses the Weasel. "And you ain't gonna be high and mighty at all when they drops you through the trap and snaps that pretty little neck o' yours, are ye?"

  I swing my right arm and catch him across the face with the back of my hand and he cries out and falls away, and I fetch him a kick and he goes pitching forward out of the cell.

  "Here! Here!" says my Marine. "We can't have that here!"

  The Weasel starts to get up and I take the chamber pot and turn it and clap it over his head, its contents running down his neck and into his jacket. The pot makes a slight dong as the inside bottom of it comes to rest on his vile noggin.

  "Clean that up and bring a fresh one back, you miserable piece of crap!" I spit. The Weasel staggers away and out the door, wearing his new headgear without a great deal of dignity.

  "Please, Lieutenant!" pleads Rodgers, forgetting himself.

  "Calm yourself, Jeffrey, and you'd better lock the door. And you know I'm not a lieutenant anymore, so you needn't call me that." I turn to my breakfast. It is burgoo, of course, and I would eat it, except that I am sure the Weasel has spit in it and the thought of that curbs my usually fierce appetite.

  Private Rodgers secures the door, probably surprised that I knew his first name. "I'm sorry, Miss, for the misfortune that's befallen you," he says.

  "Don't be. I brought it on myself." I know I tried to grab too much, too fast, and now I've got nothing. Nothing 'cept maybe a noose. "But you could do me a favor, Jeffrey, if you would. Could you have someone come get this tray? I cannot eat this, for I fear that the Weasel has spat in it."

  Rodgers gets red in the face and takes the tray. "If he did, it will be the last thing he ever spits in, the dog!"

  He takes the tray out to the passageway and I see light through the hatch. Then I hear him say, "Mr. Jared! Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but a word with you!"

  I am sure my meals will be pure as the driven snow from now on. I even manage to find a bit of pity in my heart for the poor Weasel, who's about to have a very hard time of it, I am sure.

  When Private Rodgers comes back in, with a fresh pot of burgoo and some biscuits and tea, I thank him and say, "Oh, and would you please tell Lieutenant Fletcher that I will speak with him after I finish my breakfast?"

  I, of course, had read his letters.

  I have been studying the ways of my two Marines. One or the other of them is always standing over by the door, keeping an eye on me, except in two cases. One, when I am changing in and out of my nightshirt, in which case he turns away until I am dressed, and two, when I use the chamber pot. Then he steps out of the hold, out of the room completely, until I call him back in. That is my only time truly alone.

  I look again at the key hanging there and I am still looking at it when Jaimy comes in.

  "Hullo, Jaimy," I say. "Seems like old times, doesn't it? Me in here, and you out there. Bars in between." I'm seated at my bench and he stands facing me. "It is nice of you to come see me, considering the trouble I've caused. My other friends have not..."

  "No one besides officers is allowed to visit you. Rest assured all your friends have you uppermost in their thoughts and all desire me to convey their best wishes to ..." He smiles slightly. "... to Puss-in-Boots, as it were."

  I let silence hang in the air a bit and then sigh and say, "Your cousin, hey?"

  "Yes. My first cousin Emily. My uncle Jeremiah's daughter. A very sweet girl, actually. It is too bad you did not stay to be introduced, but I know you had other, more pressing business to attend to."

  "I know, I know. I read it in your journal ... So sweet ... I have been so stupid." I scoot over on the bench so as to be close to the bars. "Please come over here and hold my hand."

  He steps around to the side of the cage and reaches through and takes my hand.

  "Jacky..."

  "Please don't be stern with me, Jaimy. Don't yell at me, even though I've got it coming. I know what I did was
mad, stupid even, but it didn't seem crazy or stupid at the time it was happening. Trust me. But all that don't matter now 'cause we have so little time, and I just want to sit here and hold your hand. Do you know how often I so wanted to hold your hand when I was off in America, when I was ... when I—"

  I am crying now. I bend over and put my hand over my face and start bawling, my back bucking, my shoulders shaking, and the tears coming out from between my fingers. Oh, Jaimy, I missed you so much!

  "Jacky. Please. All is not lost. I have already sent a letter back to London. The best lawyers will be hired to keep you from ... that awful possibility. My family is not without influence. We can hope for the best, with transportation to Australia as a possibility." I snuffle and look up at him as he goes on. He really is the most beautiful boy. "The fact that you are obviously guilty of the crimes that you are charged with will not aid us in our endeavors, but we shall try. You did actually have a Letter of Marque for a time and that will help, as will the fact that you didn't kill anyone."

  I nod. Yes, there is always hope. Perhaps in Australia I will see my Kangaroo, after all.

  "We have some time. It will be a few days before we are relieved to take you back to London," he says.

  "Then come stay with me during this time, Jaimy, as much as you can. And if I am taken back to be hanged, knowing that you did love me all this time will make it easier for me. It will give me great comfort that I did not die unloved. And that is the truth, Jaimy."

  We stand for a while in silence, and then we hear the bell toll for noon.

  "I must go up on watch now, Jacky, but I will be back," he says. He reaches for something in his pocket. "Put out your hand, Jacky, please."

  I do it, and I see that he has my ring, the one I threw at his feet that day at the track. He must have gone back to get it.