Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady (33 page)

Darkness has long since fallen and already we can see groups of torches gathering in the streets down below. I assume there are others over there in the North End as well. There is the sound of sporadic firecrackers. I'm sayin' that I hope it's not gunfire, but Amy says Pope's Day isn't as big as it once was, before their Revolution, when the gangs of Protestants from the North End would clash with the gangs of Catholics from the South End and injuries, and even death, would occur. It sort of ended when General Washington told everybody to knock it off because he had both Catholics and Protestants in his army, everybody fightin' for liberty and such, and he didn't need them at each other's throats. Sylvie says that's true, but some of the old customs hang on, 'cause they're too much fun to give up right off.

It is good to hear Amy talk so easy and unfearful with everyone. I have put her through a bit since coming into her life, but I think she is the better for it.

Annie and Betsey come out of the darkness to join us and Ephraim appears at the corner of State and Cornhull. He don't approve of all this but comes along to lend his protection.
Boys,
I clucks to myself,
so careless of their own conduct, so careful of ours.

"So, how did you get out?" he asks Betsey, who is already on his arm and looking up into his face. "I'm sure your father knows nothing of this."

"We told him we were going to spend the night with Sylvie," says Annie.

"And I told
my
father that
I
was staying with
you,
" laughs Sylvie.

It turns out that everybody is staying with someone else.

"Some are sure to get in trouble," warns Ephraim, with a dark look.

"Not if we get back before our fathers get back! They are out there, too!" says Annie. "Ours is fighting for Ward Number Ten!"

"And mine for Ward Number Four!" cries Abby. "They'll all be kept busy, and I'll wager they'll all be too tired to beat us when they get back!" Wards, I am told, are voting districts and go from Ward 1 in Boston's North End down to Ward 12 in the South End.

Actually, it turns out that all of them plan to go to the school in the wee hours and so avoid capture by any father, which seems like a good plan to me.

A gang of young boys comes up to us and they beat sticks upon their crude Pope and Devil figures. Some wear
masks and some are fully costumed as devils, and they sing out to us.

"
Don't ye hear my little bell
Go chink, chink, chink!
Please give me a little money,
To buy my Pope a drink!
"

"Not very respectful of the Holy Father," says Annie, giving each of the boys a treat. "But I suppose they don't really take the sense of it at all."

Each of us girls has a basket that is filled with small balls of dough that were fried in lard until brown and then rolled in sugar. Peg made 'em for us sayin' that we wouldn't get far without givin' out some treats. They are very good, if you don't eat too many. Here's another bunch of boys with a wooden figure that looks like it's supposed to be King George and they have another chant.

"
Pray Madames, Sirs,
If you will something give,
We'll burn the dog,
And not let him live!
"

"Not very respectful of His Majesty," says I, also dropping treats into the outstretched hands of the boys. "And where are your sisters, boys?" I asks.

"Why, home where they belong, Miss," says one boy, eyes wide with the stupidness of my question.

"Right," I say, and let it go.

We give out the pastries to each group of small boys who
come up and demand a treat, and they are appreciative, but the boys are getting bigger and bigger and their demands are not for sweetmeats but for other kinds of sweets, and I am glad when we reach the Pig and get the ladder from Bob and climb on the roof and pull it up after us.

What a great perch! We can see the various groups as they make their way up the narrow streets, slowed down by their very numbers and slowed down even further by meeting the resistance of rival gangs.

Young men down below whistle and tell us to come down and they'll show us a treat, and we go to the edge and say that we know what kind of treat they plan for us and though they are all very pretty they can all go and sod off. This gets us hoots and hollers, but all seems in good fun.

Maudie and Bob have got the good sense not to open up the inside of the Pig but instead are dealing the ale and rum out the front door with the lower half of the door shut. The tankards have small lengths of light chain attached to their handles so they can't be carried off by the revelers.

There is a mob in the street below, waiting for one of the Popes to try to get through and so I go over to the edge of the roof over the doorway and pull out my pennywhistle and toots out a high and shrill bit that'll carry over the noise of the throng and I gets some cheers and so I goes on and gives 'em a few more, but then there's a real roar, "
Here they come!
" and a Pope cart appears at the end of the street, surrounded by very determined-looking defenders. I'm told that the object is to get your cart to Cobb's Hill against all odds and there to burn it on the bonfire that is already raging in the distance. That is, you throw it on the fire there before your opponents can destroy it and burn it in the street.

The cart gets closer and we can hear the chant of the South End stalwarts what are pushing it along.

"
It's up the long ladder and down the short rope!
The hell with King George and up with the Pope!
If that doesn't do, we'll tear him in two,
And send him to hell with his red, white, and blue!
"

The chant incites the attackers to great violence, and from the crush of fists and clubs comes the chant of the North Enders who have now come out of the night ... "
Here comes another,
" is the shout, and they have their own Pope and Devil up on their shoulders. Their Pope has a barrel for a body and there is someone inside, prolly a small boy, who turns the grotesque head about and about, and it glares at all who gaze upon it. They have a chant, too, but I can't make it out over the roar of the crowd, but it don't matter, anyway. I jumps up and down and cheers and shouts and the blood is up in me for sure and me heart is beatin' in me chest hard enough to burst out and I know I shouldn't like this wildness so, but I do, I do. I take my whistle and I just blasts on it to add my bit to the mayhem and the chaos of the night. Amy reaches up and pulls me down to sit next to her and she says, "Be good!"

The two groups come together with ruinous intent and there's the bellowing of threats and curses as the Pope and Devil figures rock back and forth in the press of the combatants and then there's great shouts and the South End cart goes down in the sea of bodies and there's crackings and splinterings and a huge cheer and the North Enders have won—this battle at least.

The crowd surges back and forth and it's hard to tell who's who in the way of the teams and there's blood on some faces and some are on their knees recovering from blows, and the crowd eventually surges up the street in the direction of Cobb's Hill, and the defeated ones pick up the pieces of their vanquished Pope and Devil and follow, in as good a cheer as can be expected.

This leaves the street almost empty for a bit, except for...

There's a bunch of men and boys over there and they got someone pinned up against a building and that person is ...
Mam'selle?

The bunch of scum is pokin' at her with sticks and she is tryin' to keep her dignity under their attack, her head up, but that ain't gonna happen as they keep pullin' at her yellow dress and have already torn off her yellow hat with the yellow plumes and trampled it in the dust, and she has cradled her little lapdog to her breast to keep it from bein' hurt, but they're pokin' at it, too, and I can see her eyes all scared and she knows that soon she will be down in the dirt, too, and they will kick her and stomp her and they will step on her little lapdog and kill it but there is nothin' she can do. Some bastard must have lured her out o' Mrs. Bodeen's with a promise of a fine parade or somesuch and this is what she gets....

"To me!" I shouts. "We got to save her!" and I'm already shoving the ladder over the side, and Ephraim and Henry and the other boys follow me down and someone cries, "But why?" and I says, "'Cause she tried to save me twice is why and she's different, which is why they're at her," and I'm down and racin' up the street and I yells to John
Thomas, "
Help me, John Thomas!
" and he leaves his post at the door of the Pig and follows me without question.

I charges into the pack of slime and says, "Leave off, you curs!" and their shocked faces turn on me and some say, "We'll not! We was only havin' some fun with this ... thing," and I goes to pull out me shiv, which I only oncet before pulled with serious intent and that when me very life was in danger, but I don't have to get it all the way out 'fore John Thomas's balled fist smashes into the mouth of the cove what was talkin' his trash talk to me and blood squirts out of the cove's nose and he goes down and Ephraim has the heads of two of the dogs under his strong arms and is proceedin' to squeeze the life out of 'em and brave Henry puts his fists up in the face of yet another knave, but the knave retreats and the others retreat and so leave the field of battle to us.

I bend down and pick up Mam'selle's battered hat and hands it to her.

"Why, if it isn't my little Precious come to save her dear auntie Claudelle from harm," she says, dusting off the hat as if it was just an unfortunate accident of the wind at the races in New Orleans. "Thank you so very much for your intervention. I cannot believe the ungentlemanly nature of some of the citizens of this city. I do fear the ruffians would have made sport of me for a tedious long time. Will you and your brave consort not accompany me back to my lodgings?"

"We will, Mademoiselle," I say. Mam'selle murmurs to her puppy and she puts her yellow parasol out before her and we proceed in as grand a style as we can manage back to Mrs. Bodeen's.

On the way, Mam'selle says, "You know, Precious, I know this will break your dear little heart, but your auntie Mam'selle Claudelle has decided to go back to New Orleans—no, no, dear, please do not protest, it is for the best, for this clime does not agree with me and neither does the quality of the folk hereabouts. I shall take ship within the week."

When we reach the stairway up to Mrs. Bodeen's, Mam'selle turns to me and says, "I will give you a token, Precious, to remember me by." She reaches behind her neck and undoes a clasp on a gold chain. "Lift your hair, Precious," she orders.

I reach back and lift my pigtail from off my neck and she leans over to me and puts the chain around my neck and fastens it. There is something dangling off the chain and it hangs on the bodice of my dress. It is a little beaded bag, about one inch by one inch, and has strange designs worked into it.

"It is an asafoetida bag," says Mam'selle, and she pulls my bodice out and drops the little bag down there. It rests there where Jaimy's ring usually sets, 'cept now it's in my ear for the night. "It is powerful magic, Precious, and don't forget it. It was made especially for me by Mama Boudreau, herself, a famous conjure woman, and it is full of magic and power. Did it not bring me you, Precious, when I needed you most?"

"What's in it?" I asks stupidly.

"Ah, Precious, no one ever knows what's in each bag-could be a piece of bat wing, rare and poisonous herbs, strands from a hangman's noose—who knows? Only the conjure woman knows, she what made it and put the magic
on it and she what knows the
hoodoo,
the
voodoo,
and the
gris-gris,
and it's not best to mess with it, dear little one. You got to let the magic be, and let it work for you, that's all."

She puts her foot on the stair and says, "Good-bye, Precious. If you ever come to New Orleans, please come visit your dear auntie Claudelle." With that, she goes up the stairs and Mrs. Bodeen opens the door and Mam'selle goes in and I see yellow no more.

Mrs. Bodeen gives me a nod. Of recognition? Of thanks? I don't know. Other girls come out on the landing and say, "John Thomas, come up, come up, John Thomas," but he says that nay, he's workin' and can't let their considerable charms keep him from his duty, and we all head back in the direction of the Pig.

So we're rollin' back up the street, my bully boys and me, and I still got my shiv half out of my vest, for show, really, since I don't plan on pullin' it out, most of this fightin' bein' in fun and not in deadly earnest, when there's a line of striped shirts in front of us and we know they are British sailors and it don't look like they mean to let us pass without a fight, and Ephraim squares his shoulders, as do the Barkley brothers, and Henry raises his puny but brave fists and John Thomas prepares to do damage to the line of battle when I hear a familiar voice say, "You know, Jacky, when I thought of you back here in the States, I really thought you'd be sittin' in a rocking chair with a shawl about your little shoulders, some needlework in your lap, and a prayer on your lips. I
really
did."

I squint into the night and there's a sailor in the center of the line who's grinnin' at me and then all the noise and revels drop away from me.
It's Davy! Oh, good God, it's Davy!

I leap forward and wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist I'm so glad to see him, and I start blubbering and crying and...

The rogue kisses me full on the lips and shouts out, "Didn't I tell you, Mates, one in every port!" Cheers from his mates. I blush and reflect that I seem forever to be making boys' reputations at the expense of my own.

I unwraps my legs on that one. Davy ain't changed, not in that way. He has gotten taller and under my hands the muscles on his arms have become harder and more well defined, but I'm hardly noticin' 'cause all that I can think about is..."Jaimy! Where's Jaimy? Oh, Lord I didn't know the
Dolphin
was comin' in. Where's..." I'm pounding on his chest with me fists and lookin' wildly about as I'm sayin' this.