Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (29 page)

I do not miss the use of my first name. Neither do the others.

"However," he continues, "I have engaged the services of a lawyer well known to my family who will represent us to the best of his ability. I have every reason to hope for the best."

Glances around the table. For a bunch of common sailors, they are well versed in the ways of the world. I am glad of my packet of letters.

"You have done well, Mr. Raeburne. A glass of wine with you. To Robin Raeburne, for having gone off and done a thankless task, while we had all the fun!"

"Hear, hear!" say all and raise and drain their glasses. Robin is not fooled. He does not exactly glower at me, but he doesn't really beam, either.

"Now," I say, and lean forward, "this is the plan of the day. We are going to release the French crews ashore. Mr. Drake, I want you to handle that—and be careful, the prisoners are quite testy by this time. At noon, I am going to send a boat off to the Flag telling them of the situation. We will then muster the men for Inspection. After that, I have some things I wish to say to them and we will then go to holiday routine.

"By tomorrow morning the Flag will have had time to run around in circles and finally decide on a new Captain and some new regular officers for the
Wolverine
and send them over ... no, no ... we knew this could not last forever and this is the perfect time to end it. We will muster the crew again and have a Change of Command, and I will leave the ship. I will go back to London and continue Robin's good work in securing for us and the crew the prize money we so richly deserve. That is all. Anything else? Good, then. Let's get on with it."

Sub-Lieutenant-at-Arms Drake brings the first batch of prisoners out into the air. There are at least thirty pistols trained on them as they crawl down the netting and get into the boat.

I had previously gone down into the hold, dressed in my full rig with pistols, headband, and sword, and addressed them in French. I told them they are not going to be taken to England to be hanged, but instead will be put back on French soil. Some listen in stony, disbelieving silence, some fall to their knees in gratitude for their lives. I tell them we will take them over in three shifts, that being the capacity of our two boats. They will be placed on the spit of land that sticks out into the sea and all must wait there till the last of them are landed. The last ones to be landed will be the Captains and Mates, and they will be put on their knees and shot through the head if the terms of the release are not observed to the letter by those on shore.
Vous me comprenez?

It seems they do.

I go to visit the miserable Mr. Luce in his cell.

"I am releasing the French crews this morning."

The doomed man sighs and nods, not lifting his head.

"Do you have a wife?"

He nods.

"Do you wish to write her a last letter?"

He nods again.

Now it is my turn to sigh and drop the farce. "You were not a very good spy, Mr. Luce. In fact, you were pathetic. Did you know the whole torture thing next door was a sham? That Kopp was killed cleanly in the taking of the ship he was on, killed by one of my men when he drew a bead on me?"

He looks up, incredulous.

"I am going to put you ashore with the others." His mouth drops open. "Do not think I am doing it for you, as I am not—I hate spies of any stripe, French or British—spies make friends with people and gain their confidence and love, and then betray those very same people. It turns my stomach to think of it."

He looks up with a glimmer of hope in his eye. I continue.

"No, I am doing it for myself. I do not want your death on my head. I do not want you joining the host of ghosts who line up at night to destroy my sleep."

I pause and then dig a coin out of my pocket. It is a small gold coin, French, and it has about the worth of an American ten-dollar gold piece. I flip it in the air to him. It lands in his lap.

"Take that," I say, "and take your wife and run away, run away as far as you can, for when the French spies learn how much you have told me, your life will not be worth a farthing.
I suggest Italy. America. Or Russia. Anywhere but France or England, for count on it, the Admiralty shall know your face."

I hold up the charcoal portrait I had done of him. It's a very good likeness. He blanches and nods.

The prisoner transfer goes smoothly. We do not have to shoot any Captain or Mate. Both the
Wolverine
and I are heartily glad to be rid of them. Standing in the rigging, with my glass to my eye, watching them finally scatter, I wonder if they will tell tales of the Gallant Female British Officer.

Nay, no chance. There will be tales of the Cruel Girl Pirate, if anything.

The Bo'sun blows the whistle and Eli beats the drum and the men go to quarters for Inspection, and while they are doing it, I write the letter to the Flag.

Commodore Shawcross
Squadron Fourteen

My Dear Sir:

It is with regret that I must inform you of the death by natural causes of Captain Abraham Scroggs, late commander of the HMS
Wolverine.

However, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that since taking command, as ranking officer aboard, I have taken three French merchant ships laden with cargo as prizes. I wish you the joy of your share of the prize money.

Although it has been a great honor to serve the King in the
way I have done, I know that you are sure to want to replace me as Captain of the
Wolverine
with an officer of higher rank. I await your word on this.

Your most humble and obedient servant,

Acting Lieutenant J. M. Faber

Master and Commander, HMS
Wolverine

I had told the Bo'sun that after the prisoner drop he should leave one boat in the water alongside and ready to go. I also sent word for Midshipman George Piggott to make himself ready to take command of that boat for the delivering of a letter to the Flag officer. We are at the southernmost tip of our patrol and so the boat should reach the flagship in a short time—maybe in as little as four hours. So they'll get the word and have time to make preparations and be here tomorrow, but will not have enough time to do it today.

I take my folded and sealed letter topside and go to the rail and look down at the boat. The crew looks up expectantly. I feel something against my leg and look down and find George Piggott standing by my side.

"Make us proud by your behavior, Mr. Piggott. Stand up straight and strong. Show the Flagship what a true Werewolf looks like." I put my hand on his shoulder and leave it there.

"So you are going to leave?" he says, very quietly.

"Yes, Georgie. Tomorrow, sometime. Depending on when the Flag sends someone over."

"What are they going to do to you, Jacky?" he asks. He looks off into the distance.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Georgie. I'll be fine. I always am." I reach over and ruffle his hair. "I always bob up, somehow."

"I'll never be brave like you, Jacky. I ... I should have stayed a ship's boy." He looks down at his feet.

"Come, Georgie. I know you liked being a ship's boy—so did I, when I was one—but you can't stay a ship's boy forever. Tucker and Eli and Tremendous will be seamen in their own right soon, you know that, don't you?"

He nods, takes the letter and puts it in his jacket, salutes, and goes down into the boat. The sail is lifted, pulled taut, and they are off.

The Bo'sun's Mate comes up to me and says, "All ready for Inspection, Lieutenant."

I nod and follow him to make the Inspection, but I do not inspect, as I know everything is in order. Instead, I look into the eyes of each man and shake his hand and thank him.

Shaughnessy ... Wilson ... Grimes ... Harper ... James ... York ... Bowdoin...
the list goes on and on, all one hundred of them, bless 'em ...
Scott ... Irwin ... Corbett ... Coughlin ... Reilly...

Finally it is done, me havin' already dissolved into tears by about the first twenty of 'em.

There is a podium and I mount up behind it and wipe my eyes. I look out at them at their stations on the deck and in the rigging, and when I think I can speak, I do.

"Werewolves!"

There is a roar in reply.

"Tomorrow I will leave this ship, and I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to see that you get your rightful shares in the prizes we took!"

Another roar. I lift the bag of money and put it on the podium.

"Right now, we have this bag of money that we took from the captains and passengers of the prizes. We have totaled it up and divided it, deciding not to wait for the Prize Board to decide on the rightness of it, for did we not stand on board as brothers? Did we not?"

A roar.
Werewolves! Werewolves! Werewolves!

"Well, this little bit comes to five pounds six per seaman."

There is a great sucking in of breath. That is
quite
a sum of money to a common seaman. 'Course I had added a bit from the Captain's stash, to sweeten the pot, like, figuring the men had it comin', putting up with Scroggs for all that time like they did. And the spies were carryin' a good bit of change, too. They certainly were.

"This will be entered by your name on the ship's log, along with your regular pay. You will receive it when you go off the ship."

We can't give it to them now, for they would certainly gamble, even when told not to, and all the money would end up in the pockets of a few of the sharper ones.

"As I am going off the ship, if there are any of you who wish this money to go to your wives or families, and they live near London, tell the Purser, and I will be happy to see that it happens."

I pause and look out at them for the last time as Master and Commander of the
Wolverine.
"As for now, there will be a special dinner prepared from the stores of the last ship, an extra tot, a bottle of perfume for each of your wives or sweethearts, and holiday routine for all!"

Another roar.

"And an extra shilling for the man that first puts a pennywhistle in my hand!"

James Emerson Fletcher, Midshipman
On board HMS
Essex
On station off France

My Dear Jacky,

Although I despair of ever hearing from you again, much less actually seeing you and taking your hand in mine, I shall continue to keep corresponding with you in this manner as it does give me some comfort in that I feel that I am communicating with you on some level, spiritual or otherwise.

I am still studying for my lieutenancy, though I take no joy in it, my real interest in this life having taken to her heels and run from me, and I am back on board the
Essex,
on patrol off the French coast.

I have sent word throughout the fleet concerning the possibility that you were somehow contained in it, though in what capacity I cannot imagine. If you are here, could you be posing as a boy again? No ... not likely. What would be the point? Could some unscrupulous officer have ... no, I will not think of that possibility.

If you could read this, you would be happy to know that I have placed your Judy and my Hattie with a lovely old woman, Lady Chumbley, who is greatly in need of their company and care. Judy and Hattie have been getting along famously. It is a good post, and though it will not last forever, I believe all concerned are happy.

Judy had told me, in vivid detail, a good deal of your life on the streets, before you had joined the company of the
Dolphin,
and while I took her wild tales with more than one grain of salt, I did enjoy hearing stories of you, however fanciful. However, I was disabused of the notion that the stories were exaggerations, to a great extent, when Judy, before being conveyed to Lady Chumbley's residence, asked that she be permitted to visit your old "kip," as she put it. I agreed, of course, but only on the condition that I be allowed to accompany her. She protested, thinking that not at all wise, but I persisted and she finally agreed.

Upon gaining the place, that dank place under the old bridge, it was all I could do not to draw the handkerchief soaked in cologne water that I kept in my sleeve as protection for my nose from the smells of the city, and putting it to my face and keeping it there. In deference to the children living there in that place, though, I managed not to do it. Even so, I was aghast at the thought of you, my brave but still frail and fine flower, living here in this squalor all those years. I truly cannot put my mind around it all.

The urchins received Judy as an old comrade and there were expressions of great joy as she doled out portions of her meager earnings into each hand, money, I then realized, that she had been saving up for just such a purpose. I, however, was viewed with the greatest of suspicion. I suddenly felt ashamed of my own wealth and position.

The excited conversation flowed and I was astounded to hear from the girl Joannie that you had visited here on your arrival back in Britain. It seems that all the whole world has had the joy of your company, all except me.

Judy informed me, upon our taking leave of the place, that, had I ventured in there and had she not been with me, I would have been clubbed, stripped, and left unconcious and naked in the street in under two minutes, but I cannot quite believe that. They are just children, after all.

So, to sum it up, Judy and Hattie seem content and contemplate their futures with happiness, but that same happiness, however, continues to elude me, as word of you and your whereabouts are still unknown to all. In desperation, I had written to your school in Boston and have received a reply from your friend Miss Amy Trevelyne to the effect that you have not returned there and she is frantic with worry over your safety. I fear I have done wrong in alarming her, but I saw no other path in trying to find you.

In addition, I have sent ... wait ... there is a knock on my door...