Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (36 page)

I pull out my purse and call out, "A drink for every man and woman in the house, compliments of the
Emerald,
the finest privateer ever to sail the ocean sea!"

That gets another great cheer and soothes the landlady's mind, for she beams and starts drawing pints.

I go to the biggest table of all and am seated next to Padraic, which is as it should be, as we are the ones of a common age. John Reilly sits to my left, which is as it should be, too, as we are similar in rank. I know this is Padraic's first time out in a place such as this without being under his father's watchful eye and he is flushed with pleasure. Liam had agreed to have Padraic put in the other section from his, thinking it was, as he said, time to loosen the leash on the boy. I look carefully at Padraic and say to myself,
Careful, me lad,
but he seems to be handling himself all right. He sips at his pint without slamming it down as young men are wont to do their first time out.

"A glass of rum with you, Miss Faber," says young Arthur McBride from across the table. Now there's one who ain't being careful at all. I sense John Reilly tensing up as Arthur ain't supposed to be quite so familiar with me, but I put my hand on my First Mate's arm to quell his urge to put the youthful sailor in his place.

"Nay, Mr. McBride," I say. "I have taken a vow never to taste strong spirits again. But I will take a glass of wine with you." A glass is poured for me and I hold it up to him and take a sip and then I look away from him. That's the way it is done, according to the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls.

"No strong spirits, Miss? It seems a mighty stern vow," says John Reilly.

"Aye, John," I say. "But I took spirits one time to great excess and not only did I disgrace myself but also I lost the love of my dearest friend. It was then that I took the vow on the brow of one fine soul named Millie."

"Did you take the vow in the name of some saint, like Saint Bridget or Saint Brendan, then?" says Arthur McBride, who is plainly not going to be kept out of the conversation.

"No, I took it in the name of Saint Millie, a dog, actually, but one who saved my life at risk of her own, and whenever I am tempted to let rum or whisky slip twixt my lips, I think of her loving and trusting and loyal countenance and I cannot do it."

"Well said," says John Reilly, and there are murmurs of agreement all around. These Irish lads, they do love their saints, but they do love their dogs, too.

Well, enough of being good,
I think, and look out across the table.

A great platter of cold raw oysters is laid out in front of me. I reach out and take one and lift the shell and tip it toward my mouth and Padraic, who sits next to me, must look away. Padraic, poor farm boy from the interior who has never even seen an oyster let alone eaten one, must look away as I tip the shell and drop the gray glob into my open mouth. The devil is in me, I can feel it now for sure, and I pull his shoulder around to make him look at me as I open my lips and tongue the oyster and then swallow it and say,
Ahhhh ... surely you'll join me in some, Padraic.

There are slices of lemon there and I grab a wedge and squeeze the juice of it on top of a few of the oysters and they are so fresh, I swear I see them jerk as the juice hits them. I send several more to their graves at the bottom of my gut and then I look about with great satisfaction. I've found that a good deal of the pleasure in eating oysters is in watching the disgust on the faces of people who do not enjoy them, as you hoist them up and slide them down your neck.

More platters are brought and I turn to the offerings they bear—smoked salmon, grilled perch, and,
oh yes, Padraic, you must try these, the baby octopus from Spain ... see the little tentacles there? They are quite chewy and good.
I take one up and wiggle it at him.
Wait, now you. Stop teasing him, as he is a fine boy and just off the farm. What can he know of these exotic things? Here, a bit of trout with you then, my bold and noble sailor,
and I pick up a piece and push it to his lips and he lets it in.

"A song please, Jacky!" says some bloke who's forgot his place. They've seen and heard me play my fiddle and whistle on board ship, but I have never yet sung, nor have I danced, for the sake of discipline. Now, though, I stand at my place and toss back my head and sing out:

"
Come cheer up, me lads, and banish all fear
For on our ship the
Em-er-ald
'Tis to Glory that we steer!
To Honor She calls you, as free men not slaves,
For none are so free
As the Sons of the Waves!
"

I messed a bit here and there with the lyrics to "Hearts of Oak," but they get it and come roaring back with the chorus, roaring fit to shake the windows:

"
Heart of Oak is our Ship!
Hearts of Oak are our Men!
We are always ready—STEADY, BOYS, STEADY!
We will fight and we'll conquer and do it all again
Singing the
Emerald's
song of Freeeeeeeeedom!
"

They messed with some lyrics there themselves, and they really came down hard with their mugs on the tabletops with
STEADY, BOYS, STEADY!
but I guess it goes with the song. I pop back up with:

"
Come all you quick young Irish Lads,
Who soon will come home,
With presents in your pockets and money to your names.
The girls will bob and coo and blink their eyes at you,
For who's the bravest of them all
But the Emerald's gallant crew!
"

That nails them down for sure and they go and hammer out the chorus, and then Arthur McBride stands up, a bit unsteadily, and holds up his hand and, when all is quiet, sings out in a clear tenor:

"
Now Gracie was a wild one,
Anne Bonny was the same,
But our Jacky of the
Emerald
Puts both of them to shame!
"

Well! The boyo's got a bit of the Irish poet in him, I see. There's more cheers and they finish up with another turn of the chorus and I stand and raise my glass, "To Arthur McBride, the
Emerald
's very own Celtic Bard!"

More toasts are lifted and drunk and then someone bellows out, "Give us another song, Jacky!" "Yes, a song!" says another and there are claps all around, so I put down my glass and pull my pennywhistle from my sleeve and place it on my lips. What to play for these Irish lads? Ah, what could be more Irish than this? I play the melody through once and a sailor cries, "Why, 'tis 'Whisky in the Jar'!"

And indeed it is. I put down the whistle and lift my head and sing out the first verse.

"
As I was a-going over Killgarrah Mountain,
I spied Colonel Farrell and his money he was countin'
Quick I drew me pistols and I rattled forth me saber,
Sayin' Stand and Deliver! For I am your bold deceiver!
"

As I'm singing this, I come around the table and stand in front of Arthur McBride and I come down hard on "Stand and Deliver!" and extend my hand that holds my whistle and I point it at his breastbone as if it were a sword. He plays his part by broadly pantomiming shock and anger. Then I do the chorus:

"
Musha ringum duram da,
Whack! for the laddie-o,
Whack! for the laddie-o,
There's whisky in the jar!
"

Now I leave the newly robbed Mr. McBride and skip around the table to stand behind Padraic. I put my hands on his shoulders and sing out:

"
He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny,
I took the money home and I gave it to my Jenny,
She sighed and she swore that she never would betray me
But the Devil's in the women and they never will be easy!
"

And when singing the last line I put on my most evil opened-mouth smile and run my fingers slowly up each side of Padraic's smooth young face. Whoops from the crowd and I lean over to see that the lad's face is as red as his hair.

I belt out the chorus again and this time the crowd joins in, bringing their tankards down hard on the tabletops with each
Whack!
And, with each
Whack!
the landlady is beginning to look a little more worried. More verses, two in a row and skip the chorus, I'm thinking...

"
The next mornin' early as I rose to travel,
Up stepped a band of footmen and likewise Colonel Farrell,
I flew to my pistols, but, alas, I was mistaken,
For my Jenny'd wet the powder and a prisoner I was taken!

"
They put me in the jail with a Judge all a-writin',
For robbing Colonel Farrell up on Killgarrah Mountain,
But they didn't take me fists, so I knocked the jailer down,
And bid a farewell to this tight-fisted town!
"

I lifted up my puny fists in front of my face like a prizefighter on this one, got a laugh, and went to the chorus again, and then motioned for silence so I could sing the last verse at a much slower, more dreamy tempo, and when all are quiet and waiting, I slip myself into Padraic's lap and put my arms around his neck and sing, all whispery and low...

"
Some take delight in the fishing and the bowling,
Others take delight in the carriages a-rolling,
But I take delight in the juice of the barley,
And courting pretty boys in the morning so early!
"

With that I plant a kiss on Padraic's blushing cheek and then pop back up, fist in the air, and we roar out the final chorus...

"
Musha ringum duram da,
WHACK! for the laddie-o,
WHACK! for the laddie-o,
There's whisky in the jar!
"

And this time the windows shake and threaten to shatter with the raw power of our voices raised together in song and good fellowship. Through the cheers and hoorays and applause I go to the center of the room and call out, "Now give me room as I means to dance!"

"Would you like a cold compress for your forehead, Miss?" says Higgins the next morning. I crack open an eyelid and I think I catch a note of primness in his voice.

"Whatever gave you that idea? I've never had a headache in my life, 'cept once, and I didn't drink any spirits last night," I say, turning over and groaning. "But put it on anyway." I lie back on my pillow and I must admit the cool, wet cloth feels good.

"I didn't do anything wrong. We ate, we drank, we sang, we danced. And we all got back here by midnight. What's the matter with that?"

"You got back here before midnight because you were all thrown out at eleven thirty."

"That landlady was damned ungrateful, if you ask me, for all the fine custom we brought her."

Higgins doesn't say anything for a while and then he says, "After you've had some breakfast, you might speak with Captain Delaney."

"Did it ever occur to any of you that sometimes I just want to act like a frisky young girl? Just sometimes?"

What next?

***

I go out on the quarterdeck and Liam is standing there all massive against the morning sky. I walk up beside him but he doesn't say anything.

Hmmm.
I don't say anything, either.

He turns and goes to the other rail.

"All right, Liam, what's the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter. It is your ship. You act the way you want to act."

Ah.

"Out with it, Liam. I will have nothing between us."

He takes a breath and says, "Padraic is just a boy, but he is a fine boy. He sees you as the very picture of action and adventure. That is all right. But I do not want you to toy with his affections if you have no thought to carry on with such an alliance."

Oh, Lord. Time for the knees. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
The knees hit the deck and the hands come up under the chin in a prayerful attitude. "I'm so sorry, Father, and I won't do it again. It's just 'cause I'm young and wasn't brought up proper. Didn't get the proper guidance, like. And I really do like Padraic, he's a fine lad, it's just that I've decided to live single..."

"Aye. I've heard you say that before. Now stand up, you young fool," he says and pulls me to my feet, but now he is trying to keep from grinning. I am forgiven. Again.

This evening I will go out again, for it wouldn't be seemly for me to socialize with one-half of my crew and not the other, but I vow to be more restrained this time. I'll take my fiddle and play more tunes—more dignified-like, with not so much wild dancing as last night. And I'll dance only on the floor, not on the tabletop.

Was I too familiar with Padraic last night? I heave a heavy sigh. I'm afraid I was and now I'm going to have to frost him out for a while to show he has no chance with me in the way of love, as I do intend to live single all of my life. But did I really sit in his lap last night? Oh, my.

Ah, well, tonight I shall be good. Liam will be my escort and that will make me be good.

But it didn't work out quite that way ... it never does, and it is a bleary-eyed gang of Emeralds, myself included, who set sail on the next morning's tide.

The two-masted schooner tried to slip out of a little harbor just north of Calais at dusk. He managed to slip through the blockade, but he didn't slip through us. We came in behind him and cut him off from the land, and he started to make a run to the west. We heeled over and the chase was on. It had been three weeks since we had shipped out of Harwich and we were hungry.

Liam and I each have our eyes pressed to our long glasses, our usual posture when a prize is in sight. The ship seems low in the water, like maybe he's carrying a good, heavy cargo.

"Looks like a choice one, Liam," I say. I make no effort to keep the greed out of my voice. I'm hoping we can catch this smuggler, as the men are getting restless—I mean, the food is good, better than on any warship or merchant that I know, and we have music and dancing and stuff, but I know the men want plunder, money for their pockets and for their families—this being the first real chance of a capture since we left Harwich, as ships like that one are growing ever more wary of rascals like us.