Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (42 page)

Liam grunts in answer and we go out on the bowsprit walkway. The net below is really there not for fun but to catch any unlucky sailor who might fall off while tending to the fore-and-aft sails that are attached there. But fun is certainly to be had on it, as Mairead soon finds out.

We doff our cloaks and I show her how to climb down into the netting. It's a scary thing the first time you do it, but she's a game one and soon she's next to me down below in the belly of the net. Then the
Emerald
comes on a mighty rolling wave, lifts her nose high in the air. "Hang on, Mairead!" I shriek, and then down she plunges, right into the heart of the wave and everything is cool and green and bright.

We come up wet and gasping and I point and shout, "Look there's one!" and she looks over and is astounded to see a large dolphin swimming right next to us, eyeing us merrily, it seems. Dolphins always have this smiley look on their faces and they seem to enjoy this sport as much as we do.

"And another over here!" exults Mairead, looking like a veritable Irish mermaid with her red hair plastered about her laughing face.

"Open your eyes when we go down again and you'll see more of them!" I say, and down we plunge again. Sure enough, there seems to be about a dozen of the creatures gamboling about down there in the misty green depths below us.

The sea provides us with a fine set of rolling swells, but then calms down a bit, as it always seems to do, and Mairead and I climb back up a little higher in the netting and turn over on our backs to catch our breath and await the next batch of good waves.

Looking up we are treated to the sight of the bottom of the latrine. If I had my way, each man aboard would use a chamber pot like we ladies do and dump it demurely over the side, but, no, that is not the way of men. And so we see right above us, as we lie laughing in the netting, the round holes of the Seats of Ease as they are called—the latrine holes that are set out from the side of the head of the ship and so are called the Head. Mercifully, the hull of my
Emerald
has been scrubbed clean by the waves that crash about Mairead and myself, tumbling us about in their grasp, or else we should be disgusted.

"Oh, my God!" cries Mairead suddenly, crossing her arms across her breast. She frees one finger and points ... and there, not six feet away, is the grinning head of Arthur McBride, sticking upside down out of one of the Head holes. This apparition is soon joined by the face of Ian McConnaughey hanging in an adjacent hole.

"The cheek of the rascals!" I shout and cup a handful of water and throw it at Arthur's face. "Away with you now!"

The water hits his foolish face and he sputters and laughs, saying, "Do it again, Jacky, please, as water that comes from your own dear hands is like the very nectar to me face!" I stand up wobbly in the netting and put my finger in Arthur McBride's face.

"You get yourself and your face out of there, Arthur McBride! Ain't you got no sense of decency?"

"Oh, ho, I do, Jacky my love, and I do think you look right decent right now!"

I'm trying to keep a stern look on my face, but I ain't succeeding. The two idiots must be doing handstands on the benches up above and...

Suddenly Arthur McBride's face registers comical shock as he and his head are jerked upward. I suspect John Reilly or some other responsible member of my crew has discovered the prank and is taking care of it. I hear cries and sounds of struggle from above, but before Ian McConnaughey can be hauled back up to his own destruction, Mairead reaches up, grabs him by the ears, and plants a great, wet, salty kiss on his mouth. A moment later, he, too, disappears from sight, jerked up from above. Ah, but jerked up a much happier man than he was when first he stuck his head in that hole.

Mairead and I hug each other and howl with laughter. The
Emerald
dips down again, and again we are submerged in the green water. When we come back up, gasping, someone is yelling something at me.

"Sail, Jacky! A ship is coming through the Strait!"

I'm up on deck in an instant, my wet feet slapping on the deck as I run back to my cabin, with Mairead right behind me.

"Clear for action!" I call out just before I go through my door. "Higgins! Towels! Get my fighting rig!"

I rip my wet shirt off over my head and take the towel and rub myself with it, then off with the drawers and dry my lower half, then on with the gear. Within three minutes Higgins is strapping on my sword belt. Stuffing my pistols in their holsters, I say, "Mairead, you stay down here!" and head back out on deck.

"Oooohhh, just look at him, so plump and helpless," I marvel. "Is he asking to be taken by such as us?"

"He probably was in convoy with an escort," says Liam, "but I suspect the escort was called away to deal with Nelson's fleet and this one decided to chance it and keep going rather than duck into port."

"Bad luck for him, then." I put down my glass and shout, "Muster the Boarding Party port side! Sully, fire when you get close enough!" The ayes come back quick and sharp—this looks to be a nice prize, maybe our best one yet.

"He came out hugging the African shore, I suppose to stay as far away from the guns of Gibraltar as possible."

"Is he Spanish?"

"I think so, from the shape of him. He changed flags a little while ago—I think that's a Maltese one he's got up now—he did it when he saw by our change of course that we were interested in him, but that ain't gonna help him. We'll find out what he is when we board. If he's a friendly or a neutral, we'll let him go with our compliments, but I don't think so..."

There's a
crack!
and a puff of smoke, which blows back over us as Sully fires the bow gun. I've come to like the smell of gunpowder—it smells to me of money.

The ball falls short, but not by much. The prize turns to the right, and when we see that, Liam gives the order to the helm and sees to the new set of the sails while I holler out, "Boarding Party to the starboard side! Get ready, boys!"

The prize is trying to run, but he's just too slow, and
yes!
there's a golden crucifix on his mainmast! He
is
a Spaniard!

The crew of the prize is running about in total confusion—I don't think they even have a single gun mounted—what did I do to deserve such good fortune? A moment later the prize slacks its sails and heaves to under our lee and waits for us to board, which we waste no time doing. The hooks are thrown, the ships pulled together and I'm up on the rail and over, sword drawn and looking for the Captain.

There he is, looking grim over by his helm, as my lads swarm over his ship, taking possession. He takes one look at me and says
Dios!
I bow to him and manage to make him understand that he and his men will not be harmed, and then there's a flash of red hair at my side and it is not Padraic's. Mairead is standing there with the hilt of a cutlass held in both hands. She points the thing at the amazed Captain.

"Stand and Deliver!" she says, and then grins at me. "I always wanted to say that."

I rein in the horse and look out over the port of Harwich, where my beautiful Emerald lies at anchor a few hundred yards off the quay. I can never look upon her without my chest swelling with joy and pride. I know that pride is a sin, and Pride Goeth Before a Fall, but I can't help it.

The prize lies off to the left of us, in the hands of her new owners, who are fitting her out for the transatlantic trade, this time with guns.
Smart move,
I'm thinking.

The gelding, which whinnies and blows beneath me, is grateful for this short rest, as I have been riding him hard. I had Higgins rent him for me for a day's outing, with the regular saddle. Higgins protested most vigorously, but I prevailed—
I know how to ride sidesaddle, Higgins, I just don't like it. When we go off into Society, I promise I'll do it all the time—ride to the hounds in the silly female rig, even, but for now, please get a regular saddle. I'll wear my cloak over my uniform and trousers so there will be no scandal. Pleeeease, Higgins...

I win again.

***

On the day we took that prize, it was not long before Mairead, stripped of her cutlass, was hauled squalling back aboard the
Emerald
over her father's shoulder and the Spaniards were in their lifeboat and heading for the coast of their native land and we were headed north with their former ship following behind us. The
Santo Domingo,
for that is what she turned out to be, was newly back from the Orient and was filled with spices, rare silver treasures, and fine silk. There will be presents for wives and sweethearts from this load, that's for sure. Maybe something for my cabin, too.
And
money for our pockets.

It's been a long time since I sat a horse and I felt the need to get out and away, alone. Mairead is not allowed off the ship, and besides, she is not a lover of horses. So
I found myself in bad company, even though I was alone
as the song goes. I have my pistols strapped to my chest, 'cause Higgins insisted, not totally trusting the ethics of the locals.

I mounted the horse in the stables down by the docks, burst out the doors, past the church, and pounded up here to the High Road, leaving a cloud of dust and not a few irate citizens behind me. Hey, I've been working hard and need a bit of fun, I figure. Besides, I've been bringing a lot of honest commerce to this town, so I'm owed.

All right, horse, you've rested enough.
I pull his head up off the grass and around to the left and dig in my heels and we're off again. He is a good horse, with a sort of merry glint in his horsey eye, but I know he will never love me like my dear Gretchen loved me. Or even that Sheik of Araby. Or me him.

I ride up the road to the north and I bring Bucephalus, for that is his name, back up to a full gallop again. I've loosened the front of my cloak and it flies out behind me like a cape—like any highwayman come riding—and I'm whooping like a banshee when we come to a turn in the road. As we round it, I'm astounded to find myself in the midst of a gaggle of young girls, all dressed in white frocks and plainly out for a church outing of some sort. There're blankets laid out and there're baskets of food placed upon them.

I pull back on the reins to keep the horse from trampling them, and he rears back and screams in fright. The girls scatter like a flock of geese and I hear one of them cry, "It's her! She's the one!"

I leap off the back of the horse to pat his neck and calm him down so he won't hurt any of them, and it's then that I realize that my cloak is hanging down my back and there I am in my lieutenant's uniform and my white pants and black boots and, of course, my pistols sticking out of my harness all brazen.

The girls stare at me aghast. One of the braver ones trips up to me, backed up by several of her friends, who hide behind her skirts, and asks, "You are the one, aren't you? The one on the ship with the Irish boys?"

I nod in the way of a bow and say, "I suppose I am. But you needn't be afraid of me. I'm sorry I disturbed your picnic, I was only out for a ride. Please forgive me. I'll be gone now," and I go to remount.

"Wait," says the brave girl in the front. She is a neat and pretty thing, with light brown curls sticking out from under her bonnet. "The boy with the red hair..." Those behind her collapse in giggles.

Ah.

I smile and say, "That would be Padraic Delaney. He is a fine lad ... and ... he is not married."

There is a great shriek from the brave girl's friends.

"And if you would like to be introduced, Miss, come down to my ship and have a tour. Come, all of you. I can—"

Two older women burst into the clearing, take one look at me, and gather up their charges, covering their eyes as best they can, and hustle them away. The brave girl is the last to be hustled off, and she looks back at me with a kind of defiant longing.

The old woman in charge looks at me with undisguised loathing as I throw my leg over the horse. I give her a bit of a salute and turn to go on my way.

We trot up the road and soon woods close in on either side and the road tips upward and eventually we come out into an open place, where lush grasses grow between smooth flat rocks. There is a place to the left where the woods open up enough to see the harbor again and now my
Emerald
looks like a tiny toy boat down below. A perfect place for the picnic that Higgins has packed for me.

I hop down and tie the horse to a tree, but slack enough so that he can get at plenty of grass. I choose a nice rock, throw my cloak over it, and plop myself down upon it. I pull out my whistle, to have a few tunes to see how they float in the air hereabouts—it's my feeling that the tunes on the pennywhistle sound different in different places, whether in the foretop on a stormy day, in a cozy tavern, or here on a windswept heath. Having done my duty there, I open the basket that Higgins has packed for me. Dear Higgins, I have become quite spoiled, I know, as I pull out the chicken pieces, the potato pie, the hard-cooked eggs seasoned with the spices we took from the
Santo Domingo.
I think he is trying to fatten me up, for what I don't know, me living single and all. With that I look off to the south again. Then I shake my head—got to stop doing that.

Having eaten like a pig and drunk the little half bottle of claret that Higgins had packed, I stretch myself lazily in the weak but warm fall sun to think and plan and daydream. I am lulled by the drone of the bees buzzing about doing their last work of the year, and I doze in and out of sleep.

And the warm sun on my face makes my dreaming mind think of the Caribbean and Kingston, and Jaimy and me rolling around with our arms and legs wrapped around each other in the foretop and, Oh, Jaimy! and in that way that dreams have, suddenly I was off and gone and dragged away and he was in a small room, a box, really, writing me letters, letters that he lifted up and held to the wind and the wind had borne them away like fluttering white doves ... And then he puts down the pen and he's standing over me as I lie as if dead and he's crying ... But Jaimy doesn't cry—not that easy, he doesn't, not over my poor dead bones anyway, and he sees me and says Nancy! Nancy! It's you! And I think, Wait a minute, Jaimy—my name ain't Nancy—why, you, I'll give you Nancy, I will, you false...