Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (2 page)

I see Wiggins furrow his brow over his piggy little eyes, and I know he is thinking:
The female in question, that Jacky Faber: bad. Authority in the person of the British Captain: good.
He nods, then blows his whistle, and he and his henchmen wade into the crowd, swinging their rods.

"Get her below!" yells Captain Rutherford. "Put her in the brig! And keep watch on her.
Yeow!
Damn!" He ducks as another arrow whizzes by his head. It appears that not all of the Dianas went down with the gangway.

I had seen Jaimy try to struggle up the gangway.
Oh, Jaimy! Don't! It won't work! Go back!
But with the crush of girls and parents, he could not gain the quarterdeck, and now with the gangway fallen, there is no hope of him boarding.
Could I not have spoken to him, embraced him, been with him, if even for a moment? Oh, why am I denied even that?
I slump down, defeated, in the hands of my captors, who begin to drag me to a hatchway.

As I am pulled back from the rail, I lose sight of the people on the wharf, but I can see fish and vegetables and various animal parts continue to rain down on the formerly spotless deck, and I can hear the howls of rage and the curses that continue unabated from the crowd. A bucket arcs through the air and hits the deck, spilling bloody chicken heads across the booted toes of the still-lined-up officers. And above it all, there's Wiggins, sounding like an enraged bull as he bellows orders to his men, who attempt to control the mob.

One of the marines kicks open the hatch, and I am shoved toward the hole, but then I hear: "
Release her or I'll kill you where you stand!
"

I snap my head around and see that Jaimy has managed to get on deck and is facing Captain Rutherford. He must have crawled up Two Line, just like when he was a ship's boy, and now he's red in the face with fury and he is drawing his sword.
No, Jaimy, don't. There's too many of them!

Captain Rutherford puffs up, his face as angry and red as Jaimy's, as he pulls his own sword and roars, "A boy dares come aboard my ship, dressed in the uniform of my service, and addresses me thus? I fear it shall be you, Sir, who is killed, not me!" I see him nod at officers who stand behind Jaimy, but Jaimy does not. A large man pins Jaimy's arms to his sides before he can get his sword even halfway out of its scabbard.

Jaimy sputters in helpless rage, "God damn you to Hell! Get them off me! Stand and fight me like a man!"

Captain Rutherford calmly puts the point of his sword at Jaimy's throat and demands, "Just who the hell are you and what is your concern in all this?" The sharp point pricks Jaimy's neck and a bright spot of blood appears and runs several inches down the blade.

Don't tell them, Jaimy!
I silently mouth and shake my head.
No, they'll take you, too!

But to no avail, no, as Jaimy is angry beyond all reason. He puffs up and shouts in the Captain's face, "I am Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher of His Majesty's Royal Navy, I am affianced to this girl, and I demand satisfaction of you!"

"You shall have neither the girl nor the satisfaction that you crave," replies Captain Rutherford, smiling slyly. He withdraws the point of his sword from Jaimy's neck and wipes the blood from it on the arm of Jaimy's coat and then sheathes his sword. "I have need of a junior lieutenant. Mr. Henshaw, see that Mr. Fletcher's name is entered into the log of the ship's company." An officer next to the Captain nods. The Captain goes on. "You are now under my command. I am now your Captain. Reach for your sword again or utter one more threat against me and you are a dead man. Hanged from that yardarm, as per Navy Regulations. Understood?"

Jaimy strains against the arms that hold him, never taking his eyes off those of the Captain. He is beyond coherent speech, but the Captain is not. "You, Sir, have been read into the ship's company and you will go back to England with us! Your apparent interest and past association with this criminal female will be viewed as quite suspect! I may tell you that, Sir! Quite suspect and with the greatest suspicion!"

Just then I see the head of little Rebecca Adams appearing above the
Juno's
rail. Having seen Jaimy climb the rope, she must have figured she could do the same, and she was right. 'Tis plain that she slipped out of her school dress and did the climbing in her undershirt and drawers, our old fighting costume on the
Bloodhound.
Then Caroline Thwackham's head appears at the rail, then Beatrice's, then Annie is over, and then...

And then they're
all
over the ship and up in its rigging.

"God damn it! God damn it to Hell!" screams Captain Rutherford, upon seeing this. "Get them down! Get them off my ship!"

Rebecca, before she heads up the ratlines, plucks a few belaying pins from their rack along the rail and begins flinging them at those who would pursue her. Yelps are heard from those sailors who get too close to her. Having fended them off, she sticks a few more pins in the waistband of her drawers and climbs aloft.

The attempts of Jaimy and my Sisters to rescue me renew my spirit and I jerk my arms suddenly and,
yes!
I manage to get away from the marines for just a second and I head for the side.
If I can just get over! If I can just...

But, no. An arm gets me around the waist just as I am about to launch myself over to freedom, and I am pinioned again. This time I am thrown facedown on the deck, with heavy feet grinding me down. I see belaying pins, hurled from above, hitting the deck and bouncing. Over there a sailor kneels and holds his head.
Good shot, Rebecca!

Then I look up to see a now belaying-pin-less Rebecca being grappled by her former midshipman sweetheart. "Please, Becky, dear!" he cries plaintively, but the fiercely struggling form he can barely contain in his arms bears very little resemblance to the dear girl with whom he kept such fond company on the voyage here.

Then I am roughly hoisted up and hauled below and I see no more of this battle. The dark hatchway swallows me up and I am tumbled down stairs, across a deck, and into the brig. While I see no more of the tumult, the noise of it goes on for what seems a very long time. Then, gradually, all grows quiet, and once again, in yet another jail cell, I am left alone with my thoughts.

Home again, girl.

In deep despair, I sit on the bench in the brig and reflect on the past few weeks. It is plain to me now that they knew all along about the warrant for the arrest of the female pirate Jacky Faber. The discovery was undoubtedly made by the
Juno
's doctor as I lay unconscious from the effects of my wounded leg. He would have spied my tattoo and known instantly that I was the one the Admiralty was looking for. I can well imagine his excitement as he went and got the Captain, then, upon his arrival at my bedside, whipped back the sheet from my oblivious form lying there naked except for the bandage on my thigh. He would have pointed to the damning mark and congratulated the Captain on his great good luck. Throwing the sheet back over my inert self, they would then have gone for a celebratory drink over their discovery.

They kept it a secret during the voyage from the Sargasso Sea to here, I suppose, to keep the other girls calm. Well, they sure had me fooled. What an idiot I was to think that I might one day be happy. I squeeze out a few tears of self-pity and then wipe them off and review my situation. I look about my cell, which I realize will be my home for the next month or so. It is very similar to other cells I have known—bunk, chamber pot, and bars. Maybe if I give my word and promise not to try to escape, they'll let me out for the voyage. Then I'd get to see Jaimy, at least, for this one last time. Nay, they won't do it. They'd accept word-of-honor from a fellow officer like Jaimy, but not from me.... Being a flighty female, I might do something stupid like jump overboard to cheat the hangman and deny Captain Rutherford his reward.

Funny to think of this now, but I sit here and regret the loss of my maroon riding habit, the one that Amy had given me that Christmas and that Clarissa was wearing when she was thrown overboard. I had to lend her something from my seabag—count on her to take the best. Ah, well, the least of my worries. And besides, where would I wear it now? On the gallows? I'd look elegant, but it's tradition that the hangman gets to keep the clothes of those he hangs, and I wouldn't want the blackguard to get that outfit. Nay, I'll probably just wear my Lawson Peabody black dress. I hear they put a strap around your knees to keep the dress from billowing up when you are dropped. For modesty's sake...
Stop that, you. Enough of that.

I look out through the bars. Once again a marine is posted to guard me. He is standing at Attention. I suppose he will be there around the clock. I still have my shiv up my sleeve ... At least there's that. They didn't think to search me for weapons. After all, I am just a girl.

Funny,
I think,
but when I was being taken, I looked over the rioting crowd for Higgins, as I have come to depend on him for so much, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I mean, I surely didn't expect him to come charging up the side to try to save me like Jaimy did, for that is not his way. But still, strange...

Strange, too, to think that Jaimy is right here on this ship. Probably not fifty feet away from me. Ah, well, it might as well be fifty miles, or fifty thousand miles, for all the good it will do us.
Oh, Jaimy, we were so close, so close to finally coming together at last!

I squeeze out a few more tears on that.

Oh, well, I've got my shiv and I've still got my wits and I'm not dead yet, so a couple more tears of self-pity and then let's get on with it. I take a breath and begin: "And what is your name, Corporal, if I might ask?...Michael Kelley, is it? And a fine, proud Irish name it is. I must say you were most gallant in the performance of your duties this day, Corporal Kelley. To have taken an arrow in the chest and still stand your ground.
Tsk,
such bravery, I can scarce imagine it. I'm sure your sweetheart back home must be very proud of you. What might her name be, could you tell me please, as stories of young love do cheer me in my dark hours, and a dark hour this is for me, indeed ... Ah, 'Mau-reen.' What a lovely name, and she is already wife to you?...What a fine thing ... And do you have wee ones? And what are their names, then..."

Night comes. I am given some food and water, and then all is silence.

I did not think that I would sleep, but I did. When I awoke the next morning to the ringing of the ship's bell, I thought for a moment that I was back on the
Bloodhound,
and I lifted my head from the hard bench to look about for my Sisters, but no such luck—the events of yesterday came flooding back, and I sat up and buried my face in my hands. It had been a long night and the bench was hard, but harder still is the sure knowledge that all my dreams are now dust.

Nevertheless I arose and did the necessaries and groomed myself as best I could, having neither wash water nor soap. I was given a breakfast of tea and burgoo and I ate it. Then I asked my marine if he would get my comb out of my seabag and he did, and I combed my hair and waited.

Now I have not only myself to worry about, but also Jaimy. What will they do to him because of me and what I have done? I burn with indignation. It's not fair, for he had nothing to do with any of it. All he had been guilty of was being steadfast and true to my errant self.
Oh, I am so very hard on my friends...

In the midst of these dark thoughts, I hear a whistle and commands shouted from outside the hull. What is this? They do not sound like naval commands, what with stomping of boots and clatter of arms. My marine looks curiously out of the hatch.

"What is it, Michael?" I ask, standing and grasping the bars and straining to look up what little I can see of the hatch.

"It's a troop of soldiers, Miss," he says. "British Regulars, it looks like. Where they come from, I ain't got the foggiest. Down from Canada, maybe?"

What the hell?

"There's a full colonel being piped aboard now, and the Captain and himself is takin' off their hats and bowin' at each other like a pair o' bloody peacocks. Damn peculiar it is, Miss. I ain't seen no Redcoat Regulars since we left England, I haven't."

Hmmmm.

My Corporal Kelley continues to listen to the goings-on outside. Then he suddenly lurches back to his station and hits a brace—musket at Parade Rest, chest out, chin in, back straight as a ramrod. The reason for this is quickly apparent.

"Corporal! Bind the prisoner and bring her up!" shouts down someone, who I suspect is the senior marine officer on board.

Corporal Kelley loses not a second.

"Yes, Sir!" he cries and reaches for the cell key, which I had previously noted was hung on a hook next to the hatchway. "Sorry, Miss, we must take you up."

He crams the key into the lock, turns it, and the door to my cage swings open. I step out. "It is all right, Michael. I place myself in your care. Will you take up my bag, please?" I put my hands before me and they are bound. Gently and lightly bound, to be sure, but bound nonetheless.

I put on the Look, and then we go up the hatchway stairs and emerge into the light.

I blink, and when my eyes adjust to the brightness, I see that Captain Rutherford stands next to an officer, a British colonel in full regimental rig. There are other army officers on the quarterdeck as well, arrayed in all their red-coated splendor behind their leader. The colonel, wearing a conical high hat, scarlet coat with a bit of ribbon in his lapel, white trousers, and shiny black boots, is, I believe, in the uniform of the Royal Dragoons. His hair is powdered, and in his hand is a fancy handkerchief. He affects a look of high hauteur as he says, "You will see the papers are in order, Captain. It is a simple matter of prisoner transferal. His Majesty's intelligence operatives in New York wish to question her before she's sent over to face justice." He glances over at me.

"Ah, so this is the valuable piece of baggage, then?" he asks, contemptuously, looking me up and down with great disdain. "Hardly remarkable looking."