Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and Lily of the West (39 page)

"...and we mean to find out the truth of the matter."

"I remind you, Allen, that this girl is
my
capture and I'll do what I want with her," says Flashby. "She is nothing more than gallows bait, after all, and as such, she has absolutely no rights."

"And I remind you,
Lieutenant
Flashby, that I outrank you and, as such, am the Officer in Charge of military operations on this expedition!"

"We are merely going to ask her some questions, Captain Allen, that is all. Now if you would kindly step outside, we will get on with it."

Allen, furious, says, "Very well, Mr. Moseley. You have one hour. My men must be fed and put to their rest without disruption. One hour, no more."

And with great emphasis on his last utterance, he leaves the hold, and with him goes any hope I might have had of some protection.

Flashby grins at me and pulls a cigar out of his pocket. He licks the end of it and then steps over to the stove behind me. There is a rattling of metal and when he comes back into my sight, the cigar is lit. He pulls up a chair next to me and puffs a great cloud of smoke in my face.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

I don't answer. The acrid smoke gets in my eyes and makes them leak tears all the more.

Mr. Moseley shuffles through some papers till he finds the one he wants. "It says here that you are wanted for piracy. What do you say to that?"

"Not true. I was a privateer, in the service of King George. I had a Letter of Marque."

"One that was revoked."

"They didn't tell me, when they revoked it. How was I to know? I was at sea, doing what I thought was my duty," I say, my voice full of honest resentment.

"
Hmmm.
What about the charge of misappropriating one of His Majesty's ships?"

"It wasn't his; it was mine. It was my share of the prize money from those ships I took as commander of the
Wolverine.
"

"Well, I'll let you settle that with His Majesty. Now, this business of your involvement in a French spy ring..."

"I
uncovered
the spy ring; I wasn't
involved
in it. I know I saved many lives by my actions, and I take comfort in that," I say. "Not like you, who seek to pay the Indians to murder innocent men, women, and children. How could you be so vile?"

"Ah, so you know about that? You
are
good at sneaking about," says Flashby. He takes a few more hard puffs on his cigar and then knocks off the gray ash, exposing the end, glowing red-hot. He reaches over with his other hand and flips my skirt back from my knees, exposing my legs to mid thigh. Seemingly by accident, he brings the glowing ember close to one knee. I can feel the heat of it and terror grips me, as I know his intent.

"Very well," says Moseley. "That takes care of your past actions, actions for which you will surely swing,
after
Naval Intelligence gets done interrogating you concerning the spy ring. Now, as to the present. How came you to be here, and what are you up to?"

"I ain't up to nothin'. I was taken prisoner by Captain Rutherford of the
Juno.
I escaped, and having no place to hide, I ran for the interior and met up with Lightfoot. I had some money and I hired him to take me down to New Orleans, where I have friends. That's all there is to it."

"Ah. You'll have to do better than that," he says, reaching over to slap me hard across the face.

I cry out, shocked by the suddenness of the blow, and then I blubber out, "I can't tell you anything else! God help me, I don't know anything else! Please believe me!
Oh, please don't hurt me!
"

"It's reported that, as
La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci,
you tortured prisoners on board the
Wolverine,
" says Flashby, leering into my face. "How do you like it done to you,
hmmm?
" And he puts the hot tip of the cigar to my leg.

"
EEEEEE-eeee!
" I screech, and thrash about in my bonds. "
No, no! Please, no more, oh please, God, save me!
"

Flashby blows on the tip of his cigar and again brings it down on me.

"
EEEEE-eeeee oh God! No, please, not again! EEEEEE-eeeee!
"

Through my pain I hear the hatch door thrust open and the heavy boots of Captain Allen come into the room. Flashby hurriedly pulls my skirt down over my knees to hide the burn marks. I hang my head and sob.

Allen, furious, demands, "What the hell are you doing to her?"

"Now, now, Captain Allen, she is just overreacting to our simple questions," says Moseley. "She sees you are sympathetic and seeks to prey upon your emotions. Can't you see?"

"What I see is that the interrogation for today is over," states Allen, flatly, looking at Flashby with murder in his eye.

"Who are you to be telling us that, Captain?" says Moseley, his toad face turning bright red. "I remind you that I am the head of this expedition, Sir!"

Allen turns on him and says coldly, "Look outside this hold,
Sir...
You will find nine soldiers dressed in red uniforms, very much like mine. They owe their loyalty to me,
Sir;
they take their orders from me,
Sir;
and as hardened as they are, they are
very
distressed over the shrieks they hear coming from a young girl held down here by the likes of you. If you want us to abandon you and Flashbutt out here in the wilderness to fend for yourselves, just say the word, and we will be gone,
Sir.
"

Flashby is on his feet, glaring at Allen.

"Anytime, Flashbutt, anytime," says Allen, holding his gaze.

"You just want that bit of quim for yourself, admit it," snarls Flashby.

"Anytime, any weapons, Flashboy. Right now is fine with me." His eyes have not wavered from Flashby's. I do my job by continuing to gasp and sob, which ain't hard, given that my face still smarts, my leg still burns, and I despair of my future.

Moseley pulls Flashby to the side and whispers something to him, and then says to Allen, "We were through for the day, anyway. Let's lock her up and see how she likes spending the night in the dark with no food or water. That should make her more cooperative tomorrow. Captain, call down three of your men."

Captain Allen, with a final black look at Flashby, goes to the hatchway and calls out, "Sergeant, come down here with Jackson and McMann."

In a moment the men are in the hold, awaiting orders.

"Empty that closet of its contents," says Moseley. "Here's the key."

Sergeant Bailey takes the key and walks behind me with the other two men. There is a click as the door is unlocked, and then there is the sound of goods being moved.

"Done, Sir," says Private McMann.

"Make sure there's absolutely nothing left in there," warns Flashby. "This female is extremely clever and has twice escaped custody, and I'll be damned if it's going to happen on my watch."

"Nothin' in there, Sir," says Bailey. "Kind o' small, though."

"We'll be the judge of that," Moseley snaps. "Untie her feet. Just her feet."

The one named Jackson squats down and does it.

"All right, now tie her ankles together. Good."

I have not stopped bawling this whole time, and I think it's getting to the soldiers.

"If ... if you tie me too tightly, my hands and feet will go numb and then turn black and fall off and I'll d-d-die," I sob.
And I won't be worth so much then, you bastards.

"Make sure the bonds are firm, but don't cut off her circulation."

Sergeant Bailey slides a finger between the ropes and my ankles, then my wrists. "Should be all right," he says.

"Then lift her up and put her in."

Strong hands take me up and turn me around, and I get to see what will be my prison while I am here: a box three feet wide and four feet long, not even big enough for me to stretch out in.

"Oh, how could you
beeeeee
so
cruuuuuel?
" I wail, shaking my head back and forth, making my pigtails flail about my face.

"I must protest this treatment of a prisoner," says Captain Allen. "You can be sure that both my superiors
and
yours will be informed of this when we get back."

"Captain Allen, you may report all you wish. I think
my
superiors would be most pleased with my actions in this matter," says Mr. Moseley, tersely. "The female will be uncomfortable, yes, but in pain, no. Now direct your men to put her in the closet."

A pause, then, "Do it."

I am lifted from the chair and carried to the box and put in.

"Please, please, don't,
pleeeeease
...," I scream as the door shuts and blackness surrounds me. The key turns and the lock is secured. I hear low voices from outside and then nothing.

I keep up my caterwauling for a while and then taper off into groans of despair, followed by mere sniveling and whining over where cruel fate has cast poor me. Then I take stock of my situation.

I'm lying on my side, facing away from the door. I twist around to reverse myself and ...
good. There's a crack of light at the edge of the door.
I can see the lock's lug where it enters the jamb—I won't be able to jimmy it, having no tools, but at least I'll know when it is withdrawn.

First things first. With my fingers, I work the rope binding my wrists down as far as I can toward my hands. Then I slide my bound hands under my rump and down to behind my knees. Now for the hard part. I try to work my hands farther down, but I can only reach to my ankles. That's all right, 'cause now I can get my fingers on the clumsy granny knot that I saw the landlubber Private McMann tie previously. Thank God it wasn't tied by a sailor or I'd be havin' a lot harder time of it. No time to lose, though—I've got to have a look at the knot on my wrist binding before they turn out the light over there.

There!
My feet are free. Now I can slide my wrist rope up to my right heel, over and into my arch, then over my toes. That's one leg, now for the other. I make short work of that and...
at last!...
now my hands are in front of me and I can hold them up to the dim light of the crack to check out the knot.
Good!
A simple set of half-hitches.

I set to work with my teeth.

"Worst watch I ever stood in me life, Archy," I hear from outside my box two hours later. It seems the watch over me is to be changed. "She cried the whole time, poor thing. But, remember, you can't even talk to 'er or you'll get the whip. And you'll want to talk, believe me, but don't do it."

"Still don't believe she done all those things they say she's done," says Archy MacDuff, plainly plopping himself down in the spot just vacated by Private Quimby. "No way to treat a girl, no matter what she done."

I've got my nose planted right up against the crack so as to suck in what fresh air I can, and I let out a low moan, followed by a few gasps and sobs.

"There she goes again, Arch. I don't envy you your time here."

"
Ach,
'twill be a hard night, Willie. Get you off. See you in the morning."

Inside the box, I listen. Quimby has left the hold. I've loosely retied the bonds on my feet again, and I am ready to throw my hands behind me should I be inspected during the night, but no such inspection comes. I softly cry some more and then...

"Archy MacDuff, I know you are of Scottish blood, and you know I am not, but I was born in the north of England and so that's close enough to Scotland, it is, so that we share some common blood, yes, we do, and oh, Archy, pity me in my state of total disgrace and humiliation, pity me with all your heart ... My hands are tied behind me, my feet are bound. Oh Lord, how can I survive such torment, such pain? And I'm thirsty, so thirsty, my mouth is as dry as a desert and oh, oh, oh, I'm sorry, I just can't keep from crying, I can't, Archy. I know you can't speak to me, Archy, and I know it's hard on you 'cause you want to talk to me and try to ease my pain, but you can't, you can't, I know you can't. But when I was a wee bairny, my mother used to sing me a Scottish lullaby called 'Schmeag Schmore' that went sort of like 'Hush, little baby, ever'thin's gonna be all right, the sheep's in the meadow, and the cow's in the corn,' and I know you can't sing it to me, Archy, but if you were to hum it real low, it would give me great comfort in my time o' need, Archy, it would..."

It was a long night, one of the longest I have ever spent, but finally light began to creep through the door crack, and though I am cramped and achy, I make myself ready and steel myself for the attempt, for I know that this will be my only chance at escape before I am once again trussed up, helpless and doomed.

Facing the door and never taking my eye off the now-visible lock bolt, I lie back with my shoulders pressed against the far end of the box for extra leverage. My legs drawn up, my knees to my nose, I grip in my hand the whip I made out of the binding ropes by doubling them and knotting the ends.

I note footsteps approaching, and then I hear a voice I recognize as Moseley's.

"Report, Private Merrick."

I had all six of the private soldiers on guard last night, and while they could not talk to me, I could talk to them, and by now they all know me very, very well.

"She's been cryin' all night, Sir. She's quieted down some now, though."

"Well, let's get her out and bound up," says Lieutenant Flashby. "Here's the key."

That's three of them in there. No more, please.

"Aye, Sir," says Merrick. There is a rattle, and the bolt slides back.

Now!

With all my might I drive my feet against the door. It flies open and Merrick, taken by surprise, falls over backward as I vault out of the box and make for the hatchway door which...
yes! It's open!

"Damn!" shouts Moseley, and he makes a grab for me, but I swing my cat-o'-four-tails and catch him full across the face. He shrieks in agony and falls to his knees, and I charge on toward the light.

But Flashby gets between me and freedom. "Oh, no, you don't!" he snarls, reaching for my neck.

Again I swing the whip, aiming at his face, but he manages to get an arm up to take the blow harmlessly on his sleeve, and then with his other hand, he rips the flail from my grip. Both his hands for the moment occupied, I dart to the side, and bouncing from a box on the deck, get up behind him and loop my last remaining piece of rope around his neck. With either end of the garrote wrapped around each of my hands, I pull with all my might. He begins to choke. I wrap my legs around his waist so he can't shake me off.