My Bonny Light Horseman (11 page)

We have picked up the convoy of slow, clumsy merchantmen that we are to escort to China. I know it is a duty you would find deadly dull, but still it must be done and I must admit it is good to be back in Royal Navy rig again.

It is rumored that the
Mercury
might be detached to deliver diplomatic pouches to operatives in Morocco. That will be a pleasant change, I believe.

The boat carrying the mail is about to leave, so I must be brief. Know, Jacky, that you are uppermost in my thoughts, always.

Your Most Obedient & etc.

Jaimy

Chapter 8

During these weeks, I have been given more and more the freedom of the ship, and with both my good Marine guardians and the very covetous Mr. Jared now used to my ways, I often visit with Davy in the foretop. We enjoy talking about the people we both know in London and in Boston—he especially delights in hearing of his new wife Annie's brave actions in helping the girls of the Lawson Peabody gain their freedom from the slaver Bloodhound. The weather is generally pleasant and we spend many happy midday hours there.

"The little schooner that lies just off the horizon," he says one day, "I'm reckonin' those are your friends?" We are sitting cross-legged on the foretop deck and sharing some sausage and other treats that I managed to have my steward nab for me.

"Um," I say, chewing on a particularly tasty bit. "I think so. I hope you haven't said anything to anybody about it."

"No, other than reporting it. Can't not report a sighting, else the lookout'd be whipped."

That's true. Though I have found Captain Hudson to be a decent and fair man, there have been two times in the last weeks when men have been tied to the grating and given a dozen lashes of the cat-o'-nine-tails. Both times for petty theft from the ship's stores. I was glad that I didn't have to witness the punishment as it would have brought back too sharply that time on the
Bloodhound
when I, myself, was similarly bound, stripped of my shirt, and whipped into senselessness.

"I think the officers believe that it's just a little ship makin' the crossing for its own reasons and stayin' close to us so she could run under the protection of our guns should a pirate threaten her. It's done all the time," says Davy. "So what do you plan?"

"Hand on your tattoo, Davy, and swear you won't breathe a word."

"'Course not," he says. "The Brotherhood forever and the Royal Navy be damned."

I take a breath and say, "What I plan to do is this: I have given my parole to Captain Hudson that I will not try to escape
until we sight land.
I am hoping everyone's forgotten about that part of my pledge. As soon as we do spot the coast, which I think will be somewhere around Land's End, or Plymouth, or maybe the Isle of Wight, in any case, the moment I hear 'Land, ho!' from the lookout, I will step out of my dress and fly up to the main yard and walk to the end of it. There will be a great hue and cry, but I will say, 'I'd rather die a sailor's death than be hung up like a side of mutton!' And then I will dive off."

"That's all very fine and very dramatic, as suits your show-off nature," says Davy, doubtfully, "but that would be at least a twenty-mile swim, and the water is getting cold."

"Well, I don't plan on swimming all of it. Here, try this bit of beef—it's right off the Captain's table of last night," I say and sit back against the mast. "No, what I will do is dive down and come up at the aft of the ship, under the sheer of the hull where I can't be seen, and climb up on the rudder pintle and sit up there out of sight throughout that day until nightfall, and when we get close enough to the land and I can see the lights in the windows of cottages, then I will swim for it. Those on this ship will not be able to see me and if I can get to the shore, then I will either be picked up by my little schooner, or, failing that, I shall make my way to London, and, if I can get to Cheapside, then no one will be able to catch me there."

"Lot of 'ifs' in that plan, Jack," says Davy, "but I reckon it's as good as any, considerin' your situation." He also leans back against the foremast. "Least we can do is get up an oilskin bag with a blanket and some food in it—maybe some clothes—and tie it on top of the pintle just before you're ready to go. Me and me mates'll take care of that—cover it up with a side-painting work party."

"Thank you, Davy, that would be very good."

"Hey, Annie would never forgive me if I let you get hanged. Not that it'd bother me overmuch, but..."

"You're the best, Davy, and I mean it." I plant a sisterly kiss on his cheek and get up. "But now I must get back to the Doctor, and then I must dress for the Captain's dinner."

I think about what to wear tonight and decide to take a chance. After all, what have I got to lose?

I get out of my serving-girl rig, go to my seabag, and pull out the packet containing my uniform. First to go on is my frilly, white dress shirt, with its lacy cuffs and collar that comes up high under my chin. Around it I wrap the black cravat and tie it at my throat. Next I put on my dark blue skirt—I want to put on the white trousers, but I know I won't get away with that. Best go slow, even though time grows short—then my black boots. Lastly, I take up my splendid lieutenant's jacket, all navy blue with bright gold trim, shove my arms through the sleeves, shrug into it, and button up.

Wig? No, not tonight. I will wear my own short but no longer stubby hair, and one more thing.

I dive into the seabag again and I bring out my silver Trafalgar Medal on its loop of red ribbon and hang it about my neck.
That oughta show 'em, by God.

Fluff up the hair, a little color on the cheeks, smooth everything down, and look in the mirror.
Smashing, I must say.

There is a tapping on the door and Patrick says, "Miss? They are ready for you."

There is a common gasp as I come into the Captain's cabin in full naval fig—
Take that, gentlemen.
I am wearing as well my Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls "Look." I may not be a fine lady, but I certainly can act like one when I have to. Thank you, Mistress Pimm.

I hear exclamations of
My word!
and
Extraordinary!
and
Outrageous!
—the last from an outraged Bliffil—but the Captain merely beams at me and gestures to the chair next to him on his left. I do a half bow—a curtsy wouldn't be appropriate, I think—and then take Joseph Jared's proffered arm and am led to my seat. All the men stand at their places. Captain Hudson is at the head, of course, and Mr. Bennett is to his right. Mr. Curtis sits next to me.

The Captain, resplendent in his dark blue uniform with its gold lapels, picks up the glass of wine that is in front of him and says, "Miss Faber, will you give us the King?"

I reach down and pick up my own glass and lift it before me, as do all the others.

"To the health of our good King George—long may he reign—both in victory and someday, it is to be hoped, in peace."

Hear, hear
is chorused all along the table and we are seated.

Stewards come in bearing trays of steaming food, and they begin to serve it. It seems that we shall be treated to roast beef and fish.

"You are dressed in quite a remarkable fashion, Miss Faber," says the Captain, as a platter of beef is put before him and then a tray of fish. He takes some from both. "Perhaps you will explain?"

"I was made Midshipman by Captain Locke on board HMS
Dolphin
and Acting Lieutenant by Captain Scroggs of the
Wolverine,
" I say. The trays are next presented to me and I take the tongs, but take only the beef—I had quite my fill of fish on the way down the Mississippi, thank you. "And as far as I know, my commission has not been revoked."

"Ha!" barks the Captain. "Well said, well said, indeed! I see also that you wear the Trafalgar Medal. There are many here who envy you that, myself included. I was off in the South Seas at the time, curse the luck. Will you tell us how that came about?"

"I am not the only one here entitled to wear this medal" says I, looking over the rim of my glass at Joseph, who is seated opposite me. "Mr. Jared was there, too, and on the same ship. Perhaps he will tell it."

"Yes, do so, Mr. Jared," says the Captain, tucking into his dinner. "If you would."

Joseph Jared nods and says, "I believe the whole fleet has heard of how the probably demented Captain Scroggs of the
Wolverine
made Miss Faber an Acting Lieutenant after a skirmish with a French gunboat in which she distinguished herself, and then sent off all of his officers, except her, on a foolish errand for ... his own reasons. He died that very same night of a poor constitution and ... er ... extreme exertions. Miss Faber, being the only commissioned officer aboard, then took command of the ship and commenced to take prizes. Eventually she turned command over to Captain Trumbull, and he left her name on the books as Lieutenant J. M. Faber, and thus she wears the medal. As well as the marks of the battle."

He puts his finger to his right eye and then gestures at me. Without the curls of a wig to tumble over my brow, the spray of light blue powder burns radiating from my right eye is plainly visible—my other tattoo, I like to call it. I notice that several others around the table bear similar marks, proof that they, too, have bent over a cannon to aim and fire and then felt the sharp bite of the backflash.

"Hmmm," says the Captain, taking a fishbone from between his teeth and placing it on the table. "I had heard that story and did not believe it—the very idea of a young girl commanding a Royal Navy ship, impossible! But Mr. Jared was there and so now I must believe it."

"One thing you should also believe, Sir," hisses Bliffil, far down the table, "is that Warrant Officer Jared glosses over the fact that the
Wolverine,
when under her
supposed
command, took
four
prizes and she turned only
three
of them over to the King. She took the fourth one for herself and then set out as a pirate, and just why she sits here at this table—"

"She sits at this table at my pleasure, Mr. Bliffil," says the Captain, with a hard edge to his voice. "To lend us all some amusement and diversion. If you do not like it, you are welcome to leave our company."

Bliffil looks down at his plate, thrusts a forkful of beef in his mouth, and says nothing more this night.

A Midshipman at the end of the table, emboldened by the amount of wine he has drunk, pipes up with "Did you really spike the guns at Harwich, Miss? I am from that town and it is talked of to this day."

I look down at the squeaker, thirteen years old if he is a day, and say, "Yes, Mr. Shelton, that did happen. But how did you come to know of it?" I make it my practice whenever in a bind to learn the names of everyone involved, and so I know his name.

"Oh, Miss, the third book about your adventures had just come out when we left London. It's called
Under the Jolly Roger
and I believe it presents the case against your piracy charge most admirably."

Good Lord, not another one!

"...and did you really take off your..."

"I think that will be quite enough for now, Mr. Shelton," I say, blushing in spite of myself. "I do outrank you, young sir."

Lord, Amy, did you put it all in? For a born bluenosed Boston Puritan yourself, you sure ain't shy about tellin' the world what Jacky Faber's been up to.

Mr. Bennett takes up for Midshipman Shelton and he addresses Joseph Jared. "Did it not put you up for some ridicule in the Fleet, Mr. Jared, having served under a woman, a girl, really?" he asks. "I mean no offense, of course." The phrase
under a woman
gets some low chuckles along the table. These
are
men, after all.

"No offense taken, Sir," says Joseph. "And as to ridicule? Remember, Sir, that I came up through the ranks and as such I know how to fight, with fist, club, sword, or pistol. As a matter of fact, I received my first warrant commission from Lieutenant Faber when she was in command of the
Wolverine.
Captain Trumbull was good enough to allow me to continue in that position and here I sit today in the company of you gentlemen. And because of the prize money I earned when under her command, I now have a tidy little cottage in Hampshire. I have installed my mother and younger sisters in it and they are quite happy," he says, and then turns his eyes back to me. "And if I am ever to wed, I will have a place to put my wife." He winks his down-table eye at me and grins widely. "Sorry to have served under her? I must say nay."

You would think he would be cowed in this company comprised entirely of his social betters, but he is not.
Such a merry rogue.

"Well, then," says the Captain later, as the main courses are taken away, "let us have some pudding and port and maybe Miss Faber will favor us with a song."

Oh, yes, I do favor them with a song, and much more than that. I have my pennywhistle and a fiddle and my dancing feet and the party roars on and on, far into the night.

Chapter 9

The next morning, I pop up, wash, and, finding it a bit chilly, put my uniform back on, since I had left my cloak in Amy's care back at Dovecote and the dresses I have with me are too light. When I had packed for my last voyage on the Nancy B I thought I was going down to the sunny Caribbean, but it certainly didn't turn out that way. Guess that'll teach me to be prepared for anything.

After all, I had gotten away with wearing my uniform last night with the officers so it should go down well with the rest of the crew. I don't like the cocked hat that goes with a lieutenant's outfit because I think I look ridiculous in it, so I clap my midshipman's cap on my head and leave my room, looking for my breakfast. Strangely, I find the table in the Officers' Mess not set.

"What's up, Jonathan? Where is everyone?"

"Don't know, Miss. I think they might be sick," replies Private Morris.