My Bonny Light Horseman (15 page)

Dimly, I'm aware of Captain Blackstone recounting how HMS
Mercury
was taken—it had been sent off from the main convoy on a foolish errand to guard a fat, slow merchantman that wanted to put into a port in North Africa to take on a cargo of Egyptian cotton, and was surprised on the way back by a French squadron. They fought valiantly, of course—three dead officers and seventeen men, and many more wounded—but were eventually brought low and their colors were struck. "There were just too many of them," he laments sadly, shaking his head. "Just too damn many..."

The Doctor puts his fingers to Jaimy's wrist to feel the pulse, then he puts his ear to Jaimy's chest and listens. "His heart is all right, which is good."

Captain Blackstone comes to the Doctor's side. "He was hit a glancing blow from a cannonball as he stood by my side on my quarterdeck. He fell there and since then has wandered in and out of consciousness."

The Doctor nods. "Severe concussion." He, too, reaches up to feel Jaimy's forehead and then takes a whiff of the wound. "Some fever. Probably some sepsis from the wound itself. He will either live or die from that, but I worry more about the damage to his brain."

I stand aside, wringing my hands.
Oh, Jaimy, it can't come to this! It just can't end here...

"Mr. Kemp, please tell the guard that I need my loblolly boy and my instruments. If he hesitates, remind him that I worked on both the English
and
the French wounded when first I was brought here. I'll also need more water and cloths. This man needs to be cleaned up."

I go to the door to plead for what the Doctor wants. When the guard, a French Marine, looks doubtful I say, "Please,
Corporal,
please do it. After all, we are all of us, yes, me and you, too, only poor sailors, sent out on the wild and wasteful ocean by our countries to do their will. Can you not help a fellow sailor?"

We get the stuff and the Doctor sets to work. He restitches the wound, while Stritch and I strip off Jaimy's soiled uniform and wash his body as best we can. When he is covered again with a clean sheet, the Doctor steps back and says, "I've done all that can be done."

I sit by Jaimy's side through that long day and night, putting cool compresses to his forehead.

Once during the night he becomes restless, and, by the dim light of the full moon that comes in through the high, barred window, I see that his eyes open.

"Jaimy, please lie still. It's me, Jacky."

"Jacky? No ... not you," he says, his eyes wild. "The Devil ... taunting me again ... can't be..."

"It is, Jaimy..."

And then he drifts off, and again I put the cold rag back on his brow.

Later, in his delirium, he talks with someone named McCoy. "No, no ... I killed you. Cut your throat ... blood on my hands." He twists in the bed. "Beatty?...Blew your brains out. You can't come back at me, neither of you can; you're dead, both of you, you're..."

He subsides and I put the cloth back on. Then...

"Clementine? What ... wait ... no, don't go..."

It doesn't matter, Jaimy, just please don't die. Please don't.

Chapter 13

The next morning I wake with my head on Jaimy's chest. I had intended to spend the whole night mopping his brow, but sleep overtook me and I was weak.
I'm sorry, Jaimy. I really did try
.

Jared appears at my side, buttoning up his jacket.

"How is he?"

"The same, I'm afraid. He goes in and out."

"Well, here, you must get something to eat, I'll get—"

But he gets nothing, and neither do I.

There is a rattling at the front door lock and it opens and four soldiers march in, followed by two men in civilian clothes. I see Bliffil rise and edge toward the door, his face expressionless. He points to me and the two men come forward.

Uh-oh.

"You will come with us, Jac-key Fay-bair," says the taller of the two, in English. "Corporal, take her out."

I am betrayed ... I am undone...

Jared leaps from my side and grabs Bliffil by the throat before he can get out the door. "You dirty bastard. You gave her up, and I'm going to kill you for it."

Bliffil says, "No, no! You don't understand! You don't..."

But then Jared's balled-up fist smashes into his face and his nose flattens and his nostrils spurt blood all over his shirtfront, and he doesn't say anything more. Joseph is about to hit him again, but the butt of a French Marine's musket slams into the side of his head, and he goes down.

"Back! The rest of you! Back against zee wall!" shouts the tall Frenchman. Sharp bayonets force my friends back away from me. Bliffil, holding his hand to his face, rises unsteadily to his feet and staggers out the door, supported by a soldier. A barrage of curses and threats of future retribution follow him out. "Take her! Bind her hands!"

Hands are put on me and I am dragged out the door and into the hallway. I take one last look at Jaimy and then the door is closed and locked.
Good-bye, Jaimy...

The tall cove puts his face to the grating on the door and shouts to my friends inside, "You, English! You will be treated to a spectacle! Look out into the courtyard in a few minutes!"

My hands are bound behind and I am shoved forward, down the hall, around a corner, and then into the bright light of the courtyard. The place is empty, except for the whipping post and a box with a board leaning against it.
Am I to be whipped?

My mind reels as I am pushed relentlessly forward, but, strangely, not to the post, but rather to the box.
What is going on here?

"English! My name is Monsieur Jardineaux! I am the Chief Prosecutor in this district!" Faces appear at the prison windows. I think I recognize Davy's face among them.

I am taken by the arms and forced to stand on the box.

"What we have here...," continues Monsieur Jardineaux, gesturing to me. He is plainly enjoying himself. "...ees the pirate Jac-key Fay-bair, sometimes known as
La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci.
Not looking very
belle
right now, ees she?"

I don't say anything. I just try to keep a semblance of the Look on my face.

"What we also have here is an object called a bascule." He points to the board and nods to two of the soldiers. They immediately hold the thing up in front of me and I see that there are three sets of straps hanging on it. I also see dried blood on the upper end of it. I start to tremble.
Is it a device for torture? Oh, no ... Please, Lord, let my end be quick.

"And what is this bascule, you are wondering, eh? Well, it shall all be made very plain to you, yes, very plain. Strap her in," orders Jardineaux, and I am shoved chest-first up against the thick board.

The bloodstained top edge comes up only to my breastbone, and as the straps go around my shoulders, my middle, and my knees and are firmly tightened, I realize with the deepest of dread just what this board is for, and it hits me that my prayer was just answered—my end will be brutal, but it will be quick.
Thank you, Lord. Now just help me not disgrace myself and bring shame upon the Service. Head up now, girl, for the last time ... Stop blubbering, stop it now!

"What you see here is the very board that binds the condemned down on the base of
Madame La Guillotine.
"

There is a roar from both galleries of English prisoners.
We'll get you, you frog-eatin' bastards! We will avenge you, Puss! We'll kill ten thousand of them for the one of you. A hundred thousand! Miserable cowards, to kill a girl! We'll hunt
Bliffil down to the very ends of the earth, and he will not die slow, count on that! Oh, this can't be happening! It can't—

"Calm down, gentlemen, and
attendez-vous,
" says Jardineaux. "I regret that the guillotine could not be moved here so that you could witness for yourselves this—"

"What about a trial?" bellows someone from the officers' quarters, echoed by many a
hear! hear!
"You call yourself a lawyer!"

Jardineaux raises his thin, dark face to Captain Blackstone at the window above, for it was he who called out.

"My dear sir, there has already been a trial, in absentia, and she was found guilty,
most
guilty of Piracy and Murder and sentenced to death. Simple as that. And now that we have her, that sentence is going to be carried out in full. We shall see just how much mercy Madame Guillotine will have for Jac-key Fay-bair, the
Beautiful Young Girl Without Mercy,
as this one was called after she wickedly tortured and killed French citizens. I suspect it will be very little."

More roars and curses from above. Things—cups, bottles, pieces of chairs, anything that will fit through the bars—are thrown down, but all is in vain and all dismissed with a laugh from Jardineaux.

"If I may continue: I regret that the guillotine could not be moved from the center of town at such short notice—you see, a number of counterrevolutionaries had recently been captured and had to be accommodated."

Jardineaux leaves my side and advances to the high, strong wooden gates that guard the outside entrance to the courtyard. "Pin up her hair!" he shouts as he walks. "The High Executioner does not like to have hair in front of his blade, especially if it is female hair. He swears it dulls the edge, and we can't have that, can we? If the Queen, herself, could have had her hair pinned up on her journey to the same place, then why not this piece of trash?"

I feel hands behind my neck, taking up what little hair I have and pinning it up and out of the way.

"Open the gates," shouts Jardineaux, and the ponderous doors swing open. "Observe, English!"

Through the open gates we can plainly see down to the center of the town, and there, standing like an obscene relic from a more barbaric time, is the guillotine, its blade being once again drawn up.

"Madame has done her work for this morning, it seems, but she has one more head to take, and all of you will be able to watch. Her head will drop into the basket at noon. I shall make sure the executioner holds it up facing in this direction so that all may see.
Au revoir, Messieurs,
I hope you enjoy, or at least take a lesson to what awaits the enemies of
la République de France.
"

With that, I am picked up and thrown, bound to the bascule, into the back of a cart that has come into the yard. The driver chucks the horses, and I am taken out of the prison to my doom.

On the way to the execution place, I hear shouts of joy. "
La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci! Stand her up that we may see her.
"

And they do stand me up, and then put me back down. I am helpless through all of it. And I am called
salope
and
chienne,
and any of the number of words they have for me.

I try to be brave, but then I never was very brave and
Oh, Lord, I commend my body to the sea and my soul to Thee and...

...and then I am lifted up and the bascule is placed flat down on something and I am facedown again and being moved forward and something comes down wooden and heavy on my neck and I hear a young girl's voice cry out,
No, no, please, not me ... please ...
Is that me crying out? It must be me, but in all my terror, I don't know. I don't know anything for my mind is gone. There is only the terror
...oh, horror...
but through it all I hear a roar from the crowd. Then there is the sound of the hissing steel coming down and then an awful thunk and I feel a terrible blow to the back of my neck. I feel ... nothing ... all is darkness and silence.

PART II

Chapter 14

I awaken to find myself ... I don't know where. I feel around with my fingers and find that I'm lying on my back in what seems to be a box. It is pitch-dark and my head throbs with terrible, thudding pain. I try to recover my senses, but my mind reels and spins and
Oh, God, please help me ...
My hands, not tied now, lift upward and my knuckles encounter a wooden lid not three inches above my nose. Trying to quell my mounting terror, I move my fingers up to my neck and find that there is no deep and final cut there.
What, no wound at all?

Am I in Hell now, my head restored to my shoulders only to suffer unspeakable and eternal tortures for all of the wrongs I have done? Oh, Lord, was I really so bad as to deserve this?

I feel the box jostled and sense myself being lifted, what...?

What if I am still living and this is a coffin and I am being taken to be buried alive, my dying screams heard by none 'cept the waiting worms? Oh, please, God, not that!

I give in to blind panic and try with all my might to push the horrible lid up and off me. Then I pound my feet against the bottom, but it, too, is solid and does not yield.

"Shaddup in there or I'll give ye another whack wi' me club," I hear from outside.

I stop struggling ... If those are the Devil's imps I hear outside, cursing and swearing as they carry me down to Hell, they sure sound a lot like British seamen ... and if this is the River Styx, I'd say that it sure feels a lot more like the waves of the open sea. Maybe...

As I lie there, it dawns on me that it was not my head that fell into the basket yesterday, no, it must have belonged to some other unfortunate soul who was forced to suffer under the blade in my place. Poor girl ... I pray for her as I lie there waiting to see what is going to happen to me. I pray for Jaimy, and, yes, I pray for myself, as well. It is not something I usually do, but I have been sorely tried.

Eventually, the boat in which I have been riding bumps against some wharf and the lid is lifted from my box. Two rough-looking coves grasp my arms to lift me upright, then shove me out to stand on the swaying pier. Then I am again bound and a hood is placed over my head and I am thrown in the back of a carriage and it rumbles off. I have a good idea where it is going and I soon find out that I am not wrong.