Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy (26 page)

Jemimah, who is washing the morning's dishes, with Joannie beside her drying them and putting them away, looks at him and says, "How you know he got outta that trouble, boy? How you know they didn't just pop him right inta that hot oil and then cut him up and eat him right on the spot and then lean back and suck on his bones? How you know that? Hmmmm? Happened to a lot o' rabbits, you know ... a whole
lot
o rabbits. Oh, yes it did."

"Oh, come on, Auntie," pleads Joannie. "Tell us what happened to
that
rabbit...
Please."

Jemimah sighs a theatrical sigh and begins. "Well, you recollect that Brother Fox had got Brother Rabbit by his ears and was holdin him above that pot of boilin lard, ready to fry him up good?"

"Yes, we do," chorus all three of us together, eagerly anticipating the rest of the story.

Jemimah hangs her huge skillet on its nail and goes on.

"'So, says Brother Fox, relishin the moment. 'You got any last words, Rabbit, fore your delicious self takes a real hot dip?

"Brother Rabbit, he cut his eyes over to Brother Bear, who's sharpenin' up his knives on a rock and grinnin a big toothy hungry grin, and Brother Rabbit figures his time on this earth is finally up, so he stretches out his arms in prayer and lifts his face to Heaven.

"'Lord, this poor little ol' no-account rabbit is comin' home to you, and I thanks you for the life you give me so far, says Brother Rabbit, and though he cain't perk up his ears, 'cause they both in Brother Fox's fist, he does hear a sound from not far off, which give him some hope.

"Ooooooooo ... oooooooo ... ahoooooooo .. I

"And he decide to keep talking as long as he can.

"'Lord, don't be too hard on Brother Fox and Brother Bear for murderin' me—don't send 'em to Hell for too long—maybe only an eternity or two. After all, it's just in their natures and they too dumb to know any better'.

" '
Oooo ... ahooooooo ... ahooooooo ...
'

" 'Brother Fox, whyn't you just dunk him on down dere and shut up dat rabbit's wise mouth for good and ever? asks Brother Bear, gettin impatient and beginnin to drool a bit, which ain't a pretty sight, no. He uses one of his knives to slice up some taters and tosses em into the pot, where they sizzles up real good.

"Oooooooo ... oooooOOOOO ... AHOOO... HOOOO...'

"'What dat sound? say Brother Fox, cockin his head. He don't have long to wonder, as the sound gets louder and louder and then..."

"...and then...?" breathe Joannie and Daniel, leaning forward together. "...and then...?"

"...and then ... there's a big fuss in the bushes and all of a sudden Sister Rabbit come burstin into the camp, winded but still runnin' for all she worth. Brother Rabbit see what she been up to, and it warms him to his manly core. Right behind her are bout a dozen dogs. She must've gone down to the plantation and showed herself to the master's foxhounds, and they, bayin' and hallooin' all the way, take off after Sister Rabbit, and she leads em straight into Brother Fox's camp."

Jemimah indulges in some more rattling of pots and pans as she's putting them away, and then she finishes up.

"Now, when them dogs see what's goin' on, they forgit all about Sister Rabbit and head right off for Brother Fox, 'cause they's foxhounds, y'see, and don't care nothin' 'bout no silly rabbits when there's foxes around to be chased. Brother Fox flings Brother Rabbit aside, and he take off as fast as he can, with those hounds right on his red bushy tail, and Brother Bear runs bawlin into the woods with a few of those dogs on his brown stumpy tail, as well.

"And that's the story of how Sister Rabbit saved Brother Rabbit's little white tail after he had put his life on the line for her. Not only were them two bunnies safe and sound, but they also happily had lunch't gether on Brother Bear's crispy fried potatoes. End of that Rabbit Tale."

As the last pot is hung on its hook, Jemimah sings:

Little piece o' cornbread, sitting on a shelf,
You want any more, yo' can sing it yo'self.

"Now get off, all of yous," she orders. "Ain cha got no work to do?"

Daniel and Joannie scamper off topside, but I linger a bit before going to change into my swimsuit. I check in with Gringo, who seems to be recovering well, and then turn back to Jemimah.

"Jemimah," I say, "I've noticed something about you."

"And what's that, girl?"

"You got two ways of talking. One slavey, and one ... well,
regular,
like."

"Huh!" She laughs. "I spent forty years waitin' on white folks tables—of course, I can talk just like them ... When I want to. But I think the darky way fits better with the Rabbit Tales, don't you?"

Can't argue wi' dat.

***

It's just after two in the afternoon, and Joannie—she being healed up enough to dive with me again—and I are on the raft, lying back amid all the sponges we have harvested this day, soaking up the sun and talking.

"Joannie, you see how fast those little fishies down there can move with just a flick of their tails? I wish we could move through the water like that."

"Uh-huh ... me too, Jacky, but we ain't got tails. Not like they got, anyway."

"Hmmm ... But maybe we could work something out," I say, putting my arms behind my head and stretching out all lazy, like a wet seal drying off in the sun. "You know how my very good friend Amy Trevelyne back in Boston goes on and on about the American scientist Benjamin Franklin ... No? Well, she does, believe me, and one of the things she tells me about him is that he was a devoted swimmer, telling all the people about the benefits of that particular exercise for one's health and all that, and in connection with that, he invented some paddles that you strapped on your hands to make you move faster through the water."

I pause to watch some fluffy white clouds scud across the sky. Then I continue.

"But I don't think those hand things is gonna get it—it'd be like trying to claw your way through the water, and I figure you gotta sorta wiggle through it. Like the fishies do." I think further on this and then say, "Maybe if we put those things on our feet and made them all loose and whippy, like the fishies' tail fins..."

"That might work," says Joannie, doubtfully.

"I'll get Ship's Engineer John Tinker on it right away. And speakin' of makin' things, I'd like you to take some light canvas and make a little bitsy vestlike thing with tiny pockets in it for Gringo, if he gets better."

She looks at me curiously. "For sure ... but why?"

"I figure he lost the last fight 'cause he wasn't strong enough, especially in the legs. Oh, he was faster than the other bird, but El Matador was just too big and too well trained. It was my fault. I started him too early. But I plan on fixing that. Once he's back on his feet, we'll start putting lead slugs in the pockets of that vest, just a few and then a lot, till his drumsticks are just like iron. Then we shall see, El Matador—Hey, look there, Joannie, there's a flock of those pink things."

I reach over and thump on the side of the
Nancy B.
"On deck there! Tell Dr. Sebastian there are birds of interest out here!"

In response to my call, Davy appears at the rail with a long glass to his eye, but he ain't lookin'at birds.

"He knows, Jacky, but we got somethin' else here," he says. "A small boat, headin straight for us. No markings. Don't know what..."

Now, we've had lots of small shipping pass us here in the Florida Straits, and none of them has paid us any notice or given us any trouble, but no sense in taking chances. We must play our role.

"Come, Sister," I say, giving Joannie a nudge. "Back in the water for us."

And like any two seals rolling off slippery, seaweedcovered rocks, we slide back into the sea.

Under the surface we kick down to the bottom and start sawing at sponge stalks. When we have enough, we head back up, where we see above us the hull of a small boat slip in overhead. It appears that it has tied up to our raft. Joannie and I give each other questioning looks with our eyebrows, then go up, and as our heads break the surface, we suck in air.

I am shocked to see a man in the uniform of a British Navy coxswain standing at the bow of the mystery boat. And then two other men, both standing on our raft, advance into my field of vision. My jaw drops open when I see that one of them is Captain Hannibal Hudson of HMS
Dolphin,
and next to him is Professor Tilden, and the other is...

Jaimy!

I leap out of the water and onto the raft and then jump up in front of Jaimy and open my arms. "Oh, Jaimy, love, it is so good to see you!"

"Your fiancée, I presume, Mr. Fletcher," says Captain Hudson, unable to suppress a grin.

"Yes, Sir," says Jaimy, his face reddening. "It is definitely she."

And then Higgins is there to wrap me in the big towel and hustle me down to my cabin.

"We shall get you dressed, Miss, and then you shall await a visit from Captain Hudson and Mr. Fletcher."

"But Higgins..."

"But
nothing. We must get you decent."

We will have dinner on the mess deck, my cabin being much too small for the number of people that need to be at the table. As Higgins was getting me rigged out in something presentable, I sent for Jemimah and said, "Dinner for six. Put out some wine for them till I get there. Pull out all the stops. Send out something for the men in the
Dolphin's
boat. Food for our crew later. Do what you can. And thanks."

She smiles and nods. "We'll do that, girl. Don't you worry. You just talk your talk." She leaves to get it done.

Higgins stuffs me into my Lawson Peabody dress, does what he can with my hair, and then we both go down to the mess deck to take our places at the table.

Captain Hudson has graciously left the place at the head of the table for me. I protest, but he insists that I take it, so I do. Seated around me are Dr. Sebastian, John Higgins, Tilly, with Captain Hudson on my left, and, on my right, Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher.

There is a glass in front of each of us, and arranged on the table are bottles of good wine and plates of crab cakes and hush puppies—
Thanks, Jemimah.

I apologize for the cramped quarters, but Captain Hudson recalls that his first command was a sloop of war and that this is quite luxurious in comparison. He then compliments me on the shipshape condition of my ship, which warms me. We toast the King, but before we fall to the main course, we have a Council of War.

"I think Agent Faber should bring us all up to date, as she is the one who has garnered the most information," says Dr. Sebastian. He pops a hush puppy—a fried cornbread biscuit—into his mouth. Joannie and Daniel, dressed in their best, hover about to refill glasses when they are emptied.

I take a sip of my wine and begin. "The good news is that we believe we have found the final resting place of the
Santa Magdalena.
I have seen the tops of her masts. She lies in about one hundred and fifty feet of water, well out of reach of a free dive."

There are murmurs of approval from Captain Hudson and Tilly, but then I say, "As to bad news, I regret to say that our activities here have not gone unnoticed." I look to Dr. Sebastian and he shrugs and nods ruefully. I don't want to insult Captain Hudson, but I must go on. "The conversations we had onboard the
Dolphin
when we were in Boston were overheard by a Spanish sailor who later jumped ship in Savannah and then made his way down to Havana and reported all to the pirate Flaco Jimenez."

Captain Hudson's face darkens, recalling his words that all was secure on his ship, and he asks, "And how do you know this?"

"I am acquainted with Captain Jimenez and met with him at Ric's Café Americano in Havana last week." Jaimy's hand has been on mine, and I feel it tighten.
It's all right, Jaimy, I'll explain.

"Ummmm..." says the Captain.

"And that is not the worst of it, Captain," I say, pushing on. "A Spanish warship, the
San Cristobal,
patrols these waters. She is a First-Rate with three gun decks and eighty-eight guns. An officer aboard her, Lieutenant Juan Carlos Cis-neros y Siquieros, is certain that we are up to something. On the
San Cristobal
s last patrol, she boarded us, and we were searched. Many questions were asked. She is now anchored in Havana Harbor, and I have learned from some Spanish sailors"—I feel another tightening of Jaimy's hand—"that the
San Cristobal
will not sail again for some time. The sailors consider her captain a coward and a wastrel, but still ... all those guns. And the Spanish sailors I met are proud of their gunnery." Silence around the table.

I take another sip and continue. "This Lieutenant Cis-neros is a cruel man. He debased me upon our first meeting, and ... and when we were leaving the harbor two days ago, he forced me to stop my ship and made me watch as he had the sailors who had talked to me at Ric's whipped into insensibility. Fifty lashes each. They were all unconscious at the end. And one was no more than a boy."

Silence again.

Then the Captain speaks up. "What shall we do? I'll tell you what. My plan is to charge into Havana and blow that
San Cristobal
into splinters. Then we shall not be bothered. And to hell with some pissant pirate."

Dr. Sebastian nods and says, "I am sure you could accomplish that, Brother, but I believe Mr. Higgins has something to say on that matter."

Higgins then recounts the armaments in the various battlement arrayed about the harbor. "I'm afraid you would not get by Morro Castle before you were sunk. Since we British took the port in 1762, the Spanish have increased the fortifications tenfold."

"What's to be done then?" asks the Captain.

"I say I dive on the wreck, with the
Dolphin
lying nearby to protect us should Flaco or the
San Cristobal
come out to bother us. I think we've got at least a week and a half. With luck we can get the gold up by then and be gone."

Captain Hudson nods and says, "Good. And should that Spanish bastard come out, he'll see what for!"