It was on the third day that I spotted what was to be my ride across the Atlantic. I was quite hungry and very thirsty by then and was willing to settle for any kind of floating garbage scow, but what I found instead was a big, trim merchantman under all sail on a fine day and heading for America.
I tied down the mainsheet, secured the tiller, and let the Star sail herself while I rushed forward, put on my serving-girl skirt and hooded cloak to cover up my lieutenant's jacket—had to be presentable, of course, or else I would be treated badly, and, after all I had been through, I certainly didn't want that—then I sailed toward them, waving a white petticoat back and forth over my head and hallooing loudly. I was soon gratified to see the glint of a long glass lens that could only have been trained on me, followed by the sight of their sails going slack and the great ship slowing and then stopping.
The crew of the Enterprise, a Yankee trader bound for Newport, Rhode Island, with a cargo of fine British linen and woolen goods, was obviously astounded to find a lone female in a small boat far, far out to sea.
"Ahoy, mates!" I sang out as I pulled the Morning Star alongside the towering ship. "Got room to take a poor lost girl to America?" I asked as I put on my brightest smile, grinning up at the amazed faces looking down at me.
It turns out they did have room, and not only for me but also for my Star. The skipper of the merchant, a Captain Billings, was none too pleased to see me, sailors' superstitions about women on board being bad luck and all, but he cheered up considerably when, upon gaining the deck by way of the ladder that was lowered down to me, I curtsied low to him and announced that I could pay for my passage, and "maybe a little extra if you big strong men could stow my dear little boat aboard." Orders were barked out and the Morning Star was quickly dismasted and hoisted aboard by crane. She was overturned on the forward hatch and lashed down securely, but not before I retrieved my seabag and was shown down to my stateroom by a very presentable young officer, who blushed mightily as I allowed him to lead me to my quarters. Hmmmm ... There certainly are a lot of pretty boys in this world.
That young officer, one Andrew Billings, who was both Second Mate and the Captain's son, turned out to be a courteous, fine, and very shy companion. Course I had to tell him I was promised to another, as I once again am, but still we passed many pleasant days on the deck with the wind blowing through our hair. Maybe holding hands a bit and such like—but I was good, mostly.
They were right pleasant to me on the way over, in spite of the stupid superstition about women on board—hey, I figure I've brought some ships some actual good luck by being aboard ... But then again, some not. Discipline not being as tight on a merchant as on a warship, I soon was able to pull out my whistle and play a few songs and dance a few dances, and in no time I was the darling of the ship, and all was well. There was a fiddle on board, too, so I was able to practice that. The fiddle's owner was no Gully MacFarland, but he was a decent cove and I learned a few new tunes off of him. And he off of me. I had left Gully's fine, fine fiddle, the Lady Lenore, as he had named her, back in London for some minor repairs when I left for what turned out to be my last voyage, and it's well I did, else the Lady Lenore would now be at the bottom of the sea, being badly played by mermaids. Or, worse, mermen.
Letting one of the crew—that one being the aforementioned beautiful, bashful Andrew—have some sort of claim on me, I did not have to fend off any other advances or attentions. And, as the Captain's son, Andrew does enjoy a certain privilege. I mean, who's gonna mess with the Captain's son's girl?
Although I am usually quite free with my kisses, I held myself back and did not let it get to that. A little handholding is all, though I did take his arm as we promenaded the decks. As I've said, I was good, mostly, for, after all, am I not newly re-promised to Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher? This I had to tell the crestfallen Mr. Billings after he asked me to marry him, one week into the voyage. "But, Andrew, if it were not for that, I would surely take you into my affections and give myself in marriage to you. Really, I would, for you are the kindest and sweetest of young men..." Right, Andy—get in line behind Randall Trevelyne, Robin Raeburne, Ishmael Turner, Joseph Jared, and a few others, and not necessarily in that order. And maybe Arthur McBride, that Irish devil, too...
It was, by and large, a most pleasant journey, and three weeks, five days later, we pulled alongside a pier in Newport. In no time at all, my Morning Star was put over the side, rerigged, and I bounced down the gangway, with my seabag on my shoulder, to get into her. Before leaving the ship, though, I lifted my face to Andrew Billings and gave him a good one on the lips to remember me by. I do believe I gave the shy Mr. Billings something to remember and think about, and possibly in his next encounter with a female, he will have more confidence in himself and I will have done some good in this world. I'd like to think that.
I steered out away from the Enterprise, for I wanted these good-byes to be quick and final—no hanging around sad-eyed young men for me, no sir, not when there's work to be done. I trimmed the sail, threw over the tiller, and pulled away for New York, waving to my friends of the past month till I was well out of sight. Then I reversed course and slipped into the docks on the south side of the town, where I figured I would not run into any members of the Enterprise crew, they being well occupied in off-loading their cargo.
I had told them that I was headed for New York, in case anyone came around asking them questions, but I wasn't headed there at all—no, my plan was to outfit the Star and cruise up the southern side of Cape Cod and then across Massachusetts Bay to Boston.
When last I saw Jaimy Fletcher, he was standing on the smouldering deck of the warship that had taken on board the survivors and the wounded of the smashed and sunken Wolverine, looking out at me as I pulled away in the lifeboat that was to become the Morning Star. In the midst of the destruction, I stood up and semaphored to him the word Boston so that he would know where I was intending to go, so's he could come collect me, should we both survive.
Better do it this time, Jaimy...
Ah, but I know he will, and there is to be no more doubting, not on my part. If he is able to come for me, he will.
Chapter 3
It turned out to be a very good thing that I left the Enterprise in the quick way I did, considering what I found tacked to a wall not an hour later. I had tied up the Star and gone off joyously shopping. I was outfitting my dear little Star, now the flagship of Faber Shipping, Worldwide, after all, and was quite excited about it—some line and a small anchor, an oil lamp, bedding, spirit stove and fuel, teapot, tea, sugar, water jug, cups, and all to be carefully stowed in my cabin. There's something in me that loves doing this sort of thing ... saying, This will go here and that will go here ... no ... there.
I carried all these things back and happily stowed them in the Star and again went into the town to look about. I strolled up Thames Street, looking in all the shops, blissfully thinking nothing amiss, and—Hooray!—I found a post office, where I was able to mail my letter to the Home for Little Wanderers, in London, telling everyone that I had made it over all right and to please get word to Jaimy. Leaving there, I rolled on, feeling the strangely solid land beneath my feet once again. I spotted a likely looking fiddle sitting in a pawn shop window, and although my money belt was getting mighty light, I bought the fiddle, figuring it would help me pay my way up the coast. I tried her out in the shop, and while she was no Lady Lenore, she did have a certain spirit and I knew I would learn to love her.
I was carrying the fiddle case back to the Star, thinking I was done shopping and would spend the night in the cuddy cabin, merrily rearranging things by lamplight, when I spied a piece of paper tacked to a post.
Uh-oh...
Publick Notice
Hear ye, All ye Citizens of the Americas—Desired by the
Gov't of His Majesty, King George III of England, the
Quick Apprehension of the Notorious Pyrate
Jacky Faber
a Female, Aged about 16 years, on Charges of
Piracy on the High Seas, Theft of Royal Property,
and Other High Crimes and Misdemeanors.
The Miscreant is Distinguished by having an Anchor
Tattoo on her Belly and a Peculiarly White Left Eyebrow
due to a Scar Beneath. She is extremely Small and Slender,
weighing Approx. 90 Pounds, and has been known to
Disguise her Person as a Boy by Donning Male Clothing.
The Girl is a British Citizen, so Citizens of the United
States should not think it Amiss to Apprehend her on
Behalf of His Gracious Majesty. A reward of
—250 Pounds, Sterling—
is offered for the Capture and Delivery of said Criminal
Alive to any of His Majesty's Consulates or Embassies.
She may also be Bound Over and Delivered to any of
His Majesty's Royal Ships that Commonly Lie at
Anchor in Major Harbors. A Reward of 100 Pounds
is offered if the Female is taken Dead, her Head and
the Patch of Skin Containing the Tattoo, Preserved
in Alcohol, being Considered Sufficient Proof
for the Claiming of the Reward.
WARNING!
This Female is Known to be Extremely Clever and
Duplicitous in Bending Unsuspecting Males to her Will.
Although Godless and Without the Morals and
Sensibilities usually Ascribed to her Sex, She is said to be
Charming and Fair of Face and has been Educated and
can Ape the Manners of her Betters, but
Beware
She carries both Sword and Pistol, as well as a Knife
concealed on her Person, and is to be considered
Extremely Dangerous, having Killed, by her own Hand, a
Considerable Number of Unfortunate Men.
Looking furtively about, I kept myself from running off in a blind panic. Seeing no one watching, I reached up and ripped off the poster and stuck it under my arm. And then I hurried, but not so fast as to raise suspicion, back toward the safety of my boat.
They sure didn't miss much, the scurvy sods, I thought as I climbed down the ladder and dropped into the Star. But how did they know about the tattoo, I wonder? Hmmm ... Although I consider myself a girl of some virtue, it is true that I have in the past become separated from my clothes in the presence of more than one young man ... but neither Randall nor Robin nor Jaimy would peach on me. And neither would Petey or Higgins ... Ah, but of course—that damned book that Amy Trevelyne wrote about me! Wherein she told the entire English-speaking world about the Brotherhood of Ship's Boys of His Majesty's ship the Dolphin tattoo that rests on my right hip. Ah, Amy, if your aim in writing that book was to get me, well, you got me good.
I quickly stowed my new fiddle, threw off the lines, hoisted the sail, and headed out of Newport Harbor, fuming over this latest bit of trouble. I particularly don't like the thought of my head floating in a crock of alcohol—don't they know that I have sworn that spirits will never again pass my lips? And here they want to put my whole head, lips and all, into a crock of pure alcohol. Damn! This poor Cockney's noggin might yet end up in an anatomist's jar, for all her struggles to avoid that fate. And while we're at it, my tattoo's on my hip, not my belly, which you Admiralty sods oughta get right. After all, I am a lady ... well, most of the time, anyway ... and ladies don't have tattoos on their bellies.