We topped off the evening at The Swamp Fox, eating and drinking our fill, and got back to the ship, the whole lot of us, arms about each other's necks, singing and carousing, at about midnight.
As I snugged down into my bed and prepared for sleep, my thoughts, after a prayer for Jaimy's health and safety, turned to Jemimah, who was lying down below.
What must she think of us? She has only seen us at our brawling worst. What must it be like for her, to come on this little ship, not knowing who we are and where we are going?
Ah, well, I'll clear that up for her tomorrow.
G'night, Jaimy. I behaved pretty good today, I think, I ... I...
Chapter 17
Morning came early, very early, but the grumbly group of us managed to struggle up and get the Nancy B. unmoored and under way on the morning tide—Davy on helm, me on the con, and the rest tending the sails. We had done this many times before, taking her out after a night of excess, but this leave-taking was a little different. As we stood blearily on deck, silently promising ourselves never to do it again and knowing that we would break that promise, Daniel and Joannie brought up trays of steaming mugs of coffee. Very good mugs of coffee, thick and sweet, that did much to restore our usual high spirits. That, and the good smells wafting up from the galley.
After getting her well out of the harbor and into the open sea, and putting her on a course due south, we left the watch to Davy and McGee and went down to breakfast.
On the mess deck we have a long wooden table made of two-inch-thick maple bolted to the deck and big enough to seat fourteen, one at the head, one at the foot, and six down each side. While on most ships of this type, the sailors eat out of metal mess kits, I insist on proper china. And since Faber Shipping has hauled a lot of it around, we have some of the best. Never let it be said that we suffer anything but first class. When first I got the Nancy B. into port in Boston, I contracted with my dear friend Ephraim Fyffe, Master Carpenter and husband to the former Betsey Byrnes, to come aboard with his carpentry tools to exercise his skill. First I had him rout out circular depressions at each place setting into which would fit the feet of the plates, and then in the center of each of those, another deeper one to hold a bowl when we are having chowder or burgoo. Then, within easy reach of a sailor's hand, a hole to hold his glass or cup. Pretty crafty, I thought. This all was done, of course, to keep the settings from sliding off the table when the Nancy B. is rolling around in heavy seas, which she's doing a pretty good job of right now.
Jemimah is standing at the stove, at the end of the long room, putting her spatula to the bacon that sits sizzling on the griddle, and Daniel and Joannie are carrying plates of hotcakes and putting them at each place.
I take my seat at the head of the gleaming table—Ephraim had put six coats of good spar varnish on it when he was done with the routing, and it glows like a wooden jewel—and the others take their places, as well. I stick my coffee mug in its slot and lean back as Joannie puts my plate in front of me.
"Thank you, dear," I say, and dig into the beautifully browned pancakes adorned with melted butter and maple syrup with crispy bacon on the side. Mmmmmm...
After I get a few more delightful mouthfuls down, I look over at Tink and say, "Mr. Tinker, I am afraid I must dismiss you as ship's cook."
"That's just fine with me, Jacky," says Tink, and there is laughter and mumbled murmurs of assent around the table as all heartily wolf down their food.
Finishing up, I wipe my mouth, stick my napkin back in its ring, and sip at a second cup of excellent coffee while I make plans with Dr. Sebastian for the day's drawings. Then there is some small talk concerning last night's activities, and those of us who were at Tagliaferro's recount some of the better japes and jokes for those who were not.
At last I say to Higgins, who has been sitting, mostly silent, on my right, "Please have Jemimah report to me as soon as breakfast is cleared away, so I can do what needs to be done."
I rise, and so does he, and I go back to my cabin.
My cabin on the Nancy B., current flagship of Faber Shipping Worldwide, is tiny compared to other captain's cabins I have occupied, but it is quite cozy. There is a bank of narrow windows around the curved aft wall that opens to let in a breeze. There is, of course, a bedstead built into the starboard wall, and in addition, there is a small desk that I had Ephraim Fyffe make and install for me. It is beautifully done—and I still cannot believe such fine things are made with simple hand tools—and it converts, with a simple flip of its lid, to a small table should I want to entertain someone privately in my cabin.
It is at that desk that I sit, ink bottle open and quill in hand, when I hear a knock at the door.
"Come in," I say, and the door opens and Jemimah ducks her head under the narrow hatchway and enters to stand before me.
"Yes, Ma'am. You wanted to see me. Here I am."
I regard her for a moment and then say, "The breakfast was very good, Jemimah."
"Thank you, Ma'am."
"I am happy that you did not get seasick. Many do, you know."
"I didn't get sick on the way over here, and don't 'spect to get sick now."
Hmmm...
"Have Joannie and Daniel been good?"
"Yes'm. They washin' up the dishes right now."
"You seem to be good with children."
"I raised Mastah Hamilton's four children and then his ten gran'children. Six of my own, too. I knows how to handle 'em. If'n a sharp word don't do, then a switch will."
"Where are your children now?"
"Don't know. Sold off."
There is an eternity of suffering in her eyes, but she does not lower her head, just stares straight at the wall behind me.
"What happened?"
"Mastah Hamilton died and soon after Missus Hamilton did, too. And then their children got to squabblin' over the property, and the people they owed money to came after 'em an' so the place was broke up. All the Nigras was sold and here I am."
I consider all this for a while and then say, "Jemimah, I have here your permanent indenture papers before me. I have written on them words to the effect that, when I sign it, you shall be freed of servitude. You shall be free."
The dark eyes now come down upon mine. "What? You can do that? But you ... you a girl and hardly more than a child."
"That may be true, but I do own this boat, and until I put this pen to that paper, I do own you."
A chuckle rumbles deep in her throat. "Free? Huh! How 'bout that?"
"You'll need a last name, Jemimah," I say, my pen poised over the paper. "What will it be?"
She thinks for a moment and then says, "Moses. Jemimah Moses," and I write it down. At the time, I thought she was naming herself after the prophet who led the Hebrew children out of slavery in Egypt, but I find out much later that I was wrong in thinking that.
She looks off into the shadowy corners of my cabin. "Free at last. My, my, I'm free at last."
I take the pen and scribble my name on the paper. "Yes, you are, Jemimah Moses. As of this moment you are free."
Somehow I expected more joy, more gratitude, but I don't get it.
"So I'm free. Free to jump over the side of this boat if'n I want to, that kind of free?"
"Whatever you want to do, Jemimah, do it ... But listen to this, first. From now on, and for however long you wish to remain in that position, you are an employee of Faber Shipping Worldwide and will receive pay of ten dollars a month, five dollars of which will be withheld to eventually pay back the one hundred and fifty dollars I have invested in you. And you will receive a half of one share of whatever we make on this voyage. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And if you want to leave us at our next port call, you may. Here's the papers sayin' that you are now a free person of color. Keep them with you and don't lose them. They are very important."
I hand her the folded papers and she takes them.
"And you've got to stop callin' me Ma'am. You may choose from Jacky, Missy, Skipper, Captain, or Boss, or Miss, all names my crew use for me."
"Yes, Miss Jacky," she says, choosing a name not on the list.
Hmmmm...
Chapter 18
As for what I did on the rest of that journey southward, well, I spent my idle time in several pursuits. The first was to take cloth and needle and make a replica of my old pirate flag, the one that I had lost when I was taken by Captain Trumbull of HMS Wolverine. That particular flag now rests at the bottom of the sea off Cape Trafalgar with that same Wolverine and many others. Many others, I think with sorrow, some made of iron and wood, and some made of skin and bone. But I let that go.
Members of the Piratical Brotherhood design and fly their own flags, not only so they can strike terror into the prey they are pursuing, but also so they'll be able to recognize one another so as not to blow one another out of the water upon an unfortunate chance meeting. In my travels, I have found that there is some honor among thieves. Not much, but a bit. Some of the flags are red while others are black, but almost all have some version of a skull, however crudely done, upon them. My own Jolly Roger has a white skull on a black background, with two crossed bones below. A pretty common design, except that my skull wears a huge, open-mouthed grin. There were many stitches in the making of it, but Joannie helped me sew a lot of them as we sat cross-legged on the deck of my cabin, needles and thread in hand, giggling over the evilness in what we were doing. They taught her well at the Home, I see.
Second, I set about, with the help of Tink—who has shown himself to be very good with his hands and has become our ship's carpenter, ship fitter, and all-around handyman—to fashion a pair of those goggles I had mentioned before so that I will be able to see better when I am underwater. I want some like the ones I had seen on those Arab coin divers when I was in the Mediterranean on the Emerald in '04.
We make my pair using thick leather into which are set two round disks of glass like those used for circular miniature portraits. Cutting the leather to fit both the glass and my eye sockets was difficult, but by trial and error, we got it done. There are two straps of lighter leather that tie behind my head to hold the goggles tight to my face. When I am ready to go down, we'll seal the eyeglass edges with pine pitch to make them watertight, I hope.
Third, I plan to train certain members in a particular skill...
As we pass Key Largo, the first of the Upper Keys of Florida, and observing that it is a very mild day with little wind, the water being warm and getting quite clear, I decide to accomplish some of that training.
The day also being a Sunday, I call the crew to Church, something I seldom do—well, actually never have done before—and after they line up, slightly mystified, before me as I stand on the quarterdeck, I read a few verses from the Bible, those that speak to our condition. Then I lead them in a few hymns, all of which they musically butcher. When we finish that last atonal atrocity, I offer up a prayer for our safety and the health of those we love who are not here with us today.
Then I lift my voice and say, "Instead of a sermon today, I shall read from the Cor-po-rate By-Laws of Faber Shipping Worldwide." I think of Captain Locke reading out the Articles of War back on the Dolphin, outlining all the crimes we poor sailors might be guilty of, all of which were punishable by death, as I pull out a sheaf of papers that actually have no words written on them, just sketches of butterflies, and begin to recite.