Chapter 31

The two-masted schooner tried to slip out of a little harbor just north of Calais at dusk. He managed to slip through the blockade, but he didn’t slip through us. We came in behind him and cut him off from the land, and he started to make a run to the west. We heeled over and the chase was on. It had been three weeks since we had shipped out of Harwich and we were hungry.

 

Liam and I each have our eyes pressed to our long glasses, our usual posture when a prize is in sight. The ship seems low in the water, like maybe he’s carrying a good, heavy cargo.

“Looks like a choice one, Liam,” I say. I make no effort to keep the greed out of my voice. I’m hoping we can catch this smuggler, as the men are getting restless—I mean, the food is good, better than on any warship or merchant that I know, and we have music and dancing and stuff, but I know the men want plunder, money for their pockets and for their families—this being the first real chance of a capture since we left Harwich, as ships like that one are growing ever more wary of rascals like us.

“Aye,” he replies, “but he’s got a bit of a start on us. Let’s hope we can catch him before dark.” We both look up at the fast-darkening sky. Then he calls out the order to get up all the canvas the Emerald can carry, and we try to close the distance.

 

Half an hour later it is plain that we ain’t gonna catch him before dark, and I don’t see any moon rising, either. Damn!

Ten minutes more and it’s full dark and we’re still way out of cannon range. Lights are beginning to be seen on the ship up ahead and his stern lantern is lit.

Liam leaves my side and goes to the foot of the mainmast and addresses the crew in a strong voice, but not one so loud as to carry across the water to the quarry.

“Men. Listen to me and listen to what I say. I want complete silence on this ship as of right now—no bells rung, no talking, no sneezing, no belching, no farting, no coughing, no stomping around, no footfall, no sound at all. If any of you are wearing shoes, take them off. If you see a block knocking against a railing, then wrap it in canvas to muffle it. If you hear a gun carriage squeaking, then grease it. Anything you see that you can do to lessen the noise of this ship, then do it.”

He pauses and then continues, “Furthermore, I want no light to be seen on us—no lanterns, lamps, not even flint sparks to light your pipes. Knock your pipes out now and careful you don’t burn down the ship in doing it.”

Damn right be careful, I’m thinking, and mind you don’t mar my polished rail when you tap out your nasty pipes.

Liam ain’t done yet, though, and he goes on. “I hope you understand what I say, for if any man causes us to lose this prize, he will be sent back to Waterford and never again sail on this ship. Understood? Good. Now get to it, lads.”

Hatches are closed so the cooking fires down below can’t be seen, and I can see the coals falling from pipes into the water alongside. The ship goes dark and quiet. Liam comes back next to me. It is pitch-dark now and on the other ship, all the lights are winking out, too.

All except the stern lantern.

“Is he stupid, Liam?” I whisper. Could the Captain of that ship have forgotten about that light hanging off his tail? Could it be that he cannot see it from where he stands?

I hear a very low chuckle from Liam. “No, he is not stupid,” he whispers, “but he thinks we might be.”

I am mystified but Liam will only say, “Just wait, Jacky, just wait and watch.” And so we watch the light bobbing up ahead, growing ever closer and closer.

“I think he’ll do it very soon,” whispers Liam in my ear. We have been watching the light for such a long time that it becomes weird—like it’s not a ship’s stern light at all but rather is a low star rolling about in the inky darkness. I shake my head to clear it of such thoughts.

I shake my head again, ’cause it seems to me that the light has shifted a bit to the right. What . . .

“Ah,” says Liam, “’tis time.”

Suddenly the ship ahead is veering hard to the right and . . .

“Left your rudder,” says Liam, very quietly to the helmsman.

“Left?” I say, pointing out at the prize turning to starboard right before my very eyes. “He’s going ri—”

Liam’s hand comes over my mouth and he leans down and hisses, “The silence goes for you, too, Missy. Now look.”

He takes his rough hand from my mouth and hands me my long glass. “Keep an eye on your prize. I must go have the sails trimmed for our new course. Quiet, now.”

Right, I growl to myself, fuming. I’ll watch our prize all right. I’ll watch it get clean away.

The light is now abaft our starboard beam, which means that’s as close as we’ll ever get to this prize, dammit, and I bring up my long glass and focus it on the light. It is fuzzy for a bit, but I turn the end piece and it comes in sharp and clear and . . . oh, my . . .

I put down the glass. Scammed again. My prize turns out to be a small rowboat with a lit lantern sitting jauntily on the middle seat.

Liam comes back onto the quarterdeck.

“I’m sorry I doubted you, Father. I am a perfect fool.”

“Nay, Jacky,” he whispers back, “you are not. That trick is an old one, but it is a good one. It’s one that has fooled many captains more experienced than you in the past and it will fool many more in the future. Come, let us go below where we can have a glass of port and talk. It’s going to be a long night.”

 

We have our glass of the thick, sweet port wine in Reilly’s cabin, it having no windows, which allows us to light a candle. Men have been put in the rigging to listen for the other ship, some of them with speaking trumpets with the mouthpieces held to their ears rather than to their mouths. All I can hear right now is the sea rushing alongside a scant four inches away on the other side of the hull. Reilly’s room is at the waterline.

“My guess is that he will do what I would do in his case—hold on a westerly track for about an hour, then turn north again to the original course. I figure we’ve got about one chance in four of seeing him come dawn.”

“Maybe his men are not as disciplined as ours,” says Reilly, his face swimming out of the darkness into the circle of candlelight. “Maybe we’ll hear them in the night.”

I take a sip and say, “Well, at least we have a chance at him. If it had been up to me, we’d have taken a fine rowboat as a prize, and, split thirty-eight ways, we’d each have a fine splinter onto which we could carve an account of our glorious exploit for grandchildren to admire.”

Low laughter all around. I do not mind a joke at my expense, ’specially when I’m the one doing the joking.

There is a scratching at the door and Reilly says, “In.”

The door opens and Dennis Muldoon sticks his big head into the circle of light. “We heard a cough or two off the starboard bow and we thinks it weren’t from no mermaid sittin’ on her rock, as those darlins’ ain’t prone to colds from the damp as we poor mortals are.”

“How far off?” asks Liam.

“About two or three hundred yards. And them coughs had a definite Frenchy accent,” says the grinning fool. “Through the nose, like.”

“All right, Muldoon, get yourself back out there and be quiet about it. Let us know if you hear any more. Try to judge the distance on any other sounds, as we don’t want to get too close to him in the dark. I’ll be back on deck in five minutes.”

We divide up the night watches between us—Liam now, Reilly for the Mid, and me for the Four to Eight. We knock back our glasses and get up to leave.

“Looks like the odds just got better, Captain,” I say.

“We’ll see, Jacky. A prize ain’t a prize till it’s in your fist.”

 

I go back to my cabin, fumbling in the dark, and flop down on my bed in my fighting clothes, ’cause no telling what’s gonna happen. I don’t think I’ll sleep with all the excitement of the chase, but I do, and sometime before the Four to Eight, Higgins comes in and throws a blanket over me.

 

I’m on watch at dawn, and sure enough, there is our prize, sitting out there to the north. Liam comes up from down below, sipping a cup of coffee.

“The luck of the Irish,” I say by way of greeting.

Liam smiles and stretches. “Aye,” he says. “The luck was with us. There’s no getting away from us now, and there’s no more reason for silence.” He takes a deep breath. “CLEAR FOR ACTION!” he bellows, but the men are already scampering to their stations.

Higgins comes up, bringing me a cup of coffee and some cake. I eat it gratefully, and it helps ease the tension of the night—all those hours spent listening at the darkness till, finally, the growing light of dawn revealed the outlines of the schooner. She is putting on all the sail she can, but she is doing it in vain—she can’t get away from us now.

Higgins brings up my pistols, newly charged with fresh loads, and he straps my sword harness around my waist. “I suppose begging you to exercise caution would be a waste of my breath?”

“I am always the soul of caution, Higgins. Wherever did you get the idea that I am not? And besides, what would you have me do? Hide down below? Stay in port? What kind of example would that be to my merry band of brigands?”

“Hmmm,” he says, “I had expected a response such as that. But do be careful, Miss, as there are many here who both love you and fear for your safety, and question your evident lack of a sense of self-preservation.” Saying that, he takes his tray and goes below to take his station in the surgery.

Come on, Higgins. If you, yourself, had any sense of self-preservation, you sure wouldn’t have teamed up with the likes of me, that’s for certain. I’ve the sense that Higgins has a little bit more of a taste for the life of adventure than he lets on.

First Mate Reilly comes up and reports that the ship is manned and ready.

“Then let’s have Long Tom send him a good-morning salute, John,” I say, and raise my voice so the men at the forward gun can hear, “Sullivan! Fire one off to his side!”

There is a pause of a moment and the long nine-pounder barks out its greeting. The ball hits to the left of the schooner, abaft her beam.

“Well, we are within range,” I say, and that fact is brought back to us when there is a puff of smoke from the stern of the prize. The ball whistles through our rigging, but hits nothing.

“Seems he’s gonna put up a fight, Liam,” I say, my knees starting to tremble a bit, like they always do when someone is shooting at me. Now they’re shooting at my beautiful ship, too, and I’ve got that to worry about as well.

“Right,” says Liam, squinting at the ship through his glass. “And it looks like he might have something serious mounted amidships. At our speed now I don’t think he’ll be able to bear on us again with the stern gun. He’s lost the angle on that one.”

We continue to gain on him and I call out to the starboard guns, “Chock ’em up as high as you can so you hit only the rigging! Don’t hurt the hull! Sully, you may fire as they bear! Let’s show him what an Emerald rolling broadside feels like! Boarding Party to the starboard rail! Crouch down out of sight!”

They do it and there is a crack! as that serious gun on the prize fires.

The ball hits the bowsprit of the Emerald, smashing part of her walkway and cutting loose both her jib and forestaysail. They flap wildly in the wind, but nothing can be done now, not in the heat of this encounter.

“Musket men!” I yell to the men standing in the foretop. “Pepper the ones around that cannon as soon as you can see them!” Muskets are lifted to shoulders. Soon I hear the flash and pop! of the rifles. That oughta worry ’em. . . . Hurt my Emerald will you?

We’re almost broadside to him now and we could smash him to bits and put him down under the sea, but we don’t want to do that, no we don’t.

I put my hands on the shoulders of Ian and Denny as they crouch there behind the rail, cutlasses in hand. “Steady, boys, steady . . .”

There is a tremendous flash and boom! followed instantly by a crack! as the prize again fires his amidships cannon and the ball strikes a spar right behind me.

“Ow!” I cry as somebody slaps me on my butt, prolly that cheeky McBride, but I don’t pay it any mind for it’s time for me to shout, “Let’s get him, lads! Get the hooks on him!” I draw my sword.

We get closer yet and Sully fires another of our guns, and the top gaff of the Frenchy’s foresail shatters in a shower of splinters and the Captain gives it up. He goes back and pulls down his flag. About damn time, I’m thinking.

“Cease firing!” I bellow.

The ships are pulled together and over the rail we go. The Captain is on his gun deck—he’s holding his flag and his sword. He looks at me with shock and, suddenly, real fear. La Belle Fille sans Merci . . .

“Padraic. Arthur. See what she’s got,” I say, and they plunge down into the hold.

I bow to the Captain—I think a curtsy would be a bit out of place here—and recite, in French, the little speech I had made up for these occasions to try to tone down my growing reputation as a bloodthirsty pirate.

“I am Jacky La Faber. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am a privateer who takes ships and their cargoes, but I neither harm nor rob the crews or the passengers of the ships I seize, no matter what you may have heard. You and your men will be put in one of your lifeboats and allowed to return to France.”

I thought the “La Faber” was a nice touch.

He bows back and looks relieved, which is good. He presents his sword to me.

“Non. Please keep your sword. You led us on a merry chase and you fought gallantly.”

Several more bows and back to business. The lads have come back on deck and Arthur McBride crows, “It’s full of champagne! Enough for a hundred English New Years, or ten Irish ones! And we found this, too.”

They have between them a well-dressed man of about fifty years, who don’t look happy, no not at all. More spies? I would have thought they’d have learned their lesson by now. Well, must do my patriotic duty.

“Shake him down and see if he’s got anything suspicious on him. I . . .”

There is a footfall as someone jumps down on the deck behind me, and I hear John Reilly cry out, “Jesus!”

I turn to see what the matter is and notice in passing that my right pant leg is bright red and my right boot is filling up with blood. How strange . . .

“Higgins! Come attend to your mistress! She’s hurt!” Reilly roars out, and he scoops me up and jumps back over to the Emerald.

Higgins appears from the hatchway to the hold, takes one look at Reilly and his burden, and says, “Take her to her cabin. Put her on the table. I must get the bag.” With that he ducks back down below.

Reilly carries me across the deck past Liam who says Damn! and follows us down into my cabin. My pistols are taken and I am put facedown on the table. In a moment I see Higgins come in bearing the medical bag I had put together back when we were rigging out the Emerald. He also has a pail of steaming water.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” says Higgins. “Now I believe it would be best if you left us alone.” Liam and Reilly nod grimly and leave, closing the door behind them.

Higgins goes around behind me and I feel him pulling off my boots. Then he unloosens my sword belt and slips that off.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he says as he reaches in under my belly and undoes the buttons of my pants and then the drawstring of my drawers. Then I feel both pants and drawers tugged down off of me.

“How bad does it look, Higgins? I hardly felt anything.”

“We’ll see, Miss. Here, let me put this pillow under your middle . . . there, that’s it. Now, let’s look.”

Putting the pillow under my hips puts my bum up in the air, but I suppose that’s what he wants, so as to get a clear shot at the problem. I wait. Then I feel a hot wet cloth cleaning off the area under scrutiny.

“Hmmm . . . ,” he says. “It is a splinter, but the end of it is visible, which is good, as we won’t have to go digging for it, if it comes out all in a piece. One moment . . .”

I hear him rummaging through the medical kit for what I know will be pliers, and then he comes back.

“Steady now,” and I feel the cold pliers against my cheek. “It would be better if you don’t clench your buttocks when I do this, and now . . .”

“Yeeeoowww!”

I had intended not to cry out as an example to my crew as to my bravery, but I did anyway. Higgins carefully puts the withdrawn splinter on the table next to my nose. It is about two inches long and sits there glistening wetly.

“It seems to be relatively smooth and free of burrs. I think it all came out in a piece.”

“Good Emerald oak,” I manage to say.

“Indeed,” he says, drily. “I am sure you will have it mounted on a bronze plaque, given your usual sense of the dramatic.” I think about the joke I made about splinters last night down in Reilly’s cabin. Strange how things always come back at me.

“The wound is deep, but not wide,” he continues. “I think it will heal up quite nicely. The bleeding has already stopped. I don’t think there will even be a scar, so when you present yourself to your husband on your bridal bed, I am sure he will not even notice.” His tone is joking, but I know he’s just trying to put me at my ease—he’s worried about infection, as am I. I’ve heard of people who’ve died of a mere blister on their heel.

“Dammit, Higgins, I told you there ain’t gonna be no bridal bed and no . . . oh, the hell with it. Get the spirits of wine . . . right there in the brown bottle. Pour it on.” I grit my teeth again.

“I suppose that is good, Miss. Then you won’t have to explain to him about that tattoo.”

“EEEEEEEeeee . . .” I keen as the pure alcohol hits. I don’t know for sure that it helps keep off the infection, but I hold that if it hurts, it’s got to be good. It’s the Puritan in me. Higgins takes a cloth and is cleaning up the mess of blood and water and spirits when there’s a knock on the door.

“Jacky,” comes Liam’s voice from outside. “Are you all right? We’ve got a situation here.”

“Not yet, Captain,” pleads Higgins. “Please, we’ve got to get a bandage on this first.”

“No, Higgins, we’ve got to take care of business first. Just throw something over me and open the door.” I can tell from the feel of the ship that we haven’t cast off the prize and gotten under way yet, and that puts us in a precarious position. We ain’t the only privateers about—there’s French and Dutch and even Danish ones, too—and it would be a shame to lose both our prize and ourselves by being surprised in a weak condition like this.

When I feel the cool sheet float over my backside, I call out, “Come in, Liam.”

The door swings open and Liam enters, followed by Padraic and Arthur holding the French passenger between them. I get up on my elbows.

Upon seeing me stretched out on the table with my legs spread out and my bum in the air, Liam reddens and says, “Put him in the chair and then get out, both of you.”

The boys push the man down into the chair at the head of the table and then leave. As they go Padraic looks at my face with great concern, and Arthur looks at the rest of me with great merriment, as if he can barely keep from making a fine joke concerning my current state. I’ll get you, Arthur, my glare tells him.

“What’s this, then?” I ask.

“This is what it is,” says Liam. “We found these on him.”

Liam opens a leather bag and pours its contents out onto the tabletop in front of me and I gasp and gape in wonder. Are those rubies, diamonds? And can that big one be an emerald? I look up at Higgins who is himself looking down at the pile of glittering stones. “A king’s ransom, Miss,” he murmurs.

The French gentleman, for gentleman he plainly is, sits straight in his chair, but there is a look of utter defeat on his face.

“No other things on him? Nothing that looks like spy stuff?”

Liam shakes his head.

The man looks up, surprised. “I am not a spy,” he says in English, looking offended at the notion. Then he looks back down. Ah. That will make things easier.

“How came you by these baubles?” I ask, carelessly running my finger through the pile. “I am sure you will tell me they are nothing but glass.”

“No, they are not. They are very valuable. For a long time, I felt desirous of leaving my native land and so I cashed in all my assets into this form. I am, or I was, before the Glorious Revolution, the Marquis de Mont Blanc. I had sent my family to England while I remained behind to settle our accounts. And now I have lost everything.”

“Why did you wish to leave?” I ask.

“I do not like the present government of my country. My family was aristocratic and we lost many of our members to the guillotine . . . to the mob. We haven’t forgotten. And with Bonaparte’s latest outrages . . . we had to go.”

“And where were you going? Surely you wouldn’t stay in Britain?”

“No. Only to book passage. Then on to America to make a new life.”

It strikes me then that I, so lately a girl of the streets, a mere beggar, really, could right now bring down this man and his whole family, they who have been parading around as high-and-mighty lords and ladies for a thousand years or so, and bring them down, right down to the ground. It is a mighty temptation.

But I sigh and say, “You have great good luck, Monsieur de Mont Blanc. We are honest privateers and take only the cargoes and ships of enemy countries. We do not rob passengers or crew of their personal belongings. You may gather up your jewels and return in the lifeboat to France. Good luck to you and your family.”

I see Liam stiffen at this. Steady, Liam, and see how this plays out. I know how you feel about aristocrats and such, but maybe we can have our cake and eat it, too. Maybe we can hold to our honorable vow, and yet prosper . . . I don’t take my eyes off the Marquis de Mont Blanc.

He looks at his hands. “There is a problem with that. Were I to go back now, I would not be received . . . well, with kindness.”

Ah, I thinks. It’s either me or the guillotine, eh, Monsieur? And what kind of choice is that?

I smile and say, “You would book passage with us, then? Ah, well . . . Higgins . . . please . . . hand me my shiv.” Higgins’s hand, bearing my knife, appears in my vision. The Marquis stiffens when he sees me take it, but, don’t worry, Sir, the blade is not for you.

I use the knife to separate the jewels into two equal piles. Then I make sure that there are equal amounts of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds on each side. I hum a little tune as I do this. Could it be “La Marseillaise” I’m humming? Allons enfants de la patrie-eeeeeeee . . . I don’t know . . . The biggest emerald of the lot I do not include in either pile—that I put separate, close to my chin. I point with my shiv to the pile on the left.

“You shall keep those jewels, Monsieur, and I wish you and your family the joy of them. There is surely enough there to get you a fresh start in America. Your sort always rises back to the top, anyway, eh?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“And this pile here,” I say, gesturing to the jewels on the right, “will pay for your passage. We will get you safely to Harwich and we will provide you an escort to take you to the bosom of your family. Your escort will be strong and well-armed, I assure you—there are many thieves abroad in this world, Monsieur, as I am sure you know.”

He looks at me steadily. “That is surely the most expensive fare ever paid for crossing the Channel,” he finally says, but he doesn’t look quite so hopeless now.

“That may be so, but I believe it is your best option. Besides, it is not only a fare you are getting, but also our kind protection. And if you decide to go to Boston in America, I can even give you a letter of introduction to le Comte de Lise, a very high-placed Frenchman there. I went to school with his darling daughter. It will give you a leg up in Society.”

I wait a bit for him to juggle the odds and then I say, “Agreed?”

He gives a shrug and says, simply, “Oui.”

“Good. Then, as my honored passenger, you shall join me for dinner tonight, and you will find that I set a fine table,” I say, bestowing on him my best grin. “But, wait . . . there is one more thing . . .”

His eyelids droop and he looks warily at me, waiting for the ax to drop. I continue.

“The ship you hired to spirit you away from France did fire on me and did hurt me sorely. For my pain and suffering I will take this emerald for myself and my poor bottom . . . or how would you have it? . . . mon derrière faible? Till this evening then, Monsieur, I bid you adieu. ”

 

Three days later and we are back in Harwich with our hard-won prize.