In which our Heroine well and truly learns the Pyrate’s Craft, discovers the Joys of Sailing (as she hath previously known only the Pains), whereupon our valiant Pyrates meet their Match upon the Seas, and we disprove that old Maxim, namely: “Man cannot be rap’d.”
THUS OUR MIGHTY PYRATE Flotilla set sail across the South Atlantick (as soon as we had captur’d sufficient Provisions from outbound Slavers and liberated their Slaves to sail with us). It proving impossible to repair the Hopewell’s Rigging without putting into some friendly Anchorage, we captur’d another Ship instead, a broad-beam’d English Flute call’d the Speedy Return, and sank the Hopewell without further Ado. ’Twas not until I watch’d that Brigantine go down in the African Waters that I remember’d my Romance—my Tale of Philidore and Clotilda—lying in one of Captain Whitehead’s Lockers, now at the Bottom of the Sea! I had sav’d Dennison’s Book at the Expence of my own! O for a Time I thought that augur’d ill for my intended Career as an Author. My Epick lost at a Coaching Inn! My Juvenilia lost I knew not where! My Romance lost at Sea! How would I e’er become the Bard I wisht to be if I kept losing my Life’s Work so carelessly? Yet perhaps ev’ry Author must serve an Apprenticeship, and perhaps indeed ’tis better that no other Eyes than hers behold the puny Fruits of that Apprenticeship, and no other Lips savour their insufficient Juice. I meditate so now, yet then I was Heart-broken o’er the Loss of my Work. It seem’d I’d ne’er find Time to write again and I was quite distraught by my own Foolhardiness in losing my Romance to the Immensity of the Sea. Go little Book, thought I, and feed the Fishes, if they care to eat Words instead of more substantial Food. Ah what Vanity are our Dreams of Immortality thro’ Books! I’faith, most Books perish thus, e’en those that languish in a dusty Bookseller’s Stall in St. Paul’s Churchyard; and those that win great Fame oft’ perish thus as well, after a Time. Yet there was a Part of me that saw this Loss of my Romance as an Off’ring to propitiate the Favour of the Fates and bring Belinda safe into my Arms. Alas, ’tis true, I fear, that a Woman ne’er can write a Book without balancing betwixt that Book and a Baby.
Our Pyrate Flotilla now consisted of four Ships: our Flag Ship, the Happy Delivery, a Brigantine whose Hold was heavy with the Moguls’ Gold and Jewels; the Bijoux, a swift Sloop; the Willing Mind, a Merchantman and captur’d Slaver; and the Speedy Return, the aforemention’d English Flute, built after a Dutch Design. ’Twas she who was the Slave Ship we had captur’d to replace the Hopewell, tho’ she was, alas, a slow and pond’rous Sailor. But Pyrates cannot always be particular when they require a Ship.
Four Ships barely met our Needs, since we were o’er-supplied with Men. Most Pyrate Ships are cramm’d with Pyrates—hence their Prowess, so Horatio said, in fright’ning off their Prey. But, with all the liberated Slaves, we had near four hundred Men now, and the Holds of our Ships, except the first, were cramm’d with Straw Pallets for ’em to sleep upon, as well as swaying Hammocks hanging from the Beams, as in the King’s Navy.
Lancelot, Horatio, and I sail’d aboard the Flag Ship; Deputy Captains and First Mates were elected to sail the Bijoux, Willing Mind, and Speedy Return. The Happy Delivery led the other Ships, but how long we would stay together on the Storm-toss’d Seas, and with such unruly Men, was anyone’s Guess.
I spent my Shipboard Days learning the Pyrate’s Craft. Horatio taught me Swordsmanship, the Use of Grappling Hooks and Boarding Axes, whilst Lancelot taught me to play Helmsman as well as Reefing, Hauling, and Keeping the Watch. ’Twas Lancelot’s firm Belief that no one aboard a Ship should be innocent of any Seaman’s Task, for you ne’er knew, said he, when you might sail alone or be shipwreckt upon a Desert Isle.
O the Use of Cutlass I ne’er took to with great Gusto—tho’ I became proficient at my Self-Defence—nor did I love to reef the Sails, tho’ I did it with a willing enough Mind. But Steering the Ship I lov’d! For as I stood at the Helm, watching the blue Sea rise upon either side, watching for Squalls upon the Surface of the Deep, and surveying the Clouds for Rain, I felt like Columbus himself discovering the New World, or like a Pyrate Queen of all the Seas, piloting my Destiny!
O what a Diff’rence from the Days I cower’d in Whitehead’s Cabin as a Slave! Now I was Mistress of the Seas, canny about the Weather, knowledgable concerning Wind and Cloud and beginning to feel myself at one with this Alien Element, the Sea. I grew to love my Shipboard Life apace. ’Twas true that Rations were not as short upon Lancelot’s Ships as upon Whitehead’s, and I was treated with great Deference by the Crew—both at Lancelot’s and Horatio’s Commands (and due to my own Prowess in learning all the Crafts of Pyracy so quickly and so well). But ’twas something more: my Spirit seem’d to soar at Sea. Each Night brought rapturous Dreams as I was rockt in the Cradle of the Deep, and I came to love the Water lapping at the Hull, the Gentleness of Sleep at Sea, and all the Sounds of Wind thro’ the Sails.
When our Ships were borne along by Trade Winds in the South Atlantick and the Sails requir’d little Trimming, Sailing was a Joy! Harmony reign’d betwixt Man and the Elements, and a Ship seem’d the Perfect Craft, design’d to bend the Forces of Nature to Man’s Will. But when the Wind freshen’d suddenly and Squalls o’ercame us in a trice, Nature herself turn’d from Helpmeet to Harridan and Harmony turn’d to Horror! O what Panick suffus’d our Hearts as we scurried up the Masts to take in the Sails lest we heel o’er into the Drink! I learnt to be as nimble in clambering up a Mast barefoot as any Common Tar, but ne’er did I do so without a Pounding in my Breast that seem’d to say: Turn back, turn back, this is no Task for the Fair! Yet I still’d those Voices and continu’d just the same, for I had Contempt for Womanish Fears and fancied myself neither Man nor Woman but a Combination of the noblest Qualities of the twain! Always in my Life have I sought to press myself to do the Things I’ve fear’d the most; for only when one snatches Fear by the Scruff of its Neck and proclaims oneself its Mistress, doth one live Life to the fullest. The Squall would pass, the Wind be fair again, and I would scramble down the Mast, breathing a Sigh of deep Relief whilst all the Tars and I drank Toasts in Grog to Fairer Winds to come.
From the Lookout on the Mainmast, one could see twenty Miles in each Direction; thus on a clear Day ’twas possible to spy likely Prizes, and with a Fair Wind, give Chase. Most Merchantmen were ill-equipp’d for Combat and well-nigh helpless to our howling Hordes of Pyrates.
Whilst still a Distance from the Prey, we’d hoist a Flag of her own Country to throw her off her Guard; only when we were quite close would we hoist our Pyrate Flags to terrify. Likewise we had various Flags to communicate betwixt our various Ships, whereupon each Deputy Skipper was to take a Vote amongst the Men to determine whether we should chase a Prize or not. ’Twas common Pyrate Lore that the most heavily loaden Merchantmen were oft’ the least heavily arm’d, for the Hold was us’d for Cargo rather than Ammunition. Frequently these Ships had Gunports painted on their Sides to give the false Appearance of great Force of Arms, but an old Salt, canny with a Spying-Glass, could tell the Diff’rence betwixt these painted Gunports and the real Things. The Wind being favourable, and the Vote being favourable, we’d give Chase, each of our four Ships knowing that the first Man on board receiv’d a double Share of Booty. Thus we were racing each other e’en as we pursu’d the Prey, which gave the Taking of a Prize an added Hint of Sport!
The first Ship to reach the Prey attackt in the Time-honour’d Pyrate Fashion, invented, so Horatio said, by the Buccaneers, or Brethren of the Coast. We’d scarce fire Cannon, lest we sink a fair Prize with all her Booty, but rather we would seek to board her from the Bowsprit—oft’ without a single Broadside being fir’d. How Ships surrender’d when they saw our Pyrate Colours! ’Twas comical almost. I scarce would have credited Horatio’s Tales had I not seen it with my own Eyes! Ship after Ship surrender’d to our Pyrate Flotilla, usually with less Damage to our own Vessels than that wrought by tiny Shipworms. So ’tis frequently the case that the smallest and most invisible Enemy inflicts the greatest Damage, whilst the largest Enemy may be fell’d, like Goliath, with a tiny Sling.
Musicians we had to play the Fife and Drums and Trumpets with War-like Menace, whilst the most skillful of the Pyrates vapour’d ’round the Decks, growling like Lunaticks and baring their Teeth in a fev’rish Display of false Ferocity! Costume was oft’ resorted to as well, the most fearsome Pyrates dressing themselves in Savage Colours and wearing their Hair and Beards most horribly unkempt. ’Twas simple to look fearsome, for, i’faith, these Pyrates scarce had bath’d in sev’ral Years, and sure they ne’er once shav’d off any Hair that might affright the Prey! Their Teeth were rotten from their Lives at Sea, their Faces oft’ were scarr’d, their Noses broke, and many had but half an Ear remaining! I lookt quite ill myself with my shorn Locks standing up as straight as Stubble in a Cornfield; and when I dress’d en Homme, I could pass—to unknowing Eyes—as any Pyrate, despite the Largeness of my Breasts, which I took care to bind ’neath my Coat.
In my Heart, I nourish’d the daft Dream that we would sight Cassandra in those Waters and take Belinda as our Pyrate Prize; to that End I forced myself to climb the one-hundred-foot Mast and spy the Seas with Lancelot’s Spying-Glass. ’Twas a perilous Climb upon a rocking Sea (e’en on dry Land, ’twould be most perilous!) and my Head cower’d e’en as my Heart demanded it. But what is Motherhood if not a Course in Courage? And what are Children but the Means by which we leave our own Childhoods far behind? In your sweet Name, Belinda, I was pusht to Feats that ne’er before or since have I done.
Alas, I did not sight Cassandra, tho’ I did sight other fair Prizes and won the Choyce of Weapons for it, too. I sighted the King Solomon, an English Snow, and the Guarda del Costa, a Spanish Merchantman. And I was the first to board the Guarda, too!
O I remember that Engagement as if ’twere Yesterday! Lancelot sat back and let me play the Skipper upon that Occasion, for he was growing e’er more proud of my Pyrate Prowess and he delighted in watching me command our Ship.
“Is all ready?” I enquir’d as we gather’d on the Guarda.
“Yea,” cried the Men.
“Every Man to his Charge!” I shouted, watching the Helmsman with a practis’d Eye.
“Keep her steady,” I commanded.
“Aye, aye,” said the Helmsman.
The Guarda struck her Flag and Pennant and Streamers; we likewise struck a Spanish Flag to confuse her.
“Dowse your Topsail and salute her!” I cried. ’Twas done; the Spanish Ship was hail’d. Only when we were so close that we could almost shout to the Guarda did we strike our Pyrate Colours.
“Whence your Ship?” the Master of the Guarda askt in Terror, for he knew the Answer.
“From the Seas!” I cried.
The Guarda was so surpriz’d by us that she kept her Luff whilst we were making ready to tack about. We approach’d Bow-on with Noise of Fife and Drum and Trumpet and Vapouring Pyrates making horrid Faces on the Fo’c’sle Deck, sticking out their Tongues at the affrighted Spanish Tars and growling like Beasts of the Wild! When we drew close enough, I climb’d out on the Bowsprit and leapt across to board the Guarda ere a single Broadside could be fir’d. Whilst I did so, our three other Ships tackt about as well, quite surrounding our Prize, with Cannon at the ready, and the howling Hordes Vapouring upon their Decks! ’Twas all that easy; we so swiftly boarded the Spanish Prize that she had no Chance at Self-Defence. The Captain might put up a brief Display of Force, but the Tars would likely not, so abus’d were they.
During the Engagement with the Guarda, as during many others, I workt with Horatio as my Mate—and dress’d as gaudily as he himself. I wore a Full-bottom’d Wig, to cover my Stubble, a Hat with a red Feather, and a damask Waistcoat. I’d e’en devis’d Moustaches for myself to cover my womanish Lips. Horatio would follow me across the Bowsprit, and as we boarded the Prize we’d shout in Latin to affright our Prey. To these poor Sea-Dogs, it seem’d a most curious Tongue and it confus’d ’em utterly. They’d ne’er heard its like except in Church, and the Things we shouted were most unliturgical! (Thus doth e’en Book-learning have its practical Use!)
Horatio was adept at slicing Noses and Ears with great Display of Blood but few Mortal Wounds. I would scramble up the Masts to cut away the Rigging, and disable the Prey, making good her speedy Surrender. Few Spanish Sailors would risque their Lives for Plate and Jewels consign’d to haughty Hidalgos they hated. We took the Guarda del Costa with her full Cargo of Booty—Gold Dust, Emeralds, and abundant Bars of Silver. My double Share of that alone made me quite rich but, alas, it did not restore Belinda.
A most curious Incident occurr’d whilst we were dividing up the Plunder after our successful Engagement with the Guarda del Costa. Each of the Deputy Captains had come aboard the Happy Delivery to receive their Men’s Share of the Booty, which consisted, in part, of Bags of rough-hewn Emeralds. Having counted ’em all, Horatio determin’d we could spare five per Man, consid’ring the double Shares for me and Lancelot as first to Board and Fleet Commander, respectively. But after sharing out the Gems—which were all of small or middling Size—he found himself down to the last Man on the List, with only one Emerald remaining, but that one being of prodigious Size. Where the other Emeralds had been but half-or quarter’inch across, this one was perhaps ten Inches wide and weigh’d more heavy in the Hand than many common Rocks. The Pyrate Captain of the Bijoux, a gruff, uneducated Man, objected when he drew this great Gem as his Share.
“Damme!” cried he, “the others had five Stones an’ I’ve but one!” Nor would he rest until Horatio took a Mallet and shatter’d this precious Emerald to tiny Bits so he could have his five!
I tell this Tale merely to illustrate the sort of Men our Pyrates were: rough-hewn Rogues who knew not that one great and hefty Stone was worth a dozen small! Literal they were and shrunken of Mind, and the Chance of building a Deocracy with them seem’d slim indeed. We were growing richer Day by Day, yet we were scarcely melding into a true Communitas. Horatio and I both knew that Lancelot’s Dreams of a New Jerusalem were daft—at least with these Men—but did Lancelot yet know? ’Twas true that Lancelot was changing before my very Eyes; he was proud of my Pyrate Prowess and oft’ deferr’d to my Advice and Counsel. Still, did he see, as I did, the Danger of Rebellion by our scurvy Pyrate Colleagues? That could neither I nor Horatio rightly say. Our Hold was cramm’d with Precious Jewels and Gold, yet daily our Dreams seem’d further away!
Moreo’er, tho’ as Pyrates Fortune smil’d on us, as Lovers ’twas quite another Matter. Horatio, Lancelot, and I slept in the Great Cabin of the Happy Delivery, eyeing each other with unrequited Lust. Lancelot would not allow Horatio to make love to me; Horatio would not allow Lancelot to make love to me; and I forbade ’em to make love to each other on Pain of Death! I had not been taught the Use of Cutlass for nought! I would wield my Cutlass in Defence of my own Honour, if not yet to seize Belinda. Thus, we three kept an uneasy Truce at Sea, sleeping in our separate Berths in the same Cabin, and yearning for each other.
“We could make Love as three,” Lancelot would sigh. “Such Things are known ’neath Heaven….”
“Not on your Life!” Horatio would rejoin. But should Horatio make a Move to caress Lancelot, I would most heatedly protest. Ah, it made our Tempers keen for Battle—all this unrequited Love and Lust—and we three vented on the Prey the Fury that we could not spend in Bed!
’Twas clear that Things could not continue thus, fore’er more, and a most Fateful Encounter at Sea brought Matters swiftly to a Head.
We were still in the South Atlantick, at a Latitude of about eighteen degrees, and nearing, with Fair Winds (Horatio said), the flat Isle of Anegado, with its Five-Mile Reefs, which stand as Nature’s Barriers betwixt the Atlantick and the Caribee. Here Sir Francis Drake had found a Passage, which now bore his Name, and here, in those Isles they call’d the Virgin Isles, were many uninhabited Keys with Fair Anchorages, where Ships as large as ours might hide, sending smaller Ships to raid the Shipping Roads. Here might we find our Tropick Pyrate Isle, to make our Libertalia, or here, at least, might we ride at Anchor in a hidden Cove whilst a Landing Party in a swifter Sloop, the Bijoux perhaps, set out in search of the Cassandra.
The Winds were fair, and Horatio thought to make the Isle of Anegado in a few Days. The Passages were perilous; many Ships had wreckt themselves upon the Reefs; but Horatio, having sail’d this Way before, claim’d he knew the proper Tacks to take to sail about the Isle and ride at Anchor in a pleasant Bay. He also had a practis’d Eye for spotting Reefs ’neath the Sea.
But none of these Plans was to come to pass; for as we sail’d the Open Ocean we chanced to spy within our Glass a most curious Ship, and she hail’d us upon the Seas, as if in Distress.
She was a strange-looking Vessel, Frigate-built and broad of Beam, with Oar Holes like an Ancient Galleass; she mounted thirty Guns, and her Fo’c’sle seem’d a Mighty Fortress. Three-masted she was, and square-rigg’d on all three, but flying a Jib and Lateen Sail as well; with so much Sail, she lookt a fast Ship despite her Bulk. O she was a Sight to see, nor did she seem disabl’d.
“By Jove,” Horatio said—for he was first to spy her: “If I didn’t know that Captain Kidd was dead, I’d say that was the Adventure Galley, and sailing her, the Ghost of Captain Kidd!”
“How so, Horatio?” I askt, as he climb’d down the Mast, Spying-Glass in Hand.
“Kidd had a Ship like that—the fam’d Adventure Galley—and ’twas said she could do fourteen Knots under Sail, and three with Oars if she should be becalm’d. I ne’er have seen the like of such a Ship nor do I trust her by the Look of her. She means us Harm, I’ll warrant.”
“An’ shall we neglect a Sister Ship in dire Distress?” askt Lancelot.
“Wherefore Distress?” disputed Horatio. “She signals Distress, yet looks she sound as we—for as Tully says—”
“Stuff Tully up yer Arse,” says Lancelot, “an’ hail our Sister Ship!”
“Begging your Pardon, Captain Mine,” says Horatio with heavy Irony, “but I’ll not sail heedless into Danger—I, who am the very Tacitus of Buccaneering!”
“Oho, then is it Mutiny, me Boy?” cried Lancelot.
“Call it what you will,” Horatio said.
I fear’d the two would come to Blows, so I stepp’d in.
“Why not hoist a Flag to test her?” I propos’d. For we, like many Pyrate Ships, and Privateers as well, carried Flags of all Nations to beguile our Prey.
“An’ which one should we hoist?” askt Lancelot.
“Why not the Mighty British Lion?” said I.
Horatio concurr’d, as did Lancelot—another Brawl betwixt ’em averted!—and we hoisted up the beauteous British Flag; whereupon the strange Frigate did the same!
“’Tis a Fetch!” Horatio cried.
“O ye of little Faith!” cried Lancelot.
“She’s coming about!” Horatio said. “Shall we stand here like lubberly Poltroons or board her ere she essays to board us! If that’s a crippl’d Ship, I’ll eat my Hat!”
“Prepare the Cannon,” I counsell’d, “but do not fire!”
The Frigate was coming at us so rapidly that there was no Time to consult the other Ships regarding this Engagement.
“Hoist the Pyrate Flag!” I cried, whilst Lancelot merely stood back and left these Decisions to me.
Our Pyrate Colours were struck; whereupon we saw a Sight surpassing strange: the other Ship struck Pyrate Colours, too!
Her Flag was black as Night; upon it were cross’d Cutlasses ’neath a Skull. But what was curious about this Skull was that it clutch’d a Rose betwixt its Teeth—like some Saucy Wench!
The Frigate gain’d on us; we fear’d for our Lives. She had more Sail than our poor Brigantine, more Cannon, too, and certainly a stronger Fo’c’sle. Why, ’twas a Fortress in itself! O should we, after all our Days at Sea, be taken by Pyrates better-arm’d than we? Desp’rately, we tried to signal to the Rest of our Flotilla.
“Hoist the Signal Halyards!” I cried.
’Twas swiftly done, but not one of the other Ships came about to aid us.
“Mutiny!” shouted Lancelot. “Mutiny!”
As I have said, I’d fear’d for some Time that if we were e’er in grave Danger, our Deputy Skippers would view our Demise with Complacency, and so ’twas true; they made no Move to aid us. I’faith, it seem’d they broke Formation and sail’d away.
Now the Frigate was coming about and making ready to board us from the Bow in the same Pyrate Style we had so oft’ us’d ourselves! We saw her Name—’twas odd: the Three Spoon Galley; and she had all her Cannon ripe for Fire. Upon her Decks and Shrouds were so many Pyrates that e’en with our swollen Crew, we were outclass’d. But as she came for us, we spy’d upon the Bowsprit, standing like some glorious Figurehead, a beauteous red-headed Wench with a rais’d Cutlass in her Hand! What’s more, she had a silken Rose betwixt her Teeth!
Horatio rais’d his Pistol to dispatch her; Lancelot stay’d his Hand.
“Hold!” Lancelot said. “Can I believe me Eyes? ’Tis Annie Bonny, as I live an’ breathe! ’Tis the beauteous Pyrate Queen herself!”
At those last Words, Jealousy leapt in my Breast. I stood there on the Deck in Danger for my very Life and I could think of nothing but the Loss of my red Hair, how shabby I must look before this Beauty, and how much I coveted the Title “Pyrate Queen”!
Now the Bowsprit of the Three Spoon Galley came across our Waist on the Port Side and the beauteous Pyrate leap’d upon our Deck, follow’d by a Boarding Party of twelve. I deem’d us done for now, and secretly I curst Lancelot’s soft Heart. Would I (and e’en poor lost Belinda) be sacrificed to his Stupidity? O damn Lancelot and his Thieves’ Honour! What a soft-headed Nit-Wit he was!
Two Pyrates seiz’d me; two seiz’d Horatio and two were making ready to seize Lancelot, when lo! the Pyrate Queen seem’d all at once to recognize the Admiral of our Fleet, and running to him, fell upon her Knees and kiss’d his Feet, crying out, “Lancelot the Brave! Yer Fame hath gone afore ye! I salute a Fellow Pyrate an’ Colleague o’ the Seas!”
In a trice, the Pyrates who were holding us fell back; Lancelot beam’d with Vanity; Horatio breath’d a deep-fetch’d Sigh of Relief, and I—I was consum’d with Jealousy!
I saw how her Words made Lancelot primp and preen; I saw, when she fell upon her Knee, how her Breasts were large as Tropick Melons (and loosely held within her Stays) and how Lancelot lookt at ’em! I fancied she had no scarr’d Belly, no Children at all to stretch her Breasts, and O I coveted her Hair—so like my former Curls—and O, O, O I coveted her Ship as well! More Sail I could forgive, more Cannon e’en, but more Hair, ne’er! I wisht her dead with all my Heart and Soul, yet I smil’d and took her Hand when introduced, and fell before her in a Curtsey so profound, you’d think I’d met the Queen herself!
“Annie Bonny as I live an’ breathe, I ne’er thought to see yer own Sweet Self on Land or Sea,” said Lancelot. “I heard tell ye were tried in Jamaica an’ sentenced to be hang’d.”
“Jack Rackham was hang’d—the cowardly Dog—” said she, “but I could plead me Great Belly an’, i’faith, was later pardon’d. We Women have so many Disadvantages that we may as well take those few Advantages Nature herself provides—why, I have both me Babes at Sea with me—in trainin’ to be Pyrates!”
I listen’d wide-eyed to this Tale. Would that I had my Babe at Sea with me! O I envision’d my own Sweet Belinda playing in the commodious Hold of a Pyrate’s Treasure Galleon, prattling and drooling amidst Piles of Emeralds and Gold Mohurs, sucking on Silver Bars, and sprinkling Louis d’Ors and glitt’ring Doubloons betwixt her pink Infant Fingers!
“This ’ere’s me Quartermaster, Horatio,” Lancelot said, his Thieves’ Accent growing thicker at Annie Bonny’s Arrival, “and this ’ere’s me Mascot, Fanny Hackabout-Jones.”
Anne Bonny rose to her Feet to receive Horatio’s Obeisances; for now ’twas his Turn to fall upon bended Knee and grovel, like a lovesick Puppy, before her. Me she ignor’d, so little Regard had she for my Looks or Bearing. Only my Name amus’d her.
“Why, what a curious Name!” said she, “Hackabout-Jones—how very odd.”
“Ye’d best remember it,” I said, “for ’twill be as famous as yours someday.”
How unlike me to be so ill-manner’d! The Words leap’d from my Mouth ere I thought about ’em.
“Methinks I see a green-eyed Monster,” said Horatio, rising from his Knees.
“Come, come, Ladies,” Lancelot said. “Why ye have much in common. By Rights ye should both be the best o’ Friends!”
I was unconvinced; yet could I not take my Eyes off Annie Bonny, so beauteous was she and so full of Fire. Her Hair was red, her Eyes as green as Emeralds, her Skin as pink as tiny furl’d Rosebuds, and her Breasts as white as Lilies. I touch’d the Stubble upon my Head and felt asham’d. If I were half the Woman this Bonny was, I should ne’er have let vile Whitehead use me so! OI blam’d myself e’en for my Misfortunes! Instead of taking Pity on myself and being a Friend to my own tortur’d Soul, I sought to be her Torturer as well.
Ah, Jealousy is, of all Human Vices, the most vicious! ’Tis truly, as Dryden says, “the Jaundice of the Soul”; and as Shakespeare says, it assuredly “doth mock the Meat it feeds on!” Jealousy can make Enemies of Friends and Friends of Enemies (when they envy a former Friend in common!). Jealousy, not Money, is the Root of all the Evil upon this Earth.
“Come, Ladies,” Lancelot said, “shall we take our Ease in the Great Cabin an’ drink a Glass o’ Claret? Fer, ’tis not often we are blest with such a Guest….” Whereupon he took Anne Bonny’s Arm like some Courtier of Old and led her slowly, and in the greatest State, to the Captain’s Cabin; Horatio and I humbly follow’d.
There, with Port and Cheese and other Dainties set before us, Lancelot drank a fulsome Toast to Bonny’s Beauty (whereupon she preen’d) and then he begg’d her to tell her Tale of Pyracy, Capture, and subsequent Deliverance.
I settl’d myself at the Captain’s Table to hear this Tale, yet in my Heart was I harden’d against her—if not because of her Great Ship, then because of her Great Beauty, if not because of her Great Beauty, then because of the way my two Great Men grovell’d and panted in her Presence. When Lancelot first made my Acquaintance, he had scarce us’d me thus. Ah, Men claim to be afraid of Women of Spirit, Women who can duel with Rapier like any Man, but i’faith, such Women fascinate ’em! For ’twas not Bonny’s Beauty alone that made Lancelot so daft for her, but the fatal Combination of Beauty and Courage!
“I was born in Ireland in County Cork,” said she, “the Daughter o’ an Attorney an’ a Housemaid. ’Tis said that Bastards have the best Luck, an’ my Case proves it, too! Fer I have watch’d me High-born Friends sink down whilst I meself have prosper’d….”
A Braggart she is, too, thought I, as well as Bastard, yet I swallow’d back my Words and held my Tongue.
“Me Father was Will Cormac, me Mother Peg Brennan, an’ Bonny is the Name o’ me first Husband—the Cowardly Dog, Jim Bonny. ’Tis all I got from him an’ just as well. Both me Children are Jack Rackham’s—so I think—but e’en that’s none too sure. At least I know they’re mine!” She laugh’d lustily, whereupon Lancelot and Horatio echo’d her Laughter as if this were the wittiest Jest they’d e’er heard. I remain’d as impassive as a good Whisk-Player.
“I was born as the curious Result o’ three lost Spoons—thus they are me Good-Luck Charms—an’ I have call’d me Galley after ’em. Me Galley itself is built after the Design o’ Captain Kidd’s, an’ save fer him, no Pyrate hath e’er sail’d a Ship o’ this Design!”
“You see!” Horatio, the Pyrate Historian, says to me.
“Hmmph!” say I, whereupon Bonny ignores me and continues.
“The Tale is strange—so are the Tales o’ all our Births oft’ strange, fer if we knew what odd Capriciousness o’ Fate brought our two Natural Parents to make love, we oft’ would quake to see how little stands betwixt our drawin’ Breath upon this Earth an’ bein’ curst fer all Eternity to Non-Existence….”
Horatio and Lancelot shook their Heads furiously in agreement, like two idiotick Niddle-Noddle Figures; I only lookt icily at my rival Pyrate and said nought.
“Fer as the Tale is told,” Bonny continu’d, “me Father had been married to a Lady o’ some Estate in County Cork, an’ she had gone away fer a Change o’ Air after her Lyin’-in, whereupon he took this Opportunity to pay Court to Peg Brennan, the Maid, fer whom he felt a Hot Attraction. So many Men do likewise when their Wives are engaged in Child-bearin’—which is the Reason I will ne’er be anyone’s Wife again! But, by the by, me Father’s first Wife went to his Mother’s in the Country, leavin’ me Father an’ Peg Brennan alone to do what they would without no spyin’ Eyes. But me Mum, Peg Brennan, was also a Beauty like meself, an’ sure she had Suitors besides the Master o’ the House.” Here Anne preen’d as if she play’d the Role of her own Mother. Lancelot and Horatio sat listening, slack-jaw’d and slavering.
“One o’ these, a young Tanner from the Town, took the Occasion o’ the Absence o’ the Mistress o’ the House to Steal three Silver Spoons whilst payin’ Court to me Mother. An’ she, bein’ a canny Wench, soon miss’d the Spoons—fer she knew full well who took ’em—an’ she went to the Constable to have her Suitor apprehended. He, on the other hand, havin’ earlier realiz’d she suspected him, decided not to take the Spoons after all, an’ hid ’em betwixt the Sheets o’ her own Bed….”
Dear God—I thought—what a boring Tale! ’Twas worse than hearing someone’s endless Dream; yet Lancelot and Horatio just sat there hanging on each Word as if they had ne’er been so well entertain’d.
“An’ so,” Anne Bonny went on, “when the Mistress o’ the House return’d, the first Thing she was told was o’ the missin’ Spoons, which me Mother had ne’er chanced to find because she was sleepin’ with the Master o’ the House! But sure she did not tell the Mistress that! Rather, she said that the Spoons were taken by her Tanner Lover, that she herself had call’d a Constable, but that the Tanner then had run away an’ no one knew his Whereabouts! So much was true, but what me Mother did not know was that the Tanner came that very Afternoon, confess’d his Theft o’ the Spoons to the Mistress o’ the House, but said he’d done it but in jest, an’ return’d ’em forthwith to the Maid’s Bed. Aha! Now did the Mistress o’ the House suspect why those Spoons had ne’er been found, an’ now did Jealousy infest her Heart! Oho—thought she—me Maid hath not slept in her Bed! Oho, she hath been with me Husband! Whereupon, she resolves to catch the Lovers at their Game an’ nail ’em, as ’twere, to the Cross. So she tells the Maid that she intends to sleep in the Maid’s Chamber that very Night (supposedly to give her own Bed to her Husband’s Mother, but truly to apprehend her strayin’ Husband) an’ she tells me Mother to change the Linens fer her. Well, now, when me Mother goes to her Bed, what should she find there?”
“The Tanner?” offers Lancelot eagerly.
“No, Silly,” says Annie Bonny, showing her White Breasts.
“The Attorney, your Father?” offers Horatio.
“No, Silly,” says Anne, tossing her red Hair and smiling.
“A long boring Tale?” offer I, whereupon both Lancelot and Horatio look Daggers at me.
“No, no, no!” says our Annie. “She finds the three Spoons! Whereupon she hides ’em in a Chest fer the nonce, meanin’ later to put ’em where they might be found by Chance.”
“Oho!” cries Lancelot.
“Aha!” says Horatio.
“Aggh,” say I, but in truth, I say it softly, under my Breath.
“Well,” says the Queen of all the Pyrates, “that very Night, the Mistress o’ the House lyes in the Maid’s Bed—me Mother’s Bed, that is—an’ by the sacred Skull an’ Crossbones, what should happen but her own Husband, the Attorney, comes to her Bed an’ plays the most vigorous Lover with her—mistakin’ her fer the Maid! She bears it all submissively as any Christian Lady—tho’ it sure ain’t me own Style o’ Fornication—an’ sure enough he steals away in the Mornin’ thinkin’ now to surprize his Wife with his Return Home! (Fer, he had pretended to be away on his Wife’s Return Home, the better to have another Night with the beauteous Brennan.) Well, now that the Mistress o’ the House had her Proof o’ her Husband’s Infidelity, she straightaway goes to a Constable to have the Maid apprehended fer the Theft o’ the Spoons—so strong is her Desire fer Revenge—an’ she also goes to her Mother-in-Law, an’ most vigorously complains o’ her Husband, who play’d so great a Romeo with her, thinkin’ her the Maid—tho’ in me own Opinion, she should have thankt the Maid, fer ne’er before had she so good a Fuck off her own Husband! An’ methinks one Good Turn deserves another, eh?”
Here Lancelot and Horatio dissolv’d into Gales of Laughter, as if they were listening to Theophilus Cibber himself, playing Ancient Pistol!
“But no,” says Annie, “she has the Maid clapp’d in Prison fer it—the Fool—fer, sure, when the Maid’s Trunk is search’d an’ the Spoons found, she is swiftly condemn’d as guilty o’ the Theft! Now, the Husband comes Home, pretendin’ he was in another Town the previous Night, an’ the first Thing he hears is o’ the Maid’s Imprisonment, whereupon he goes into a Passion ’gainst the Wife, whereupon she accuses him o’ bein’ the Maid’s Lover, whereupon his own Mother accuses him o’ the same, an’ the Poor Man receives such a Tongue-lashin’ from the two Women that the Quarrel betwixt him an’ his Wife can ne’er be mended more, whereupon both Mother an’ Wife take Horse fer the Mother’s Country Seat, leavin’ the Husband to rage alone! An’, i’faith, ’twas the End o’ their Marriage, fer the Bitterness betwixt ’em grew such that ne’er did they live together as Man an’ Wife again.”
“But what o’ yer poor Mum, in Gaol?” asks Lancelot.
“Well may ye ask,” Anne Bonny says. “She languishes there near six Months ere the Assizes, an’ whilst in Gaol grows greater-an’ greater-bellied—fer me own Infant Self was bloomin’ in her Womb—an’ when the Assizes comes ’round, the Mistress o’ the House relents, havin’ taken Pity on the Maid, an’ decides not to press Charges, an’ so the Maid is set free, an’ soon after brings me to me Birth. All well an’ good so far, but the Mistress o’ the House also proves with Child an’ she gives birth to Twins, whereupon the Attorney, thinkin’ he hath not lain with her since her previous Confinement, grows e’en more vext with her than e’er before an’ now openly lives with the Maid an’ his bastard Daughter to spite her! Well, by an’ by, the Attorney’s Mother falls ill, begs her Son to reconcile with his Legal Wife fer her own Sake, whereupon the stubborn Man refuses, fer he loves his little Daughter an’ his Mistress too well to part from ’em now, whereupon his own Mother disinherits him, leavin’ all her Money to the estranged Wife….”
Dear Goddess, thought I, spare me this rambling Tale, which bores me so it makes my Ears itch! Were Lancelot and Horatio both daft? Had they no Judgement at all? I began to nod and close my Eyes, pretending to listen, but only listening here and there to Anne’s Tale when it suited my Convenience.
The Nub of her History seem’d to be that her Father soon had to leave County Cork due to this Scandal, which ruin’d his Law Practice, whereupon he departed for Charlestown with his Mistress, the former Maid, and his Daughter, Anne. In Charlestown, he set out to practice Law, but soon turn’d Planter, with much Success. Alas, no sooner was he establish’d in Carolina but his beloved Mistress dy’d and he became sole Parent to his little Girl. Thus, she was rais’d, our Annie, on a Charlestown Plantation, the Apple of her Papa’s Eye and spoilt as rotten as a Child could hope to be. Ah, how oft’ ’tis true with Women who are Hellions that they were rais’d by doting Papas! For Anne was ne’er restrain’d in any of her Wishes, and, as a Child, was given her own Slaves, Dogs, and Horses. At Fourteen, she stabb’d an Indentur’d Servant Girl who dropp’d a Dish of Pottage in her Lap—and went scot-free. At Fifteen she join’d a Band of Thieves down by the Charlestown Wharves, and when she was apprehended, her Papa bought her Liberty from Gaol. At Sixteen, she nearly kill’d a Young Swain who’d foolishly thought to take advantage of her. Thus could Anne Bonny defend herself when she did not fancy a Man, but when she fancied one, she also had her Way with him. She told of a Fencing Master who’d taught her how to fence by flicking off her Clothes at Rapier-Point whilst she flickt his as well! Whereupon she announced, in no uncertain Terms, that she’d lost her Virginity at the Age of Nine and ne’er regretted its Loss an Instant.
The History of Annie Bonny’s Life now became most gamey and I open’d my Eyes. I tried to count her Lovers on my Fingers, Toes, the Buttons of my Shift, but soon lost count. There was the Fencing Master, the Dancing Master, an Indian Hunter who’d taught her how to hunt and shoot and e’en skin her Prey, a wealthy Planter or two, and innumerable Buccaneers! ’Twas most curious that tho’ her Life had been adventurous in the extream, she was able to bore one quite because of the dreary Manner in which she told of it. ’Tis frequently the case with Histories of e’en the greatest Men and Women, that if they have no Wit in their Expression nor Instinct for the Story-Teller’s Craft, e’en the most stirring Adventures will seem dull. Mark this well, I told myself, when you come to write the History of your own Life; ne’er forget that ’tis not Fidelity to Fact alone that makes a Story stir the Blood, but Craft and Art! And ’tis perhaps the greatest Craft to seem to have no Craft.
But Lancelot and Horatio conceiv’d no Criticisms whatsoe’er of Bonny’s Tale. They hung upon each Word as if she were a Female Homer, ranting in Ancient Greece.
’Twould have seem’d to me that Bonny had sufficient Liberty at Home in Charlestown ne’er to seek to leave her Father’s Plantation; yet, as e’en the freest Persons account themselves caged if they have licentious Appetites, Anne was determin’d to fly the Nest. As a Girl of Good Fortune, she had her full Choyce of Rich Planters to marry, but none of ’em pleas’d her. Spoil’d as she was by a doting Papa, she ran off with a Common Tar, fully expecting her foolish Papa to shower ’em with Gifts, Houses, and a gen’rous Marriage Portion; but her Papa prov’d wiser than she expected upon this Occasion, and turn’d her out of Doors. Whereupon she and her Husband, James Bonny, took Ship to that great Pyrates’ Lair in the Bahama Isles, the notorious New Providence.
To hear Anne tell of it, New Providence was a sort of New-World Sodom, tho’ to Pyrates ’twas a Paradise.
“The Waters ’round New Providence,” says she, “is too shallow fer yer Men o’ War, yet perfect fer a Brigantine or Sloop—an’ the Channels is most tricky an’ treacherous….”
There, in short, upon the Isle of New Providence could the Pyrates prepare Excursions ’gainst the great Merchant Ships, for in New Providence there was no Law at all and Pyrates liv’d just as they lik’d.
“’Twas what I dreamt about fer all me bloomin’ Life,” says Anne, “a Town without no Constables nor Judges, a Town where him that’s fastest with his Pistol wins ev’ry Argument, an’ where the Women were such bold Whores that I was deem’d a Virgin! Well—almost one….”
If she’s a Virgin, thought I, I’m the Queen of Sheba.
In New Providence, Anne Bonny soon left her dull Husband, Jim Bonny, for more exciting Meat, and went a-pyrating with Jack Rackham.
“O Woe is me,” says she, with no Woe whatsoe’er in her Voice, “I’m e’er a Sucker fer a Handsome Face, an’ Jack was that! Big Cock, small Brain, an’ Calico Trowsers! Was e’er a Wench so daft as to love a Man fer his bright Trowsers? Why, a Wench should love a Man fer what’s in his Head, not in his Cod-Piece, but I’m too innocent o’ the World’s Wicked Ways, I am—no one understands how silly an’ naïve I am ’neath my Reputation….”
Good God! Great Goddess! thought I. Is there no Villain in this World who doth not regard himself as a poor abus’d Innocent, no She-Wolf who doth not think herself a Lamb, no Shark who doth not fancy that she is a Goldfish? Lancelot and Horatio lookt piteously upon her as she prated of her “Innocence”! O ye Heavens—Men are the veriest Fools when Women with large Breasts and Flaming Hair speak of their wounded Innocence!
“Well—” says Bonny, “I went a-pyratin’ with him an’ prov’d meself—as all say—braver than any Man….”
At least she’s modest, thought I.
“Ye know, o’ course,” Bonny went on, “that Gov’ner Woodes Rogers o’ New Providence had promis’d a Pardon fer all Pyrates o’ that Town in the Hopes o’ makin’ ’em proper Settlers an’ bloody Money-hungry Whigs—an’ so we took the Gov’ner’s Pardon—Jack Rackham an’ I did. But no sooner was we fitted out with a fine Privateerin’ Ship to cruise ’gainst the filthy Spanish Dogs than we turn’d Pyrate fer our own Account! Oho, ’twas then that we chanced to find upon our Ship a handsome young Sea-Dog name o’ Mark Read an’ he an’ I was hot attracted to each other”—here she winkt broadly at Lancelot and Horatio—“whereupon Jack Rackham grew ungodly jealous an’ surpriz’d us both whilst we was alone an’ kissin’ on the Fo’c’sle Deck ’neath the Moon! Jack ripp’d the Shirt off this Mark Read in a Passion an’ lo! what should he find?”
“The Silver Spoons?” askt Lancelot.
“The Tanner?” askt Horatio.
“No, Sillies,” said our Annie, fondling her own Breasts, “but Breasts as large an’ fine as these!” Whereupon she unloos’d her Stays, saying, “Oho, ’tis warm to tell a Tale with so much Passion an’ I can scarce breathe free….” And she disclos’d just enough beauteous Breast, with the slight pink Hint of Nipple, to quite distract our two Pyrates from her Tale.
“Well—” says she, “when Jack Rackham sees that Mark Read the Brave Buccaneer is really Mary Read the Brave Buccaneeress, he forthwith stops bein’ jealous, the bloody Fool—fer I had more good Lovin’ with Mary than with any Pyrate that e’er sail’d the Spanish Main! An’ mark ye, I’ve bedded most o’ ’em—Stede Bonnet, Calico Jack, all but the dead Cap’n Kidd himself an’ Blackbeard, o’ course—because he ne’er washt in his Life an’ me Nose is as tender as me ye-know-what!”
Lancelot and Horatio roar’d again with Mirth, whilst, needless to say, I did not.
“Well,” says dear Annie, “Mary Read an’ I was Partners in Battle, Partners in Bed fer as long as the Cruise lasted, an’ ’twas many a Time we was on Deck a-fightin’ whilst the bloody Men huddl’d in the Steerage. Upon one Occasion, I fir’d into the Hold to rouze them cowardly Dogs an’ kill’d a Parcel o’ ’em, too. Then they comes up an’ fights—what’s left o’ them! We took great Numbers o’ Prizes in Jamaica an’ other Parts o’ the West Indies, an’ but fer a short Stay in Cuba where I bore me Babe—the first, that is—I went a-pyratin’ with more Gusto than any Man. An’ Mary did, too! We dress’d in Man’s Disguise an’ play’d the Man in Bed as well. O I ne’er met a Fellow as brave as Mary, nor half the Man abed she was—but there may always be a first Time…” says she, winking again at Horatio and Lancelot.
“Well—we is taken finally because o’ Rackham’s Cowardice an’, our Ship bein’ batter’d by Hurricanoes, an’ damaged in the Riggin’ an’ the Masts, we is pursu’d by Pyrate-Chasers from Port Royal, an’ when the Bastards comes about to board us, Jack Rackham cowers in his Cabin like a Cowardly Dog! Mary an’ I mann’d the Decks alone—but O, brave as we was, we cannot take three Pyrate-Catchers single-handed! Carried to Jamaica in Chains we is, an’ there in Port Royal have the grandest Trial that e’er was seen since Cap’n Kidd was hang’d! A drunken Judge, lyin’ Witnesses, a drunken Barrister—all the Glories o’ British Justice! Why, when Mary an’ me says: ‘Milord, we pleads our Bellies’—the drunken Judge thinks we means to say ’tis Time fer Dinner! Fer yer British Judges is e’er attun’d to their Bellies an’ not to the Meat, as ’twere, o’ the Trial! When a Prisoner pleads her Belly, all the bloody Judge can think of is his own Mutton Roast!”
“Aye, ’tis true,” says Lancelot.
“Well—we get off hangin’ thus,” says Bonny, “but whilst in Gaol, poor Mary dyes o’ Gaol Distemper! Thus do I lose me greatest Love….”
“Aye,” says Lancelot, “I know it well….”
“Alas, alack,” says Horatio, as if Anne Bonny were another Eloisa losing Abelard to Death’s own Monastery, or i’faith, another Alcestis sacrificing Life itself to Love.
“But the Day Jack Rackham is to hang, I goes to his Prison Cell—fer I had Influence aplenty in that Gaol, thanks to me Father’s Money (which he sent via his Planter Friends in Jamaica)—an’ I bid a fond Farewell to the very Man who brought both me Downfall an’ me Deliverance! Fer I was caught owin’ to his Cowardice, ’tis true, but owin’ to his Cock I was spar’d the Noose! ‘Jack’—says I—‘O dearest Anne,’ says he—‘Jack darlin’,’ says I—‘O dearest Anne,’ says he—‘Jack darlin’,’ says I—‘if ye had fought like a Man ye needn’t have hang’d like a Dog!’”
“That’s tellin’ him!” cries Lancelot.
“Aye!” says Horatio.
“What sweet and comforting Words to a dying Man,” say I with heavy Irony, whereupon Lancelot hushes me and Horatio hushes me, and Bonny continues:
“But me Papa comes to the Rescue in the End, sweeps me from Gaol with some well-placed golden Coins—Sacks o’ Coins i’faith—to all the drunken Judges, Gaolers, Barristers, an’ Gov’ners, whereupon what d’ye think happen’d?”
“He makes ye promise to forswear Pyracy?” askt Lancelot.
“No, Silly,” says Annie, loosing her Stays e’en more and fondling her Nipples.
“He makes you promise to live with him in Charlestown?” askt Horatio.
“No, Silly,” says Annie, pulling up her Skirt, and showing first her white Calves, then her fine pink Knees, and then—O Goddess—her smooth white Thighs!
“What, then?” says Horatio, panting.
“Well,” says Anne, “me Papa says: ‘If yer determin’d to be a Pyrate as I see ye are, ye shall have the finest Ship Money can buy an all yer Heart desires, fer I suspect ’tis in yer very Blood!’ An’ so he outfits me as ye can see, with all the finest Gear, a Galley built like Cap’n Kidd’s own Ship; an’ he makes only this Proviso—that I must tithe to him ten per cent of all I take!”
“Amazing!” said Horatio.
“Astoundin’!” said Lancelot. “An’ very like a Lawyer!”
“There’s more Amazement soon to come!” said Anne. Whereupon she opens her Legs and begins, most seductively, to stroke that Bow’r of Bliss betwixt ’em. Now Anne Bonny begins a slow and sensuous Dance before our six astonish’d Eyes and like Salome with all her Seven Veils, she strips off Garments as she dances, and fondles her own Breasts and Thighs! ’Tis verily as if, having expos’d her History in that long, torturous Tale, she now proceeds to lay her Body bare!
Despite my jealousy, I must confess that Anne’s naked Form was beauteous beyond my wildest Dreams: Breasts round and firm as Melons, Nipples pink as Dawn and large as Sand Dollars, a flaming Bush, white Thighs, and a beauteous Belly whose only Hint of Child-bearing was a not unpleasing Slackness. Nor was she unskill’d in Dancing and Disrobing at the self-same Time. E’en her Stays and Petticoats and Shift she us’d most seductively, dropping ’em here and there upon the Floor, in what Mr. Herrick might have call’d “a sweet Disorder.”
Finally, after much Dancing and Fondling, she takes Horatio’s Hand, leads him to kneel betwixt her open Thighs, and offers him the Honey that verily drips in that most purple Place. At once he dives in with more Enthusiasm than a famish’d Dog finding a Leg o’ Mutton! Lancelot, for his part, is too shockt to protest and I must pinch myself to make sure I’m not asleep and dreaming. Ye Gods—what a Woman! Coarse, crude, and yet I cannot but admire someone who takes her Pleasure so directly. In a trice, she and Horatio grapple on the Floor and they are making the Beast with two Backs with the greatest Gusto. Bonny goes about her Pleasure with such high Animal Spirits that ’tis quite infectious; and ere long, e’en Lancelot and I have join’d ’em upon the Floor! As Bonny and Horatio pant and buck, seeking the Summit of Love’s sensual Pleasure, I fondle Bonny’s Breasts, and Lancelot strokes Horatio’s sable Back. Great Goddess! Can this be happening to me? I hate this Woman’s Soul and yet I love her Breasts—and O her Spirit quite engages me!
In the Debauch that follow’d, our own Annie was the Alpha and Omega of our Pleasure. We three scarce attended to our own Wants, but all to her Insatiable Appetites. Both Men had her, then did I almost devour her from her Toes to her red Curls; then did she devour me! O what a clever Tongue our Annie had! Words she fumbl’d with, but Flesh flow’d for her as smoothly as a Springtime River. She could play the Man better than any Man, and the Key of her Tongue unlockt Places in my Lock of Love that had ne’er been unlockt before!
O, O, O—I blush to think how Annie quite undid me! Crude as she was in Speech, she was just so gentle in the Art of Touch. Perhaps ’twas all a Conquest; oft’ later I had Occasion to think so. But ere Logick rear’d its ugly Head, I was lost in a Loving so sublime that I forgot the Author of my Good Fortune. It almost seem’d Annie had workt in a Brothel breaking young Country Wenches to the Trade, for she so excited my Blood with her expert Touch that I would have sworn she had been train’d by Mother Coxtart herself, if not another Bawd!
Her Fingers play’d o’er my whole Body with that Lightness of Touch which more excites the female Blood than the heavy grappling most Men proffer. Her delicate white Hands seem’d to be Birds that flew and landed, flew and landed, hither and yon, from the Tips of my Toes to the inner Whiteness of my Thighs, then nested in that russet Thatch of Hair, so like her own. By teazing, tickling, pressing, squeezing, licking, she brought me to the Ultimate Conclusion of Love’s Pleasure. Not too swiftly (like an eager Swain) nor too slowly (like a clumsy one), but with just enough Delay to sharpen Pleasure, and with just enough Swiftness to satiate it, quite!
What Satisfaction do Women desire in loving other Women? Is it the Image of themselves reflected in the Body of another? Is it a kind of Mirror like the one Narcissus found in his beloved Pond? Is it an Affirmation of the Goddess in themselves? Or is it merely wanton Pleasure’s very Self?
What a curious Foursome were we! Two Men who lov’d each other, two Women who hated each other, and yet were bound, it seem’d, by Chains of Flesh. If I had any Doubt before that ’tis the Goddess who arranges our Fates, this Meeting with Anne Bonny upon the Seas should certainly erase that Doubt; and why—you soon shall see.
Lancelot, Horatio, and I were, ’tis true, starv’d for Love after our Shipboard Triangle of Abstinence. We three could not make love because of the strange Currents of Fealty and Passion that swirl’d about us. But now came Annie, a Stranger to our Pack; and oft’ ’tis easier to make love to a Stranger than to the beloved Brother that shares your Heart’s Affections! Or so I reason now.
Horatio would not tolerate Lancelot’s making love to me, yet o’er Annie, he felt no Dominion. Likewise Lancelot, who claim’d me for his own, could not square that with his Passion for Horatio. But Annie was a neutral Stranger, a Diplomatick No Man’s Land, a Pyrate of the Pudendum, a Doxie of Downshire, a Gaping Grotto, a Happy Harbour, a very Queen of Holes—and O ’tis easier to fill a Hole than leave it empty, for Nature quite abhors a Hole unfill’d!
Lancelot and I scarcely touch’d; Horatio scarcely touch’d Lancelot; but we all made love to Bonny as if in her we found another Lancelot, another Horatio, and another Fanny—all roll’d into one Being! Plato says that Human Love is but the passing Shadow of Divine; then may it be also that frequently we act out the Love we have for one Lover upon the Body of another? We three made Love to Annie with such Heat that verily it could scarce be Annie herself who evok’d such Love. But she—like the Lapdog that receives the Spinster’s Love, like the Statue of the Virgin that receives the Adoration of the Popish Worshippers, like the Footman that receives the Passions of his widow’d Mistress—took all our Loves most amiably and well; and now please hear what she gave us in Return….