James Fletcher
The Pig and Whistle
Boston, Massachusetts, USA
June 3, 1806
Miss Jacky Faber
Somewhere in the World, God Willing
My Dearest Jacky,
Once again I write letters to a phantom. While I despair of ever seeing you again, I rejoice in the possibility that you might still be alive. I shall recount the events since last I wrote in the faint but fervent hope that someday you might read these lines.
The attempts to clear your name did not go well—the Admiralty remains obstinate in their demands for your return to their custody and I have washed my hands of the whole affair. So be it, I declared, if she and I have to spend our lives in the outer reaches of the world, then that is how it will be. I am sure the Colonies have their charms.
I booked passage for New York the next day, choosing that port instead of Boston in case Admiralty Intelligence was keeping an eye on me and my travels, the better to find you. My father and brother came down to the pier to see me off, and many tears were shed, for we assumed that I might never come back that way again. My mother, also, came down that day, but I sent word that I would not receive her. So from where I stood, I observed her only dimly as a huddled, hunched figure seated alone in the coach.
The voyage itself was a joy—fair winds, gentle seas, good company at the Captain’s table, I could not have wished for more—that combined with the anticipated joy of once more holding you in my arms, and this time for good and ever.
That, of course, was not to be. I arrived in New York, made sure I was not being followed, and took a coach, under an assumed name, for Boston. Foolishly, I made plans for our future on the way: I would first see that you were well set up in good lodging, and I would then seek gainful employment before presuming to ask you to wed. After all, how could I ask you to enter such a state without being in a position to keep and care for you in at least a modest manner? I planned first to see if the American Navy had any use for junior lieutenants, and failing that, I would seek a berth on a merchantman.
Arriving in Boston, full of hope, I looked up your attorney, Mr. Pickering, to ascertain your whereabouts, and received the devastating news. Mr. Pickering was most soothing and kind and immediately put me in touch with your man Higgins. I cannot tell you, Jacky, what an invaluable man Higgins is—he put my storming mind to some rest with his calm, concise, and careful telling of the events and his solid suspicions that the disappearance of the girls of the Lawson Peabody was an abduction and not a simple seaborne tragedy. He reported that he had written to me of these happenings, but I did not receive his letter, having already sailed.
Higgins set me up at the Pig and Whistle, where I met many of your friends who could not be more concerned over your welfare. He then took me to the courthouse and showed me the remaining evidence of the crime—the bonnets, the purses, the shawls that came ashore following that awful day.
I have been introduced to your dear friend Miss Amy Trevelyne, and though she is devastated by recent events, she continues to hold up her head, her love for you quite evident.
I have met Mistress Pimm, your headmistress, and found her as formidable as any Bo’sun’s Mate. She certainly gave me the once-over. I hope she did not find me wanting as a possible match for one of “her girls.” She is steadfast in her belief as to your ultimate deliverance.
I have also met your bold Mr. Randall Trevelyne, brother of Miss Amy, mentioned above. Hmmm. You know, Jacky—it is interesting to note that as I travel this world, I keep encountering boys, yes, and men, too, all of whom have been left in your wake, and yet all of whom continue to feel they have some sort of claim upon your affections.
Even though I know you are foresworn to me, and the fact that I am once again in your heart is a constant comfort to me, this frequent meeting of young males who have had some congress with you—relatively innocent congress, I am sure—causes me to wonder. But then, these are idle jealousies, worthy of neither me nor my memories of you.
Enough of that. Here is what we are doing to resolve the situation: General Howe, father to your classmate Clarissa, has taken over the southern strategy and has ships out combing the southern sea-lanes. Henry Hoffman, beside himself with grief over the loss of his betrothed, Sylvia Rossio, has been dispatched to comb the seamen’s dives in the ports from Boston to Philadelphia for any news. He is a superb horseman and can cover a lot of ground. Your coxswain Jim Tanner has been a great help to me in finding my way around these unfamiliar surroundings. He, too, is steadfast in his belief that you will eventually be found safe, and he had to be restrained from setting out in your Morning Star to look for you. Denied that, he continues to haul your traps.
Upon Ezra Pickering’s urging, the Honorable Caleb Strong, Governor of Massachusetts, has by diplomatic pouch sent word of this abduction to various embassies in North Africa as we feel this is your most likely destination.
I have met with the parents of many of the girls and have given them some comfort, I believe, in relating your proven competence in dire straits such as these. Those girls could not have a better companion than you in their time of trial.
Hoping that you are at least alive and reasonably well,
I am, your most devoted etc.,
Jaimy