John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

From behind and below came the sound of Bertrand's lamentations.

"Now belay it, belay it!" one of the pirates was commanding. It was not the passengers' miserable carcasses they had designs on, he declared, but money and stores. If everyone behaved himself properly, no harm would befall them save the loss of their valuables, a few barrels of pork and peas, and three or four seamen, whom the pirates needed to complement their crew; in an hour they could resume their voyage. He then dispatched a contingent of pirates to accompany the male passengers back to their quarters and gather the loot, the women remaining above as hostages to assure a clean picking; another detail he ordered to pillage the hold; and a third, consisting of three armed men, came forward to search the fo'c'sle for additional seamen.

"Quickly!" Ebenezer cried to Bertrand, jumping to the floor. "Put these clothes on and give me my nightgown!" He commenced pulling the valet's clothes off himself as hastily as possible.

"Why?" Bertrand wailed. " 'Tis all over with us either way."

Ebenezer had his clothes off already and began to yank at the nightgown. "We know not what's in store for us," he said grimly. "Belike 'tis the gentlemen they're after, not the poor folk. At any rate 'twere better to see't through honestly: if I'm to die I'll die as Eben Cooke, not Bertrand Burton! Off with this, now!" He gave a final tug, and the gown came off over Bertrand's head and arms. "I'Christ, 'tis beshit!"

"For very fear," the valet admitted, and scrabbled after some clothes.

"Avast there, laddies!" came a voice from the companionway. "Lookee here, mates, 'tis a floating Gomorry!"

Ebenezer, the foul nightdress half over his head, and Bertrand, still naked on all fours, turned to face three grinning pirates, pistols and swords in hand, on the ladder.

"I do despise to spoil your party, sailors," said the leader. He was a ferocious-looking Moor, bull-necked, broken-nosed, rough-bearded, and dark-skinned; a red turbanlike cap sat on his head, and black hair bristled from his open shirt. "But we want your arses on deck."

"Prithee don't mistake me, sir," Ebenezer answered, pulling the skirts of his nightdress down. He drew himself up as calmly as he could and pointed with disdain to Bertrand.

"This fellow here may speak for himself, but I am no sailor; my name is Ebenezer Cooke, and I am Poet Laureate of His Majesty's Province of Maryland!"

Unimpressed by Ebenezer's declaration, the horrendous Moor and his two confederates hustled their prisoners up to the main deck, the Laureate clad only in his unpleasant nightshirt and Bertrand in a pair of breeches hastily donned. The uproar had by this time subsided to some extent; though the women and servants wept and wailed on every hand, the officers and crew stood sullenly in groups around the mizzen and foremasts, respectively, and the gentlemen, who were returning one by one from the main cabin under the guard of their plunderers, preserved a tight-lipped silence. Thus far no physical harm had been offered either woman or man, and the efficient looting of the Poseidon was nearly complete: all that remained of the pirates' stated objectives, as overheard by Ebenezer, was to finish the transfer of provisions and impress three or four seamen into their service.

For robbery Ebenezer cared little, his valet having picked him clean already; it was the prospect of being impressed that terrified him, since he and Bertrand had been captured in the fo'c'sle and neither was wearing the clothes of a gentleman. His fears redoubled when their captors led them toward the foremast.

"Nay, prithee, hear me!" he cried. "I am no seaman at all! My name is Ebenezer Cooke, of Cooke's Point in Maryland! I'm the Laureate Poet!"

The Poseidon's crew, despite the seriousness of their position, grinned and elbowed one another at his approach.

"Thou'rt a laureate liar, Jack," growled one of the pirates, and flung him into the group. But the scene attracted notice, and a pirate officer, who by age and appearance seemed to be the Captain, approached from the waist.

"What is't, Boabdil?" The officer's voice was mild, and his dress, in contrast to the outlandishness of his men's, was modest, even gentlemanly; on shore one would have taken him for an honest planter or shipowner in his fifties, yet the great Moor was clearly alarmed by his approach.

"Naught in the world, Captain. We found these puppies buggered in the fo'c'sle, and the long one there claims he's no sailor."

"Ask my man here!" Ebenezer pleaded, falling on his knees before the Captain. "Ask those wretches yonder if I'm one of them! I swear to you sir, I am a gentleman, the Laureate of Maryland by order of Lord Baltimore!"

In response to the Captain's question Bertrand attested his master's identity and declared his own, and the boatswain volunteered additional confirmation; but old Ned, though no one had asked his opinion, spitefully swore the opposite, and by way of evidence produced, to the poet's horror, the document signed in the fo'c'sle, which proclaimed Ebenezer a member of the crew.

" 'Twere better for all if ye signed them two aboard," he added. "They're able enough seamen, but thieves and rogues to ship with! Don't let 'em fool ye with their carrying-on!"

Seeing their old shipmate's purpose, some of the other men took up the cry, hoping thereby to save themselves from being forced to join the pirates. But the Captain, after examining Ned's document, flung it over the side.

"I know those things," he scoffed. "Besides, 'twas signed by the Laureate of Maryland." He appraised Ebenezer skeptically. "So thou'rt the famous Eben Cooke?"

"I swear't, sir!" Ebenezer's heart pounded; he tingled with admiration for the Captain's astuteness and with wonder that his own fame was already so widespread. But his troubles were not over, for although the pirate seemed virtually persuaded, he ordered both men brought aft for identification by the passengers, whereupon he was perplexed to hear a third version — neither of the men was a sailor, but it was the older, stouter one who was Laureate, and the skinny wretch his amanuensis. Captain Meech agreed, and added that this was not the servant's first presumption to his master's office.

"Ah," the pirate captain said to Bertrand, "thou'rt hiding behind thy servant's skirts, then! Yet how is't the crew maintain the contrary?"

By this time the looting of the Poseidon was complete, and everyone's attention turned to the interrogation. Ebenezer despaired of explaining the complicated story of his disguise.

"What matters it to you which is the liar?" Captain Meech inquired from the quarter-deck, where he was being held at pistol-point. "Take their money and begone with ye!"

To which the pirate answered, undisturbed, " 'Tis not the Laureate's money I want — he hath little enough of that, I'll wager." Ebenezer and Bertrand both vouched for the truth of this conjecture. " 'Tis a good valet I'm after, to attend me aboard ship; the Laureate can go to the Devil."

"Ye have found me out," Bertrand said at once. "I'll own I am the Laureate Eben Cooke."

"Wretch!" cried Ebenezer. "Confess thou'rt a lying scoundrel of a servant!"

"Nay, I'll tell the truth," the pirate said, watching both men carefully. " 'Tis the servant can go hang for all o' me; I've orders to hold the Laureate on my ship."

"There is your poet, sir." Bertrand pointed shamelessly to Ebenezer. "A finer master no man ever served."

Ebenezer goggled. "Nay, nay, good masters!" he said at last. " 'Tis not the first time I've presumed, as Captain Meech declared! This man here is the Laureate, in truth!"