L. Meyer - Bloody Jack - Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary Jacky Faber, Ship's Boy

"We're sorry, Jacky. We didn't know. We thought..."

It's night now and the boys have snuck up to the grating.

"That's all right, lads," I say, looking up. I think I can make out four heads in the gloom. "What do you hear?"

"They was in there for hours talkin' about it. They brought back some of Sloat's mates and Liam, too." I recognize Davy's voice in the darkness.

"Right. And they went down to check the rope locker and sure enough there was your blanket still there and there was blood, so that helps your story," says Tink. "And you got some of the officers on your side. I know Mr. Lawrence is."

"Mr. Haywood ain't your friend, though, that's for sure..."

This sends a shiver through me. I know the First Mate hates disruption and disorder above all things, and I ain't exactly been helpful in that regard.

"Jacky." This from Jaimy. "You wouldn't have been sleeping down there if I hadn't been..."

Silence.

"No. It's all right," I say finally. "You couldn't know."

Silence, again.

"I want you to go away now," I whisper. "My Will is here in my vest, and my stuff is in the third level of the middle hold, back behind the casks.

"And lads...," I says, tryin' to hold steady, "if they do me ... I don't ... I don't want you to watch. Find an excuse. Go down below. Or at least close your eyes. I ... I don't think I'll be very brave."

"All right," they say, all quiet and low.

"And Jaimy..."

"Yes."

"No—Nothing..."

Chapter 28

No, they don't hang me or do anything to me at all except let me rot in the jail cell all night long, rockin' back and forth on the bunk, knowin' the morn would bring either the sweet air of freedom in me chest or Jack Hemp hard across me windpipe. I know it's my free and easy ways that got me in this fix, and I resolves to be better if I survives.

At dawn the Marines come back for me and tie my hands, this time behind my back, and I think it's 'cause that way I won't be able to claw at the rope around my neck when I'm hauled up, which wouldn't look military, and I'm glad I used the chamber pot just before they got there 'cause I don't want to be disgraced that way. We march up the passageway and I hear a low whistle, and there's Bliffil in a side corridor, swingin' a little noose between his thumb and forefinger and lookin' at me over it and smilin', and my knees turn to water and my eyes turn back in my head, but one of the Marines slaps me around a bit and I manage to stand up before the Captain, who looks at me sternly and says, "We find that you, Jack Faber, acted in self-defense and therefore are to go free, but it is the hope of this courtmartial that your night in confinement will be a lesson to you to be more quiet and reserved in your demeanor, especially quiet for the love of God. Dismissed."

The next Sunday, Deacon Dunne gives a fire-and-brimstone sermon on sodomy that leaves very little doubt as to where he thinks Sloat is roasting right now, and everyone looks piteous at me and I wish they wouldn't. I have to look down all shy and I hear a few mutters of Bloody Jack and I guess I ain't never gonna get rid of that, especially if I keep on killing people.

I'm welcomed back into the foretop, and the boys are genuinely glad that I'm not swinging off the yardarm, which is exactly where my mortal remains would be hanging if things had gone the other way. It's all right but it still ain't like old times, at least not for me. After a while, when they're all talking and skylarking and don't notice, I go back to. my spot in the mizzen top.

I still plan to get put off in Jamaica and I have to get ready. The word is about that we are indeed going to Kingston and we'll arrive in about a week and a half, if the wind holds fair and we don't run into LeFievre.

My dress is basically blocked out now. I didn't have anything to go by in the way of style, so I thought back to Mrs. Roundtree and figured I'd make one like hers, all tight in the waist and looser up top. That's something to look forward to, release from the confines of this vest. The dress is long in the skirt because only little girls wear short skirts and I ain't going to be a little girl for too much longer. Besides I got to cover up the fact that I don't have any stockings and I certainly can't make st— Shoes! What the hell am I going to do for shoes?

I ain't never had a pair of shoes, not since That Dark Day, but I'm sure the finer families of Kingston will expect them in a tutor.

Next morning I sit next to Joshua Spenser at breakfast, as he is from Jamaica, and I ask him about the fine families of Kingston, the laws on singing in the street, and the wearing of shoes, required or no? I figure it being broad daylight and out in the open, he won't be tainted by my notorious company and he don't seem to mind.

"Well, boy," he says in that musical way the Caribbean sailors have, "I not be knowing of the fine families in Kingston, just some of the fine ladies there."

He grins in anticipation of the fine ladies.

"But I do know all the rich people live up on the high street above the town. They be right easy to spot when they come to town, bein' all white people and all finely dressed. As for shoes, one can get by with the sandals, which they sell in the market square. Very cheap."

That's a relief. If I get put off with any money, that's the first thing I'll buy.

"As for the laws about singing in the street, why, are you t'inkin' of desertin', boy?"

"No, Joshua, I'm only thinking of maybe picking up a few pennies in doing it when we're on liberty."

His face fairly glows with the prospect of shore leave in his hometown. "Wait you see, boy. On market day all the women they come to town with baskets full of foods and spread it out on blankets and in stalls, and there's the best rum and music, such music! And if it's Carnival time, which it is now, the party never stops, boy, I tell you true!"

I finish up my lovely gruel and wait patiently for him to get back on the subject at hand.

"Now as to the Law, boy," he says chewing and thinking, "there is Law, and too much of it to my mind, and the name of the Law is Sheriff John Stone, and he is no man to mess with. If he wants to let you sing and play your whistle in his street, he'll let you. If not, it's the Trenchtown jail for you, boy, and mark me, it's a place you'll not soon forget. Best check with the man first, boy."

I resolve to do it.

We've pulled up next to other ships we've come across, to get information on the pirates' whereabouts. They don't always want to stop to talk, but when a King's ship says stop, you stop. A shot over their bows usually convinces them. Britannia does rule the waves.

If the other captain has been less than friendly, the captains shout at each other through speaking trumpets across the water. If the other captain is civil, Captain Locke sends a boat over for him and has him to his cabin for a few snorts, which helps the conversation right along. One or another of us boys is always listening at the window, and it seems that LeFievre grows even more arrogant and has added more ships to his fleet. He burns all before him, be it village, town, or ship.

These nights I sleep in the old kip between the guns, with the boys in their hammocks swinging overhead. I don't want to be off alone again, as Sloat's old mates might not be of a forgiving nature. I beg off sleeping with Jaimy in our old hammock by saying that I don't like hammocks 'cause you got to sleep on your back in one and I like to curl up on my side.

Jaimy don't protest.

Chapter 29

The mood of the ship has lightened, what with Sloat gone and Bliffil restrained. Bliffil's recovered enough from his fight with Mr. Jenkins to start in to bullying the youngers again, but he don't mess with Jenkins no more. Mr. Jenkins tries to look out for the squeakers, but Bliffil is a sneaky one and he gets in his shots, though not as much as before 'cause now he knows someone may call him on it. I stay well out of his way, as his nose ain't quite so pretty no more and he knows who to blame.