“No, Miss Faber. You must go from this place, as you are too well known as a cause of trouble in this city. Come, we shall go back down to my office and wait for the return of the Gurkhas. They know what to do and how to do it, and they will meet us there.”
I think on the wisdom of that, and he says, “Here. Take my arm.”
And I do it, and we walk in silence back down to the Boston offices of the House of Chen Oriental Shipping Company.
I am given refreshment, if not much in the way of conversation, and not too much later, Ganju Thapa and his men troop back into the main office. They separate ranks, and four small boys are revealed among them. Ravi is one of them and he runs to me and I enfold him in my arms, tears of relief pouring from my eyes.
“Memsahib! Ravi so glad see you with head still on beloved neck!”
“Ah, don’t worry, Ravi, you must know by now that it takes a lot to send me off to Brahma. Now, just who are these fine fellows?”
I look over at the other three ragamuffins.
Ravi twists a bit from my grip and says, “This is Jules, and that is Butch, and that one is Harvey. They are friends to Ravi in that place.”
I’ll bet . . . That Butch looks pretty big and strong and the other two look plenty streetwise. I also notice that Ravi’s face does not show so much damage this time. Ah, Ravi, you clever little fellow.
“And what happened to the rest of the boys in that place?”
“All run away, most happy. Gurkhas scare hell out of everybody, guards, too. Not Ravi, though.”
“And what about these three?”
“Ravi tell them about Memsahib and maybe she can help them go off to sea.”
“That’s right, mum,” speaks up the one named Jules. “Ravi here thinks you might be able to help us out in that regard,” he says, twisting his cap in his hands and looking at the floor.
“What about the rest of you? The seagoing trade is a hard one. You are sure you want to take it on?”
“Yes, mum, we’re ready to go,” says Butch. “Better than diggin’ ditches and pitchin’ manure. Plus, they’re sure to round up the rest of the boys and put ’em right back in that place.”
“You might change your mind on that, mate, but all right. Come, lads, let us go down to your new home. Mr. Tong,” I say, with a curtsy in front of the Hunchback, “thank you for your help. I will never forget it.”
I go then to stand in front of Ganju Thapa. I kneel down and put my forehead to the floor between his boots.
“Thank you, Ganju Thapa,” I say, “for saving my son.”
Surprisingly, his hand reaches down to lift me back up. My eyes blink my appreciation, and then I am out the door with Ravi and his friends.
We stand now on the darkened main deck of the Lorelei Lee . . .
“Line up right over there in front of the mast. Yes, that thing is called a mast. And stand up straight. That’s it, chins up, thumbs on seams of trousers.”
I hear footsteps come up behind me from up on the quarterdeck.
“What’s this, Miss Faber?”
“A new batch of ship’s boys for the Lee, Mr. McConnaughey,” says I.
“We’ve already got three, Miss.”
“Well, you got four more,” I say, and turn back to the boys. “Lads, this is Mr. McConnaughey. He is First Mate of this ship, and from now on, his Word is your Law. Do you understand? Good. Now, I know you were all in the Reformatory for Stubborn Boys. True? Of course it is, ’cause I just busted you out of there. But here on the Lorelei Lee, that stubbornness will be beaten out of you, else you will be put off in the nearest port, whether that port be Zanzibar or Timbuktu. Do your further understand?”
There are nods all around . . . except from Ravi.
“Good. Now, go below and see if you can find something to eat in the galley. You’ve had a long day.”
Three of the lads run off to the hatchway, but Ravi does not.
“Me, too?” he says, all big-eyed before me.
I kneel down in front of him. “Yes, Ravi, you too. This place is too dangerous right now. You must go off on the Lee. You know her well and will be able to help the other boys get along. The ship is going to Ireland, and then to New York, and then back here if things have calmed down. If they have not, I will go to New York to pick up you up. I promise. All right?”
He blinks and nods. “Ravi always saying goodbye to Mommy,” he says, his eyes full of tears.
I hug him to me, tears in my own eyes. “I know, Ravi, but maybe things will be different this time. Now, go with your friends.”
He sniffles, turns, and goes.
I park myself on the edge of the quarterdeck, bury my face in my hands, and think on the events of the past few days. Presently, I feel someone come up and sit by my side.
I peek through my fingers and see that Mairead McConnaughey has come out of her cabin to be with me, and I gratefully put my head on her shoulder.
“I see you’ve sent another group of raggedy ship’s boys off to sea . . . All that batch lacks is a tomboy girl to go with them to put them straight.”
I manage a low laugh at that, recalling my time as a common ship’s boy.
“’Tis a hard life wherever we live it, Jacky, you know it is,” she says. “But we did have some times, did we not?”
And I have to agree on that, and we sit and talk of our good times far into the night, till, at last, I rise to go.
“Will you not stay here tonight, dear?” asks Mairead. “The streets are dark . . .”
“Nay, I must get back to the Pig. Clarissa will be wondering where I am, and some others, too.”
Ian also expresses concern, but I laugh it off with, “Hey, Cheapside Jacky’s in her black burglar’s gear, how can she possibly be brought to ground?”
And with that, I am off the Lorelei Lee and back on the streets of Boston.
But I find I am wrong, dead wrong, for as I pass the corner of Union and State and am about to duck into the now dimly lit Pig, strong arms reach out for me, and I am taken. It is Constable Wiggins himself, with his thick arm around my thin neck, who hisses in my ear, “Got you now, you little witch, and soon you shall pay!”
Chapter 42
J. E. Fletcher
Representative, House of Chen
Boston, Massachusetts, USA
Journal Entry, August 3, 1809
I do not know why I have allowed myself to be once again so cruelly crushed. By all the gods, heathen or Christian, it shall not happen again, I swear it.
I rose yesterday morning and bathed, and then shaved off my beard. I donned a decent suit of clothes and left off the eye patch, hat, and humpbacked cloak, and sallied forth full of hope to the corner of State and Cornhull, where I had stated in my letter to J. F. was the place where we should meet to see if we could smooth over past differences concerning propriety and conduct and come together again as lovers sworn to each other.
I arrived at the assigned spot at fifteen minutes before eleven in a great state of anticipation, and waited in vain until noon. Nothing . . . Nothing but the ringing of the hours at the Old South Church to mock me for my gullible stupidity . . . ding-dong, noon, naught but gloom; ding-dong one, she’s done and gone; ding-dong two, you silly fool . . .
I had put the letter on her shelf three days ago, but she has shown no sign of receiving it. I know she got it, for I saw the open and discarded envelope lying by the cash box when I went later that day for my dinner. Could she be so heartless as to disregard it so entirely? Am I nothing to her that she does not even favor me with a reply?
I do not know. All I know is that she went gaily about her business—even when enlisting my help in rescuing her little lad Ravi. Out in the town with the Gurkhas and all I saw from her in the way of affection was her laying a kiss on the face of that sonofabitch Arthur McBride! She seems to have no thoughts of me.
No! I am done with it and I am done with her! The Ciudad de Lisbon is ready to sail and sail she shall. And I shall be on her, and quit this unhappy country!
I sit down now ready to pen a letter to Charlie Chen, thanking him for his offer of a captain’s post on this ship, but declining that honor, as I must get back to England to see what can be done to salvage the shreds of my Royal Navy career, as that seems to be the only avenue to any sort of settled existence for me. I have heard of a possible pardon for my past transgressions. If true, fine. If not, also fine. If they want to hang me, I do not care. There is one thing I do know for certain—a rose-covered cottage with a certain Miss F. is definitely not in my future.
I have finished writing that letter to Mr. Chen, informing him that I have left his company in good hands and have found a suitable captain for his ship, and that I will accompany said officer as far as New York to make sure he is a good seaman. The Ciudad de Lisbon, which carries a full cargo of rum, will drop off the few passengers that have paid for passage to that port, and then will return to Rangoon. I, myself, will take passage on another ship for London, and to hell with the consequences.
There is a sudden commotion outside, and I rise to see what is the matter. Upon gaining the street, I hear alarm bells ringing all across the city and see a small boy rushing up the street.
“Where are you going, boy, in such a hurry?” I ask of him.
“To the courthouse, Sir!” he shouts over his shoulder without slackening his pace. “The whole town’s going!”
“But why?”
“They are going to whip Jacky Faber today!”
Chapter 43
I am taken from the cell by a grinning Goody Wiggins and led outside to the courtyard. My hands are bound before me and there is a hobble about my ankles so that I don’t try to make a run for it. I blink in the sudden bright sunlight. My eyes are clear and I see the whipping post there ready to receive me, with a very satisfied Constable Wiggins standing by with his rod held in his fist, slapping it against the palm of his other hand.
It seems the whole city has come to watch this spectacle. Bells are tolling and alarms sound from Beacon Hill to the lower Twelfth Ward. Oh, well, I hope I will make a brave show of it, but I know I won’t. I never was really very brave . . .
My trial, if you can call it that, was held this morning. I was brought in dressed in a grim gray linsey-woolsey prison dress that had been found for me—my burglar gear, which I had been wearing, had been confiscated. I was allowed to confer with my lawyer for a short while. I find I am to be charged with witchcraft. Ezra told me what kind of evidence would be brought against me and then asked . . .
“What do you have to say to that, Jacky? Remember, never lie to your lawyer.”
So I sighed and told him all about my magic mushrooms and my plot against Pigger O’Toole and my drugging of Judge Thwackham’s tea. He looked at me, considering.
“Maybe you really are a witch,” he said, at length. “But no matter. Listen to me now. What you must do every time you see me put my hand to my brow, like this, is to say, ‘I decline to answer on the grounds that it may tend to incriminate me, as is my right as provided by the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.’ Have you got that?”
I replied that I did and repeated it back to him.