I point to a scratch on my leg that I had gotten from gettin' too close to a barnacle-covered rock.
"Y' see, mates, if I was to lose the next battle wi' them awful creatures, well, I certainly couldn't go up and stand in front o' Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates without me knickers on, now could I?"
Great laughter, and Mr. Ruger turns from the rail and disappears ... for now, anyway.
The coins tumble down, and I go after them.
Later, when I'm having another dry-off pennywhistle, dancing-about-time, I hear yet another call from the deck of the Redoubt.
"Och, ye dance and play very well, Miss, and I have a fine guinea up here for you. But you must come up here to get it."
Hmmm... I'm thinkin', I've already been up on that deck today and escaped harm ... and a guinea is a guinea...
I bounce up on the deck and look for the man, who, as I now recall too late, spoke in a distinct Scots accent...
Then I gasp as a man slips around the capstan and a large hand wraps about my throat, holding me fast in the shadow of the riggin'. A once very familiar face looms into my view.
"Gully!" I croak. "You!"
"Aye, 'tis me, Moneymaker. Yer old partner ... and it looks like you're still makin' it ... Money, that is."
"Let go of me, Gully MacFarland. One scream and my friends will come after me, they will. I'm part of Captain Laughton's cargo. I'm worth ten and six to him, and he would be very angry if you messed me about. Angry enough to have a pathetic drunk of a seaman strung up on the yardarm."
"Now, now, Moneymaker. I ain't gonna hurt you. Just wanted to thank you for getting me cleaned up and sober."
"Right, Gully. If you think I believe that for one moment, you've gone off your head!"
"Nay, nay, 'tis true. I'm a changed man, Miss. And listen to this: All of the Captains are meeting tonight for a last dinner on the Surprise before we all leave this port, and I'm to play for them. You, too, I hear. Why don't we put the old act together one more time? And then maybe we'll talk about the Lady Lenore."
There is a trill from a Bo'sun's pipe signaling the Redoubt's crew to assemble.
"Gotta go, Moneymaker," he says, giving my neck a final squeeze. "See ya later."
And he is gone.
I stand astounded. The last time I saw Gully MacFarland was back in Boston when I had him tied to a wheelbarrow to deliver him to the Royal Navy for impressment, to this very ship here. This, after he, in a drunken rage, had slugged me so hard that I feared that I was going to lose my left eye. I did not lose my eye, but Gully certainly did lose his freedom ... and his beloved violin, the exquisite Lady Lenore.
Imagine that ... First Mairead, and now Gully MacFarland. Gilbraltar certainly has been a place of wonder for me.
It is evening, and we are in the great cabin on the forty-four-gun frigate HMS Surprise.
All five Captains are there, as well as some other officers. First Officers, mostly, but a few others, as well. One, I see, has on the uniform of Ship's Surgeon, and I also see Enoch Lightner being seated at the great table, and of that, I am glad. I am also happy to see that First Officer Ruger is not in attendance.
The glasses are filled and the dinner is served as Gully and I play softly in the background ... softly, that is, till the food is eaten and the wine works its will, for then we are called upon for more lively stuff.
And we give it to 'em.
Gully has lost none of his touch with the fiddle. We'd had a bit of time to brush up on the old routines and had them down fairly well by the time we were called upon to play. Gully stands and we rip into "Billy in the Low Ground" and then "Morpeth Rant" and then "Handsome Molly," with me on the concertina and vocals.
We get great roars of approval and tear into the meat of our old repetoire, "John Barleycorn" and "Jenny Is a Weeper" and ... oh, just all of them, and it is so grand to play them together again!
After the first time Gully's bow hits the strings of the Lady Gay—yes, I had lent her to him, for she was ten times better the fiddle than the poor worn and damp instrument he had—the Shantyman's head jerked up and listened. Though he said nothing, I sensed that he knew he was in the presence of a master.
The party got more and more raucous, and soon the table was bellowing out "Hearts of Oak" and "Rule, Britannia" and "God Save the King."
And later, of course, things got down and dirty, so we did "The Cuckoo's Nest" and "Captain Black's Courtship" and "The Spotted Cow." I couldn't believe it, but Gully did "Fire Down Below" and "The Parson's Little Daughter," and I accompanied him on the pennywhistle and, to my shame, on the vocals. The Shantyman added his deep baritone, too. Though obscene, it all sounded awfully good. Oh, well, when in Rome...
In the heat of the evening, the Captain of the Surprise offered to buy me, but good Captain Laughton demurred— "Nay, Jack, she is a convict, not a slave, and I am bound by contract to deliver her body relatively intact to New South Wales ... and, frankly, we have been enjoying her music too much to let her go. And by the by, Captain, did you know that she is famous? Yes, I am told she is. Seems she got in a bit of mischief with the Admiralty ... Here, here, come over here, girl, and tell us something of yourself."
I go over to answer their questions, playing the part of the demure and very misunderstood young thing—a poor girl buffeted about by the cruel winds of Fortune—and eventually I am let go. Then, sensing the party is winding down, Gully and I deliver our old closing song, "The Parting Glass."
Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company.
And of all the harm that ere I've done,
Alas, was done to none but me.
And all I've done for want of wit,
To memory now I cannot recall.
So fill me to the parting glass. Good night...
...And joy be with you all.
A bow and a curtsy and we are off.
The next morning comes early—oh, much too early for many of us—but we rise up to do our duty. I know one thing full well, our laundry will be very, very busy this day.
There are shouts and many bells and whistles, flags are hoisted and shifted, and then the warships move off one by one—first the Surprise, then the Laurentian, followed by the Indomitable, and finally, the Redoubt.
As the warships wend their way out to the open sea, our own Crews festoon the rigging of the Lorelei Lee, waving them off by the flourishing of white petticoats.
When it is our turn, the lines to the Mole are loosed, our sails are ready to be raised, and we prepare to slip away from the land. From the quarterdeck, Captain Laughton calls out.
"Shantyman!"
Enoch Lightner advances to his spot in front of the foremast, behind his big drum. He raises his mallets, pauses, then brings them booming down.
There was a lofty ship
From old England she came
Blow high, blow low
And so sailed we.
She was the Lorelei Lee
And the darling of the sea
Down along the coast
Of high ... Barbar-eeee
And so the Lorelei Lee and all upon her are off for the coast of West Africa. God save the ship. God save us all.
PART III
Chapter 29
The Packet of Letters
Conveyed by Seaman Gulliver MacFarland
To the Reverend Henry Alsop
The London Home for Little Wanderers
London
Jacky Mary Faber
Onboard the ship Lorelei Lee
Gibraltar
June 1807
Reverend Henry Alsop
The London Home for Little Wanderers
Brideshead Street
London, England
Dear Grandfather,
I hope that this letter finds you, and all of those at the Home, to be well and happy. To business first:
The man who stands before you, having given you this packet of letters, is a seaman named Gulliver MacFarland. I have given him permission to retrieve that old violin, which I left in your care, because it belongs to him. If the seal on this letter is broken, show him out and give him nothing, because I instructed him not to open any of the letters he carries. He is allowed that fiddle and nothing more. Though he might be charming in both appearance and speech, keep an eye on him while he is there and be especially mindful of any valuables the Home might have lying about, as he is not in any way to be trusted.
Our good Mr. Higgins has contrived to be on this ship with me, and he continues to be the kind protector of my undeserving self. He has sent a couple of letters of his own in this packet, one to Mr. Pickering in Boston, Massachusetts, USA, and another to a Liam Delaney in County Waterford, Ireland. In addition to your letter, I have enclosed two others: one to Amy Trevelyne in Quincy, which is about thirty miles from Boston, Massachusetts, along with another to Hiram Fletcher, Jaimy's father, who lives on Brattle Street, fairly near you. If you could forward them, we would be most appreciative.
I know that you are wondering at the disappearance of Mairead and her husband, Ian McConnaughey. Though it is not happy news, I hope it will ease your mind to know that Mairead McConnaughey is safe and by my side, onboard this ship, the both of us being condemned to the penal colony at New South Wales in Australia, me for life, she for seven years.
As for the condition of her husband, Ian McConnaughey, and my own James Fletcher, we know very little. If they could be included in your prayers, we would be most grateful.
Do not worry about us, Grandfather, as we are healthy and cheerful, and continue to bless each day that we are still on God's good, green earth and able to sail upon His mighty blue sea.
Your loving grandaughter,
Mary
Jacky Faber
Onboard the Ship Lorelei Lee
Gibraltar
June 1807
Miss Amy Trevelyne
Dovecote Farm
Quincy, Massachusetts, USA
Dear Amy,
A quick note, as we'll sail from Gibraltar in the morn and I must place this letter in the hands of Gully MacFarland (yes, that very same he) this evening, because we are performing together tonight in the Captain's cabin on HMS Surprise. His ship is headed back to London, so he will be able to convey these letters to Rev. Alsop at the Home for Little Wanderers and thence to you—an amazing piece of luck as regards the posting of letters in this whirly and confusing world, don't you think?
Where to begin? Well, yes, dear Sister, I have once again stepped in it, and landed in it good and proper this time. You will have undoubtedly heard from Ezra Pickering about my reversal of fortune, so enough of that. Suffice it to say that I have been condemned to the penal colony at New South Wales for the rest of my life. There are many in this world who say I certainly had it coming, and perhaps they are right. I don't know, as I never felt that I was all that bad. At least I shall nevermore bother the rest of the world with my troublesome presence, and, hey, I'll probably get to see my kangaroo, after all ... and my Bombay Rat is another possibility, too, as we might be stopping in India on our way to Botany Bay. Don't know about the Cathay Cat, though, as China ain't on our route. Tell Dorothea that I have seen some wondrous birds so far and expect to see more on my way Down Under. I shall keep her and Mr. Sackett informed with detailed descriptions of the feathered creatures. The mail from New South Wales is sure to be slow, but it must exist in some way, that is, if money still talks ... I am sure it still does and I am still capable of earning it in my various ways, you may be sure of that.