I give a snort at that. "Not me, but thank you, Higgins, even though you think more of me than I deserve. I am certainly not anything like the Helen."
"Till another such as she comes along, Miss, you will do quite nicely. To sleep with you now."
I snuggle in and sigh deeply, and Higgins knows what I am thinking about, yes he does...
"Miss, you do know what could have happened to Mr. Fletcher, back in London?"
"Yes, a firing squad on some quarterdeck if they had wanted to lend him some deference for his being Lieutenant in the Royal Navy and to accord him an honorable soldier's death, rather than hanging him in a rough, common, disgraceful noose. Yes, I know what could have happened, and I am grateful that it did not, in spite of what I saw that day. Yes, I know ... Thank you, Higgins, for your comfort."
Good night, Jaimy.
Chapter 46
Jaimy Fletcher
Onboard Cerberus
No Longer Bereft of Hope
Jacky...
Yes, my back burns, and it burns like a hundred fires, but that is nothing compared to the fire in my heart, having seen you this day. The pain of the lashes was lessened by your loving touch, my raging mind gentled by your sweet kiss, my confusion soothed by your gift.
What gift, you ask? In the gloom of our cell, after I had been brought back down and all of our jailers had left, I reached into my boot and drew out that lovely, deadly knife that you had placed there, and held it up before my now hopeful and ready crew—your shiv, with the cock's head you carved on the hilt, grinning evilly at us. It seems to wink at me and to ask, "How many notches are there on my hilt now, Jaimy? Two, four, six? Will there be more?"
Oh, yes, there will be, count on it, Cock! The flogging was a cheap price to pay to get you. With you we can fashion more weapons, with you we shall throw off our shackles or die in the attempt!
Thank you, Jacky.
I am your bloody, but unbowed,
Jaimy
Chapter 47
At dinner this night, Captain Laughton waxes quite ribald about the whole incident on the deck of the Cerberus when I saw my Jaimy so cruelly treated.
"By God, Mr. Higgins," he chortles, his bulbous nose glowing bright red from the spirits he has already imbibed. "It would seem, from that heartrending display of young love to which we were treated, that your frisky little wife might have something in the way of a tempestuous past that perhaps did not include yourself? Eh?"
Great hilarity, with fists pounding all around the table. "Well said, Captain, and what say you, Mr. Higgins?" asks Mr. Gibson.
"Ah ... ahem ... well ... yes, Sir," replies the impeturbable Higgins. He places a fresh glass of rum in front of the Captain, and another in front of Ruger, who takes it up and tosses it back without ceremony and without thanks to the server.
Hmmm... It appears to me that the First Mate has been getting more and more into his cups as this voyage progresses, and I believe I am not mistaken on that. After a few drinks, he grows surly and his gaze lingers on me ... and, lately, more and more on Mairead, as well. I think only the Captain's presence prevents him from being more outspoken in his desires ... his very base desires. Hmmm ... I don't like it...
Higgins goes on. "It seems that most of the ladies aboard this ship would have quite a few interesting ... items ... to bring up in the confessional booth, should any of them ever have occasion to kneel in sincere contrition in that sanctified space ... and my wife is no exception. But she has confided all to me—made a clean breast of things, as it were, and I have given her my forgiveness for her past actions."
"A clean breast! Contrition! Forgiveness! Har-har, Higgins, you slay me!" roars the Captain, his eyes squeezed shut in a state of high hilarity.
I work up a blush, lower the eyelids, and avert the eyes in a guilty sort of way and continue to quietly play my guitar.
As I strum away, keeping the sound of my instrument and voice well below the level of conversation, the talk at the table strays to a discussion of what we will find in New South Wales.
"Begging your pardon, Sir," asks Mr. Hinckley of the Captain. "What can our ladies expect upon arrival?"
Careful, Mr. Fourth Mate Hinckley, as there are none of us ladies who care to be sneered at...
"Well, I should expect there would be great rejoicing, but with Bligh in charge of the colony, I'm sure it will be a mess," Captain Laughton replies.
What? I am stunned.
"Bligh, Sir?" I venture to ask. "Surely not the Captain Bligh of HMS Bounty?"
"Aye," he says, shaking his good gray head. "One and the same." He pauses for a heavy sigh. "Poor old Bligh. Fortune never did smile upon that man. Despised as a tyrant, yet I know that he was not. In fact, it is known that he hired a fiddler, a seaman who had lost a leg in battle, to provide entertainment for his men on that ill-fated voyage when he suffered that mutiny ... In the search for bloody breadfruit, of all things."
The Captain pauses for a long and most resonant belch.
"I've met him, you know," he continues. "Not a bad sort, actually. More sinned against than sinning as Gentle Will would have it. My take on the whole thing is that he was poorly served by his junior officers—that Fletcher Christian, for one ... Met him, too ... bleeding, preening, spoiled fop. If it'd been me, I'd have thrown that pampered, powdered ass overboard not two days out. But never mind about Bligh. Let us have a song, Mairead. 'The Galway Shawl,' if you please. Lend us some cheer, girl."
Mairead, after our duets together, has seated herself on the deck, by Enoch Lightner's side. He places his hand lightly on her bare shoulder and leaves it there. Hearing the call, she nods and rises, hands clasped in front of her, ready to sing for her supper, as it were.
"And if that was your young man we saw you clinging to that day, then be of good cheer yourself, for you shall surely see the young hound again," Captain Laughton continues. "And you may even prosper in the new land. I hear they give married couples, after they have served their sentences, small farms to work. Forty acres and a mule, I believe it is said."
"I hope it to be so, Sir," replies Mairead, head bowed, hands held in a prayerful attitude, waiting...
"I suspect mules to be a rather rare commodity in New South Wales, Sir," interjects Fourth Mate Hinckley, not very helpfully, I'm thinking. He is not often here, and plainly already halfway into his cups. Be careful what you drink and what you say, Mr. Hinckley... "I have heard they put convicts in harness and make them pull the plows," he continues.
"Hmm. That seems sensible, I suppose," muses the Captain, who then brings his gaze upon me. "How would you like to be put into harness to pull a plow, Mrs. Higgins?"
"I have been in worse conditions, Sir. I am little, but I am strong. And it would not seem at all strange to me, as nothing surprises me anymore."
"Ha! I bet not!"
"Perhaps forty acres and a kangaroo, Sir, would be more to the point," offers Mr. Gibson, who fancies himself something of a wit.
"Ha! Wouldn't that be a sight! A kangaroo pulling a plow! Ha!"
"I'm afraid it would be rather an uneven plowing, Sir—four big hops to one good pull. Would rather jostle the plowman, I suspect."
Ain't it strange how good wine and spirits make even lame jokes funny? And yes, with all the Mates in attendance tonight, including Army Major Johnston and his Esther, the cabin is quite crowded.
"How about a carriage and four, to bounce into town. Wouldn't that be a sight?" continues Hinckley.
Yes, things get rather bizarre in the way of mess table conversation when one has been at sea a long time.
"Could you see yourself outfitted for such a kangaroo saddle, Jacky?" asks the Captain.
"If such a saddle could be made, I would mount and ride him, Sir," I reply, secure in my ignorance. "Have you ever seen a kangaroo, my lord?"
"Yes, dear, I have. It was at a fair. In Cornwall," answers the Captain. "The beast was to box with a local tough. Actually the 'roo did quite well—knocked the country bumpkin down several times to the amazement and joy of all. 'Cept for the opponent, of course. He was quite mortified to be beaten by what looked to be a big rabbit."
I'm thinking back to Jemimah Moses and her tales of the wily Brother Rabbit, who outsmarted bears and foxes as well as country bumpkins, and wonder how she would voice Brother Roo. Hmmm ... Food for idle thought ... As a treat for the kids at my school—Lorelei Lee Elementary, as it is now called—when they have done their lessons well, I perform some of Jemimah's Rabbit Tales for their enjoyment. Course I can't do 'em as well as she does, but my young scholars seem to delight in them.
Mairead now sees her opportunity to begin her song, and she delivers "The Galway Shawl" a cappella, giving my fingers a bit of a rest, and she does it beautifully. I've never heard it better done. She even manages to smile while doing it, and it lights up the room.
As well you might smile, my redheaded friend, as it was not your lad we saw being beaten to a pulp. But no, stop that—snark back the sniffles and tears, girl, and get on with things. You know that Jaimy's alive and that's all you can ask for right now.
I am shaken out of my reverie by the Captain's request. "Come, Jacky," he says. "You have been uncommon quiet this evening. Give us something lively ... something ... new, perhaps? Something we haven't heard before?"
I think on this and then reach for my concertina.
"Actually, Sir," I say, "I have made up a bit of a shanty. I hope Mr. Lightner will forgive me my cheek in this regard."
The Shantyman grins and nods, waiting.
I pump up the bellows, run a few riffs, and then lift my chin and sing.
There was a wooden maid,
And on her harp she played,
It was the Lorelei Lee putting out to sea
And they say she looks like me,
Boys...
She might look a bit like me.
I drag out the "Boys . . " somewhat to give it a bit of the Jacky Faber touch and to distinguish it from the rather naughty song from which I stole the melody.
"Har-har, that it does, dearie! A dead ringer for you, for sure!" chortles the Captain. Then I do the chorus.
'Twas on the Lorelei Lee,
Two hundred girls and me,
We sailed away, with a crew so gay,
All up for a good long jour-ney
Yes...
Way up for a lusty jour-ney!
There are roars of approval, and I keep the concertina going while I call out, "Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but might I use your name in vain, as it were, all in the name of good fun?"
"By all means! Sing it out, girl! Sing it out!" I do the chorus again and all join in, and then, with some trepidation for what I am about to sing, I press on.
Oh, the Captain's name was Gussie,
With the girls both brave and lusty,
He had two full score, yet he cried for MORE!
All on the Lorelei Lee,
Boys...
All on the Lorelei Lee!
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Higgins wincing at this, but the Captain bawls out, "Yes, oh, yes! Capital! Go on!"
I do...
Onboard were two hundred dollies,
All guilty of sundry follies,
Gus inspected the lot and found them hot
Down in their lower quarters