Read Fire on Dark Water Online
Authors: Wendy Perriman
Fire on Dark Water (40 page)
I’ve thought about that for the longest time ever after. Pierre was right. I didn’t just have to accept what came at me—I could fight to burn my own trail instead of bobbing along on gray waters. I was young. I was healthy. I had experience and skills that few others possessed. I
could
make it on my own! So I sniffed back the wetness collecting at the base of my nose and whispered, “Thanks, Pierre. I . . .” But before I needed to embarrass myself further a customer came into the shop, and my friend left quietly to attend them.
could
make it on my own! So I sniffed back the wetness collecting at the base of my nose and whispered, “Thanks, Pierre. I . . .” But before I needed to embarrass myself further a customer came into the shop, and my friend left quietly to attend them.
Throughout the rest of that long afternoon I thought about how to break the news to Annie. I worked out a logical argument and then practiced saying the words out loud, over and over until I could remember the choicest sequence. Then I watched my face in the mirror-glass as my lips gave the same earnest speech to my own reflection. And finally I began repacking the medical supplies to ensure Jack’s crew would have enough to last them to Cuba. But I worked myself up into a guilt-ridden frenzy before the lovers returned from the docks because this decision was the hardest I’d ever ever made, and although one-half of me wanted to cast myself loose, the other half wasn’t sure I’d have guts enough to do it. Soon as they came back, Pierre herded them through to the apothecary, and after the dressmaker had locked the store he stood to watch my performance from the doorway. The glowing pair had obviously been drinking and were lusting for each other’s flesh, so Anne appeared to listen with half attention and Jack kept trying to nuzzle his cheek on her chest. Pierre raised an eyebrow prompting me to begin and I launched straight into my monologue, never stopping to draw breath. When I ended with, “So I won’t be coming with you,” Jack finally raised his eyes long enough to look at me while Annie merely shrugged her shoulders and said, “Suit yourself.” She squeezed Jack’s buttocks and murmured something low. And as she led him away with a giggle he looked back over his shoulder and beamed like a moonstruck fool. Pierre raised his hands in silent applause and poured me a much welcomed glass of brandy. After all that worry I felt as if a dreadful weight had been lifted—like I’d shaken off some melancholy ballast that kept my soul from dancing.
Now, it turns out that same afternoon Anne had been aboard the
William
as the guest of Captain Francis Crane, who fancied he had just bought himself the finest doxy in Nassau. While she’d been entertaining the captain, Jack (under guise of eager procurer) had been casually spying on the crew from the waiting rowboat. Anne discovered that the
William
was planning to sail on Sunday’s high tide so she promised to return on the morrow with a send-off the captain wouldn’t never forget.
William
as the guest of Captain Francis Crane, who fancied he had just bought himself the finest doxy in Nassau. While she’d been entertaining the captain, Jack (under guise of eager procurer) had been casually spying on the crew from the waiting rowboat. Anne discovered that the
William
was planning to sail on Sunday’s high tide so she promised to return on the morrow with a send-off the captain wouldn’t never forget.
On Saturday morning Jack borrowed Pierre’s wagon and packed up everything they’d be taking with them. The crew began arriving just after noon, and by early evening the formalities had been decided and the plan explained. Naturally there was much debate about taking a woman—but when they realized the whole scheme hinged on Anne’s feminine wiles—and that she and Jack were financing the operation—they agreed to hold negative tongues until after the raid. If Annie performed well she’d be voted in. And if she failed, well, none would be going a-cruising anyway. The men agreed on Rackham as captain, Fetherston as master, and Corner for second-in-command and their quartermaster. I acted as scribe as they drew up articles and one by one they signed their marks—John Davis, John Howell, Patrick Carty, Thomas Earl, James Dobbin and Noah Hardwood. Jack knew the waters to Cuba so he agreed to navigate, and Anne would organize the galley. They joked she could act as powder monkey in battle—little knowing she’d fight more ruthlessly than their best. But when George asked if I’d be coming too I shook my head, said I’d help them to capture the sloop, though, and mumbled that I’d decided to stay in Nassau.
Now I’d once told Rackham about my escape on Ocracoke and he’d listened enough to remember that laudanum could take out the stoutest of stomachs. So he bought three vintage bottles of wine from Pierre and bid me carefully steam off the seals to doctor these in a similar fashion. I did such a good job he insisted on paying me for my part in their enterprise, cleverly persuading me to go aboard the
William
as Annie’s friend—I’d carry the wine—and that way we could smuggle a pistol in the basket alongside the knives in our boots. Anne would get Captain Crane drunk, while I distracted the other tars, and soon as they were incapable, the pirates would take the deck. Pierre reluctantly agreed to wait with the trap until all the goods were safely stowed, then he and I would depart as the sloop hauled anchor. High tide was at three o’clock and the time was now two hours to midnight.
William
as Annie’s friend—I’d carry the wine—and that way we could smuggle a pistol in the basket alongside the knives in our boots. Anne would get Captain Crane drunk, while I distracted the other tars, and soon as they were incapable, the pirates would take the deck. Pierre reluctantly agreed to wait with the trap until all the goods were safely stowed, then he and I would depart as the sloop hauled anchor. High tide was at three o’clock and the time was now two hours to midnight.
Jack took his crew and assembled them in various shadows along the docks. We’d shared a cold-meat supper with plenty of rum, enough to stir up the courage, then Pierre drove us to the beach and temporarily retired from view. The boatswain whistled us aboard with two fingers while Jack rowed back to the shore and began silently ferrying his men out to the anchored craft. The buccaneers secured themselves in the ropes, just out of view of the deck, balling for action like tigers about to maul. Annie went into Crane’s cabin with one bottle of wine and left me to distribute the rest to the others. I saw several jack-tars milling around at first but after Corner’s shadow slipped stealthily on deck, one by one they began sinking into darkness. I ended up dancing for three keen suitors and had to keep moving, as an excuse not to drink too much of the tainted wine. One of the sailors finally undid his breeches to boast of the treat he had waiting in store and waved his wood about, urging me to kiss it. Suddenly a strangled gurgle tore from deep belowdecks. I panicked, fumbled for the loaded flintlock in the basket, and stood waving the pistol at the three woozy men. “Kiss my arse, you mangy bastard! On your knees—all of you—if you value your life!” Three sets of pupils burst in comprehension. But no one moved. Then a cold flush of realization dribbled down my spine—I had only
one
bullet. They would know that.
one
bullet. They would know that.
Yet before their wavering minds could press any advantage Annie appeared by my side sprayed in the captain’s blood, stabbing the air with a dripping knife and daring the next foolish challenge. I heard Jack’s low signal, then the splash of bodies tossed overboard, and realized through a descending fog that the men on deck were now ours. We’d taken the
William
! Jack whispered urgent orders and Dobbin was dispatched to row over the stores. Everyone helped bring them aboard, and I waited anxiously to be taken ashore while suppressing the nauseous gurgling in my stomach. But as soon as the longboat was empty the new captain signaled it hauled up on deck. Corner barked orders, ropes started creaking, and I realized the sloop was edging into the tide. “Hey!” I said to George. “I need to get off. . . .”
William
! Jack whispered urgent orders and Dobbin was dispatched to row over the stores. Everyone helped bring them aboard, and I waited anxiously to be taken ashore while suppressing the nauseous gurgling in my stomach. But as soon as the longboat was empty the new captain signaled it hauled up on deck. Corner barked orders, ropes started creaking, and I realized the sloop was edging into the tide. “Hey!” I said to George. “I need to get off. . . .”
He laughed, shook his head, and said, “Cap’n Jack’s orders!” So I stumbled down to the cabin to reason with Anne, but she wasn’t there.
Crane’s butchered body was, though—draped awkwardly half on the bunk and half on the floor—the blood from his mangled throat congealing underneath him. Annie must have hacked numerous blows to fell the beast for telltale holes were pitted about his groin and chest, and I’d seen enough swashbuckler work to note an amateur hand at play. I heaved in disgust and brought up most of the supper I’d earlier enjoyed. But the opium had already leeched in my blood and I knew if it overpowered my will I’d be stuck in another long nightmare. The cabin had a water cask so I steadily gulped down as much as my gut would hold, and then opened the window to let out the smell. Without further thought I pushed a trunk to the opening and wiggled myself in the gap. The water was probably six feet below but I thought if I slid down the stern I could ease in like an alligator. So I crawled, hand over hand down the wood, and when I felt the water embrace me I kicked off and headed for shore. No one heard my plop. No one missed my presence. I struck out with long, determined strokes, praying against hope that Pierre would wait. He did. I felt the grab of my dress as he struggled to haul me in, then the joggle of horse hooves wobbling me home, then the hot milk he spooned in my mouth to warm me. I awoke around noon in a chair by the fire with a head aching so hard I thought I’d been hit by a boom. “Did they make it?” was the first thought that came into clarity.
Pierre gave a serious nod and said,
“Oui.”
I exhaled loudly and realized that I too was finally free.
“Oui.”
I exhaled loudly and realized that I too was finally free.
Y
ou’ve no doubt heard the rest of the legend—how they bloodied the seas for more than a year—how coincidence sent them Mary Reed—how Captain Barnet captured them drunk? But that’s for the telling of another day or other tongues. As for me . . . I try to think kindly of Annie. Rackham’s body was put in the gibbet after execution and strung from the rocks at the Cay that now bears his name. I heard Anne was pregnant and pleaded her belly at trial, but I don’t think she ever hanged . . . she just fell off the edge of our world and into future folklore. It’s rumored her father secured a release and married her off to a Carolina planter, but whether that’s true or not I shan’t say. Jim Bonny, as it happened, tattled one too many times and last year was found with his throat slit out back. So Pierre resumed former ownership of the Silk Ship and I help out when it’s busy.
ou’ve no doubt heard the rest of the legend—how they bloodied the seas for more than a year—how coincidence sent them Mary Reed—how Captain Barnet captured them drunk? But that’s for the telling of another day or other tongues. As for me . . . I try to think kindly of Annie. Rackham’s body was put in the gibbet after execution and strung from the rocks at the Cay that now bears his name. I heard Anne was pregnant and pleaded her belly at trial, but I don’t think she ever hanged . . . she just fell off the edge of our world and into future folklore. It’s rumored her father secured a release and married her off to a Carolina planter, but whether that’s true or not I shan’t say. Jim Bonny, as it happened, tattled one too many times and last year was found with his throat slit out back. So Pierre resumed former ownership of the Silk Ship and I help out when it’s busy.
There is something about me, ain’t there? You noticed the moment your eyes grew used to the dingy light of the tavern. And you came here, like everyone who struts these worn boards, for tattle of Anne Bonny and pirates. Well, I trust your curiosity has been sated as much as my thirst, Mr. Defoe. Or should I address you as Captain Johnson? But, pray, sir, take pains that your published account contains nary a mention of Lolomura Blaise. . . .
And I really can’t tell you too much more now. So that—as they say—is that.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to all the family and friends, press-ganged aboard the pirate life, who have accompanied my many escapades: Heather Unwin was there when I first found inspiration in Nassau—Steve and Symon Perriman sailed alongside to Jamaica, Hispaniola, the Spanish Main, and the Carolinas—Tricia Clark, my mate in Beaufort, also signed on for the Mansfield Plantation trip—Valerae Hurley explored Charleston with me—Michel and Bryan Faliero gave their kind Southern hospitality—Sarah Green and Eunice Brezicki shared their expertise at the Latta Plantation—Matt and Karen Clauss enabled the voodoo experience in New Orleans—and David Banks and Patty Cardillo were part of the gang bound for Mexico.
My gratitude goes to Scottish and maritime historian Dr. Eric J. Graham for casting his well-seasoned salty eye over the technical details of the book. Any remaining errors are, of course, entirely mine. Also to the following folks, who have aided in the research process: Kathryn Green at the Mansfield Plantation in South Carolina—Gilles and Betty Cloutier for their offer of assistance at the Hammock House in Beaufort—and the friendly staff at the Beaufort Historic Site, Beaufort Maritime Museum, and the Latta Plantation. Thanks also to Matthew Godwin of the Crowe Law Firm for his legal advice in Beaufort.
Finally, a very special acknowledgment to my chief crew members: Symon Perriman at Microsoft—for all manner of computer assistance; Vangie Schlesinger—for her keen reading and foreign language skills; Ann Collette at the Helen Rees Agency—my wonderfully efficient and supportive advocate; and Emily Rapoport at Berkley—whose fine editorial advice helped me navigate the dark waters of publication.
It’s been a mighty fine adventure sailing with you all!
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