The Jezebel's Daughter (12 page)

XII

House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

January, 1716

Ben and I spent the last night in my room at the Earthly Delights, talking about the sorts of things that would be expected of me as his mate. I was to help him take the ship's position once a day and make course corrections accordingly. I would also make entries into the ship's log about weather and position, since Ben couldn't read or write with any skill. And since I was small and light, I would occasionally be responsible for climbing up to the crow's nest to spot for land or other ships while we were out at sea.

Despite the fact that I would have to spend at least the next three months of my life pretending to be a boy called Luke, I was excited about the future. I was one step closer to going home, and I knew that Ben and Captain MacIsaac would look out for me. By early spring, I would finally be back in England, safe in my uncle's home and able to live the life my father had wanted for me. I would marry well, have children, and re-take my place in British society.

The next morning, I dressed hastily and collected together all the things that Captain MacIsaac said he would sell on my behalf and left them spread out in my bed. My books and drawing supplies I packed into Ben's old haversack and left it on the table. Once I was ready, Ben and I went down to breakfast and found that Madame was waiting for us in the courtyard. She drew us aside into her private rooms and asked, “What do you intend to do now, girl?”

“I'm going home. To London.” I didn't expand on my statement; she didn't need to know the circumstances of how I would get to England.

She fixed me with a shrewd look and then shook her head. “That's too bad,” she said. “You would have earned a lot.”

Ben snorted derisively. “Once she stopped earning, you turn her out and let her starve in the streets. She be better off.” He cupped my elbow gently and we left Madame, going into the tavern for breakfast.

After eating, we went back up to my room and discovered that it was empty of my belongings. Only the stack of my precious books and my drawing supplies remained. My gowns and petticoats, baubles for my hair, the extra pair of my shoes, the jewelry, the easel and paints—it was all gone, replaced by a wash-leather bag that was filled with coins. It sounded as though there was rather a lot of them and I wondered where Mr. MacIsaac—
Captain
MacIsaac, I reminded myself—had sold my things.

I picked up the bag and shook out a handful of coins. They were from all over—Spanish reals, English pounds, French francs—and I extended my hand to Ben. “You'll need this to get new clothes for me, right?” He stared at my hand and then looked up at my face, studying it intently. I frowned. “What's the matter?” I asked.

“You're entrusting me with—” He lowered his gaze to the coins in my hand again. “With that much?”

I shrugged and pushed the coins into his hands. “Why wouldn't I?”

He put the coins in a purse on his waist. “It just be a surprise. Most folk wouldn't trust a Negro—even a free man—with any amount of money.”

“But I trust you, Ben,” I said, my brow furrowed in confusion.

He smiled softly and darted a quick kiss against my cheek. “I'll go get you some clothes and other things you'll need. Linen, do you think? To um... bind with?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely linen. A nice long roll of it.” I nodded and hid a smirk behind my hand at his discomfort. He left, on a mission to transform me from a noble-born lady to a sailor aboard a pirate's ship.

Would my life ever be normal again?

Ben returned a few hours later, carrying with him breeches, two shirts, a wesket, a pair of stockings and sturdy boots, and a roll of linen gauze. He handed them all to me and turned to leave. “Um,” I said, holding up the roll of linen. “I'll need help with this.”

Ben turned slowly to face me, his expression one of utter horror. “Me?” he squeaked. I bit my lower lip so I wouldn't laugh at him. “Why can't one of the girls help?”

“It's supposed to be a secret, right?” He nodded grudgingly. “Well, the girls around here are gossiping harpies. If one of them discovers what we're up to, soon the whole house will know, and then the whole island just after. No more secrets.”

He closed his eyes and his mouth worked as though he was praying in silence. When he was finished, he opened his eyes and fixed me with a grim, determined look, as though I'd asked him to help execute someone, and held out his hand for the roll of linen. I handed it to him and he sighed heavily, shaking his head ever so slightly.

I held up a hand and motioned for him to turn around. He frowned but complied, giving me his back. I grinned and began shucking off my last gown, stays, petticoats, and shift. Then I stepped into the breeches and said, “All right. You can turn around now.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to limit his view of my breasts as much as possible since it was obviously making him so uncomfortable. His discomfort made me completely forget my own.

He turned slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on the linen in his hands, and handed me one end of it. I snugged it around me as tightly as I could, then held my arms straight up in the air. Ben walked around me in a circle, wrapping the linen as tightly as he could. It wasn't much different than being laced into my stays, though instead of pushing my breasts up to make them fuller-looking, they were flattened and made almost invisible.

When we had used all the linen, I put on the shirt and wesket and then stood in front of Ben, awaiting his approval. He nodded slowly. “Fine. You got to cut your hair, though.”

“My hair?” My hand moved up to the back of my head, where my hair was gathered in a bun. “But why?”

“It be too long. You seen the captain's hair. You got to cut yours.” He drew a short-bladed knife from his side and nodded to one of the room's chairs. “Sit down. I'll do it.”

I meekly sat down and unbraided my hair for him. He gathered the thick mass of my hair at my neck and tied it with the ribbon I was holding out for him. Then he hacked at my hair with the knife and when he was finished, he held a fistful of golden curls in his hand that was at least a foot and a half long. My eyes grew wide and filled with tears.

“Don't cry,” he said as he resheathed his knife and patted me gently on the shoulder. “It be only hair. It grow back. I left you some.” He considered the hair he held and shrugged lightly. “We can probably sell the rest to some wig makers.” I nodded and closed my eyes, swallowing heavily.

“Put your boots on and we'll go to the beach,” he said, stuffing my hair into a small bag he'd pulled out of his pocket. “You got a lot of learning to do and we still need to find weapons for you.”

I followed along behind him, leaving the brothel where I'd passed the worst months of my life. It was all behind me now. I was starting a new journey, one of excitement that would end at my uncle's doorstep. Soon enough, I could forget all about Nassau and the awful things I'd been forced to endure, and I would be free to focus on the future.

PART TWO

1716-1718

XIII

Sun Caye, Bahama Islands

January, 1716

The island where the
Jezebel
had been careened was a two-hour trip in a small rowboat. As we grew closer to the caye, I saw the shore covered with men and tents and crates. I felt butterflies forming in my stomach. So far, my disguise had fooled everyone I'd come into contact with—the wig maker where we sold my hair and the blacksmith where we'd picked up a cutlass for me had both referred to me as “boy” and “lad”. I hadn't noticed any untoward attention or inspection from either of the merchants or any of the townspeople we encountered, so I was willing to call the disguise a success. But I hadn't spent three months in close contact with them, hadn't worked and fought and lived alongside them on a ship that measured just one hundred feet in length and only twenty feet wide.

Ben gave me advice during our journey to the caye, the most important of which was, “Don't show no fear when you first meet the crew. They be like rabid dogs and will bite you if you show you be afraid.” Easier said than done. Especially when my stomach was in knots.

I turned my attention to the hull of the
Jezebel
, hoping to take my mind off my predicament long enough that I could calm myself. The ship was elegant, even on land. Sturdy ropes threaded through heavy pulleys kept her masts lashed to a stand of palms up the beach from where the ship's hull lay, exposed to the air. She was canted a bit on her side, exposing most of her pitch-blackened hull, which was supported by a forest of thick planks stuck deeply in the sand and held in place with wedges. Everywhere I looked, there were men scrambling and climbing over her hull. Some were armed with axes and hatchets they used to scrape the ship clean of barnacles and teredo worms, tiny creatures that burrowed into ships' hulls beneath the water line, eating right through the wood and causing sometimes disastrous damage. Other men were carrying buckets of pitch that would be spread over the cleaned hull with rags and brushes.

On the shore was a small tent city where the ship's sails were being repaired, the guns seen to, the men relaxed, stores were counted and inspected, and Captain MacIsaac held court. His was the largest tent on the shore and I soon saw why. He had brought the entire contents of the captain's cabin ashore—bedstead, armoire, bookshelves, desk, chairs, table.

“Why is everyone queued up outside the captain's tent?” I asked Ben as we beached the rowboat and dragged it up the shore.

“Oh, those be new crew members. They be signing the articles.”

“Articles?”

“Ship's rules.” He laughed at my shocked expression. “Pirates have a code. We not all lawless thieves. Come on, Jones. You be needing to sign as well.” He took my haversack and slung it over his own shoulder.

I joined the end of the queue and tried not to make eye contact with any of the men standing around me. One of them, a particularly scruffy-looking fellow with a nasty scar that bisected his right cheek, said to Ben, “Who's the pup?”

Ben elbowed me hard in the rib cage and it was all I could do not to fall over. I shot him an ugly glare, which earned me a round of chuckles. “This be my new mate, Luke Jones,” Ben said. “Picked him up in Nassau. Promised me he had book learning. Guess we see.”

“Master's mate, eh?” The sailor squinted and stepped closer to me, looking me over intently from head to toe. “Awfully pretty, aintcha, boy? You ever sailed?”

I shot Ben a panicked look and he merely nodded at me. Sink or swim, his expression seemed to say. I drew myself up and squared my shoulders. Luckily, I'd had time to come up with a believable history for myself as Luke Jones and this was the first chance I'd had to try it out. “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to remember to keep my voice in a lower register. I sounded like my brother, Gunnar, and I felt a slender blade of grief prick my heart. “I was press-ganged out of Bristol, put to work aboard the Resolu...
Restoration
. The
Restoration
.” A trickle of sweat slid down my back.

“How old are you, pup?”

“Seventeen, sir.” I was tall for a girl, thankfully. This would hopefully give credence to my claim.

The sailor made a sour face but nodded, seemingly accepting my story. I shot Ben another look and found him grinning at me. He winked and then turned away, off on some obscure errand, leaving me to my own defenses. My story had held so far and the men around me lapsed back into conversation, largely ignoring me, for which I was immensely grateful.

Soon I was standing in front of the captain. He shoved a book at me and pointed to a page. “Can you read?” he asked without looking up.

“I can. Sir,” I added after a moment's hesitation.

He looked up at me and his eyes grew wide and a smile slowly spread across his face. Then he remembered himself and cleared his throat. “Good. Read and sign at the back,” he said in a gruff voice, lowering his eyes once more to a chart that was spread across his desk.

I lowered my eyes to the book, hiding my own smile at the captain's reaction to my disguise. The page was the ship's articles and I read them with curiosity and interest. They seemed pretty straightforward and indicated that every man had an equal vote in affairs and an equal share of provisions. There were punishments written out for stealing, fighting with other men, or not keeping pistols and swords in working order at all time. The provisions for men injured in battle shocked me. If a man lost a limb at sea, he would be paid five hundred pieces of eight and allowed to remain aboard the ship for as long as he wanted. Everything I had ever been told about pirates—that they were merciless, bloodthirsty savages was so far proving to be the exception, rather than the rule.

Captain MacIsaac's finger casually touched a particular passage and I read it closely. No women on board, unless they were captives and being ransomed. Any man found harboring a woman would be marooned. I looked up at him and his face was stern, as if emphasizing the gravity of my situation. I nodded—I understood how important it was to keep my secret.

I picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink pot, and carefully wrote my name—remembering at the last moment to write Luke Jones, instead of Loreley Jones—and added my position as an afterthought. I pushed the book back to the captain, who read it over and looked up at me. “Master's mate, eh?” He nodded to the chart in front of him. “Can you read this?”

He must be testing me, proving to the men standing in queue behind me that I was a good choice for Ben's second. I moved around to the opposite side of the desk, standing right next to the captain. There was a blob of land off to the left of the chart, labeled Athol Island. There was another smaller blob just to the north of Athol Island that was unlabeled. I pointed to it. “That's where we are,” I said before leaning closer to the chart. “The depth isn't right though. It's off by about a foot. Should be marked deeper. Oh, and there's a reef with a deeper channel through here.” I touched the chart in each place and then glanced at the captain out of the corner of my eye.

He looked as though someone had jabbed him right in the gut. I shrugged a little. “I spent the journey from England with the master's mate,” I offered as an explanation. I couldn't tell him truthfully about all the time my father had dedicated to teaching me how to read charts, take depth soundings, and the like with so many of the crew near enough to overhear. Perhaps I would have an opportunity to explain further at a later time. MacIsaac nodded slowly, his eyes on the chart and my face in turns.

“Shall I make a note of the changes, captain?” I asked.

He handed me a quill and pushed the ink pot closer to me. “Please do, Mr. Jones.”

Soon, I was seated at the captain's desk, studying all the charts he had and making changes where I could, while he chatted with the new crew members, helped them read and sign the articles, and issued orders to proceed with the careening and repairs to his ship. The sounds around me faded into a soft buzzing as I concentrated on the charts, using the dividers and latitude scales to measure distances, annotating where I made changes in case anyone wanted to compare the differences.

The line of sailors waiting to sign the articles eventually dried up and Ben came back for me. He took one look at the charts and shook his head. “Maybe you should be the master and I be only the mate,” he said, his tone petulant and grumbly. “How you learn this?”

“Her Majesty's Navy,” I explained, happy that it was the truth as well as being part of my cover story.

Ben made a thoughtful noise and showed me how to roll up the charts so they wouldn't be damaged and where to repack the navigation tools. Once we were finished, we went to take our turns with the scrapers and the buckets of pitch. It was hard work, and when we finished just before sunset, my muscles felt liquid. I was too tired to even eat supper and wanted nothing more than to lie down in my cot. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

The next day was more of the same, though in the afternoon, I was afforded the opportunity to scamper up and down the ropes, bringing supplies to the men working on repairs to the decks and the gunwales. I ferried mallets, nails, boards, augers, and buckets of pitch back and forth between one side of the ship to the other. My movements across the ship were accompanied by cries of “Look at the monkey!” as I climbed higher and higher and leapt fearlessly between ropes. A peek down at the beach showed Ben and Captain MacIsaac's faces contorted with worry. They winced whenever I swung hand-over-hand along the yards.

I felt alive for the first time since the
Resolution
sunk. I was free and had discovered that climbing the ropes was something that I loved and that brought me joy. No one had any hold over me, no one was demanding anything from me that I wasn't willing to do. The sun was bright and felt good on my skin. The water was warm and a perfect blue for as far as the eye could see. And in just three months' time, I would be home in England once more.