Your fingers are neat and small,
Your cheeks too red and rosy,
To face the cannonball'
Oh, to face the cannonball.
T know my waist is slender,
My fingers neat and small,
But it would not make me tremble
To see ten thousand fall.'
Oh, to see ten thousand fall!"
"Poor Captain Locke," I say, after the applause for the mortified midshipman stops. Poor Jaimy, too, what he must think, he being so upright and all. And I can well guess what his mother must think. I take another deep swallow of the wine to calm myself. Next time I must water it.
"Poor Captain Locke, nothing! He has drunk for free on that story for months!" chortles the Captain. "He has a grand speech on the matter—I myself heard him deliver it at our club." Captain Humphries puffs up and puts his hand to his chest like a grand orator. '"I will bear the ridicule of any man who has stood on a ship's burning deck with the masts coming down and the air thick with hot can-nonballs, a man who has smelled the foul breath of the cannon and seen the scuppers run red with the blood of his friends, yea, a man who has seen all that and yet did not run and hide to save his own life. I will suffer that man's insults and call him brother. But should any man who has not seen those things, one who has sat comfortable at his table with his pipe and his dinner while we were on the cruel sea, should such a man dare make sport of me or the Dolphin or any who were on her, then I will gladly meet with him in the morning and cheerfully put a hole in his unworthy chest! I put it to you like this: The girl stood by my side in the heat of battle and she did not run!'" The Captain finishes and lurches to his feet. "A toast! A toast to Bloody Jacky Faber!"
All cheer and rise and I try to sink into my chair. Amy beams at me over her glass. I look over at Randall and see that he is stricken to the core. Uh-oh. I see that male pride has been wounded and is in need of repair. I know he is thinking that for all his arrogance and posturing, it is I who have faced combat and come out of it with some honor and he has not yet been tried, and he wonders, in his heart of hearts, just how well he will perform. After the toast Randall sits down heavily and seems to sink within himself. At his side, the good ship Clarissa is in flames, her plan for the sinking of the good ship Jacky having gone awry. She crosses her arms and looks straight forward in a storm of anger.
More wine is poured, the dessert brought, the Captain's hand is back, and the Lieutenant has resumed his leering, but I am soon saved by the announcement that the dance is about to begin and all are invited to the main ballroom. I toss off the rest of the wine and rise up on the Captain's arm and am escorted in to the dance, my head up, eyes hooded, lips together, teeth apart, the finest of the ladies.
Many more people pour in the door to the ballroom and are announced as the band strikes up the first tune. There are people, both young and old, from all over the county, as this is the ball of the year by all accounts. The place fairly glitters with light and color and wild excitement.
First we have a Virginia reel, which is good 'cause it frees me up from the clutches of Captain Humphries, who's a good sort in his way, but I really want to get close to that pretty Midshipman Padget—to ask him if he's heard of Jaimy, of course—so during the reel when there's two rows of dancers and everybody sort of gets to touch hands with everyone else for a moment, I give his hand a squeeze.
On the next dance, a minuet, he comes up to me and, blushing, asks me to dance and I bat my eyelashes and say yes, and then we go to the floor with the other couples and we dance and it is lovely and he is so pretty and nice, but I wish so much that Jaimy was here with me to see all this. He would look so dashing and I would be so proud. After the dance I ask Mr. Padget if he knows of Jaimy, but, alas, he reports that he does not.
My gallant escort takes me to the punch bowl, which has a big chunk of ice floating in it, and he gets me a cup of punch and it's good and I wonder what's in it, but I don't wonder long because I am stolen from the midshipman by Lieutenant Flashby for the next dance, and he is a very good dancer and is very charming and smells of cologne water, but somehow I don't quite trust him. Then there's another dance, a quadrille, and another partner and my head is spinning and I have some more punch and I have a vague notion of Amy coming up to me and warning me about something but I can't remember what it is...
And then there's another dance, and then, wonder of wonders, Clarissa comes to me and says, "Oh, don't mess with that silly punch, dear Jacky. Here, have some of this. We call it a julep, yes, we do. A mint julep, as a matter of actual fact. Oh yes, Jacky, it is just the very best thing. No, no, there's no rum or whiskey in it, just a little of our own fine bourbon ... Here, refresh yourself, you must be exhausted, poor thing. You dance so well, I declare you put the rest of us to shame, you really do ... you really are the belle of the ball, Jacky ... Let me get you another, why, it's no trouble at all, dear Jacky..."
I taste it and it is sweet and smooth and cool and good and it must be all right 'cause it's not harsh at all, not like rum, which burns its way down, and this is just so lovely. Why, it's just like that root beer. "Oh, thank you, Clarissa, I'm so glad we can be frens ... er ... friends." Only it's soft, so soft. Another dance? "Well, Sir, I be delighted. 'Scoose me, Clarissa. Sir, let us whirl onto the floorn..."I mean, floor, I mean ... I don't know what I mean. "Whoops, I'm sorry, did I stumble? Isn't this all so lovely isn't this just the best night ever, isn't this just the finest..."
Chapter 46
I wake up looking at the bottom of a chamber pot by which I am kneeling and into which I am throwing up.
"Ooohhh ... pleeeeease ... God...," I hear myself say.
"God shall not help you," I hear Amy say severely. "You brought this on yourself." I dimly see that she is standing above me as I swim back into full awareness and total misery.
"Please, Lord, take me now. I can't stand this." I cough and spit up some more vile juice. I have never been this sick before, ever, not even when I was seasick. "Please ... I want to die now. Please, Lord."
A long string of spittle hangs from my lower lip down into the mess at the bottom of the pot. I wipe it away with the back of my hand and then look up at Amy for sympathy and forgiveness, but I do not get it.
"Who ... who undressed me ... how did I get back here?" I see that I am clad in my under-linen and stockings.
"I undressed you, Jacky," she says. "But as to how you got here, that story is a little more ... vivid, shall we say. Would you like to hear?"
"Noooo...," I say in a very small voice. My back suddenly bucks and a stream of sick comes out of my mouth and into the pot. There is a strong, sour smell in the room.
"Oh, hear it you shall, Jacky," she says, disgusted. "Make no mistake about that. Shall I start with a description of the dance you performed? On the tabletop? It was quite well received by those sailors and other low males in the room."
"Oh no..."
"Oh yes. And the song you sang up there, Jacky? Oh, that was such a hit! Why, it brought the house down! Do you recall? It was the one about bullies rowing other bullies, the one that ends with—"
"Please, no more..."
"Oh, there is more and plenty. It gets better and better. After you came down from your stage ... well, actually, you fell unconscious from your stage, right into the arms of that loathsome Lieutenant Flashby, who picked you up and strode off out of the ballroom looking for a convenient room to put you in. I suspect you and he would discuss naval tactics or tell sea stories. I'm sure that was his intent. He had gone down the main hall kicking open doors, finding nothing appropriate to his needs until he came to one of the guest rooms and was about to enter, when Randall came storming furiously into the hall, confronting your naval comrade and bidding him put you down.
"'I've got the strumpet and I've got the time, now get out of the way and sod off, Puppy!' roared the bold Lieutenant and our own beau sabreur Randall roared back, 'Puppy! I'll give you Puppy, by God!' and swords were drawn and crossed. I'm sorry, Miss, that you weren't awake for that because I know how you love it all so, all that dash and gallantry and derring-do, but you were dumped in a pile on the floor, rather unceremoniously, I thought, for the supposed prize in this encounter. By the by, you might notice a pain in your derriere, as that is the part of you that hit the floor first, with something of a dull thud. The impact did seem to rouse you a bit, because you did manage to get to your hands and knees and try to crawl down the hall for a space, but then you passed out again, with the aforementioned bottom remaining in the air, leaning against the wall. Your arms were splayed out and your face was against the carpet and your mouth was open, and, I believe, drooling slightly. Most elegant. It is an image that will stay with me a long, long time."
"Oh, please..." I don't know what feels worse, the sickness or the knowing of what I had done. I moan again, my head down. More gagging, more spewing.
"Anyway, as I said, the swords were crossed and Randall made an ill-considered lunge at our lustful Lieutenant Flashby, which that experienced officer easily parried. As Randall was unbalanced, his opponent brought up the hilt of his sword and smashed it into Randall's face, bloodying his nose and opening his cheek..."
"Dear God, no ... not Randall ... not hurt..."
"...and rocking him back against the wall. The bold Lieutenant did then draw back his sword and was about to put it through our Randall and into the wall when our jolly little party was joined by Father and Captain Humphries, who stepped up and ordered his officer to stop since, as he put it, sitting at a man's table and then putting a sword in his son, well, it just isn't done, old boy, not even in America. Then Randall wipes the blood from his mouth and snarls, 'I'll meet you in the morning, you filthy son of a bitch!' and Lieutenant Flashby says, 'Fine, I'll kill you then, Puppy! Name your Second!' Then Father draws his own sword and says, 'You'll not hurt the children of my household, by God, my son will second me and I'll meet you, myself, you British bastard!' Captain Humphries holds up both his hands and says, 'I absolutely forbid it! All we need is an international incident over a dumb girl!'"
Amy sniffs and says, "Actually, Jacky, he did not use 'girl' in referring to you. He used a short, harsh word that I did not know the meaning of, it probably being of low Anglo-Saxon origin, and, I'm sure, quite crude."
"I am so sorry..."
"Sorry? Sorry? Of course you are sorry! You are always sorry. Every time one of your cockeyed schemes goes wrong you are sorry"
A spasm racks my body and my mouth opens but nothing but sour spittle comes out.
"Why...why are you...so cruel to me, Amy?" I am crying now, the tears running down my face and dripping into the pot with the other. I start keening in distress, "I thought you was my friend. I said I was sorreeeeeee..." Millie, outside the window, howls at the sound.
"You can stop making that noise. It will not help." She primly folds her hands before her. "Do you know what I think, Miss? I think that when you first came to our school and were treated badly by Clarissa that you vowed that someday and somehow you would bring her down because the good Lord knows that nobody ever runs roughshod over Bloody Jacky Faber and gets away with it. Isn't that right? And do you want to know what else I think? I think that you used me to get close to Randall, and you used him to get to Clarissa, and you..."