We did work for a while, and then I decided to throw a little twist into things.
"Sir, I—I know you are a member of the Royal Society..." I knew this from Stritch, the loblolly boy, a not overly bright man from whom I pump information every time the Doctor steps out of the room. "...and ... and ... I know that the bodies of those hanged for murder are given over for dissection to the surgeons..." It is common knowledge that the bodies of those executed for other crimes are given back to their families or else thrown whole into the common lime pit if no one claims them. I work up a girlish sob and throw aside my brush and bury my face in my hands. "...and I know they shall brand me a murderer because men did die on that ship and I will surely be blamed for it!"
The Doctor, who has seen much gore and has hacked off many a battle-torn limb, seems to be quite shocked at a young girl's distress. Good. I have rehearsed this little scene over and over in my head as I lay in my bunk at night, and it is going exactly as I planned.
"So, Sir, if you would be so good as to be the one to take my body down from the gallows after I am hanged, and if you would treat it with some measure of ... respect when you do what you must do, I would..."
Here I collapsed into helpless tears, my shoulders shaking with chest-wracking sobs. "...oh, God, I would take it most kindly, Sir!" I wail and fall over onto him.
"There, there," he says, not quite knowing what to do with his formerly very competent girl assistant who has suddenly dissolved into a puddle of female distress on his very lap. "I would do that, but I'm sure it won't come to that, surely. Stritch, come here! Take care of this!"
But it was not Stritch. It was the Marine guard Patrick Keene who came in to calm me and I threw myself upon him.
"Oh, Patrick, I am so afraid, so very afraid!"
"Now, Miss, please be still. Please..."
And so it went. Eventually I subsided, wiped off my tears, and we got back to work.
It was not many days after that when I received the call to go to the Captain's cabin to paint his portrait, the Doctor having shown him his own portrait ... and the portfolio and the frontispiece...
DE RERUM
Natura Americana
An Account of the Various Flora and Fauna
encountered and collected on a Journey
Through the Caribbean Sea on Board HMS Dauntless,
in the year 1806, together with appropriate
Illustrations and Comments of a biological nature.
by Dr. Stephen Sebastian, M.D., Cambridge University
Member, The Royal Society
Illustrated by Miss J. M. Faber, Lawson Peabody s.f.y.g.
I lettered those words large on the front page, surrounded by entwined vines and flowers, interspersed with heraldic motifs—shrimps rampant and butterflies guardant with gules—on a field of light blue. I thought it looked right nice, if I may say so. I had Davy take me down to the Sail-maker's berth and there leather was measured, cut, and sewn. The folder, when done, was soft and supple and had inside pockets to hold the illustrations. It was bound with tight twine and it gave me great pleasure to take down all my drawings from the wall, putting them in order, tucking them in the folio, and then later, presenting the whole production to the Doctor.
He said nothing, but only took it and opened it. He drew out the frontispiece, looked at it, and then turned and left the laboratory to go directly to the Captain's cabin. How do I know this? Davy's spies who lurked outside the Captain's open window reported the following exchange:
"Look at this, Hannibal," said the Doctor, displaying the articles on the Captain's table. "They are going to hang someone capable of this? That would be an abomination!"
"Well, Stephen," said the Captain, who was plainly very good friends with his surgeon, "she is facing many serious charges."
"Hell, I'll adopt her or something! Bribe someone, for God's sake!"
"We shall see what we can do, Stephen, when we get to London. Meanwhile..."
It was soon after that that I found myself painting the Captain's portrait.
***
"Your wife will appreciate this very much when you are far away at sea, Sir," I venture, putting a gold touch on the hilt of the sword he holds up next to his chest.
"Ahem. That is true. Er ... But, is it possible that you might do two pictures instead of just one?"
"Of course, Sir. Two it is."
Aye, you dog, I know what you're about—one for your faithful wife and one for your mistress. Men. I swear.
I work and he poses and we are silent for a while when at last he says, "About your ... problem, Miss. I want you to know that I am not without influence in political circles. Although I do not trumpet it about, feeling as I do that a man should be known for his deeds and not his birth, I am a Peer of the Realm and hold a seat in the House of Lords. I shall see what I can do for you."
Time for the waterworks again.
"That is so good of you, Sir," I wail, turning on the tears, something I am very good at.
"Well, ahem, we have grown fond of you in the time we have had you with us, Miss Faber. Now calm yourself, please, and let us continue."
He assumes the pose, clutching his sword and looking nobly off into the distance, and I again wield my brush.
Silence falls between us ... for a while. Then the Captain gives a small, throat-clearing cough and says, "I have heard that you have been enlivening the Officers' Mess on a nightly basis."
Uh-oh ... That last bit of dancing on the tabletop...
"I hope I have not offended you, Sir, or disobeyed your orders."
Simper, simper ... big weepy eyes now...
"No, not at all. And I observed how you managed to whip the seamen up to a state of high hilarity on Sunday afternoon."
On many ships, and I am glad to say that the Dauntless is one of those, the Captain will permit singing and dancing and playing of music by the common sailors on the fo'c'sle after Sunday services. An extra measure of grog is issued and spirits tend to run high. The past two Sabbaths I was given permission to join in with the men, and though I did not drink the rum that was offered me, I did sing and I did dance and I did fiddle away most energetically. I danced the Irish dances with the Irish lads and the Scottish dances with the Scottish laddies and I danced the hornpipe with Davy just like we did back in the old days with Liam Delaney on the fo'c'sle of the Dolphin. I sang and danced and played to the delight of all till the sound of the ship's bell called all to supper and put an end to the festivities. God, how I love a good audience, and how I do love the applause!
"I am an entertainer, Sir," I say. "And perhaps I was too enthusiastic in my performance. If so, I am sorry. I do like to give one hundred percent."
"No, no, my dear, think nothing of it. The men enjoyed it hugely and I like it when their morale is high."
Another silence. Then...
"But I say to myself, Hannibal, why should your officers and your men have all the fun, eh?"
"Sir?"
"I should like you to dine with me on Friday evening..."
Uh-oh.
"...as I am having my officers and midshipmen to dinner."
Ah ... for a moment there I thought I was up for yet another wrestling match with a randy male, and, though the Captain is not an unhandsome man, I am glad to find that he is an honorable one as well.
"It is Mr. Bennett's birthday and we will be only about three days out from England and that is cause for celebration, as well."
For you it is cause to rejoice, Captain, but not for me. While I am very glad to hear you say that you will try to help me when we get to London, I know that you will have to hand me over to the vile Bliffil as soon as we get there, and I feel your efforts, however kind and worthy, will be in vain. Nay, I shall rely upon my own efforts, as it should be. I believe I will be shortly taking yet another swim.
"I should be honored to come to dinner, Sir. And thank you for the kindness you have shown me in so many ways."
That night I bring my knees up to my chest and curl into the ball in which I usually sleep and think fondly of Jaimy.
Dear Jaimy, things are going as well as can be expected. I have found some friends aboard—and can you believe that our brother Davy is one of them? What a wonderful world! And I have made many others, so my future is not quite so bleak as it was a scant few weeks ago. Therefore, do not worry about me.
Good night, Jaimy. I hope you are enjoying many wondrous sights of strange lands and people on your journey across the seas—for, after all, isn't that why we signed on to this seafaring life?
Sleep well, my dear...
Chapter 7
James Emerson Fletcher, Lieutenant
On board HMS Mercury
off the Coast of West Africa
Miss Jacky Faber
Dovecote
Quincy, Massachusetts, USA
Dear Jacky,
I hope this letter finds you well, safe, and happy. I know it is too much to expect that you are back at the Lawson Peabody School or are safely ensconced at the Trevelyne estate for the fall and winter, as I have learned what idle wishes these might be when I consider your wild and impetuous nature. Still, I can hope.
As for me, I have found the company of my fellow officers on the Mercury most congenial. Captain Blackstone is a good and fair man, and I would look forward to the continuance of this cruise were it not for the fact that it separates me from you.
I continually think back to the last time I saw you, when you suddenly appeared on the deck of the Mercury, and then just as quickly dived off the rail of our ship and disappeared into the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. The soles of your bare feet twinkling under the blue green water was the last glimpse I had of you. Well, maybe not—I did see a slight figure waving from the deck of the little schooner before it sailed out of sight.
We have picked up the convoy of slow, clumsy merchantmen that we are to escort to China. I know it is a duty you would find deadly dull, but still it must be done and I must admit it is good to be back in Royal Navy rig again.
It is rumored that the Mercury might be detached to deliver diplomatic pouches to operatives in Morocco. That will be a pleasant change, I believe.
The boat carrying the mail is about to leave, so I must be brief. Know, Jacky, that you are uppermost in my thoughts, always.
Your Most Obedient & etc.
Jaimy
Chapter 8
During these weeks, I have been given more and more the freedom of the ship, and with both my good Marine guardians and the very covetous Mr. Jared now used to my ways, I often visit with Davy in the foretop. We enjoy talking about the people we both know in London and in Boston—he especially delights in hearing of his new wife Annie's brave actions in helping the girls of the Lawson Peabody gain their freedom from the slaver Bloodhound. The weather is generally pleasant and we spend many happy midday hours there.
"The little schooner that lies just off the horizon," he says one day, "I'm reckonin' those are your friends?" We are sitting cross-legged on the foretop deck and sharing some sausage and other treats that I managed to have my steward nab for me.
"Um," I say, chewing on a particularly tasty bit. "I think so. I hope you haven't said anything to anybody about it."
"No, other than reporting it. Can't not report a sighting, else the lookout'd be whipped."