The net is jerked from one side and I am tumbled out of the net and rolled over the deck. I feel my feet being untied and then the hood is whipped off and the sudden light blinds me for a moment. I'm blinkin' away and after my sight clears, I find I'm looking into the face of the man lyin' next to me, not six inches away, and I gasp in recognition. To me, it is the very face of Horror, itself—the horror of my younger life, the face of Muck, Cornelius Muck, Muck the Corpse Seller, right here, right now, lying beside me, tied and gagged and eyes rollin' around, just like me! I'm taken back, back to when I was a little girl and Muck was slingin' my dead baby sister over his shoulder right after my mum had died on That Dark Day when my whole world fell apart. It's Muck, all right, bearded now, with longer hair, but still the accursed Muck and that little girl in me is kickin' and screamin' in terror. Don't let him get me! Don't let him take me!
I twist away from Muck and look up to see a seedy-lookin' cove dealin' out coins to what my reeling mind sees to be the head of the press-gang, who then bows to this cove and ties the purse around his waist and turns to leave. He goes down to his boat, the boat that brought us here, and casts off.
Wait! You can't leave yet! Wait for me—
"MMMMMmmmmmpfff!" I try to yell through the gag. Desperate, I hunch over and manage to pinch twixt my knees a piece of the gag stickin' out of my mouth. I jerk back my head and the spit-soaked rag comes out of my mouth and I get to my knees and I shout, "Stop that boat, you fool, and let me go! I'm a girl!"
There is a sudden dead silence. I look about and see that I am on some sort of ship, and I look over the starboard side and see land about a half mile off. I try to struggle to my feet, despairing to see the boat pull farther and farther away, but I can't with my hands tied behind me. I can only remain on my knees.
The seedy-lookin' man peers down at me and smiles. His shirttail is out and his trousers are stained and dirty. He is unshaven and his hair is unruly and uncut. He opens his mouth and says, "Girl, eh? We'll see." He comes up to me and he grabs me by the arm and yanks me to my feet. With his other hand he pulls off my cap and my hair spills out onto my shoulders, but that ain't proof enough for this cove, no it ain't. He grunts and puts that same grubby hand on my chest. I recoil but think, Better this than having to drop my pants in front of the whole ship's company for proof.
The man smiles and makes a mock bow. "Welcome to His Majesty's Ship Wolverine, girl. I know you're going to enjoy your stay," he says, looking me up and down. His teeth are worn gray stubs and his puffy face bristles with several days' growth of beard. "But if you ever again call your Captain a fool, I will hang you from that yardarm there. Do you understand, girl?"
Captain? This man is the Captain?
He is a large man and he has a prominent hooked nose and full, almost womanish lips. There is a whitish residue on the lower of those lips and I'm amazed to see a tic tighten in a neck muscle and suddenly pull down the left side of his mouth. Then, incredibly, his left eye takes off on its own, independent of the right one, and appears to be looking up into the rigging while the right eye stays on me. What kind of creature is this?
An officer, a lieutenant, has come up next to the Captain. He, at least, is dressed as a naval officer and he says, very respectfully, and very cautiously, "Begging your pardon, Sir, but might it not be best to call back the..."
The tic relaxes its grip on the Captain's face and he turns to look at the officer. "Mr. Pinkham," he says with undisguised contempt, "shut up. If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it." He turns again to me. "I paid for eight bodies, Mr. Pinkham, and I shall have eight bodies. And hers will do just fine."
The Captain looms over me, legs wide, hands on hips. "How came you to be dressed like this?" he demands.
"It was for sport," I says. "Now..."
"For sport, eh? Well, you shall certainly find some sport here, my girl. Yes, you shall, and very quickly, too," he says, winkin' at me so I can't mistake his meaning. "This is turning into a really fine day. Yes, it is." He turns and faces up into the sky. "I got up this morning thinking all I had to look forward to was bad whisky and the worst crew ever assembled on a British warship. And now this. Thank you, Lord." He comes face-to-face with me and I can smell the whisky on him. Whisky and something else, I can't tell what. "Untie her hands and take her to my cabin."
Oh, Lord, this doesn't look good at all.
As my hands are being untied, I look about me and see that I am on a Brig-of-War—two masts, probably eighteen guns. There is land over the horizon and from the position of the sun, I figure it to be the coast of France and this ship is on the blockade. There are men looking on from the rigging and on deck, but they are strangely quiet, as if they are afraid to do or say anything about my arrival, which one would think would be cause for great uproar and hilarity. I'm thinkin' they're deathly afraid of the Captain. I am, too.
The press-gang boat is too far gone to be called back, I see with a sinking heart. Looking toward the land, I see that we are quite close, not more than a quarter mile from a rocky peninsula jutting out into the Channel.
I pretend to be resigned to my fate, and I stand there with my head down and shoulders slumped, but as my bonds are being loosened, I toe off my boots and the instant my hands are free, I bolt across the deck and dive over the side. I ain't stayin' here, that's for sure.
There are shouts as I fly over the rail. Better France than this, I'm thinkin' as the water comes up to meet me.
I hit clean and come up pullin' for the shore. I gasp, but the water has kept some of its warmth from the summer and the seas are calm, with gentle swells and no chop, so I'm hopin' I'll be all right.
As I'm strokin' away, I'm figurin' I'll tell the Froggies that I'm American and ask would they please direct me to the nearest port where I can book passage back there. I have my money belt on and my French is good enough to get along.
Whew! That was a close one, I reflect. Lord, that crazy Captain was gonna keep me as his miss, he was. Yes, and Muck on board as well! Keep pullin away, girl, keep strokin'. Sorry to lose those boots, though.
I strike out for the shore, getting into a nice even rhythm. I swim for a while and then pause to let the sea take care of that still nagging call of nature. I gratefully relax and feel a warm gush around my loins for a bit, and then the cool ocean sweeps it away. Ahhh.
I learned, back when I was marooned on that beach in South America and practicing my swimming, that when I got tired swimming frontwards, I could turn over on my back and take a little rest, like, floating and just paddling along. I do that now to pace myself and relax a bit—at least I don't have to worry about sharks here and...
Uh-oh.
I look back at the ship and see that they have put in a boat to chase me down. Damn! And they've got an alongshore breeze so they'll be on a beam reach and able to come at me right quick! I turn back over and stretch out, really digging into the water for all the speed I can get, my eyes on the shore.
That lunatic Captain don't know me, he don't know that all I do is spread discord and havoc and destruction wherever I go and he'd be better off without me. But it looks like he ain't gonna listen. No, he ain't!
The shore doesn't look like it's any closer, but I know it is, and if I can just keep going—Pull! Pull! Pull! Dig deep! Faster! Faster!
But I can hear the lap of the bow wave on the boat and I can hear the shouts of the crew as they draw near. "There she is! Get her! Get her!"
I jerk my head back and see they are a scant twenty feet behind me.
"You there!" calls out a man in the bow of the boat. He's got a coil of rope in his hand and he flings it toward me. "Give it up and grab that line!"
But I don't give it up and I don't take the rope. What I do is dive down deep and look up at the bottom of the boat as it surges over me. I kick with my legs and shoot back up and come to the surface oh-so-quiet at the stern of the boat, right next to the rudder.
I see that they are all looking forward to the last place they saw me. Close to the boat and with just my eyes out of the water, I keep an eye on the coxswain's back, and when I see him lean forward and loosen his grip on the tiller, I grab the rudder and give it a quick jerk straight up. The pintles slip out of the gudgeons and the rudder comes off in my hands and I let it sink down into the depths.
"Let's see you sail without a rudder, mates!" I shout and then go under again and get out in front of them and come up and start strokin' for the shore again, and it looks closer! I can hear the waves beatin' on the shore!
"Like tryin' to catch a bleedin' mermaid!" I hear behind me, but then I hear oars being shoved in oarlocks so I know they're still after me, and I pull and I pull, making my aching arms and legs push on and on. Their oars dip into the water and start their rhythm, and I know they'll be up on me again real soon. That Captain must have threatened them with some awful punishment to get them to chase me like this.
They're gettin' close again, I know, 'cause I can hear 'em puffin' and gruntin, and I figure this time they'll try to whack me with an oar to stun me and get me that way, so I try to keep low down in the water so's the water'll take the impact instead of my poor back.
But when they come up on me again, what I feel instead is something hard against the small of my back, which then runs down the crack of my bum and I feel a tug on my britches as they are pulled down to my knees. A boat hook's got my pants! I reach back and slip the hook off and yank the pants back up. Christ! I can't go into France without pants! I get it done, but I'm losin' ground, too. Back up for another breath.
"I've a harpoon here, and I'll use it!" I hear the shout, and I look up and sure enough this hard-eyed bloke in the bow of the boat has got a real sharp-looking harpoon in his fist and I quick dive back down. I don't believe him, but I ain't takin' no chances. For sure, I know now how those poor whales felt.
Looking up at the bottom of the boat, I see the paddles dipping down into the water, and then, as they don't know where I am, they lie still, their blades just sitting there, barely cutting the surface. Desperate, I kick up and grab an oar and pull down as hard as I can.
Sure enough, the boat rocks violently, her balance upset, and then, wonder of wonders, a sailor plunges into the water next to me. He must have been on that oar I pulled. Well, that oughta keep 'em. ... busy, rescuing their mate while I push on to freedom.
But it doesn't happen that way. I pop up on the other side of the boat, and they're all lookin' off the other side and sayin' things like Poor Billy, drownding over a stupid girl, and Woe, oh woe, he was such a friend to me!
Christ! None of the lubbers can swim! Typical bleedin' British sailors! I dive down once again, and, sure enough, there's Billy down there, slippin' down into the murk, bubbles comin' out of his nose and mouth. I dart down and grab him by the hair that floats out about his head and kick and dart back to the surface. I lift his head out of the water and he coughs, water pouring out of his mouth and nose, and hands reach out and grab him. I twist away, but not fast enough 'cause another rascally hand reaches out and gets a fistful of my own hair, and I am hauled to the side of the boat and held fast there while they get soggy Billy aboard.