Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy (38 page)

"From
Diablo Rojo!
Please, let me—"

"And where was that ship?"

"At Bahia Honda. That is where I work. In the shipyard."

"Do you know Flaco Jimenez, the Captain of that ship?"

"Si"

"Did he give you this note?"

"No. Another man."

"Who?"

"I don't know, Señorita, I—"

I look over at Tink. "Maybe a little more persuasion is necessary."

Tink grins and pulls out his own knife and holds it up before the man's terrified eyes and then drops it down and slides it between the man's belly and his pants and then pulls it away, cutting the drawstring of the man's pants. They fall to his knees.

Tink then lays the flat of the blade against the man's thigh and begins moving the razor-sharp edge toward his manly parts. The man shrieks in terror.

"Now, Señor," I say. "Before you become a
castrado,
perhaps you will tell me who gave you the note. Hmmm?"

"It was ... it was
un hombre inglés!
A big man. He gave me some money. And that's all I know!
Madrecita! Por favor!
I beg of you!"

"He says an Englishman gave him the note," I tell the lads. "What the hell?"

They shrug, as mystified as I.

"All right," I say. "Let him go. We've got to get back to the ship."

They release him and he slumps to the ground, grateful, I am sure, to be still whole.

We run back to the
Nancy
and leap aboard. Upon seeing that everyone is back, I order the lines thrown off and the sails raised.

"We've got to get out to Key West. Flaco's got Joannie," I announce to all and thrust the note to Higgins. "Jim! Off on the Port tack! John Thomas, McGee, get up all the canvas you can! Move it!"

We edge away from the dock as Higgins stands reading the message. After a moment he says, "I don't think Flaco wrote this."

"Why not?" I ask, taking my post on the quarterdeck next to Jim Tanner at the helm.

"For one thing, I believe that Captain Jimenez, for all his charms, is illiterate. For another, this is very much not like him."

"To take a hostage, you mean? Come on, Higgins, we did it all the time. That's what pirates do. We took some ourselves. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, but this is somehow different ... a young girl snatched on the land and held for ... not ransom, but to force you to do something," says Higgins. "And here's another thing—the note mentions Key West. As a Hispanic, Flaco would say, 'Cayo Hueso,' 'Bone Key,' and not Key West. And how would he know about the
Santa Magdalena?
I see someone else's hand in this, Miss."

"The messenger did mention an Englishman. I don't know who it could be."

"Hmmmm..."

"Anyway, we shall see, Higgins. But first we've got to get out to Key West, and fast."

"Agreed, Miss."

"Are all the guns primed and loaded?"

"Yes, they are."

"Good. We might need them when we get there."

It turns out we need them much sooner.

We have a good, brisk, following wind and are fairly tearing out of the harbor when we approach the
San Cristobal
on our starboard side. There is a sharp report from a signal cannon and a boat is put in the water. It is manned and comes toward us. I put long glass to eye.

"Christ! It's that damned Cisneros! He means to board us for a search!"

The boat draws closer. There are six marines in the boat and Cisneros stands at the bow.

"Stop your ship!" he shouts when he is within range. "We have information! We will search you!"

Not this time, you won't!

"Keep going, lads! All speed!"

I leap back to the aft swivel gun, which I know is loaded with a three-pound ball, and after I whip off the canvas cover, I aim it at the bow of the approaching boat.

"I hope you can swim, Cisneros!" I shout as I pull the matchlock. His face registers some shock as—
crrrraaack!—
the gun fires and the front of the boat explodes in a cloud of splinters. Actually, I hope he
can't
swim.

There is a cheer from my lads and cries of distress from the
San Cristobal
's boat, which immediately sinks down to its gunwales. I'm glad to see that the poor marines are able to cling to it and not perish, but I rejoice to see Cisneros drenched and shaking his fist at me.

"I'm sure that was very satisfying, Miss," says Higgins, looking up at the guns of Morro Castle, "but you know we must now run the gauntlet."

"We must see to Joannie, Higgins. I see no other way to do it."

Higgins looks at me in an appraising way, nods, then goes to his duty station.

Cannons are fired and signals are run up the mast of the
San Cristobal
and puffs of smoke appear at the gun ports of the castle. Then we hear the low rumble.

Boooooommmmm...

We hear the whistle of the shots before they plunge into the water not twenty feet off our starboard side.

A huge geyser of water drenches our deck and all on it.

"Left full rudder!" I shout. "Jim! They've got our range! Steer a weaving course!"

Two more twenty-pound balls drive into the water in the spot just vacated by the
Nancy.
Then we hear something from another direction.

Barroooooommmm...

We turn to see that the battery at San Salvador de la Punta is firing on us now.

"They've got us in a crossfire, Missy! They've got to get lucky soon!"

As if to give credence to his words, the next shot from Morro Castle comes down on our starboard rail, shattering it, and the next one falls not five feet from our bow.

"They've got our range! Get ready!"

"Left full!" I scream. "Steer due west!"

The
Nancy
turns and heads straight for the battery at San Salvador.

"What are you doing?" shouts Davy.

"Trying to get under their guns!" I shout back. "They can only point down so far. We're going to get out of the channel and try to get over the chain that stretches over the side approaches to the harbor! We've got a shallow draft! We should be able to get over it!"

Booooommmmm...

These shots from Morro fall short. We are now out of their range.

Barrrroooom...

More shots, again from San Salvador de la Punta, and they sail overhead, touching none of our masts, doing us no harm. We are under their guns now and must only get over that chain.

"Daniel! Get up on the bow! Watch for rocks! Report the bottom!"

The lad races to the bowsprit and stares downward. "No rocks ... Wait! There's one! Go right!" We do it and don't hit.

"Bottom coming up ... looks sandy ... Good God! There's the chain! We're gonna hit!"

Nothing to do but charge on. Silence ... Then there is a grinding noise and the
Nancy
staggers.

She staggers but does not stop, though she leans way over. The horrible grinding continues, and I look back at the harbor to see that many armed boats have been launched to take us.
Come on,
Nancy!

There is a last groan and we slip over the chain and are free. I was worried that the rudder would catch, but it didn't, thank God.

There is nothing ahead of us but the blessed open sea.

Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher
Second Mate, HMS Dolphin
Rounding western tip of Cuba

Jacky,

God willing, we should rendezvous with you tomorrow and get this business done.

Except for the fact that I was not graced with your fine and spirited presence, my time in Jamaica was most enjoyable. We were treated most courteously by the staff on the base and Lord Allen saw to it that I was introduced to all of his usual haunts. Some of them were quite ... well, colorful, as you can well imagine, given Captain Allen's nature, with which I know you are well acquainted. No, my dear, I did not avail myself of all the temptations offered therein. Ahem. Enough said about that.

We brought Allen and his men onboard two days ago and left on the tide. At dinner that night, we all enjoyed his animated tales of your actions on the trip down the Mississippi. I had not previously heard of your time as an Indian maiden, nor the now famous wager for the kiss, nor the fight with the renegade savages, nor ... Well, nor a lot of things. I suspect I shall have to wait for Amy Trevelyne's next literary effort, to be fully informed.

I find it interesting that the Green-Eyed Monster of Jealousy lacks teeth when one knows the other person involved, and especially when he turns out to be a perfectly charming, likable, and merry rogue, with no harm or malice in him. I did not even bristle when, well into the afterdinner Madeira, he took to referring to you as Princess Pretty-Bottom. Yes, I have grown quite a thick skin.

You will note from the above heading that I have received a promotion. It is true—I am now Second Mate of HMS
Dolphin.
Imagine that, third in command of the ship we boarded as ship's boys. Oh, I know that you have done far greater things, but still, I allow myself a bit of pride.

Actually, I shouldn't be all that proud. My promotion was occasioned only by the fact that Lieutenant Flashby did not return to the ship in Kingston. He disappeared our first day there and has not been seen since. Dr. Sebastian said that Flashby left a note saying he was off on urgent intelligence business, but I think he departed as soon as he heard that Allen would now be aboard, and he did not want to put up with the humiliation of Richard's constant insults. Whatever, it was highly irregular all around, and I am glad he is gone. Glad, too, is our former Gunnery Officer and my good friend Lieutenant David Ropp, who is now Third Mate. I wish him the joy of his new position.

Well, there goes Seven Bells and now it's time for me to take the Fore Noon Watch. I will put down my pen and put on my jacket and go topside in the hopes that we shall sight the
Nancy B.
very shortly.

I pray that you are safe and well.

Jaimy

There is no one, neither King's nor pirate's ship, at the rendezvous when we arrive, so we drop anchor and wait ... and wait ... and wait...

I chew my knuckle and anxiously scan the horizon. "Keep a sharp eye out in all directions, Lookout!" I call up to Daniel overhead in the crow's-nest, long glass held to his eye. It was not necessary to say that, for he could not be more attentive. After all, it is his girl who has been taken, but all aboard are tense.

Higgins stands at my side. "Can I get you anything, Miss? Something to calm you?"

"No, and thank you, Higgins. I'll be all right. I just wish he'd get here."

"So you still think it is Captain Jimenez with whom you'll be dealing?"

"Yes. That messenger who came to Ric's addressed me as Señorita Faber. Not Bouvier, which is the name I have been using down here. Flaco is the only one around who remembers me as Faber."

"Hmmm. Perhaps you're right," says Higgins. "But I do wonder about that mysterious Englishman."

"So do I, but—"

"Missy! Ship due west! Coming on fast!"

"Well, we'll find out now, for sure." I grab my own glass and head up into the rigging. "Battle Stations, everyone! Weigh anchor!" We will need maneuvering room and can't be tied to the bottom.

I climb up next to Daniel and train my glass at the approaching ship, which is now hull up over the horizon.

"What can you make out, Danny?"

"Nothing yet ... Wait ... I can see his flag ... It's red! It's that damned pirate!"

"Steady, Danny. We'll get her back. Just keep your eye on him and let us know if you can make out anything.

All right?"

He gulps and nods, while I head back down to my quarterdeck to find the sails up and drawing.

"Steer due north, Jim," I say to Mr. Tanner, at the helm. "Let's make him come to us."

"Aye, Skipper, due north it is."

"It's
El Diablo Rojo,
Higgins. I think—"

"On deck there!" shouts Danny. "I can make out Jimenez! He's standing at the mast!"

"That's a good sign," I say. "I can deal with Flaco."

"But ... but the big ugly one ... El Feo ... has ... has Joannie on the bow ... with a pistol to her head."

I whip my glass back up. My heart sinks. What he says is true. Joannie, her hands tied behind her, stands next to El Feo, and he has the barrel of a pistol tucked under her chin.

How could Flaco allow this?

Then I see why. Flaco is not standing at the mast—he is
tied
to it. His face and shirt are bloody, and he is no more in command of that ship than am I. His attempt to retake his ship must have failed, and failed miserably.

Poor Flaco.

We are now in hailing distance.

"Slack your sails and bring your ship under our lee, else I will put a bullet in her head!" shouts El Feo. "Fire on us, and the same thing will happen!" I can see him clearly now. He is dressed in traditional pirate gear—boots and baggy trousers, loose shirt crisscrossed with wide leather belts to hold knives and pistols—but with a difference. The red turbanlike thing on his head is stuck full of feathers and plumes. I guess it is to take away from his extreme ugliness, or maybe he means to make his reputation with it. I don't know, and I don't care about the vanity of some murderous brigand.

"Why should we not?" I cry out. "You will kill us, anyway! I'd rather we all died together, for that is our way!"

"Very brave," shouts El Feo. "But it does not have to be that way. You see, we know that you have gold. And if you tell us where it is, we will let you go on your way."

I don't believe that for a second, but I try to play for time. The ships are now alongside. "I have no gold. It all went with the English ship."

El Feo grins, and it is not a pretty sight. "English, eh? Well, we have here an Englishman who thinks differently." As he gestures behind him, a man steps up, a man in a loose white shirt, black pants and boots, smoking a long cheroot.

"Hello, Faber. So good to see you again."