Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (5 page)

"Mistress, I wish you wouldn't do this," wails Judy.

"I really wish that, I do."

I've stripped off the clothes I had worn down to breakfast—dress, drawers, and stockings—and I rummage in my seabag and pull out my jockey silks, the outfit I had gotten back in the States as a reward for riding the Sheik of Araby to victory in the Great Race.

I stick one foot in the tight white pants, then the other, then pull them up to my waist and do the buttons. Judy, like any dutiful maid, is standing by with the green-and-white striped top over one arm and the white stockings over the other, fretting all the while.

"But, Mistress, you're gonna have nothin' on under these flimsy things! You can't go out like that!"

"Yes, I can," I say. "I've done it before." I pull the blouse on over my head and Judy does the side tab buttons. White stockings next, and then we do the little cinch-belt things on the pants below the knees.
What a strange thing to have someone help you dress.
Sinful, I know, but I can't say I find it unpleasant. I've tried to get her to call me Jacky, but she won't do it. "Mistress Mary" is as close as she'll get to calling me by my name.

Now the soft leather boots. "Now braid up my hair, Judy, if you would, so's I can stuff it up into my cap." I sit in the room's only chair and she comes around in back and takes my hair and begins to do it. I can sense her dismay at all this from the heavy sniffing and sighing coming from behind me.

"Look, Judy, it's the only way I can get into the track as a single female," I say. "They won't let me in without a male escort 'cause they'll think I'm just a girl of easy virtue trying to get in to do some business with the swells. It'll be all right, you'll see. I'll wear my cloak with its hood pulled up till I get there, and then I'll pop out in this gear and fit right in and I'll be able to find my young man and see what's up with him. See?"

"No, I don't, Mistress."

I'm thinking the disguise will both get me into the place
and
remind Jaimy of my wild and adventurous ways, which he said he liked. I hope he still feels that way.

She gets done braiding and ties up the end with a bit of ribbon and I get up and look at myself in the mirror with satisfaction.
Tight and trim and back in harness again, my girl.
My blouse is loose enough to hide what I got in the way of chest, and my cap hides my hair and, if pulled down far enough, part of my face, too.

I complete the outfit by putting my ring, the ring Jaimy put on my finger back in the goldsmith's shop in Kingston, back in my ear and squeezing it shut so it doesn't fall out.

Then I lift up the front of my blouse and reach two fingers inside the money belt that's wrapped around my belly and pull out several coins. "Here's some money. If I don't come back, pay the landlady for our lodgings and take a carriage to number nine Brattle Lane."

"What do you mean, if you don't come back?" she gasps. "Please come back, Mistress, please..."

"If I don't come back, it'll just mean I'm with Jaimy and that's where he lives and you'll come join me there," I say, and present my back. "Here, give me my cloak."

She gets it and puts it around my shoulders and fastens the bonnet ties.

"It'll be all right, you'll see," and I plant a kiss on her frowning forehead and I'm out the door.

It doesn't take me long to get to the track. I know from my begging days in this area that the jockeys have an entrance around back so I go back there to see about gaining entry. I'm in luck—they've got the big doors open to let in some horses, so I stride through the gates and whip off the cloak and blend right in with the crowd of jockeys and handlers and stableboys milling about.

The stands are filling with people and, on the track, horses are being exercised and there's a feeling of great excitement in the air. The day is bright and clear and there are flags snapping and jockeys strutting about in their colorful silks and...

"Jacky!"

My heart leaps in my chest.
Jaimy? Is it...

No, it isn't. I turn around and see Peter Jarvis standing there in his silks grinning at me.

"Petey!" I shout and go to throw my arms around the little man, but remember in time and instead grab his hand and give it a manly handshake. "So good to see you, Petey, oh, it is!"

"Back in Old Blighty, eh, Jacky?"

"Oh yes," I exclaim, "and you, too?"

"Well, yes, now that I'm a man of great renown since I rode the Sheik of Araby to victory at Dovecote Downs, I'm much in demand. So I decided to come back to the old sod and go right famous here, too." He winks and says, "But why are you back in male rig?"

"It's like this, Petey," I says, and blush in spite of myself, "I'm ... I'm looking for a certain young man who's gonna be here today, and I figured this was the best way for me to get in here to look for him."

"Aw, our little Jacky in love. Ain't that sweet?"

"Well, we'll see about that," I simper. "But, Petey, if you could get me a mount, so's I could get about a little easier..."

"Sure thing, Jacky," he says and leads me over to a stall. "Here, take out Gwendolyne's Fancy for a little warm-up." He gestures to a stableboy, who quickly puts a saddle on the mare and then hands over the reins.

"Just take her around a few times slow, none of that crazy stuff like you used to pull with the Sheik. She's got to race today."

"I was wild then, Petey. I've calmed down a lot since then."

Petey looks me up and down and grins. "Right-o, Jack-o."

I take the reins and mount up and kick her up to a brisk trot. It feels good to be up in a saddle again and it calms my worried heart a bit. I scan the crowds as I go, trying to spot Jaimy. Would he be at the rail, or up in the grandstand? So many people, all dressed in their best, the men in tight jackets, the women in long, flowing dresses and wide, beribboned hats. Where is he?

I make one circuit of the track and see nothing of him. I begin to despair—maybe the girl was wrong—maybe he's not coming here today after all? Maybe his mother was right and he really doesn't want me anymore? Maybe he...

Wait, now ...
I pull up on the reins and slow to a walk, my eye on a figure sitting in a box. Is it? I get closer. I can't see the face, but the set of the shoulders, the way the head is held ... closer ... closer.

Yes, it's him. Oh, dear God, it is. It's Jaimy.

He's sitting in a box close to the rail, and I give the horse my heels and head straight for Jaimy, my eyes fixed on his face, my heart pounding in my chest and
Oh, Jaimy, it's been so long, so long
and I get to the rail and jump off the horse and spring up on the rail and look down into the box where Jaimy is sitting and...

And then my heart sinks. And dies.

Next to Jaimy is a girl, a beautiful girl, a finely dressed girl, all pink and frothy and fine, and she is holding Jaimy's hand and their fingers are entwined. They are facing each other and then the girl leans over and whispers something in Jaimy's ear and he smiles as her lips brush his cheek as she turns and sees me. And what she sees is a jockey with one leg over the rail, with mouth wide open, and with, unaccountably, tears running down his face.

The girl looks at me in wonder and Jaimy follows her gaze and his eyes meet mine.

Oh, Jaimy, you are so beautiful and I loved you so, but you have proved false!

He looks at me, astounded, as I pull his ring from my ear and fling it at his feet. It hits the deck with a
ding!
and flies off. And then I fly off the rail and run away.

"Jacky, stop!" I hear him shout behind me. "Wait!"

But I ain't stoppin', I ain't waitin' no more, no I ain't, Jaimy, no more being stupid faithful Jacky, no more being the stupid fool ...
my mind is churning as I'm running for the door—my chest racked with sobs and tears pourin' out of my eyes.
Oh, Jaimy, you have proved false and all my dreams are dust...

"Jacky, come back, you don't under—"

I understand all right, Jaimy, you don't want me anymore! Or you just want me to be your miss, your girl on the side who you come to visit when you can get away from your wife and children, but I ain't gonna be your miss, Jaimy, I ain't never gonna be nobody's miss!

But then I'm through the door and out into the street and then I cut right and head down a side street so he can't find me and catch me.
I'm gonna leave this town I'm gonna go back to Boston and I'm gonna let that Randall—

But I ain't gonna do anything like that at all, 'cause when I run around the corner of Duke Street, I run smack into the midst of a gang of men armed with clubs and ropes and sacks, who are pounding some poor bloke down to his knees, and one of them takes one look at me and yells, "A jockey, by God! Take him!"

Through my tear-bleared eyes I see a cart all loaded with bound men with hoods over their heads, some sittin' up, some lying down with their feet sticking out the back, and everybody's hollerin' and cryin' and all of a sudden I ain't so worried about my broken heart.
A press-gang!

Two of the gang rush at me standin' there all open-mouthed and stupid and one grabs my arm and twists it way up behind me and I gasp in the shock and pain of it.

"Oh, won't this little fellow skip merrily through the rig-gin'!" says one of the brutes, while his pal brings up the rope to bind me.

"Wait!" I shout, "I'm a—" but my shout turns into a scream of pain as my arm is twisted ever higher.

"What you is, Jock, is a loyal servant of good King George, and yer gonna get a chance to prove it!"

"But I'm a girlummmmphh!" I tries to say, as the other cove grabs my head and puts his hand across my mouth.

"This one's a talker, he is," he growls, as he lifts his one hand off my mouth and with the other shoves in a dirty rag. "That'll shut 'im up proper!"

With that, my arms are brought down and my wrists are tied behind my back and the sack is put over my head and I'm lifted and thrown in the cart with the rest of the poor sods. I keen and struggle and twist, but then a club or rod or something hard and cruel comes down twice on my rump and I don't do that anymore, no, I don't.

After a while, the cart starts up and we rumble off to God-knows-where.

I am pressed.

I'm lyin' here fuming, looking at the inside of the hood. It's a rough open weave so us pressed ones can breathe through it, but we can't see out and nobody can see who we are, which is why I figure they got the hoods on us—a bloke's friends or family might see him bein' hauled off and cause some trouble for the press-gang. Since I don't hear nothin' but moans from my fellow prisoners, I guess they've got gags, too.

I figure they'll take us down to some ship in the harbor and we'll all be stood up and then they'll have to let me go when I inform them of my female nature.
And I'm gonna give you thugs a real piece of my mind then, too, by God, just you wait.

I got lots of time to think on things as we rattle along, and what I'm tryin' not to think about is Jaimy, as I'm done with him and all that.
Lies, all lies, is all it was, and now you've got to put it out of your mind, girl, and put it out right now.

I had told Judy that if I didn't come back to our room, she was to go to Jaimy's address 'cause that would have meant that Jaimy had joyously swept me off my feet and carried me back to his home for us to live happily ever after. Thinking of that stupid girl dream, my tears start up again, rolling across the bridge of my nose and down my cheek and into the rough cloth of the hood. I've been down before, but never have I felt so worthless and so unloved.

I will now harden my heart against Mr. James Fletcher and I will neither speak of him nor think of him ever again, as of this moment.

I have learned and I have decided that I will live single all of my life.

If I thought this was gonna be over quick, I was wrong. We rode in that damned cart for over an hour, and I felt every rock or cobblestone it bounced over. If I didn't have that slimy rag stuffed in my mouth, I swear my teeth would've been shaken loose long before now. I've about put a cramp in my tongue tryin' to work out the damned gag, but it just ain't no use.

Finally the rig stops and my feet are untied and a hand is put on my neck and I'm shoved up a gangway and pushed down on some sort of bench, as far as I can make out. I can smell the sea and hear the lapping of waves and it gives me cheer. Soon this will be over and I'll go back to collect Judy and we'll...

But it doesn't happen. My feet are tied again and I hear some bloke say, "Cast off," and I feel us heel over as a sail is set and takes the wind.
Uh-oh.
This ain't any big ship, this is a small boat, by the feel of it, no more than twenty feet long. It's plain that they're taking us out to a ship lying off the coast.

***

Trouble is, it's been hours and hours. Where are they taking us? The waves have been making up higher and higher, and some of the pressed landsmen are moaning with seasickness. And I don't feel so good myself. Lord, what would happen if you threw up with a gag in your mouth? Why, you'd choke and die for sure, and for sure this is a cruel press-gang as they don't have to keep us hooded and gagged by now, but still they do, and I curse them to the deepest pit of Hell for it.

More hours go by and I've got to go real bad now and I doubt if I can hold it much longer. From the smell of things in this boat, some of the men have already given up. I don't want to mess my silk britches, but I might have to soon and maybe it would be best to do it so I'll be less appetizing to whatever male I'm presented to. I'm speculating on this when I hear a hail and then a bump as we come up alongside something. Something big.

More shouts and a net is lowered and someone picks me up and throws me in it and a few others are tossed in on top of me and we are lifted up all tangled together and then dumped on a hard deck.

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!