Captain England (Post 13)

In the two weeks that followed, I organized my “medicine chest” – which was merely a small box filled with tins of various herbs that I had either acquired from Ruth or found myself. I searched the overgrown fields and pristine jungles around Nassau and, with Ruth’s help, managed not to get myself killed.

I set aside my fine aquamarine gown and petticoats and went back to wearing the worn sailor’s clothes England had given me on board his ship, shortly after finding me. The linen shirt and navy breeches were so much more practical, it amazed me that all the women in Nassau didn’t wear them. I suppose it was the same reason why Tanya wore stilettos to work – fashion and all that. I also managed to come by a pair of boots, which were a lifesaver while trudging through the underbrush, looking for my medicinal herbs. I wore a wide-brimmed hat and lopped three inches off of my long black hair, which I tied back in a queue with string.

I have always had a slight figure, thin and flat-chested, and the girls at Nan’s joked that I was a “good-looking lad,” one they’d happily fight over as a customer.  I took to spending more time at Nan’s brothel, if only because I felt welcome there after saving Nel’s life – more welcome there than at England’s.

Edward England had been quietly disapproving when his crew had voted to take me with them to cruise abroad. I couldn’t understand why he was so against it. Was he so averse to having a woman aboard that he’d risk the health of his crew? Or was there something I was missing? Since then, I’d spent more time at the bawdy house than at his house, and we’d only spoken in passing. He kept his eyes averted when we spoke, his tone cold and brisk. I was, needless to say, distraught by this development, but was not going to let the pirate leave Nassau without me. He’d come around.

The night Woodes Rogers arrived, I sat on a stool in Nel’s room, sorting my herbs, when I became aware of a cry in the streets. Nel hurried to her window and leaned out, her long dark hair swept over one shoulder. “You there! What’s doing?” she called down. She suddenly jerked erect, turning breathless toward me. “It’s Woodes Rogers, it is! Royal Navy sails been seen off Hog Island!”

I jumped up. This was it. Would there be a battle? Surely Charlie Vane wasn’t planning on fighting?  Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I gathered my belongings – my medicine chest, the items from my backpack (in a less conspicuous sack) – and rushed down the rickety stairs, out the door. I blew kisses up to Nan’s girls as I hurried down the street, tilting my head back to grin at the prostitutes as they leaned from the windows. I saw Kat wiggle her fingers in a reluctant wave as Nan called playfully, “Take care ‘o yourself, lad!”

I was terrified. It had been getting easier, living in 1718 Nassau. In the couple weeks that had passed, I’d figured some things out, gotten into a groove, so to speak. And now, I was going to board a ship –  me, seasickness-prone Sabrina – for a voyage to the shores of Africa. With pirates. In the world of bad ideas, this was probably one of the worst ever. But I simply couldn’t imagine what I would do if England left me here, to fend for myself. I couldn’t imagine having to start over.

Plus, I’d grown attached to the solemn, gallant pirate, despite the fact that he’d barely spoken to me in the past several days.

I found the pirates aboard Vane’s huge French galley-rigged ship, a 250-ton vessel with some thirty guns. England, Vane, Rackam and some others stood on the quarterdeck, looking across the harbor through spyglasses at something my naked eyes couldn’t see. I waited until England noticed me and came over.

The excitement of the royal governor’s arrival glowed in England’s face. He was wound tightly, every muscle in his body tensed, moving like a beast of prey on the hunt. Edward England was not a handsome man, but what he was – a pirate, a man of action, a courageous, enlightened hero – made him utterly attractive. That much I had to admit to myself, and the suddenness of this realization made me feel awkward and embarrassed. I wondered how much of my soul I had bared to him, me and my twenty-first century sensibilities, and how much scorn or pity I elicited from him for having done so.

He pointed to one of the many sloops anchored around the ship. “Get on board that one and don’t move,” he instructed. He looked over his shoulder at his peers. “I don’t know what the night may bring, lass, but I need ye to stay put, am I explicit?” I nodded as he rubbed his chin, considering something. “Also… Keep the lad’s clothes on, will ye? We’ll let people think ye’re a boy, and it’ll perhaps keep the crew from… succumbing to temptation.” He put his hand on my head as though I were, indeed, a lad, and smiled at me. The smile, however, left little doubt as to what he thought I was – and that most certainly wasn’t a lad. I was the one to blush this time, for a change.

I did as I was told, sitting on the deck of the small sloop with some others of England’s crew. I wouldn’t pop a nausea pill yet – I had ten of them, so I needed to use them wisely. So long as I could see land, I was good. I wrapped myself in a wool blanket, watching the sun set and the sails of the Royal Navy frigate shimmer against a pink sky.

“She’s turned into the wind and dropped anchor, just inside the harbor,” a voice said beside me. Tim was one of the young pirates I had saved with the quinine, and it was not an exaggeration to say that he worshiped me. He was lithe, tow-headed, and looked so much younger than his seventeen years. Whether he had been pressed into piracy or gone willingly, I didn’t know; he seemed so happy to be alive after suffering from “the ague” that little else mattered to him. Now, he sat cross-legged next to me, nursing a bottle of what smelled like rum. He offered some to me, and I shook my head.

“What is Vane planning?” I asked.

Tim shrugged and grinned. “To get piss drunk, for one,” he replied, taking a swig from his bottle. “And to welcome that whore-son Rogers proper.”

“So he intends to fight?”

“I don’t know. Rogers’ come early. Vane’s trying to figure a way to get the Ranger out of the harbor, but he don’t see how. I think he’s trying to buy some time, figure a way out.”

I bit my lip. “The Ranger’s big. Can’t she take that frigate?”

“Mayhaps, she could,” Tim replied, squinting into the setting sun and gesturing with his hand. “But not with those ten-gun sloops-o-war and that twenty-gun ship guarding her.”

I turned, squinting in the direction of the Royal Navy frigate. I saw them now, the heavily armed sloops and ship anchored just in front of the frigate. The butterflies in my stomach batted their wings furiously, and I swallowed. This would get ugly. I looked nervously at Tim. “He won’t be able to get that ship out. He’s trapped.”

Tim nodded. “Aye, by the looks of it.” Then he grinned again, clearly tipsy. “Are you sure you’ll not have some rum?”

I considered. These pirates might be on to something. I accepted the bottle and drank as Tim hummed a tune. I handed the bottle back to him and was about to speak when an explosion deafened me. I covered my head with my arms and then looked in the direction of the Ranger’s stern cannon, which was enveloped in thick smoke. It fired twice more, and I braced myself for the Royal Navy ships to answer, but they never did.

“Rogers raised the white flag of truce,” Tim told me after asking around.  We sat together with some others of the crew, most of them excited and buzzed. Every pirate predicted Vane would tell Rogers to eat shit, and after what seemed like an eternity, we found we’d been right: Rogers sent a messenger to inquire as to why the pirates were being so hostile when Rogers brought a Royal pardon for them all. Vane replied that “he would use his utmost endeavor to burn them and all the vessels in the harbor” unless he could keep the Ranger and his loot.

The pirates hooted and cheered, making obscene gestures and shouting curses at the Royal Navy ships in the distance. I cowered, wondering if we were all going to get blown to hell. Almost immediately, the men were called to the Ranger to begin unloading the ship, all but its cannons. I was left alone on the deck of the sloop, watching the lit lanterns of the various ships bob with the movement of the sea in the darkness, wondering what Vane was planning to do. I felt my eyelids droop in spite of everything, and I dozed for a while, my head lolling to the side.

I was awakened suddenly, aware that we were moving. The sloop was quietly making its way behind Potters Cay to drop anchor.  I waved Tim over to ask him what was happening. He very nearly vibrated with excitement. “Rogers never answered Cap’n Vane. We’re escaping! The sloop’s shallow-drafted enough to pass over the sandbar.”

“So they’ve left the Ranger behind?” I asked, trying to stand.

In response, Tim grinned into the darkness and pointed. “Behold, the Ranger!” The harbor was lit orange from the fire that consumed the great ship. The flames climbed up the masts and engulfed the sails as the vessel moved across the harbor, approaching the Royal Navy ships. Tim grasped the rail beside me. “They drenched its decks and rigging in pitch and tar, and double-loaded every gun,” he said.

I stole a glance at his profile. “But… doesn’t that mean…” In answer, a great eruption, and then another, and another, illuminated the sky and filled it with smoke. The Ranger exploded as the Royal Navy ships cut their cables and turned toward the open sea, trying to move out of the fire-ship’s path. The pirates cheered, and England interrupted their celebration by ordering them to their posts, his fierce face half-lit by the hellfire in the harbor.

Vane looked victorious, silently drinking from a bottle as he watched the drama play out before him. I watched those dark eyes flicker in the light of the flames, and I wondered what sinister thoughts were going through the pirate’s head as he watched the King’s ships flee.