Chapter 7

"The Heart of a Pirate: The Tale of Anne Bonny" is part of a 25 chapter serial fiction work co-sponsored by The Writing Salon and OurEcho. The work is being written by Jamie Wilson and edited by Allegra Huston.

As part of this of this project, we have developed a homepage specifically for the project to enhance the mood and allow you to lose yourself in the story. All chapters will be posted into the traditional OurEcho intereface, but we invite you to check out The Heart of a Pirate homepage - The Heart of a Pirate.

Chapter 7

"Papa."

He inclined his head at me, as did the man standing behind him in the shadows. "Daughter."

"You know, then, that I am married."

"Without my consent."

"Would you withhold it now?"

He scowled. "Now that you have been ruint?"

I nodded.

"Do you remember Winthrop?" The man in the shadows stepped forward. I did indeed remember him. Mr. Winthrop had watched me with hot eyes every since I can remember, when he was married and between the deaths of those wives. He was old, as old as the cedar trees in the swamps of Carolina, and as hideous as the rotting logs in it. But he owned vast regions in the colony, and more in Virginia and Maryland, and several ships as well.

"What are you proposing, Papa?"

"You do not belong with this Bonny, Anne. I had hopes for a brilliant marriage, maybe even one in England. But Winthrop has been asking after you for years. He's quite devoted. Though he's old for you, he's a wealthy man and can care for you better than I could ever dream. And even now, he's willing to have you."

"And I'd be mothering his eighteen children including the ones out of slaves, and giving him leave to satisfy himself on my body besides!"

Papa blanched, and for a moment I was sorry -- a little bit -- that I'd put it so bluntly. But then, I'd be the one sharing a bed with the old goat. Winthrop leered at me. He had even less hair than I remembered, and the little that was left grew in tufts between the freckles.

Behind me, someone coughed. I had forgot the governor entirely. "And you. You bring my father here to interfere between a wife and his husband."

"You'd expressed dissatisfaction with him, Mrs. Bonny."

"Don't dare call my daughter that hateful name."

"It is but the truth, sir."

I tossed down the Bible that had weighted down my arms all this time. "A pox on all of you. I don't need a man. I have a position and a place to live. No man dares molest me here on this island. Papa, take this --" I cast about for a suitable insult -- "rotted old carcass of a man back to the Carolinas so he can satisfy himself on his slaves. Poor women. I don't intend to marry anyone other than James. I don't plan to fix on another man. And I certainly don't need any of you."

I stormed out, but the effect was ruined when I bumped my head on the low doorframe. Behind me, I heard a frightful row, but I would not turn around to look. Thankfully, the chair was waiting for me, and I wasted no time getting in it.

I could not sleep after such a scene, though I had not slept the night before and had planned to nap a little in the heat of the day. Thoughts scurried through my head like beetles after a rain. I could not stay with James, but I could not go back with my father. I loved the freedom marriage gave me, and now that I was not sleeping in filth and bugs, I had to admit I did not miss money either. Work -- hard physical work would be a way to think, and then sleep. After shedding the hated stays, I slipped into my workaday dress

I started by scouring my little apartment from top to bottom, polishing the tile and doing my best to reset the cracked ones, wincing at the preponderance of gaps and notches between the floor and wall. I flushed out a variety of tropical insects and other vermin I'd never seen before, large and small, many-legged and few. Though the tiny lizards startled me, only one creature gave me pause -- a giant hairy spider that glared at me from a corner. Rather than squash it -- more cleaning -- I grabbed it with a cloth and tossed it out the window, ignoring the yells of annoyance from the street. For all they knew, the nasty thing fell from a tree. That's where the dirty water went too, though I was more careful not to drop that on any of Pierre's customers.

It did not take long to run out of water, and that gave me an excuse to venture out on the street. I struggled with the shoulder harness for the buckets James had left, then gave up and just picked up the buckets. The town fountain was close, at the little market square up the street, and it wouldn't hurt to carry them back. I bundled them down the cracked tile of the back steps and out into the tiny garden behind the apartment.

New Providence walking alone through the sunny streets was quite different from the same town in James's company. The streets were thin of traffic this early, but those who did people it were as gorgeous and fascinating as the vermillion tropical flowers overhead. Dozens of ragged sailors in bare feet trod uncaring in muck I carefully avoided even with my skirts kilted, and I flushed when I realized they were all staring at me. I was used to the sailors at the Pretender's Head. This was a whole new group to me, and they were ragged and unkept. Perhaps a ship was in today.

What a group they were! The rags were not what I expected, even in rags. One sailor wore a purple velvet ladies' dressing gown over striped calico pants and lacy shirt. Another wore an actual evening gown, its bead-encrusted silk ends dragging in the mud. As I approached the market, I was surrounded by mud-caked velvet and torn, sun-faded silks, lacings and soiled Belgian lace, and the occasional beaver hat to block out the hot tropical sun.

I was hard-pressed not to giggle. But as all these clownishly dressed men also carried a display of weaponry that would put the Charlestown armory to shame, I fought the urge. I no longer had a sword or pistol.

The market was a shock as well. The previous evening, my chicken and rice were bought from a butcher shop, and the square had been empty; now it was filled with blankets and stalls and awnings. Almost every vendor was female, and many sold tropical fruits in blazing colors, papaya and mango and banana and kiwi. There were several items I didn't recognize as well, huge lemon-colored oranges and striped melons and fruits studded with spikes. Whole cinnamon and cassamon and cloves were scattered in baskets over Turkish carpets, and several vendors sold secondhand clothing: dresses and fine jackets. Many were in the latest fashions, but many others were a bit older. A couple of the men's jackets had slits over what would be the belly or heart, though they were all clean enough.

"Oy, pretty girl! D'ye like monkeys?" yelled a vendor almost at my ear, and a monkey shrieked almost in tandem. I grinned as one of several little scamps reached into my bucket. It grimaced in disappointment to find it empty, and scurried back. And then I walked into something hard.

"Ouch!" I yelled. I saw a blaze of color, stripes in unfaded red and white, and the man seized my elbow before I fell right into the mud.

"Whoops, there, lady fair. Are you all right?" He was, I noticed, only an inch or so taller than me, and sported long black hair and an elegant, well-kept beard.

"I am." I regained my footing and shook his hand off my elbow.

"Please, allow me to carry your buckets since I was so clumsy as to run you down."

"No --"

"I insist. It is the least I can do." Before I truly had my balance, he had seized the bucket I dropped and the one still in my hand and paced off, leaving me to scurry after him.

"Your name?"

He glanced at me. His eyes were a brilliant blue over his rather hooked nose. "Pardon?"

"If you're going to run me down and then fetch my water, I think at least I would like your name."

"Oh. Jack. Jack Rackham, at your service." He never paused, only dipped the buckets down into the simple stone fountain at the center of the square. "Here for the amnesty."

"Amnesty?"

He looked down on me with a twitch of a smile. "You must be new here. Where am I taking these?"

"Oh, no --"

"As I said, I insist. It is my pleasure and I rarely have the opportunity to do a lady a favor. Being out to sea and all."

I frowned. "Follow me, then."

"With delight."

"Now, what did you mean by amnesty?"

"The new governor here has declared a general amnesty to rid these waters of pirates, though he was once one himself. Any pirate who turns himself in for the next several months and declares loyalty will be pardoned. I intend to be one."

"And those who refuse?"

"The usual. The hemp handmaiden, and then the gibbet."

The eight gibbets lined up when we came in, then, would be gentlemen of the seas who didn't give up their trade. Suddenly, the odd sailors fell into focus. "I see. That would make you --"

"Yes. A pirate. Though not, I fear, a very successful one." He grinned at me, and I noticed that he even had all his teeth. Jack could have stood against any of my suitors back in Charleston and come out favorably.

I stopped in front of Pierre's, ignoring the milliner as he peeped out the window, and held my hands out for the buckets. "I live upstairs right here."

"Don't suppose you'd let me carry them up for you?"

"I certainly would not. That, Mr. Rackham, is very improper."

"Funny. You don't look like the type of lass who worries about propriety." But he passed me the buckets, swept off his hat, and turned on his heel to walk back to the marketplace. I heard the iron hinges creak behind me as Pierre stepped out.

"How on earth did you meet him?" he purred.

"I ran into him."

"Dearheart, that is Calico Jack Rackham. What a delicious man, and only likes women, mm."

"He's a pirate."

"A terrible one. M'seur has not captured ship nor dinghy yet. Though from all accounts, that's because of his wretched crew."

"He's a captain, too?"

"You don't know much about pirates, do you?" Pierre handed me a delicate lace fan, and started waving himself with its twin. "A pirate captain is not the same as a sea captain. They're elected first among equals, is all. Very Athenian."

I stared up the street after Calico Jack. He walked with a spring in his step, swinging his cane in time. "How did he become a pirate?"

"Him? His shipmates mutinied, and I suppose he found it easier to go along. The amnesty should cover mutiny as well. Jack wasn't part of the mutiny, but he still finagled himself the position of captain, maybe because he could actually count the money and read the logs."

I turned to look at Pierre. "His crew is so dreadful?"

"If Jack intends on making a success of himself as a pirate, he'd be wise to start from scratch."

"He said he's here for the amnesty."

Pierre stared at me for a moment, then laughed. Waving his arm at the street, he asked, "And just where do you think all these fine sailors are going to find work? And how long do you think they'll stand starving, or beaten in the King's navy? And how many merchants will rush to hire proven mutineers and pirates when they can go to Boston and Charleston and Salem and hire all the fresh young sailors they want?"

He shook his head. "No, Woodes-Roger is well meaning. But his amnesty will not put food in the bellies of those who stay out of the gibbets."

Pierre was almost invariably right. The new governor had put up an amnesty for all pirates, buccaneers, and ocean-going rascals; if they but turned themselves in and asked for it, all would be forgiven. Many young men were taking the amnesty, flooding the shores of New Providence to do so.

It was a remarkably merciful and intelligent thing to do, at first glance. Most pirates were not so by choice. It was common for a ship to be taken by pirates, and the crew given the choice of a miserable death or life as a pirate. So long as they made the choice unwilling, they had a chance at surviving if the King's navy caught them. If they had chosen the life of a pirate, they'd be hung, often simply from the yardarm of the ship instead of transported all the way back to New Providence or Boston or, as happened to Captain Kidd, to London. And then, Blackbeard's crew had been hung back in Virginia, and his dark head nailed to the front of the ship that took him. Pirating was dangerous, even for the best.

So pirates seeking a new life came in droves, sometimes starving and sometimes loaded down with gold bullion or bulkier trade goods, always looking for a job, a drink, a pretty girl. Calico Jack, discovering I was employed at the Pretender's Head, visited and watched me hot-eyed. And James Bonny carried on his own trade in the corner, whispering to young sailors and gathering his information like a spider in a web. I warned those I could, but that was few enough.

And there I was in the tavern, serving ale as fast as I ever could, and being cheerful and merry in it all. And the eyes of two men and more were ever on me, even Papa's agents from time to time.

I admit it. I loved it, all of it, the attention and the bustle and the drama. Somewhere James Bonny had discerned Jack's interest, and Jack found this funny enough to pay even more attention to me. And as James glared across at Jack, and Jack gazed back at him with amusement, I wondered where it would end.

I found out one day, when one patron got a bit too friendly. Though I put his hands down, gently at first and then roughly, he insisted on trying to fill them with something I wanted to keep to myself. At last, just as I was seizing his arm to give it a good twist, he rose up off the ground. Calico Jack stretched his face up and murmured, "I think it's time to leave the pretty lady alone, don't you?"

The man glared at him. He wasn't small, which impressed me; I had no idea Jack was so strong. "Release me, little man."

"Keep your filthy goat paws off the lady or I'll find you where you sleep and have your oysters for my own."

"Fine. There are plenty other places to drink hereabouts."

"One of the best is the Bearded Lady, friend." Jack put him down and brushed him off. "Sorry. The lady's a special friend of mine."

One eyebrow raised. "Good taste."

I'd heard enough. "Stop implying too much, Jack. You, the Bearded Lady is that way." I pointed at the door.

"Isn't it just like a woman to be so cruel?"

After he'd left, Jack took my hand in his. "Are you okay?"

I snorted. "I was only worried about getting a tip. I'm made of much tougher stuff than that."

He looked at me measuringly, then laughed. "I believe you are. You're a most surprising lady, Anne."

"What do you mean by that?"

He turned my hand over. "You have a well-developed callus along your index finger here." He traced it with his finger, and I resisted shivering. "Yet the rest of your hand is soft. You weren't raised to work."

"I worked enough in my life."

"You were raised a lady. Where are you from, lovely Anne?"

"That doesn't concern you."

"Do you know what I think? I think that this callus is from swordplay. I think that you were trained to the sword. Yet you were raised a lady. You could not possibly have been raised as a boy; you're far too -- curved."

"The callus is from riding horses hard, and I'll thank you to give my hand back now. How rude you are."

He spread his fingers, then spread mine out and placed them against his hand. "A large hand, for a woman."

"What?"

He ignored my outrage and pressed a gold crown into my hand. "Buy yourself something lovely from Pierre." He grinned, tipping his hat as he rose from the table, and was gone.

I watched him leave. He almost collided with my husband, who was looming in the doorway. It was interesting to see the two of them together, Jack's dark good looks lightened with his grin, and James's blond face and fair skin so typically stormy. As if I'd predicted it, James scowled at me.

I smiled at him, pocketed my crown, and wiped down the table.

Story ID:	1485
Written by:	Jamie Kai Wilson (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	The Heart of a Pirate
Location:	New Providence Bahamas
Year:	1720
Person:	Anne Bonny