Chapter 5

"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.

I was a starry-eyed young lass, but I was no fainting maid. I'd been schooled well in how to handle men by my father and a fencing teacher he hired. It must have been my Irish blood, but I developed young and that plus my red hair seemed to gather the young men's attention.

The first man I ever put to the floor, I was thirteen. Andrew went to church with me, and he had been pulling my pigtails for a while. At last, the week after my mother was buried, I tired of it. Outside of the church I turned. "My plaits are not yours to grab at, Andrew Stuart, and I'll thank you to leave them be.

Andrew snickered a little; he was sixteen, and thought he had nothing to fear from a little girl like me. "Make me."

So I did. I'd been taught a little Indian wrestling by the stableboys on the farm. My maid put a stop to that when she saw the boys paying a little more attention to my developing body than they should have. I must have caught Andrew by surprise when I seized his left arm and, in a practiced move, kicked his legs out from under him. I had him flipped onto his stomach eating dirt by the time he opened his mouth to scream.

Oh, he bellowed! And my papa came running, half aghast and half amused to see me sitting on the back of a boy twice my size grinding his face into the dirt. "Annie, Annie, what am I to do with you?" he half-lamented, grinning. "Come, up from the dirt, my lass." A small crowd had already gathered, other boys Andrew's age jeering at him and at me.

I stood, ladylike, and brushed the stray dust off my dress. I'd hardly any dirt on me, for I hated brushing my clothes out, and my maid would have required me to clean that myself for sure. Pa stuck a hand down to help Andrew up, and gave him a handkerchief to wipe his runny nose and dirty face. He had a lovely cut on his forehead where he'd hit a rock on the way down. "That's a nasty gash you've got there, lad. Why don't you go in to Bess and ask her to take care of that, and this little incident will remain our secret."

Andrew sniffled and limped away, and I smiled at Papa. "He was pulling my braids, and I got tired of it."

"Lads do that to girls they like." The crowd started drifting away, most of the lads following Andrew over to Bess's house.

"Well, it's annoying."

"Mph." Papa looked me up and down, and the next day I started fencing lessons, learning to fight without rolling in the dirt. I proved so adept that he had to hire a French master from Charleston to come out and teach me - I couldn't take classes with the boys, of course, but I practiced with the master and with Papa, and later with some of the master's best students, for he called me a unique challenge.

That bit of training set me far above most of the pirates and tars I have been around since, and many have been glad of the few things I could teach them.

* * *

We arrived in New Providence in choppy waters. I was dismayed when I looked around. I was used to the bustling harbors of Charleston, with the clean wide streets just beyond the docks and the whitewashed houses of the landowners not too far back, set on red brick streets that were well-traveled by horses drawing carts or carriages, ladies with parasols and bright-colored dresses lining the raised sidewalks.

New Providence was a frontier town. The only ladies in finery were doxies, who were wearing the most interesting clothing down on the piers; I think a couple of them were men looking fine in a lady's dress. Later, I found this to be commonplace, but coming into port it was quite shocking to me. There were some sick and lame horses drawing wagons, but most of the portage was done by strong men of every color, stripped to the waist in the sultry tropical air. The port area had carved only a small patch out of the jungle, and birds of every color screamed from the trees that grew up to shade the distant streets. A soft wind blew off the ocean, shivering the trees and me.

James was behind me, his arm around my waist, and I leaned back against him, enjoying the familiar sharp smells of fish and molasses that perfumed the air. "This is home, then."

"Until your father relents, my love. And I'm certain he will soon enough. Time heals all. And when he accepts our love, we'll go back to Charleston and you can live in your lovely mansion again, and I'll help your father take up the reins of his business so he won't have to work so very hard."

The ship bumped up against the pier on the deep dock. Like every ship in the shallow New Providence harbor, it wasn't a very big ship, just a ketch with a crew of a little more than a dozen; with so little draft it could have gone almost onshore with no trouble. James and I were the only cargo outside some tobacco bales and bags of rice, the crew meaning to take on molasses and other cargo here to take on north to Boston.

"Time to be leaving, Annie dear. We've lodging already for the night, but we'll need to find a home on the morrow."

It was a dockside tavern James took me to, with a raucous bunch of tars in the main room pounding ale-mugs on scarred oak tabletops, and the whole place smelled like fish, unwashed bodies, and soured beer. I know my lip curled, for I was used to the wide hallways of my father's house and the clean smells of the country. This place was dark, dank, and ugly.

My new home was not gaining any admiration from me.

I followed my husband nevertheless up the narrow and creaking stairs between great leaking barrels of ale. The room held a rope bed with a straw tick and stained linens - at least I hoped they were stains and not dirt. I shuddered when I spotted tiny bedbugs scurrying out of sight when I flipped up the covers.

"Is there not another place, James?"

He was looking out the grimy windows past the curtain. "There is not. This is where we stay the night."

"I'd rather stay on the ship."

"They're leaving with the evening tide. I'm afraid this is it."

"Perhaps a hammock, then." I was certain I'd not sleep a wink in that bed, filled as it was with other unwanted company.

James whirled and stalked over to me. I had not seen that expression on his face before. I had never seen that expression on anyone's face before, not even my father at his angriest.

"You spoiled little bitch." He spat toward the cuspidor and missed, adding to the stains on the wall. "I've done my best for you. I'm not your father, and I'm not rich. You'll enjoy my support of you and like it. Is it my fault you handled your father wrong? Is it my fault that your father hates me? No, it's not. You told him about me, and you did it wrong. We should have been married before you opened your mouth. In fact, you should have been pregnant first, for he'd never cast out his pregnant daughter."

My mouth had dropped open. "James!"

He continued on as if I had never spoke. "Oh, yes, you're a millstone around my neck right now, for without you I could skip merrily about the world, but now I have to get you settled before I can make a cent. But you're not going to add to my troubles. Get on that bed now and stay there!"

I didn't know what to do. I felt like a kicked puppy - my sweet and romantic husband had turned into some sort of demon.

I sat down, feeling the bed creak as the ropes stretched, and also hearing an unpleasant crackle. James walked out the door, slamming it behind him. While he was gone, I stripped the linens from the bed and shook out the vermin as best I could, stretching a line across the room and hanging the sheets in front of the fire in hopes the smoke would drive some of them out. It seemed to work well enough, for I did manage to drift to sleep.

Hours later, when the sun was pinking the sky, James returned stinking of ale and tobacco smoke. He took me roughly for the first time, and he bit me about the shoulders and neck so hard it left marks. I bore it silently, though the tears slid down my cheeks. After he'd spent himself and rolled away, I sat up gingerly, trying to keep as much of my dress between me and the bed as possible. I was right; I never slept a wink that night.

That day, that night, was the last time I ever cried over James, though I had plenty more to cry about later. It was the shock of it, you see, that had kept me from treating James the way he deserved. After that, I vowed I'd make James pay heed to my person, or to my fists.

* * *

James went out the next day and found a tiny little apartment over a milliner's shop that catered primarily to the doxies I'd already seen, and to dashing-looking men I gaped at. I knew New Providence was the place where all pirates gathered since the destruction of Port Royal twenty or thirty years ago, and I was certain all these men must be pirates. They looked fine, they did, with their gold buttons and Spanish lace. James scowled when he saw me looking at them, and after I tried to do it on the sly.

The apartment wasn't too terrible. The windows opened, though they were tiny and a little leaky, and I could thrust them open all around the house to catch the humid ocean breeze that cooled the Bahamas. Just outside, within my hand's reach, was a stand of beautiful coconut trees, and I enjoyed the green light that came through their fronds. The whish of the wind slipped through them, gently shaking them most times but in storms shaking them hard, knocking the coconuts about or sometimes casting them entirely from the tree onto the streets below.

But the most marvelous part of my new home was the milliner who lived downstairs and dressed in the finest hats I had ever seen, original and fanciful confections of gold and silver lace, gaudy feathers, tiny mesh or lace veils. These hats were much in demand, as was their maker.

His name was Pierre. He always dressed in purple, with shoes on four-inch red heels that would have been envied in the French courts. He painted and powdered his face, habitually held his mouth in a moue of discontent, and claimed he had a sailor in every port, though he never left New Providence.

Pierre was my savior and my sanity. "Annie, that man he treats you terrible," he told me the first day we met.

I blinked. "How did you know?"

"You walk with a slump when you come in, a shame in a tall girl like you. And you carry your mouth in a pout. And I know James Bonny, the batard."

I had only come downstairs to look at the hats, which I could not afford. "You know James?"

"He is a bad one. Money from anywhere, he cares not. There are many who would slit his throat for him, but he is smart and stays away from their haunts." Pierre took a lock of my hair between his fingers. "Lovely. I think my purple hat would do for this."

I allowed him to put the hat on my head, and allowed that it looked fine indeed. "Pierre, I can't afford this even in my dreams."

"No?" He smiled and put the hat away. "You will find a paramour who can, though. Your James, he cannot hold you."

I gazed in the looking glass, only now seeing the bruise on my cheek. That was the first time any man, even my father, had ever left a mark on my body, and it would be the last. "You are right. I'll take care of that when he comes home tonight."

Pierre raised his eyebrows in interest, but forbore to ask. Instead, he directed me to the market, and I went out and bought fresh chicken and rice, a few herbs, and a pot - for we'd not even that - with the little money I had kept hidden away. That, I decided, would be my money. James would keep anything I gave to him.

Then I took it all home and roasted the chicken over a spit, spiced the rice nicely, and had a hot dinner on the table when James came home. He was pleased enough, though he didn't smile or thank me, and he ate all that came near his mouth. I did not, but stood to the side smiling.

He finally noticed. "Anne, why do you not eat with me?"

"Oh, I would take pleasure in your eating."

He squinted at me suspiciously. "Is that a bruise?"

"A bruise. Why should I have a bruise, dear husband?"

He squirmed and looked away. As I thought - a coward, unable to even face what he'd done himself. I stepped forward and yanked him backward by his queue, pulling him straight to the ground. Kneeling on his chest, I whipped out two knives. While my knees and body kept him firmly pinned, I stuck one point under his chin.

"Perhaps an ill-advised man hit me. I have two answers for a man like that. First, I geld him." My second point scraped across the top of his leather breeches hard enough to crease them, and he swallowed hard, eyes bulging. "My second answer, the second time, is to skewer him." I allowed the point of the first knife to draw blood, but only a little.

"But if you'd prefer, I'll let you live undamaged for now."

His eyes pleaded with me, and I eased the knife back from his throat, just enough for him to speak. "I'll never lay a hand on you again, I swear."

I nodded. "I'm a good wife, and a good woman. I've treated you properly, and fed you well. You are a coward," I told him pleasantly. "I despise cowards. But you are my husband and you please me in bed. So I will not geld you, provided you give over your weapons now."

I eased back as he started drawing his knife, placing it on the ground next to him. "Remember, husband, that I sleep lightly. It would be a bad idea to try to harm me. And then, too, my father may be angry with me right now, but he would be like a Biblical patriarch coming down on your head was anything to happen to me. And I already have friends here, so he would find out."

I sheathed my knives and let him up, turning my back on him. He wasted little time fleeing the room.

After that, I was in charge. He made love to me on my schedule, and I let him drink at taverns as he wished. And he was never, ever foolish enough to lay a hand on me for the rest of the time I stayed with him.

He was a coward. His later actions would only prove it.

Story ID:	883
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