Boston Jacky: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Taking Care of Business by L. A. Meyer

by a grinning Joannie.
    â€œThis way, milady,” says Joannie, doing a mock curtsy and leading the way below.
    I go back to my usual station on the quarterdeck and call out, “Bring in the gangway, throw off all lines, and set sail for the South!”
    There is a cheer from my crew, but not, I suspect, from Clarissa.
    Oh,
I exult
, this is going to be a fine, fine cruise!

 
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PART II

Chapter 10
    We slip down the East Coast of the United States, and so far it is an easy voyage—the weather is mild and we have a fair breeze behind us. Everything is calm . . . except for Clarissa Worthington Howe . . . of the Virginia Howes.
    â€œI will
not
peel potatoes!” she announces when we are not far out and preparations are being made for the noon meal. “Least of all for a nigra cook! The very idea!”
    We are out on the main deck, nose to nose.
    â€œOh, yes, you will, Clarissa,” I snarl. “Everyone works when we are underway. If a sailor will not work, he is put off. If you will not work, I will put you off, as well.”
    She looks over the rail at the water rushing by and says, a bit nervously, “You wouldn’t dare . . .”
    â€œMake you walk the plank? No, my dear, though the thought of your well-born blond head sinking beneath the waves is an image most charming to my mind right now,” I say, grinning through my bared teeth. “But, no. What I will do is go into the next port and have you rowed in and put ashore. I will give you enough money for overland passage back to Virginia or Boston, or wherever else you want to go. As the Captain of this ship, by the Law of the Sea, I am the absolute ruler of this vessel and all on it. If I were to give the order, Seaman Thomas here would bind you to that mast there, bare your back, and give you an even dozen of the cat-o’-nine-tails’ loving touch! Is that not true, John Thomas?”
    â€œThat’s right, Cap’n,” answers the grinning sailor, hugely enjoying this little exchange, as are the rest of the people on the deck—my crew and many of Mrs. Bodeen’s girls who are out taking the fresh sea air. “And the claws of the Cat are sharp, believe you me. I have her stripes on me back to prove it. You want me to lash her up now, Skipper?”
    Much hoots and laughter are heard all about on that. Clarissa stands there steaming and saying nothing, plainly remembering the whipping I took tied bare-back to the mast of the
Bloodhound.
She merely drills me with her furious gaze.
Strange,
I think, standing there, facing her down,
how those cold blue eyes can sometimes look so hot.
    â€œBut I would never do that to you, Clarissa, my dear Sister, for I do love and admire you, in some sort of twisted way,” I say, thrusting a bundle of clothes to her. “Here. Take these and put them on. You will find this gear much more comfortable than that riding habit you are wearing. Things will get more and more warm as we head south.”
    She glares at me, ignoring the bundle. It is my old Powder Monkey outfit from my days as a convict on the
Lorelei Lee—
blousy white cotton top above, loose white trousers below
.
I believe it will serve her well here.
    â€œGive it up, Sister, and you shall find it to your benefit. Yes, we work hard here on the
Nancy B.
, but we also have fun. Lots of fun. Keep that in mind. Now go below and tend to your duties, as we attend to ours.”
    She glares, she fumes, she smokes, she burns, but she does finally snatch the clothes from my hand and go below to change and, yes, to peel potatoes.
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    Later, when I go down into the mess deck to see how things are going with the cargo, where some are seasick and in their bunks, but most are all right, I spy Jemimah cooking at her stove, and seated around her are Daniel, Joannie, and Clarissa Worthington Howe, all heads down and peeling away, while Jemimah’s deep voice is