Fanny (72 page)

Sharks! I think in Panick; shall my Belinda go to feed the Sharks?

The Skiff hits the Water with a hideous Crash, near breaking into a thousand Pieces, but at once I catch a Glimpse of Belinda, a red and squalling Face crying upon the angry Waters.

Blessed be her Cries! They prove at least that she is still alive! The Babe bobs upon the Water before the fat, floating Moon Face of her lunatick Nurse, who seems near-dead from the Fall; and yet Belinda lives! Prue is her Raft, her Yawl, her Pinnace, her Pilot, her Wherry! Horatio swims to her with what manly and heroick Resolution I cannot e’en say, snatches the Babe, and whilst she screams in his Arms, he swims alongside our Boat. He gasps and sputters as he hands the screaming Infant to me, whereupon one long and hideous Cry escapes his Throat as he lifts Belinda aloft and sees her safely in my Arms.

So pleas’d am I to have Belinda back, that I scarce comprehend what is occurring in the Water. Prue hath vanish’d in the boiling Sea; Horatio’s Face bears a hideous Grin—as if he were fixt in attendance at a Play the which he loath’d but could not leave (perhaps because the Actors were his Friends).

“Good Christ!” says Littlehat, reaching out to seize Horatio’s Arms. He did so with one great Essay of Strength; whereupon my horrified Eyes beheld Horatio’s legless and hipless Trunk, for ev’rything below the Waterline had gone to feed the Sharks!

“Blessed be his Soul,” I say, clutching that very Babe he gave his Life to save. Too mov’d to weep, too stunn’d to speak, I hold Belinda, who has also ceas’d to scream as we bob upon the redden’d Waters.

I look up at the
Cassandra
, rap’d by the Bowsprit of the
Happy Delivery
; both now float upon a Sea grown almost calm after the Squall.

The Faces of the Merry Men and all the Tars look down in Wonder, as if the Saving of the Babe were some sort of Solemn Sign. Lancelot is low’ring a Ladder, and urging Littlehat and me to come back, come back swiftly now (for fear, no doubt, the Sharks should return to butt the Boat in their Feeding Frenzy).

I look up at my Lancelot, who waits for me. His Hair and Beard are red as Rust ’gainst a Sky grey as Slate, yet beginning, e’en now, to clear. Behind his leonine Head I see the first Glimmerings of a Rainbow, broken, ’tis true, by the Masts and Shrouds of the
Happy Delivery
—but a Rainbow nonetheless.

O Belinda! We shall indeed survive!

CHAPTER XV

In which we draw nearer and nearer to our Conclusion, and certain Omens presage the Future of our Heroine, Hero, and their Beloved Babe.

A
LL OF LIFE’S BLESSINGS
are mixt—save to Fools alone. Lancelot and I were reunited upon the
Happy Delivery
’s Deck (with little Belinda betwixt us), but Horatio was gone ne’er more to show his Face upon this pendant Earth! O how ironical is Fate that Horatio should escape Sharks in his chequer’d Youth only to encounter ’em again with Results most fatal.

“Neither the Sun nor Death may be lookt at steadily,” said La Rochefoucauld; and i’faith, ’twas so with Horatio’s Death. Lancelot and I, who had each lost a Lover and a Friend, could scarce talk, then, about Horatio, but we were driven closer by our mutual Grief.

“Chance cures us of many Faults incurable by Reason,” La Rochefoucauld also says; and Lancelot was the perfect Example of this. The brash and brazen Boy I’d known, grew mellower with Horatio’s Passing and of more Philosophical Temper. Thus Grief must make Philosophers or Madmen of us all; for those whose Hopes and Loves are dasht so oft’ will grow crack-pated or will mellow at the End.

What with
Cassandra
’s Captain dead, the Tars who had surviv’d that bloody Battle were glad enough to turn Pyrate with Lancelot Robinson—once his Name was known. They hail’d him as their Captain, but now he refus’d. He had no Wish, he said, to lead ’em now. He only desir’d, he said, a Private Life, but he was a wanted and, for a Time, a broken Man.

“Successful Thieves is lov’d by all the World, me Girl,” said Lancelot, “unsuccessful ones is scorn’d. The Rabble loves Rebellion in a Thief an’ loves to dream o’ Deeds fer which they lack the Courage. Robin Hood, Dick Turpin, Blackbeard—e’en me meself—we’re scarce ador’d so by the Rabble fer our Souls, but fer our Darin’, fer Rebellion’s Sake—so that the Clod who ne’er hath dar’d e’en dream, can point a Finger at me an’ say, ‘There but fer me Chains go I’!
Bah!
I’m done with these Mock-Heroicks!”

The
Happy Delivery
was damaged, yet less so than
Cassandra
. Lancelot propos’d therefore that we repair both Ships as best we could and permit the Men to decide which they would sail upon and whither. Let the Men of the
Cassandra
go pyrating upon their own Account if they so chose. This was Lancelot’s Wish—for he only desir’d to meditate upon Horatio’s Loss and his Dreams of
Libertalias
upon Tropick Keys were dasht.

For my own part, I had to make anew the Acquaintance of my Daughter, who seem’d quite daz’d by all these odd Occurrences. She star’d at me with almost adult Eyes, seeming to know me and yet not know me quite. Sometimes an Infant Face betrays the Adult Soul ’twill become—and so ’twas with you, Belinda: your Face was grave and thoughtful, yet not sad withal; Intelligence shone in your Eyes of Sapphire blue.

Francis Bacon devis’d for you a Diet of masht Pease, Cheese, and boil’d Rice pusht thro’ a Sieve. ’Twas providential almost that you were seven Months old by now and could eat solid Food instead of Milk alone, for I had none to give. Prue, in her own Way, had given you the Gift of Life. Thus, too, are all our Blessings mixt, and none quite so mixt as Motherhood!

Where might we go now with our Babe return’d, our Fortune stolen, and our Hopes so smasht, yet so encouraged by your Return? Lymeworth! I thought of Lymeworth with incredible Longing and Homesickness, yearning to see it again, to return and show my Babe to my sweet Foster-Mother—and yet fearing to return. I seem’d to smell the Hedgerows of my Youth here upon the Open Sea! O what is it about having one’s own Babe upon one’s Hip that makes a Woman wish to go home to her Mother? A Desire to say: “Look, the Circle is compleat”? A Desire to say: “Look, I have cross’d the Divide and now am more like you”? A Desire to say: “Look, this Babe I offer you is my most precious Gift”?

“I long for Lymeworth,” I said to Lancelot, “with a Passion that is most extream. If I could see the Hedgerows of my Youth just one more Time, then I would be content.”

And so, with all the World before us, the Bahamas, the Bermudas, and the Caribee; Madagascar and the Coast of Africa; the Colonies of North America; e’en the South Sea with all its Riches, we sail’d again for verdant England, our Island Home, our Shield of Peace upon a boiling Sea!

We had the Merry Men—both old and new—as Crew; and as for those who wisht to continue on the Pyrate Round, they took
Cassandra
with Lancelot’s Blessing and sail’d under the Sober Rule of one of the blackest of the African Slaves. To them we gave the Charts that Bonny had given us, wishing ’em God’s Speed!

’Twas October; the Crossing was not easy. It took many long, cold Weeks to make the English Coast, and when we did, ’twas almost Christmas.

We had lost our Great Fortune, ’twas true, but we had still a few Guineas betwixt us. We hatch’d our Plans most carefully, debating whether to come ashore at Lundy (where some of the Merry Men had Privateering Colleagues, who might take us to the Mainland), at Lizard Point in Cornwall, or near Bolt Head in Devonshire. The Last was decided upon because of the Loneliness of the Sea-Coast, and ’twas further agreed that we should split our Party—Lancelot, Littlehat, Belinda, and I journeying to Lymeworth alone—and the Rest of the Merry Men taking their various appointed Disguises and hiding out with old Compatriots till we should send for ’em.

When we four tatter’d Voyagers were put ashore by Pinnace near Lantern Rock in Devon and we bade Farewell to the
Happy Delivery
, we did not know if we would meet the Merry Men again—except in Dreams.

Weary and Sea-worn, we began to make our Way through Devon and Somerset dress’d as Dealers in old Clothes, with num’rous Hats upon our Heads, like the Ragmen of London. The Clothes themselves we had garner’d from those aboard our Ship; some were from Prizes we had taken previously and some had been left by Anne Bonny’s Pyrates in their Haste to take our Jewels and Plate; some were Whitehead’s and came from that first fateful Engagement with the
Hopewell.

Thank the Goddess that we had ’em and had chosen this Disguise—for ’twas cold and drizzly as the Devil and many was the Time I wisht for the Tropick Keys of the Caribee and call’d myself a Fool for dragging Lancelot and Littlehat Home to Bone-chilling England just for the Fancy of seeing Lymeworth yet again! With a Babe upon my Hip, and pinching Pennies to spare the Last for Bread, and begging Rides in Dung-Carts and Waggons for Want of Carriages, I was wretched indeed. Lancelot and Littlehat dar’d no extravagant Thefts for fear of bringing the Outrage of the Law ’gainst us all; and so we made our weary, hungry Way homeward—if ’twere still Home indeed. We might have taken a Pack Horse Carriage or a Stage, but for our Fear of being recogniz’d under such Circumstances; and tho’ we hir’d Horses at Post-Houses from Time to Time, we felt that e’en this was too great a Risque to run.

Just as Hope was fleeing and we were most miserable, there befell an amazing Incident which changed our Moods from black to white and seem’d, i’faith, to presage Happiness.

We had little Money to buy a Horse, yet we sorely needed one, or more, as you may guess. The few Shillings that we had left we were hoarding for some great Calamity.

We were not far outside Taunton and we had been speaking amongst ourselves of Inns where we might pass the next Night, and of the advisability of stealing Horses if we could not buy ’em—when we came upon the most piteous Sight the Eyes may behold: that of a furious Man beating an Animal within an Inch of its Life.

The Man was enraged; he beat the Horse with a Crop and then with the Handle of his Sword as well. And as he beat this cow’ring Creature in the freezing Rain, he cried out:

“Wonder Horse! Pegasus indeed! I’ll give ye Wonders to behold!”

With my Beauteous Babe upon my Hip, I ran to the Man, shouting, “Cease! Desist! How dare you treat a Fellow Creature so? May God send you back as a Horse with a cruel Master in the next Life!”

“Hold yer Peace, Scold!” cried the Man (who lookt no Gentleman, but a poor Wretch who had bought this Horse with his last Guinea). For my Benefit he began to beat the Animal e’en harder, whereupon, I chanced to take a good Look at the Horse—this Creature with Bones poking thro’ the Skin, and Withers so thin they lookt starv’d almost, and Patches of mangy Fur and cak’d Blood where he had oft’ been beaten—and lo! I saw a white Blaze upon his Forehead, glitt’ring thro’ Dust. Could this pitiful Nag be Lustre? I lookt down at the lower left Leg; and half-hidden by Mud was a white Stocking—upon a Limb grown most horribly raw from the Mange!

“Where did you get that Horse?” I askt, my Voice trembling.

“I bought him from a Fellow who was goin’ to the Fleet fer Debt. Sold him cheap, he did. He’s still in Gaol, I hear; an’ may well rot there fer all I care—the Mountebank! He was a Player and tried to make a Show with this here Horse, callin’ him ‘Pegasus the Wonder Horse’—but when he perform’d no Wonders, the Rabble ston’d him and his Master, too! An’ well they might. Wonder Horse, indeed!”

“Pray, what was this Fellow’s name?” I askt, hoping ’twas Doggett (hoping, i’faith, that the Goddess had dispens’d that Revenge which belong’d to Her alone).

“I know not,” said the Man, “but he was a travellin’ Player an’ hop’d to pay off his Debts with this Horse. But as ye see, the Beast is good fer nothin’ but Dog Meat—the old Nag. I’ve a mind to shoot him here.” And he pull’d out a Pistol and put it to Lustre’s head. I tried not to show how agitated the Sight of such made me.

“Pray, Sir, desist—I shall pay you handsomely to have that Horse.”

The Man lookt me o’er and found my Appearance wanting all Display of Riches; my Stubble had grown to Curls by now, but I was dress’d in all the Dust of the Road, and hardly lookt a Lady. Lustre’s Tormentor cockt his Gun.

“Pray, Sir, please reconsider,” said I, Heart pounding, clasping Belinda tightly. For her part, the Child began to whimper as if she knew.

At that very Moment, Lancelot and Littlehat caught up with us.

“What’s this?” askt Lancelot.

“I must have that Horse,” I said to him, firmly yet softly.

He lookt at the Horse, then lookt at me as if I were daft; Littlehat did the same.

“What am I bid not to shoot?” askt the Man.

“Five Shillings!” said I. ’Twas all the Money we had left in the World.

“Good Lord, Woman!” cried Lancelot, “are ye mad?”

“Trust me, Lancelot,” said I.

Lancelot lookt at me questioningly; in some strange Way he understood that all our Love and Trust hung in the Balance.

The Man press’d his Gun against the Horse’s Brow, then he lookt at Lancelot quizzically.

“The Lady shall have the Horse,” said Lancelot, pulling a Bag of Shillings from the Pocket of one of the old Coats he wore, one atop the other. He counted out the Shillings soberly; Littlehat shook his Head in amazement.

“Take the old Nag! An’ good Riddance!” said the Man; and he positively cackled as he went his Way.

“Fanny!” said Lancelot, “are ye Mad? That Horse shall ne’er be ridden more! What shall we do with our last Shillin’ gone?”

“You doubted me,” I said, “and yet you trusted me. Trust me somewhat longer; this is
indeed
a Wonder Horse, a Pegasus, of sorts, yet can he only perform his Wonders when I am his Mistress. O Lancelot, I truly love you,” said I, my Eyes filling with Tears. I handed Sweet Belinda to Littlehat and threw my Arms around my Lancelot and kiss’d him most ling’ringly upon the Mouth.

“If you had sought to win my Heart, you ne’er could choose a better Way,” said I. “Lustre will repay you—that I swear, and so will I.” And for the first Time, Lancelot fully kiss’d me back.