I have been learning about life on this tub for a week now. I rarely leave the captain's quarters.
The sailors frighten me, and in any event, I would not know how to make myself useful on such a vessel. For the time being, I am content to observe my enemies.
My curiosity prompts me to attempt to discover the name of the infamous cosignatory of the contract with Steven. Who on earth can wish me such ill?
I have searched the cabin in detail, and the only thing I have found is a heavy wooden chest hidden under a loose floorboard. Despite several efforts, I have not been able to pick its silver lock.
Besides this meagre discovery, I have noticed a few things which are not completely useless. The ship's captain suffers from paranoia and is always on the lookout for the slightest rumour making the rounds of his vessel. He manages his sailors with a firm but fair hand. Some of them appear to worship him, while other mercenaries are there just for the crossing and will seek employment elsewhere on Tortuga or in New Orleans. I think the quartermaster's name is John. He is the one who has been eyeing me strangely since the beginning of my captivity. A murderer. It was he who slit the unfortunate Monsieur Dubois' throat in our camp in the thick forest of South Carolina.
Cook seems to be the captain's most faithful companion. He is the only sailor that Steven leaves alone with me. Twice a day, I am permitted to walk accompanied on the upper deck, which enables me to learn more about the ship taking me to hell.
I know from my meagre naval knowledge that the ship on which we are sailing to Tortuga is called a brig. It is a two-masted square-rigger. This is not surprising. Captain Guyon had told us of these pirate ships, such as the brigantines, which do not have much space for storage, but are capable of slicing through the sea speedily and with agility. Its manoeuvrability is disconcerting and it only needs about eight sailors to pilot it.
Fortunately, this trip had nothing in common with my first sea trip[1].
I boarded Le Dauphin on a Monday. The journey by cart to Brest had exhausted me. I was lucky to be accompanied by my friend Hélène, who was much keener than myself to set off on this trip to the Americas. She belonged to the new nobility that Mother hated so much.
At three o'clock, we sailed towards the open sea in very fine weather and a light Easterly wind.
The crossing was long and harrowing. After two weeks, the drinking water we were carrying started to turn yellow and it was not rare to find worms at the bottom of our flasks.
At day break more than a month later, we discovered Scatarie Island. I had thought that travelling in summer would spare us certain unpleasant weather conditions. It was not to be so. The wind whistled perpetually in our ears. The sky was somewhat troubled, and it rained frequently. Our captain, Monsieur de Diziers-Guyon, explained the danger of the ice and cold in these remote regions.
The Dauphin's mission was not solely to escort a provincial noblewoman into exile in the New World. The voyage had been ordered by the king himself to send Monsieur de Chabert to North America[2] to carry out geometrical and astronomical operations. My presence was purely an ill that the crew were obliged to bear.
We arrived at Louisbourg on 9th April in a thick mist that almost prevented us from entering the harbour. Finally, in the afternoon, we were able to disembark. I was briefly introduced to Monsieur Desherbiers, Ship's captain and Governor of the island, before joining my cousin Claire and her husband, Mister Bruce McDougall.
A week later we boarded the Septon for Charleston.
Despite my condition as a captive, I am delighted to no longer be besieged by unceasing drizzle. Here, the weather is clement. The Anarkhia is carried by a trade wind. The bold beauty of the sea shimmers under the clear blue sky.
Steven, whose real name is Steven Kelly, is also called the Irishman by his men. They pronounce his name with a form of fear and respect. Whenever I have the opportunity, I watch him to try and discover more about his personality. It is impossible to define his age. I would surmise that he is around thirty years of age, but I fear that the hard sailor's life has damaged his skin and brought early wrinkles to his face. I can see a number of scars on his chest and neck when he removes his sweat-soaked shirt before retiring to bed.
The crew members are very young. A pirate's life is brief, but joyful[3], I had heard them saying on the deck of the Septon. Well, perhaps not so joyful after all. Food is not abundant and there are many cripples on board. I am also astonished to see men from a variety of climes, with sometimes surprising physiques. Coloured sailors, from Africa, make up part of the crew and work on the ship with no difference from the other freebooters. I also saw a beardless Chinaman[4] whom I first took to be a woman.
Along with my person, the brick is carrying an illegal cargo. From what I gather, the barrels that I saw in the hold are filled with rum. There are also sacks of barley for brewing beer and kegs of gunpowder. For the rest, they are just travelling provisions.
I suspect Steven of knowing neither how to read or write. There are no quills or parchment on board. Even for the accounts. And not one book. Only dark thoughts to dwell on to the rhythm of the waves. He steers the vessel with the help of a simple compass, relying at night on the position of the stars.
Social life aboard the ship puzzles me. Life on the Anarkhia seems to be an easier one than on the merchant ships on which I have sailed. There are more crew members and there appear to be less constraints. They often play dice, although I think I understand that money games are forbidden on board.
One morning, the sailors are gathered on the deck to discuss the fate of one of their number who was caught drinking rum from one of the barrels destined to be sold. The young ship's boy, who is not yet incorporated, earned himself a few whip lashes from the quartermaster and then returned to his usual duties.
I have always hated punishment. Mother loved it. She was too refined to do it herself, letting the maid molest us as she wanted. Never my brother, destined to become the third Marquis des Acres. But for my sisters and I…
Yes, it strengthened me. One day, perhaps, I will be able to spit out a "thank you" even if I cannot get my revenge.
I thought I hated violence. But I hate more those who use it unfairly. And now, I will not hesitate to kill anyone who wishes to harm me. It is a promise I make to myself every night.
Never again will I be a doe, never again a sheep.
Boredom is nigh. Fortunately, the weather is fine and there is little wind. This is all for the best, as it means that the Anarkhia moves forward slowly. This leaves me more time to prepare my escape once on Tortuga.
I have surveyed the ship's architecture. As we enter the harbour, I plan to dive overboard from the captain's cabin. I will then swim away from the ship and reach land, promising a thousand rewards to the first person who is willing to be of assistance to me.
If I cannot carry out this plan, I have another strategy. Just next to the Irishman's bedroom there is a tiny latrine with a small round porthole high up in the wall. The deprivations of the last few days have trimmed me down. My generous curves will not prevent me from squeezing through this narrow opening when the ship berths.
Yes, I swim better than I can ride. My sisters and I used to bathe in the Risle when we were children. Sophie, my elder sister, always made a fuss, because for her the water was too cold. Alexandrine, the youngest, loved to count the fish that brushed against us. Not once did Mother accompany us on our summer escapades. These games were much too frivolous for her liking. She loathed all that related to entertainment. "We are provincial nobility" she was wont to repeat haughtily. As if the nobility of Versailles was only given to debauchery and bacchanalia. In truth, she hated to see them submit to royalty. For her, the role of luxury play-acting imposed on the aristocracy forbade her access to the corridors where power lies hidden.
We loved our simple amusements, far from the worldliness of the Château de l'Aigle. We could laugh for hours as we teased each other, piling our hair on top of our heads in the manner we imagined that our cousins did in Versailles to entertain our king.
That was before Father died. Before Sophie's perfect marriage to the duke. Before Jérémiah and my disgrace.
A time of laughter and childhood.
It has been twelve days now. I make myself comfortable and keep myself busy. This morning I asked Steven for permission to look after his linen. He was agreeable to this and gave me two buckets of sea water. The smell of his shirts offends me. A stench of sweat and stale alcohol.
We have shared a few meals. He cannot eat without drinking wine. Besides he does not know how to eat at all. He wipes his fingers on anything he finds and shamelessly spits out the food that he does not wish to swallow.
It both disgusts me and makes me smile. I can just imagine Mother's expression faced with such an attitude. The blinkers of the golden prison of my childhood were thicker than I thought.
Steven Kelly, the captain of the Anarkhia.
How can we both live in the same world and yet be so different? He too finds my manners amusing. I know it. I too myself found them amusing before my abduction. We speak little. But what could we talk about? The price of a barrel of spirits or a keg of gunpowder?
There are times when I would like to ask him what led him to this life of debauchery. Did he have no other choice than to kill, steal and peddle goods and persons illegally? And where did he get all his scars? And above all, who the devil is this damned miscreant who wishes to purchase me as if I was a vulgar gem?
A Frenchman from Louisiana… of course…
In any event, I shall not let him possess me.
[1] See book: Voyage fait par ordre du roi en 1750 et 1751, dans l'Amérique septentrionale, pour rectifier les Cartes des Côtes de l'Acadie, de l'Isle Royale & de l'Isle de Terre-Neuve; et pour en fixer les principaux points par des observations astronomiques. By M. de Chabert, Enffeigne des vaiffeaux du roi, Membre de l'Académie de Marine, de celle de Berlin et de l'Inftitut de Bologne. For the more curious among you, this book can be found in scanned digital version on the Gallica of the BnF (Bibliothèque Nationale de France).
[2] North America was made up of Acadia, Ile Royale and Newfoundland island.
[3] Quotation by Alexandre-Olivier Exmelin (or Exquemelin), a French freebooter who left a quantity of written material on the customs of piracy (cf. "Histoire des Frères de la côte ," 1690). He belonged to the egalitarian, almost revolutionary society of the Brethren of the Coast, on Tortuga Island.
[4] Pirate ships were multinational, multicultural and multiracial. Even if many of them took part in the slave trade, a number of men of African origin found their places in the freebooting social order.