The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi
“Whatever your excuses, Miss Doyle, you admit you lied to me.”
“Yes,” I was forced to say. “And you said I should keep the knife.”
“Indeed I told you that. And you did keep it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said sullenly, sensing he was getting the best of me.
He turned to the crew. “Did any of you see this girl with this knife in hand at any time?”
The men shifted uneasily.
“Come now, gentlemen!” the captain barked. “This is a court of law. All of you are required to speak the truth. You swore upon the Bible to do so. I’ll ask again, did any of you see this girl with this knife?”
The crew appeared to be looking every way but at the captain. Then I noticed Dillingham rub the back of his neck.
The captain saw it too. “Mr. Dillingham,” he called out sharply. “Do you have something to say? Step forward, sir.”
Dillingham came forward awkwardly.
“What have you to say?”
“I saw her with the knife, sir.”
“When?”
“Shortly after we set sail.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillingham. I applaud your forthrightness. Now then, did anyone else see her with the knife. Mr. Ewing?”
Ewing said as much as Dillingham. When pressed, so did Foley. So did Mr. Johnson.
The captain was now leaning over the rail, clearly enjoying himself. “Did anyone not see her with the knife?” he said dryly.
No one spoke.
“I wish,” he said, “to state how unnatural it is for a girl to carry a knife.”
“You have no reason to say unnatural,” I objected. “You even gave me one!”
“Did I?”
“Yes. During the storm.”
“Why did I?”
“To cut away the rigging.”
“To be sure, that was an emergency. By what reason did you have a knife when there was no emergency?”
“To defend myself.”
“Defend yourself? Against whom? Against what?”
Fearful of his traps, I was not sure what to say.
“Against what?” he pressed. “Did anyone threaten you? Any of these men?”
“No, not them.”
“Who then? Come, speak up.”
“You.”
“How so?”
“You struck me.”
“Miss Doyle, I do strike members of the crew. It is a common enough practice.” He turned to the men. “Have any of you ever known a captain who has not, from time to time, struck a member of the crew? Come now, speak up if you have!”
No one spoke.
The captain turned back to me. “But do they turn upon me with a knife? Is that what you are suggesting, Miss Doyle? That members of a crew have the right to assault their captain with a weapon?”
He had confused me again.
“Besides,” he added, “You had that knife on the first day of this voyage. Did you think I would strike you then?”
“No. I believed you were a gentleman.”
“So, Miss Doyle, you had the knife before you met me, did you not?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
The captain smiled with obvious satisfaction. “The knife, then, is clearly yours. And you were seen with it. You admit to all this.”
He turned to the crew. “Have any one of you seen a knife in her hand other than during the first few days of this voyage? Step forward if you have.”
It was Grimes who did so.
“Ah, Mr. Grimes. You have something to say.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, I saw her.”
“In what circumstances?”
“I was teaching her to use a knife.”
“Teaching her to use a knife?” the captain repeated portentously.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Before the storm.”
“And did she learn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was she good at it?”
“Aye. Uncommon good.”
“Mr. Grimes, I ask you, did you ever hear of another girl who desired to learn the use of a knife?”
Grimes hesitated.
“Answer.”
“No, sir.”
“Do you not think it’s unnatural?”
“Sir, I don’t know as if …”
“Agree or disagree?”
He bobbed his head apologetically. “Agree.”
“Unnatural again!” the captain proclaimed. “Mr. Hollybrass was murdered during the hurricane. Did anyone see this girl on the deck during the storm?” He looked to the crew. “Anyone?”
There were a few murmurs of “Yes.”
“Mr. Barlow, I think you say yes. What was Miss Doyle doing?”
“She was with the crew, sir. Doing her part like we all was. And good work too.”
“Doing her part like we all was,” the captain echoed in a mocking tone. “Mr. Barlow, you are not young. In all your years have you ever seen, ever heard of a girl who took up crew’s work?”
“No sir, I never did.”
“So, then, is it not unusual?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose. Might you say, Unnatural?”
“That’s not fair!” I cried out. “Unusual and unnatural are not the same!”
“Miss Doyle, have you an objection?”
“There was nothing unnatural in what I did!” I insisted.
“Miss Doyle, let me then put the question to you. Have you ever heard of a girl joining a crew?”
I felt caught.
“Have you?”
“No.”
“So even you admit to that.”
“Yes, but—”
The captain turned to the crew. “Is there anyone here who has ever heard of a girl doing what this Miss Doyle has done?”
No one spoke.
“So what we have here is a girl who admits she owns the weapon that murdered Mr. Hollybrass. A girl who lied about where she got it. A girl who was taught to use a blade, and learned to use it, as Mr. Grimes would have it, ‘uncommon’ well. A girl who, all agree, is unnatural in every way she acts. Gentlemen, do we not, as natural men, need to take heed? Is it not our duty, our obligation, to protect the natural order of the world?”
Once more he turned to me. “Miss Doyle,” he said, “Mr. Zachariah was a friend of yours.”
“The best of friends.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was flogged,” I murmured.
“And?”
For the last time I appealed mutely to the crew. They were all looking steadily at me now.
“I asked you a question, Miss Doyle. What happened to Mr. Zachariah?”
“… he died,” I said softly. “Flogged to death.”
“Who flogged him?”
“You did, unmercifully.”
“Anyone else?”
“Mr. Hollybrass.”
“Mr. Hollybrass. Why was Mr. Zachariah being flogged?”
“There was no reason.”
“No reason? Did he not take part in a mutiny?”
“He had every right to …”
“A right to mutiny?”
“Yes.”
“You yourself, Miss Doyle—in great fear, if I remember—informed me that a mutiny was about to occur. Mr. Zachariah was one of the participants. Yet you think it unfair to flog him?”
“You wanted to kill him.”
“So you were angry at me?”
I looked into his glinting eyes. “Yes,” I declared, “deservedly so.”
“And at Mr. Hollybrass?”
After a moment I again said, “Yes.”
“Mr. Zachariah was a particular friend of yours, was he not, Miss Doyle?”
“Yes.”
“A black man.”
“He was my friend!”
“So you resented his being given the punishment he deserved.”
“It was not deserved.”
“Is murder
“Yes.”
“Is the way you dress unnatural?”
“Not for the work I do …”
“What work is that?”
“As member of the crew.”
“Is being a crew member not unnatural for a girl?”
“Unusual,” I insisted. “Not unnatural.”
“Your hair?”
“I could not work with it long!”
“Work?”
“I am one of this crew.”
“Unnatural,” he said.
“Unusual,” said I.
“So we have in you, Miss Doyle,” the captain pressed on, “an unnatural girl, dressing in unnatural ways, doing unnatural things, owning the very knife that killed Mr. Hollybrass. And Mr. Hollybrass was the man you disliked for flogging your particular black friend—”
“You make it seem all wrong when it isn’t!” I cried out.
He turned to the crew. “Does anyone wish to make a statement on this girl’s behalf?”
No one spoke.
“Miss Doyle,” he said, “Do you wish to say anything?”
“My father—”
“Miss Doyle,” the captain cried out, “when we began I offered you the opportunity of claiming the protection of your father. You refused it then!”
Miserable, I could only bow my head.
He turned to the crew. “Does anyone wish to make a statement on this girl’s behalf?”
No one spoke.
“Miss Doyle,” he said. “Do you wish to say anything?”
Miserable, I could only shake my head.
“Very well. I must declare a verdict.”
He stood. “As master of the Seahawk, it is my judgment that this unnatural girl, this Charlotte Doyle, is guilty of the crime of murdering Samuel Hollybrass.”
For a final time he turned to the crew. “Is there anyone who wishes to speak against this verdict?”
No one spoke.
“Miss Doyle,” he said to me, “have you anything to say on your behalf now?”
“I did not do it!”
“Miss Doyle, the facts have spoken otherwise. I wish to inform you that the penalty for such a crime is to be hanged by the neck from the yardarm. Within twenty-four hours you shall be hanged until you are dead.”
So saying, he brought down his pistol hard upon the rail.
The trial was over.
WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD CAPTAIN JAGGERY led me back to the hold and locked me in the brig. I turned from him, but I believe he stood there, considering me for a while by the gloomy light of his lamp. Then he left. I heard his retreating footfalls and the creak of the ladder, saw the light gradually fade away until the hold grew completely dark again. At last I slumped onto the stool. And though it was dark I closed my eyes.
Startled by a sound I looked up. Zachariah, a candle in his hand, was standing before me.
Silently, he circled the brig and pulled out the bars. I crept from my cage and we sat down close together, backs once more against a barrel, the little candle before us. I told him all that had happened. He remained silent, nodding now and again.
By the time I was done I was weeping copiously. Zachariah let me sob. He waited for my last sniffle, then asked, “How much time does he give you?”
“Twenty-four hours,” I murmured.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, “he’ll not see it through.”
“He does what he says he’ll do,” I said bitterly. “You said as much yourself. And he has the whole crew agreeing with his judgment. He was that careful. Punctilious,” I spat out, remembering the word the captain had used to describe himself.
“I don’t know the word.”
“Everything in order.”
“Aye, that’s him.” Zachariah rubbed the stubble around his chin. “And did no one stand up for you?” he asked.
“No one.”
He shook his head. “It’s that I don’t understand.”
I looked up. “Don’t you?” For the first time I felt my anger turn toward him. “Why?”
“Had they not become your friends?”
“I have no friends.”
“You must not say that, Charlotte. Didn’t I tell you right from the beginning: you and me—together.”
I shook my head at the memory.
“What’s this?” he said, trying to laugh my response away. “Not friends?”
“Zachariah,” I burst out, “I am going to be hanged!”
He made a gesture of dismissal. “You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure!”
“I won’t let him.”
“You? You’d have to show yourself. What of your plan to go to the authorities?”
“I’ll give it up.”
“After all that’s happened?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Charlotte, why should you say that?”
When I kept silent he said, “Come now, Charlotte, something else is preying upon your thoughts. Something bitter. You must have it out.”
“Don’t tell me what I must and must not do!” I cried. “That’s for Jaggery.”
“Forgive me. This old black man humbly requests you tell him what’s beset your mind.”
“Zachariah,” I blurted out, “you haven’t told me the truth.”
He turned to look hard at me. “You must explain yourself.”
I retreated to the brig.
He pulled himself closer, pressing his face to the bars. “Charlotte!” he insisted. “Now I am truly begging. Tell me what you mean.”
“Zachariah,” I said, tearful again, “I know who killed Mr. Hollybrass.”
“Then why don’t you speak it out so I can hear?” he said sharply.
“I’m waiting for him to say it himself,” I threw back.
He sighed. “There’s an old seaman’s saying, Miss Doyle: the Devil will tie any knot, save the hangman’s noose. That Jack does for himself. Your silence is foolish. I beg of you, who do you think it is?”
I pressed my lips tight.
“Miss Doyle,” he said, “if you want to save your life you will tell me. I am trying to help you, but I cannot manage it without your thoughts. You have some choices, Miss Doyle. Shall I make them clear? Do you prefer to dangle from a yardarm by your neck? Or do you wish to walk free? What do you want, Miss Doyle?”
“To live.”
He sighed. “Then speak.”
“Mr. Zachariah,” I said with increasing weariness, “I already told you, I want the man to come forward himself.”
“Most unlikely.”
“Apparently,” I said with even greater bitterness.
Something in my voice must have alerted him. He scrutinized me shrewdly. “Miss Doyle, why are you calling me Mister Zachariah?”
“For the same reason you are calling me Miss Doyle.”
He cocked his head to one side. I could feel his gaze upon me. For a moment I had the courage to return it, but quickly glanced away.
He said, “Charlotte … you have grown suspicious of me. Am I correct?”
I nodded.
“Look at me.”
I did.
He sighed again. “Is it truly possible you think I murdered Mr. Hollybrass?”
After a moment I admitted, “Yes.”
“And why?”
“Zachariah,” I cried out, “you were there on deck. You had every reason to want him dead. And since I’d told you, you knew where I’d left the dirk. I suppose you would have preferred to kill the captain, but thought the first mate would do. And no one would know, would they? Least of all Jaggery.
“I’m certain it’s what the rest of the crew believes,” I rushed on. “And that’s why they wouldn’t speak for me! It’s to protect you, Zachariah, just as they’ve done all along. I can hardly blame them!”
I sank onto the floor, sobbing.
For quite a time Zachariah didn’t speak. And the longer he remained silent the mor
“Charlotte,” he said at last, “if you believed all that, why did you not say so before?”
“Because you’re the only one—you told me so yourself, and I believe you—the only one who can get off the Seahawk when we reach Providence and go to the authorities about Captain Jaggery!”
“And that’s why you said nothing?”
“Yes.”
“It does you honor,” he said very quietly.
“I don’t care about honor,” I declared. “I’d much rather live! But the least you could do is be honest with me.”
He hesitated, then said, “Charlotte, you do not have it correct.”
“I don’t suppose I know everything …”
“Charlotte,” he said with the utmost solemnity, “I did not kill Mr. Hollybrass.”
I eyed him suspiciously.
“Charlotte,” he continued, “we shall either live by believing one another, or, by not believing, die.”
“I want to believe you,” I told him. “I do.” I sank back down on the stool. For a long while neither of us spoke. There seemed nothing to say. Then, in despair, I said, “Zachariah, sometimes I think Jaggery has worked all this out so you and I should blame one another. But you said he doesn’t know you are alive.”
He started. “Repeat what you said.”
“What?”
“The last thing.”
“About his not knowing you’re alive?”
“Yes.” He moved from the brig then and sat down, his mood completely changed. After a while he murmured, “Charlotte!”
“What?”
“When I was on the deck during the storm—Jaggery saw me.”
His words sank in slowly. “Zachariah, are you telling me that the captain knows you are alive and has done nothing?”
“Yes.”
“When did he see you?” I demanded.
“As I say, during the storm. I was on deck, trying to reach the mainmast.”
“Before or after you helped me?”
He thought a moment. “Before. Yes, I was bent into the wind, doubled over, when I heard voices arguing. I couldn’t make them out at first, then I saw Captain Jaggery and Mr. Hollybrass. It was they who were arguing. Furiously. I heard Mr. Hollybrass accuse the captain of deliberately taking the Seahawk into the storm. Jaggery was enraged. I thought he was about to strike the man. Then the first mate took himself off while the captain turned toward me. At first he didn’t recognize me. Only swore … as I did. But then—”