The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. Just stared in a wild sort of way. Mind, the storm was growing worse. But before he could do or say anything I headed for the foremast where I chanced to be where you needed me.”
“Didn’t you wonder when after the storm he did nothing?”
“Charlotte, you yourself told me that when I helped you on the mast you thought me a ghost, an angel perhaps. Think of Jaggery. If ever a man had guilty deeds locked in his thoughts, deeds enough to raise the dead from seven seas, he would be the one.
“When—after the storm—he did nothing, I decided that was exactly what he thought: that I was an apparition. His leaving me here was proof enough. How else to explain it? And therefore I was safe.”
I gazed at him through the bars, trying to grasp the full import of what he was saying. “Zachariah …” I said slowly, trying to sort out my tumbling thoughts, “during the trial he made a point of asking me what happened to you.”
“And you answered … ?”
“To make sure he didn’t know, I said that you had died. But Zachariah, if he did know you to be alive, he might also guess we all knew it. And might think—exactly as I did—that you killed Mr. Hollybrass. But he wouldn’t say.”
“So as to condemn you.”
“Only with me gone, could he turn on you. He could not do it the other way around, for fear of my going to the authorities—as I threatened to do. Do you think he knows who really killed Mr. Hollybrass?”
“He might.”
“But who?”
Zachariah grew thoughtful. “To kill a hand, during such a storm, when everyone is desperately needed, takes a kind of … madness,” he said finally.
“Well then,” I said. “Who does that leave?”
We looked at one another. And knew.
“The captain,” I said. “It must have been he who killed Mr. Hollybrass.”
“Charlotte,” Zachariah protested, “Mr. Hollybrass was Jaggery’s only friend …”
“Yes, people would think them friends. No one would believe it could be Captain Jaggery. But you told me they had never sailed together before. And I never saw much friendship between them. Did you?”
“No …”
“You said they argued,” I continued. “I saw some of that too. In the storm, you even thought Captain Jaggery lifted a hand to strike him after Mr. Hollybrass made an accusation.”
“Of deliberately sailing into the storm.”
“Is that a serious charge?”
“The owners would be greatly alarmed. But to kill him …”
“Zachariah, he sees you. He knows you’re alive. The crew, he realizes, must know it too. I’m a threat to him. So are you. And now, here’s Mr. Hollybrass, another threat. But, let him murder Mr. Hollybrass and everyone will think you did the crime.”
“But then, he accuses you,” Zachariah said.
“And see how much he’s managed!” I cried.
Zachariah stared into the dark. Then slowly he said, “The crew keeps silent to protect me, even as he hangs you.”
To which I added, “And once I am gone, Zachariah, then … he’ll deal with you.”
Zachariah grew thoughtful. Finally I heard him whisper, “May the gods protect us …”
The excitement of our discovery ebbed. We sat in silence. In time the candle went out.
“What,” I asked ruefully, “can we do about any of this?”
“Charlotte, we must force him to confess.”
“He’s too powerful.”
“True, you’ll not get any man to confess when he holds a gun and you’ve got none.”
“What do you mean?”
“Charlotte, see what happened when we rose against him before. You’ve been in his quarters, haven’t you? You must have seen that iron safe of his that’s full of muskets. You’re not likely to get into that. No one knows where he keeps the key.”
I reached over and plucked at his arm. “Zachariah,” I said, “I know where he keeps it.”
I SCRAMBLED FROM THE BRIG AND VERY QUICKLY TOLD ZACHARIAH WHAT HAD HAPPENED WHEN I BROUGHT THE INFORMATION about the round robin to Captain Jaggery, how he removed a key from behind the portrait of his daughter and with it opened up the gun safe.
Zachariah grunted. “I never thought to look there.”
“Did you look?”
“To be sure. If we could have secured that key—and the guns—we would have taken him before. And I can promise you, it’s still true.”
I felt a surge of excitement. “Is there anyone who goes into his cabin now?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Zachariah said. “But you could go.”
“Me?”
“You know exactly where it is, don’t you?”
“But I’m supposed to be here!”
“Exactly.”
“Zachariah,” I cried. “That would be insane. What if he caught me?”
“He could do no worse than he intends to do.”
I saw the gruesome logic in that. “But even if I did get the key, then what?”
“If Jaggery had no muskets, the men could be rallied again.”
“What if the crew gets their hands on the guns? What will they do?”
“I couldn’t answer to that,” he admitted.
“I don’t want any more death,” I said.
“Get the key to me, Charlotte. The rest will follow.”
The enormity of the idea frightened me. “Why shouldn’t you get it to begin with?” I wanted to know.
“If it’s me he catches, Charlotte, he’ll be free to get rid of both of us. If it should happen that you fail, it would still leave me a chance to try and act.”
“Try?”
“Charlotte, it’s all I can promise.”
I considered his reasons. Then I said, “Zachariah, you told me that the crew has been coming down to bring you food.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t do anything until you tell them that it wasn’t you who killed Hollybrass. Nor me. And that we’re certain it was Captain Jaggery himself. It will make it much safer for me to make the attempt.”
“I see your point.”
“When do they come?”
“When they can.”
“Zachariah,” I reminded him. “He’s only given me twenty-four hours.”
“Get back there then,” he said, motioning to the brig and pulling himself up. “I’ll try to find someone.”
I retreated into the cage. He adjusted the bars, and left a new candle within easy reach—as well as a tinder box. I heard him move away through the darkness until I lost sense of where he was.
There was this about the dark: It freed me from time and space. Cut off as I was, I could retreat into thoughts about all that had happened since my arrival at Liverpool with that odd Mr. Grummage. It seemed a million years ago, yet no time at all. I couldn’t help but feel some pride in what I’d accomplished.
Perhaps it was Zachariah’s reference to my father, but for the first time in a long while I began to think of my true home, in Providence, Rhode Island. Though I’d only the vaguest memories of the house itself (I had left it when I was six), thoughts of my mother, my father, my brother and sister, were all very strong and clear.
With a start—for it is a curious fact that I had not truly considered my family for a time—I began to contemplate an accounting to them of all that had happened—if I lived. With great vividness I pictured myself relating my adventure, while they, grouped about, listened in rapt, adoring attention, astonished yet proud of me. At the mere anticipation, my heart swelled with pride.
I was still basking in these dreams when I heard the sounds of someone approaching. Not knowing who it might be, I pushed myself to the back of the brig and waited. But then I heard: “Charlotte!”
It was Zachariah’s voice.
“Give us light,” he called in a whisper.
I scrambled forward, found the tinder box, and in moments had the candle lit. There was Zachar
From the first moment I had seen Keetch—as I came aboard the Seahawk—I’d never cared for him. He was too nervous, uncertain. To see that he was the one Zachariah had brought was not the greatest comfort.
“Miss Doyle,” Keetch said when he drew close, peering about in his agitated way, “I’m pleased to see you.”
“And I you,” I made myself reply.
What followed then was a strange council of war. Zachariah made it clear at the start that neither he nor I had murdered Mr. Hollybrass.
“But who did then?” Keetch asked, truly alarmed.
“Captain Jaggery,” I said quickly.
“Why … what do you mean?” he demanded.
We offered our reasons.
Keetch listened intently, only occasionally looking up with startled eyes at me or Zachariah, yet nodding to it all. “Murder his own mate,” he murmured at the end with a shake of his head.
“Do you have any doubts?” Zachariah asked.
“None about you,” Keetch told him.
“And me?” I asked.
He seemed hesitant to speak.
“As I see it,” I said, “the men didn’t want to help me during the trial because you thought it was Zachariah who killed Mr. Hollybrass.”
“True enough,” Keetch said. “We talked about just that. I’ll admit, I was one who said we owed more to Zachariah here than to you. Understand,” he said, “where old loyalties lie.”
I assured him that I did and insisted I laid no blame.
“As you know,” Keetch continued, “I wasn’t one of those who took to you in any partial way, not like Zachariah here. I’ll confess too, I never wanted you aboard. You’ll remember, I told you so when first you came.”
I nodded.
“But you’ve proved me wrong more than once,” he concluded. “So if my word means anything, you can now be sure no man will support your honor more than I.” That said, he held out his hand to me.
I was relieved at Keetch’s acceptance. Perhaps, I thought, I’d wronged him.
So then and there, he and I shook hands like old sailors. I felt a great weight drop from my soul.
The news Keetch brought was crucial, that we were—by the captain’s reckoning—a few days’ sail from Providence. Hanging me was therefore of the utmost urgency—which explained the captain’s twenty-four hours.
Keetch readily agreed with Zachariah that if we could manage to keep the captain from his guns, never mind securing them for ourselves, another rising could be staged. He would vouch for that. “But,” he warned, “he keeps those guns locked up and the key to himself.”
“I know where he hides it,” I said.
He looked around in surprise.
“Where?”
I told him.
“And would you try to get them?”
“Yes.”
Keetch whistled softly. “Most times he keeps to his cabin,” he said.
“All you need do is find some way to get him and hold him on deck,” Zachariah said.
“I’ll be here and ready when you have,” I put in. “Once you’ve detained him, I can secure the key to the gun cabinet.”
“It shouldn’t take her but a moment, Keetch,” Zachariah pressed.
Keetch studied his hands for a long while. “It might be possible.” He glanced upward. “What about the others?”
“You’re going to have to spread the word that it was the captain who murdered Mr. Hollybrass, not me,” Zachariah told him. “Not her either.”
Keetch nodded. “They’re going to want to know what happens to that key once she’s got it,” he said.
I looked to Zachariah.
“She’ll give it to me,” he said. “I’ll be in top cargo, waiting for it. And when I’ve got it that will be the time for you and me—” he nudged Keetch with an elbow—“to lead another rising.”
Once again we waited on Keetch. The way he fidgeted it was easy to see that he was nervous about the plan. But that was natural. I was nervous too. Finally he said, “It would be the only way. Except it better not fail.”
Zachariah turned to me. “There you are,” he said. “We’ll do it!”
On all this we shook hands, and I was soon, once again, alone in darkness.
It’s odd perhaps, but I was not frightened. I assumed we could succeed with our plan. Oh, what a power of faith in justice had I then!
A few days from Providence … I smiled. I would return to the life I led with my family, but now in America, where, so I had been long taught to believe, greater freedom held sway. I sat for the better part of an hour thinking, not of what was about to happen, but of happy days ahead….
I heard a sound. I started up, peering into the darkness.
Zachariah, quite breathless, appeared before me, “Charlotte,” he called. “It’s time!”
I crawled out from the brig. Zachariah had found a small lamp, one well-hooded. “This way,” he whispered before I could ask him anything.
We moved down the hold toward the central cargo bay and its ladder. I looked up. It was quite dark above.
“What time is it?” I suddenly asked.
“Two bells into the midwatch.”
By shore reckoning that meant it would be one o’clock at night!
“Couldn’t we do it by daylight?”
“Charlotte, you’re scheduled to be hanged at dawn.”
My stomach rolled. My legs grew shaky.
Zachariah put his hand on my arm as if he himself had caught my fear. “You’ll do well,” he said.
He closed down the lantern’s hood to a mere slit and led the way up the ladder. I followed until we reached the top cargo. Once there, Zachariah signaled me toward the rear ladder. It would put me directly into the steerage before the captain’s cabin.
“Where will the captain be?” I whispered.
“Keetch sent word that he’s got him at the helm,” Zachariah explained, his voice low. “He’s managed to jam the wheel somehow, and called the captain for instruction. Roused him from his bed.”
“How long will I have?”
“Take no more time than you need,” was his reply.
“And the rest of the crew?”
“Word on that too. They all know, and are waiting. Go on now. I’ll watch for you here.”
I looked at him.
“Charlotte, it’s this or the royal yard.”
I crept aloft and soon was standing alone in the empty steerage, listening. The steady wash of waves, the bobbing and swaying of the ship, the creak and groan of timbers, all told me the Seahawk was plowing toward home in a brisk wind. By chance the door to my old cabin was open. As it swung to and fro it banged irregularly, rusty hinges rasping. When had I heard that sound before? What came into my mind was my first night aboard the ship, when I lay upon my bed feeling so abandoned! How frightened I’d been then! How little was there then to fear! I even remembered the voices I’d heard outside my door at that time. Who had spoken? I wondered, as though to keep myself from moving forward now. What was said?
Nervously, I glanced back over a shoulder through the steerage portal. While I could not see much, the soft glow that lay upon the deck told me that it must be a full or nearly full moon. I was glad of that. It meant there would be some light to see by inside the captain’s cabin.
Yet, inexplicably, I remained standing there, wasting precious time, listening to my old door bang and creak, trying to rid myself of the fear that lay like heavy ballast in the pit of my stomach: a notion that I had neglected to consider something about the voices I had heard that first night. The suspicion became rather like an invisible rope that restrained me. Try though I might I could not find how to unbind it.
A random plunge of the ship roused me to my business. Making sure the little lantern was well shielded, I moved to the door, put my hand to the handle, and pushed. It gave with ease.
The room lay open before me. Dimly I could make out its fine furnishings—even the
“Miss Doyle,” he said, “how kind of you to visit. Do please step in.”
HE WAS WAITING FOR ME. ALL I COULD DO WAS STARE AT HIM IN DISBELIEF.
“Miss Doyle,” the captain said. “Would you be good enough to sit.” He rose and held an upholstered seat out for me.
As the Seahawk rolled, the door behind me slammed shut. The sudden noise startled me from my daze.
“You knew I was coming,” I whispered, finding it impossible to raise my voice.
“Of course.”
“How?”
There was a slight smile on his lips. Then he said, “Mr. Keetch.”
“Keetch?” I echoed lamely.
“Exactly. Who, from the start, kept me well informed about the crew; how they kept other sailors from signing on, how they threatened passengers so they would not sail. He informed me about Cranick. About Zachariah. Yes, Miss Doyle, I know your friend is alive and has been hiding in the hold. I’m delighted that he keeps out of the way. No charge of murder shall be put to me, shall it?
“More to the point I know about what you are doing in my cabin now. It is the business of a ship’s master, Miss Doyle, to know his ship and his crew. To keep everything in order. I told you that before. Apparently it still surprises.”
I stood unmoving.
“Won’t you sit?” he asked.
“What do you mean to do with me?” I asked.
“You’ve had your trial. Was it not fair?”
“I did not kill Mr. Hollybrass.”
“Was the trial fair, Miss Doyle?”
“It was you who killed him,” I burst out.
He remained silent for a long while. Then at last, he said, “Do you know why I despise you, Miss Doyle?” It was said evenly, without emotion. “Do you?”
“No,” I admitted.
“The world of a ship, Miss Doyle, is a world not without quarrels,” he began, “sometimes bitter quarrels. But it is, Miss Doyle, a world that does work according to its own order.
“Now when a voyage commences, all understand the rightful balance between commander and commanded. I can deal with the sailors, and they with me. I need them to run the Seahawk. Just as they need me to command her. So we live by a rough understanding, they and I. When this voyage began I had high hopes you would help me keep the crew in order with your ladylike ways.