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Molly of Tortuga Chapter 5: Return to Tortuga When Mr. Birdsong and I returned from Hispaniola, we found my mother in a sad state. She had been stabbed in the belly whilst trying to eliminate one of the enemies that I had made. The wound aggravated other maladies that had shadowed her for years. Her leg developed a great, unhealable pox sore. Even had there been a physician on the Island to give her the Great Cure with mercury, she would have been too weak to go through it: She had begun to cough up great consumptive gouts of fresh blood mixed with thick black clots. Soon she lost the power to walk, and became thin as the vulture-picked bones of a pirate, hanging plunk between two flood marks from a widdy. She sent me off, one windy night, to collect a carriage. When I returned, she bid me lift her from bed and carry her out to the carriage. The ease of lifting her slight body set me weeping with guilt at having indirectly been the cause of her demise. Mr. Birdsong got in beside her, and she slumped against him. "Now drive us down to Falcon Bay, for I've a surprise for ye, me little Mol."

The bumping set her to coughing up more blood than I thought could be sloshing in her veins, but she urged us on. We arrived at the bay in an hour, where a black sloop lay a half league offshore. We found a boatman on the embarkadero, and had him row us out, our way lighted by a cresset on the bow, sparks flying into the wet fog, acrid woodsmoke burning my already wet eyes. As we drew near the sloop's stern, our light threw shdows on the carved letters on its escutcheon, which spelled "Jack Tar's Revenge." I stood amazed at the strength of my mother's voice when she cried up to the pudgy starbolin, "Ahoy, 'Revenge. Inform your Captain Roger as Long Lucy would meet wi' him." He turned and hurried away. "Lucy, is it you," presently came an amazed voice. "Aye." "Come aboard, me love!" "I cannot, for I am too weak. Send me down a boatswain's chair." Presently, the chair came dangling into view. I installed her in it as best I could and bid the crew hall her aloft; then I helped Mr. Birdsong to find the ladder, and we climbed aboard. I found mother lying against a coil of rope, more gray than brown, a picture of death, save her wild eyes, which she darted about as she spoke. "A little Birdie told me you were in the bay, Rog," she whispered to the grave captain who knelt beside her. "I've my sources," said Mr. Birdsong, staring off into the night with blind eyes. Willie growled.

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Copyright © Michael B.Stevens, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2005. All rights reserved. Format modified Aug. 2005