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SKULL AND CROSS-EXAMINATIONS
By Toni L. P. Kelner
Art by Mark Evan Walker
February 2008
 18 June 1680
Dearest Mother,
I take pen in hand to inform you of the unexpected events that took place during my voyage to Jamaica to begin the career as a lawyer Father so wished me to have. But before I begin in earnest, I must warn you to have your vial of smelling salts nearby, should you be overcome by horror at my tale, particularly the murder. Do bear in mind that I survived said events, and of course was not myself murdered, or I would not now be writing this letter. Moreover, the ending is a happy one and speaks well of my expectations. Even Father may admit that I performed adequately, so you may need the smelling salts to counter the shock, should he speak well of me. I admit to feeling not a little pride at the resolution of my first case before the bar, or rather, before the mast.
Are you now fortified? If so, I shall begin. Despite Father's assertions, I did not find sea travel to be invigorating, bracing, or any of the other healthy adjectives he employed before having me escorted up the gangplank of Fortune's Daughter. Ironically, any and all of those terms accurately describe my previous life studying at Oxford and dabbling in university theatrics, though I do not think Father agrees.
The voyage was, in fact, deadening to the senses. My nose was the first to go. This was a mercy, if truth be told, given the way it was constantly assailed by the odors of unwashed sailors, the tar and other materials of the ship itself, and the livestock brought aboard to provide fresh food. Next, my hearing was attacked by the constant sounds of waves slapping petulantly at the hull, sails flapping in the wind, and the nearly incomprehensible language of the sailors. Though they reputedly speak the King's English, I would be hard-pressed to prove it in court, even if Father himself were sitting on the bench. Finally the sense of sight was dulled, for there was nothing to see. Yes, the sunsets were quite colorful when the weather was fine, but one looked much like the next. When the weather was not fine, there was nothing at all to see.
Fortunately, the one sense that remained perfectly intact was my sense of self-preservation. I had need of it several weeks into our journey, when we were attacked by pirates.
Yes, Mother, pirates. I trust you have made use of your smelling salts by now, perhaps augmented with a strong cup of tea, thoroughly laden with sugar. Either of those nostrums would have served me well when I realized we were under attack, but my only comfort was remembering Shylock's words in The Merchant of Venice when he itemizes the hazards of sea travel, specifically mentioning pirates. Had Father given that warning the attention it deserved, I might not have found myself in such dire straits. How unfortunate that Father continues to hold a grudge for Shakespeare's jovial suggestion to kill all the lawyers.
I will not spend much time describing the attack, for the attack did not take up much time. When the pirate ship was first spotted, it was flying friendly colors, so the captain was unconcerned as it drew near. Only as they came into firing range was that flag lowered and a more ominous banner raised.
I should explain that a pirate's flag is far more individualized than I had hitherto suspected. Apparently they view them as a coat of arms of sorts, identifying the captain and the depth of his intentions, and the infamous skull and crossbones is but one design. A red flag means . . . Well, let me say that it is a blessing that our attacker did not fly a red flag. The Brazen Mermaid—for that was the name of the attacker—flew a relatively benign black flag emblazoned with a sword thrust into the chest of a skeleton.
By the time the flag was noticed by the sailors aboard the inappropriately named Fortune's Daughter, the fight was essentially lost. There was no time to use the small cannon we carried—in fact, our sailors barely had time to arm themselves before grappling hooks were tossed onto our deck and the pirates started to board, already primed to attack.
Battle is far noisier than I'd imagined: gunshots and the clashing of swords, punctuated by yells, groans, and vile cursing. I cannot speak of the appearance of those events, because I saw none of them. I did consider joining in, but having neither a weapon nor skill in using same, I relied on the better part of valor and stayed in my cabin with my fellow passenger, Squire Turow, who was as frantically busy as the combatants on deck.
I have not yet mentioned Squire Turow, a stout, self-satisfied gentleman returning to his home in Jamaica. As the only two passengers on board, we'd become better acquainted than perhaps we would have under other circumstances. When I learned that he had a daughter of marriageable age, I had high hopes of continuing and, depending on the charms of the daughter, perhaps deepening the friendship once we arrived in Port Royal. Though Turow is a tedious man, it has long been accepted as truth among my fellows that a young lady's attractions are in inverse proportion to those of her father, and judging by this, Miss Turow must be a rare beauty, nearly as lovely as my dear sister Kate.
Those plans were far from both our minds that day, as Squire Turow filled a sack with every one of his belongings that might be considered valuable, from a handful of farthings to his snuff box to a rather tasteless necklace intended as a gift for his daughter. Then he concealed the sack in a location he hoped would escape detection by invaders.
I cannot help but add that had I not already known that Squire Turow was not a university man, his choice of hiding places would have confirmed it. No man leaves the gates of Oxford without learning, at the very least, how to conceal one's private effects from his classmates. Turow settled on a marginal site, and by marginal, I mean that it was marginally better than dyeing the sack bright red and placing it in the middle of the room with a placard labeling it "TREASURE."
As for me, I'd heard tales of the efficiency with which pirates can convince men to reveal the whereabouts of their wealth, and had no wish to experience any demonstrations of that efficiency. So I placed that which I believed worth stealing into my purse, and tucked it into a pocket, easily accessible should it be demanded. Not that there was a great deal to include, of course. Father's decision to limit my funds was unexpectedly fortuitous. Because of the gold trim, I even included the handsome folding case that sister Kate gave me before my departure, much though I disliked the idea of losing it. I did, however, remove the miniatures of you and Kate from its compartments and place them in an inner vest pocket, feeling that a pirate would be uninterested in them. Sadly, I was unable to pry Father's loose.
All too soon, the sounds of battle ended, and a cheer rang out that was patently not from the crew of Fortune's Daughter. Squire Turow's florid face went whiter than the sails. Moments later, the door to the cabin burst open. Two of the most frightening specimens I had ever had the misfortune to encounter rushed in, though at first all I saw were the cutlasses they brandished.
The taller man had a horror of black curls waving from beneath the blood-red kerchief tied round his head. "Lay down your arms!" he bellowed. "The ship is taken and you are prisoners of Captain Parker of the Brazen Mermaid!"
Having no weapons to lay down, I obeyed the spirit if not the wording of his command by raising my own arms, and Turow did the same.
The other man, a wiry fellow with a yellow kerchief, said, "Hand over your blunt, or it'll be the worse for you."
Though I'd never heard the word used in that manner before, it took no scholarship to recognize the meaning, and I retrieved my pouch of valuables and offered it to the man.
Only then did I notice that the saffron-kerchiefed pirate was missing his left hand. In its place was a club fashioned of wood with bands of steel reinforcing it. The bloodstained wood left no doubt as to how he made use of it.
Unsure of the appropriate way to make the transfer, I tossed it to the other pirate instead, who caught it and tucked it into his belt.
"Now you," the one-handed pirate said to Squire Turow.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Turow said, less convincingly than the rawest university player.
Certainly his performance did not impress the black-haired pirate, who stepped forward and raised his cutlass. "You think I won't be able to carve it out of you? You'll be begging for me to take it before I'm even winded!"
"Gardner," the smaller pirate said, "the captain said we was to take prisoners, and kill only if we have to."
"Aye, but he said to find all that was worth finding, too!" the other one snapped. "That's what I aim to do."
Turow assumed a look of obstinate determination, and glared at the pirate, who sheathed his cutlass only long enough to draw a dagger nearly as long.
"For the love of God, Turow," I expostulated. "Give them your gold!"
"Never!"
"Shall I slice off the nose first?" the pirate speculated with an unpleasant gleam in his eye. "Or maybe an ear?"
Turow said nothing, and the pirate paused, whether to draw out his pleasure or to give Turow another chance, I could not say. Then he stepped closer and said, "If that's what you want, you putrid sack of—"
"It's in the dresser," I said. "Wedged behind the bottom drawer."
"You craven!" Turow thundered. "You're no better than they are!"
"Your life is worth more than a bag of gold and trinkets."
"My honor is worth still more," he replied, "but I see that you have none to protect."
While we bickered, the smaller pirate found Turow's bag and tossed it to the other, who looked sorely disappointed as he returned his dagger to its sheath. Then they manhandled us out of the cabin and up onto the deck. The carnage there was horrific, Mother, and in deference to your delicacy, I'll refrain from giving details. I will say that having witnessed the aftereffects of the loss of a hand, the scenes in our university production of Titus Andronicus dealing with the amputation of Lavinia's hands were far too circumspect. Then again, perhaps accuracy is not advisable, unless one has the theater's smelling-salts concession.
Turow and I were pushed and prodded toward a huddle of sailors and officers from Fortune's Daughter who were being watched over by a trio of armed pirates. Sadly, the captain was not among them. In fact, fully half the crew had gone to their reward.
Once they had rounded up all the survivors, a pirate announced that we were being taken on board the Brazen Mermaid. Several gangplanks had been put in place between the two vessels, and we made our precarious way across. Once aboard, we were herded toward the bow of the ship and told to remain there, with a new set of guards on duty.
Meanwhile, back on Fortune's Daughter, the pirates were taking everything not nailed down, as well as some items that had previously been quite securely attached. Though there was some gold on board, most of the hold had been filled with foodstuffs and woolens, and it may surprise you, Mother, to find that the pirates were delighted with this commonplace cargo. Even pirates must eat and protect themselves from the elements, not to mention the possibility of trading the ill-gotten goods.
Finally the plunderers had taken everything of value save the boards that made up the ship itself. The gangplanks and ropes connecting the vessels were removed, and we set sail.
The men from Fortune's Daughter were much moved by the sight of their ravished vessel, and kept their eyes upon it until it faded from view. Even I was affected, though I had not particularly enjoyed my time aboard. Perhaps it was because I thought it likely I would find my stay on the Brazen Mermaid even less congenial.
After no little time, during which we had naught to do but share fears about our probable fate, a tall man with the air of command approached us. Evidently he'd had time to change his garments since the battle, for he was wearing a brocade surcoat, satin breeches, and a handsome tricorne hat topped with an egret feather. Unless he'd been born a gentleman, he was of course breaking every sumptuary law ever written, but he did so with élan.
He was accompanied by a more modestly dressed man carrying a bedraggled quill pen, a bottle of ink, and a document of some sort. Those of the pirate crew not actively involved with sailing the ship circled us, as if to watch a performance.
The first man said, "Gentlemen, I apologize that my duties have kept me from welcoming you aboard. I do so now." He actually cut a leg, and quite handsomely, too. "I am Captain Nathaniel Parker, of the Brazen Mermaid, and this is Mr. Talman, our quartermaster."
I looked at the man with the pen and paper with interest, having learned that the quartermaster was often more important a personage than the captain, because it was his job to keep track of both provisions and booty. Mr. Talman had the sour face of a provoked Oxford don planted on the body of a brute well able to maintain his place on a pirate ship.
"Now, if you will do me the honor of introducing yourselves . . ." Parker said.
We prisoners looked at one another. Then the ranking officer stepped up. "First Lieutenant Hart, formerly of the Fortune's Daughter."
"A responsible position. Your wife must be very proud."
"I am not yet married."
"A pity. Well, Lieutenant, it happens that our ship is in need of a man of your abilities. Are you willing to sign our articles and, in return for a full share, join our crew?"
He drew himself up. "I am not."
"Would you prefer to jump into the sea?"
Hart could only stare.
"You see," Parker said, "those are the only choices. Join the crew, or visit Davy Jones."
There was a long moment, punctuated only by a gesture from Parker which caused his men to step aside, leaving a clear path to the railing.
After swallowing hard, Hart said, "May I read your articles first?"
"Fair enough."
But while Hart made a show of looking over the document, it was clear his decision was already made, and when the quartermaster handed him the pen, he signed and was borne away by the crew with a show of welcome.
The introductions continued, and in each case, Parker made a pretense of small talk before offering the choice he'd made to Lieutenant Hart. Some signed reluctantly, and some willingly, but all but two men signed. One stiffly marched to the railing and threw himself off, with a proud farewell of "God save the King!" Another grabbed for a pistol at one of the pirates' belt, but he was shot on the spot, and then tossed over the railing as well.
I trust I need not tell you of my trepidation as my own turn approached. Though I was not particularly looking forward to becoming a lawyer, neither did I wish to become a pirate. Even without any useful sailing skills, as a young man in good health, I felt sure I would soon be forced to wear a kerchief of some revolting shade. Then I took note of something. The captain spoke to a sailor, and then said he had no need for a man with his skills. After adding two more men to his crew, he passed by another sailor from Fortune's Daughter, though in that case it was evident the man would probably not last out the night. Finally, upon reaching the last of the surviving crewmen, he again neglected to issue an invitation.
A thought occurred to me, barely more than a guess, but I resolved to put it to use.
All that remained were Squire Turow and myself, and of course, Turow pushed himself forward.
"And you are?" Parker said, courteously enough.
"I am Squire Turow of Port Royal, and I demand that you release me immediately."
"If I were to do that here, I fear you would drown."
There were appreciative chuckles from the pirates, and sputtering from Turow.
Presumably it was obvious Turow was no use aboard a ship, for Parker turned to me. "And you, sir?"
"William Cunningham," I said. "Formerly of London, and if fate permits, soon to set up practice in Port Royal."
"What would that practice be?"
"I am a lawyer, sir."
If you read this portion to Father, be sure to prepare for the inevitable snort, along with the comment that I have done nothing to earn such a title other than attend classes, and not nearly enough of those. As events played out, I argued my first case before another day had passed. But for now, let me continue my narrative.
"A lawyer," Parker said speculatively.
"Not a skill you need, I suspect."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Is your wife in Port Royal?"
"No, she is with her parents in London, waiting for me to send for her."
Smelling salts, Mother! I promise you, I have not married without your knowledge or blessing. I lied to the man, intentionally and with forethought. Having noted that the healthy men Parker had passed over had mentioned their wives and children, something the other sailors had not, I was betting my future that it was no coincidence.
Squire Turow stiffened, since I'd made it plain that I hoped to pay my respects to his daughter, but perhaps because he already thought me a cad, for once he kept his mouth shut.
"You are young to be married," Parker said, suspiciously I feared.
"Childhood sweethearts." I could not tell if he believed me, so I added, "I carry her picture with me always, if you'd care to see." I pulled out the miniature of Kate to show him, and after he inspected it, he said only, "A lovely lass." He sounded almost disappointed, though at the time, I could not imagine why.
He stepped back, and addressed the remaining prisoners. "Gentlemen, I'm sure you realize your situation. You are entirely at my mercy." He stopped to let his words sink in. "But I do not kill unnecessarily. Do as you're told, give us no trouble, and at the first opportunity, you'll be left where you can make your way to some town or another. But if you give us grief . . ." Again he timed his pause for full dramatic impact. "You'll get it back fivefold. Is that understood?"
There were murmurs of assent, but I decided it would do no harm to make my understanding more definite, and in ringing tones, I said, "Perfectly, Captain."
Parker seemed satisfied, and though I heard Turow muttering "lickspittle," I ignored him magnanimously. Whether because of my somewhat tenuous claim to a profession or because of my wholly fraudulent claim to a bride, I was alive and not a pirate.
Despite my joy, the rest of that day was the most miserable I have ever spent. First we were stripped down to our skins, while still on deck, to ensure that we'd concealed nothing worth taking. The pirates were not kind in their judgment of our appearance—I even saw one of the former crew members from Fortune's Daughter jeering. Once we'd dressed again, we were taken to that part of the ship known as the bilges, and locked into a barred cell. The less said about the conditions, the better, but I will say that there was scarcely enough space for the five men imprisoned there, let alone the vermin in residence.
This, we were told, was where we'd stay until the captain released us.
At first, we were cheerful enough, merely from having survived, and eagerly discussed our circumstances. According to one of the sailors, Parker had been known to release prisoners unharmed in the past. The other sailor pointed out that had Parker killed passengers, they'd never have been heard from again. The first man countered that he could have killed us already, had he been so inclined, but the second opined that he could be saving us for later entertainment. The former shipmates would have come to blows had I not physically restrained them.
Afterward, the two of them were content to glower at one another, ignoring my attempts at conversation. Turow still refused to acknowledge my existence, and the third sailor was barely conscious, and only moaned until, some hours later, he died. Nobody came in answer to our calls, so we were left with his body for some time.
I cannot speak for the others, but my feelings were made only worse by the sounds of celebration that rang throughout the ship. The pirate crew was not modest in their victory—there was music, dancing, and undoubtedly feasting and drinking. I suppose it was no wonder that we were neglected for the remainder of that day and night.
Our situation was a little better come morning. First off, a crewman came by with food and drink for us, and it was reasonably generous in portion and quality. Then the poor devil who had died was removed, presumably to be thrown overboard. I'll admit I was so relieved by his absence that I gave little thought to whether or not he would receive a proper sendoff.
There seemed to be more commotion on the Brazen Mermaid than I was used to aboard Fortune's Daughter, but I attributed it to the greater size of the pirate crew and perhaps a lack of formality. It was not until midmorning that I found out the true cause of the uproar. That was when a crew member came and pounded on the bars. "On your feet for the captain!"
We stood, and a moment later, Captain Parker arrived. "You there," he said to me. "You say you're an experienced lawyer?"
"I am." I realize I've given Father yet another cause for derision, but I was at least a fledgling lawyer, and I have had many experiences. The fact that these two elements of my life were entirely separate was hardly worth mentioning.
"We have need of your services. One of my crew members has been accused of breaking one of the ship's articles, and I hoped you'd be willing to assist."
"In court?" I asked, thinking it most unlikely.
"Not an actual court, no, just here on board. Normally we'd take care of the matter without so much bother, but it seems a shame not to take advantage of your presence and give the crew a bit of a show at the same time."
"I see. What, exactly, would you wish me to do?"
"I was hoping you'd argue his case for him."
"Is he unable to do so himself? That is the usual procedure."
"The accused is a simple man, not much for words. It'd be a mercy if you could speak for him. He's an old shipmate of mine, and I want it handled fair and square, if you're willing."
I hesitated. "Would my other option be the same as you gave the sailors yesterday?"
He smiled, but with more menace than mirth. "Nothing like that. I've given my word that you'll be set free. Of course, the sooner this matter is taken care of, the sooner I'll be able to get you and your comrades to dry land. Unless you're that fond of the accommodations, that is."
Though I would like to pretend my actions were on behalf of my fellow prisoners, it was, in fact, the thought of getting myself off that ship that impelled me to say, "In that I am always willing to speed justice, I accept."
Captain Parker released me, and even ordered a bucket of water for me to perform a sketchy toilet. Turow, of course, had much to say about my decision, especially after I accidentally splashed him.
I was taken to a cabin and told that my "client" would be along directly. You can only imagine my alarm when he arrived and I saw it was the black-haired giant who'd threatened Turow with such enthusiasm the day before. Even though his hands were manacled, I was most uneasy when the door was closed behind him, leaving us alone.
"Cunningham, that's your name, isn't it?" he asked.
"It is. And you are . . . ?"
"Perry Gardner. I wants to thank you for agreeing to help me. I could tell you were a decent man yesterday. Showing us where your friend's loot were hid was smartly done."
"It seemed the prudent course," I said, surprised by his mild tone.
"Aye, it were that, and saved me no end of trouble. I've no love for torture."
"But . . . You said . . ."
He actually broke into a grin. "Fooled you, did I? Funny what a loud voice and a few oaths will do to make a man give up his valuables. And the way Crane acted all nice and concerned? That makes it work even better. The bad looking worse next to the good, as it were."
"You were most convincing."
"Crane was the one to come up with the ploy," the pirate confided. "He used to be an actor before he went on the account."
"On the account?"
"Before he became a pirate."
"I see. I understand you have a case for me to argue."
"That I do. They're saying I done murder."
I nodded, wishing I'd thought to ask Parker exactly which article had been broken before I agreed to help. Then I remembered the pirate captain's smile—it would not have changed my decision.
And so, having accepted the case, it behooved me to treat him as a legitimate client, and one thing I have learned from Father is that a lawyer should never ask a client whether or not he is actually guilty. Seating myself on one of the stools in the room, I gestured him toward the other. "Pray tell me the circumstances that led up to this accusation."
"I can't tell you much," he said, once settled. "I fell asleep topside last night, and when Murbles came across me this morn—"
"Murbles?"
"The first mate. When he saw me, he tossed a bucket of water on me to rouse me. I leapt up, cursing a mite from the surprise, but the man on the deck beside of me didn't stir. We turned him over, and saw it was a man by the name of Biggs, dead as a doornail. Since I was next to him, Murbles figured I did the killing."
"Couldn't he have died in his sleep?"
"Not bloody likely. His tongue was stuck out, and you could see the marks of fingers on both sides of his throat. Somebody throttled the bastard."
I couldn't resist a glance at Gardner's hands, which appeared quite strong. "Other than proximity, was there any reason to place the blame on you?"
"Aye, there was. Murbles searched the body, and when he saw he didn't have nothing on him, he had me turn my pockets out. I had Biggs's pipe and tobacco, and a gold-and-pearl ring he'd been wearing, plus some blunt I hadn't had before. But I swear I don't know how any of it got there."
It was a blow to the case, but not a fatal one. "The killer must have placed those things in your pockets to implicate you."
"That's what I told Murbles, but he didn't believe me. So they slapped me in irons and said they were going to maroon me. But the captain and I've been knowing each other since we came to sea, and he said the least they could do was give me a trial. Only nobody wanted to speak for me, and I was going to have to do it myself, until I remembered you were in the hold. Some of the crew were against using you, but Captain said it'd be a shame to miss a chance at seeing a real lawyer in action."
My first thought was that these men were fated to disappointment if they thought I was a real lawyer. My second was that the captain would not be pleased if I failed to adequately defend an old friend. My third, that Father would also not be pleased if I failed, though less likely to toss me overboard. And finally, I dreaded the blow to my sense of worth if I could not help this man.
With all those thoughts, it took a few moments before I could actually devote a few to the task at hand, but Gardner just sat patiently.
"Well," I said, as if I'd come to some momentous conclusion, "it seems that you had both the means and the opportunity, but did you have any reason to wish Biggs dead?"
He shook his head. "I don't know that I'd spoken two words to him before last night. He only joined the crew a fortnight past."
"Was he forced to join the crew?"
"No, he was an old member of the Brethren." When he saw my look of confusion, he explained, "The Brethren of the Coast, that's what we call ourselves. This weren't his first voyage, not by a long shot."
"But you had never sailed with him before?"
"That's right."
"What about last night? What transpired?"
"Well, after the captain got done dealing with the prisoners . . ." He had the good grace to look embarrassed at this, as if remembering how we prisoners had been dealt with. "Afterward, he gave permission for us to make merry, not that we needed him to tell us that."
"I believe I heard evidence of your merriment."
"It were a grand time, that's for truth. Plenty of grog, plenty of food. No women, but with the booty we've earned, there'll be time for that when the voyage is done."
"And in the course of your conviviality, you met up with Biggs?"
"That's right. I was playing dice with Crane and a couple of others—just for fun, mind, not for money, that being against the articles."
"Of course."
"While we was dicing, Biggs came to talk to Crane. The two of 'em had sailed together aboard the Fair Wind, off the coast of Venezuela. Biggs started talking about some of the prizes they'd taken, and I told him about some of mine."
"Comparing notes, as it were."
"That's right. I might have made it sound better than it were, mind you, but no more than Biggs and his talk of sacks of doubloons and pearls from Margarita."
"Completely natural to exaggerate," I assured him.
"That led to talk of battles, and I told him about how we took a merchantman off Hispaniola just a month ago. Now that was a fight!" He smiled at the memory. "The tussle yesterday was nothing compared to that. No offense."
"None taken."
"Biggs knew he'd been outclassed—he got quiet as the grave after I told him how many men had died, and the injuries we took. That was the battle where Crane lost his hand, and that's a story worth telling."
"And after you finished relating war stories?"
"Then the singing started, and dancing, too."
"Perhaps more grog?"
"Plenty more. I don't remember much after that, truth be told, not until I woke up with a dead man next to me." He shuddered, and having recently shared sleeping quarters with a corpse myself, I could sympathize.
"Did you argue with Biggs?"
He shook his head. "He called me a filthy, lying son of a whore, but that's not the sort of thing you'd kill a man for."
"Any witnesses? Did anybody say they'd seen you kill him?"
"Nobody that I know of. Admittedly, we were all the worse for drink."
"Then it seems to me that our case is secure," I said confidently. In fact, I was quite confident. There was no evidence against Gardner, other than the coincidence of being found next to the body, and there was no more reason to believe him guilty of killing Biggs than there was of me having killed the poor sailor in my cell. Less so, actually, since there were only three others with opportunity to kill the one, whereas any member of the pirate crew could have done in Biggs.
Just then, a pair of sailors came to escort Gardner and me onto the deck, where the trial was to take place. I had no doubt that my rhetorical skills would soon make mincemeat of whatever arguments could be used against Gardner. After all, this was a pirate ship, not a proper court. How much of a challenge could the case present?
I continued to believe that right up until I saw the courtroom that had been erected on deck. The dock, the bench, the jury box filled with a twelve-man jury—all were in their proper places. Of course, they were only rough approximations, made from boards, crates, and barrels, but the fact that they existed at all was enough. I realized that these pirates quite likely knew more about courtroom procedures than I.
I turned to Gardner in amazement.
"Looks good, don't it?" he said. "You knew the Brethren like to act out trials, didn't you? And Captain Parker is a stickler for getting it right. He was in court himself once or twice, and remembers how it was done. We don't always go to so much trouble for crew business, but being as we've got a real lawyer here . . ." He seemed uncommonly proud of the whole production, considering that it had all been put into place for his prosecution.
A burly pirate with a red beard approached us. "That there's your table," he said to me. "Gardner, you go to the dock."
I fervently wished it had been the other kind of dock before me, the kind that led to land and a well-appointed public house. As I took my place, I asked the bearded man, "Will you be acting as bailiff?"
"That's right."
"And the captain will be the judge?"
"No, he's sitting this one out, being that he and Gardner are old sailing mates."
I turned and saw Parker in the midst of the spectators, watching me with no little interest.
The bailiff went to the spot where I've seen so many bailiffs stand in Father's court, and said, "Be upstanding." Out came the judge, who turned out to be Crane, the one-handed pirate, dressed in a moth-eaten black robe and the most disreputable wig I'd ever seen, but strutting like any silk-clad magistrate. As he went behind the table that was to serve as his bench, I saw that the one missing prop was a gavel. A moment later, when he pounded on the table with his club, I realized that it was not needed.
"Be sitting," the bailiff intoned, and those of us with seats obeyed. I took the opportunity to see who would be serving as prosecutor, and was not pleased to see that dour quartermaster Mr. Talman was playing the role. A quartermaster is often the most educated member of a crew, which was the last thing I desired in an opponent.
Still feeling somewhat stunned by the preparations, I followed one of the first lessons I learned at university. I stalled. Standing once again, I said, "May it please the court, I would like to make a request before we begin the proceedings."
Judge Crane looked at the captain, and when he nodded, said, "You may make your request."
"Since your court is not ruled by the body of laws I have spent my career studying, might I have a few moments to examine the ship's articles on which your justice system is based?"
Again Crane looked over at the captain, and again he nodded. I heard an expression of impatience from the quartermaster, but he stomped away from his table and returned a moment later with the paper I'd seen men signing the night before.
"Thank you," I said, and took it up to read. It was a remarkable document, one I think even Father would admire. In its twelve tenets, it laid out the rules by which the crew lived and, depending on the severity of their infractions, died. Though I'd originally intended only to give myself time to think, I was fascinated. All food was to be divided equally, and booty divided into shares which were allocated according to rank. Those who lost a limb or joint were to be compensated from the company share—five hundred pieces of eight for a hand or foot and eight hundred for a leg or arm. Gaming for money was forbidden, as my client had pointed out, as was bringing women or boys on board for dalliance, fighting on board the ship, and stealing from a crew member. The harshest punishments were reserved for those who were careless with fire near the powder magazine, defrauded the company, or showed cowardice during battle. I finished reading, then waited as long as I dared for inspiration to strike. When it did not, and the crowd grew restless, I returned the paper to the quartermaster.
"A very clearly written contract," I said, "and in a handsome hand, as well."
Mr. Talman, evidently unimpressed by my courtesy, merely snorted.
Now the bailiff recited an approximation of the opening of court, and Judge Crane said, "The prosecution can now make its opening statement."
Talman stood and in a bored voice said, "Seaman Gardner strangled Seaman Biggs and stole his belongings, and should be marooned."
There was a murmur of discontent from the gallery, and Judge Crane said, "That's not the proper way to do it, Mr. Talman. You're supposed to say that you're going to prove all that."
Talman frowned, but said, "Very well. I intend to prove that Gardner strangled Biggs. Does that suit the court?"
"You're supposed to call him, 'my Lord,'" the bailiff put in, but shriveled under Talman's glare.
"The defense may now make its statement," Judge Crane said.
"Thank you, my Lord," I said respectfully. "The defense intends to prove that Seaman Percy Gardner is completely innocent of the heinous crime of which he has been accused."
The crowd's reaction was much more approving, and I started to experience a bit of the same warm glow hitherto felt only while on stage.
Mr. Talman, still clearly uninterested in playing the game, called Murbles the first mate to the witness stand, and I was amazed to see that the bailiff actually produced a Bible for the swearing-in. The cover showed signs of wear, but the pages within looked pristine, as if the book were rarely, if ever, opened.
Murbles told his story straightforwardly enough, with minimal interruptions from the judge. I maintained a look of concerned interest until my time came to question him.
"You say you found the deceased lying next to Mr. Gardner?"
"That's right."
"But no witness saw the crime being committed?"
"Nobody that was sober enough to remember, anywise." There was laughter, quickly quelled by the judge.
I went on. "So other than the fact that the two were near one another, you have no reason to believe Mr. Gardner killed Mr. Biggs? Don't you find it unlikely that Gardner would strangle him, only to lay down next to the body? Wouldn't he instead have taken the first opportunity to absent himself?" I smiled winningly, giving the man a chance to admit his error in logic.
"I was thinking Gardner killed Biggs while he was drunk and then passed out."
"So your contention is that my client killed the man, robbed him, placed his ill-gotten gains into his pocket, and then fell asleep?"
"Only stands to reason," the man said. "If somebody else killed Biggs so as to steal his blunt, he wouldn't of put it in Gardner's pocket. What would be the point of killing him if he didn't make a profit out of it?"
"Men kill for many reasons, do they not? And having killed, do they not then try to cover up their crimes?"
"I wouldn't know about that," the mate said stolidly. "All I know is that Gardner was seen with Biggs, Gardner was next to Biggs's body, and Gardner had Biggs's blunt in his pocket. Seems plain enough to me."
I looked over at the jury, and sadly, it seemed plain enough to them, too. "I have no further questions for this witness."
Talman stood only long enough to say, "The prosecution rests its case, which I hope means that we can finish up this farce."
"Not until the defense gets a turn," Judge Crane said. He then asked me, "Do you wish to call any witnesses?"
I considered calling Gardner to the stand, but I didn't think there was anything he could say that would help his case. In fact, if he quoted Biggs calling him a filthy, lying son of a whore, it could well hinder his defense. But who else could I call? Any of the other pirates on board could have been the killer. As I looked at the men around me, inspiration finally struck. "My Lord, if it pleases you, I would like to call a witness. More than one, in fact."
"Name 'em."
I made a sweeping gesture. "I wish to call the crew of the Brazen Mermaid."
The gallery erupted, and I heard Mr. Talman cursing me and, indirectly, Father. After much pounding with his club, the judge made himself heard. "You want to call every man jack on the ship?" he asked.
"Yes, my Lord. It is my belief that another crew member is the real murderer. Therefore, if we can determine which man was out of the sight of his fellows for long enough, we shall know who killed Biggs. The only way to discover this is to verify the whereabouts of every man on board."
Crane looked over at the captain yet again, who in turn looked at the crew to see where their opinions lay. After informally polling those who were closest, he nodded at the judge, who said, "The court will allow it."
I requested a list of the crew members, and once it was ungraciously supplied by Mr. Talman, we began. I rather think the sailors enjoyed the process of coming to the witness stand, one by one. Most of them had been relegated to spectator up until then, so they relished the opportunity to swear on the Bible and become participants as well.
Considering the size of the crew, and the magnitude of the previous night's festivities, I would have wagered a handsome sum that I would be able to identify any number of men whose location during the hours in question would be in doubt, but as Father often points out, my luck in gambling is frequently bad. Somehow no man had escaped the attention of his fellows.
The captain had been drinking in his cabin, along with the first mate and the quartermaster. A small number of men, mostly those drafted from Fortune's Daughter, had been on duty to allow the others their pleasures. Other men had been gaming, eating, drinking, and dancing, but always in groups of five or more. And of course, we prisoners had been locked safely away.
At one point, I thought I had finally located another suspect, when a dour-faced specimen with an eye patch would say only that he'd been below-decks, and would not name a companion. But then one of the younger men announced, "He was with me." I asked that man what they had been doing, purely to verify his veracity, but the sniggers and catcalls from the rest of the crew drowned out any answer he might have cared to make. After a moment, I realized the truth, and let the matter drop.
I do not mean to be obscure, Mother, but . . . Actually, I do mean to be obscure. Let me say only that the men were thoroughly occupied during the time in question.
The patience of the crew was growing thin by the time I finished, and I was growing desperate. For though I questioned every man—including the members of the jury, the captain, the quartermaster, and the bailiff—I could find only three men who could not be alibied: my client, the deceased, and the one man on board who could not be guilty—Judge Crane with his missing hand. Two men who could have committed murder, but the marks on the dead man's throat spoke louder than words, telling me that my client was doomed.
Gardner was no doubt mentally preparing to meet his fate.
At this point, Mother, you may think I had doubts as to my client's innocence, but this was not the case. In truth, I'd never believed him innocent. Whether or not he'd killed Biggs, I had never lost sight of the fact that the man was a pirate. Killing was his livelihood. No, his despair did not concern me nearly as much as my own.
After years of education and my father's most ardent desires, I was no lawyer. Like the pirates around me, I was only playing a part, but unlike my bravura performances in Hamlet and Titus Andronicus, I had failed miserably, and was now likely to spend months in that cell below-decks. For a brief moment, I considered confessing my bachelor state and signing the articles I'd so carefully perused.
Fortunately the moment passed, mainly because the thought of my theatrical triumphs woke something in my memory. Suddenly the truth revealed itself to me, as well as a way to share that revelation with the court.
Though my mental activity was great, to the outside observer it must have looked as if I was merely staring into space, because Judge Crane said, "Are you done?"
"Not quite, sir," I said. "There is one man left to question. You, our honorable judge."
Crane indignantly said, "You can't question the judge!"
"On the contrary. There are numerous precedents for taking such an action, notably in the case of Mortimer the Sussex Bandit." Do not be surprised if you are not familiar with this case, Mother. I made it up. It has always been my belief that there are times when a lie is needed to serve the cause of a greater truth. And, might I remind you, I myself had not sworn to be truthful.
At any rate, my performance convinced the captain, who nodded as if the case I'd cited was one whose details he had only momentarily failed to recall, and said, "He's got the right of it, Crane." To me, he added, "Get on with it."
"Just as soon as our bailiff swears him in."
The obedient man approached the bench, then hesitated. "How's he going to put his left hand on the Bible? He's got none."
"In such cases, the law recognizes the former location of the appendage," I said.
The bailiff looked confused until Captain Parker barked, "He can put his stump on the Bible."
Crane dutifully raised his right hand, and gingerly put his wood-clad limb onto the Bible.
"No, no, that won't do," I said. "Even the finest of ladies remove their gloves on such occasions." That reminds me, Mother. When the opportunity presents itself, ask my father what actually happens on such occasions, and inform me of his response.
Crane looked stubborn. "What difference does it make?"
I replied, "For the oath to be binding, there must be actual contact between your flesh and the Good Book."
Still Crane made no move to remove the appliance. "It ain't fit to see."
"My dear sir, surely these combat-hardened men won't flinch at the sight."
He looked around as if to gauge the reaction, and must have realized that most of the crew were in agreement with me, and many were morbidly curious about his deformity. So he reluctantly loosed the straps that attached the club to the end of his arm, and pulled it off to reveal the stump of his hand.
It was a repulsive sight, a puckered scar streaked with angry red. He held it up defiantly for a moment, then gingerly laid it upon the leather binding of the Bible.
The bailiff, who had in fact flinched, recovered himself to administer the oath, and while he did so, I moved closer to the judge's bench.
Once Crane had repeated the words "So help me, God," he looked at me and snapped, "Does that satisfy you?"
"Not quite." When I say my next motion was as quick as a whip, I assure you, I tell you only the truth. Before the man suspected what I was about, I grabbed that appalling stump and held it tightly.
Then I pulled it off, and revealed the perfectly whole hand that had been concealed.
After but a second of shock, Crane vaulted over the makeshift judge's bench and threw himself onto me bodily, knocking me to the deck. His hands were on my throat—both of them—and had not other members of the crew recovered their senses quickly enough, he'd have squeezed the breath from me, just as he had from Biggs. It provided an excellent demonstration of his guilt, but frankly, one I would rather have done without.
Moments later, while several sailors enthusiastically restrained Crane, Captain Parker examined the club and the stump, then turned to me in consternation. "How the devil did you know?"
Realizing that this was not an audience to appreciate modesty or understatement, I abandoned all thoughts of using either. "No one clue revealed the truth—it was all the facts taken together. One, I knew my client to be innocent of this crime. Two, only two men had the opportunity, and if it was not my client, it had to be Crane. Three, Crane was formerly an actor, an occupation that relies on deception even more than piracy. The chopping off of a hand or arm is common enough on stage, and given sufficient preparation, I myself could produce an illusion convincing enough to sicken even your crew, as well as a much better prop than that." I flicked a hand at the "stump" the captain was holding, now revealed as nothing but wax and leather. "That would never have fooled anyone for long, had not the club concealed it."
"But why kill Biggs and leave the money on somebody else?" Mr. Talman asked.
"You know that Biggs and Crane sailed together before?"
"Aye. Are you thinking they had an old quarrel?"
"Possibly, but I suspect that this is not the first occasion Crane claimed payment for that hand. He could have repeated the trick any number of times. He joins a crew, pretends to lose a hand, receives payment for same, and as soon as possible leaves that crew, only to appear on another ship, his lost hand mysteriously healed. Biggs must have already seen Crane fake the injury, and was therefore in a position to reveal the scheme. Crane killed him to protect himself, and used my client as a scapegoat."
The captain turned to Crane. "Is that the way of it?"
Crane's only reply was to spit invective, and since some of his curses sounded suspiciously like the Bard's, I felt sure he had indeed been an actor.
Parker ordered him taken below, hopefully to a different cell from the one occupied by the prisoners from Fortune's Daughter, and set men to dismantling the courtroom. Almost as an afterthought, my client was released from his manacles and gave me a hearty slap on my shoulder that very nearly knocked me down.
"I suppose that wasn't a total waste of time after all," even Talman had to admit.
"Saved a good man," Parker said, giving Gardner a slap as firm as the one I'd received, "and got rid of a bad one. Cunningham, we are in your debt."
Perhaps it was foolish, but I could not let the opportunity pass. "As to that, there is my fee to discuss."
The captain eyed me. "Your fee?"
I nodded, endeavoring to assume the air of a man who'd said the most reasonable thing in the world. "It is customary. After all, Crane's share now returns to the ship's coffers, as does the money he was awarded for the loss of his hand."
"Are you claiming a full share?" Talman said in an alarming tone. In fact, it reminded me of Father when last I saw him, though perhaps you best not mention that to him.
"Absolutely not," I said firmly, and the tension eased measurably. "I ask for two things only. One, when my shipmate Squire Turow was relieved of his possessions, the proceeds included a necklace. I would like to reclaim it."
"The one he tried to hide?" Gardner said. "It went into the ship's coffers with the rest of the takings."
"Let's have a look at it," the captain said. A chest containing a tempting array of baubles was produced, and Gardner quickly located the correct one.
He handed it to the captain, who looked it over with a practiced eye. "This thing?" he said doubtfully. "It's naught but a cheap trinket."
"It has sentimental value."
He shrugged at my folly and tossed it to me. "Done."
"Thank you. One other thing. I would very much like to keep this." I held aloft the club Crane had used to conceal his hand.
"What the devil for?" he wanted to know.
"Just as a souvenir from my most unusual case." As my first, it was certainly the most unusual one.
Parker shrugged again. "We've no use for it. Nobody will be trying that trick again, not on this ship."
I thanked him again, and having no desire to return to the cell below, happily accepted when he asked me to join him for dinner. The cuisine was not refined, but it was plentiful, and the abundant wine surprisingly good. Though I don't remember details after a certain point, I am reasonably sure that the evening was spent pleasantly. I also have a dim memory of reciting the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V, but perhaps that was merely a dream.
The next day, the ship stopped at an island that was only barely deserving of the name, being nothing more than a spur of sand dotted with a few scraggly trees, where Crane's punishment was carried out.
Something that might surprise you, Mother, was that Crane was not sentenced to this fate merely for killing Biggs, which is not directly addressed in the articles. Fighting aboard ship is forbidden, but oddly enough, murder is not mentioned. No, to the pirates, Crane's more serious crime was his defrauding the company by collecting five hundred pieces of eight for the loss of a hand. In fact, more than one man suggested that the hand be severed in retribution, but the captain maintained that marooning him was enough.
I admit I had never before considered the horror of being marooned. Crane was left equipped only with a jug of water, a piece of hardtack, and a pistol with only one ball and enough powder for a single shot. He was allowed to keep his clothes, which I was told proves the basic humanity of Captain Parker, who could have ordered him stripped of every stitch. But dressed or wearing nothing but what God gave him, the man was doomed to a miserable death from starvation, thirst, and exposure to the sun.
Crane did not accept his fate with dignity. He struggled with the men tasked with ferrying him to the island, and cursed them with great imagination as they rowed back to the ship. I must admit to mixed emotions at seeing him abandoned, murderer though he was, and I watched him as we sailed away. As the island itself faded into the distance, I fancied I heard a gunshot, and I pray I was not mistaken.
That unpleasant task accomplished, Captain made good on his promise to release the other prisoners and myself. We sailed to Jamaica, and though we were not taken to any of the island's settlements, we were rowed ashore and left at a sunny beach only a few hours' march to Kingston. Gardner was among the pirates escorting us, and thanked me most sincerely for my efforts on his behalf.
"Especially," he said, "after what I threatened to do to your friend."
"But you would never have gone through with it."
"Of course I would have, if you hadn't told me where his gold was."
"But you said—"
"I said I take no pleasure in it. I take no particular pleasure from taking a piss, either, but I does it when I needs to."
Perhaps it was just as well I hadn't known that before the trial.
At any rate, I suspect it was due to his good wishes and those of Captain Parker that we were given a generous ration of water and hardtack to provision us. He also handed me a small sack of gold, an amount that more than made up for the funds I'd lost during the attack. I considered myself most fortunate.
As I write this, I am in my newly acquired offices, with a freshly painted sign proclaiming me to be "William Cunningham, Lawyer." Already I have met with several clients. Though it pains me greatly to admit it, perhaps Father was right in insisting that I take up law. If I can fool a crew of suspicious pirates into believing me to be an expert in legal matters, surely I can do the same with the trusting citizens of Port Royal.
I have also begun to make myself known to the members of society here, and upon two occasions, have spent time in the company of a most respectable lady: the lovely Miss Turow. This may surprise you, Mother, considering how Turow's opinion of me had plummeted, but I managed to win him over.
You see, once the pirates left us, and we began our overland trek toward civilization, I produced the necklace I'd claimed as part of my fee and presented it to Turow, along with the following words.
"Please, sir, give this to your daughter with my most heartfelt compliments. If she should bear me ill will for having revealed the location of these jewels to the pirates who attacked us, please convey my word as a gentleman that I did so only to preserve the safety and honor of her father, both of which are far more valuable to a dutiful daughter than even this treasure."
I was quite proud of this speech; it moved me nearly as deeply as it did Squire Turow, who could barely speak his thanks.
Then I added, "Retrieving this was the least I could do for you, after you aided me in my imposture."
"Imposture?" he said.
"Of being married. Of course, you knew differently, but held your tongue most admirably."
"I could do no less to protect a man of your quality," he said as if he had never doubted me.
From that moment on, he referred to me as "my boy," and spoke of his warmest wishes that I should soon be as dear to his daughter as I was to him. She has shown herself to be most appreciative of my efforts in retrieving her father and her jewelry.
Speaking of jewelry, you may be wondering about the gifts I enclose for you and my sister. I obtained them honestly, though the same cannot be said of their previous owner. You may recall that I asked Captain Parker for Crane's club, telling him that I wished it for a souvenir. That was true, but not complete.
It occurred to me when examining the thing after Crane's duplicity was revealed, that it was larger than it needed to be to conceal a hand. I also reasoned that if I were surrounded daily by dishonest men, I might well want to keep my valuables in a container that would never be separated from me. Close to hand, one might say.
Pirates, like university men, understand the value of a secure hiding place.
So please accept these pearls, liberated from the Spanish off the coast of Margarita, and fashioned into earrings to enhance your beauty. May they continually remind you—and Father—of the successful conclusion to my adventure.
I remain your most loving and devoted son.
Copyright © 2008 Toni L. P. Kelner
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The author admits that this story owes as much to old pirate movies as it does to factual research about the Golden Age of Piracy, but three of the most unlikely aspects of the story are true. One, pirates did attempt to live by the articles they signed. Two, some pirate captains would not force married men to join their crews. And three, pirates did in fact reenact trials on board ship as a diversion, vying for the roles of judge, bailiff, jailer, and hangman.
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